His people were sometimes terrified to see him, for hours together, absorbed in silent reverie, mute and insensible; he no longer heard the timid step of the servant who came to the door of his chamber15 to watch the sleeping or waking of his master. It often occurred that he forgot the day had half passed away, that the hours for the two first meals were gone by. Then he was awakened16. He rose, descended17 to his shady walk, then came out a little into the sun, as though to partake of its warmth for a minute in memory of his absent child. And then the dismal18 monotonous19 walk recommenced, until, exhausted20, he regained21 the chamber and his bed, his domicile by choice. For several days the comte did not speak a single word. He refused to receive the visits that were paid him, and during the night he was seen to relight his lamp and pass long hours in writing, or examining parchments.
Athos wrote one of these letters to Vannes, another to Fontainebleau; they remained without answers. We know why: Aramis had quitted France, and D’Artagnan was traveling from Nantes to Paris, from Paris to Pierrefonds. His valet de chambre observed that he shortened his walk every day by several turns. The great alley22 of limes soon became too long for feet that used to traverse it formerly a hundred times a day. The comte walked feebly as far as the middle trees, seated himself upon a mossy bank that sloped towards a sidewalk, and there waited the return of his strength, or rather the return of night. Very shortly a hundred steps exhausted him. At length Athos refused to rise at all; he declined all nourishment23, and his terrified people, although he did not complain, although he wore a smile upon his lips, although he continued to speak with his sweet voice — his people went to Blois in search of the ancient physician of the late Monsieur, and brought him to the Comte de la Fere in such a fashion that he could see the comte without being himself seen. For this purpose, they placed him in a closet adjoining the chamber of the patient, and implored24 him not to show himself, for fear of displeasing25 their master, who had not asked for a physician. The doctor obeyed. Athos was a sort of model for the gentlemen of the country; the Blaisois boasted of possessing this sacred relic26 of French glory. Athos was a great seigneur compared with such nobles as the king improvised27 by touching28 with his artificial scepter the parched-up trunks of the heraldic trees of the province.
People respected Athos, we say, and they loved him. The physician could not bear to see his people weep, to see flock round him the poor of the canton, to whom Athos had so often given life and consolation29 by his kind words and his charities. He examined, therefore, from the depths of his hiding-place, the nature of that mysterious malady30 which bent and aged31 more mortally every day a man but lately so full of life and a desire to live. He remarked upon the cheeks of Athos the hectic32 hue33 of fever, which feeds upon itself; slow fever, pitiless, born in a fold of the heart, sheltering itself behind that rampart, growing from the suffering it engenders34, at once cause and effect of a perilous35 situation. The comte spoke36 to nobody; he did not even talk to himself. His thought feared noise; it approached to that degree of over-excitement which borders upon ecstasy37. Man thus absorbed, though he does not yet belong to God, already appertains no longer to the earth. The doctor remained for several hours studying this painful struggle of the will against superior power; he was terrified at seeing those eyes always fixed38, ever directed on some invisible object; was terrified at the monotonous beating of that heart from which never a sigh arose to vary the melancholy39 state; for often pain becomes the hope of the physician. Half a day passed away thus. The doctor formed his resolution like a brave man; he issued suddenly from his place of retreat, and went straight up to Athos, who beheld40 him without evincing more surprise than if he had understood nothing of the apparition41.
“Monsieur le comte, I crave42 your pardon,” said the doctor, coming up to the patient with open arms; “but I have a reproach to make you — you shall hear me.” And he seated himself by the pillow of Athos, who had great trouble in rousing himself from his preoccupation.
“What is the matter, doctor?” asked the comte, after a silence.
“The matter is, you are ill, monsieur, and have had no advice.”
“I! ill!” said Athos, smiling.
“Fever, consumption, weakness, decay, monsieur le comte!”
“Weakness!” replied Athos; “is it possible? I do not get up.”
“Come, come! monsieur le comte, no subterfuges43; you are a good Christian44?”
“I hope so,” said Athos.
“Is it your wish to kill yourself?”
“Never, doctor.”
“Well! monsieur, you are in a fair way of doing so. Thus to remain is suicide. Get well! monsieur le comte, get well!”
“Of what? Find the disease first. For my part, I never knew myself better; never did the sky appear more blue to me; never did I take more care of my flowers.”
“You have a hidden grief.”
“Concealed! — not at all; the absence of my son, doctor; that is my malady, and I do not conceal45 it.”
