Aramis and Porthos, having profited by the time granted them by Fouquet, did honor to the French cavalry1 by their speed. Porthos did not clearly understand on what kind of mission he was forced to display so much velocity2; but as he saw Aramis spurring on furiously, he, Porthos, spurred on in the same way. They had soon, in this manner, placed twelve leagues between them and Vaux; they were then obliged to change horses, and organize a sort of post arrangement. It was during a relay that Porthos ventured to interrogate3 Aramis discreetly4.
“Hush!” replied the latter, “know only that our fortune depends on our speed.”
As if Porthos had still been the musketeer, without a sou or a maille of 1626, he pushed forward. That magic word “fortune” always means something in the human ear. It means enough for those who have nothing; it means too much for those who have enough.
“I shall be made a duke!” said Porthos, aloud. He was speaking to himself.
“That is possible,” replied Aramis, smiling after his own fashion, as Porthos’s horse passed him. Aramis felt, notwithstanding, as though his brain were on fire; the activity of the body had not yet succeeded in subduing5 that of the mind. All there is of raging passion, mental toothache or mortal threat, raged, gnawed6 and grumbled7 in the thoughts of the unhappy prelate. His countenance8 exhibited visible traces of this rude combat. Free on the highway to abandon himself to every impression of the moment, Aramis did not fail to swear at every start of his horse, at every inequality in the road. Pale, at times inundated9 with boiling sweats, then again dry and icy, he flogged his horses till the blood streamed from their sides. Porthos, whose dominant10 fault was not sensibility, groaned11 at this. Thus traveled they on for eight long hours, and then arrived at Orleans. It was four o’clock in the afternoon. Aramis, on observing this, judged that nothing showed pursuit to be a possibility. It would be without example that a troop capable of taking him and Porthos should be furnished with relays sufficient to perform forty leagues in eight hours. Thus, admitting pursuit, which was not at all manifest, the fugitives12 were five hours in advance of their pursuers.
Aramis thought that there might be no imprudence in taking a little rest, but that to continue would make the matter more certain. Twenty leagues more, performed with the same rapidity, twenty more leagues devoured13, and no one, not even D’Artagnan, could overtake the enemies of the king. Aramis felt obliged, therefore, to inflict14 upon Porthos the pain of mounting on horseback again. They rode on till seven o’clock in the evening, and had only one post more between them and Blois. But here a diabolical15 accident alarmed Aramis greatly. There were no horses at the post. The prelate asked himself by what infernal machination his enemies had succeeded in depriving him of the means of going further — he who never recognized chance as a deity16, who found a cause for every accident, preferred believing that the refusal of the postmaster, at such an hour, in such a country, was the consequence of an order emanating17 from above: an order given with a view of stopping short the king-maker in the midst of his flight. But at the moment he was about to fly into a passion, so as to procure18 either a horse or an explanation, he was struck with the recollection that the Comte de la Fere lived in the neighborhood.
“I am not traveling,” said he; “I do not want horses for a whole stage. Find me two horses to go and pay a visit to a nobleman of my acquaintance who resides near this place.”
“What nobleman?” asked the postmaster.
“M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“Oh!” replied the postmaster, uncovering with respect, “a very worthy19 nobleman. But, whatever may be my desire to make myself agreeable to him, I cannot furnish you with horses, for all mine are engaged by M. le Duc de Beaufort.”
“Indeed!” said Aramis, much disappointed.
“Only,” continued the postmaster, “if you will put up with a little carriage I have, I will harness an old blind horse who has still his legs left, and peradventure will draw you to the house of M. le Comte de la Fere.”
“It is worth a louis,” said Aramis.
“No, monsieur, such a ride is worth no more than a crown; that is what M. Grimaud, the comte’s intendant, always pays me when he makes use of that carriage; and I should not wish the Comte de la Fere to have to reproach me with having imposed on one of his friends.”
“As you please,” said Aramis, “particularly as regards disobliging the Comte de la Fere; only I think I have a right to give you a louis for your idea.”
“Oh! doubtless,” replied the postmaster with delight. And he himself harnessed the ancient horse to the creaking carriage. In the meantime Porthos was curious to behold20. He imagined he had discovered a clew to the secret, and he felt pleased, because a visit to Athos, in the first place, promised him much satisfaction, and, in the next, gave him the hope of finding at the same time a good bed and good supper. The master, having got the carriage ready, ordered one of his men to drive the strangers to La Fere. Porthos took his seat by the side of Aramis, whispering in his ear, “I understand.”
