第 1 节
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朝令夕改 更新:2021-02-21 16:09 字数:9321
The Trampling of the Lilies
by Rafael Sabatini
CONTENTS
PART I
THE OLD RULE
CHAPTER
I。 MONSIEUR THE SECRETARY
II。 LORDS OF LIFE AND DEATH
III。 THE WORD OF BELLECOUR
IV。 THE DISCIPLES OF ROUSSEAU
PART II
THE NEW RULE
V。 THE SHEEP TURNED WOLVES
VI。 THE CITIZEN COMMISSIONER
VII。 LA BOULAYE DISCHARGES A DEBT
VIII。 THE INVALIDS AT BOISVERT
IX。 THE CAPTIVES
X。 THE BAISER LAMOURETTE
XI。 THE ESCAPE
XII。 THE AWAKENING
XIII。 THE ROAD TO LIEGE
XIV。 THE COURIER
XV。 LA BOULAYE BAITS HIS HOOK
PART III
THE EVERLASTING RULE
XVI。 CECILE DESHAIX
XVII。 LA BOULAYE'S PROMISE
XVIII。 THE INCORRUPTIBLE
XIX。 THE THEFT
XX。 THE GRATITUDE OF OMBREVAL
XXI。 THE ARREST
XXII。 THE TRIBUNAL
XXIII。 THE CONCIERGERIE
PART I
THE OLD RULE
These are they
Who ride on the court gale; control its tides;
***
Whose frown abases and whose smile exalts。
They shine like any rainbow … and; perchance;
Their colours are as transient。
Old Play
CHAPTER I
MONSIEUR THE SECRETARY
It was spring at Bellecour … the spring of 1789; a short three months
before the fall of the Bastille came to give the nobles pause; and
make them realise that these new philosophies; which so long they
have derided; were by no means the idle vapours they had deemed them。
By the brook; plashing its glittering course through the park of
Bellecour; wandered La Boulaye; his long; lean; figure clad with a
sombreness that was out of harmony in that sunlit; vernal landscape。
But the sad…hued coat belied that morning a heart that sang within
his breast as joyously as any linnet of the woods through which he
strayed。 That he was garbed in black was but the outward indication
of his clerkly office; for he was secretary to the most noble the
Marquis de Fresnoy de Bellecour; and so clothed in the livery of
the ink by which he lived。 His face was pale and lean and thoughtful;
but within his great; intelligent eyes there shone a light of
new…born happiness。 Under his arm he carried a volume of the new
philosophies which Rousseau had lately given to the world; and which
was contributing so vastly to the mighty change that was impending。
But within his soul there dwelt in that hour no such musty subject
as the metaphysical dreams of old Rousseau。 His mood inclined
little to the 〃Discourses upon the Origin of Inequality〃 which his
elbow hugged to his side。 Rather was it a mood of song and joy and
things of light; and his mind was running on a string of rhymes
which mentally he offered up to his divinity。 A high…born lady was
she; daughter to his lordly employer; the most noble Marquis of
Bellecour。 And he a secretary; a clerk! Aye; but a clerk with a
great soul; a secretary with a great belief in the things to come;
which in that musty tome beneath his arm were dimly prophesied。
And as he roamed beside the brook; his feet treading the elastic;
velvety turf; and crushing heedlessly late primrose and stray violet;
his blood quickened by the soft spring breeze; fragrant with hawthorn
and the smell of the moist brown earth; La Boulaye's happiness
gathered strength from the joy that on that day of spring seemed to
invest all Nature。 An old…world song stole from his firm lips…at
first timidly; like a thing abashed in new surroundings; then in
bolder tones that echoed faintly through the trees
〃Si le roi m'avait donne
Paris; sa grande ville;
Et qui'il me fallut quitter
L'amour de ma mie;
Je dirais au roi Louis
Reprenez votre Paris。
J'aime mieux ma mie; O gai!
