The stout7 gentleman of the diligence and his wife had displayed, like their travelling companions, the most absolute and complete terror. Seated to the left of Jean Picot, when the bandit approached the wine merchant, the husband, in the vain hope of maintaining a respectable distance between himself and the Companion of Jehu, pushed his chair back against that of his wife, who, yielding to the pressure, in turn endeavored to push back hers. But as the next chair was occupied by citizen Alfred de Barjols, who had no reason to fear these men whom he had just praised so highly, the chair of the stout man’s wife encountered an obstacle in the immovability of the young noble; so, as at Marengo, eight or nine months later, when the general in command judged it time to resume the offensive, the retrograde movement was arrested.
As for him—we are speaking of the citizen Alfred de Barjols—his attitude, like that of the abbé who had given the Biblical explanation about Jehu, King of Israel, and his mission from Elisha, his attitude, we say, was that of a man who not only experiences no fear, but who even expects the event in question, however unexpected it may be. His lips wore a smile as he watched the masked man, and had the guests not been so preoccupied8 with the two principal actors in this scene, they might have remarked the almost imperceptible sign exchanged between the eyes of the bandit and the young noble, and transmitted instantly by the latter to the abbé.
The two travellers whom we introduced to the table d’hôte, and who as we have said sat apart at the end of the table, preserved an attitude conformable to their respective characters. The younger of the two had instinctively9 put his hand to his side, as if to seek an absent weapon, and had risen with a spring, as if to rush at the masked man’s throat, in which purpose he had certainly not failed had he been alone; but the elder, who seemed to possess not only the habit but the right of command, contented10 himself by regrasping his coat, and saying, in an imperious, almost harsh tone: “Sit down, Roland!” And the young man had resumed his seat.
But one of the guests had remained, in appearance at least, the most impassible during this scene. He was a man between thirty-three and thirty-four years of age, with blond hair, red beard, a calm, handsome face, with large blue eyes, a fair skin, refined and intelligent lips, and very tall, whose foreign accent betrayed one born in that island of which the government was at that time waging bitter war against France. As far as could be judged by the few words which had escaped him, he spoke11 the French language with rare purity, despite the accent we have just mentioned. At the first word he uttered, in which that English accent revealed itself, the elder of the two travellers started. Turning to his companion, he asked with a glance, to which the other seemed accustomed, how it was that an Englishman should be in France when the uncompromising war between the two nations had naturally exiled all Englishmen from France, as it had all Frenchmen from England. No doubt the explanation seemed impossible to Roland, for he had replied with his eyes, and a shrug12 of the shoulders: “I find it quite as extraordinary as you; but if you, mathematician13 as you are, can’t solve the problem, don’t ask me!”
It was evident to the two young men that the fair man with the Anglo-Saxon accent was the traveller whose comfortable carriage awaited him harnessed in the courtyard, and that this traveller hailed from London, or, at least, from some part of Great Britain.
As to his remarks, they, as we have stated, were infrequent, so laconic14, in reality, that they were mere15 exclamations16 rather than speech. But each time an explanation had been asked concerning the state of France, the Englishman openly drew out a note-book and requested those about him, the wine merchant, the abbé, or the young noble to repeat their remarks; to which each had complied with an amiability17 equal to the courteous18 tone of the request. He had noted19 down the most important, extraordinary and, picturesque20 features of the robbery of the diligence, the state of Vendée, and the details about the Companions of Jehu, thanking each informant by voice and gesture with the stiffness peculiar21 to our insular23 cousins, replacing his note-book enriched each time by a new item in a side pocket of his overcoat.
Finally, like a spectator enjoying an unexpected scene, he had given a cry of satisfaction at sight of the masked man, had listened with all his ears, gazed with all his eyes, not losing him from sight until the door closed behind him. Then drawing his note-book hastily from his pocket—
“Ah, sir,” he said to his neighbor, who was no other than the abbé, “will you be so kind, should my memory fail me, as to repeat what that gentleman who has just gone out said?”
