“The late colonel dined the night before his death at the house of the Marquis of Kingsbury, in Park lane. He appeared to be in excellent health and spirits, and left some time after midnight with the Comte de Vaugelade, in whose company he walked up Piccadilly. The count is reported to be the last person who saw him alive.
A couple of days later, and before Frederick had had an opportunity of calling again at Park lane, a well-known society paper, renowned1 for the venom2 of its attacks and for the correctness of its information, published the following paragraph:
“Who is the Comte de Vaugelade, the foreign nobleman, in whose company the late Colonel Clery was last seen alive? We are informed, both at the Belgian Legation and at the French Embassy, that the name and the title are extinct.”
These words caught Frederick's eye as he was glancing over the papers after his early breakfast in the privacy of his own room three days after Colonel Clery's death. He immediately realized that this, together with Lady Alice's mysterious words, was making London too hot for him. It was a great disappointment to have to leave England just as he believed that he was on the point of obtaining his heart's fondest wish—namely, a wife belonging to a wealthy and [Pg 177] noble family, who would place her husband for once and all in the sphere to which he was born. He could then have left his career of adventurer far behind him, and lived the untrammeled life of a gentleman of means and leisure, respected and honored by all.
Men, according to the old Greeks, were the toys of the gods, who, from their high estate in Olympus, put evil and foul3 instincts and desires into their mortal hearts, and then, when the evil actions became the outlet4 of evil thoughts, amused themselves by watching the fruitless efforts made by their victims to escape a cruel and merciless goddess, called Nemesis5, who stood there ready to punish them. The gods may have enjoyed it, but how about the poor mortals? In these days of skepticism and unbelief we have dropped this deity6, but only to replace her by another, whom we have christened Fate, and whom we use as a scapegoat7 upon which to lay the blame of our own shortcomings. The true religion of Fate, however, is that our lives are the outcome of our actions. Every action, good or bad, has its corresponding reward—as Frederick found to his cost.
He resolved to leave London without delay; but, fearing that if he traveled via Dover or Folkestone, he might meet a number of his English acquaintances, and thereby9 attract attention—a thing he particularly wished to avoid—he determined10 to take the train for Southampton that very afternoon, and thence to proceed to St. Malo, on the coast of Brittany.
Before his departure, he wrote a long letter to Lady Kingsbury, informing her that to his great sorrow he had been called away by his only sister's dangerous illness, and that, having no time to come and make his adieus in person, he begged her ladyship to remember him most gratefully to the marquis, and to her son and daughters, whose kindness, as well as her own, he could never forget. He added that he hoped soon to be able to return to London, [Pg 178] since it was his most cherished wish to meet them all again.
That same evening he embarked11 on board one of those small steamboats which make the passage between Southampton and St. Malo, and as he lay tossing on the narrow couch of the deck cabin, many a bitter thought filled his troubled mind. He got but little sleep, and when the vessel12 steamed into the harbor of St. Malo he was standing13 on deck, looking moodily14 into the deep, transparent15 waters, where the jelly-fish were floating many fathoms16 beneath the surface of the bay, and where a school of porpoises17 were sporting in the foaming18 track left by the ship.
St. Malo is one of the most picturesque19 places in France, and one of the most ancient. It is fortified20, and its gray, moss-grown walls and battlements, when seen from the entrance of the harbor, carry one back to old feudal21 times.
Frederick, having passed his trunks through the custom-house, made his way to the best hotel in the place—a grim-looking stone building, with mullioned windows, rusty22 iron balconies, and peaked roof, which looked more like one of Dore's pictures than any modern hostelry. Entering the office of the hotel, he asked for a sitting-room23 and bedroom, and was soon ushered24 into the very suite25 of apartments in which the poet Chateaubriand had been born. The ponderous26 oak furniture of the rooms, coupled with the dark paneling of the walls, rendered them a rather gloomy place of abode27.
He walked listlessly to the window, and amused himself in watching the crowd of peasants, who, as it was market-day, were assembling upon the esplanade in front of the hotel. The poorer classes have kept here in all its integrity the costume which was worn before the French revolution of 1793 by the peasants in Brittany and the Vendee. The men with their red coats, baggy28 white breeches, tied with ribbons at the knee over their crimson29 stockings, low silver-buckled shoes, and three-cornered hats; the women with [Pg 179] their short dark woolen30 petticoats, blue or pink aprons31, lace fichus, and white caps, which look like the wings of a gigantic butterfly, presented a scene not only animated32, but also exceedingly picturesque, which appealed strongly to Frederick's artistic33 instincts. Taking his sketch34-book with him, he went down stairs again, with the intention of making a few sketches35 of this queer little town and its quaint8 inhabitants.
He walked over to St. Servan, and, after spending some time in taking a sketch of the walls and turrets36 of St. Malo, he hired a boat and rowed over to the island of Grand Bey, where he intended to visit Chateaubriand's monument. When he returned to the Hotel de France, he ordered his dinner to be brought up to his sitting-room; and long after the piquant37 little chambermaid had removed the cloth, and noiselessly left the great dark room, he sat wrapt deep in thought, brooding over the past and planning out the future, which seemed very uncertain to him at that moment.
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1
renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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2
venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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3
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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nemesis
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| n.给以报应者，复仇者，难以对付的敌手 | |
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deity
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| n.神，神性；被奉若神明的人(或物) | |
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7
scapegoat
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| n.替罪的羔羊，替人顶罪者；v.使…成为替罪羊 | |
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8
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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10
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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embarked
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| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
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12
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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13
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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14
moodily
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| adv.喜怒无常地；情绪多变地；心情不稳地；易生气地 | |
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15
transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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16
fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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17
porpoises
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| n.鼠海豚( porpoise的名词复数 ) | |
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18
foaming
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| adj.布满泡沫的；发泡 | |
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19
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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feudal
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| adj.封建的，封地的，领地的 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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24
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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baggy
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| adj.膨胀如袋的，宽松下垂的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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31
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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32
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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34
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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35
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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36
turrets
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| （六角）转台( turret的名词复数 )； （战舰和坦克等上的）转动炮塔； （摄影机等上的）镜头转台； （旧时攻城用的）塔车 | |
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37
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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