It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when the cart, which we left on the road, entered the porte-cochere of the Hotel de la poste in Arras; the man whom we have been following up to this moment alighted from it, responded with an abstracted air to the attentions of the people of the inn, sent back the extra horse, and with his own hands led the little white horse to the stable; then he opened the door of a billiard-room which was situated on the ground floor, sat down there, and leaned his elbows on a table; he had taken fourteen hours for the journey which he had counted on making in six; he did himself the justice to acknowledge that it was not his fault, but at bottom, he was not sorry.

The landlady of the hotel entered.
"Does Monsieur wish a bed?Does Monsieur require supper?"

He made a sign of the head in the negative.
"The stableman says that Monsieur's horse is extremely fatigued."
Here he broke his silence.
"Will not the horse be in a condition to set out again to-morrow morning?"

"Oh, Monsieur! he must rest for two days at least."
He inquired:--
"Is not the posting-station located here?"
"Yes, sir."

The hostess conducted him to the office; he showed his passport, and inquired whether there was any way of returning that same night to M. sur M. by the mail-wagon; the seat beside the post-boy chanced to be vacant; he engaged it and paid for it."Monsieur," said the clerk, "do not fail to be here ready to start at precisely one o'clock in the morning."
This done, he left the hotel and began to wander about the town.

He was not acquainted with Arras; the streets were dark, and he walked on at random; but he seemed bent upon not asking the way of the passers-by. He crossed the little river Crinchon, and found himself in a labyrinth of narrow alleys where he lost his way. A citizen was passing along with a lantern.After some hesitation, he decided to apply to this man, not without having first glanced behind and in front of him, as though he feared lest some one should hear the question which he was about to put.
"Monsieur," said he, "where is the court-house, if you please."

"You do not belong in town, sir?" replied the bourgeois, who was an oldish man; "well, follow me.I happen to be going in the direction of the court-house, that is to say, in the direction of the hotel of the prefecture; for the court-house is undergoing repairs just at this moment, and the courts are holding their sittings provisionally in the prefecture."

"Is it there that the Assizes are held?" he asked.
"Certainly, sir; you see, the prefecture of to-day was the bishop's palace before the Revolution.M. de Conzie, who was bishop in '82, built a grand hall there.It is in this grand hall that the court is held."

On the way, the bourgeois said to him:--
"If Monsieur desires to witness a case, it is rather late. The sittings generally close at six o'clock."
When they arrived on the grand square, however, the man pointed out to him four long windows all lighted up, in the front of a vast and gloomy building.

"Upon my word, sir, you are in luck; you have arrived in season. Do you see those four windows?That is the Court of Assizes. There is light there, so they are not through.The matter must have been greatly protracted, and they are holding an evening session. Do you take an interest in this affair?Is it a criminal case? Are you a witness?"

He replied:--
"I have not come on any business; I only wish to speak to one of the lawyers."

"That is different," said the bourgeois."Stop, sir; here is the door where the sentry stands.You have only to ascend the grand staircase."

He conformed to the bourgeois's directions, and a few minutes later he was in a hall containing many people, and where groups, intermingled with lawyers in their gowns, were whispering together here and there.

It is always a heart-breaking thing to see these congregations of men robed in black, murmuring together in low voices, on the threshold of the halls of justice.It is rare that charity and pity are the outcome of these words.Condemnations pronounced in advance are more likely to be the result.All these groups seem to the passing and thoughtful observer so many sombre hives where buzzing spirits construct in concert all sorts of dark edifices.

This spacious hall, illuminated by a single lamp, was the old hall of the episcopal palace, and served as the large hall of the palace of justice.A double-leaved door, which was closed at that moment, separated it from the large apartment where the court was sitting.

The obscurity was such that he did not fear to accost the first lawyer whom he met.
"What stage have they reached, sir?" he asked.

"It is finished," said the lawyer.
"Finished!"
This word was repeated in such accents that the lawyer turned round.
"Excuse me sir; perhaps you are a relative?"
"No; I know no one here.Has judgment been pronounced?"

"Of course.Nothing else was possible."
"To penal servitude?"
"For life."
He continued, in a voice so weak that it was barely audible:--
"Then his identity was established?"

"What identity?" replied the lawyer."There was no identity to be established.The matter was very simple.The woman had murdered her child; the infanticide was proved; the jury threw out the question of premeditation, and she was condemned for life."
"So it was a woman?" said he.

"Why, certainly.The Limosin woman.Of what are you speaking?"
"Nothing.But since it is all over, how comes it that the hall is still lighted?"
"For another case, which was begun about two hours ago.
"What other case?"

"Oh! this one is a clear case also.It is about a sort of blackguard; a man arrested for a second offence; a convict who has been guilty of theft.I don't know his name exactly.There's a bandit's phiz for you!I'd send him to the galleys on the strength of his face alone."
"Is there any way of getting into the court-room, sir?" said he.

"I really think that there is not.There is a great crowd. However, the hearing has been suspended.Some people have gone out, and when the hearing is resumed, you might make an effort."
"Where is the entrance?"
"Through yonder large door."

The lawyer left him.In the course of a few moments he had experienced, almost simultaneously, almost intermingled with each other, all possible emotions.The words of this indifferent spectator had, in turn, pierced his heart like needles of ice and like blades of fire. When he saw that nothing was settled, he breathed freely once more; but he could not have told whether what he felt was pain or pleasure.

He drew near to many groups and listened to what they were saying. The docket of the session was very heavy; the president had appointed for the same day two short and simple cases.They had begun with the infanticide, and now they had reached the convict, the old offender, the "return horse."This man had stolen apples, but that did not appear to be entirely proved; what had been proved was, that he had already been in the galleys at Toulon. It was that which lent a bad aspect to his case.However, the man's examination and the depositions of the witnesses had been completed, but the lawyer's plea, and the speech of the public prosecutor were still to come; it could not be finished before midnight.The man would probably be condemned; the attorney-general was very clever, and never missed his culprits; he was a brilliant fellow who wrote verses.

An usher stood at the door communicating with the hall of the Assizes. He inquired of this usher:--

"Will the door be opened soon, sir?"
"It will not be opened at all," replied the usher.
"What!It will not be opened when the hearing is resumed? Is not the hearing suspended?"
"The hearing has just been begun again," replied the usher, "but the door will not be opened again."

"Why?"
"Because the hall is full."
"What!There is not room for one more?"
"Not another one.The door is closed.No one can enter now."

The usher added after a pause:"There are, to tell the truth, two or three extra places behind Monsieur le president, but Monsieur le president only admits public functionaries to them."
So saying, the usher turned his back.

He retired with bowed head, traversed the antechamber, and slowly descended the stairs, as though hesitating at every step. It is probable that he was holding counsel with himself. The violent conflict which had been going on within him since the preceding evening was not yet ended; and every moment he encountered some new phase of it.On reaching the landing-place, he leaned his back against the balusters and folded his arms.All at once he opened his coat, drew out his pocket-book, took from it a pencil, tore out a leaf, and upon that leaf he wrote rapidly, by the light of the street lantern, this line:M. Madeleine, Mayor of M. sur M.; then he ascended the stairs once more with great strides, made his way through the crowd, walked straight up to the usher, handed him the paper, and said in an authoritative manner:--

"Take this to Monsieur le president."
The usher took the paper, cast a glance upon it, and obeyed.

     在前面我们曾谈到一辆车子和乘车人在路上的情形。当这辆子走进阿拉斯邮政旅馆时，已快到晚上八点了。乘车人从车上下来，他漫不经心地回答旅馆中人的殷勤招呼，打发走了那新补充的马，又亲自把那匹小白马牵到马棚里去；随后他推开楼下弹子房的门，坐在屋子里，两肘支在桌子上。这段路程，他原本打算在六小时以内赶完，然而费去了十 四小时。他扪心自问，这不是他的过错；然而究其实，他并没有因此而感到焦急。旅馆的老板娘走进来。

    “先生要在这里过夜吗？先生要用晚餐吗？”他摇摇头。
    “马夫来说先生的马很累了！”这时他才开口说话。

    “难道这匹马明天不能走吗？”
    “呵！先生！它至少也要有两天的休息时间才能走。”他又问道：“这里不是邮局吗？”
    “是的，先生。”老板娘把他引到邮局去，他拿出他的身份证，问当天晚上可有方法乘邮箱车回滨海蒙特勒伊，邮差旁边的位子恰空着，他便定了这位子，并付了旅费。

    “先生，”那局里的人说，“请准时在早晨一点钟到这里乘车出发。”事情办妥以后，他便出了旅馆，向城里走去。他从前没来过阿拉斯，街上漆黑一片，他信步走去。同时，他好象打定了主意，不向过路人问路。他走过了那条克兰松小河，在一条小街的窄巷里迷失了方向。恰巧有个绅士提着大灯笼走过。他迟疑了一会，决定去问这绅士，在问之前，还向前后张望，好象怕人听见他将提出的问题。
    “先生，”他说，“劳您驾，法院在什么地方？”

    “您不是本地人吧，先生？”那个年纪相当老的绅士回答，“那么，跟我来吧。我正要到法院那边去，就是说，往省公署那边去。法院正在整修，因此暂时改在省公署里开审。”
    “刑事案件也在那边开审吗？”他问。

    “一定是的，先生。您知道，今天的省公署便是革命以前的主教院。八二年的主教德?贡吉埃先生在那里盖了一间大厅。就在那厅里开庭。”
    绅士边走边向他说：
    “如果先生您想要看审案，时间稍许迟了点。一般他们总是在六点钟退庭的。”
    但当他们走到大广场，绅士把一幢黑黢黢的大厦指给他看时，正面的四扇长窗里却还亮着灯光。

    “真的，先生。您正赶上，您运气好。您看见这四扇窗子吗？这便是刑庭。里面有灯光。这说明案子还没有审完。案子一定拖迟了，因此正开着晚庭。您关心这件案子吗？是一桩刑事案吗？您要出庭作证吗？”
    他回答：
    “我并不是为了什么案子来的，不过我有句话要和一个律师谈谈。”

    “这当然不一样。您看，先生，这边便是大门。有卫兵的那地方。您顺着大楼梯上去就是了。”他依照绅士的指点，几分钟以后，便走进了一间大厅，厅里有很多人，有些人三五成群，围着穿长袍的律师们在低声谈话。看见这些成群的黑衣人立在公堂门前低声耳语，那总是件令人胆战心惊的事。从这些人嘴里说出来的话，是极少有善意和恻隐之心的，他们口中吐出的，多半是早已拟好的判决词。一堆堆的人，使这心神不定的观察者联想到许多蜂窠，窠里全是些嗡嗡作响的妖魔，正在共同营造着各式各样黑暗的楼阁。

    在这间广阔的厅堂里，只点着一盏灯，这厅，从前是主教院的外客厅，现在被作为法庭的前厅。一扇双合门正关着，门里便是刑庭所在的大厅。
    前面异常阴暗，因此他大着胆子随便找了个律师，便问：“先生，”他说，“案子进行得怎么了？”
    “已经审完了。”律师说。
    “审完了！”他这句话说得非常重，律师听了，转身过来。

    “对不起，先生，您也许是家属吧？”
    “不是的。我在这里没有熟人。判了罪吗？”
    “当然。非这样不可。”
    “判了强迫劳役吗？”

    “终身强迫劳役。”他又用一种旁人几乎听不见的微弱声音说：“那么，已经证实了罪人的正身吗？”
    “什么正身？并没有正身问题需要证实。这案子很简单，这妇人害死了自己的孩子，杀害婴孩罪被证明了，陪审团没有追查是否蓄意谋害，判了她无期徒刑。”

    “那么是个妇人吗？”他说。
    “当然是个妇人。莉莫赞姑娘。那么，您和我谈的是什么案子？”

    “没有什么。但是既然完结了，大厅里为什么还是亮的呢？”“这是为了另外一件案子，开审已经快两个钟头了。”“另外一件什么案子？”
    “呵！这一件也简单明了。一个无赖，一个累犯，一个苦役，又犯了盗窃案。我已记不大清楚他的名字了。他那面孔，真象土匪。仅仅那副面孔已够使我把他送进监狱了。”

    “先生，”他问道，“有办法能到大厅里去吗？”
    “我想实在没法子了。听众非常拥挤。现在正在休息，有些人出来了。等到继续开审时，您可以去试一试。”

    “从什么地方进去？”
    “从这扇大门。”律师离开了他。他一时烦乱到了极点，万千思绪，几乎一齐涌上心头。这个不相干的人所说的话象冰针火舌似的轮番刺进他的心里。当他知道事情未结束便吐了一口气，但他不明白，他感受到的是满足还是悲哀。

    他走近几处人群，听他们谈话。由于这一时期案件非常多，庭长便在这一天里排了两件简短的案子。起初是那件杀害婴孩案，现在则正在审讯这个苦役犯，这个屡犯，这“回头马”。这个人偷了苹果，但没有确实证据，被证实了的，只是他曾在土伦坐过牢。这便使他的案情严重了。此外，对他本人的讯问和证人们的陈述都已完毕，但律师还没有进行辩护，检察官也尚未提起公诉。这种事总得到后半夜才能完结。这个人很可能被判刑，检察官很在行，他控告的人，从无“幸免”，他还是个吟诗弄文墨的才子。有个执达吏立在进入刑庭的门旁。他问那执达吏：“先生，快开门了吗？”

    “不会开门。”执达吏说。
    “怎么！继续开审时不开门吗？现在不是休息吗？”“现在已继续开审了一些时候了，”执达吏回答，“但是门不会开。”
    “为什么？”
    “因为已经坐满了。”“怎么！一个位子都没有了吗？”

    “一个也没有了。门已经关上。不再让人进去了。”执达吏停了一 会又说：“庭长先生的背后还有两三个位子，但是庭长先生只允许公家的官员进去坐。”
    执达吏说了这句话，便转过背去了。

    他低着头退回去，穿过前厅，缓缓走下楼梯，好象步步迟疑。也许他在独自思索吧。头天夜里在他心里发动的那场激烈斗争尚未结束，还随时要发生一些新变化。他走到楼梯转角，依着栏杆，叉起两臂。忽然，他解开衣襟，取出皮夹，抽出一支铅笔，撕了一张纸，在回光灯的微光下急忙写了这样一行字：“滨海蒙特勒伊市长马德兰先生”。他又迈着大步跨上楼梯，挤过人群，直向那执达吏走去，把那张纸交给他，慎重地向他说：“请把这送给庭长先生。”

    执达吏接了那张纸，瞟了一眼，就遵命照办去了。

Although he did not suspect the fact, the mayor of M. sur M. enjoyed a sort of celebrity.For the space of seven years his reputation for virtue had filled the whole of Bas Boulonnais; it had eventually passed the confines of a small district and had been spread abroad through two or three neighboring departments.Besides the service which he had rendered to the chief town by resuscitating the black jet industry, there was not one out of the hundred and forty communes of the arrondissement of M. sur M. which was not indebted to him for some benefit.He had even at need contrived to aid and multiply the industries of other arrondissements.It was thus that he had, when occasion offered, supported with his credit and his funds the linen factory at Boulogne, the flax-spinning industry at Frevent, and the hydraulic manufacture of cloth at Boubers-sur-Canche. Everywhere the name of M. Madeleine was pronounced with veneration. Arras and Douai envied the happy little town of M. sur M. its mayor.

The Councillor of the Royal Court of Douai, who was presiding over this session of the Assizes at Arras, was acquainted, in common with the rest of the world, with this name which was so profoundly and universally honored.When the usher, discreetly opening the door which connected the council-chamber with the court-room, bent over the back of the president's arm-chair and handed him the paper on which was inscribed the line which we have just perused, adding:"The gentleman desires to be present at the trial," the president, with a quick and deferential movement, seized a pen and wrote a few words at the bottom of the paper and returned it to the usher, saying, "Admit him."

The unhappy man whose history we are relating had remained near the door of the hall, in the same place and the same attitude in which the usher had left him.In the midst of his revery he heard some one saying to him, "Will Monsieur do me the honor to follow me?" It was the same usher who had turned his back upon him but a moment previously, and who was now bowing to the earth before him. At the same time, the usher handed him the paper.He unfolded it, and as he chanced to be near the light, he could read it.

"The president of the Court of Assizes presents his respects to M. Madeleine."
He crushed the paper in his hand as though those words contained for him a strange and bitter aftertaste.

He followed the usher.

A few minutes later he found himself alone in a sort of wainscoted cabinet of severe aspect, lighted by two wax candles, placed upon a table with a green cloth.The last words of the usher who had just quitted him still rang in his ears:"Monsieur, you are now in the council-chamber; you have only to turn the copper handle of yonder door, and you will find yourself in the court-room, behind the president's chair." These words were mingled in his thoughts with a vague memory of narrow corridors and dark staircases which he had recently traversed.

The usher had left him alone.The supreme moment had arrived. He sought to collect his faculties, but could not.It is chiefly at the moment when there is the greatest need for attaching them to the painful realities of life, that the threads of thought snap within the brain.He was in the very place where the judges deliberated and condemned.With stupid tranquillity he surveyed this peaceful and terrible apartment, where so many lives had been broken, which was soon to ring with his name, and which his fate was at that moment traversing.He stared at the wall, then he looked at himself, wondering that it should be that chamber and that it should be he.

He had eaten nothing for four and twenty hours; he was worn out by the jolts of the cart, but he was not conscious of it. It seemed to him that he felt nothing.

He approached a black frame which was suspended on the wall, and which contained, under glass, an ancient autograph letter of Jean Nicolas pache, mayor of paris and minister, and dated, through an error, no doubt, the 9th of June, of the year II., and in which pache forwarded to the commune the list of ministers and deputies held in arrest by them.Any spectator who had chanced to see him at that moment, and who had watched him, would have imagined, doubtless, that this letter struck him as very curious, for he did not take his eyes from it, and he read it two or three times. He read it without paying any attention to it, and unconsciously. He was thinking of Fantine and Cosette.

As he dreamed, he turned round, and his eyes fell upon the brass knob of the door which separated him from the Court of Assizes. He had almost forgotten that door.His glance, calm at first, paused there, remained fixed on that brass handle, then grew terrified, and little by little became impregnated with fear.Beads of perspiration burst forth among his hair and trickled down upon his temples.

At a certain moment he made that indescribable gesture of a sort of authority mingled with rebellion, which is intended to convey, and which does so well convey, "pardieu! who compels me to this?" Then he wheeled briskly round, caught sight of the door through which he had entered in front of him, went to it, opened it, and passed out. He was no longer in that chamber; he was outside in a corridor, a long, narrow corridor, broken by steps and gratings, making all sorts of angles, lighted here and there by lanterns similar to the night taper of invalids, the corridor through which he had approached. He breathed, he listened; not a sound in front, not a sound behind him, and he fled as though pursued.

When he had turned many angles in this corridor, he still listened. The same silence reigned, and there was the same darkness around him. He was out of breath; he staggered; he leaned against the wall. The stone was cold; the perspiration lay ice-cold on his brow; he straightened himself up with a shiver.

Then, there alone in the darkness, trembling with cold and with something else, too, perchance, he meditated.
He had meditated all night long; he had meditated all the day: he heard within him but one voice, which said, "Alas!"

A quarter of an hour passed thus.At length he bowed his head, sighed with agony, dropped his arms, and retraced his steps. He walked slowly, and as though crushed.It seemed as though some one had overtaken him in his flight and was leading him back.

He re-entered the council-chamber. The first thing he caught sight of was the knob of the door.This knob, which was round and of polished brass, shone like a terrible star for him. He gazed at it as a lamb might gaze into the eye of a tiger.
He could not take his eyes from it.From time to time he advanced a step and approached the door.

Had he listened, he would have heard the sound of the adjoining hall like a sort of confused murmur; but he did not listen, and he did not hear.
Suddenly, without himself knowing how it happened, he found himself near the door; he grasped the knob convulsively; the door opened.
He was in the court-room.

     滨海蒙特勒伊市长声名赫赫，那是他自己没有想到的。七年来，他的名声早已传遍了下布洛涅，后来便超出了这小小地区，传到邻近的两三个省去。他除了在城内起了振兴烧料加工工业的重大作用外，在滨海蒙特勒伊县的一百八十一个镇中，没有一镇不曾受过他的恩泽。在必要时，他还能帮助和发展其他县的工业。他以他的信用贷款和基金在情况需要时，曾随时支援达布洛涅的珍珠罗厂、弗雷旺的铁机麻纱厂和匍白的水力织布厂。无论什么地方，提到马德兰先生这个名字，大家总是肃然起敬的。阿拉斯和杜埃都羡慕滨海蒙特勒伊有这样一位市长，说这是个幸运之城。这次在阿拉斯任刑庭主席的是杜埃的御前参赞，他和别人一样，也久闻这个无处不尊、无人不敬的名字。执达吏轻轻开了从会议室通到公堂的门，在庭长的围椅后面伛着腰，递上我们刚才念过的那张纸说“这位先生要求旁听”，庭长耸然动容，拿起一支笔，在那张纸的下端写了几个字，交给执达吏，向他说：“请进。”

    我们正讲着他的历史的这个伤心人立在大厅门旁，他立的位置和态度，还同那执达吏先前离开他时一样。他在梦魂萦绕中听到一个人向他说：“先生肯赏光让我带路吗？”这正是刚才把背向着他的那个执达吏，现在正向他鞠躬快到地面了。执达吏同时又把那纸递给他。他把它展开，他当时恰立在灯旁，他读道：“刑庭庭长谨向马德兰先生致敬。”

    他揉着这张纸，仿佛这几个字给了他一种奇苦的余味。他跟着执达吏走去。几分钟后，他走进一间会议室，独自站在里面，四壁装饰辉煌，气象森严，一张绿呢台子燃着两支烛。执达吏在最后离开他时所说的那些话还一直留在他的耳边：“先生，您现在是在会议室里，您只须转动这门上的铜钮，您就到了公堂里，庭长先生的围椅后面。”这些话和他刚才穿过的那些狭窄回廊以及黑暗扶梯所留下的回忆，在他的意识里都混在一起了。

    执达吏把他独自留下。紫急关头到了。他想集中精神想想，但做不到。特别是在我们急于想把思想里的线索和痛心的现实生活联系起来时，它们偏偏会在我们的脑子里断裂。他恰巧到了这些审判官平时商议和下判决书的地方。他静静地呆望着这间寂静吓人的屋子，想到几多生命就是在这里断送的，他自己的名字不久也将从这里轰传出去，他这会儿也要在这里过关，他望望墙壁，又望望自己，感到惊奇，居然会有这间屋子，又会有他这个人。他没吃东西，已不止二十四个钟头，车子的颠簸已使他疲惫不堪，不过他没有感到，好象他什么事都已感觉不到一 样。

    他走近挂在墙上的一个黑镜框，镜框的玻璃后面有一封陈旧的信，是巴黎市长兼部长让?尼古拉?帕希亲笔写的，信上的日期是二年①六月九日，这日期一定是写错了的，在这封信里，帕希把他们拘禁的部长和议员的名单通告了这一镇。如果有人能在这时看见并注意马德兰，一定会认为这封信使马德兰特别感兴趣，因为他的眼睛始终没有离开它，并且念了两三遍。他自己没有注意到也没有觉得是在念这封信。而他当时想到的却是芳汀和珂赛特。
①共和二年，即一七九四年。

    他一面沉思一面转过身子，他的视线触到了门上的铜钮，门那边便是刑庭了。他起先几乎忘记了这扇门。他的目光，先是平静地落到门上，随后便盯住那铜钮，他感到惊愕，静静地望着，渐渐生了恐惧之感。一 滴滴汗珠从他头发里流出来，直流到鬓边。

    有那么一会儿，他用一种严肃而又含有顽抗意味的神情作出了一种无法形容的姿势，意思就是说（并且说得那样正确）：“见鬼！谁逼着我不成？”他随即一下转过身去，看见他先前进来的那扇门正在他面前，他走去开了门，一步就跨出去了。他已不在屋子里，他到了外面，在一 道迴廊里；这是一道长而狭的迴廊，许多台阶，几个小窗口，弯弯曲曲，一路上点着几盏类似病房里通宵点着的回光灯，这正是他来时经过的那条迴廊。他吐了一口气，又仔细听了一阵，他背后没有动静，他前面也没有动静，他开始溜走，象有人在追他一样。

    他溜过了长廊的几处弯角，又停下来听。在他四周，仍和刚才那样寂静，那样昏暗。他呼吸急促，站立不稳，连忙靠在墙上。石块是冷的，他额上的汗也象冰似的，他把身子站直，一面却打着寒战。

    他独自一人站在那里，站在黑暗中，感到冷不可耐，也许还因别的事而浑身颤栗，他又苦思起来。他已想了一整夜，他已想了一整天，他仅听见一个声音在他心里说：“唉！”

    这样过了一刻钟。结果，他低下头，悲伤地叹着气，垂着两只手，又走了回来。他慢慢地走着，好似不胜重负一样。好似有人在他潜逃的时候追上了他，硬把他拖回来一样。他又走进那间会议室。他看见的第一件东西便是门钮。门钮形状浑圆，铜质光滑，在他眼前闪闪发光，好象一颗骇人的星。他望着它。如同羔羊望见了猛虎的眼睛。

    他的眼睛无法离开它。
    他一步一停，向着门走去。如果他听，他会听到隔壁厅里的声音，象一种嘈杂的低语声。但是他没有听，也听不见。

    忽然，连他自己也不清楚他是怎样到了门边。他紧张万分地扭住那门钮，门开了。
    他已到了公堂中。

He advanced a pace, closed the door mechanically behind him, and remained standing, contemplating what he saw.

It was a vast and badly lighted apartment, now full of uproar, now full of silence, where all the apparatus of a criminal case, with its petty and mournful gravity in the midst of the throng, was in process of development.

At the one end of the hall, the one where he was, were judges, with abstracted air, in threadbare robes, who were gnawing their nails or closing their eyelids; at the other end, a ragged crowd; lawyers in all sorts of attitudes; soldiers with hard but honest faces; ancient, spotted woodwork, a dirty ceiling, tables covered with serge that was yellow rather than green; doors blackened by handmarks; tap-room lamps which emitted more smoke than light, suspended from nails in the wainscot; on the tables candles in brass candlesticks; darkness, ugliness, sadness; and from all this there was disengaged an austere and august impression, for one there felt that grand human thing which is called the law, and that grand divine thing which is called justice.

No one in all that throng paid any attention to him; all glances were directed towards a single point, a wooden bench placed against a small door, in the stretch of wall on the president's left; on this bench, illuminated by several candles, sat a man between two gendarmes.

This man was the man.
He did not seek him; he saw him; his eyes went thither naturally, as though they had known beforehand where that figure was.

He thought he was looking at himself, grown old; not absolutely the same in face, of course, but exactly similar in attitude and aspect, with his bristling hair, with that wild and uneasy eye, with that blouse, just as it was on the day when he entered D----, full of hatred, concealing his soul in that hideous mass of frightful thoughts which he had spent nineteen years in collecting on the floor of the prison.

He said to himself with a shudder, "Good God! shall I become like that again?"
This creature seemed to be at least sixty; there was something indescribably coarse, stupid, and frightened about him.

At the sound made by the opening door, people had drawn aside to make way for him; the president had turned his head, and, understanding that the personage who had just entered was the mayor of M. sur M., he had bowed to him; the attorney-general, who had seen M. Madeleine at M. sur M., whither the duties of his office had called him more than once, recognized him and saluted him also:he had hardly perceived it; he was the victim of a sort of hallucination; he was watching.

Judges, clerks, gendarmes, a throng of cruelly curious heads, all these he had already beheld once, in days gone by, twenty-seven years before; he had encountered those fatal things once more; there they were; they moved; they existed; it was no longer an effort of his memory, a mirage of his thought; they were real gendarmes and real judges, a real crowd, and real men of flesh and blood:it was all over; he beheld the monstrous aspects of his past reappear and live once more around him, with all that there is formidable in reality.

All this was yawning before him.
He was horrified by it; he shut his eyes, and exclaimed in the deepest recesses of his soul, "Never!"

And by a tragic play of destiny which made all his ideas tremble, and rendered him nearly mad, it was another self of his that was there! all called that man who was being tried Jean Valjean.
Under his very eyes, unheard-of vision, he had a sort of representation of the most horrible moment of his life, enacted by his spectre.

Everything was there; the apparatus was the same, the hour of the night, the faces of the judges, of soldiers, and of spectators; all were the same, only above the president's head there hung a crucifix, something which the courts had lacked at the time of his condemnation: God had been absent when he had been judged.

There was a chair behind him; he dropped into it, terrified at the thought that he might be seen; when he was seated, he took advantage of a pile of cardboard boxes, which stood on the judge's desk, to conceal his face from the whole room; he could now see without being seen; he had fully regained consciousness of the reality of things; gradually he recovered; he attained that phase of composure where it is possible to listen.
M. Bamatabois was one of the jurors.

He looked for Javert, but did not see him; the seat of the witnesses was hidden from him by the clerk's table, and then, as we have just said, the hall was sparely lighted.
At the moment of this entrance, the defendant's lawyer had just finished his plea.

The attention of all was excited to the highest pitch; the affair had lasted for three hours:for three hours that crowd had been watching a strange man, a miserable specimen of humanity, either profoundly stupid or profoundly subtle, gradually bending beneath the weight of a terrible likeness.This man, as the reader already knows, was a vagabond who had been found in a field carrying a branch laden with ripe apples, broken in the orchard of a neighbor, called the pierron orchard.Who was this man? an examination had been made; witnesses had been heard, and they were unanimous; light had abounded throughout the entire debate; the accusation said: "We have in our grasp not only a marauder, a stealer of fruit; we have here, in our hands, a bandit, an old offender who has broken his ban, an ex-convict, a miscreant of the most dangerous description, a malefactor named Jean Valjean, whom justice has long been in search of, and who, eight years ago, on emerging from the galleys at Toulon, committed a highway robbery, accompanied by violence, on the person of a child, a Savoyard named Little Gervais; a crime provided for by article 383 of the penal Code, the right to try him for which we reserve hereafter, when his identity shall have been judicially established.He has just committed a fresh theft; it is a case of a second offence; condemn him for the fresh deed; later on he will be judged for the old crime."In the face of this accusation, in the face of the unanimity of the witnesses, the accused appeared to be astonished more than anything else; he made signs and gestures which were meant to convey No, or else he stared at the ceiling:he spoke with difficulty, replied with embarrassment, but his whole person, from head to foot, was a denial; he was an idiot in the presence of all these minds ranged in order of battle around him, and like a stranger in the midst of this society which was seizing fast upon him; nevertheless, it was a question of the most menacing future for him; the likeness increased every moment, and the entire crowd surveyed, with more anxiety than he did himself, that sentence freighted with calamity, which descended ever closer over his head; there was even a glimpse of a possibility afforded; besides the galleys, a possible death penalty, in case his identity were established, and the affair of Little Gervais were to end thereafter in condemnation. Who was this man? what was the nature of his apathy? was it imbecility or craft?Did he understand too well, or did he not understand at all? these were questions which divided the crowd, and seemed to divide the jury; there was something both terrible and puzzling in this case:the drama was not only melancholy; it was also obscure.

The counsel for the defence had spoken tolerably well, in that provincial tongue which has long constituted the eloquence of the bar, and which was formerly employed by all advocates, at paris as well as at Romorantin or at Montbrison, and which to-day, having become classic, is no longer spoken except by the official orators of magistracy, to whom it is suited on account of its grave sonorousness and its majestic stride; a tongue in which a husband is called a consort, and a woman a spouse; paris, the centre of art and civilization; the king, the monarch; Monseigneur the Bishop, a sainted pontiff; the district-attorney, the eloquent interpreter of public prosecution; the arguments, the accents which we have just listened to; the age of Louis XIV., the grand age; a theatre, the temple of Melpomene; the reigning family, the august blood of our kings; a concert, a musical solemnity; the General Commandant of the province, the illustrious warrior, who, etc.; the pupils in the seminary, these tender levities; errors imputed to newspapers, the imposture which distills its venom through the columns of those organs; etc. The lawyer had, accordingly, begun with an explanation as to the theft of the apples,--an awkward matter couched in fine style; but Benigne Bossuet himself was obliged to allude to a chicken in the midst of a funeral oration, and he extricated himself from the situation in stately fashion.The lawyer established the fact that the theft of the apples had not been circumstantially proved. His client, whom he, in his character of counsel, persisted in calling Champmathieu, had not been seen scaling that wall nor breaking that branch by any one.He had been taken with that branch (which the lawyer preferred to call a bough) in his possession; but he said that he had found it broken off and lying on the ground, and had picked it up.Where was there any proof to the contrary? No doubt that branch had been broken off and concealed after the scaling of the wall, then thrown away by the alarmed marauder; there was no doubt that there had been a thief in the case. But what proof was there that that thief had been Champmathieu? One thing only.His character as an ex-convict. The lawyer did not deny that that character appeared to be, unhappily, well attested; the accused had resided at Faverolles; the accused had exercised the calling of a tree-pruner there; the name of Champmathieu might well have had its origin in Jean Mathieu; all that was true,-- in short, four witnesses recognize Champmathieu, positively and without hesitation, as that convict, Jean Valjean; to these signs, to this testimony, the counsel could oppose nothing but the denial of his client, the denial of an interested party; but supposing that he was the convict Jean Valjean, did that prove that he was the thief of the apples? that was a presumption at the most, not a proof. The prisoner, it was true, and his counsel, "in good faith," was obliged to admit it, had adopted "a bad system of defence." He obstinately denied everything, the theft and his character of convict. An admission upon this last point would certainly have been better, and would have won for him the indulgence of his judges; the counsel had advised him to do this; but the accused had obstinately refused, thinking, no doubt, that he would save everything by admitting nothing. It was an error; but ought not the paucity of this intelligence to be taken into consideration?This man was visibly stupid. Long-continued wretchedness in the galleys, long misery outside the galleys, had brutalized him, etc.He defended himself badly; was that a reason for condemning him?As for the affair with Little Gervais, the counsel need not discuss it; it did not enter into the case.The lawyer wound up by beseeching the jury and the court, if the identity of Jean Valjean appeared to them to be evident, to apply to him the police penalties which are provided for a criminal who has broken his ban, and not the frightful chastisement which descends upon the convict guilty of a second offence.

The district-attorney answered the counsel for the defence. He was violent and florid, as district-attorneys usually are.

