Thou ought’st! thou must!
I tell thee at his feet
I’ll fall a corse, ere mount his bridal bed!
Go choose betwixt my rescue and my grave.
Knowles.—The hunchbach
Notwithstanding the dreadful nature of the events which had occurred during that fatal night, Paul had not forgotten the mortal defiance2 which had been exchanged between himself and Lectoure. As that young gentleman would probably not know where to find him, he thought it only decorous to save Lectoure the trouble of seeking for him, and about seven in the morning, Lieutenant3 Walter presented himself at the castle, being charged on behalf of Paul to arrange the terms of the combat. He found Emanuel in Lectoure’s apartment. The latter, on perceiving the officer, withdrew, and went down into the park, that the two young men might more freely discuss the matter. Walter had received from his commander directions to accede4 to every thing that might be proposed. The preliminary terms were, therefore, very speedily arranged; and it was agreed between them, that the meeting should take place in the afternoon, at four o’clock. The place of rendezvous5 the sea-side, near the fisherman’s hut, which was about half-way between Port Louis and Auray castle. As to the weapons, they were to bring their pistols and their swords; it would be decided6 on the spot which they were to use, it being clearly understood that Lectoure, having been the party insulted, should have the right to make his choice.
As to the marchioness, although in the first instance petrified7 by the unexpected appearance of Paul, she soon recovered all her natural firmness, and drawing her veil over her face, she withdrew from the chamber8, and walked across the outer room which had remained in darkness. She did not, therefore, perceive Marguerite, who was kneeling in one corner of it, mute from astonishment9 and terror. She after that crossed the park, entered the castle, and repaired to the room in which the scene of the contract had taken place. There, by the dying light of the wax tapers10, with both her elbows resting on the table, her head supported on her hands, her eyes riveted11 to the paper to which Lectoure had already affixed12 his name, and the marquis had signed the half of his, she passed the remainder of the night reflecting upon a new determination. Thus she awaited the coming day without even thinking of taking the least repose13, so powerfully did her soul of adamant15 support the body in which it was enclosed. This resolution was to get Emanuel and Marguerite away from the castle as speedily as possible, for it was from her children, most especially, that she desired to conceal16 that which was about to take place between Paul and herself.
Marguerite, who had been thus most unexpectedly present at the death-bed of the marquis and of Achard, through which she had so providentially discovered her mother’s secret, rushed into Paul’s arms immediately after her mother’s departure from the cottage, exclaiming:
“Oh! now you are really my brother.”
Her tears choked further utterance17, and it was some minutes before Paul could tranquillize her agitated18 spirit, torn by so many and such conflicting emotions. Paul then fearing that the marchioness might enquire19 for her daughter, on her arrival at the castle, urged Marguerite to hasten thither20; and seeing she was still trembling at the recollection of the many horrors she had witnessed, led her out of the cottage, of which he locked the door, and accompanied her to within a few paces of the castle. During this walk, Marguerite had in a certain degree, recovered her composure. Paul stood gazing at her till he saw that she had safely entered the court yard, and then returned to watch and pray beside the body of his father’s faithful servant.
At seven o’clock, the marchioness hearing the noise occasioned by Lieutenant Walter’s arrival at the castle, reached a bell which was standing1 on the table and rang it. A servant presented himself at the door in the grand livery he had worn the previous evening—it was easy to perceive that he also had not been in bed.
“Inform Mademoiselle d’Auray, that her mother is waiting for her in the drawing room,” said the marchioness.
The servant obeyed, and the marchioness resumed, gloomy and motionless, her previous attitude. In a few minutes afterward21, she heard a slight noise behind her, and turned round. It was Marguerite. The young girl, with more respect, perhaps, than she had ever before evinced, held out her hand toward her mother, that she might give her her hand to kiss. But the marchioness remained motionless, as if she had not understood the intention of her daughter. Marguerite let fall her hand, and silently awaited her mother’s pleasure. She also wore the same dress as the night before. Sleep had hovered22 over the whole world, but had forgotten the inhabitants of Auray castle.
“Come nearer,” said the marchioness.
Marguerite advanced one step.
“Why is it that you are thus pale and trembling,” continued the marchioness.
“Madam,” murmured Marguerite.
“Speak,” said the marchioness.
“The death of my father—so sudden—so unexpected,” stammered23 Marguerite; “indeed I have suffered so much this night.”
“Yes, yes,” rejoined the marchioness, in a hollow tone, but fixing on her daughter looks which were not altogether void of affection: “yes, the young tree bends before the wind, and is stripped of its leaves. The old oak alone withstands every tempest. I, also, have suffered, Marguerite, and suffered much. I have passed a dreadful night, and yet you see me calm and firm.”
“God has endowed you with a soul, my mother, firm and austere24; but you should not expect the same strength and firmness in the souls of others. You would destroy them.”
