The clock in the tower of Sairmeuse was striking the hour of eight when Lacheneur and his little band of followers1 left the Reche.
An hour later, at the Chateau2 de Courtornieu, Mlle. Blanche, after finishing her dinner, ordered the carriage to convey her to Montaignac. Since her father had taken up his abode3 in town they met only on Sunday; on that day either Blanche went to Montaignac, or the marquis paid a visit to the chateau.
Hence this proposed journey was a deviation4 from the regular order of things. It was explained, however, by grave circumstances.
It was six days since Martial5 had presented himself at Courtornieu; and Blanche was half crazed with grief and rage.
What Aunt Medea was forced to endure during this interval6, only poor dependents in rich families can understand.
For the first three days Mlle. Blanche succeeded in preserving a semblance7 of self-control; on the fourth she could endure it no longer, and in spite of the breach8 of “les convenances“ which it involved, she sent a messenger to Sairmeuse to inquire for Martial. Was he ill — had he gone away?
The messenger was informed that the marquis was perfectly9 well, but, as he spent the entire day, from early morn to dewy eve, in hunting, he went to bed every evening as soon as supper was over.
What a horrible insult! Still, she was certain that Martial, on hearing what she had done, would hasten to her to make his excuses. Vain hope! He did not come; he did not even condescend10 to give one sign of life.
“Ah! doubtless he is with her,” she said to Aunt Medea. “He is on his knees before that miserable12 Marie-Anne — his mistress.”
For she had finished by believing — as is not unfrequently the case — the very calumnies13 which she herself had invented.
In this extremity14 she decided15 to make her father her confidant; and she wrote him a note announcing her coming.
She wished her father to compel Lacheneur to leave the country. This would be an easy matter for him, since he was armed with discretionary authority at an epoch16 when lukewarm devotion afforded an abundant excuse for sending a man into exile.
Fully17 decided upon this plan, Blanche became calmer on leaving the chateau; and her hopes overflowed18 in incoherent phrases, to which poor Aunt Medea listened with her accustomed resignation.
“At last I shall be rid of this shameless creature!” she exclaimed. “We will see if he has the audacity19 to follow her! Will he follow her? Oh, no; he dare not!”
When the carriage passed through the village of Sairmeuse, Mlle. Blanche noticed an unwonted animation20.
There were lights in every house, the saloons seemed full of drinkers, and groups of people were standing21 upon the public square and upon the doorsteps.
But what did this matter to Mlle. de Courtornieu! It was not until they were a mile or so from Sairmeuse that she was startled from her revery.
“Listen, Aunt Medea,” she said, suddenly. “Do you hear anything?”
The poor dependent listened. Both occupants of the carriage heard shouts that became more and more distinct with each revolution of the wheels.
“Let us find out the meaning of this,” said Mlle. Blanche.
And lowering one of the carriage-windows, she asked the coachman the cause of the disturbance22.
“I see a great crowd of peasants on the hill; they have torches and ——”
“Blessed Jesus!” interrupted Aunt Medea, in alarm.
“It must be a wedding,” added the coachman, whipping up his horses.
It was not a wedding, but Lacheneur’s little band, which had been augmented23 to the number of about five hundred. Lacheneur should have been at the Croix d’Arcy two hours before. But he had shared the fate of most popular chiefs. When an impetus24 had been given to the movement he was no longer master of it.
Baron25 d’Escorval had made him lose twenty minutes; he was delayed four times as long in Sairmeuse. When he reached that village, a little behind time, he found the peasants scattered26 through the wine-shops, drinking to the success of the enterprise.
To tear them from their merry-making was a long and difficult task.
And to crown all, when they were finally induced to resume their line of march, it was impossible to persuade them to extinguish the pine knots which they had lighted to serve as torches.
Prayers and threats were alike unavailing. “They wished to see their way,” they said.
Poor deluded27 creatures! They had not the slightest conception of the difficulties and the perils28 of the enterprise they had undertaken.
They were going to capture a fortified29 city, defended by a numerous garrison30, as if they were bound on a pleasure jaunt31.
Gay, thoughtless, and animated32 by the imperturbable33 confidence of a child, they were marching along, arm in arm, singing patriotic34 songs.
On horseback, in the centre of the band, M. Lacheneur felt his hair turning white with anguish35.
Would not this delay ruin everything? What would the others, who were waiting at the Croix d’Arcy, think! What were they doing at this very moment?
“Onward36! onward!” he repeated.
Maurice, Chanlouineau, Jean, Marie-Anne, and about twenty of the old soldiers of the Empire, understood and shared Lacheneur’s despair. They knew the terrible danger they were incurring37, and they, too, repeated:
“Faster! Let us march faster!”
Vain exhortation38! It pleased these people to go slowly.
Suddenly the entire band stopped. Some of the peasants, chancing to look back, had seen the lamps of Mlle. de Courtornieu’s carriage gleaming in the darkness.
It came rapidly onward, and soon overtook them. The peasants recognized the coachman’s livery, and greeted the vehicle with shouts of derision.
M. de Courtornieu, by his avariciousness39, had made even more enemies than the Duc de Sairmeuse; and all the peasants who thought they had more or less reason to complain of his extortions were delighted at this opportunity to frighten him.