“Monsieur le comte, your son lives, he is strong, he has all the future before him — the future of men of merit, of his race; live for him —”
“But I do live, doctor; oh! be satisfied of that,” added he, with a melancholy smile; “for as long as Raoul lives, it will be plainly known, for as long as he lives, I shall live.”
“What do you say?”
“A very simple thing. At this moment, doctor, I leave life suspended within me. A forgetful, dissipated, indifferent life would be beyond my strength, now I have no longer Raoul with me. You do not ask the lamp to burn when the match has not illumed the flame; do not ask me to live amidst noise and merriment. I vegetate46, I prepare myself, I wait. Look, doctor; remember those soldiers we have so often seen together at the ports, where they were waiting to embark47; lying down, indifferent, half on one element, half on the other; they were neither at the place where the sea was going to carry them, nor at the place the earth was going to lose them; baggage prepared, minds on the stretch, arms stacked — they waited. I repeat it, the word is the one which paints my present life. Lying down like the soldiers, my ear on the stretch for the report that may reach me, I wish to be ready to set out at the first summons. Who will make me that summons? life or death? God or Raoul? My baggage is packed, my soul is prepared, I await the signal — I wait, doctor, I wait!”
The doctor knew the temper of that mind; he appreciated the strength of that body; he reflected for the moment, told himself that words were useless, remedies absurd, and left the chateau48, exhorting49 Athos’s servants not to quit him for a moment.
The doctor being gone, Athos evinced neither anger nor vexation at having been disturbed. He did not even desire that all letters that came should be brought to him directly. He knew very well that every distraction50 which should arise would be a joy, a hope, which his servants would have paid with their blood to procure51 him. Sleep had become rare. By intense thinking, Athos forgot himself, for a few hours at most, in a reverie most profound, more obscure than other people would have called a dream. The momentary52 repose53 which this forgetfulness thus gave the body, still further fatigued54 the soul, for Athos lived a double life during these wanderings of his understanding. One night, he dreamt that Raoul was dressing55 himself in a tent, to go upon an expedition commanded by M. de Beaufort in person. The young man was sad; he clasped his cuirass slowly, and slowly he girded on his sword.
“What is the matter?” asked his father, tenderly.
“What afflicts56 me is the death of Porthos, ever so dear a friend,” replied Raoul. “I suffer here the grief you soon will feel at home.”
And the vision disappeared with the slumber57 of Athos. At daybreak one of his servants entered his master’s apartment, and gave him a letter which came from Spain.
“The writing of Aramis,” thought the comte; and he read.
“Porthos is dead!” cried he, after the first lines. “Oh! Raoul, Raoul! thanks! thou keepest thy promise, thou warnest me!”
And Athos, seized with a mortal sweat, fainted in his bed, without any other cause than weakness.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vigor
|
|
| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
accretion
|
|
| n.自然的增长，增加物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
erect
|
|
| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
kindle
|
|
| v.点燃，着火 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
exquisite
|
|
| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
warrior
|
|
| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
fatigue
|
|
| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
serenity
|
|
| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
bent
|
|
| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
solitude
|
|
| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
glades
|
|
| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
penetrated
|
|
| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
mighty
|
|
| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
chamber
|
|
| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
descended
|
|
| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
dismal
|
|
| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
exhausted
|
|
| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
regained
|
|
| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
alley
|
|
| n.小巷，胡同；小径，小路 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
nourishment
|
|
| n.食物，营养品；营养情况 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
implored
|
|
| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
displeasing
|
|
| 不愉快的，令人发火的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
relic
|
|
| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
improvised
|
|
| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
touching
|
|
| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
malady
|
|
| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
aged
|
|
| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
hectic
|
|
| adj.肺病的；消耗热的；发热的；闹哄哄的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
hue
|
|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
engenders
|
|
| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
perilous
|
|
| adj.危险的，冒险的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
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： |
|
|
|
|
37
ecstasy
|
|
| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
beheld
|
|
| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
apparition
|
|
| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
crave
|
|
| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
subterfuges
|
|
| n.（用说谎或欺骗以逃脱责备、困难等的）花招，遁词( subterfuge的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
|
44
Christian
|
|
| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
conceal
|
|
| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
vegetate
|
|
| v.无所事事地过活 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
embark
|
|
| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
chateau
|
|
| n.城堡，别墅 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
exhorting
|
|
| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
distraction
|
|
| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
procure
|
|
| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
momentary
|
|
| adj.片刻的，瞬息的；短暂的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
repose
|
|
| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
fatigued
|
|
| adj. 疲乏的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
dressing
|
|
| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
afflicts
|
|
| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
slumber
|
|
| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |