The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon. Alexandre Dumas
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon - Alexandre Dumas страница 47
Название: The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon
Автор: Alexandre Dumas
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Классическая проза
isbn: 9780007368754
isbn:
“The captain stopped his horse and pulled it back.
“‘Let’s keep walking,’ said my brother.
“With my eyes fixed on my beloved brother and my ears straining to hear his every word as my mind recorded every gesture, I remembered again what Charles had written to Cadoudal: how he had refused to allow me to learn my military career at Cadoudal’s side; hoe he’d said that he was keeping me in reserve so that I could avenge his death and continue his work. I kept swearing under my breath that I would do what he expected of me, and from time to time a glance from him strengthened my resolve.
“In the meantime, he kept walking, blood dripping from his wound.
“When he reached the foot of the scaffold, Charles pulled the dagger from the wound and stabbed himself a second time. Still he remained standing. ‘Truly,’ he raged, ‘my soul must be firmly set in my body.’
“The helpers waiting on the scaffold removed the bodies of Valensolles, Jahiat, and Ribier from the cart. At the guillotine the heads of the first two, already corpses, fell without a single drop of blood. Ribier, though, let out a groan, and when his head was cut off, blood gushed out. The crowd shivered.
“Then it was my brother’s turn. As he waited he had kept his eyes on me almost constantly, even when the executioner’s assistants tried to pull him up onto the scaffold, and he said: ‘Don’t touch me. That was our agreement.’
“He climbed the six steps without stumbling. When he reached the platform, he pulled the dagger from his chest and stabbed himself a third time. He let out a horrible laugh that came accompanied by spurts of blood from all three wounds. ‘Well, that’s it,’ he said to the executioner. ‘That should be enough. Manage as best you can.’
“Then, turning to me, he cried, ‘Do you remember, Hector?’
“‘Yes, my brother,’ I answered.
“With no help, he lay down on the deadly plank. ‘There,’ he said to the executioner. ‘Is this acceptable?’
“The falling blade was the answer. But, filled with that implacable vitality that had kept my brother from dying at his own hand, his head, instead of falling into the basket with the others, bounced over its rim, rolled along the platform, and dropped to the ground.
“I burst through the row of soldiers restraining the crowd from the open space between them and the scaffold. As quickly as I could, before anyone could stop me, I picked up that dearly beloved head in my two hands and kissed it.
“His eyes opened and his lips moved beneath my own—Oh! I swear to God, his head recognized me. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ I said. ‘You can be sure that I will obey you.’
“The soldiers had made a movement to stop me, but several voices had shouted out: ‘It’s his brother!’ And all the soldiers stayed where they were.”
HECTOR HAD NOW BEEN speaking for two hours. Claire was weeping so profusely that he wasn’t sure he should continue. He paused. The tears pearling in his eyes showed what he was thinking.
“Oh, please go on! Go on!” she said.
“It would be according me a great favor,” he said, “for I have not yet said anything about myself.”
Claire reached out her hand to him. “How you have suffered,” she murmured.
“Wait,” he said, “and you will see that you are just the person to make me forget it all.”
“I didn’t know Valensolles, Jahiat, and Ribier very well, only by sight. But through their association with my brother, who had joined them in death, they were my friends. I gave them all a proper burial. Then I returned to Besançon. I put our family affairs in order and began to wait. What was I waiting for? I didn’t know what, only that it was something on which my fate would depend. I didn’t think it necessary that I go looking for it, but I felt compelled to be ready whenever it should come.
“One morning, the Chevalier de Mahalin was announced. I did not recognize the name, and yet in my heart a painful chord began to vibrate as if it bore for me a strange familiarity. The man behind the name was young, twenty-five or twenty-six, perfectly attired, and irreproachably polite.
“‘Monsieur le Comte,’ he said, ‘you know that the Company of Jehu, so painfully smitten by the loss of its four leaders, and especially your brother, is beginning to reform. Its leader is the famous Laurent, though beneath that ordinary name hides one of the most aristocratic family names of the South. Our captain is reserving an important place in his army for you, and he has sent me to ask if you would like, by joining us, to keep the promise given by your brother.’
“‘Monsieur le Chevalier,’ I answered, ‘I would be lying if I told you that I have much enthusiasm for the life of a wandering cavalier, but as I did promise my brother, and as my brother promised me to your cause, I am ready.’
“‘Shall I tell you, then, where we are meeting?’ asked the Chevalier de Mahalin. ‘Or are you coming now with me?’
“‘I am coming now with you, monsieur.’
“I had a trusty servant named Saint-Bris. He had served my brother too, and I installed him in our house and left him master of it all, making him really more my steward than my servant. That done, I gathered up my weapons, climbed on my horse, and rode off.
“We were to meet Laurent somewhere between Vizille and Grenoble. In two days’ time, we were there.
“Laurent, our chief, was truly worthy of his reputation. He was like one of those men to whose baptism fairies are invited, and each one blesses him with a virtuous quality, but there’s always one fairy who’s been overlooked and he arrives to burthen the infant with the one defect that counterbalances all of his virtues. Laurent had been endowed with that beauty typical of the South and typically masculine: brilliant eyes, lustrous dark hair, and a thick dark beard, his fiercely handsome face tempered by a charming blend of kindness, strength, and affability. Left on his own when he was scarcely beyond his tumultuous youth, he lacked a solid formal education, but he was worldly-wise, and he possessed a nobleman’s grace and politesse, as well as a charismatic quality that naturally attracted people to his fold. But he was also unusually violent and quick-tempered. As much as his gentleman’s education normally kept him within acceptable boundaries, he would still frequently, suddenly, explode; and an angry Laurent, the imperfect Laurent, appeared to be no longer of humankind. And the rumor would spread, wherever he happened to be: ‘Laurent is angry; men will die.’
“Justice was as concerned about Laurent’s band as it had been about Saint-Hermine’s group. Large forces were deployed. Laurent and seventy-one of his men were captured and sent to Yssingeaux in the Haute-Loire to answer for their actions before a special court convened expressly for their trial.
“But Bonaparte was still in Egypt then. Power resided in weak hands, and the little town of Yssingeaux treated Laurent and his band more like a garrison than like prisoners. The prosecution was СКАЧАТЬ