基督山伯爵 英文版 The Count of Monte Cristo
大仲马 Alexandre Dumas père
Chapter 30 Page 2
"You have no money coming in on which you can rely?"
"None."
"You have exhausted every resource?"
"All."
"And in half an hour," said Maximilian in a gloomy voice,"our name is dishonored!"
"Blood washes out dishonor," said Morrel.
"You are right, father; I understand you." Then extendinghis hand towards one of the pistols, he said, "There is onefor you and one for me -- thanks!" Morrel caught his hand."Your mother -- your sister! Who will support them?" Ashudder ran through the young man's frame. "Father," hesaid, "do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?"
"Yes, I do so bid you," answered Morrel, "it is your duty.You have a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, youare no ordinary man. I make no requests or commands; I onlyask you to examine my position as if it were your own, andthen judge for yourself."
The young man reflected for a moment, then an expression ofsublime resignation appeared in his eyes, and with a slowand sad gesture he took off his two epaulets, the insigniaof his rank. "Be it so, then, my father," he said, extendinghis hand to Morrel, "die in peace, my father; I will live."Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before hisson, but Maximilian caught him in his arms, and those twonoble hearts were pressed against each other for a moment."You know it is not my fault," said Morrel. Maximiliansmiled. "I know, father, you are the most honorable man Ihave ever known."
"Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go andrejoin your mother and sister."
"My father," said the young man, bending his knee, "blessme!" Morrel took the head of his son between his two hands,drew him forward, and kissing his forehead several timessaid, "Oh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and in thename of three generations of irreproachable men, who saythrough me, `The edifice which misfortune has destroyed,providence may build up again.' On seeing me die such adeath, the most inexorable will have pity on you. To you,perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused to me.Then do your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go towork, labor, young man, struggle ardently and courageously;live, yourself, your mother and sister, with the most rigideconomy, so that from day to day the property of those whomI leave in your hands may augment and fructify. Reflect howglorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn, that dayof complete restoration, on which you will say in this veryoffice, `My father died because he could not do what I havethis day done; but he died calmly and peaceably, because indying he knew what I should do.'"
"My father, my father!" cried the young man, "why should younot live?"
"If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest wouldbe converted into doubt, pity into hostility; if I live I amonly a man who his broken his word, failed in hisengagements -- in fact, only a bankrupt. If, on thecontrary, I die, remember, Maximilian, my corpse is that ofan honest but unfortunate man. Living, my best friends wouldavoid my house; dead, all Marseilles will follow me in tearsto my last home. Living, you would feel shame at my name;dead, you may raise your head and say, `I am the son of himyou killed, because, for the first time, he has beencompelled to break his word.'"
The young man uttered a groan, but appeared resigned.
"And now," said Morrel, "leave me alone, and endeavor tokeep your mother and sister away."
"Will you not see my sister once more?" asked Maximilian. Alast but final hope was concealed by the young man in theeffect of this interview, and therefore he had suggested it.Morrel shook his head. "I saw her this morning, and bade heradieu."
"Have you no particular commands to leave with me, myfather?" inquired Maximilian in a faltering voice.
"Yes; my son, and a sacred command."
"Say it, my father."
"The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, fromhumanity, or, it may be, selfishness -- it is not for me toread men's hearts -- has had any pity for me. Its agent, whowill in ten minutes present himself to receive the amount ofa bill of 287,500 francs, I will not say granted, butoffered me three months. Let this house be the first repaid,my son, and respect this man."
"Father, I will," said Maximilian.
"And now, once more, adieu," said Morrel. "Go, leave me; Iwould be alone. You will find my will in the secretary in mybedroom."
The young man remained standing and motionless, having butthe force of will and not the power of execution.
"Hear me, Maximilian," said his father. "Suppose I was asoldier like you, and ordered to carry a certain redoubt,and you knew I must be killed in the assault, would you notsay to me, as you said just now, `Go, father; for you aredishonored by delay, and death is preferable to shame!'"
"Yes, yes," said the young man, "yes;" and once againembracing his father with convulsive pressure, he said, "Beit so, my father."
And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him,Morrel remained an instant standing with his eyes fixed onthe door; then putting forth his arm, he pulled the bell.After a moment's interval, Cocles appeared.
It was no longer the same man -- the fearful revelations ofthe three last days had crushed him. This thought -- thehouse of Morrel is about to stop payment -- bent him to theearth more than twenty years would otherwise have done.
"My worthy Cocles," said Morrel in a tone impossible todescribe, "do you remain in the ante-chamber. When thegentleman who came three months ago -- the agent of Thomson& French -- arrives, announce his arrival to me." Coclesmade no reply; he made a sign with his head, went into theanteroom, and seated himself. Morrel fell back in his chair,his eyes fixed on the clock; there were seven minutes left,that was all. The hand moved on with incredible rapidity, heseemed to see its motion.
What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment ofhis agony cannot be told in words. He was stillcomparatively young, he was surrounded by the loving care ofa devoted family, but he had convinced himself by a courseof reasoning, illogical perhaps, yet certainly plausible,that he must separate himself from all he held dear in theworld, even life itself. To form the slightest idea of hisfeelings, one must have seen his face with its expression ofenforced resignation and its tear-moistened eyes raised toheaven. The minute hand moved on. The pistols were loaded;he stretched forth his hand, took one up, and murmured hisdaughter's name. Then he laid it down seized his pen, andwrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not taken asufficient farewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turnedagain to the clock, counting time now not by minutes, but byseconds. He took up the deadly weapon again, his lips partedand his eyes fixed on the clock, and then shuddered at theclick of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this momentof mortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his brow, apang stronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. Heheard the door of the staircase creak on its hinges -- theclock gave its warning to strike eleven -- the door of hisstudy opened; Morrel did not turn round -- he expected thesewords of Cocles, "The agent of Thomson & French."
He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth.Suddenly he heard a cry -- it was his daughter's voice. Heturned and saw Julie. The pistol fell from his hands. "Myfather!" cried the young girl, out of breath, and half deadwith joy -- "saved, you are saved!" And she threw herselfinto his arms, holding in her extended hand a red, nettedsilk purse.
"Saved, my child!" said Morrel; "what do you mean?"
"Yes, saved -- saved! See, see!" said the young girl.
Morrel took the purse, and started as he did so, for a vagueremembrance reminded him that it once belonged to himself.At one end was the receipted bill for the 287,000 francs,and at the other was a diamond as large as a hazel-nut, withthese words on a small slip of parchment: -- Julie's Dowry.
Morrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him adream. At this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as ifeach stroke of the hammer fell upon his heart. "Explain, mychild," he said, "Explain, my child," he said, "explain --where did you find this purse?"
"In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the cornerof a mantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor."
"But," cried Morrel, "this purse is not yours!" Julie handedto her father the letter she had received in the morning.
"And did you go alone?" asked Morrel, after he had read it.
"Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited forme at the corner of the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say,he was not there when I returned."
"Monsieur Morrel!" exclaimed a voice on the stairs. --"Monsieur Morrel!"
"It is his voice!" said Julie. At this moment Emmanuelentered, his countenance full of animation and joy. "ThePharaon!" he cried; "the Pharaon!"
"What -- what -- the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? Youknow the vessel is lost."
"The Pharaon, sir -- they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon isentering the harbor!" Morrel fell back in his chair, hisstrength was failing him; his understanding weakened by suchevents, refused to comprehend such incredible, unheard-of,fabulous facts. But his son came in. "Father," criedMaximilian, "how could you say the Pharaon was lost? Thelookout has signalled her, and they say she is now cominginto port."
"My dear friends," said Morrel, "if this be so, it must be amiracle of heaven! Impossible, impossible!"
But what was real and not less incredible was the purse heheld in his hand, the acceptance receipted -- the splendiddiamond.
"Ah, sir," exclaimed Cocles, "what can it mean? -- thePharaon?"
"Come, dear ones," said Morrel, rising from his seat, "letus go and see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be falseintelligence!" They all went out, and on the stairs metMadame Morrel, who had been afraid to go up into the study.In a moment they were at the Cannebiere. There was a crowdon the pier. All the crowd gave way before Morrel. "ThePharaon, the Pharaon!" said every voice.
And, wonderful to see, in front of the tower of Saint-Jean,was a ship bearing on her stern these words, printed inwhite letters, "The Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles."She was the exact duplicate of the other Pharaon, andloaded, as that had been, with cochineal and indigo. Shecast anchor, clued up sails, and on the deck was CaptainGaumard giving orders, and good old Penelon making signalsto M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there wasthe evidence of the senses, and ten thousand persons whocame to corroborate the testimony. As Morrel and his sonembraced on the pier-head, in the presence and amid theapplause of the whole city witnessing this event, a man,with his face half-covered by a black beard, and who,concealed behind the sentry-box, watched the scene withdelight, uttered these words in a low tone: "Be happy, nobleheart, be blessed for all the good thou hast done and wiltdo hereafter, and let my gratitude remain in obscurity likeyour good deeds."
And with a smile expressive of supreme content, he left hishiding-place, and without being observed, descended one ofthe flights of steps provided for debarkation, and hailingthree times, shouted "Jacopo, Jacopo, Jacopo!" Then a launchcame to shore, took him on board, and conveyed him to ayacht splendidly fitted up, on whose deck he sprung with theactivity of a sailor; thence he once again looked towardsMorrel, who, weeping with joy, was shaking hands mostcordially with all the crowd around him, and thanking with alook the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking inthe skies. "And now," said the unknown, "farewell kindness,humanity, and gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings thatexpand the heart! I have been heaven's substitute torecompense the good -- now the god of vengeance yields to mehis power to punish the wicked!" At these words he gave asignal, and, as if only awaiting this signal, the yachtinstantly put out to sea.