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基督山伯爵|The Count of Monte Cristo

Chapter 9 The Evening of the Betrothal

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 大仲马] 阅读：[18583]
Chapter 9 The Evening of the Betrothal
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维尔福急匆匆赶回大高碌路，当他走进屋里的时候，发现他离开时的那些宾客已经移坐到客厅里了，蕾妮和那些人都在着急地等待他，他一进来，立刻受到大家的欢呼。

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“喂，专砍脑袋的人，国家的支柱，布鲁特斯［（公元前８５—４２）古罗马政治家］究竟是发生了什么事？”一个人问。

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“是不是新的恐怖时期又到了？”又一个人问。

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“是那个科西嘉魔鬼逃了出来？”第三个人问。”

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“侯爵夫人，”维尔福走到他未来的岳母跟前说，“我请您原谅我在这个时候离开您。侯爵阁下，请允许我私下里同您说几句话，好吗？”

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“呀，这事情十分重要吗？”侯爵问，他已经注意到维尔福满脸愁云。

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“严重到我不得不离开你们几天，所以，”他又转过身去向蕾妮说“是的，事情是否严重，您自己是可想而知的。”

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“您要离开我们了吗？”蕾妮掩饰不住她的情感，不禁地喊到。

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“唉，我也是身不由己。”维尔福答道。

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“那么，你要到那里去？”侯爵夫人问。

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“夫人，这是法院的秘密，但假如您在巴黎有什么事要办，我的一位朋友今晚上就上那儿去。”宾客们都不禁面面相觑。

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“你要同我单独谈话吗？”侯爵说。

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“是的，我们到您的书房里去吧。”侯爵挽起了他的手臂，同他一起走出客厅。

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“好啦。”他们一进书房，他就问，“告诉我吧，出了什么事？”

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“一件非常重要的事，所以，我不得不立刻到巴黎去一趟。

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现在，请原谅我不能泄露机密，侯爵，我大胆唐突问您一句，您的手里有没有国家证券？”

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“我的财产都买成公债了，——有六七十万法朗吧。”

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“那么，卖掉，赶快卖它们。”

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“呃，我在这儿怎么卖呢？”

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“您总有个代理人吧？”

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“有的。”

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“那么写一封信给我带去，告诉他赶快卖掉，一分一秒都不要耽误，或者我到那儿时已经晚了！”

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“见鬼。”侯爵说，“那么我们不要浪费时间了。”

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“于是他坐了下来，写了一封信给他的代理人，命令他不论什么价钱都要赶快卖掉他的证券。

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“唔，”现在，维尔福把信封夹进他的笔记本里，一面说，“再写一封信！’“写给谁？”

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“写给国王。”

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“我可不敢随便写信给国王。”

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“我不是要求您写信给国王，您叫萨欧伯爵写好了。我要一封能使我能尽快见到国王的信，无需经过那些繁杂的拜见手续，不然会丧失很多宝贵时间的。”

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“你自己去问掌玺大臣好了，他有进奏权，会设法让你朝见的。”

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“当然可以，不过，何必要把我发现的功劳让别人来分享呢。掌玺大臣会把我甩向一边。而他一个人独亨其功的，我告诉您，侯爵，假如我能第一个进入杜伊勒宫，我的前程就有保障了，因为，我这一次为国王所作的事，他永远也不会忘掉的。”

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“即然如此，那你就快准备吧，我会叫萨尔维欧给您写你所需要的那封信的。”

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“最好能赶快写，再过一刻钟我就要上路了。”

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“你叫马车在门口停一下吧。”

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“您代我向夫人和蕾妮小姐表示歉意吧，我今天就这样离开她们，的确是非常抱歉的。”

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“她们都会到我这里来，这些话，留着你自己去说吧。”

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“多谢，多谢。请赶快写信吧。“

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侯爵拉了铃，一个仆人应声走进。

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“去，告诉萨尔维伯爵，就说我在这儿等着他。”

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“现在好了，你可以走了。”侯爵说。

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“好，我马上就回来！”

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维尔福匆匆地走出了侯爵府，忽然他又想到，假如有看见代理法官走路这样慌张，全城准会骚动起来，所以，他又恢复了他正常的恣态，官气十足地走去，在他的家门口，他看到了有一个人站在阴影里，看来好象是等候他的，那是美塞苔丝，她因为得不到爱人的消息，所以，跑来打听他了。

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当维尔福走过去的时候，她就迎上前来，唐太斯曾经提到过他的这位新娘，所以维尔福立刻就认出了她，她美丽和端庄的仪恣使他吃了一惊，当她问道她的情人的情形的时候，他觉的她象是法官，而他倒成了犯人了。