“Aha!” said Aramis, “and what do you understand, my friend?”
“We are going, on the part of the king, to make some great proposal to Athos.”
“Pooh!” said Aramis.
“You need tell me nothing about it,” added the worthy Porthos, endeavoring to reseat himself so as to avoid the jolting21, “you need tell me nothing, I shall guess.”
“Well! do, my friend; guess away.”
They arrived at Athos’s dwelling22 about nine o’clock in the evening, favored by a splendid moon. This cheerful light rejoiced Porthos beyond expression; but Aramis appeared annoyed by it in an equal degree. He could not help showing something of this to Porthos, who replied —“Ay! ay! I guess how it is! the mission is a secret one.”
These were his last words in the carriage. The driver interrupted him by saying, “Gentlemen, we have arrived.”
Porthos and his companion alighted before the gate of the little chateau23, where we are about to meet again our old acquaintances Athos and Bragelonne, the latter of whom had disappeared since the discovery of the infidelity of La Valliere. If there be one saying truer than another, it is this: great griefs contain within themselves the germ of consolation24. This painful wound, inflicted25 upon Raoul, had drawn26 him nearer to his father again; and God knows how sweet were the consolations27 which flowed from the eloquent28 mouth and generous heart of Athos. The wound was not cicatrized, but Athos, by dint29 of conversing30 with his son and mixing a little more of his life with that of the young man, had brought him to understand that this pang31 of a first infidelity is necessary to every human existence; and that no one has loved without encountering it. Raoul listened, again and again, but never understood. Nothing replaces in the deeply afflicted32 heart the remembrance and thought of the beloved object. Raoul then replied to the reasoning of his father:
“Monsieur, all that you tell me is true; I believe that no one has suffered in the affections of the heart so much as you have; but you are a man too great by reason of intelligence, and too severely33 tried by adverse34 fortune not to allow for the weakness of the soldier who suffers for the first time. I am paying a tribute that will not be paid a second time; permit me to plunge35 myself so deeply in my grief that I may forget myself in it, that I may drown even my reason in it.”
“Raoul! Raoul!”
“Listen, monsieur. Never shall I accustom36 myself to the idea that Louise, the chastest and most innocent of women, has been able to so basely deceive a man so honest and so true a lover as myself. Never can I persuade myself that I see that sweet and noble mask change into a hypocritical lascivious37 face. Louise lost! Louise infamous38! Ah! monseigneur, that idea is much more cruel to me than Raoul abandoned — Raoul unhappy!”
Athos then employed the heroic remedy. He defended Louise against Raoul, and justified39 her perfidy40 by her love. “A woman who would have yielded to a king because he is a king,” said he, “would deserve to be styled infamous; but Louise loves Louis. Young, both, they have forgotten, he his rank, she her vows41. Love absolves42 everything, Raoul. The two young people love each other with sincerity43.”
And when he had dealt this severe poniard-thrust, Athos, with a sigh, saw Raoul bound away beneath the rankling44 wound, and fly to the thickest recesses45 of the wood, or the solitude46 of his chamber47, whence, an hour after, he would return, pale, trembling, but subdued48. Then, coming up to Athos with a smile, he would kiss his hand, like the dog who, having been beaten, caresses49 a respected master, to redeem50 his fault. Raoul redeemed51 nothing but his weakness, and only confessed his grief. Thus passed away the days that followed that scene in which Athos had so violently shaken the indomitable pride of the king. Never, when conversing with his son, did he make any allusion52 to that scene; never did he give him the details of that vigorous lecture, which might, perhaps, have consoled the young man, by showing him his rival humbled53. Athos did not wish that the offended lover should forget the respect due to his king. And when Bragelonne, ardent54, angry, and melancholy55, spoke56 with contempt of royal words, of the equivocal faith which certain madmen draw from promises that emanate57 from thrones, when, passing over two centuries, with that rapidity of a bird that traverses a narrow strait to go from one continent to the other, Raoul ventured to predict the time in which kings would be esteemed58 as less than other men, Athos said to him, in his serene59, persuasive60 voice, “You are right, Raoul; all that you say will happen; kings will lose their privileges, as stars which have survived their aeons lose their splendor61. But when that moment comes, Raoul, we shall be dead. And remember well what I say to you. In this world, all, men, women, and kings, must live for the present. We can only live for the future for God.”
This was the manner in which Athos and Raoul were, as usual, conversing, and walking backwards62 and forwards in the long alley63 of limes in the park, when the bell which served to announce to the comte either the hour of dinner or the arrival of a visitor, was rung; and, without attaching any importance to it, he turned towards the house with his son; and at the end of the alley they found themselves in the presence of Aramis and Porthos.
