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An Episode Under the Terror-Part2_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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their midst.



"I cannot believe, monsieur, that you can be one of our persecutors,"

he said, addressing the stranger, "and I trust you. What do you want



with me?"

The priest's holy confidence, the nobleness expressed in every line in



his face, would have disarmed a murderer. For a moment the mysterious

stranger, who had brought an element of excitement into lives of



misery and resignation, gazed at the little group; then he turned to

the priest and said, as if making a confidence, "Father, I came to beg



you to celebrate a mass for the repose of the soul of--of--of an

august personage whose body will never rest in consecrated earth----"



Involuntarily the abbe shivered. As yet, neither of the Sisters

understood of whom the stranger was speaking; they sat with their



heads stretched out and faces turned towards the speaker, curiosity in

their whole attitude. The priestmeanwhile, was scrutinizing the



stranger; there was no mistaking the anxiety in the man's face, the

ardent entreaty in his eyes.



"Very well," returned the abbe. "Come back at midnight. I shall be

ready to celebrate the only funeral service that it is in our power to



offer in expiation of the crime of which you speak."

A quiver ran through the stranger, but a sweet yet sober satisfaction



seemed to prevail over a hiddenanguish. He took his leave

respectfully, and the three generous souls felt his unspoken



gratitude.

Two hours later, he came back and tapped at the garret door.



Mademoiselle de Beauseant showed the way into the second room of their

humble lodging. Everything had been made ready. The Sisters had moved



the old chest of drawers between the two chimneys, and covered its

quaint outlines over with a splendid altar cloth of green watered



silk.

The bare walls looked all the barer, because the one thing that hung



there was the great ivory and ebony crucifix, which of necessity

attracted the eyes. Four slender little altar candles, which the



Sisters had contrived to fasten into their places with sealing-wax,

gave a faint, pale light, almost absorbed by the walls; the rest of



the room lay well-nigh in the dark. But the dim brightness,

concentrated upon the holy things, looked like a ray from Heaven



shining down upon the unadorned shrine. The floor was reeking with

damp. An icy wind swept in through the chinks here and there, in a



roof that rose sharply on either side, after the fashion of attic

roofs. Nothing could be less imposing; yet perhaps, too, nothing could



be more solemn than this mournfulceremony. A silence so deep that

they could have heard the faintest sound of a voice on the Route



d'Allemagne, invested the nightpiece with a kind of sombre majesty;

while the grandeur of the service--all the grander for the strong



contrast with the poor surroundings--produced a feeling of reverent

awe.



The Sisters kneeling on each side of the altar, regardless of the

deadly chill from the wet brick floor, were engaged in prayer, while



the priest, arrayed in pontifical vestments, brought out a golden

chalice set with gems; doubtless one of the sacred vessels saved from



the pillage of the Abbaye de Chelles. Beside a ciborium, the gift of

royal munificence, the wine and water for the holy sacrifice of the



mass stood ready in two glasses such as could scarcely be found in the

meanest tavern. For want of a missal, the priest had laid his breviary



on the altar, and a common earthenware plate was set for the washing

of hands that were pure and undefiled with blood. It was all so



infinitely great, yet so little, poverty-stricken yet noble, a

mingling of sacred and profane.



The stranger came forward reverently to kneel between the two nuns.

But the priest had tied crape round the chalice of the crucifix,



having no other way of marking the mass as a funeral service; it was

as if God himself had been in mourning. The man suddenly noticed this,



and the sight appeared to call up some overwhelming memory, for great

drops of sweat stood out on his broad forehead.



Then the four silent actors in the scene looked mysteriously at one




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