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“你所说的那个青年是一个罪人，”维尔福急忙说，“我没法帮助他的忙，小姐。”美茜塞苔再也忍不住她的眼泪了，当维尔福大步要走过她的时候，她又问道：“请您告诉我，他在什么地方，我想知道他究竟是死是活。”

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“我不知道，他已经不由我管了。”维尔福回答。

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他急于想结束这样的会面，所以就推开她，把门重重关上了，象是要把他的痛苦关到门外似的，但他内心的痛苦是无法这样被驱逐的，象维吉尔［（公元前７１—１９）古罗马人］所说的致命箭一样，受伤的人永远带着它。他走进去，关上门，一走到客厅，他就支持不住了，象呜咽似的，他长叹一声，倒进了一张椅子上。

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然后，在那颗受伤的心灵深处，又出现一个致命疮伤的最初征兆。那个由于他的野心而被他牺牲的人，那个代他父亲受过的无辜的牺牲者，又在他的眼前出现了，他脸色苍白，带着威胁的神气，一只手牵着未婚妻，她的脸色也是一样的苍白，这种形象使他深感内疚——不是古人所说的那种猛烈可怕的内疚，而是一种缓慢的，折磨人的，与日俱增直到死亡的痛苦。

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他犹豫了一会。他常常主张对犯人处以极刑，是靠了他那不可抗拒的雄辨把他们定罪的，他的眉头从来没有留下一点儿阴影，因为他们是有罪的——至少，他相信是如此，但现在这件事却完全不一样，他给一个清白无辜的判了无期徒刑——那是一个站在幸福之门无辜的人。这一次，他不是法官而是刽子手了。

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他以前从没有过的这种感觉，现在，当他怀着茫然的恐惧，犹如一个受伤的人用一只手指去接触到他的伤口时，会本能地颤抖起来一样。这一种感觉只有当伤口愈合以后，往往还会再次裂开，并且这一次裂开的伤口更加疼痛。他的耳边响起了蕾妮请求他从宽办理的甜蜜声音或是那美塞苔丝似乎又进来对他说，“看在上帝的份上，我求您把我的未婚夫还给我吧！”如果是这一种情形，那他就会不顾一切，用他那冰冷的手签署他的释放令。但没有声音来打破房间的沉寂，只有维尔福的仆人进来告诉他长途旅行的马车已经准备好了。

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维尔福站起来，或者更确切地说，象是一个战胜了一次内心斗争的人那样，从椅子上一跃而起，急忙打开他写字台的一个抽屉，把里面所有的金子都倒进他的口袋里，用手摸着头，一动也不动地站了一会，最后，他的仆人已把他的大氅披在了他的肩上，他这才出了门口，上了马车。吩咐车夫赶快到大高碌路侯爵府。

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不幸的唐太斯就这样被定了罪。

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正如侯爵所说的，维尔福看见侯爵夫人和蕾妮都在书房里。他看见蕾妮的时候，不由得吃了一惊，因为在他的想象中，她又要来为唐太斯求情了。唉，实际上她只想着维尔福即将离开她了。

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她爱维尔福，而他却要在成为她的丈夫的这一刻离开她而去了，也不知道他何时才能回来，所以蕾妮非但不为唐太斯求情，反而恨起这个人来了，就因为他的犯罪，她和他的爱人就得分离了。

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那么，美塞苔丝又怎么样了呢，？她在碌琪路的拐角上遇到了弗尔南多。她回到了迦太罗尼亚人村后，便绝望地躺在了床上。弗尔南多跪在了她的身边，拿起了她的手，吻遍了它。但美塞苔丝已毫无了感觉，那一夜她就是这样过来的，灯油燃尽了，但她并没觉得黑暗，她也没有注意到它的光明，悲哀蒙住了她的双眼，她只能看到一样东西，那就是唐太斯。

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“啊，你在这儿，”她终于意识到了他的存在。

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“从昨天起我就在这儿，就没有离开过您。”弗尔南多痛苦地说。

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莫雷尔先生，就没有放弃过努力。他打听到唐太斯已经被投入了监狱，就去找他认识的所有的朋友和城里那些有钱有势的朋友，但城里的风声已经传开，说唐太斯是被当做拿破仑党的密使而被捕的，而且当时再大胆量的人也认为拿破仑东山再起是狂妄之举，因此，莫雷尔先生也四处遭到拒绝，只能是失望的回家。

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卡德鲁斯也感到了不安，但是他没有想办法去救唐太斯，只是带了一瓶酒把自己关在房子里，想用酒来忘掉他的回忆。

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可是他没有做到这一点，他已醉的腿都抬不动了，但他却忘不掉那可怕的往事。