He congratulated the counsel for the defence on his "loyalty," and skilfully took advantage of this loyalty.He reached the accused through all the concessions made by his lawyer.The advocate had seemed to admit that the prisoner was Jean Valjean.He took note of this. So this man was Jean Valjean.This point had been conceded to the accusation and could no longer be disputed.Here, by means of a clever autonomasia which went back to the sources and causes of crime, the district-attorney thundered against the immorality of the romantic school, then dawning under the name of the Satanic school, which had been bestowed upon it by the critics of the Quotidienne and the Oriflamme; he attributed, not without some probability, to the influence of this perverse literature the crime of Champmathieu, or rather, to speak more correctly, of Jean Valjean.Having exhausted these considerations, he passed on to Jean Valjean himself. Who was this Jean Valjean?Description of Jean Valjean:a monster spewed forth, etc.The model for this sort of description is contained in the tale of Theramene, which is not useful to tragedy, but which every day renders great services to judicial eloquence. The audience and the jury "shuddered."The description finished, the district-attorney resumed with an oratorical turn calculated to raise the enthusiasm of the journal of the prefecture to the highest pitch on the following day:And it is such a man, etc., etc., etc., vagabond, beggar, without means of existence, etc., etc., inured by his past life to culpable deeds, and but little reformed by his sojourn in the galleys, as was proved by the crime committed against Little Gervais, etc., etc.; it is such a man, caught upon the highway in the very act of theft, a few paces from a wall that had been scaled, still holding in his hand the object stolen, who denies the crime, the theft, the climbing the wall; denies everything; denies even his own identity! In addition to a hundred other proofs, to which we will not recur, four witnesses recognize him--Javert, the upright inspector of police; Javert, and three of his former companions in infamy, the convicts Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille.What does he offer in opposition to this overwhelming unanimity?His denial. What obduracy!You will do justice, gentlemen of the jury, etc., etc. While the district-attorney was speaking, the accused listened to him open-mouthed, with a sort of amazement in which some admiration was assuredly blended.He was evidently surprised that a man could talk like that.From time to time, at those "energetic" moments of the prosecutor's speech, when eloquence which cannot contain itself overflows in a flood of withering epithets and envelops the accused like a storm, he moved his head slowly from right to left and from left to right in the sort of mute and melancholy protest with which he had contented himself since the beginning of the argument. Two or three times the spectators who were nearest to him heard him say in a low voice, "That is what comes of not having asked M. Baloup." The district-attorney directed the attention of the jury to this stupid attitude, evidently deliberate, which denoted not imbecility, but craft, skill, a habit of deceiving justice, and which set forth in all its nakedness the "profound perversity" of this man. He ended by making his reserves on the affair of Little Gervais and demanding a severe sentence.

At that time, as the reader will remember, it was penal servitude for life.

The counsel for the defence rose, began by complimenting Monsieur l'Avocat-General on his "admirable speech," then replied as best he could; but he weakened; the ground was evidently slipping away from under his feet.

     他走上一步，机械地把门反手拉上，站着打量他目前所处的环境。这是间圆厅，灯光惨暗，极其宽阔，时而喧嚣四起，时而寂静无声，一整套处理刑事案件的机器，正带着庸俗、愁惨的隆重气派，在群众中间运转。

    在厅的一端，他所在的这一端，一些神情疏懒、穿着破袍的陪审官正啃着手指甲或闭着眼皮；另一端，一些衣服褴褛的群众，一些姿态各异的律师，一些面容诚实而凶狠的士兵；污渍的旧板壁，肮脏的天花板，几张铺着哔叽的桌子，这哔叽，与其说是绿的，还不如说是黄的；几扇门上都有黑色的手渍。几张咖啡馆常用的那种光少烟多的植物油灯挂在壁板上的钉子上，桌上的铜烛台里插了几支蜡烛，这里是阴暗、丑陋、沉闷的；从这一切中产生了一种威仪严肃的印象，因为就在这里，大家感受到了那种人间的威力和上苍的威力，也就是所谓的法律和正义。这群人，谁也不曾注意他。所有的目光都集中在唯一的一点上，那就是在庭长左方、沿墙靠着一扇小门的那条木凳上。那条凳被几支烛照着，在两个法警间坐着一个人。

    这人，便是那个人了。

    马德兰并不曾寻找他，却又一下子就看见了他。他的眼睛不期然而然地望到了那里，仿佛他事先早知道那人的所在之处。他感到他看见了自己，不过较老一些，面貌当然是不绝对相似，但是神情和外表却完全一模一样，一头乱竖着的头发，一双横蛮惶惑的眸子，一件布衫，正象他进迪涅城那天的样子，满面恨容，好象要把他费了十九年功夫在牢内铺路石上积聚起来的怨毒全闷在心里一样。

    他打了个寒噤，向自己说：
    “我的上帝！难道我又要变成这个样儿吗？”这人看上去至少有六十岁光景。他有一种说不出的粗鲁、执拗和惊惶之状。

    门一响，大家都靠紧，为他让出一条路，庭长把头转过去，望见刚进来的人物正是滨海蒙特勒伊的市长先生，便向他行了个礼。检礼官从前因公到滨海蒙特勒伊去过多次，早已认识马德兰先生，也同样向他行了个礼。他呢，没大注意，他头昏目眩，只呆呆地望着。

    几个审判官，一个记录员，一些法警，一群幸灾乐祸凑热闹的面孔，凡此种种，在二十七年前他都曾见过一次。这些魔鬼，现在他又遇见了，它们正在躜动，他们确实存在。这已不是他回忆中的景象，不是他思想上的幻影，而是一些真正的法警，真正的审判官，真正的听众，一些有血有肉的人。事情已经发展到这种地步，他看见往日的那些触目惊心的景象以及实际事物所能引起的一切恐怖，又在他的四周再次出现，再次涌动。

    这一切东西都在他面前张牙舞爪。他心胆俱裂，闭紧了双眼，从他心灵的最深处喊道：“决不！”造物弄人，演成悲局，使他神魂震悚，燥乱欲狂，并且坐在那里的那个人，又恰恰是他自己的化身！那个受审判的人，大家都叫他做冉阿让！

    他的影子正在他眼前扮演他生命中最可怕的一幕，这种情景，真是闻所未闻。一切都在这里出现了，同样的布置，同样的灯光，审判官、法警和观众的面目也约略相等。不过在庭长的上方，有一个耶稣受难像，这是在他从前受判决的时代公堂上所缺少之物。足见他当年受审判时上帝并不在常他背后有一张椅子，他颓然落下，如坐针毡，唯恐别人看见他。坐下以后，他利用审判官公案上的一堆卷宗，遮着自己的脸，使全厅的人都看不到他。现在他可以看别人，而别人看不见他了。他慢慢安定下来，他已经无法回到现实的感受中来了，心情的镇定已使他达到能倾听的程度。

    巴马达波先生是陪审员之一。他在找沙威，但却不见他。证人席被记录员的桌子遮着了。并且，我们刚才说过，厅里的灯光是暗淡的。他进门时，被告的律师正说完他的辩词。全场空气已到了最紧张的程度，这件案子开审已有三个钟头了。在这三个钟头里，大家眼望着一 个人，一个陌生人，一个穷极无聊、极其糊涂或极其狡猾的东西，在一 种骇人听闻的真情实况的重压下一步步弯伏下去。这个人，我们已经知道，是个流浪汉，被别人发现在田野中，拿着一根有熟苹果的树枝，这树枝是从附近一个叫别红园的围墙里的苹果树上折下来的。这个人究竟是谁？已经作了一番调查，证人们刚才也都发了言，众口一词，讨论中真相大白。控词里说：“我们逮捕的不仅是个偷水果的小贼，不仅是个贼，我们手里抓获的是一个匪徒，一个违反原判、擅离指定地址的累犯，一个旧苦役犯，一个最危险的暴徒，一个久已通缉在案名叫冉阿让的奸贼，八年前，从土牢里出来时，又曾手持凶器，在大路上抢劫过一个叫小瑞尔威的通烟囱的孩子，罪关刑事第三百八十三条，一俟该犯经过正式证明，确系冉阿让，当即根据上述条文另案处理。他最近又重新犯罪。这是一次再犯。请先处罚他的新罪，容后提审旧案。”被告在这种控词前，在证人们的一致的意见前，瞠目结舌，茫然不知所对。他摇头顿脚表示否认，或是两眼朝天。他口吃，答话困难，但是他整个人，从头到脚，都表示不服。在这一排排摆开阵式，向他溺战的聪明人面前，他简直就是个傻子，简直就是个陷入了重围的野人，可是目前正是威胁他未来生活的紧急关头，他的嫌疑越到后来越加变大，全体观众望着这种极尽诬陷、逐渐向他紧逼的判决词，比起他自己来还要担忧些。还有一层可虑的事，如果他被证实确是冉阿让，小瑞尔威的事将来也得判罪，那么，除监禁之外，还有被处死的可能。这究竟是个什么人呢？他那副冥顽不灵的表情是什么性质的呢？是愚蠢还是狡狯？是懂得很清楚还是完全不懂？对这些问题听众各执一辞，陪审团的意见好象也不太一致。这件疑案，既惊人又捉弄人，不但暖昧不清，而且茫无头绪。

    那个辩护士谈得相当好，他那种外省的语句，从前无论在巴黎也好，在罗莫朗坦或蒙勃里松也好，凡是律师都喜欢采用，早已成为律师们的词藻，但今天这种语句已成古典的了，它那种持重的声调、庄严的气派，正适合公堂上的那些公家发言人，所以现在只有他们还偶然用用；譬如称丈夫为“良人”，妻子为“内助”，巴黎为“艺术和文化的中心”，国王为“元首”，主教先生为“元圣”，检察官为“辩才无碍的锄奸大士”，律师的辩词称“刚才洗耳恭听过的高论”，路易十四的世纪为“大世纪”，剧场为“墨尔波墨涅殿”，在朝的王室为“我先王的圣血”音乐会为“雍和大典”，统辖一省的将军为“驰名的壮士某”，教士培养所里的小徒弟为“娇僧”，责令某报该负责的错误为“在刊物篇幅中散布毒素的花言巧语”等等，这律师打一开始，便要从偷苹果这件事上表示意见，要说得文雅，那确实是个难题；不过贝尼涅、博须埃一篇祭文里，也曾谈到过一只母鸡，而他竟能说得洋洋洒洒，毫不为之所困。这律师认定偷苹果的事没有具体的事实证明。他以辩护人的资格，坚称他的主顾为商马第，他说并没有人看见他亲自跳墙或攀折树枝。别人抓住他时，他手里正拿着那些根树枝（这律师比较喜欢称枝为树桠），但是他说他是看见它在地上，才捡起来的。反证在什么地方呢？这树枝显然被人偷折，那小偷爬到墙外后，后因为心虚便把它丢在地上。贼显然有一个。但是谁能证明这作贼是的商马第呢？只有一件事，他从前当过苦役犯。律师并不否认这件看来很不幸已经被证实的事，被告在法维洛勒住过，被告能的，这一切都是确实的，并且有四个证人，他们都一眼就认出了商马第便是苦役犯冉阿让。律师对这些线索、这些作证，只能拿他主顾的否认、一种有目的的否认来搪塞；但是即使认定他确是苦役犯冉阿让，这样就能证明他是偷苹果的贼吗？充其量这也只是种猜测而不是证据。被告确实用了“一种拙劣的自卫方法”，他的辩护人“本着良心”也应当承认这一点。他坚决否认一切，否认行窃，也否认当过苦役犯。他如果肯承认第二点，毫无疑问，一定会妥当些，他也许还可以赢得各陪审官的宽恕；律师也曾向他提出过这种意见，但是被告坚拒不从，他以为概不承认便能挽救一切。这是一种错误，不过，难道我们不应当去考虑他智力薄弱的一点？这人显然是个傻子。狱中长期的苦楚，出狱后长期的穷困，已使他变成神经呆笨的人了，律师说着说着，说他不善于为自己辩护，这毫不属于本案范围。最后，律师请求陪审团和法庭，假使他们确认这人是冉阿让，也只能按警章处罚他擅离指定住扯，不能按镇压累犯的苦役犯的严刑加以处理。

    检察官反驳了辩护律师。他和平素的其他检察官一样，讲得慷慨激昂，才华横溢。他对辩护律师的“忠诚”表示祝贺，并且巧妙地利用了他的忠诚。

    他就从这律师让步的几点上向被告攻击。律师似乎已经同意被告便是冉阿让。他把这句话记录下来。那么，这个人确是冉阿让了。在控词里，这已被肯定下来不容否认的了。做到这一点，检察长便用一种指桑骂槐的巧妙手法追寻这种罪恶的根源和缘由，怒气冲天地痛斥浪漫派的不道德，当时浪漫派正在新兴时期，《王旗报》和《每日新闻》的批评家们都称它为“撒旦派”！检察官把商马第（说冉阿让还更妥当些）的犯法行为归咎于这种邪侈文学的影响，说得也颇为煞有介事。发挥完全之后，他转到冉阿让本人身上。冉阿让是什么东西呢？他刻画冉阿让是个狗彘不如的怪物，等等。这种描写的范例在德拉门①的语录里可以看到，对悲剧没有用处，但它每天使法庭上的舌战确实增色不少。听众和陪审团都“为之股栗”。检察官刻画完毕以后，为了获得明天《省府公报》的高度表扬，又指手画脚地说下去：“并且他是这样一种人，等等，等等，等等，流氓，光棍，没有生活能力，等等，等等，等等，生平惯于为非作歹，坐了牢狱也不曾痛改前非，抢劫小瑞尔威这件事便足以证明，等等，等等，他是这样一个人，行了窃，被人在公路上当场拿获，离开一 堵刚爬过的墙只几步，手里还拿着赃物，人赃俱获，还要抵赖，行窃爬墙，一概抵赖，甚至连自己的姓名也抵赖，自己的身份来历也抵赖！我们有说不尽的证据，这也都不必再提了，除这以外，还有四个证人认识他，沙威，侦察员沙威和他以前的三个贼朋友，苦役犯布莱卫、舍尼杰和戈什巴依他们一致出来作证，他用什么来对付这种雷霆万钧之力呢？抵赖。多么顽固！请诸位陪审员先生主持正义，等等，等等。”检察官发言时，被告张着口听，惊讶之中不无钦佩之意。他看见一个人竟这样能说会道，当然要大吃一惊。在控诉发挥得最“得劲”时，这人辩才横溢，不能自己，恶言蜚语，层出不穷，如同把被告圈赶在疾风暴雨之中一样，这个犯人不时慢慢地摇着头，由右到左，又由左到右，这便是他在辩论进行中所表示的一种忍气吞声的抗议。离他最近的那几个旁听人听见他低声说了两三次“这都是因为没有问巴陆先生！”检察官请陪审团注意他的这种戆态，这明明是假装的，这并不表示他愚蠢，而是表示他巧黠、奸诈和蒙蔽法官的一贯作法，这就把这个人的“劣根性”揭露无遗了。最后他声明保留小瑞尔威的问题，要求严厉判处。
①德拉门（Theramene），公元前五世纪雅典暴君。

    这就是说，我们记得，暂时处以终身苦役。
    被告律师起来，首先祝贺了“检察官先生”的“高论”，接着又尽力辩驳，但是他泄了气。他脚跟显然立不稳了。

The moment for closing the debate had arrived.The president had the accused stand up, and addressed to him the customary question, "Have you anything to add to your defence?"

The man did not appear to understand, as he stood there, twisting in his hands a terrible cap which he had.
The president repeated the question.

This time the man heard it.He seemed to understand.He made a motion like a man who is just waking up, cast his eyes about him, stared at the audience, the gendarmes, his counsel, the jury, the court, laid his monstrous fist on the rim of woodwork in front of his bench, took another look, and all at once, fixing his glance upon the district-attorney, he began to speak.It was like an eruption. It seemed, from the manner in which the words escaped from his mouth,-- incoherent, impetuous, pell-mell, tumbling over each other,-- as though they were all pressing forward to issue forth at once. He said:--

"This is what I have to say.That I have been a wheelwright in paris, and that it was with Monsieur Baloup.It is a hard trade. In the wheelwright's trade one works always in the open air, in courtyards, under sheds when the masters are good, never in closed workshops, because space is required, you see.In winter one gets so cold that one beats one's arms together to warm one's self; but the masters don't like it; they say it wastes time. Handling iron when there is ice between the paving-stones is hard work. That wears a man out quickly One is old while he is still quite young in that trade.At forty a man is done for.I was fifty-three. I was in a bad state.And then, workmen are so mean!When a man is no longer young, they call him nothing but an old bird, old beast! I was not earning more than thirty sous a day.They paid me as little as possible.The masters took advantage of my age-- and then I had my daughter, who was a laundress at the river. She earned a little also.It sufficed for us two.She had trouble, also; all day long up to her waist in a tub, in rain, in snow. When the wind cuts your face, when it freezes, it is all the same; you must still wash.There are people who have not much linen, and wait until late; if you do not wash, you lose your custom. The planks are badly joined, and water drops on you from everywhere; you have your petticoats all damp above and below.That penetrates. She has also worked at the laundry of the Enfants-Rouges, where the water comes through faucets.You are not in the tub there; you wash at the faucet in front of you, and rinse in a basin behind you.As it is enclosed, you are not so cold; but there is that hot steam, which is terrible, and which ruins your eyes. She came home at seven o'clock in the evening, and went to bed at once, she was so tired.Her husband beat her.She is dead. We have not been very happy.She was a good girl, who did not go to the ball, and who was very peaceable.I remember one Shrove-Tuesday when she went to bed at eight o'clock. There, I am telling the truth; you have only to ask.Ah, yes! how stupid I am!paris is a gulf. Who knows Father Champmathieu there?But M. Baloup does, I tell you. Go see at M. Baloup's; and after all, I don't know what is wanted of me."

The man ceased speaking, and remained standing.He had said these things in a loud, rapid, hoarse voice, with a sort of irritated and savage ingenuousness.Once he paused to salute some one in the crowd. The sort of affirmations which he seemed to fling out before him at random came like hiccoughs, and to each he added the gesture of a wood-cutter who is splitting wood.When he had finished, the audience burst into a laugh.He stared at the public, and, perceiving that they were laughing, and not understanding why, he began to laugh himself.

It was inauspicious.
The president, an attentive and benevolent man, raised his voice.

He reminded "the gentlemen of the jury" that "the sieur Baloup, formerly a master-wheelwright, with whom the accused stated that he had served, had been summoned in vain.He had become bankrupt, and was not to be found."Then turning to the accused, he enjoined him to listen to what he was about to say, and added:"You are in a position where reflection is necessary.The gravest presumptions rest upon you, and may induce vital results.prisoner, in your own interests, I summon you for the last time to explain yourself clearly on two points.In the first place, did you or did you not climb the wall of the pierron orchard, break the branch, and steal the apples; that is to say, commit the crime of breaking in and theft? In the second place, are you the discharged convict, Jean Valjean-- yes or no?"

The prisoner shook his head with a capable air, like a man who has thoroughly understood, and who knows what answer he is going to make. He opened his mouth, turned towards the president, and said:--

"In the first place--"
Then he stared at his cap, stared at the ceiling, and held his peace.

"prisoner," said the district-attorney, in a severe voice; "pay attention.You are not answering anything that has been asked of you.Your embarrassment condemns you.It is evident that your name is not Champmathieu; that you are the convict, Jean Valjean, concealed first under the name of Jean Mathieu, which was the name of his mother; that you went to Auvergne; that you were born at Faverolles, where you were a pruner of trees. It is evident that you have been guilty of entering, and of the theft of ripe apples from the pierron orchard.The gentlemen of the jury will form their own opinion."

The prisoner had finally resumed his seat; he arose abruptly when the district-attorney had finished, and exclaimed:--

"You are very wicked; that you are!This what I wanted to say; I could not find words for it at first.I have stolen nothing. I am a man who does not have something to eat every day. I was coming from Ailly; I was walking through the country after a shower, which had made the whole country yellow:even the ponds were overflowed, and nothing sprang from the sand any more but the little blades of grass at the wayside.I found a broken branch with apples on the ground; I picked up the branch without knowing that it would get me into trouble.I have been in prison, and they have been dragging me about for the last three months; more than that I cannot say; people talk against me, they tell me, `Answer!' The gendarme, who is a good fellow, nudges my elbow, and says to me in a low voice, `Come, answer!'I don't know how to explain; I have no education; I am a poor man; that is where they wrong me, because they do not see this.I have not stolen; I picked up from the ground things that were lying there. You say, Jean Valjean, Jean Mathieu!I don't know those persons; they are villagers.I worked for M. Baloup, Boulevard de l'Hopital; my name is Champmathieu.You are very clever to tell me where I was born; I don't know myself:it's not everybody who has a house in which to come into the world; that would be too convenient. I think that my father and mother were people who strolled along the highways; I know nothing different.When I was a child, they called me young fellow; now they call me old fellow; those are my baptismal names; take that as you like.I have been in Auvergne; I have been at Faverolles.pardi.Well! can't a man have been in Auvergne, or at Faverolles, without having been in the galleys? I tell you that I have not stolen, and that I am Father Champmathieu; I have been with M. Baloup; I have had a settled residence. You worry me with your nonsense, there!Why is everybody pursuing me so furiously?"

The district-attorney had remained standing; he addressed the president:--

"Monsieur le president, in view of the confused but exceedingly clever denials of the prisoner, who would like to pass himself off as an idiot, but who will not succeed in so doing,-- we shall attend to that,--we demand that it shall please you and that it shall please the court to summon once more into this place the convicts Brevet, Cochepaille, and Chenildieu, and police-Inspector Javert, and question them for the last time as to the identity of the prisoner with the convict Jean Valjean."

"I would remind the district-attorney," said the president, "that police-Inspector Javert, recalled by his duties to the capital of a neighboring arrondissement, left the court-room and the town as soon as he had made his deposition; we have accorded him permission, with the consent of the district-attorney and of the counsel for the prisoner."

"That is true, Mr. president," responded the district-attorney. "In the absence of sieur Javert, I think it my duty to remind the gentlemen of the jury of what he said here a few hours ago. Javert is an estimable man, who does honor by his rigorous and strict probity to inferior but important functions.These are the terms of his deposition:`I do not even stand in need of circumstantial proofs and moral presumptions to give the lie to the prisoner's denial. I recognize him perfectly.The name of this man is not Champmathieu; he is an ex-convict named Jean Valjean, and is very vicious and much to be feared.It is only with extreme regret that he was released at the expiration of his term.He underwent nineteen years of penal servitude for theft.He made five or six attempts to escape. Besides the theft from Little Gervais, and from the pierron orchard, I suspect him of a theft committed in the house of His Grace the late Bishop of D---- I often saw him at the time when I was adjutant of the galley-guard at the prison in Toulon.I repeat that I recognize him perfectly.'"

This extremely precise statement appeared to produce a vivid impression on the public and on the jury.The district-attorney concluded by insisting, that in default of Javert, the three witnesses Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille should be heard once more and solemnly interrogated.
The president transmitted the order to an usher, and, a moment later, the door of the witnesses' room opened.The usher, accompanied by a gendarme ready to lend him armed assistance, introduced the convict Brevet.The audience was in suspense; and all breasts heaved as though they had contained but one soul.

The ex-convict Brevet wore the black and gray waistcoat of the central prisons.Brevet was a person sixty years of age, who had a sort of business man's face, and the air of a rascal. The two sometimes go together.In prison, whither fresh misdeeds had led him, he had become something in the nature of a turnkey. He was a man of whom his superiors said, "He tries to make himself of use."The chaplains bore good testimony as to his religious habits. It must not be forgotten that this passed under the Restoration.

"Brevet," said the president, "you have undergone an ignominious sentence, and you cannot take an oath."
Brevet dropped his eyes.

"Nevertheless," continued the president, "even in the man whom the law has degraded, there may remain, when the divine mercy permits it, a sentiment of honor and of equity.It is to this sentiment that I appeal at this decisive hour.If it still exists in you,--and I hope it does,--reflect before replying to me: consider on the one hand, this man, whom a word from you may ruin; on the other hand, justice, which a word from you may enlighten. The instant is solemn; there is still time to retract if you think you have been mistaken.Rise, prisoner.Brevet, take a good look at the accused, recall your souvenirs, and tell us on your soul and conscience, if you persist in recognizing this man as your former companion in the galleys, Jean Valjean?"

Brevet looked at the prisoner, then turned towards the court.

"Yes, Mr. president, I was the first to recognize him, and I stick to it; that man is Jean Valjean, who entered at Toulon in 1796, and left in 1815.I left a year later.He has the air of a brute now; but it must be because age has brutalized him; he was sly at the galleys: I recognize him positively."

"Take your seat," said the president."prisoner, remain standing."

Chenildieu was brought in, a prisoner for life, as was indicated by his red cassock and his green cap.He was serving out his sentence at the galleys of Toulon, whence he had been brought for this case. He was a small man of about fifty, brisk, wrinkled, frail, yellow, brazen-faced, feverish, who had a sort of sickly feebleness about all his limbs and his whole person, and an immense force in his glance. His companions in the galleys had nicknamed him I-deny-God (Je-nie Dieu, Chenildieu).

The president addressed him in nearly the same words which he had used to Brevet.At the moment when he reminded him of his infamy which deprived him of the right to take an oath, Chenildieu raised his head and looked the crowd in the face.The president invited him to reflection, and asked him as he had asked Brevet, if he persisted in recognition of the prisoner.

Chenildieu burst out laughing.
"pardieu, as if I didn't recognize him!We were attached to the same chain for five years.So you are sulking, old fellow?"
"Go take your seat," said the president.

The usher brought in Cochepaille.He was another convict for life, who had come from the galleys, and was dressed in red, like Chenildieu, was a peasant from Lourdes, and a half-bear of the pyrenees. He had guarded the flocks among the mountains, and from a shepherd he had slipped into a brigand.Cochepaille was no less savage and seemed even more stupid than the prisoner.He was one of those wretched men whom nature has sketched out for wild beasts, and on whom society puts the finishing touches as convicts in the galleys.

The president tried to touch him with some grave and pathetic words, and asked him, as he had asked the other two, if he persisted, without hesitation or trouble, in recognizing the man who was standing before him.

"He is Jean Valjean," said Cochepaille."He was even called Jean-the-Screw, because he was so strong."

Each of these affirmations from these three men, evidently sincere and in good faith, had raised in the audience a murmur of bad augury for the prisoner,--a murmur which increased and lasted longer each time that a fresh declaration was added to the proceeding.

The prisoner had listened to them, with that astounded face which was, according to the accusation, his principal means of defence; at the first, the gendarmes, his neighbors, had heard him mutter between his teeth:"Ah, well, he's a nice one!" after the second, he said, a little louder, with an air that was almost that of satisfaction, "Good!" at the third, he cried, "Famous!"

The president addressed him:--
"Have you heard, prisoner?What have you to say?"

He replied:--
"I say, `Famous!'"
An uproar broke out among the audience, and was communicated to the jury; it was evident that the man was lost.

"Ushers," said the president, "enforce silence!I am going to sum up the arguments."
At that moment there was a movement just beside the president; a voice was heard crying:--
"Brevet!Chenildieu!Cochepaille! look here!"

All who heard that voice were chilled, so lamentable and terrible was it; all eyes were turned to the point whence it had proceeded. A man, placed among the privileged spectators who were seated behind the court, had just risen, had pushed open the half-door which separated the tribunal from the audience, and was standing in the middle of the hall; the president, the district-attorney, M. Bamatabois, twenty persons, recognized him, and exclaimed in concert:--

"M. Madeleine!"

     宣告辩论终结的时刻到了。庭长叫被告立起来，向他提出这照例有的问题：“您还有什么为自己辩护的话要补充吗？”
    这个人，立着，拿着一顶破烂不堪的小帽子在手里转动，好象没有听见。

    庭长把这问题重说了一遍。这一次，这人听见了。他仿佛听懂了，如梦初醒似的动了一下，睁开眼睛向四面望，望着听众、法警、他的律师、陪审员、公堂，把他那个巨大的拳头放在他凳前的木栏杆上，再望了一望。忽然，他两眼紧盯着检察官，开始说话了，这仿佛是种爆炸。他那些拉杂、急迫、突兀，紊乱的话破口而出，好象每一句都急着想同时一齐挤出来似的。他说：“我有这些话要说。我在巴黎做过造车工人，并且是在巴陆先生家中。那是种辛苦的手艺。做车的人做起工来，总是在露天下，院子里，只有在好东家的家里才会在棚子里；但是从不会在有门窗的车间里，因为地方占得多，你们懂吧。冬天，大家冷得捶自己的胳膊，为了使自己暖一点；但是东家总不许，他们说，那样会耽误时间。地上冻冰时，手里还拿着铁，够惨的了。好好的人也得累垮。做那种手艺，小伙子也都成了小老头儿。到四十岁便完了。我呢，我那时已经五十三岁，受尽了罪。还有那老伙伴，一个个全是狠巴巴的！一个好好的人，年纪大了，他们便叫你做老冬瓜，老畜生！每天我已只能赚三十个苏了，那些东家却还在我的年纪上打主意，尽量减少我的工钱。此外，我从前还有一个女儿，她在河里洗衣服，在这方面她也赚点钱。我们两个人，日子还过得去。她也是够受罪的了。不管下雨下雪，风刮你的脸，她也得从早到晚，把半个身子浸在洗衣桶里；结冰时也一样，非洗不成；有些人没有多一点的换洗衣服，送来洗，便等着换；她不洗吧，就没有活计做了，洗衣板上又全是缝，四处漏水，溅你一身。她的裙子里里外外全是湿的。水朝里面浸。她在红娃娃洗衣厂里工作过，在那厂里，水是从龙头里流出来的。洗衣的人不用水桶，只对着面前的龙头洗，再送到背后的机器里去漂净。因为是在屋子里，身上也就不怎么冷了。可是那里面的水蒸汽可吓坏人，它会把你的眼睛也弄瞎。她晚上七点钟回来。很快就去睡了，她困得厉害。她的丈夫老爱打她。现在她已死了。我们没有过过快活日子。那是一个好姑娘，不上跳舞会，性子也安静。我记得在一个狂欢节的晚上，她八点钟便去睡了。就这样。我说的全是真话。你们去问就是了。呀，是呀，问。我多么笨！巴黎是个无底洞。谁还认识商马第伯伯呢？可是我把巴陆先生告诉你们。你们到巴先生家去问吧。除此以外，我不知道你们还要我做什么。”

    这个人不开口了，照旧立着。他风风火火地说完了那段话，声音粗野、强硬、嘶哑，态度急躁、鲁莽而天真。一次，他停了嘴，向听众中的一个人打招呼。他对着大众信口乱扯，说到态度认真起来时，他的声音就象打噎，而且还加上个樵夫劈柴的手势。他说完以后，听众哄堂大笑。他望着大家，看见人家笑，他莫名其妙，也大笑起来。

    这是一种悲惨的场面。庭长是个细心周到的人，他大声发言了。

    他重行提醒“各位陪审员先生”，说“被告说他从前在巴陆车匠师父家里工作过，这些话都用不着提了。巴陆君早已亏了本走了，下落不明。”随后他转向被告，要他注意听他说话，并补充说：“您现在的处境非慎重考虑不可了，您有极其重大的嫌疑，可能引起极严重的后果。被告，为了您的利益，我最后一次关照您，请您爽爽快快说明两件事：第一，您是不是爬过别红园的墙，折过树枝，偷过苹果，就是说，犯过越墙行窃的罪？第二，您是不是那个释放了的苦役犯冉阿让？”

    被告用一种自信的神气摇着头，好象一个懂得很透彻也知道怎样回 答的人。他张开口，转过去对着庭长说：“首先??”随后他望着自己的帽子，又望着天花板，可是不开口。“被告，”检察官用一种严厉的声音说，“您得注意，人家问您的话，您全不回答。您这样慌张，就等于不打自招。您明明不是商马第，首先您明明是利用母亲的名字作掩护，改名让?马第的那个苦役犯冉阿让，您到过奥弗涅，您生在法维洛勒，您在那里做过修枝工人。您明明爬过别红园的墙，偷过熟苹果。各位陪审员先生，请斟酌。”

    被告本已坐下去了，检察官说完以后，他忽然立起来，大声喊道：“您真黑心，您！这就是我刚才要说的话。先头我没有想出来。我一点东西都没有偷。我不是每天有饭吃的人。那天我从埃里走来，落了一阵大雨，我经过一个地方，那里被雨水冲刷，成了一片黄泥浆，洼地里的水四处乱流，路边的沙子里也只露出些小草片，我在地上找到一根断了的树枝，上面有些苹果，我便捡起了那树枝，并没有想到会替我惹来麻烦。我在牢里已待了三个月，又被人家这儿那儿带来带去。除了这些，我没有什么好说的；你们和我过不去，你们对我说：‘快回答！’这位兵士是个好人，他摇着我的胳膊，细声细气向我说：‘回答吧。’我不知道怎样解释，我，我没有文化，我是个穷人。你们真不该不把真情弄清楚。我没有偷。我捡的东西是原来就在地上的。你们说什么冉阿让，让?马第！这些人我全不认识。他们是乡下人。我在医院路巴陆先生家里工作过。我叫商马第。你们说得出我是在什么地方生的，算你们有本领。我自己都不知道。世上并不是每个人从娘胎里出来就是有房子的。那样太方便了。我想我的父亲和我的母亲都是些四处找活做的人。并且我也不知道。当我还是个孩子时，人家叫我小把戏，现在，大家叫我老头儿。这些就是我的洗礼名。随便你们怎样叫吧。我到过奥弗涅，我到过法维洛勒，当然！怎么了？难道一个人没有进过监牢就不能到奥弗涅，不能到法维洛勒去吗？我告诉你们，我没有偷过东西，我是商马第伯伯。我在巴陆先生家里作过工，并在他家里住过。听了你们这些胡扯，我真不耐烦！为什么世上的人全象怨鬼一样来逼我呢！”

    检察官仍立着，他向庭长说：
    “庭长先生，这被告想装痴狡赖，但是我们预先警告他，他逃不了，根据他这种闪烁狡猾已极的抵赖，我们请求庭长和法庭再次传犯人布莱卫、戈什巴依、舍尼杰和侦察员沙威，作最后一次的讯问，要他们证明这被告是否是冉阿让。”

    “我请检察官先生注意，”庭长说，“侦察员沙威因为在邻县的县城有公务，在作证以后便立刻离开了公堂，并且离开了本城。我们允许他走了。检察官先生和被告律师都是表示了同意的。”

    “这是对的，庭长先生，”检察官接着说。“沙威先生既不在这里，我想应该把他刚才在此地所说的话，向各位陪审员先生重述一遍。沙威是一个大家尊敬的人，为人刚毅、谨严、廉洁，担任这种下层的重要职务非常称职，这便是他在作证时留下的话：‘我用不着什么精神上的猜度或物质上的证据来揭穿被告的伪供。我千真万确地认识他。这个人不叫商马第，他是从前一个非常狠毒、非常凶猛的名叫冉阿让的苦役犯。他服刑期满被释，我们认为是极端失当的。他因犯了大窃案受过十九年的苦刑。他企图越狱，达五六次之多。除小瑞尔威窃案和别红园窃案外，我还怀疑他在已故的迪涅主教大人家里犯过盗窃罪。当我在土伦当副监狱官时，我常看见他。我再说一遍，我千真万确地认识他。’”这种精确无比的宣言，在听众和陪审团里，看来已产生了一种深刻的印象。检察官念完以后，又坚请（沙威虽已不在）再次认真传讯布莱卫、舍尼杰和戈什巴依三个证人。

    庭长把传票交给一个执达吏，过一会，证人室的门开了。在一个警卫的保护下，执达吏把犯人布莱卫带来了。听众半疑半信，心一齐跳着，好象大家只有一个共同的灵魂。

    老犯人布莱卫穿件中央监狱的灰黑色褂子。布莱卫是个六十左右的人，面目象个企业主，神气象流氓，有时是会有这种巧合的。他不断干坏事，以致身陷狱中，变成看守一类的东西，那些头目都说：“这人想找机会讨好。”到狱中布道的神甫们也证明他在宗教方面的一些好习惯。我们不该忘记这是复辟时代的事。

    “布莱卫”，庭长说，“您受过一种不名誉的刑罚，您不应当宣誓??”布莱卫把眼睛低下去。

    “可是，”庭长接着说，“神恩允许的时候，即使是一个受过法律贬黜的人，他心里也还能够留下一点爱名誉、爱平等的情感。在这紧急的时刻，我所期望的也就是这种情感。假使您心里还有这样的情感，我想是有的，那么，在回答我以前，您先仔细想想，您的一句话，一方面能断送这个人，一方面也会使法律发出光辉。这个时刻是庄严的，假使您认为先前说错了，您还来得及收回您的话。被告，站起来。布莱卫，好好地望着这被告，回想您从前的事情，再凭您的灵魂和良心告诉我们，您是否确实认为这个人就是您从前监狱里的朋友冉阿让。”布莱卫望了望被告，又转向法庭说：“是的，庭长先生。我第一个说他是冉阿让，我现在还是这么说。这个人是冉阿让。一七九六年进土伦，一八一五年出来。我是后一年出来的。他现在的样子象傻子，那也许是年纪把他变傻了，他早在狱里时就是那样阴阳怪气的。我的的确确认识他。”“您去坐下，”庭长说，“被告，站着不要动。”吉尼杰也被带进来了，红衣绿帽，一望便知是个终身苦役犯。他原在土伦监狱里服刑。是为了这件案子才从狱中提出来的。他是个五十左右的人，矮孝敏捷、皱皮满面，黄瘦、厚颜、暴躁，在他的四肢和整个身躯里有种孱弱的病态，但目光里却有一种奇异的力量。他狱里的伙伴给了他一个绰号叫“日尼杰”①。庭长向他说的话和刚才向布莱卫说过的那些大致相同。他说他做过不名誉的事，已经丧失了宣誓的资格，舍尼杰在这时却照旧抬起头来，正正直直地望着观众。庭长要他集中思想，象先头问布莱卫一样，问他是否还认识被告。
①“日尼杰”（Je-nie-Dieu）和“舍尼杰”（Chenildieu）音相近，不同的是“我否认上帝”的意思。

    舍尼杰放声大笑。
    “当然！我认识不认识他！我们吊在一根链子上有五年。你赌气吗，老朋友？”

    “您去坐下。”庭长说。执达吏又领着戈什巴依来了。这个受着终身监狱的囚犯，和舍尼杰一样，也是从狱中提出来的，也穿一件红衣，他是卢尔德地方的乡下人，比利牛斯山里几乎相当于野人的人。他在山里看守过牛羊，从牧人变成了强盗。和这被告相比，戈什巴依的蛮劲并不在他之下，而愚痴更在他之上。世间有些不幸的人，先由自然环境造成野兽，再由人类社会造成囚犯，直到老死，戈什巴依便是其中的一员。庭长先说了些庄严动人的话，想让他感动，又用先头问那两个人的话问他，是否能毫无疑问地、毫不含糊地坚决认为自己认识这个站在他前面的人。

    “这是冉阿让，”戈什巴依说，“我们还叫他做千斤顶，因为他力气大。”

    这三个人的肯定，分明是诚恳的，凭良心说的，在听众中引起了一阵阵乱哄哄的耳语声，每多一个人作出了肯定的回答，那种哄动的声音也就越强烈，越延长，这是种不祥的顶兆。而被告听他们说着，面上露出惊讶的神情，照控诉词上说，这是他主要的自卫方法。第一个证人说完话时，他旁边的法警听见他咬紧牙齿低声抱怨道：“好呀！有了一个了。”第二个说完时他又说，声音时稍微大了一点，几乎带着得意的神气：“好！”第三个说完时他喊了出来：“真出色！”

    庭长问他：
    “被告，您听见了。您还有什么可说的？”他回答：“我说‘真出色！’”听众中起了一片嘈杂的声音，陪审团也几乎受到影响。这人显然已被断送了。
    “执达吏，”庭长说，“教大家静下来，我立刻要宣告辩论终结。”

    这时，庭长的左右有人动起来。大家听到一个人的声音喊道：“布莱卫，舍尼杰，戈什巴依！看这边。”

    听到这声音的人，寒毛全竖起来了，这声音太凄惨骇人了。大家的眼睛全转向那边。一个坐在法官背后优待席里的旁听者刚立起来，推开了法官席和律师席中间的那扇矮栏门，走到大厅的中间来了。庭长、检察官、巴马达波先生，其他二十个人，都认识他，齐声喊道：“马德兰先生！”
    

It was he, in fact.The clerk's lamp illumined his countenance. He held his hat in his hand; there was no disorder in his clothing; his coat was carefully buttoned; he was very pale, and he trembled slightly; his hair, which had still been gray on his arrival in Arras, was now entirely white:it had turned white during the hour he had sat there.

All heads were raised:the sensation was indescribable; there was a momentary hesitation in the audience, the voice had been so heart-rending; the man who stood there appeared so calm that they did not understand at first.They asked themselves whether he had indeed uttered that cry; they could not believe that that tranquil man had been the one to give that terrible outcry.

This indecision only lasted a few seconds.Even before the president and the district-attorney could utter a word, before the ushers and the gendarmes could make a gesture, the man whom all still called, at that moment, M. Madeleine, had advanced towards the witnesses Cochepaille, Brevet, and Chenildieu.

"Do you not recognize me?" said he.

All three remained speechless, and indicated by a sign of the head that they did not know him.Cochepaille, who was intimidated, made a military salute.M. Madeleine turned towards the jury and the court, and said in a gentle voice:--

"Gentlemen of the jury, order the prisoner to be released! Mr. president, have me arrested.He is not the man whom you are in search of; it is I: I am Jean Valjean."

Not a mouth breathed; the first commotion of astonishment had been followed by a silence like that of the grave; those within the hall experienced that sort of religious terror which seizes the masses when something grand has been done.

In the meantime, the face of the president was stamped with sympathy and sadness; he had exchanged a rapid sign with the district-attorney and a few low-toned words with the assistant judges; he addressed the public, and asked in accents which all understood:--

"Is there a physician present?"
The district-attorney took the word:--

"Gentlemen of the jury, the very strange and unexpected incident which disturbs the audience inspires us, like yourselves, only with a sentiment which it is unnecessary for us to express. You all know, by reputation at least, the honorable M. Madeleine, mayor of M. sur M.; if there is a physician in the audience, we join the president in requesting him to attend to M. Madeleine, and to conduct him to his home."

M.Madeleine did not allow the district-attorney to finish; he interrupted him in accents full of suavity and authority. These are the words which he uttered; here they are literally, as they were written down, immediately after the trial by one of the witnesses to this scene, and as they now ring in the ears of those who heard them nearly forty years ago:--

"I thank you, Mr. District-Attorney, but I am not mad; you shall see; you were on the point of committing a great error; release this man! I am fulfilling a duty; I am that miserable criminal.I am the only one here who sees the matter clearly, and I am telling you the truth.God, who is on high, looks down on what I am doing at this moment, and that suffices.You can take me, for here I am: but I have done my best; I concealed myself under another name; I have become rich; I have become a mayor; I have tried to re-enter the ranks of the honest.It seems that that is not to be done. In short, there are many things which I cannot tell.I will not narrate the story of my life to you; you will hear it one of these days. I robbed Monseigneur the Bishop, it is true; it is true that I robbed Little Gervais; they were right in telling you that Jean Valjean was a very vicious wretch.perhaps it was not altogether his fault.Listen, honorable judges! a man who has been so greatly humbled as I have has neither any remonstrances to make to providence, nor any advice to give to society; but, you see, the infamy from which I have tried to escape is an injurious thing; the galleys make the convict what he is; reflect upon that, if you please. Before going to the galleys, I was a poor peasant, with very little intelligence, a sort of idiot; the galleys wrought a change in me.I was stupid; I became vicious:I was a block of wood; I became a firebrand.Later on, indulgence and kindness saved me, as severity had ruined me.But, pardon me, you cannot understand what I am saying.You will find at my house, among the ashes in the fireplace, the forty-sou piece which I stole, seven years ago, from little Gervais.I have nothing farther to add; take me. Good God! the district-attorney shakes his head; you say, 'M. Madeleine has gone mad!' you do not believe me! that is distressing.Do not, at least, condemn this man!What! these men do not recognize me! I wish Javert were here; he would recognize me."

Nothing can reproduce the sombre and kindly melancholy of tone which accompanied these words.
He turned to the three convicts, and said:--
"Well, I recognize you; do you remember, Brevet?"

He paused, hesitated for an instant, and said:--
"Do you remember the knitted suspenders with a checked pattern which you wore in the galleys?"
Brevet gave a start of surprise, and surveyed him from head to foot with a frightened air.He continued:--

"Chenildieu, you who conferred on yourself the name of `Jenie-Dieu,' your whole right shoulder bears a deep burn, because you one day laid your shoulder against the chafing-dish full of coals, in order to efface the three letters T. F. p., which are still visible, nevertheless; answer, is this true?"

"It is true," said Chenildieu.
He addressed himself to Cochepaille:--

"Cochepaille, you have, near the bend in your left arm, a date stamped in blue letters with burnt powder; the date is that of the landing of the Emperor at Cannes, March 1, 1815; pull up your sleeve!"

Cochepaille pushed up his sleeve; all eyes were focused on him and on his bare arm.
A gendarme held a light close to it; there was the date.

The unhappy man turned to the spectators and the judges with a smile which still rends the hearts of all who saw it whenever they think of it.It was a smile of triumph; it was also a smile of despair.

"You see plainly," he said, "that I am Jean Valjean."

In that chamber there were no longer either judges, accusers, nor gendarmes; there was nothing but staring eyes and sympathizing hearts.No one recalled any longer the part that each might be called upon to play; the district-attorney forgot he was there for the purpose of prosecuting, the president that he was there to preside, the counsel for the defence that he was there to defend. It was a striking circumstance that no question was put, that no authority intervened.The peculiarity of sublime spectacles is, that they capture all souls and turn witnesses into spectators. No one, probably, could have explained what he felt; no one, probably, said to himself that he was witnessing the splendid outburst of a grand light:all felt themselves inwardly dazzled.

It was evident that they had Jean Valjean before their eyes. That was clear.The appearance of this man had sufficed to suffuse with light that matter which had been so obscure but a moment previously, without any further explanation:the whole crowd, as by a sort of electric revelation, understood instantly and at a single glance the simple and magnificent history of a man who was delivering himself up so that another man might not be condemned in his stead. The details, the hesitations, little possible oppositions, were swallowed up in that vast and luminous fact.

It was an impression which vanished speedily, but which was irresistible at the moment.
"I do not wish to disturb the court further," resumed Jean Valjean. "I shall withdraw, since you do not arrest me.I have many things to do. The district-attorney knows who I am; he knows whither I am going; he can have me arrested when he likes."

He directed his steps towards the door.Not a voice was raised, not an arm extended to hinder him.All stood aside.At that moment there was about him that divine something which causes multitudes to stand aside and make way for a man.He traversed the crowd slowly. It was never known who opened the door, but it is certain that he found the door open when he reached it.On arriving there he turned round and said:--

"I am at your command, Mr. District-Attorney."
Then he addressed the audience:--

"All of you, all who are present--consider me worthy of pity, do you not?Good God!When I think of what I was on the point of doing, I consider that I am to be envied.Nevertheless, I should have preferred not to have had this occur."

He withdrew, and the door closed behind him as it had opened, for those who do certain sovereign things are always sure of being served by some one in the crowd.

Less than an hour after this, the verdict of the jury freed the said Champmathieu from all accusations; and Champmathieu, being at once released, went off in a state of stupefaction, thinking that all men were fools, and comprehending nothing of this vision.

     正是他。记录员的灯光恰好照着他的脸。他手里拿着帽子，他的服装没有一点不整齐的地方，他的礼服是扣得规规矩矩的。他的脸，异常惨白，身体微微颤抖。他的头发在刚到阿拉斯时还是班白的，现在白完了。他在这儿过了一个钟头，头发竟然全变白了。

    大家的头全竖了起来。那种紧张心情是无可形容的，听众一时全楞住了。这个人的声音那样凄戾，而他自己却又那样镇静，以致开头，大家都不明白是怎么一回事。大家心里都在问谁喊了这么一声。大家都无法想象发出这种骇人的叫声的，便是这个神色泰然自若的人。

    这种惊疑只持续了几秒钟。庭长和检察官还不曾来得及说一句话，法警和执达吏也还不曾来得及做一个动作，这个人，大家在这时还称为马德兰先生的这个人，已走到证人布莱卫、戈什巴依和舍尼杰的面前了。

    “你们不认识我吗？”他说。他们三个人都莫名其妙，摇着头，表示一点也不认识他。马德兰先生转身向着那些陪审员和法庭人员，委婉地说：“诸位陪审员先生，请释放被告。庭长先生，请拘禁我。你们要逮捕的人不是他，是我。我是冉阿让。”

    大家都屏声无息。最初的惊诧之后，随后就是坟墓般的寂静。当时在场的人都被一种带宗教意味的敬畏心情所慑服了，这种心情，每逢非常人作出非常举动时往往是会发生的。这时，庭长的脸上显出了同情和忧愁的神气。他和检察官使了个眼色，又和那些陪审顾问低声说了几句话。他向着听众，用一种大家都了解的口吻问道：“这里有医生吗？”

    检察官发言：

    “诸位陪审员先生，这种意外、突兀、惊扰大众的事，使我产生一 种不须说明的感想，诸位想必也有同感。诸位全都认识这位可敬的滨海蒙特勒伊市长，马德兰先生，至少也听说过他的大名。假使听众中有位医生，我们同意庭长先生的建议，请他出来照顾马德兰先生，并且伴送他回去。”
    马德兰先生丝毫不容检察官说完，他用一种十分温良而又十分刚强的口吻打断了他的话。下面便是他的发言，这是当日在场的一个旁听者在退堂后立刻记下来的，一字一句都不曾改动；听到这些话的人，至今快四十年了，现在仍觉得余音在耳。

    “我谢谢您，检察官先生，我神经并未错乱。您会知道的。您差点要犯非常大的错误。快快释放这个人吧，我尽我的本分，我是这个不幸的罪人。我是在这里唯一了解真实情况的人，我说的也是真话。我现在做的事，这上面的上帝看得很清楚，这样也就够了。我既然已经到了这里，您可以逮捕我。我曾经努力为善，我隐藏在一个名字的后面，我发了财，我做了市长；我原想回到善良人的行列。看来这是行不通的了。总而言之，有许多事我现在还不能说，我并不想把我一生的事全告诉你们，有一天大家总会知道的。我偷过那位主教先生的东西，这是真的；我抢过小瑞尔威，这也是真的。别人告诉您说冉阿让是个非常凶的坏人，这话说得有理。过错也许并非全是他一个人的。请听我说，各位审判官先生，象我这样一个贱人，原不应当对上帝有所指责，也不应当对社会作何忠告。但是，请你们注意，我从前想洗刷的那种羞辱，确实是一种有害的东西。牢狱制造囚犯。假使你们愿意，请你们在这上面多多思考。在入狱以前，我是乡下一个很不聪明的穷人，一个很笨的人，牢狱改变了我。我从前笨，后来凶；我从前是块木头，后来成了引火的干柴。再到后来，宽容和仁爱救了我，正如从前严酷断送了我一样。但是请原谅，你们是听不懂我说的这些话的。在我家里壁炉的灰里，你们可以找到一 个值四十个苏的银币，那是七年前我抢了小瑞尔威的。我再没有什么旁的话要说。扣押我吧。我的上帝！检察官先生，您摇着头说：‘马德兰先生疯了。’您不相信我！这真令我苦恼。无论如何，您总不至于判这个人的罪吧！什么！这些人全不认我！可惜沙威不在这里，他会认出我来的，他。”

    没有什么话可以把他那种悲切仁厚的酸楚口吻表达出来。他转过去对着那三个囚犯：“好吧，我认识你们，我！布莱卫！您记得吗？??”他停下来，迟疑了一会，又说道：“你还记得你从前在狱里用的那条编织的方格子花背带吗？”布莱卫骇然吃惊，从头到脚向他打量着。他继续说：“舍尼杰，你替你自己起了个诨名叫日尼杰。你的右肩上全是很深的火伤疤，因为有一天你把你的肩膀靠在一大盆红炭上，想消灭 TFP三个字母，但是没有烧去。回 答，是否有过这回事？”“有过。”舍尼杰说。

    他又向戈什巴依说：
    “戈什巴依，在你左肘弯的旁边有个日期，字是蓝的，是用烧粉刺成的。这日期便是皇上从戛纳登陆的日子，一八一五年三月一日。把你的袖子卷上去。”

    戈什巴依卷起他的衣袖，他前后左右的人都伸长了颈子，目光盯在他的光胳膊上。有一个法警拿了一盏灯来，那上面确有这个日期。这不幸的人转过来朝着听众，又转过去朝着审判官，他那笑容叫当日在场目击的人至今回想起来还会感到难受。那是胜利的笑容，也是绝望的笑容。

    “你们现在明白了，”他说，“我就是冉阿让。”在这圆厅里，已经无所谓审判官，无所谓原告，无所谓法警，只有发呆的眼睛和悲哀的心。大家都想不起自己要做的事，检察官已忘了他原在那里检举控诉，庭长也忘了自己原在那里主持审判，被告辩护人也忘了自己原在那里辩护。感人最深的是没有任何人提出任何问题，也没有任何人履行职责。最非常的景象能摄取所有人的心灵，使全体证人变为观众。这时，也许没一个人能确切了解自己的感受，当然也没有一个人想到他当时看到的，是一种强烈的光辉的照耀，可是大家都感到自己的心肺已被照亮了。立在众人眼前的是冉阿让，这已经很明显了。这简直是光的辐射。这个人的出现，已足以使刚才还那样扑朔迷离的案情真相大白。以后也用不着任何说明，这群人全都好象受到闪电般迅疾的启示，并且立即懂得，也一眼看清了这个舍身昭雪冤情的人的简单壮丽的历史。他曾经历过的种种小事、种种迟疑、可能有过的小小抗拒心情，全在这种光明磊落的浩气中消逝无踪。这种印象固然很快就过去了，但是在那一刹那间却是锐不可挡的。

    “我不愿意再扰乱公堂，”冉阿让接着说，“你们既然不逮捕我，我就走了。我还有好几件事要办。检察官先生知道我是谁，他知道我要去什么地方，他随时都可以派人逮捕我。”

    他向着出口走去。谁也没有开口，谁也没有伸出胳膊来阻拦他。大家都向两旁分开。他在当时有一种说不出的凛然神威，使群众往后退，并且排着队让他过去，他慢慢地一步一步穿过人群。永远没有人知道谁推开了门，但是他走到门前，门的确是打开了。他到了门边，回转身来说：“检察官先生，我静候您的处理。”随后他又向听众说：“你们在这里的每个人，你们觉得我可怜，不是吗？我的上帝！但我感到正是我刚才在做这件事的时候，我觉得自己是值得羡慕的。但是我更希望的是这些事最好都不曾发生过。”

    他出去了，门又自动关上，如同刚才它自动打开一样，作风光明磊落的人总会在群众中找到为他服务的人。
    不到一个钟头，陪审团的决议撤消了对商马第的全部控告，立即被释放的商马第惊奇得莫名其妙地走了，觉得在场的人全是疯子，他一点也不懂他所见到的是一件怎样的事。

The day had begun to dawn.Fantine had passed a sleepless and feverish night, filled with happy visions; at daybreak she fell asleep. Sister Simplice, who had been watching with her, availed herself of this slumber to go and prepare a new potion of chinchona. The worthy sister had been in the laboratory of the infirmary but a few moments, bending over her drugs and phials, and scrutinizing things very closely, on account of the dimness which the half-light of dawn spreads over all objects.Suddenly she raised her head and uttered a faint shriek.M. Madeleine stood before her; he had just entered silently.

"Is it you, Mr. Mayor?" she exclaimed.

He replied in a low voice:--
"How is that poor woman?"
"Not so bad just now; but we have been very uneasy."

She explained to him what had passed:that Fantine had been very ill the day before, and that she was better now, because she thought that the mayor had gone to Montfermeil to get her child. The sister dared not question the mayor; but she perceived plainly from his air that he had not come from there.

"All that is good," said he; "you were right not to undeceive her."
"Yes," responded the sister; "but now, Mr. Mayor, she will see you and will not see her child.What shall we say to her?"

He reflected for a moment.
"God will inspire us," said he.
"But we cannot tell a lie," murmured the sister, half aloud.

It was broad daylight in the room.The light fell full on M. Madeleine's face.The sister chanced to raise her eyes to it.
"Good God, sir!" she exclaimed; "what has happened to you? Your hair is perfectly white!"
"White!" said he.

Sister Simplice had no mirror.She rummaged in a drawer, and pulled out the little glass which the doctor of the infirmary used to see whether a patient was dead and whether he no longer breathed. M. Madeleine took the mirror, looked at his hair, and said:--
"Well!"

He uttered the word indifferently, and as though his mind were on something else.
The sister felt chilled by something strange of which she caught a glimpse in all this.

He inquired:--
"Can I see her?"

"Is not Monsieur le Maire going to have her child brought back to her?" said the sister, hardly venturing to put the question.
"Of course; but it will take two or three days at least."

"If she were not to see Monsieur le Maire until that time," went on the sister, timidly, "she would not know that Monsieur le Maire had returned, and it would be easy to inspire her with patience; and when the child arrived, she would naturally think Monsieur le Maire had just come with the child.We should not have to enact a lie."

M. Madeleine seemed to reflect for a few moments; then he said with his calm gravity:--
"No, sister, I must see her.I may, perhaps, be in haste."

The nun did not appear to notice this word "perhaps," which communicated an obscure and singular sense to the words of the mayor's speech. She replied, lowering her eyes and her voice respectfully:--

"In that case, she is asleep; but Monsieur le Maire may enter."

He made some remarks about a door which shut badly, and the noise of which might awaken the sick woman; then he entered Fantine's chamber, approached the bed and drew aside the curtains.She was asleep. Her breath issued from her breast with that tragic sound which is peculiar to those maladies, and which breaks the hearts of mothers when they are watching through the night beside their sleeping child who is condemned to death.But this painful respiration hardly troubled a sort of ineffable serenity which overspread her countenance, and which transfigured her in her sleep. Her pallor had become whiteness; her cheeks were crimson; her long golden lashes, the only beauty of her youth and her virginity which remained to her, palpitated, though they remained closed and drooping.Her whole person was trembling with an indescribable unfolding of wings, all ready to open wide and bear her away, which could be felt as they rustled, though they could not be seen. To see her thus, one would never have dreamed that she was an invalid whose life was almost despaired of.She resembled rather something on the point of soaring away than something on the point of dying.

The branch trembles when a hand approaches it to pluck a flower, and seems to both withdraw and to offer itself at one and the same time. The human body has something of this tremor when the instant arrives in which the mysterious fingers of Death are about to pluck the soul.

M. Madeleine remained for some time motionless beside that bed, gazing in turn upon the sick woman and the crucifix, as he had done two months before, on the day when he had come for the first time to see her in that asylum.They were both still there in the same attitude-- she sleeping, he praying; only now, after the lapse of two months, her hair was gray and his was white.

The sister had not entered with him.He stood beside the bed, with his finger on his lips, as though there were some one in the chamber whom he must enjoin to silence.

She opened her eyes, saw him, and said quietly, with a smile:--
"And Cosette?"

     芳汀发了一夜烧，并失了眠，但这一夜却充满了种种快乐的幻象，到早晨的时候，她睡着了。守夜的散普丽斯姆姆趁她睡着时，又跑去预备了一份奎宁水。这位勤恳的姆姆待在疗养室的药房里已经很久了，她弯着腰，仔细看她那些药品和药瓶，因为天还未大亮，有层迷雾蒙着这些东西。她忽然转过身来，低低叫了一声。马德兰先生出现在她面前。他刚静悄悄地走了进来。“是您，市长先生！”她叫道。

    他低声回答说：
    “那可怜的妇人怎样了？”

    “现在还好。我们很担了些心呢！”她把经过情形告诉他，她说这一晚芳汀的情况很不好，现在已好了些，因为她以为市长先生到孟费郿去接她的孩子了。姆姆不敢问市长先生，但是她看神情，知道他不是从那里来的。“这样很好，”他说，“您没有说破她的幻想，做得对。”“是的，”姆姆接着说，“但是现在，市长先生，她就会看见您，却看不见她的孩子，我们将怎样向她说呢？”他默默地想了一会。

    “上帝会启发我们的。”他说。
    “可我们总不能说谎。”姆姆吞吞吐吐低声说。屋子里已经亮透了。阳光正照着马德兰先生的脸。姆姆无意中抬起头来。
    “我的上帝，先生啊！”她叫道，“您遇见了什么事？您的头发全白了！”
    “白了！”他说。

    散普丽斯姆姆从来没有镜子，她到一个药囊里去找，取出了一面小镜子，这镜子是病房里的医生用来检查病人是否已经气绝身亡的。
    马德兰先生拿了这面镜子，照着他的头发，说了声“怪事！”他随口说了这句话，仿佛他还在想着别的事。姆姆觉得离奇而不可解，心登时凉了半截。他说：“我可以看她吗？”

    “市长先生不打算把她的孩子接回来吗？”姆姆说，她连这样一句话差点都不敢问。

    “我当然会把她接回来，但至少得有两三天的工夫不可。”“假使她在孩子接来之前见不到市长先生，”姆姆战战兢兢地说，“她就不会知道市长先生已经回来了，我们便容易安她的心；等到孩子到了，她自然会认为市长先生是和孩子一同来的。我们便不用说谎了。”

    马德兰先生好象思量了一会，随后他又带着他那种镇静沉重的态度说：“不行，我的姆姆，我应当去看看她。我的时间也许不多了。”“也许”两个字给了马德兰先生的话一种深奥古怪的意味，不过这女信徒好象没注意到。她垂着眼睛恭恭敬敬地回答：“既是这样，市长先生进去就是，她正在休息。”那扇门启闭不大灵，他怕有声音惊醒病人，便细心旋开，走进了芳汀的屋子，走到床前，把床帷稍微拂开一点。她正睡着。她胸中嘘出的呼吸声听了叫人心痛，那种声音是害着那种病的人所特有的，也是令那些在夜间守护着无可挽救的而仍然睡着的孩子的慈母们所不忍卒听的。但在她脸上，有一种无可形容的安闲神情，使她在睡眠中显得另有一番神色，那种苦痛的呼吸并不对她怎么影响。她的面容已由黄变白，两颊却绯红。她那两对纤长的金黄睫毛是她童贞时期和青春时期所留下的唯一美色了，尽管是垂闭着的，却还频频颤动。她全身也都颤抖着，那种颤动别人是只能感觉而看不见的、有如行将助她飞去的翅膀，要展未展，欲飞还住似的。看到她这种神态，我们永远不会相信躺在那里的竟是一个濒危的病人。与其说她象个命在旦夕的人，毋宁说她象只振翅欲飞的鸟儿。

    我们伸手采花时，花枝总半迎半拒地颤动着。鬼手摄人灵魂时，人的身体也有一种类似的战栗。

    马德兰先生在床边默默地立了一会，望望病人，又望望那耶稣受难像，正如两个月前他初到这屋子里来看她时的情景一样。那时他们俩，正如今日一样，一个熟睡，一个祈祷；不过现在，经过两个月的光阴，她的头发已转成灰色，而他的头发则变成雪白的了。姆姆没和他一同进来。他立在床边，一个手指压在嘴上，仿佛他不这样做，屋子里就会有人要发出声气似的。

    她睁开眼睛，看见了她，带着微笑，安闲地说：“珂赛特呢？”

She made no movement of either surprise or of joy; she was joy itself. That simple question, "And Cosette?" was put with so profound a faith, with so much certainty, with such a complete absence of disquiet and of doubt, that he found not a word of reply. She continued:--

"I knew that you were there.I was asleep, but I saw you. I have seen you for a long, long time.I have been following you with my eyes all night long.You were in a glory, and you had around you all sorts of celestial forms."

He raised his glance to the crucifix.

"But," she resumed, "tell me where Cosette is.Why did not you place her on my bed against the moment of my waking?"
He made some mechanical reply which he was never afterwards able to recall.

Fortunately, the doctor had been warned, and he now made his appearance. He came to the aid of M. Madeleine.
"Calm yourself, my child," said the doctor; "your child is here."

Fantine's eyes beamed and filled her whole face with light. She clasped her hands with an expression which contained all that is possible to prayer in the way of violence and tenderness.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "bring her to me!"
Touching illusion of a mother!Cosette was, for her, still the little child who is carried.

"Not yet," said the doctor, "not just now.You still have some fever. The sight of your child would agitate you and do you harm. You must be cured first."

She interrupted him impetuously:--
"But I am cured!Oh, I tell you that I am cured!What an ass that doctor is!The idea!I want to see my child!"

"You see," said the doctor, "how excited you become.So long as you are in this state I shall oppose your having your child.It is not enough to see her; it is necessary that you should live for her. When you are reasonable, I will bring her to you myself."

The poor mother bowed her head.

"I beg your pardon, doctor, I really beg your pardon.Formerly I should never have spoken as I have just done; so many misfortunes have happened to me, that I sometimes do not know what I am saying. I understand you; you fear the emotion.I will wait as long as you like, but I swear to you that it would not have harmed me to see my daughter.I have been seeing her; I have not taken my eyes from her since yesterday evening.Do you know? If she were brought to me now, I should talk to her very gently. That is all.Is it not quite natural that I should desire to see my daughter, who has been brought to me expressly from Montfermeil? I am not angry.I know well that I am about to be happy.All night long I have seen white things, and persons who smiled at me. When Monsieur le Docteur pleases, he shall bring me Cosette. I have no longer any fever; I am well.I am perfectly conscious that there is nothing the matter with me any more; but I am going to behave as though I were ill, and not stir, to please these ladies here. When it is seen that I am very calm, they will say, `She must have her child.'"

M. Madeleine was sitting on a chair beside the bed.She turned towards him; she was making a visible effort to be calm and "very good," as she expressed it in the feebleness of illness which resembles infancy, in order that, seeing her so peaceable, they might make no difficulty about bringing Cosette to her.But while she controlled herself she could not refrain from questioning M. Madeleine.

"Did you have a pleasant trip, Monsieur le Maire?Oh! how good you were to go and get her for me!Only tell me how she is. Did she stand the journey well?Alas! she will not recognize me. She must have forgotten me by this time, poor darling!Children have no memories.They are like birds.A child sees one thing to-day and another thing to-morrow, and thinks of nothing any longer. And did she have white linen?Did those Thenardiers keep her clean? How have they fed her?Oh! if you only knew how I have suffered, putting such questions as that to myself during all the time of my wretchedness.Now, it is all past.I am happy.Oh, how I should like to see her!Do you think her pretty, Monsieur le Maire?Is not my daughter beautiful?You must have been very cold in that diligence! Could she not be brought for just one little instant?She might be taken away directly afterwards.Tell me; you are the master; it could be so if you chose!"

He took her hand."Cosette is beautiful," he said, "Cosette is well. You shall see her soon; but calm yourself; you are talking with too much vivacity, and you are throwing your arms out from under the clothes, and that makes you cough."

In fact, fits of coughing interrupted Fantine at nearly every word.

Fantine did not murmur; she feared that she had injured by her too passionate lamentations the confidence which she was desirous of inspiring, and she began to talk of indifferent things.

"Montfermeil is quite pretty, is it not?people go there on pleasure parties in summer.Are the Thenardiers prosperous? There are not many travellers in their parts.That inn of theirs is a sort of a cook-shop."

M. Madeleine was still holding her hand, and gazing at her with anxiety; it was evident that he had come to tell her things before which his mind now hesitated.The doctor, having finished his visit, retired.Sister Simplice remained alone with them.

But in the midst of this pause Fantine exclaimed:--
"I hear her! mon Dieu, I hear her!"
She stretched out her arm to enjoin silence about her, held her breath, and began to listen with rapture.

There was a child playing in the yard--the child of the portress or of some work-woman. It was one of those accidents which are always occurring, and which seem to form a part of the mysterious stage-setting of mournful scenes.The child--a little girl-- was going and coming, running to warm herself, laughing, singing at the top of her voice.Alas! in what are the plays of children not intermingled.It was this little girl whom Fantine heard singing.

"Oh!" she resumed, "it is my Cosette!I recognize her voice."

The child retreated as it had come; the voice died away. Fantine listened for a while longer, then her face clouded over, and M. Madeleine heard her say, in a low voice:"How wicked that doctor is not to allow me to see my daughter!That man has an evil countenance, that he has."

But the smiling background of her thoughts came to the front again. She continued to talk to herself, with her head resting on the pillow: "How happy we are going to be!We shall have a little garden the very first thing; M. Madeleine has promised it to me.My daughter will play in the garden.She must know her letters by this time. I will make her spell.She will run over the grass after butterflies. I will watch her.Then she will take her first communion.Ah! when will she take her first communion?"

She began to reckon on her fingers.

"One, two, three, four--she is seven years old.In five years she will have a white veil, and openwork stockings; she will look like a little woman.O my good sister, you do not know how foolish I become when I think of my daughter's first communion!"

She began to laugh.

He had released Fantine's hand.He listened to her words as one listens to the sighing of the breeze, with his eyes on the ground, his mind absorbed in reflection which had no bottom.All at once she ceased speaking, and this caused him to raise his head mechanically. Fantine had become terrible.

She no longer spoke, she no longer breathed; she had raised herself to a sitting posture, her thin shoulder emerged from her chemise; her face, which had been radiant but a moment before, was ghastly, and she seemed to have fixed her eyes, rendered large with terror, on something alarming at the other extremity of the room.