点击收听单词发音
1 cavalry | |
n.骑兵;轻装甲部队 | |
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2 velocity | |
n.速度,速率 | |
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3 interrogate | |
vt.讯问,审问,盘问 | |
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4 discreetly | |
ad.(言行)审慎地,慎重地 | |
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5 subduing | |
征服( subdue的现在分词 ); 克制; 制服; 色变暗 | |
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6 gnawed | |
咬( gnaw的过去式和过去分词 ); (长时间) 折磨某人; (使)苦恼; (长时间)危害某事物 | |
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7 grumbled | |
抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 ); 发牢骚; 咕哝; 发哼声 | |
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8 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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9 inundated | |
v.淹没( inundate的过去式和过去分词 );(洪水般地)涌来;充满;给予或交予(太多事物)使难以应付 | |
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10 dominant | |
adj.支配的,统治的;占优势的;显性的;n.主因,要素,主要的人(或物);显性基因 | |
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11 groaned | |
v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 );发牢骚;抱怨;受苦 | |
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12 fugitives | |
n.亡命者,逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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13 devoured | |
吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 ); 耗尽; 津津有味地看; 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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14 inflict | |
vt.(on)把…强加给,使遭受,使承担 | |
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15 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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16 deity | |
n.神,神性;被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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17 emanating | |
v.从…处传出,传出( emanate的现在分词 );产生,表现,显示 | |
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18 procure | |
vt.获得,取得,促成;vi.拉皮条 | |
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19 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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20 behold | |
v.看,注视,看到 | |
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21 jolting | |
adj.令人震惊的 | |
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22 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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23 chateau | |
n.城堡,别墅 | |
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24 consolation | |
n.安慰,慰问 | |
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25 inflicted | |
把…强加给,使承受,遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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26 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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27 consolations | |
n.安慰,慰问( consolation的名词复数 );起安慰作用的人(或事物) | |
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28 eloquent | |
adj.雄辩的,口才流利的;明白显示出的 | |
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29 dint | |
n.由于,靠;凹坑 | |
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30 conversing | |
v.交谈,谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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31 pang | |
n.剧痛,悲痛,苦闷 | |
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32 afflicted | |
使受痛苦,折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33 severely | |
adv.严格地;严厉地;非常恶劣地 | |
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34 adverse | |
adj.不利的;有害的;敌对的,不友好的 | |
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35 plunge | |
v.跳入,(使)投入,(使)陷入;猛冲 | |
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36 accustom | |
vt.使适应,使习惯 | |
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37 lascivious | |
adj.淫荡的,好色的 | |
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38 infamous | |
adj.声名狼藉的,臭名昭著的,邪恶的 | |
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39 justified | |
a.正当的,有理的 | |
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40 perfidy | |
n.背信弃义,不忠贞 | |
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41 vows | |
誓言( vow的名词复数 ); 郑重宣布,许愿 | |
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42 absolves | |
宣告…无罪,赦免…的罪行,宽恕…的罪行( absolve的第三人称单数 ); 不受责难,免除责任 [义务] ,开脱(罪责) | |
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43 sincerity | |
n.真诚,诚意;真实 | |
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44 rankling | |
v.(使)痛苦不已,(使)怨恨不已( rankle的现在分词 ) | |
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45 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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46 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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47 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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48 subdued | |
adj. 屈服的,柔和的,减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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49 caresses | |
爱抚,抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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50 redeem | |
v.买回,赎回,挽回,恢复,履行(诺言等) | |
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51 redeemed | |
adj. 可赎回的,可救赎的 动词redeem的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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52 allusion | |
n.暗示,间接提示 | |
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53 humbled | |
adj. 卑下的,谦逊的,粗陋的 vt. 使 ... 卑下,贬低 | |
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54 ardent | |
adj.热情的,热烈的,强烈的,烈性的 | |
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55 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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56 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 | |
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57 emanate | |
v.发自,来自,出自 | |
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58 esteemed | |
adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 );敬重;认为;以为 | |
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59 serene | |
adj. 安详的,宁静的,平静的 | |
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60 persuasive | |
adj.有说服力的,能说得使人相信的 | |
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61 splendor | |
n.光彩;壮丽,华丽;显赫,辉煌 | |
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62 backwards | |
adv.往回地,向原处,倒,相反,前后倒置地 | |
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63 alley | |
n.小巷,胡同;小径,小路 | |
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