He began to write immediately, and the abbé’s memory agreeing with his, he had the satisfaction of transcribing24 literally25 and verbatim the speech made by the Companion of Jehu to citizen Jean Picot. Then, this conversation written down, he exclaimed with an accent that lent a singular stamp of originality26 to his words:
“Of a truth! it is only in France that such things can happen; France is the most curious country in the world. I am delighted, gentlemen, to travel in France and become acquainted with Frenchmen.”
The last sentence was said with such courtesy that nothing remained save to thank the speaker from whose serious mouth it issued, though he was a descendant of the conquerors27 of Crecy, Poitiers and Agincourt. It was the younger of the two travellers who acknowledged this politeness in that heedless and rather caustic29 manner which seemed habitual30 to him.
“‘Pon my word! I am exactly like you, my lord—I say my lord, because I presume you are English.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the gentleman, “I have that honor.”
“Well! as I was saying,” continued the young man, “I am delighted to travel in France and see what I am seeing. One must live under the government of citizens Gohier, Moulins, Roger Ducos, Sièyes and Barras to witness such roguery. I dare wager31 than when the tale is told, fifty years hence, of the highwayman who rode into a city of thirty thousand inhabitants in broad day, masked and armed with two pistols and a sword at his belt, to return the two hundred louis which he had stolen the day previous to the honest merchant who was then deploring32 their loss, and when it is added that this occurred at a table d’hôte where twenty or twenty-five people were seated, and that this model bandit was allowed to depart without one of those twenty or twenty-five people daring to molest33 him; I dare wager, I repeat, that whoever has the audacity34 to tell the story will be branded as an infamous35 liar22.”
And the young man, throwing himself back in his chair, burst into laughter, so aggressive, so nervous, that every one gazed at him in wonderment, while his companion’s eyes expressed an almost paternal36 anxiety.
“Sir,” said citizen Alfred de Barjols, who, moved like the others by this singular outburst, more sad, or rather dolorous37, than gay, had waited for its last echo to subside38. “Sir, permit me to point out to you that the man whom you have just seen is not a highwayman.”
“He is in all probability a young man of as good a family as yours or mine.”
“Count Horn, whom the Regent ordered broken on the wheel at the Place de Grève, was also a man of good family, and the proof is that all the nobility of Paris sent their carriages to his execution.”
“Count Horn, if I remember rightly, murdered a Jew to steal a note of hand which he was unable to meet. No one would dare assert that a Companion of Jehu had ever so much as harmed the hair of an infant.”
“Well, be it so. We will admit that the Company was founded upon a philanthropic basis, to re-establish the balance of fortunes, redress40 the whims41 of chance and reform the abuses of society. Though he may be a robber, after the fashion of Karl Moor42, your friend Morgan—was it not Morgan that this honest citizen called himself?”
“Yes,” said the Englishman.
“Well, your friend Morgan is none the less a thief.”
Citizen Alfred de Barjols turned very pale.
“Citizen Morgan is not my friend,” replied the young aristocrat43; “but if he were I should feel honored by his friendship.”
“No doubt,” replied Roland, laughing. “As Voltaire says: ‘The friendship of a great man is a blessing44 from the gods.’”
“Roland, Roland!” observed his comrade in a low tone.
“Oh! general,” replied the latter, letting his companion’s rank escape him, perhaps intentionally45, “I implore46 you, let me continue this discussion, which interests me in the highest degree.”
“But, citizen,” continued the young man with strange persistence48, “I stand in need of correction. I left France two years ago, and during my absence so many things have changed, such as dress, morals, and accents, that even the language may have changed also. In the language of the day in France what do you call stopping coaches and taking the money which they contain?”
“Sir,” said the young noble, in the tone of a man determined49 to sustain his argument to its end, “I call that war. Here is your companion whom you have just called general; he as a military man will tell you that, apart from the pleasure of killing50 and being killed, the generals of all ages have never done anything else than what the citizen Morgan is doing?”
