章节正文
terror.
Another day Luigi took Ginevra's pictures, her portrait, and the few
articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold
them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless
household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed
the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation.
Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up
against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying
son, performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and
sufficed for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi's
lips a smile of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one
poor room where they had taken refuge.
"Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, one evening, when
he returned, worn-out.
"And you?"
"I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more."
And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her
words to take the food of which she had deprived herself.
Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given
in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme
moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi,
comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the
fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that
some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest
poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was
left in his home.
He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the
bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he
hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was
glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute
for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra,
and that her father, during his absence, would take her home.
He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt
a sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial
guard.
"It is two days since I have eaten anything," he said to him in a
slow, weak voice. "My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered
one word of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's sake,
comrade," he added, bitterly, "buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no
longer in the service, and I--"
The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to
procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped
the gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying
out at times:--
"Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!"
It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very
softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he
had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the
garret window, were fading from Ginevra's face as she sat sleeping in
her chair, and holding her child upon her breast.
"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone,
at that moment, with supernatural light.
Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's look,
and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely
recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savageenergy he
showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly
she cried, in a dreadful voice:--
"The child, Luigi, he is cold!"
She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead.
Luigi took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she
clasped with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he
went out to seek help.
"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. "I have
gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying,
too! Help me!"
He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason,
and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the
needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans
had carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride.
Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on
which lay his wife.
"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in
her delirium.
"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are
coming back to us."
"My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention,
"listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered
too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for.
Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to
live again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret
you more than I regret my child-- My child!" she added, in a hollow
voice.
Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little
body she had no power to warm.
"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said. "Tell
him I have never blamed him."
Her head fell upon her husband's arm.
"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor is coming. We have
food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with
us, angel!"
But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra
turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was
conscious of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now
losing memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped
his icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to
save herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall.
"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you."
She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died.
Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room,
bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their
despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they
had entered, an awful silence filled the room.
While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were
sitting in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast
fireplace, where a glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of
their salon. The clock told midnight.
For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At
the present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their
dotage, gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted
salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single
lamp which seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon
the hearth, they might soon have been in total darkness.
A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been
sitting, remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo
was casting glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding
one upon another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's.
Elisa Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her
husband's pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings
from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so
threatening, and anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer
read a soul that was now incomprehensible, even to her.
Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that
chair? Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for
the first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy
struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now?
These reflections shook the mother's heart successively. For an
instant her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled
at having used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's
name. The night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so
sharply against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard
a gentle rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her
tears. Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife
looked at him; he seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for
the second time in three long years--of his daughter.
"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly.
Piombo quivered.
"She may be hungry," she continued.
The old man dropped a tear.
"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!"
said the mother, in accents of despair.
"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo. "Oh! my precious
child, thou hast conquered me."
The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door
opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of
humanity, stood suddenly before them.
"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is
all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair
upon the table.
The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had
blasted them.
Luigi no longer stood before them.
"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly,
gazing on the ground at his feet.
End
Another day Luigi took Ginevra's pictures, her portrait, and the few
articles of furniture which they could still exist without, and sold
them for a miserable sum, which prolonged the agony of the hapless
household for a time. During these days of wretchedness Ginevra showed
the sublimity of her nature and the extent of her resignation.
Stoically she bore the strokes of misery; her strong soul held her up
against all woes; she worked with unfaltering hand beside her dying
son, performed her household duties with marvellous activity, and
sufficed for all. She was even happy, still, when she saw on Luigi's
lips a smile of surprise at the cleanliness she produced in the one
poor room where they had taken refuge.
"Dear, I kept this bit of bread for you," she said, one evening, when
he returned, worn-out.
"And you?"
"I? I have dined, dear Luigi; I want nothing more."
And the tender look on her beseeching face urged him more than her
words to take the food of which she had deprived herself.
Luigi kissed her, with one of those kisses of despair that were given
in 1793 between friends as they mounted the scaffold. In such supreme
moments two beings see each other, heart to heart. The hapless Luigi,
comprehending suddenly that his wife was starving, was seized with the
fever which consumed her. He shuddered, and went out, pretending that
some business called him; for he would rather have drunk the deadliest
poison than escape death by eating that last morsel of bread that was
left in his home.
He wandered wildly about Paris; amid the gorgeous equipages, in the
bosom of that flaunting luxury that displays itself everywhere; he
hurried past the windows of the money-changers where gold was
glittering; and at last he resolved to sell himself to be a substitute
for military service, hoping that this sacrifice would save Ginevra,
and that her father, during his absence, would take her home.
He went to one of those agents who manage these transactions, and felt
a sort of happiness in recognizing an old officer of the Imperial
guard.
"It is two days since I have eaten anything," he said to him in a
slow, weak voice. "My wife is dying of hunger, and has never uttered
one word of complaint; she will die smiling, I think. For God's sake,
comrade," he added, bitterly, "buy me in advance; I am robust; I am no
longer in the service, and I--"
The officer gave Luigi a sum on account of that which he promised to
procure for him. The wretched man laughed convulsively as he grasped
the gold, and ran with all his might, breathless, to his home, crying
out at times:--
"Ginevra! Oh, my Ginevra!"
It was almost night when he reached his wretched room. He entered very
softly, fearing to cause too strong an emotion to his wife, whom he
had left so weak. The last rays of the sun, entering through the
garret window, were fading from Ginevra's face as she sat sleeping in
her chair, and holding her child upon her breast.
"Wake, my dear one," he said, not observing the infant, which shone,
at that moment, with supernatural light.
Hearing that voice, the poor mother opened her eyes, met Luigi's look,
and smiled; but Luigi himself gave a cry of horror; he scarcely
recognized his wife, now half mad. With a gesture of savageenergy he
showed her the gold. Ginevra began to laugh mechanically; but suddenly
she cried, in a dreadful voice:--
"The child, Luigi, he is cold!"
She looked at her son and swooned. The little Bartolomeo was dead.
Luigi took his wife in his arms, without removing the child, which she
clasped with inconceivable force; and after laying her on the bed he
went out to seek help.
"Oh! my God!" he said, as he met his landlord on the stairs. "I have
gold, gold, and my child has died of hunger, and his mother is dying,
too! Help me!"
He returned like one distraught to his wife, leaving the worthy mason,
and also the neighbors who heard him to gather a few things for the
needs of so terrible a want, hitherto unknown, for the two Corsicans
had carefully hidden it from a feeling of pride.
Luigi had cast his gold upon the floor and was kneeling by the bed on
which lay his wife.
"Father! take care of my son, who bears your name," she was saying in
her delirium.
"Oh, my angel! be calm," said Luigi, kissing her; "our good days are
coming back to us."
"My Luigi," she said, looking at him with extraordinary attention,
"listen to me. I feel that I am dying. My death is natural; I suffered
too much; besides, a happiness so great as mine has to be paid for.
Yes, my Luigi, be comforted. I have been so happy that if I were to
live again I would again accept our fate. I am a bad mother; I regret
you more than I regret my child-- My child!" she added, in a hollow
voice.
Two tears escaped her dying eyes, and suddenly she pressed the little
body she had no power to warm.
"Give my hair to my father, in memory of his Ginevra," she said. "Tell
him I have never blamed him."
Her head fell upon her husband's arm.
"No, you cannot die!" cried Luigi. "The doctor is coming. We have
food. Your father will take you home. Prosperity is here. Stay with
us, angel!"
But the faithful heart, so full of love, was growing cold. Ginevra
turned her eyes instinctively to him she loved, though she was
conscious of nought else. Confused images passed before her mind, now
losing memory of earth. She knew that Luigi was there, for she clasped
his icy hand tightly, and more tightly still, as though she strove to
save herself from some precipice down which she feared to fall.
"Dear," she said, at last, "you are cold; I will warm you."
She tried to put his hand upon her heart, but died.
Two doctors, a priest, and several neighbors came into the room,
bringing all that was necessary to save the poor couple and calm their
despair. These strangers made some noise in entering; but after they
had entered, an awful silence filled the room.
While that scene was taking place, Bartolomeo and his wife were
sitting in their antique chairs, each at a corner of the vast
fireplace, where a glowing fire scarcely warmed the great spaces of
their salon. The clock told midnight.
For some time past the old couple had lost the ability to sleep. At
the present moment they sat there silent, like two persons in their
dotage, gazing about them at things they did not see. Their deserted
salon, so filled with memories to them, was feebly lighted by a single
lamp which seemed expiring. Without the sparkling of the flame upon
the hearth, they might soon have been in total darkness.
A friend had just left them; and the chair on which he had been
sitting, remained where he left it, between the two Corsicans. Piombo
was casting glances at that chair,--glances full of thoughts, crowding
one upon another like remorse,--for the empty chair was Ginevra's.
Elisa Piombo watched the expressions that now began to cross her
husband's pallid face. Though long accustomed to divine his feelings
from the changeful agitations of his face, they seemed to-night so
threatening, and anon so melancholy that she felt she could no longer
read a soul that was now incomprehensible, even to her.
Would Bartolomeo yield, at last, to the memories awakened by that
chair? Had he been shocked to see a stranger in that chair, used for
the first time since his daughter left him? Had the hour of his mercy
struck,--that hour she had vainly prayed and waited for till now?
These reflections shook the mother's heart successively. For an
instant her husband's countenance became so terrible that she trembled
at having used this simple means to bring about a mention of Ginevra's
name. The night was wintry; the north wind drove the snowflakes so
sharply against the blinds that the old couple fancied that they heard
a gentle rustling. Ginevra's mother dropped her head to hide her
tears. Suddenly a sigh burst from the old man's breast; his wife
looked at him; he seemed to her crushed. Then she risked speaking--for
the second time in three long years--of his daughter.
"Ginevra may be cold," she said, softly.
Piombo quivered.
"She may be hungry," she continued.
The old man dropped a tear.
"Perhaps she has a child and cannot suckle it; her milk is dried up!"
said the mother, in accents of despair.
"Let her come! let her come to me!" cried Piombo. "Oh! my precious
child, thou hast conquered me."
The mother rose as if to fetch her daughter. At that instant the door
opened noisily, and a man, whose face no longer bore the semblance of
humanity, stood suddenly before them.
"Dead! Our two families were doomed to exterminate each other. Here is
all that remains of her," he said, laying Ginevra's long black hair
upon the table.
The old people shook and quivered as if a stroke of lightning had
blasted them.
Luigi no longer stood before them.
"He has spared me a shot, for he is dead," said Bartolomeo, slowly,
gazing on the ground at his feet.
End
- miserable [´mizərəbəl]
a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词) - extent [ik´stent] n.长度；程度；范围 (初中英语单词)
- misery [´mizəri] n.痛苦；悲惨；穷困 (初中英语单词)
- despair [di´speə] vi.&n.绝望 (初中英语单词)
- luxury [´lʌkʃəri] n.奢侈(品)；享受 (初中英语单词)
- absence [´æbsəns] n.不在，缺席；缺乏 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- complaint [kəm´pleint] n.抱怨；叫屈 (初中英语单词)
- bitterly [´bitəli] ad.悲痛地；憎恨地 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- emotion [i´məuʃən] n.感情；情绪；激动 (初中英语单词)
- sleeping [´sli:piŋ] n.&a.睡着(的) (初中英语单词)
- infant [´infənt] n.&a.婴(幼)儿 (初中英语单词)
- horror [´hɔrə] n.恐怖；战栗 (初中英语单词)
- gesture [´dʒestʃə] n.手势 v.打手势 (初中英语单词)
- savage [´sævidʒ] a.野蛮的 n.蛮人 (初中英语单词)
- energy [´enədʒi] n.活力，精力；能力 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- landlord [´lændlɔ:d] n.地主；房东；店主 (初中英语单词)
- worthy [´wə:ði] a.有价值的；值得的 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- extraordinary [ik´strɔ:dinəri] a.非常的；额外的 (初中英语单词)
- prosperity [prɔ´speriti] n.繁荣；成功；幸运 (初中英语单词)
- faithful [´feiθfəl] a.忠实的；可靠的 (初中英语单词)
- priest [pri:st] n.教士；牧师；神父 (初中英语单词)
- ability [ə´biliti] n.(办事)能力；才干 (初中英语单词)
- divine [di´vain] a.神圣的 v.预言 (初中英语单词)
- countenance [´kauntinəns] n.面部表情；脸色；面容 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- lightning [´laitniŋ] n.闪电 a.突然的 (初中英语单词)
- portrait [´pɔ:trit] n.肖像；相片；雕像 (高中英语单词)
- gorgeous [´gɔ:dʒəs] a.华丽的；宜人的 (高中英语单词)
- breathless [´breθlis] a.屏息的 (高中英语单词)
- hitherto [,hiðə´tu:] ad.至今，迄今 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- strove [strəuv] strive的过去式 (高中英语单词)
- hearth [hɑ:θ] n.炉边；家庭(生活) (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- vainly [´veinli] ad.虚荣地；自负地 (高中英语单词)
- cleanliness [´kli:nlinis] n.清洁 (英语四级单词)
- morsel [´mɔ:səl] n.佳肴 vt.少量地分配 (英语四级单词)
- resolved [ri´zɔlvd] a.决心的；坚定的 (英语四级单词)
- instinctively [in´stiŋktivli] ad.本能地 (英语四级单词)
- nought [nɔ:t] n.=naught (英语四级单词)
- precipice [´presipis] n.悬崖；危急的处境 (英语四级单词)
- antique [æn´ti:k] a.古代的 n.古物(董) (英语四级单词)
- feebly [´fi:bli] ad.虚弱地；贫乏地 (英语四级单词)
- semblance [´sembləns] n.外表；伪装；相似 (英语四级单词)
- hapless [´hæpləs] a.不幸的；倒楣的 (英语六级单词)
- robust [rəu´bʌst] a.强建的；茁壮的 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- mechanically [mi´kænikəli] ad.机械地；无意识地 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- wintry [´wintri] a.冬天的；荒凉的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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