"Good God!" he exclaimed; "what ails you, Fantine?"

She made no reply; she did not remove her eyes from the object which she seemed to see.She removed one hand from his arm, and with the other made him a sign to look behind him.
He turned, and beheld Javert.

     她既无惊讶的动作，也无欢乐的动作，她就是欢乐的本身。她提出“珂赛特呢？”这个简单问题时，她的信心是那样真诚、那样坚定、那样确信无疑，使得他不知怎样回答才好。

    她继续说：
    “我知道您到那里去过了。我睡着了，但我看见了您。我早已看见了您。我的眼睛跟着您走了一整夜。一道神光围绕着您，在您的前后左右有各式各样的天仙。”

    他抬起头赶快眼睛望着那个耶稣受难象。
    “不过，”她又说，“请您告诉我珂赛特在哪里？为什么我醒来时，没有把她放到我的床上呢？”

    他机械地回答了几句，过后他从未忆起他在当时说的是什么。好在有人通知了医生，他赶来了，他来帮助马德兰先生。“我的孩子，”医生说，“好好安静下来，您的孩子在这里了。”芳汀顿时两眼炯炯发光，喜溢眉宇。双手合十，这种神情具有祈祷所包含的最强烈同时又最柔和的一切情感。
    “呵，”她喊道，“把她抱来给我吧！”

    多么动人的慈母的幻想！珂赛特对她来说始终是个抱在怀里的孩子。
    “还不行，”那医生接着说，“现在还不行。您的热还没有退净。
    您看见孩子，会兴奋，会影响您的身体。非先把您的病养好不可。”她焦急地打岔说：“可我的病已经好了！他真是头驴子，这医生！呀！我要看我的孩子，我！”

    “您瞧，”医生说，“您多么容易动气。如果您永远这样，我便永远不许您见您的孩子。单看见她并不解决问题，您还得为她活下去才是。等到您不胡闹了，我亲自把她带来给您。”
    可怜的母亲低下了头。

    “医生先生，我请您原谅，我诚心诚意请您一定原谅。从前我决说不出来刚才的那种话。我受的痛苦太多了，所以我有时会不知道自己在说什么。我懂，您担心我情绪激动，您愿意我等多久我就等多久，但我向您发誓，看看我的女儿对我是不会有害处的。我随时都看见她，从昨天晚上开始，我的眼睛便没有离开过她。你们知道吗？你们现在把她抱来给我，我就可以好好地和她谈心。除此以外，不会再有什么的。人家特地到孟费郿去把我的孩子领来，我要看看她，这不是很自然的吗？我没有发脾气。我完全明白，我的快乐就在眼前。整整一夜，我看见一些洁白的东西，还有些人向我微笑。在医生先生高兴时，就会把我的珂赛特抱给我。我已不发烧了，我的病早已好了，我心里明白我完全好了，但我要装出有病的样子，一动也不动，这样才会让这儿的女士们高兴。别人看见我安静下来，就会说：‘现在应当给她孩子了。’”马德兰先生此时坐在床边的一张椅子上。她把脸转过去朝着他，她显然是要极力做出安静和“乖乖的”样子，正如她在这种类似稚气的病态里所说的，她的目的是要使人看到她平静了，便不再为难，把珂赛特送给她。但是她尽管强自镇静，可还是忍不住要向马德兰先生问东问西。

    “您一路上都好吧，市长先生？呵！您多么慈悲，为了我去找她！您只告诉我她是什么样子就够了。她一路来，没有太辛苦吧？可怜的！她一定不认识我了！这么多年，她已经忘记我了，可怜的心肝！孩子们总是没有记性的。就和小鸟一样。今天看见这，明天看见那，结果一样也记不祝至少她的换洗衣服总是白的吧？那德纳第家的总注意到她的清洁了吧？他们给她吃什么东西？呵！我从前在受难时，想到这些事心里多么痛苦，如果你们知道的话！现在这些事都已过去了。我已放心了。呵！我多么想看她！市长先生，您觉得她漂亮吗？我的女儿生得美，不是吗？你们在车子里没受凉吧！你们让她到这儿来待一会儿也不成吗？你们可以马上又把她带出去。请您说！您是主人，如果您愿意的话！”

    他握住她的手：
    “珂塞特生得美，”他说，“珂塞特的身体也好，您不久就可以看见她，但是您应当安静一点。您说得太兴奋了，您又把手伸到床外边来了，您会咳嗽的。”的确，芳汀几乎说每一个字就要剧烈地咳一次。

    芳汀并不啰嗦，她恐怕说得太激烈，反而把事情搞坏，得不到别人的好感，因此她只说一些不相干的话。
    “孟费郿这地方还好，不是吗？到了夏天，有些人到那地方去游玩。
    德纳第家的生意好吗？在他们那地方来往的人并不多。那种客店也只能算是一种歇马店罢了。”

    马德兰先生始终捏着她的手，望着她发愁，他当时去看她，显然是有事要和她谈，但是现在犹豫起来了。医生诊视了一回，也退出去了。只有散普丽姆姆在他们旁边。

    当大家默默无声时，芳汀忽然叫起来：

    “我听到了她的声音！我的上帝！我听到了她的声音！”她伸出手臂，要大家静下去，她屏着气，听得心往神驰。这里，正有一个孩子在天井里玩，看门婆婆的孩子，或是随便一个女工的孩子。我们时常会遇到一些巧合的事，每逢人到穷途末路时，这类事便会从冥冥之中出来凑上一份，天井里的那个孩子便是这种巧遇之一。那孩子是个小姑娘，为了取暖，在那儿跑来跑去，高声笑着、唱着。唉！在什么东西里没有孩童的游戏！芳汀听见在唱的便是这小姑娘。

    “呵！”她又说，“这是我的珂赛特！我听得出她的嗓子！”这孩子忽来忽去，走远了，她的声音也消失了。芳汀又听了一会，面容惨淡，马德兰先生听见她低声说：“医生不许我见我的女儿，多么心狠！他真有一副坏样子！”然而她心中欢乐的本源又出现了。她头在枕上，继续向自己说，“我们将来多么快乐呵！首先，我们有个小花园！这是马德兰先生许给我的。我的女儿在花园里玩！现在她应该认识字母了吧。我来教她拼字。她在草地上追蝴蝶。我看她玩。过后她就要去领第一次圣礼。呀！真的！她应当几时去领她的第一次圣礼？”她翘起手指来数。

    “??一，二，三，四，??她七岁了。再过五年。她披上一条白纱，穿上一双挑花袜，一副大姑娘的神气。呵！我的好姆姆，您不知道我多么蠢，我已想到我的女儿领第一次圣礼的事了！”她笑起来了。

    他已丢了芳汀的手。他听着这些话，如同一个人听着风声，眼睛望着地，精神沉溺在无边的萦想里一样。忽然一下，她不说话了，他机械地抬起头来，芳汀神色大变。

    她不再说话，也不再呼吸，她半卧半起，支在床上，瘦削的肩膀也从睡衣里露出来，刚才还喜气盈盈的面色，现在发青了，恐怖使她的眼睛睁得溜圆，好象在注视着她前面、她屋子那头的一件骇人之物。

    “我的上帝！”他喊道，“您怎么了，芳汀？”她不回答，她的眼睛毫不离开她那仿佛看见了的东西，她用一只手握住他的胳膊，用另一只手指着，叫他朝后看。他转过头去，便看见了沙威。

This is what had taken place.

The half-hour after midnight had just struck when M. Madeleine quitted the Hall of Assizes in Arras.He regained his inn just in time to set out again by the mail-wagon, in which he had engaged his place. A little before six o'clock in the morning he had arrived at M. sur M., and his first care had been to post a letter to M. Laffitte, then to enter the infirmary and see Fantine.

However, he had hardly quitted the audience hall of the Court of Assizes, when the district-attorney, recovering from his first shock, had taken the word to deplore the mad deed of the honorable mayor of M. sur M., to declare that his convictions had not been in the least modified by that curious incident, which would be explained thereafter, and to demand, in the meantime, the condemnation of that Champmathieu, who was evidently the real Jean Valjean. The district-attorney's persistence was visibly at variance with the sentiments of every one, of the public, of the court, and of the jury.The counsel for the defence had some difficulty in refuting this harangue and in establishing that, in consequence of the revelations of M. Madeleine, that is to say, of the real Jean Valjean, the aspect of the matter had been thoroughly altered, and that the jury had before their eyes now only an innocent man. Thence the lawyer had drawn some epiphonemas, not very fresh, unfortunately, upon judicial errors, etc., etc.; the president, in his summing up, had joined the counsel for the defence, and in a few minutes the jury had thrown Champmathieu out of the case.

Nevertheless, the district-attorney was bent on having a Jean Valjean; and as he had no longer Champmathieu, he took Madeleine.

Immediately after Champmathieu had been set at liberty, the district-attorney shut himself up with the president. They conferred "as to the necessity of seizing the person of M. le Maire of M. sur M." This phrase, in which there was a great deal of of, is the district-attorney's, written with his own hand, on the minutes of his report to the attorney-general. His first emotion having passed off, the president did not offer many objections. Justice must, after all, take its course.And then, when all was said, although the president was a kindly and a tolerably intelligent man, he was, at the same time, a devoted and almost an ardent royalist, and he had been shocked to hear the Mayor of M. sur M. say the Emperor, and not Bonaparte, when alluding to the landing at Cannes.

The order for his arrest was accordingly despatched. The district-attorney forwarded it to M. sur M. by a special messenger, at full speed, and entrusted its execution to police Inspector Javert.

The reader knows that Javert had returned to M. sur M. immediately after having given his deposition.
Javert was just getting out of bed when the messenger handed him the order of arrest and the command to produce the prisoner.

The messenger himself was a very clever member of the police, who, in two words, informed Javert of what had taken place at Arras. The order of arrest, signed by the district-attorney, was couched in these words:"Inspector Javert will apprehend the body of the Sieur Madeleine, mayor of M. sur M., who, in this day's session of the court, was recognized as the liberated convict, Jean Valjean."

Any one who did not know Javert, and who had chanced to see him at the moment when he penetrated the antechamber of the infirmary, could have divined nothing of what had taken place, and would have thought his air the most ordinary in the world.He was cool, calm, grave, his gray hair was perfectly smooth upon his temples, and he had just mounted the stairs with his habitual deliberation. Any one who was thoroughly acquainted with him, and who had examined him attentively at the moment, would have shuddered.The buckle of his leather stock was under his left ear instead of at the nape of his neck.This betrayed unwonted agitation.

Javert was a complete character, who never had a wrinkle in his duty or in his uniform; methodical with malefactors, rigid with the buttons of his coat.

That he should have set the buckle of his stock awry, it was indispensable that there should have taken place in him one of those emotions which may be designated as internal earthquakes.

He had come in a simple way, had made a requisition on the neighboring post for a corporal and four soldiers, had left the soldiers in the courtyard, had had Fantine's room pointed out to him by the portress, who was utterly unsuspicious, accustomed as she was to seeing armed men inquiring for the mayor.

On arriving at Fantine's chamber, Javert turned the handle, pushed the door open with the gentleness of a sick-nurse or a police spy, and entered.

properly speaking, he did not enter.He stood erect in the half-open door, his hat on his head and his left hand thrust into his coat, which was buttoned up to the chin.In the bend of his elbow the leaden head of his enormous cane, which was hidden behind him, could be seen.

Thus he remained for nearly a minute, without his presence being perceived.All at once Fantine raised her eyes, saw him, and made M. Madeleine turn round.

The instant that Madeleine's glance encountered Javert's glance, Javert, without stirring, without moving from his post, without approaching him, became terrible.No human sentiment can be as terrible as joy.
It was the visage of a demon who has just found his damned soul.

The satisfaction of at last getting hold of Jean Valjean caused all that was in his soul to appear in his countenance.The depths having been stirred up, mounted to the surface.The humiliation of having, in some slight degree, lost the scent, and of having indulged, for a few moments, in an error with regard to Champmathieu, was effaced by pride at having so well and accurately divined in the first place, and of having for so long cherished a just instinct. Javert's content shone forth in his sovereign attitude.The deformity of triumph overspread that narrow brow.All the demonstrations of horror which a satisfied face can afford were there.

Javert was in heaven at that moment.Without putting the thing clearly to himself, but with a confused intuition of the necessity of his presence and of his success, he, Javert, personified justice, light, and truth in their celestial function of crushing out evil. Behind him and around him, at an infinite distance, he had authority, reason, the case judged, the legal conscience, the public prosecution, all the stars; he was protecting order, he was causing the law to yield up its thunders, he was avenging society, he was lending a helping hand to the absolute, he was standing erect in the midst of a glory.There existed in his victory a remnant of defiance and of combat.Erect, haughty, brilliant, he flaunted abroad in open day the superhuman bestiality of a ferocious archangel. The terrible shadow of the action which he was accomplishing caused the vague flash of the social sword to be visible in his clenched fist; happy and indignant, he held his heel upon crime, vice, rebellion, perdition, hell; he was radiant, he exterminated, he smiled, and there was an incontestable grandeur in this monstrous Saint Michael.

Javert, though frightful, had nothing ignoble about him.

probity, sincerity, candor, conviction, the sense of duty, are things which may become hideous when wrongly directed; but which, even when hideous, remain grand:their majesty, the majesty peculiar to the human conscience, clings to them in the midst of horror; they are virtues which have one vice,--error. The honest, pitiless joy of a fanatic in the full flood of his atrocity preserves a certain lugubriously venerable radiance. Without himself suspecting the fact, Javert in his formidable happiness was to be pitied, as is every ignorant man who triumphs. Nothing could be so poignant and so terrible as this face, wherein was displayed all that may be designated as the evil of the good.

    下面就是当时的经过。

    马德兰先生从阿拉斯高等法院出来时，已是夜里十二时半了。他回到旅馆，正好赶上乘邮车回来，我们记得他早订了一个座位。不到早晨六点，他便到了滨海蒙特勒伊，他第一桩事便是把寄给拉菲特先生的信送到邮局，再到疗养室去看芳停他离开高等法院的公堂不久，检察官便抑制住了一时间的慌乱，开始发言，他叹惜这位可敬的滨海蒙特勒伊市长的怪诞行为，声言他绝不因这种奇特的意外事件而改变他原来的看法，这种意外事件究竟为何发生，日后一定会弄个明白，并且他认为商马第是真的冉阿让，要求先判他的罪。检察官这样坚持原议，显然是和每个旁听人、法庭的各个成员和陪审团的看法相反的。被告的辩护人轻轻几句话便推翻了他的论点，同时还反映出这件案子经过马德兰先生，就是说真冉阿让的揭示以后，已经根本改变了面目，因此留在陪审员眼前的只是一个无罪的人。律师把法律程序上的一些错误概括说了一番，不足的是他这番话并不是什么新的发现，庭长在作结论时也表示他和被告辩护人的见解一致，陪审团在几分钟之内，便宣告对商马第免予起诉。

    但检察官非得有一个冉阿让不行，逮不住商马第，便得逮马德兰。

    释放了商马第之后，检察官便立即和庭长关在屋子里密谈。他们讨论了“逮捕滨海蒙特勒伊的市长先生的本人的必要性”。这句话有很多“的”字的短语，是检察官先生的杰作，是他亲笔写在呈检察长的报告底稿上的。庭长在一度感到紧张之后，并未怎样反对。法律总不能碰壁。并且老实说，庭长虽然是个有点小聪明的好人，可是他有相当强烈的保皇思想，滨海蒙特勒伊市长谈到在戛纳登陆事件时说了“皇上”，而没有说“波拿巴”，他感到很不中听。

    于是逮捕状签发出去了。检察官派了专人，星夜兼程送到滨海蒙特勒伊，责成侦察员沙威执行。我们知道，沙威在作证以后，已经立即回到了滨海蒙特勒伊。沙威正起床，专差便已把逮捕状和传票交给了他。这专差也是个精干的警吏，一两句话便把阿拉斯发生的事向沙威交代明白了。逮捕状上有检察官的签字，内容是这样的“侦察员沙威，速将滨海蒙特勒伊市长马德兰君拘捕归案，马德兰君在本日公审时，已被查明为已释苦役犯冉阿让。”

    假使有个没见过沙威的人，看见他当时走进那疗养室的前房，这人一定猜想不到发生了什么事，并且还会认为他那神气是世上最平常的。他态度冷静、严肃，灰色头发平平整整地贴在两鬓，他刚才走上楼梯的步伐也和平时一样，是从容不迫的。但是如果有个深知其为人的人，并仔细地观察了他，便会感到毛骨悚然。他皮领的钮扣不在他颈后，而在他左耳上边，这表明当时他那种从未有过的惊慌。

    沙威是个完人，他的工作态度和穿衣态度都毫无可以指责之处，他对暴徒绝不通融，对他衣服上的钮扣也从来都一丝不苟。他居然会把领扣扣歪，那必定是在他心中发生了那种所谓“内心地震”的骚乱。

    他在邻近的哨所里要了一个伍长和四个兵，便若无其事地来了。他把这些兵留在天井里，叫那看门婆婆把芳汀的屋子告诉他，看门婆婆毫无戒备，因为经常有一些武装者来找市长先生，她是看惯了的。

    沙威走到芳汀的门前，转动门钮，用着护士或暗探的那种柔和劲儿推开门，进来了。
    准确地说，他并未进来，他站在那半开的门口，帽子戴在头上，左手插在他那件一直扣到颈脖的礼服里。肘弯上露出他那根藏在身后的粗手杖的铅头。

    他这样立着不动，差不多有一分钟，没有引起任何人的注意。忽然，芳汀抬起眼睛看见了他，又叫马德兰先生转过头去。当马德兰先生的视线接触到沙威的视线时，沙威并没有动，也不惊惶，也不走近，只露出一副可怕的神色。在人类的情感方面，最可怕的便是得意之色。
    这是一副找到了冤家的魔鬼面孔。他确信自己能够逮住冉阿让，因此他心中的一切全露在了脸上了。

    底部搅浑后影响到了水面。他想到自己曾嗅错了路，一时错认了商马第，他不懊恼，好在他当初识破了他，并且多少年以来，一直都还是清醒的，想到这里，懊恼也就消散了。沙威的喜色因傲慢的态度而更加明显，扁窄的额头因得胜而变得极其难看。那副沾沾自喜的面孔料是无丑不有。

    这时，沙威如在天庭，他自己虽不十分明了，但对自己的成功和地位的重要性却有一种模糊的直觉，他，沙威，人格化了的法律、光明和真理，他是在代表它们执行上天授给的除恶职责。他有无边无际的权力、道理、正义、法治精神、舆论，满天的星斗环绕在他的后面和他的四周。他维护社会秩序，他使法律发出雷鸣电闪，他为社会除暴安良，他捍卫绝对真理，他屹立在神光之中；他虽然已胜券稳操，却仍有挑衅和搏斗的余勇；他挺身直立，气派雄豪，威风凛凛，把个勇猛天神的超人淫威布满了天空。他正在执行的那件任务的骇人的暗影，使人可以从他那握紧了的拳头上，看到了一柄向往社会力量的利剑的寒光。他愉快而愤恨地用脚跟踏着罪恶、丑行、叛逆、堕落、地狱，他发出万道光芒，他杀人从不眨眼，他满脸堆着笑容，在这威猛天神的身上，的确具有一种无比伟大的气概。

    沙威凶狠，但绝不下贱。

    正直、真诚、老实、自信、忠于职务，这些品质在被曲解时是可以变成丑恶的，不过，即使丑恶，也还有它的伟大；它们的威严是人类的良知所特有的，所以在丑恶当中依然存在。这是一些有缺点的优良品质，这缺点便是它会发生的错误。执迷于某一种信念的人，在纵恣暴戾时，有一种寡情而诚实的欢乐，这样的欢乐，莫名其妙地竟会是一种阴森而又令人起敬的光芒。沙威在他这种骇人的快乐里，正和每一个得志的小人一样，值得怜悯。那副面孔所表现的，我们可以称之为善中的万恶，世界上没有任何东西能比这更惨更可怕了。

Fantine had not seen Javert since the day on which the mayor had torn her from the man.Her ailing brain comprehended nothing, but the only thing which she did not doubt was that he had come to get her. She could not endure that terrible face; she felt her life quitting her; she hid her face in both hands, and shrieked in her anguish:--

"Monsieur Madeleine, save me!"
Jean Valjean--we shall henceforth not speak of him otherwise-- had risen.He said to Fantine in the gentlest and calmest of voices:--
"Be at ease; it is not for you that he is come."

Then he addressed Javert, and said:--
"I know what you want."
Javert replied:--
"Be quick about it!"

There lay in the inflection of voice which accompanied these words something indescribably fierce and frenzied.Javert did not say, "Be quick about it!" he said "Bequiabouit."
No orthography can do justice to the accent with which it was uttered: it was no longer a human word:it was a roar.

He did not proceed according to his custom, he did not enter into the matter, he exhibited no warrant of arrest.In his eyes, Jean Valjean was a sort of mysterious combatant, who was not to be laid hands upon, a wrestler in the dark whom he had had in his grasp for the last five years, without being able to throw him. This arrest was not a beginning, but an end.He confined himself to saying, "Be quick about it!"

As he spoke thus, he did not advance a single step; he hurled at Jean Valjean a glance which he threw out like a grappling-hook, and with which he was accustomed to draw wretches violently to him.

It was this glance which Fantine had felt penetrating to the very marrow of her bones two months previously.
At Javert's exclamation, Fantine opened her eyes once more. But the mayor was there; what had she to fear?
Javert advanced to the middle of the room, and cried:--

"See here now!Art thou coming?"
The unhappy woman glanced about her.No one was present excepting the nun and the mayor.To whom could that abject use of "thou" be addressed?To her only.She shuddered.

Then she beheld a most unprecedented thing, a thing so unprecedented that nothing equal to it had appeared to her even in the blackest deliriums of fever.
She beheld Javert, the police spy, seize the mayor by the collar; she saw the mayor bow his head.It seemed to her that the world was coming to an end.

Javert had, in fact, grasped Jean Valjean by the collar.
"Monsieur le Maire!" shrieked Fantine.
Javert burst out laughing with that frightful laugh which displayed all his gums.

"There is no longer any Monsieur le Maire here!"
Jean Valjean made no attempt to disengage the hand which grasped the collar of his coat.He said:--
"Javert--"

Javert interrupted him:"Call me Mr. Inspector."
"Monsieur," said Jean Valjean, "I should like to say a word to you in private."
"Aloud!Say it aloud!" replied Javert; "people are in the habit of talking aloud to me."

Jean Valjean went on in a lower tone:--
"I have a request to make of you--"
"I tell you to speak loud."

"But you alone should hear it--"
"What difference does that make to me?I shall not listen."
Jean Valjean turned towards him and said very rapidly and in a very low voice:--

"Grant me three days' grace! three days in which to go and fetch the child of this unhappy woman.I will pay whatever is necessary. You shall accompany me if you choose."

"You are making sport of me!" cried Javert."Come now, I did not think you such a fool!You ask me to give you three days in which to run away!You say that it is for the purpose of fetching that creature's child!Ah!Ah!That's good!That's really capital!"

Fantine was seized with a fit of trembling.

"My child!" she cried, "to go and fetch my child!She is not here, then!Answer me, sister; where is Cosette?I want my child! Monsieur Madeleine!Monsieur le Maire!"
Javert stamped his foot.

"And now there's the other one!Will you hold your tongue, you hussy? It's a pretty sort of a place where convicts are magistrates, and where women of the town are cared for like countesses!Ah!But we are going to change all that; it is high time!"

He stared intently at Fantine, and added, once more taking into his grasp Jean Valjean's cravat, shirt and collar:--

"I tell you that there is no Monsieur Madeleine and that there is no Monsieur le Maire.There is a thief, a brigand, a convict named Jean Valjean!And I have him in my grasp!That's what there is!"

Fantine raised herself in bed with a bound, supporting herself on her stiffened arms and on both hands:she gazed at Jean Valjean, she gazed at Javert, she gazed at the nun, she opened her mouth as though to speak; a rattle proceeded from the depths of her throat, her teeth chattered; she stretched out her arms in her agony, opening her hands convulsively, and fumbling about her like a drowning person; then suddenly fell back on her pillow.

Her head struck the head-board of the bed and fell forwards on her breast, with gaping mouth and staring, sightless eyes.

She was dead.
Jean Valjean laid his hand upon the detaining hand of Javert, and opened it as he would have opened the hand of a baby; then he said to Javert:--

"You have murdered that woman."
"Let's have an end of this!" shouted Javert, in a fury; "I am not here to listen to argument.Let us economize all that; the guard is below; march on instantly, or you'll get the thumb-screws!"

In the corner of the room stood an old iron bedstead, which was in a decidedly decrepit state, and which served the sisters as a camp-bed when they were watching with the sick.Jean Valjean stepped up to this bed, in a twinkling wrenched off the head-piece, which was already in a dilapidated condition, an easy matter to muscles like his, grasped the principal rod like a bludgeon, and glanced at Javert. Javert retreated towards the door.Jean Valjean, armed with his bar of iron, walked slowly up to Fantine's couch.When he arrived there he turned and said to Javert, in a voice that was barely audible:--

"I advise you not to disturb me at this moment."
One thing is certain, and that is, that Javert trembled.

It did occur to him to summon the guard, but Jean Valjean might avail himself of that moment to effect his escape; so he remained, grasped his cane by the small end, and leaned against the door-post, without removing his eyes from Jean Valjean.

Jean Valjean rested his elbow on the knob at the head of the bed, and his brow on his hand, and began to contemplate the motionless body of Fantine, which lay extended there.He remained thus, mute, absorbed, evidently with no further thought of anything connected with this life.Upon his face and in his attitude there was nothing but inexpressible pity.After a few moments of this meditation he bent towards Fantine, and spoke to her in a low voice.

What did he say to her?What could this man, who was reproved, say to that woman, who was dead?What words were those?No one on earth heard them.Did the dead woman hear them?There are some touching illusions which are, perhaps, sublime realities. The point as to which there exists no doubt is, that Sister Simplice, the sole witness of the incident, often said that at the moment that Jean Valjean whispered in Fantine's ear, she distinctly beheld an ineffable smile dawn on those pale lips, and in those dim eyes, filled with the amazement of the tomb.

Jean Valjean took Fantine's head in both his hands, and arranged it on the pillow as a mother might have done for her child; then he tied the string of her chemise, and smoothed her hair back under her cap. That done, he closed her eyes.

Fantine's face seemed strangely illuminated at that moment.
Death, that signifies entrance into the great light.

Fantine's hand was hanging over the side of the bed.Jean Valjean knelt down before that hand, lifted it gently, and kissed it.
Then he rose, and turned to Javert.
"Now," said he, "I am at your disposal."

     自从市长先生把她从沙威手中救出来以后，芳汀没有看见过沙威。她的患病的头脑完全不能了解当时的事，她以为他是为了她来的，她领受不了他那副凶相。她觉得自己的气就要断了。她两手掩住自己的脸，哀号着：“马德兰先生，救我！”冉阿让（我们以后不再用旁的名字称呼他了）立起来，用最柔和最平静的声音向芳汀说：“您放心。他不是来找您的。”随后他又向沙威说：“我知道您来干什么。”沙威回答说：“快走！”在他说那两个字的口气里有一种说不出的、横蛮和狂的意味。他说的不是“快走！”而是一种象“快走”两字那样的声音，因此没有文字可以表示这种声音，那已经不是人的言语，而是野兽狂吼了。他绝不照惯例行事，他绝不说明来意，也不拿出逮捕证。对他来说，冉阿让是一 个神秘的、无从捉摸的对手，黑暗中的角力者，他掐住冉阿让已经五年了，却没能够将他摔翻。这次的逮捕不是起始，而是终局。因此他只说了句：“快走！”

    他这么说，身体却并未移动一步，他用那种铁钩似的目光钩着冉阿让，他平素对颠沛流离、欲告无门的人们也正是用这种神气硬把他们钩到他身边去的。

    两个月前，芳汀感到深入她骨髓的，也正是这种目光。沙威一声狂吼，芳汀又睁开了眼睛。但是市长先生在这里。他有什么可怕的呢？沙威走到屋子当中，叫道：“你到底走不走？”
    这个不幸的妇人四面张望。屋子里只有修女和市长先生。对谁会这样下贱地用“你”字来称呼呢？只可能是对她吼的了。她浑身发抖。

    同时她看见了一件破天荒的怪事，怪得无以复加，即使是在她发烧期间最可怕的恶梦里，这样的怪事也不曾有过。她看见暗探沙威抓住了市长先生的衣领，她又看见市长先生低着头。他仿佛觉得天翻地覆了。沙威确实抓住了冉阿让的衣领。

    “市长先生！”芳汀喊着说。沙威放声大笑，把他满口的牙齿全突了出来。
    “这儿已没有市长先生了！”冉阿让听凭那只手抓住他礼服的领子，并不动，他说：“沙威??”沙威不等他说完，便吼道：“叫我做侦察员先生。”
    “先生，”冉阿让接着说，“我想和您个人谈句话。”“大声说！你得大声说！”沙威回答，“人家对我谈话总是大声的！”

    冉阿让低声下气地继续说：
    “我求您一件事??”
    “我叫你大声说。”
    “但是这件事只有您一个人能够听??”

    “这和我有什么相干？我不听！”冉阿让转身朝着他，低声急急忙忙向他说：“请您暂缓三天！三天，我可以去领这个可怜的女人的小孩！应当付多少钱我都付。如果您要跟着我走也可以。”

    “笑话！”沙威叫着说。“哈！我以前还没有想到你竟是一个这么蠢的东西！你要我缓三天，你好逃！你说要去领这婊子的孩子！哈！哈！真妙！好极了！”
    芳汀颤抖了一下。

    “我的孩子！”她喊道，“去领我的孩子！她原来不在这里！我的姆姆，回答我，珂赛特在什么地方？我要我的孩子！马德兰先生！市长先生！”
    沙威提起脚来一顿。
    “现在这个也来纠缠不清了！你到底闭嘴不闭嘴，骚货！这个可耻的地方，囚犯做长官，公娼享着伯爵夫人的清福！不用忙！一切都会扭转过来的，时候到了！”

    他瞪着芳汀不动，再一把抓住冉阿让的领带、衬衫和衣领说道：“我告诉你，这儿没有马德兰先生，也没有市长先生。只有一个贼，一个土匪，一个苦役犯，叫冉阿让！我现在抓的就是他！就这么一回事！”芳汀直跳起来，支在她那只僵硬的胳膊的手上面，她望望冉阿让，望望沙威，望望修女，张开口，仿佛要说话，一口痰从她喉咙底里涌上来，她的牙齿格格发抖，她悲伤的伸出两条胳膊，张开两只痉挛的手，同时四处摸索，好象一个惨遭灭顶的人，随后她忽然一下倒在枕头上。她的头撞在床端，弹回来，落在胸上，口张着，眼睛睁着，但已黯然无光了。

    她死了。冉阿让把他的手放在沙威的那只抓住他的手上，好象掰婴孩的手，一下便掰开了它，随后他向沙威说：“您把这妇人害死了。”

    “不许多话，”怒气冲天的沙威吼叫起来，“我不是到这里来听你讲道理的。不要浪费时间。队伍在楼下。马上走，不然我就要用镣铐了！”在屋子的一个壁角里，有一张坏了的旧铁床，是平日给守夜的姆姆们临时做床用的。冉阿让走到这张床的前面，一转眼便把这张已经破损的床头拆了下来，有他那样的力气，这原不是件难事，他紧紧握着这根大铁条，眼睛望着沙威。沙威向门边退去。

    冉阿让手里握着铁条，慢慢地向芳汀的床走去，走拢以后，他转过身，用一种旁人几乎听不见的声音向沙威说：“我劝您不要在这里来打搅我。”一件十分真实的事，便是沙威吓得发了抖。他原想去叫警察，但又怕冉阿让乘机逃走。他只好守住不动，抓着他手杖的尖端，背靠着门框，眼睛不离冉阿让。冉阿让的肘倚在床头的圆球上，手托着额头，望着那躺着不动的芳停他这样呆着，凝神，静默，他所想的自然不是这人世间的事了。在他的面容和体态上，仅仅有一种说不出的痛惜之色，这样默思了一阵之后，他俯身到芳汀的耳边，细声向她说话。他向她说些什么呢？这个将死的汉子，对这已死的妇人有什么可说的呢？这究竟是些什么话？世上没人听见过他这些话。死者是否听到了呢？有些动人的幻想也许真是最神圣的现实。毫无疑问的是，当时唯一的证人散普丽斯姆姆时常谈到那天冉阿让在芳汀耳边说话时，她看得清清楚楚，死者的灰色嘴唇，曾微微一笑，她那双惊魂未定的眸子，也曾略现喜色。

    冉阿让两手捧着芳汀的头，好象慈母对待自己的孩子那样，把它端正安放在枕头上，又把她衬衣的带子结好，把她的头发塞进帽子。做完了这些事，他又闭上了他的眼睛。

    芳汀的面庞在这里仿佛出奇地明亮。死，便是跨进伟大光明境界的第一步。芳汀的手还垂在床沿外。冉阿让跪在这只手前，轻轻地拿起来，吻了一下。他立起来，转身对着沙威：“现在，”他说，“我跟您走。”

Javert deposited Jean Valjean in the city prison.
The arrest of M. Madeleine occasioned a sensation, or rather, an extraordinary commotion in M. sur M. We are sorry that we cannot conceal the fact, that at the single word, "He was a convict," nearly every one deserted him.In less than two hours all the good that he had done had been forgotten, and he was nothing but a "convict from the galleys."It is just to add that the details of what had taken place at Arras were not yet known.All day long conversations like the following were to be heard in all quarters of the town:--

"You don't know?He was a liberated convict!""Who?""The mayor." "Bah!M. Madeleine?""Yes.""Really?""His name was not Madeleine at all; he had a frightful name, Bejean, Bojean, Boujean.""Ah! Good God!""He has been arrested.""Arrested!""In prison, in the city prison, while waiting to be transferred.""Until he is transferred!""He is to be transferred!""Where is he to be taken?""He will be tried at the Assizes for a highway robbery which he committed long ago.""Well!I suspected as much. That man was too good, too perfect, too affected.He refused the cross; he bestowed sous on all the little scamps he came across. I always thought there was some evil history back of all that."

The "drawing-rooms" particularly abounded in remarks of this nature.

One old lady, a subscriber to the Drapeau Blanc, made the following remark, the depth of which it is impossible to fathom:--
"I am not sorry.It will be a lesson to the Bonapartists!"

It was thus that the phantom which had been called M. Madeleine vanished from M. sur M. Only three or four persons in all the town remained faithful to his memory.The old portress who had served him was among the number.

