“You may think yourself lucky to have a bed to make!” retorted a comrade who sat cross-legged on a neighbouring pile of sacking. “Mine cannot be ‘made,’ though a careless movement will reduce it to its component3 elements.”
“The devil! If I tuck in the blanket this side, it won’t reach to the other!” pursued the young grumbler4, fiercely demonstrating the truth of his accusation5, where he knelt by a mattress6 placed directly on the floor.
“From this, my paladin, learn that the gifts of Fate are evenly distributed,” returned he of the pile of sacking. Since one of his arms was in a sling7, it is possible that he would not have been capable even of the Vicomte de Céligny’s unfruitful exertions8, but he did not say so. On the contrary, he looked at his friend’s performance with the air of one who in a moment will say, “Let me do it!”
“If you would only take less——” he began.
“For Heaven’s sake be quiet, you two!” entreated9 a third voice. “One cannot count, much less think, in your chatter10 . . . Two tierce-majors. . . .”
The owner of this voice, a man of about forty-five or fifty, sat at a table in a corner playing piquet by candlelight with another. There is no reason why you should not play piquet, even if you are a Chouan officer in the late April of the year of grace 1799—or, if you prefer it, which in that case is unlikely, Floréal of the year VII of the Republic—and are concealed11 at the top of an old house at Hennebont in Brittany with a bandage on your head, and an ache within it which may well justify12 a little impatience13 to noise. When, in addition, your partner refuses to play for money, the game becomes so harmless as almost to be meritorious14.
To the appeal of the piquet-player—his superior officer into the bargain—the wounded critic on the sacking made no reply save a grimace15. The time selected for bedmaking by the very good-looking young man who was engaged in it was not, as might be guessed, a morning hour; it was, on the contrary, nine o’clock in the evening. Two candles stuck in the necks of bottles gave the card-players their requisite16 illumination; another, standing17 on a dilapidated chest of drawers, shone on the book which a third young man, sitting astride a chair, had propped18 on its back and in which he appeared to be immersed.
The attic thus meagrely lit was spacious19, and full of odd corners, but crowded with tables and chairs and cupboards, for it was the top floor of a furniture dealer20, where he stored his old or unfashionable goods, many of which had been piled up on the top of each other to make more room, and where two or three huge old wardrobes, jutting21 out like dark shadowy rocks from the walls, still further reduced the space available for occupation. Yet though it was, patently, a refuge, it was also a rendezvous22.
In this spring of 1799 the Directory, the cruel and incapable23, was still prolonging its dishonoured24 existence, and after ten years of torment25 the French people were still enslaved—to an oligarchy26 instead of to a monarchy27. The liberty dangled28 so long before their eyes, the liberty in whose name so many terrible crimes had been committed, seemed further away than ever. Inert29 and exhausted30, pining under a leprosy of political corruption31, her credit and trade almost ruined, the mere32 ghost of what she had been, France was sighing for the master that she was impotent to give herself, the man who should overturn her new tyrants33 and raise her up once more to her full stature34. And to most minds in the West, that home of loyalty35, only one master was conceivable, and that was Louis XVIII., the King who had never reigned36.
In the West, moreover, at this moment, the Chouannerie, that sporadic37 guerrilla warfare38 of profoundly Royalist and Catholic stamp, indigenous39 to Brittany, Anjou, and Maine since the overthrow40 of the great Vendean effort in 1793, was showing signs of reviving—under persecution41. It had indeed been temporarily stamped out at the pacification42 of three years ago, but that pacification had left the Royalists of Brittany and the neighbouring departments in a position which gradually proved to be intolerable. They were not at war, yet they lived in continual peril43, not one of them sure of his liberty or even of his life. After the scandalous coup44 d’état of Fructidor, ’97, the promised religious freedom was not even a name, and political freedom, especially in the western departments whose elections had been so cynically45 annulled46, was a mere farce47. It came, in fact, at last to this, that the Minister of Police could recommend that the Royalists of those regions should be “caused to disappear” if necessary; tyranny unashamed had replaced oppression.