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只有腾格拉尔一个人一点都不觉得烦恼或不安，他甚至还很高兴——他认为自己已除掉了一块绊脚石，并保全了他在法老号上的地位。腾格拉尔是一个一心只为自己打算的人，这种人生下来耳朵上就夹了一支笔，心眼里头放着一瓶墨水，在他看来，一切都是加减乘除而已，在他看来，一个人的生命还不如一个数字宝贵，因为数字使他有所增加，而生命却只会渐渐消亡。

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维尔福接过了萨尔维欧先生写的信以后，就拥抱了一下蕾妮，吻了吻侯爵夫人的手，和侯爵握手告别，起程前往巴黎去了。

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唐太斯的老父亲正在被悲哀和焦急煎熬着。

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VILLEFORT HAD, as we have said, hastened back to Madame de Saint-Méran’s in the Place du Grand Cours, and on entering the house found that the guests whom he had left at table were taking coffee in the salon. Renée was, with all the rest of the company, anxiously awaiting him, and his entrance was followed by a general exclamation.

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"Well, Decapitator, Guardian of the State, Royalist, Brutus, what is the matter?" said one. "Speak out."

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"Are we threatened with a fresh Reign of Terror?" asked another.

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"Has the Corsican ogre broken loose?" cried a third.

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"Marquise," said Villefort, approaching his future mother-in-law, "I request your pardon for thus leaving you. Will the marquis honor me by a few moments’ private conversation?"

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"Ah, it is really a serious matter, then?" asked the marquis, remarking the cloud on Villefort’s brow.

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"So serious that I must take leave of you for a few days; so," added he, turning to Renée, "judge for yourself if it be not important."

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"You are going to leave us?" cried Renée, unable to hide her emotion at this unexpected announcement.

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"Alas," returned Villefort, "I must!"

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"Where, then, are you going?" asked the marquise.

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"That, madame, is an official secret; but if you have any commissions for Paris, a friend of mine is going there to-night, and will with pleasure undertake them." The guests looked at each other.

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"You wish to speak to me alone?" said the marquis.

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"Yes, let us go to the library, please." The marquis took his arm, and they left the salon.

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"Well," asked he, as soon as they were by themselves, "tell me what it is?"

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"An affair of the greatest importance, that demands my immediate presence in Paris. Now, excuse the indiscretion, marquis, but have you any landed property?"

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"All my fortune is in the funds; seven or eight hundred thousand francs."

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"Then sell out--sell out, marquis, or you will lose it all."

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"But how can I sell out here?"

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"You have it broker, have you not?"

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"Yes."

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"Then give me a letter to him, and tell him to sell out without an instant’s delay, perhaps even now I shall arrive too late."

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"The deuce you say!" replied the marquis, "let us lose no time, then!"

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And, sitting down, he wrote a letter to his broker, ordering him to sell out at the market price.

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"Now, then," said Villefort, placing the letter in his pocketbook, "I must have another!"

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"To whom?"

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"To the king."

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"To the king?"

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"Yes."

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"I dare not write to his majesty."

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"I do not ask you to write to his majesty, but ask M. de Salvieux to do so. I want a letter that will enable me to reach the king’s presence without all the formalities of demanding an audience; that would occasion a loss of precious time."

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"But address yourself to the keeper of the seals; he has the right of entry at the Tuileries, and can procure you audience at any hour of the day or night."

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"Doubtless; but there is no occasion to divide the honors of my discovery with him. The keeper would leave me in the background, and take all the glory to himself. I tell you, marquis, my fortune is made if I only reach the Tuileries the first, for the king will not forget the service I do him."

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"In that case go and get ready. I will call Salvieux and make him write the letter." "Be as quick as possible, I must be on the road in a quarter of an hour."

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"Tell your coachman to stop at the door."

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"You will present my excuses to the marquise and Mademoiselle Renée, whom I leave on such a day with great regret."

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"You will find them both here, and can make your farewells in person."

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"A thousand thanks--and now for the letter."

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The marquis rang, a servant entered.

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"Say to the Comte de Salvieux that I would like to see him."

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"Now, then, go," said the marquis.

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"I shall be gone only a few moments."

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Villefort hastily quitted the apartment, but reflecting that the sight of the deputy procureur running through the streets would be enough to throw the whole city into confusion, he resumed his ordinary pace. At his door he perceived a figure in the shadow that seemed to wait for him. It was Mercédès, who, hearing no news of her lover, had come unobserved to inquire after him.

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As Villefort drew near, she advanced and stood before him. Dantès had spoken of Mercédès, and Villefort instantly recognized her. Her beauty and high bearing surprised him, and when she inquired what had become of her lover, it seemed to him that she was the judge, and he the accused.

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"The young man you speak of," said Villefort abruptly, "is a great criminal. and I can do nothing for him, mademoiselle." Mercédès burst into tears, and, as Villefort strove to pass her, again addressed him.

