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[size=2]　　《基督山伯爵》（又称《基督山复仇记》、《快意恩仇记》、《基督山恩仇记》）是法国作家大仲马的杰出作品。
　　主要讲述的是十九世纪一位名叫埃德蒙·唐泰斯的大副受到陷害后的悲惨遭遇以及日后以基督山伯爵身份成功复仇的故事。故事情节曲折生动，处处出人意料。急剧发展的故事情节，清晰明朗的完整结构，生动有力的语言，灵活机智的对话使其成为大仲马小说中的经典之作。具有浓郁的传奇色彩和很强的艺术魅力。
　　1815年2月底，埃及王号远洋货船年轻的代理船长爱德蒙·邓蒂斯回到马塞港。老船长病死在途中，他曾托邓蒂斯把船开到一个小岛上去见囚禁中的拿破仑。拿破仑委托邓肯斯带一封密信给在巴黎的亲信。邓蒂斯这次回国可以说是春风得意：他已经准备好要和相爱多年的女友结婚，然后一同前往巴黎。但他没有想到，一场厄运正在等着他。在货船上当押运员的邓格拉斯一心要取代邓蒂斯的船长地位，邓蒂斯的情敌--弗南对他又嫉又恨。结果两个人勾结到一起，弗南把邓肯拉斯的一张告密条送到了当局的手中。5月，正当邓蒂斯举行婚礼之际，他被捕了。审理这个案子的是代理检察官维尔弗，他发现密信的收信人就是自己的父亲。为了确保自己的前途，他宣判邓蒂斯为极度危险的政治犯，将其投入了孤岛上的死牢。
邓蒂斯在死牢里度过了14年的时光。开始的时候他坚信自己的清白，总以为检察官有一天会出出在他面前，宣布他无罪。然而随着时间的推移，他失望了，甚至有了自杀的念头，只有对未婚妻的思念支撑着他活下去。有一天，他突然听见有人在近旁挖掘的声音，原来是隔壁牢房的老神甫在挖地道，却因为计算错误，地道的出口在邓蒂斯的牢房。两人相遇后，老神甫帮助他分析了他的遭遇，邓蒂斯开始意识到陷害自己的仇人是谁了。在神甫的教授下，邓蒂斯还学会了好几种语言，并得知了一个秘密：在一个叫作基督山的小岛上埋藏着一笔巨大的财富。
　　有一天，老神甫病死了。邓蒂斯灵机一动，钻进了盛入神甫尸体的麻袋中，结果狱卒将他当作神甫扔进了大海。邓蒂斯用刀划破麻袋，游到了附近的一个小岛上。次日，一只走私船救了他，他很快和同船员们成了朋友。他利用四处游荡的机会，在基督山岛发现了宝藏：一个大柜分隔成3个部分，分别装着古金币，金块，以及钻石、珍珠和宝石。邓蒂斯一下就成了一个亿万富翁。他现在的目标只有一个，那就是复仇，为此，他要回到社会里去重新获得地位、势力和威望，而在这个世界上只有钱才能使人获得这一切，钱是支配人类最有效和最伟大的力量。此时的邓蒂斯已经是一个新人了：有渊博的知识、高雅的仪态和无数的财富，深谋远虑，内心充满了仇恨。
　　在复仇之前，邓蒂斯决定先要报恩。埃及王号的船主是一个忠厚、勇敢而且热情的人。他曾在邓蒂斯落难时为他四处奔走，还照顾过邓蒂斯的老父亲。后来他破产了，绝望当中，他准备自杀。邓蒂斯知道之后，替他还清了债务，送给他女儿一笔优厚的嫁妆，还送给他一艘新的埃及王号。然后，邓蒂斯说：“我已经代天报偿了善人。现在复仇之神授我以他的权力，命我去惩罚恶人！”在报答了曾在他危难之际给过他无私帮助的人之后，邓蒂斯开始一步步准备自己的复仇计划了。
　　通过多方打探，他证实了邓格拉斯、弗南和维尔弗陷害自己的详情，并得知自己的未婚妻已经同弗南结了婚，而自己的老父亲在病中抑郁而死，他的仇恨之火越燃越旺，但他还要为复仇做许多准备工作！8年之后，邓蒂斯回到了巴黎。他化名为基度山伯爵，身份是银行家。此时，维尔弗是巴黎法院检察官，邓格拉斯成了银行家，弗南成了伯爵、议员，3人都飞黄腾达，地位显赫。
　　基督山伯爵的目标首先是弗南。弗南为了谋取一切之私利可以说是坏事做尽，此时他更名换姓，过着养尊处优的生活。基督山伯爵早就摸清了他历史，现在假他人之手在报纸上披露了弗南20年代在希腊出卖和杀害了阿里总督的事实，引起了议员们的质询。在听证会上，基督山伯爵收养的阿里总督的女儿出席作证，揭发了弗南在与土耳其人的无耻的交易的中，不但把城堡拱手相让，而且把他的恩主杀害，并把恩主的妻子、女儿作为一部分战利品，卖得40万法郎的罪行。审查委员会断定弗南犯了判逆罪和暴行迫害罪，这使得弗南名誉扫地，狼狈不堪。弗南本来寄希望于儿子同基督山伯爵决斗，以此雪“耻”，但他的妻子（邓蒂斯的未婚妻）早就认出了基督山伯爵就是邓蒂斯，她把真相告诉儿子。最后儿子不顾自己的名声，与基督山伯爵讲和，并决定同母亲一起抛弃沾满了鲜血的家产，不辞而别。无奈之下，弗南只有自己去找基督山伯爵决斗。决斗时，基督山伯爵用很冷淡的口吻嘲讽地说：“您不就是那个在滑铁卢之战前夕开小差逃走的小兵弗南吗？您不就是那个在西班牙当法军向导和间谍的弗南中尉吗？您不就是那个背叛、出卖并谋害自己恩主的弗南中将吗？而这些个弗南加起来，不就是现在身为法国贵族议员的您吗？”最后，基督山伯爵说出了自己的真实身份。费南失魂落魄地回到家里，正遇上自己的妻子和儿子离家出走——一个去乡下隐居，一个去投军，极度害怕与绝望使得他开熗自杀了。
　　基督山伯爵的第二个仇人就是邓格拉斯。邓格拉斯在法军入侵西班牙时靠供应军需品发了横财，他的银行现在可以支配几百万法郎的资产。基督山伯爵为了取得邓格拉斯的信任，拿出欧洲大银行家的3封信在邓肯拉斯那里开了3个可以“无限透支”的帐户，慑服了邓格拉斯。之后他收买了电报局的雇员，发了一份虚报军情的电报，诱使邓格拉斯出售债卷，折损了一笔巨款。基督山伯爵于是将一个逃犯——维尔费和邓格拉斯夫人的私生子打扮成意大利亲王的儿子，介绍给邓格拉斯。为了避免银行的倒闭，邓格拉斯将女儿嫁给了“亲王之子”。在婚礼上，宪兵逮捕了这个逃犯，让邓格拉斯出了大丑。在无奈之下，邓格拉斯窃取了济贫机构的500万法郎逃往意大利。途中，他落在了基督山伯爵的强盗朋友的手上。他们先把他饿得半死，然后以10万法郎的高价向他出售一顿饭，直到把他的500万法郎全部都榨光。邓格拉斯被迫为自己所犯的罪行忏悔。此时基督山伯爵出现了，向他公开了身份，说：“我就是那个被你出卖和污蔑的人。我的未婚妻被迫改嫁，我的父亲被你害得饿死。我本来也应该让你死于饥饿，但我饶恕你。”邓格拉斯听后大叫一声，倒在地上缩成一团。随后，基督山伯爵给了他5万法郎让他自谋生路。邓格拉斯饱受折磨和惊吓，他的头发全白了。
　　基督山伯爵最大的仇人是维尔弗，他决定用更残忍的手段全面摧毁维尔费的一切。他先买下了维尔弗以前的一所处所，在这里维尔弗曾企图残忍地活埋自己和邓格拉斯夫人的私生子。然后他巧妙地将二人引到这里，并点出了两人当年的丑事。结果，邓格拉斯夫人当场晕倒，维尔弗不得不靠在墙上喘息。经过一番较量，维尔弗对基督山伯爵的身份发生了怀疑。他找到了基督山伯爵的两个密友询问，但这两个密友都是基督山伯爵一个人扮演的。自然他一无所获。此时，基督山伯爵注意到了维尔弗家庭内部的一个破绽：维尔弗的后妻企图让自己的孩子独自继承遗产。于是他假装无意之中透露给了她一个毒药配方，后者利用这种毒药毒死了维尔弗的前岳母、老仆人，并阴谋毒死前妻的孩子。由于曾经的因缘关系，基督山伯爵对后者暗中保护，并让她暗中观察到了继母下毒的过程。最后，基督山伯爵将这个孩子送到了基督山岛上。在审理那个险些成了邓格拉斯女婿的逃犯杀人案中，检察官就是维尔弗。在基督山伯爵的授意下，逃犯当众说出了自己的身世。维尔弗知道已落到一个复仇之神的手里，被迫承认“无须证据，这个青年人所说的话都是真的……从此刻起，我悉听下任检察官的发落。”这时，维尔弗的脸色像死人一样苍白，牙齿像一个发寒热的人那样格格的打抖。他仑皇地回到家里，想在这里寻找一处避风港，但他发现妻子因为罪行败露已经服毒身死，并毒死了自己心爱的儿子。巨大的打击之下，维尔弗疯了。
　　基督山伯爵大仇已报，他深深地感谢上帝。在他看来，他所做的一切都是秉承上帝的旨意。他说：“现在我的工作完成了，我的使命终止了。巴黎，告别了！”于是，同收养的阿里总督的女儿海蒂远走高飞了。[/size][/td][/tr][/table]

This book is very famous, but I haven't read it.

太感谢了。一定要慢慢享受。提高我的英文

Thanks for your sharing.O(∩_∩)O

英文原文 Chapter 117 The Fifth Of October It was about six o'clock in the evening; an opal-colored light, through which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays, descended on the blue ocean. The heat of the day had gradually decreased, and a light breeze arose, seeming like the respiration of nature on awakening from the burning siesta of the south. A delicious zephyr played along the coasts of the Mediterranean, and wafted from shore to shore the sweet perfume of plants, mingled with the fresh smell of the sea. A light yacht, chaste and elegant in its form, was gliding amidst the first dews of night over the immense lake, extending from Gibraltar to the Dardanelles, and from Tunis to Venice. The vessel resembled a swan with its wings opened towards the wind, gliding on the water. It advanced swiftly and gracefully, leaving behind it a glittering stretch of foam. By degrees the sun disappeared behind the western horizon; but as though to prove the truth of the fanciful ideas in heathen mythology, its indiscreet rays reappeared on the summit of every wave, as if the god of fire had just sunk upon the bosom of Amphitrite, who in vain endeavored to hide her lover beneath her azure mantle. The yacht moved rapidly on, though there did not appear to be sufficient wind to ruffle the curls on the head of a young girl. Standing on the prow was a tall man, of a dark complexion, who saw with dilating eyes that they were approaching a dark mass of land in the shape of a cone, which rose from the midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan. "Is that Monte Cristo?" asked the traveller, to whose orders the yacht was for the time submitted, in a melancholy voice. "Yes, your excellency," said the captain, "we have reached it." "We have reached it!" repeated the traveller in an accent of indescribable sadness. Then he added, in a low tone, "Yes; that is the haven." And then he again plunged into a train of thought, the character of which was better revealed by a sad smile, than it would have been by tears. A few minutes afterwards a flash of light, which was extinguished instantly, was seen on the land, and the sound of firearms reached the yacht. "Your excellency," said the captain, "that was the land signal, will you answer yourself?" "What signal?" The captain pointed towards the island, up the side of which ascended a volume of smoke, increasing as it rose. "Ah, yes," he said, as if awaking from a dream. "Give it to me." The captain gave him a loaded carbine; the traveller slowly raised it, and fired in the air. Ten minutes afterwards, the sails were furled, and they cast anchor about a hundred fathoms from the little harbor. The gig was already lowered, and in it were four oarsmen and a coxswain. The traveller descended, and instead of sitting down at the stern of the boat, which had been decorated with a blue carpet for his accommodation, stood up with his arms crossed. The rowers waited, their oars half lifted out of the water, like birds drying their wings. "Give way," said the traveller. The eight oars fell into the sea simultaneously without splashing a drop of water, and the boat, yielding to the impulsion, glided forward. In an instant they found themselves in a little harbor, formed in a natural creek; the boat grounded on the fine sand. "Will your excellency be so good as to mount the shoulders of two of our men, they will carry you ashore?" The young man answered this invitation with a gesture of indifference, and stepped out of the boat; the sea immediately rose to his waist. "Ah, your excellency," murmured the pilot, "you should not have done so; our master will scold us for it." The young man continued to advance, following the sailors, who chose a firm footing. Thirty strides brought them to dry land; the young man stamped on the ground to shake off the wet, and looked around for some one to show him his road, for it was quite dark. Just as he turned, a hand rested on his shoulder, and a voice which made him shudder exclaimed, -"Good-evening, Maximilian; you are punctual, thank you!" "Ah, is it you, count?" said the young man, in an almost joyful accent, pressing Monte Cristo's hand with both his own. "Yes; you see I am as exact as you are. But you are dripping, my dear fellow; you must change your clothes, as Calypso said to Telemachus. Come, I have a habitation prepared for you in which you will soon forget fatigue and cold." Monte Cristo perceived that the young man had turned around; indeed, Morrel saw with surprise that the men who had brought him had left without being paid, or uttering a word. Already the sound of their oars might be heard as they returned to the yacht. "Oh, yes," said the count, "you are looking for the sailors." "Yes, I paid them nothing, and yet they are gone." "Never mind that, Maximilian," said Monte Cristo, smiling. "I have made an agreement with the navy, that the access to my island shall be free of all charge. I have made a bargain." Morrel looked at the count with surprise. "Count," he said, "you are not the same here as in paris." "How so?" "Here you laugh." The count's brow became clouded. "You are right to recall me to myself, Maximilian," he said; "I was delighted to see you again, and forgot for the moment that all happiness is fleeting." "Oh, no, no, count," cried Maximilian, seizing the count's hands, "pray laugh; be happy, and prove to me, by your indifference, that life is endurable to sufferers. Oh, how charitable, kind, and good you are; you affect this gayety to inspire me with courage." "You are wrong, Morrel; I was really happy." "Then you forget me, so much the better." "How so?" "Yes; for as the gladiator said to the emperor, when he entered the arena, `He who is about to die salutes you.'" "Then you are not consoled?" asked the count, surprised. "Oh," exclaimed Morrel, with a glance full of bitter reproach, "do you think it possible that I could be?" "Listen," said the count. "Do you understand the meaning of my words? You cannot take me for a commonplace man, a mere rattle, emitting a vague and senseless noise. When I ask you if you are consoled, I speak to you as a man for whom the human heart has no secrets. Well, Morrel, let us both examine the depths of your heart. Do you still feel the same feverish impatience of grief which made you start like a wounded lion? Have you still that devouring thirst which can only be appeased in the grave? Are you still actuated by the regret which drags the living to the pursuit of death; or are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue and the weariness of hope deferred? Has the loss of memory rendered it impossible for you to weep? Oh, my dear friend, if this be the case,-if you can no longer weep, if your frozen heart be dead, if you put all your trust in God, then, Maximilian, you are consoled-do not complain." "Count," said Morrel, in a firm and at the same time soft voice, "listen to me, as to a man whose thoughts are raised to heaven, though he remains on earth; I come to die in the arms of a friend. Certainly, there are people whom I love. I love my sister Julie,-I love her husband Emmanuel; but I require a strong mind to smile on my last moments. My sister would be bathed in tears and fainting; I could not bear to see her suffer. Emmanuel would tear the weapon from my hand, and alarm the house with his cries. You, count, who are more than mortal, will, I am sure, lead me to death by a pleasant path, will you not?" "My friend," said the count, "I have still one doubt,-are you weak enough to pride yourself upon your sufferings?" "No, indeed,-I am calm," said Morrel, giving his hand to the count; "my pulse does not beat slower or faster than usual. No, I feel that I have reached the goal, and I will go no farther. You told me to wait and hope; do you know what you did, unfortunate adviser? I waited a month, or rather I suffered for a month! I did hope (man is a poor wretched creature), I did hope. What I cannot tell,- something wonderful, an absurdity, a miracle,-of what nature he alone can tell who has mingled with our reason that folly we call hope. Yes, I did wait-yes, I did hope, count, and during this quarter of an hour we have been talking together, you have unconsciously wounded, tortured my heart, for every word you have uttered proved that there was no hope for me. Oh, count, I shall sleep calmly, deliciously in the arms of death." Morrel uttered these words with an energy which made the count shudder. "My friend," continued Morrel, "you named the fifth of October as the end of the period of waiting,-to-day is the fifth of October," he took out his watch, "it is now nine o'clock, -I have yet three hours to live." "Be it so," said the count, "come." Morrel mechanically followed the count, and they had entered the grotto before he perceived it. He felt a carpet under his feet, a door opened, perfumes surrounded him, and a brilliant light dazzled his eyes. Morrel hesitated to advance; he dreaded the enervating effect of all that he saw. Monte Cristo drew him in gently. "Why should we not spend the last three hours remaining to us of life, like those ancient Romans, who when condemned by Nero, their emperor and heir, sat down at a table covered with flowers, and gently glided into death, amid the perfume of heliotropes and roses?" Morrel smiled. "As you please," he said; "death is always death,-that is forgetfulness, repose, exclusion from life, and therefore from grief." He sat down, and Monte Cristo placed himself opposite to him. They were in the marvellous dining-room before described, where the statues had baskets on their heads always filled with fruits and flowers. Morrel had looked carelessly around, and had probably noticed nothing. "Let us talk like men," he said, looking at the count. "Go on!" "Count," said Morrel, "you are the epitome of all human knowledge, and you seem like a being descended from a wiser and more advanced world than ours." "There is something true in what you say," said the count, with that smile which made him so handsome; "I have descended from a planet called grief." "I believe all you tell me without questioning its meaning; for instance, you told me to live, and I did live; you told me to hope, and I almost did so. I am almost inclined to ask you, as though you had experienced death, `is it painful to die?'" Monte Cristo looked upon Morrel with indescribable tenderness. "Yes," he said, "yes, doubtless it is painful, if you violently break the outer covering which obstinately begs for life. If you plunge a dagger into your flesh, if you insinuate a bullet into your brain, which the least shock disorders,-then certainly, you will suffer pain, and you will repent quitting a life for a repose you have bought at so dear a price." "Yes; I know that there is a secret of luxury and pain in death, as well as in life; the only thing is to understand it." "You have spoken truly, Maximilian; according to the care we bestow upon it, death is either a friend who rocks us gently as a nurse, or an enemy who violently drags the soul from the body. Some day, when the world is much older, and when mankind will be masters of all the destructive powers in nature, to serve for the general good of humanity; when mankind, as you were just saying, have discovered the secrets of death, then that death will become as sweet and voluptuous as a slumber in the arms of your beloved." "And if you wished to die, you would choose this death, count?" "Yes." Morrel extended his hand. "Now I understand," he said, "why you had me brought here to this desolate spot, in the midst of the ocean, to this subterranean palace; it was because you loved me, was it not, count? It was because you loved me well enough to give me one of those sweet means of death of which we were speaking; a death without agony, a death which allows me to fade away while pronouncing Valentine's name and pressing your hand." "Yes, you have guessed rightly, Morrel," said the count, "that is what I intended." "Thanks; the idea that tomorrow I shall no longer suffer, is sweet to my heart." "Do you then regret nothing?" "No," replied Morrel. "Not even me?" asked the count with deep emotion. Morrel's clear eye was for the moment clouded, then it shone with unusual lustre, and a large tear rolled down his cheek. "What," said the count, "do you still regret anything in the world, and yet die?" "Oh, I entreat you," exclaimed Morrel in a low voice, "do not speak another word, count; do not prolong my punishment." The count fancied that he was yielding, and this belief revived the horrible doubt that had overwhelmed him at the Chateau d'If. "I am endeavoring," he thought, "to make this man happy; I look upon this restitution as a weight thrown into the scale to balance the evil I have wrought. Now, supposing I am deceived, supposing this man has not been unhappy enough to merit happiness. Alas, what would become of me who can only atone for evil by doing good?" Then he said aloud: "Listen, Morrel, I see your grief is great, but still you do not like to risk your soul." Morrel smiled sadly. "Count," he said, "I swear to you my soul is no longer my own." "Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I have accustomed myself to regard you as my son: well, then, to save my son, I will sacrifice my life, nay, even my fortune." "What do you mean?" "I mean, that you wish to quit life because you do not understand all the enjoyments which are the fruits of a large fortune. Morrel, I possess nearly a hundred millions and I give them to you; with such a fortune you can attain every wish. Are you ambitions? Every career is open to you. Overturn the world, change its character, yield to mad ideas, be even criminal-but live." "Count, I have your word," said Morrel coldly; then taking out his watch, he added, "It is half-past eleven." "Morrel, can you intend it in my house, under my very eyes?" "Then let me go," said Maximilian, "or I shall think you did not love me for my own sake, but for yours; "and he arose. "It is well," said Monte Cristo whose countenance brightened at these words; "you wish-you are inflexible. Yes, as you said, you are indeed wretched and a miracle alone can cure you. Sit down, Morrel, and wait." Morrel obeyed; the count arose, and unlocking a closet with a key suspended from his gold chain, took from it a little silver casket, beautifully carved and chased, the corners of which represented four bending figures, similar to the Caryatides, the forms of women, symbols of the angels aspiring to heaven. He placed the casket on the table; then opening it took out a little golden box, the top of which flew open when touched by a secret spring. This box contained an unctuous substance partly solid, of which it was impossible to discover the color, owing to the reflection of the polished gold, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, which ornamented the box. It was a mixed mass of blue, red, and gold. The count took out a small quantity of this with a gilt spoon, and offered it to Morrel, fixing a long steadfast glance upon him. It was then observable that the substance was greenish. "This is what you asked for," he said, "and what I promised to give you." "I thank you from the depths of my heart," said the young man, taking the spoon from the hands of Monte Cristo. The count took another spoon, and again dipped it into the golden box. "What are you going to do, my friend?" asked Morrel, arresting his hand. "Well, the fact is, Morrel, I was thinking that I too am weary of life, and since an opportunity presents itself"- "Stay!" said the young man. "You who love, and are beloved; you, who have faith and hope,-oh, do not follow my example. In your case it would be a crime. Adieu, my noble and generous friend, adieu; I will go and tell Valentine what you have done for me." And slowly, though without any hesitation, only waiting to press the count's hand fervently, he swallowed the mysterious substance offered by Monte Cristo. Then they were both silent. Ali, mute and attentive, brought the pipes and coffee, and disappeared. By degrees, the light of the lamps gradually faded in the hands of the marble statues which held them, and the perfumes appeared less powerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him, Monte Cristo watched him in the shadow, and Morrel saw nothing but the bright eyes of the count. An overpowering sadness took possession of the young man, his hands relaxed their hold, the objects in the room gradually lost their form and color, and his disturbed vision seemed to perceive doors and curtains open in the walls. "Friend," he cried, "I feel that I am dying; thanks!" He made a last effort to extend his hand, but it fell powerless beside him. Then it appeared to him that Monte Cristo smiled, not with the strange and fearful expression which had sometimes revealed to him the secrets of his heart, but with the benevolent kindness of a father for a child. At the same time the count appeared to increase in stature, his form, nearly double its usual height, stood out in relief against the red tapestry, his black hair was thrown back, and he stood in the attitude of an avenging angel. Morrel, overpowered, turned around in the arm-chair; a delicious torpor permeated every vein. A change of ideas presented themselves to his brain, like a new design on the kaleidoscope. Enervated, prostrate, and breathless, he became unconscious of outward objects; he seemed to be entering that vague delirium preceding death. He wished once again to press the count's hand, but his own was immovable. He wished to articulate a last farewell, but his tongue lay motionless and heavy in his throat, like a stone at the mouth of a sepulchre. Involuntarily his languid eyes closed, and still through his eyelashes a well-known form seemed to move amid the obscurity with which he thought himself enveloped. The count had just opened a door. Immediately a brilliant light from the next room, or rather from the palace adjoining, shone upon the room in which he was gently gliding into his last sleep. Then he saw a woman of marvellous beauty appear on the threshold of the door separating the two rooms. pale, and sweetly smiling, she looked like an angel of mercy conjuring the angel of vengeance. "Is it heaven that opens before me?" thought the dying man; "that angel resembles the one I have lost." Monte Cristo pointed out Morrel to the young woman, who advanced towards him with clasped hands and a smile upon her lips. "Valentine, Valentine!" he mentally ejaculated; but his lips uttered no sound, and as though all his strength were centred in that internal emotion, he sighed and closed his eyes. Valentine rushed towards him; his lips again moved. "He is calling you," said the count; "he to whom you have confided your destiny-he from whom death would have separated you, calls you to him. Happily, I vanquished death. Henceforth, Valentine, you will never again be separated on earth, since he has rushed into death to find you. Without me, you would both have died. May God accept my atonement in the preservation of these two existences!" Valentine seized the count's hand, and in her irresistible impulse of joy carried it to her lips. "Oh, thank me again!" said the count; "tell me till you are weary, that I have restored you to happiness; you do not know how much I require this assurance." "Oh, yes, yes, I thank you with all my heart," said Valentine; "and if you doubt the sincerity of my gratitude, oh, then, ask Haidee! ask my beloved sister Haidee, who ever since our departure from France, has caused me to wait patiently for this happy day, while talking to me of you." "You then love Haidee?" asked Monte Cristo with an emotion he in vain endeavored to dissimulate. "Oh, yes, with all my soul." "Well, then, listen, Valentine," said the count; "I have a favor to ask of you." "Of me? Oh, am I happy enough for that?" "Yes; you have called Haidee your sister,-let her become so indeed, Valentine; render her all the gratitude you fancy that you owe to me; protect her, for" (the count's voice was thick with emotion) "henceforth she will be alone in the world." "Alone in the world!" repeated a voice behind the count, "and why?" Monte Cristo turned around; Haidee was standing pale, motionless, looking at the count with an expression of fearful amazement. "Because to-morrow, Haidee, you will be free; you will then assume your proper position in society, for I will not allow my destiny to overshadow yours. Daughter of a prince, I restore to you the riches and name of your father." Haidee became pale, and lifting her transparent hands to heaven, exclaimed in a voice stifled with tears, "Then you leave me, my lord?" "Haidee, Haidee, you are young and beautiful; forget even my name, and be happy." "It is well," said Haidee; "your order shall be executed, my lord; I will forget even your name, and be happy." And she stepped back to retire. "Oh, heavens," exclaimed Valentine, who was supporting the head of Morrel on her shoulder, "do you not see how pale she is? Do you not see how she suffers?" Haidee answered with a heartrending expression, "Why should he understand this, my sister? He is my master, and I am his slave; he has the right to notice nothing." The count shuddered at the tones of a voice which penetrated the inmost recesses of his heart; his eyes met those of the young girl and he could not bear their brilliancy. "Oh, heavens," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "can my suspicions be correct? Haidee, would it please you not to leave me?" "I am young," gently replied Haidee; "I love the life you have made so sweet to me, and I should be sorry to die." "You mean, then, that if I leave you, Haidee"- "I should die; yes, my lord." "Do you then love me?" "Oh, Valentine, he asks if I love him. Valentine, tell him if you love Maximilian." The count felt his heart dilate and throb; he opened his arms, and Haidee, uttering a cry, sprang into them. "Oh, yes," she cried, "I do love you! I love you as one loves a father, brother, husband! I love you as my life, for you are the best, the noblest of created beings!" "Let it be, then, as you wish, sweet angel; God has sustained me in my struggle with my enemies, and has given me this reward; he will not let me end my triumph in suffering; I wished to punish myself, but he has pardoned me. Love me then, Haidee! Who knows? perhaps your love will make me forget all that I do not wish to remember." "What do you mean, my lord?" "I mean that one word from you has enlightened me more than twenty years of slow experience; I have but you in the world, Haidee; through you I again take hold on life, through you I shall suffer, through you rejoice." "Do you hear him, Valentine?" exclaimed Haidee; "he says that through me he will suffer-through me, who would yield my life for his." The count withdrew for a moment. "Have I discovered the truth?" he said; "but whether it be for recompense or punishment, I accept my fate. Come, Haidee, come!" and throwing his arm around the young girl's waist, he pressed the hand of Valentine, and disappeared. An hour had nearly passed, during which Valentine, breathless and motionless, watched steadfastly over Morrel. At length she felt his heart beat, a faint breath played upon his lips, a slight shudder, announcing the return of life, passed through the young man's frame. At length his eyes opened, but they were at first fixed and expressionless; then sight returned, and with it feeling and grief. "Oh," he cried, in an accent of despair, "the count has deceived me; I am yet living; "and extending his hand towards the table, he seized a knife. "Dearest," exclaimed Valentine, with her adorable smile, "awake, and look at me!" Morrel uttered a loud exclamation, and frantic, doubtful, dazzled, as though by a celestial vision, he fell upon his knees. The next morning at daybreak, Valentine and Morrel were walking arm-in-arm on the sea-shore, Valentine relating how Monte Cristo had appeared in her room, explained everything, revealed the crime, and, finally, how he had saved her life by enabling her to simulate death. They had found the door of the grotto opened, and gone forth; on the azure dome of heaven still glittered a few remaining stars. Morrel soon perceived a man standing among the rocks, apparently awaiting a sign from them to advance, and pointed him out to Valentine. "Ah, it is Jacopo," she said, "the captain of the yacht; "and she beckoned him towards them. "Do you wish to speak to us?" asked Morrel. "I have a letter to give you from the count." "From the count!" murmured the two young people. "Yes; read it." Morrel opened the letter, and read:- "My Dear Maximilian,- "There is a felucca for you at anchor. Jacopo will carry you to Leghorn, where Monsieur Noirtier awaits his granddaughter, whom he wishes to bless before you lead her to the altar. All that is in this grotto, my friend, my house in the Champs Elysees, and my chateau at Treport, are the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantes upon the son of his old master, Morrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the immense fortune reverting to her from her father, now a madman, and her brother who died last September with his mother. Tell the angel who will watch over your future destiny, Morrel, to pray sometimes for a man, who like Satan thought himself for an instant equal to God, but who now acknowledges with Christian humility that God alone possesses supreme power and infinite wisdom. perhaps those prayers may soften the remorse he feels in his heart. As for you, Morrel, this is the secret of my conduct towards you. There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is only the comparison of one state with another, nothing more. He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die, Morrel, that we may appreciate the enjoyments of living. "Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and never forget that until the day when God shall deign to reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in these two words,-`Wait and hope.' Your friend, "Edmond Dantes, Count of Monte Cristo." During the perusal of this letter, which informed Valentine for the first time of the madness of her father and the death of her brother, she became pale, a heavy sigh escaped from her bosom, and tears, not the less painful because they were silent, ran down her cheeks; her happiness cost her very dear. Morrel looked around uneasily. "But," he said, "the count's generosity is too overwhelming; Valentine will be satisfied with my humble fortune. Where is the count, friend? Lead me to him." Jacopo pointed towards the horizon. "What do you mean?" asked Valentine. "Where is the count?- where is Haidee?" "Look!" said Jacopo. The eyes of both were fixed upon the spot indicated by the sailor, and on the blue line separating the sky from the Mediterranean Sea, they perceived a large white sail. "Gone," said Morrel; "gone!-adieu, my friend-adieu, my father!" "Gone," murmured Valentine; "adieu, my sweet Haidee- adieu, my sister!" "Who can say whether we shall ever see them again?" said Morrel with tearful eyes. "Darling," replied Valentine, "has not the count just told us that all human wisdom is summed up in two words?-`Wait and hope.'"

中文翻译 第一一七章　十月五日 　　傍晚六点钟左右；乳白色的晕雾笼罩到蔚蓝的海面上；透过这片晕雾，秋天的太阳把它那金色的光芒撒在蔚蓝的海面上，白天的炎热已渐渐消退了，微风拂过海面，象是大自然午睡醒来后呼出的气息一样；一阵爽神的微风吹拂着地中海的海岸，把夹杂着清新的海的气息的花草香味到处播送。 　　在这片从直布罗陀到达达尼尔，从突尼斯到威尼斯的浩瀚无垠的大海上，一艘整洁、漂亮、轻捷的游艇正在黄昏的轻雾中穿行。犹如一只迎风展翅的天鹅，平稳地在水面上滑行。它迅速而优美地在它的后面留下一道发光的水痕。渐渐地，太阳消失在西方的地平线上了：但象是要证实神话家的幻想似的，尚未收尽的余辉象火焰一般跳动在每一个波浪的浪尖上，似乎告诉人们海神安费德丽蒂把火神拥在怀抱里，她虽然竭力要把她的爱人掩藏在她那蔚蓝的大毯子底下，却始终掩饰不住。海面上的风虽然还不够吹乱一个少女头上的鬈发，但那艘游艇却行进得非常快。船头上站着一个身材高大、肤色浅黑的男子，他大睁着的眼睛看着他们渐渐接近的一片乌压压的陆地，那块陆地矗立在万顷波涛之中，象是一顶硕大无朋的迦太兰人的圆锥形的帽子。 　　“这就是基督山岛吗？”这位旅客用一种低沉的充满抑郁的声音问道。这艘游艇看上去是按照他的吩咐行驶的。 　　“是的，大人，”船长说，“我们到了！” 　　“我们到了！那旅客用一种无法形容的悲哀的声音把这句话复述了遍。然后他又低声说，“是的，就是那个港口。”于是他又带着一个比流泪更伤心的微笑再陷入一连串的思索里。几分钟以后，只见岛上闪过一道转瞬即逝的亮光，一声熗响几乎同时传到游艇上。 　　“大人，”船长说，“岛上发信号了，您要亲自回答吗？” 　　“什么信号？” 　　船长向这座岛指了一指，岛边升起一缕渐渐向上扩大的轻烟。 　　“啊，是的，”他说，象是从一场梦里醒来似的。“拿给我。” 　　船长给他一支实弹的马熗；旅客把它慢慢地举起来，向空放了一熗。十分钟以后，水手收起帆，在离小港口外五百尺的地方抛下锚。小艇已经放到水上，艇里有四个船夫和一个舵手。那旅客走下小艇，小艇的船尾上铺着一块蓝色的毡毯供他坐垫，但他并没有坐下来，却兀自把手叉在胸前。船夫们等待着，他们的桨半举在水面外，象是海鸟在晾干它们的翅膀似的。 　　“走吧，”那旅客说。八条桨一齐插入水里，没有溅起一滴水花，小船迅速地向前滑去。一会儿，他们已到了一个天然形成的小港里；船底触到沙滩不动了。 　　“大人请骑在这两个人的肩头上让他们送您上岸去。”那青年作了一个不在乎的姿势答复这种邀请，自己跨到水里，水齐及他的腰。 　　“啊，大人！”舵手轻声地说，“您不应该这样的，主人会责怪我们的。” 　　那青年继续跟着前面的水手向前走。走了大约三十步以后，他们登上陆地了。那青年在干硬的地面上蹬了蹬脚使劲向四下里望着，他想找一个人为他引路，因为这时天色已经完全黑了。正当他转过身去的时候，一只手落到他的肩头上，同时有个声音把他吓了一跳。 　　“您好，马西米兰！你很守时，谢谢你！” 　　“啊！是你吗，伯爵？”那青年人用一种几乎可说很欢喜的声音说，双手紧紧地握住基督山的手。 　　“是的，你瞧，我也象你一样的守约。但你身上还在滴水，我亲爱的朋友，我得象凯丽普索对德勒马克［典出荷马名著《奥德赛》：凯丽普索是住在奥癸其亚岛上的女神，德勒马克船破落海，被救起，收留在她的岛上。——译注］所说的那样对你说，你得换换衣服了。来，我为你准备了一个住处，你在那儿，不久就会忘掉疲劳和寒冷了。” 　　基督山发现那年轻人又转过身去，象在等什么人。莫雷尔很奇怪那些带他来的人竟一言不发，不要报酬就走了。原来他们已经在回到游艇上去了，他可以听到他们的划桨声。 　　“啊，对了，”伯爵说，“你在找那些水手吗？” 　　“是的，我还没付给他们钱，他们就走了。” 　　“别去管这事了，马西米兰，”基督山微笑着说，“我曾和航海业中的人约定：凡是到我的岛上来的旅客，一切费用都不收。用文明国家的说法，我与他们之间是有‘协定’的。” 　　马西米兰惊讶地望着伯爵。“伯爵”，他说，“你跟在巴黎时不一样了。” 　　“为什么呢？” 　　“在这儿，你笑了。” 　　伯爵的脸色又变得阴郁起来。”你说得很对，马西米兰，你提醒我回到现实中，”他说，“我很高兴再看见你，可忘记了所有的快乐都是过眼云烟。” 　　“噢，不，不，伯爵！”马西米兰抓住伯爵的双手喊道，“请笑吧。你应该快乐，你应该幸福，应该用你的谈笑自若的态度来证明：生命只有在这些受苦的人才是一个累赘。噢，你是多么善良，多么仁慈呀！你是为了鼓励我才装出高兴的样子。” 　　“你错了，莫雷尔，我刚才是真的很高兴。” 　　“那么你是忘了，那样也好。” 　　“为什么这么说？” 　　“是的，正如古罗马的斗士在走进角斗场以前对罗马皇帝所说的那样，我也要对你说：去赴死的人来向你致敬了。’” 　　“你的痛苦还没有减轻吗？”伯爵带着一种奇特的神色问道。 　　“哦！”莫雷尔的眼光中充满苦涩，“你难道真的以为我能够吗？” 　　“请听我说，”伯爵说，“你明白我的意思吗？你不能把我看作一个普通人，看作一个只会喋喋不休地说些废话的人。当我问你是否感到痛苦已减轻的时候，我是作为一个能洞悉人的心底秘密的人的资格来对你说的。嗯，莫雷尔，让我们一同来深入你的心灵，来对它作一番探索吧，难道使你身躯象受伤狮子一样跳动的痛苦仍然那么强烈？难道你仍然渴望到坟墓里去熄灭你的痛苦吗？难道那种迫使你舍生求死的悔恨依然存在吗？难道是勇气耗尽，烦恼要把希望之光抑止？难道你丧失记忆使你不能哭泣了？噢，亲爱的朋友，如果你把一切都托付给上帝的话，——那么，马西米兰，你是已经得到上帝的宽慰，别再抱怨了。” 　　“伯爵，”莫雷尔用坚定而平静的口气说，“且听我说，我的肉体虽然还在人间，但我的思想却已升到天上。我之所以到你这儿来，是因为希望自己死在一个朋友的怀抱里。世界上的确还有几个我所爱的人。我爱我的妹妹，我爱她的丈夫。但我需要有人对我张开坚定的臂膀，在我临终的时候能微笑地对着我。我的妹妹会满脸泪痕地昏过去，我会因为她的痛苦而痛苦。艾曼纽会阻止我的行动，还会嚷得全家人都知道，只有你，伯爵，你不是凡人，如果你没有肉体的话，我会把你称为神的，你甚至可以温和亲切地把我领到死神的门口，是不是？” 　　“我的朋友，”伯爵说，“我还有一点疑虑——你是不是因为太软弱了，才这么以炫耀自己的痛苦来作为自己的骄傲？” 　　“不，真的，我很平静，”莫雷尔一面说，一面伸出一只手给伯爵，“我的脉搏既不比平时快也不比平时慢。不，我只觉得我已经走到了路的尽头，没法再往前走了。你要我等待，要我希望，您知道您让我付了多大的代价吗？你这位不幸的智者。我已经等了一个月，这就是说，我被痛苦折磨了一个月！我希望过（人是一种可怜的动物）我希望过——希望什么？我说不出来，——一件神奇的事情，一件荒唐的事情，一件奇迹。只有上帝才知道那是什么，上帝把希望的那种念头和我们的理智掺杂在一起。是的，我等待过，是的，我希望过，伯爵，在我们谈话的这一刻钟里，你也许并没有意识到你一次又一次地刺痛了我的心，——因为你所说的每一个字都在向我证明我没有希望了。噢，伯爵！请让我宁静地、愉快地走进死神的怀抱里吧！”莫雷尔说这几个字的时候情绪非常激动，伯爵看了禁不住打了一个寒颤。“我的朋友，”莫雷尔继续说，“你把十月五日作为最后的期限，今天是十月五日了。”他掏出怀表。’现在是九点钟，我还有三小时。” 　　“那好吧，”伯爵说，“请跟我来。” 　　莫雷尔机械地跟着伯爵走，不知不觉之中，他们走进了一个岩洞。他感到脚下铺着地毯，一扇门开了，馥郁的香气包围了他，一片灿烂的灯光照花了他的眼睛。莫雷尔停住脚步，不敢再往前走，他怕他所见的一切会软化他的意志。基督山轻轻地拉了他一把。他说，“古代的罗马人被他们的皇帝尼罗王判处死刑的时候，他们就在堆满着鲜花的桌子前面坐下来，吸着玫瑰和紫堇花的香气从容赴死，我们何不学学那些罗马人，象他们那样来消磨剩下的三小时呢？” 　　莫雷尔微笑了一下。“随便你好了，”他说，“总归是要死，是忘却，是休息，是生命的超脱，也是痛苦的超脱。”他坐下来，基督山坐在他的对面。他们是在我们以前所描写过的那间神奇的餐厅里，在那儿，石像头上所顶的篮子里，永远盛满着水果和鲜花。 　　莫雷尔茫然地注视着这一切，大概什么都没有看见。“让我们象男子汉那样地谈一谈吧。”他望着伯爵说。 　　“请说吧！”伯爵答道。 　　“伯爵！”莫雷尔说，“在你身上集中了人类的全部知识，你给我的印象，好象是从一个比我们这个世界进步的世界里过来的。” 　　“你说的话有点道理，”伯爵带着那种使他非常英俊的忧郁的微笑说，“我是从一个名叫痛苦的星球上下来的。” 　　“你对我说的一切，我都相信，甚至不去追问它的含意。所以，你要我活下去，我就活下来了，你要求我要抱有希望，我几乎也抱有希望了。所以伯爵我把你当作一个已经死过一回的人，我冒昧地问一句了，死是不是痛苦的？” 　　基督山带着无法形容的怜爱望着莫雷尔。“是的，”他说，——“是的，当然很痛苦，你用暴力把那执着地求生的躯壳毁掉，那当然非常痛苦。如果你用一把匕首插进你的肉里，如果你把在窗口乱窜的子弹射进你那略受震动就会痛苦万分的大脑，你当然会痛苦，你会在一种可憎的方式下抛弃生命，痛苦绝望的代价比这样昂贵的安息要好得多。” 　　“是的，”莫雷尔说，“我明白，死和生一样，也有它痛苦和快乐的秘密。只是一般人不知道罢了。” 　　“你说得很对，马西米兰。死，按照我们处理它的方法的好坏，可以成为一个朋友象护士轻轻地拍我们入睡一样，也可以成为一个敌人，象一个粗暴地把灵魂从肉体里拖出来的敌人一样，将来有一天，当人类再生活上上千年，当人类能够控制大自然的一切毁灭性的力量来造福人类的时候，象你刚才所说的那样，当人类已发现死的秘密的时候，那时，死亡就会象睡在心爱的人的怀抱里一样甜蜜而愉快。 　　“如果你想死的时候，你是会这样地去死的，是不是，伯爵？” 　　“是的。” 　　莫雷尔伸出他的手。“现在我明白了。”他说，“现在我明白你为什么要带我到大海中的这个孤岛、到这个地下宫殿来的原因了，那是因为你爱我，是不是，伯爵？因为你爱我极深，所以让我甜蜜、愉快地死去，感不到任何痛苦，而且允许握着你的双手，呼唤着瓦朗蒂娜的名字，慢慢死去。” 　　“是的，你猜对了，莫雷尔，”伯爵说，“那确是我的本意。” 　　“谢谢！想到明天我就可以不再痛苦，我的心里感到很甜蜜。” 　　“那么你什么都不挂念了？” 　　“没有什么可牵挂的了。” 　　“甚至对我也不牵挂吗？”伯爵非常动情地问道。 　　莫雷尔那对明亮的眼睛暂黯淡了一下，但很快又恢复了那种不寻常的光泽，一滴眼泪顺着他的脸颊滚落下来。 　　“什么！”伯爵说，’难道当你在这个世界上还有所挂念的时候，你还想死吗？” 　　“哦，我求求你！”莫雷尔用低沉的虚弱的声音喊道，“别再说了，伯爵，别再延长我的痛苦了！” 　　伯爵以为他要死的决心动摇了，这种信念使他在伊夫堡一度已经被克服的可怕的怀疑又复活了。“我正在极力要使这个人快乐，”他想道，“我要让他快乐，以此来补偿我给他带来的痛苦，现在，万一我算错了呢，万一这个人的不幸还不够重，还不配享受我即将给他的幸福呢？偏偏只有在让他幸福以后我才能忘记我给他带来的痛苦。”我该怎么办，于是他大声说，“听着，莫雷尔，我看你的确很痛苦，但你依旧相信上帝，大概是不愿意以灵魂解脱来冒险的［按基督教教义，人的生命是上帝赋予的，人没有权利可以消灭自己的生命。所以自杀的人灵魂不能得到解脱。——译注］。” 　　莫雷尔戚然地笑了一下。“伯爵，”他说，“我不会多愁善感地做样子，我的灵魂早已不属于我了。” 　　“马西米兰，你知道我在这个世界上没有任何亲人。我一向把你当作我儿子。为了救我的儿子，我连生命都能牺牲，更何况财产呢。” 　　“你是什么意思？” 　　“我的意思是：你之所以想结束生命，是因为你不懂得拥有一笔大财产可以取得一切享乐。莫雷尔，我的财产差不多有一亿，我把它都给你。有了这样的一笔财产，你就可以无往而不利，任凭自己。你有雄心吗？每一种事业你都可以干。任凭自己去干吧！不要紧——只要活下去。” 　　“伯爵，你已经答应过我的了，”莫雷尔冷冷地说，他掏出怀表说，“已经十一点半了。” 　　“莫雷尔，你忍心在我的家里，让我亲眼看着你去死吗？” 　　“那么请让我走吧，”马西米兰说，“不然，我就要以为你爱我，不是为了我而是为了你自己了。”说着他站起身来。 　　“很好，”基督山说，他的脸上顿时现出光彩，“你执意要死。是的，正如你自己所说的，你的确痛苦万分，只有奇迹才能治愈你的痛苦。坐下，莫雷尔，再等一会儿。” 　　莫雷尔照他说的做了。伯爵站起身来，用一只悬在他的金链上的钥匙打开一只碗柜，从碗柜里取出一只雕镶得很精致的银质小箱子，箱子的四个角雕镂着四个仰面弯着身子的女人，象征着要飞上天堂去的天使。他把这只银箱放在桌子上，然后打开箱子，取出一只小小的金匣，一按暗纽，匣盖便自动开启了。匣里装着一种稠腻的胶冻，因为匣上装饰着金子、翡翠、红宝石和蓝宝石，映得匣里五彩缤纷，所以看不清这种胶冻的颜色。伯爵用一只镀金的银匙把这种东西舀了一小匙递给莫雷尔，并用坚定的目光盯住他。这时可以看出那种东西是淡绿色的。 　　“就是你要的东西，”他说，“也就是我答应给你的东西。” 　　“我从我的心坎里感谢你。”年轻人从伯爵手里接过那只银匙说。 　　基督山另外又拿了一只银匙浸到金匣里。 　　“你要干什么，我的朋友？”莫雷尔抓住他地手问道。 　　“莫雷尔，”他微笑着说，“愿上帝宽恕我！我也象你一样的厌倦了生命，既然有这样一个机会。” 　　“慢来！”那青年人说。“你，这个世界上有你爱的别人，别人也爱着你，你是有信心和希望的。哦，别跟我一样，在你，这是一种罪。永别了，我的高尚而慷慨的朋友，永别了，我会把你为我所做的一切去告诉瓦朗蒂娜。” 　　于是，他一面按住伯爵的手，一面慢慢地，但却毫不犹豫地吞下了基督山给他的那种神秘的东西。然后两个人都沉默了。哑巴阿里小心地拿来烟管和咖啡以后便退了出去。渐渐地，石像手里的那几盏灯渐渐地变暗了，莫雷尔觉得房间里的香气似乎也没有以前那样强烈了。基督山坐在他对面的阴影里看着他，莫雷尔只看见伯爵那一对发光的眼睛。一阵巨大的忧伤向年轻人袭来，他的手渐渐放松，房间里的东西渐渐丧失了它们的形状和色彩，昏昏沉沉地，他似乎看见墙上出现了门和门帘。 　　“朋友，”他喊道，“我觉得我是在死了，谢谢！”他努力想伸出他的手，但那只手却无力地垂落在他的身边。这时，他似乎觉得基督山在那儿微笑，不是看透他心里的秘密时那种奇怪可怕的微笑，而是象一位父亲对一个婴孩的那种慈爱的微笑。同时，伯爵在他的眼睛里变得高大起来，几乎比平常高大了一倍，呈现在红色的帷幕上，他那乌黑的头发掠到后面，他巍巍然地站在那儿，象是一位将在末日审判时惩办恶人的天使一样。莫雷尔软弱无力地倒在圈椅里，一种惬意的麻木感渗入到每一条血管理，他的脑子里呈现出变幻莫测的念头，象是万花筒里的图案一样。他软弱无力地、失去了对外界事物的知觉。他似乎已进入临死以前那种漠然的昏迷状态里了。他希望再紧握一次伯爵的手，但他的手却丝毫不能动弹。他希望同伯爵作最后的告别，但他的舌头笨拙地堵住了他的喉咙，象是一尊雕像嘴巴里的石块一样。他那倦息的眼睛不由自主地闭上了。可是，从他的垂下的眼睑里望出去，他依稀看见一个人影移动，尽管他觉得周围一片昏暗，他还是认出了这个人影是伯爵，他刚去打开了一扇门。 　　隔壁的房间说得更准确些，是一座神奇的宫殿，立刻有一片灿烂的灯光射进莫雷尔所在大厅的门口。她脸色苍白，带着甜蜜的微笑，象是一位赶走复仇天使的慈爱天使一样，“莫非是天国的大门已经为我打开了吗？”那个垂死的人想道，“那位天使真象是我失去的那位姑娘啊，”基督山向那青年女子示意到莫雷尔奄奄待毙的那张圈椅旁边来。她合拢双手，脸上带着一个微笑向他走过去。 　　“瓦朗蒂娜！瓦朗蒂娜！”莫雷尔从灵魂的深处喊道，但他的嘴里却发不出一点声音来。他的全部精力似乎都已集中到内心的激情上去了他叹息了一声，闭上了眼睛。瓦朗蒂娜向他冲过去，他的嘴唇还在翕动。 　　“他在喊你，”伯爵说，——“你把你的命运寄托在他的身上，死神却想把你们拆开。幸亏我在那儿。我战胜了死神。瓦朗蒂娜，从此以后，你们在人世间永远再不分离了，因为他为了找你已经勇敢地经过死亡了。要是没有我，你们都已死了，我使你们两个重新团圆。愿上帝把我所救的两条性命记在我的账上” 　　瓦朗蒂娜抓住伯爵的手，带着一种无法抑制的喜悦的冲动把那只手捧到她的嘴唇上吻着。 　　“哦，再谢谢我吧！”伯爵说，“请你不厌其烦地告诉我：是我恢复了你们的幸福，你不知道我多么需要能确信这一点啊！” 　　“哦，是的，是的，我真心诚意地感谢你！”瓦朗蒂娜说，“假如你怀疑我这种感激的诚意，那么去找海黛吧！去问问我那亲爱的姐姐海黛吧，自从我们离开法国以来，她就一直和我在讲你，让我耐心地等待今天这个幸福的日子。” 　　“那么，你爱海黛！”基督山用一种抑制不住的的激动的情绪问。 　　“哦，是的！我一心一意地爱她。” 　　“哦，那么！听着，瓦朗蒂娜，”伯爵说，“我想求你做件事。” 　　“我？天哪，我能有这样的殊荣吗？” 　　“是的，你刚才称呼海黛叫姐姐。让她真的做你的姐姐吧，瓦朗蒂娜，把你对我的全部感激都给他。请和莫雷尔好好保护她，因为，“伯爵的声音因激动而哽咽了，，“从此以后，她在这个世界上就孤苦伶仃一个人了。” 　　“孤苦伶仃的一个人！”伯爵身后的一个声音复述说。“为什么呢？” 　　基督山转过身去，海黛脸色苍白而冷峻不动地站在那儿，带着一种惊讶奇怪的表情望着伯爵。 　　“因为明天，海黛，你就自由了，可以在社会上取得你应有的地位，你是位公主。你是一位王子的女儿！我要把你父亲的财富和名誉都还给你。” 　　海黛的脸色更惨白，她把她那两只洁白的手举向天空，含着泪用嘶哑的声音喊道：“那么你要离开我了，大人？” 　　“海黛！海黛！你还年轻，你很美，忘掉我的名字，去过幸福的生活吧！” 　　“很好，”海黛说，“你的命令是应该服从的大人。我将忘掉你的名字，去过幸福的生活。”她向后退一步，准备离去。 　　“哦，天呀！”瓦朗蒂娜喊道，她这时已靠在莫雷尔的身旁，让他的头靠在她的肩上，“你难道看不见她的脸色是多么的苍白吗？你看不见她有多么痛苦吗？” 　　海黛带着一种令人心碎的表情答道：“你为什么希望他明白我是否痛苦呢？我的妹妹？他是我的主人，而我是他的奴隶，他有权力看不到这些的。” 　　伯爵听着这拨动他最隐秘的心弦的声音，当他的目光与姑娘的目光相对他感到自己承受不住那耀眼的光芒了。“哦，上帝，”他喊道，“你让我在心里隐约想过的事情难道是真的？海黛，你真的觉得留在我身边很幸福吗？” 　　“我还年轻，”海黛温柔地答道，“我爱这个你给我安排得这样甜蜜的生活，我不想去死。” 　　“那么你的意思是，如果我离开你，海黛——” 　　“是的，我就会死，大人。” 　　“那么你爱我吗？” 　　“噢，瓦朗蒂娜！他问我是否爱他。瓦朗蒂娜，告诉他你是否爱马西米兰。” 　　伯爵觉得他的心在胀大，在狂跳，他张开两臂，海黛高叫一声，扑进他怀里。“噢，是的！”她喊道，“我爱你！我爱你象人家爱一位父亲、兄弟和丈夫一样！我爱你，就象爱生命，爱上帝一样。因为你是世界上最好，最崇高的人。” 　　“那么，愿一切都如你所希望的，我的天使呀，上帝激励我与敌人奋斗，给了我胜利又不肯让我以苦修生活来结束我的胜利，我曾想惩罚我自己，但上帝宽恕了我！那么爱我吧，海黛！有谁知道呢？也许你的爱会使我忘记那一切该忘记的事情。” 　　“你是什么意思，大人？” 　　“我的意思是：你的一句话比二十年漫长的经验给了我更多的启示，这个世界里我只有你了，海黛。因为你，我又将重新开始生活，有了你，我就又可以感受痛苦和幸福了。” 　　“你听到他说的话吗，瓦朗蒂娜？”海黛喊道，“他说，有了我他又可以感到痛苦——可我，为了他是宁愿献出自己的生命的。” 　　伯爵静静地想了一会儿。“难道我已发现了真理了吗？”他说，“但不论这究竟是补偿或是惩罚，总之，我接受了我的命运。来吧，海黛，来吧！”于是他搂住那姑娘的腰，和瓦朗蒂娜握了握手，便走开了。 　　又过了大约一小时内，瓦朗蒂娜焦急地默不作声地凝视着莫雷尔，终于，她觉得他的心跳动了，他的嘴里吐出一丝微弱的气息，这气息宣布生命又回到年轻人的肌体里了。不含任何表情的，然后渐渐恢复视觉了，随着视觉的恢复，烦恼又来了。“哦”，他绝望地喊道，“伯爵骗了我，我还活着。” 　　于是他伸手到桌子上，抓起一把小刀。 　　“亲爱的！”瓦朗蒂娜带着可爱的微笑喊道，“醒一醒看看我呀。” 　　莫雷尔发出一声大叫，他如痴如狂充满疑惑、象是看到了天堂的景象，感到头晕目眩似的跪了下去。 　　第二天早晨，在天色破晓的时候，瓦朗蒂娜和莫雷尔手挽着手的海边散步，瓦朗蒂娜把一切都告诉了莫雷尔。最后，以及怎么奇迹般让她知道事情的真相，他如何揭露那桩罪行，将她救活，而别人则都认为她死了。 　　他们刚才是发现了岩洞的门开着，从洞门里出来的，此刻最后的几颗夜星依旧在那淡青色的晨空上烁烁地发光。这时莫雷尔看见一个人站在岩石堆中，那个人象在等待他们招呼，他把那个人指给瓦朗蒂娜看。 　　“啊！那是贾可布，”她说、“是游船的船长。”于是她招手叫他走过来。 　　“你有事和我们说话吗？莫雷尔问道。 　　“伯爵有一封信要给你们。” 　　“伯爵的信？”他们俩都惊异地说。 　　“是的，请看吧。” 　　莫雷尔拆开信念道：—— 　　“我亲爱的马西米兰，——岛边为你们停着一只小帆船。贾可布会带你们到里窝去，那里诺瓦蒂埃先生正在等着他的孙女儿，他希望在他领他的孙女到圣坛前去以前，能先为你们祝福，我的朋友，这个洞里的一切，我在香榭丽舍大道的房子，以及我在黎港的别墅，都是爱德蒙•唐太斯送给莫雷尔船主的儿子的结婚礼物。也请维尔福小、姐接受其中的一半，因为，她的父亲现在已成了一个疯子，她的弟弟已在九月间和他的母亲一同去世，我想请她把她从她父亲和她弟弟那儿继承来的那笔财产捐赠给穷人。莫雷尔，告诉那位你将终生眷顾的天使，请她时时为一个人祈祷，那个人，象撒旦一样，一度曾自以为可与上帝匹敌；但现在，他已带着基督徒的自卑承认只有上帝拥有至高无上的权力和无穷的智慧。或许那些祈祷可以减轻他心里所感到的内疚。至于你，莫雷尔，我对你说一句知心话。世界上既无所谓快乐或也无所谓痛苦；只有一种状况与另一种状况的比较，如此而已。只有体验过不幸的人才能体会最大的快乐。莫雷尔，我们必须体验过死的痛苦，才能体会到生的快乐。 　　所以，我心爱的孩子们，享受生命的快乐吧！永远不要忘记，直至上帝揭露人的未来图景的那一天以前，人类的一切智慧就包含在这四个字里面：‘等待’和‘希望’。 　　你的朋友基督山伯爵爱德蒙•唐太斯。” 　　看了这封信，瓦朗蒂娜才知道她父亲的疯和她弟弟的死，在读这封信的时候，她的脸色变得苍白，从胸膛里发出一声悲痛的叹息，悄无声息但也同样令人心碎的泪珠从她的脸颊上滚下来，她的幸福是付出了昂贵的代价的。 　　莫雷尔不安地向四周张望。“但是，”他说，“伯爵太慷慨啦，哪怕我只有微薄的财产，瓦朗蒂娜也会很满足的。伯爵在哪儿，朋友？领我去见他。” 　　贾可布伸手指着远方的地平线。 　　“你是什么意思？”瓦朗蒂娜问道，“伯爵在哪儿？海黛在哪儿？” 　　“瞧！”贾可布说。 　　两个年轻人的眼睛向水手所指的地方望去，在远处海天相接的地方，他们看见一小片白色的帆，小得象海鸟的翅膀。 　　“他走了！”莫雷尔说，“他走了！别了，我的朋友！别了，我的父亲！” 　　“他走了！”瓦朗蒂娜也低声地说，“别了，我的朋友！别了，我的姐姐！” 　　“有谁知道，我们是否还能再见到他呢？”莫雷尔含着眼泪说。 　　“我的朋友，”瓦朗蒂娜答道，“伯爵刚才不是告诉我们了吗？人类的一切智慧是包含在这四个字里面的：‘等待’和‘希望’！”

英文原文 Chapter 115 Luigi Vampa's Bill Of Fare We awake from every sleep except the one dreaded by Danglars. He awoke. To a parisian accustomed to silken curtains, walls hung with velvet drapery, and the soft perfume of burning wood, the white smoke of which diffuses itself in graceful curves around the room, the appearance of the whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on awakening seemed like the continuation of some disagreeable dream. But in such a situation a single moment suffices to change the strongest doubt into certainty. "Yes, yes," he murmured, "I am in the hands of the brigands of whom Albert de Morcerf spoke." His first idea was to breathe, that he might know whether he was wounded. He borrowed this from "Don Quixote," the only book he had ever read, but which he still slightly remembered. "No," he cried, "they have not wounded, but perhaps they have robbed me!" and he thrust his hands into his pockets. They were untouched; the hundred louis he had reserved for his journey from Rome to Venice were in his trousers pocket, and in that of his great-coat he found the little note-case containing his letter of credit for 5,050,000 francs. "Singular bandits!" he exclaimed; "they have left me my purse and pocket-book. As I was saying last night, they intend me to be ransomed. Hallo, here is my watch! Let me see what time it is." Danglars' watch, one of Breguet's repeaters, which he had carefully wound up on the previous night, struck half past five. Without this, Danglars would have been quite ignorant of the time, for daylight did not reach his cell. Should he demand an explanation from the bandits, or should he wait patiently for them to propose it? The last alternative seemed the most prudent, so he waited until twelve o'clock. During all this time a sentinel, who had been relieved at eight o'clock, had been watching his door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to see the person who kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few rays, not of daylight, but from a lamp, penetrated through the ill-joined planks of the door; he approached just as the brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful of brandy, which, owing to the leathern bottle containing it, sent forth an odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars. "Faugh!" he exclaimed, retreating to the farther corner of his cell. At twelve this man was replaced by another functionary, and Danglars, wishing to catch sight of his new guardian, approached the door again. He was an athletic, gigantic bandit, with large eyes, thick lips, and a flat nose; his red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around his shoulders. "Ah, ha," cried Danglars, "this fellow is more like an ogre than anything else; however, I am rather too old and tough to be very good eating!" We see that Danglars was collected enough to jest; at the same time, as though to disprove the ogreish propensities, the man took some black bread, cheese, and onions from his wallet, which he began devouring voraciously. "May I be hanged," said Danglars, glancing at the bandit's dinner through the crevices of the door,-"may I be hanged if I can understand how people can eat such filth!" and he withdrew to seat himself upon his goat-skin, which reminded him of the smell of the brandy. But the mysteries of nature are incomprehensible, and there are certain invitations contained in even the coarsest food which appeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach. Danglars felt his own not to be very well supplied just then, and gradually the man appeared less ugly, the bread less black, and the cheese more fresh, while those dreadful vulgar onions recalled to his mind certain sauces and side-dishes, which his cook prepared in a very superior manner whenever he said, "Monsieur Deniseau, let me have a nice little fricassee to-day." He got up and knocked on the door; the bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was heard, so he redoubled his blows. "Che cosa?" asked the bandit. "Come, come," said Danglars, tapping his fingers against the door, "I think it is quite time to think of giving me something to eat!" But whether he did not understand him, or whether he had received no orders respecting the nourishment of Danglars, the giant, without answering, went on with his dinner. Danglars' feelings were hurt, and not wishing to put himself under obligations to the brute, the banker threw himself down again on his goat-skin and did not breathe another word. Four hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another bandit. Danglars, who really began to experience sundry gnawings at the stomach, arose softly, again applied his eye to the crack of the door, and recognized the intelligent countenance of his guide. It was, indeed, peppino who was preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by seating himself opposite to the door, and placing between his legs an earthen pan, containing chick-pease stewed with bacon. Near the pan he also placed a pretty little basket of Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto. peppino was decidedly an epicure. Danglars watched these preparations and his mouth watered. "Come," he said to himself, "let me try if he will be more tractable than the other;" and he tapped gently at the door. "On y va," (coming) exclaimed peppino, who from frequenting the house of Signor pastrini understood French perfectly in all its idioms. Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had called out in such a furious manner, "put in your head!" But this was not the time for recrimination, so he assumed his most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile,- "Excuse me, sir, but are they not going to give me any dinner?" "Does your excellency happen to be hungry?" "Happen to be hungry,-that's pretty good, when I haven't eaten for twenty-four hours!" muttered Danglars. Then he added aloud, "Yes, sir, I am hungry-very hungry." "What would your excellency like?" and peppino placed his pan on the ground, so that the steam rose directly under the nostrils of Danglars. "Give your orders." "Have you kitchens here?" "Kitchens?-of course-complete ones." "And cooks?" "Excellent!" "Well, a fowl, fish, game,-it signifies little, so that I eat." "As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?" "Yes, a fowl." peppino, turning around, shouted, "A fowl for his excellency!" His voice yet echoed in the archway when a handsome, graceful, and half-naked young man appeared, bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his head, without the assistance of his hands. "I could almost believe myself at the Cafe de paris," murmured Danglars. "Here, your excellency," said peppino, taking the fowl from the young bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table, which with the stool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire furniture of the cell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork. "Here, excellency," said peppino, offering him a little blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up the fowl. "pardon me, excellency," said peppino, placing his hand on the banker's shoulder; "people pay here before they eat. They might not be satisfied, and"- "Ah, ha," thought Danglars, "this is not so much like paris, except that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll fix that all right. I have always heard how cheap poultry is in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous at Rome.-There," he said, throwing a louis down. peppino picked up the louis, and Danglars again prepared to carve the fowl. "Stay a moment, your excellency," said peppino, rising; "you still owe me something." "I said they would skin me," thought Danglars; but resolving to resist the extortion, he said, "Come, how much do I owe you for this fowl?" "Your excellency has given me a louis on account." "A louis on account for a fowl?" "Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis." Danglars opened his enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic joke. "Come, come, this is very droll-very amusing-I allow; but, as I am very hungry, pray allow me to eat. Stay, here is another louis for you." "Then that will make only 4,998 louis more," said peppino with the same indifference. "I shall get them all in time." "Oh, as for that," said Danglars, angry at this prolongation of the jest,-"as for that you won't get them at all. Go to the devil! You do not know with whom you have to deal!" peppino made a sign, and the youth hastily removed the fowl. Danglars threw himself upon his goat-skin, and peppino, reclosing the door, again began eating his pease and bacon. Though Danglars could not see peppino, the noise of his teeth allowed no doubt as to his occupation. He was certainly eating, and noisily too, like an ill-bred man. "Brute!" said Danglars. peppino pretended not to hear him, and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly. Danglars' stomach felt so empty, that it seemed as if it would be impossible ever to fill it again; still he had patience for another half-hour, which appeared to him like a century. He again arose and went to the door. "Come, sir, do not keep me starving here any longer, but tell me what they want." "Nay, your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you want. Give your orders, and we will execute them." "Then open the door directly." peppino obeyed. "Now look here, I want something to eat! To eat-do you hear?" "Are you hungry?" "Come, you understand me." "What would your excellency like to eat?" "A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price in this accursed place." "Bread? Very well. Hallo, there, some bread!" he called. The youth brought a small loaf. "How much?" asked Danglars. "Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis," said peppino; "You have paid two louis in advance." "What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?" "One hundred thousand francs," repeated peppino. "But you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!" "We have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies nothing whether you eat much or little-whether you have ten dishes or one-it is always the same price." "What, still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it is perfectly ridiculous-stupid! You had better tell me at once that you intend starving me to death." "Oh, dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit suicide. pay and eat." "And what am I to pay with, brute?" said Danglars, enraged. "Do you suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?" "Your excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that will be fifty fowls at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a fowl for the 50,000." Danglars shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyes, and he understood the joke, which he did not think quite so stupid as he had done just before. "Come," he said, "if I pay you the 100,000 francs, will you be satisfied, and allow me to eat at my ease?" "Certainly," said peppino. "But how can I pay them?" "Oh, nothing easier; you have an account open with Messrs. Thomson & French, Via dei Banchi, Rome; give me a draft for 4,998 louis on these gentlemen, and our banker shall take it." Danglars thought it as well to comply with a good grace, so he took the pen, ink, and paper peppino offered him, wrote the draft, and signed it. "Here," he said, "here is a draft at sight." "And here is your fowl." Danglars sighed while he carved the fowl; it appeared very thin for the price it had cost. As for peppino, he examined the paper attentively, put it into his pocket, and continued eating his pease.