Naturally enough, in 1798 the Chouan began to make his appearance once more. At first he merely robbed couriers and diligences of public money. But this not very creditable activity was on the surface; underneath48, in the hands usually of gentlemen, the work went secretly forward of organising that indomitable and tenacious49 peasantry, at once pious50 and cruel, and of transforming brigandage51 into real war; and so, throughout the West, might be found wandering Royalist leaders with their little staffs, striving to keep effective the Chouans who had once fought, and to enrol52 and arm fresh volunteers. To such a band, commanded by the Marquis de Kersaint, an émigré distinguished53 in Austrian service who had not long come over from England, belonged these five men in the furniture-dealer’s attic.
They were not, at this moment, in very enviable case, for besides that two of them were wounded, they and their handful of peasants—since scattered—had yesterday come off second best in an unexpected collision with Government troops in the neighbouring department of Finistère, and they were now beginning, moreover, to be anxious about the safety of their leader, who, with a guide, had taken a more circuitous54 route to Hennebont in order to gather certain information. And his presence here was urgent because it had long been arranged that he and his two elder subordinates should meet and confer in Hennebont with Georges Cadoudal, the famous peasant leader of the Morbihan, concerning the better organisation55 of the wilder and more westerly region of Finistère, which, it was whispered, M. de Kersaint was eventually to command in its entirety. Yesterday’s misfortune had made such a meeting more, not less, necessary; and so here, half-fugitive, M. de Kersaint’s officers were, having had the luck to slip unobserved into the little town in the dusk. But now there were rumours56 of a colonne mobile on the road which their leader would probably take; and in any case there was always danger—danger which the three young men who formed a sort of bodyguard57 of aides-de-camp to him considered would have been lessened58 for him had they shared his odyssey59. But M. de Kersaint had apparently60 thought otherwise.
The game of cards in the corner came at last to an end, and the opponents added up their scores.
“You have won, Comte,” said the bandaged player’s adversary61, leaning back in his chair. The candle-light which threw up his companion’s somewhat harsh features shone in his case on a nondescript round face with no salient characteristics. By this and by his peasant’s attire62 he might well have been a small farmer; but on the other, him addressed as “Comte,” the gaily63 embroidered64 Breton vest and short coat sat less naturally.
“Yes, I suppose I have,” returned the latter. He drew out his watch and frowned. “They ought really to be here by now,” he observed.
“I doubt if it is quite dark enough outside,” replied his late adversary. “Le Blé-aux-Champs would hardly risk bringing M. de Kersaint into Hennebont while light remained.”
“I wish he had not gone to Sca?r,” muttered the other.
“You do not think that anything has happened to M. le Marquis, do you, sir?” asked Roland de Céligny.
“No,” replied M. de Kersaint’s second-in-command. “I will not believe in misfortune; it is the way to bring it about.”
“Perhaps this is they,” suggested Artamène de la Vergne, the youth with his arm in a sling, as a step was heard on the echoing stairs. And even the silent reader lifted his head from his book to listen.
But the moment of suspense65 which followed was not lightened when the door opened and old M. Charlot, the furniture-dealer, himself appeared on the threshold, candle in hand, tinted66 spectacles on nose. In a silence of expectancy67 he came in and shut the door carefully behind him, while five pairs of eyes stared at him uneasily.
“Gentlemen,” he began in a cautious voice, looking round on the forms ensconced among his shadowy furniture, “is not one of you a priest?”
“There is an old lady very ill next door, Monsieur l’Abbé, an old Mlle Magny, who has been a respected inhabitant of this town for many years. It is not that she wants a confessor or the Last Sacraments, because she had them two or three days ago; it is that to-night she is wandering so much that her niece, who looks after her, came in to me about it just now in great distress69. The old lady seems to have something on her mind, and Mme Leclerc thought that if she could get a priest, an insermenté, of course——”
The Abbé who looked so little of an Abbé interrupted. “I am quite ready to go to her, Monsieur Charlot, if it is necessary, but I should have thought that, rather than summon a stranger, the poor lady’s relatives would have had recourse to the priest who confessed her the other day.”
“Yes, mon père,” replied the old man, “but you see he lives very retired70 outside the town since Fructidor, and there is always a certain risk for him in coming, and seeing that you were on the spot, and not known here for a priest . . .”
The word “risk” appeared to have decided71 the question, for at it the Abbé in the peasant’s dress had risen.