On the evening of that day the worthy old woman was sitting in her lodge, still in a thorough fright, and absorbed in sad reflections. The factory had been closed all day, the carriage gate was bolted, the street was deserted.There was no one in the house but the two nuns, Sister perpetue and Sister Simplice, who were watching beside the body of Fantine.

Towards the hour when M. Madeleine was accustomed to return home, the good portress rose mechanically, took from a drawer the key of M. Madeleine's chamber, and the flat candlestick which he used every evening to go up to his quarters; then she hung the key on the nail whence he was accustomed to take it, and set the candlestick on one side, as though she was expecting him.Then she sat down again on her chair, and became absorbed in thought once more. The poor, good old woman bad done all this without being conscious of it.

It was only at the expiration of two hours that she roused herself from her revery, and exclaimed, "Hold!My good God Jesus! And I hung his key on the nail!"

At that moment the small window in the lodge opened, a hand passed through, seized the key and the candlestick, and lighted the taper at the candle which was burning there.

The portress raised her eyes, and stood there with gaping mouth, and a shriek which she confined to her throat.
She knew that hand, that arm, the sleeve of that coat.
It was M. Madeleine.

It was several seconds before she could speak; she had a seizure, as she said herself, when she related the adventure afterwards.
"Good God, Monsieur le Maire," she cried at last, "I thought you were--"

She stopped; the conclusion of her sentence would have been lacking in respect towards the beginning.Jean Valjean was still Monsieur le Maire to her.
He finished her thought.

"In prison," said he."I was there; I broke a bar of one of the windows; I let myself drop from the top of a roof, and here I am. I am going up to my room; go and find Sister Simplice for me. She is with that poor woman, no doubt."

The old woman obeyed in all haste.
He gave her no orders; he was quite sure that she would guard him better than he should guard himself.

No one ever found out how he had managed to get into the courtyard without opening the big gates.He had, and always carried about him, a pass-key which opened a little side-door; but he must have been searched, and his latch-key must have been taken from him. This point was never explained.

He ascended the staircase leading to his chamber.On arriving at the top, he left his candle on the top step of his stairs, opened his door with very little noise, went and closed his window and his shutters by feeling, then returned for his candle and re-entered his room.

It was a useful precaution; it will be recollected that his window could be seen from the street.

He cast a glance about him, at his table, at his chair, at his bed which had not been disturbed for three days.No trace of the disorder of the night before last remained.The portress had "done up" his room; only she had picked out of the ashes and placed neatly on the table the two iron ends of the cudgel and the forty-sou piece which had been blackened by the fire.

He took a sheet of paper, on which he wrote:"These are the two tips of my iron-shod cudgel and the forty-sou piece stolen from Little Gervais, which I mentioned at the Court of Assizes," and he arranged this piece of paper, the bits of iron, and the coin in such a way that they were the first things to be seen on entering the room.From a cupboard he pulled out one of his old shirts, which he tore in pieces.In the strips of linen thus prepared he wrapped the two silver candlesticks.He betrayed neither haste nor agitation; and while he was wrapping up the Bishop's candlesticks, he nibbled at a piece of black bread.It was probably the prison-bread which he had carried with him in his flight.

This was proved by the crumbs which were found on the floor of the room when the authorities made an examination later on.

There came two taps at the door.
"Come in," said he.
It was Sister Simplice.

She was pale; her eyes were red; the candle which she carried trembled in her hand.The peculiar feature of the violences of destiny is, that however polished or cool we may be, they wring human nature from our very bowels, and force it to reappear on the surface. The emotions of that day had turned the nun into a woman once more. She had wept, and she was trembling.

Jean Valjean had just finished writing a few lines on a paper, which he handed to the nun, saying, "Sister, you will give this to Monsieur le Cure."
The paper was not folded.She cast a glance upon it.

"You can read it," said he.
She read:--

"I beg Monsieur le Cure to keep an eye on all that I leave behind me. He will be so good as to pay out of it the expenses of my trial, and of the funeral of the woman who died yesterday.The rest is for the poor."

The sister tried to speak, but she only managed to stammer a few inarticulate sounds.She succeeded in saying, however:--

"Does not Monsieur le Maire desire to take a last look at that poor, unhappy woman?"
"No," said he; "I am pursued; it would only end in their arresting me in that room, and that would disturb her."

He had hardly finished when a loud noise became audible on the staircase. They heard a tumult of ascending footsteps, and the old portress saying in her loudest and most piercing tones:--

"My good sir, I swear to you by the good God, that not a soul has entered this house all day, nor all the evening, and that I have not even left the door."

A man responded:--
"But there is a light in that room, nevertheless."

They recognized Javert's voice.
The chamber was so arranged that the door in opening masked the corner of the wall on the right.Jean Valjean blew out the light and placed himself in this angle.Sister Simplice fell on her knees near the table.

The door opened.
Javert entered.
The whispers of many men and the protestations of the portress were audible in the corridor.

The nun did not raise her eyes.She was praying.
The candle was on the chimney-piece, and gave but very little light.
Javert caught sight of the nun and halted in amazement.

It will be remembered that the fundamental point in Javert, his element, the very air he breathed, was veneration for all authority. This was impregnable, and admitted of neither objection nor restriction. In his eyes, of course, the ecclesiastical authority was the chief of all; he was religious, superficial and correct on this point as on all others.In his eyes, a priest was a mind, who never makes a mistake; a nun was a creature who never sins; they were souls walled in from this world, with a single door which never opened except to allow the truth to pass through.

On perceiving the sister, his first movement was to retire.

But there was also another duty which bound him and impelled him imperiously in the opposite direction.His second movement was to remain and to venture on at least one question.

This was Sister Simplice, who had never told a lie in her life. Javert knew it, and held her in special veneration in consequence.

"Sister," said he, "are you alone in this room?"
A terrible moment ensued, during which the poor portress felt as though she should faint.
The sister raised her eyes and answered:--
"Yes."

"Then," resumed Javert, "you will excuse me if I persist; it is my duty; you have not seen a certain person--a man--this evening? He has escaped; we are in search of him--that Jean Valjean; you have not seen him?"

The sister replied:--
"No."
She lied.She had lied twice in succession, one after the other, without hesitation, promptly, as a person does when sacrificing herself.
"pardon me," said Javert, and he retired with a deep bow.

O sainted maid! you left this world many years ago; you have rejoined your sisters, the virgins, and your brothers, the angels, in the light; may this lie be counted to your credit in paradise!

The sister's affirmation was for Javert so decisive a thing that he did not even observe the singularity of that candle which had but just been extinguished, and which was still smoking on the table.

An hour later, a man, marching amid trees and mists, was rapidly departing from M. sur M. in the direction of paris.That man was Jean Valjean.It has been established by the testimony of two or three carters who met him, that he was carrying a bundle; that he was dressed in a blouse.Where had he obtained that blouse? No one ever found out.But an aged workman had died in the infirmary of the factory a few days before, leaving behind him nothing but his blouse.perhaps that was the one.

One last word about Fantine.
We all have a mother,--the earth.Fantine was given back to that mother.

The cure thought that he was doing right, and perhaps he really was, in reserving as much money as possible from what Jean Valjean had left for the poor.Who was concerned, after all?A convict and a woman of the town.That is why he had a very simple funeral for Fantine, and reduced it to that strictly necessary form known as the pauper's grave.

So Fantine was buried in the free corner of the cemetery which belongs to anybody and everybody, and where the poor are lost.Fortunately, God knows where to find the soul again. Fantine was laid in the shade, among the first bones that came to hand; she was subjected to the promiscuousness of ashes. She was thrown into the public grave.Her grave resembled her bed.

(The end of Volume I. "Fantine")

     沙威把冉阿让送进了市监狱。马德兰先生被捕的消息在滨海蒙特勒伊引起了一种异样的感觉，应当说，引起了一种非常的震动。不幸的是，我们无法掩饰这样的一种情况：仅仅为了“他当过苦役犯”这句话，大家便几乎把他完全遗弃了。他从前作的一切好事，不到两个钟头，也全被遗忘了，他已只是个“苦役犯”。应当指出，当时大家还不知道在阿拉斯发生的事的详细的经过。一整天，城里到处都能听到这样的谈话：“你不知道吗？他原是个被释放的苦役犯！”“谁呀？”“市长。”“啐！马德兰先生吗？”“呀。”

    “真的吗？”“他原来不叫马德兰，他的真名字真难听，白让，博让，布让。”“呀，我的天！”“他已经被捕了。”“被捕了！他暂时还在市监狱里，不久就会被押到别处去。”“押到别处去！”“他们要把他押到别处去！他们想把他押到什么地方去呢？”“因为他从前在一条大路上犯过一桩劫案，还得上高等法院呢。”“原来如此！我早已疑心了。这人平日太好，太完善，太信上帝了。他辞谢过十字勋章。他在路上碰见小流氓总给他们些钱。我老在想，他以前一定有些见不得人的历史。”

    尤其是在那些“客厅”里，这类话谈得特别多。
    有一个订阅《白旗报》的老太太还有这样一种几乎深不可测的体会。
    “我并不以为可惜。这对布宛纳巴的党徒是一种教训！”这个一度称为马德兰先生的幽灵便这样的滨海蒙特勒伊消逝了。全城中，只有三四个人还追念他。服侍过他的那老看门婆便是其中之一。

    当天日落时分，这个忠诚的老婆子还坐在她的门房里，无限凄惶。工厂停了一天工，正门闩起来了，街上行人稀少。那幢房子里只有两个修女，佩尔佩迪姆姆和散普丽斯姆姆还在守着芳汀的遗体。

    快到马德兰先生平常回家的时候，这忠诚的看门婆子机械地立了起来，从抽屉里取出马德兰先生的房门钥匙，又端起他每晚用来照着上楼的烛台，随后她把钥匙挂在他惯于寻取的那钉子上，烛台放在旁边，仿佛她在等候他那样，她又回头转去，坐在她那椅子上面呆想。这可怜的好婆子并未感觉到自己做了这些事。两个多钟头过后，她如梦初醒地喊道：“真的！我的慈悲上帝耶稣！我还把钥匙挂在钉子上呢！”正在此时，门房的玻璃窗自动开了，一只手从窗口伸进来，拿着钥匙和烛台，凑到另一支燃着的细烛上接了火。

    守门妇人抬起眼睛，张开口，几乎要喊了出来。她认识这只手，这条胳膊，这件礼服的袖子。是马德兰先生。
    过了几秒钟，她才说出话来。“我真吓呆了。”她过后向人谈这事的时候，老这么说。

    “我的上帝，市长先生，”她终于喊出来了，“我还以为您??”她停了口，因为这句话的后半段会损害前半段的敬意。冉阿让对她始终是市长先生。
    他替她把话说完：
    “??进监牢了，”他说，我到监牢里去过了，我折断了窗口的铁条，从屋顶上跳下来，又到了这里，我现在到我屋里去。你去把散普丽斯姆姆找来。她一定在那可怜的妇人旁边。”

    老婆子赶紧去找。他一句话也没吩咐她，他十分明白，她保护他会比他自己保护自己更安全。别人永远不知道他怎样能不开正门便到了天井里。他本来有一把开一扇小侧门的钥匙，是他随时带在身上的，不过他一定受过搜查，钥匙也一定被没收了。这一点从来没有人想通过。他走上通到他屋子去的那道楼梯。到了上面。他把讼烛台放在楼梯的最高一级，轻轻地开了门，又一路摸黑，走去关上窗子和窗板，再回头拿了烛台，回到屋里。

    这种戒备是必要的，我们记得，从街上可以看见他的窗子。他四面望了一眼，桌子上，椅子上，和他那张三天没有动过的床上。前晚的忙乱并未留下丝毫痕迹，因为看门婆婆早已把屋子整理过了。不过她已从灰里拾起那根棍子的两个铁头和那烧乌了的值四十苏的钱，干干净净地把它们放在桌上了。

    他拿起一张纸，写上“这便是我在法庭里说过那两个铁棍头和从小瑞尔威抢来的值四十个苏的钱”，他又把这枚银币和这两块铁摆在纸上，好让人家走进屋子一眼便可以看见。他从橱里取出一件旧衬衫，撕成几块，用来包那两只银烛台。他既不匆忙，也不惊惶，边包着主教的这两个烛台。边咬着一块黑面包。这大概是在他逃走时带出来的一块囚犯吃的面包。

    过后法院来检查，在地板上发现一些面包屑，证明它的确实是狱里的面包。有人在门上轻轻敲了两下。
    “请进。”他说。

    是散普丽斯姆姆。她面色苍白，眼睛发红，手里拿着蜡烛，抖个不停。命运中的剧变往往有这样一种特点：无论我们平时多么超脱，无动于衷，一旦遭遇剧变，原有的人性总不免受到触动，从心灵的深处流露出来。这修女经过这一天的激动，又变成妇女了，她痛苦过一阵，现在还在发抖。
    冉阿让正在一张纸上写好了几行字，他把这张纸交给修女说：“我的姆姆，请您交给本堂神甫先生。”这张纸是展开的。她在那上面望了一眼。

    “您可以看。”他说。她念：“我请本堂神甫先生料理我在这里留下的一切，用以支付我的诉讼费和今日死去的这个妇人的丧葬费。余款捐给穷人。”
    姆姆想说话，但是语不成声。她勉强说了一句：“市长先生不想再看一次那可怜的苦命人吗？”
    “不，”他说，“逮我的人在后面追来了，他们到她屋子里去逮我，她会不得安宁。”

    他的话音刚落，楼梯下已闹得一片混乱，他听见许多人的脚步，走上楼来，又听见那看门老妇人用她那最高最锐的嗓子说：“我的好先生，我在慈悲的上帝面前向您发誓，今天一整天，一整晚，都没有人到这里来过，我也没有离开过大门！”有个人回答说：“可是那屋子里有灯光。”他们辨别出这是沙威的声音。

    屋子的门开着，便遮着右边的墙角。冉阿让吹灭了烛躲在这墙角里。散普丽斯姆姆跪在桌子旁边。
    门自己开了。沙威走进来。过道里有许多人说话的声音和那看门妇人的争辩声。修女低着眼睛正在祈祷。一支细烛在壁炉台上发着微光。

    沙威看见姆姆，停住了脚，不敢为难。我们记得，沙威的本性，他的气质，他的一呼一吸都是对权力的尊崇。他是死板的，他不容许反对，也无可通融。在他看来，教会的权力更是高于一切。他是信徒，他在这方面，和在其他任何方面一样，浅薄而规矩。在他的眼里，神甫是种没有缺点的神明，修女是种纯洁无疵的生物。他们都是与人世隔绝了的灵魂，好象他们的灵魂和人世之间隔着一堵围墙，墙上只有一扇唯一的、不说真话便从来不开的门。

    他见了姆姆，第一动作便是往后退。但是另外还有一种职责束缚他并极力在推他向前。他的第二个动作便是停下来，至少他总得冒险问一句话。
    这是生平从不说谎的散普丽斯姆姆。沙威知道，因此对她也特别尊敬。

    “我的姆姆，”他说，“您是一个人在这屋子里吗？”那可怜的看门妇人吓得魂不附体，以为事情弄糟了。姆姆抬起眼睛，回答说：“是的。”
    “既然这样，”沙威又说，“请您原谅我多话，这是我份内应做的事，今天您有没有看见一个人，一个男人。他逃走了，我们正在找他。那个叫冉阿让的家伙，您没有看见他吗？”

    “没有。”
    她说了假话。一连两次，一句接着一句，毫不踌躇，直截了当地说着假话，象把她自己忘了一样。

    “请原谅。”沙威说，他深深行了个礼，退出去了。呵，圣女！您超出凡尘，已有多年，您早已在光明中靠拢了您的贞女姐妹和您的天使弟兄，愿您这次的谎话能上达天堂。这姆姆的话，在沙威听来，是那样可靠，以至刚吹灭的还在桌上冒烟的这支耐人寻味的蜡烛，也没有引起他的注意。一个钟头之后，有个人在树林和迷雾中大踏步离开了滨海蒙特勒伊向着巴黎走去。这人便是冉阿让。有两三个赶车的车夫曾遇见他，看见他背个包袱，穿件布罩衫。那件布罩衫，他是从什么地方弄来的呢？从没有人知道。而在那工厂的疗养室里，前几天死了一个老工人，只留下一件布罩衫。也许就是这件。

    关于芳汀的最后几句话。我们全有一个慈母——大地。芳汀归到这慈母的怀里去了。本堂神甫尽量把冉阿让留下的东西，留下给穷人，他自以为做得得当，也许真是得当的。况且，这件事牵涉到谁呢？牵涉到一个苦役犯和一个娼妇。因此他简化了芳汀的殡葬，极力削减费用，把她送进了义葬。

    于是芳汀被葬在坟场中的那块属于大家而不属于任何私人、并使穷人千古埋没的公土里。幸而上帝知道到什么地方去寻找她的灵魂。他们把芳汀埋在遍地遗骸的乱骨堆中，她被抛到公众的泥坑里去了。她的坟与她的床一模一样。

Last year (1861), on a beautiful May morning, a traveller, the person who is telling this story, was coming from Nivelles, and directing his course towards La Hulpe.He was on foot.He was pursuing a broad paved road, which undulated between two rows of trees, over the hills which succeed each other, raise the road and let it fall again, and produce something in the nature of enormous waves.

He had passed Lillois and Bois-Seigneur-Isaac. In the west he perceived the slate-roofed tower of Braine-l'Alleud, which has the form of a reversed vase.He had just left behind a wood upon an eminence; and at the angle of the cross-road, by the side of a sort of mouldy gibbet bearing the inscription Ancient Barrier No. 4, a public house, bearing on its front this sign: At the Four Winds (Aux Quatre Vents). Echabeau, private Cafe.
A quarter of a league further on, he arrived at the bottom of a little valley, where there is water which passes beneath an arch made through the embankment of the road.The clump of sparsely planted but very green trees, which fills the valley on one side of the road, is dispersed over the meadows on the other, and disappears gracefully and as in order in the direction of Braine-l'Alleud.

On the right, close to the road, was an inn, with a four-wheeled cart at the door, a large bundle of hop-poles, a plough, a heap of dried brushwood near a flourishing hedge, lime smoking in a square hole, and a ladder suspended along an old penthouse with straw partitions. A young girl was weeding in a field, where a huge yellow poster, probably of some outside spectacle, such as a parish festival, was fluttering in the wind.At one corner of the inn, beside a pool in which a flotilla of ducks was navigating, a badly paved path plunged into the bushes.The wayfarer struck into this.

After traversing a hundred paces, skirting a wall of the fifteenth century, surmounted by a pointed gable, with bricks set in contrast, he found himself before a large door of arched stone, with a rectilinear impost, in the sombre style of Louis XIV., flanked by two flat medallions.A severe facade rose above this door; a wall, perpendicular to the facade, almost touched the door, and flanked it with an abrupt right angle.In the meadow before the door lay three harrows, through which, in disorder, grew all the flowers of May.The door was closed.The two decrepit leaves which barred it were ornamented with an old rusty knocker.

The sun was charming; the branches had that soft shivering of May, which seems to proceed rather from the nests than from the wind. A brave little bird, probably a lover, was carolling in a distracted manner in a large tree.

The wayfarer bent over and examined a rather large circular excavation, resembling the hollow of a sphere, in the stone on the left, at the foot of the pier of the door.
At this moment the leaves of the door parted, and a peasant woman emerged.

She saw the wayfarer, and perceived what he was looking at.
"It was a French cannon-ball which made that," she said to him. And she added:--
"That which you see there, higher up in the door, near a nail, is the hole of a big iron bullet as large as an egg.The bullet did not pierce the wood."

"What is the name of this place?" inquired the wayfarer.
"Hougomont," said the peasant woman.

The traveller straightened himself up.He walked on a few paces, and went off to look over the tops of the hedges.On the horizon through the trees, he perceived a sort of little elevation, and on this elevation something which at that distance resembled a lion.
He was on the battle-field of Waterloo.

     去年（一八六一）五月一个晴朗的早晨，有个行人，本故事的叙述者，到了尼维尔①，并朝拉羽泊走去。他步行。他沿着山冈上两排树木之中一条铺了路面的大道前行。那大道随着连绵不断的山冈，起起伏伏，犹如巨浪。他已走过了里洛和伊萨克林。向西望去，他能辨认出布兰拉勒②那座形如覆盆的青石钟楼。他刚走过一处高地上的树林，看见有一根蛀孔累累的木柱，立在一条横路的转角处，那柱了上面写着“第四栅栏旧址”；旁边，有家饮料店，店墙的招牌上写着“艾侠波四风特等咖啡馆”。
①尼维尔（Nivelles），比利时城市，在布鲁塞尔和滑铁卢的西南面，离布鲁塞尔有三十多公里。
②布兰拉勒（Braine—l’Alleud），在滑铁卢和尼维尔之间的地方。

    从那咖啡馆再往前走八分之一法里，他便到了一个小山谷的谷底，谷底有条溪流，流过路下的涵洞。疏疏落落、翠翠绿绿的树丛，散布在路两旁的山谷里，在路的另一面，树丛错落有致地展向布兰拉勒。

    路右边，有家小客店，门前摆着一辆四轮小车、一大捆蛇麻草和一 个铁犁，青树篱边，有一推干刍，在一个方坑里，石灰正冒着烟气，一 张梯子卧倒在一个用麦秆作隔墙的破栅子的墙边。田里有个大姑娘在锄草，一张大大的黄色广告，也许是什么杂技团巡回演出的海报，在田边迎风飘荡。客店的墙角外面，有一群鸭子在浅沼里游行，一条路面铺得很坏的小道顺着那浅沼伸入林莽。那行人朝林莽中走去。

    他走了百来步，到达一堵十五世纪的墙脚边，墙上有用花砖砌的山字形尖顶，沿墙过去，便看见一扇拱形石库大门，一字门楣，配着两个圆形浮雕，具有路易十四时代的浑厚风格。大门上方便是那房屋的正面，气象庄严，一道和房屋正面垂直的墙紧靠在大门旁边，构成一个僵便的直角。门前的草地上，倒着三把钉耙，五月的野花在耙齿间随意开放着。大门关着。双合门扇已经破烂，一个旧门锤也生了锈。

    日光和煦宜人，树枝在发出五月里那种轻柔的颤动，仿佛来自枝上的鸟巢，而不是由于风力。一只可爱的小鸟，也许是怀春吧，在一株大树上尽情鸣叫。

    过客弯下腰去细察门左石脚上的一个圆涡，圆涡很大，好象是个圆球体的模子。正在这时，那扇双合门开了，一个村姑走了出来。她望着过路客人，看见了他正在细看的东西。
    “这是一颗法国炮弹打的。”她向他说。随后她又接着：“稍高一点，在这大门的上面，那颗钉子旁边，您看见的是一个大铳打的窟窿。铳子并没有把木板打穿。”

    “这叫什么地方？”过客问道。
    “乌古蒙。”村姑说。过客抬起头来。他走了几步，从篱笆上面望去。他从树枝中望见天边有一个小丘，小丘上面有一件东西，远远望去，很象一头狮子①。
①那是滑铁卢战场上的纪念墩，墩上有个铜狮子，是英普联军在击溃拿破仑后建立的。

Hougomont,--this was a funereal spot, the beginning of the obstacle, the first resistance, which that great wood-cutter of Europe, called Napoleon, encountered at Waterloo, the first knot under the blows of his axe.

It was a chateau; it is no longer anything but a farm.For the antiquary, Hougomont is Hugomons.This manor was built by Hugo, Sire of Somerel, the same who endowed the sixth chaplaincy of the Abbey of Villiers.
The traveller pushed open the door, elbowed an ancient calash under the porch, and entered the courtyard.

The first thing which struck him in this paddock was a door of the sixteenth century, which here simulates an arcade, everything else having fallen prostrate around it.A monumental aspect often has its birth in ruin.In a wall near the arcade opens another arched door, of the time of Henry IV., permitting a glimpse of the trees of an orchard; beside this door, a manure-hole, some pickaxes, some shovels, some carts, an old well, with its flagstone and its iron reel, a chicken jumping, and a turkey spreading its tail, a chapel surmounted by a small bell-tower, a blossoming pear-tree trained in espalier against the wall of the chapel--behold the court, the conquest of which was one of Napoleon's dreams.This corner of earth, could he but have seized it, would, perhaps, have given him the world likewise.Chickens are scattering its dust abroad with their beaks.A growl is audible; it is a huge dog, who shows his teeth and replaces the English.

The English behaved admirably there.Cooke's four companies of guards there held out for seven hours against the fury of an army.

Hougomont viewed on the map, as a geometrical plan, comprising buildings and enclosures, presents a sort of irregular rectangle, one angle of which is nicked out.It is this angle which contains the southern door, guarded by this wall, which commands it only a gun's length away.Hougomont has two doors,--the southern door, that of the chateau; and the northern door, belonging to the farm. Napoleon sent his brother Jerome against Hougomont; the divisions of Foy, Guilleminot, and Bachelu hurled themselves against it; nearly the entire corps of Reille was employed against it, and miscarried; Kellermann's balls were exhausted on this heroic section of wall. Bauduin's brigade was not strong enough to force Hougomont on the north, and the brigade of Soye could not do more than effect the beginning of a breach on the south, but without taking it.

The farm buildings border the courtyard on the south.A bit of the north door, broken by the French, hangs suspended to the wall. It consists of four planks nailed to two cross-beams, on which the scars of the attack are visible.

The northern door, which was beaten in by the French, and which has had a piece applied to it to replace the panel suspended on the wall, stands half-open at the bottom of the paddock; it is cut squarely in the wall, built of stone below, of brick above which closes in the courtyard on the north.It is a simple door for carts, such as exist in all farms, with the two large leaves made of rustic planks: beyond lie the meadows.The dispute over this entrance was furious. For a long time, all sorts of imprints of bloody hands were visible on the door-posts. It was there that Bauduin was killed.

The storm of the combat still lingers in this courtyard; its horror is visible there; the confusion of the fray was petrified there; it lives and it dies there; it was only yesterday.The walls are in the death agony, the stones fall; the breaches cry aloud; the holes are wounds; the drooping, quivering trees seem to be making an effort to flee.

This courtyard was more built up in 1815 than it is to-day. Buildings which have since been pulled down then formed redans and angles.

The English barricaded themselves there; the French made their way in, but could not stand their ground.Beside the chapel, one wing of the chateau, the only ruin now remaining of the manor of Hougomont, rises in a crumbling state,--disembowelled, one might say. The chateau served for a dungeon, the chapel for a block-house. There men exterminated each other.The French, fired on from every point,--from behind the walls, from the summits of the garrets, from the depths of the cellars, through all the casements, through all the air-holes, through every crack in the stones,-- fetched fagots and set fire to walls and men; the reply to the grape-shot was a conflagration.

In the ruined wing, through windows garnished with bars of iron, the dismantled chambers of the main building of brick are visible; the English guards were in ambush in these rooms; the spiral of the staircase, cracked from the ground floor to the very roof, appears like the inside of a broken shell.The staircase has two stories; the English, besieged on the staircase, and massed on its upper steps, had cut off the lower steps.These consisted of large slabs of blue stone, which form a heap among the nettles.Half a score of steps still cling to the wall; on the first is cut the figure of a trident.These inaccessible steps are solid in their niches. All the rest resembles a jaw which has been denuded of its teeth. There are two old trees there:one is dead; the other is wounded at its base, and is clothed with verdure in April.Since 1815 it has taken to growing through the staircase.

A massacre took place in the chapel.The interior, which has recovered its calm, is singular.The mass has not been said there since the carnage.Nevertheless, the altar has been left there-- an altar of unpolished wood, placed against a background of roughhewn stone.Four whitewashed walls, a door opposite the altar, two small arched windows; over the door a large wooden crucifix, below the crucifix a square air-hole stopped up with a bundle of hay; on the ground, in one corner, an old window-frame with the glass all broken to pieces--such is the chapel.Near the altar there is nailed up a wooden statue of Saint Anne, of the fifteenth century; the head of the infant Jesus has been carried off by a large ball. The French, who were masters of the chapel for a moment, and were then dislodged, set fire to it.The flames filled this building; it was a perfect furnace; the door was burned, the floor was burned, the wooden Christ was not burned.The fire preyed upon his feet, of which only the blackened stumps are now to be seen; then it stopped,-- a miracle, according to the assertion of the people of the neighborhood. The infant Jesus, decapitated, was less fortunate than the Christ.

The walls are covered with inscriptions.Near the feet of Christ this name is to be read:Henquinez.Then these others: Conde de Rio Maior Marques y Marquesa de Almagro (Habana). There are French names with exclamation points,--a sign of wrath. The wall was freshly whitewashed in 1849.The nations insulted each other there.

It was at the door of this chapel that the corpse was picked up which held an axe in its hand; this corpse was Sub-Lieutenant Legros.

On emerging from the chapel, a well is visible on the left. There are two in this courtyard.One inquires, Why is there no bucket and pulley to this?It is because water is no longer drawn there. Why is water not drawn there?Because it is full of skeletons.

The last person who drew water from the well was named Guillaume van Kylsom.He was a peasant who lived at Hougomont, and was gardener there.On the 18th of June, 1815, his family fled and concealed themselves in the woods.

The forest surrounding the Abbey of Villiers sheltered these unfortunate people who had been scattered abroad, for many days and nights. There are at this day certain traces recognizable, such as old boles of burned trees, which mark the site of these poor bivouacs trembling in the depths of the thickets.

Guillaume van Kylsom remained at Hougomont, "to guard the chateau," and concealed himself in the cellar.The English discovered him there.They tore him from his hiding-place, and the combatants forced this frightened man to serve them, by administering blows with the flats of their swords.They were thirsty; this Guillaume brought them water.It was from this well that he drew it. Many drank there their last draught.This well where drank so many of the dead was destined to die itself.

After the engagement, they were in haste to bury the dead bodies. Death has a fashion of harassing victory, and she causes the pest to follow glory.The typhus is a concomitant of triumph. This well was deep, and it was turned into a sepulchre.Three hundred dead bodies were cast into it.With too much haste perhaps. Were they all dead?Legend says they were not.It seems that on the night succeeding the interment, feeble voices were heard calling from the well.

This well is isolated in the middle of the courtyard.Three walls, part stone, part brick, and simulating a small, square tower, and folded like the leaves of a screen, surround it on all sides. The fourth side is open.It is there that the water was drawn. The wall at the bottom has a sort of shapeless loophole, possibly the hole made by a shell.This little tower had a platform, of which only the beams remain.The iron supports of the well on the right form a cross.On leaning over, the eye is lost in a deep cylinder of brick which is filled with a heaped-up mass of shadows. The base of the walls all about the well is concealed in a growth of nettles.

This well has not in front of it that large blue slab which forms the table for all wells in Belgium.The slab has here been replaced by a cross-beam, against which lean five or six shapeless fragments of knotty and petrified wood which resemble huge bones. There is no longer either pail, chain, or pulley; but there is still the stone basin which served the overflow.The rain-water collects there, and from time to time a bird of the neighboring forests comes thither to drink, and then flies away.One house in this ruin, the farmhouse, is still inhabited.The door of this house opens on the courtyard.Upon this door, beside a pretty Gothic lock-plate, there is an iron handle with trefoils placed slanting. At the moment when the Hanoverian lieutenant, Wilda, grasped this handle in order to take refuge in the farm, a French sapper hewed off his hand with an axe.

The family who occupy the house had for their grandfather Guillaume van Kylsom, the old gardener, dead long since.A woman with gray hair said to us:"I was there.I was three years old.My sister, who was older, was terrified and wept.They carried us off to the woods.I went there in my mother's arms.We glued our ears to the earth to hear.I imitated the cannon, and went boum! boum!"

A door opening from the courtyard on the left led into the orchard, so we were told.The orchard is terrible.

It is in three parts; one might almost say, in three acts. The first part is a garden, the second is an orchard, the third is a wood.These three parts have a common enclosure:on the side of the entrance, the buildings of the chateau and the farm; on the left, a hedge; on the right, a wall; and at the end, a wall. The wall on the right is of brick, the wall at the bottom is of stone. One enters the garden first.It slopes downwards, is planted with gooseberry bushes, choked with a wild growth of vegetation, and terminated by a monumental terrace of cut stone, with balustrade with a double curve.

It was a seignorial garden in the first French style which preceded Le Notre; to-day it is ruins and briars.The pilasters are surmounted by globes which resemble cannon-balls of stone. Forty-three balusters can still be counted on their sockets; the rest lie prostrate in the grass.Almost all bear scratches of bullets. One broken baluster is placed on the pediment like a fractured leg.

It was in this garden, further down than the orchard, that six light-infantry men of the 1st, having made their way thither, and being unable to escape, hunted down and caught like bears in their dens, accepted the combat with two Hanoverian companies, one of which was armed with carbines.The Hanoverians lined this balustrade and fired from above.The infantry men, replying from below, six against two hundred, intrepid and with no shelter save the currant-bushes, took a quarter of an hour to die.

One mounts a few steps and passes from the garden into the orchard, properly speaking.There, within the limits of those few square fathoms, fifteen hundred men fell in less than an hour. The wall seems ready to renew the combat.Thirty-eight loopholes, pierced by the English at irregular heights, are there still. In front of the sixth are placed two English tombs of granite. There are loopholes only in the south wall, as the principal attack came from that quarter.The wall is hidden on the outside by a tall hedge; the French came up, thinking that they had to deal only with a hedge, crossed it, and found the wall both an obstacle and an ambuscade, with the English guards behind it, the thirty-eight loopholes firing at once a shower of grape-shot and balls, and Soye's brigade was broken against it.Thus Waterloo began.

Nevertheless, the orchard was taken.As they had no ladders, the French scaled it with their nails.They fought hand to hand amid the trees.All this grass has been soaked in blood. A battalion of Nassau, seven hundred strong, was overwhelmed there. The outside of the wall, against which Kellermann's two batteries were trained, is gnawed by grape-shot.

This orchard is sentient, like others, in the month of May. It has its buttercups and its daisies; the grass is tall there; the cart-horses browse there; cords of hair, on which linen is drying, traverse the spaces between the trees and force the passer-by to bend his head; one walks over this uncultivated land, and one's foot dives into mole-holes. In the middle of the grass one observes an uprooted tree-bole which lies there all verdant. Major Blackmann leaned against it to die.Beneath a great tree in the neighborhood fell the German general, Duplat, descended from a French family which fled on the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. An aged and falling apple-tree leans far over to one side, its wound dressed with a bandage of straw and of clayey loam. Nearly all the apple-trees are falling with age.There is not one which has not had its bullet or its biscayan.(6) The skeletons of dead trees abound in this orchard.Crows fly through their branches, and at the end of it is a wood full of violets.

(6) A bullet as large as an egg.