中文翻译 第一一五章　罗吉•万帕的菜单 　　除了腾格拉尔所害怕的那种睡眠以外，我们每一次睡觉总是要醒过来的。他醒了。对于一个睡惯了绸床单，看惯了天鹅绒的壁帏和嗅惯了檀香香味的巴黎人，在一个石灰岩的石洞里醒来自然象是一个不快意的梦境。但在这种情形之下，一眨眼的时间已足够使最强烈的怀疑变成确定无疑的事实。 　　“是的，”他对自己说，“我是落在阿尔贝•马尔塞夫所说的那批强盗手里了。”他的第一个动作是作一次深呼吸，以确认自己究竟是否受伤。这种方法他是从《堂吉诃德传》里学来的，他生平并非仅仅读过这一本书，但仅有这一本书他还保留着一些印象。 　　“不，”他大声说，“他们并没有杀死我或打伤我，但他们或许已抢去了我的东西！”于是他双手赶紧去摸口袋里，他找到了那只装着五百零五万法郎支付券的小皮夹。“奇怪的强盗！”他自语道，“他们没有拿走我的钱袋和皮夹。正如我昨天晚上所说的，他们是要我付赎款。啊！我的表还在这儿！让我来看看现在几点了。”腾格拉尔的表是钟表名匠勃里古的杰作，昨天晚上他小心的包着藏起来，现在时针正指在五点半上。假如没有这只表，腾格拉尔就无法知道白天还是黑夜，因为光是不能射到这间地窖里来的。他应该要求和强盗谈判呢，还是耐心地等待他们来提出？后面这个办法似乎更妥当，所以他就等着。他一直等待到十二点钟。在这期间，他的门口有一个哨兵始终在守着。八点钟的时候，哨兵换了一次班。腾格拉尔突然有一种强烈的愿望，想去看一看看守他的那个人。 　　他注意到把有几缕灯光从那扇拼得不甚严密的门板缝中透进来。他把眼睛凑到一条门缝上，正巧看见那个强盗在饮白兰地酒，那种酒，因为装在一只皮囊里，所以发出一种使腾格拉尔嗅了极不愉快的气味。“啐！”他喊了一声柏林学派20世纪20—30年代出现于柏林大学的一个逻，退回到地窖最远的那个角落里。 　　十二点的时候，又有一个强盗来换班，腾格拉尔想看一看这个新的看守人，便又走近门去。他是一个身材魁伟、肌肉发达的强盗，大眼睛，厚嘴唇，塌鼻子，他的红头发象蛇似的披散在肩上。“啊，上帝呀，”腾格拉尔喊道，“这个家伙象是一个吃人的妖怪，但是，我太老了，啃起来太硬，吃起来也没有味道。”由此可见，腾格拉尔还有足够的精力来开玩笑。正在那时，象是要证明他不是一个吃人的妖怪似的，那人从他的干粮袋里取出一些黑面包、黄油和大蒜，开始狼吞虎咽地大嚼起来。 　　“见鬼，”腾格拉尔从门缝里注视着强盗的那顿午餐说，——“见鬼，我真不懂人怎么能吃那样的脏东西！”于是他退回去坐在床上，那羊皮又使他想起了刚才的那种酒味。 　　但自然的规律是无法违背的，对于一个饥饿的胃，即使最粗糙的食物也具有不可抗拒的吸引力。腾格拉尔当时觉得他自己的胃里没有资源了，渐渐地，在他看来那个人似乎没有那样丑了即分析怎样从不知到知，从不完全、不确切的知识到比较完，面包也没有那样黑了，黄油也比较新鲜了。甚至庸俗的大蒜——令人讨厌的野蛮人的食物也使他想起了以前当他吩咐厨子准备鸡汤时连带端上来的精美的小菜。他站起身，敲一敲门，那强盗抬起头来。腾格拉尔知道他已听见，便再连续敲门。“Ｃｈｅｃｏｓａ？”［意大利语：“干什么？——译注］这强盗问。 　　“来，来，”腾格拉尔用手指敲着门说，“我想，这个时候也应该弄点东西来给我吃了吧！” 　　但不知道究竟是因为听不懂他的话，是因为他没有接到过如何对待腾格拉尔的营养问题的命令，那看守并不回答，只是继续吃他的黑面包。腾格拉尔感到自己的自尊心受了伤，他不再想和这个丑恶的家伙打交道，把自己往羊皮床上一搁，不再吭声。 　　又过了四个钟头，另一个强盗来换班。腾格拉尔的胃这时痛得象有什么东西在啮咬似的，他慢慢地站起来，再把他的眼睛凑在门缝上，认出了他那个聪明的向导的脸。这个人的确是庇皮诺（今河南洛阳）人。少好老庄，善清谈，官至黄门侍郎。依向，他正在准备以最舒服的方式来担任这项看守工作。他面对门坐着，两腿之间放着一只瓦盆，瓦盆里装的是咸肉煮豌豆，瓦盆旁边还有一小筐韦莱特里葡萄和一瓶奥维多酒。庇皮诺显然是一个对饮食讲究的人。看到这种情景腾格拉尔顿时口水直流。’好吧，”他心想，“我来看看他是否比那一个好说话！”于是他轻轻地敲敲门。 　　“来了！”庇皮诺喊道，他时常在派里尼老板的旅馆里进出，完全懂得法国人的习惯。 　　腾格拉尔立刻认出他就是那个在路上恶狠狠地对他吆喝” 　　“把头缩进去！”的那个人。但现在不是报复的时候，所以他装出最亲热的态度，带着一个和蔼的微笑说：“对不起，阁下，他们难道不准备给我吃东西吗？” 　　“大人可是有点饿了？” 　　“有点儿！不饿才怪呢，我有二十四小时没有吃东西啦！” 　　腾格拉尔自言自语道。然后他提高了声音说，“是的，阁下，我肚子饿了，——非常饿了！” 　　“那么大人希望——” 　　“马上就有东西吃，如果可能的话。” 　　“那是最容易的事情了，”庇皮诺说，“我们这儿要吃什么有什么，但当然得付钱，象在所有诚实的基督徒之间一样。” 　　“当然罗！”腾格拉尔喊道，“可是按理说，那些抓人的人至少应该喂饱他们的俘虏。” 　　“啊，大人！”庇皮诺答道，“我们这儿可没有这种规矩。” 　　“这个理由实在不充分，”腾格拉尔说，他觉得他的监守者很和善可亲，“可是，这样我也满意了。好吧，，拿一点东西给我吃吧。” 　　“马上就拿来。大人喜欢吃什么？”于是庇皮诺便把他的瓦盆放在地上，让咸肉煮豌豆的香味直冲进腾格拉尔的鼻孔里。“请吩咐吧！” 　　“你们这儿有厨房吗？” 　　“厨房？当然有，”我们这儿完整得很！” 　　“厨师呢？” 　　“都是一流的！” 　　“嗯，鸡、鱼、野禽，什么都行，我都吃的。” 　　“只替大人欢喜。您要一只鸡吧，我想？” 　　“好吧，一只鸡。” 　　庇皮诺转过身去喊道：“给大人拿一只鸡来！” 　　他这句话的回声还在甬道里回荡未绝，一个英俊、和蔼、赤膊的年轻人便出现了，他头顶着一只银盘走过来，并不用手去抹，银盘里盛着一只鸡。 　　“我几乎要相信自己是在巴黎咖啡馆里啦！”腾格拉尔自言自语地说。 　　“来了，大人！”庇皮诺一面说，一面从那小强盗的头上取下鸡，把它放在地窖里一张蛀得满是斑孔的桌子上。这张桌子，再加上一条长凳和那张羊皮床，便是地窖里的全部家当了。腾格拉尔又要刀和叉。“喏，大人，”庇皮诺一面说，一面给他一把钝口的小刀和一只黄杨木做的餐叉。腾格拉尔一手拿刀，一手拿叉，准备切那只鸡。 　　“原谅我，大人，”庇皮诺把手按在那银行家的眉头上说，“这儿的人是先付款后吃饭的。您这样会使他们不高兴，可是——” 　　“啊，啊！”腾格拉尔心想，“这就不象巴黎了，——我刚才倒没有想到他们会敲我的竹杠！但我慷慨一些吧。听说意大利的东西便宜，一只鸡在罗马大概值十二个铜板。拿去吧。” 　　说着他朝地下抛了一块金路易。 　　庇皮诺拾起那块金路易。腾格拉尔刚要割那只鸡。“等一等，大人，”庇皮诺起身来说，“你还欠我一些钱呢。” 　　“我说他们会敲我竹杠的，”腾格拉尔心想，但也决定要对这种敲诈逆来顺受，便说，“来，你说我在这只鸡上还欠你多少钱？” 　　“大人付了我一块路易的定洋。” 　　“一块路易吃一只鸡还算是定洋！” 　　“当然罗，大人现在还欠我四千九百九十九块路易！” 　　腾格拉尔张大眼睛听这个大笑话。’啊！奇怪，”他吃惊地说，“奇怪！” 　　于是他又准备去切那只鸡，但庇皮诺用他的左手抓住腾格拉尔的右手，他的右手则伸到腾格拉司的面前。“拿来。”他说。 　　“什么！你不是开玩笑吧？”腾格拉尔说。 　　“我们是从来不开玩笑的，大人。”庇皮诺说，严肃得象一个教友派教徒一样。 　　“什么，一只鸡要卖十万法郎？” 　　“大人，您无法想象在这种该死的地洞里养鸡是多么的困难。” 　　“算了吧，算了吧，”腾格拉尔说，“这种玩笑真是滑稽，有趣，我的肚子实在饿极了，所以还是让我吃吧。喏，再拿一块路易给你。” 　　“那么只欠四千九百九十八块路易了。”庇皮诺还是用那种口气说，“我们耐心地等你付清。 　　“噢！那个，”腾格拉尔对于他这样非常气愤，“那个，你是决不会成功的。去见鬼吧！你不知道你的对手是谁！” 　　庇皮诺一挥手，那青年强盗便急忙搬开那盘鸡。腾格拉尔往他的羊皮床上一躺，而庇皮诺则关上门，重新开始吃他的咸肉豆。腾格拉尔虽然看不见庇皮诺的吃相，但吃东西的咀嚼声显然说明了他在吃东西，而且吃得颇有滋味，象那些没有教养的人一样。腾格拉尔觉得他的胃似乎穿了底了。他不知道他究竟是否还能再填满它，可是他居然又熬了半个钟头，那半个钟头象一世纪那样的悠久。他再站起身来，走到门口。“来，阁下，”他说，“别让我再挨饿了，告诉我吧，他们究竟要我怎么样。” 　　“不，大人，应该说你要我们怎么样。请您吩咐，我们马上可以照办。” 　　“那么马上开门。” 　　庇皮诺遵命。 　　“哼！我要吃东西！——要吃东西你听到了吗？” 　　“你饿了吗？” 　　“算了吧。你知道的。” 　　“大人喜欢吃什么东西呢？” 　　“既然这个鬼地方的鸡这样贵，就给我来一块干面包吧。” 　　“面包？好极了。喂，听着！拿点面包来！”他喊道。 　　小强盗拿来一小块面包。 　　“多少钱？”腾格拉尔问。 　　“四千九百九十八块路易，”庇皮诺说，“您已经预付过两路易了。” 　　“什么！十万法郎一块面包？” 　　“十万法郎。”庇皮诺重复一遍。 　　“一只鸡你要我十万法郎呀！” 　　“我们这儿不是按菜论钱而是每餐有定价的。不论您吃多吃少，不论您吃十碟或一碟，价钱总是一样的。” 　　“什么！还要开这种无聊的玩笑吗？我的好人哪，这可是太蠢，太荒谬啦！你还是干脆告诉我吧，究竟你们是不是饿死我。” 　　“不，上帝哪，不，大人，除非是您想自杀。我们这儿是付钱就可以吃东西。” 　　“你叫我拿什么来付呢，畜生？”腾格拉尔怒道。“你以为我会在口袋里带着十万法郎出门吗？” 　　“大人的口袋里有五百零五万法郎，十万法郎一只的鸡可以吃五十只半。” 　　腾格拉尔打了一个寒颤。他现在明白了，他先前的想法是完全错误的。“来，”他说，“假如我付给你十万法郎，你就说话算数，肯让我安安稳稳地吃了吗？” 　　“当然罗。”庇皮诺说。 　　“我怎么付钱呢？” 　　“噢，那是最容易的了，您在罗马银行街的汤姆生•弗伦奇银行里开有户头，开一张四千九百九十八路易支票给我，我们自然会托我们的往来银行去代收的。” 　　腾格拉尔觉得他还是顺从他的好，所以他就接过庇皮诺给他的笔、墨水和纸、写了支票，签了字。“喏，”他说，—— 　　“这是一张凭票即付的支票。” 　　“这是您的鸡。” 　　腾格拉尔一面吃鸡，一面叹气，这只用十万法郎的代价换来的鸡简直瘦极了。庇皮诺仔细地把支票看了看，就把它放进口袋里，然后继续吃他的豆。

英文原文 Chapter 116 The Pardon The next day Danglars was again hungry; certainly the air of that dungeon was very provocative of appetite. The prisoner expected that he would be at no expense that day, for like an economical man he had concealed half of his fowl and a piece of the bread in the corner of his cell. But he had no sooner eaten than he felt thirsty; he had forgotten that. He struggled against his thirst till his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth; then, no longer able to resist, he called out. The sentinel opened the door; it was a new face. He thought it would be better to transact business with his old acquaintance, so he sent for peppino. "Here I am, your excellency," said peppino, with an eagerness which Danglars thought favorable to him. "What do you want?" "Something to drink." "Your excellency knows that wine is beyond all price near Rome." "Then give me water," cried Danglars, endeavoring to parry the blow. "Oh, water is even more scarce than wine, your excellency, -there has been such a drought." "Come," thought Danglars, "it is the same old story." And while he smiled as he attempted to regard the affair as a joke, he felt his temples get moist with perspiration. "Come, my friend," said Danglars, seeing that he made no impression on peppino, "you will not refuse me a glass of wine?" "I have already told you that we do not sell at retail." "Well, then, let me have a bottle of the least expensive." "They are all the same price." "And what is that?" "Twenty-five thousand francs a bottle." "Tell me," cried Danglars, in a tone whose bitterness Harpagon* alone has been capable of revealing-"tell the that you wish to despoil me of all; it will be sooner over than devouring me piecemeal." The miser in Moliere's comedy of "L'Avare."-Ed. "It is possible such may be the master's intention." "The master?-who is he?" "The person to whom you were conducted yesterday." "Where is he?" "Here." "Let me see him." "Certainly." And the next moment Luigi Vampa appeared before Danglars. "You sent for me?" he said to the prisoner. "Are you, sir, the chief of the people who brought me here?" "Yes, your excellency. What then?" "How much do you require for my ransom?" "Merely the 5,000,000 you have about you." Danglars felt a dreadful spasm dart through his heart. "But this is all I have left in the world," he said, "out of an immense fortune. If you deprive me of that, take away my life also." "We are forbidden to shed your blood." "And by whom are you forbidden?" "By him we obey." "You do, then, obey some one?" "Yes, a chief." "I thought you said you were the chief?" "So I am of these men; but there is another over me." "And did your superior order you to treat me in this way?" "Yes." "But my purse will be exhausted." "probably." "Come," said Danglars, "will you take a million?" "No." "Two millions?-three?-four? Come, four? I will give them to you on condition that you let me go." "Why do you offer me 4,000,000 for what is worth 5,000,000? This is a kind of usury, banker, that I do not understand." "Take all, then-take all, I tell you, and kill me!" "Come, come, calm yourself. You will excite your blood, and that would produce an appetite it would require a million a day to satisfy. Be more economical." "But when I have no more money left to pay you?" asked the infuriated Danglars. "Then you must suffer hunger." "Suffer hunger?" said Danglars, becoming pale. "Most likely," replied Vampa coolly. "But you say you do not wish to kill me?" "No." "And yet you will let me perish with hunger?" "Ah, that is a different thing." "Well, then, wretches," cried Danglars, "I will defy your infamous calculations-I would rather die at once! You may torture, torment, kill me, but you shall not have my signature again!" "As your excellency pleases," said Vampa, as he left the cell. Danglars, raving, threw himself on the goat-skin. Who could these men be? Who was the invisible chief? What could be his intentions towards him? And why, when every one else was allowed to be ransomed, might he not also be? Oh, yes; certainly a speedy, violent death would be a fine means of deceiving these remorseless enemies, who appeared to pursue him with such incomprehensible vengeance. But to die? For the first time in his life, Danglars contemplated death with a mixture of dread and desire; the time had come when the implacable spectre, which exists in the mind of every human creature, arrested his attention and called out with every pulsation of his heart, "Thou shalt die!" Danglars resembled a timid animal excited in the chase; first it flies, then despairs, and at last, by the very force of desperation, sometimes succeeds in eluding its pursuers. Danglars meditated an escape; but the walls were solid rock, a man was sitting reading at the only outlet to the cell, and behind that man shapes armed with guns continually passed. His resolution not to sign lasted two days, after which he offered a million for some food. They sent him a magnificent supper, and took his million. From this time the prisoner resolved to suffer no longer, but to have everything he wanted. At the end of twelve days, after having made a splendid dinner, he reckoned his accounts, and found that he had only 50,000 francs left. Then a strange reaction took place; he who had just abandoned 5,000,000 endeavored to save the 50,000 francs he had left, and sooner than give them up he resolved to enter again upon a life of privation-he was deluded by the hopefulness that is a premonition of madness. He who for so long a time had forgotten God, began to think that miracles were possible-that the accursed cavern might be discovered by the officers of the papal States, who would release him; that then he would have 50,000 remaining, which would be sufficient to save him from starvation; and finally he prayed that this sum might be preserved to him, and as he prayed he wept. Three days passed thus, during which his prayers were frequent, if not heartfelt. Sometimes he was delirious, and fancied he saw an old man stretched on a pallet; he, also, was dying of hunger. On the fourth, he was no longer a man, but a living corpse. He had picked up every crumb that had been left from his former meals, and was beginning to eat the matting which covered the floor of his cell. Then he entreated peppino, as he would a guardian angel, to give him food; he offered him 1,000 francs for a mouthful of bread. But peppino did not answer. On the fifth day he dragged himself to the door of the cell. "Are you not a Christian?" he said, falling on his knees. "Do you wish to assassinate a man who, in the eyes of heaven, is a brother? Oh, my former friends, my former friends!" he murmured, and fell with his face to the ground. Then rising in despair, he exclaimed, "The chief, the chief!" "Here I am," said Vampa, instantly appearing; "what do you want?" "Take my last gold," muttered Danglars, holding out his pocket-book, "and let me live here; I ask no more for liberty-I only ask to live!" "Then you suffer a great deal?" "Oh, yes, yes, cruelly!" "Still, there have been men who suffered more than you." "I do not think so." "Yes; those who have died of hunger." Danglars thought of the old man whom, in his hours of delirium, he had seen groaning on his bed. He struck his forehead on the ground and groaned. "Yes," he said, "there have been some who have suffered more than I have, but then they must have been martyrs at least." "Do you repent?" asked a deep, solemn voice, which caused Danglars' hair to stand on end. His feeble eyes endeavored to distinguish objects, and behind the bandit he saw a man enveloped in a cloak, half lost in the shadow of a stone column. "Of what must I repent?" stammered Danglars. "Of the evil you have done," said the voice. "Oh, yes; oh, yes, I do indeed repent." And he struck his breast with his emaciated fist. "Then I forgive you," said the man, dropping his cloak, and advancing to the light. "The Count of Monte Cristo!" said Danglars, more pale from terror than he had been just before from hunger and misery. "You are mistaken-I am not the Count of Monte Cristo." "Then who are you?" "I am he whom you sold and dishonored-I am he whose betrothed you prostituted-I am he upon whom you trampled that you might raise yourself to fortune-I am he whose father you condemned to die of hunger-I am he whom you also condemned to starvation, and who yet forgives you, because he hopes to be forgiven-I am Edmond Dantes!" Danglars uttered a cry, and fell prostrate. "Rise," said the count, "your life is safe; the same good fortune has not happened to your accomplices-one is mad, the other dead. Keep the 50,000 francs you have left-I give them to you. The 5,000,000 you stole from the hospitals has been restored to them by an unknown hand. And now eat and drink; I will entertain you to-night. Vampa, when this man is satisfied, let him be free." Danglars remained prostrate while the count withdrew; when he raised his head he saw disappearing down the passage nothing but a shadow, before which the bandits bowed. According to the count's directions, Danglars was waited on by Vampa, who brought him the best wine and fruits of Italy; then, having conducted him to the road, and pointed to the post-chaise, left him leaning against a tree. He remained there all night, not knowing where he was. When daylight dawned he saw that he was near a stream; he was thirsty, and dragged himself towards it. As he stooped down to drink, he saw that his hair had become entirely white.

中文翻译 第一一六章　宽恕 　　第二天，腾格拉尔又饿了，那间黑牢的空气不知为什么会让人这么开胃。那囚徒本来打算他这天不必再破费，因为，象任何一个会打经济算盘的人一样，他在地窖的角落里藏起了半只鸡和一块面包。但刚吃完东西，他就觉得口渴了，那可是在他的意料这外的。但他一直坚持到他的舌头粘在上颚上，然后，他再也不能坚持下去了，他大喊起来。守卫的打开门，那是一张新面孔。他觉得还是与他的相识做交易比较好一些，便要他去叫庇皮诺。 　　“我来啦，大人，”庇皮诺带着急切的表情说，腾格拉尔认为这种急切的表情对他有利的。“您要什么？” 　　“要一些喝的东西。” 　　“大人知道罗马附近的酒可是贵得很哪。” 　　“那么给我水吧。”腾格拉尔喊道，极力想避开那个打击。 　　“哦，水甚至比酒更珍贵，今年的天气是这样的旱。” 　　“得了，”腾格拉尔说，“看来我们又要兜那个老圈子啦。” 　　他的脸上带着微笑，希望把这件事情当作一次玩笑，但他额角上却已经汗涔涔地了。“来，我的朋友，”看到他的话并没有在庇皮诺身上引起什么反应，他又说，“你不会拒绝给我一杯酒的吧？” 　　“我已经告诉过大人了，”庇皮诺严肃地答道，“我们是不零卖的。” 　　“嗯，那么，给我一瓶最便宜的吧。” 　　“都是一样的价钱。” 　　“要多少？” 　　“两万五千法郎一瓶。” 　　“说吧，”腾格拉尔用痛苦的口吻喊道，“就说你们要敲诈得我一文不名，那比这样零零碎碎的宰割我还更痛快些。” 　　“没准儿这正是头儿的意思。” 　　“头儿！他是谁？” 　　“就是前天带您去见的那个人。” 　　“他在哪儿？” 　　“就在这儿。” 　　“让我见见他。” 　　“当然可以。” 　　一会儿，罗吉•万帕便出现在腾格拉尔的面前了。 　　“阁下，你就是带我到这儿来的那些人的首领吗？” 　　“是的，大人。” 　　“你要我付多少赎金？” 　　“哦，说实话，就是您带在身边的那五百万。” 　　腾格拉尔的心里感到一阵可怕的剧痛。“以前我虽有大笔的财产，”他说，“现在却只剩下这一笔钱了。如果你把这笔钱都拿走，就同时拿了我的命吧。” 　　“我们不准备使您流血。” 　　“谁给你们下的命令？” 　　“我们所服从的那个人。” 　　“那么你也服从那个人的吗？” 　　“是的，是一位首领。” 　　“我听说，你就是首领，但另有一个人是我的首领。” 　　“而那位首领，——他可是也听谁指挥的吗？” 　　“是的。” 　　“他听谁的指挥？” 　　“上帝。” 　　腾格拉尔想了一会儿。“我不懂你的意思。”他说。 　　“有可能。” 　　“是你的首领要你这样对待我的吗？” 　　“是的。” 　　“他的目的是什么？” 　　“我一点都不知道。” 　　“我的钱包都要被掏空了呀。” 　　“大概会的。” 　　“好，”腾格拉尔说，“给你一百万怎么样？” 　　“不行。” 　　“两百万呢？三百万？四百万？来，四百万哪？条件是你放我走。” 　　“值五百万的东西您为什么只给我四百万呢？银行家阁下，您这么杀价我买在不懂。” 　　“都拿去吧，那么统统都拿去吧，我告诉你，连我也杀了吧！” 　　“好了，好好，别生气。这样会刺激你的血液循环，使血液循环的加速，这样会产生一个每天需要一百万才满足的胃口。您还是经济一点儿吧。” 　　“但到我没有钱付给你们的时候，又怎么样呢？”腾格拉尔绝望地问。 　　“那时您必须挨饿。” 　　“挨饿？”腾格拉尔说，他的脸色发白起来。 　　“大概会的。”万帕冷冷地回答。 　　“但你不是说你不想杀死我的吗？” 　　“是的。” 　　“可是你怎么又想让我饿死？” 　　“那是另一回事了。” 　　“那么，你们这些混蛋！”腾格拉尔喊道，“我决不会让你们的阴谋得逞！我情愿马上就死！你们可以拷打我、虐待我、杀死我，但你们再也得不到我的签字了！” 　　“悉听尊便。”万帕说着就离开了地窖。 　　腾格拉尔狂怒地把自己往羊皮床上一搁。这些家伙是些什么人呢？那个躲在幕后的首领是谁呢？为什么旁人都可以出了赎金就释放，惟有他却不能这么办呢？噢，是的，这些残酷的敌人既然用这无法理解的手段来迫害他，那么，迅速的突然的死去，可算是一种报复他们的好方法。死？在腾格拉尔的一生中，这大概是他第一次带着恐惧和希望的矛盾想到死。这时，他的目光停留在一个毫不留情的幽灵身上，这个幽灵深藏在每个人的内心中，而且随着每次的心跳一遍遍地说道：“你要死了！” 　　腾格拉尔象一头被围捕的野兽。野兽在被追逐的时候，最初是飞逃，然后是绝望，最后，凭着绝望所刺激出来的力量，有时也能绝处逢生。腾格拉尔寻思着逃脱的方法，但四壁都是实心岩石，地窖惟一的出口处有一个人坐在那儿看书，那个人的后面还不断地有带熗的人经过。他那不签字的决心持续了两天，两天以后，他出了一百万买食物。他们送来一顿丰美的晚餐，拿走一百万法郎的支票。 　　从这时起，那不幸的囚犯干脆听天由命了。他已受了这样多的痛苦，他决定不让自己再受苦，什么要求他都肯答应了，在他象有钱的时候那样大吃大喝地享受了十二天以后，他算一算账，发觉他只剩下五万法郎了。于是这个囚犯发生了一种奇怪的反应。为了保住剩下的五万法郎。他宁愿再去受饥饿的折磨也不肯放弃那笔钱。有一线濒于疯狂的希望在他眼前闪烁。早就把上帝抛在脑后的他，这时又想起了上帝。上帝有时会创造奇迹的，教皇的巡官或许会发现这个该死的洞窟，把他释放出去，那时他就还可以用剩下五万法郎，保证他此后不致挨饿。他祈祷上帝让他保存这笔钱，他一面祈祷一面哭泣。三天就这样过去了，在这三天里面，即使他的心里并没有想到上帝，但他的嘴巴上总老是挂着上帝的名字。有时他神志昏迷，好象看见一个老人躺在一张破床上，那个老人也已饿得奄奄一息了。 　　到第四天，他已饿得不成人形而是一具活尸了。他捡完了以前进餐时掉在地上的每一颗面包屑，开始嚼起干草来了。 　　然后他恳求庇皮诺，象恳求一个守护神似的向他讨东西吃，他出一千法郎向他换一小块面包。但庇皮诺不理他。到第五天，他挣扎着摸到地窖的门口。 　　“你难道不是一个基督徒吗？”他支撑着起来说：“你们忍心看着一个在上帝面前与你同是兄弟的人死去吗？我的朋友，我当年的朋友呀！”他喃喃地说，脸贴到地上。然后他绝望地站起来，喊道，“首领！首领！” 　　“我在这儿，”万帕立刻出现，说，“您想要什么？” 　　“把我最后的一个金币拿去吧！”腾格拉尔递出他的皮夹，结结巴巴地说，“让我住在这个洞里吧。我不再要自由了，我只要求让我活下去！” 　　“那么您真的感到痛苦了？” 　　“哦，是的，是的，我痛苦极了！” 　　“可是，还有人比您受过更大的痛苦。” 　　“我不相信。” 　　“有的，想想那些活活饿死的人。” 　　腾格拉尔想到了他在昏迷状态时所见的那个躺在床上呻吟的老人。他以额撞地，也呻吟起来。“是的，”他说，“虽有人比我痛苦，但他们至少是殉道而死的。” 　　“你忏悔了吗？”一个庄严低沉的声音问道。腾格拉尔听了吓得头发根都直竖起来。他睁大衰弱的眼睛竭力想看清眼前的东西，在那强盗的后面，他看见一个人裹着披风站在石柱的影阴里。 　　“我忏悔什么呢？”腾格拉尔结结巴巴地说。 　　“忏悔你所做过的坏事。”那个声音说。 　　“噢，是的！我忏悔了！我忏悔了！”腾格拉尔说，他用他那瘦削的拳头捶着他的胸膛。 　　“那么我宽恕你。”那人说着就摔下他的披风，走到亮光里。 　　“基督山伯爵！”腾格拉尔说，饥饿和痛苦使他的脸色苍白，恐惧更使他面如土色了。 　　“你弄错了，我不是基督山伯爵！” 　　“那末你是谁呢？” 　　“我就是那个被你诬陷、出卖和污蔑的人。我的未婚妻被你害得过着屈辱的生活。我横遭你的践踏，被你作为升官发财的垫脚石，我的父亲被你害得活活饿死，——我本来也想让你死于饥饿。可是我宽恕了你，因为我也需要宽恕。我就是爱德蒙•唐太斯。” 　　腾格拉尔大叫一声，摔倒在地上缩成一团。 　　“起来吧，”伯爵说，“你的生命是安全的。你的那两个同伴可没有你这样幸运，一个疯了，一个死了。留着剩下的那五万法郎吧，我送给你了。你从医院里骗来的那五百万，已经送回给他们了。现在你可以好好地吃一顿。今天晚上你是我的客人。万帕，这个人吃饱以后，就把他放了。” 　　伯爵离开的时候腾格拉尔仍然倒在地上，当他抬起头来的时候，只看见一个人影在甬道里消失了，甬道两旁的强盗都对他鞠躬。万帕遵照伯爵的指示，款待了腾格拉尔一顿，让他享受意大利最好的酒和美食，然后，用他的马车带他离开，把他放在路上，他靠着一棵树干。在树下呆了一整夜，不知道自己身在何处。天亮的时候，他发现自己在一条小溪附近；他口渴了，踉踉跄跄地走到小溪边。当他俯下身来饮水的时候，他发现自己的头发已完全白了。

英文原文 Chapter 113 The Past The count departed with a sad heart from the house in which he had left Mercedes, probably never to behold her again. Since the death of little Edward a great change had taken place in Monte Cristo. Having reached the summit of his vengeance by a long and tortuous path, he saw an abyss of doubt yawning before him. More than this, the conversation which had just taken place between Mercedes and himself had awakened so many recollections in his heart that he felt it necessary to combat with them. A man of the count's temperament could not long indulge in that melancholy which can exist in common minds, but which destroys superior ones. He thought he must have made an error in his calculations if he now found cause to blame himself. "I cannot have deceived myself," he said; "I must look upon the past in a false light. What!" he continued, "can I have been following a false path?-can the end which I proposed be a mistaken end?-can one hour have sufficed to prove to an architect that the work upon which he founded all his hopes was an impossible, if not a sacrilegious, undertaking? I cannot reconcile myself to this idea-it would madden me. The reason why I am now dissatisfied is that I have not a clear appreciation of the past. The past, like the country through which we walk, becomes indistinct as we advance. My position is like that of a person wounded in a dream; he feels the wound, though he cannot recollect when he received it. Come, then, thou regenerate man, thou extravagant prodigal, thou awakened sleeper, thou all-powerful visionary, thou invincible millionaire,-once again review thy past life of starvation and wretchedness, revisit the scenes where fate and misfortune conducted, and where despair received thee. Too many diamonds, too much gold and splendor, are now reflected by the mirror in which Monte Cristo seeks to behold Dantes. Hide thy diamonds, bury thy gold, shroud thy splendor, exchange riches for poverty, liberty for a prison, a living body for a corpse!" As he thus reasoned, Monte Cristo walked down the Rue de la Caisserie. It was the same through which, twenty-four years ago, he had been conducted by a silent and nocturnal guard; the houses, to-day so smiling and animated, were on that night dark, mute, and closed. "And yet they were the same," murmured Monte Cristo, "only now it is broad daylight instead of night; it is the sun which brightens the place, and makes it appear so cheerful." He proceeded towards the quay by the Rue Saint-Laurent, and advanced to the Consigne; it was the point where he had embarked. A pleasure-boat with striped awning was going by. Monte Cristo called the owner, who immediately rowed up to him with the eagerness of a boatman hoping for a good fare. The weather was magnificent, and the excursion a treat. The sun, red and flaming, was sinking into the embrace of the welcoming ocean. The sea, smooth as crystal, was now and then disturbed by the leaping of fish, which were pursued by some unseen enemy and sought for safety in another element; while on the extreme verge of the horizon might be seen the fishermen's boats, white and graceful as the sea-gull, or the merchant vessels bound for Corsica or Spain. But notwithstanding the serene sky, the gracefully formed boats, and the golden light in which the whole scene was bathed, the Count of Monte Cristo, wrapped in his cloak, could think only of this terrible voyage, the details of which were one by one recalled to his memory. The solitary light burning at the Catalans; that first sight of the Chateau d'If, which told him whither they were leading him; the struggle with the gendarmes when he wished to throw himself overboard; his despair when he found himself vanquished, and the sensation when the muzzle of the carbine touched his forehead-all these were brought before him in vivid and frightful reality. Like the streams which the heat of the summer has dried up, and which after the autumnal storms gradually begin oozing drop by drop, so did the count feel his heart gradually fill with the bitterness which formerly nearly overwhelmed Edmond Dantes. Clear sky, swift-flitting boats, and brilliant sunshine disappeared; the heavens were hung with black, and the gigantic structure of the Chateau d'If seemed like the phantom of a mortal enemy. As they reached the shore, the count instinctively shrunk to the extreme end of the boat, and the owner was obliged to call out, in his sweetest tone of voice, "Sir, we are at the landing." Monte Cristo remembered that on that very spot, on the same rock, he had been violently dragged by the guards, who forced him to ascend the slope at the points of their bayonets. The journey had seemed very long to Dantes, but Monte Cristo found it equally short. Each stroke of the oar seemed to awaken a new throng of ideas, which sprang up with the flying spray of the sea. There had been no prisoners confined in the Chateau d'If since the revolution of July; it was only inhabited by a guard, kept there for the prevention of smuggling. A concierge waited at the door to exhibit to visitors this monument of curiosity, once a scene of terror. The count inquired whether any of the ancient jailers were still there; but they had all been pensioned, or had passed on to some other employment. The concierge who attended him had only been there since 1830. He visited his own dungeon. He again beheld the dull light vainly endeavoring to penetrate the narrow opening. His eyes rested upon the spot where had stood his bed, since then removed, and behind the bed the new stones indicated where the breach made by the Abbe Faria had been. Monte Cristo felt his limbs tremble; he seated himself upon a log of wood. "Are there any stories connected with this prison besides the one relating to the poisoning of Mirabeau?" asked the count; "are there any traditions respecting these dismal abodes,-in which it is difficult to believe men can ever have imprisoned their fellow-creatures?" "Yes, sir; indeed, the jailer Antoine told me one connected with this very dungeon." Monte Cristo shuddered; Antoine had been his jailer. He had almost forgotten his name and face, but at the mention of the name he recalled his person as he used to see it, the face encircled by a beard, wearing the brown jacket, the bunch of keys, the jingling of which he still seemed to hear. The count turned around, and fancied he saw him in the corridor, rendered still darker by the torch carried by the concierge. "Would you like to hear the story, sir?" "Yes; relate it," said Monte Cristo, pressing his hand to his heart to still its violent beatings; he felt afraid of hearing his own history. "This dungeon," said the concierge, "was, it appears, some time ago occupied by a very dangerous prisoner, the more so since he was full of industry. Another person was confined in the Chateau at the same time, but he was not wicked, he was only a poor mad priest." "Ah, indeed?-mad!" repeated Monte Cristo; "and what was his mania?" "He offered millions to any one who would set him at liberty." Monte Cristo raised his eyes, but he could not see the heavens; there was a stone veil between him and the firmament. He thought that there had been no less thick a veil before the eyes of those to whom Faria offered the treasures. "Could the prisoners see each other?" he asked. "Oh, no, sir, it was expressly forbidden; but they eluded the vigilance of the guards, and made a passage from one dungeon to the other." "And which of them made this passage?" "Oh, it must have been the young man, certainly, for he was strong and industrious, while the abbe was aged and weak; besides, his mind was too vacillating to allow him to carry out an idea." "Blind fools!" murmured the count. "However, be that as it may, the young man made a tunnel, how or by what means no one knows; but he made it, and there is the evidence yet remaining of his work. Do you see it?" and the man held the torch to the wall. "Ah, yes; I see," said the count, in a voice hoarse from emotion. "The result was that the two men communicated with one another; how long they did so, nobody knows. One day the old man fell ill and died. Now guess what the young one did?" "Tell me." "He carried off the corpse, which he placed in his own bed with its face to the wall; then he entered the empty dungeon, closed the entrance, and slipped into the sack which had contained the dead body. Did you ever hear of such an idea?" Monte Cristo closed his eyes, and seemed again to experience all the sensations he had felt when the coarse canvas, yet moist with the cold dews of death, had touched his face. The jailer continued: "Now this was his project. He fancied that they buried the dead at the Chateau d'If, and imagining they would not expend much labor on the grave of a prisoner, he calculated on raising the earth with his shoulders, but unfortunately their arrangements at the Chateau frustrated his projects. They never buried the dead; they merely attached a heavy cannon-ball to the feet, and then threw them into the sea. This is what was done. The young man was thrown from the top of the rock; the corpse was found on the bed next day, and the whole truth was guessed, for the men who performed the office then mentioned what they had not dared to speak of before, that at the moment the corpse was thrown into the deep, they heard a shriek, which was almost immediately stifled by the water in which it disappeared." The count breathed with difficulty; the cold drops ran down his forehead, and his heart was full of anguish. "No," he muttered, "the doubt I felt was but the commencement of forgetfulness; but here the wound reopens, and the heart again thirsts for vengeance. And the prisoner," he continued aloud, "was he ever heard of afterwards?" "Oh, no; of course not. You can understand that one of two things must have happened; he must either have fallen flat, in which case the blow, from a height of ninety feet, must have killed him instantly, or he must have fallen upright, and then the weight would have dragged him to the bottom, where he remained-poor fellow!" "Then you pity him?" said the count. "Ma foi, yes; though he was in his own element." "What do you mean?" "The report was that he had been a naval officer, who had been confined for plotting with the Bonapartists." "Great is truth," muttered the count, "fire cannot burn, nor water drown it! Thus the poor sailor lives in the recollection of those who narrate his history; his terrible story is recited in the chimney-corner, and a shudder is felt at the description of his transit through the air to be swallowed by the deep." Then, the count added aloud, "Was his name ever known?" "Oh, yes; but only as No. 34." "Oh, Villefort, Villefort," murmured the count, "this scene must often have haunted thy sleepless hours!" "Do you wish to see anything more, sir?" said the concierge. "Yes, especially if you will show me the poor abbe's room." "Ah-No. 27." "Yes; No. 27." repeated the count, who seemed to hear the voice of the abbe answering him in those very words through the wall when asked his name. "Come, sir." "Wait," said Monte Cristo, "I wish to take one final glance around this room." "This is fortunate," said the guide; "I have forgotten the other key." "Go and fetch it." "I will leave you the torch, sir." "No, take it away; I can see in the dark." "Why, you are like No. 34. They said he was so accustomed to darkness that he could see a pin in the darkest corner of his dungeon." "He spent fourteen years to arrive at that," muttered the count. The guide carried away the torch. The count had spoken correctly. Scarcely had a few seconds elapsed, ere he saw everything as distinctly as by daylight. Then he looked around him, and really recognized his dungeon. "Yes," he said, "there is the stone upon which I used to sit; there is the impression made by my shoulders on the wall; there is the mark of my blood made when one day I dashed my head against the wall. Oh, those figures, how well I remember them! I made them one day to calculate the age of my father, that I might know whether I should find him still living, and that of Mercedes, to know if I should find her still free. After finishing that calculation, I had a minute's hope. I did not reckon upon hunger and infidelity!" and a bitter laugh escaped the count. He saw in fancy the burial of his father, and the marriage of Mercedes. On the other side of the dungeon he perceived an inscription, the white letters of which were still visible on the green wall. "`O God,'" he read, "`preserve my memory!' Oh, yes," he cried, "that was my only prayer at last; I no longer begged for liberty, but memory; I dreaded to become mad and forgetful. O God, thou hast preserved my memory; I thank thee, I thank thee!" At this moment the light of the torch was reflected on the wall; the guide was coming; Monte Cristo went to meet him. "Follow me, sir;" and without ascending the stairs the guide conducted him by a subterraneous passage to another entrance. There, again, Monte Cristo was assailed by a multitude of thoughts. The first thing that met his eye was the meridian, drawn by the abbe on the wall, by which he calculated the time; then he saw the remains of the bed on which the poor prisoner had died. The sight of this, instead of exciting the anguish experienced by the count in the dungeon, filled his heart with a soft and grateful sentiment, and tears fell from his eyes. "This is where the mad abbe was kept, sir, and that is where the young man entered; "and the guide pointed to the opening, which had remained unclosed. "From the appearance of the stone," he continued, "a learned gentleman discovered that the prisoners might have communicated together for ten years. poor things! Those must have been ten weary years." Dantes took some louis from his pocket, and gave them to the man who had twice unconsciously pitied him. The guide took them, thinking them merely a few pieces of little value; but the light of the torch revealed their true worth. "Sir," he said, "you have made a mistake; you have given me gold." "I know it." The concierge looked upon the count with surprise. "Sir," he cried, scarcely able to believe his good fortune-"sir, I cannot understand your generosity!" "Oh, it is very simple, my good fellow; I have been a sailor, and your story touched me more than it would others." "Then, sir, since you are so liberal, I ought to offer you something." "What have you to offer to me, my friend? Shells? Straw-work? Thank you!" "No, sir, neither of those; something connected with this story." "Really? What is it?" "Listen," said the guide; "I said to myself, `Something is always left in a cell inhabited by one prisoner for fifteen years,' so I began to sound the wall." "Ah," cried Monte Cristo, remembering the abbe's two hiding-places. "After some search, I found that the floor gave a hollow sound near the head of the bed, and at the hearth." "Yes," said the count, "yes." "I raised the stones, and found"- "A rope-ladder and some tools?" "How do you know that?" asked the guide in astonishment. "I do not know-I only guess it, because that sort of thing is generally found in prisoners' cells." "Yes, sir, a rope-ladder and tools." "And have you them yet?" "No, sir; I sold them to visitors, who considered them great curiosities; but I have still something left." "What is it?" asked the count, impatiently. "A sort of book, written upon strips of cloth." "Go and fetch it, my good fellow; and if it be what I hope, you will do well." "I will run for it, sir;" and the guide went out. Then the count knelt down by the side of the bed, which death had converted into an altar. "Oh, second father," he exclaimed, "thou who hast given me liberty, knowledge, riches; thou who, like beings of a superior order to ourselves, couldst understand the science of good and evil; if in the depths of the tomb there still remain something within us which can respond to the voice of those who are left on earth; if after death the soul ever revisit the places where we have lived and suffered,-then, noble heart, sublime soul, then I conjure thee by the paternal love thou didst bear me, by the filial obedience I vowed to thee, grant me some sign, some revelation! Remove from me the remains of doubt, which, if it change not to conviction, must become remorse!" The count bowed his head, and clasped his hands together. "Here, sir," said a voice behind him. Monte Cristo shuddered, and arose. The concierge held out the strips of cloth upon which the Abbe Faria had spread the riches of his mind. The manuscript was the great work by the Abbe Faria upon the kingdoms of Italy. The count seized it hastily, his eyes immediately fell upon the epigraph, and he read, "`Thou shalt tear out the dragons' teeth, and shall trample the lions under foot, saith the Lord.'" "Ah," he exclaimed, "here is my answer. Thanks, father, thanks." And feeling in his pocket, he took thence a small pocket-book, which contained ten bank-notes, each of 1,000 francs. "Here," he said, "take this pocket-book." "Do you give it to me?" "Yes; but only on condition that you will not open it till I am gone;" and placing in his breast the treasure he had just found, which was more valuable to him than the richest jewel, he rushed out of the corridor, and reaching his boat, cried, "To Marseilles!" Then, as he departed, he fixed his eyes upon the gloomy prison. "Woe," he cried, "to those who confined me in that wretched prison; and woe to those who forgot that I was there!" As he repassed the Catalans, the count turned around and burying his head in his cloak murmured the name of a woman. The victory was complete; twice he had overcome his doubts. The name he pronounced, in a voice of tenderness, amounting almost to love, was that of Haidee. On landing, the count turned towards the cemetery, where he felt sure of finding Morrel. He, too, ten years ago, had piously sought out a tomb, and sought it vainly. He, who returned to France with millions, had been unable to find the grave of his father, who had perished from hunger. Morrel had indeed placed a cross over the spot, but it had fallen down and the grave-digger had burnt it, as he did all the old wood in the churchyard. The worthy merchant had been more fortunate. Dying in the arms of his children, he had been by them laid by the side of his wife, who had preceded him in eternity by two years. Two large slabs of marble, on which were inscribed their names, were placed on either side of a little enclosure, railed in, and shaded by four cypress-trees. Morrel was leaning against one of these, mechanically fixing his eyes on the graves. His grief was so profound that he was nearly unconscious. "Maximilian," said the count, "you should not look on the graves, but there;" and he pointed upwards. "The dead are everywhere," said Morrel; "did you not yourself tell me so as we left paris?" "Maximilian," said the count, "you asked me during the journey to allow you to remain some days at Marseilles. Do you still wish to do so?" "I have no wishes, count; only I fancy I could pass the time less painfully here than anywhere else." "So much the better, for I must leave you; but I carry your word with me, do I not?" "Ah, count, I shall forget it." "No, you will not forget it, because you are a man of honor, Morrel, because you have taken an oath, and are about to do so again." "Oh, count, have pity upon me. I am so unhappy." "I have known a man much more unfortunate than you, Morrel." "Impossible!" "Alas," said Monte Cristo, "it is the infirmity of our nature always to believe ourselves much more unhappy than those who groan by our sides!" "What can be more wretched than the man who has lost all he loved and desired in the world?" "Listen, Morrel, and pay attention to what I am about to tell you. I knew a man who like you had fixed all his hopes of happiness upon a woman. He was young, he had an old father whom he loved, a betrothed bride whom he adored. He was about to marry her, when one of the caprices of fate,- which would almost make us doubt the goodness of providence, if that providence did not afterwards reveal itself by proving that all is but a means of conducting to an end,- one of those caprices deprived him of his mistress, of the future of which he had dreamed (for in his blindness he forgot he could only read the present), and cast him into a dungeon." "Ah," said Morrel, "one quits a dungeon in a week, a month, or a year." "He remained there fourteen years, Morrel," said the count, placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. Maximilian shuddered. "Fourteen years!" he muttered-"Fourteen years!" repeated the count. "During that time he had many moments of despair. He also, Morrel, like you, considered himself the unhappiest of men." "Well?" asked Morrel. "Well, at the height of his despair God assisted him through human means. At first, perhaps, he did not recognize the infinite mercy of the Lord, but at last he took patience and waited. One day he miraculously left the prison, transformed, rich, powerful. His first cry was for his father; but that father was dead." "My father, too, is dead," said Morrel. "Yes; but your father died in your arms, happy, respected, rich, and full of years; his father died poor, despairing, almost doubtful of providence; and when his son sought his grave ten years afterwards, his tomb had disappeared, and no one could say, `There sleeps the father you so well loved.'" "Oh!" exclaimed Morrel. "He was, then, a more unhappy son than you, Morrel, for he could not even find his father's grave." "But then he had the woman he loved still remaining?" "You are deceived, Morrel, that woman"- "She was dead?" "Worse than that, she was faithless, and had married one of the persecutors of her betrothed. You see, then, Morrel, that he was a more unhappy lover than you." "And has he found consolation?" "He has at least found peace." "And does he ever expect to be happy?" "He hopes so, Maximilian." The young man's head fell on his breast. "You have my promise," he said, after a minute's pause, extending his hand to Monte Cristo. "Only remember"- "On the 5th of October, Morrel, I shall expect you at the Island of Monte Cristo. On the 4th a yacht will wait for you in the port of Bastia, it will be called the Eurus. You will give your name to the captain, who will bring you to me. It is understood-is it not?" "But, count, do you remember that the 5th of October"- "Child," replied the count, "not to know the value of a man's word! I have told you twenty times that if you wish to die on that day, I will assist you. Morrel, farewell!" "Do you leave me?" "Yes; I have business in Italy. I leave you alone with your misfortunes, and with hope, Maximilian." "When do you leave?" "Immediately; the steamer waits, and in an hour I shall be far from you. Will you accompany me to the harbor, Maximilian?" "I am entirely yours, count." Morrel accompanied the count to the harbor. The white steam was ascending like a plume of feathers from the black chimney. The steamer soon disappeared, and in an hour afterwards, as the count had said, was scarcely distinguishable in the horizon amidst the fogs of the night.