“What!” exclaimed the young man, whose eyes flashed fire. “You dare to compare—”
“Permit the gentleman to develop his theory, Roland,” said the dark traveller, whose eyes, unlike those of his companion, which dilated51 as they flamed, were veiled by long black lashes52, thus concealing53 all that was passing in his mind.
“Ah!” said the young man in his curt54 tone, “you see that you, yourself, are becoming interested in the discussion.” Then, turning to the young noble, whom he seemed to have selected for his antagonist55, he said: “Continue, sir, continue; the general permits it.”
The young noble flushed as visibly as he had paled a moment before. Between clinched56 teeth, his elbow on the table, his chin on his clinched hand, as if to draw as close to his adversary57 as possible, he said with a Provençal accent, which grew more pronounced as the discussion waxed hotter: “Since the general permits”—emphasizing the two words—“I shall have the honor to tell him and you, too, citizen, that I believe I have read in Plutarch that Alexander the Great, when he started for India, took with him but eighteen or twenty talents in gold, something like one hundred or one hundred and twenty thousand francs. Now, do you suppose that with these eighteen or twenty talents alone he fed his army, won the battle of Granicus, subdued58 Asia Minor59, conquered Tyre, Gaza, Syria and Egypt, built Alexandria, penetrated60 to Lybia, had himself declared Son of Jupiter by the oracle61 of Ammon, penetrated as far as the Hyphases, and, when his soldiers refused to follow him further, returned to Babylon, where he surpassed in luxury, debauchery and self-indulgence the most debauched and voluptuous62 of the kings of Asia? Did Macedonia furnish his supplies? Do you believe that King Philip, most indigent63 of the kings of poverty-stricken Greece, honored the drafts his son drew upon him? Not so. Alexander did as citizen Morgan is doing; only, instead of stopping the coaches on the highroads, he pillaged64 cities, held kings for ransom65, levied66 contributions from the conquered countries. Let us turn to Hannibal. You know how he left Carthage, don’t you? He did not have even the eighteen or twenty talents of his predecessor67; and as he needed money, he seized and sacked the city of Saguntum in the midst of peace, in defiance68 of the fealty69 of treaties. After that he was rich and could begin his campaign. Forgive me if this time I no longer quote Plutarch, but Cornelius Nepos. I will spare you the details of his descent from the Pyrenees, how he crossed the Alps and the three battles which he won, seizing each time the treasures of the vanquished70, and turn to the five or six years he spent in Campania. Do you believe that he and his army paid the Capuans for their subsistence, and that the bankers of Carthage, with whom he had quarrelled, supplied him with funds? No; war fed war—the Morgan system, citizen. Let us pass on to Cæsar. Ah, Cæsar! That’s another story. He left for Spain with some thirty millions of debt, and returned with practically the same. He started for Gaul, where he spent ten years with our ancestors. During these ten years he sent over one hundred millions to Rome, repassed the Alps, crossed the Rubicon, marched straight to the Capitol, forced the gates of the Temple of Saturn71, where the treasury72 was, seized sufficient for his private needs—and not for those of the Republic—three thousand pounds of gold in ingots; and died (he whom creditors73 twenty years earlier refused to allow to leave his little house in the Suburra) leaving two or three thousand sesterces per head to the citizens, ten or twelve millions to Calpurnia, and thirty or forty millions to Octavius; always the Morgan system, save that Morgan, I am sure, would die sooner than subvert74 to his personal needs either the silver of the Gauls or the gold of the capital. Now let us spring over eighteen centuries and come to the General Buonaparté.” And the young aristocrat, after the fashion of the enemies of the Conqueror28 of Italy, affected75 to emphasize the u, which Bonaparte had eliminated from his name, and the e, from which he had removed the accent.
This affectation seemed to irritate Roland intensely. He made a movement as if to spring forward, but his companion stopped him.