J'aime mieux ma mie!〃
How mercurial a thing is a lover's heart! Here was one whose habits
were of solemnity and gloomy thought turned; so joyous that he could
sing aloud; alone in the midst of sunny Nature; for no better reason
than that Suzanne de Bellecour had yesternight smiled as … for some
two minutes by the clock … she had stood speaking with him。
〃Presumptuous that I am;〃 said he to the rivulet; to contradict
himself the next moment。 〃But no; the times are changing。 Soon we
shall be equals all; as the good God made us; and … 〃
He paused; and smiled pensively。 And as again the memory of her
yesternight's kindness rose before him; his smile broadened; it
became a laugh that went ringing down the glade; scaring a noisy
thrush into silence and sending it flying in affright across the
scintillant waters of the brook。 Then that hearty laugh broke
sharply off; as; behind him; the sweetest voice in all the world
demanded the reason of this mad…sounding mirth。
La Boulaye's breath seemed in that instant to forsake him and he
grew paler than Nature and the writer's desk had fashioned him。
Awkwardly he turned and made her a deep bow。
〃 Mademoiselle! You … you see that you surprised me!〃 he faltered;
like a fool。 For how should he; whose only comrades had been books;
have learnt to bear himself in the company of a woman; particularly
when she belonged to the ranks of those whom … despite Rousseau and
his other dear philosophers … he had been for years in the habit of
accounting his betters?
〃 Why; then; I am glad; Monsieur; that I surprised you in so gay a
humour … for; my faith; it is a rare enough thing。〃
〃True; lady;〃 said he foolishly; yet politely agreeing with her;
〃it is a rare thing。〃 And he sighed … 〃Helas!〃
At that the laughter leapt from her young lips; and turned him hot
and cold as be stood awkwardly before her。
〃I see that we shall have you sad at the thought of how rare is
happiness; you that but a moment back were … or so it seemed … so
joyous。 Or is it that my coming has overcast the sky of your good
humour?〃 she demanded archly。
He blushed like a school…girl; and strenuously protested that it was
not so。 In his haste he fell headlong into the sin of hastiness …
as was but natural … and said perhaps too much。
〃Your coming; Mademoiselle?〃 he echoed。 〃Nay but even had I been
sad; your coming must have dispelled my melancholy as the coming of
the sun dispels the mist upon the mountains。〃
〃A poet?〃 She mocked him playfully; with a toss of black curls and
a distracting glance of eyes blue as the heavens above them。 〃A
poet; Monsieur; and I never suspected it; for all that I held you a
great scholar。 My father says you are。〃
〃Are we not all poets at some season of our lives?〃 quoth he; for
growing accustomed to her presence … ravished by it; indeed … his
courage was returning fast and urging him beyond the limits of
discretion。
〃And in what season may this rhyming fancy touch us?〃 she asked。
〃Enlighten me; Monsieur。〃
He smiled; responsive to her merry mood; and his courage ever
swelling under the suasion of it; he answered her in a fearless;
daring fashion that was oddly unlike his wont。 But then; he was
that day a man transformed。
〃 It comes; Mademoiselle; upon some spring morning such as this …
for is not spring the mating season; and have not poets sung of it;
inspired and conquered by it? It comes in the April of life; when
in our hearts we bear the first fragrant bud of what shall anon
blossom into a glorious summer bloom red as is Love's livery and
perfumed beyond all else that God has set on earth for man's delight
and thankfulness。〃
The intensity with which he spoke; and the essence of the speech
itself; left her a moment dumb with wonder and with an
incomprehensible consternation; born of some intuition not yet
understood。
〃And so; Monsieur; the Secretary;〃 said she at last; a nervous
laugh quivering in her first words; 〃from all this wondrous verbiage
I am to take it that you love?〃
〃Aye; that I love; dear lady;〃 he cried; his eyes so intent upon her
that her glance grew timid and fell before them。 And then; a second
later; she could have screamed aloud in apprehension; for the book
of Jean Jacques Rousseau lay tumbled in the grass where he had flung
it; even as he flung himself upon his knees before her。 〃You may
take it indeed that I love … that I love you; Mademoiselle。〃
The audacious words being spoken; his courage oozed away and
anti…climax; followed。 He paled and trembled; yet he knelt on until
she should bid him rise; and furtively he watched her face。 He saw
it darken; he saw the brows knit; he noted the quickening breath;
and in all these signs he read his doom before she uttered it。
〃Monsieur; monsieur;〃 she answered him; and sad was her tone; 〃to
what lengths do you urge this springtime folly? Have you forgotten
so your station … yes; and mine … that because I talk with you and
laugh with you; and am kind to you; you must presume to speak to me
in this fashion? What answer shall I make you; Monsieur … for I am
not so cruel that I can answer you as you deserve。〃
An odd thing indeed was La Boulaye's courage。 An instant ago he had
felt a very coward; and had quivered; appalled by the audacity of
his own words。 Now that she assailed him thus; and taxed him with
that same audacity; the blood of anger rushed to his face … anger of
the quality that has its source in shame。 In a second he