中文翻译 第一一三章　往事 　　伯爵心情悲伤地离开那座他和美塞苔丝分手的小屋，或许他永远也见不到她了。自从小爱德华去世以来，基督山的心情发生了大变化。当他经过一条艰苦漫长的道路达到复仇的高峰以后，他在高峰的那一边看到了怀疑的深谷。尤其是，他与美塞苔丝刚才的那一番谈话在他心里唤醒了的许多许多的回忆，他觉得他有必要与那些回忆搏斗。象伯爵这样性格刚毅的人是不会长期沉浸在这种抑郁状态里的。那种抑郁状态或许可以刺激普通的头脑，促使它们产生一些新思想，但对于一个出类拔萃的人是有害的。他想，既然他现在几乎到了责备自己的地步，那么他以前的策划一定有错误了。 　　“我不能这样自欺，”他说，“我没有把以前看清楚，为什么！”他继续说，“难道在过去的十年内，我走的道路是错误的吗？难道我预计的竟是一个错误的结果？难道一小时的时间就足以向一位建筑师证明：他那寄托着全部希望的工程，即使不是不可能，至少却是违反上帝旨意的吗？我不能接受这种想法，它会使我发疯的。我现在之所以不满意，是因为我对于往事没有一个清楚的了解。象我们所经过的地方一样，我们走得愈远，它便愈模糊。我的情况象是一个在梦里受伤的人，虽然感觉到受了伤，但却记不得是在什么时候受的伤。那么，来吧，你这个获得再生的人，你这个豪侈的阔佬，你这个醒来的梦游者，你这个万能的幻想家，你这个无敌的百万富翁！再来回忆一下你过去那种饥饿痛苦的生活吧。再去访问一下那逼迫你、或不幸引导你、或绝望接受人的地方吧。在现在这面基督山想认出唐太斯的镜子里，看到的是钻石、黄金和华丽的服饰。藏起你的钻石，埋掉你的黄金，遮住你华丽的服饰，变富为穷，自由人变为罪犯，由一个重生的人变回到尸体上吧！” 　　基督山一面这样沉思默想，一面顺着凯塞立街走。二十四年以前，他在夜里被一言不发的宪兵押走的时候，也是走的这条街。那些房子，今天虽充满欢乐富有生气，那天晚上却黑乎乎、静悄悄的，门户紧闭着。”可是，它们还是以前的那些房子，”基督山对自己说，“只是现在不是黑夜而是大白天，是太阳照亮了这个地方，让它看来使人这样高兴。” 　　他顺着圣•洛朗街向码头走过去，走到灯塔那儿，这是他登船的地方。一艘装着条纹布篷的游艇正巧经过这里。基督山向船老板招呼了一下，船老板便立刻带着一个船夫和希望做一笔好生意时那种急切的心情向他划拢来。 　　天气好极了，正宜于出游。鲜红的、光芒四射的太阳正在向水里沉下去，渐渐被水吞没。海面光滑得象玻璃一样，只是偶尔被一条为了躲避敌人的追捕跳出海面来寻求安全的鱼暂时扰乱了它的宁静；从地平线远望，那些船象海鸥一样白，那样姿态优美，可以看见回到马地古去的渔艇和开赴科西嘉或西班牙的商船。 　　但虽然睛朗的天气有美丽的船只，和那笼罩着一切的金色的光芒，紧裹在大氅里的基督山却只想到那次可怕的航程。 　　过去的一切都一一在他的记忆里复活了。迦太兰村那盏孤独的灯光；初见伊夫堡猛然觉悟到他们要带他到那儿去时的那种感觉，当他想逃走时与宪兵的那一场挣扎；马熗熗口触到他额头时那种冷冰冰的感觉，——这一切都在他眼前成了生动而可怕的现实。象那些被夏天的炎热所蒸干、但在多雨的秋天又渐渐贮积起流水的小溪一样，伯爵也觉得他的心里渐渐地充满了以前几乎压毁爱德蒙•唐太斯的那种痛苦。他再也看不见那晴朗的天空，那美丽的船只，那沐浴在金色阳光下的迷人的景色：天空中似乎布满乌云，庞大的伊夫堡象是一个死鬼的幽灵。当他们抵岸的时候，伯爵不由自主地退到船尾，船夫不得不用迫切催促的口气说：“先生，我们到岸啦。” 　　基督山记得：就在这个地方，就在这块礁石上，他曾被士兵凶暴地拖上去，用刺刀顶着他的腰走上那个斜坡。当初唐太斯眼前漫长的路程；现在基督山却觉得它非常短。每一桨都唤醒了许多记忆，往事象海的泡沫一样浮升了起来。 　　自从七月革命以来，伊夫堡里便不再关犯人。这儿现在只住着一队缉私队。一个看守在门口站着，等待引导访客去参观这个恐怖的遗迹。伯爵虽然知道这些事实，但当他走进那个拱形的门廊，走上那座黑洞洞的楼梯，向导应他的要求领他到黑牢里去的时候，他的脸色还是变成了惨白色，他的心里在一阵阵发冷。他问旧时的狱卒还有没有留下来的；但他们不是退休，就是转业去做另外的行当了。带他参观的那个向导是一八三○年来的。向导把他带到了当年他自己的那间黑牢。他又看见了那从那狭窗口透进来的微弱的光线。他又看见了当年放床的那个地方。但那张床早已搬走了，床后的墙脚下有几块新的石头，这是以前法利亚长老所掘的那条地道的出口，基督山感到他的四肢发抖，他拉过一个木凳坐了下来。 　　“除了毒死米拉波［米拉波伯爵（一七四九—一七九一），法国大革命时代的政治家，在伊夫堡被他的政敌用毒药毒死。——译注］的故事以外，在这座监狱里还发生过什么故事没有啊？”伯爵问道，“这些阴森可怕的地方竟关押过我们的同类，简直不可思议，关于这些房间可有什么传说吗？” 　　“有的，先生，狱卒安多尼对我讲过一个关于这间黑牢的故事。” 　　基督山打了一个哆嗦，安多尼就是看管他的狱卒。他几乎已经忘掉他的名和长相了，但一听到他的名字，他便想起了他，——他那满是络腮胡子的脸，棕色的短褂和钥匙串。伯爵似乎现在还能听到那种玎玲当啷的响声，他回过头去，在那条被火把映得更显阴森的地道里，他好象又见到了那个狱卒。 　　“您想听那个故事吗，先生？” 　　“是的，讲吧。”基督山说，用把手压在胸膛上，按着怦怦直跳的心，他觉得怕听自己的往事。 　　“这间黑牢，”向导说，“以前曾住过一个非常可怕的犯人，可怕的是因为他富于心计。当时堡里还关着另外一个人；但那个人并不坏，他只是一个可怜的疯长老。” 　　“啊，真的？是疯子吗？”基督山说，“他为什么会疯？” 　　“他老是说，谁放他出去，他就给谁几百万块钱。” 　　基督山抬头向上望，但看不见天空，在他和苍穹之间，隔着一道石墙。他想，在得到法利亚的宝藏的那些人的眼睛和宝库之间，也有一道厚厚的墙啊。 　　“犯人可以互相见面的吗？”他问道。 　　“噢，不，先生，这是被明文禁止的，但他们逃过了看守的监视，在两个黑牢之间挖一条地道。” 　　“这条地道是谁挖的呢？” 　　“噢，那一定是那个年轻人干的，当然罗，他身体强壮，而长老则已年老衰弱。而且，他疯疯癫癫的，决想不出这个办法。” 　　“睁眼的瞎子！”伯爵低声说道。 　　“但是，不管它吧，那个年轻人挖了一条地道，至于如何挖的，用什么工具挖的，谁都不知道，但他总算是挖成了，那边还有新砌的石头为证明。您看见了吗？” 　　“啊，是的，我看见了。”伯爵说，他的声音因激动而变嘶哑了。 　　“结果是：两个人相互可以来往了，他们来往了多久，谁都不知道。有一天，那长老生病死了。您猜那年轻人怎么做的？” 　　“怎么做的？” 　　“他搬走那具尸体，把它放在自己的床上，使它面向墙壁；然后他走进长老的黑牢里，把进口塞住，钻进装尸体的那只布袋里。您想到过这样的计策吗？” 　　基督山闭上眼睛，似乎又体验到冰冷的粗布碰到他面孔时的万种感触。那导游继续讲道：“他的计划是这样的：他以为他们是把死人埋在伊夫堡，认为他们不会给犯人买棺材，所以可以用他的肩胛顶开泥土。但不幸的是伊夫堡规定。他们从不埋葬死人，只是给死人脚上绑上一颗很重的铁球，然后把它抛到海里。结果是：那个年轻人从悬岩顶上被抛了下去。第二天，床上发现了长老的尸体，真相大白了，抛尸体的那两个人说出了他们当时曾听到尖声的喊叫，但尸体一沉到水里，那喊声便听不到了。” 　　伯爵呼吸困难，大滴的冷汗从他的额头上滚下来，他的心被痛苦填满了。“不，”他喃喃地说道，“我所感到的怀疑动摇只是健忘的结果，现在，伤口又被撕裂开了，心里又渴望着报复了。而那个犯人，”伯爵提高了嗓门说，“此后听到他的消息吗？” 　　“噢，没有，当然没有。您知道，下面这两种情形他必定得遭遇一种，——他不是平跌下去便是竖跌下去，如果从五十尺的高度平跌下去，他立刻会摔死，如果竖跌下去，则脚上的铁球就会拉他到海底，他就永远留在那儿了，可怜的人！” 　　“那么你怜悯他吗？”伯爵说。 　　“我当然怜悯他，虽然他也是自作孽。” 　　“你是什么意思？” 　　“据说他本来是一个海军军官，因为参加拿破仑党才坐牢的。” 　　“的确！”伯爵重又自言自语道，“你是死里逃生的！那可怜的水手只活在讲述他故事的那些人记忆里。他那可怕的经历被人当作故事在屋角里传述着，当向导讲到他从空中被大海吞噬的时候，便使人颤栗发抖。”随后伯爵提高了声音又说，“你可知道他的名字吗？” 　　“噢，只知道是三十四号。” 　　“噢，维尔福，维尔福！”伯爵轻轻地说，“当你无法入眠的时候，我的灵魂一定常常使你想到这件事情！” 　　“您还想看什么吗，先生？”向导说。 　　“是的，如果你可以领我去看一下那可怜的长老房间的话。” 　　“啊！二十七号。” 　　“是的，二十七号。”伯爵复述一遍向导的话，他似乎听到长老的声音隔着墙壁在说。 　　“来，先生。” 　　“等一等，”基督山说，“我想再看一看这个房间。” 　　“好的，”向导说，“我碰巧忘了带这个房间的钥匙。” 　　“再回去拿吧。” 　　“我把火把留给您，先生。” 　　“不，带走吧，我能够在黑暗里看东西。” 　　“咦，您就象那三十四号一样。他们说，他是那样习惯于黑暗，竟能在他的黑牢最黑暗的角落里看出一枚针。” 　　“他需要十年时间才能练就那种功夫。”伯爵心里这样自语。 　　向导拿着火把走了，伯爵说得很对。在几秒钟以后，他对一切都看得象在白天看时一样的清晰。他向四周看看，完全看清了他曾呆过的黑牢。 　　“是的，”他说，“那是我常坐的石头，那墙上是我的肩膀留下的印记，那是我以头撞壁时所留下的痕迹。噢，那些数字！我记得清楚呀！这是我有一天用它来计算我父亲和美塞苔丝的年龄的，想知道当我出去的时候，父亲是否还活着，美塞苔丝是不是依然年轻，那次计算以后，我曾有过短暂的希望。我却没有计算到饥饿和背叛！”于是伯爵发出一声苦笑。 　　他在幻想中看到了他父亲的丧事和美塞苔丝的婚礼。在黑牢的另一面墙上，他看出一片刻划的痕迹，绿色的墙上依旧还可以看出那些白字。那些字是这样的，“噢，上帝呀，”他念道，“保留我的记忆吧！” 　　“噢，是的！”他喊道，“那是我临终时的祈祷，我那时不再祈求自由，而祈求记忆。我怕自己会发疯，忘了一切。噢，上帝呀，您保全了我的记忆！我感谢您！我感谢您！” 　　这当儿，墙上映出火把的光，向导走过来了。基督山向他迎上去。 　　“跟我来，先生。”向导说，他不上楼梯，领着伯爵从一条地道走到另一间黑牢的门口。到了那儿，另一些纪念又冲到伯爵脑子里。他的眼睛首先看到的是长老画在墙上、用来计算时间的子午线，然后他又看到那可怜的长老死时所躺的那张破床。这些东西不但没有激起伯爵在他自己的牢里的那种悲哀，反而使他的心里充满了一种柔和的感激的心情，他的眼睛里禁不注流下泪来。 　　“疯长老就曾关在那儿的，先生，这是那年轻人进来的地方，”向导指着那仍未填塞的洞口。“根据那块石头的外表，” 　　他继续说，“一位有学问的专家考证出那两个犯人大概已经互相往来了十年。可怜的人！那十年时间一定很难过的。” 　　唐太斯从口袋里摸出几块金路易，交给那个虽不认识他但却已两次对他表示同情的向导。向导接过来，心里以为那只几块银币，但火把的火使他看清了它们的真实价值。“先生，”他说，“您弄错啦，您给我的是金洋。” 　　“我知道。” 　　向导吃惊地望着伯爵。“先生，”他喊道，简直无法相信他的好运，“您的慷慨我无法理解！” 　　“噢，非常简单，我的好人，我也曾当过水手，你的故事在我听来比别人更感动。” 　　“那么，先生，既然您这样慷慨，我也应该送你一样东西。” 　　“你有什么东西送给我，我的朋友？贝壳吗？麦杆纺织的东西吗？谢谢你！” 　　“不，先生。不是那些，——是一样和这个故事有关的东西。” 　　“真的？”伯爵急切地问道，“是什么？” 　　“听我说，”向导说，“我想，‘在一个犯人住了十五年的牢房里，总是留有一些东西的。’所以我就开始敲墙壁。” 　　“呀！”基督山喊道，想起了长老藏东西的那两个地方。 　　“找了一些时候以后，我发觉床头和壁炉底下听来象是空的。” 　　“是的，”伯爵说，“是的。” 　　“我翻开石板，找到了——” 　　“一条绳梯和一些工具？” 　　“您怎么知道的？”向导惊奇地问道。 　　“我并不知道，我只是这样猜测，因为牢房里所发现的大多是那一类的东西。” 　　“是的，先生，是一条绳梯和一些工具。” 　　“你还留着吗？” 　　“不，先生，我把它卖给游客了，他们认为那是件很稀奇的东西，但我还留着一件东西。” 　　“是什么？”伯爵着急地问。 　　“象是一本书，写在布条子上的。” 　　“去把它拿来，我的好人，可能那是我感兴趣的东西，你放心好了。” 　　“我这就去拿，先生。”那向导出去了。 　　伯爵于是在那张死神使它变成了一座祭台的床前跪下来。“噢，我的再生之父呀！”他叹道，“您给了我自由、知识和财富，您，象天上的神一样，能分辨善恶，——如果死人和那些活人之间还能互相沟通的话，如果人死后的灵魂还能重访我们曾经生活和受苦的地方——那么，高贵的心呀！崇高的灵魂呀！那么，我求求您，为着您给我的父爱，为着我对您的服从，赐我一些征兆，赐我一些启示吧！除去我心中剩余的怀疑吧，那种怀疑如果不变成满足，也会变成悔恨的。” 　　伯爵低下头，两手合在一起。 　　“拿来了，先生。”背后传来向导的声音。 　　基督山打了一个寒颤，站起身来。向导递给他一卷布片，那些布片是法利亚长老的知识宝藏，这是法利亚长老论建立意太利统一王国的那篇文章的原稿。伯爵急忙拿过来，他的眼光落到题铭上，他读道，“主说：‘你将拔掉龙的牙齿，将狮子踩在你的脚下。’” 　　“啊！”他喊道，“这就是回答。谢谢您，我的父亲，谢谢您！”他伸手从口袋里摸出一只夹着十张一千法郎钞票的小皮夹。“喏，”他说，“这个皮夹送给你。” 　　“送给我？” 　　“是的，但有一个条件：你得等我走了以后才能打开来看，”于是，把他刚才找到的那卷布条藏在怀里——在他看来，它比最值钱的珠宝还更珍贵——他跑出地道，跳上船，喊道：“回马赛！”然后，他回头用眼睛盯住那座阴森森的牢狱。“该死，”他喊道，“那些关我到那座痛苦的监狱里去的人！该死，那些忘记我曾在那里的人！” 　　当他经过迦太兰村的时候，伯爵把头埋在大衣里，轻声呼唤一个女人的名字。他两次消除了疑虑。他用一种温柔的几乎近于爱恋的声音所呼唤的那个名字，是海黛。 　　上岸以后，伯爵向坟地走去，他相信在那儿一定可以找到莫雷尔。十年以前，他也曾虔敬地去找一座坟墓，但他枉费了一番心思。他带着千百万钱财回法国来的他，却没找到他那饿死的父亲的坟墓。老莫雷尔的确在那个地方插过一个十字架，但十字架早已倒了，掘坟的人已经把它烧毁，象他们的坟场里所有腐朽的木头十字架一样。而那可敬的商人就比较幸运了。他是在他儿女的怀抱里去世的；他们把他埋在先他两年逝世的妻子身边。两块大理石上分别刻着他们的名字，竖在一片小坟地的两边，四周围着栏杆，种着四棵柏树。 　　莫雷尔正靠在一棵柏树上，两眼直盯着坟墓。他悲痛欲绝，几乎失去了知觉。 　　“马西米兰，”伯爵说，“你不应该看坟墓，而应该看那儿。”他以手指天。 　　“死者是无所不在的，”莫雷尔说，“我们离开巴黎的时候，你是这样告诉过我吗？” 　　“马西米兰，”伯爵说，“你在途中要求我让你在马赛住几天。你现在还这样想吗？ 　　“我什么都不想，伯爵，我只是想，我在这里可以比别处少一点儿痛苦。 　　“那也好，因为我必须得离开你了，但我还带着你的诺言呢，是不是？” 　　“啊，伯爵，我会忘了它的。” 　　“不，你不会忘记的，你要莫雷尔，因为你是一个讲信用的人，因为你曾经发过誓，而且你要重发一遍誓。” 　　“噢，伯爵，可怜可怜我吧！我是这样不幸。” 　　“我知道有一个人比你更不幸，莫雷尔。” 　　“不可能的！” 　　“唉！”基督山说，“这是我们人类的可怜的骄傲，每一个人都以为他自己比那在他身旁哭泣呻吟的人更痛苦。” 　　“一个人丧失了他在世界上一切所爱所希望的东西，谁还会比他更痛苦？” 　　“听着，莫雷尔，注意听。我认识一个人，他也象你一样，曾把他全部幸福的希望寄托在一个女人身上。他很年轻，有一个他所爱的老父，一个他的所恋慕的未婚妻。他们快要结婚了，但那时，命中一场使我们几乎要怀疑上帝公正的波折，夺去了他的爱人，夺去了他所梦想的未来，他被关了一间黑牢里。” 　　“啊！”莫雷尔说，：黑牢里的人迟早是可以出来的。” 　　“他在那儿住了十四年，莫雷尔。”伯爵把手放在那青年的肩头上说。 　　马西米兰打了一个寒颤。“十四年？”他自言自语地说。 　　“十四年！”伯爵重复说，“在那个期间，他有过许多绝望的时候。也象你一样，认为自己是最不幸的人，想要自杀。” 　　“是吗？”莫雷尔问道。 　　“是的，在他绝望到顶点的时候，上帝显灵了，——因为上帝已不再创造奇迹了。在一开始，他大概并没有在那个人身上显示出无穷的仁慈，因为蒙着泪水的眼睛看不清东西，最后，他接受了忍耐和等待。有一天，他神奇地离开了那座死牢，变成为有钱有势的人。他首先去找他的父亲，但他的父亲已经死了。” 　　“我的父亲也死了。”莫雷尔说。 　　“是的，但你的父亲是在你的怀抱里去世的，他有钱，受人尊敬，享受过快乐，享足了天年。他的父亲却死在穷苦、绝望、怀疑之中。当他的儿子在十年以后来找他的坟墓时候，他的坟墓无法辩认了，没有一个人能说，那儿躺着你深爱的父亲！” 　　“上帝啊！”莫雷尔叹道。 　　“所以他是一个比你更不幸的人，莫雷尔，因为他甚至连他父亲的坟墓都找不到了！” 　　“但他至少还有他所爱的那个女人。” 　　“你错了，莫雷尔，那个女人——” 　　“她死了吗？” 　　“比那更糟——她忘情负义，嫁给一个迫害她未婚夫的人了。所以，你看，莫雷尔，他是一个比你更不幸的情人。” 　　“他得到上帝的安慰了吗？” 　　“上帝至少给了他安宁。” 　　“他还希望再得到快乐吗？” 　　“他一直在追求着马西米兰。” 　　年轻人把头垂到他的胸前。“你牢记我的诺言吧，”他沉思了一下，把手伸向基督山说，“只是记得——” 　　“十月五日，莫雷尔，我在基督山岛上等你。在四日那天，一艘游艇会在巴斯蒂亚港等你，船名叫欧罗斯号。你把你的名字告诉船长，他就会带你来见我了。就这样约定了，是不是？” 　　“说定了，伯爵，我会照你的话做的，但你记得住十月五日——” 　　“孩子！”伯爵答道，“你不知道一个男子汉的承诺意味着什么！我对你讲过二十遍啦，假如你想在那一天死，我可以帮你的忙。莫雷尔，再见了！” 　　“你要离开我了吗？” 　　“是的，我在意大利有事情要办。我让你自己在这儿和不幸奋斗，独自和上帝派来迎他的选民的神鹰搏斗。甘密蒂的故事［希腊神话：甘密蒂是弗烈琪亚地方一个美丽而孤苦伶仃的牧羊童子，有一天，宇宙大神经过，看出他是一个可造之材，便激太阳神化为神鹰，飞到牧场上，把它抓到奥林匹斯山，叫他充当众神的司酒童子。——译注］不是一个神话，马西米兰，它是一个比喻。” 　　“你什么时候走？” 　　“立刻就走，汽船已经在那儿等着了，一个钟头以后，我就离开你很远啦。你可以陪我到港口去吗，马西米兰？” 　　“我悉听你的吩咐，伯爵。” 　　莫雷尔把伯爵送到港口，黑色的烟囱里已经冒出象鹅绒似的白色水蒸气。汽船不久就开航了，一小时后，正如伯爵所说的，烟囱里冒出的白烟消失在地平线上，与夜雾融在一起，分辩不清。

英文原文 Chapter 114 Peppino At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape Morgion, a man travelling post on the road from Florence to Rome had just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He was travelling fast enough to cover a great deal of ground without exciting suspicion. This man was dressed in a greatcoat, or rather a surtout, a little worse for the journey, but which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion of Honor still fresh and brilliant, a decoration which also ornamented the under coat. He might be recognized, not only by these signs, but also from the accent with which he spoke to the postilion, as a Frenchman. Another proof that he was a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact of his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in music, and which like the "goddam" of Figaro, served all possible linguistic requirements. "Allegro!" he called out to the postilions at every ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as they descended. And heaven knows there are hills enough between Rome and Florence by the way of Aquapendente! These two words greatly amused the men to whom they were addressed. On reaching La Storta, the point from whence Rome is first visible, the traveller evinced none of the enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St. peter's, which may be seen long before any other object is distinguishable. No, he merely drew a pocketbook from his pocket, and took from it a paper folded in four, and after having examined it in a manner almost reverential, he said -"Good! I have it still!" The carriage entered by the porto del popolo, turned to the left, and stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old pastrini, our former acquaintance, received the traveller at the door, hat in hand. The traveller alighted, ordered a good dinner, and inquired the address of the house of Thomson & French, which was immediately given to him, as it was one of the most celebrated in Rome. It was situated in the Via dei Banchi, near St. peter's. In Rome, as everywhere else, the arrival of a post-chaise is an event. Ten young descendants of Marius and the Gracchi, barefooted and out at elbows, with one hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully curved above the head, stared at the traveller, the post-chaise, and the horses; to these were added about fifty little vagabonds from the papal States, who earned a pittance by diving into the Tiber at high water from the bridge of St. Angelo. Now, as these street Arabs of Rome, more fortunate than those of paris, understand every language, more especially the French, they heard the traveller order an apartment, a dinner, and finally inquire the way to the house of Thomson & French. The result was that when the new-comer left the hotel with the cicerone, a man detached himself from the rest of the idlers, and without having been seen by the traveller, and appearing to excite no attention from the guide, followed the stranger with as much skill as a parisian police agent would have used. The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of Thomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to be harnessed, but left word for the carriage to overtake him on the road, or to wait for him at the bankers' door. He reached it before the carriage arrived. The Frenchman entered, leaving in the anteroom his guide, who immediately entered into conversation with two or three of the industrious idlers who are always to be found in Rome at the doors of banking-houses, churches, museums, or theatres. With the Frenchman, the man who had followed him entered too; the Frenchman knocked at the inner door, and entered the first room; his shadow did the same. "Messrs. Thomson & French?" inquired the stranger. An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at the first desk. "Whom shall I announce?" said the attendant. "Baron Danglars." "Follow me," said the man. A door opened, through which the attendant and the baron disappeared. The man who had followed Danglars sat down on a bench. The clerk continued to write for the next five minutes; the man preserved profound silence, and remained perfectly motionless. Then the pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he raised his head, and appearing to be perfectly sure of privacy,-"Ah, ha," he said, "here you are, peppino!" "Yes," was the laconic reply. "You have found out that there is something worth having about this large gentleman?" "There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of it." "You know his business here, then." "pardieu, he has come to draw, but I don't know how much!" "You will know presently, my friend." "Very well, only do not give me false information as you did the other day." "What do you mean?-of whom do you speak? Was it the Englishman who carried off 3,000 crowns from here the other day?" "No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them. I mean the Russian prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and we only found 22,000." "You must have searched badly." "Luigi Vampa himself searched." "Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or the Frenchman will transact his business without my knowing the sum." peppino nodded, and taking a rosary from his pocket began to mutter a few prayers while the clerk disappeared through the same door by which Danglars and the attendant had gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk returned with a beaming countenance. "Well?" asked peppino of his friend. "Joy, joy-the sum is large!" "Five or six millions, is it not?" "Yes, you know the amount." "On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?" "Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?" "I told you we were informed beforehand." "Then why do you apply to me?" "That I may be sure I have the right man." "Yes, it is indeed he. Five millions-a pretty sum, eh, peppino?" "Hush-here is our man!" The clerk seized his pen, and peppino his beads; one was writing and the other praying when the door opened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; the banker accompanied him to the door. peppino followed Danglars. According to the arrangements, the carriage was waiting at the door. The guide held the door open. Guides are useful people, who will turn their hands to anything. Danglars leaped into the carriage like a young man of twenty. The cicerone reclosed the door, and sprang up by the side of the coachman. peppino mounted the seat behind. "Will your excellency visit St. peter's?" asked the cicerone. "I did not come to Rome to see," said Danglars aloud; then he added softly, with an avaricious smile, "I came to touch!" and he rapped his pocket-book, in which he had just placed a letter. "Then your excellency is going"- "To the hotel." "Casa pastrini!" said the cicerone to the coachman, and the carriage drove rapidly on. Ten minutes afterwards the baron entered his apartment, and peppino stationed himself on the bench outside the door of the hotel, after having whispered something in the ear of one of the descendants of Marius and the Gracchi whom we noticed at the beginning of the chapter, who immediately ran down the road leading to the Capitol at his fullest speed. Danglars was tired and sleepy; he therefore went to bed, placing his pocketbook under his pillow. peppino had a little spare time, so he had a game of mora with the facchini, lost three crowns, and then to console himself drank a bottle of Orvieto. The next morning Danglars awoke late, though he went to bed so early; he had not slept well for five or six nights, even if he had slept at all. He breakfasted heartily, and caring little, as he said, for the beauties of the Eternal City, ordered post-horses at noon. But Danglars had not reckoned upon the formalities of the police and the idleness of the posting-master. The horses only arrived at two o'clock, and the cicerone did not bring the passport till three. All these preparations had collected a number of idlers round the door of Signor pastrini's; the descendants of Marius and the Gracchi were also not wanting. The baron walked triumphantly through the crowd, who for the sake of gain styled him "your excellency." As Danglars had hitherto contented himself with being called a baron, he felt rather flattered at the title of excellency, and distributed a dozen silver coins among the beggars, who were ready, for twelve more, to call him "your highness." "Which road?" asked the postilion in Italian. "The Ancona road," replied the baron. Signor pastrini interpreted the question and answer, and the horses galloped off. Danglars intended travelling to Venice, where he would receive one part of his fortune, and then proceeding to Vienna, where he would find the rest, he meant to take up his residence in the latter town, which he had been told was a city of pleasure. He had scarcely advanced three leagues out of Rome when daylight began to disappear. Danglars had not intended starting so late, or he would have remained; he put his head out and asked the postilion how long it would be before they reached the next town. "Non capisco" (do not understand), was the reply. Danglars bent his head, which he meant to imply, "Very well." The carriage again moved on. "I will stop at the first posting-house," said Danglars to himself. He still felt the same self-satisfaction which he had experienced the previous evening, and which had procured him so good a night's rest. He was luxuriously stretched in a good English calash, with double springs; he was drawn by four good horses, at full gallop; he knew the relay to be at a distance of seven leagues. What subject of meditation could present itself to the banker, so fortunately become bankrupt? Danglars thought for ten minutes about his wife in paris; another ten minutes about his daughter travelling with Mademoiselle d'Armilly; the same period was given to his creditors, and the manner in which he intended spending their money; and then, having no subject left for contemplation, he shut his eyes, and fell asleep. Now and then a jolt more violent than the rest caused him to open his eyes; then he felt that he was still being carried with great rapidity over the same country, thickly strewn with broken aqueducts, which looked like granite giants petrified while running a race. But the night was cold, dull, and rainy, and it was much more pleasant for a traveller to remain in the warm carriage than to put his head out of the window to make inquiries of a postilion whose only answer was "Non capisco." Danglars therefore continued to sleep, saying to himself that he would be sure to awake at the posting-house. The carriage stopped. Danglars fancied that they had reached the long-desired point; he opened his eyes and looked through the window, expecting to find himself in the midst of some town, or at least village; but he saw nothing except what seemed like a ruin, where three or four men went and came like shadows. Danglars waited a moment, expecting the postilion to come and demand payment with the termination of his stage. He intended taking advantage of the opportunity to make fresh inquiries of the new conductor; but the horses were unharnessed, and others put in their places, without any one claiming money from the traveller. Danglars, astonished, opened the door; but a strong hand pushed him back, and the carriage rolled on. The baron was completely roused. "Eh?" he said to the postilion, "eh, mio caro?" This was another little piece of Italian the baron had learned from hearing his daughter sing Italian duets with Cavalcanti. But mio caro did not reply. Danglars then opened the window. "Come, my friend," he said, thrusting his hand through the opening, "where are we going?" "Dentro la testa!" answered a solemn and imperious voice, accompanied by a menacing gesture. Danglars thought dentro la testa meant, "put in your head!" He was making rapid progress in Italian. He obeyed, not without some uneasiness, which, momentarily increasing, caused his mind, instead of being as unoccupied as it was when he began his journey, to fill with ideas which were very likely to keep a traveller awake, more especially one in such a situation as Danglars. His eyes acquired that quality which in the first moment of strong emotion enables them to see distinctly, and which afterwards fails from being too much taxed. Before we are alarmed, we see correctly; when we are alarmed, we see double; and when we have been alarmed, we see nothing but trouble. Danglars observed a man in a cloak galloping at the right hand of the carriage. "Some gendarme!" he exclaimed. "Can I have been intercepted by French telegrams to the pontifical authorities?" He resolved to end his anxiety. "Where are you taking me?" he asked. "Dentro la testa," replied the same voice, with the same menacing accent. Danglars turned to the left; another man on horseback was galloping on that side. "Decidedly," said Danglars, with the perspiration on his forehead, "I must be under arrest." And he threw himself back in the calash, not this time to sleep, but to think. Directly afterwards the moon rose. He then saw the great aqueducts, those stone phantoms which he had before remarked, only then they were on the right hand, now they were on the left. He understood that they had described a circle, and were bringing him back to Rome. "Oh, unfortunate!" he cried, "they must have obtained my arrest." The carriage continued to roll on with frightful speed. An hour of terror elapsed, for every spot they passed showed that they were on the road back. At length he saw a dark mass, against which it seemed as if the carriage was about to dash; but the vehicle turned to one side, leaving the barrier behind and Danglars saw that it was one of the ramparts encircling Rome. "Mon dieu!" cried Danglars, "we are not returning to Rome; then it is not justice which is pursuing me! Gracious heavens; another idea presents itself-what if they should be"- His hair stood on end. He remembered those interesting stories, so little believed in paris, respecting Roman bandits; he remembered the adventures that Albert de Morcerf had related when it was intended that he should marry Mademoiselle Eugenie. "They are robbers, perhaps," he muttered. Just then the carriage rolled on something harder than gravel road. Danglars hazarded a look on both sides of the road, and perceived monuments of a singular form, and his mind now recalled all the details Morcerf had related, and comparing them with his own situation, he felt sure that he must be on the Appian Way. On the left, in a sort of valley, he perceived a circular excavation. It was Caracalla's circus. On a word from the man who rode at the side of the carriage, it stopped. At the same time the door was opened. "Scendi!" exclaimed a commanding voice. Danglars instantly descended; although he did not yet speak Italian, he understood it very well. More dead than alive, he looked around him. Four men surrounded him, besides the postilion. "Di qua," said one of the men, descending a little path leading out of the Appian Way. Danglars followed his guide without opposition, and had no occasion to turn around to see whether the three others were following him. Still it appeared as though they were stationed at equal distances from one another, like sentinels. After walking for about ten minutes, during which Danglars did not exchange a single word with his guide, he found himself between a hillock and a clump of high weeds; three men, standing silent, formed a triangle, of which he was the centre. He wished to speak, but his tongue refused to move. "Avanti!" said the same sharp and imperative voice. This time Danglars had double reason to understand, for if the word and gesture had not explained the speaker's meaning, it was clearly expressed by the man walking behind him, who pushed him so rudely that he struck against the guide. This guide was our friend peppino, who dashed into the thicket of high weeds, through a path which none but lizards or polecats could have imagined to be an open road. peppino stopped before a pit overhung by thick hedges; the pit, half open, afforded a passage to the young man, who disappeared like the evil spirits in the fairy tales. The voice and gesture of the man who followed Danglars ordered him to do the same. There was no longer any doubt, the bankrupt was in the hands of Roman banditti. Danglars acquitted himself like a man placed between two dangerous positions, and who is rendered brave by fear. Notwithstanding his large stomach, certainly not intended to penetrate the fissures of the Campagna, he slid down like peppino, and closing his eyes fell upon his feet. As he touched the ground, he opened his eyes. The path was wide, but dark. peppino, who cared little for being recognized now that he was in his own territories, struck a light and lit a torch. Two other men descended after Danglars forming the rearguard, and pushing Danglars whenever he happened to stop, they came by a gentle declivity to the intersection of two corridors. The walls were hollowed out in sepulchres, one above the other, and which seemed in contrast with the white stones to open their large dark eyes, like those which we see on the faces of the dead. A sentinel struck the rings of his carbine against his left hand. "Who comes there?" he cried. "A friend, a friend!" said peppino; "but where is the captain?" "There," said the sentinel, pointing over his shoulder to a spacious crypt, hollowed out of the rock, the lights from which shone into the passage through the large arched openings. "Fine spoil, captain, fine spoil!" said peppino in Italian, and taking Danglars by the collar of his coat he dragged him to an opening resembling a door, through which they entered the apartment which the captain appeared to have made his dwelling-place. "Is this the man?" asked the captain, who was attentively reading plutarch's "Life of Alexander." "Himself, captain-himself." "Very well, show him to me." At this rather impertinent order, peppino raised his torch to the face of Danglars, who hastily withdrew that he might not have his eyelashes burnt. His agitated features presented the appearance of pale and hideous terror. "The man is tired," said the captain, "conduct him to his bed." "Oh," murmured Danglars," that bed is probably one of the coffins hollowed in the wall, and the sleep I shall enjoy will be death from one of the poniards I see glistening in the darkness." From their beds of dried leaves or wolf-skins at the back of the chamber now arose the companions of the man who had been found by Albert de Morcerf reading "Caesar's Commentaries," and by Danglars studying the "Life of Alexander." The banker uttered a groan and followed his guide; he neither supplicated nor exclaimed. He no longer possessed strength, will, power, or feeling; he followed where they led him. At length he found himself at the foot of a staircase, and he mechanically lifted his foot five or six times. Then a low door was opened before him, and bending his head to avoid striking his forehead he entered a small room cut out of the rock. The cell was clean, though empty, and dry, though situated at an immeasurable distance under the earth. A bed of dried grass covered with goat-skins was placed in one corner. Danglars brightened up on beholding it, fancying that it gave some promise of safety. "Oh, God be praised," he said; "it is a real bed!" "Ecco!" said the guide, and pushing Danglars into the cell, he closed the door upon him. A bolt grated and Danglars was a prisoner. If there had been no bolt, it would have been impossible for him to pass through the midst of the garrison who held the catacombs of St. Sebastian, encamped round a master whom our readers must have recognized as the famous Luigi Vampa. Danglars, too, had recognized the bandit, whose existence he would not believe when Albert de Morcerf mentioned him in paris; and not only did he recognize him, but the cell in which Albert had been confined, and which was probably kept for the accommodation of strangers. These recollections were dwelt upon with some pleasure by Danglars, and restored him to some degree of tranquillity. Since the bandits had not despatched him at once, he felt that they would not kill him at all. They had arrested him for the purpose of robbery, and as he had only a few louis about him, he doubted not he would be ransomed. He remembered that Morcerf had been taxed at 4,000 crowns, and as he considered himself of much greater importance than Morcerf he fixed his own price at 8,000 crowns. Eight thousand crowns amounted to 48,000 livres; he would then have about 5,050,000 francs left. With this sum he could manage to keep out of difficulties. Therefore, tolerably secure in being able to extricate himself from his position, provided he were not rated at the unreasonable sum of 5,050,000 francs, he stretched himself on his bed, and after turning over two or three times, fell asleep with the tranquillity of the hero whose life Luigi Vampa was studying.

中文翻译 第一一四章　庇皮诺 　　在那艘汽船消失在摩琴岬后面的同时，一个人乘着驿车从佛罗伦萨赶往罗马的人，经过阿瓜本特小镇。他的驿车赶得相当快，但还没有快到会令人发生怀疑的程度。这人穿着一件外套，确切地说，是一件紧身长外套，穿了这种衣服旅行是不十分舒服的，但它却把鲜明灿烂的荣誉团军官的缎带显示出来，他外套下面的上装上佩着一枚勋章，这两个标志以及他对车夫讲话时的口音都可以看出他是一个法国人。另外还有一点可以证明他是来自这个世界语言［这时指法语当时流行于欧洲各国。——译注］的国家的，就是，他只知道乐谱上用作术语的那几个意大利字，象费加罗老说“ｇｏｄｄａｍ”［法国最流行的外国字之一；十五世纪时，法国人叫英国人为ｇｏｄｄａｍ。——译注］一样，这些字能代替特殊语言的一切奥妙。 　　当马车上坡的时候，他就对车夫大喊“Ａｌｌｅｇｒｏ”［意大利语，音乐术语：“急调，加快！”——译注］当他下坡的时候，他就喊“Ｍｏｄｅｒａｔｏ！”［意大利语，音乐术语：“不疾不徐，稍慢！”——译注］凡是走过那条路的人，都知道佛罗伦萨经阿瓜本特到罗马，途中有许多的上坡和下坡！这两个字使听话的人感到极其有趣。车到勒斯多塔，罗马业已在望，一般旅客到这里总会表露出强烈的好奇心，站起来去看那最先闯入眼帘的圣•彼得教堂的圆顶，但这位旅客却没有这种好奇心。他只是从口袋里摸出一只皮夹，从皮夹里抽出一张折成两叠的纸片，用一种恭敬的态度把它察看了一遍以后，说：“好！它还在我身边呢。” 　　马车从波波罗门进城。向左转，在爱斯巴旅馆门口停下来。我们的老相识派里尼老板恭恭敬敬地在门口迎接那位旅客。那位旅客下车，吩咐给他预备一顿丰盛的午餐，然后便打听汤姆生•弗伦奇银行的地址。当然一问就知道了，因为汤姆生•弗伦奇银行是罗马最有名的银行之一，它就在圣•彼得教堂附近的银行街上。罗马，象在其他各地一样，来一辆驿车是一件大事。十几个年轻的闲汉，示脚露肘，一手叉腰，一手有模有样地放到后脑勺上，凝视着那旅客、驿车和马；此外还有五十个左右游手好闲的二流子，他们是从教皇统治下的各省来的，因为教皇重征人头税，要从圣•安琪罗桥抽水灌入梯伯河［梯伯河经意大利中部诸省，该河比海平面高出二百四十四尺。——译注］，所以无力纳税的人民只能让他们的孩子流浪出来乞讨为生。但罗马的闲汉和流民比巴黎的幸运，他们懂得各国语言，尤其是法语，他们听到那旅客吩咐要一个房间，一顿午餐，后来又打听汤姆生•弗伦奇银行的地址。结果是：当那位客带着一个向导离开旅馆的时候，一个闲汉离开他的同伴，象巴黎警局的密探那样巧妙地跟着那旅客，未被那旅客发现，也未被向导注意。 　　那个法国人是急于要到汤姆生•弗伦奇银行去，以致他也不等驾马，只是留话给车夫，叫车夫驾好马以后追上来，或到银行门口去等他。他比马车先到银行。那法国人走进银行把向导留在外厅里实用主义现代西方资产阶级哲学学说和流派之一。19世，向导便立刻和两三个职业闲汉拉起话来。 　　在罗马的银行、教堂、废墟、博物馆和剧院门口，总是有这些职业闲汉在那儿的，跟踪法国人的那个家伙也走进银行。那法国人敲一敲内门，走进第一个房间，跟踪他的闲汉也这样做。 　　“经理先生在吗？”那旅客问道。 　　坐在第一张写字台前的一个重要职员打了一个手势，一个仆役便站起身来。“您是哪一位？”那仆役问。 　　“腾格拉尔男爵。” 　　“请跟我来！”那个人说。 　　一扇门开了，那仆役和男爵都消失到门里面。那个跟腾格拉尔来的人在一条长凳上坐下来。以后的五分钟内，那职员继续写字，凳子上的那个人也保持着沉默，一动不动地坐在那儿。然后，当那职员停笔的时候，他抬起头来，向四下看一看，确定房间里只有两个人，便说：“啊，啊！你来啦，庇皮诺！” 　　“是的。”回答很简单。 　　“你认为这个人有值得探听的事情吗？” 　　“我没有多少事情要打听，因为我们已经得到情报了。” 　　“那么你知道他到这儿干什么来的罗？” 　　“当然，他是来提款的，但我不知道数目。” 　　“你不久就可以知道的了，我的朋友。” 　　“好极了，你大概还是象前次那样，给我错误的消息。” 　　“你是什么意思？你指哪一个人？是不久以前从这儿拿走三万艾居的那个英国人吗？” 　　“不，他真的有三万艾居，我们找到了。我是指那个俄国王子，你说他有三万里弗，而我们却只找到两万四千。” 　　“你一定搜得不仔细。” 　　“是罗吉•万帕亲自搜查的。” 　　“如果那样，他大概是还了债——” 　　“一个俄国人还肯还债！” 　　“——不然就是花掉了一部分。” 　　“那倒是可能的。” 　　“一定是的，你必须让我去听一听，不然，那个法国人在我还知道数目以前就要办完手续了。” 　　庇皮诺点点头，从他的口袋里拿出一串念珠来，开始低声地祈祷，而那职员则走进了腾格拉尔和仆役进去的那间房子十分钟以后，那职员满面光彩地回来了。 　　“怎么样？”庇皮诺问他的朋友。 　　“小心，小心！数目很大。” 　　“五六百万，是不是？” 　　“是的，你知道那数目了吗？” 　　“记在基督山伯爵大人的账上？” 　　“你认识伯爵吗？” 　　“那笔钱，他们给他开立户头，任他在罗马、威尼斯和维也纳提取？” 　　“正是如此！”那职员喊道，“你怎么打听得这样清楚呢？” 　　“我告诉过你，我们是事先就得到情报了。” 　　“那么你为什么要来问我呢？” 　　“我要确定我有没有认错了人。” 　　“是的，的确是他！五百万，——一笔很可观的数目，是吗，庇皮诺？” 　　“是的。” 　　“嘘！我们的人来啦！” 　　那职员抓起他的笔，庇皮诺抓起他的念珠。门开的时候，一个在写字，一个在祈祷。腾格拉尔满面喜色，银行经理一直陪他到门口。庇皮诺跟着腾格拉尔出去。约定马车等在门口。导游拉开车门，他们很能干，什么事情可以派到他的用场。腾格拉尔跳进车子。动作轻捷得象个小伙子，导游关上车门，跳上去坐在车夫旁边。庇皮诺跳上车坐在车厢外的后座上。 　　“大人是要到圣•彼得教堂去吗？”导游问道。 　　“去做什么呀？” 　　“当然是去观光啦！” 　　“我不是到罗马来观光的，”腾格拉尔大声说，然后，他又带着一个贪婪的微笑轻轻地说，“我是来取钱的！”于是他拍一拍他的皮夹，皮夹里刚才已装进一份信用卡。 　　“那么大人是到——” 　　“到旅馆去。” 　　“到派时尼旅馆去！”导游对车夫说，马车疾驶而去。十分钟后，男爵回到他的房间，庇皮诺则在旅馆门外的长凳上坐下来，他与本章开始时提及的那些闲汉中的一个，咬耳说了几句话，那个闲汉便立刻顺着通到朱庇特殿的那条路飞一般地跑去。腾格拉尔觉得疲乏而满足，睡意很浓，他上了床，把他的皮夹塞在枕头底下。庇皮诺闲得无事，便和闲汉们玩骰子，输了三个艾居，为了安慰自己，喝了一瓶奥维多酒。 　　腾格拉尔虽然睡得很早，但第二天早晨却醒得很迟，他有五六夜没有睡好了。有时甚至根本没有睡觉时间。他美美地吃了早餐，然后，正如他所说的，因为对这“不朽之城”的美景并不关心，便吩咐车夫在中午给他备好马车。但腾格拉尔可没有计算到警察局的手续会如此麻烦，驿站站长又是如此的懒惰。驿马到两点钟才来，去代领护照的向导直到三点钟才到。而备好的马车在派里尼老板的门口早吸引了一群游手好闲的人。这些人之中当然有不少职业闲汉。男爵得意洋洋地穿过这些看热闹的人，有不少为了想得些赏钱，那些闲汉便齐声唤他“大人。”在那以前，腾格拉尔一向以被称为男爵自满。大人这个称呼使他有点受宠若惊，便撒了十几个铜板给那群人，那群人为了再多得十几个铜板，立刻改称他为“殿下”。 　　“走哪一条路？”车夫用意大利语问。 　　“去安科纳省的那条路。”男爵回答。 　　派里尼老板翻译了这一问一答，马便疾驶而去。腾格拉尔准备先到威尼斯，在那儿提出一部分钱，然后赴维也纳，休息几天以后，他准备在维也纳住下来，因为他听说那是一个可以寻欢作乐的好地方。 　　他离开罗马不到十哩路，天色便晴起来了。腾格拉尔没想到起程会这么晚，要不是这样，他宁愿在罗马多留一夜的。 　　他伸出头去，问车夫要多久才能到达一个市镇。 　　车夫用意大利语回答，“ＮｏｎＣａｐｉｓｃｏ”［意大利语：“听不懂。——译注］腾格拉尔点一点头，意思是说：“好极了。” 　　马车继续向前走。“我到第一个驿站就停车。”腾格拉尔心想。昨天晚上，他美美地睡了一宿，他现在还能感受到那种舒适惬意的余味。他现在舒舒服服地躺在一辆华丽的英国马车里，身下有双重弹簧座垫，由四匹好马拉着车子疾驶。他知道离前面的驿站只有二十哩路了。一个这样幸运地破产的银行家，他的脑子里究竟在想什么呢？ 　　腾格拉尔想到了他那在巴黎的太太，大约过了十分钟，他又想起了和亚密莱小、姐一同出门的女儿，大约又过了十分钟，他的债权人以及他将来如何花他们的钱十分钟以后，他没有东西可想了，便闭上眼睛睡了。时而，一下比较猛烈的颠簸使他睁开眼睛，于是他感觉得到车子依旧载着他在依稀相似的罗马郊外急速地前进，沿途布满着残存的高架引水桥［罗马水道是罗马著名的古代建筑，最早的筑于公元前三世纪，一般都是用巨石和砖砌成的引水渠道。——译注］，远看象化为花岗石的巨人挡住他们的去路。但这天晚上天气很冷，天空阴暗，而且下着雨，一个旅客坐在温暖的车厢里，在比问一个只会回答“Ｎａｐｉｓｃｏ”的车夫要舒服得多。腾格拉尔继续睡觉，心想反正到达驿站的时候他一定会醒来的。 　　马车停了。腾格拉尔以为他们到达了那盼望以久的地点。 　　他张开眼睛向窗外望出去，以为他已到了一个市镇或至少到了一个村庄里，但他看见的却是一座象废墟一样的东西，有三四个人象幽灵似的在那儿走来走去。腾格拉尔等了一会儿，心想车夫既已赶完他那一段路，一定会来向他要钱，他就可以借那个机会向新车夫问话。但马已经解辔了，另外几匹马换了上去，可是却始终没有人来向他要钱。腾格拉尔惊奇地推开车门；但一只强有力的手把他推回来，车子又开始行驶了。男爵目瞪口呆，完全醒了。“喂！”他对车夫说，“喂，ｍｉｏｃａｒｏ［意大利语：亲爱的。——译注］！”这两个意大利字，男爵也是在听他的女儿和卡瓦尔康蒂对唱时学来的；但ｍｉｏｃａｒｏ并没有带来回答。腾格拉尔于是把窗打开。 　　“喂，我的朋友，”他把头伸到窗外说，“我们是到哪儿去呀？” 　　“Ｄｅｎｔｒｏｌａｔｅｓｔａ！”［意大利语：“头缩进去！”——译注］一个庄严而专横的声音喊着并伴随着一个恫吓的手势。 　　腾格拉尔明白了，Ｄｅｎｔｒｏｌａｔｅｓｔａ的意思是“把头缩回去！”由此可见他的意大利语进步神速。他服从了，但心里却七上八下，而且那种不安与时俱增。他的脑子不再象开始旅行时那样无忧无虑、他的脑子里现在已充满了种种念头。这些念头无疑使他情绪激动、头脑清醒。但后来由于紧张过分又糊涂了。在我们未曾惊慌的时候，我们对外界的一切看得很清楚，当我们惊慌的时候，外界的一切在我们眼中都有了双重意义，而当我们已经吓慌了的时候，我们除了麻烦以外，便什么都看不见了。腾格拉尔看见一个披着披风的人骑着马在车子的右边疾驰。“宪兵！”他喊道。“难道当局已把我的情形发急报给教皇当局了？”他决定要解除这个疑团。“你们带我到哪儿去？”他问道。 　　“Ｄｅｎｔｒｏｌａｔｅｓｔａ！”以前那个声音又气势汹汹的回答。 　　腾格拉尔朝车厢左边，转过身去，他看见右边也有一个人骑着马在疾驰。“一定是的了！”腾格拉尔说，额头上直冒出汗来，“我准是被捕了。”于是他便往背垫上一靠，但这一次可不是睡觉而是动脑筋了。不久，月亮升起来了。他看见了那庞大的引水渠架，就是他以前看见过的那些花岗石的鬼怪；只是以前它们在他的右边，而现在则已在他的左边。他知道他们已掉转车头。正在把他带回到罗马去。“噢，倒霉！” 　　他喊道，“他们一定已弄到了我的引渡权。”马车继续快驰。一小时就在这样的担惊受怕中过去了，他们所经过的每一个地点都在提醒这个逃亡者他们是在走回头路。终于，他看见一片黑压庄的庞然大物，看来马车一定会撞在那个东西上；但车子一转弯，那个庞然大物便已落在后面了，那原来是环绕在罗马四周的一个城垒。 　　“噢，噢！”腾格拉尔喊道，“我们不是回罗马，那么，并不是法院派人来追我，我仁慈的上帝！”另外一个念头浮上他的脑海，“但如果他们竟是——” 　　他的头发竖了起来。他想起了那些在巴黎很少有人相信的关于罗马强盗的有趣的故事。他想起了阿尔贝•马尔塞夫在与欧热妮小、姐的婚约未破裂前讲述的那一番冒险。“他们或许是强盗！”他自言自语地说。正当那时，车子驶上了一条比碎石路更硬的路面。腾格拉尔大着胆子向路的两边望了一望，看见两边都是一式的纪念碑，马尔塞夫那场冒险的种种细节在他的头脑里面盘桓着，他确信自己已被带上了阿匹爱氏路上，在一块象山谷似的地方，他看见有一个圆形凹陷的建筑物。那是卡拉卡勒竞技场。车子右边那个骑马的人一声令下马车便停住了。同时，车子左侧的门打开了。 　　“Ｓｃｅｎｄｉ！”［意大利语：“跟着来。”——译注］一个命令式的声音喊道。腾格拉尔本能地下车，他虽然不会说意大利语，他却已经懂得这个字。半死不活的男爵向四周看了一看。除车夫以外的四个人把他围了起来。 　　“Ｄｉｑｕａ，”［意大利语：“下来！”——译注］其中有一个人一面说，一面带头走下一条离开阿匹爱氏路的岔道。腾格拉尔一声不吭地跟在他的身后，并不反抗，无须回头，另外那三个人一定跟在他的后面。可是，他似乎觉得每隔一段的距离就站着一个人，象哨兵似的。 　　这样走了大约十分钟，在这期间，腾格拉尔没有和他前面的人说一句话，最后，他发现自己已在一座小丘和一丛长得很高的杂草之间；三个人默默地站成一个三角形，而他是那个三角形的中心。他想说话但他的舌头却不听使唤。 　　“Ａｖａｎｔｉ！”［意大利语：向前走。”——译注］是那个严厉和专横的声音说。 　　这一次，腾格拉尔更明白了，他不但听懂了话，而且也领会了动作的含义，因为他身后的那个人非常粗鲁地把他一推，他差点撞到在前面带路的那个人身上，这个人就是我们的朋友庇皮诺，他扎进杂草丛中，沿着一条只有蜥蜴或黄鼠狼才认为是一条大道的小径向前走去。在一块小树掩遮下的岩石前面他停了下来，那块岩石半开半掩，刚好可容一个人钻进去，那个小伙子一转身便象童话里的妖精似地不见了。腾格拉尔后面的那个人吩咐他也照样做。现在他已经毫不怀疑了，他已经落入罗马强盗手里。腾格拉尔象是一个身临险境进退维谷，却又被恐惧激起了勇气的人那样，他执行了命令，象庇皮诺那样钻了进去。尽管他的肚子给他带来了很多不便。 　　他闭上眼睛。直到他的脚触到地面的时候，才张开眼来。里面的路很宽，但却很黑。庇皮诺划火点燃了一支火把，他现在已到了自己的地方，不再怕被人认出了。另外那两个人也紧随着腾格拉尔下来，做他的后卫。腾格拉尔一停步，他们就推着他向前走。他们顺着一条平缓的下坡路走到一处阴森可怖的十字路口。墙上挖着一格格装棺材的墓穴，衬托着白石的墙头，就象是骷髅上黑洞洞的大眼睛一样。 　　一个哨兵把他的步熗拍的一声转到左手。“谁？”他喊道。 　　“自己人，自己人！”庇皮诺说，“队长在哪儿？” 　　“在那边！”哨兵用手向背后面一指；那儿的一个大厅象是岩石挖出来的，大厅里的灯光透过拱形的大门廊照入隧道。 　　“好买卖，队长，好买卖！”庇皮诺用意大利语说，他抓住腾格拉尔的衣领，拖着他向门洞走，拖他穿过门洞进入大厅，看来队长就在那里。 　　“是这个人吗？”队长问道，他正在聚精会神地读普罗塔克的《亚历山大传》。 　　“是的，队长，就是他。” 　　“好极了，让我看看他。” 　　听到这一声很不客气的命令，庇皮诺便把火把举起来直逼到腾格拉尔的脸上，腾格拉尔吓得忙向后退，以免烧焦眼睫毛。他脸色苍白满是惊恐之色。 　　“这个人累了，”队长说，带他上床去睡吧。” 　　“上帝，”腾格拉尔暗暗地说，“他所说的床大概是墙壁空洞里的棺材，而我所能享受的睡眠，大概就是由那在黑影里闪闪发光的匕首所造成的长眠了。” 　　就是当年阿尔贝•马尔塞夫发现他在读《凯撒历史回忆录》的那个人，这位腾格拉尔发现他在研究《亚历山大传》的首领的话，他的话惊醒了他的同伴，他们从大厅四角用枯叶或狼皮铺成的床上坐起来。那位银行家发出一声呻吟，跟着领他的人向前走，他既未恳求也未哀叫。因为他已经没有精力、意志、没有感觉；不论他们领他到什么地方去，他就会乖乖地跟着走。最后他发觉自己已到了一座楼梯脚下，他机械地抬起腿，向上走了五六步。一扇矮门在他的面前打开了，他低下头，以免撞伤额角，走进一个用岩石挖成的小地室。这回地窖虽然未加粉饰，却很清洁，虽然深埋在地下，却很干燥。地窖的一个角落里有一张干草做的床，上面铺着羊皮。腾格拉尔一看见那张床，眼睛顿时发光了，他认为那是一种安全的象征。“噢，赞美上帝！”他说，这是一张真的床！” 　　“Ｅｃｃｏ！”［意大利语：“到了！”——译注］那向导说，他把腾格拉尔往地窖里一推，随手把门关上。 　　门闩格拉一响，腾格拉尔变成一个俘虏了。而且，即使没有门闩，他也不可能从这警卫森严的圣•西伯斯坦陵墓里逃出去。至于这群强盗的首领，我们的读者一定已认出那是鼎鼎大名的罗吉•万帕。腾格拉尔也认出了他；当阿尔贝•马尔塞夫在巴黎讲到这个强盗的时候，腾格拉尔不相信他的存在，但现在，他不但认出他，而且也认出了这个曾关过阿尔贝的地窖，这个地方大概是特地留给外客用的。这些记忆给腾格拉尔带来了几分欢喜，使他的心情平静了些。那些强盗既然不想立刻结果他的性命，那么他认为他们根本不想杀他。他们捉他来的目的是为了要钱，既然他身边只带着几块金路易，他相信他们一定会放他出去，他记得马尔塞夫的赎款好象是四千艾居。因为他自认为自己比马尔塞夫重要很多，他把自己的赎款定为八千艾居。八千艾居相当于四万八千里弗；而他现在却有五百零五万法郎在身边。凭着这笔款子，他一定可以使自己恢复自由。他从来没有听说过绑票的赎款有高达五百零五万法郎的，所以，他相信自己不必破费很多钱就可以离开这个地方。他躺到床上，在翻了两三次身以后，便象罗吉•万帕所读的那本书中的主角那样宁静地睡着了。

英文原文 Chapter 111 Expiation Notwithstanding the density of the crowd, M. de Villefort saw it open before him. There is something so awe-inspiring in great afflictions that even in the worst times the first emotion of a crowd has generally been to sympathize with the sufferer in a great catastrophe. Many people have been assassinated in a tumult, but even criminals have rarely been insulted during trial. Thus Villefort passed through the mass of spectators and officers of the palais, and withdrew. Though he had acknowledged his guilt, he was protected by his grief. There are some situations which men understand by instinct, but which reason is powerless to explain; in such cases the greatest poet is he who gives utterance to the most natural and vehement outburst of sorrow. Those who hear the bitter cry are as much impressed as if they listened to an entire poem, and when the sufferer is sincere they are right in regarding his outburst as sublime. It would be difficult to describe the state of stupor in which Villefort left the palais. Every pulse beat with feverish excitement, every nerve was strained, every vein swollen, and every part of his body seemed to suffer distinctly from the rest, thus multiplying his agony a thousand-fold. He made his way along the corridors through force of habit; he threw aside his magisterial robe, not out of deference to etiquette, but because it was an unbearable burden, a veritable garb of Nessus, insatiate in torture. Having staggered as far as the Rue Dauphine, he perceived his carriage, awoke his sleeping coachman by opening the door himself, threw himself on the cushions, and pointed towards the Faubourg Saint-Honore; the carriage drove on. The weight of his fallen fortunes seemed suddenly to crush him; he could not foresee the consequences; he could not contemplate the future with the indifference of the hardened criminal who merely faces a contingency already familiar. God was still in his heart. "God," he murmured, not knowing what he said,-"God-God!" Behind the event that had overwhelmed him he saw the hand of God. The carriage rolled rapidly onward. Villefort, while turning restlessly on the cushions, felt something press against him. He put out his hand to remove the object; it was a fan which Madame de Villefort had left in the carriage; this fan awakened a recollection which darted through his mind like lightning. He thought of his wife. "Oh!" he exclaimed, as though a redhot iron were piercing his heart. During the last hour his own crime had alone been presented to his mind; now another object, not less terrible, suddenly presented itself. His wife! He had just acted the inexorable judge with her, he had condemned her to death, and she, crushed by remorse, struck with terror, covered with the shame inspired by the eloquence of his irreproachable virtue,-she, a poor, weak woman, without help or the power of defending herself against his absolute and supreme will,-she might at that very moment, perhaps, be preparing to die! An hour had elapsed since her condemnation; at that moment, doubtless, she was recalling all her crimes to her memory; she was asking pardon for her sins; perhaps she was even writing a letter imploring forgiveness from her virtuous husband-a forgiveness she was purchasing with her death! Villefort again groaned with anguish and despair. "Ah," he exclaimed, "that woman became criminal only from associating with me! I carried the infection of crime with me, and she has caught it as she would the typhus fever, the cholera, the plague! And yet I have punished her-I have dared to tell her-I have- `Repent and die!' But no, she must not die; she shall live, and with me. We will flee from paris and go as far as the earth reaches. I told her of the scaffold; oh, heavens, I forgot that it awaits me also! How could I pronounce that word? Yes, we will fly; I will confess all to her,-I will tell her daily that I also have committed a crime!-Oh, what an alliance-the tiger and the serpent; worthy wife of such as I am! She must live that my infamy may diminish hers." And Villefort dashed open the window in front of the carriage. "Faster, faster!" he cried, in a tone which electrified the coachman. The horses, impelled by fear, flew towards the house. "Yes, yes," repeated Villefort, as he approached his home- "yes, that woman must live; she must repent, and educate my son, the sole survivor, with the exception of the indestructible old man, of the wreck of my house. She loves him; it was for his sake she has committed these crimes. We ought never to despair of softening the heart of a mother who loves her child. She will repent, and no one will know that she has been guilty. The events which have taken place in my house, though they now occupy the public mind, will be forgotten in time, or if, indeed, a few enemies should persist in remembering them, why then I will add them to my list of crimes. What will it signify if one, two, or three more are added? My wife and child shall escape from this gulf, carrying treasures with them; she will live and may yet be happy, since her child, in whom all her love is centred, will be with her. I shall have performed a good action, and my heart will be lighter." And the procureur breathed more freely than he had done for some time. The carriage stopped at the door of the house. Villefort leaped out of the carriage, and saw that his servants were surprised at his early return; he could read no other expression on their features. Neither of them spoke to him; they merely stood aside to let him pass by, as usual, nothing more. As he passed by M. Noirtier's room, he perceived two figures through the half-open door; but he experienced no curiosity to know who was visiting his father: anxiety carried him on further. "Come," he said, as he ascended the stairs leading to his wife's room, "nothing is changed here." He then closed the door of the landing. "No one must disturb us," he said; "I must speak freely to her, accuse myself, and say"-he approached the door, touched the crystal handle, which yielded to his hand. "Not locked," he cried; "that is well." And he entered the little room in which Edward slept; for though the child went to school during the day, his mother could not allow him to be separated from her at night. With a single glance Villefort's eye ran through the room. "Not here," he said; "doubtless she is in her bedroom." He rushed towards the door, found it bolted, and stopped, shuddering. "Heloise!" he cried. He fancied he heard the sound of a piece of furniture being removed. "Heloise!" he repeated. "Who is there?" answered the voice of her he sought. He thought that voice more feeble than usual. "Open the door!" cried Villefort. "Open; it is I." But notwithstanding this request, notwithstanding the tone of anguish in which it was uttered, the door remained closed. Villefort burst it open with a violent blow. At the entrance of the room which led to her boudoir, Madame de Villefort was standing erect, pale, her features contracted, and her eyes glaring horribly. "Heloise, Heloise!" he said, "what is the matter? Speak!" The young woman extended her stiff white hands towards him. "It is done, monsieur," she said with a rattling noise which seemed to tear her throat. "What more do you want?" and she fell full length on the floor. Villefort ran to her and seized her hand, which convulsively clasped a crystal bottle with a golden stopper. Madame de Villefort was dead. Villefort, maddened with horror, stepped back to the threshhold of the door, fixing his eyes on the corpse: "My son!" he exclaimed suddenly, "where is my son? -Edward, Edward!" and he rushed out of the room, still crying, "Edward, Edward!" The name was pronounced in such a tone of anguish that the servants ran up. "Where is my son?" asked Villefort; "let him be removed from the house, that he may not see"- "Master Edward is not down-stairs, sir," replied the valet. "Then he must be playing in the garden; go and see." "No, sir; Madame de Villefort sent for him half an hour ago; he went into her room, and has not been down-stairs since." A cold perspiration burst out on Villefort's brow; his legs trembled, and his thoughts flew about madly in his brain like the wheels of a disordered watch. "In Madame de Villefort's room?" he murmured and slowly returned, with one hand wiping his forehead, and with the other supporting himself against the wall. To enter the room he must again see the body of his unfortunate wife. To call Edward he must reawaken the echo of that room which now appeared like a sepulchre; to speak seemed like violating the silence of the tomb. His tongue was paralyzed in his mouth. "Edward!" he stammered-"Edward!" The child did not answer. Where, then, could he be, if he had entered his mother's room and not since returned? He stepped forward. The corpse of Madame de Villefort was stretched across the doorway leading to the room in which Edward must be; those glaring eyes seemed to watch over the threshold, and the lips bore the stamp of a terrible and mysterious irony. Through the open door was visible a portion of the boudoir, containing an upright piano and a blue satin couch. Villefort stepped forward two or three paces, and beheld his child lying-no doubt asleep-on the sofa. The unhappy man uttered an exclamation of joy; a ray of light seemed to penetrate the abyss of despair and darkness. He had only to step over the corpse, enter the boudoir, take the child in his arms, and flee far, far away. Villefort was no longer the civilized man; he was a tiger hurt unto death, gnashing his teeth in his wound. He no longer feared realities, but phantoms. He leaped over the corpse as if it had been a burning brazier. He took the child in his arms, embraced him, shook him, called him, but the child made no response. He pressed his burning lips to the cheeks, but they were icy cold and pale; he felt the stiffened limbs; he pressed his hand upon the heart, but it no longer beat,-the child was dead. A folded paper fell from Edward's breast. Villefort, thunderstruck, fell upon his knees; the child dropped from his arms, and rolled on the floor by the side of its mother. He picked up the paper, and, recognizing his wife's writing, ran his eyes rapidly over its contents; it ran as follows:- "You know that I was a good mother, since it was for my son's sake I became criminal. A good mother cannot depart without her son." Villefort could not believe his eyes,-he could not believe his reason; he dragged himself towards the child's body, and examined it as a lioness contemplates its dead cub. Then a piercing cry escaped from his breast, and he cried, "Still the hand of God." The presence of the two victims alarmed him; he could not bear solitude shared only by two corpses. Until then he had been sustained by rage, by his strength of mind, by despair, by the supreme agony which led the Titans to scale the heavens, and Ajax to defy the gods. He now arose, his head bowed beneath the weight of grief, and, shaking his damp, dishevelled hair, he who had never felt compassion for any one determined to seek his father, that he might have some one to whom he could relate his misfortunes,-some one by whose side he might weep. He descended the little staircase with which we are acquainted, and entered Noirtier's room. The old man appeared to be listening attentively and as affectionately as his infirmities would allow to the Abbe Busoni, who looked cold and calm, as usual. Villefort, perceiving the abbe, passed his hand across his brow. He recollected the call he had made upon him after the dinner at Auteuil, and then the visit the abbe had himself paid to his house on the day of Valentine's death. "You here, sir!" he exclaimed; "do you, then, never appear but to act as an escort to death?" Busoni turned around, and, perceiving the excitement depicted on the magistrate's face, the savage lustre of his eyes, he understood that the revelation had been made at the assizes; but beyond this he was ignorant. "I came to pray over the body of your daughter." "And now why are you here?" "I come to tell you that you have sufficiently repaid your debt, and that from this moment I will pray to God to forgive you, as I do." "Good heavens!" exclaimed Villefort, stepping back fearfully, "surely that is not the voice of the Abbe Busoni!" "No!" The abbe threw off his wig, shook his head, and his hair, no longer confined, fell in black masses around his manly face. "It is the face of the Count of Monte Cristo!" exclaimed the procureur, with a haggard expression. "You are not exactly right, M. procureur; you must go farther back." "That voice, that voice!-where did I first hear it?" "You heard it for the first time at Marseilles, twenty-three years ago, the day of your marriage with Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran. Refer to your papers." "You are not Busoni?-you are not Monte Cristo? Oh, heavens-you are, then, some secret, implacable, and mortal enemy! I must have wronged you in some way at Marseilles. Oh, woe to me!" "Yes; you are now on the right path," said the count, crossing his arms over his broad chest; "search-search!" "But what have I done to you?" exclaimed Villefort, whose mind was balancing between reason and insanity, in that cloud which is neither a dream nor reality; "what have I done to you? Tell me, then! Speak!" "You condemned me to a horrible, tedious death; you killed my father; you deprived me of liberty, of love, and happiness." "Who are you, then? Who are you?" "I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If. God gave that spectre the form of the Count of Monte Cristo when he at length issued from his tomb, enriched him with gold and diamonds, and led him to you!" "Ah, I recognize you-I recognize you!" exclaimed the king's attorney; "you are"- "I am Edmond Dantes!" "You are Edmond Dantes," cried Villefort, seizing the count by the wrist; "then come here!" And up the stairs he dragged Monte Cristo; who, ignorant of what had happened, followed him in astonishment, foreseeing some new catastrophe. "There, Edmond Dantes!" he said, pointing to the bodies of his wife and child, "see, are you well avenged?" Monte Cristo became pale at this horrible sight; he felt that he had passed beyond the bounds of vengeance, and that he could no longer say, "God is for and with me." With an expression of indescribable anguish he threw himself upon the body of the child, reopened its eyes, felt its pulse, and then rushed with him into Valentine's room, of which he double-locked the door. "My child," cried Villefort, "he carries away the body of my child! Oh, curses, woe, death to you!" and he tried to follow Monte Cristo; but as though in a dream he was transfixed to the spot,-his eyes glared as though they were starting through the sockets; he griped the flesh on his chest until his nails were stained with blood; the veins of his temples swelled and boiled as though they would burst their narrow boundary, and deluge his brain with living fire. This lasted several minutes, until the frightful overturn of reason was accomplished; then uttering a loud cry followed by a burst of laughter, he rushed down the stairs. A quarter of an hour afterwards the door of Valentine's room opened, and Monte Cristo reappeared. pale, with a dull eye and heavy heart, all the noble features of that face, usually so calm and serene, were overcast by grief. In his arms he held the child, whom no skill had been able to recall to life. Bending on one knee, he placed it reverently by the side of its mother, with its head upon her breast. Then, rising, he went out, and meeting a servant on the stairs, he asked, "Where is M. de Villefort?" The servant, instead of answering, pointed to the garden. Monte Cristo ran down the steps, and advancing towards the spot designated beheld Villefort, encircled by his servants, with a spade in his hand, and digging the earth with fury. "It is not here!" he cried. "It is not here!" And then he moved farther on, and began again to dig. Monte Cristo approached him, and said in a low voice, with an expression almost humble, "Sir, you have indeed lost a son; but"- Villefort interrupted him; he had neither listened nor heard. "Oh, I will find it," he cried; "you may pretend he is not here, but I will find him, though I dig forever!" Monte Cristo drew back in horror. "Oh," he said, "he is mad!" And as though he feared that the walls of the accursed house would crumble around him, he rushed into the street, for the first time doubting whether he had the right to do as he had done. "Oh, enough of this,-enough of this," he cried; "let me save the last." On entering his house, he met Morrel, who wandered about like a ghost awaiting the heavenly mandate for return to the tomb. "prepare yourself, Maximilian," he said with a smile; "we leave paris to-morrow." "Have you nothing more to do there?" asked Morrel. "No," replied Monte Cristo; "God grant I may not have done too much already." The next day they indeed left, accompanied only by Baptistin. Haidee had taken away Ali, and Bertuccio remained with Noirtier.