Bauduin, killed, Foy wounded, conflagration, massacre, carnage, a rivulet formed of English blood, French blood, German blood mingled in fury, a well crammed with corpses, the regiment of Nassau and the regiment of Brunswick destroyed, Duplat killed, Blackmann killed, the English Guards mutilated, twenty French battalions, besides the forty from Reille's corps, decimated, three thousand men in that hovel of Hougomont alone cut down, slashed to pieces, shot, burned, with their throats cut,--and all this so that a peasant can say to-day to the traveller:Monsieur, give me three francs, and if you like, I will explain to you the affair of Waterloo!

    乌古蒙是一个满目凄凉的地方，是妨碍的开始，是那名叫拿破仑的欧洲大樵夫在滑铁卢遇到的初次阻力，是巨斧痛劈声中最初碰到的盘根错节。
    它原是一个古堡，现在只是一个农家的庄屋了。乌古蒙对好古者来说，应当是雨果蒙。那宅子是贵人索墨雷?雨果，供奉维莱维道院第六 祭坛的那位雨果起造的。

    过客推开了大门，从停在门洞里的一辆旧软兜车旁走过，便来到了庭院之中。

    在庭院里，第一件使过客注目的东西，便是一扇十六世纪的圆顶门，门边的一切都坍垮了。宏伟的气象仍从遗迹中现出来。在离圆顶门不远的墙上，另开了一道门，门上有享利四世时代的拱心石，从门洞里可以望见果园中的树林。门旁有个肥料坑、几把十字镐和尖嘴锹，还有几辆小车，一眼井口有石板铺地和铁辘轳的古井，一匹小马正在蹦跳，一只火鸡正在展翅，还有一座有小钟楼的礼拜堂，一棵桃树，附在礼拜堂的墙上，花正开放。这便是拿破仑当年企图攻破的那个院子的情形。这一 隅之地，假如他攻破了，也许全世界就是属于他的。一群母鸡正把地上的灰尘刨得四散。他听见一阵犬吠声，是一头张牙露齿、代替了英国人的大恶狗。

    当年英国人在这地方是值得敬佩的。库克的四连近卫军，在一军人马猛攻之下，坚持了七个钟头。乌古蒙，包括房屋和园子在内，在地图上，作为一个几何图形去看，是一个缺了一只角的不规则长方形。南门便在那角上，有道围墙作它最近的屏障。乌古蒙有两道门：南门和北门，也就是古堡的门和庄屋的门。拿破仑派了他的兄弟热罗姆去攻乌古蒙；吉埃米诺、富瓦和巴许吕各师全向那里进扑，雷耶的部队差不多全部都用在那个方向，却仍归失败，克勒曼的炮弹也都消耗在那堵英雄墙上。博丹旅部从北面增援乌克蒙并非多余，索亚旅部在南面只能打个缺口，而不能加以占领。
    庄屋在院子的南面。北门被法军打破的一块门板至今还挂在墙上。

    那是钉在两条横木上面的四块木板，击打的伤痕还历历在目。这道北门，当时曾被法军攻破过，后来换了一块门板，用以替代现在挂在墙上的那块；那道门正在院底半掩着，它是开在墙上的一个方洞里的，堵在院子的北面，墙的下段是石块，上段是砖。那是一道在每个庄主人家都有的那种简单的小车门，两扇门板都是粗木板做成的，更远一点，便是草地。当时两军争夺这一关口非常激烈。门框上满是殷红的血手印，历久不褪，博丹便阵亡在此地。

    鏖战的狂涛还留存在这院里，当时的惨状历历在目，伏尸喋血的情形宛然如就在眼前；生死存亡，有如昨日；墙垣呻吟，砖石纷飞，裂口呼叫，弹孔沥血，树枝倾斜战栗，好象力欲逃遁。
    这院子已不象一八一五年那样完整了，许多起伏曲折、犬牙交错的工事都已被拆毁。

    英军在这里设过防线，法军突破过，但守不祝古堡的侧翼仍兀立在那小礼拜堂的旁边，但是已经坍塌，可以说是栖壁徒存，空无所有了，这是乌古蒙宅子仅留的歼迹。当时以古堡为碉楼。礼拜堂为营寨，两军便在那里互相歼灭。法军四处受到火熗的射击，从墙后面、顶阁上、地窖底里，从每个窗口、每个通风漏、每个石头缝里都受到射击，他们便搬一捆捆树枝去烧那一带的墙和人，射击得到了火攻的回复。

    那一侧翼已经毁了，人们从窗口的铁栏缝里还可以看见那些墙砖塌了的房间，当时英军埋伏在那些房间里，一道旋梯，从下到上全破裂了，好象是个破海螺的内脏。那楼梯分两层，英军当时在楼梯上受到攻击，便聚集在上层的梯级上，并且拆毁下层。大块大块的青石板在荨麻丛里堆得象座小山，却还有十来级附在墙上，在那第一级上搠了一个三齿叉的迹樱那些高不可攀的石级，正如牙床上的牙一样，仍旧牢固地嵌在墙壁里。其余部分就好象是一块掉了牙的颚骨。那里还有两棵古树：一 棵已经死了，一棵根上受了伤，年年四月仍在冒青。从一八一五以来，它的枝叶渐渐穿过了楼梯。

    在那礼拜堂里当年也曾有过一番屠杀。现在却静得出奇。自从那次流血以后，不再有人来做弥撒了。但是祭台依然存在，那是一座靠着粗石壁的粗木祭台。四堵用灰浆刷过的墙，一道对着祭台的门，两扇圆顶小窗，门上有一个高大的木十字架，十字架上面有个被一束干草堵塞了的方形通风眼，在一处墙角的地上，有一个旧玻璃窗框的残骸，这便是那礼拜堂的现状。祭台旁边，钉了一个十五世纪的圣女安娜的木刻像；童年时代的耶稣的头，它不幸也和基督一样受难，竟被一颗铳子打掉了。法军在这礼拜堂里曾一度做过主人，随后又被击退，便放了一把火。这破屋里当时满是烈焰，象只火炉，门燃过火，地板也燃过火，基督的木雕像却不曾着火。火舌灼过他的脚，随即熄灭了，留下两段乌焦的残肢。奇迹，当地的人这样说道。儿时的耶稣丢了脑袋，足见他的运气不如基督。

    墙上满是游人的字迹。在那基督的脚旁写着：安吉内。还有旁的题名：略玛约伯爵、哈巴纳阿尔马格罗侯爵及侯爵夫人。还有一些法国人的名字，带着惊叹号，那是愤怒的表示。那道墙在一八四九年曾经重加粉刷，因为各国的人在那上面互相辱骂。

    一个手里捏着一把板斧的尸首，便是在这礼拜堂的门口找到的，那是勒格罗上尉的遗海从礼拜堂出来，朝左，我们可以看见一口井。这院子里原有两口井。

    我们问：“为什么那口井没有吊桶和滑车了呢？”因为已经没有人到那里取水了。为什么没有人到那里取水呢？因为井填满了枯骨。到那井里取水的最后一个人叫威廉?范?吉耳逊。他是个农民，当时在乌古蒙当园叮一八一五年六月十八日，他的家眷曾逃到树林里去躲藏。

    那些不幸的流离失所的人，在维莱修道院附近的树林中躲了好几个昼夜。今天还留下当年的一些痕迹。例如一些烧焦了的古树干，便标志着那些惊慌战栗的难民在树林里露宿的地点。

    威廉?范?吉耳逊留在乌古蒙“看守古堡”，他蜷伏在一个地窖里。英国人发现了他。他们把这吓破了胆的人从他的藏身窟中拖将出来，用刀背砍他，强迫他服侍那些战士。他们渴，威廉便供水给他们喝。他的水便是从那井里取来的。许多人都在那里喝了他们最后的一口水。这口被许多死人喝过水的井也该同归于尽了。战后大家忙着掩埋尸体。死神有一种独特的扰乱胜利的方法，它在光荣之后继之以瘟疫。伤寒症往往是战争的一种副产品。那口井相当深，成了万人冢。那里面丢进了三百具尸体。也许丢得太匆忙。他们果真全是死人了吗？据传说是不尽然的。好象在抛尸的当天晚上，还有人听见微弱的叫喊声从井底传出来。

    那口井孤零零地在院子中间。三堵半砖半石的墙，曲折得和屏风的隔扇一样，象个小方塔，三面围着它。第四面是空着的。那便是取水的地方。中间那堵墙有个怪形牛眼洞，也许是个炸弹窟窿。那小塔原有一 层顶板，现在只剩下木架了。右边护墙的铁件作十字形。我们低头往下望去，只看见黑魆魆一道砖砌的圆洞，深不见底。井旁的墙脚都埋在荨麻丛里。

    在比利时，每口井的周围地上都铺有大块的青石板，而那口井却没有。代替青石板的，只是一条横木，上面架着五六段奇形怪状、多节、僵硬、类似长条枯骨的木头。它已没有吊桶，也没有铁链和滑车了；但盛水的石槽却还幸存着。雨水汇聚其中，常有一只小鸟从邻近的树林中飞来吸啄饮干，随后又飞去。

    在那废墟里只有一所房子，那便是庄屋，还有人住着。庄屋的门开向院子。门上有一块精致的哥特式的锁面，旁边，斜伸着一个苜蓿形的铁门钮。当日汉诺威的维尔达中尉正握着那门钮，想躲到庄屋里去，一 个法国敢死队员一斧头便砍下了他的手。

    住这房子的那一家人的祖父叫范?吉耳逊，他便是当年的那个园丁，早已死了。一个头发灰白的妇人向您说：“当时我也住在这里。我才三 岁。我的姐姐大些，吓得直哭。他们便把我们带到树林里去了。我躲在母亲怀里。大家都把耳朵贴在地上听，我呢，我学大炮的声音，喊着‘嘣，嘣。’”院子左边的那道门，我们已经说过，开向果园。

    果园的情形惨极了。它分三部分，我们几乎可以说三幕。第一部分是花园，第二部分是果园，第三部分是树林。这三部分有一道总围墙，在门的这边有古堡和庄屋，左边有一道篱，右边有一道墙，后面也有一道墙。右边的墙是砖砌的，后面的墙是石砌的。我们先进花园。花园比房子低，种了些覆盆子，生满了野草，尽头处有座高大的方石平台，栏杆的石柱全作戎葫芦形。那是贵人的花园的样式，它那格局是最早的法国式，比勒诺特尔式还早，现在已经荒废，荆棘遍布。石柱顶作浑圆体，类似石球。现在还有四十三根石栏杆立在它们的底座上，其余的都倒在草丛里了。几乎每根都有熗弹的凹痕。一条断了的石栏杆竖在平台的前端，仿佛一条断腿。花园比果园低，第一轻装队的六个士兵曾经攻进这花园，陷在里面，好象熊落陷阱，出不去，他们受到两连汉诺威士兵的攻击，其中一连还配备了火熗。汉诺威士兵赁着石栏杆，向下射击。轻装队士兵从低处回 射，六个人对付两百，奋不顾身，唯一的屏障只是草丛，他们坚持了一刻钟后，六个人便同归于尽了。我们踏上几步石级，便从花园进入真正的果园。在一块几平方丈大小的地方，一千五百人在不到一个钟头的时间里全倒下去了。那道墙现在似乎还有余勇可贾的神气。英国兵打在墙上的那三十八个高低不一的熗孔现在都还在。在第十六个熗孔前面，有两座花岗石的英国坟。只有南面的墙上有熗孔，总攻击当时是从这面来的。一道高的青藤篱遮掩着墙的外面，法国兵到了，以为那只是一道篱笆，越过后才发现了那道设了埋伏阻止他们前进的墙。英国近卫军躲在墙后，三十八个熗孔一并开火，暴雨似的熗弹迎面扫来。索亚的一旅人在那里覆没了。滑铁卢战争便是这样开始的。

    果园终于被夺过来了。法国兵没有梯子，便用指甲抓着藤蔓往上爬。两军在树下肉搏。草上全染满了血。纳索的一营兵，七百人，在那里被歼灭。克勒曼的两队炮兵排在墙外，那墙的外面满是开花弹的伤痕。

    这果园，和其它的果园一样，易受五月风光的感染。它有它的金钮花和小白菊，野草茂盛，耕马在啃青，一些晒衣服的毛绳系在树间，游人得低下头去，我们走过那荒地，脚常陷入田鼠的洞中。乱草丛间，我们看见一棵连根拔起的树干，倒在地上发绿。那便是参谋布莱克曼在临死时靠过的那棵树。德国的狄勃拉将军死在邻近的一株大树下面，他原属法国籍，在南特敕令①废止时才全家迁移到德国去的。近处，斜生着一 棵得病的苹果树，上面缠着麦秸，涂上粘泥，几乎所有的苹果树全因年老而枯萎了。没有一株不曾挨过熗弹和铳火。园里充满了死树的枯海群鸦在枝头乱飞，稍远一点，有一片开满紫罗兰的树林。
①一五九八年，法王亨利四世颁布南特敦令，允许新教存在。一六八五年，经路易十四废止，迫使无数新教徒迁徒国外。

    博丹死了，富瓦受了伤，烈火，伏尸，流血，英、德、法三国人的血，奋激狂暴地汇成一条溪流，一口填满了尸首的井，纳索的部队和不轮瑞克的部队被歼灭了，狄勃拉被杀，布莱克曼被杀，英国近卫军受了重创，法国雷耶部下的四十营中有二十营被歼灭，在这所乌古蒙宅子里，三千人里有些被刀砍了，有些身首异处，有些被扼杀，有些被射死，有些被烧死；凡此种种，只为了今日的一个农民向游人说：“先生，给我三个法郎，要是您乐意，我把滑铁卢的那回事讲给您听听。”

Let us turn back,--that is one of the story-teller's rights,-- and put ourselves once more in the year 1815, and even a little earlier than the epoch when the action narrated in the first part of this book took place.

If it had not rained in the night between the 17th and the 18th of June, 1815, the fate of Europe would have been different. A few drops of water, more or less, decided the downfall of Napoleon. All that providence required in order to make Waterloo the end of Austerlitz was a little more rain, and a cloud traversing the sky out of season sufficed to make a world crumble.

The battle of Waterloo could not be begun until half-past eleven o'clock, and that gave Blucher time to come up.Why?Because the ground was wet.The artillery had to wait until it became a little firmer before they could manoeuvre.

Napoleon was an artillery officer, and felt the effects of this. The foundation of this wonderful captain was the man who, in the report to the Directory on Aboukir, said:Such a one of our balls killed six men.All his plans of battle were arranged for projectiles. The key to his victory was to make the artillery converge on one point. He treated the strategy of the hostile general like a citadel, and made a breach in it.He overwhelmed the weak point with grape-shot; he joined and dissolved battles with cannon.There was something of the sharpshooter in his genius.To beat in squares, to pulverize regiments, to break lines, to crush and disperse masses,--for him everything lay in this, to strike, strike, strike incessantly,-- and he intrusted this task to the cannon-ball. A redoubtable method, and one which, united with genius, rendered this gloomy athlete of the pugilism of war invincible for the space of fifteen years.

On the 18th of June, 1815, he relied all the more on his artillery, because he had numbers on his side.Wellington had only one hundred and fifty-nine mouths of fire; Napoleon had two hundred and forty.

Suppose the soil dry, and the artillery capable of moving, the action would have begun at six o'clock in the morning. The battle would have been won and ended at two o'clock, three hours before the change of fortune in favor of the prussians. What amount of blame attaches to Napoleon for the loss of this battle? Is the shipwreck due to the pilot?

Was it the evident physical decline of Napoleon that complicated this epoch by an inward diminution of force?Had the twenty years of war worn out the blade as it had worn the scabbard, the soul as well as the body?Did the veteran make himself disastrously felt in the leader?In a word, was this genius, as many historians of note have thought, suffering from an eclipse?Did he go into a frenzy in order to disguise his weakened powers from himself? Did he begin to waver under the delusion of a breath of adventure? Had he become--a grave matter in a general--unconscious of peril? Is there an age, in this class of material great men, who may be called the giants of action, when genius grows short-sighted? Old age has no hold on the geniuses of the ideal; for the Dantes and Michael Angelos to grow old is to grow in greatness; is it to grow less for the Hannibals and the Bonapartes?Had Napoleon lost the direct sense of victory?Had he reached the point where he could no longer recognize the reef, could no longer divine the snare, no longer discern the crumbling brink of abysses?Had he lost his power of scenting out catastrophes?He who had in former days known all the roads to triumph, and who, from the summit of his chariot of lightning, pointed them out with a sovereign finger, had he now reached that state of sinister amazement when he could lead his tumultuous legions harnessed to it, to the precipice? Was he seized at the age of forty-six with a supreme madness? Was that titanic charioteer of destiny no longer anything more than an immense dare-devil?

We do not think so.

His plan of battle was, by the confession of all, a masterpiece. To go straight to the centre of the Allies' line, to make a breach in the enemy, to cut them in two, to drive the British half back on Hal, and the prussian half on Tongres, to make two shattered fragments of Wellington and Blucher, to carry Mont-Saint-Jean, to seize Brussels, to hurl the German into the Rhine, and the Englishman into the sea. All this was contained in that battle, according to Napoleon. Afterwards people would see.

Of course, we do not here pretend to furnish a history of the battle of Waterloo; one of the scenes of the foundation of the story which we are relating is connected with this battle, but this history is not our subject; this history, moreover, has been finished, and finished in a masterly manner, from one point of view by Napoleon, and from another point of view by a whole pleiad of historians.(7)

(7) Walter Scott, Lamartine, Vaulabelle, Charras, Quinet, Thiers.

As for us, we leave the historians at loggerheads; we are but a distant witness, a passer-by on the plain, a seeker bending over that soil all made of human flesh, taking appearances for realities, perchance; we have no right to oppose, in the name of science, a collection of facts which contain illusions, no doubt; we possess neither military practice nor strategic ability which authorize a system; in our opinion, a chain of accidents dominated the two leaders at Waterloo; and when it becomes a question of destiny, that mysterious culprit, we judge like that ingenious judge, the populace.

     追根溯源是讲故事者的权利之一，假设我们是在一八一五年，并且比本书第一部分所说的那些进攻还稍早一些的时候。假使在一八一五年六月十七日至十八日的那一晚不曾下雨，欧洲的局面早已改观了。多了几滴雨或少了几滴雨，就成了拿破仑胜败存亡的关键。上天只须借几滴雨水，便可使滑铁卢成为奥斯特里茨的末日，一片薄云违反了时令的风向穿过天空，便足以让一个世界毁灭。

    滑铁卢战争只有在十一点半开始，布吕歇尔才能从容赶到。为什么？因为地面湿了。炮队只有等到地面干一点，否则不能移动。拿破仑是用炮的高手，他自己也这样觉得。他在向督政府报告阿布基尔战况的文件里说过：“我们的炮弹便这样打死了六个人。”这句话可以说明那位天才将领的特点。他的一切战争计划全是建立在炮弹上的。集中大炮火力于某一点，那便是他胜利的秘诀。他把敌军将领的战略，看成一个堡垒，给予迎头痛击。他用开花弹攻打敌人的弱点，挑战，解围，也全赖炮力。他的天才就是最善于用炮。攻陷方阵，粉碎联队，突破阵线，消灭和驱散密集队伍，那一切便是他的手法，打，打，不停地打，而他把那种打的任务交给炮弹。那种锐不可当的方法，加上他的天才，便使战场上的这位沉郁的挥拳好汉在十五年中所向披靡。

    一八一五年六月十八日，正因为炮位占优势，他更寄希望于发挥的威力。威灵顿只有一百五十九尊火器，而拿破仑却有二百四十尊。假如地面是干燥的，炮队易于行动，早晨六点便已开火了。战事在两点钟，在比普鲁士军队的突然出现还早三个钟头的时候就告结束，便已经获胜了。在那次战争的失败里，拿破仑方面的错误占多少因素呢？中流失事便应归咎于舵工吗？

    拿破仑体力上明显的变弱，难道那时已引起了他精力的衰退？二十 年的战争，难道象磨损剑鞘那样，也磨损了剑刃，象消耗体力那样，也消耗了精神吗？这位将领难道也已感到年龄的困累吗？简而言之，这位天才，确如许多优秀的史学家所公认的那样，已经衰弱了吗？他是不是为了要掩饰自己的衰弱，才那样轻举妄动呢？他是不是在一场风险的困惑中，开始变得把握不住了呢？难道他犯了为将者的大忌，变成了不知危险的人吗？在那些可以称作大活动家的钢筋铁骨的人杰里，果真存在着天才退化的时期吗？对精神活动方面的天才，老年是不起影响的，象但丁和米开朗琪罗这类人物，年岁越高，才气越盛；对汉尼拔①和波拿巴这类人物，才气难道会随着岁月消逝吗？难道拿破仑对胜利已失去了他那种锐利的眼光吗？他竟到了认不清危险、猜不出陷阱、分辨不出坑谷边上的悬崖那种地步吗？对灾难他已失去嗅觉了吗？从前他素来洞悉一 切走向成功的道路，手握雷电，发踪指使，难道现在在竟昏愦到自陷绝地，把手下的千军万马推入深渊吗？四十六岁，他便害了无可救药的狂病吗？那位掌握命运的怪杰难道只是一个大莽汉了吗？
①汉尼拔（HANNIBAL，约前 247—183），杰出的迦太基统帅。

    我们绝不作如是之想。
    
    他的作战计划，众所周知是个杰作。直逼联军战线中心，洞穿敌阵，把它截为两半，把不列颠的一半驱逐到阿尔，普鲁士的一半驱逐到潼格尔，使威录顿和布吕歇尔首尾不能相应，夺取圣约翰山，占领布鲁塞尔，把德国人抛入莱茵河，英国人投入海中。那一切，在拿破仑看来，都是能在那次战争中实现的。至于以后的事，以后再看。

    在此地我们当然没有写滑铁卢史的奢望，我们现在要谈的故事的伏线与那场战争有关，但是那段历史并非我们的主题，况且那段历史是已经编好了的，洋洋洒洒地编好了的，一方面，有拿破仑的自述，另一方面，有史界七贤①的著作。至于我们，尽可以让那些史学家去聚讼，我们只是一个事后的见证人，原野中的一个过客，一个在那血肉狼藉的地方俯首搜寻的人，也许是一个把表面现象看作实际情况的人；对一般错综复杂、神妙莫测的事物，从科学观点考虑问题，我们没有发言权，我们没有军事上的经验和战略上的才干，不能成为一家之言；在我们看来，在滑铁卢，那两个将领被一连串偶然事故所支配了。至于命运，这神秘的被告，我们和人民（这天真率直的评判者）一样，对它作了自己的判决。    
①按此处法文原注只列举瓦尔特?斯高特（WalterScott）、拉马丁（Lamarti—ne）、沃拉贝尔（Vaualbclle）、夏拉（Charras）、基内（Quinet），齐埃尔（Zhi—ers）等六人。

Those persons who wish to gain a clear idea of the battle of Waterloo have only to place, mentally, on the ground, a capital A. The left limb of the A is the road to Nivelles, the right limb is the road to Genappe, the tie of the A is the hollow road to Ohain from Braine-l'Alleud. The top of the A is Mont-Saint-Jean, where Wellington is; the lower left tip is Hougomont, where Reille is stationed with Jerome Bonaparte; the right tip is the Belle-Alliance, where Napoleon was.At the centre of this chord is the precise point where the final word of the battle was pronounced.It was there that the lion has been placed, the involuntary symbol of the supreme heroism of the Imperial Guard.

The triangle included in the top of the A, between the two limbs and the tie, is the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean. The dispute over this plateau constituted the whole battle.The wings of the two armies extended to the right and left of the two roads to Genappe and Nivelles; d'Erlon facing picton, Reille facing Hill.

Behind the tip of the A, behind the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean, is the forest of Soignes.

As for the plain itself, let the reader picture to himself a vast undulating sweep of ground; each rise commands the next rise, and all the undulations mount towards Mont-Saint-Jean, and there end in the forest.

Two hostile troops on a field of battle are two wrestlers.It is a question of seizing the opponent round the waist.The one seeks to trip up the other.They clutch at everything:a bush is a point of support; an angle of the wall offers them a rest to the shoulder; for the lack of a hovel under whose cover they can draw up, a regiment yields its ground; an unevenness in the ground, a chance turn in the landscape, a cross-path encountered at the right moment, a grove, a ravine, can stay the heel of that colossus which is called an army, and prevent its retreat.He who quits the field is beaten; hence the necessity devolving on the responsible leader, of examining the most insignificant clump of trees, and of studying deeply the slightest relief in the ground.

The two generals had attentively studied the plain of Mont-Saint-Jean, now called the plain of Waterloo.In the preceding year, Wellington, with the sagacity of foresight, had examined it as the possible seat of a great battle.Upon this spot, and for this duel, on the 18th of June, Wellington had the good post, Napoleon the bad post. The English army was stationed above, the French army below.

It is almost superfluous here to sketch the appearance of Napoleon on horseback, glass in hand, upon the heights of Rossomme, at daybreak, on June 18, 1815.All the world has seen him before we can show him.That calm profile under the little three-cornered hat of the school of Brienne, that green uniform, the white revers concealing the star of the Legion of Honor, his great coat hiding his epaulets, the corner of red ribbon peeping from beneath his vest, his leather trousers, the white horse with the saddle-cloth of purple velvet bearing on the corners crowned N's and eagles, Hessian boots over silk stockings, silver spurs, the sword of Marengo,--that whole figure of the last of the Caesars is present to all imaginations, saluted with acclamations by some, severely regarded by others.

That figure stood for a long time wholly in the light; this arose from a certain legendary dimness evolved by the majority of heroes, and which always veils the truth for a longer or shorter time; but to-day history and daylight have arrived.

That light called history is pitiless; it possesses this peculiar and divine quality, that, pure light as it is, and precisely because it is wholly light, it often casts a shadow in places where people had hitherto beheld rays; from the same man it constructs two different phantoms, and the one attacks the other and executes justice on it, and the shadows of the despot contend with the brilliancy of the leader. Hence arises a truer measure in the definitive judgments of nations. Babylon violated lessens Alexander, Rome enchained lessens Caesar, Jerusalem murdered lessens Titus, tyranny follows the tyrant. It is a misfortune for a man to leave behind him the night which bears his form.

     希望能清楚地了解滑铁卢战争的人，只须在想象中把一个大写的 A字写在地上。A字的左边一划是尼维尔公路，右边一划是热纳普公路，A字中间的横线是从奥安到布兰拉勒的一条凸路。A字的顶是圣约翰山，即威灵顿所在的地方；左下端是乌古蒙，即雷耶和热罗姆?波拿马②所在的地方；右下端是佳盟，即拿破仑所在的地方。比右腿和横线的交点稍低一点的地方是圣拉埃，横线的中心点正是战争完毕说出最后那个字③的地方。无意中把羽林军的至高英勇表现出来的那只狮子便竖立在这一点上。
②热罗姆?波拿巴，拿破仑的八弟。
③指康布罗纳将军在拒绝投降时对英军说的那个“屎”字。法国人说“屎”字象说的“放屁”一样，有极端轻视对方的意思。

    从 A字的尖顶到横线相左右两划中间的那个三角地带，是圣约翰山高地。那次战争的整个过程便是争夺那片高地。
    两军的侧翼在热纳普路和尼维尔路上向左右两侧展开；戴尔隆和皮克顿对垒，雷耶和希尔对垒。

    在 A字的尖顶和圣约翰山高地后面的，是索瓦宁森林。而那平原本身，我们可以把它想象为一片辽阔、起伏如波浪的旷地；波浪越起越高，齐向圣约翰山漫去，直达那片森林。战场上两军交战，正如两人角力，彼此相互搂抱。彼此都要把对方摔倒。我们对任何一点东西都不能放松；一丛小树可以作为据点，一个墙角可以成为支柱，背后缺少一点依靠，可以使整队人马立不住足；平原上的洼地，地形的变化，一条适当的捷径，一片树林，一条山沟，都可以撑住大军的脚跟，使它不朝后退。谁退出战场，谁就失败。因此，负责的主帅必须细致深入地察遍每一丛小树和每一处地形轻微起伏。

    两军的将领都曾仔细研究过圣翰山平原——今日已改称滑铁卢平原。一年之前，威灵顿便早有预见，已经考察过这地方，作了进行大战的准备。在那次决战中，六月十八日，威灵顿在那片地上占了优势，拿破仑则处于劣势。英军居高，法军居下。

    在此地描绘拿破仑于一八一五年六月十八日黎明，在罗松高地上骑着马，手里拿着望远镜的形象，那完全是多事。在写出以前，大家早已全见过了。布里挨纳①军校的小帽下那种镇静的侧面像，那身绿色的军服，遮着勋章的白翻领，遮着肩章的灰色外衣，坎肩下的一角红丝带，皮短裤，骑匹白马，马背上覆着紫绒，紫绒角上有几个上冠皇冕的 N和鹰，丝袜，长统马靴，银刺马距，马伦哥剑，在每个人的想象中都有这副最后一位恺撒的尊容，有些人见了欢欣鼓舞，有些人见了侧目而视。那副尊容久已处于一片光明之中，即使英雄人物也多半要被传说所歪曲，致使真相或长或短受到蒙蔽，但到今天，历史和真象都已大白。那种真象——历史——是冷酷无情的。历史有这样一种特点和妙用，尽管它是光明，并且正因为它是光明，便常在光辉所到之处抹上一 层阴影；它把同一个造成两个不同的鬼物，互相攻讦，互相排斥。暴君的黑暗和统帅的荣光进行争斗。于是人民有了比较正确的定论。巴比伦被蹂躏，亚历山大的声誉有损；罗马被奴役，恺撒因而无光；耶路撒冷被屠戳，梯特为之减色。暴政随暴君而起。一个人身后曳着和他本人相似的暗影，对他而言那是一种不幸。
①布里埃纳（Brienne），地名，拿破仑在该地军校毕业。

Every one is acquainted with the first phase of this battle; a beginning which was troubled, uncertain, hesitating, menacing to both armies, but still more so for the English than for the French.

It had rained all night, the earth had been cut up by the downpour, the water had accumulated here and there in the hollows of the plain as if in casks; at some points the gear of the artillery carriages was buried up to the axles, the circingles of the horses were dripping with liquid mud.If the wheat and rye trampled down by this cohort of transports on the march had not filled in the ruts and strewn a litter beneath the wheels, all movement, particularly in the valleys, in the direction of papelotte would have been impossible.

The affair began late.Napoleon, as we have already explained, was in the habit of keeping all his artillery well in hand, like a pistol, aiming it now at one point, now at another, of the battle; and it had been his wish to wait until the horse batteries could move and gallop freely.In order to do that it was necessary that the sun should come out and dry the soil. But the sun did not make its appearance.It was no longer the rendezvous of Austerlitz.When the first cannon was fired, the English general, Colville, looked at his watch, and noted that it was thirty-five minutes past eleven.

The action was begun furiously, with more fury, perhaps, than the Emperor would have wished, by the left wing of the French resting on Hougomont.At the same time Napoleon attacked the centre by hurling Quiot's brigade on La Haie-Sainte, and Ney pushed forward the right wing of the French against the left wing of the English, which rested on papelotte.

The attack on Hougomont was something of a feint; the plan was to draw Wellington thither, and to make him swerve to the left. This plan would have succeeded if the four companies of the English guards and the brave Belgians of perponcher's division had not held the position solidly, and Wellington, instead of massing his troops there, could confine himself to despatching thither, as reinforcements, only four more companies of guards and one battalion from Brunswick.

The attack of the right wing of the French on papelotte was calculated, in fact, to overthrow the English left, to cut off the road to Brussels, to bar the passage against possible prussians, to force Mont-Saint-Jean, to turn Wellington back on Hougomont, thence on Braine-l'Alleud, thence on Hal; nothing easier. With the exception of a few incidents this attack succeeded papelotte was taken; La Haie-Sainte was carried.

A detail to be noted.There was in the English infantry, particularly in Kempt's brigade, a great many raw recruits.These young soldiers were valiant in the presence of our redoubtable infantry; their inexperience extricated them intrepidly from the dilemma; they performed particularly excellent service as skirmishers: the soldier skirmisher, left somewhat to himself, becomes, so to speak, his own general.These recruits displayed some of the French ingenuity and fury.This novice of an infantry had dash. This displeased Wellington.

After the taking of La Haie-Sainte the battle wavered.

There is in this day an obscure interval, from mid-day to four o'clock; the middle portion of this battle is almost indistinct, and participates in the sombreness of the hand-to-hand conflict.Twilight reigns over it.We perceive vast fluctuations in that fog, a dizzy mirage, paraphernalia of war almost unknown to-day, pendant colbacks, floating sabre-taches, cross-belts, cartridge-boxes for grenades, hussar dolmans, red boots with a thousand wrinkles, heavy shakos garlanded with torsades, the almost black infantry of Brunswick mingled with the scarlet infantry of England, the English soldiers with great, white circular pads on the slopes of their shoulders for epaulets, the Hanoverian light-horse with their oblong casques of leather, with brass hands and red horse-tails, the Scotch with their bare knees and plaids, the great white gaiters of our grenadiers; pictures, not strategic lines--what Salvator Rosa requires, not what is suited to the needs of Gribeauval.

A certain amount of tempest is always mingled with a battle. Quid obscurum, quid divinum.Each historian traces, to some extent, the particular feature which pleases him amid this pellmell. Whatever may be the combinations of the generals, the shock of armed masses has an incalculable ebb.During the action the plans of the two leaders enter into each other and become mutually thrown out of shape.Such a point of the field of battle devours more combatants than such another, just as more or less spongy soils soak up more or less quickly the water which is poured on them. It becomes necessary to pour out more soldiers than one would like; a series of expenditures which are the unforeseen.The line of battle waves and undulates like a thread, the trails of blood gush illogically, the fronts of the armies waver, the regiments form capes and gulfs as they enter and withdraw; all these reefs are continually moving in front of each other.Where the infantry stood the artillery arrives, the cavalry rushes in where the artillery was, the battalions are like smoke.There was something there; seek it.It has disappeared; the open spots change place, the sombre folds advance and retreat, a sort of wind from the sepulchre pushes forward, hurls back, distends, and disperses these tragic multitudes.What is a fray? an oscillation?The immobility of a mathematical plan expresses a minute, not a day.In order to depict a battle, there is required one of those powerful painters who have chaos in their brushes. Rembrandt is better than Vandermeulen; Vandermeulen, exact at noon, lies at three o'clock. Geometry is deceptive; the hurricane alone is trustworthy.That is what confers on Folard the right to contradict polybius.Let us add, that there is a certain instant when the battle degenerates into a combat, becomes specialized, and disperses into innumerable detailed feats, which, to borrow the expression of Napoleon himself, "belong rather to the biography of the regiments than to the history of the army."The historian has, in this case, the evident right to sum up the whole.He cannot do more than seize the principal outlines of the struggle, and it is not given to any one narrator, however conscientious he may be, to fix, absolutely, the form of that horrible cloud which is called a battle.