“I will come at once,” he said without more ado, and walked round an intervening barrier of upturned chairs.
“That is very good of your reverence,” said M. Charlot in a tone of relief, moving towards the door. “She has been an excellent Christian72 in her time, that poor lady, and shrewd enough too, but now she lies there, so her niece says, talking continually of some place—or person, maybe—called Mirabel, and of a wedding. And nothing——”
“Mirabel!” ejaculated the Abbé, stopping short.
“O, Monsieur l’Abbé!” exclaimed M. Charlot, struck by his tone, “if you know something about this Mirabel, then surely the good God has sent you to the poor soul! I will take you there at once.”
He opened the door for the priest, who went through it without another word. None of the three young men, all watching these two protagonists73, noticed that the wounded piquet-player also had risen abruptly74 from his seat at the mention of the name which had so affected75 his companion, had stared after them a second or two, and that he now let himself fall into his chair again with a despondent76 gesture, and took his bandaged head between his hands.
“Now the Abbé’s got a job to occupy him,” said Artamène de la Vergne in a sleepy voice. “I wish I had; or that M. de Kersaint and Le Blé-aux-Champs would arrive quickly, so that I could go to sleep without the prospect77 of being waked up again immediately.”
“The true campaigner can sleep at any time, and for any length of time,” remarked Roland complacently78. “It is early yet, at least I think so. My watch has stopped.”
“And mine is lost,” responded the Chevalier de la Vergne. “Lucien is sure to have his, and it is sure to be correct. Ask him the time.”
“Lucien!” said Roland. No answer from the reader.
“I believe he is asleep,” muttered the Vicomte de Céligny, and by a snake-like elongation of body and arm he contrived80 to reach a leg of the student’s chair and to shake the same.
“I wish you were asleep!” exclaimed his victim, lifting a mildly exasperated81 face. “What in Heaven’s name do you want?”
“The time, dear friend.”
Lucien du Boisfossé pulled the watch from his fob. “A quarter—no, seventeen minutes past nine.”
“What are you reading?” demanded Artamène.
“The ?neid of Virgil,” replied Lucien, his eyes on the page again.
The questioner gave an exclamation82, almost of horror. “Ye gods! He is reading Latin—for amusement!”
“A quarter past nine,” remarked Roland reflectively. “This time yesterday I was——”
“Don’t chatter so, Roland le preux! You disturb our Latinist . . . and also,” added Artamène in a lower tone, “run the risk of breaking into M. de Brencourt’s meditations83. Look at him!”
The bandaged piquet-player, who still sat by the table, seemed indeed sunk in a profound abstraction, letting the idle cards fall one by one from his fingers. It was plain that he did not know what he was doing.
“I wager84 he is thinking of a woman,” whispered Artamène, bringing himself nearer to his friend. “It seems a quieting occupation; suppose we think of one too! But on whom shall I fix my thoughts . . . and you, Roland?”
A slight flush, invisible in the poor light, dyed young de Céligny’s cheek as he answered, with a suspicion of embarrassment85, “I will think of that poor old lady next door. Will the Abbé exorcise her, do you think, from the spell of . . . what was it—Mirabel? And, by the way, what is Mirabel?”
“The name of a kind of plum, ignoramus,” replied Lucien du Boisfossé unexpectedly. He yawned as he spoke86.
“Plainly our Lucien has been studying the Georgics also,” commented Artamène.
“An encyclopaedia87 would be more to the point!” retorted Roland. And raising his voice, he said, “Comte, what is Mirabel?”
The older man heard, even with a little start. He laid down the cards and came out of his reverie.
“Mirabel, gentlemen, is the name of a property and chateau88 near Paris, the chateau that was begun for Fran?ois I. You may have heard of it. It belongs, or belonged, to the Duc de Trélan.”
“Trélan,” observed the young Chevalier de la Vergne reflectively. “I seem to remember the name in connection with the prison massacres89 in September, ’92. He was killed in them, I think?”
“No,” replied the Comte de Brencourt sombrely. “He was never in prison. He had emigrated. It was his wife who was butchered—with Mme de Lamballe.”
“Morbleu!” exclaimed Artamène. “And the Duc is still alive, then?”