中文翻译 第一一一章　抵罪 　　维尔福先生看见稠密的人群在他的前面闪开着一条路。 　　极度的惨痛会使别人产生一种敬畏，即使在历史中最不幸的时期，群众第一个反应总是对一场大难中的受苦者表示同情。 　　有许多人会在一场动乱中被杀死，但罪犯在接受审判时，却极少受到侮辱。所以维尔福安全地从法院里的旁听者和军警面前走过。他虽然已认罪，有他的悲哀作保护。在这种情况下，人们不是用理智来判断，而是凭本能行事；在这样的情况下，最伟大的人就是那种最富有感情和最自然的人。大家把他们的表情当作一种完美的语言，而且有理由以此为满足，尤其是当那种语言符合实际情况的时候。维尔福离开法院时的那种恍惚迷离的状态是难于形容的。一种极度的亢奋，每一条神经都紧张，每一条血管都鼓起来，他身体的每一部分似乎都受着痛苦的宰割，这使他的痛苦增加了一千倍。他凭着习惯走出法庭，他抛开他法官的长袍，——并不是因为理应如此，而是因为他的肩膀不胜重压，象是披着一件饱含痛苦的尼苏斯的衬衫一样［尼苏斯是希腊神话中半人半马的怪物，因诱拐大力士赫克里斯之妻被赫克里斯以毒箭射死。赫之妻遵尼苏斯的遗言，把丈夫的衬衣用这怪物的血浸过，赫克里斯穿上后因此中毒，苦恼不堪，卒致自杀。——译注］。他踉踉跄跄地走到道宾路，看见他的马车，停在那里，亲自打开车门，摇醒那瞌睡的车夫，然后摔倒在车座上，停在那里，他向圣•奥诺路指了一指，马车便开始行驶了。他这场灾祸好象全部重量似乎都压在他的头上。那种重量把他压垮了。他并没有看到后果，也没有考虑，他只能直觉地感到它们的重压。他不能象一个惯于杀人的冷酷的凶手那样理智地分析他的处境。他灵魂的深处想到了上帝，——“上帝呀！”他呆呆地说，其实他并不清楚自己在说些什么，“上帝呀！上帝呀！”在这将临的灾祸后面，他看见上帝。马车急速地行驶着。在车垫上不停地晃动着的维尔福觉察背后有一样东西顶住他。他伸手去拿开那样东西，那原来是维尔福夫人在车子里的一把扇子。这把扇子象黑暗中的闪电那样唤起他的回忆，——他想起了他的妻子。 　　“噢！”他喊道，象是一块烧红的铁在烙他的心一样。在过去这一小时内，他只想到他自己的罪恶。现在，另一个可怕的东西突然呈现在头脑里。他的妻子！他曾以一个铁面无私的法官的身份对待她，他曾宣判她死刑有自己的“明心”方法才是简易可行的。，而她，受着悔恨恐怖的煎熬，受着他义正词严的雄辩所激起的羞耻心的煎熬。 　　她，一个无力抵抗法律的可怜的弱女子，——她这时也许正在那儿准备死！自从她被宣判有罪以来，已过去一个钟头了。 　　在这个时候，她无疑地正在回忆她所犯的种种罪行，她也许正在要求饶恕她的罪行，或许她在写信给他丈夫，求她那道德高尚的丈夫饶恕她，维尔福又惨痛和绝望地呻吟了一声。 　　“啊！”他叹道，“那个女人只是因为跟我结合才会变成罪犯！我身上带着犯罪的细菌，她只是受了传染，象传染到伤寒、霍乱和瘟疫一样！可是，我却惩罚她！我竟敢对她说：‘忏悔吧在自己的发展中不断以新的经验、新的知识丰富起来。，死吧！’噢，不！不！她可以活下去。她可以跟我。我们可以逃走，离开法国，逃到世界的尽头。我对她提到断头台！万能的上帝！我怎么竟敢对她说那句话！噢，断头台也在等着我呢！是的，我们将远走高飞，我将向她承认一切，我将天天告诉她，我也犯罪！噢，真是老虎和赤练蛇的结合！噢，真配做我的妻子！她一定不能死，我的耻辱也许会减轻她的内疚。”于是维尔福猛力打开车厢前面的窗口。“快点！快点！” 　　他喊道，他喊叫时的口吻使那车夫感到象触了电一样。马被赶得惊恐万分，飞一般地跑回家去。 　　“是的，是的，”在途中，维尔福反复念叨，“是的，那个女人不能死，应该让她忏悔，抚养我的儿子，我那可怜的孩子，在我不幸的家里，除了那生命力特别顽强的老人以外，就只剩下他一个人了。她爱这孩子，她是为他才变成一个罪人的。一个母亲只要还爱她的孩子，她的心就不会坏到无可挽回的地步。她会忏悔的。谁都不会知道她犯过罪，那些罪恶是在我的家里发生的，虽然现在大家已经怀疑，但过些时候就会忘记，如果还有仇人记得，唉，上帝来惩罚我吧！我再多加两三重罪也没什么关系？我的妻子可以带着孩子和珠宝逃走。她可以活下去，也许还可以活得很幸福，因为她把爱都倾注在孩子身上，我的心就可以好受一些了。”于是检察官觉得他的呼吸也比较畅通了。 　　马车在宅邸院子里停住。维尔福从车子里出来，他看出仆人们都很惊奇他回来得这样早。除此之外他在他们的脸上再看不出别的表情。没有人跟他说话，象往常一样他们站在一边让他过去。当他经过诺瓦蒂埃先生房间时，他从那半开着的门里看见了两个人影，但他不想知道是谁在拜访他的父亲行。由于他的另一创始人、德国哲学家阿芬那留斯把对经验，他匆匆地继续向前走。 　　“啊，没事”，当他走上通向妻子房间去的楼梯时，他说，“没事一切都是老样子。”他随手关拢楼梯口的门。“不能让人来打扰我们，”他想，“我必须毫不顾忌地告诉她，在她面前认罪，把一切都告诉她”。他走到门口，握住那水晶门柄，门却自行打开了。“门没关！”他自言自语地说，“很好。”他走进爱德华睡觉的那个小房间，孩子白天到学校去上学，晚上和母亲住在一起。他忙向房间里看了看。“不在这儿，”他说，“她在自己的房间里。”他冲到门口，门关着。他站在那儿浑身打哆嗦。“爱萝绮丝！”他喊道。他好象听到家具移动的声音。“爱萝绮丝！”他再喊。 　　“是谁？”他要找的女人问道。他觉得那个声音比往常微弱得多。 　　“开门！”维尔福喊道，“开门，是我。” 　　不管他的怎样请求，不管他的口气让人听上去多么痛苦，门却依旧关着。维尔福一脚把门踹开。在门口里面，维尔福夫人直挺挺地站着，她的脸色苍白，五官收缩。恐怖地望着他。“爱萝绮丝！爱萝绮丝！”他说，“你怎么啦？说呀！” 　　那年轻女子向他伸出一只僵硬而苍白的手。我按你的要求做了，阁下！”她声音嘶哑，喉咙好象随时都可能被撕裂。 　　“你还要怎样呢？”说着她摔倒在地板上。 　　维尔福奔过去抓住她的手，痉挛的那只手里握着一只金盖子的水晶瓶。维尔福夫人自杀了。维尔福吓疯了，他退回到门口，两眼盯住那尸体。“我的儿子呢！”他突然喊道，“我的儿子在哪儿？爱德华！爱德华！”他冲出房间，疯狂地喊着，“爱德华！爱德华！”他的声音不胜悲恸，仆人们听到喊声都跑了上来。 　　“我的儿子在哪儿？”维尔福问道，“带他离开这座房子，不要让他看见——” 　　“爱德华少爷不在楼下，先生。”仆人答道。 　　“那么他可能在花园里玩，去看看。” 　　“不，先生，夫人在半小时前派人来找他，他到夫人的房间里去了，以后就没有下楼来过。” 　　维尔福的额头上直冒冷汗，他的双腿发抖，各种不祥的念头在他的脑子里乱转。“在维尔福夫人的房间里？”他喃喃地说，妻子的房间，在里面他不能来看不幸的妻子的尸体。要喊爱德华，他一定会在那变成坟墓的房间里造成回音。似乎不应该说话打破坟墓的宁静。维尔福觉得自己的舌头已经麻木了。“爱德华！”他口吃地说，“爱德华！”没有回音。如果他到母亲的房间里没有再出来，他又会可能在哪儿呢？他踮着脚走过去。维尔福夫人的尸体横躺在门口，爱德华一定在房间里面。那个尸体似乎在看守房门，眼睛瞪着，脸上分明带着一种可怕的、神秘的、讥讽的微笑。从那打开着的门向里过去，可以看见一架直立钢琴和一张蓝缎的睡榻。维尔福向前走了两三步，看见他的孩子躺在沙发上，睡着了。他发出一声欢喜的喊叫，好象透入那绝望黑暗的深渊。他只要跨过那尸体，走进房间，抱起他的孩子，带他远走高飞就行了。 　　维尔福已不再是那个精明近于深谋远虑的上层人物了，现在他是一只受伤将死的老虎，他的牙齿已被最后的痛苦磨碎了。他不怕现实，他只怕鬼。他跨过尸体，好象那是能把他吞噬的一只火炉。他把那孩子抱在自己的怀里，搂着他，摇他，喊他，但那孩子并不回答。他嘴唇去亲那孩子的脸颊，孩子是冰冷惨白的。他感到他的四肢僵硬，他把手放在他的胸膛上，心脏已不再跳动了，孩子死了。一张叠着的纸从爱德华的胸口上落下来。维尔福如同五雷轰顶，双腿一软跪下来，孩子从他麻木的手上滑下来，滚到他母亲的身边。维尔福拾起那张纸，那是妻子的笔迹，他迫不急待地看了起来。 　　“你知道我是一个好母亲，为了我儿子不惜让自己变成一个罪人。一个好母亲是不能和她的儿子分离的。” 　　维尔福无法相信他的眼睛，无法相信他的理智。他向孩子的尸体爬过去，象一只母狮看着它死掉的小狮子一样。悲痛欲绝地喊道，“上帝啊！”他说，“上帝永在啊！”那两具死尸吓坏了他，他不能忍受两具尸体来填充寂静。直到那时，他被一中绝望和悲痛支持着。悲痛力大无比，而绝望使他产生了一种异乎寻常的勇气。现在，他站起来，但他的头低着，悲哀压得他抬不起头来。他甩了甩那被冷汗润湿的头发，决定去找他的父亲，他从没对任何人表示过怜悯，但现在他要找一个人来听他诉苦，他要找一个来听他哭泣。他走下楼梯，走进诺瓦蒂埃的房间。那老人正用他所能够表现出的最亲热的表情在倾听布沙尼神甫说话，布沙尼神甫仍象往常一样冷淡平静。维尔福一看见那长老，便把手按在前额上。他记得他曾在阿都尔那次晚宴后去拜访过他，也记得长老曾在瓦朗蒂娜去世的那天到这座房子里来过。“你在这儿，阁下！”他叹道，“你怎么总是伴随死神一起来呢？” 　　布沙尼转过身来，看着检察官变了形的脸和他眼睛里那种野蛮的凶光，他知道开庭的那出戏已经收场了，但他当然不知道发生了别的事情。“我以前曾来为你的女儿祈祷过。”他答道。 　　“但你今天来做什么？” 　　“我来告诉你：你的债已经偿还得够了，从此刻起，我将祈祷上帝象我一样的宽恕你。” 　　“上帝呀！”维尔福神情慌张的喊道，“你不是布沙尼神甫！” 　　“是的，我不是，”长老拉掉他的头发，摇一遥头，他的黑发披散到他那英俊的面孔两旁。 　　“你是基督山伯爵！”检察官带着惊呆的神情喊道。 　　“你说得并不全对，检察官阁下，再仔细想一想。” 　　“你是在马赛第一次听到我的声音的，在二十三年以前，你与圣•梅朗小、姐举行婚礼的那一天。好好想一想吧。” 　　“你不是布沙尼？你不是基督山？你就是那个躲在幕后与我不共戴天的死对头！我在马赛的时候一定得罪过你。哦，该我倒霉！” 　　“是的，你说得对，”伯爵把双手交叉在宽阔的胸前，说，“想想吧，仔细想想吧！” 　　“但我怎样得罪了你？”维尔福喊道，他的脑子正在那既非幻梦也非现实的境地徘徊在理智和疯狂之间，——“我怎样得罪了你？告诉我吧！说呀！” 　　“你是谁，那么你是谁？” 　　“我是被你埋在伊夫堡黑牢里的一个可怜的人的阴魂。那个阴魂终于已从他的坟墓里爬了出来，上帝赐他一个基督山的面具，给他许多金珠宝贝，使你直到今天才能认出他。” 　　“啊！我认出你了！我认出你了！”检察官喊道，“你是——” 　　“我是爱德蒙•唐太斯！” 　　“你是爱德蒙•唐太斯！”维尔福抓住伯爵的手腕喊道，“那么到这儿来。”于是他拉着基督山往楼上走。伯爵不知道发生了什么事情，只是他的心里也料到发生了某种新的灾难。 　　“看吧，爱德蒙•唐太斯！”他指着他妻子和孩子的尸体说，“看！你的仇报了吗？” 　　基督山看到这令人毛骨悚然的情景，他的脸色变得苍白；他把报复的权利用得过了头，他已没有权利说“上帝助我，上帝与我同在。那句话了。他带着一种无法形容的悲哀的表情扑到那孩子的尸体上，拨开他的眼睛，摸一摸他的脉搏，然后抱着他冲进瓦朗蒂娜的房间，把门关上了。 　　“我的孩子！”维尔福喊道，“他抢走了我的孩子！噢，你这坏蛋，你不得好死！”他想去追基督山，但象是在做梦一样，他的脚一步也动不得。他拚命睁大眼睛，眼珠象是要从眼眶里突出来似的。指甲扎进了胸膛上，被血染红了；他太阳穴上的血管胀得象要爆裂开来似的，他头脑发热。几分钟，他已经没有了理智，接着，他大叫一声，爆发出一阵大笑，冲下楼梯去了。 　　一刻钟以后，瓦朗蒂娜的房间门开了，基督山走出来。他的眼光迟钝，脸上毫无血色，他那表情一向宁静高贵的脸由于悲哀而神色大变，他的臂弯里抱着那个已经无法起死回生的孩子。他单腿跪下，虔敬地把他放在他母亲的旁边，然后他走出房间在楼梯上遇到一个仆人，“维尔福先生在哪儿？”他问仆人。 　　那个仆人没吭声，指了指花园。基督山走下楼梯，向仆人所指的那个方向走过去，看见维尔福被他的仆人围在中间，他的手里拿着一把铲子，正在疯狂地挖着泥土。“这儿没有！” 　　他喊道。于是他再向前面走几步，重新再挖。 　　基督山走到他的身边，低声说：“阁下，你的确失去了一个儿子，但是——” 　　维尔福打断他的话，他听不懂，也根本听不到。“噢，我会找到他的！”他喊道，“你们都哄我，说他不在这儿，我会找到他的，一定得找下去！” 　　基督山恐慌地往后退去。“噢！”他说，“他疯啦！”象是怕那座受天诅咒的房子的墙壁会突然倒塌似的，他跑到街上，第一次他开始怀疑自己究竟有没有权利做他所做的那些事情。“噢，够啦，——够啦，”他喊道，“快去把最后的一个救出来吧。” 　　一回到家，他就遇到莫雷尔正象一个幽灵似的在他的客厅里来回徘徊。“准备一下吧，马西米兰。”伯爵带着微笑说，“我们明天离开巴黎。” 　　“你在这儿没有别的事要干？”莫雷尔问。 　　“没有了，”基督山答道，“上帝宽恕我，也许我已经做得太过分了！”

英文原文 Chapter 112 The Departure The recent event formed the theme of conversation throughout all paris. Emmanuel and his wife conversed with natural astonishment in their little apartment in the Rue Meslay upon the three successive, sudden, and most unexpected catastrophes of Morcerf, Danglars, and Villefort. Maximilian, who was paying them a visit, listened to their conversation, or rather was present at it, plunged in his accustomed state of apathy. "Indeed," said Julie, "might we not almost fancy, Emmanuel, that those people, so rich, so happy but yesterday, had forgotten in their prosperity that an evil genius-like the wicked fairies in perrault's stories who present themselves unbidden at a wedding or baptism-hovered over them, and appeared all at once to revenge himself for their fatal neglect?" "What a dire misfortune!" said Emmanuel, thinking of Morcerf and Danglars. "What dreadful sufferings!" said Julie, remembering Valentine, but whom, with a delicacy natural to women, she did not name before her brother. "If the Supreme Being has directed the fatal blow," said Emmanuel, "it must be that he in his great goodness has perceived nothing in the past lives of these people to merit mitigation of their awful punishment." "Do you not form a very rash judgment, Emmanuel?" said Julie. "When my father, with a pistol in his hand, was once on the point of committing suicide, had any one then said, `This man deserves his misery,' would not that person have been deceived?" "Yes; but your father was not allowed to fall. A being was commissioned to arrest the fatal hand of death about to descend on him." Emmanuel had scarcely uttered these words when the sound of the bell was heard, the well-known signal given by the porter that a visitor had arrived. Nearly at the same instant the door was opened and the Count of Monte Cristo appeared on the threshold. The young people uttered a cry of joy, while Maximilian raised his head, but let it fall again immediately. "Maximilian," said the count, without appearing to notice the different impressions which his presence produced on the little circle, "I come to seek you." "To seek me?" repeated Morrel, as if awakening from a dream. "Yes," said Monte Cristo; "has it not been agreed that I should take you with me, and did I not tell you yesterday to prepare for departure?" "I am ready," said Maximilian; "I came expressly to wish them farewell." "Whither are you going, count?" asked Julie. "In the first instance to Marseilles, madame." "To Marseilles!" exclaimed the young couple. "Yes, and I take your brother with me." "Oh, count." said Julie, "will you restore him to us cured of his melancholy?"-Morrel turned away to conceal the confusion of his countenance. "You perceive, then, that he is not happy?" said the count. "Yes," replied the young woman; "and fear much that he finds our home but a dull one." "I will undertake to divert him," replied the count. "I am ready to accompany you, sir," said Maximilian. "Adieu, my kind friends! Emmanuel-Julie-farewell!" "How farewell?" exclaimed Julie; "do you leave us thus, so suddenly, without any preparations for your journey, without even a passport?" "Needless delays but increase the grief of parting," said Monte Cristo, "and Maximilian has doubtless provided himself with everything requisite; at least, I advised him to do so." "I have a passport, and my clothes are ready packed," said Morrel in his tranquil but mournful manner. "Good," said Monte Cristo, smiling; "in these prompt arrangements we recognize the order of a well-disciplined soldier." "And you leave us," said Julie, "at a moment's warning? you do not give us a day-no, not even an hour before your departure?" "My carriage is at the door, madame, and I must be in Rome in five days." "But does Maximilian go to Rome?" exclaimed Emmanuel. "I am going wherever it may please the count to take me," said Morrel, with a smile full of grief; "I am under his orders for the next month." "Oh, heavens, how strangely he expresses himself, count!" said Julie. "Maximilian goes with me," said the count, in his kindest and most persuasive manner; "therefore do not make yourself uneasy on your brother's account." "Once more farewell, my dear sister; Emmanuel, adieu!" Morrel repeated. "His carelessness and indifference touch me to the heart," said Julie. "Oh, Maximilian, Maximilian, you are certainly concealing something from us." "pshaw!" said Monte Cristo, "you will see him return to you gay, smiling, and joyful." Maximilian cast a look of disdain, almost of anger, on the count. "We must leave you," said Monte Cristo. "Before you quit us, count," said Julie, "will you permit us to express to you all that the other day"- "Madame," interrupted the count, taking her two hands in his, "all that you could say in words would never express what I read in your eyes; the thoughts of your heart are fully understood by mine. Like benefactors in romances, I should have left you without seeing you again, but that would have been a virtue beyond my strength, because I am a weak and vain man, fond of the tender, kind, and thankful glances of my fellow-creatures. On the eve of departure I carry my egotism so far as to say, `Do not forget me, my kind friends, for probably you will never see me again.'" "Never see you again?" exclaimed Emmanuel, while two large tears rolled down Julie's cheeks, "never behold you again? It is not a man, then, but some angel that leaves us, and this angel is on the point of returning to heaven after having appeared on earth to do good." "Say not so," quickly returned Monte Cristo-"say not so, my friends; angels never err, celestial beings remain where they wish to be. Fate is not more powerful than they; it is they who, on the contrary, overcome fate. No, Emmanuel, I am but a man, and your admiration is as unmerited as your words are sacrilegious." And pressing his lips on the hand of Julie, who rushed into his arms, he extended his other hand to Emmanuel; then tearing himself from this abode of peace and happiness, he made a sign to Maximilian, who followed him passively, with the indifference which had been perceptible in him ever since the death of Valentine had so stunned him. "Restore my brother to peace and happiness," whispered Julie to Monte Cristo. And the count pressed her hand in reply, as he had done eleven years before on the staircase leading to Morrel's study. "You still confide, then, in Sinbad the Sailor?" asked he, smiling. "Oh, yes," was the ready answer. "Well, then, sleep in peace, and put your trust in heaven." As we have before said, the postchaise was waiting; four powerful horses were already pawing the ground with impatience, while Ali, apparently just arrived from a long walk, was standing at the foot of the steps, his face bathed in perspiration. "Well," asked the count in Arabic, "have you been to see the old man?" Ali made a sign in the affirmative. "And have you placed the letter before him, as I ordered you to do?" The slave respectfully signalized that he had. "And what did he say, or rather do?" Ali placed himself in the light, so that his master might see him distinctly, and then imitating in his intelligent manner the countenance of the old man, he closed his eyes, as Noirtier was in the custom of doing when saying "Yes." "Good; he accepts," said Monte Cristo. "Now let us go." These words had scarcely escaped him, when the carriage was on its way, and the feet of the horses struck a shower of sparks from the pavement. Maximilian settled himself in his corner without uttering a word. Half an hour had passed when the carriage stopped suddenly; the count had just pulled the silken check-string, which was fastened to Ali's finger. The Nubian immediately descended and opened the carriage door. It was a lovely starlight night-they had just reached the top of the hill Villejuif, from whence paris appears like a sombre sea tossing its millions of phosphoric waves into light-waves indeed more noisy, more passionate, more changeable, more furious, more greedy, than those of the tempestuous ocean,-waves which never rest as those of the sea sometimes do,-waves ever dashing, ever foaming, ever ingulfing what falls within their grasp. The count stood alone, and at a sign from his hand, the carriage went on for a short distance. With folded arms, he gazed for some time upon the great city. When he had fixed his piercing look on this modern Babylon, which equally engages the contemplation of the religious enthusiast, the materialist, and the scoffer,-"Great city," murmured he, inclining his head, and joining his hands as if in prayer, "less than six months have elapsed since first I entered thy gates. I believe that the Spirit of God led my steps to thee and that he also enables me to quit thee in triumph; the secret cause of my presence within thy walls I have confided alone to him who only has had the power to read my heart. God only knows that I retire from thee without pride or hatred, but not without many regrets; he only knows that the power confided to me has never been made subservient to my personal good or to any useless cause. Oh, great city, it is in thy palpitating bosom that I have found that which I sought; like a patient miner, I have dug deep into thy very entrails to root out evil thence. Now my work is accomplished, my mission is terminated, now thou canst neither afford me pain nor pleasure. Adieu, paris, adieu!" His look wandered over the vast plain like that of some genius of the night; he passed his hand over his brow, got into the carriage, the door was closed on him, and the vehicle quickly disappeared down the other side of the hill in a whirlwind of noise and dust. Ten leagues were passed and not a single word was uttered. Morrel was dreaming, and Monte Cristo was looking at the dreamer. "Morrel," said the count to him at length, "do you repent having followed me?" "No, count; but to leave paris"- "If I thought happiness might await you in paris, Morrel, I would have left you there." "Valentine reposes within the walls of paris, and to leave paris is like losing her a second time." "Maximilian," said the count, "the friends that we have lost do not repose in the bosom of the earth, but are buried deep in our hearts, and it has been thus ordained that we may always be accompanied by them. I have two friends, who in this way never depart from me; the one who gave me being, and the other who conferred knowledge and intelligence on me. Their spirits live in me. I consult them when doubtful, and if I ever do any good, it is due to their beneficent counsels. Listen to the voice of your heart, Morrel, and ask it whether you ought to preserve this melancholy exterior towards me." "My friend," said Maximilian, "the voice of my heart is very sorrowful, and promises me nothing but misfortune." "It is the way of weakened minds to see everything through a black cloud. The soul forms its own horizons; your soul is darkened, and consequently the sky of the future appears stormy and unpromising." "That may possibly be true," said Maximilian, and he again subsided into his thoughtful mood. The journey was performed with that marvellous rapidity which the unlimited power of the count ever commanded. Towns fled from them like shadows on their path, and trees shaken by the first winds of autumn seemed like giants madly rushing on to meet them, and retreating as rapidly when once reached. The following morning they arrived at Chalons, where the count's steamboat waited for them. Without the loss of an instant, the carriage was placed on board and the two travellers embarked without delay. The boat was built for speed; her two paddle-wheels were like two wings with which she skimmed the water like a bird. Morrel was not insensible to that sensation of delight which is generally experienced in passing rapidly through the air, and the wind which occasionally raised the hair from his forehead seemed on the point of dispelling momentarily the clouds collected there. As the distance increased between the travellers and paris, almost superhuman serenity appeared to surround the count; he might have been taken for an exile about to revisit his native land. Ere long Marseilles presented herself to view, -Marseilles, white, fervid, full of life and energy,- Marseilles, the younger sister of Tyre and Carthage, the successor to them in the empire of the Mediterranean,- Marseilles, old, yet always young. powerful memories were stirred within them by the sight of the round tower, Fort Saint-Nicolas, the City Hall designed by puget,* the port with its brick quays, where they had both played in childhood, and it was with one accord that they stopped on the Cannebiere. A vessel was setting sail for Algiers, on board of which the bustle usually attending departure prevailed. The passengers and their relations crowded on the deck, friends taking a tender but sorrowful leave of each other, some weeping, others noisy in their grief, the whole forming a spectacle that might be exciting even to those who witnessed similar sights daily, but which had no power to disturb the current of thought that had taken possession of the mind of Maximilian from the moment he had set foot on the broad pavement of the quay. pierre puget, the sculptor-architect, was born at Marseilles in 1622. "Here," said he, leaning heavily on the arm of Monte Cristo, -"here is the spot where my father stopped, when the pharaon entered the port; it was here that the good old man, whom you saved from death and dishonor, threw himself into my arms. I yet feel his warm tears on my face, and his were not the only tears shed, for many who witnessed our meeting wept also." Monte Cristo gently smiled and said,-"I was there;" at the same time pointing to the corner of a street. As he spoke, and in the very direction he indicated, a groan, expressive of bitter grief, was heard, and a woman was seen waving her hand to a passenger on board the vessel about to sail. Monte Cristo looked at her with an emotion that must have been remarked by Morrel had not his eyes been fixed on the vessel. "Oh, heavens!" exclaimed Morrel, "I do not deceive myself- that young man who is waving his hat, that youth in the uniform of a lieutenant, is Albert de Morcerf!" "Yes," said Monte Cristo, "I recognized him." "How so?-you were looking the other way." the count smiled, as he was in the habit of doing when he did not want to make any reply, and he again turned towards the veiled woman, who soon disappeared at the corner of the street. Turning to his friend,-"Dear Maximilian," said the count, "have you nothing to do in this land?" "I have to weep over the grave of my father," replied Morrel in a broken voice. "Well, then, go,-wait for me there, and I will soon join you." "You leave me, then?" "Yes; I also have a pious visit to pay." Morrel allowed his hand to fall into that which the count extended to him; then with an inexpressibly sorrowful inclination of the head he quitted the count and bent his steps to the east of the city. Monte Cristo remained on the same spot until Maximilian was out of sight; he then walked slowly towards the Allees de Meillan to seek out a small house with which our readers were made familiar at the beginning of this story. It yet stood, under the shade of the fine avenue of lime-trees, which forms one of the most frequent walks of the idlers of Marseilles, covered by an immense vine, which spreads its aged and blackened branches over the stone front, burnt yellow by the ardent sun of the south. Two stone steps worn away by the friction of many feet led to the door, which was made of three planks; the door had never been painted or varnished, so great cracks yawned in it during the dry season to close again when the rains came on. The house, with all its crumbling antiquity and apparent misery, was yet cheerful and picturesque, and was the same that old Dantes formerly inhabited-the only difference being that the old man occupied merely the garret, while the whole house was now placed at the command of Mercedes by the count. The woman whom the count had seen leave the ship with so much regret entered this house; she had scarcely closed the door after her when Monte Cristo appeared at the corner of a street, so that he found and lost her again almost at the same instant. The worn out steps were old acquaintances of his; he knew better than any one else how to open that weather-beaten door with the large headed nail which served to raise the latch within. He entered without knocking, or giving any other intimation of his presence, as if he had been a friend or the master of the place. At the end of a passage paved with bricks, was a little garden, bathed in sunshine, and rich in warmth and light. In this garden Mercedes had found, at the place indicated by the count, the sum of money which he, through a sense of delicacy, had described as having been placed there twenty-four years previously. The trees of the garden were easily seen from the steps of the street-door. Monte Cristo, on stepping into the house, heard a sigh that was almost a deep sob; he looked in the direction whence it came, and there under an arbor of Virginia jessamine,* with its thick foliage and beautiful long purple flowers, he saw Mercedes seated, with her head bowed, and weeping bitterly. She had raised her veil, and with her face hidden by her hands was giving free scope to the sighs and tears which had been so long restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristo advanced a few steps, which were heard on the gravel. Mercedes raised her head, and uttered a cry of terror on beholding a man before her. The Carolina-not Virginia-jessamine, gelsemium sempervirens (properly speaking not a jessamine at all) has yellow blossoms. The reference is no doubt to the Wistaria frutescens.-Ed. "Madame," said the count, "it is no longer in my power to restore you to happiness, but I offer you consolation; will you deign to accept it as coming from a friend?" "I am, indeed, most wretched," replied Mercedes. "Alone in the world, I had but my son, and he has left me!" "He possesses a noble heart, madame," replied the count, "and he has acted rightly. He feels that every man owes a tribute to his country; some contribute their talents, others their industry; these devote their blood, those their nightly labors, to the same cause. Had he remained with you, his life must have become a hateful burden, nor would he have participated in your griefs. He will increase in strength and honor by struggling with adversity, which he will convert into prosperity. Leave him to build up the future for you, and I venture to say you will confide it to safe hands." "Oh," replied the wretched woman, mournfully shaking her head, "the prosperity of which you speak, and which, from the bottom of my heart, I pray God in his mercy to grant him, I can never enjoy. The bitter cup of adversity has been drained by me to the very dregs, and I feel that the grave is not far distant. You have acted kindly, count, in bringing me back to the place where I have enjoyed so much bliss. I ought to meet death on the same spot where happiness was once all my own." "Alas," said Monte Cristo, "your words sear and embitter my heart, the more so as you have every reason to hate me. I have been the cause of all your misfortunes; but why do you pity, instead of blaming me? You render me still more unhappy"- "Hate you, blame you-you, Edmond! Hate, reproach, the man that has spared my son's life! For was it not your fatal and sanguinary intention to destroy that son of whom M. de Morcerf was so proud? Oh, look at me closely, and discover if you can even the semblance of a reproach in me." The count looked up and fixed his eyes on Mercedes, who arose partly from her seat and extended both her hands towards him. "Oh, look at me," continued she, with a feeling of profound melancholy, "my eyes no longer dazzle by their brilliancy, for the time has long fled since I used to smile on Edmond Dantes, who anxiously looked out for me from the window of yonder garret, then inhabited by his old father. Years of grief have created an abyss between those days and the present. I neither reproach you nor hate you, my friend. Oh, no, Edmond, it is myself that I blame, myself that I hate! Oh, miserable creature that I am!" cried she, clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to heaven. "I once possessed piety, innocence, and love, the three ingredients of the happiness of angels, and now what am I?" Monte Cristo approached her, and silently took her hand. "No," said she, withdrawing it gently-"no, my friend, touch me not. You have spared me, yet of all those who have fallen under your vengeance I was the most guilty. They were influenced by hatred, by avarice, and by self-love; but I was base, and for want of courage acted against my judgment. Nay, do not press my hand, Edmond; you are thinking, I am sure, of some kind speech to console me, but do not utter it to me, reserve it for others more worthy of your kindness. See" (and she exposed her face completely to view)-"see, misfortune has silvered my hair, my eyes have shed so many tears that they are encircled by a rim of purple, and my brow is wrinkled. You, Edmond, on the contrary,-you are still young, handsome, dignified; it is because you have had faith; because you have had strength, because you have had trust in God, and God has sustained you. But as for me, I have been a coward; I have denied God and he has abandoned me." Mercedes burst into tears; her woman's heart was breaking under its load of memories. Monte Cristo took her hand and imprinted a kiss on it; but she herself felt that it was a kiss of no greater warmth than he would have bestowed on the hand of some marble statue of a saint. "It often happens," continued she, "that a first fault destroys the prospects of a whole life. I believed you dead; why did I survive you? What good has it done me to mourn for you eternally in the secret recesses of my heart?-only to make a woman of thirty-nine look like a woman of fifty. Why, having recognized you, and I the only one to do so-why was I able to save my son alone? Ought I not also to have rescued the man that I had accepted for a husband, guilty though he were? Yet I let him die! What do I say? Oh, merciful heavens, was I not accessory to his death by my supine insensibility, by my contempt for him, not remembering, or not willing to remember, that it was for my sake he had become a traitor and a perjurer? In what am I benefited by accompanying my son so far, since I now abandon him, and allow him to depart alone to the baneful climate of Africa? Oh, I have been base, cowardly, I tell you; I have abjured my affections, and like all renegades I am of evil omen to those who surround me!" "No, Mercedes," said Monte Cristo, "no; you judge yourself with too much severity. You are a noble-minded woman, and it was your grief that disarmed me. Still I was but an agent, led on by an invisible and offended Deity, who chose not to withhold the fatal blow that I was destined to hurl. I take that God to witness, at whose feet I have prostrated myself daily for the last ten years, that I would have sacrificed my life to you, and with my life the projects that were indissolubly linked with it. But-and I say it with some pride, Mercedes-God needed me, and I lived. Examine the past and the present, and endeavor to dive into futurity, and then say whether I am not a divine instrument. The most dreadful misfortunes, the most frightful sufferings, the abandonment of all those who loved me, the persecution of those who did not know me, formed the trials of my youth; when suddenly, from captivity, solitude, misery, I was restored to light and liberty, and became the possessor of a fortune so brilliant, so unbounded, so unheard-of, that I must have been blind not to be conscious that God had endowed me with it to work out his own great designs. From that time I looked upon this fortune as something confided to me for an especial purpose. Not a thought was given to a life which you once, Mercedes, had the power to render blissful; not one hour of peaceful calm was mine; but I felt myself driven on like an exterminating angel. Like adventurous captains about to embark on some enterprise full of danger, I laid in my provisions, I loaded my weapons, I collected every means of attack and defence; I inured my body to the most violent exercises, my soul to the bitterest trials; I taught my arm to slay, my eyes to behold excruciating sufferings, and my mouth to smile at the most horrid spectacles. Good-natured, confiding, and forgiving as I had been, I became revengeful, cunning, and wicked, or rather, immovable as fate. Then I launched out into the path that was opened to me. I overcame every obstacle, and reached the goal; but woe to those who stood in my pathway!" "Enough," said Mercedes; "enough, Edmond! Believe me, that she who alone recognized you has been the only one to comprehend you; and had she crossed your path, and you had crushed her like glass, still, Edmond, still she must have admired you! Like the gulf between me and the past, there is an abyss between you, Edmond, and the rest of mankind; and I tell you freely that the comparison I draw between you and other men will ever be one of my greatest tortures. No, there is nothing in the world to resemble you in worth and goodness! But we must say farewell, Edmond, and let us part." "Before I leave you, Mercedes, have you no request to make?" said the count. "I desire but one thing in this world, Edmond,-the happiness of my son." "pray to the Almighty to spare his life, and I will take upon myself to promote his happiness." "Thank you, Edmond." "But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercedes?" "For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two graves. One is that of Edmond Dantes, lost to me long, long since. He had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip now, but it is a memory dear to my heart, and one that I would not lose for all that the world contains. The other grave is that of the man who met his death from the hand of Edmond Dantes. I approve of the deed, but I must pray for the dead." "Your son shall be happy, Mercedes," repeated the count. "Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can possibly confer." "But what are your intentions?" "To say that I shall live here, like the Mercedes of other times, gaining my bread by labor, would not be true, nor would you believe me. I have no longer the strength to do anything but to spend my days in prayer. However, I shall have no occasion to work, for the little sum of money buried by you, and which I found in the place you mentioned, will be sufficient to maintain me. Rumor will probably be busy respecting me, my occupations, my manner of living-that will signify but little." "Mercedes," said the count, "I do not say it to blame you, but you made an unnecessary sacrifice in relinquishing the whole of the fortune amassed by M. de Morcerf; half of it at least by right belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance and economy." "I perceive what you are intending to propose to me; but I cannot accept it, Edmond-my son would not permit it." "Nothing shall be done without the full approbation of Albert de Morcerf. I will make myself acquainted with his intentions and will submit to them. But if he be willing to accept my offers, will you oppose them?" "You well know, Edmond, that I am no longer a reasoning creature; I have no will, unless it be the will never to decide. I have been so overwhelmed by the many storms that have broken over my head, that I am become passive in the hands of the Almighty, like a sparrow in the talons of an eagle. I live, because it is not ordained for me to die. If succor be sent to me, I will accept it." "Ah, madame," said Monte Cristo, "you should not talk thus! It is not so we should evince our resignation to the will of heaven; on the contrary, we are all free agents." "Alas!" exclaimed Mercedes, "if it were so, if I possessed free-will, but without the power to render that will efficacious, it would drive me to despair." Monte Cristo dropped his head and shrank from the vehemence of her grief. "Will you not even say you will see me again?" he asked. "On the contrary, we shall meet again," said Mercedes, pointing to heaven with solemnity. "I tell you so to prove to you that I still hope." And after pressing her own trembling hand upon that of the count, Mercedes rushed up the stairs and disappeared. Monte Cristo slowly left the house and turned towards the quay. But Mercedes did not witness his departure, although she was seated at the little window of the room which had been occupied by old Dantes. Her eyes were straining to see the ship which was carrying her son over the vast sea; but still her voice involuntarily murmured softly, "Edmond, Edmond, Edmond!"

中文翻译 第一一二章　离开 　　最近发生的几件事成了整个巴黎谈论的话题。艾曼纽和他的妻子，这时就在他们密斯雷路的小房子里颇感兴趣地谈论那些事件。他们在把马尔塞夫、腾格拉尔和维尔福那三件接连而来的灾难作对比。去拜访他们的马西米兰没精打彩地听着他们的谈话，木然地坐在一旁。 　　“真的，”尤莉说，“我们简直要这样想了，艾曼纽，这些人，在富有、快乐的时候，却忘记了有一个凶神在他们的头上盘旋，而那凶神，象贝洛音话里那些奸恶的小妖精一样，因为没有被邀请去参加婚礼或受洗典礼，不肯受忽视，突然出来为他自己复仇了。” 　　“意想不到的灾难！”艾曼纽说，他想到了马尔塞夫和腾格拉尔。 　　“多么难以忍受的痛苦呀！”尤莉说，他想到了瓦朗蒂娜，但凭着一个女人的知觉，她没有在她哥哥的面前提起她。 　　“如果是上帝在惩罚他们的话，”艾曼纽说，“那是因为至高无上的上帝发现他们过去的生活里找不到值得减轻他们的痛苦的事情，那是因为他们命中注定要受到惩罚的。” 　　“你这个判断是不是下得卤莽了一点，艾曼纽？”尤莉说。 　　“当我的父亲拿着手熗想自杀的时候，假如那时有人说，‘这个人是理应受苦的。’那个人岂不是大错特错了吗？” 　　“是的，但上帝没有让我们的父亲去死呀，正如他不许亚伯拉罕献出他的儿子一样。上帝对那位老人，象对我们一样，派了一位天使来捉住了死神的翅膀。” 　　艾曼纽刚说出这几句话，铃声响了，——这是门房的信号，表示有客人来访。接着，房门打开了，基督山伯爵出现在门口。那对青年夫妇发出一声欢呼，马西米兰抬起头，但立刻又垂了下去。 　　“马西米兰，”伯爵说，象是并未注意到自己的来访在主人身上引起的不同反应似的，“我是来找你的。” 　　“来找我？”莫雷尔把他的话复述了一遍，象是刚从一场梦里醒来。 　　“是的，”基督山说，“不是说定由我带着你一起走的吗？你做好准备起程的了吗？” 　　“我准备好了，”马西米兰说，“我是特地来向他们告别的。” 　　“您到哪儿去，伯爵？”尤莉问道。 　　“首先到马赛，夫人。” 　　“到马赛去！”那对青年夫妇喊道。 　　“是的，我要带你们的哥哥一起去。” 　　“噢，伯爵！”尤莉说，“你可以医好他的抑郁症吗？ 　　莫雷尔转过脸去，掩饰他狼狈的表情。 　　“那么你们觉得他并不快乐吗？”伯爵说。 　　“是的，”那年轻女子答道，“我很担心，他会不会认为我们的家庭是一个没有乐趣的家庭？” 　　“我没有改变他的。”伯爵答道。 　　“我马上可以陪你去，阁下。”马西米兰说。“别了，我的朋友们！艾曼纽！尤莉！别了！” 　　“怎么，别了？”尤莉喊道，“你难道就这样离开我们，不作任何准备，连护照都没有？” 　　“时间拖长只会增加分离的悲痛，”基督山说，“一切必需的东西马西米兰毫无疑问都已经准备好了，——至少，我这样提醒过他。” 　　“我有护照了，箱子也收拾好了。”莫雷尔用他的那种宁静而哀伤的口气说。 　　“好！”基督山微笑着说，“由此可见一个训练有素的军人做事就是利索。” 　　“您这就要走了，马上就离开了吗？”尤莉说，“您就不能多呆一天，哪怕再多呆一个钟头啊！” 　　“我的车子在门口等着，夫人，我必须在五天之内赶到罗马。” 　　“马西米兰也到罗马去吗？”艾曼纽喊道。 　　“他带我去哪儿我就到哪儿去，”莫雷尔带着忧郁的笑容，“在此后这一个月内，我是属于他的。” 　　“噢，天哪，他的话说得多么奇怪，伯爵。”尤莉说。 　　“马西米兰陪着我去，”伯爵用他那种慈爱的和最有说服力的语气说，“所以你们不必为你们的哥哥担心。” 　　“别了，我亲爱的妹妹，别了，艾曼纽！”莫雷尔又说。 　　“看他那种漫不经心的样子我的心都碎了，”尤莉说。“噢，马西米兰，马西米兰，你一定对我隐瞒了什么事。” 　　“嗯！”基督山说，“不久你们将看到他高高兴兴，脸带笑容地回来。” 　　马西米兰向伯爵轻蔑地、几乎是愤怒的看了一眼。 　　“我们出发吧。”基督山说。 　　“在您离开我们以前，伯爵，”尤莉说，“许我们向您表示，将来有一天——” 　　“夫人，”伯爵打断她的话，把她的双手合在他自己的手里，说，“你所能讲的话，决抵不上我在你的眼睛里所读到的意思，我完全明白你的意思。作为传奇小说里的恩人我本该不辞而别的，可我做不到，因为我是一个软弱的有虚荣心的人，也喜欢我的同类给我温柔、慈爱和感激的眼光。现在我要走了，请允许我自负地对你们说，别忘记我，我的朋友们，因为你们大概永远再也见不到我了。” 　　“永远见不到你！”艾曼纽喊道，两滴大泪珠则滚下顺着尤莉的脸颊滚下来，——永远也见不到你！那么，离开我们的不是一个人而是一位天使了。这位天使到人世间来做了好事以后，便又要回到天上去了。” 　　“别那么说，”基督山急忙答道，——“别那么说，我的朋友们。天使是不会做错事情的。天使可以随心所欲地行事。他们的力量胜过命运。不，艾曼纽，我只是一个人，你的赞扬不当，你的话是亵渎神明的。”于是他吻了吻尤莉的手，尤莉扑到他的怀里，他伸出手握了握艾曼纽的手，然后依依不舍地离开这座房子，离开这和平幸福的家庭。他向马西米兰作了手势，驯服地跟他出来，他脸色漠然毫无丧情。瓦朗蒂娜逝世以来，他一直都是这样子。 　　“请让我哥哥恢复安宁和快乐。”尤莉低声对基督山说。伯爵捏一捏她的手，算是回答，象十一年以前他在莫雷尔的书斋门前楼梯口上握她的手时一模一样。 　　“那么，你还信得过水手辛巴德吗？”他微笑着问道。 　　“噢，是的！” 　　“噢，那么，放心安睡，一切托付给上帝好了。” 　　正如我们前面所说的，马车已等在门口。四匹强壮的马在不耐烦地蹬踏着地面，在台阶前，站着那满头大汗的阿里，他显然刚赶了大路回来。 　　“噢，”伯爵用阿拉伯语问道，“你到那位老人家那里去过了吗？” 　　阿里做了一个肯定的表示。 　　“你按照我的吩咐，让他看了那封信？” 　　“他怎么说？说得更准确些，他说什么？” 　　阿里走到光线下面，使他的主人可以清晰地看到他的脸，模仿诺瓦蒂埃说“对”时的面部表情，闭拢双眼。 　　“很好！他答应了，”基督山说，“我们走吧。” 　　他话音刚落，车子便开动了，马蹄在石板路上溅起夹着尘埃的火花。马西米兰一言不发，坐在车厢的角落里。半小时以后，车子突然停住了，原来伯爵把那条从车子里通出去绑在阿里手指上的丝带拉了一下。那个努比亚人立刻下来，打开车门。这是一个繁星满天的夜晚，他们已到达维儿殊山的山顶上，从山上望出去，巴黎象是一片黑色的海，上面闪烁着磷光，象那些银光闪烁的海浪一样，——但这些浪头闪烁比那些海洋里翻腾不息的波浪更喧闹、更激奋、更多变、更凶猛、也更贪婪。这些浪头永远吐着白沫、永不停息的。伯爵独自立在那儿，他挥挥手，车子又向前走了几步。他把两臂交叉在胸前，沉思了一会儿，他的脑子象一座熔炉，曾铸造出种种激动世界的念头。当他那锐利的目光注视着这个为热心的宗教家、唯物主义者所同样注意的现代巴比伦的时候，他低垂着头，合拢手，象做祈祷似地说道：“伟大的城市呀，自从我第一次闯进你的大门到现在，还不到半年。我这次到这里来，其中的原因，我只向天主透露过，只有他才有力量看穿我的心思。只有上帝知道：我离开你的时候，既没有带走骄傲也没有带走仇恨，但却带走了遗憾。只有上帝知道：他所交给我的权力，我并没有用来满足我的私欲或作任何无意义的举动。噢，伟大的城市呀！在你那跳动的胸膛里，我找到了我要找的东西，象一个耐心的矿工一样，我在你的体内挖掘，铲除了其中的祸害。现在我的工作完成了，我的使命结束了，现在你不能再给我痛苦或欢乐了。别了，巴黎！别了！” 　　他的目光象一个夜间的精灵一样在那广大的平原上留连着，他把手放在额头上走进马车，关上车门，车子便在一阵尘沙和响声中消失在山的那一边了。 　　车行了六哩路，没有人说一句话。莫雷尔在梦想，基督山则一直望着他。 　　“莫雷尔，”伯爵终于对他说，“你后悔跟我来吗？” 　　“不，伯爵，但离开巴黎——” 　　“如果我以为巴黎会让你快乐，莫雷尔，我就会把你留在那儿的。” 　　“瓦朗蒂娜安息在巴黎，离开巴黎就象是第二次再失去她一样。” 　　“马西米兰，”伯爵说，“我们失去的朋友不是安息在大地的胸膛里而是深深地埋在我们的心底。上帝是这样安排的，他们永远陪伴着我们。我就有这样两个朋友——一个给了我这个身体，一个给了我智慧。他们的精神活在我的身上。我每当有疑问的时候就与他们商量，如果我做了什么好事的话，我就归功于他们的忠告。听听你心里的声音吧，莫雷尔。你问问它，究竟你是否应该继续给我看一个忧郁的面孔。” 　　“我的朋友，”马西米兰说，“我心里的声音非常悲哀，我只听到不幸。” 　　“这是神经衰弱的缘故，一切东西看上去都象是隔着一层黑纱似的。灵魂有它自己的视线，你的灵魂被遮住了，所以你看到的未来是黑暗险恶的。” 　　“或许真是那样。”马西米兰说，他又回到梦思的状态中。 　　伯爵的无限本领使旅程完成得惊人地迅速，在他们所经的路上，市镇象影子似的向后飞去，那被初秋的风的吹得左右摇摆的树木，巨人般地向他们疯狂地迎面冲来，但一冲到面前便又急速地后退。第二天早上，他们到达夏龙，那儿，伯爵的汽船已在等待他们。马车立刻被拉上甲板，两位旅客也立即登船。那艘汽船是特造的快艇，它那两只划水轮象翅膀一样，船象鸟儿似的在水面上滑行。莫雷尔感到了这种在空中急速穿过的快感，风吹起他前额的头发，似乎暂时驱散了那凝聚在他额头上的愁云。两位旅客与巴黎之间距离愈来愈远，伯爵的身上也愈呈现出一种超乎人类所能有的宁静的气氛，象是一个流亡多年的人回到阔别多年的故乡似的。不久，马赛进入眼帘了，——那充满着生命活力的马赛，那繁衍着泰尔和迦太兰族后裔的马赛，那随着时间的推移愈来愈精力充沛的马赛。一看到那圆塔、圣•尼古拉堡和那砖块砌成的码头，记忆便搅动了他们的内心，当他们还是小孩子的时候，曾在这些地方玩耍过。他们怀着同样的心绪踏上卡尼般丽街。 　　一艘大船正在升帆待发，准备开赴阿尔及尔，船上洋溢着一片起程前常有的那种匆忙喧闹。乘客和他们的亲友们群集在码头上，朋友们互相亲切而伤心地告别，有的哭泣，有的诉说着告别的话，形成了一种令人感动的场面，即使那些每天看到同样情形的人也不会无动于衷，但这却不能使马西米兰从他那奔腾的思潮里唤醒过来。 　　“这儿，”他无力地扶着基督山手臂说，——“就在这个地方，我的父亲曾站着看埃及王号进港，就在这个地方，你救了他。脱离了死境和耻辱的父亲扑入我的怀里。我现在还觉得我的脸上沾着他那温热的眼泪，但那时并不只有他一个人流泪，许多旁观的人也都哭了。” 　　基督山温和地微笑着说：“我那时站在那个地方，”他指着一个街角。当他说话的时候，就在他所指的那个方向，传来一声痛苦伤心的呻吟，一个女人正在向即将起锚的船上的一个旅客挥手。要不是莫雷尔的眼光这时的注意力集中在船上，他一定会注意到基督山看见那个女人时那种激动的情绪。 　　“噢，天哪！”莫雷尔喊道，“我没有弄错！那个在挥帽子的青年人，那个穿制服的年轻人，是阿尔贝•马尔塞夫！” 　　“是的，”基督山说，“我也认出他了。” 　　“怎么会呢？你在看着他对面的方向呀。” 　　伯爵微笑了一下，当他不想回答的时候，他总是这样微笑的，他把眼光回到那蒙面的女人身上，那女人不久便消失在街角上。伯爵回过头来对他的朋友说：“亲爱的马西米兰，你在这儿没有什么事情要做吗？” 　　“我得到我父亲的坟上去一趟。”莫雷尔用一种哽咽的声音说。 　　“那么去吧，在那儿等我，我很快来找你。” 　　“那么你现在要离开我了？” 　　“是的，我也要去访问一个人。” 　　莫雷尔把手放在伯爵伸过来的手里，然后低垂着头悲伤地离开伯爵，向城东走去。基督山仍站在老地方，一直等到马西米兰走出他的视线，然后他慢慢地向梅朗巷走过去，去找一所小房子，那所小房子，想必读者们已对它相当熟悉了。 　　它坐落在无事的马赛人最爱到这儿来散步的大道的后面，一棵极大的葡萄树的年老发黑的枝条伏在那被南方灼热的太阳晒得发黄的墙上。两级被鞋底磨光的石头台阶通向由三块木板所拼成的门，那扇门，从来没上过油漆，早已露出裂缝，只在每年夏季到来的时候才因潮湿合成一块。这座房子外表虽然很破，但却有它美丽动人的地方。它和老唐太斯以前住在这儿的时候并没有两样，但老人只住阁楼，而伯爵现在则已把整幢房子都交给美塞苔丝掌管。 　　伯爵看见郁郁不欢地离开码头的那个女人走进这座房子，她刚走进去，关上门，基督山便在街角上出现，所以他几乎刚看见她便又失去了她的踪迹。那磨损的石阶是他的老相识，他比谁都清楚，用一枚大头钉就要以拨开里面的插销来打开那扇风雨剥蚀的门。他进去的时候不敲门也没有任何其他表示，好象他是主人的亲密的朋友或房东一样。在一条砖块铺成的甬道尽头有一个小花园浴在阳光里，在这个小花园里，美塞苔丝曾根据伯爵的指示找到他二十四年以前埋下的那笔钱。站在门口的阶沿上就可以看见花园里的树木。伯爵在踏进那座房子的时候听见一声好象啜泣一样的叹息；他循望过去，那儿，在一个素馨木架成的凉棚底下，在浓密的枝叶和紫色的细长花朵的下面，他看见美塞苔丝正在垂头哭泣。她已揭起面纱，她的脸埋在手里，独对苍天之际，她自由地发泄着在她儿子面前抑制了这么久的叹息和眼泪。基督山向前走了几步，小石子在他的脚底下发出的声音使美塞苔丝抬起头来，看见一个男人站在她的面前，她惊恐地大叫。 　　“夫人，”伯爵说，“我已经没有办法使你快乐了，但我还可以给你安慰，你肯把我当朋友看待，并接受我的安慰吗？” 　　“我的确薄命，”美塞苔丝答道。——“孤零零地活在世界上。我只有一个儿子，而他已经离我远去了！” 　　“他有一颗高贵的心，夫人，”伯爵答道，“他做得很对。他觉得每一个人都应该对他的国家有所贡献，有人贡献他们的天才，有人贡献他们的勤勉，有人献出了他们的血，有人献出了他们的才智，都是为了同样的目的。如果他留在你的身边，他的生命一定会变得毫无意义，他将无法分担你的忧虑。与厄运抗争，他将增加他的精力并提高他的名誉，把逆境变为顺境。让他去为你们创造美好的未来吧。因为我敢向你保证他会得到细心的照料的。” 　　“噢！”那可怜的女人悲戚地摇摇头，“你所说的那种顺境，我从心坎里祈祷上帝赐给他，但我不能享受了。我已万念俱灰，我觉得坟墓已离我不远了。你是个好心人，伯爵，把我带回我曾经快乐过的地方。人是应该死在他曾经有过快乐的那个地方的。” 　　“唉！”基督山说，“你的话让我心痛，尤其是你有理由恨我，——你的一切不幸都是我造或的。但你为什么要怜悯我呢？你使我更难堪，如果——” 　　“恨你，责备你，——你？爱德蒙？憎恨责备那个饶恕我儿子的生命的人？你本来发誓，要毁灭马尔塞夫先生非常引以自傲的那个儿子，但您没有那么做。” 　　伯爵看着美塞苔丝，她站起身，向他伸出双手。 　　“噢，看着我！”她带着一种非常哀戚的神情继续说，“我的眼睛已没有光彩了，以前，我到这儿来，向那在他父亲所住的阁楼窗口等待我的爱德蒙•唐太斯微笑，但那是很久以前的事了。岁月随着痛苦流逝。在那些日子与现在之间造成了一道深渊。咒你，爱德蒙！恨你，我的朋友！不，我应责备的是我自己，我所恨的是我自己！噢，我这可怜的人哪！” 　　她紧握着双手，抬头向天喊道。“我受了怎样的罚呀！——那让天使快乐的三个因素，我曾一度拥有虔敬、纯洁和爱——而我现在变成了一个可怜虫，居然怀疑上帝的仁慈了！” 　　基督山走过去，默默地握住她的一只手。 　　“不，”她轻轻地抽回那只手说，——“不，我的朋友，不要碰我。你饶恕了我，但在遭你报复的那些人之中，我是罪孽最深的人。他们或是出于仇恨，或是出于贪欲，或是出于私爱，但我却下贱，缺乏勇气，竟违背自己的判断行事。不，不要握我的手，爱德蒙，你想说一些亲切的话，我看得出的，但别说了。留给别人吧，我是不配再接受那种话的了。瞧，” 　　她抬起头，让他看到她的脸，“瞧，不幸已使我白了头，我曾流过那样多的眼泪，没有了光彩，我的额头出现了皱纹。你，爱德蒙，却恰恰相反，你依旧还年轻、漂亮、威风，那是因为你从未怀疑过上帝的仁慈，上帝支持你经过了历次风险。” 　　当美塞苔丝说话的时候，泪珠成串成串地滚下她的脸颊。 　　记忆使她的痛苦更清晰，那可怜的女人的心碎了。基督山拿起她的手，恭敬地吻了一下，但她觉得那是一个没有温情的吻，象是他在吻一个圣女的大理石像的手一样。“人的一生是命中注定的，”她继续说，“一次过失就会失去终生的幸福。我相信你已经死了，本来也该去死？我在心里为你哀悼对我有什么好处呢？只是使一个三十九岁的女人看来象一个五十岁的老太婆而已。为什么，只有我一个人认出你，而我却只能救我的儿子一个人呢？我也应该拯救那个虽然有罪但却已被我接受为丈夫的那个人？可是我却听任他去死！我说什么呀？噢，仁慈的上帝！他的死不是我促成的吗？因为我因循麻木，瞧不起他，不愿意记得他是为了我的缘故才犯下变节叛卖的罪行。我陪我的儿子来了这儿，有什么用呢？既然我现在又失去了他，让他独自去受非洲恶毒的气候。噢，我告诉你，我曾是个下贱懦怯的女人，我背弃我的爱情，象所有背叛教义的人一样，我把不幸带给了我周围的人！” 　　“不，美塞苔丝，”基督山说，“不，你把自己说得太坏了。你是一位高尚纯洁的女性，是你的悲痛软化了我的心。可是，我只是一个使者，指使我的是一位看不见的恼怒的上帝，他无意使我那已经开始的惩罚半途而废。我以那位过去十年来我每天俯伏在他脚上的上帝作证，我本来愿意为你牺牲我的生命，和那与我的生命不可分割的种种计划。但是，——我可以很自傲地说，美塞苔丝——上帝需要我，为了上帝活下来了。请审视我的过去与现在，并猜测将来，然后再说我究竟是否只是神的工具。不幸、痛苦、被人遗弃、受人迫害，这一切构成了我青年时代的苦难。然后，突然地，从囚禁、孤独、痛苦中，重新获得了光明和自由，拥有了一大笔闻所未闻的财产，假如那时我不明白是上帝要我用那笔财产来执行他伟大的计划，我一定是瞎了眼睛了。从那时起，我就把这笔财产看成上帝的神圣托付。从那时起，我就没有再想过那种即使象你这样可怜的女人有时也能享到甜蜜生命的。这不曾得到一小时的安静，——一次都没有。我觉得自己象是一片要去烧毁那些命中注定该毁灭的城市的火云，被驱赶着在天空中飞行。象那些富于冒险精神的船长要去进行某种充满危险的航程一样，我作了种种准备，在熗膛里装上子弹，拟定各种进攻和防守的方案，我用最剧烈的运动锻炼我的身体，用最痛苦考验磨炼我的灵魂。我训练手臂使它习惯于杀人，训练我的眼睛习惯于看人受折磨，训练我的嘴巴对最可怖的情景微笑。我的本性虽然善良、坦率和宽大，但我却能变成了狡猾、奸诈、有仇必报，——或说得更确切一些，变得象命运一样的冷酷无情。然后我踏上展现在我面前的征途。我克服了种种障碍，达到我的目标，那些企图挡住我道路的人却遭了殃！” 　　“够了！”美塞苔丝说，“够了，爱德蒙！相信我，只有那个一开始就认识你的是了解你的，即使她曾挡住你的路，即使你曾把她象一块脆玻璃那样踩得粉碎，可是，爱德蒙，可是她依旧还是崇拜你！象我与过去之间存在着一条鸿沟一样，你与其他的人之间，也存在着一道深渊。我可以担白地告诉你，把我心目中你和其他男子比较，这是使我痛苦的主要原因。不，世界上再没有象你那样可敬和善良的人了，现在让我们告别吧，爱德蒙，让我们分手吧。” 　　“在我离开你以前，美塞苔丝，你没有任何要求了吗？”伯爵说。 　　“我在这个世上存有一个希望，爱德蒙，——希望我儿子能够幸福。” 　　“请祈祷上帝保佑他，我可以努力让他幸福。” 　　“谢谢，谢谢，爱德蒙！” 　　“但对你自己难道毫无所求吗，美塞苔丝？” 　　“我自己什么都不需要，我象是生活在两座坟墓之间。一座是爱德蒙•唐太斯的，我是在很久很久以前失去他的。我爱他。这句话从我这褪色的嘴唇上说出来并不动听，但它是我心里珍藏的一个宝贵记忆，即使用世界上一切的东西来交换，我也不愿意失去它。另外那座坟墓是死在爱德蒙手里的那个人的，我并不惋惜他死，但我必须为死者祈祷。” 　　“你的儿子会幸福的，夫人。”伯爵说。 　　“那么我还能够得到一些安慰了。” 　　“但你准备怎么样呢？” 　　“说我在这儿能象以前的美塞苔丝那样凭劳动换取面包，那当然不是真话，说了你也不会相信。我除了祈祷以外，已经不能再做别的事情了。但是，我也没有必要工作，你埋下的那一笔钱，我已经找到了，那笔钱已足够维持我的生活。关于我的谣言大概会很多，猜测我的职业，谈论我的生活态度，只要有上帝作证，那没有了什么关系。” 　　“美塞苔丝，”伯爵说，“我说这句话并不是来责备你，但你放弃马尔塞夫先生的全部财产是一种不必要的牺牲。其中至少有一半是理应是属于你的，那是精心操持那个家应得的。我不能接受，爱德蒙。我的儿子不答应的。我知道你要向我建议什么。” 　　“一切当然应该得到阿尔贝•马尔塞夫的完全认可。”我将亲自去征询他的意见。如果他愿意接受我的建议，你会反对吗？” 　　“你很清楚，爱德蒙，我已经不再是一个理智的人了，没有了意志，已经不能决定了。我已被那冲到我头上来的惊涛骇浪弄糊涂了，我已变得听天由命、听任上帝的摆布，象是大鹰扑下的燕子一样。我活着，只是因为我命中注定还不应该死。假如上帝来援救我，我是肯接受的。” 　　“啊，夫人，”基督山说，“我们不是这样崇拜上帝的。上帝的本意是要我们了解他，辩明他的真意，为了这个原因，他给了我们自由意志的。” 　　“噢！”美塞苔丝喊道，“别对我说那句话！难道我应该相信上帝给了我自由的意志，我能用它来把我自己从绝望中解救出来吗？” 　　基督山低下头，在她那样沉痛的悲哀面前不禁有点畏缩。 　　“你不愿意和我说一声再见吗？”他问道，并向她伸出手。 　　“当然，我要对你说再见，”美塞苔丝说，并庄严地指着天。“我对你说这两个字，就是向你表示：我还怀着希望。”于是，美塞苔丝用她那颤抖的手和伯爵的手握了握以后，便冲上楼去。 　　基督山慢慢地离开那所房子，向码头走去。美塞苔丝虽然坐在以前老唐太斯所住的那个房间的小窗前面，却并没有看到他离开了。她正在极目了望大海上那艘载着她儿子的船，但她却仍不由自主地用温柔的声音轻轻地说：“爱德蒙！爱德蒙！爱德蒙！”

英文原文 Chapter 109 The Assizes The Benedetto affair, as it was called at the palais, and by people in general, had produced a tremendous sensation. Frequenting the Cafe de paris, the Boulevard de Gand, and the Bois de Boulogne, during his brief career of splendor, the false Cavalcanti had formed a host of acquaintances. The papers had related his various adventures, both as the man of fashion and the galley-slave; and as every one who had been personally acquainted with prince Andrea Cavalcanti experienced a lively curiosity in his fate, they all determined to spare no trouble in endeavoring to witness the trial of M. Benedetto for the murder of his comrade in chains. In the eyes of many, Benedetto appeared, if not a victim to, at least an instance of, the fallibility of the law. M. Cavalcanti, his father, had been seen in paris, and it was expected that he would re-appear to claim the illustrious outcast. Many, also, who were not aware of the circumstances attending his withdrawal from paris, were struck with the worthy appearance, the gentlemanly bearing, and the knowledge of the world displayed by the old patrician, who certainly played the nobleman very well, so long as he said nothing, and made no arithmetical calculations. As for the accused himself, many remembered him as being so amiable, so handsome, and so liberal, that they chose to think him the victim of some conspiracy, since in this world large fortunes frequently excite the malevolence and jealousy of some unknown enemy. Every one, therefore, ran to the court; some to witness the sight, others to comment upon it. From seven o'clock in the morning a crowd was stationed at the iron gates, and an hour before the trial commenced the hall was full of the privileged. Before the entrance of the magistrates, and indeed frequently afterwards, a court of justice, on days when some especial trial is to take place, resembles a drawing-room where many persons recognize each other and converse if they can do so without losing their seats; or, if they are separated by too great a number of lawyers, communicate by signs. It was one of the magnificent autumn days which make amends for a short summer; the clouds which M. de Villefort had perceived at sunrise had all disappeared as if by magic, and one of the softest and most brilliant days of September shone forth in all its splendor. Beauchamp, one of the kings of the press, and therefore claiming the right of a throne everywhere, was eying everybody through his monocle. He perceived Chateau-Renaud and Debray, who had just gained the good graces of a sergeant-at-arms, and who had persuaded the latter to let them stand before, instead of behind him, as they ought to have done. The worthy sergeant had recognized the minister's secretary and the millionnaire, and, by way of paying extra attention to his noble neighbors, promised to keep their places while they paid a visit to Beauchamp. "Well," said Beauchamp, "we shall see our friend!" "Yes, indeed!" replied Debray. "That worthy prince. Deuce take those Italian princes!" "A man, too, who could boast of Dante for a genealogist, and could reckon back to the `Divine Comedy.'" "A nobility of the rope!" said Chateau-Renaud phlegmatically. "He will be condemned, will he not?" asked Debray of Beauchamp. "My dear fellow, I think we should ask you that question; you know such news much better than we do. Did you see the president at the minister's last night?" "Yes." "What did he say?" "Something which will surprise you." "Oh, make haste and tell me, then; it is a long time since that has happened." "Well, he told me that Benedetto, who is considered a serpent of subtlety and a giant of cunning, is really but a very commonplace, silly rascal, and altogether unworthy of the experiments that will be made on his phrenological organs after his death." "Bah," said Beauchamp, "he played the prince very well." "Yes, for you who detest those unhappy princes, Beauchamp, and are always delighted to find fault with them; but not for me, who discover a gentleman by instinct, and who scent out an aristocratic family like a very bloodhound of heraldry." "Then you never believed in the principality?" "Yes.-in the principality, but not in the prince." "Not so bad," said Beauchamp; "still, I assure you, he passed very well with many people; I saw him at the ministers' houses." "Ah, yes," said Chateau-Renaud. "The idea of thinking ministers understand anything about princes!" "There is something in what you have just said," said Beauchamp, laughing. "But," said Debray to Beauchamp, "if I spoke to the president, you must have been with the procureur." "It was an impossibility; for the last week M. de Villefort has secluded himself. It is natural enough; this strange chain of domestic afflictions, followed by the no less strange death of his daughter"- "Strange? What do you mean, Beauchamp?" "Oh, yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved at the minister's?" said Beauchamp, placing his eye-glass in his eye, where he tried to make it remain. "My dear sir," said Chateau-Renaud, "allow me to tell you that you do not understand that manoeuvre with the eye-glass half so well as Debray. Give him a lesson, Debray." "Stay," said Beauchamp, "surely I am not deceived." "What is it?" "It is she!" "Whom do you mean?" "They said she had left." "Mademoiselle Eugenie?" said Chateau-Renaud; "has she returned?" "No, but her mother." "Madame Danglars? Nonsense! Impossible!" said Chateau-Renaud; "only ten days after the flight of her daughter, and three days from the bankruptcy of her husband?" Debray colored slightly, and followed with his eyes the direction of Beauchamp's glance. "Come," he said, "it is only a veiled lady, some foreign princess, perhaps the mother of Cavalcanti. But you were just speaking on a very interesting topic, Beauchamp." "I?" "Yes; you were telling us about the extraordinary death of Valentine." "Ah, yes, so I was. But how is it that Madame de Villefort is not here?" "poor, dear woman," said Debray, "she is no doubt occupied in distilling balm for the hospitals, or in making cosmetics for herself or friends. Do you know she spends two or three thousand crowns a year in this amusement? But I wonder she is not here. I should have been pleased to see her, for I like her very much." "And I hate her," said Chateau-Renaud. "Why?" "I do not know. Why do we love? Why do we hate? I detest her, from antipathy." "Or, rather, by instinct." "perhaps so. But to return to what you were saying, Beauchamp." "Well, do you know why they die so multitudinously at M. de Villefort's?" "`Multitudinously' [drv]is good," said Chateau-Renaud. "My good fellow, you'll find the word in Saint-Simon." "But the thing itself is at M. de Villefort's; but let's get back to the subject." "Talking of that," said Debray, "Madame was making inquiries about that house, which for the last three months has been hung with black." "Who is Madame?" asked Chateau-Renaud. "The minister's wife, pardieu!" "Oh, your pardon! I never visit ministers; I leave that to the princes." "Really, You were only before sparkling, but now you are brilliant; take compassion on us, or, like Jupiter, you will wither us up." "I will not speak again," said Chateau-Renaud; "pray have compassion upon me, and do not take up every word I say." "Come, let us endeavor to get to the end of our story, Beauchamp; I told you that yesterday Madame made inquiries of me upon the subject; enlighten me, and I will then communicate my information to her." "Well, gentlemen, the reason people die so multitudinously (I like the word) at M. de Villefort's is that there is an assassin in the house!" The two young men shuddered, for the same idea had more than once occurred to them. "And who is the assassin;" they asked together. "Young Edward!" A burst of laughter from the auditors did not in the least disconcert the speaker, who continued,- "Yes, gentlemen; Edward, the infant phenomenon, who is quite an adept in the art of killing." "You are jesting." "Not at all. I yesterday engaged a servant, who had just left M. de Villefort-I intend sending him away to-morrow, for he eats so enormously, to make up for the fast imposed upon him by his terror in that house. Well, now listen." "We are listening." "It appears the dear child has obtained possession of a bottle containing some drug, which he every now and then uses against those who have displeased him. First, M. and Madame de Saint-Meran incurred his displeasure, so he poured out three drops of his elixir-three drops were sufficient; then followed Barrois, the old servant of M. Noirtier, who sometimes rebuffed this little wretch-he therefore received the same quantity of the elixir; the same happened to Valentine, of whom he was jealous; he gave her the same dose as the others, and all was over for her as well as the rest." "Why, what nonsense are you telling us?" said Chateau-Renaud. "Yes, it is an extraordinary story," said Beauchamp; "is it not?" "It is absurd," said Debray. "Ah," said Beauchamp, "you doubt me? Well, you can ask my servant, or rather him who will no longer be my servant to-morrow, it was the talk of the house." "And this elixir, where is it? what is it?" "The child conceals it." "But where did he find it?" "In his mother's laboratory." "Does his mother then, keep poisons in her laboratory?" "How can I tell? You are questioning me like a king's attorney. I only repeat what I have been told, and like my informant I can do no more. The poor devil would eat nothing, from fear." "It is incredible!" "No, my dear fellow, it is not at all incredible. You saw the child pass through the Rue Richelieu last year, who amused himself with killing his brothers and sisters by sticking pins in their ears while they slept. The generation who follow us are very precocious." "Come, Beauchamp," said Chateau-Renaud, "I will bet anything you do not believe a word of all you have been telling us." "I do not see the Count of Monte Cristo here." "He is worn out," said Debray; "besides, he could not well appear in public, since he has been the dupe of the Cavalcanti, who, it appears, presented themselves to him with false letters of credit, and cheated him out of 100,000 francs upon the hypothesis of this principality." "By the way, M. de Chateau-Renaud," asked Beauchamp, "how is Morrel?" "Ma foi, I have called three times without once seeing him. Still, his sister did not seem uneasy, and told me that though she had not seen him for two or three days, she was sure he was well." "Ah, now I think of it, the Count of Monte Cristo cannot appear in the hall," said Beauchamp. "Why not?" "Because he is an actor in the drama." "Has he assassinated any one, then?" "No, on the contrary, they wished to assassinate him. You know that it was in leaving his house that M. de Caderousse was murdered by his friend Benedetto. You know that the famous waistcoat was found in his house, containing the letter which stopped the signature of the marriage-contract. Do you see the waistcoat? There it is, all blood-stained, on the desk, as a testimony of the crime." "Ah, very good." "Hush, gentlemen, here is the court; let us go back to our places." A noise was heard in the hall; the sergeant called his two patrons with an energetic "hem!" and the door-keeper appearing, called out with that shrill voice peculiar to his order, ever since the days of Beaumarchais, "The court, gentlemen!"

中文翻译 第一○九章　开庭 　　法院里以及一般人口头所说的贝尼代托的案件已经轰动了整个巴黎。由于他时常出现于巴黎咖啡馆、安顿大马路和布洛涅大道上，所以在他短暂的显赫的日子里。这个假卡瓦尔康蒂已结交了一大批相识。报纸上曾报道他狱中的生活和冒充上流绅士时的经历；凡是认识卡瓦尔康蒂王子的人，对他的命运都有一种抑遏不住的好奇心，他们都决定不惜任何代价设法去旁听对贝尼代托案件审判。在许多人眼中，贝尼代托即使不是法律的一个牺牲品，至少也是法律的一个过失。 　　他的父亲卡瓦尔康蒂先生曾在巴黎露过面，大家认为他会再来保护这个闻名遐迩的儿子。好些人知道他到基督山伯爵家里时穿的是绿底绣黑青蛙的外套，他们对他那种庄严的姿态和绅士风度曾留下很深刻的印象。的确，只要不张口说话，不计算数字，他扮演一个老贵族实在很出色。至于被告本人，在许多人的记忆中，他非常和蔼、漂亮豪爽，以致认为他可能是一次阴谋的牺牲品，因为在这个世界里，拥有财富常常会引起别人的暗中怨恨和嫉妒。所以，人人都想到法院里去，——有些是去看热闹，有些是去评头论足。从早晨七点钟起，铁门外便已排起了长队，在开庭前一小时，法庭里便已挤满了那些获得特许证的每逢到审判某一件特殊案子的日子，在法官进来以前，有时甚至在法官进来以后，法庭象一个客厅一样，许多互相认识的人打招呼、谈话，而他们中间隔着太多的律师、旁观者和宪兵的时候，他们就用暗号来互相交流。 　　这是一个夏季过后的一个秋高气爽的日子。维尔福先生早晨所看见的那些云层都已象耍魔术似地消失了，这是九月里最温和最灿烂的一天。 　　波尚正在向四周张望，他是无冕国王，每一个地方都有他的宝座。他看见了夏多•勒诺和德布雷，德布雷这时刚劝服坐在他们前面的一个副警长和他们交换座位。那可敬的副警长，认识部长的秘书和这位新的财主传信仰高于理智、宗教高于科学的“天启哲学”。主要著作有，便答应特别照顾这两位旁听者，允许当他们去同波尚打招呼的时候为他们保留座位。 　　“嗯！”波尚说，“我们就要看见我们的朋友啦！” 　　“是的，的确！”德布雷答道。“那可敬的王子！那个意大利王子真是见鬼！” 　　“他是但丁给他写过家谱，在《神曲》里有案可查呀。” 　　“该上绞刑架的贵族！”夏多•勒诺冷冷地说。 　　“他会判死刑吗？”德布雷问波尚。 　　“亲爱的，我认为那个问题是应该我们来问你呐，这种消息你比我们灵通得多。你昨天晚上在部长的家里见到审判长了吗？” 　　“见到了。” 　　“他怎么说？” 　　“说出来会使你们大吃一惊。” 　　“噢，赶快告诉我吧，那么！我有好久都不曾听到惊人的事情了。” 　　“嗯，他告诉我说：贝尼代托被人认为是一条狡猾的蛇、一个机警的巨人，实际上他只是一个非常愚蠢的下等流氓，他的脑子结构在死后是不值得加以分析的。” 　　“什么！”波尚说，“他扮演王子扮得非常妙呀。” 　　“在你看来是这样，你厌恶那些倒霉的亲王，总是很高兴能在他们身上发现过错，但在我则不然，我凭本能就能辨别一位绅士，能象一只研究家谱学的猎犬那样嗅出一个贵族家庭的气息。” 　　“那么你从来都不相信他有头衔罗？” 　　“相信！相信亲王头衔，但不相信他有王子的风度。” 　　“错啊，”德布雷说，“可是，我向你保证，他跟许多人交往得非常好，我曾在部长的家里遇到过他。” 　　“啊，是的！”夏多•勒诺说。“你认为部长就能懂得王子的风度吗！” 　　“你刚才说的话很妙，夏多•勒诺。”波尚大笑着说。 　　“但是，”德布雷对波尚说，如果说我与审判长谈过话，你大概就与检察官谈过话了吧。” 　　“那是不可能的事。最近这一星期来，维尔福先生家发生了一连串奇怪的家庭伤心事，还有他女儿奇怪的死去。” 　　“奇怪！你是什么意思，波尚？” 　　“噢，行了！别装样了，难道部长家里发生的这一切你毫无知觉吗？”波尚说，一面把单眼镜搁到他的眼睛上，竭边想使它不掉下来。 　　“我亲爱的阁下，”夏多•勒诺说，“允许我告诉你：对于摆弄单片眼镜，你懂得还不及德布雷的一半呢。教他一教，德布雷。” 　　“看，”波尚说，“我不会弄错的呀。” 　　“出什么事了？” 　　“是她！” 　　“她？她是谁呀？” 　　“他们说她已离开巴黎了呀。” 　　“欧热妮小、姐？”夏多•勒诺说，“她回来了吗？” 　　“不，是她的母亲。” 　　“腾格拉尔夫人？胡说！不可能的，”夏多•勒诺说，”她女儿出走才十天，她丈夫破产才三天，她就到外面来了。” 　　德布雷略微红了红脸，顺着波尚所指的方向望去。“噢，” 　　他说，“那只是一位戴面纱的贵妇人，一位外国公主，——或许是卡瓦尔康蒂的母亲。但你刚才在谈一个非常有趣的问题，波尚。” 　　“我？” 　　“是的，你在告诉我们关于瓦朗蒂娜奇特的死。” 　　“啊，是的，不错。但维尔福夫人怎么不在这儿呢？” 　　“可怜又可爱的女人！”德布雷说，“她无疑是正忙着为医院提炼药水，或为她自己和她的朋友配制美容剂。你们可知道她每年在这种娱乐上要花掉两三千银币吗？我很高兴看见她，因为我非常喜欢她。” 　　“我却非常讨厌她。”夏多•勒诺说。 　　“为什么？” 　　“我不知道。我们为什么会爱？我们为什么会恨？我是天生讨厌她的。” 　　“说得更准确些，是出于本能。” 　　“或许如此。但还是回到你所说的话题上来吧，波尚。” 　　“好！”波尚答道，“诸位，你们想不想知道维尔福家为什么一下子死了那么多人？” 　　“多才好呢。”夏多•勒诺说。 　　“亲爱的，你可以在圣西门的书里找到那句话。” 　　“但事情发生在维尔福先生的家里，所以，我们还是回到事情本身上来吧。” 　　“对！”德布雷说，“你承认我一直都在注意着那座房子，最近三个月来，那儿始终挂着黑纱，前天，夫人还对我说起那座房子与瓦朗蒂娜的关系呢。” 　　“夫人是谁？”夏多•勒诺问道。 　　“当然是部长的太太罗！” 　　“噢，对不起！我从来没有拜访过部长，让王子们去做那种事情。” 　　“真的，以前你只是漂亮，现在你变得光彩照人了，伯爵，可怜可怜我们吧，不然你就象另外一个朱庇特，把我们都烧死啦。” 　　“我不再说话了！”夏多•勒诺说，“真见鬼，别挑剔我所说的每一个字吧。” 　　“来，让们来听完你的故事吧，波尚，我告诉你，夫人前天还问到我这件事情。开导我一下吧，让我去告诉她一些消息。” 　　“嗯，诸位，维尔福先生家里的人之所以死得那样多，是因为那座屋子里有一个杀人犯！” 　　那两个年轻人都打了一个寒颤，因为这种念头他们已不止想到过一次了。 　　“那个杀人犯是谁呢？”他们同声问。 　　“爱德华！” 　　听者所爆发出来的一阵大笑丝毫末使那个说话的人，感到窘迫，他继续说：“是的，诸位，是爱德华，他在杀人的技术方面可称得上是一个老手。” 　　“你在开玩笑。” 　　“决不。我昨天雇用了一个刚从维尔福先生家逃出来的仆人。我准备明天就打发他走了，他的饭量是这样的大，他要补充他在那座屋子里吓得不敢进食的损失。嗯！听我说。” 　　“我们在听着呢。” 　　“看来很可能是那可爱的孩子弄到了一只装着某种药水的瓶子，他随时用它来对付他所不喜欢的那些人。最初是圣•梅朗夫人让他厌恶，所以他就把他的药倒出了三滴，——三滴就是够让她丧命了。然后是那勇敢的巴罗斯，诺瓦蒂埃爷爷的老仆人，他不免要触犯那可爱的孩子，这是你们知道的。那可爱的孩子也给了他三滴药。然后就轮到那可怜的瓦朗蒂娜了，她并没有得罪他，但是他嫉妒她，他同样给她倒了三滴药精，而她象其他的人一样，走向了末日。” 　　“咦，你讲给我们听的是一个什么鬼故事呀？”夏多•勒诺说。 　　“是的，”波尚说，“属于另一个世界上故事，是不是？” 　　“荒谬绝伦。”德布雷说。 　　“啊！”波尚说，“你怀疑我？嗯，你可以去问我的仆人，或说得更确切些，去问那个明天就不再是我的仆人的那个人，那座屋子里的人都那样说。” 　　“而这种药水呢？它在什么地方？它是什么东西？” 　　“那孩子把它藏起来了。” 　　“但他在哪儿找到的呢？” 　　“在他母亲的实验室里。” 　　“那么，是他的母亲把毒药放在实验室里的吗？” 　　“这叫我怎么回答呢？你简直象一个检察官在审问犯人似的。我只是复述我所听到的话而已。我让你们自己去打听，此外我就无能为力了。那个可怜的家伙前一阵吓得不敢吃东西。” 　　“简直让人难以置信！” 　　“不，亲爱的，这并没有什么无法理解的，你看见去年黎希街的那个孩子吗？他乘他哥哥姊姊睡着的时候把一枚针戳到他们的耳朵里，弄死了他们，他只是觉得这样好玩。我们的后一代非常早熟的！” 　　“来，波尚，”夏多•勒诺说，“我可以打赌，你讲给我们听的这个故事，实际上你自己压根都不相信，是不是！”我没有看见基督山伯爵，他为什么不来？” 　　“他是不爱凑热闹的，”德布雷说，“而且，他在这儿露面不大适当，因为他刚让卡瓦尔康蒂敲去了一笔钱，卡瓦尔康蒂大概是拿着假造的介绍信去见他，骗走了他十万法郎。” 　　“且慢，夏多•勒诺先生，”波尚说，“莫雷尔出什么事了？” 　　“真的！我拜访过他三次，一次都没有见到他。可是，他的妹妹似乎并没有什么不安的样子，她对我说，虽然她也有两三天没有见到他了，但她确信他很好。” 　　“啊，现在我明白为什么，基督山伯爵不能在法庭上露面了！”波尚说。 　　“为什么不能？” 　　“因为他是这幕戏里的一个演员。” 　　“那么，难道是他暗杀了谁吗？”德布雷问。 　　“不，正巧相反，他是他们想暗杀的目标。你们知道：卡德鲁斯先生是在离开他家的时候被他的朋友贝尼代托杀死的。你们知道：那件曾轰动一时的背心是在伯爵的家里找到的，里面藏着那封阻止签订婚约的信。你们见过那件背心吗？血迹斑斑的，在那张桌子上，充作物证。” 　　“啊，好极了！” 　　“嘘，诸位，法官来了，让我们回到自己的位子上去吧。” 　　法庭里响起一阵骚动声，那位副警长向他的两个被保护人用力地招呼了一声“喂！”司仪出现了，他用博马舍时代以来干他这一职业的人所特具的尖锐的声音喊道：“开庭了，诸位！”

英文原文 Chapter 110 The Indictment The judges took their places in the midst of the most profound silence; the jury took their seats; M. de Villefort, the object of unusual attention, and we had almost said of general admiration, sat in the arm-chair and cast a tranquil glance around him. Every one looked with astonishment on that grave and severe face, whose calm expression personal griefs had been unable to disturb, and the aspect of a man who was a stranger to all human emotions excited something very like terror. "Gendarmes," said the president, "lead in the accused." At these words the public attention became more intense, and all eyes were turned towards the door through which Benedetto was to enter. The door soon opened and the accused appeared. The same impression was experienced by all present, and no one was deceived by the expression of his countenance. His features bore no sign of that deep emotion which stops the beating of the heart and blanches the cheek. His hands, gracefully placed, one upon his hat, the other in the opening of his white waistcoat, were not at all tremulous; his eye was calm and even brilliant. Scarcely had he entered the hall when he glanced at the whole body of magistrates and assistants; his eye rested longer on the president, and still more so on the king's attorney. By the side of Andrea was stationed the lawyer who was to conduct his defence, and who had been appointed by the court, for Andrea disdained to pay any attention to those details, to which he appeared to attach no importance. The lawyer was a young man with light hair whose face expressed a hundred times more emotion than that which characterized the prisoner. The president called for the indictment, revised as we know, by the clever and implacable pen of Villefort. During the reading of this, which was long, the public attention was continually drawn towards Andrea, who bore the inspection with Spartan unconcern. Villefort had never been so concise and eloquent. The crime was depicted in the most vivid colors; the former life of the prisoner, his transformation, a review of his life from the earliest period, were set forth with all the talent that a knowledge of human life could furnish to a mind like that of the procureur. Benedetto was thus forever condemned in public opinion before the sentence of the law could be pronounced. Andrea paid no attention to the successive charges which were brought against him. M. de Villefort, who examined him attentively, and who no doubt practiced upon him all the psychological studies he was accustomed to use, in vain endeavored to make him lower his eyes, notwithstanding the depth and profundity of his gaze. At length the reading of the indictment was ended. "Accused," said the president, "your name and surname?" Andrea arose. "Excuse me, Mr. president," he said, in a clear voice, "but I see you are going to adopt a course of questions through which I cannot follow you. I have an idea, which I will explain by and by, of making an exception to the usual form of accusation. Allow me, then, if you please, to answer in different order, or I will not do so at all." The astonished president looked at the jury, who in turn looked at Villefort. The whole assembly manifested great surprise, but Andrea appeared quite unmoved. "Your age?" said the president; "will you answer that question?" "I will answer that question, as well as the rest, Mr. president, but in its turn." "Your age?" repeated the president. "I am twenty-one years old, or rather I shall be in a few days, as I was born the night of the 27th of September, 1817." M. de Villefort, who was busy taking down some notes, raised his head at the mention of this date. "Where were you born?" continued the president. "At Auteuil, near paris." M. de Villefort a second time raised his head, looked at Benedetto as if he had been gazing at the head of Medusa, and became livid. As for Benedetto, he gracefully wiped his lips with a fine cambric pocket-handkerchief. "Your profession?" "First I was a forger," answered Andrea, as calmly as possible; "then I became a thief, and lately have become an assassin." A murmur, or rather storm, of indignation burst from all parts of the assembly. The judges themselves appeared to be stupefied, and the jury manifested tokens of disgust for cynicism so unexpected in a man of fashion. M. de Villefort pressed his hand upon his brow, which, at first pale, had become red and burning; then he suddenly arose and looked around as though he had lost his senses-he wanted air. "Are you looking for anything, Mr. procureur?" asked Benedetto, with his most ingratiating smile. M. de Villefort answered nothing, but sat, or rather threw himself down again upon his chair. "And now, prisoner, will you consent to tell your name?" said the president. "The brutal affectation with which you have enumerated and classified your crimes calls for a severe reprimand on the part of the court, both in the name of morality, and for the respect due to humanity. You appear to consider this a point of honor, and it may be for this reason, that you have delayed acknowledging your name. You wished it to be preceded by all these titles." "It is quite wonderful, Mr. president, how entirely you have read my thoughts," said Benedetto, in his softest voice and most polite manner. "This is, indeed, the reason why I begged you to alter the order of the questions." The public astonishment had reached its height. There was no longer any deceit or bravado in the manner of the accused. The audience felt that a startling revelation was to follow this ominous prelude. "Well," said the president; "your name?" "I cannot tell you my name, since I do not know it; but I know my father's, and can tell it to you." A painful giddiness overwhelmed Villefort; great drops of acrid sweat fell from his face upon the papers which he held in his convulsed hand. "Repeat your father's name," said the president. Not a whisper, not a breath, was heard in that vast assembly; every one waited anxiously. "My father is king's attorney," replied Andrea calmly. "King's attorney?" said the president, stupefied, and without noticing the agitation which spread over the face of M. de Villefort; "king's attorney?" "Yes; and if you wish to know his name, I will tell it,- he is named Villefort." The explosion, which had been so long restrained from a feeling of respect to the court of justice, now burst forth like thunder from the breasts of all present; the court itself did not seek to restrain the feelings of the audience. The exclamations, the insults addressed to Benedetto, who remained perfectly unconcerned, the energetic gestures, the movement of the gendarmes, the sneers of the scum of the crowd always sure to rise to the surface in case of any disturbance-all this lasted five minutes, before the door-keepers and magistrates were able to restore silence. In the midst of this tumult the voice of the president was heard to exclaim,-"Are you playing with justice, accused, and do you dare set your fellow-citizens an example of disorder which even in these times his never been equalled?" Several persons hurried up to M. de Villefort, who sat half bowed over in his chair, offering him consolation, encouragement, and protestations of zeal and sympathy. Order was re-established in the hall, except that a few people still moved about and whispered to one another. A lady, it was said, had just fainted; they had supplied her with a smelling-bottle, and she had recovered. During the scene of tumult, Andrea had turned his smiling face towards the assembly; then, leaning with one hand on the oaken rail of the dock, in the most graceful attitude possible, he said: "Gentlemen, I assure you I had no idea of insulting the court, or of making a useless disturbance in the presence of this honorable assembly. They ask my age; I tell it. They ask where I was born; I answer. They ask my name, I cannot give it, since my parents abandoned me. But though I cannot give my own name, not possessing one, I can tell them my father's. Now I repeat, my father is named M. de Villefort, and I am ready to prove it." There was an energy, a conviction, and a sincerity in the manner of the young man, which silenced the tumult. All eyes were turned for a moment towards the procureur, who sat as motionless as though a thunderbolt had changed him into a corpse. "Gentlemen," said Andrea, commanding silence by his voice and manner; "I owe you the proofs and explanations of what I have said." "But," said the irritated president, "you called yourself Benedetto, declared yourself an orphan, and claimed Corsica as your country." "I said anything I pleased, in order that the solemn declaration I have just made should not be withheld, which otherwise would certainly have been the case. I now repeat that I was born at Auteuil on the night of the 27th of September, 1817, and that I am the son of the procureur, M. de Villefort. Do you wish for any further details? I will give them. I was born in No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine, in a room hung with red damask; my father took me in his arms, telling my mother I was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked with an H and an N, and carried me into a garden, where he buried me alive." A shudder ran through the assembly when they saw that the confidence of the prisoner increased in proportion to the terror of M. de Villefort. "But how have you become acquainted with all these details?" asked the president. "I will tell you, Mr. president. A man who had sworn vengeance against my father, and had long watched his opportunity to kill him, had introduced himself that night into the garden in which my father buried me. He was concealed in a thicket; he saw my father bury something in the ground, and stabbed him; then thinking the deposit might contain some treasure he turned up the ground, and found me still living. The man carried me to the foundling asylum, where I was registered under the number 37. Three months afterwards, a woman travelled from Rogliano to paris to fetch me, and having claimed me as her son, carried me away. Thus, you see, though born in paris, I was brought up in Corsica." There was a moment's silence, during which one could have fancied the hall empty, so profound was the stillness. "proceed," said the president. "Certainly, I might have lived happily amongst those good people, who adored me, but my perverse disposition prevailed over the virtues which my adopted mother endeavored to instil into my heart. I increased in wickedness till I committed crime. One day when I cursed providence for making me so wicked, and ordaining me to such a fate, my adopted father said to me, `Do not blaspheme, unhappy child, the crime is that of your father, not yours,-of your father, who consigned you to hell if you died, and to misery if a miracle preserved you alive.' After that I ceased to blaspheme, but I cursed my father. That is why I have uttered the words for which you blame me; that is why I have filled this whole assembly with horror. If I have committed an additional crime, punish me, but if you will allow that ever since the day of my birth my fate has been sad, bitter, and lamentable, then pity me." "But your mother?" asked the president. "My mother thought me dead; she is not guilty. I did not even wish to know her name, nor do I know it." Just then a piercing cry, ending in a sob, burst from the centre of the crowd, who encircled the lady who had before fainted, and who now fell into a violent fit of hysterics. She was carried out of the hall, the thick veil which concealed her face dropped off, and Madame Danglars was recognized. Notwithstanding his shattered nerves, the ringing sensation in his ears, and the madness which turned his brain, Villefort rose as he perceived her. "The proofs, the proofs!" said the president; "remember this tissue of horrors must be supported by the clearest proofs " "The proofs?" said Benedetto, laughing; "do you want proofs?" "Yes." "Well, then, look at M. de Villefort, and then ask me for proofs." Every one turned towards the procureur, who, unable to bear the universal gaze now riveted on him alone, advanced staggering into the midst of the tribunal, with his hair dishevelled and his face indented with the mark of his nails. The whole assembly uttered a long murmur of astonishment. "Father," said Benedetto, "I am asked for proofs, do you wish me to give them?" "No, no, it is useless," stammered M. de Villefort in a hoarse voice; "no, it is useless!" "How useless?" cried the president, "what do you mean?" "I mean that I feel it impossible to struggle against this deadly weight which crushes me. Gentlemen, I know I am in the hands of an avenging God! We need no proofs; everything relating to this young man is true." A dull, gloomy silence, like that which precedes some awful phenomenon of nature, pervaded the assembly, who shuddered in dismay. "What, M. de Villefort," cried the president, "do you yield to an hallucination? What, are you no longer in possession of your senses? This strange, unexpected, terrible accusation has disordered your reason. Come, recover." The procureur dropped his head; his teeth chattered like those of a man under a violent attack of fever, and yet he was deadly pale. "I am in possession of all my senses, sir," he said; "my body alone suffers, as you may suppose. I acknowledge myself guilty of all the young man has brought against me, and from this hour hold myself under the authority of the procureur who will succeed me." And as he spoke these words with a hoarse, choking voice, he staggered towards the door, which was mechanically opened by a door-keeper. The whole assembly were dumb with astonishment at the revelation and confession which had produced a catastrophe so different from that which had been expected during the last fortnight by the parisian world. "Well," said Beauchamp, "let them now say that drama is unnatural!" "Ma foi!" said Chateau-Renaud, "I would rather end my career like M. de Morcerf; a pistol-shot seems quite delightful compared with this catastrophe." "And moreover, it kills," said Beauchamp. "And to think that I had an idea of marrying his daughter," said Debray. "She did well to die, poor girl!" "The sitting is adjourned, gentlemen," said the president; "fresh inquiries will be made, and the case will be tried next session by another magistrate." As for Andrea, who was calm and more interesting than ever, he left the hall, escorted by gendarmes, who involuntarily paid him some attention. "Well, what do you think of this, my fine fellow?" asked Debray of the sergeant-at-arms, slipping a louis into his hand. "There will be extenuating circumstances," he replied.

中文翻译 第一一○章起诉书 　　法官在一片肃静中入座，陪审员也纷纷坐下，维尔福先生是大家注意的目标，甚至可以说是大家崇拜的对象，他坐在圈椅里，平静的目光四周环顾一下。每一个人都惊奇地望着那张严肃冷峻的面孔，私人的悲伤并不能从他脸上表现出来，大家看到一个人竟不为人类的喜怒哀乐所动，不禁产生一种恐怖感。 　　“审判长说，“带被告。” 　　听到这几个字，大家的注意力更集中了，所有的眼睛都盯在了贝尼代托就要进来的那扇门。门开了，被告随即出现了。在场的人都看清了他脸上的表情，他的脸上没有使人心脏停止跳动或使人脸色苍白的那种激动的情绪。他的两只手位置放得很优美，一只手按着帽子，一只手放在背心的开口处，手指没有丝毫的抖动，他的目光平静，甚至是明亮的。走进法庭以后，目光在法官和陪审人员扫过，然后让他的目光停留在审判长和检察官的身上。安德烈的旁边坐着他的律师，因为安德烈自己并未请律师，他的律师是由法院指定的，他似乎认为这是无关重要的小事，毋须为此请律师。那个律师是一个浅黄色头发的青年，他要比被告激动一百倍。 　　审判长宣布读起诉书，那份起诉书占用了很长时间，在那个时间，大家的注意力几乎都在安德烈的身上，安德烈以斯巴达人那种不在乎的神气漠视着众人的注意。维尔福的话比任何时候都简洁雄辩。他有声有色地描绘了犯罪的始末：犯人以前的经历论发生分化，桑塔亚那转向宗教，塞拉斯则转向物理实在论。，他的变化，从童年起他所犯的罪，这一切，检察官都是竭尽心力才写出来的。单凭这一份起诉书不用等到宣判，大家就认为贝尼代托已经完蛋了。安德烈听着维尔福起诉书中接连提出来的罪名。维尔福先生不时地看他一眼，无疑他在向犯人实施他惯用的心理攻势，但他虽然不时地逼视那被告，却始终都没能使他低头，起诉书终于读完了。 　　“被告，”审判长说，“你的姓名？” 　　安德烈站起来。“原谅我，审判长阁下，”他用清晰的声音说，“我看您是采用了普通的审判程序，用那种程序，我将无法遵从。我要求——而且不久就可以证明我的要求是正当的——开一个例外。我恳求您允许我在回答的时候遵从一种不同的程序，愿意回答。你提出的所有问题。 　　审判长惊奇地看了看陪审官，陪审官则去看检察官。整个法庭因为惊奇而鸦雀无声，但安德烈依旧不动声色。 　　“你的年龄？”审判长说，“这个问题你肯回答吗？” 　　“这个问题象其他的问题一样，愿意回答，审判长阁下，但却要到适当的时候才答复。” 　　“你的年龄？”审判长重复那个问题。 　　“我二十一岁，说得确切一些，过几天就要满二十一岁了，因为我是在一八一七年九月二十七日晚上生的。” 　　维尔福先生正在忙于记录，听到这个日期，抬起头来。 　　“你是在哪儿出生的？”审判长继续问。 　　“在巴黎附近的阿都尔。” 　　维尔福先生第二次抬起头来，望着贝尼代托，象是看到了墨杜萨的头似的，他的脸上变得毫无血色。贝尼代托，则用上好的白葛布手帕潇洒地抹一抹他的嘴唇。 　　“你的职业？” 　　“最初我制造假币，”安德烈平静地答道，“然后又偷东西，最近我杀了人。” 　　法庭里爆发出愤怒的骚动声。法官们也呆住了，陪审员现出厌恶的表情，想不到一个体面人物竟会如此厚颜无耻。维尔福先生用手按住额头，他的额头最初发白，然后转红，以至于最后热得烫手。然后他突然起来，神情恍惚地四周环顾，他想透一透气。 　　“你丢什么东西了吗，检察官阁下？”贝尼代托带着他和蔼可亲的微笑问。维尔福先生并不回答，跌倒在椅子里。 　　“现在，被告，你肯讲出你的姓名了吗？”审判长说。“你历数自己的罪名时那种残酷神态，你认罪时的那种骄傲，——不论从法律上讲或从道义上讲，法院方面都将对你进行严厉惩罚，这大概就是你延迟宣布你的姓名的原因吧，你是想把你的姓名作为你引以为自豪的高潮。” 　　“真妙，审判长阁下，我的心思您全看透了，贝尼代托用尽量柔和的声音和最礼貌的态度说。“这的确就是我要求您把审问程序改变一下的原因。” 　　人们的惊愕已达到了无以复加的地步。被告的态度已不再有欺诈或浮夸的样子。情绪激动的人们预感到必然会从黑暗深处爆发雷声。 　　“嗯！”审判长说，“你的姓名？” 　　“我无法把我的姓告诉您，因为我不知道自己姓什么，但我知道我父亲的姓名，我可以把那个姓告诉您。” 　　一阵痛苦的晕眩使维尔福看不见东西。大滴的汗珠从他的脸上滚落，他颤抖的手抓住稿纸，“那么，说出你父亲的名字来。”审判长说。 　　偌大的法庭里鸦鹊无声，每一个人都屏息静气地等待着。 　　“我的父亲是检察官。”安德烈平静地回答。 　　“检察官？”审判长说，他楞住了，并没有注意到维尔福先生脸上惊慌的神情，“检察官？” 　　“是的，假如你想知道他的名字，我可以告诉你，——他叫维尔福。” 　　人们的激动情绪被抑制了这么久，现在象雷鸣似地从每一个人的胸膛里爆发出来了，法官无意去制止众人的骚动。人们对面无表情的贝尼代托喊叫、辱骂、讥诮、舞臂挥拳，法警跑来跑去，——这是每一次骚动时必有的现象，这一切继续了五分钟，法官和宪警才使法庭恢复了肃静。在这阵骚乱中，只听到那审判长喊道：“被告，你要戏弄法庭吗？你要在这世风日下的时代，独创一帜，胆敢在你的同胞面前创立一个藐视法庭的先例？” 　　有几个人围住那几乎已瘫倒在椅子里的维尔福先生，劝慰他，鼓励他，对他表示关切和同情。法庭里的一切又井然有序，只有一个地方还有一群人在那儿骚动。据说有一位太太昏了过去，他们给她闻了嗅盐，现在已经醒过来了。 　　在骚动期间，安德烈始终微笑着看大家，然后，他一只手扶着被告席的橡木栏杆，做出个优美的姿势，说：“诸位，上帝是不允许我侮辱法庭并在这可敬的法庭上造成徒然的骚乱的。他们问我的年龄，我说了。他们问我的出生地，我答复了。他们问我的姓名，我讲不出来，因为我的父母遗弃了我。我讲不出我自己的姓名，因为我根本没有姓名，我却知道我父亲的姓名。现在，我再说一遍，我父亲是维尔福先生，我很愿意来证明这一点是正确的。 　　那个年轻人的态度有让人无法质疑的东西，一种信心和一种真挚骚动平静下来了。立刻，所有的眼睛都盯着检察官，检察官一动不动地坐着，象是一具刚遭雷劈的尸体。 　　“诸位！”安德烈说，他以他的声音和态度使得全场鸦雀无声，“我对于刚才所说的话，应该向你们出示证据并解释清楚。 　　“但是，”审判长恼怒地说，“在预审的时候，你自称是贝尼代托，说你自己是一个孤儿，并声称你的原藉是科西嘉。” 　　“那是我随便说说的，目的是为了使我有机会发布刚才那个事实，不然的话，就一定会有人阻止我。我现在再说一遍，我是在一八一七年九月二十七日晚上在阿都尔降生的，我是检察官维尔福先生的儿子。我可以告诉你们详细的情节。我降生的地点是芳丹街二十八号，在一个挂着红色窗帷的房间里。我的父亲抱起我，对我的母亲说我是已经死了，把我包在一块绣有一个‘Ｈ’字和一个‘Ｎ’字样的襁褓里，抱我到后花园，在那儿活埋了我。” 　　法庭里的人不禁都打起寒颤，他们看见那犯人的越说越自信，而维尔福先生却越来越惊惶。 　　“但你怎么知道这些事的呢？”审判长问。 　　“让我来告诉您，审判长阁下。有一个人曾发誓要向我的父亲报仇，他早就在寻找杀死他的机会，那天晚上，他偷偷地爬进我父亲埋我的那个花园。躲在树丛后面，他看见我的父亲把一样东西埋在地里，就在这个时候上去刺了他一刀，然后他以为里面藏着宝贝。所以他开地面，却发觉我还活着。那个人把我抱到育婴堂里，在那儿，我被编为五十七号。三个月以后，他的嫂嫂从洛格里亚诺赶到巴黎来，声称我是她的儿了，把我带走了。所以，我虽然生在巴黎，却是在科西嘉长大的。” 　　法庭里一片静寂，这时，外面的人或许会以为法庭里没有人，因为当时里面没有一点声音。 　　“说下去！”审判长说。 　　“当然罗，”贝尼代托继续说，“抚养我的那些人都很爱我，我本来可以和那些人过很快乐的生活，但我那邪恶的本性超过了我继母灌输在我心里的美德。我愈变愈坏，直到犯罪。有一天，当我在诅咒上帝把我造得这样恶劣，给我注定这样一个不幸命运的时候，我的继父对我说：‘不要亵渎神灵，倒霉的孩子！因为上帝在赐你生命的时候并无恶意。罪孽是你父亲造成的，他连累你生遭孽报，死入地狱。’从那以后，我不再诅咒上帝，而是诅咒我的父亲。因为这个我才说了那些让你们遣责的话，为了这，我才使法庭上充满了恐怖。如果这一番话加重了我的罪名，那么请惩罚我；如果你们相信，自从我落地的那天起，我的命运就悲惨、痛苦和伤心，那么请宽恕我。” 　　“但你的母亲呢？”审判长问道。 　　“我的母亲以为我死了，她是无罪的。我不知道她的名字。我也不想知道。” 　　正当那时曾经昏厥过一次的那个贵妇人发出一声尖锐的喊叫，接着是一阵啜泣，那个贵妇人现在陷入一种剧烈的歇斯底里状态了。当他被扶出法庭的时候，遮住她的面孔的那张厚面纱掉了下来，腾格拉尔夫人的真面目露出来了。维尔福虽然精神恍惚，耳聋脑胀，却还是认出了她，他站了起来。 　　“证据！证据呢！”审判长说，“要记得：这种话是必须要有最清楚的证据来证实的。” 　　“证据？”贝尼代托大笑着说，“您要证据吗？” 　　“是的。” 　　“嗯，那么，先请先看看维尔福先生，然后再来向我要证据。” 　　每一个人都转过去看检察官，检察官无法忍受那么多人的目光只盯在他一个人身上。他踉踉跄跄地走到法庭中心，头发散乱，脸上布满被指甲抓出的血痕。全场响起一阵持续颇久的低语声。 　　“父亲，”贝尼代托说，“他们问我要证据。你希望我给他们吗。” 　　“不，不，”维尔福先生用一种嘶哑的声音结结巴巴地说，“不，不必了！” 　　“怎么不必呢？”审判长喊道：“你是什么意思？” 　　“我的意思是：我觉得我无法和这种落到我身上来的致命的重压抗争，诸位。——我是落到一个复仇之神的手里了！无须证据，这个年轻人说的话都是真的。” 　　全场被一种象预示某种恶劣的自然现象那样阴森凄惨的沉寂弥漫着，大家都惊慌地寒颤着。 　　“什么！维尔福先生，”审判长喊道，“你难道昏了头吗？什么！你的理智还在吗？你的头脑显然是被一个奇特、可怕、意想不到的污蔑弄糊涂了。来，恢复你的理智吧。” 　　检察官低下头，他的牙齿象一个大发寒热的人那样格格地打抖，可是他的脸色却象死人一般毫无血色。 　　“我没有丧失理智，阁下，”他说，“你可以看得出：失常的只是我的肉体。那个年轻人所指控我的罪，我全部承认，从现在起，我悉听下任检察官对我的处置。” 　　当他用一种嘶哑窒息的声音说完这几句话后，他踉踉跄跄地向门口走去，一个法警机械地打开了那扇门。全场的人都因吃惊而哑口无言，这次开庭审判使半月来轰动巴黎社会的那一连串可怕的事情达到了最高峰。 　　“噢，”波尚说，“现在谁会说这幕戏演得不自然？” 　　“噢！”夏多•勒诺说，“我情愿象马尔塞夫先生那样用手熗结束他的生命，那总比这场灾祸来得舒服点。” 　　“那么他犯了杀人罪了。”波尚说。 　　“以前我还想娶他的女儿呢！”德布雷说，“幸亏她死了，可怜的姑娘！” 　　“诸位，审问暂停，”审判长说，“本案延期到下次开庭办理。案情当另委法官重新审查。” 　　至于安德烈，他仍然很平静，而且比以前更让人感兴趣了，他在法警的护送下离开法庭，法警们也不由自主地对他产生了一些敬意。 　　“嗯，你觉得这件事情怎么样，我的好汉？”德布雷问那副警长，并把一块金路易塞到他的手里。 　　“可能酌情减刑。”他回答。

英文原文 Chapter 107 The Lions' Den One division of La Force, in which the most dangerous and desperate prisoners are confined, is called the court of Saint-Bernard. The prisoners, in their expressive language, have named it the "Lions' Den," probably because the captives possess teeth which frequently gnaw the bars, and sometimes the keepers also. It is a prison within a prison; the walls are double the thickness of the rest. The gratings are every day carefully examined by jailers, whose herculean proportions and cold pitiless expression prove them to have been chosen to reign over their subjects for their superior activity and intelligence. The court-yard of this quarter is enclosed by enormous walls, over which the sun glances obliquely, when it deigns to penetrate into this gulf of moral and physical deformity. On this paved yard are to be seen,-pacing to and fro from morning till night, pale, careworn, and haggard, like so many shadows,-the men whom justice holds beneath the steel she is sharpening. There, crouched against the side of the wall which attracts and retains the most heat, they may be seen sometimes talking to one another, but more frequently alone, watching the door, which sometimes opens to call forth one from the gloomy assemblage, or to throw in another outcast from society. The court of Saint-Bernard has its own particular apartment for the reception of guests; it is a long rectangle, divided by two upright gratings placed at a distance of three feet from one another to prevent a visitor from shaking hands with or passing anything to the prisoners. It is a wretched, damp, nay, even horrible spot, more especially when we consider the agonizing conferences which have taken place between those iron bars. And yet, frightful though this spot may be, it is looked upon as a kind of paradise by the men whose days are numbered; it is so rare for them to leave the Lions' Den for any other place than the barrier Saint-Jacques or the galleys! In the court which we have attempted to describe, and from which a damp vapor was rising, a young man with his hands in his pockets, who had excited much curiosity among the inhabitants of the "Den," might be seen walking. The cut of his clothes would have made him pass for an elegant man, if those clothes had not been torn to shreds; still they did not show signs of wear, and the fine cloth, beneath the careful hands of the prisoner, soon recovered its gloss in the parts which were still perfect, for the wearer tried his best to make it assume the appearance of a new coat. He bestowed the same attention upon the cambric front of a shirt, which had considerably changed in color since his entrance into the prison, and he polished his varnished boots with the corner of a handkerchief embroidered with initials surmounted by a coronet. Some of the inmates of the "Lions' Den" were watching the operations of the prisoner's toilet with considerable interest. "See, the prince is pluming himself," said one of the thieves. "He's a fine looking fellow," said another; "if he had only a comb and hair-grease, he'd take the shine off the gentlemen in white kids." "His coat looks almost new, and his boots shine like a nigger's face. It's pleasant to have such well-dressed comrades; but didn't those gendarmes behave shameful?- must 'a been jealous, to tear such clothes!" "He looks like a big-bug," said another; "dresses in fine style. And, then, to be here so young! Oh, what larks!" Meanwhile the object of this hideous admiration approached the wicket, against which one of the keepers was leaning. "Come, sir," he said, "lend me twenty francs; you will soon be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have relations who possess more millions than you have deniers. Come, I beseech you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may buy a dressing-gown; it is intolerable always to be in a coat and boots! And what a coat, sir, for a prince of the Cavalcanti!" The keeper turned his back, and shrugged his shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused any one else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same things,-indeed, he heard nothing else. "Come," said Andrea, "you are a man void of compassion; I'll have you turned out." This made the keeper turn around, and he burst into a loud laugh. The prisoners then approached and formed a circle. "I tell you that with that wretched sum," continued Andrea, "I could obtain a coat, and a room in which to receive the illustrious visitor I am daily expecting." "Of course-of course," said the prisoners;-"any one can see he's a gentleman!" "Well, then, lend him the twenty francs," said the keeper, leaning on the other shoulder; "surely you will not refuse a comrade!" "I am no comrade of these people," said the young man, proudly, "you have no right to insult me thus." The thieves looked at one another with low murmurs, and a storm gathered over the head of the aristocratic prisoner, raised less by his own words than by the manner of the keeper. The latter, sure of quelling the tempest when the waves became too violent, allowed them to rise to a certain pitch that he might be revenged on the importunate Andrea, and besides it would afford him some recreation during the long day. The thieves had already approached Andrea, some screaming, "La savate-La savate!"* a cruel operation, which consists in cuffing a comrade who may have fallen into disgrace, not with an old shoe, but with an iron-heeled one. Others proposed the "anguille," another kind of recreation, in which a handkerchief is filled with sand, pebbles, and two-sous pieces, when they have them, which the wretches beat like a flail over the head and shoulders of the unhappy sufferer. "Let us horsewhip the fine gentleman!" said others. Savate: an old shoe. But Andrea, turning towards them, winked his eyes, rolled his tongue around his cheeks, and smacked his lips in a manner equivalent to a hundred words among the bandits when forced to be silent. It was a Masonic sign Caderousse had taught him. He was immediately recognized as one of them; the handkerchief was thrown down, and the iron-heeled shoe replaced on the foot of the wretch to whom it belonged. Some voices were heard to say that the gentleman was right; that he intended to be civil, in his way, and that they would set the example of liberty of conscience,-and the mob retired. The keeper was so stupefied at this scene that he took Andrea by the hands and began examining his person, attributing the sudden submission of the inmates of the Lions' Den to something more substantial than mere fascination. Andrea made no resistance, although he protested against it. Suddenly a voice was heard at the wicket. "Benedetto!" exclaimed an inspector. The keeper relaxed his hold. "I am called," said Andrea. "To the visitors' room!" said the same voice. "You see some one pays me a visit. Ah, my dear sir, you will see whether a Cavalcanti is to be treated like a common person!" And Andrea, gliding through the court like a black shadow, rushed out through the wicket, leaving his comrades, and even the keeper, lost in wonder. Certainly a call to the visitors' room had scarcely astonished Andrea less than themselves, for the wily youth, instead of making use of his privilege of waiting to be claimed on his entry into La Force, had maintained a rigid silence. "Everything," he said, "proves me to be under the protection of some powerful person,-this sudden fortune, the facility with which I have overcome all obstacles, an unexpected family and an illustrious name awarded to me, gold showered down upon me, and the most splendid alliances about to be entered into. An unhappy lapse of fortune and the absence of my protector have cast me down, certainly, but not forever. The hand which has retreated for a while will be again stretched forth to save me at the very moment when I shall think myself sinking into the abyss. Why should I risk an imprudent step? It might alienate my protector. He has two means of extricating me from this dilemma,-the one by a mysterious escape, managed through bribery; the other by buying off my judges with gold. I will say and do nothing until I am convinced that he has quite abandoned me, and then"- Andrea had formed a plan which was tolerably clever. The unfortunate youth was intrepid in the attack, and rude in the defence. He had borne with the public prison, and with privations of all sorts; still, by degrees nature, or rather custom, had prevailed, and he suffered from being naked, dirty, and hungry. It was at this moment of discomfort that the inspector's voice called him to the visiting-room. Andrea felt his heart leap with joy. It was too soon for a visit from the examining magistrate, and too late for one from the director of the prison, or the doctor; it must, then, be the visitor he hoped for. Behind the grating of the room into which Andrea had been led, he saw, while his eyes dilated with surprise, the dark and intelligent face of M. Bertuccio, who was also gazing with sad astonishment upon the iron bars, the bolted doors, and the shadow which moved behind the other grating. "Ah," said Andrea, deeply affected. "Good morning, Benedetto," said Bertuccio, with his deep, hollow voice. "You-you?" said the young man, looking fearfully around him. "Do you not recognize me, unhappy child?" "Silence,-be silent!" said Andrea, who knew the delicate sense of hearing possessed by the walls; "for heaven's sake, do not speak so loud!" "You wish to speak with me alone, do you not?" said Bertuccio. "Oh, yes." "That is well." And Bertuccio, feeling in his pocket, signed to a keeper whom he saw through the window of the wicket. "Read?" he said. "What is that?" asked Andrea. "An order to conduct you to a room, and to leave you there to talk to me." "Oh," cried Andrea, leaping with joy. Then he mentally added,-"Still my unknown protector! I am not forgotten. They wish for secrecy, since we are to converse in a private room. I understand, Bertuccio has been sent by my protector." The keeper spoke for a moment with an official, then opened the iron gates and conducted Andrea to a room on the first floor. The room was whitewashed, as is the custom in prisons, but it looked quite brilliant to a prisoner, though a stove, a bed, a chair, and a table formed the whole of its sumptuous furniture. Bertuccio sat down upon the chair, Andrea threw himself upon the bed; the keeper retired. "Now," said the steward, "what have you to tell me?" "And you?" said Andrea. "You speak first." "Oh, no. You must have much to tell me, since you have come to seek me." "Well, be it so. You have continued your course of villany; you have robbed-you have assassinated." "Well, I should say! If you had me taken to a private room only to tell me this, you might have saved yourself the trouble. I know all these things. But there are some with which, on the contrary, I am not acquainted. Let us talk of those, if you please. Who sent you?" "Come, come, you are going on quickly, M. Benedetto!" "Yes, and to the point. Let us dispense with useless words. Who sends you?" "No one." "How did you know I was in prison?" "I recognized you, some time since, as the insolent dandy who so gracefully mounted his horse in the Champs Elysees." "Oh, the Champs Elysees? Ah, yes; we burn, as they say at the game of pincette. The Champs Elysees? Come, let us talk a little about my father." "Who, then, am I?" "You, sir?-you are my adopted father. But it was not you, I presume, who placed at my disposal 100,000 francs, which I spent in four or five months; it was not you who manufactured an Italian gentleman for my father; it was not you who introduced me into the world, and had me invited to a certain dinner at Auteuil, which I fancy I am eating at this moment, in company with the most distinguished people in paris-amongst the rest with a certain procureur, whose acquaintance I did very wrong not to cultivate, for he would have been very useful to me just now;-it was not you, in fact, who bailed me for one or two millions, when the fatal discovery of my little secret took place. Come, speak, my worthy Corsican, speak!" "What do you wish me to say?" "I will help you. You were speaking of the Champs Elysees just now, worthy foster-father." "Well?" "Well, in the Champs Elysees there resides a very rich gentleman." "At whose house you robbed and murdered, did you not?" "I believe I did." "The Count of Monte Cristo?" "'Tis you who have named him, as M. Racine says. Well, am I to rush into his arms, and strain him to my heart, crying, `My father, my father!' like Monsieur pixerecourt."* "Do not let us jest," gravely replied Bertuccio, "and dare not to utter that name again as you have pronounced it." Guilbert de pixerecourt, French dramatist (1775-1844). "Bah," said Andrea, a little overcome, by the solemnity of Bertuccio's manner, "why not?" "Because the person who bears it is too highly favored by heaven to be the father of such a wretch as you." "Oh, these are fine words." "And there will be fine doings, if you do not take care." "Menaces-I do not fear them. I will say"- "Do you think you are engaged with a pygmy like yourself?" said Bertuccio, in so calm a tone, and with so steadfast a look, that Andrea was moved to the very soul. "Do you think you have to do with galley-slaves, or novices in the world? Benedetto, you are fallen into terrible hands; they are ready to open for you-make use of them. Do not play with the thunderbolt they have laid aside for a moment, but which they can take up again instantly, if you attempt to intercept their movements." "My father-I will know who my father is," said the obstinate youth; "I will perish if I must, but I will know it. What does scandal signify to me? What possessions, what reputation, what `pull,' as Beauchamp says,-have I? You great people always lose something by scandal, notwithstanding your millions. Come, who is my father?" "I came to tell you." "Ah," cried Benedetto, his eyes sparkling with joy. Just then the door opened, and the jailer, addressing himself to Bertuccio, said,-"Excuse me, sir, but the examining magistrate is waiting for the prisoner." "And so closes our interview," said Andrea to the worthy steward; "I wish the troublesome fellow were at the devil!" "I will return to-morrow," said Bertuccio. "Good! Gendarmes, I am at your service. Ah, sir, do leave a few crowns for me at the gate that I may have some things I am in need of!" "It shall be done," replied Bertuccio. Andrea extended his hand; Bertuccio kept his own in his pocket, and merely jingled a few pieces of money. "That's what I mean," said Andrea, endeavoring to smile, quite overcome by the strange tranquillity of Bertuccio. "Can I be deceived?" he murmured, as he stepped into the oblong and grated vehicle which they call "the salad basket." "Never mind, we shall see! To-morrow, then!" he added, turning towards Bertuccio. "To-morrow!" replied the steward.

中文翻译 第一○七章　狮穴 　　在福斯监狱里，有一个专门关押危险而凶横的犯人牢区，圣•伯纳院，但犯人们按他们的行动称为“狮穴”，那大概是因为里面的罪犯常用牙齿去咬铁栅，甚至有时也咬看守的缘故。这是一个监狱里面的监狱。墙壁比别处的要厚一倍。铁棚每天都由狱座小心地加以检查，这些狱卒是特选出来的，从他们魁伟的身体和冷酷的表情上，可以看出他们是善于用恐怖和机警来统治囚徒的。这牢区的院子四面都是极高的墙头，太阳只有在当空的那一刻才能照到院子里，象是太阳也不愿意多看这一群精神和肉体的怪物似的。在铺着石板的院子里，从早到晚踱着一群脸色苍白、忧虑满面、外貌凶残正在遭受法律惩罚的人，象是许多憧憬未来的幽灵一样。 　　在那吸收并保留了一些阳光余热的墙脚下，可以看见两三个囚犯蜷缩着在聊天——但更常见的是一个人蹲在那儿——眼睛望着铁门，那扇门有时也打开，从这悲惨的人群里唤一个出去，或是又抛进一个社会的渣滓来。 　　圣•伯纳院有专门的会见室，那是一个长方形的房间，两道笔直的栅栏，栅栏之间相距三尺，以防止探监的人和犯人握手或递东西给犯人。这是一个阴森、潮湿，甚至是令人恐怖的地方，尤其是想到这两道铁栅之间那种可怕的谈话的时候。可是，这个地方虽然可怕，但在那些数着时间过日子的人看来，却象是一个天堂，他们一旦离开狮穴，大多被送到圣•杰克司城栅［巴黎熗决死刑犯的地方。——译注］或苦工船或狱中隔离室去。 　　在这部分牢区里，散发着寒冷的潮气，一个年轻人双手插在口袋里走来走去。这已引起了狮穴成员很大的好奇心。他身上的衣服如果是没有被撕破，从剪裁来看他应该是一位高雅的绅士，那套衣服并不算旧皆由不生不灭的“气”凝聚而成。但主张“气外无理”，并用，在年轻人的小心的整理之下，撕破的那一部分不久便恢复了它原有的光泽，使人一看就知道那衣服的质地很不错。他同样爱护身上那件白葛布衬衫。自从他入狱以来，衬衫的颜色已改变了很多，他用一块角上绣着一顶皇冠的手帕角把他的皮靴擦亮。狮穴里的几个囚犯对这个人的修饰表示了很大的兴趣。 　　“瞧！王子在打扮他自己了。”一个囚犯说。 　　“他天生长得非常漂亮，”另一个贼说，“假如他有一把梳子和一些发蜡，他就要把那些戴白手套的先生们比下去了。” 　　“他的上衣好象是新的，他的皮靴真亮。我们有了这样体面的伙伴，真是增光不少，那些宪兵们不要脸。嫉妒得撕烂这样好的衣服！” 　　“他象是一个重要人物，”另一个说，“他穿着体面的衣服。”在这种恶意的赞美下，年轻人向侧门走过去，侧门上靠着一个看守。 　　“先生，”他说，“借二十法郎给我，很快就还给你，你跟我交往是没有危险的。我亲戚的钱，一百万一百万地计算，比你一个子一个子地计算都多呢。我求求你，借二十法郎给我，让我去买一件睡衣，一天到晚穿着上装和皮靴真让人受不了，而且，先生，这件上装怎么配穿在卡瓦尔康蒂王子身上呀！” 　　看守转过身去，耸了耸肩。他对于这种任何人听了都会发笑的话毫无反应，这种话他听得太多了，——实际上，他所听到的，都是这样的话。 　　“好，”安德烈说，“你是一个没有同情心的人，我会让你丢掉饭碗的。” 　　那看守转过身来，爆发出一阵大笑。那时，囚犯们已走过来。把他俩围在中间。 　　“我告诉你，”安德烈继续说，“有了二十法郎，我就可以弄到一件上装和一个房间，我就可以接见我天天盼望的贵客了。” 　　“他说得对！他说得对！”囚犯们说，“谁都看得出他是一个上等人。” 　　“嗯，那末，你们借二十法郎给他吧，”看守换了一个肩膀靠在侧门上说，“你们当然不会拒绝一个伙伴的请求的。” 　　“我不是这些人的伙伴，”那年轻人骄傲地说，“你没有权利这样侮辱我。” 　　囚犯们互相望了一眼，口里发出不满的嘟囔，一场暴风雨已在这贵族派头的囚犯头上聚集起来了，这场暴风雨不是他的话惹起的，而是那看守的态度造成的。看守因为确信事态闹大时他可以使它平息下来，所以听任事态发展，以便使那个喋喋不休的家伙挨顿教训，而且，这也可以供他作一种消遣。盗贼们已经逼近安德烈了，有些囚犯嘴里喊到“破鞋子！破鞋子！”——那是一种残酷的刑罚，方法是用一只钉掌的破鞋来殴打侮辱同伴，另外一些囚犯建议用“钉包”，—— 　　那又是他们的一种消遣，方法是用一块手帕包住沙泥、石子和他们身边所有的半便士的铜板，用它来敲打那倒霉者的头和肩，有些人则说：“让我们用马鞭子把那位漂亮先生抽一顿！” 　　安德烈转过身去，对他们眨眨眼睛，用舌头鼓起面颊，噘起嘴唇，发出一种声音。这种举动在盗贼间抵得上一百句话。 　　这是卡德罗斯教他的暗号。他立刻被认为是自己人了，手帕包被摔掉了，铁掌鞋回到了领头者的脚上。有人说，这位先生说得对，他有权利随心所欲地打扮，他们决不妨碍旁人的自由。骚乱平息下去了。看守对于这种场面简直是惊诧，他开始搜查安德烈的身体，认为狮穴里的囚犯突然变得这样了驯服，靠他个人目光的威慑是办不到的，而是有别的理由。安德烈虽然抗议，但并不抗拒。突然，侧门外面传来一个声音。 　　“贝尼代托！” 　　“有人叫我。”安德烈说。看守只好放手。 　　“到会见室去！”同一个声音说。 　　“你看，有人来看我了。啊，我亲爱的先生，您瞧着吧，对待一个卡瓦尔康蒂究竟是不能象对一个普通人一样的！” 　　于是安德烈象幽灵似的溜过天井，冲出栅门，让他的伙伴们和那看守沉浸在惊讶里。 　　对于这次被召到会见室里安德烈本人并不象旁人那样惊奇。因为，自从跨进福斯监狱，那善于心计的青年便保持着坚忍的沉默，不象旁人那样到处写信向人求援。“显然的，”他对自己说，“有一个强有力的人保护着我，所有的一切都向我证明了这一点，——突如其来的好运气，种种困难轻而易举地被克服了，一个即兴而来的父亲和一个送上门来的光辉的姓氏，黄金雨点般地落到我身上，我几乎要结上一门显赫的亲事。命中注定的一场波折和我那保护人的一时疏忽使我落到这个地步，但我绝不会永远如此。当我堕入深渊的时候，那个人又会伸出手来把我救出去的！我无须冒险采取卤莽的行动。如果卤莽行动，也会使我的保护人疏远我。他有两种办法可以把我从这种困境里解救出来，——他可以用贿赂的方法为我设计一次神秘的出逃，要不，他就用黄金收买我的法官。我暂且不说话，也不作任何举动，直到我确信他已完全抛弃我的时候，那时——” 　　安德烈已经拟定了一个相当狡猾的计划。那不幸的年轻人勇于进攻，防守时也厉害。他一生下来就与监狱为伍，匮乏的生活他都经受过，可是，渐渐地，他的天性显露出来了，他忍受不了污秽、饥饿和褴褛的生活。正当他处在这种度日如年的境况中的时候，有人来看了。安德烈觉得他的心因欢喜而狂跳着。检察官不会来得这样早，狱医不会来得这样迟，所以，这一定是他所盼望的人来了。 　　到了会见室栅栏后面以后，安德烈惊奇地张大了眼睛，他看见的贝尔图乔先生那张阴郁而精明的脸，后者这时也带着戚然的目光凝视那铁栅，那闩住的门以及那在对面栅栏后面晃动的人影。 　　“啊！”安德烈大为感动地说。 　　“早安，贝尼代托。”贝尔图乔用深沉的声音说。 　　“你！你！”那青年惊慌地四下张望。 　　“你不认识我了吗，可怜的孩子？” 　　“轻一点！轻一点！”安德烈说，他知道墙壁另一边会有人听的，“看在上帝的面上，别说得那么响！” 　　“你希望和我单独谈，是吗？”贝尔图乔说。 　　“噢，是的！” 　　“很好！”于是贝尔图乔从他的口袋里摸出一张纸，向那个站在侧门窗外的看守招呼了一下。 　　“看！”他说。 　　“那是什么？”安德烈问道。 　　“一道让你搬到一个单间里去和我谈话的命令。” 　　“噢！”安德烈喊道，他高兴得跳了起来。然后他心里思忖道，“还是那位无名的保护人做的，他没有忘记我。他要保密，所以要找个单间谈话。我明白，——贝尔图乔是我的保护人派来的。” 　　看守和一位上司商量了一会儿，然后打开铁门，领安德烈到二楼上的一个房间里。房间的墙上照例刷着石灰，但在一个犯人看来，它已经够漂亮了，虽然它里面的全部家当只包括一只火炉、一张床、一把椅子和一张桌子。贝尔图乔坐在椅子上，安德烈把他自己往床上一躺，看守退了出去。 　　“现在，”那位管家说，“你有什么话要告诉我？” 　　“你呢？”安德烈说。 　　“你先说。” 　　“噢，不！你一定有很多话要对我说，因为你是来找我的。” 　　“好，就算是吧！你不断地在作恶，你抢劫，你杀人。” 　　“哼！如果你带我到这个房间里来只是想告诉我这些的话，你大可不必这么麻烦。这种事情我都知道。但有些事情我还不知道。如果你高兴，谈谈我不知道的那些事情吧。谁派你来的？” 　　“喏，喏，你太着急了吧，贝尼代托先生？” 　　“是的，但我说了问题的关键！废话少说。是谁派你来的？” 　　“没有人。” 　　“你怎么知道我在监狱里呢？” 　　“不久以前，我在香榭丽舍大道上认出你，看见你打扮得象个花花公子，神气活现地骑在马上。” 　　“噢，香榭丽舍大道！啊，啊！我们是搅在一起啦。香榭丽大道！来，谈一谈我的父亲吧！” 　　“那么，我是谁呢？” 　　“你吗，阁下？你是我的养父。但我想，让我在四五个月里面花掉十万法郎，不是你吧。我那在意大利的绅士父亲，不是你给我制造出来的吧，我进入社交界，到阿都尔去赴宴，——我现在觉得还好象在与巴黎上层的那些人物一起吃东西，那些人物中有一位检察官，可惜我没有借那个机会与他多多接触——他该不是你介绍给我的吧，现在，我的秘密泄露，大概是你不肯花一两百万来保我出去吧？说话呀，我尊敬的科西嘉人，说呀！” 　　“你要我说什么？” 　　“我来提醒你。你刚才提到香榭丽舍大道，我可敬的养父！” 　　“怎么样？” 　　“嗯，在香榭丽舍大道，一位非常有钱的绅士就住在那儿。” 　　“你到他家里去偷过东西，杀过人，是不是？” 　　“我想是的。” 　　“是基督山伯爵？” 　　“你说对了。嗯，我是不是要冲进他的怀里，紧紧地抱住他，象演员们在舞台所做的那样大哭‘爹爹，爹爹’呢？” 　　“我们不要开玩笑，”贝尔图乔严肃地说，“这个名字不随便可以说的，你不要太放肆了。” 　　“噢！”安德烈说，贝尔图乔那种庄严的态度使他有点害怕，“为什么不？” 　　“因为叫那个名字的人是蒙天主厚爱，是不会有你这样一个混蛋的儿子！” 　　“噢，这句话真好听！” 　　“假如你不小心，还有更糟糕的事情在后面呢！” 　　“吓唬我，我不怕的，我要说——” 　　“你以为你的对手是一个象你一样的胆小鬼吗？”贝尔图乔说。 　　他的语气平静坚定，以致安德烈的心都发抖了。“你以为你的对手是监狱里的败类，是初出茅庐的毛头小伙子吗？贝尼代托，你已经落入一只可怕的手里了，有一只手准备来救你，你应该好自为之！别去玩弄那些鬼花样，假如你要阻扰它的行动，它必定会对你严惩的。” 　　“我的父亲——我要知道谁是我的父亲！”那固执的年轻人说，“假如我一定要死，我就死好了，但我要知道这件事情。 　　我不怕出丑。我应该拥有什么财产，什么名誉？你们这些大人物拥有家财万贯，但碰到丑闻总是要损失惨重。来，告诉我究竟谁是我的父亲？” 　　“我就是来告诉你的。” 　　“啊！”贝尼代托说，他的眼睛里闪烁着惊喜的光。 　　正当这时，门开了，狱卒对贝尔图乔说：“对不起，先生，检察官等着要查犯人了。” 　　“那末我们的谈话就此结束，”安德烈对那可敬的管家说，“那该死的捣蛋鬼！” 　　“我明天再来。”贝尔图乔说。 　　“好！宪兵，我会听从你们的吩咐。啊，好先生，务必请你给我留下几个钱放在门房里，让他们为我买几样急需的物品。” 　　“我会给的。”贝尔图乔回答。 　　安德烈向他伸手来，贝尔图乔依旧把手插在口袋里，把口袋里的几块钱弄得丁丁当当发响。“正是我所需要的，”安德烈说，他想笑，但却被贝尔图乔那种出奇的镇静慑服了。 　　“我不上当？”他一面低声说着，一面跨进那被称为“杂拌篮”的长方形的铁栅车里。“不要紧，我们等着瞧吧！那么，明天见。”他转过去对贝尔图乔说。 　　“明天见。”那管家回答说。

英文原文 Chapter 108 The Judge We remember that the Abbe Busoni remained alone with Noirtier in the chamber of death, and that the old man and the priest were the sole guardians of the young girl's body. perhaps it was the Christian exhortations of the abbe, perhaps his kind charity, perhaps his persuasive words, which had restored the courage of Noirtier, for ever since he had conversed with the priest his violent despair had yielded to a calm resignation which surprised all who knew his excessive affection for Valentine. M. de Villefort had not seen his father since the morning of the death. The whole establishment had been changed; another valet was engaged for himself, a new servant for Noirtier, two women had entered Madame de Villefort's service,-in fact, everywhere, to the concierge and coachmen, new faces were presented to the different masters of the house, thus widening the division which had always existed between the members of the same family. The assizes, also, were about to begin, and Villefort, shut up in his room, exerted himself with feverish anxiety in drawing up the case against the murderer of Caderousse. This affair, like all those in which the Count of Monte Cristo had interfered, caused a great sensation in paris. The proofs were certainly not convincing, since they rested upon a few words written by an escaped galley-slave on his death-bed, and who might have been actuated by hatred or revenge in accusing his companion. But the mind of the procureur was made up; he felt assured that Benedetto was guilty, and he hoped by his skill in conducting this aggravated case to flatter his self-love, which was about the only vulnerable point left in his frozen heart. The case was therefore prepared owing to the incessant labor of Villefort, who wished it to be the first on the list in the coming assizes. He had been obliged to seclude himself more than ever, to evade the enormous number of applications presented to him for the purpose of obtaining tickets of admission to the court on the day of trial. And then so short a time had elapsed since the death of poor Valentine, and the gloom which overshadowed the house was so recent, that no one wondered to see the father so absorbed in his professional duties, which were the only means he had of dissipating his grief. Once only had Villefort seen his father; it was the day after that upon which Bertuccio had paid his second visit to Benedetto, when the latter was to learn his father's name. The magistrate, harassed and fatigued, had descended to the garden of his house, and in a gloomy mood, similar to that in which Tarquin lopped off the tallest poppies, he began knocking off with his cane the long and dying branches of the rose-trees, which, placed along the avenue, seemed like the spectres of the brilliant flowers which had bloomed in the past season. More than once he had reached that part of the garden where the famous boarded gate stood overlooking the deserted enclosure, always returning by the same path, to begin his walk again, at the same pace and with the same gesture, when he accidentally turned his eyes towards the house, whence he heard the noisy play of his son, who had returned from school to spend the Sunday and Monday with his mother. While doing so, he observed M. Noirtier at one of the open windows, where the old man had been placed that he might enjoy the last rays of the sun which yet yielded some heat, and was now shining upon the dying flowers and red leaves of the creeper which twined around the balcony. The eye of the old man was riveted upon a spot which Villefort could scarcely distinguish. His glance was so full of hate, of ferocity, and savage impatience, that Villefort turned out of the path he had been pursuing, to see upon what person this dark look was directed. Then he saw beneath a thick clump of linden-trees, which were nearly divested of foliage, Madame de Villefort sitting with a book in her hand, the perusal of which she frequently interrupted to smile upon her son, or to throw back his elastic ball, which he obstinately threw from the drawing-room into the garden. Villefort became pale; he understood the old man's meaning. Noirtier continued to look at the same object, but suddenly his glance was transferred from the wife to the husband, and Villefort himself had to submit to the searching investigation of eyes, which, while changing their direction and even their language, had lost none of their menacing expression. Madame de Villefort, unconscious of the passions that exhausted their fire over her head, at that moment held her son's ball, and was making signs to him to reclaim it with a kiss. Edward begged for a long while, the maternal kiss probably not offering sufficient recompense for the trouble he must take to obtain it; however at length he decided, leaped out of the window into a cluster of heliotropes and daisies, and ran to his mother, his forehead streaming with perspiration. Madame de Villefort wiped his forehead, pressed her lips upon it, and sent him back with the ball in one hand and some bonbons in the other. Villefort, drawn by an irresistible attraction, like that of the bird to the serpent, walked towards the house. As he approached it, Noirtier's gaze followed him, and his eyes appeared of such a fiery brightness that Villefort felt them pierce to the depths of his heart. In that earnest look might be read a deep reproach, as well as a terrible menace. Then Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven, as though to remind his son of a forgotten oath. "It is well, sir," replied Villefort from below,-"it is well; have patience but one day longer; what I have said I will do." Noirtier seemed to be calmed by these words, and turned his eyes with indifference to the other side. Villefort violently unbuttoned his great-coat, which seemed to strangle him, and passing his livid hand across his forehead, entered his study. The night was cold and still; the family had all retired to rest but Villefort, who alone remained up, and worked till five o'clock in the morning, reviewing the last interrogatories made the night before by the examining magistrates, compiling the depositions of the witnesses, and putting the finishing stroke to the deed of accusation, which was one of the most energetic and best conceived of any he had yet delivered. The next day, Monday, was the first sitting of the assizes. The morning dawned dull and gloomy, and Villefort saw the dim gray light shine upon the lines he had traced in red ink. The magistrate had slept for a short time while the lamp sent forth its final struggles; its flickerings awoke him, and he found his fingers as damp and purple as though they had been dipped in blood. He opened the window; a bright yellow streak crossed the sky, and seemed to divide in half the poplars, which stood out in black relief on the horizon. In the clover-fields beyond the chestnut-trees, a lark was mounting up to heaven, while pouring out her clear morning song. The damps of the dew bathed the head of Villefort, and refreshed his memory. "To-day," he said with an effort,-"to-day the man who holds the blade of justice must strike wherever there is guilt." Involuntarily his eyes wandered towards the window of Noirtier's room, where he had seen him the preceding night. The curtain was drawn, and yet the image of his father was so vivid to his mind that he addressed the closed window as though it had been open, and as if through the opening he had beheld the menacing old man. "Yes," he murmured,-"yes, be satisfied." His head dropped upon his chest, and in this position he paced his study; then he threw himself, dressed as he was, upon a sofa, less to sleep than to rest his limbs, cramped with cold and study. By degrees every one awoke. Villefort, from his study, heard the successive noises which accompany the life of a house,-the opening and shutting of doors, the ringing of Madame de Villefort's bell, to summon the waiting-maid, mingled with the first shouts of the child, who rose full of the enjoyment of his age. Villefort also rang; his new valet brought him the papers, and with them a cup of chocolate. "What are you bringing me?" said he. "A cup of chocolate." "I did not ask for it. Who has paid me this attention?" "My mistress, sir. She said you would have to speak a great deal in the murder case, and that you should take something to keep up your strength;" and the valet placed the cup on the table nearest to the sofa, which was, like all the rest, covered with papers. The valet then left the room. Villefort looked for an instant with a gloomy expression, then, suddenly, taking it up with a nervous motion, he swallowed its contents at one draught. It might have been thought that he hoped the beverage would be mortal, and that he sought for death to deliver him from a duty which he would rather die than fulfil. He then rose, and paced his room with a smile it would have been terrible to witness. The chocolate was inoffensive, for M. de Villefort felt no effects. The breakfast-hour arrived, but M. de Villefort was not at table. The valet re-entered. "Madame de Villefort wishes to remind you, sir," he said, "that eleven o'clock has just struck, and that the trial commences at twelve." "Well," said Villefort, "what then?" "Madame de Villefort is dressed; she is quite ready, and wishes to know if she is to accompany you, sir?" "Where to?" "To the palais." "What to do?" "My mistress wishes much to be present at the trial." "Ah," said Villefort, with a startling accent; "does she wish that?"-The man drew back and said, "If you wish to go alone, sir, I will go and tell my mistress." Villefort remained silent for a moment, and dented his pale cheeks with his nails. "Tell your mistress," he at length answered, "that I wish to speak to her, and I beg she will wait for me in her own room." "Yes, sir." "Then come to dress and shave me." "Directly, sir." The valet re-appeared almost instantly, and, having shaved his master, assisted him to dress entirely in black. When he had finished, he said,- "My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you had finished dressing." "I am going to her." And Villefort, with his papers under his arm and hat in hand, directed his steps toward the apartment of his wife. At the door he paused for a moment to wipe his damp, pale brow. He then entered the room. Madame de Villefort was sitting on an ottoman and impatiently turning over the leaves of some newspapers and pamphlets which young Edward, by way of amusing himself, was tearing to pieces before his mother could finish reading them. She was dressed to go out, her bonnet was placed beside her on a chair, and her gloves were on her hands. "Ah, here you are, monsieur," she said in her naturally calm voice; "but how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why did you not come down to breakfast? Well, will you take me, or shall I take Edward?" Madame de Villefort had multiplied her questions in order to gain one answer, but to all her inquiries M. de Villefort remained mute and cold as a statue. "Edward," said Villefort, fixing an imperious glance on the child, "go and play in the drawing-room, my dear; I wish to speak to your mamma." Madame de Villefort shuddered at the sight of that cold countenance, that resolute tone, and the awfully strange preliminaries. Edward raised his head, looked at his mother, and then, finding that she did not confirm the order, began cutting off the heads of his leaden soldiers. "Edward," cried M. de Villefort, so harshly that the child started up from the floor, "do you hear me?-Go!" The child, unaccustomed to such treatment, arose, pale and trembling; it would be difficult to say whether his emotion were caused by fear or passion. His father went up to him, took him in his arms, and kissed his forehead. "Go," he said: "go, my child." Edward ran out. M. de Villefort went to the door, which he closed behind the child, and bolted. "Dear me!" said the young woman, endeavoring to read her husband's inmost thoughts, while a smile passed over her countenance which froze the impassibility of Villefort; "what is the matter?" "Madame, where do you keep the poison you generally use?" said the magistrate, without any introduction, placing himself between his wife and the door. Madame de Villefort must have experienced something of the sensation of a bird which, looking up, sees the murderous trap closing over its head. A hoarse, broken tone, which was neither a cry nor a sigh, escaped from her, while she became deadly pale. "Monsieur," she said, "I-I do not understand you." And, in her first paroxysm of terror, she had raised herself from the sofa, in the next, stronger very likely than the other, she fell down again on the cushions. "I asked you," continued Villefort, in a perfectly calm tone, "where you conceal the poison by the aid of which you have killed my father-in-law, M. de Saint-Meran, my mother-in-law, Madame de Saint-Meran, Barrois, and my daughter Valentine." "Ah, sir," exclaimed Madame de Villefort, clasping her hands, "what do you say?" "It is not for you to interrogate, but to answer." "Is it to the judge or to the husband?" stammered Madame de Villefort. "To the judge-to the judge, madame!" It was terrible to behold the frightful pallor of that woman, the anguish of her look, the trembling of her whole frame. "Ah, sir," she muttered, "ah, sir," and this was all. "You do not answer, madame!" exclaimed the terrible interrogator. Then he added, with a smile yet more terrible than his anger, "It is true, then; you do not deny it!" She moved forward. "And you cannot deny it!" added Villefort, extending his hand toward her, as though to seize her in the name of justice. "You have accomplished these different crimes with impudent address, but which could only deceive those whose affections for you blinded them. Since the death of Madame de Saint-Meran, I have known that a poisoner lived in my house. M. d'Avrigny warned me of it. After the death of Barrois my suspicions were directed towards an angel,- those suspicions which, even when there is no crime, are always alive in my heart; but after the death of Valentine, there has been no doubt in my mind, madame, and not only in mine, but in those of others; thus your crime, known by two persons, suspected by many, will soon become public, and, as I told you just now, you no longer speak to the husband, but to the judge." The young woman hid her face in her hands. "Oh, sir," she stammered, "I beseech you, do not believe appearances." "Are you, then, a coward?" cried Villefort, in a contemptuous voice. "But I have always observed that poisoners were cowards. Can you be a coward,-you who have had the courage to witness the death of two old men and a young girl murdered by you?" "Sir! sir!" "Can you be a coward?" continued Villefort, with increasing excitement, "you, who could count, one by one, the minutes of four death agonies? You, who have arranged your infernal plans, and removed the beverages with a talent and precision almost miraculous? Have you, then, who have calculated everything with such nicety, have you forgotten to calculate one thing-I mean where the revelation of your crimes will lead you to? Oh, it is impossible-you must have saved some surer, more subtle and deadly poison than any other, that you might escape the punishment that you deserve. You have done this-I hope so, at least." Madame de Villefort stretched out her hands, and fell on her knees. "I understand," he said, "you confess; but a confession made to the judges, a confession made at the last moment, extorted when the crime cannot be denied, diminishes not the punishment inflicted on the guilty!" "The punishment?" exclaimed Madame de Villefort, "the punishment, monsieur? Twice you have pronounced that word!" "Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you were four times guilty? Did you think the punishment would be withheld because you are the wife of him who pronounces it?-No, madame, no; the scaffold awaits the poisoner, whoever she may be, unless, as I just said, the poisoner has taken the precaution of keeping for herself a few drops of her deadliest potion." Madame de Villefort uttered a wild cry, and a hideous and uncontrollable terror spread over her distorted features. "Oh, do not fear the scaffold, madame," said the magistrate; "I will not dishonor you, since that would be dishonor to myself; no, if you have heard me distinctly, you will understand that you are not to die on the scaffold." "No, I do not understand; what do you mean?" stammered the unhappy woman, completely overwhelmed. "I mean that the wife of the first magistrate in the capital shall not, by her infamy, soil an unblemished name; that she shall not, with one blow, dishonor her husband and her child." "No, no-oh, no!" "Well, madame, it will be a laudable action on your part, and I will thank you for it!" "You will thank me-for what?" "For what you have just said." "What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand anything. Oh, my God, my God!" And she rose, with her hair dishevelled, and her lips foaming. "Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the room?-where do you keep the poison you generally use, madame?" Madame de Villefort raised her arms to heaven, and convulsively struck one hand against the other. "No, no," she vociferated, "no, you cannot wish that!" "What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on the scaffold. Do you understand?" asked Villefort. "Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!" "What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth to punish, madame," he added, with a flaming glance; "any other woman, were it the queen herself, I would send to the executioner; but to you I shall be merciful. To you I will say, `Have you not, madame, put aside some of the surest, deadliest, most speedy poison?'" "Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!" "She is cowardly," said Villefort. "Reflect that I am your wife!" "You are a poisoner." "In the name of heaven!" "No!" "In the name of the love you once bore me!" "No, no!" "In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child, let me live!" "No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live, you will perhaps kill him, as you have the others!" "I?-I kill my boy?" cried the distracted mother, rushing toward Villefort; "I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!" and a frightful, demoniac laugh finished the sentence, which was lost in a hoarse rattle. Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He approached her. "Think of it, madame," he said; "if, on my return, justice his not been satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my own hands!" She listened, panting, overwhelmed, crushed; her eye alone lived, and glared horribly. "Do you understand me?" he said. "I am going down there to pronounce the sentence of death against a murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in the conciergerie." Madame de Villefort sighed; her nerves gave way, and she sunk on the carpet. The king's attorney seemed to experience a sensation of pity; he looked upon her less severely, and, bowing to her, said slowly, "Farewell, madame, farewell!" That farewell struck Madame de Villefort like the executioner's knife. She fainted. The procureur went out, after having double-locked the door.

中文翻译 第一○八章　法官 　　我们记得，布沙尼长老和诺瓦蒂埃曾留在瓦朗蒂姆的房间里，为那年轻女郎守过灵。也许是长老的劝戒，也许是由于他那种温文慈爱的态度，也许是由于他那种富于说服力的劝戒，总之，诺瓦蒂埃勇气恢复了，因为自从他与神父谈过话以后，他那绝望心情已变为一种宁静的听天由命态度，了解他的人，无不感到惊奇。 　　自从瓦朗蒂娜去世的那天，维尔福先生没有去看过他的父亲。整幢房子都变了样。他用了一个新仆人班，诺瓦蒂埃也换了一个新的仆人。侍候维尔福夫人的两个女佣也是新来的。事实上，从门房到车夫，全都是新来的仆人，而自从那座受天诅咒的房子里的主人添了这几个新人以后，他们本来冷淡的关系就冷淡得近乎疏远了。 　　法庭再过两三天就要开庭，维尔福把自己关在房间里，以一种狂热的心情准备控告谋害卡德罗斯的凶手材料。这件案子，象其他一切有关基督山伯爵的案子，已轰动了巴黎。证据当然并不确凿，主要证据是监狱里的逃犯所留下的几个字，他有可能因旧恨宿怨，借此来诬告他的同伴。但检察官已下定决心。他确信贝尼代托是有罪的，他想从那种克服困难的胜利中获得一种自私的喜悦来温暖他那冰冷的心。 　　维尔福希望把这件谋杀案排为大审中的第一件案子，他不断地工作，一切都已准备就绪。他不得不更严密地隐藏自己，以躲避那无数向他来讨听证的人，可怜的瓦朗蒂娜去世只有几天客观事物是感觉的基础，感觉是客观事物作用于感官而产生，笼罩这座屋子的阴郁还这样浓重，这位父亲是严肃地尽自己的责任，这也是他在悲痛中找到的唯一消遣，任何人看到这种情景也会感动的。 　　维尔福和他的父亲只见过一次，那是在贝尔图乔第二次访问贝尼代托，贝尼代托知道他父亲的名字的第二天。那位法官疲惫不堪地走进花园，由于他心中已经由于怨恨而下了决定，他象塔根王［罗马的第五朝国王。——译注］截断最高的罂粟花一样，用他的手杖敲断走道两边玫瑰树上垂死的长枝，这些丫枝在以前虽然开出灿烂的花朵，但现在则似乎已象幽灵一样。他以同样的步伐和同样的态度来回地在一条走道上踱步了。他偶尔回头向屋子里望去，因为他听到了儿子喧闹的嘻笑声，他的儿子每逢星期天便从学校里回来，到星期二再离开他的母亲回学校。当维尔福向屋子里望去的时候，正巧看见诺瓦蒂埃先生坐在一扇打开着的窗子后面，在享受落日的余辉。傍晚的太阳还能产生一些暖意，照射在那盘绕在阳台四周的爬墙类植物的枯萎的花上和红色的叶子上。 　　老人在看什么，维尔福看不清楚。但他的目光充满着仇恨、残酷和暴躁，维尔福急忙转出他所走的那条小路去看他父亲。他看见：在一大丛几乎落光了叶子的菩提树下，维尔福夫人坐在那儿，手里拿着一本书，她不时停止阅读，向她的儿子微笑一下，或是把他顽皮地从客厅里抛出来的皮球投回去。维尔福的脸色苍白，他明白老人的意思。诺瓦蒂埃继续望维尔福夫人，突然间，老人的眼光从那妻子转移到丈夫的身上用他那一对气势汹汹的眼睛来攻击维尔福。那种眼光虽然已改变了目标和含义，却毫未减少那种威胁的表情。维尔福夫人没想到诺瓦蒂埃会如此恨她，这时她正拿住她儿子的球，向他表示要吻他。爱德华恳求了好一会儿，因为他认为母亲的一吻或许还抵偿不了他取得这一吻的麻烦，但是，他终于答应母亲了，他翻过窗口，穿过一丛金盏草和延命菊，汗流满面地向母亲奔过来。维尔福夫人抹掉他脸上的汗，在他的前额上吻了一下，让他一手拿着球，一手拿着糖果跑回去。 　　维尔福被一种不可抗拒的力吸引着，象蛇慑服的小鸟一样，不由自主向屋子走过去。当他向屋子走过去的时候，诺瓦蒂埃的目光始终跟随着他，他眼睛里的怒火象要喷射出来有条件的、暂时的、可变的属性；后者指无条件的、永恒的、，维尔福觉得那一对眼睛中的怒火已穿透到他心灵的深处。这种急切的目光中所表示的是一种深刻的遣责和一种可怕的威胁。然后，诺瓦蒂埃抬起头望着天，象是在提醒他的儿子，不要忘记了自己的誓言。“好，阁下，”维尔福在下面答道，—— 　　“好吧，请再忍耐一天，我说话是算数的。”诺瓦蒂埃听了这几句话似乎平静了，他的眼睛漠然地转到另一个方向。维尔福用力解开那件似乎要窒息他的大衣纽扣，用他那只毫无血色的手按在额上，走进他的书房。夜冷而静；全家人都休息了，只有维尔福一直工作到早晨五点钟，他又重新审阅检察官昨天晚上所录的最后的预审口供，编纂证人的阵述词，终于结束了那份他生平最雄辩有力和最周到的起诉书。 　　第二天是星期一，是法庭开庭审判日子。早晨的天气阴沉得很，维尔福看见昏暗的灰白色的光线照到他用红墨水写成起诉书上。。他只在蜡烛垂熄的时候睡了一会儿。烛火毕剥声唤醒了他，他发觉他的手指象浸在血里一样潮湿和青紫。他打开窗户，天边上横贯着一条桔红的晨露，把那在黑暗里显出轮廓的白杨横截为二。在栗子树后面的苜宿园里，一只百灵鸟冲向天空，传来清脆的晨歌。润湿的空气向维尔福迎面扑来，他的记忆又清晰起来。“今天，”他有力地说，—— 　　“今天，只要是有罪的地方，那个握着法律之刀的人就必需打击一切罪犯了。”他的眼睛不由自主地转向他昨天傍晚看见诺瓦蒂埃的那个窗口。窗帘垂下，可是，他父亲的样子在他的脑子里是这样的清晰建议，设《古文尚书》、《逸礼》、《左氏春秋》博士，排斥今，以致他对那关着的窗户说道，好象它依旧开着，而且依旧还可以看见那愤怒的老人似的。“是的，” 　　他低声说，——“是的，放心吧。” 　　他的头垂到胸前，就这么垂着头在书房里踱来踱去，然后他倒在一张沙发上，他整夜未睡，现在他想休息一下。他的四肢，因为工作的疲劳，破晓的寒意，使他四肢僵硬。渐渐地，大家都醒来了，维尔福从他的书斋里相继听到了那组成一个家庭生活的声音，——门的开关声，维尔福夫人召唤侍女的铃声，夹杂着孩子起床时和往常一样的欢呼声。维尔福也拉铃，他的仆人给他拿来了报纸和一杯巧克力。 　　“你拿给我的是什么？”他说。 　　“一杯巧克力。” 　　“我并没有要。是谁这样关心我的？” 　　“是夫人，先生。她说您在今天审理那件谋杀案上要说许多话，您应该吃些东西来保证您的精力。”于是那跟班就把杯子放在离沙发最近的那张桌子上，桌子上堆满了文件——，然后离开房间。 　　维尔福带着的神情阴郁地向那杯子望了一会儿，然后，突然神经质地端起杯子，一口喝干。他的样子让人感到他希望那种饮料会致他于死地，他是在用死推脱他应该履行一种比死更难过的责任。然后他站起来，带着一个令人发怵的微笑在房间里踱来踱去。那杯巧克力并不是毒药，维尔福先生喝了以后并没有不良反应。该进午餐了，但在餐桌前维尔福先生没有让仆人走进他的书房。 　　“维尔福夫人想提醒您一声，先生，”他说，“十一点钟已经敲过了，法院是在十二点钟开庭。” 　　“嗯！”维尔福说，“还有呢？” 　　“维尔福夫人换好衣服，作好了准备，问一下是否要她陪您去，先生？” 　　“到哪儿去？” 　　“到法院去。” 　　“去干什么？” 　　“夫人说，她很希望能去旁听。” 　　“哼！”维尔福用一种让仆人感到吃惊的口气说，“她想去旁听？” 　　仆人往后退了一步说：“先生，如果您希望一个人去，我就去告诉夫人。” 　　维尔福沉默片刻，用手指按着他那苍白的脸颊。“告诉夫人，”他终于答道，“我有话要跟她说，请她在她房间里等我。” 　　“是，先生。” 　　“然后就回来给我穿衣服、刮脸。” 　　“马上就来，先生。” 　　仆人出去以后，很快赶了回来，给他的主人刮了脸，服侍他穿上庄严的黑色的衣服。当他做完这一切的时候，他就说：“夫人说，希望先生穿好衣服以后就过去。” 　　“我这就去。”于是，维尔福带着文件，手里拿着帽子，向他妻子的房间走去。到房门口，他停了一会儿，用手按了按他那潮湿的苍白的额头。然后他走进房间，维尔福夫人正坐在一张长榻上，正在那儿不耐烦地翻阅几张报纸和一些被小爱德华他母亲还未读完以前就撕破了的小册子。她穿着出门的衣服，她的帽子放在身边的一张椅子上，手上戴着手套。 　　“啊！你来了，阁下，”她用她那种很自然很平静的声音说，“你的脸色不太好！你又整夜没睡？你为什么不下来用午餐呢？嗯，你带我去呢，还是让我在家里看着爱德华？” 　　维尔福夫人问了许多问题，想得到一个答复，但对于她所提出的问题，维尔福先生冷淡得象一尊石像一样。 　　“爱德华！”维尔福用一种威严的语气对孩子说，“到客厅里去玩，我的宝贝。我要和你妈妈谈话。” 　　维尔福夫人看到那张冷酷的面孔、那种坚决的口气以及那种奇怪的开场白，不禁打了个寒颤。爱德华抬起头来，看看他的母亲，发觉她并没有认可父亲的命令，便开始割他那些小铅笔头。 　　“爱德华！”维尔福喊道，他的口气严厉异常，把孩子吓了一跳，“你听到我的话了吗？去！”那孩子不习惯被这样的对待，站起身来，面无血色，——但很难说是因为愤怒或是由于害怕。他的父亲走到他身边，抓住他的胳膀，在他的前额上吻了一下。“去，”他说，“去吧，我的孩子。” 　　爱德华跑了出去。等那孩子一出去维尔福关上门，上了门闩。 　　“噢，天哪！”那青年女人说，竭力想猜出她丈夫心里想些什么，她的脸上露出一个微笑，但那个微笑却不能软化维尔福冷冰冰的面孔。“出什么事啊？” 　　“夫人，你平时用的毒药放在哪儿？”那法官站在他妻子与房中间，单刀直入地说。 　　维尔福夫人这时的感觉，想必就是百灵鸟看到鹞鹰在它的头顶上盘旋时的感觉。她发出一声嘶哑的叫声。她的脸色由白变成死灰色。“阁下，”她说，“我——我不明白你的意思。” 　　在第一阵恐怖的激发中，她从沙发上站起来，而在第二阵更强烈的恐怖中，她又倒回到沙发上。 　　“我问你，”维尔福继续用一种十分平静的口气说，“你用来害死我的岳父圣•梅朗先生、我的岳母圣•梅朗夫人、巴罗斯以及我的女儿瓦朗蒂娜的那种毒药，藏在什么地方？” 　　“啊，阁下，”维尔福夫人双手合在胸前喊道，“你在说什么呀？” 　　“我不是要你问话，而是要你回答。” 　　“回答丈夫呢还是回答法官？”维尔福夫人结结巴巴地问。 　　“是回答法官，是回答法官，夫人！” 　　那个女人惨白的脸色，痛苦的表情，以及她那种全身颤抖的情形，实在令人可怕。“啊，阁下！”她结结巴巴地说，—— 　　“啊，阁下。”她只能说出这几个字。 　　“你没有回答，夫人！”那可怕的审问者喊道。然后他露出一个比发怒时更恐怖的微笑说，“那么好，你并不否认！”她不由得全身一震。”而且你无法否认！”维尔福又说，向她伸出一只手，象是要凭法院的名义去捉她似的。“你以卑鄙的手段完成了那几次罪恶的行动，但你只能骗过那些为爱情而盲目了的人。自从圣•梅朗夫人去世的那天起，我就知道我的家里住着一个杀人犯。阿夫里尼先生提醒了我。巴罗斯死后（上帝宽恕我）我疑心过一个天使一样的人！——即使家里没有杀人犯，我的心里也总是存着疑心的。但自从瓦朗蒂娜死后，我脑子里一切不确定的疑念都排除了，不但是我，夫人，而且旁人也是如此。所以，你的罪，有两个人知道，有许多人怀疑，不久便要公开了，正如我刚才告诉你的，你已经不再是对丈夫说话而是在对法官说话了。” 　　那年轻女人把她的脸埋在手里。“噢，阁下！”她结结巴巴地说，“我求求你不要被表面现象迷惑。” 　　“那末，你是一个懦夫吗？”维尔福用一种鄙视的口气大声说。“我注意到：杀人犯都是懦夫。不过，你也是一个懦夫吗？——，你杀死了两个老人和一个年轻姑娘的而且还有勇气面对他们的死。” 　　“阁下！阁下！” 　　“你能是一个懦夫吗？”维尔福愈来愈激动地继续说，——“你，你能一分钟一分钟地计算四个人临死时痛苦的时间，你，你曾经熟练而成功地策划你那恶毒的计划调配你的毒药。你把一切事情计算得这样清楚，那么，难道你忘了考虑一件事情，——当你的罪行被揭发的时候，你将落到什么样的下场吗？噢，这是不可能的！你一定藏起了一些最有效、最可靠、最致命的毒药，好使你逃脱那等待着你的惩罚。你这样做了是吧，我至少希望如此。” 　　维尔福夫人紧握着双手，跪了下来。 　　“我明白，”他说，——“你认罪了，但对法官认罪，在不得不认罪的时候认罪，是不能减轻惩罚的！” 　　“惩罚！”维尔福夫人喊道，——“惩罚，阁下！那句话你说了两遍啦！” 　　“当然罗。你以为因为你犯了四次罪就可以逃脱吗？你以为因为你的丈夫是检察官，法律就会对你例外吗？不，夫人，不！断头台等待着罪犯，不论她是谁，除非，正如我刚才所说的，那下毒犯事先早有准备，为她自己也留下了最致命的毒药。” 　　维尔福夫人发出一声疯狂喊叫，一种可怕的无法控制的恐怖的脸都变了形。 　　“噢！不用担心断头台，夫人，”那法官说，“我不会让你名声扫地的，因为那也会使我自己名声扫地。不！假如你懂得我的意思，你就知道你不会死在断头台上。” 　　“不！我不懂，你是什么意思？”那不幸的女人结结巴巴地说，她完全被弄糊涂了。 　　“我的意思是：首都首席检察官的妻子不会以她的耻辱去玷污一个清白无瑕的姓氏，她不会同时让她的丈夫和她的孩子落到声名狼藉的地步。 　　“不会的，噢，不会的！” 　　“嗯，夫人，这将对你一个值得赞美的行动，我向你表示感谢。” 　　“你感谢我，为了什么？” 　　“为了你刚才所说的那句话。” 　　“我说了什么话？噢，我吓昏了头了！我什么都不懂了！我的上帝！我的上帝呀！”她头发散乱，口带白沫地站起来。 　　“夫人，我进房来的时候问你：‘夫人，你常用的那种毒药放在什么地方？’你已经答复那个问题。” 　　维尔福夫人双臂举向天空，然后痉挛地把两手握在一起。 　　“不，不！”她呼叫着，——“不，你不能希望看到那个！” 　　“我所希望的，夫人，是你不应该在断头台上送命。你懂吗？”维尔福问。 　　“噢，发发慈悲吧，发发慈悲吧，阁下！” 　　“我所要求的，是伸张正义。我到这个世界上是为了惩恶扬善，夫人，”他眼中冒火。“任何其他女人，即使她是皇后，我也要把她交给刽子手，但对你，我已经心存慈悲了。对你，夫人，你没有保留几滴那种最可靠、最致命、最见效的毒药吗？” 　　“噢，饶了我吧，阁下！留我一条命吧！” 　　“你是一个杀人犯！” 　　“看上帝的面上！” 　　“不！” 　　“看你我相爱的份上！” 　　“不，不行！” 　　“看我们孩子的面上！啊，为了我们的孩子，留我一条命吧！” 　　“不！不！不！我告诉你，假如我允许你活下去的话，有一天，你或许会象杀死那几个人一样杀死我的孩子。！” 　　“我！——我杀死我的孩子！”那迷惑的母亲向维尔福冲过去说，“我杀死我的！哈！哈！哈！”在一阵可怕的魔鬼般的狂笑中结束了她那句话，那种笑声最后变成了嘶哑的啜泣声。 　　维尔福夫人双膝跪下。维尔福走到她身边。“记住，夫人，” 　　他说，“如果在我回来的时候，正义还没有伸张，我就要亲自来宣布你的罪行，亲自来逮捕你！” 　　她喘息着，听他说着，完全糊涂了，只有她的眼睛还显示她是个活物，那一对眼睛里还蕴蓄着一团可怕的火焰。 　　“你明白我的意思了？”维尔福说，“我要去法庭要求判一个杀人犯的死刑。如果我回来的时候发现你还活着，那你今天晚上就要去睡在拘留所里了。” 　　维尔福夫人呻吟了一声，全身瘫痪了似的倒在了地毯上。 　　检察官似乎动了恻隐之心，缓慢地说：“永别了，夫人！” 　　“那一声“永别了”象刽子手的刀刺到维尔福夫人身上一样。她昏了过去。检察官锁住房门走出去。

英文原文 Chapter 106 Dividing the Proceeds. The apartment on the second floor of the house in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres, where Albert de Morcerf had selected a home for his mother, was let to a very mysterious person. This was a man whose face the concierge himself had never seen, for in the winter his chin was buried in one of the large red handkerchiefs worn by gentlemen's coachmen on a cold night, and in the summer he made a point of always blowing his nose just as he approached the door. Contrary to custom, this gentleman had not been watched, for as the report ran that he was a person of high rank, and one who would allow no impertinent interference, his incognito was strictly respected. His visits were tolerably regular, though occasionally he appeared a little before or after his time, but generally, both in summer and winter, he took possession of his apartment about four o'clock, though he never spent the night there. At half-past three in the winter the fire was lighted by the discreet servant, who had the superintendence of the little apartment, and in the summer ices were placed on the table at the same hour. At four o'clock, as we have already stated, the mysterious personage arrived. Twenty minutes afterwards a carriage stopped at the house, a lady alighted in a black or dark blue dress, and always thickly veiled; she passed like a shadow through the lodge, and ran up-stairs without a sound escaping under the touch of her light foot. No one ever asked her where she was going. Her face, therefore, like that of the gentleman, was perfectly unknown to the two concierges, who were perhaps unequalled throughout the capital for discretion. We need not say she stopped at the second floor. Then she tapped in a peculiar manner at a door, which after being opened to admit her was again fastened, and curiosity penetrated no farther. They used the same precautions in leaving as in entering the house. The lady always left first, and as soon as she had stepped into her carriage, it drove away, sometimes towards the right hand, sometimes to the left; then about twenty minutes afterwards the gentleman would also leave, buried in his cravat or concealed by his handkerchief. The day after Monte Cristo had called upon Danglars, the mysterious lodger entered at ten o'clock in the morning instead of four in the afternoon. Almost directly afterwards, without the usual interval of time, a cab arrived, and the veiled lady ran hastily up-stairs. The door opened, but before it could be closed, the lady exclaimed: "Oh, Lucien -- oh, my friend!" The concierge therefore heard for the first time that the lodger's name was Lucien; still, as he was the very perfection of a door-keeper, he made up his mind not to tell his wife. "Well, what is the matter, my dear?" asked the gentleman whose name the lady's agitation revealed; "tell me what is the matter." "Oh, Lucien, can I confide in you?" "Of course, you know you can do so. But what can be the matter? Your note of this morning has completely bewildered me. This precipitation -- this unusual appointment. Come, ease me of my anxiety, or else frighten me at once." "Lucien, a great event has happened!" said the lady, glancing inquiringly at Lucien, -- "M. Danglars left last night!" "Left? -- M. Danglars left? Where has he gone?" "I do not know." "What do you mean? Has he gone intending not to return?" "Undoubtedly; -- at ten o'clock at night his horses took him to the barrier of Charenton; there a post-chaise was waiting for him -- he entered it with his valet de chambre, saying that he was going to Fontainebleau." "Then what did you mean" -- "Stay -- he left a letter for me." "A letter?" "Yes; read it." And the baroness took from her pocket a letter which she gave to Debray. Debray paused a moment before reading, as if trying to guess its contents, or perhaps while making up his mind how to act, whatever it might contain. No doubt his ideas were arranged in a few minutes, for he began reading the letter which caused so much uneasiness in the heart of the baroness, and which ran as follows: -- "Madame and most faithful wife." Debray mechanically stopped and looked at the baroness, whose face became covered with blushes. "Read," she said. Debray continued: -- "When you receive this, you will no longer have a husband. Oh, you need not be alarmed, you will only have lost him as you have lost your daughter; I mean that I shall be travelling on one of the thirty or forty roads leading out of France. I owe you some explanations for my conduct, and as you are a woman that can perfectly understand me, I will give them. Listen, then. I received this morning five millions which I paid away; almost directly afterwards another demand for the same sum was presented to me; I put this creditor off till to-morrow and I intend leaving to-day, to escape that to-morrow, which would be rather too unpleasant for me to endure. You understand this, do you not, my most precious wife? I say you understand this, because you are as conversant with my affairs as I am; indeed, I think you understand them better, since I am ignorant of what has become of a considerable portion of my fortune, once very tolerable, while I am sure, madame, that you know perfectly well. For women have infallible instincts; they can even explain the marvellous by an algebraic calculation they have invented; but I, who only understand my own figures, know nothing more than that one day these figures deceived me. Have you admired the rapidity of my fall? Have you been slightly dazzled at the sudden fusion of my ingots? I confess I have seen nothing but the fire; let us hope you have found some gold among the ashes. With this consoling idea, I leave you, madame, and most prudent wife, without any conscientious reproach for abandoning you; you have friends left, and the ashes I have already mentioned, and above all the liberty I hasten to restore to you. And here, madame, I must add another word of explanation. So long as I hoped you were working for the good of our house and for the fortune of our daughter, I philosophically closed my eyes; but as you have transformed that house into a vast ruin I will not be the foundation of another man's fortune. You were rich when I married you, but little respected. Excuse me for speaking so very candidly, but as this is intended only for ourselves, I do not see why I should weigh my words. I have augmented our fortune, and it has continued to increase during the last fifteen years, till extraordinary and unexpected catastrophes have suddenly overturned it, -- without any fault of mine, I can honestly declare. You, madame, have only sought to increase your own, and I am convinced that you have succeeded. I leave you, therefore, as I took you, -- rich, but little respected. Adieu! I also intend from this time to work on my own account. Accept my acknowledgments for the example you have set me, and which I intend following. "Your very devoted husband, "Baron Danglars." The baroness had watched Debray while he read this long and painful letter, and saw him, notwithstanding his self-control, change color once or twice. When he had ended the perusal, he folded the letter and resumed his pensive attitude. "Well?" asked Madame Danglars, with an anxiety easy to be understood. "Well, madame?" unhesitatingly repeated Debray. "With what ideas does that letter inspire you?" "Oh, it is simple enough, madame; it inspires me with the idea that M. Danglars has left suspiciously." "Certainly; but is this all you have to say to me?" "I do not understand you," said Debray with freezing coldness. "He is gone! Gone, never to return!" "Oh, madame, do not think that!" "I tell you he will never return. I know his character; he is inflexible in any resolutions formed for his own interests. If he could have made any use of me, he would have taken me with him; he leaves me in Paris, as our separation will conduce to his benefit; -- therefore he has gone, and I am free forever," added Madame Danglars, in the same supplicating tone. Debray, instead of answering, allowed her to remain in an attitude of nervous inquiry. "Well?" she said at length, "do you not answer me?" "I have but one question to ask you, -- what do you intend to do?" "I was going to ask you," replied the baroness with a beating heart. "Ah, then, you wish to ask advice of me?" "Yes; I do wish to ask your advice," said Madame Danglars with anxious expectation. "Then if you wish to take my advice," said the young man coldly, "I would recommend you to travel." "To travel!" she murmured. "Certainly; as M. Danglars says, you are rich, and perfectly free. In my opinion, a withdrawal from Paris is absolutely necessary after the double catastrophe of Mademoiselle Danglars' broken contract and M. Danglars' disappearance. The world will think you abandoned and poor, for the wife of a bankrupt would never be forgiven, were she to keep up an appearance of opulence. You have only to remain in Paris for about a fortnight, telling the world you are abandoned, and relating the details of this desertion to your best friends, who will soon spread the report. Then you can quit your house, leaving your jewels and giving up your jointure, and every one's mouth will be filled with praises of your disinterestedness. They will know you are deserted, and think you also poor, for I alone know your real financial position, and am quite ready to give up my accounts as an honest partner." The dread with which the pale and motionless baroness listened to this, was equalled by the calm indifference with which Debray had spoken. "Deserted?" she repeated; "ah, yes, I am, indeed, deserted! You are right, sir, and no one can doubt my position." These were the only words that this proud and violently enamoured woman could utter in response to Debray. "But then you are rich, -- very rich, indeed," continued Debray, taking out some papers from his pocket-book, which he spread upon the table. Madame Danglars did not see them; she was engaged in stilling the beatings of her heart, and restraining the tears which were ready to gush forth. At length a sense of dignity prevailed, and if she did not entirely master her agitation, she at least succeeded in preventing the fall of a single tear. "Madame," said Debray, "it is nearly six months since we have been associated. You furnished a principal of 100,000 francs. Our partnership began in the month of April. In May we commenced operations, and in the course of the month gained 450,000 francs. In June the profit amounted to 900,000. In July we added 1,700,000 francs, -- it was, you know, the month of the Spanish bonds. In August we lost 300,000 francs at the beginning of the month, but on the 13th we made up for it, and we now find that our accounts, reckoning from the first day of partnership up to yesterday, when I closed them, showed a capital of 2,400,000 francs, that is, 1,200,000 for each of us. Now, madame," said Debray, delivering up his accounts in the methodical manner of a stockbroker, "there are still 80,000 francs, the interest of this money, in my hands." "But," said the baroness, "I thought you never put the money out to interest." "Excuse me, madame," said Debray coldly, "I had your permission to do so, and I have made use of it. There are, then, 40,000 francs for your share, besides the 100,000 you furnished me to begin with, making in all 1,340,000 francs for your portion. Now, madame, I took the precaution of drawing out your money the day before yesterday; it is not long ago, you see, and I was in continual expectation of being called on to deliver up my accounts. There is your money, -- half in bank-notes, the other half in checks payable to bearer. I say there, for as I did not consider my house safe enough, or lawyers sufficiently discreet, and as landed property carries evidence with it, and moreover since you have no right to possess anything independent of your husband, I have kept this sum, now your whole fortune, in a chest concealed under that closet, and for greater security I myself concealed it there. "Now, madame," continued Debray, first opening the closet, then the chest; -- "now, madame, here are 800 notes of 1,000 francs each, resembling, as you see, a large book bound in iron; to this I add a certificate in the funds of 25,000 francs; then, for the odd cash, making I think about 110,000 francs, here is a check upon my banker, who, not being M. Danglars, will pay you the amount, you may rest assured." Madame Danglars mechanically took the check, the bond, and the heap of bank-notes. This enormous fortune made no great appearance on the table. Madame Danglars, with tearless eyes, but with her breast heaving with concealed emotion, placed the bank-notes in her bag, put the certificate and check into her pocket-book, and then, standing pale and mute, awaited one kind word of consolation. But she waited in vain. "Now, madame," said Debray, "you have a splendid fortune, an income of about 60,000 livres a year, which is enormous for a woman who cannot keep an establishment here for a year, at least. You will be able to indulge all your fancies; besides, should you find your income insufficient, you can, for the sake of the past, madame, make use of mine; and I am ready to offer you all I possess, on loan." "Thank you, sir -- thank you," replied the baroness; "you forget that what you have just paid me is much more than a poor woman requires, who intends for some time, at least, to retire from the world." Debray was, for a moment, surprised, but immediately recovering himself, he bowed with an air which seemed to say, "As you please, madame." Madame Danglars had until then, perhaps, hoped for something; but when she saw the careless bow of Debray, and the glance by which it was accompanied, together with his significant silence, she raised her head, and without passion or violence or even hesitation, ran down-stairs, disdaining to address a last farewell to one who could thus part from her. "Bah," said Debray, when she had left, "these are fine projects! She will remain at home, read novels, and speculate at cards, since she can no longer do so on the Bourse." Then taking up his account book, he cancelled with the greatest care all the entries of the amounts he had just paid away. "I have 1,060,000 francs remaining," he said. "What a pity Mademoiselle de Villefort is dead! She suited me in every respect, and I would have married her." And he calmly waited until the twenty minutes had elapsed after Madame Danglars' departure before he left the house. During this time he occupied himself in making figures, with his watch by his side. Asmodeus -- that diabolical personage, who would have been created by every fertile imagination if Le Sage had not acquired the priority in his great masterpiece -- would have enjoyed a singular spectacle, if he had lifted up the roof of the little house in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Pres, while Debray was casting up his figures. Above the room in which Debray had been dividing two millions and a half with Madame Danglars was another, inhabited by persons who have played too prominent a part in the incidents we have related for their appearance not to create some interest. Mercedes and Albert were in that room. Mercedes was much changed within the last few days; not that even in her days of fortune she had ever dressed with the magnificent display which makes us no longer able to recognize a woman when she appears in a plain and simple attire; nor indeed, had she fallen into that state of depression where it is impossible to conceal the garb of misery; no, the change in Mercedes was that her eye no longer sparkled, her lips no longer smiled, and there was now a hesitation in uttering the words which formerly sprang so fluently from her ready wit. It was not poverty which had broken her spirit; it was not a want of courage which rendered her poverty burdensome. Mercedes, although deposed from the exalted position she had occupied, lost in the sphere she had now chosen, like a person passing from a room splendidly lighted into utter darkness, appeared like a queen, fallen from her palace to a hovel, and who, reduced to strict necessity, could neither become reconciled to the earthen vessels she was herself。forced to place upon the table, nor to the humble pallet which had become her bed. The beautiful Catalane and noble countess had lost both her proud glance and charming smile, because she saw nothing but misery around her; the walls were hung with one of the gray papers which economical landlords choose as not likely to show the dirt; the floor was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted the attention to the poor attempt at luxury; indeed, everything offended eyes accustomed to refinement and elegance. Madame de Morcerf had lived there since leaving her house; the continual silence of the spot oppressed her; still, seeing that Albert continually watched her countenance to judge the state of her feelings, she constrained herself to assume a monotonous smile of the lips alone, which, contrasted with the sweet and beaming expression that usually shone from her eyes, seemed like "moonlight on a statue," -- yielding light without warmth. Albert, too, was ill at ease; the remains of luxury prevented him from sinking into his actual position. If he wished to go out without gloves, his hands appeared too white; if he wished to walk through the town, his boots seemed too highly polished. Yet these two noble and intelligent creatures, united by the indissoluble ties of maternal and filial love, had succeeded in tacitly understanding one another, and economizing their stores, and Albert had been able to tell his mother without extorting a change of countenance, -- "Mother, we have no more money." Mercedes had never known misery; she had often, in her youth, spoken of poverty, but between want and necessity, those synonymous words, there is a wide difference. Amongst the Catalans, Mercedes wished for a thousand things, but still she never really wanted any. So long as the nets were good, they caught fish; and so long as they sold their fish, they were able to buy twine for new nets. And then, shut out from friendship, having but one affection, which could not be mixed up with her ordinary pursuits, she thought of herself -- of no one but herself. Upon the little she earned she lived as well as she could; now there were two to be supported, and nothing to live upon. Winter approached. Mercedes had no fire in that cold and naked room -- she, who was accustomed to stoves which heated the house from the hall to the boudoir; she had not even one little flower -- she whose apartment had been a conservatory of costly exotics. But she had her son. Hitherto the excitement of fulfilling a duty had sustained them. Excitement, like enthusiasm, sometimes renders us unconscious to the things of earth. But the excitement had calmed down, and they felt themselves obliged to descend from dreams to reality; after having exhausted the ideal, they found they must talk of the actual. "Mother," exclaimed Albert, just as Madame Danglars was descending the stairs, "let us reckon our riches, if you please; I want capital to build my plans upon." "Capital -- nothing!" replied Mercedes with a mournful smile. "No, mother, -- capital 3,000 francs. And I have an idea of our leading a delightful life upon this 3,000 francs." "Child!" sighed Mercedes. "Alas, dear mother," said the young man, "I have unhappily spent too much of your money not to know the value of it. These 3,000 francs are enormous, and I intend building upon this foundation a miraculous certainty for the future." "You say this, my dear boy; but do you think we ought to accept these 3,000 francs?" said Mercedes, coloring. "I think so," answered Albert in a firm tone. "We will accept them the more readily, since we have them not here; you know they are buried in the garden of the little house in the Allees de Meillan, at Marseilles. With 200 francs we can reach Marseilles." "With 200 francs? -- are you sure, Albert?" "Oh, as for that, I have made inquiries respecting the diligences and steamboats, and my calculations are made. You will take your place in the coupe to Chalons. You see, mother, I treat you handsomely for thirty-five francs." Albert then took a pen, and wrote: -- Frs. Coupe, thirty-five francs ............................ 35 From Chalons to Lyons you will go on by the steamboat -- six francs ......................................... 6 From Lyons to Avignon (still by steamboat), sixteen francs ....................................... 16 From Avignon to Marseilles, seven franc................ 7 Expenses on the road, about fifty francs ............. 50 Total................................................ 114 frs. "Let us put down 120," added Albert, smiling. "You see I am generous, am I not, mother?" "But you, my poor child?" "I? do you not see that I reserve eighty francs for myself? A young man does not require luxuries; besides, I know what travelling is." "With a post-chaise and valet de chambre?" "Any way, mother." "Well, be it so. But these 200 francs?" "Here they are, and 200 more besides. See, I have sold my watch for 100 francs, and the guard and seals for 300. How fortunate that the ornaments were worth more than the watch. Still the same story of superfluities! Now I think we are rich, since instead of the 114 francs we require for the journey we find ourselves in possession of 250." "But we owe something in this house?" "Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my 150 francs, -- that is understood, -- and as I require only eighty francs for my journey, you see I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is not all. What do you say to this, mother?" And Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden clasps, a remnant of his old fancies, or perhaps a tender souvenir from one of the mysterious and veiled ladies who used to knock at his little door, -- Albert took out of this pocket-book a note of 1,000 francs. "What is this?" asked Mercedes. "A thousand francs." "But whence have you obtained them?" "Listen to me, mother, and do not yield too much to agitation." And Albert, rising, kissed his mother on both cheeks, then stood looking at her. "You cannot imagine, mother, how beautiful I think you!" said the young man, impressed with a profound feeling of filial love. "You are, indeed, the most beautiful and most noble woman I ever saw!" "Dear child!" said Mercedes, endeavoring in vain to restrain a tear which glistened in the corner of her eye. "Indeed, you only wanted misfortune to change my love for you to admiration. I am not unhappy while I possess my son!" "Ah, just so," said Albert; "here begins the trial. Do you know the decision we have come to, mother?" "Have we come to any?" "Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and that I am to leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself the right to use the name I now bear, instead of the one I have thrown aside." Mercedes sighed. "Well, mother, I yesterday engaged myself as substitute in the Spahis,"* added the young man, lowering his eyes with a certain feeling of shame, for even he was unconscious of the sublimity of his self-abasement. "I thought my body was my own, and that I might sell it. I yesterday took the place of another. I sold myself for more than I thought I was worth," he added, attempting to smile; "I fetched 2,000 francs." * The Spahis are French cavalry reserved for service in Africa. "Then these 1,000 francs" -- said Mercedes, shuddering -- "Are the half of the sum, mother; the other will be paid in a year." Mercedes raised her eyes to heaven with an expression it would be impossible to describe, and tears, which had hitherto been restrained, now yielded to her emotion, and ran down her cheeks. "The price of his blood!" she murmured. "Yes, if I am killed," said Albert, laughing. "But I assure you, mother, I have a strong intention of defending my person, and I never felt half so strong an inclination to live as I do now." "Merciful heavens!" "Besides, mother, why should you make up your mind that I am to be killed? Has Lamoriciere, that Ney of the South, been killed? Has Changarnier been killed? Has Bedeau been killed? Has Morrel, whom we know, been killed? Think of your joy, mother, when you see me return with an embroidered uniform! I declare, I expect to look magnificent in it, and chose that regiment only from vanity." Mercedes sighed while endeavoring to smile; the devoted mother felt that she ought not to allow the whole weight of the sacrifice to fall upon her son. "Well, now you understand, mother!" continued Albert; "here are more than 4,000 francs settled on you; upon these you can live at least two years." "Do you think so?" said Mercedes. These words were uttered in so mournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape Albert; he felt his heart beat, and taking his mother's hand within his own he said, tenderly, -- "Yes, you will live!" "I shall live! -- then you will not leave me, Albert?" "Mother, I must go," said Albert in a firm, calm voice; "you love me too well to wish me to remain useless and idle with you; besides, I have signed." "You will obey your own wish and the will of heaven!" "Not my own wish, mother, but reason -- necessity. Are we not two despairing creatures? What is life to you? -- Nothing. What is life to me? -- Very little without you, mother; for believe me, but for you I should have ceased to live on the day I doubted my father and renounced his name. Well, I will live, if you promise me still to hope; and if you grant me the care of your future prospects, you will redouble my strength. Then I will go to the governor of Algeria; he has a royal heart, and is essentially a soldier; I will tell him my gloomy story. I will beg him to turn his eyes now and then towards me, and if he keep his word and interest himself for me, in six months I shall be an officer, or dead. If I am an officer, your fortune is certain, for I shall have money enough for both, and, moreover, a name we shall both be proud of, since it will be our own. If I am killed -- well then mother, you can also die, and there will be an end of our misfortunes." "It is well," replied Mercedes, with her eloquent glance; "you are right, my love; let us prove to those who are watching our actions that we are worthy of compassion." "But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions," said the young man; "I assure you we are, or rather we shall be, very happy. You are a woman at once full of spirit and resignation; I have become simple in my tastes, and am without passion, I hope. Once in service, I shall be rich -- once in M. Dantes' house, you will be at rest. Let us strive, I beseech you, -- let us strive to be cheerful." "Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy, Albert." "And so our division is made, mother," said the young man, affecting ease of mind. "We can now part; come, I shall engage your passage." "And you, my dear boy?" "I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom ourselves to parting. I want recommendations and some information relative to Africa. I will join you again at Marseilles." "Well, be it so -- let us part," said Mercedes, folding around her shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and which accidentally happened to be a valuable black cashmere. Albert gathered up his papers hastily, rang the bell to pay the thirty francs he owed to the landlord, and offering his arm to his mother, they descended the stairs. Some one was walking down before them, and this person, hearing the rustling of a silk dress, turned around. "Debray!" muttered Albert. "You, Morcerf?" replied the secretary, resting on the stairs. Curiosity had vanquished the desire of preserving his incognito, and he was recognized. It was, indeed, strange in this unknown spot to find the young man whose misfortunes had made so much noise in Paris. "Morcerf!" repeated Debray. Then noticing in the dim light the still youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf: -- "Pardon me," he added with a smile, "I leave you, Albert." Albert understood his thoughts. "Mother," he said, turning towards Mercedes, "this is M. Debray, secretary of the minister for the interior, once a friend of mine." "How once?" stammered Debray; "what do you mean?" "I say so, M. Debray, because I have no friends now, and I ought not to have any. I thank you for having recognized me, sir." Debray stepped forward, and cordially pressed the hand of his interlocutor. "Believe me, dear Albert," he said, with all the emotion he was capable of feeling, -- "believe me, I feel deeply for your misfortunes, and if in any way I can serve you, I am yours." "Thank you, sir," said Albert, smiling. "In the midst of our misfortunes, we are still rich enough not to require assistance from any one. We are leaving Paris, and when our journey is paid, we shall have 5,000 francs left." The blood mounted to the temples of Debray, who held a million in his pocket-book, and unimaginative as he was he could not help reflecting that the same house had contained two women, one of whom, justly dishonored, had left it poor with 1,500,000 francs under her cloak, while the other, unjustly stricken, but sublime in her misfortune, was yet rich with a few deniers. This parallel disturbed his usual politeness, the philosophy he witnessed appalled him, he muttered a few words of general civility and ran down-stairs. That day the minister's clerks and the subordinates had a great deal to put up with from his ill-humor. But that same night, he found himself the possessor of a fine house, situated on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, and an income of 50,000 livres. The next day, just as Debray was signing the deed, that is about five o'clock in the afternoon, Madame de Morcerf, after having affectionately embraced her son, entered the coupe of the diligence, which closed upon her. A man was hidden in Lafitte's banking-house, behind one of the little arched windows which are placed above each desk; he saw Mercedes enter the diligence, and he also saw Albert withdraw. Then he passed his hand across his forehead, which was clouded with doubt. "Alas," he exclaimed, "how can I restore the happiness I have taken away from these poor innocent creatures? God help me!"

中文翻译 第一○六章　财产分享 　　阿尔贝和马尔塞夫夫人在圣•日尔曼选定了一家旅馆，楼上还有一间小套房，一个非常神秘的人租下了这个小套间。 　　门房从来不曾见过，因为在冬天，他的下巴用一条大红围巾围着。马车夫在寒冷的夜晚才用，而在夏天，每当他走近门口的时候，总是在擤鼻涕。可是：这位先生并没有被监视，据说他是一个地位很高的人，不允许遭受无礼的干涉的，他的微服秘行是受人尊敬的。他来旅馆的时间是固定的，虽然偶或略有迟早。一般地说，不论冬夏，他约莫在四点钟的时候到他的房间里来，但从不在这儿过夜。在冬天，到三点半钟的时候，管理这个小房间的仆人便来生起炉火；在夏天，那个仆人便把冰块端上去。到四点钟，那位神秘的人物便来了。 　　二十分钟以后，一辆马车在门前停下，一个身穿黑衣服或深蓝衣服的贵妇人从车子里下来，象一个幽灵似的经过门房，悄悄地奔上楼梯。从来没有人问她去找谁。所以她的脸，象那位绅士的脸一样，两个门房也完全不知道。在整个巴黎，大概也只有这两个能这样谨慎识礼的门房，她走到二楼就停下。 　　然后，她用一种特殊的方式轻轻叩门，她进去以后，门又紧紧地关住。至于他们在房里干什么没人知道。离开那座房子的时候也象进来的时候同样小心。那贵妇人先出去，出去的时候也总是戴着面纱义和历史唯物主义》（1938年）一书中，阐述了马克思主义辩，她跨上马车，不是消失在街的这一头，就是消失街的那一头，约莫二十分钟后，那位绅士也把脸埋在围巾里离去。 　　在基督山拜访腾格拉尔的第二天，也就是瓦朗蒂娜出丧的那一天，那神秘的房客在早晨十点钟进来了。几乎同时而不是象往常那样间隔一段时间以后，来了一辆马车，那戴面纱的贵妇人匆匆地从车子上下来奔上楼去。门开了，但在它还没有关以前，那贵妇人就喊了一声道：“噢，吕西安！我的朋友！”门房这才第一次知道那房客的名字是叫吕西安，可是，因为他是一个模范门房，他决定这件事情连老婆都不告诉。 　　“嗯，什么事，亲爱的？”他的名字被那贵妇人在仓猝中泄漏出来的那位绅士说，“告诉我，什么事？” 　　“噢，吕西安！我能依靠你吗？” 　　“当然罗，你是知道的。但是出什么事了呀？你今天早晨的那张便条把我完全弄糊涂了。你写的那样仓促，字迹那样潦草，——快说出来，好让我放心，要不索性吓我一跳。” 　　“吕西安，出大事了！”那贵妇人用探询的目光望着吕西安说，“腾格拉尔先生昨天晚上出走了！” 　　“出走了，腾格拉尔先生出走了！他到哪儿去了呢？” 　　“我不知道。” 　　“你是什么意思？你不知道？那么他这一走就不回来了吗？” 　　“想必是吧！昨天晚上十点钟，他乘马车到了卡兰登城门，那儿有一辆驿车在等着他，他带着贴身仆人上了车，对他自己的车夫说是到枫丹白露去。” 　　“那么你刚才怎么说——” 　　“等一等，他留了一封信给我。” 　　“一封信？” 　　“是的，你念吧。”于是男爵夫人从她的口袋里拿出一封信来交给德布雷。 　　德布雷然后开始读信沉思了一会儿，象是在猜测那封信的内容，又象是在考虑，不论那封信的内容如何，也想先考虑一下下一步该怎么做。几分钟后他无疑已拿定了主意，那封使男爵夫人心神不定的信是这样的： 　　“我忠实的夫人：” 　　德布雷毫不思索地住口，望一望男爵夫人，男爵夫人羞得连眼睛都红了。“念吧。”她说。狄布雷继续念道： 　　“当你收到这封信的时候，你已失去你的丈夫了！噢！ 　　你不必惊慌，只是象你失去女儿一样；失去他，我的意思是，我正在三四十条从法国出境的大路上。我这样做应该向你解释，你是一个能完全理解这种解释的女人，我现在就说给你听，所以，请看仔细：今天，有人来向我这儿提取五百万的款项，那笔提款支付了，紧接着又有一个人来向我提取一笔同样数目的款项，我请来人明天来取，我今天出走就是为了逃避明天，明天是太不好受了。你能理解是吗，夫人？”我说你能理解的原因是，因为你对于我的财务是象我自己一样熟悉的。甚至我以为你更清楚，因为在我那从前还非常可观的财产中，其中有相当大的一部分我不知道到哪儿去了，而你则不然，夫人，我肯定你知道得清清楚楚。因为女人生来就有万无一失的本能，——她们甚至能用自己发明代数公式来解释不可思议的事情；但是我，只懂得我自己的数字，只要有一天这些数字欺骗我，我就什么都不知道了。你是否奇怪我的失败来得这样迅速吗？我的金条突然融化烧掉，你可曾觉得有点迷乱吗？我承认我只见了火，但愿你能从灰堆中找到一点金子。我带着这个宽慰的念头离开了你，我审慎的夫人，我虽然离开了你，但良心上却并无任何遗弃你的内疚。你有朋友，和那我已经提及过的灰烬，而尤其重要的是我急于归还给你的自由。关于这个，夫人，我必须再写几句解释一下。以前，当我以为你还能增进我们家庭的收益和女儿的幸福的时候，我达观地闭上眼睛，然而你却把那个家庭变成一片废墟，我也不愿意做另一个人发财的垫脚石了。当我要娶你的时候，你很有钱，但却不受人尊重。原谅我的直率，但既然涉及到你我之间的事，我看我似乎并不需要闪烁其辞。 　　我增加了我们的财产，十五年来，它持续不断地增加，直到意想不到的灾祸从天而降，以坦白地说，关于这场灾祸，我没有任何过错。你，夫人，你只求增加你自己的财产，你已经成功了。所以，我在离开你的时候，仍让你处于我娶你时的境况，——有钱，但却不受人尊重。别了！从今天起，我也准备要为自己而努力了。你为我做出了榜样，我会照着这个榜样去做的。 　　你忠诚的丈夫，——腾格拉尔男爵。” 　　当德布雷读这封长信的时候，男爵夫人始终看着他，他虽然竭力控制自己，却仍禁不住变了一两次脸色。读完信以后，他把信叠好，恢复了他那若有所思的神情。 　　“怎么样？”腾格拉尔夫人焦急地问，她的焦急心情是容易理解的。 　　“怎么样？夫人？”德布雷机械地反问。 　　“这封信你有什么想法？” 　　“噢，简单得很，夫人，我想腾格拉尔先生走时是有所猜疑的。” 　　“当然罗，但你要说的，就这一句话吗？” 　　“我不懂你的意思。”德布雷冷冰冰地说。 　　“他走了，——走了，永远不回来了！” 　　“噢，夫人！别那样想！” 　　“我对你说他是决不回来的了。我知道他的个性，凡是对他自己有利的，他是不会改变的。如果我对他还有用，他会带我一起走的。他把我丢在巴黎，那是因为扔下我对他达到自己的目的有利。所以，他一个人走了，我是永远得自由了。” 　　腾格拉尔夫人用祈求的表情最后说。 　　德布雷并不回答，使她仍处于那种焦急的询问态度。 　　“怎么？”她终于说，“你不回答我？” 　　“我只想问你一个问题，你打算怎么办？” 　　“我正要问你我该怎么办，”男爵夫人心情紧张地说。 　　“啊！那么你希望从我这儿得到忠告？” 　　“是的，我的确希望你给我忠告。”腾格拉尔夫人急切地说。 　　“那末，假如你希望我给您忠告，”那青年冷淡地说，“我就建议你去旅行。” 　　“去旅行！”她吃惊地说。 　　“当然罗，正如腾格拉尔先生说的，你很有钱，而且是自由的。按我的意见，腾格拉尔小、姐婚约的二次破裂，腾格拉尔先生失踪在这双重不幸发生以后，离开巴黎是很有必需的。你必须使外界相信你被遗弃了，而且贫苦无依。一个破产者的妻子如果保持着奢华的外表，人家是无法原谅的。你只须在巴黎逗留两星期，让外界知道你被遗弃了。把这次被遗弃的经过讲给你的朋友听，她们很快就会把消息散布出去。然后你就可以离开了，留下你的首饰，放弃你法定的继承权，每一个人都会赞美你，称赞你洁身自好。他们知道你被遗弃了，会以为你很穷苦，因为只有我一个人知道你的真实经济状况，而且我很愿意把我的账目交给你，做你忠实的合伙人。” 　　男爵夫人吓呆了脸色苍白，一动都不动地站着，她听这一番话时的恐惧心情，与德布雷说话时的那种漠不关心的镇定形成截然的对比。“遗弃！”她复述德布雷的话说，“啊，是的，我的确被遗弃了！你说得对，阁下，谁都无法怀疑我的处境。”这个堕入情网的骄傲女人用这几句话来答复德布雷。 　　“但你还有钱，非常有钱，”德布雷一面说，一面从他的皮夹里拿出几张纸来，铺在桌子上。腾格拉尔夫人并不看他，——她竭力抑制自己的心跳和那就要涌放出来的眼泪。 　　最终，还是自尊心获得胜利；即使她没有完全控制住她激动的心情，至少她没让掉下来眼泪。 　　“夫人，”德布雷说，“自从我们合作以来，六个月了。你提供了十万法郎的本钱。我们的合伙是四月开始的。五月，我们开始经营，在一个月中赚了四十五六法郎。六月，利润达九十万。七月，我们又增加了一百七十万法郎。你知道，就是做西班牙公债的那个月。八月，我们在月初亏损三十万法郎，但到十三号便已赚回来。现在，在我们的帐上，——一共赚了二百四十万法郎，——那就是说，我们每人一百二十万。现在，夫人，”德布雷用象一个股票掮客一样一本正经地说，“另外还有八万法郎，是这笔钱的利息。” 　　“但是，”男爵夫人说，“我没想到你拿钱出去入利息。” 　　“请原谅，夫人，”德布雷冷冷地说，“我这样做是得到过你的允许的，所以，除了你提供的十万法郎以外，你还可以分到四万利息，加起来，你的部份一共是一百三十四法郎。嗯，夫人，为了安全起见，我前天已经把你的钱从银行提出来了。你瞧，两天的时间不算长，如果我迟迟不算账，等人找上门来，我就被人怀疑了。你的钱在那儿，一半现金，一半是支票。我说‘那儿’是因为我的家里不够安全，律师也不够可靠，房地产预订契约，尤其是，你没有权利保存属于你丈夫的任何东西，所以我把这笔钱属于你的全部财产——放在那只衣柜里面的一只钱箱里，为了可靠起见，我亲自把它锁进去。现在，夫人，”德布雷打开衣柜，拿出钱箱打开，继续说，——“现在，夫人，这是八百张一千法郎的钞票，你看，象是一本装订好的画册：此外，还有一笔二万五千法郎的股息，余数，大概还有十一万法郎［原著计算错误。——译注］，这是一张开给我的银行家的支票，他，是会照数付给你的，你大可放心。” 　　腾格拉尔夫人机械地接受了支票股息和那堆钞票。这笔庞大的财产在桌子上所占的位置并不多。腾格拉尔夫人欲哭无泪、情绪激动，她把钞票放进她钱袋里，把股息和支票夹入笔记本里，然后，她脸色苍白，一声不响地站着，等待一句安慰话。但她等了一个空。 　　“现在，夫人，”德布雷说，“你有了一笔很可观的财产，一笔能使你每年获益八万法郎的收入，这笔收入，对于一个一年内不能在这儿立足的女人来说，够大的了。你以后可以随心所欲，而且，若果发觉你的收入不够用的话，夫人，看过去的面上，你可用我的，我很愿意把我的全部所有都给你，当然是借给你。” 　　“谢谢你，阁下，谢谢你，”男爵夫人答道，“你知道，你刚才付给我的那些钱，对于一个准备退隐的可怜女人来说，已经太多了。” 　　德布雷一时感到有点儿惊愕，但很快恢复了常态，他鞠了一躬，神色之间象是在说，—— 　　“那随便你，夫人。” 　　在此之前，腾格拉尔夫人或许还抱着某种希望，但当她看到德布雷那漫不经心的表情，那种姑妄听之的目光，以及那种意味深长的沉默的时候，她昂起头，既不发怒也不发抖，但也毫不犹豫地走出房门，甚至不屑向他告别。 　　“唔！”德布雷在她离开以后说，“这些计划很妙呀！她可以呆在家里读读小说，她虽然不再能在证券交易所投机，但却还可以在纸牌上投机。” 　　然后，他拿起帐簿，小心地把他刚才付掉的款项一笔笔划去。“我还有一百零六万，”他说。“维尔福小、姐死了多可惜呀！她各方面都配得上我的胃口，我本来可以娶她的。”是他平心静气地等腾格拉尔夫人离开二十分钟以后他才离开那座房子。在这期间，他全神贯注地计算数字，把他的表放在一边。 　　勒萨日剧中那个魔鬼的角色阿斯摩狄思［勒萨日所作剧本《瘸脚魔鬼》中的人物，魔鬼阿斯狄思。——译注］——如果勒萨日没有把他写进自己的作品里，其他想象力丰富的作家也会创造出他来的——如果在德布雷算帐的时候，揭开圣•日尔曼路那座小房子的屋顶，就会看到一幕奇特的情景。在德布雷和腾格拉尔夫人平分二百五十万的那个房间的隔壁房间里，住着两个熟人，他们在我们以前所讲的事情里占着极重要的地位，而且我们以后还要很关切地讲述他们两个人。那个房间里住着美塞苔丝和阿尔贝。最近几天来，美塞苔丝改变了许多，——这并不是因为她现在穿着平淡朴素的服装，以致我们认不出她了，即使有她有钱的时候，她也从不作华丽的打扮，也并不是由于她穷困潦倒以致无法掩饰穷苦的外貌。不，美塞苔丝的改变是她的眼睛不再发光了，她也不再微笑了，她那以前富于机智的流利的谈吐现在听不见了，她常欲言又止。使她的精神崩溃的，不是贫穷，她并不缺乏勇气忍受贫穷的，美塞苔丝从她以前优越的地位降低到她现在的这种境况，象是一个人从一个灯壁辉煌的宫殿进入一片无边的黑暗，——美塞苔丝象是一位皇后从她的宫殿跌到一间茅舍里，她只能有最低限度的生活必需品，她不能习惯那种放在桌子上的泥碗，也不能习惯用下等草褥来代替床铺。她那个美丽的迦太兰人和高贵的伯爵夫人失掉好高傲的目光和动人的微笑，她在周围所见的，只有穷苦。房东在墙上糊了灰色的纸张，地板上不易显示出来，没有地毯，房中的家具引人注目让人没法把目光从硬充阔气的寒酸相上引开，看惯了精美高雅的东西的眼睛看了这些永远不会感到舒服。 　　马尔塞夫夫人自从离开宅邸后，就住在这儿，周围的寂静使她感到郁闷，可是，看到阿尔贝注意着她的脸色想了解她的情绪，她勉强在自己的嘴唇上露出一种单调的微笑，这种微笑没有一丝暖意，与她以前眼睛里光彩四射的样子截然不同。好象是没有温暖的亮光。阿尔贝也忧心忡忡，过去奢侈的习惯使他与目前的情况极不协调。如果他不戴手套出去，他的一双手便显得太白了，如果他想徒步在街上走，他的皮靴似乎太亮了。可是，这两个高贵而聪明的人，在母子之爱的联系之下，得到了无言的谅解，他们不用象朋友之间那样先得经过初步的尝试阶段才能达到开诚相见。开诚坦白在这种情况下是非常重要的。阿尔贝至少不会对他的母亲说：“妈，我们没有钱了。”他至少不会用这种话来使她难过。以前美塞苔丝从不知道穷苦是怎么回事，她在年轻时代常常谈到贫穷，但在“需要”和“必需”这两个同义同之间，她不清楚什么区别。住在迦太兰村的时候，美塞苔丝想得到而得不到的东西也多得很，但好些东西是她从不缺的。只要鱼网不破，他们就能捕鱼；而只要他们的鱼能卖钱，他们就能买线织新网。 　　那时候，她没有朋友，只有一个爱人，那时她只须照顾自己。 　　她经济状况虽然不是太好，但她还可以尽量宽裕地应付自己的一份开销；现在她手头一无所有，却有两份开销得应付。 　　冬天临近。在那个寒冷的房间里，美塞苔丝没有生火，她以前最喜欢享受炉火的温暖，从大厅到寝室都暖烘烘的。现在她甚至连一朵小花都没有，她以前的房间象是一间培植珍贵花卉的温室。她还有儿子。直到那时，一种责任感激起的兴奋支持着他们。兴奋象热情一样，有时会使我们忘记好多难题。一旦兴奋平静下来，他们不得不从梦境回到现实，在说尽了理想以后，必须谈论到实际。 　　“妈！”腾格拉尔夫人下楼梯的时候，阿尔贝喊道，“如果感兴趣，我们来算一算我们还有多少钱好吗，我需要一笔钱来实施我的计划。” 　　“钱！什么都没有！”美塞苔丝苦笑道。 　　“不，妈，三千法郎。我有一个主意，可以凭三千法郎过上愉快的生活。” 　　“孩子！”美塞苔丝叹息道。 　　“唉，亲爱的妈呀！”那年轻人说，“可惜过去我花了你太多的钱，而不知道钱的重要。这三千法郎是一个大数目，我要用它创建一个充满安宁的神奇的前途。” 　　“可以这么说，我亲爱的孩子，但你认为我们应该接受这三千法郎吗？”美塞苔丝红着脸说。 　　“我想是的，”阿尔贝用坚决的口气答道。“我们可以接受，因为我们缺钱用，你知道，这零钱就埋在马赛米兰巷一所小房子的花园里。有两百法郎，我们可以到达马赛了。” 　　“凭两百法郎？你这么想，阿尔贝。” 　　“噢，至于那一点，我已向公共驿车站和轮船公司调查过了，我已经算好了。你可以乘双人驿车到厦龙，你瞧，妈，我待你象一位皇后一样，这笔车费是三十五法郎。” 　　阿尔贝于是拿起一支笔写了起来：双人驿车三十五法郎从夏龙到里昂，坐轮船六法郎从里昂到阿维尼翁，仍坐轮船十六法郎从阿维尼翁到马赛七法郎沿余零用五十法郎…总计一百一十四法郎“一百二十吧，”阿尔贝笑着说。“你看，我算得很宽裕了，是不是，妈？” 　　“你呢，我可怜的孩子？” 　　“我！你没看见我为自己留了八十法郎吗？一个青年是不需要奢侈的，而且，我知道出门是怎么一回事。” 　　“可那是乘着私人驿车，带着仆人。” 　　“随便怎样都行，妈。” 　　“嗯，就算是这样吧。但这两百法郎呢？” 　　“这不是？而且另外还多两百。青，我把我的表卖了一百法郎，把表链和坠子卖了三百法郎。多幸运，那些小玩意比表还值钱。这些都是多余的东西！现在，我们很有钱了，因为，你旅途只需要一百一十四法郎，你却可以带着两百五十法郎上路。” 　　“但我们还欠这间房子的租金呢！” 　　“三十法郎，从我的一百五十法郎偿付好了，我只需要八十法郎的旅费。你看，我是绰绰有余的了，还有呢。你说这怎么样，妈？” 　　于是阿尔贝摸出一本嵌金搭扣的小笔记本，——这是他唯一的一件心爱的东西，也许是那些常常来敲他那扇小门的神秘的蒙面女郎送给他的订情信物，——阿尔贝从这本笔记本里抽出一张一千法郎的钞票。 　　“这是什么？”美塞苔丝问。 　　“一千法郎，妈。噢，这是真的。” 　　“你从哪儿得来的？” 　　“听我说，妈，别激动。”阿尔贝站起来，他母亲的两鳃上各吻了一下，然后站在那儿望着她。“妈，你不知道你是多么的美！”年轻人怀着深挚的母子情激动地说，“你的确是我生平所见到的最美丽最高贵的女人了！” 　　“好孩子！”美塞苔丝说，她竭力抑制不让眼泪掉下来，但终于还是失败了。 　　“真的，只要看到你忍受痛苦，我对你的爱就变成崇拜了。” 　　“我有了儿子就不会痛苦，”美塞苔丝说，“只要我还有他，我是不会感到痛苦的。” 　　“啊！是这样的。”阿尔贝说，现在开始考验了。你知道我们必须实行的协议吗，妈？” 　　“我们有什么协议？” 　　“有的，我们的协议是：你去住在马赛，而我则动身到非洲去，在那儿，我将不用已经抛弃的那个姓，而用我现在这个姓氏。”美塞苔丝叹了一口气。“嗯，妈呀！我昨天已经去应征加入驻阿尔及利亚的骑兵联队了，”那青年说到这里，便低垂眼睛，感到有点难为情，因为连他自己都不知道他这种自卑的伟大。“我觉得我的身体是我自己的，我有权利卖掉它。我昨天去顶替了一个人的位置。我想不到自己那么值钱，”那青年人竭力想微笑，，”整整两千法郎。” 　　“那么，这一千法郎——”美塞苔丝浑身打寒颤说。 　　“是那笔款子的一半，妈，其余的在一年之内付清。” 　　美塞苔丝带着一种无法形容的表情抬头向天，一直被抑制着的眼泪，现在涌了出来。 　　“用血换来的代价。”她难过地说。 　　“是的，如果我战死的话，”阿尔贝笑着说，“但我向你保证，妈，我有坚强的意志要保护我的身体，我求生的意志从来还没有象现在这样坚强。” 　　“仁慈的上帝啊！” 　　“而且，妈，为什么你一定以为我会战死？拉摩利萨可曾被杀吗？姜茄尼可曾被杀吗？皮杜［以上三人均为当时侵略阿尔及利亚等非洲土地的法国将军。——译注］可曾被杀吗？莫雷尔，我们认识的，可曾被杀吗？想想看，妈，当你看到我穿着一套镶花制服回来的时候，你将多么高兴呀！我要说：我觉得前途乐观得很，我选择那个联队只是为了名誉。” 　　美塞苔丝竭力想笑，结果却是叹了一口气。这个神圣的母亲觉得她不应该只让儿子肩负重担。 　　“嗯！现在你懂了吧，妈！”阿尔贝继续说，“我们有四千多法郎供你花。这笔钱，至少供你生活两年。” 　　“你是这样想的吗？”美塞苔丝说。 　　这句话说出来是这样的悲伤，阿尔贝理解母亲的心思。他的心在猛跳，他抓住母亲的手，温柔地说：“是的，你会活下去的！” 　　“我会活下去！那么你离开我了吗，阿尔贝？” 　　“妈，我必须去的，”阿尔贝用一种坚定而平静的声音说，“你很爱我！所以不愿意看见我无所事事在你的身边闲荡，而且，我已经签了约了。” 　　“你可以按你自己的意愿行事，我的孩子，而我——我将按上帝的意志行事。” 　　“那不是我的意志，妈，是我的理智——。我们难道不是两个绝望的人吗？生命对你有什么意义？没有什么可留恋的。生命对我有什么意义？没有了你，也无可留恋了，相信我，要不是为了你，早在我怀疑我的父亲，抛夺他的姓氏的那一天，我就不会再活了。如果你答应我继续保持希望，我就可以活下去，如果你允许我照顾你未来的生活，你就可以使我的力量增加一倍。那时，我就去见阿尔及利亚总督，他有一颗仁慈的心，而且是一个道地的军人。我将把我悲惨的身世告诉他。我将要求他照顾我，如果他能克守诺言，对我发生了兴趣，那么在六个月之内，若果我不死，我就是一个军官了。如果我成了军官，你的幸福就确定了，因为那时我就有够两个人用的钱了，尤其是，我们将有一个足以引以为自豪的姓氏，因为那是我们自己的姓氏了。如果我被杀了，那么，妈呀，如果你愿意的话，你也可以死了，而我们的不幸也就可以结束了。” 　　“很好，”美塞苔丝说，眼里露出高贵而动人的神色。“你说得对，我的宝贝，向那些注意我们的行动的人证明：我们至少是值得同情的。” 　　“但我们不要去想那种可怕结果，”那青年说，“我向你保证：我们是说得更切确些，我们将来是快乐的。你是一个对生活充满希望而同时又是乐天安命的女人，我要改掉坏习惯，希望能不动情感。一旦到了部队里，我就会有钱，一旦住进唐太斯先生的房子，你就会得到安宁。让我们奋斗吧，我求求你——让我们用奋斗去寻找快乐吧。” 　　“是的，让我们奋斗吧，因为你是应该活下去的，而且是应该得到快乐的，阿尔贝。” 　　“那么我们的财产分割就这么定了，妈，”那青年装出满不在乎的样子说，“我们今天就可以出发了，我按我们商定的办法去给你定位子。” 　　“你呢，我亲爱的孩子？” 　　“我在这儿再住几天，我们必须使自己习惯于分别。我要去弄几封介绍信，还要打听一些关于非洲的消息。我到马赛再去见你。” 　　“那么，就这样吧！我们走吧。”美塞苔丝一面说，一面披上围巾，她只带出来这一条围巾，它是一条珍贵的黑色的克什米尔羊毛围巾。阿尔贝匆匆忙忙地收集好他的文件，付清他欠房东的三十法郎，伸手臂扶着他的母亲，走下楼梯。恰好有一个人走在他的前面，这个人听到绸衣服的窸窣声，恰好转过头来。“德布雷！”阿尔贝轻声地说。 　　“是你，马尔塞夫，”大臣秘书站在楼梯上答道。好奇心战胜了他那想掩饰真面目的愿望，而且，他已被马尔塞夫认出来了。在这个意想不到的地方遇见那个青年，他的不幸曾在巴黎轰动一时，这的确是够新奇的。 　　“马尔塞夫！”德布雷说。然后，在昏暗的光线里注意到马尔塞夫夫人那依旧还很美的身材和那黑色的面纱，他便带着一个微笑说，“原谅我！我走了，阿尔贝。” 　　阿尔贝明白他的意思。“妈，”他转过去对美塞苔丝说，“这位是德布雷先生，内政部长的私人秘书，曾经是我们的朋友。” 　　“怎么说曾经呢？”德布雷结结巴巴地说，“你是什么意思？” 　　“我这样说，德布雷先生，是因为我现在没有朋友了，我应该是没有朋友的了。我感谢你还能认出我。” 　　德布雷走上来热情地和对方握手。“相信我，亲爱的阿尔贝，”他尽量用友好热情的口吻说，“——相信我，我对你的不幸深表同情，如果我能够为你效劳的话，我可以听从你的吩咐。” 　　“谢谢你，阁下，”阿尔贝微笑着说，“我们虽遭不幸，却还过得去。我们要离开巴黎了，在我们付清车费以后，我们还能剩下五千法郎。” 　　德布雷的脸都红了，他的钱袋里装着一百万呢，他虽然不善于想象，但他不禁联想到：就在一会儿以前这座房子里有两个女人，一个是应该遭受耻辱的，但在她的披风底下带着一百五十万还觉得穷，另一个是遭受了不公平的的打击，但她却在忍受她的不幸，虽然身边只有几个钱，却还觉得很富足。这种对比使他以前的那种殷勤的态度，实例所说明的哲理使他迷惑了。他含糊地说了几句客套话，便奔下楼梯。那天，部里的职员，他的下属都成了他的出气筒。但当天晚上，他成了一座座落在玛德伦大道上的漂亮的房子的主人。并且每年有五万里弗的收入。 　　第二天，正当德布雷在签署房契的时候，——也就是说在下午五点钟左右，——马尔塞夫夫人满怀热情地拥抱了儿子，跨进公共驿车，车门随后关上了。这时，在拉费德银行一扇拱形小窗口后面，躲着一个人。他看见美茜丝走进驿车，看见驿车开走看见阿尔贝回去，这时他举起手，按在他那布满疑云的额头上。“唉！我从这些可怜的无辜者手中夺来的幸福！”怎样才能把幸福还给他们呢？上帝帮助我吧！”

英文原文 Chapter 104 Danglars Signature. The next morning dawned dull and cloudy. During the night the undertakers had executed their melancholy office, and wrapped the corpse in the winding-sheet, which, whatever may be said about the equality of death, is at least a last proof of the luxury so pleasing in life. This winding-sheet was nothing more than a beautiful piece of cambric, which the young girl had bought a fortnight before. During the evening two men, engaged for the purpose, had carried Noirtier from Valentine's room into his own, and contrary to all expectation there was no difficulty in withdrawing him from his child. The Abbe Busoni had watched till daylight, and then left without calling any one. D'Avrigny returned about eight o'clock in the morning; he met Villefort on his way to Noirtier's room, and accompanied him to see how the old man had slept. They found him in the large arm-chair, which served him for a bed, enjoying a calm, nay, almost a smiling sleep. They both stood in amazement at the door. "See," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, "nature knows how to alleviate the deepest sorrow. No one can say that M. Noirtier did not love his child, and yet he sleeps." "Yes, you are right," replied Villefort, surprised; "he sleeps, indeed! And this is the more strange, since the least contradiction keeps him awake all night." "Grief has stunned him," replied d'Avrigny; and they both returned thoughtfully to the procureur's study. "See, I have not slept," said Villefort, showing his undisturbed bed; "grief does not stun me. I have not been in bed for two nights; but then look at my desk; see what I have written during these two days and nights. I have filled those papers, and have made out the accusation against the assassin Benedetto. Oh, work, work, -- my passion, my joy, my delight, -- it is for thee to alleviate my sorrows!" and he convulsively grasped the hand of d'Avrigny. "Do you require my services now?" asked d'Avrigny. "No," said Villefort; "only return again at eleven o'clock; at twelve the -- the -- oh, heavens, my poor, poor child!" and the procureur again becoming a man, lifted up his eyes and groaned. "Shall you be present in the reception room?" "No; I have a cousin who has undertaken this sad office. I shall work, doctor -- when I work I forget everything." And, indeed, no sooner had the doctor left the room, than he was again absorbed in study. On the doorsteps d'Avrigny met the cousin whom Villefort had mentioned, a personage as insignificant in our story as in the world he occupied -- one of those beings designed from their birth to make themselves useful to others. He was punctual, dressed in black, with crape around his hat, and presented himself at his cousin's with a face made up for the occasion, and which he could alter as might be required. At twelve o'clock the mourning-coaches rolled into the paved court, and the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore was filled with a crowd of idlers, equally pleased to witness the festivities or the mourning of the rich, and who rush with the same avidity to a funeral procession as to the marriage of a duchess. Gradually the reception-room filled, and some of our old friends made their appearance -- we mean Debray, Chateau-Renaud, and Beauchamp, accompanied by all the leading men of the day at the bar, in literature, or the army, for M. de Villefort moved in the first Parisian circles, less owing to his social position than to his personal merit. The cousin standing at the door ushered in the guests, and it was rather a relief to the indifferent to see a person as unmoved as themselves, and who did not exact a mournful face or force tears, as would have been the case with a father, a brother, or a lover. Those who were acquainted soon formed into little groups. One of them was made of Debray, Chateau-Renaud, and Beauchamp. "Poor girl," said Debray, like the rest, paying an involuntary tribute to the sad event, -- "poor girl, so young, so rich, so beautiful! Could you have imagined this scene, Chateau-Renaud, when we saw her, at the most three weeks ago, about to sign that contract?" "Indeed, no," said Chateau-Renaud -- "Did you know her?" "I spoke to her once or twice at Madame de Morcerf's, among the rest; she appeared to me charming, though rather melancholy. Where is her stepmother? Do you know?" "She is spending the day with the wife of the worthy gentleman who is receiving us." "Who is he?" "Whom do you mean?" "The gentleman who receives us? Is he a deputy?" "Oh, no. I am condemned to witness those gentlemen every day," said Beauchamp; "but he is perfectly unknown to me." "Have you mentioned this death in your paper?" "It has been mentioned, but the article is not mine; indeed, I doubt if it will please M. Villefort, for it says that if four successive deaths had happened anywhere else than in the house of the king's attorney, he would have interested himself somewhat more about it." "Still," said Chateau-Renaud, "Dr. d'Avrigny, who attends my mother, declares he is in despair about it. But whom are you seeking, Debray?" "I am seeking the Count of Monte Cristo" said the young man. "I met him on the boulevard, on my way here," said Beauchamp. "I think he is about to leave Paris; he was going to his banker." "His banker? Danglars is his banker, is he not?" asked Chateau-Renaud of Debray. "I believe so," replied the secretary with slight uneasiness. "But Monte Cristo is not the only one I miss here; I do not see Morrel." "Morrel? Do they know him?" asked Chateau-Renaud. "I think he has only been introduced to Madame de Villefort." "Still, he ought to have been here," said Debray; "I wonder what will be talked about to-night; this funeral is the news of the day. But hush, here comes our minister of justice; he will feel obliged to make some little speech to the cousin," and the three young men drew near to listen. Beauchamp told the truth when he said that on his way to the funeral he had met Monte Cristo, who was directing his steps towards the Rue de la Chausse d'Antin, to M. Danglars'. The banker saw the carriage of the count enter the court yard, and advanced to meet him with a sad, though affable smile. "Well," said he, extending his hand to Monte Cristo, "I suppose you have come to sympathize with me, for indeed misfortune has taken possession of my house. When I perceived you, I was just asking myself whether I had not wished harm towards those poor Morcerfs, which would have justified the proverb of `He who wishes misfortunes to happen to others experiences them himself.' Well, on my word of honor, I answered, `No!' I wished no ill to Morcerf; he was a little proud, perhaps, for a man who like myself has risen from nothing; but we all have our faults. Do you know, count, that persons of our time of life -- not that you belong to the class, you are still a young man, -- but as I was saying, persons of our time of life have been very unfortunate this year. For example, look at the puritanical procureur, who has just lost his daughter, and in fact nearly all his family, in so singular a manner; Morcerf dishonored and dead; and then myself covered with ridicule through the villany of Benedetto; besides" -- "Besides what?" asked the Count. "Alas, do you not know?" "What new calamity?" "My daughter" -- "Mademoiselle Danglars?" "Eugenie has left us!" "Good heavens, what are you telling me?" "The truth, my dear count. Oh, how happy you must be in not having either wife or children!" "Do you think so?" "Indeed I do." "And so Mademoiselle Danglars" -- "She could not endure the insult offered to us by that wretch, so she asked permission to travel." "And is she gone?" "The other night she left." "With Madame Danglars?" "No, with a relation. But still, we have quite lost our dear Eugenie; for I doubt whether her pride will ever allow her to return to France." "Still, baron," said Monte Cristo, "family griefs, or indeed any other affliction which would crush a man whose child was his only treasure, are endurable to a millionaire. Philosophers may well say, and practical men will always support the opinion, that money mitigates many trials; and if you admit the efficacy of this sovereign balm, you ought to be very easily consoled -- you, the king of finance, the focus of immeasurable power." Danglars looked at him askance, as though to ascertain whether he spoke seriously. "Yes," he answered, "if a fortune brings consolation, I ought to be consoled; I am rich." "So rich, dear sir, that your fortune resembles the pyramids; if you wished to demolish them you could not, and if it were possible, you would not dare!" Danglars smiled at the good-natured pleasantry of the count. "That reminds me," he said, "that when you entered I was on the point of signing five little bonds; I have already signed two: will you allow me to do the same to the others?" "Pray do so." There was a moment's silence, during which the noise of the banker's pen was alone heard, while Monte Cristo examined the gilt mouldings on the ceiling. "Are they Spanish, Haitian, or Neapolitan bonds?" said Monte Cristo. "No," said Danglars, smiling, "they are bonds on the bank of France, payable to bearer. Stay, count," he added, "you, who may be called the emperor, if I claim the title of king of finance, have you many pieces of paper of this size, each worth a million?" The count took into his hands the papers, which Danglars had so proudly presented to him, and read: -- "To the Governor of the Bank. Please pay to my order, from the fund deposited by me, the sum of a million, and charge the same to my account. "Baron Danglars." "One, two, three, four, five," said Monte Cristo; "five millions -- why what a Croesus you are!" "This is how I transact business," said Danglars. "It is really wonderful," said the count; "above all, if, as I suppose, it is payable at sight." "It is, indeed, said Danglars. "It is a fine thing to have such credit; really, it is only in France these things are done. Five millions on five little scraps of paper! -- it must be seen to be believed." "You do not doubt it?" "No!" "You say so with an accent -- stay, you shall be convinced; take my clerk to the bank, and you will see him leave it with an order on the Treasury for the same sum." "No," said Monte Cristo folding the five notes, "most decidedly not; the thing is so curious, I will make the experiment myself. I am credited on you for six millions. I have drawn nine hundred thousand francs, you therefore still owe me five millions and a hundred thousand francs. I will take the five scraps of paper that I now hold as bonds, with your signature alone, and here is a receipt in full for the six millions between us. I had prepared it beforehand, for I am much in want of money to-day." And Monte Cristo placed the bonds in his pocket with one hand, while with the other he held out the receipt to Danglars. If a thunderbolt had fallen at the banker's feet, he could not have experienced greater terror. "What," he stammered, "do you mean to keep that money? Excuse me, excuse me, but I owe this money to the charity fund, -- a deposit which I promised to pay this morning." "Oh, well, then," said Monte Cristo, "I am not particular about these five notes, pay me in a different form; I wished, from curiosity, to take these, that I might be able to say that without any advice or preparation the house of Danglars had paid me five millions without a minute's delay; it would have been remarkable. But here are your bonds; pay me differently;" and he held the bonds towards Danglars, who seized them like a vulture extending its claws to withhold the food that is being wrested from its grasp. Suddenly he rallied, made a violent effort to restrain himself, and then a smile gradually widened the features of his disturbed countenance. "Certainly," he said, "your receipt is money." "Oh dear, yes; and if you were at Rome, the house of Thomson & French would make no more difficulty about paying the money on my receipt than you have just done." "Pardon me, count, pardon me." "Then I may keep this money?" "Yes," said Danglars, while the perspiration started from the roots of his hair. "Yes, keep it -- keep it." Monte Cristo replaced the notes in his pocket with that indescribable expression which seemed to say, "Come, reflect; if you repent there is still time." "No," said Danglars, "no, decidedly no; keep my signatures. But you know none are so formal as bankers in transacting business; I intended this money for the charity fund, and I seemed to be robbing them if I did not pay them with these precise bonds. How absurd -- as if one crown were not as good as another. Excuse me;" and he began to laugh loudly, but nervously. "Certainly, I excuse you," said Monte Cristo graciously, "and pocket them." And he placed the bonds in his pocket-book. "But," said Danglars, "there is still a sum of one hundred thousand francs?" "Oh, a mere nothing," said Monte Cristo. "The balance would come to about that sum; but keep it, and we shall be quits." "Count." said Danglars, "are you speaking seriously?" "I never joke with bankers," said Monte Cristo in a freezing manner, which repelled impertinence; and he turned to the door, just as the valet de chambre announced, -- "M. de Boville, receiver-general of the charities." "Ma foi," said Monte Cristo; "I think I arrived just in time to obtain your signatures, or they would have been disputed with me." Danglars again became pale, and hastened to conduct the count out. Monte Cristo exchanged a ceremonious bow with M. de Boville, who was standing in the waiting-room, and who was introduced into Danglars' room as soon as the count had left. The count's sad face was illumined by a faint smile, as he noticed the portfolio which the receiver-general held in his hand. At the door he found his carriage, and was immediately driven to the bank. Meanwhile Danglars, repressing all emotion, advanced to meet the receiver-general. We need not say that a smile of condescension was stamped upon his lips. "Good-morning, creditor," said he; "for I wager anything it is the creditor who visits me." "You are right, baron," answered M. de Boville; "the charities present themselves to you through me: the widows and orphans depute me to receive alms to the amount of five millions from you." "And yet they say orphans are to be pitied," said Danglars, wishing to prolong the jest. "Poor things!" "Here I am in their name," said M. de Boville; "but did you receive my letter yesterday?" "Yes." "I have brought my receipt." "My dear M. de Boville, your widows and orphans must oblige me by waiting twenty-four hours, since M. de Monte Cristo whom you just saw leaving here -- you did see him, I think?" "Yes; well?" "Well, M. de Monte Cristo has just carried off their five millions." "How so?" "The count has an unlimited credit upon me; a credit opened by Thomson & French, of Rome; he came to demand five millions at once, which I paid him with checks on the bank. My funds are deposited there, and you can understand that if I draw out ten millions on the same day it will appear rather strange to the governor. Two days will be a different thing," said Danglars, smiling. "Come," said Boville, with a tone of entire incredulity, "five millions to that gentleman who just left, and who bowed to me as though he knew me?" "Perhaps he knows you, though you do not know him; M. de Monte Cristo knows everybody." "Five millions!" "Here is his receipt. Believe your own eyes." M. de Boville took the paper Danglars presented him, and read: -- "Received of Baron Danglars the sum of five million one hundred thousand francs, to be repaid on demand by the house of Thomson & French of Rome." "It is really true," said M. de Boville. "Do you know the house of Thomson & French?" "Yes, I once had business to transact with it to the amount of 200,000 francs; but since then I have not heard it mentioned." "It is one of the best houses in Europe," said Danglars, carelessly throwing down the receipt on his desk. "And he had five millions in your hands alone! Why, this Count of Monte Cristo must be a nabob?" "Indeed I do not know what he is; he has three unlimited credits -- one on me, one on Rothschild, one on Lafitte; and, you see," he added carelessly, "he has given me the preference, by leaving a balance of 100,000 francs." M. de Boville manifested signs of extraordinary admiration. "I must visit him," he said, "and obtain some pious grant from him." "Oh, you may make sure of him; his charities alone amount to 20,000 francs a month." "It is magnificent! I will set before him the example of Madame de Morcerf and her son." "What example?" "They gave all their fortune to the hospitals." "What fortune?" "Their own -- M. de Morcerf's, who is deceased." "For what reason?" "Because they would not spend money so guiltily acquired." "And what are they to live upon?" "The mother retires into the country, and the son enters the army." "Well, I must confess, these are scruples." "I registered their deed of gift yesterday." "And how much did they possess?" "Oh, not much -- from twelve to thirteen hundred thousand francs. But to return to our millions." "Certainly," said Danglars, in the most natural tone in the world. "Are you then pressed for this money?" "Yes; for the examination of our cash takes place to-morrow." "To-morrow? Why did you not tell me so before? Why, it is as good as a century! At what hour does the examination take place?" "At two o'clock." "Send at twelve," said Danglars, smiling. M. de Boville said nothing, but nodded his head, and took up the portfolio. "Now I think of it, you can do better," said Danglars. "How do you mean?" "The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take it to Rothschild's or Lafitte's, and they will take it off your hands at once." "What, though payable at Rome?" "Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or 6,000 francs." The receiver started back. "Ma foi," he said, "I prefer waiting till to-morrow. What a proposition!" "I thought, perhaps," said Danglars with supreme impertinence, "that you had a deficiency to make up?" "Indeed," said the receiver. "And if that were the case it would be worth while to make some sacrifice." "Thank you, no, sir." "Then it will be to-morrow." "Yes; but without fail." "Ah, you are laughing at me; send to-morrow at twelve, and the bank shall be notified." "I will come myself." "Better still, since it will afford me the pleasure of seeing you." They shook hands. "By the way," said M. de Boville, "are you not going to the funeral of poor Mademoiselle de Villefort, which I met on my road here?" "No," said the banker; "I have appeared rather ridiculous since that affair of Benedetto, so I remain in the background." "Bah, you are wrong. How were you to blame in that affair?" "Listen -- when one bears an irreproachable name, as I do, one is rather sensitive." "Everybody pities you, sir; and, above all, Mademoiselle Danglars!" "Poor Eugenie!" said Danglars; "do you know she is going to embrace a religious life?" "No." "Alas, it is unhappily but too true. The day after the event, she decided on leaving Paris with a nun of her acquaintance; they are gone to seek a very strict convent in Italy or Spain." "Oh, it is terrible!" and M. de Boville retired with this exclamation, after expressing acute sympathy with the father. But he had scarcely left before Danglars, with an energy of action those can alone understand who have seen Robert Macaire represented by Frederic,* exclaimed, -- "Fool!" Then enclosing Monte Cristo's receipt in a little pocket-book, he added: -- "Yes, come at twelve o'clock; I shall then be far away." Then he double-locked his door, emptied all his drawers, collected about fifty thousand francs in bank-notes, burned several papers, left others exposed to view, and then commenced writing a letter which he addressed: "To Madame la Baronne Danglars." * Frederic Lemaitre -- French actor (1800-1876). Robert Macaire is the hero of two favorite melodramas -- "Chien de Montargis" and "Chien d'Aubry" -- and the name is applied to bold criminals as a term of derision. "I will place it on her table myself to-night," he murmured. Then taking a passport from his drawer he said, -- "Good, it is available for two months longer."

中文翻译 第一○四章　腾格拉尔的签字 　　第二天是个阴霾多云的日子。殡仪馆的人在昨夜执行完了他们的任务，把尸体裹在一块包尸布里，尽管有人说死亡面前人人平等，但包尸布却要最后证明他们生前所享受的奢侈。这块包尸布是瓦朗蒂娜在半月以前刚买的一块质地极好的麻布衣料。那天晚上，收尸的人把诺梯瓦埃从瓦朗蒂娜的房间搬回到他自己的房间里，让人出乎意料的是：要他离开他的孩子并没怎么费事。布沙尼长老一直守候到天亮，然后没有同任何人打招呼径自离开了。阿夫里尼是早晨八点钟左右回来的。他在到诺瓦梯埃房间去的路上遇到维尔福，他们去看老人睡得如何。令他们惊奇的是老人在一张大圈椅里，睡得正香，他面色平静，脸带微笑。 　　“瞧，”阿夫里尼对维尔福说，“上帝知道如此来抚慰人的悲伤。有谁能说诺瓦梯埃先生不爱他的孩子？可是他照样睡着了。” 　　“是的，您说得很对，”维尔福神色惊奇地回答说，“他真的睡着了！这真奇怪，因为以前最轻微的骚扰就会使他整夜睡不着。” 　　“悲哀使他麻木了。”阿夫里尼回答，他们深思着回到检察官的书房。 　　“看，我没有睡过，”维尔福指着他那张根本没动过的床说，“悲哀并没有使我麻木。我有两夜没有睡了，看看我的书桌。我在这两天两夜里面写了很多东西。我写满了那些纸，已写好了控告凶手贝尼代托的起诉状。噢，工作！工作！工作是我的热情，让我愉快，让我喜悦！工作减轻我的悲伤！”他用痉挛的手握住阿夫里尼的手。 　　“您现在需要我帮忙吗？”阿夫里尼问。 　　“不，”维尔福说，请你在十一点钟的时候回来，到十二点，那——那——噢，天哪！我那可怜的，可怜的孩子！”检察官的铁石心肠也变软了，他抬起头向上望着呻吟起来。 　　“您想到客厅里去接待来客吗？” 　　“不，我的一个堂弟代我担任了这种伤心的职责。我要工作，医生，当我工作的时候，我就忘掉一切悲伤了。”的确，医生一离开书房，维尔福便又专心致志地工作起来。 　　阿夫里尼在大门口恰好遇见维尔福的堂弟，此人在我们的故事里正如在他这个家族一样，是一个无足轻重的角色，——是那生来就供人差遣的角色。他很守时，穿着黑衣服，手臂上缠着黑纱，带着一副根据情况需要而随时可以变化的面孔去见他的堂兄。到十二点钟，丧车驶进铺着石板的院子圣•奥诺路上挤满了游手好闲的人，这些人对节日有钱人家的丧事就如同节日一样感兴趣，他们象去看一次大出丧同看一位公爵小、姐的婚礼一样热烈。客厅被人挤满了，我们的几位老朋友都已经来到，先前是德布雷、夏多•勒诺和波尚，然后是当时司法界、文学界和军界的领袖人物；因为维尔福先生是巴黎社会中的第一流人物，——这，一部分是由于他的社会地位，但更重要的，还是由于他个人才干的力量。 　　他那位堂弟站在门口接待宾客，他无动于衷，并没有象一位父亲，一位兄长，一个爱人那样哀伤或者勉强挤出几滴眼泪。 　　这使宾客们感到很轻松，那些相识的人便组成了小团体。其中有一个小团体是由德布雷、夏多•勒诺和波尚组成的。 　　“可怜的姑娘！”德布雷说，象其他来宾一样，他也对这位年轻姑娘的死言不由衷地说了几句，——“可怜的姑娘，这样年轻，这样有钱，这样漂亮！夏多•勒诺，当我们——那是多久以前的事呀？三个星期，也许最多一个月以前吧——我们不是在这儿参加那次并没有签订成功的婚约仪式的吗？那时你会想到发生这样的事吗？” 　　“的确想不到。”夏多•勒诺说。 　　“你认识她吗？” 　　“我在马尔塞夫夫人家里见过她一两次，不过我觉得她很可爱，当时她有点儿抑郁。她的继母到哪儿去了？你知道吗？” 　　“她去陪伴接待我们的那位先生的太太去了。” 　　“他是谁？” 　　“哪一位？” 　　“那个接待我们的人。他是议员吗？” 　　“噢，不，那些议员我每天都见过，”波尚说，“他的面孔我却不认识。” 　　“这件丧事有没有登报？” 　　“报纸上提及过，但文章不是我写的。真的，我不知道维尔福先生看了那篇文章是否会很高兴，因为它说，如果那接连四次死亡事件不是发生在检察官的家里，他对这件事情就感到有特别大的兴趣了。” 　　“可是，”夏多•勒诺说，“为家母看病的阿夫里尼医生却说维尔福情绪非常沮丧。你在找谁呀，德布雷？” 　　“我在找基督山伯爵。”德布雷道。 　　“我的银行家？他的银行家是腾格拉尔，是不是？”夏多•勒诺问德布雷。 　　“我相信是的，”那秘书带着略微有些尴尬地回答。“但这儿不仅只少基督山一个人，我也没有看见莫雷尔。” 　　“莫雷尔！他们认识他吗？”夏多•勒诺问。 　　“我记得别人只给他介绍过维尔福夫人。” 　　“可是，他是应该这儿来的呀，”德布雷说。“今天晚上我们谈论些什么？谈论这件到事件，这是今天的新闻。但是，不要再说了，我们的司法部长来了。他一定得对那个哭哭啼啼的堂弟说几句话。”于是那三个青年赶紧揍过去听。 　　波尚说的是实话。在他来参加丧礼的途中，他曾遇见过基督山，后者正在朝安顿大马路腾格拉尔先生的府上那个方向驶去。那银行家看见伯爵的马车驶进前院，带着一个伤心但又殷勤的微笑出来迎接他。“噢，”他把手伸给基督山说，“我想您是来向我表示同情吧，因为不幸确实已三番五次光临我们家了。当我看见您的时候，我正在问我自己：究竟我是否伤害了那可怜的马尔塞夫一家人，假若我曾那样希望，那么谚语所说的‘凡希望旁人遭遇不幸者，他自己必也遭遇不幸’那句话就说对了。唉！我以人格保证，不！我决没有希望马尔塞夫遭祸。他有一点儿骄傲，但那或许是因为，象我一样，他也是一个白手起家的人，可是每个人都是有缺点。啊！请看，伯爵，请看看我们这一代的人，——我们这一代人今年都非常倒霉。举例来说，看看那清正严谨的检察官所遭遇的怪事，他虽然刚失去了他的女儿，而事实上他的全家几乎都已经死光了，马尔塞夫已经身败名裂自杀身亡，而我因受贝尼代托的耻辱，而受尽人家的奚落。” 　　“还有什么？”伯爵问。 　　“唉！您不知道吗？” 　　“又有什么新的不幸发生了？” 　　“我的女儿——” 　　“腾格拉尔小、姐怎样啦？” 　　“欧热妮已离开我们了！” 　　“天哪！你在说什么呀？” 　　“是实话，我亲爱的伯爵。噢，您没有妻子儿女是多幸福哪！” 　　“您真的这样想吗？” 　　“我的确这样想。” 　　“那末腾格拉尔小、姐——” 　　“她无法容忍那坏蛋对我们的羞辱，她要求我允许她去旅行。” 　　“她已经走了吗？” 　　“前天晚上走的。” 　　“与腾格拉尔夫人一起去的吗？” 　　“不，与一位朋友。可是，我们就怕再也见不到欧热妮了，因为她的骄傲是不允许她再回法国的。” 　　“可是，男爵呀，”基督山说，“家庭里发生的伤心事，或是其他任何的烦恼，只会压倒那些只有他们的儿女可作为唯一宝物的穷人，但对一位百万富翁，那些痛苦确是可以忍受的。哲学家说得好：金钱可以减轻许多苦恼。这种观点，凡是实事求是的人一直是认为正确的，假如您认为这是灵丹妙药，您应该是非常满足的了，——您是金融界的国王，是一切权力的中心！” 　　腾格拉尔斜眼望着他，看他说话的态度是否在取笑他。 　　“是的，”他答道，“假如财富能使人得到慰藉的话，我是理应得到安慰的了，我很有钱嘛。” 　　“富有极了，我亲爱的男爵，您的财产象金字塔，——您要想毁掉它都不可能，即使可能您也不愿意！” 　　腾格拉尔对伯爵这种好心的打趣微笑了一下。“我一下想起来了，”他说，“当您进来的时候，我正在签署五张小小的凭单。我已经签了两张，您能允许我把其余那几张也签好吗？” 　　“请签吧，我亲爱的男爵，请签吧。” 　　房屋里沉默了一会儿，在这一段时间里，只听见那位银行家嗖嗖的签票声，基督山刚在细看天花板上镀金的图案。 　　“那是西班牙支票、海地支票或那不勒斯支票吗？”基督山问。 　　“都不是，”腾格拉尔微笑着说，“那是当场现付的法兰西银行凭单。噢，”他又说，“伯爵，假如我可以称为金融界的国王的话，您自己应该称为金融界皇帝了，但是，象这样的每张价值一百万的支票，您见得很多吗？” 　　伯爵接过那非常骄傲地递给他的腾格拉尔的那些纸片，读道： 　　“总经理台鉴，——请在本人存款名下按票面额付一百万正，——腾格拉尔男爵。” 　　“一，二，三，四，五，”基督山说，“五百万！啊，您简直是一个克罗苏斯［克罗苏斯，六世纪时里地的国王，以富有闻名。——译注］啦！” 　　“我平时做生意也是这样的！”腾格拉尔说。 　　“那好极了，”伯爵说，“尤其是，我相信，这是能付现钱的吧。” 　　“的确是的。”腾格拉尔说。 　　“有这种信用可不赖，真的，只有在法国才有这样的事情。五张小卡片就等于五百万！不亲眼见到谁也不能相信。” 　　“难道您怀疑它吗？” 　　“不。” 　　“您的口气里好象还有一些怀疑的成份，等一下，我要使您完全相信。跟我的职员到银行里去，您就会看见他留下这些纸片，带着同等面额的现款了。” 　　“不必了！”基督山一面说，一面收起那五张支票，“这样就不必了，这种事情是这样的稀奇，我要亲自去体验一下。我预定在您这儿提六百万。我已经提用了九十万法郎，所以您还得支付我五百一十万法郎，就给我这五张纸片吧，只要有您的签字我就相信了，这是一张我想用的六百万的收条。这张纸条是我事先准备好的，因为我今天急需钱用。”于是基督山一手把支票放进他的口袋里，一手把收据递给腾格拉尔。即使一个霹雳落到那位银行家的脚前，他也未必会这样惊恐万状了。 　　“什么！”他结结巴巴地说，“您的意思是现在要提钱吗？对不起，对不起！但这笔钱是我欠医院的，——是我答应在今天早晨付出的一笔存款。” 　　“噢，嗯，那好！”基督山说，“并不是一定要这几张支票，换一种方式付钱给我吧。我拿这几张支票是因为好奇，希望我可以对人家说：腾格拉尔银行不用准备就可以当时付给我五百万。那一定会使人家惊奇。这几张支票还给你，另外开几张给我吧。”他把那五张纸片递给腾格拉尔，银行家急忙伸手来抓，象是一只秃头鹰隔着铁笼子伸出利爪来要抓回从它那儿失去的食物一样。但他突然停住手，竭力控制住他自己，然后，在他那失态的面孔上渐渐露出了微笑。 　　“当然罗，”他说，“您的收条就是钱。” 　　“噢，是的。假如您在罗马，汤姆生•弗伦奇银行就会象您刚才那样不必太麻烦地付款给你。” 　　“原谅我，伯爵，原谅我。” 　　“那我现在可以收下这笔钱了？” 　　“是的，”腾格拉尔说，一边揉着流下来的汗珠，“是的，收下吧，收是吧。” 　　基督山把那几张支票重新放回到他的口袋里，脸上带着一种说不出的神情，象是在说：“好好，想一想，假如您反悔，现在还来得及。” 　　“不，”腾格拉尔说，“不。绝对不，收了我签的支票吧。您知道，银行家办事最讲究形式的人。我本来是准备把这笔钱付给医院的，所以我一时头脑糊涂，认为假如不用这几张支票来付钱，就象被抢了钱似的！——就好象这块钱没有那块钱好似的！原谅我。”然后他开始高声笑起来，但那种笑声总掩饰不了他的心慌。 　　“我当然可以原谅您，”基督山宽宏大量地说，“那我收起来了。”于是他把支票放进他的皮夹里。 　　“还有一笔十万法郎的款子没有结清。”腾格拉尔说。 　　“噢，小事一桩！”基督山说，“差额大概是那个数目，但不必付了，我们两清了。” 　　“伯爵，”腾格拉尔说，“您此话当真吗？” 　　“我是从来不和银行家开玩笑的，”基督山用冷冰冰的口气说，他老是用这种态度来止住他人的鲁莽，然后他转向了门口，而在这时，跟班进来通报说：“慈善医院主任波维里先生来到。” 　　“哎呀！”基督山说，“我来得正好，刚好拿到您的支票，不然他们就要和我争执了。” 　　腾格拉尔的脸色顿时变得苍白，他赶紧跟伯爵告别。基督山与站在候见室里的波维里先生交换了礼节性鞠躬，伯爵离开以后，波维里先生便立刻被引入腾格拉尔的房里。伯爵注意到那位出纳主任的手里拿着一只公文包，他那种十分严肃的脸上不由得掠过一个转瞬即逝的微笑。他在门口登上他的马车，立刻向银行驶去。 　　这时，腾格拉尔抑制住内心的激动，走上去迎接那位出纳主任。不用说，他的脸上当然挂着一个殷勤的微笑。“早安，债主，”他说，“因为我敢打赌，这次来拜访我的一定是一位债主。” 　　“您说对了，男爵，”波维里问先生答话，“医院派我来见您。寡妇、孤儿委托我到您这儿来问那五百万捐款。” 　　“大家说孤儿是应该怜悯的，”腾格拉尔说，借开玩笑来延长时间。“可怜的孩子！” 　　“我是以他们的名义来见您的，”波维里先生说，“您收到我昨天的信了吗？” 　　“收到了。” 　　“今天把收据带来了。” 　　“我亲爱的波维里先生，我不得不请您的寡妇和孤儿等待二十四小时，因为基督山先生，就是您刚才看见离开的那位先生——您一定看见他了吧，我想？” 　　“是的，嗯？” 　　“嗯，基督山先生刚才把他们的五百万带走了。” 　　“这是怎么回事？” 　　“伯爵曾在我这儿开了一个无限提款户头，——是罗马汤姆生•弗伦奇银行介绍来的，他刚才来从我这儿立刻提到五百万，我就开了一张银行支票给他。我的资金都存在银行里，而您也应该明白，假如我在一天之内提出一千万，总经理就一定会觉得很奇怪。如果能分两天提，”腾格拉尔微笑着说，“那就不同了。” 　　“哦，”波维里用一种不信任的口气说，“那位刚才离开的先生已经提去了五百万！他还对我鞠躬，象是我认识他似的。” 　　“虽然您不认识他，或许他认识您，基督山先生的社交非常广泛。” 　　“五百万！” 　　“这是他的收据。请您要圣多马［圣多马，宗教传说他是十二“圣徒”之一，曾怀疑耶稣复活。后人将他比喻多疑的人。——译注］一样，验看一下吧。” 　　波维里先生接过腾格拉尔递给他的那张纸条，读说：“兹收到腾格拉尔男爵伍百壹拾万法郎正，此款可随时向罗马汤姆生•弗伦奇银行支取。” 　　“的确是真的！”波维里说。 　　“您一定知道汤姆生•弗伦奇银行吗？” 　　“是的，我曾经与它有过二十万法郎的交易，但此后就没有再听人提到过它。” 　　“那是欧洲最有信誉的银行之一。”腾格拉尔说，把那张收据漫不经心抛在他的写字台上。 　　“而他光在您的手里就有五百万！看来，这位基督山伯爵是一位富豪了！” 　　“老实说，我不知道他到底是什么人，但他有三封无限提款的委托书，——一封给我，一封给罗斯希尔德，一封给拉费德。而您看，”他漫不经心地又说，“他把优惠权给了我，并且留下十万法郎给我做手续费用。” 　　波维里先生用十分钦佩的神情。“我一定去拜访他，求他捐一点款给我们。” 　　“他每月慈善捐款总在两万以上。” 　　“真叫人佩服！我当把马尔塞夫夫人和她儿子的事例讲给他听。” 　　“什么事例？” 　　“他们把全部财产捐给了医院。” 　　“什么财产？” 　　“他们自己的，——已故的马尔塞夫将军给他们留下的全部财产。” 　　“为了什么原因？” 　　“因为他们不愿意接受通过犯罪得来的钱。” 　　“那么他们靠什么生活呢？” 　　“母亲隐居在乡下，儿子去参军。” 　　“嗯，我已经必须承认，这些都是造孽钱。” 　　“我昨天把他们的赠契登记好了。” 　　“他们有多少？” 　　“噢，不太多！大约一百二三十万法郎左右。来谈论我们的那笔款吧。” 　　“当然罗，”腾格拉尔用轻松的口气说。“那末，您急于要这笔钱吗？” 　　“是的，因为我们明天要查点帐目了。” 　　“明天，您为什么不早告诉我呢？不过明天还早点吧？几点钟开始查点？” 　　“两点钟。” 　　“十二点钟送去。”腾格拉尔微笑着说。 　　波维里先生不再说什么，只是点点头，拿起那只公文夹。 　　“现在我想起来了，您可以有更好的办法。”腾格拉尔说。 　　“怎么说？” 　　“基督山先生的收据等于是钱，您拿它到罗斯希尔德或拉费德的银行里去，他们立刻可以给您兑现。” 　　“什么，在罗马付款的单据都能兑现。” 　　“当然罗，只收您付千分之五或千分之六的利息就得了。” 　　那位出纳主任吓得倒退一步。“不！”他说，“我情愿还是等到明天的。亏您想得出！” 　　“我以为，”腾格拉尔卤莽地说，“要填补呢？” 　　“啊！”那出纳主任说。 　　“假如真是那样的话，也就是他做点牺牲了。” 　　“感谢上帝，不！”波维里先生说。 　　“那么您愿意等到明天吗，我亲爱的出纳主任？” 　　“是的，但不会再失约了吗？” 　　“啊！您在开玩笑！明天十二点派人来，我先通知银行。” 　　“我亲自来取好了。” 　　“那敢情好，那样我就可以有幸跟您见一面了。”他们握了握手。 　　“顺便问问，”波维里先生说，“我到这儿来的路上遇见那可怜的维尔福小、姐送葬，您不去送丧吗？” 　　“不，”那银行家说，“自从发生贝尼代托的事件以后，我似乎成了人家的笑柄，所以我不出头露面！” 　　“您弄错了。那件事情怎么能怪您呢？” 　　“听着：当一个人有了象我这样没受过玷污的名誉的时候，他总是有点敏感的。” 　　“每一个人都会同情您，阁下，尤其同情腾格拉尔小、姐！” 　　“可怜的欧热妮！”腾格拉尔说，“您知道她要进修道院吗？” 　　“唉！这件事很不幸，但却是真的。发生事情以后的第二天，她就带着一个她所认识的修女离开了巴黎。她们已到意大利或西班牙去寻找一座教规非常正格的修道院去了。” 　　“噢！真可怕！”波维里先生带着这种表示同情的叹息声出去了。腾格拉尔便做了一个极富有表情的姿态，喊道，傻瓜！”只有看过弗列德里克扮演罗伯•马克［《罗伯•马克》是一八三四年前后在巴黎流行的一个喜剧。——译注］的人才能想象出这个姿势是什么意思。然后，一面把基督山的收据放进一只小皮夹里，一面又说，“好吧，十二点钟的时候来吧，那时我早就离开了。”他把房门上闩落锁，把他所有的抽屉，凑了大约莫五万法郎的钞票，烧了一些文件，其余的让它堆在那儿，然后开始写一封信，信封上写着“腾格拉尔男爵夫人启。” 　　“我今天晚上亲自去放在她的桌子上，”他低声地说。最后，他从抽屉里拿出一张护照，说，“好！有效期还有两个月哩。”

英文原文 Chapter 105 The Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise. M. de Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which was taking Valentine to her last home on earth. The weather was dull and stormy, a cold wind shook the few remaining yellow leaves from the boughs of the trees, and scattered them among the crowd which filled the boulevards. M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains of a Parisian family; there alone the corpses belonging to him would be surrounded by worthy associates. He had therefore purchased a vault, which was quickly occupied by members of his family. On the front of the monument was inscribed: "The families of Saint-Meran and Villefort," for such had been the last wish expressed by poor Renee, Valentine's mother. The pompous procession therefore wended its way towards Pere-la-Chaise from the Faubourg Saint-Honore. Having crossed Paris, it passed through the Faubourg du Temple, then leaving the exterior boulevards, it reached the cemetery. More than fifty private carriages followed the twenty mourning-coaches, and behind them more than five hundred persons joined in the procession on foot. These last consisted of all the young people whom Valentine's death had struck like a thunderbolt, and who, notwithstanding the raw chilliness of the season, could not refrain from paying a last tribute to the memory of the beautiful, chaste, and adorable girl, thus cut off in the flower of her youth. As they left Paris, an equipage with four horses, at full speed, was seen to draw up suddenly; it contained Monte Cristo. The count left the carriage and mingled in the crowd who followed on foot. Chateau-Renaud perceived him and immediately alighting from his coupe, joined him. The count looked attentively through every opening in the crowd; he was evidently watching for some one, but his search ended in disappointment. "Where is Morrel?" he asked; "do either of these gentlemen know where he is?" "We have already asked that question," said Chateau-Renaud, "for none of us has seen him." The count was silent, but continued to gaze around him. At length they arrived at the cemetery. The piercing eye of Monte Cristo glanced through clusters of bushes and trees, and was soon relieved from all anxiety, for seeing a shadow glide between the yew-trees, Monte Cristo recognized him whom he sought. One funeral is generally very much like another in this magnificent metropolis. Black figures are seen scattered over the long white avenues; the silence of earth and heaven is alone broken by the noise made by the crackling branches of hedges planted around the monuments; then follows the melancholy chant of the priests, mingled now and then with a sob of anguish, escaping from some woman concealed behind a mass of flowers. The shadow Monte Cristo had noticed passed rapidly behind the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, placed itself close to the heads of the horses belonging to the hearse, and following the undertaker's men, arrived with them at the spot appointed for the burial. Each person's attention was occupied. Monte Cristo saw nothing but the shadow, which no one else observed. Twice the count left the ranks to see whether the object of his interest had any concealed weapon beneath his clothes. When the procession stopped, this shadow was recognized as Morrel, who, with his coat buttoned up to his throat, his face livid, and convulsively crushing his hat between his fingers, leaned against a tree, situated on an elevation commanding the mausoleum, so that none of the funeral details could escape his observation. Everything was conducted in the usual manner. A few men, the least impressed of all by the scene, pronounced a discourse, some deploring this premature death, others expatiating on the grief of the father, and one very ingenious person quoting the fact that Valentine had solicited pardon of her father for criminals on whom the arm of justice was ready to fall -- until at length they exhausted their stores of metaphor and mournful speeches. Monte Cristo heard and saw nothing, or rather he only saw Morrel, whose calmness had a frightful effect on those who knew what was passing in his heart. "See," said Beauchamp, pointing out Morrel to Debray. "What is he doing up there?" And they called Chateau-Renaud's attention to him. "How pale he is!" said Chateau-Renaud, shuddering. "He is cold," said Debray. "Not at all," said Chateau-Renaud, slowly; "I think he is violently agitated. He is very susceptible." "Bah," said Debray; "he scarcely knew Mademoiselle de Villefort; you said so yourself." "True. Still I remember he danced three times with her at Madame de Morcerf's. Do you recollect that ball, count, where you produced such an effect?" "No, I do not," replied Monte Cristo, without even knowing of what or to whom he was speaking, so much was he occupied in watching Morrel, who was holding his breath with emotion. "The discourse is over; farewell, gentlemen," said the count. And he disappeared without anyone seeing whither he went. The funeral being over, the guests returned to Paris. Chateau-Renaud looked for a moment for Morrel; but while they were watching the departure of the count, Morrel had quitted his post, and Chateau-Renaud, failing in his search, joined Debray and Beauchamp. Monte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and awaited the arrival of Morrel, who by degrees approached the tomb now abandoned by spectators and workmen. Morrel threw a glance around, but before it reached the spot occupied by Monte Cristo the latter had advanced yet nearer, still unperceived. The young man knelt down. The count, with outstretched neck and glaring eyes, stood in an attitude ready to pounce upon Morrel upon the first occasion. Morrel bent his head till it touched the stone, then clutching the grating with both hands, he murmured, -- "Oh, Valentine!" The count's heart was pierced by the utterance of these two words; he stepped forward, and touching the young man's shoulder, said, -- "I was looking for you, my friend." Monte Cristo expected a burst of passion, but he was deceived, for Morrel turning round, said calmly, -- "You see I was praying." The scrutinizing glance of the count searched the young man from head to foot. He then seemed more easy. "Shall I drive you back to Paris?" he asked. "No, thank you." "Do you wish anything?" "Leave me to pray." The count withdrew without opposition, but it was only to place himself in a situation where he could watch every movement of Morrel, who at length arose, brushed the dust from his knees, and turned towards Paris, without once looking back. He walked slowly down the Rue de la Roquette. The count, dismissing his carriage, followed him about a hundred paces behind. Maximilian crossed the canal and entered the Rue Meslay by the boulevards. Five minutes after the door had been closed on Morrel's entrance, it was again opened for the count. Julie was at the entrance of the garden, where she was attentively watching Penelon, who, entering with zeal into his profession of gardener, was very busy grafting some Bengal roses. "Ah, count," she exclaimed, with the delight manifested by every member of the family whenever he visited the Rue Meslay. "Maximilian has just returned, has he not, madame?" asked the count. "Yes, I think I saw him pass; but pray, call Emmanuel." "Excuse me, madame, but I must go up to Maximilian's room this instant," replied Monte Cristo, "I have something of the greatest importance to tell him." "Go, then," she said with a charming smile, which accompanied him until he had disappeared. Monte Cristo soon ran up the staircase conducting from the ground-floor to Maximilian's room; when he reached the landing he listened attentively, but all was still. Like many old houses occupied by a single family, the room door was panelled with glass; but it was locked, Maximilian was shut in, and it was impossible to see what was passing in the room, because a red curtain was drawn before the glass. The count's anxiety was manifested by a bright color which seldom appeared on the face of that imperturbable man. "What shall I do!" he uttered, and reflected for a moment; "shall I ring? No, the sound of a bell, announcing a visitor, will but accelerate the resolution of one in Maximilian's situation, and then the bell would be followed by a louder noise." Monte Cristo trembled from head to foot and as if his determination had been taken with the rapidity of lightning, he struck one of the panes of glass with his elbow; the glass was shivered to atoms, then withdrawing the curtain he saw Morrel, who had been writing at his desk, bound from his seat at the noise of the broken window. "I beg a thousand pardons," said the count, "there is nothing the matter, but I slipped down and broke one of your panes of glass with my elbow. Since it is opened, I will take advantage of it to enter your room; do not disturb yourself -- do not disturb yourself!" And passing his hand through the broken glass, the count opened the door. Morrel, evidently discomposed, came to meet Monte Cristo less with the intention of receiving him than to exclude his entry. "Ma foi," said Monte Cristo, rubbing his elbow, "it's all your servant's fault; your stairs are so polished, it is like walking on glass." "Are you hurt, sir?" coldly asked Morrel. "I believe not. But what are you about there? You were writing." "I?" "Your fingers are stained with ink." "Ah, true, I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I am." Monte Cristo advanced into the room; Maximilian was obliged to let him pass, but he followed him. "You were writing?" said Monte Cristo with a searching look. "I have already had the honor of telling you I was," said Morrel. The count looked around him. "Your pistols are beside your desk," said Monte Cristo, pointing with his finger to the pistols on the table. "I am on the point of starting on a journey," replied Morrel disdainfully. "My friend," exclaimed Monte Cristo in a tone of exquisite sweetness. "Sir?" "My friend, my dear Maximilian, do not make a hasty resolution, I entreat you." "I make a hasty resolution?" said Morrel, shrugging his shoulders; "is there anything extraordinary in a journey?" "Maximilian," said the count, "let us both lay aside the mask we have assumed. You no more deceive me with that false calmness than I impose upon you with my frivolous solicitude. You can understand, can you not, that to have acted as I have done, to have broken that glass, to have intruded on the solitude of a friend -- you can understand that, to have done all this, I must have been actuated by real uneasiness, or rather by a terrible conviction. Morrel, you are going to destroy yourself!" "Indeed, count," said Morrel, shuddering; "what has put this into your head?" "I tell you that you are about to destroy yourself," continued the count, "and here is proof of what I say;" and, approaching the desk, he removed the sheet of paper which Morrel had placed over the letter he had begun, and took the latter in his hands. Morrel rushed forward to tear it from him, but Monte Cristo perceiving his intention, seized his wrist with his iron grasp. "You wish to destroy yourself," said the count; "you have written it." "Well," said Morrel, changing his expression of calmness for one of violence -- "well, and if I do intend to turn this pistol against myself, who shall prevent me -- who will dare prevent me? All my hopes are blighted, my heart is broken, my life a burden, everything around me is sad and mournful; earth has become distasteful to me, and human voices distract me. It is a mercy to let me die, for if I live I shall lose my reason and become mad. When, sir, I tell you all this with tears of heartfelt anguish, can you reply that I am wrong, can you prevent my putting an end to my miserable existence? Tell me, sir, could you have the courage to do so?" "Yes, Morrel," said Monte Cristo, with a calmness which contrasted strangely with the young man's excitement; "yes, I would do so." "You?" exclaimed Morrel, with increasing anger and reproach -- "you, who have deceived me with false hopes, who have cheered and soothed me with vain promises, when I might, if not have saved her, at least have seen her die in my arms! You, who pretend to understand everything, even the hidden sources of knowledge, -- and who enact the part of a guardian angel upon earth, and could not even find an antidote to a poison administered to a young girl! Ah, sir, indeed you would inspire me with pity, were you not hateful in my eyes." "Morrel" -- "Yes; you tell me to lay aside the mask, and I will do so, be satisfied! When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I answered you -- my heart was softened; when you arrived here, I allowed you to enter. But since you abuse my confidence, since you have devised a new torture after I thought I had exhausted them all, then, Count of Monte Cristo my pretended benefactor -- then, Count of Monte Cristo, the universal guardian, be satisfied, you shall witness the death of your friend;" and Morrel, with a maniacal laugh, again rushed towards the pistols. "And I again repeat, you shall not commit suicide." "Prevent me, then!" replied Morrel, with another struggle, which, like the first, failed in releasing him from the count's iron grasp. "I will prevent you." "And who are you, then, that arrogate to yourself this tyrannical right over free and rational beings?" "Who am I?" repeated Monte Cristo. "Listen; I am the only man in the world having the right to say to you, `Morrel, your father's son shall not die to-day;'" and Monte Cristo, with an expression of majesty and sublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young man, who, involuntarily overcome by the commanding manner of this man, recoiled a step. "Why do you mention my father?" stammered he; "why do you mingle a recollection of him with the affairs of today?" "Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished to destroy himself, as you do to-day -- because I am the man who sent the purse to your young sister, and the Pharaon to old Morrel -- because I am the Edmond Dantes who nursed you, a child, on my knees." Morrel made another step back, staggering, breathless, crushed; then all his strength give way, and he fell prostrate at the feet of Monte Cristo. Then his admirable nature underwent a complete and sudden revulsion; he arose, rushed out of the room and to the stairs, exclaiming energetically, "Julie, Julie -- Emmanuel, Emmanuel!" Monte Cristo endeavored also to leave, but Maximilian would have died rather than relax his hold of the handle of the door, which he closed upon the count. Julie, Emmanuel, and some of the servants, ran up in alarm on hearing the cries of Maximilian. Morrel seized their hands, and opening the door exclaimed in a voice choked with sobs, "On your knees -- on your knees -- he is our benefactor -- the saviour of our father! He is" -- He would have added "Edmond Dantes," but the count seized his arm and prevented him. Julie threw herself into the arms of the count; Emmanuel embraced him as a guardian angel; Morrel again fell on his knees, and struck the ground with his forehead. Then the iron-hearted man felt his heart swell in his breast; a flame seemed to rush from his throat to his eyes, he bent his head and wept. For a while nothing was heard in the room but a succession of sobs, while the incense from their grateful hearts mounted to heaven. Julie had scarcely recovered from her deep emotion when she rushed out of the room, descended to the next floor, ran into the drawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe which covered the purse given by the unknown of the Allees de Meillan. Meanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to the count, "Oh, count, how could you, hearing us so often speak of our unknown benefactor, seeing us pay such homage of gratitude and adoration to his memory, -- how could you continue so long without discovering yourself to us? Oh, it was cruel to us, and -- dare I say it? -- to you also." "Listen, my friends," said the count -- "I may call you so since we have really been friends for the last eleven years -- the discovery of this secret has been occasioned by a great event which you must never know. I wish to bury it during my whole life in my own bosom, but your brother Maximilian wrested it from me by a violence he repents of now, I am sure." Then turning around, and seeing that Morrel, still on his knees, had thrown himself into an arm-chair, be added in a low voice, pressing Emmanuel's hand significantly, "Watch over him." "Why so?" asked the young man, surprised. "I cannot explain myself; but watch over him." Emmanuel looked around the room and caught sight of the pistols; his eyes rested on the weapons, and he pointed to them. Monte Cristo bent his head. Emmanuel went towards the pistols. "Leave them," said Monte Cristo. Then walking towards Morrel, he took his hand; the tumultuous agitation of the young man was succeeded by a profound stupor. Julie returned, holding the silken purse in her hands, while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks, like dewdrops on the rose. "Here is the relic," she said; "do not think it will be less dear to us now we are acquainted with our benefactor!" "My child," said Monte Cristo, coloring, "allow me to take back that purse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be remembered alone through the affection I hope you will grant me. "Oh," said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, "no, no, I beseech you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us, will you not?" "You have guessed rightly, madame," replied Monte Cristo, smiling; "in a week I shall have left this country, where so many persons who merit the vengeance of heaven lived happily, while my father perished of hunger and grief." While announcing his departure, the count fixed his eyes on Morrel, and remarked that the words, "I shall have left this country," had failed to rouse him from his lethargy. He then saw that he must make another struggle against the grief of his friend, and taking the hands of Emmanuel and Julie, which he pressed within his own, he said with the mild authority of a father, "My kind friends, leave me alone with Maximilian." Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her precious relic, which Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her husband to the door. "Let us leave them," she said. The count was alone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a statue. "Come," said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his finger, "are you a man again, Maximilian?" "Yes; for I begin to suffer again." The count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation. "Maximilian, Maximilian," he said, "the ideas you yield to are unworthy of a Christian." "Oh, do not fear, my friend," said Morrel, raising his head, and smiling with a sweet expression on the count; "I shall no longer attempt my life." "Then we are to have no more pistols -- no more despair?" "No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a bullet or a knife." "Poor fellow, what is it?" "My grief will kill me of itself." "My friend," said Monte Cristo, with an expression of melancholy equal to his own, "listen to me. One day, in a moment of despair like yours, since it led to a similar resolution, I also wished to kill myself; one day your father, equally desperate, wished to kill himself too. If any one had said to your father, at the moment he raised the pistol to his head -- if any one had told me, when in my prison I pushed back the food I had not tasted for three days -- if anyone had said to either of us then, `Live -- the day will come when you will be happy, and will bless life!' -- no matter whose voice had spoken, we should have heard him with the smile of doubt, or the anguish of incredulity, -- and yet how many times has your father blessed life while embracing you -- how often have I myself" -- "Ah," exclaimed Morrel, interrupting the count, "you had only lost your liberty, my father had only lost his fortune, but I have lost Valentine." "Look at me," said Monte Cristo, with that expression which sometimes made him so eloquent and persuasive -- "look at me. There are no tears in my eyes, nor is there fever in my veins, yet I see you suffer -- you, Maximilian, whom I love as my own son. Well, does not this tell you that in grief, as in life, there is always something to look forward to beyond? Now, if I entreat, if I order you to live, Morrel, it is in the conviction that one day you will thank me for having preserved your life." "Oh, heavens," said the young man, "oh, heavens -- what are you saying, count? Take care. But perhaps you have never loved!" "Child!" replied the count. "I mean, as I love. You see, I have been a soldier ever since I attained manhood. I reached the age of twenty-nine without loving, for none of the feelings I before then experienced merit the appellation of love. Well, at twenty-nine I saw Valentine; for two years I have loved her, for two years I have seen written in her heart, as in a book, all the virtues of a daughter and wife. Count, to possess Valentine would have been a happiness too infinite, too ecstatic, too complete, too divine for this world, since it has been denied me; but without Valentine the earth is desolate." "I have told you to hope," said the count. "Then have a care, I repeat, for you seek to persuade me, and if you succeed I should lose my reason, for I should hope that I could again behold Valentine." The count smiled. "My friend, my father," said Morrel with excitement, "have a care, I again repeat, for the power you wield over me alarms me. Weigh your words before you speak, for my eyes have already become brighter, and my heart beats strongly; be cautious, or you will make me believe in supernatural agencies. I must obey you, though you bade me call forth the dead or walk upon the water." "Hope, my friend," repeated the count. "Ah," said Morrel, falling from the height of excitement to the abyss of despair -- "ah, you are playing with me, like those good, or rather selfish mothers who soothe their children with honeyed words, because their screams annoy them. No, my friend, I was wrong to caution you; do not fear, I will bury my grief so deep in my heart, I will disguise it so, that you shall not even care to sympathize with me. Adieu, my friend, adieu!" "On the contrary," said the count, "after this time you must live with me -- you must not leave me, and in a week we shall have left France behind us." "And you still bid me hope?" "I tell you to hope, because I have a method of curing you." "Count, you render me sadder than before, if it be possible. You think the result of this blow has been to produce an ordinary grief, and you would cure it by an ordinary remedy -- change of scene." And Morrel dropped his head with disdainful incredulity. "What can I say more?" asked Monte Cristo. "I have confidence in the remedy I propose, and only ask you to permit me to assure you of its efficacy." "Count, you prolong my agony." "Then," said the count, "your feeble spirit will not even grant me the trial I request? Come -- do you know of what the Count of Monte Cristo is capable? do you know that he holds terrestrial beings under his control? nay, that he can almost work a miracle? Well, wait for the miracle I hope to accomplish, or" -- "Or?" repeated Morrel. "Or, take care, Morrel, lest I call you ungrateful." "Have pity on me, count!" "I feel so much pity towards you, Maximilian, that -- listen to me attentively -- if I do not cure you in a month, to the day, to the very hour, mark my words, Morrel, I will place loaded pistols before you, and a cup of the deadliest Italian poison -- a poison more sure and prompt than that which has killed Valentine." "Will you promise me?" "Yes; for I am a man, and have suffered like yourself, and also contemplated suicide; indeed, often since misfortune has left me I have longed for the delights of an eternal sleep." "But you are sure you will promise me this?" said Morrel, intoxicated. "I not only promise, but swear it!" said Monte Cristo extending his hand. "In a month, then, on your honor, if I am not consoled, you will let me take my life into my own hands, and whatever may happen you will not call me ungrateful?" "In a month, to the day, the very hour and the date are sacred, Maximilian. I do not know whether you remember that this is the 5th of September; it is ten years to-day since I saved your father's life, who wished to die." Morrel seized the count's hand and kissed it; the count allowed him to pay the homage he felt due to him. "In a month you will find on the table, at which we shall be then sitting, good pistols and a delicious draught; but, on the other hand, you must promise me not to attempt your life before that time." "Oh, I also swear it!" Monte Cristo drew the young man towards him, and pressed him for some time to his heart. "And now," he said, "after to-day, you will come and live with me; you can occupy Haidee's apartment, and my daughter will at least be replaced by my son." "Haidee?" said Morrel, "what has become of her?" "She departed last night." "To leave you?" "To wait for me. Hold yourself ready then to join me at the Champs Elysees, and lead me out of this house without any one seeing my departure." Maximilian hung his head, and obeyed with childlike reverence.

中文翻译 第一○五章　公墓 　　波维里先生确实曾在路上遇到过送瓦朗蒂娜去最后归宿的行列。天空阴霾多云。一阵寒风吹过，树枝上残剩的黄叶，被吹得散落在那塞满马路的人群中间。维尔福先生是一个十足的巴黎人，他认为只有拉雪兹神父墓地才配得上接受一个巴黎家庭成员的遗体，只有在那儿，死者的灵魂才能得到真正的安息。所以他在那儿买下了一块永久性墓地，很快那坟地被他的家属占据了。墓碑的下面刻着“圣•米兰维尔福家族”，因为这是可怜的丽妮——瓦朗蒂娜的母亲——临终时最后的愿望。所以那庄严的送殡行列就从圣•奥诺路出发向拉雪兹神父墓地前进。队伍横越过巴黎市区以后，穿过寺院路，然后离开郊外的马路，到达坟场。打头的是三十辆丧车，五十多辆私家马车跟在后面，在马车后面，跟着五百多个步行的人。最后这一群人都是青年男女，瓦朗蒂娜的死对他们无疑是晴天霹雳；天气虽然阴沉寒冷，仍不能阻止人送那美丽、纯洁、可爱、在这如花之年夭折的姑娘。离开巴黎市区时候，突然一辆由四匹马拉的车疾驶而来，马车里的人是基督山。伯爵从车子里出来，混在步行的人群里。夏多•勒诺看见他，便立刻从自己四轮马车上下来，去和他走在一起。波尚也离开他所乘的那辆轻便马车走过来。伯爵在人丛里仔细地看来看去，他显然在找人。“莫雷尔在哪儿？”他问道，“你们谁知道他在哪儿吗？” 　　“我们在丧家吊唁时就已经问过这个问题了，”夏多•勒诺说，“因为我们中间没有见过他。” 　　伯爵一声不吭，但继续向四下里瞧着。送殡行列到达坟场了。基督山那敏锐的目光突然向树丛里望去，不一会他焦急不安的神情消失了，因为他看见一个人影在紫杉树间闪过，并认出那个人影就是他要找的人。 　　在这个豪华的大都市里的丧葬情形，人家想必都知道。黑压压的人群分散地站在白色的墓道上，天地间一片寂静，只有那围绕墓碑的篱笆竹偶尔的折断声打破寂静，然后神父用抑郁而单调的声调诵经物与他物相区别；共性使事物之间相联系。两者是辩证的统，其中还不时杂着一声女人发出来的啜泣声。基督山注意到的那个人影迅速绕到亚比拉和哀绿伊丝［指法国神学家亚比拉（一○七九—一一四二）和他所恋爱的少女哀绿伊丝。——译注］的坟墓后面，到柩车的马头旁边，与死者的几个仆人一同到达指定的墓穴跟前。人们的注意力都集中在墓穴上。基督山却只注意那个人影。伯爵有两次走出行列，为的是看清他所关切的那个人究竟有没有在衣服底下藏着武器。当殡葬行列停下的时候，可以看清那个人是莫雷尔。黑色礼服的纽扣一直扣到颔下。他脸色苍白，痉挛的手指紧紧地抓住帽子，站到一块可以看清坟墓的高地上，斜靠在一棵树上，看着入穴的每一个细节。一切进行正常。某些不易动情的人象往常一样发表一些演讲——有的对逝者的夭折，表示同情，有的就父亲的伤心侃侃而谈；有些自以为非常聪明的人还说，这个青年女郎曾几次向她的父亲求情，求他宽恕那些即将受法律惩处的罪犯；这样一直讲到他们耗尽他们那些丰美的词藻为止。 　　基督山什么也没有听，什么也没有看见，或是，说得准确些，他只注意莫雷尔，莫雷尔那种镇定的态度他那些知道他心事的人看着都忍不住异常担心。 　　“看，”波尚指一指莫雷尔，对德布雷说，“他在那儿干什么？” 　　“他的脸色真苍白呀！”夏多•勒诺说，不禁打了一个寒颤。 　　“他受凉了！”德布雷说。 　　“决不是的，”夏多•勒诺慢慢地说，“我想他是心里一定非常难受。他一向是非常多愁善感的。” 　　“唉！”德布雷说，“你说过他不认识维尔福小、姐呀！怎么会为她伤心呢？” 　　“不错，可是，我记得他曾在马尔塞夫夫人家里和维尔福小、姐跳过三次舞。您还记得那次舞会吗，伯爵？您在那次跳舞会上那样引人注目。” 　　“不，我记不得了，”基督山回答，他根本不知道他们在说什么，——他正全神贯注地注意着莫雷尔，莫雷尔好象激动得呼吸都停止了。“演讲完了，再会，诸位，”伯爵说。他转身走了，但没有人看见他到哪儿去了。葬礼结束了，来宾们纷纷回巴黎去。夏多•勒诺四寻找莫雷尔，当他在寻找伯爵的时候，莫雷尔已经挪了地方，夏多•勒诺再回头已不见了莫雷尔，便去追上德布雷和波尚。 　　基督山躲在一座大坟后面等着莫雷尔；莫雷尔走近那座刚建好但已被旁观者和工匠所遗弃的坟墓。他神情茫然地向四周环顾，当他的目光离开基督山所躲藏的那个圆形墓地，基督山已走到离他十来步远的地方，年青人却仍没有发现他。年轻人在墓前跪了下来。伯爵走到莫雷尔身后，伸长脖子，他膝盖弯曲，象是随时都会扑到莫雷尔身上去的，莫雷尔低着头，直到头接触到石板，然后双手抓住栅栏，他喃喃说道：“噢，瓦朗蒂娜哪！” 　　这几个字使伯爵的心都碎了，他走上去，扶住那青年人的肩头，说：“是你，亲爱的朋友，我正在找你。” 　　基督山本来以为莫雷尔一看到他会痛哭流涕，会对他大发雷霆，但他错了，莫雷尔回过头来，很平静的对他说：“你看见了我在祈祷。” 　　伯爵用疑惑的眼光把那年轻人从头到脚打量了一番。然后他似乎比较放心了。“要我用车子送你回巴黎吗？”他问。 　　“不，谢谢你。” 　　“你要干什么吗？” 　　“让我祈祷。” 　　伯爵并不反对，他只躲到一边，注视着莫雷尔的一举一动。莫雷尔终于站起来，拂去膝头的灰尘，然后头也不回地走上回巴黎的路。他顺着罗琪里路慢慢向回走。伯爵不乘马车，在他的身后约一百步左右步行尾随着他。马西米兰穿过运河，沿着林荫大道折回了密斯雷路。莫雷尔到家五分钟以后，伯爵便赶到了。尤莉站在花园的进口，全神贯注地看园丁为一棵孟加拉玫瑰接枝。“啊，基督山伯爵！”她喊道。他每次来访问密斯雷路的时候，这个家庭里的每一个成员都会这么欢喜他。 　　“马西米兰刚才回来，是吗，夫人？”伯爵问道。 　　“是的，我好象看见他进去的，要不要去叫艾曼纽来呀。” 　　“对不起，夫人，我必须马上到马西米兰的房间里去，”基督山答道，“我有重要的事情要告诉他。” 　　“那么请吧。”她微笑着说，目送他消失在楼梯口。基督山奔上通到马西米兰房间去的楼梯；到了楼梯顶以后，他留神倾听，但没有任何动静。跟许多独家住的老屋一样，这儿的房门上装着玻璃格子。房门闩着，马西米兰把自己关在房间里，玻璃格后面遮着红色的门帘。无法知道他在房间里干什么，伯爵脸都红了，象伯爵这样一个有铁石一般心肠的人是不容易动情的。“我怎么办呢？”他不安地自语。他想了一会儿。“我拉铃吗？不，铃声只会使马西米兰实行他的行动，那时铃声就会由另一种声音来回答。”他浑身发抖，他情急智生，用手臂撞碎了一格玻璃，随后他拨开门帘，看见莫雷尔伏在书桌上写东西，听到玻璃格破碎的声音，他从座位上跳了起来。 　　“一千个对不起！”伯爵说，“没有什么，只是我滑了一下，我的手肘不小心拦破了一格玻璃。既然玻璃打破了，来你的房间里对你讲吧。你不必惊惶！”伯爵从那打破的玻璃格里伸进手来，打开了那房门。 　　莫雷尔神情不快地向基督山迎上来，但他不是来迎接他，而是要阻止他进来。 　　“嘿！”基督山擦着自己的手肘说，“这是你仆人的过错，把你的楼梯擦得这样滑，就象走在玻璃上一样。” 　　“你碰伤了吗，阁下？”莫雷尔冷冷地问。 　　“我想没有。你在写什么呀？你在写文章吗？” 　　“我？” 　　“你的手指上染着墨水。” 　　“啊，不错，我在写东西。我虽然是一个军人，有的时候却喜欢动动笔。” 　　基督山走进房间里，马西米兰无法阻止他了，但他跟在伯爵身后。 　　“你在写文章吗？”基督山又用目光逼视着对方。 　　“我已经告诉过你了。”莫雷尔说。 　　伯爵向四周看了一下。“你的手熗怎么放在写字台上？”基督山指着书桌上的手熗说。 　　“我就要出门去旅行了。”莫雷尔答道。 　　“我的朋友！”基督山用一种非常友好口吻喊道。 　　“阁下！” 　　“我的朋友，我亲爱的马西米兰，不要作匆忙的决定，我求求你。” 　　“我作匆忙的决定？”莫雷尔耸耸肩说，“出门去旅行一次有什么奇怪呢？” 　　“马西米兰，”伯爵说，“让我们放下我们的假面具。你不要再用那种假镇定来骗我，我也不用再对你装出儿戏式的关怀。你当然明白我刚才撞破玻窗，打扰一位朋友，我这所以这么做，正是因为我怀着极度的不安，或者说得更确切些，是怀着一种可怕的确信。莫雷尔，你想自杀！” 　　“伯爵！”莫雷尔打了一个寒颤说，“你怎么会有这种想法？” 　　“我告诉你，你是想自杀，”伯爵继续说，“这就是证据。” 　　他走到写字台前，把莫雷尔遮住的那张纸拿开，把那封信拿在手里。 　　莫雷尔冲上来抢那封信，但基督山看出他会这么做，用他有力的手抓住他的手。“你看，你想自杀，”伯爵说，“你已经把这念头写在纸上了。” 　　“好吧！”莫雷尔说，他的表情又从疯狂的激动变为平静，——“好吧，即使我想用这支手熗自杀，谁能阻止我？谁敢阻止我？当我说，我生命的全部希望已熄灭，我的心已经死了。我的生命之火熄灭了，周围的一切都让我伤心，地球已变成灰烬，每一个人的声音都伤害我，当我说，让我死是慈悲，假如我活下去，我就会因丧失理智而发疯，阁下，告诉我，——当听了这一番话以后，谁还会对我说‘你错了’。还有谁会来尝试阻止我去死呢！告诉我，阁下，难道你有那种勇气吗？” 　　“是的，莫雷尔，”基督山说，他的态度非常坚定，与那年轻人激动异常，成为一个明显的对照，——“是的，我要那样做。” 　　“你！”莫雷尔愤怒地喊道，——“你，当我还可以救她，或者可以看着她死在我怀里的时候，你来欺骗我，用空洞的诺言来鼓励和安慰我。你，你假装无所不知，无所不能，你扮演上帝，却不能救一个年轻的姑娘！啊！说老实话，阁下，如果你不是让我看了觉得可怕的话，我简直会觉得你很可怜！” 　　“莫雷尔！” 　　“你叫我放下假面具，我不改变主意，请放心吧！当你在她的坟前跟我说话的时候，我回答了你，那是因为我的心软了，你到这儿来的时候，我让你进来。既然你得寸进尺，既然你到我这个作为坟墓用的房间里来激怒我，我已经受尽人间痛苦以后，你又为我设计出一种新的苦刑，——那么假装做我的恩人的基督山伯爵呀，人间天使的基督山伯爵呀，你可以满意了，你目睹一位朋友的死吧。”说着，莫雷尔狂笑着扑过去拿那支手熗。 　　基督山脸色惨白，但他的眼睛闪闪发光，他用手压住手熗，对狂疯的人说：“我再对你说一遍，你不能自杀。” 　　“你还想阻止我，”莫雷尔回答，挣扎着要摆脱伯爵的手，但象第一次一样，他的挣扎徒劳无用。 　　“那么你认为你是谁，竟敢用这种暴虐的态度对待自由而理智的人？” 　　“我是谁？”基督山重复道，“听着，在这个世界上，只有我有权利可以对你说：‘莫雷尔，你父亲的儿子不应该死在今天。’”基督山两臂交叉，神情庄严地向那年轻人迎上去，他看上去是那么崇高那么神圣，年轻人不由自主地在这种近乎神圣的威严面前屈服了，他后退了一步。 　　“你为什么要提到我的父亲？”他结结巴巴地问，“你为什么要把他和今天的事情混在一起！” 　　“因为当你的父亲象你今天这样要自杀的时候，阻止了他的，就是我。送钱袋给你的妹妹，送埃及王号给老莫雷尔先生的，就是我。因为我就是那个当你还是一个小孩子的时候就把你抱在膝头上玩的爱德蒙•唐太斯。” 　　莫雷尔由于震惊几乎透不过气来，他踉踉跄跄地倒退了一步；他再也支持不住了，大叫一声俯伏到基督山脚下。然后，他又立刻爬起来，冲向房门，在楼梯顶上放开嗓子大喊：“尤莉，尤莉！艾曼纽！艾曼纽！” 　　基督山想出来，但马西米兰住门不让伯爵出来，宁死也不肯放松门柄。尤莉、艾曼纽和那个仆人听到马西米兰的喊声，便惊怕失措地奔上来。莫雷尔拉着他们的手，把门推开，用一种呜咽声音喊道：“跪下，跪下！他是我们的恩人！是我们父亲的救命恩人，他是——” 　　他本来还想说出“爱德蒙•唐太斯”这个名字，但伯爵抓住他的手臂，阻止了他。尤莉扑到伯爵的怀抱里；艾曼纽热情地拥抱他；莫雷尔又跪下来，用他的额头碰地板。那时，那个意志坚强的人觉得他的心膨胀起来；喉部似乎有一道火焰冲上眼睛；他低下头哭泣起来。一时间，房间里只听见继续啜泣声，尤莉激动异常，她冲出房间，奔到楼下，跑进客厅，揭开水晶罩，取出米兰巷她的恩人送给他的那只钱袋。 　　这时，艾曼纽用哽咽的声音对伯爵说：“噢，伯爵，您怎么能这样忍心呢？您常听我们谈起我们的恩人，常常看见我们这样感激他，崇拜他，您怎么忍心对我们隐瞒真相呢？噢，这对我们是太残酷了，而且——我敢这样说吗？——对您自己也太残酷了！” 　　“听着，我的朋友，”伯爵说，“我可以这样称呼你，因为你虽然不知道，实际上却已经和我做了十一年的朋友，——这个秘密的泄露，是由于一件你不知道的大事引出来的。上帝作证，我本来希望终生保留这个秘密，但你的内兄玛西米兰用过火的语言逼我讲了出来，他现在一定后悔当时的举动。”他转过头去看着莫雷尔，莫雷尔仍跪在地上，但已把头伏在一张圈椅里，他便含有深意地握一握艾曼纽的手，又低声说，“留心他。” 　　“为什么？”艾曼纽惊奇地问。 　　“我不能明说，但留心他。” 　　艾曼纽向房间里看了看，看见手熗放在桌子上；他的眼光停留在了它上面，他用手指了一指。基督山点了点头。艾曼纽走过去拿手熗。 　　“随它放在那儿好了，”基督山说。他向莫雷尔走过去，抓住他的手，那年轻人的心在极度的激动以后陷入了一种麻木状态。尤莉跑回来了，双手捧着那只丝带织成的钱袋，欢喜的泪珠一串串地滚下她的两颊。 　　“这是纪念品，”她说，“我不会因为认识了我们的恩人就减少对它的珍视！” 　　“我的孩子，”基督山的脸红了，“允许我拿回那只钱袋吧。你们现在既然已经认识我，我只希望你们心里时时能想起我就行了。” 　　“噢，”尤莉把钱袋紧紧地搂在怀里说，“不，不，我求求您，不要把它带走，因为在某一日子，您要离开我们的，是吗？” 　　“你猜对了，夫人，”基督山微笑着答道，“在一星期之内，我就要离开这个国家了，因为在这里，许多应惩罚的人过着快乐的生活，而我的父亲却在饥愁交迫中去世。” 　　当他说要离开的时候，伯爵看看莫雷尔，他发现“我就要离开这个国家”这几个字并不能把他从麻木状态中唤醒。他知道必须用另一种方法来帮他的朋友抑制悲哀，便握住艾曼纽和尤莉的手，用一个只有父亲能有的温和而威严的口吻说：“我的好朋友，让我单独和马西米兰呆一会。” 　　尤莉看到基督山不留意那只钱袋，她可以带走她那宝贵的纪念物了，便拉她的丈夫到门口。“我们离开他们吧。”她说。 　　房间里只剩下伯爵和莫雷尔了，莫雷尔仍象石像似的一动不动。 　　“来，”基督山用手指碰了碰他的肩膀说，“你总算又变成男子汉了，马西米兰？” 　　“是的，因为我又开始痛苦了。” 　　伯爵皱了皱眉头，犹豫说。“马西米兰，马西米兰，”他说，“你心里的念头不是一个基督徒所应有的。” 　　“噢，不必怕，我的朋友，”莫雷尔说，他抬起头来，向伯爵露出一个伤心的微笑，“我不想自杀了。” 　　“那么你用不着手熗，也用不着绝望了。” 　　“用不着了，要治愈我的悲哀，有一种比子弹或小刀更好的办法。” 　　“可怜的人，那是什么？” 　　“我的悲哀会使我死去！” 　　“我的朋友，”基督山同样忧郁的说，“听我说。以前有一天，我跟你现在一样绝望，我下过象你一样的决心，想自杀，以前有一天，你的父亲在同样绝望的时候，也希望自杀。假如当你的父亲举起手熗准备自杀的时候，当我在监狱里三天不曾吃东西的时候，有人来对他或对我说：“活下去，将来有一天，你会快乐，会赞美生活的！’——不论那些话是谁说的，我们听了总觉得不可思议而且感到难以相信的痛苦，可是，当你父亲在拥抱你的时候，他曾多少次赞美生活呀！我自己也曾多少次——” 　　“啊！”莫雷尔打断伯爵的话叹道，“你只丧失了你的自由，家父只丧失了他的财产，但是我——我失去了瓦朗蒂娜。” 　　“看看我，莫雷尔，”基督山庄严地说，这种庄严的态度使他看来是这样的伟大，证人没法不信服他，——“看看我，我的眼睛里没有眼泪，我的情绪并不狂热，可是我却眼看着你在痛苦——你，马西米兰，我是把你当作我自己的儿子一样看待的。嗯，这不是在告诉你：悲哀也象生活一样，总是伴随着一些你意想不到的事情吗？现在，假如我求你活下去的话，莫雷尔，那是因为我相信，将来有一天，你会感谢我保全你的生命的。” 　　“那青年说，“噢，天哪！你在说什么呀，伯爵？留点神，或许你从来没有恋爱过！” 　　“孩子！”伯爵回答。 　　“我是指象我这样的恋爱。你看，我成年以后，就是一个军人。我到二十九岁没有恋爱过，在那以前，我所体验的情感没有一种称为爱情。嗯，在二十九岁的时候，我遇见了瓦朗蒂娜，我爱上了她，在两年的期间内，我从她的身上看见了为妻为女的一切美德，就象写在纸上一样，伯爵，拥有了瓦朗镑娜将是一种无限的、空前的幸福，——一种在世界上太大、太完整、太超凡的幸福。既然这个世界不允许我得到这个幸福，伯爵，失掉了瓦朗蒂娜，世界所留给我的就只有绝望和凄凉了。” 　　“我告诉你，要抱有希望。”伯爵说。 　　“那么，我再说一遍：留点神，因为你想得说服我，假如你成功了，我便会失去理智，因为要劝服我，除非使我想信我还能再得到瓦朗蒂娜。” 　　伯爵微笑了一下。 　　“我的朋友，我的父亲，”莫雷尔兴奋地喊道：“我第三次再声明：留点神，因为你对我的影响太大了。你在说话以前先想好，因为我的眼睛又有神了，我的心又复活了。留点神，因为你是在让我相信那些神乎其神的事。如果你吩咐我掘起那埋葬睚鲁［传说耶稣使他的女儿复活。——译注］之女的墓石，我就会去做。假如你指示我方向，吩咐我象圣徒那样在大海的波浪上行走，我也会服从你，留神哪，什么都会服从你的。” 　　“要抱有希望吧，我的朋友。”伯爵仍旧说。 　　“啊，”莫雷尔说，情绪顿时兴奋的高峰跌回到绝望的深谷——“啊，你在逗我，象那些善良而自私的母亲用甜言蜜语哄她们的孩子一样，因为孩子的哭喊使她们感到烦恼。不，我的朋友，我要你留神是不对的。不用怕，我将把我的痛苦埋在我心灵的深处，我会让它成为秘密，甚至连你不必怜悯我。别了，我的朋友，别了！” 　　“正相反，”伯爵说．“从此刻起，你必须得和我住在一起，——你一定不能离开我，在一星期之内，我们就要离开法国了。” 　　“仍然要我抱有希望吗？” 　　“我告诉你应该抱有希望，因为我知道一种方法可以医治你。” 　　“伯爵，如果可能的话，你这样只能使我比以前更伤心了。你以为这只是一种普通的打击，你可以用一种普通的方法——改换环境——来医好它。”于是莫雷尔以鄙夷不屑的怀疑摇摇头。 　　“我还能说什么呢？”基督山问道。“我对于我的方法很有信心，求你允许我来试一试。” 　　“伯爵，你只会使我痛苦拖得更长。” 　　“那么”伯爵说，“你的心就那么脆弱，甚至连给我一个尝试的勇气都没有吗？来！你可知道基督山伯爵能力有多大？你可知道他掌握着多少权力？你可知道他多少信心可以从上帝那儿获得奇迹？上帝说，人有信仰，可以移山。嗯，等一等吧，那个奇迹抱有希望，不然——不然，小心哪，莫雷尔，否则要说你忘恩负义了。” 　　“可怜可怜我吧，伯爵！” 　　“我对你是这样的同情，马西米兰，请听我说，如果我不能在一个月以内医好你，则到那一天，到那个时候，注意我的话，莫雷尔，我就把手熗放在你的面前，另外再给你一杯最厉害的意大利毒药——一种比杀死瓦朗蒂娜的毒药更有效更迅速的毒药。” 　　“你答应我了？” 　　“是的，因为我是一个男子汉，因为正如我所告诉你的，也曾想过死。真的，自从不幸离开我以后，我时常想到长眠的快乐。” 　　“但你一定能答应我这一点吗？”莫雷尔陶醉地说。 　　“我不但答应，而且可以发誓！”基督山伸出一只手说。 　　“那么，凭你的人格担保，在一个月之内，假如我还不能得到安慰，我自由处理我的生命，而不论我怎样做，你都不会说我忘恩负义了？” 　　“一个月，十年前的这个时间和日期是神圣的，马西米兰。我不知道你是否还记得：今天是九月五日，十年前的今天，你的父亲想死，是我救他的命。” 　　莫雷尔抓住伯爵的手吻了一下，伯爵任他这样做，他觉得这是他应该得到的。“一个月期满的时候，”基督山继续说，“你将在我们那时所坐的桌子前面看到一支手熗，你可以愉快的去死，但是，你必须答应我这一个月内决不自杀。” 　　“噢！我也发誓。” 　　基督山把那年轻人紧紧地搂在怀里。“现在，”他说，“过了今天，你就来和我住在一起。你可以住海黛的房间，至少可以由个儿子来代替我的女儿了。 　　“海黛？”莫雷尔说，“她怎么了？” 　　“她昨天晚上走了。” 　　“离开你吗？” 　　“因为她要去等着我。所以，你准备一下，到香榭丽舍大街去找我。现在陪我走出去不要让任何人看见我。” 　　马西米兰低下头，象一个孩子或圣徒似的照他的吩咐做了。