“Let be,” said he, “let be, Roland. I am quite sure that citizen Barjols will not say the General Buonaparté, as he calls him, is a thief.”
“No, I will not say it; but there is an Italian proverb which says it for me.”
“What is the proverb?” demanded the general in his companion’s stead, fixing his calm, limpid76 eye upon the young noble.
“I give it in all its simplicity77: ‘Francesi non sono tutti ladroni, ma buona parte’; which means: ‘All Frenchmen are not thieves, but—”
“A good part are?” concluded Roland.
“Yes, ‘Buonaparté,’” replied Alfred de Barjols.
Scarcely had these insolent78 words left the young aristocrat’s lips than the plate with which Roland was playing flew from his hands and struck De Barjols full in the face. The women screamed, the men rose to their feet. Roland burst into that nervous laugh which was habitual with him, and threw himself back in his chair. The young aristocrat remained calm, although the blood was trickling79 from his brow to his cheek.
At this moment the conductor entered with the usual formula:
“Come! citizen travellers, take your places.”
The travellers, anxious to leave the scene of the quarrel, rushed to the door.
“Pardon me, sir,” said Alfred de Barjols to Roland, “you do not go by diligence, I hope?”
“No, sir, I travel by post; but you need have no fear; I shall not depart.”
“Nor I,” said the Englishman. “Have them unharness my horses; I shall remain.”
“I must go,” sighed the dark young man whom Roland had addressed as general. “You know it is necessary, my friend; my presence yonder is absolutely imperative80. But I swear that I would not leave you if I could possibly avoid it.”
In saying these words his voice betrayed an emotion of which, judging from its usual harsh, metallic81 ring, it had seemed incapable82. Roland, on the contrary, seemed overjoyed. His belligerent83 nature seemed to expand at the approach of a danger to which he had perhaps not given rise, but which he at least had not endeavored to avoid.
“Good! general,” he said. “We were to part at Lyons, since you have had the kindness to grant me a month’s furlough to visit my family at Bourg. It is merely some hundred and sixty miles or so less than we intended, that is all. I shall rejoin you in Paris. But you know if you need a devoted84 arm, and a man who never sulks, think of me!”
“You may rest easy on that score, Roland,” exclaimed the general. Then, looking attentively85 at the two adversaries86, he added with an indescribable note of tenderness: “Above all, Roland, do not let yourself be killed; but if it is a possible thing don’t kill your adversary. Everything considered, he is a gallant87 man, and the day will come when I shall need such men at my side.”
“I shall do my best, general; don’t be alarmed.” At this moment the landlord appeared upon the thresh-hold of the door.
“The post-chaise is ready,” said he.
The general took his hat and his cane88, which he had laid upon the chair. Roland, on the contrary, followed him bareheaded, that all might see plainly he did not intend to leave with his friend. Alfred de Barjols, therefore, offered no opposition89 to his leaving the room. Besides, it was easy to see that his adversary was of those who seek rather than avoid quarrels.
“Just the same,” said the general, seating himself in the carriage to which Roland had escorted him, “my heart is heavy at leaving you thus, Roland, without a friend to act as your second.”
“Good! Don’t worry about that, general; seconds are never lacking. There are and always will be enough men who are curious to see how one man can kill another.”
“Au revoir, Roland. Observe, I do not say farewell, but au revoir!”
“Yes, my dear general,” replied the young man, in a voice that revealed some emotion, “I understand, and I thank you.”
“Promise that you will send me word as soon as the affair is over, or that you will get some one to write if you are disabled.”
“Oh, don’t worry, general. You will have a letter from me personally in less than four days,” replied Roland, adding, in a tone of profound bitterness: “Have you not perceived that I am protected by a fatality90 which prevents me from dying?”
“Roland!” exclaimed the general in a severe tone, “Again!”
“Nothing, nothing,” said the young man, shaking his head and assuming an expression of careless gayety which must have been habitual with him before the occurrence of that unknown misfortune which oppressed his youth with this longing91 for death.