“I believe so,” replied M. de Brencourt, even more sombrely.
“Where is he now?” asked Roland.
“Somewhere abroad—in England or Germany.”
“Worse than being dead!” observed Artamène, lying down and pulling the covering over him.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
wrestled
|
|
| v.（与某人）搏斗( wrestle的过去式和过去分词 )；扭成一团；扭打；（与…）摔跤 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
attic
|
|
| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
component
|
|
| n.组成部分，成分，元件；adj.组成的，合成的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
grumbler
|
|
| 爱抱怨的人，发牢骚的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
accusation
|
|
| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
mattress
|
|
| n.床垫，床褥 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
sling
|
|
| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
exertions
|
|
| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
entreated
|
|
| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
chatter
|
|
| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
concealed
|
|
| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
justify
|
|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
impatience
|
|
| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
meritorious
|
|
| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
grimace
|
|
| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
requisite
|
|
| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
standing
|
|
| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
propped
|
|
| 支撑，支持，维持( prop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
spacious
|
|
| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
dealer
|
|
| n.商人，贩子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
jutting
|
|
| v.（使）突出( jut的现在分词 )；伸出；（从…）突出；高出 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
rendezvous
|
|
| n.约会，约会地点，汇合点；vi.汇合，集合；vt.使汇合，使在汇合地点相遇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
incapable
|
|
| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
dishonoured
|
|
| a.不光彩的，不名誉的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
torment
|
|
| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
oligarchy
|
|
| n.寡头政治 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
monarchy
|
|
| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
dangled
|
|
| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
inert
|
|
| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
corruption
|
|
| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
mere
|
|
| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
tyrants
|
|
| 专制统治者( tyrant的名词复数 )； 暴君似的人； （古希腊的）僭主； 严酷的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
stature
|
|
| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
loyalty
|
|
| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
reigned
|
|
| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
sporadic
|
|
| adj.偶尔发生的 [反]regular；分散的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
warfare
|
|
| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
indigenous
|
|
| adj.土产的，土生土长的，本地的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
overthrow
|
|
| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
persecution
|
|
| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
pacification
|
|
| n. 讲和，绥靖，平定 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
peril
|
|
| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
coup
|
|
| n.政变；突然而成功的行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
cynically
|
|
| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
annulled
|
|
| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
farce
|
|
| n.闹剧，笑剧，滑稽戏；胡闹 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
underneath
|
|
| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
tenacious
|
|
| adj.顽强的，固执的，记忆力强的，粘的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
pious
|
|
| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
brigandage
|
|
| n.抢劫；盗窃；土匪；强盗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
enrol
|
|
| v.（使）注册入学，（使）入学，（使）入会 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
distinguished
|
|
| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
circuitous
|
|
| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
organisation
|
|
| n.组织，安排，团体，有机休 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
rumours
|
|
| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
bodyguard
|
|
| n.护卫，保镖 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
lessened
|
|
| 减少的，减弱的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
odyssey
|
|
| n.长途冒险旅行；一连串的冒险 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
apparently
|
|
| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
adversary
|
|
| adj.敌手，对手 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
attire
|
|
| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
gaily
|
|
| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
embroidered
|
|
| adj．绣花的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
suspense
|
|
| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
tinted
|
|
| adj. 带色彩的 动词tint的过去式和过去分词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
expectancy
|
|
| n.期望，预期，（根据概率统计求得）预期数额 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
distress
|
|
| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
retired
|
|
| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
decided
|
|
| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
protagonists
|
|
| n.（戏剧的）主角( protagonist的名词复数 )；（故事的）主人公；现实事件（尤指冲突和争端的）主要参与者；领导者 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
affected
|
|
| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
despondent
|
|
| adj.失望的，沮丧的，泄气的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
prospect
|
|
| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
complacently
|
|
| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
adder
|
|
| n.蝰蛇；小毒蛇 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
contrived
|
|
| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
exasperated
|
|
| adj.恼怒的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
exclamation
|
|
| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
meditations
|
|
| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
wager
|
|
| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
embarrassment
|
|
| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
encyclopaedia
|
|
| n.百科全书 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
massacres
|
|
| 大屠杀( massacre的名词复数 )； 惨败 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |