the nabob-第56章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！



The　duke　received　the　sentence　full　in　the　face　without　flinching。

〃Ah！〃　he　said　simply。

He　pulled　his　mustache　with　a　mechanical　gesture；　but　his　features　remained　motionless。　And　immediately　he　made　up　his　mind。

That　the　poor　wretch　who　dies　in　a　hospital；　without　home　or　family；　without　other　name　than　the　number　of　his　bed；　that　he　should　accept　death　as　a　deliverance　or　bear　it　as　his　last　trial；　that　the　old　peasant　who　passes　away；　bent　double；　worn　out；　in　his　dark　and　smoky　cellar；　that　he　should　depart　without　regret；　savouring　in　advance　the　taste　of　that　fresh　earth　which　he　has　so　many　times　dug　over　and　over　that　is　intelligible。　And　yet　how　many；　even　among　such；　cling　to　existence　despite　all　their　misery！　how　many　there　are　who　cry；　holding　on　to　their　sordid　furniture　and　to　their　rags；　〃I　don't　want　to　die！〃　and　depart　with　nails　broken　and　bleeding　from　that　supreme　wrench。　But　here　there　was　nothing　of　the　kind。

To　possess　all；　and　to　lose　all。　What　a　catastrophe！

In　the　first　silence　of　that　dreadful　moment；　while　he　heard　the　sound　of　the　music　coming　faintly　from　the　duchess's　ball　at　the　other　end　of　the　palace；　whatever　attached　this　man　to　life；　power；　honour；　wealth；　all　that　splendour　must　have　seemed　to　him　already　far　away　and　in　an　irrevocable　past。　A　courage　of　a　quite　exceptional　temper　must　have　been　required　to　bear　up　under　such　a　blow　without　any　spur　of　personal　vanity。　No　one　was　present　save　the　friend；　the　doctor；　the　servant；　three　intimates　acquainted　with　all　his　secrets；　the　lights　moved　back；　left　the　bed　in　shadow；　and　the　dying　man　might　quite　well　have　turned　his　face　to　the　wall　in　lamentation　of　his　own　fate　without　being　noticed。　But　not　an　instant　of　weakness；　nor　of　useless　demonstration。　Without　breaking　a　branch　of　the　chestnut…trees　in　the　garden；　without　withering　a　flower　on　the　great　staircase　of　the　palace；　his　footsteps　muffled　on　the　thick　pile　of　the　carpets；　Death　had　opened　the　door　of　this　man　of　power　and　signed　to　him　〃Come！〃　And　he　answered　simply；　〃I　am　ready。〃　The　true　exit　of　a　man　of　the　world；　unforeseen；　rapid；　and　discreet。

Man　of　the　world！　Mora　was　nothing　if　not　that。　Passing　through　life　masked；　gloved；　breast…platedbreast…plate　of　white　satin；　such　as　the　masters　of　fence　wear　on　great　days；　preserving　his　fighting　dress　immaculate　and　clean；　sacrificing　everything　to　that　irreproachable　exterior　which　with　him　did　duty　for　armour；　he　had　determined　on　his　/role/　as　statesman　in　the　passage　from　the　drawing…room　to　a　wider　scene；　and　made；　indeed；　a　statesman　of　the　first　rank　on　the　strength　alone　of　his　qualities　as　a　man　about　town；　the　art　of　listening　and　of　smiling；　knowledge　of　men；　scepticism；　and　coolness。　That　coolness　did　not　leave　him　at　the　supreme　moment。

With　eyes　fixed　on　the　time；　so　short；　which　still　remained　to　him　for　the　dark　visitor　was　in　a　hurry；　and　he　could　feel　on　his　face　the　draught　from　the　door　which　he　had　not　closed　behind　himhis　one　thought　now　was　to　occupy　the　time　well；　to　satisfy　all　the　obligations　of　an　end　like　his；　which　must　leave　no　devotion　unrecompensed　nor　compromise　any　friend。　He　gave　a　list　of　certain　persons　whom　he　wished　to　see　and　who　were　sent　for　immediately；　summoned　the　head　of　his　cabinet；　and；　as　Jenkins　ventured　the　opinion　that　it　was　a　great　fatigue　for　him；　said：

〃Can　you　guarantee　that　I　shall　wake　to…morrow　morning？　I　feel　strong　at　this　moment；　let　me　take　advantage　of　it。〃

Louis　inquired　whether　the　duchess　should　be　informed。　The　duke；　before　replying；　listened　to　the　sounds　of　music　that　reached　his　room　through　the　open　windows　from　the　little　ball；　sounds　that　seemed　prolonged　in　the　night　on　an　invisible　bow；　then　answered：

〃Let　us　wait　a　little。　I　have　something　to　finish。〃

They　brought　to　his　bedside　the　little　lacquered　table　that　he　might　himself　sort　out　the　letters　which　were　to　be　destroyed；　but　feeling　his　strength　give　way；　he　called　Monpavon。

〃Burn　everything；〃　said　he　to　him　in　a　faint　voice；　and　seeing　him　move　towards　the　fireplace；　where　a　fire　was　burning　despite　the　warmth　of　the　season；

〃No；〃　he　added；　〃not　here。　There　are　too　many　of　them。　Some　one　might　come。〃

Monpavon　took　up　the　writing…table；　which　was　not　heavy；　and　signed　to　the　/valet　de　chambre/　to　go　before　him　with　a　light。　But　Jenkins　sprang　forward：

〃Stay　here；　Louis；　the　duke　may　want　you。〃

He　took　hold　of　the　lamp；　and　moving　carefully　down　the　whole　length　of　the　great　corridor；　exploring　the　waiting…rooms；　the　galleries；　in　which　the　fireplaces　proved　to　be　filled　with　artificial　plants　and　quite　emptied　of　ashes；　they　wandered　like　spectres　in　the　silence　and　darkness　of　the　vast　house；　alive　only　over　yonder　on　the　right；　were　pleasure　was　singing　like　a　bird　on　a　roof　which　is　about　to　fall　in　ruins。

〃There　is　no　fire　anywhere。　What　is　to　be　done　with　all　this？〃　they　asked　each　other　in　great　embarrassment。　They　might　have　been　two　thieves　dragging　away　a　chest　which　they　did　not　know　how　to　open。　At　last　Monpavon；　out　of　patience；　walked　straight　to　a　door；　the　only　one　which　they　had　not　yet　opened。

〃/Ma　foi/；　so　much　the　worse！　Since　we　cannot　burn　them；　we　will　drown　them。　Hold　the　light；　Jenkins。〃

And　they　entered。

Where　were　they？　Saint…Simon　relating　the　downfall　of　one　of　those　sovereign　existences；　the　disarray　of　ceremonies；　of　dignities；　of　grandeurs；　caused　by　death　and　especially　by　sudden　death；　only　Saint…Simon　might　have　found　words　to　tell　you。　With　his　delicate；　carefully　kept　hands；　the　Marquis　de　Monpavon　did　the　pumping。　The　other　passed　to　him　the　letters　after　tearing　them　into　small　pieces；　packets　of　letters；　on　satin　paper；　tinted；　perfumed；　adorned　with　crests；　coats　of　arms；　small　flags　with　devices；　covered　with　handwritings；　fine；　hurried；　scrawling；　entwining；　persuasive；　and　all　those　flimsy　pages　went　whirling　one　over　the　other　in　eddying　streams　of　water　which　crumpled　them；　soiled　them；　washed　out　their　tender　links　before　allowing　them　to　disappear　with　a　gurgle　down　the　drain。

They　were　love…letters　and　of　every　kind；　from　the　note　of　the　adventuress；　〃/I　saw　you　pass　yesterday　in　the　Bois；　M。　le　Duc/；〃　to　the　aristocratic　reproaches　of　the　last　mistress　but　one；　and　the　complaints　of　ladies　deserted；　and　the　page；　still　fresh；　of　recent　confidences。　Monpavon　was　in　the　secret　of　all　these　mysteriesput　a　name　on　each　of　them：　〃That　is　Mme。　Moor。　Hallo！　Mme。　d'Athis！〃　A　confusion　of　coronets　and　initials；　of　caprices　and　old　habits；　sullied　by　the　promiscuity　of　this　moment；　all　engulfed　in　the　horrid　closet　by　the　light　of　a　lamp；　with　the　noise　of　an　intermittent　gush　of　water；　departing　into　oblivion　by　a　shameful　road。　Suddenly　Jenkins　paused　in　his　work　of　destruction。　Two　satin…gray　letters　trembled　as　he　held　them　in　his　fingers。

〃Who　is　that？〃　asked　Monpavon；　noticing　the　unfamiliar　handwriting　and　the　Irishman's　nervous　excitement。　〃Ah；　doctor；　if　you　want　to　read　them　all；　we　shall　never　have　finished。〃

Jenkins；　his　cheeks　flushed；　the　two　letters　in　his　hand；　was　consumed　by　a　desire　to　carry　them　away；　to　pore　over　them　at　his　ease；　to　martyrize　himself　with　delight　by　reading　them；　perhaps　also　to　forge　out　of　this　correspondence　a　weapon　for　himself　against　the　imprudent　woman　who　had　signed　her　name。　But　the　rigorous　correctness　of　the　marquis　made　him　afraid。　How　could　he　distract　his　attentionget　him　away？　The　opportunity　occurred　of　its　own　accord。　Among　the　letters；　a　tiny　page　written　in　a　senile　and　shaky　hand；　caught　the　attention　of　the　charlatan；　who　said　with　an　ingenuous　air：　〃Oh；　oh！　here　is　something　that　does　not　look　much　like　a　/billet…doux。　'Mon　Duc；　to　the　rescueI　am　sinking！　The　Court　of　Exchequer　has　once　more　stuck　its　nose　into　my　affairs。'/〃

〃What　are　you　reading　there？〃　exclaimed　Monpavon　abruptly；　snatching　the　letter　from　his　hands。　And　immediately；　thanks　to　Mora's　negligence　in　thus　allowing　such　private　letters　to　lie　about；　the　terrible　situation　in　which　he　would　be　left　by　the　death　of　his　protector　returned　to　his　mind。　In　his　grief；　he　had　not　yet　given　it　a　thought。　He　told　himself　that　in　the　midst　of　all　his　preparations　for　his　departure；　the　duke　might　quite　possibly　overlook　him；　and；　leaving　Jenkins　to　complete　the　drowning　of　Don　Juan's　casket　by　himself；　he　returned　precipitately　in　the　direction　of　the　bed…　chamber。　Just　as　he　was　on　the　point　of　entering；　the　sound　of　a　discussion　held　him　back　behind　the　lowered　door…curtain。　It　was　Louis's　voice；　tearful　like　that　of　a　beggar　in　a　church…porch；　trying　to　move　the　duke　to　pity　for　his　distress；　and　asking　permission　to　take　certain　bundles　of　bank…notes　that　lay　in　a　drawer。　Oh；　how　hoarse；　utterly　wearied；　hardly　intelligible　the　answer；　in　which　there　could　be　detected　the　effort　of　the　sick　man　to　turn　over　in　his　bed；　to　bring　back　his　vision　from　a　far…off　distance　already　half　in　sight：

〃Yes；　yes；　take　them。　But　for　God's　sake；　let　me　sleeplet　me　sleep！〃

Drawers　opened；　closed　again；　a　short　and　panting　breath。　Monpavon　heard　no　more　of　what　was　going　on；　and　retraced　his　steps　without　entering。　The　ferocious　rapacity　of　his　servant　had　set　his　pride　upon　its　guard。　Anything　rather　than　degradation　to　such　a　point　as　that。

The　sleep　which　Mora　craved　for　so　insistentlythe　lethargy；　to　be　more　accuratelasted　a　whole　night；　and　through　the　next　morning　also；　with　uncertain　wakings　disturbed　by　terrible　sufferings　relieved　each　time　by　soporifics。　No　further　attempt　was　made　to　nurse　him　to　recovery；　they　tried　only　to　soothe　his　last　moments；　to　help　him　to　slip　painlessly　over　that　terrible　last　step。　His　eyes　had　opened　again　during　this　time；　but　were　already　dimmed；　fixed　in　the　void　on　floating　shadows；　vague　forms　like　those　a　diver　sees　quivering　in　the　uncertain　light　under　water。

In　the　afternoon　of　the　Thursday；　towards　three　o'clock；　he　regained　complete　consciousness；　and　recognising　Monpavon；　Cardailhac；　and　two　or　three　other　intimate　friends；　he　smiled　to　them；　and　betrayed　in　a　sentence　his　only　anxiety：

〃What　do　they　say　about　it　in　Paris？〃

They　said　many　things　about　it；　different　and　contradictory；　but　very　certainly　he　was　the　only　subject　of　conversation；　and　the　news　spread　through　the　town　since　the　morning；　that　Mora　was　at　his　last　breath；　agitated　the　streets；　the　drawing…rooms；　the　cafes；　the　workshops；　revived　the　question　of　the　political　situation　in　newspaper　offices　and　clubs；　even　in　porters'　lodges　and　on　the　tops　of　omnibuses；　in　every　place　where　the　unfolded　public　newspapers　commented　on　this　startling　rumour　of　the　day。

Mora　was　the　most　brilliant　incarnation　of　the　Empire。　One　sees　from　a　distance；　not　the　solid　or　insecure　base　of　the　building；　but　the　gilded　and　delicate　spire；　embellished；　carved　into　hollow　tracery；　added　for　the　satisfaction　of　the　age。　Mora　was　what　was　seen　in　France　and　throughout　Europe　of　the　Empire。　If　he　fell；　the　monument　would　find　itself　bereft　of　all　its　elegance；　split　as　by　some　long　and　irreparable　crack。　And　how　many　lives　would　be　dragged　down　by　that　sudden　fall；　how　many　fortunes　undermined　by　the　weakened　reverberations　of　the　catastrophe！　None　so　completely　as　that　of　the　big　man　si