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"But, at least, tell me where he is, that I may know whether he is alive or dead," said she.

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"I do not know; he is no longer in my hands," replied Villefort.

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And desirous of putting an end to the interview, he pushed by her, and closed the door, as if to exclude the pain he felt. But remorse is not thus banished; like Virgil’s wounded hero, he carried the arrow in his wound, and, arrived at the salon, Villefort uttered a sigh that was almost a sob, and sank into a chair.

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Then the first pangs of an unending torture seized upon his heart. The man he sacrificed to his ambition, that innocent victim immolated on the altar of his father’s faults, appeared to him pale and threatening, leading his affianced bride by the hand, and bringing with him remorse, not such as the ancients figured, furious and terrible, but that slow and consuming agony whose pangs are intensified from hour to hour up to the very moment of death. Then he had a moment’s hesitation. He had frequently called for capital punishment on criminals, and owing to his irresistible eloquence they had been condemned, and yet the slightest shadow of remorse had never clouded Villefort’s brow, because they were guilty; at least, he believed so; but here was an innocent man whose happiness he had destroyed: in this case he was not the judge, but the executioner. As he thus reflected, he felt the sensation we have described, and which had hitherto been unknown to him, arise in his bosom, and fill him with vague apprehensions. It is thus that a wounded man trembles instinctively at the approach of the finger to his wound until it be healed, but Villefort’s was one of those that never close, or if they do, only close to reopen more agonizing than ever. If at this moment the sweet voice of Renée had sounded in his ears pleading for mercy, or the fair Mercédès had entered and said, "In the name of God, I conjure you to restore me my affianced husband," his cold and trembling hands would have signed his release; but no voice broke the stillness of the chamber, and the door was opened only by Villefort’s valet, who came to tell him that the travelling carriage was in readiness.

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Villefort rose, or rather sprang, from his chair, hastily opened one of the drawers of his desk, emptied all the gold it contained into his pocket, stood motionless an instant, his hand pressed to his head, muttered a few inarticulate sounds, and then, perceiving that his servant had placed his cloak on his shoulders, he sprang into the carriage, ordering the postilions to drive to M. de Saint-Méran’s. The hapless Dantès was doomed.

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As the marquis had promised, Villefort found the marquise and Renée in waiting. He started when he saw Renée, for he fancied she was again about to plead for Dantès. Alas, her emotions were wholly personal: she was thinking only of Villefort’s departure.

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She loved Villefort, and he left her at the moment he was about to become her husband. Villefort knew not when he should return, and Renée, far from pleading for Dantès, hated the man whose crime separated her from her lover.

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Meanwhile what of Mercédès? She had met Fernand at the corner of the Rue de la Loge; she had returned to the Catalans, and had despairingly cast herself on her couch. Fernand, kneeling by her side, took her hand, and covered it with kisses that Mercédès did not even feel. She passed the night thus. The lamp went out for want of oil, but she paid no heed to the darkness, and dawn came, but she knew not that it was day. Grief had made her blind to all but one object--that was Edmond.

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"Ah, you are there," said she, at length, turning towards Fernand.

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"I have not quitted you since yesterday," returned Fernand sorrowfully.

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M. Morrel had not readily given up the fight. He had learned that Dantès had been taken to prison, and he had gone to all his friends, and the influential persons of the city; but the report was already in circulation that Dantès was arrested as a Bonapartist agent; and as the most sanguine looked upon any attempt of Napoleon to remount the throne as impossible, he met with nothing but refusal, and had returned home in despair, declaring that the matter was serious and that nothing more could be done.

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Caderousse was equally restless and uneasy, but instead of seeking, like M. Morrel, to aid Dantès, he had shut himself up with two bottles of black currant brandy, in the hope of drowning reflection. But he did not succeed, and became too intoxicated to fetch any more drink, and yet not so intoxicated as to forget what had happened. With his elbows on the table he sat between the two empty bottles, while spectres danced in the light of the unsnuffed candle--spectres such as Hoffmann strews over his punch-drenched pages, like black, fantastic dust.

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Danglars alone was content and joyous--he had got rid of an enemy and made his own situation on the Pharaon secure. Danglars was one of those men born with a pen behind the ear, and an inkstand in place of a heart. Everything with him was multiplication or subtraction. The life of a man was to him of far less value than a numeral, especially when, by taking it away, he could increase the sum total of his own desires. He went to bed at his usual hour, and slept in peace.

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Villefort, after having received M. de Salvieux’ letter, embraced Renée, kissed the marquise’s hand, and shaken that of the marquis, started for Paris along the Aix road.

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Old Dantès was dying with anxiety to know what had become of Edmond. But we know very well what had become of Edmond.

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