For, that they were not thinking of vengeance40, is conclusively41 proved by the sequel.
Hence great was their disappointment when, on opening the carriage-door, they saw within the vehicle only Mlle. Blanche and Aunt Medea, who uttered the most piercing shrieks42.
But Mlle. de Courtornieu was a brave woman.
“Who are you?” she demanded, haughtily43, “and what do you desire?”
“You will know to-morrow,” replied Chanlouineau. “Until then, you are our prisoner.”
“I see that you do not know who I am, boy.”
“Excuse me. I do know who you are, and, for this very reason, I request you to descend11 from your carriage. She must leave the carriage, must she not, Monsieur d’Escorval?”
“Very well! I declare that I will not leave my carriage; tear me from it if you dare!”
They would certainly have dared had it not been for Marie-Anne, who checked some peasants as they were springing toward the carriage.
“Let Mademoiselle de Courtornieu pass without hinderance,” said she.
But this permission might produce such serious consequences that Chanlouineau found courage to resist.
“That cannot be, Marie-Anne,” said he; “she will warn her father. We must keep her as a hostage; her life may save the life of our friends.”
Mlle. Blanche had not recognized her former friend, any more than she had suspected the intentions of this crowd of men.
But Marie-Anne’s name, uttered with that of d’Escorval enlightened her at once.
She understood it all, and trembled with rage at the thought that she was at the mercy of her rival. She resolved to place herself under no obligation to Marie-Anne Lacheneur.
“Very well,” said she, “we will descend.”
Her former friend checked her.
“No,” said she, “no! This is not the place for a young girl.”
“For an honest young girl, you should say,” replied Blanche, with a sneer44.
Chanlouineau was standing only a few feet from the speaker with his gun in his hand. If a man had uttered those words he would have been instantly killed. Marie-Anne did not deign45 to notice them.
“Mademoiselle will turn back,” she said, calmly; “and as she can reach Montaignac by the other road, two men will accompany her as far as Courtornieu.”
She was obeyed. The carriage turned and rolled away, but not so quickly that Marie-Anne failed to hear Blanche cry:
“Beware, Marie! I will make you pay dearly for your insulting patronage46!”
The hours were flying by. This incident had occupied ten minutes more — ten centuries — and the last trace of order had disappeared.
M. Lacheneur could have wept with rage. He called Maurice and Chanlouineau.
“I place you in command,” said he; “do all that you can to hurry these idiots onward. I will ride as fast as I can to the Croix d’Arcy.”
He started, but he was only a short distance in advance of his followers when he saw two men running toward him at full speed. One was clad in the attire47 of a well-to-do bourgeois48; the other wore the old uniform of captain in the Emperor’s guard.
“What has happened?” Lacheneur cried, in alarm.
“All is discovered!”
“Great God!”
“Major Carini has been arrested.”
“By whom? How?”
“Ah! there was a fatality49 about it! Just as we were perfecting our arrangements to capture the Duc de Sairmeuse, the duke surprised us. We fled, but the cursed noble pursued us, overtook Carini, seized him by the collar, and dragged him to the citadel50.”
Lacheneur was overwhelmed; the abbe’s gloomy prophecy again resounded51 in his ears.
“So I warned my friends, and hastened to warn you,” continued the officer. “The affair is an utter failure!”
He was only too correct; and Lacheneur knew it even better than he did. But, blinded by hatred52 and anger, he would not acknowledge that the disaster was irreparable.
“Let Mademoiselle de Counornieu pass without hinderance.”
He affected53 a calmness which he did not in the least feel.
“You are easily discouraged, gentlemen,” he said, bitterly. “There is, at least, one more chance.”
“The devil! Then you have resources of which we are ignorant?”
“Perhaps — that depends. You have just passed the Croix d’Arcy; did you tell any of those people what you have just told me?”
“Not a word.”
“How many men are there at the rendezvous54?”
“At least two thousand.”
“And what is their mood?”
“They are burning to begin the struggle. They are cursing our slowness, and told me to entreat55 you to make haste.”
“In that case our cause is not lost,” said Lacheneur, with a threatening gesture. “Wait here until the peasants come up, and say to them that you were sent to tell them to make haste. Bring them on as quickly as possible, and have confidence in me; I will be responsible for the success of the enterprise.”
He said this, then putting spurs to his horse, galloped56 away. He had deceived the men. He had no other resources. He did not have the slightest hope of success. It was an abominable58 falsehood. But, if this edifice59, which he had erected60 with such care and labor61, was to totter62 and fall, he desired to be buried beneath its ruins. They would be defeated; he was sure of it, but what did that matter? In the conflict he would seek death and find it.
Bitter discontent pervaded63 the crowd at the Croix d’Arcy; and after the passing of the officers, who had hastened to warn Lacheneur of the disaster at Montaignac, the murmurs64 of dissatisfaction were changed to curses.
These peasants, nearly two thousand in number, were indignant at not finding their leader awaiting them at the rendezvous.
“Where is he?” they asked. “Who knows but he is afraid at the last moment? Perhaps he is concealing65 himself while we are risking our lives and the bread of our children here.”