This, which is true of all great armed encounters, is particularly applicable to Waterloo.
Nevertheless, at a certain moment in the afternoon the battle came to a point.

     大家知道那场战争最初阶段的局面，对双方军队来说都是紧张、混乱、棘手、危急的，但是英军比法军还更危险。雨落了一整夜；暴雨之后，泥泞遍布；原野上，处处是水坑，水在坑里，如在盆中；在某些地方，轻重车的轮子淹没了一半，马的肚带上滴着泥浆；假使没有那群蜂拥前进的车辆所压倒的大麦和稞麦，把车辙填起来替车轮垫底的话，一 切行动，尤其是在帕佩洛特一带的山谷里，都会是不可能的。

    战争开始得迟，我们已经说过，拿破仑惯于把全部炮队握在手里，如同握了管手熗，时而指向战争的某一点，时而又指向另一点；所以他要等待，好让驾好了的炮队能驰骤自如；要做到这一步，非得太阳出来把地面晒干不可。但是太阳迟迟不出，这回它已不象奥斯特里茨那次那样守约了。第一炮发出时，英国的科维尔将军看了一下表，当时正是十 一点三十五分。

    战事开始时，法军左翼猛扑乌古蒙，那种猛烈程度，也许比皇上所预期的还更猛些。同时拿破仑进攻中部，命吉奥的旅部冲击圣拉埃，内伊①也命令法军的右翼向盘据在帕佩洛特的英军左翼挺进。
①内伊（Ney），拿破仑部下的得力元帅。

    乌古蒙方面的攻势有些诱敌意图。原想把威灵顿引到那里去，使他偏重左方，计划就是那样定的。如果那四连英国近卫军和佩尔蓬谢部下的那一师忠勇的比利时兵不曾固守防地，那计划也许就成了功，但是威灵顿并没有向乌古蒙集中，只加派了四连近卫军和不伦瑞克的营部赴援。

    法军右翼向帕佩洛特的攻势已经完成，计划是要击溃英军左翼，截断通往布鲁塞尔的道路，切断那可能到达的普鲁士军队的来路，进攻圣约翰山，把威灵顿先撵到乌古蒙，再撵到布兰拉勒，再撵到阿尔，那是明明白白的。假使没有发生意外，那一路进击，一定会成功。帕佩洛特夺过来了，圣拉挨也占领了。

    顺带说一句。在英军的步兵中，尤其是在兰伯特的旅部里，有不少新兵。那些青年战士，在我们勇猛的步兵前面是顽强的，他们缺乏经验，却能奋勇作战，他们尤其作了出色的散兵战斗，散兵只须稍稍振奋，便可成为自己的将军，那些新兵颇有法国军人的那种独立作战和奋不顾身的劲头。那些乳臭小兵都相当冲动，威灵顿为之不快。

    在夺取了圣拉埃以后，战事形成了僵持之局。

    那天，从中午到四点，中间有一段混乱过程；战况差不多是不明朗的，成了一种混战状态。黄昏将近，千军万马在暮霭中往复飘荡，那是一种惊心动魄的奇观，当时的军容今日已经不可复见了，红缨帽，荡的佩剑，交叉的革带，榴弹包，轻骑兵的盘绦军服，千褶红靴，缨络累累的羽毛冠，一色朱红，肩上有代替肩章的白色大圆环的英国步兵和几乎纯黑的不伦瑞克步兵交相辉映，还有头戴铜箍、红缨、椭圆形皮帽的汉诺威轻骑兵，露着膝头、披着方格衣服的苏格兰兵，我国羽林军的白色长绑腿，这是一幅幅图画，而不是一行行阵线，为萨尔瓦多?罗扎①所需，但不为格里博瓦乐②所需。每次战争总有风云变幻。“天意莫测。”每个史学家都随心所欲地把那些混乱情形描上几笔。为将者无论怎样筹划，一到交锋，总免不了千变万化，时进时退；在战事进行中，两军将领所定的计划必然互有出入，互相牵制。战场某一处所吞没的战士会比另一处多些，仿佛那些地方的海绵吸水性的强弱不一样，因而吸收水量的快慢也不一样。为将者无可奈何，只得在某些地方多填一些士兵下去。那是一种意外的消耗。战线如蛇，蜿蜒动荡，鲜血如溪，狂妄流淌，两军的前锋汹涌如波涛，军队或进或退，交错如地角海湾，那一切礁石也都面面相对，浮动不停；炮队迎步兵，马队追炮队，队伍如烟云。那里明明有一点东西，细看却又不见了，稀疏的地方迁移不定，浓密的烟尘进退无常，有种阴风把那些血肉横飞的人堆推上前去，随即又撵回来，扫集到一处，再又把他们四方驱散。
①萨尔瓦多?罗扎（SalvatorRosa，1615—1673），意大利画家，所作的画色彩十分富丽。
②格里博瓦尔（Gribeanval），法国十八世纪革命前的一个将军。

    混战是什么呢？是种进退周旋的动作。精密的计划是死东西，只适合于一分钟，对一整天却不适合。描绘战争，非得有才气纵横、笔势雄浑的画家不可；伦勃朗①就比范?德?米伦②高明些。范?德?米伦正确地画出了中午的情形，却不是三点钟的真相。几何学不足为凭，只有飓风是真实的。因此福拉尔③有驳斥波利比乌斯④的道理。我们应当补充一句，在某个时刻，战争常转成肉搏，人自为战，分散为无数的细枝末节。拿破仑说过：“那些情节属于各联队的生活史，而不属于大军的历史。”在那种情况下，史学家显然只能叙述一个梗概。他只能掌握战争的主要轮廓，无论怎样力求忠实，也决不能把战云的形态描绘出来。
①伦勃朗（Rembrandt），十七世纪荷兰画家。
②范?德?米伦（VonDerMeulen），十七世纪佛兰德画家，曾在路易十四朝廷工作二十五年，故一般视作法国画家。
③福拉尔（Fclard），十八世纪法国兵法家。
④波利比乌斯（Polybe），公元前二世纪希腊历史学家。

    这对任何一次大会战来讲都是正确的，尤其是对滑铁卢。
    可是到了下午，在某一瞬间，战争的局势开始渐渐分明了。        

Towards four o'clock the condition of the English army was serious. The prince of Orange was in command of the centre, Hill of the right wing, picton of the left wing.The prince of Orange, desperate and intrepid, shouted to the Hollando-Belgians: "Nassau! Brunswick!Never retreat!"Hill, having been weakened, had come up to the support of Wellington; picton was dead.At the very moment when the English had captured from the French the flag of the 105th of the line, the French had killed the English general, picton, with a bullet through the head.The battle had, for Wellington, two bases of action, Hougomont and La Haie-Sainte; Hougomont still held out, but was on fire; La Haie-Sainte was taken.Of the German battalion which defended it, only forty-two men survived; all the officers, except five, were either dead or captured.Three thousand combatants had been massacred in that barn.A sergeant of the English Guards, the foremost boxer in England, reputed invulnerable by his companions, had been killed there by a little French drummer-boy. Baring had been dislodged, Alten put to the sword.Many flags had been lost, one from Alten's division, and one from the battalion of Lunenburg, carried by a prince of the house of Deux-ponts. The Scotch Grays no longer existed; ponsonby's great dragoons had been hacked to pieces. That valiant cavalry had bent beneath the lancers of Bro and beneath the cuirassiers of Travers; out of twelve hundred horses, six hundred remained; out of three lieutenant-colonels, two lay on the earth,--Hamilton wounded, Mater slain.ponsonby had fallen, riddled by seven lance-thrusts. Gordon was dead.Marsh was dead. Two divisions, the fifth and the sixth, had been annihilated.

Hougomont injured, La Haie-Sainte taken, there now existed but one rallying-point, the centre.That point still held firm. Wellington reinforced it.He summoned thither Hill, who was at Merle-Braine; he summoned Chasse, who was at Braine-l'Alleud.

The centre of the English army, rather concave, very dense, and very compact, was strongly posted.It occupied the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean, having behind it the village, and in front of it the slope, which was tolerably steep then.It rested on that stout stone dwelling which at that time belonged to the domain of Nivelles, and which marks the intersection of the roads--a pile of the sixteenth century, and so robust that the cannon-balls rebounded from it without injuring it.All about the plateau the English had cut the hedges here and there, made embrasures in the hawthorn-trees, thrust the throat of a cannon between two branches, embattled the shrubs. There artillery was ambushed in the brushwood.This punic labor, incontestably authorized by war, which permits traps, was so well done, that Haxo, who had been despatched by the Emperor at nine o'clock in the morning to reconnoitre the enemy's batteries, had discovered nothing of it, and had returned and reported to Napoleon that there were no obstacles except the two barricades which barred the road to Nivelles and to Genappe.It was at the season when the grain is tall; on the edge of the plateau a battalion of Kempt's brigade, the 95th, armed with carabines, was concealed in the tall wheat.

Thus assured and buttressed, the centre of the Anglo-Dutch army was well posted.The peril of this position lay in the forest of Soignes, then adjoining the field of battle, and intersected by the ponds of Groenendael and Boitsfort.An army could not retreat thither without dissolving; the regiments would have broken up immediately there. The artillery would have been lost among the morasses.The retreat, according to many a man versed in the art,--though it is disputed by others,--would have been a disorganized flight.

To this centre, Wellington added one of Chasse's brigades taken from the right wing, and one of Wincke's brigades taken from the left wing, plus Clinton's division.To his English, to the regiments of Halkett, to the brigades of Mitchell, to the guards of Maitland, he gave as reinforcements and aids, the infantry of Brunswick, Nassau's contingent, Kielmansegg's Hanoverians, and Ompteda's Germans.This placed twenty-six battalions under his hand. The right wing, as Charras says, was thrown back on the centre. An enormous battery was masked by sacks of earth at the spot where there now stands what is called the "Museum of Waterloo." Besides this, Wellington had, behind a rise in the ground, Somerset's Dragoon Guards, fourteen hundred horse strong. It was the remaining half of the justly celebrated English cavalry. ponsonby destroyed, Somerset remained.

The battery, which, if completed, would have been almost a redoubt, was ranged behind a very low garden wall, backed up with a coating of bags of sand and a large slope of earth.This work was not finished; there had been no time to make a palisade for it.

Wellington, uneasy but impassive, was on horseback, and there remained the whole day in the same attitude, a little in advance of the old mill of Mont-Saint-Jean, which is still in existence, beneath an elm, which an Englishman, an enthusiastic vandal, purchased later on for two hundred francs, cut down, and carried off. Wellington was coldly heroic.The bullets rained about him. His aide-de-camp, Gordon, fell at his side.Lord Hill, pointing to a shell which had burst, said to him:"My lord, what are your orders in case you are killed?""To do like me," replied Wellington. To Clinton he said laconically, "To hold this spot to the last man." The day was evidently turning out ill.Wellington shouted to his old companions of Talavera, of Vittoria, of Salamanca:"Boys, can retreat be thought of?Think of old England!"

Towards four o'clock, the English line drew back.Suddenly nothing was visible on the crest of the plateau except the artillery and the sharpshooters; the rest had disappeared:the regiments, dislodged by the shells and the French bullets, retreated into the bottom, now intersected by the back road of the farm of Mont-Saint-Jean; a retrograde movement took place, the English front hid itself, Wellington drew back."The beginning of retreat!" cried Napoleon.

     将近四点，英军形势危急。奥伦治亲王统率中军，希尔在右翼，皮克顿在左翼。骁勇而战酣了的奥伦治亲王向着荷比联军叫道：“纳索，不伦瑞克，永不后退！”希尔力不能支，来投靠威灵顿，皮克顿已经死了。正当英军把法国第一○五联队军旗夺去时，法军却一粒子弹射穿脑袋，毙了英国的皮克顿将军。威灵顿有两个据点：乌古蒙和圣拉埃，乌古蒙虽然顽抗，却着了火，圣拉埃早已失守。防守圣拉埃的德军只剩下四十二个人，所有的军官都已战死或当了俘虏，幸免的只有五个人。三 千战士在那麦仓里送了命。英国卫队中的一个中士，是英国首屈一指的拳术家，他的同道们称他为无懈可击的好汉，却被法国一个小小鼓卒宰在了那里。贝林已经丢了防地，阿尔顿已经死于刀下。

    好几面军旗被夺，其中有阿尔顿师部的旗和握在双桥族一个亲王手里的吕内堡营部的旗。苏格兰灰衣部队已不复存在，庞森比的彪形骑兵已被刀斧手砍绝。那批骁勇的马队已经屈服在布罗的长矛队和特拉维尔的铁甲军下面，一千二百匹马留下六百，三个大佐有两个倒在地上，汉密尔顿受了伤，马特尔送了命。庞森比落马，身上被搠了七个窟窿，戈登死了。第五和第六两师都被歼灭了。

    乌古蒙被困，圣拉埃失守，只有中间的一个结了。那个结始终解不开，威灵顿不断增援。他把希尔从梅泊?布朗调来，又把夏塞从布兰拉勒调来。

    英军的中军，阵式略凹，兵力非常密集，地势也占得好。它占着圣约翰山高地，背靠村庄，前临斜坡，那斜坡在当时是相当陡的，那所坚固的石屋是当时尼维尔的公产，是道路交叉点的标志，一所十六世纪高大的建筑物，坚固到炮弹打上去也会弹回来，它不受任何损害，英国的中军便以那所石屋为依托。高地四周英兵随处铺设了藩篱，山楂林里设了炮兵阵地，树桠中伸出炮口，以树丛作为掩护。他们的炮队全隐蔽在荆棘丛中。兵不厌诈，那种鬼域伎俩当然是战争所允许的，它做得非常巧妙，致使皇上在早晨九点派出去侦察敌军炮位的亚克索一点也没有发现，他向拿破仑汇报：“除了防守尼维尔路和热纳普路的两处工事以外，没有其他障碍。”当时正是麦子长得很高的季节，在那高地的边沿上，兰伯特旅部的第九十五营兵士都拿着火熗，伏在麦田里。

    英荷联军的中部有了那些掩护和凭借，地位自然优势了。
    那种地势的不利处于索瓦宁森林，当时那森林连接战场，中间横亘着格昂达尔和博茨夫沼泽地带。军队万一退到那里，必然招致灭顶之灾，军心也必然涣散。炮队会陷入泥沼。许多行家的意见都认为当日英荷联军在那地方可能会一败涂地，不赞同这种意见的人当然也有。

    威灵顿从右翼调来了夏塞的一旅，又从左翼调了温克的一旅，再加上克林东的师部，用来加强中部的兵力。他派了不伦瑞克的步兵、纳索的部下、基尔曼瑞奇的汉诺威军和昂普蒂达的德军去支援他的英国部队霍尔基特联队、米契尔旅部、梅特兰卫队。因此他手下有二十六营人。按夏拉所说：“右翼曾折回到中军的后面。”在今日所谓“滑铁卢陈列馆”的地方，当日有过一大队炮兵隐蔽在沙袋后面。此外，威灵顿还有萨墨塞特的龙骑卫队，一千四百人马待在洼地里。那是那些名不虚传的英国骑兵的一半。庞森比部已被歼灭，却还剩下萨墨塞特。那队炮兵的工事如果完成，就可能会成为大害。炮位设在一道极矮的园墙后面，百忙中加上了一层沙袋和一道宽土堤。这工事只是尚未完工，还没来得及装置栅栏。

    威灵顿骑在马上，心内激荡，而神色自若，他在圣约翰山一株榆树下立了一整天，始终没有改变他的姿势，本来那株榆树在今日还存在的那座风车前面不远的地方，后来被一个热心摧残古迹的英国人花了两百法郎买去，锯断，运走了。威灵顿立在那里，冷峻而英勇。炮弹雨点般地落下来。副官戈登刚死在他身边。贵人希尔指着一颗正在爆炸的炮弹向他说：“大人，万一您遭不测，您有什么指示给我们呢？”“象我那样去做。”威灵顿回答。对着克林东，他简短地说：“守在此地，直到最后一个人。”那天形势明显变坏。威灵顿对塔拉韦腊、维多利亚、萨拉曼卡诸城①的那些老朋友喊道：“Boys（孩子们）！难道还有人想开小差不成？替古老的英格兰想想吧！”
①拉韦腊（Talavera）、维多利亚（Vittoria）、萨拉曼卡（Salamanque）均为西班牙城市。

    英军的最后防线在将近四点时动摇了。在高地的防线里只见炮队和散兵，其余的一下子全都不见了。那些联队受到法军开花弹和炮弹的压逼，都折回到圣约翰山庄屋便道那一带去了，那便道今天还在。退却的形势出现了，英军前锋向后倒，威灵顿退了。“退却开始！”拿破仑大声说。

The Emperor, though ill and discommoded on horseback by a local trouble, had never been in a better humor than on that day. His impenetrability had been smiling ever since the morning.On the 18th of June, that profound soul masked by marble beamed blindly. The man who had been gloomy at Austerlitz was gay at Waterloo. The greatest favorites of destiny make mistakes.Our joys are composed of shadow.The supreme smile is God's alone.

Ridet Caesar, pompeius flebit, said the legionaries of the Fulminatrix Legion.pompey was not destined to weep on that occasion, but it is certain that Caesar laughed.While exploring on horseback at one o'clock on the preceding night, in storm and rain, in company with Bertrand, the communes in the neighborhood of Rossomme, satisfied at the sight of the long line of the English camp-fires illuminating the whole horizon from Frischemont to Braine-l'Alleud, it had seemed to him that fate, to whom he had assigned a day on the field of Waterloo, was exact to the appointment; he stopped his horse, and remained for some time motionless, gazing at the lightning and listening to the thunder; and this fatalist was heard to cast into the darkness this mysterious saying, "We are in accord." Napoleon was mistaken.They were no longer in accord.

He took not a moment for sleep; every instant of that night was marked by a joy for him.He traversed the line of the principal outposts, halting here and there to talk to the sentinels.At half-past two, near the wood of Hougomont, he heard the tread of a column on the march; he thought at the moment that it was a retreat on the part of Wellington.He said:"It is the rear-guard of the English getting under way for the purpose of decamping.I will take prisoners the six thousand English who have just arrived at Ostend." He conversed expansively; he regained the animation which he had shown at his landing on the first of March, when he pointed out to the Grand-Marshal the enthusiastic peasant of the Gulf Juan, and cried, "Well, Bertrand, here is a reinforcement already!" On the night of the 17th to the 18th of June he rallied Wellington. "That little Englishman needs a lesson," said Napoleon.The rain redoubled in violence; the thunder rolled while the Emperor was speaking.

At half-past three o'clock in the morning, he lost one illusion; officers who had been despatched to reconnoitre announced to him that the enemy was not making any movement.Nothing was stirring; not a bivouac-fire had been extinguished; the English army was asleep. The silence on earth was profound; the only noise was in the heavens. At four o'clock, a peasant was brought in to him by the scouts; this peasant had served as guide to a brigade of English cavalry, probably Vivian's brigade, which was on its way to take up a position in the village of Ohain, at the extreme left.At five o'clock, two Belgian deserters reported to him that they had just quitted their regiment, and that the English army was ready for battle. "So much the better!" exclaimed Napoleon."I prefer to overthrow them rather than to drive them back."

In the morning he dismounted in the mud on the slope which forms an angle with the plancenoit road, had a kitchen table and a peasant's chair brought to him from the farm of Rossomme, seated himself, with a truss of straw for a carpet, and spread out on the table the chart of the battle-field, saying to Soult as he did so, "A pretty checker-board."

In consequence of the rains during the night, the transports of provisions, embedded in the soft roads, had not been able to arrive by morning; the soldiers had had no sleep; they were wet and fasting.This did not prevent Napoleon from exclaiming cheerfully to Ney, "We have ninety chances out of a hundred." At eight o'clock the Emperor's breakfast was brought to him. He invited many generals to it.During breakfast, it was said that Wellington had been to a ball two nights before, in Brussels, at the Duchess of Richmond's; and Soult, a rough man of war, with a face of an archbishop, said, "The ball takes place to-day." The Emperor jested with Ney, who said, "Wellington will not be so simple as to wait for Your Majesty."That was his way, however. "He was fond of jesting," says Fleury de Chaboulon."A merry humor was at the foundation of his character," says Gourgaud. "He abounded in pleasantries, which were more peculiar than witty," says Benjamin Constant.These gayeties of a giant are worthy of insistence.It was he who called his grenadiers "his grumblers"; he pinched their ears; he pulled their mustaches."The Emperor did nothing but play pranks on us," is the remark of one of them. During the mysterious trip from the island of Elba to France, on the 27th of February, on the open sea, the French brig of war, Le Zephyr, having encountered the brig L'Inconstant, on which Napoleon was concealed, and having asked the news of Napoleon from L'Inconstant, the Emperor, who still wore in his hat the white and amaranthine cockade sown with bees, which he had adopted at the isle of Elba, laughingly seized the speaking-trumpet, and answered for himself, "The Emperor is well."A man who laughs like that is on familiar terms with events.Napoleon indulged in many fits of this laughter during the breakfast at Waterloo.After breakfast he meditated for a quarter of an hour; then two generals seated themselves on the truss of straw, pen in hand and their paper on their knees, and the Emperor dictated to them the order of battle.

At nine o'clock, at the instant when the French army, ranged in echelons and set in motion in five columns, had deployed-- the divisions in two lines, the artillery between the brigades, the music at their head; as they beat the march, with rolls on the drums and the blasts of trumpets, mighty, vast, joyous, a sea of casques, of sabres, and of bayonets on the horizon, the Emperor was touched, and twice exclaimed, "Magnificent!Magnificent!"

Between nine o'clock and half-past ten the whole army, incredible as it may appear, had taken up its position and ranged itself in six lines, forming, to repeat the Emperor's expression, "the figure of six V's." A few moments after the formation of the battle-array, in the midst of that profound silence, like that which heralds the beginning of a storm, which precedes engagements, the Emperor tapped Haxo on the shoulder, as he beheld the three batteries of twelve-pounders, detached by his orders from the corps of Erlon, Reille, and Lobau, and destined to begin the action by taking Mont-Saint-Jean, which was situated at the intersection of the Nivelles and the Genappe roads, and said to him, "There are four and twenty handsome maids, General."

Sure of the issue, he encouraged with a smile, as they passed before him, the company of sappers of the first corps, which he had appointed to barricade Mont-Saint-Jean as soon as the village should be carried.All this serenity had been traversed by but a single word of haughty pity; perceiving on his left, at a spot where there now stands a large tomb, those admirable Scotch Grays, with their superb horses, massing themselves, he said, "It is a pity."

Then he mounted his horse, advanced beyond Rossomme, and selected for his post of observation a contracted elevation of turf to the right of the road from Genappe to Brussels, which was his second station during the battle.The third station, the one adopted at seven o'clock in the evening, between La Belle-Alliance and La Haie-Sainte, is formidable; it is a rather elevated knoll, which still exists, and behind which the guard was massed on a slope of the plain. Around this knoll the balls rebounded from the pavements of the road, up to Napoleon himself.As at Brienne, he had over his head the shriek of the bullets and of the heavy artillery. Mouldy cannon-balls, old sword-blades, and shapeless projectiles, eaten up with rust, were picked up at the spot where his horse' feet stood.Scabra rubigine.A few years ago, a shell of sixty pounds, still charged, and with its fuse broken off level with the bomb, was unearthed.It was at this last post that the Emperor said to his guide, Lacoste, a hostile and terrified peasant, who was attached to the saddle of a hussar, and who turned round at every discharge of canister and tried to hide behind Napoleon:"Fool, it is shameful!You'll get yourself killed with a ball in the back." He who writes these lines has himself found, in the friable soil of this knoll, on turning over the sand, the remains of the neck of a bomb, disintegrated, by the oxidization of six and forty years, and old fragments of iron which parted like elder-twigs between the fingers.

Every one is aware that the variously inclined undulations of the plains, where the engagement between Napoleon and Wellington took place, are no longer what they were on June 18, 1815.By taking from this mournful field the wherewithal to make a monument to it, its real relief has been taken away, and history, disconcerted, no longer finds her bearings there.It has been disfigured for the sake of glorifying it.Wellington, when he beheld Waterloo once more, two years later, exclaimed, "They have altered my field of battle!" Where the great pyramid of earth, surmounted by the lion, rises to-day, there was a hillock which descended in an easy slope towards the Nivelles road, but which was almost an escarpment on the side of the highway to Genappe.The elevation of this escarpment can still be measured by the height of the two knolls of the two great sepulchres which enclose the road from Genappe to Brussels:one, the English tomb, is on the left; the other, the German tomb, is on the right.There is no French tomb.The whole of that plain is a sepulchre for France.Thanks to the thousands upon thousands of cartloads of earth employed in the hillock one hundred and fifty feet in height and half a mile in circumference, the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean is now accessible by an easy slope. On the day of battle, particularly on the side of La Haie-Sainte, it was abrupt and difficult of approach.The slope there is so steep that the English cannon could not see the farm, situated in the bottom of the valley, which was the centre of the combat. On the 18th of June, 1815, the rains had still farther increased this acclivity, the mud complicated the problem of the ascent, and the men not only slipped back, but stuck fast in the mire. Along the crest of the plateau ran a sort of trench whose presence it was impossible for the distant observer to divine.

What was this trench?Let us explain.Braine-l'Alleud is a Belgian village; Ohain is another.These villages, both of them concealed in curves of the landscape, are connected by a road about a league and a half in length, which traverses the plain along its undulating level, and often enters and buries itself in the hills like a furrow, which makes a ravine of this road in some places. In 1815, as at the present day, this road cut the crest of the plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean between the two highways from Genappe and Nivelles; only, it is now on a level with the plain; it was then a hollow way. Its two slopes have been appropriated for the monumental hillock. This road was, and still is, a trench throughout the greater portion of its course; a hollow trench, sometimes a dozen feet in depth, and whose banks, being too steep, crumbled away here and there, particularly in winter, under driving rains.Accidents happened here. The road was so narrow at the Braine-l'Alleud entrance that a passer-by was crushed by a cart, as is proved by a stone cross which stands near the cemetery, and which gives the name of the dead, Monsieur Bernard Debrye, Merchant of Brussels, and the date of the accident, February, 1637.(8) It was so deep on the table-land of Mont-Saint-Jean that a peasant, Mathieu Nicaise, was crushed there, in 1783, by a slide from the slope, as is stated on another stone cross, the top of which has disappeared in the process of clearing the ground, but whose overturned pedestal is still visible on the grassy slope to the left of the highway between La Haie-Sainte and the farm of Mont-Saint-Jean.

(8) This is the inscription:-- D. O. M. CY A ETE ECRASE pAR MALHEUR SOUS UN CHARIOT, MONSIEUR BERNARD DE BRYE MARCHAND A BRUXELLE LE (Illegible) FEVRIER 1637.

On the day of battle, this hollow road whose existence was in no way indicated, bordering the crest of Mont-Saint-Jean, a trench at the summit of the escarpment, a rut concealed in the soil, was invisible; that is to say, terrible.

     皇上骑在马上，虽然他有病，虽然他因一点细小的毛病而感到不便，却从不曾有过那天那样愉快的心情。从早晨起，他那高深莫测的神色中便带有笑意。一八一五年六月十八日，他那隐在冷脸下面的深邃的灵魂，盲目地发射着光芒。在奥斯特里茨心情沉闷的那个人，在滑铁卢却是愉快的。大凡受祜于天的异人常有那种难于理解的表现。我们的欢乐常蕴藏着忧患。最后一笑是属于上帝的。

    “恺撒笑，庞培②哭。”福尔弥纳特利克斯的部下说过。这一次，庞培该不至于哭，而恺撒却确实笑了。
②庞培为纪元前一世纪罗马大帝恺撒的政敌，后被恺撒击败。

    自从前一夜的一点起，他就骑着马，在狂风疾雨中和贝特朗一道巡视着罗松附近一带的山地，望见英军的火光从弗里谢蒙一直延展到布兰拉勒，映照在地平线上，他心中感到满意，好象觉得他所指定应在某日来到滑铁卢战场的幸运，果然应时到了；他勒住了他的马，望着闪电，听着雷声，默默地停留了一会，有人听见那宿命论者在黑夜中说了这样一句神秘的话：“我们是同心协力的。”他搞错了，他们已不同心协力了。

    那一整夜，他一分钟也不曾睡，每时每刻对他都是欢乐。他走遍了前哨阵地，到处停下来和那些侍侯骑兵谈话。两点半钟，他在乌古蒙树林附近听见一个纵队行进的声音，他心里一动，以为是威灵顿退阵，他向贝特朗说：“这是英国后防军准备退却的行动。我要把刚到奥斯坦德的那六千英国兵俘虏过来。”他语气豪放，回想起三月一日在茹安海湾登陆时看见的一个惊喜若狂的农民，他把那农民指给大元帅①看，喊道：“看，贝特朗，生力军已经来了！”现在他又有了那种豪迈气概。六月十七到十八的那个晚上，他不时取笑威灵顿，“这英国小鬼得受点教训。”拿破仑说。雨更加大了，在皇上说话时雷声大作。
①大元帅指贝特朗。

    到早晨三点半钟，他那幻想已经消失，派去侦察敌情的军官们回来报告他，说敌军毫无行动。一切安定，营火全然未熄。英国军队正睡着觉，地上绝无动静，声音全在天上。四点钟，有几个巡逻兵带来了一个农民，那农民当过向导，曾替预备到极左方奥安村去驻防的一个英国骑方向引路，那也许是维维安旅。五点钟，两个比利时叛兵向他报告，说他们刚离开队伍，并且说英军在等待战斗。

    “好极了！”拿破仑喊道说，“我不但要打退他们，而且要打翻他们。”
    到了早晨，他在普朗尚努瓦路转角的高堤上下了马，站在烂泥中，叫人从罗桦庄屋搬来一张厨房用的桌子和一张农民用的椅子，他坐下来，用一捆麦秸做地毯，把那战场的地图摊在桌上，向苏尔特说：“多好看的棋盘！”

    由于夜里下了雨，粮秣运输队都阻滞在路上的泥坑里，不能一早到达；兵士们不曾入睡，身上湿了，并且没有东西吃；但是拿破仑仍兴高采烈地向内伊叫着说：“我们的机会有百分之九十。”八点，皇上的早餐来了。他邀了几个将军共餐。一面吃着，有人提到前天晚上威灵顿在布鲁塞尔里士满公爵夫人家里参加舞会的事，苏尔特是个面如大主教的鲁莽战士，他说：“舞会，今天才有舞会。”内伊也说：“威灵顿不至于简单到恭侯陛下的圣驾吧。”皇上也取笑了一番。他性情本就是那样的。弗勒里?德?夏布隆①说他“乐于嘲讪”。古尔戈②说他“本性好诙谐，善戏谑”。班加曼?贡斯当③说他“能开多种多样的玩笑，不过突梯的时候多，巧妙的时候少”。那种怪杰的妙语是值得我们大书特书的。称他的羽林军士为“啰嗦鬼”的也就是他，他常拧他们的耳朵，扯他们的髭须。“皇上专爱捉弄我们。”这是他们中某个人说的。二月二十七 日，在从厄尔巴岛回法国的那次神秘归程中，法国帆船“和风号”在海上遇见了偷载拿破仑的“无常号”，便向“无常号”探听拿破仑的消息，皇上当时戴的帽子上，还有他在厄尔巴岛采用的那种带几只密蜂的红白两色圆帽花，他一面笑，一面拿起传声筒，亲自回答说：“皇上平安。”见怪不怪的人才能开这类玩笑。拿破仑在滑铁卢早餐时，这种玩笑便开了好几次。早餐后，他静默了一刻钟，随后两个将军坐在那捆麦秸上，手里一支笔，膝上一张纸，记录皇上口授的攻击令。
①夏布隆（Chaborlon），拿破仑手下官员，百日帝政时期为拿破仑奔走效劳。
②古尔戈（Gourgaud），将军，曾写日记记下拿破仑在赫勒拿岛的生活经历。
③贡斯当（Constant，1767—1830），法国自由资产阶级活动家、政论家和作家，曾从事国家法律问题的研究。

    九点钟，法国军队排起队伍，分作五行出动，展开阵式，各师分列两行，炮队在旅部中间，音乐居首，吹奏进军曲，鼓声滚动，号角齐鸣，雄壮，广阔，欢乐，海一般的头盔，马刀和熗刺，浩浩荡荡，直抵天边，这时皇上大为感动，连喊了两声：“壮丽！壮丽！”

    从九点到十点半，真是难于置信，全部军队，都已进入阵地，列成六行，照皇上的说法，便是排成了“六个 V形”。阵式列好后几分钟，在混战以前，正如在风雨将至的那种肃静中，皇上看见他从戴尔垄雷耶和罗博各军中抽调出来的那三队十二利弗炮①在列队前进，那是准备在开始攻击时用来攻打尼维和热纲普路交叉处的圣约翰山的。皇上拍着亚克索的肩膀向他说：“将军，快看那二十四个美女。”
①发射重十二利弗（重一市斤）的炮弹的炮。

    第一军的先锋连奉了他的命令，在攻下圣约翰山里去防守那村子，当那先锋连在他面前走过时，他满怀信心，向他们微笑，鼓舞他们。在那肃静的气氛中，他只说了一句自负而又悲悯的话，他看见在他左边，就是今日有一景观的地方，那些衣服华丽、骑着高头骏马的苏格兰灰衣队伍正走向那里集合，他说声“可惜”。

    随后他跨上马，从罗松向前跑，选了从热纳普到布鲁塞尔那条路右边的一个长着青草的土埂做观战台，这是他在那次战争中第二次停留的地点。他第三次，在傍晚七点钟停留的地点，是在佳盟和圣拉埃之间，那是个危险地带；那个颇高的土丘今日还在，当时羽林军士兵全聚集在土丘后平地上的一个斜坡下面。在那土丘的四周，炮弹纷纷射在石块路面上，直向拿破仑身旁飞来。如同在布里埃纳一样，炮弹和熗弹在他头上嘶嘶飞过。后来有人在他马蹄立过的那一带，拾得一些腐烂的炮弹、残破的指挥刀和变了形的熗弹，全是锈了的。“粪土配木。”几年前，还有人在那地方掘出一枚六十斤重的炸弹，炸药还在，信管就断在弹壳外面。

    正是这最后停留的地点，皇上向他的向导拉科斯特说话，这是个有敌对情绪的农民，很惊慌，被拴在一个骑兵的马鞍上，每次炮弹爆炸都要转过身去，还想躲在他的后面。皇上对他说：“蠢材！不要脸，人家会从你背后宰了你的。”写这几行字的人也亲自在那土丘的松土里，在挖进泥沙时，找到一个被四十六年的铁锈侵蚀的炸弹头和一些藿香梗似的一捏就碎的烂铁。