“Very well. By the way, try to find out one thing.”
“What is that, general?”
“How it happens that at a time when we are at war with England an Englishman stalks about France as freely and as easily as if he were at home.”
“Good; I will find out.”
“How?”
“I do not know; but when I promise you to find out I shall do so, though I have to ask it of himself.”
“Reckless fellow! Don’t get yourself involved in another affair in that direction.”
“Well, once more—till I see you again. Embrace me.”
Roland flung himself with passionate93 gratitude94 upon the neck of the personage who had just given him this permission.
“Oh, general!” he exclaimed, “how happy I should be—if I were not so unhappy!”
The general looked at him with profound affection, then asked: “One day you will tell me what this sorrow is, will you not, Roland?”
Roland laughed that sorrowful laugh which had already escaped his lips once or twice.
The general stared at him as one would contemplate96 a madman.
“After all,” he murmured, “one must accept men as they come.”
“Especially when they are not what they seem to be.”
“Ah! If you guess this one, general, I will herald98 you king of Thebes! But, with all my follies99, I forgot that your time is precious and that I am detaining you needlessly with my nonsense.”
“That is so! Have you any commissions for Paris?”
“Yes, three; my regards to Bourrienne, my respects to your brother Lucien, and my most tender homage100 to Madame Bonaparte.”
“I will deliver them.”
“Where shall I find you in Paris?”
“Perhaps—”
“Who knows? Perhaps at Luxembourg!” Then throwing himself back as if he regretted having said so much, even to a man he regarded as his best friend, he shouted to the postilion, “Road to Orange! As fast as possible.”
The postilion, who was only waiting for the order, whipped up his horses; the carriage departed rapidly, rumbling102 like a roll of thunder, and disappeared through the Porte d’Oulle.
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1
dominant
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| 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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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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lucidity
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| n.明朗，清晰，透明 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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8
preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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9
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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spoke
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| 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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shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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mathematician
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| n.数学家 | |
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laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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amiability
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| n.和蔼可亲的，亲切的，友善的 | |
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courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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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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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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transcribing
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| （用不同的录音手段）转录( transcribe的现在分词 )； 改编（乐曲）（以适应他种乐器或声部）； 抄写； 用音标标出（声音） | |
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literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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conquerors
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| 征服者，占领者( conqueror的名词复数 ) | |
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conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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caustic
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| adj.刻薄的，腐蚀性的 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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infamous
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| adj.声名狼藉的，臭名昭著的，邪恶的 | |
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paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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dolorous
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| adj.悲伤的；忧愁的 | |
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subside
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| vi.平静，平息；下沉，塌陷，沉降 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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WHIMS
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| 虚妄，禅病 | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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aristocrat
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| n.贵族，有贵族气派的人，上层人物 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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45
intentionally
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| ad.故意地，有意地 | |
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46
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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47
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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49
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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50
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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51
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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53
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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54
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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clinched
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| v.（尤指两人）互相紧紧抱[扭]住( clinch的过去式和过去分词 )；解决（争端、交易），达成（协议） | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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subdued
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| 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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minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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oracle
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| n.神谕，神谕处，预言 | |
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voluptuous
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| adj.肉欲的，骄奢淫逸的 | |
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indigent
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| adj.贫穷的，贫困的 | |
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pillaged
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| v.抢劫，掠夺( pillage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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levied
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| 征（兵）( levy的过去式和过去分词 )； 索取； 发动（战争）； 征税 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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vanquished
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| v.征服( vanquish的过去式和过去分词 )；战胜；克服；抑制 | |
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Saturn
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| n.农神，土星 | |
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treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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subvert
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| v.推翻；暗中破坏；搅乱 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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limpid
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| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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trickling
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| n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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belligerent
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| adj.好战的，挑起战争的；n.交战国，交战者 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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enigmas
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| n.难于理解的问题、人、物、情况等，奥秘( enigma的名词复数 ) | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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100
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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101
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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102
rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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