“And therefore is it,” replied the marchioness, letting her hand fall upon the table, “that all I ask of you is obedience25. The marquis is dead, Marguerite, and Emanuel is now the head of the family. You must immediately set out for Bennes with Emanuel.”
“I!” exclaimed Marguerite, “I set out for Bennes! and for what purpose?”
“Because the chapel26 of the castle is too narrow to contain at the same moment the wedding party of the daughter, and the funeral procession of the father.”
“My mother!” replied Marguerite with an indescribable accent of anguish27, “it would seem to me to be more pious28 to place a longer interval29 between two ceremonies of so opposite a nature.”
“True piety,” rejoined the marchioness, “should lead us to fulfil the last wishes of the dead. Cast your eyes upon this contract, and see the first letters of your father’s name.”
“Oh! madam!” cried Marguerite, “allow me to ask you whether my father, when he traced these letters, which death prevented him from finishing, was in possession of his faculties30, and did he write them of his own free will?”
“Of that, I am ignorant, mademoiselle,” replied the marchioness, with that imperative31 and icy tone, which until this time had subjected all that approached her.
“I am ignorant of that, but this I know, that the influence which made him thus act, he fully14 understood; and I know, also, that parents, as long as they exist, should, in the eyes of their children, have the authority of God. Now, God has ordained32 me to effect things terrible in themselves, and I have obeyed. Do as I have done, mademoiselle, obey!”
“Madam,” said Marguerite, who had remained standing, but who now seemed motionless, with somewhat of that determined33 tone, which in her mother was so terrible, and in which she had inherited from her; “madam! it is only three days ago, that with tearful eyes, I threw myself first at the feet of Emanuel, then at the feet of the man whom you would compel me to receive as my husband, and then at my father’s. Neither of them would or could listen to me, for grasping ambition, or reckless madness hardened their hearts, and drowned my voice. At length, I am now at your feet, my mother, you are the last whom I can supplicate34, but also, you are best capable of understanding me, Listen, then, attentively35, to what I am about to say. Had I only to sacrifice my own happiness to your will, I would make that sacrifice: my love! I would sacrifice that also; but I must also sacrifice my son.—You are a mother, and I also, madam.”
“A mother!—a mother!” cried the marchioness.
“Yes! a mother, but by a dreadful fault——”
“Be that as it may, madam, still I am a mother, and the feelings of a mother need not be sanctified, in order to be holy. Well, then, madam, tell me—for you should better comprehend these things than I—tell me if those who have given us birth, have received from heaven a voice which speaks to our hearts—have not those to whom we have given birth a voice as powerful, and when these two voices are opposed to each other, to which ought we to obey?”
“You will never hear the voice of your child.” said the marchioness; “for you will never again see him.”
“I shall never again see my son!” exclaimed Marguerite, “and who, madam, can assert that positively36?”
“He will himself be ignorant as to whose son he is.”
“And should he some day discover it?” replied Marguerite; whose respect as a daughter was giving way before her mother’s harshness; “if he should then come to me and demand an account of his birth—and this may happen, madam,”—she took up the pen—“and, with such an alternative awaiting me, tell me, ought I to sign this contract?”
“Sign it,” said the marchioness.
“But,” observed Marguerite, placing her trembling and convulsed fingers upon the contract, “should my husband some day discover the existence of this child; should he demand an explanation from my lover, of the wrong committed against his name and honor? If in a desperate duel37, alone and without seconds—a duel in which it is agreed that one must fall, he should kill that lover, and then, tormented38 by his conscience, pursued by a voice from the tomb, my husband should at length become deprived of reason—”
“Be silent!” cried the marchioness, her features quivering with terror, but still doubting whether it was chance, or some unheard of discovery which dictated39 the words her daughter had employed: “be silent!”
“You would have me, then,” continued Marguerite, who had now said too much to pause, “you would have me, then, in order to preserve my name, and that of my other children, pure and unsullied, that I should immure40 myself with a man deprived of reason! you would have me banish41 from my sight, and from his, every living being, and that I should render my heart iron, that I may no longer feel—that my eyes should never shed a tear! You would have me, then, clothe myself in mourning as a widow, before my husband’s death? You would have my hair turn white, twenty years before the accustomed time?”
“Be silent! say not another word!” cried the marchioness, in a tone which proved that menaces were giving way to fear: “be silent!”
“You would have me, then,” continued Marguerite, carried away by the bitterness of her grief; “you would have me, then, in order that the dreadful secret might die with those who have the keeping of it, that I should banish from their death-beds, both priest and physician—you would, in fine, that I should wander from one death-bed to another, that I might close, not the eyes, but the mouths of the dying.”
“Well, then,” continued Marguerite, “tell me again, my mother, to sign this paper, and all this will happen, and the malediction43 of the Lord will be accomplished44, and the faults of the fathers shall be visited upon the children, even to the third and fourth generations.”