And already the epithets66 of mischief-maker and traitor67 were flying from lip to lip, and increasing the anger in every breast.
Some were of the opinion that the crowd should disperse68; others wished to march against Montaignac without Lacheneur, and that, immediately.
But these deliberations were interrupted by the furious gallop57 of a horse.
A carriage appeared, and stopped in the centre of the open space.
Two men alighted; Baron d’Escorval and Abbe Midon.
They were in advance of Lacheneur. They thought they had arrived in time.
Alas69! here, as on the Reche, all their efforts, all their entreaties70, and all their threats were futile71.
They had come in the hope of arresting the movement; they only precipitated72 it.
“We have gone too far to draw back,” exclaimed one of the neighboring farmers, who was the recognized leader in Lacheneur’s absence. “If death is before us, it is also behind us. To attack and conquer — that is our only hope of salvation73. Forward, then, at once. That is the only way of disconcerting our enemies. He who hesitates is a coward! Forward!”
A shout of approval from two thousand throats replied:
“Forward!”
They unfurled the tri-color, that much regretted flag that reminded them of so much glory, and so many great misfortunes; the drums began to beat, and with shouts of: “Vive Napoleon II.!” the whole column took up its line of march.
Pale, with clothing in disorder74, and voices husky with fatigue75 and emotion, M. d’Escorval and the abbe followed the rebels, imploring76 them to listen to reason.
They saw the precipice77 toward which these misguided creatures were rushing, and they prayed God for an inspiration to check them.
In fifty minutes the distance separating the Croix d’Arcy from Montaignac is traversed.
Soon they see the gate of the citadel, which was to have been opened for them by their friends within the walls.
It is eleven o’clock, and yet this gate stands open.
Does not this circumstance prove that their friends are masters of the town, and that they are awaiting them in force?
They advance, so certain of success that those who have guns do not even take the trouble to load them.
M. d’Escorval and the abbe alone foresee the catastrophe78.
The leader of the expedition is near them, they entreat him not to neglect the commonest precautions, they implore79 him to send some two men on in advance to reconnoitre; they, themselves, offer to go, on condition that the peasants will await their return before proceeding80 farther.
But their prayers are unheeded.
The peasants pass the outer line of fortifications in safety. The head of the advancing column reaches the drawbridge.
The enthusiasm amounts to delirium81; who will be the first to enter is the only thought.
Alas! at that very moment a pistol is fired.
It is a signal, for instantly, and on every side, resounds82 a terrible fusillade.
Three or four peasants fall, mortally wounded. The rest pause, frozen with terror, thinking only of escape.
The indecision is terrible; but the leader encourages his men, there are a few of Napoleon’s old soldiers in the ranks. A struggle begins, all the more frightful83 by reason of the darkness!
But it is not the cry of “Forward!” that suddenly rends84 the air.
The voice of a coward sends up the cry of panic:
“We are betrayed! Let him save himself who can!”
This is the end of all order. A wild fear seizes the throng85; and these men flee madly, despairingly, scattered as withered86 leaves are scattered by the power of the tempest.
收听单词发音 |
1
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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chateau
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| n.城堡，别墅 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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deviation
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| n.背离，偏离；偏差，偏向；离题 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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calumnies
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| n.诬蔑，诽谤，中伤（的话）( calumny的名词复数 ) | |
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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overflowed
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| 溢出的 | |
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audacity
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| n.大胆，卤莽，无礼 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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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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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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deluded
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| v.欺骗，哄骗( delude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perils
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| 极大危险( peril的名词复数 )； 危险的事（或环境） | |
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29
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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jaunt
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| v.短程旅游；n.游览 | |
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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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imperturbable
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| adj.镇静的 | |
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patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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incurring
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| 遭受，招致，引起( incur的现在分词 ) | |
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38
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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39
avariciousness
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40
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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41
conclusively
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| adv.令人信服地，确凿地 | |
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42
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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attire
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| v.穿衣，装扮[同]array；n.衣着；盛装 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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49
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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50
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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51
resounded
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的过去式和过去分词 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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52
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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53
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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54
rendezvous
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| 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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55
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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56
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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57
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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58
abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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59
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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60
ERECTED
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| adj. 直立的，竖立的，笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立，建立 | |
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61
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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62
totter
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| v.蹒跚， 摇摇欲坠；n.蹒跚的步子 | |
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pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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65
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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66
epithets
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| n.（表示性质、特征等的）词语( epithet的名词复数 ) | |
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67
traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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68
disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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69
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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precipitated
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| v.（突如其来地）使发生( precipitate的过去式和过去分词 )；促成；猛然摔下；使沉淀 | |
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salvation
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| n.（尤指基督）救世，超度，拯救，解困 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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delirium
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| n. 神智昏迷,说胡话;极度兴奋 | |
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resounds
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| v.（指声音等）回荡于某处( resound的第三人称单数 )；产生回响；（指某处）回荡着声音 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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rends
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| v.撕碎( rend的第三人称单数 )；分裂；（因愤怒、痛苦等而）揪扯（衣服或头发等）；（声音等）刺破 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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