“Ah! my God! my God!” exclaimed the marchioness, bursting into tears, “am I not sufficiently45 humbled—am I not sufficiently punished?”
“Pardon! pardon! madam,” cried Marguerite, recalled to filial feeling by the first tears she had ever seen her mother shed; “I implore46 you to forgive me.”
“Yes, pardon! ask for forgiveness, unnatural47 daughter,” said the marchioness, advancing toward Marguerite, “you who have wrenched48 the scourge49 from the hands of eternal vengeance50, and have yourself applied51 the lash52 even on your mother’s forehead.”
“Mercy! mercy!” reiterated53 Marguerite; “pardon me, my mother. I knew not what I said. You had deprived me of reason—-I was mad!”
“Oh! my God! my God,” said the marchioness, raising both her hands above her daughter’s head, “Thou hast heard the words which have issued from my daughter’s lips. It would be too much to hope that thy mercy will forget them; but at the moment thou shalt punish her, remember that I have not cursed her!”
She then moved toward the door; her daughter endeavored to retain her, but the marchioness turned toward her with an expression of countenance54 so fearful, that without needing to lay a command upon her, Marguerite dropped the skirt of her mother’s dress, and remained with arms outstretched towards her, mute and palpitating, until the marchioness had disappeared. And when she no longer saw her, she threw herself upon the ground with so piercing a shriek55, that it might have been deemed that the heart which had so much suffered, had at length broken.
点击收听单词发音
1 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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2 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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3 lieutenant | |
n.陆军中尉,海军上尉;代理官员,副职官员 | |
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4 accede | |
v.应允,同意 | |
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5 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 | |
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6 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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7 petrified | |
adj.惊呆的;目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆,使惊呆;变僵硬;使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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8 chamber | |
n.房间,寝室;会议厅;议院;会所 | |
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9 astonishment | |
n.惊奇,惊异 | |
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10 tapers | |
(长形物体的)逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 ); 微弱的光; 极细的蜡烛 | |
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11 riveted | |
铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 ); 把…固定住; 吸引; 引起某人的注意 | |
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12 affixed | |
adj.[医]附着的,附着的v.附加( affix的过去式和过去分词 );粘贴;加以;盖(印章) | |
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13 repose | |
v.(使)休息;n.安息 | |
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14 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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15 adamant | |
adj.坚硬的,固执的 | |
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16 conceal | |
v.隐藏,隐瞒,隐蔽 | |
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17 utterance | |
n.用言语表达,话语,言语 | |
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18 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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19 enquire | |
v.打听,询问;调查,查问 | |
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20 thither | |
adv.向那里;adj.在那边的,对岸的 | |
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21 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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22 hovered | |
鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 ); 靠近(某事物); (人)徘徊; 犹豫 | |
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23 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 austere | |
adj.艰苦的;朴素的,朴实无华的;严峻的 | |
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25 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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26 chapel | |
n.小教堂,殡仪馆 | |
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27 anguish | |
n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦,烦恼 | |
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28 pious | |
adj.虔诚的;道貌岸然的 | |
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29 interval | |
n.间隔,间距;幕间休息,中场休息 | |
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30 faculties | |
n.能力( faculty的名词复数 );全体教职员;技巧;院 | |
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31 imperative | |
n.命令,需要;规则;祈使语气;adj.强制的;紧急的 | |
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32 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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33 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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34 supplicate | |
v.恳求;adv.祈求地,哀求地,恳求地 | |
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35 attentively | |
adv.聚精会神地;周到地;谛;凝神 | |
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36 positively | |
adv.明确地,断然,坚决地;实在,确实 | |
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37 duel | |
n./v.决斗;(双方的)斗争 | |
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38 tormented | |
饱受折磨的 | |
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39 dictated | |
v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 );口授;支配;摆布 | |
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40 immure | |
v.囚禁,幽禁 | |
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41 banish | |
vt.放逐,驱逐;消除,排除 | |
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42 wringing | |
淋湿的,湿透的 | |
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43 malediction | |
n.诅咒 | |
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44 accomplished | |
adj.有才艺的;有造诣的;达到了的 | |
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45 sufficiently | |
adv.足够地,充分地 | |
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46 implore | |
vt.乞求,恳求,哀求 | |
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47 unnatural | |
adj.不自然的;反常的 | |
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48 wrenched | |
v.(猛力地)扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 );扭伤;使感到痛苦;使悲痛 | |
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49 scourge | |
n.灾难,祸害;v.蹂躏 | |
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50 vengeance | |
n.报复,报仇,复仇 | |
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51 applied | |
adj.应用的;v.应用,适用 | |
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52 lash | |
v.系牢;鞭打;猛烈抨击;n.鞭打;眼睫毛 | |
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53 reiterated | |
反复地说,重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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54 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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55 shriek | |
v./n.尖叫,叫喊 | |
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