    拿破仑和威灵顿交锋的那片起仗如波浪、倾斜程度不一致的平原，人人知道，现在已非一八一五年六月十八日的情形了。在建滑铁卢纪念墩时，那悲惨的战场上的高土已被人削平了，历史失去了依据，现在已无从认识它的真容。为了要它光彩，反而毁了它原来的面貌。战后两年，威灵顿重见滑铁卢时曾喊道：“你们把我的战场改变了。”在今日顶着一只狮子的大方尖塔的地方，当时有条山脊，并且，它缓缓地向尼维尔路方面倾斜下来，这一带还不怎么难走，可是在向热纳普路那一面，却几乎是一种峭壁。那峭壁的高度，在今日还可凭借那两个并立在由热纳普到布鲁塞尔那条路两旁的大土坟的高度估算出来，路左是英军的坟场，路右是德军的坟常法军没有坟常对法国来说，那整个平原全是墓地。圣约翰山高地由于取走了千万车泥土去筑那高一百五十尺、方圆半英里的土墩，现在它那斜坡已经比较和缓易行了，打仗的那天，尤其在圣拉埃一带，地势非常陡峭。坡度峻急到使英军的炮口，不能瞄准在他们下面山谷中那所作为战争中心的庄屋。一八一五年六月十八日，雨水更在那陡坡上冲出无数沟坑，行潦遍地，上坡更加困难，他们不但难于攀登，简直就是在泥中匍匐。高地上，顺着那道山脊，原有一条深沟。那是站在远处的人意想不到的。

    那条深沟是什么？我们得说明一下。布兰拉勒和奥安都是比利时的村子。两个村子都隐在低洼的地方，两村之间有一条长约一法里半的路，路通过那高低不平的旷地，常常伸入丘底，象一条壕堑，因此那条路在某些地方简直就是一条坑道。那条路在一八一五年，和现在一样，延伸在热纳普路和尼维尔路之间，横截着圣约翰山高地的那条山脊，不过现在它是和地面一样平了，当时却是一条凹路，两旁斜壁被人取去筑纪念墩了。那条路的绝大部分从前就是，现在也仍然是一种壕沟，沟有时深达十二尺，并且两壁太陡，四处崩塌，尤其是在冬季大雨滂沱的时候，曾发生过一些灾害。那条路在进入布兰拉勒处特别狭窄，以致有一个过路人被碾殆在一辆车子下面，坟场旁边有个石十字架可以证明，那十字架上有死者的姓名，“贝尔纳?德?勃里先生，布鲁塞尔的商人”，肇事的日期是一六三七年二月，碑文如下：上帝鉴临，布鲁塞尔商人贝尔纳?德?勃里先生，不幸在此死于车下。一六三七年二月×（碑文不明）日在圣约翰山高地的那一段，那条凹路深到把一个叫马第?尼开兹的农民压死在路旁的崩土下面，那是在一七八三年，另外一个石十字架也足以证明。那十字架在圣拉埃和圣约翰山庄屋之间的路左，它的上段已没在田中，但是那翻倒了的石座，今天仍露在草坡外面，可以看得到。在战争的那天，那条沿着圣约翰山高地山脊的不露形迹的凹路，那条陡坡顶上的坑道，隐在土里的壕堑，是望不见的，也就是说，是凶险的。

So, on the morning of Waterloo, Napoleon was content.
He was right; the plan of battle conceived by him was, as we have seen, really admirable.
The battle once begun, its very various changes,--the resistance of Hougomont; the tenacity of La Haie-Sainte; the killing of Bauduin; the disabling of Foy; the unexpected wall against which Soye's brigade was shattered; Guilleminot's fatal heedlessness when he had neither petard nor powder sacks; the miring of the batteries; the fifteen unescorted pieces overwhelmed in a hollow way by Uxbridge; the small effect of the bombs falling in the English lines, and there embedding themselves in the rain-soaked soil, and only succeeding in producing volcanoes of mud, so that the canister was turned into a splash; the uselessness of pire's demonstration on Braine-l'Alleud; all that cavalry, fifteen squadrons, almost exterminated; the right wing of the English badly alarmed, the left wing badly cut into; Ney's strange mistake in massing, instead of echelonning the four divisions of the first corps; men delivered over to grape-shot, arranged in ranks twenty-seven deep and with a frontage of two hundred; the frightful holes made in these masses by the cannon-balls; attacking columns disorganized; the side-battery suddenly unmasked on their flank; Bourgeois, Donzelot, and Durutte compromised; Quiot repulsed; Lieutenant Vieux, that Hercules graduated at the polytechnic School, wounded at the moment when he was beating in with an axe the door of La Haie-Sainte under the downright fire of the English barricade which barred the angle of the road from Genappe to Brussels; Marcognet's division caught between the infantry and the cavalry, shot down at the very muzzle of the guns amid the grain by Best and pack, put to the sword by ponsonby; his battery of seven pieces spiked; the prince of Saxe-Weimar holding and guarding, in spite of the Comte d'Erlon, both Frischemont and Smohain; the flag of the 105th taken, the flag of the 45th captured; that black prussian hussar stopped by runners of the flying column of three hundred light cavalry on the scout between Wavre and plancenoit; the alarming things that had been said by prisoners; Grouchy's delay; fifteen hundred men killed in the orchard of Hougomont in less than an hour; eighteen hundred men overthrown in a still shorter time about La Haie-Sainte,--all these stormy incidents passing like the clouds of battle before Napoleon, had hardly troubled his gaze and had not overshadowed that face of imperial certainty. Napoleon was accustomed to gaze steadily at war; he never added up the heart-rending details, cipher by cipher; ciphers mattered little to him, provided that they furnished the total, victory; he was not alarmed if the beginnings did go astray, since he thought himself the master and the possessor at the end; he knew how to wait, supposing himself to be out of the question, and he treated destiny as his equal:he seemed to say to fate, Thou wilt not dare.
Composed half of light and half of shadow, Napoleon thought himself protected in good and tolerated in evil.He had, or thought that he had, a connivance, one might almost say a complicity, of events in his favor, which was equivalent to the invulnerability of antiquity.
Nevertheless, when one has Beresina, Leipzig, and Fontainebleau behind one, it seems as though one might distrust Waterloo. A mysterious frown becomes perceptible in the depths of the heavens.
At the moment when Wellington retreated, Napoleon shuddered. He suddenly beheld the table-land of Mont-Saint-Jean cleared, and the van of the English army disappear.It was rallying, but hiding itself.The Emperor half rose in his stirrups. The lightning of victory flashed from his eyes.
Wellington, driven into a corner at the forest of Soignes and destroyed--that was the definitive conquest of England by France; it was Crecy, poitiers, Malplaquet, and Ramillies avenged. The man of Marengo was wiping out Agincourt.
So the Emperor, meditating on this terrible turn of fortune, swept his glass for the last time over all the points of the field of battle.His guard, standing behind him with grounded arms, watched him from below with a sort of religion.He pondered; he examined the slopes, noted the declivities, scrutinized the clumps of trees, the square of rye, the path; he seemed to be counting each bush.He gazed with some intentness at the English barricades of the two highways,--two large abatis of trees, that on the road to Genappe above La Haie-Sainte, armed with two cannon, the only ones out of all the English artillery which commanded the extremity of the field of battle, and that on the road to Nivelles where gleamed the Dutch bayonets of Chasse's brigade.Near this barricade he observed the old chapel of Saint Nicholas, painted white, which stands at the angle of the cross-road near Braine-l'Alleud; he bent down and spoke in a low voice to the guide Lacoste.The guide made a negative sign with his head, which was probably perfidious.
The Emperor straightened himself up and fell to thinking.
Wellington had drawn back.
All that remained to do was to complete this retreat by crushing him.
Napoleon turning round abruptly, despatched an express at full speed to paris to announce that the battle was won.
Napoleon was one of those geniuses from whom thunder darts.
He had just found his clap of thunder.
He gave orders to Milhaud's cuirassiers to carry the table-land of Mont-Saint-Jean.

     由此可见，在滑铁卢的那个早晨拿破仑是高兴的。他有理由高兴，他筹划出来的那个作战计划，我们已经肯定，实在令人叹服。
    交锋以后，战争的非常复杂惊险的变化，乌古蒙的阻力，圣拉埃的顽抗，博丹的阵亡，富瓦战斗能力的丧失，使索亚旅部受到创伤的那道意外的墙，无弹无药的吉埃米诺的那种见殆不退的顽强，炮队的隐入泥淖，被阿克斯布里吉击溃在一条凹路里的那十五尊无人护卫的炮，炸弹落入英军防线效果不大，土被雨水浸透了，炸弹隐入，只能喷出一些泥土，以致开花弹全变成了烂泥泡，比雷在布兰拉勒出击无功，十五营骑兵几乎全部覆没，英军右翼应战的镇静，左翼防守的周密，内伊不把第一军的四师人散开，反把他们聚拢的那种奇怪的误会，每排二百人，前后连接二十七排，许多那样的队形齐头并进去和开花弹对抗，炮弹对那些密集队伍的骇人的射击，布尔热瓦、东泽洛和迪吕特被围困，吉奥被击退，来自综合工科学校的大力士维安中尉，冒着英军防守热纳普到布鲁塞尔那条路转角处的炮火，在抡起板斧去砍圣拉埃大门时受了伤，马科涅师被困在步兵和骑兵的夹击中，在麦田里受到了司特和派克的劈面射击和庞森比的砍斫，他炮队的七尊炮的火眼全被钉塞，戴尔隆伯爵夺不下萨克森—魏码亲王防守的弗里谢蒙和斯莫安，第一○五联队的军旗被夺，第四十五联队的军旗被夺，那个普鲁士黑轻骑军士被三百名在瓦弗和普朗尚努瓦一带策应的阻击队所获，那俘虏所说的种种耸人听闻的危言，格鲁希的迟迟不来，一下便倒在圣拉埃周围的那一千八百人，比在乌古蒙果园中不到一个钟头便被杀尽的那一千五百人死得更快，凡此种种暴风骤雨般的意外，有如阵阵战云，都在拿破仑的眼前掠过，却几乎不曾扰乱他的视线，他那副极度自信的龙颜，绝不因这种种变幻而忧色稍露。他习惯于正视战争，他从不斤斤计较那些叫人痛心的细节，他从来不大注意那些数字，他要算的是总账：最后的胜利。开始危急，他毫不在意，他知道自己是最后的主人和占有者，他知道等待，坚信自己不会有问题，他认为命运和他势均力敌。他仿佛在向命运说：“你不见得敢吧。”
    半属光明，半属黑暗，拿破仑常常觉得自己受着幸运的庇护和恶运的宽待。他曾经受过，或者自以为受过多次事变的默许，甚至几乎可以说，受过多次事变的包庇，使他成了一个类似古代那种金刚不坏之身的人物。
    可是经历过别津纳①、莱比锡②和枫丹白露③的人，对滑铁卢似乎也应稍存戒心。空中早已显露过横眉蹙额的神气了。威灵顿后退，拿破仑见了大吃一惊。他望见圣约翰山高地突然空虚，英军的前锋不见了。英军前锋正在整理队伍，然而却在逃走。皇上半立在他的踏镫上。眼睛里冒出了胜利的电光。
①别列津纳（Bereaina），俄国河名，一八一二年拿破仑受创于此。
②莱比锡（Leipeick），德国城名，一八一三年拿破仑与俄普联军战于此，失利。
③枫丹白露（Fontaineb1eau），宫名，在巴黎附近枫丹白露镇，一八一四年拿破仑宣告逊位于此。
    把威灵顿压缩到索瓦宁森林，再加以歼灭，英格兰便永远被法兰西压倒了，克雷西①、普瓦蒂埃②、马尔普拉凯③和拉米伊④的仇也都报了。马伦哥⑤的英雄正准备雪阿赞库尔⑥的耻辱。皇上当时边思量那骇人的变局，边拿起望远镜，向战场的每一点作最后一次眺望。围在他后面的卫队，武器立在地上，带着一种敬畏神明的态度从下面仰视着他。他正在想，正在视察山坡，打量斜地、树丛、稞麦田、小道，他仿佛正在计算每丛小树。他凝神注视着英军在那两条大路上的两大排树干后面所设的两处防御工事，一处在圣拉埃方面的热纳普大路上，附有两尊炮，那便是英军瞄着战场尽头的唯一炮队；另一处在尼维尔大路上，闪着荷兰军队夏塞旅部的熗刺。他还注意了在那一带防御工事附近，去布兰拉勒那条岔路拐角处的那座粉白的圣尼古拉老教堂。他弯下腰去，向那向导拉科斯特低声说了几句话。向导摇了摇头，也许那就是他的奸计。皇上又挺起身子，聚精会神，想了一会。
①克雷西（Crecy），一三四六年，英军在此击败法军。
②普瓦蒂埃（Poitiers），一三五六年，英军在此击败法军。
③马尔普拉凯（Malplaquet），一七○九年，英军在此击败法军。
④拉米伊（Ramillies），一七○六年，英军在此击败法军。
⑤马伦哥（Marengo），一八○○年，拿破仑在此击败奥军。
⑥阿赞库尔（Azincourt），一四一五年，英军在此击败法军。
    威灵顿已经退却。只须再加以压迫，他便整个溃灭了。拿破仑陡然转过身来，派了一名马弁去巴黎报捷。
    拿破仑是一种霹雳般的天才。他刚找到了大显神威的机会。他命令米约的铁甲骑兵去占领圣约翰山高地。
    

There were three thousand five hundred of them.They formed a front a quarter of a league in extent.They were giant men, on colossal horses.There were six and twenty squadrons of them; and they had behind them to support them Lefebvre-Desnouettes's division,--the one hundred and six picked gendarmes, the light cavalry of the Guard, eleven hundred and ninety-seven men, and the lancers of the guard of eight hundred and eighty lances. They wore casques without horse-tails, and cuirasses of beaten iron, with horse-pistols in their holsters, and long sabre-swords. That morning the whole army had admired them, when, at nine o'clock, with braying of trumpets and all the music playing "Let us watch o'er the Safety of the Empire," they had come in a solid column, with one of their batteries on their flank, another in their centre, and deployed in two ranks between the roads to Genappe and Frischemont, and taken up their position for battle in that powerful second line, so cleverly arranged by Napoleon, which, having on its extreme left Kellermann's cuirassiers and on its extreme right Milhaud's cuirassiers, had, so to speak, two wings of iron.
Aide-de-camp Bernard carried them the Emperor's orders.Ney drew his sword and placed himself at their head.The enormous squadrons were set in motion.
Then a formidable spectacle was seen.
All their cavalry, with upraised swords, standards and trumpets flung to the breeze, formed in columns by divisions, descended, by a simultaneous movement and like one man, with the precision of a brazen battering-ram which is effecting a breach, the hill of La Belle Alliance, plunged into the terrible depths in which so many men had already fallen, disappeared there in the smoke, then emerging from that shadow, reappeared on the other side of the valley, still compact and in close ranks, mounting at a full trot, through a storm of grape-shot which burst upon them, the terrible muddy slope of the table-land of Mont-Saint-Jean. They ascended, grave, threatening, imperturbable; in the intervals between the musketry and the artillery, their colossal trampling was audible. Being two divisions, there were two columns of them; Wathier's division held the right, Delort's division was on the left.It seemed as though two immense adders of steel were to be seen crawling towards the crest of the table-land. It traversed the battle like a prodigy.
Nothing like it had been seen since the taking of the great redoubt of the Muskowa by the heavy cavalry; Murat was lacking here, but Ney was again present.It seemed as though that mass had become a monster and had but one soul.Each column undulated and swelled like the ring of a polyp.They could be seen through a vast cloud of smoke which was rent here and there.A confusion of helmets, of cries, of sabres, a stormy heaving of the cruppers of horses amid the cannons and the flourish of trumpets, a terrible and disciplined tumult; over all, the cuirasses like the scales on the hydra.
These narrations seemed to belong to another age.Something parallel to this vision appeared, no doubt, in the ancient Orphic epics, which told of the centaurs, the old hippanthropes, those Titans with human heads and equestrian chests who scaled Olympus at a gallop, horrible, invulnerable, sublime--gods and beasts.
Odd numerical coincidence,--twenty-six battalions rode to meet twenty-six battalions.Behind the crest of the plateau, in the shadow of the masked battery, the English infantry, formed into thirteen squares, two battalions to the square, in two lines, with seven in the first line, six in the second, the stocks of their guns to their shoulders, taking aim at that which was on the point of appearing, waited, calm, mute, motionless.They did not see the cuirassiers, and the cuirassiers did not see them. They listened to the rise of this flood of men.They heard the swelling noise of three thousand horse, the alternate and symmetrical tramp of their hoofs at full trot, the jingling of the cuirasses, the clang of the sabres and a sort of grand and savage breathing. There ensued a most terrible silence; then, all at once, a long file of uplifted arms, brandishing sabres, appeared above the crest, and casques, trumpets, and standards, and three thousand heads with gray mustaches, shouting, "Vive l'Empereur!" All this cavalry debouched on the plateau, and it was like the appearance of an earthquake.
All at once, a tragic incident; on the English left, on our right, the head of the column of cuirassiers reared up with a frightful clamor. On arriving at the culminating point of the crest, ungovernable, utterly given over to fury and their course of extermination of the squares and cannon, the cuirassiers had just caught sight of a trench,-- a trench between them and the English.It was the hollow road of Ohain.
It was a terrible moment.The ravine was there, unexpected, yawning, directly under the horses' feet, two fathoms deep between its double slopes; the second file pushed the first into it, and the third pushed on the second; the horses reared and fell backward, landed on their haunches, slid down, all four feet in the air, crushing and overwhelming the riders; and there being no means of retreat,-- the whole column being no longer anything more than a projectile,-- the force which had been acquired to crush the English crushed the French; the inexorable ravine could only yield when filled; horses and riders rolled there pell-mell, grinding each other, forming but one mass of flesh in this gulf:when this trench was full of living men, the rest marched over them and passed on. Almost a third of Dubois's brigade fell into that abyss.
This began the loss of the battle.
A local tradition, which evidently exaggerates matters, says that two thousand horses and fifteen hundred men were buried in the hollow road of Ohain.This figure probably comprises all the other corpses which were flung into this ravine the day after the combat.
Let us note in passing that it was Dubois's sorely tried brigade which, an hour previously, making a charge to one side, had captured the flag of the Lunenburg battalion.
Napoleon, before giving the order for this charge of Milhaud's cuirassiers, had scrutinized the ground, but had not been able to see that hollow road, which did not even form a wrinkle on the surface of the plateau.Warned, nevertheless, and put on the alert by the little white chapel which marks its angle of junction with the Nivelles highway, he had probably put a question as to the possibility of an obstacle, to the guide Lacoste.The guide had answered No. We might almost affirm that Napoleon's catastrophe originated in that sign of a peasant's head.
Other fatalities were destined to arise.
Was it possible that Napoleon should have won that battle? We answer No. Why?Because of Wellington?Because of Blucher? No. Because of God.
Bonaparte victor at Waterloo; that does not come within the law of the nineteenth century.Another series of facts was in preparation, in which there was no longer any room for Napoleon.The ill will of events had declared itself long before.
It was time that this vast man should fall.
The excessive weight of this man in human destiny disturbed the balance. This individual alone counted for more than a universal group. These plethoras of all human vitality concentrated in a single head; the world mounting to the brain of one man,--this would be mortal to civilization were it to last.The moment had arrived for the incorruptible and supreme equity to alter its plan.probably the principles and the elements, on which the regular gravitations of the moral, as of the material, world depend, had complained. Smoking blood, over-filled cemeteries, mothers in tears,-- these are formidable pleaders.When the earth is suffering from too heavy a burden, there are mysterious groanings of the shades, to which the abyss lends an ear.
Napoleon had been denounced in the infinite and his fall had been decided on.
He embarrassed God.
Waterloo is not a battle; it is a change of front on the part of the Universe.

     他们是三千五百人。前锋排列足有四分之一法里宽。那是些骑着高头大马的巨人。他们分为二十六队，此外还有勒费弗尔—德努埃特师，一百六十名优秀宪兵，羽林军的狙击队，一千一百九十七人，还有羽林军的长矛队，八百八十支长矛，全都跟在后面，随时应援。他们头戴无缨铁盔，身穿铁甲，熗囊里带着短熗和长剑。早晨全军的人已经望着他们羡慕过一番了。那里是九点钟，军号响了，全军的乐队都奏出了“我们要卫护帝国”，他们排成密密层层的行列走来，一队炮兵在他们旁边，另一队炮兵在他们中间，分作两行散布在从热纳普到弗里谢蒙的那条路上，他们的阵地是兵力雄厚的第二道防线，是由拿破仑英明擘画出来的，极左一端有克勒曼的铁甲骑兵，极右一端有米约的铁甲骑兵，我们可以说，他们是第二道防线的左右两面铁翼。
    副官贝尔纳传达了命令。内伊拔出了他的剑，一马当先。大队出动了。
    当时的声势真足让人心惊胆寒。那整队骑兵，长刀高举，旌旗和喇叭声迎风飘荡，每个师成一纵队，行动一致，齐如一人，准确得象那种无坚不摧的铜羊头①，从佳盟坡上直冲下去，深入尸骸枕藉的险地，消失在烟雾中，继而又越过烟雾，出现在山谷的彼端，始终密集，相互靠拢，前后紧接，冲过那乌云一般向他们扑来的开花弹，扑向圣约翰山高地边沿上陡急泥泞的斜坡。他们由下往上冲，严整，勇猛，沉着，在熗炮声偶尔间断的一刹那间，我们可以听到那支大军的踏地之声。他们既是两个师，便列了两个纵队，瓦蒂埃师居右，德洛尔师居左。远远望去，好象两钢筋铁骨的巨蟒爬向那高地的山脊。有如神兽穿越战云。
①古代攻坚的长木柱，柱端冠以铜羊头，用以冲击城门等。
    自从夺取莫斯科河炮台以来，还不曾有过这种以大队骑兵冲杀的战争，这次缪拉不在，但是内伊仍然参与了。那一大队人马仿佛变成了一 个怪物，并且只有一条心。每个分队都蜿蜒伸缩，有如腔肠动物的环节。我们可以随时从浓烟的缝隙中看到他们，无数的铁盔、吼声、白刃，还有马尻在炮声和鼓乐声中的奔腾，声势猛烈而秩序井然，显露在上层的便是龙鳞般的胸甲。
    这种叙述好象是属于另一时代的。类似的景物确在古代的志异诗篇中见过，那种马人，半马半人的人面马身金刚，驰骋在奥林匹斯山头，丑恶凶猛，坚强无敌，雄伟绝伦，是神也是兽。
    数字上的巧合也是罕见的，二十六营步兵迎战二十六分队骑士。在那高地的顶点背后，英国步兵在隐伏着的炮队的掩护下，分成十三个方阵，每两个营组成一个方阵，分列两排，前七后六，熗托抵在肩上，瞄向迎面冲来的敌人，沉着，不言不动，一心静侯，他们看不见铁甲骑兵，铁甲骑兵也看不见他们。他们只听见这边的人浪潮般地涌上来了。他们听见那三千匹马的声音越来越大，听见马蹄奔走时发出的那种交替而整齐的踏地声、铁甲的磨擦声、刀剑的撞击志和一片粗野强烈的喘息声。一阵骇人的寂静过后，忽然一长列举起钢刀的胳膊在那顶点上出现了，只见铁盔、喇叭和旗帜，三千颗有灰色髭须的人头齐声喊道：“皇帝万岁！”全部骑兵已经冲上了高地，并且出现了有如天崩地裂的场景。
    突然，惨不忍睹，在英军的左端，我军的右端，铁骑纵队前锋的战马，在震撼山岳的呐喊声中全都直立起来了。他们一气狂奔到那山脊最高处，正要冲去歼灭那些炮队和方阵的铁骑军时，突然发现在他们和英军之间有一条沟，一条深沟，那便是奥安的凹路。
    那一刹那是震天动地的。那条裂谷在猝不及防时出现，张着大口，直悬在马蹄下，两壁之间深达四公尺，第二排冲着第一排，第三排冲着第二排，那些马全都立了起来，向后倒，坐在臀上，四脚朝天往下滑，骑士们全被挤了下来，垒成人堆，绝对无法后退，整个纵队就象一颗炮弹，用以摧毁英国人的那种冲力却用在法国人身上了，那条无可飞渡的沟谷不到填满势不甘休，骑兵和马匹纵横颠倒，一个压着一个，全滚了下去，成了那深渊中的一整团血肉，等到那条沟被活人填满以后，余下的人马才从他们身上踏过去。在那条天堑里杜布瓦旅几乎丧失了三分之一。
    从此战争开始失利了。当地有一种传说，显然言过其实，说在奥安的那条凹路里坑了二千匹马和一千五百人。如果把在战争次日抛下去的尸体总计在内，这数字也许和事实相去不远。顺便补充一句，在一个钟头之前，孤军深入，夺取吕内堡营军旗的，正是这惨遭不测的杜布瓦旅。
    拿破仑在命令米约铁骑军冲击之先，曾经估量过地形，不过没有看出那条在高地上边一点痕迹也不露的凹路。可是那所白色小礼拜堂显示出那条凹路和尼维尔路的差度，曾提醒过他，使他有了警惕，因此他向向导拉科斯提了个问题，也许是问前面有无障碍。向导回答没有。我们几乎可以这样说，拿破仑的崩溃是由那个农民摇头而造成的。
    此外也还有其他非败不可的原因。
    拿破仑这次要获胜，可能吗？我们说不可能。为什么？由于威灵顿的缘故吗？由于布吕歇尔的缘故吗？都不是。天意使然。如果拿破仑在滑铁卢胜利，那就违反了十九世纪的规律。一系列的事变早已在酝酿中，迫使拿破仑不能再有立足之地。形势不利，由来已久。
    那巨人败亡的时刻早已到了。
    那个过分的重量搅乱了人类命运的平衡。他单独一人比起全人类还更为重大。全人类的充沛精力要是都集中在一个人的头颅里，全世界要是都萃集于一个人的脑子里，那种状况，如果延续下去，便会是文明的末日。实现至高无上、至当不移的公理的时刻已经来到了。决定精神方面和物质方面必然趋势的各种原则和因素都已感到不平。热气腾腾的血、公墓中人满之患、痛哭流涕的慈母，这些都是有力的控诉。人世间既已苦于不胜重荷，冥冥之中，便会有一种神秘的呻吟上达天听。
    拿破仑已在天庭受到控告，他的覆灭是注定了的。他使上帝不快。滑铁卢绝不是一场战斗，而是宇宙面貌的更新。

The battery was unmasked at the same moment with the ravine.
Sixty cannons and the thirteen squares darted lightning point-blank on the cuirassiers.The intrepid General Delort made the military salute to the English battery.
The whole of the flying artillery of the English had re-entered the squares at a gallop.The cuirassiers had not had even the time for a halt.The disaster of the hollow road had decimated, but not discouraged them.They belonged to that class of men who, when diminished in number, increase in courage.
Wathier's column alone had suffered in the disaster; Delort's column, which Ney had deflected to the left, as though he had a presentiment of an ambush, had arrived whole.
The cuirassiers hurled themselves on the English squares.
At full speed, with bridles loose, swords in their teeth pistols in fist,--such was the attack.
There are moments in battles in which the soul hardens the man until the soldier is changed into a statue, and when all this flesh turns into granite.The English battalions, desperately assaulted, did not stir.
Then it was terrible.
All the faces of the English squares were attacked at once. A frenzied whirl enveloped them.That cold infantry remained impassive. The first rank knelt and received the cuirassiers on their bayonets, the second ranks shot them down; behind the second rank the cannoneers charged their guns, the front of the square parted, permitted the passage of an eruption of grape-shot, and closed again.The cuirassiers replied by crushing them.Their great horses reared, strode across the ranks, leaped over the bayonets and fell, gigantic, in the midst of these four living wells.The cannon-balls ploughed furrows in these cuirassiers; the cuirassiers made breaches in the squares. Files of men disappeared, ground to dust under the horses.The bayonets plunged into the bellies of these centaurs; hence a hideousness of wounds which has probably never been seen anywhere else.The squares, wasted by this mad cavalry, closed up their ranks without flinching. Inexhaustible in the matter of grape-shot, they created explosions in their assailants' midst.The form of this combat was monstrous. These squares were no longer battalions, they were craters; those cuirassiers were no longer cavalry, they were a tempest. Each square was a volcano attacked by a cloud; lava contended with lightning.
The square on the extreme right, the most exposed of all, being in the air, was almost annihilated at the very first shock. lt was formed of the 75th regiment of Highlanders.The bagpipe-player in the centre dropped his melancholy eyes, filled with the reflections of the forests and the lakes, in profound inattention, while men were being exterminated around him, and seated on a drum, with his pibroch under his arm, played the Highland airs.These Scotchmen died thinking of Ben Lothian, as did the Greeks recalling Argos. The sword of a cuirassier, which hewed down the bagpipes and the arm which bore it, put an end to the song by killing the singer.
The cuirassiers, relatively few in number, and still further diminished by the catastrophe of the ravine, had almost the whole English army against them, but they multiplied themselves so that each man of them was equal to ten.Nevertheless, some Hanoverian battalions yielded. Wellington perceived it, and thought of his cavalry.Had Napoleon at that same moment thought of his infantry, he would have won the battle.This forgetfulness was his great and fatal mistake.
All at once, the cuirassiers, who had been the assailants, found themselves assailed.The English cavalry was at their back. Before them two squares, behind them Somerset; Somerset meant fourteen hundred dragoons of the guard.On the right, Somerset had Dornberg with the German light-horse, and on his left, Trip with the Belgian carabineers; the cuirassiers attacked on the flank and in front, before and in the rear, by infantry and cavalry, had to face all sides.What mattered it to them?They were a whirlwind. Their valor was something indescribable.
In addition to this, they had behind them the battery, which was still thundering.It was necessary that it should be so, or they could never have been wounded in the back.One of their cuirasses, pierced on the shoulder by a ball from a biscayan,(9) is in the collection of the Waterloo Museum.
(9) A heavy rifled gun.
For such Frenchmen nothing less than such Englishmen was needed. It was no longer a hand-to-hand conflict; it was a shadow, a fury, a dizzy transport of souls and courage, a hurricane of lightning swords. In an instant the fourteen hundred dragoon guards numbered only eight hundred.Fuller, their lieutenant-colonel, fell dead. Ney rushed up with the lancers and Lefebvre-Desnouettes's light-horse. The plateau of Mont-Saint-Jean was captured, recaptured, captured again. The cuirassiers quitted the cavalry to return to the infantry; or, to put it more exactly, the whole of that formidable rout collared each other without releasing the other.The squares still held firm.
There were a dozen assaults.Ney had four horses killed under him. Half the cuirassiers remained on the plateau.This conflict lasted two hours.
The English army was profoundly shaken.There is no doubt that, had they not been enfeebled in their first shock by the disaster of the hollow road the cuirassiers would have overwhelmed the centre and decided the victory.This extraordinary cavalry petrified Clinton, who had seen Talavera and Badajoz.Wellington, three-quarters vanquished, admired heroically.He said in an undertone, "Sublime!"
The cuirassiers annihilated seven squares out of thirteen, took or spiked sixty pieces of ordnance, and captured from the English regiments six flags, which three cuirassiers and three chasseurs of the Guard bore to the Emperor, in front of the farm of La Belle Alliance.
Wellington's situation had grown worse.This strange battle was like a duel between two raging, wounded men, each of whom, still fighting and still resisting, is expending all his blood.
Which of the two will be the first to fall?
The conflict on the plateau continued.
What had become of the cuirassiers?No one could have told. One thing is certain, that on the day after the battle, a cuirassier and his horse were found dead among the woodwork of the scales for vehicles at Mont-Saint-Jean, at the very point where the four roads from Nivelles, Genappe, La Hulpe, and Brussels meet and intersect each other.This horseman had pierced the English lines. One of the men who picked up the body still lives at Mont-Saint-Jean. His name is Dehaze.He was eighteen years old at that time.
Wellington felt that he was yielding.The crisis was at hand.
The cuirassiers had not succeeded, since the centre was not broken through.As every one was in possession of the plateau, no one held it, and in fact it remained, to a great extent, with the English. Wellington held the village and the culminating plain; Ney had only the crest and the slope.They seemed rooted in that fatal soil on both sides.
But the weakening of the English seemed irremediable. The bleeding of that army was horrible.Kempt, on the left wing, demanded reinforcements."There are none," replied Wellington; "he must let himself be killed!"Almost at that same moment, a singular coincidence which paints the exhaustion of the two armies, Ney demanded infantry from Napoleon, and Napoleon exclaimed, "Infantry! Where does he expect me to get it?Does he think I can make it?"
Nevertheless, the English army was in the worse case of the two. The furious onsets of those great squadrons with cuirasses of iron and breasts of steel had ground the infantry to nothing.A few men clustered round a flag marked the post of a regiment; such and such a battalion was commanded only by a captain or a lieutenant; Alten's division, already so roughly handled at La Haie-Sainte, was almost destroyed; the intrepid Belgians of Van Kluze's brigade strewed the rye-fields all along the Nivelles road; hardly anything was left of those Dutch grenadiers, who, intermingled with Spaniards in our ranks in 1811, fought against Wellington; and who, in 1815, rallied to the English standard, fought against Napoleon. The loss in officers was considerable.Lord Uxbridge, who had his leg buried on the following day, had his knee shattered. If, on the French side, in that tussle of the cuirassiers, Delort, l'Heritier, Colbert, Dnop, Travers, and Blancard were disabled, on the side of the English there was Alten wounded, Barne wounded, Delancey killed, Van Meeren killed, Ompteda killed, the whole of Wellington's staff decimated, and England had the worse of it in that bloody scale.The second regiment of foot-guards had lost five lieutenant-colonels, four captains, and three ensigns; the first battalion of the 30th infantry had lost 24 officers and 1,200 soldiers; the 79th Highlanders had lost 24 officers wounded, 18 officers killed, 450 soldiers killed.The Hanoverian hussars of Cumberland, a whole regiment, with Colonel Hacke at its head, who was destined to be tried later on and cashiered, had turned bridle in the presence of the fray, and had fled to the forest of Soignes, sowing defeat all the way to Brussels.The transports, ammunition-wagons, the baggage-wagons, the wagons filled with wounded, on perceiving that the French were gaining ground and approaching the forest, rushed headlong thither.The Dutch, mowed down by the French cavalry, cried, "Alarm!"From Vert-Coucou to Groentendael, for a distance of nearly two leagues in the direction of Brussels, according to the testimony of eye-witnesses who are still alive, the roads were encumbered with fugitives.This panic was such that it attacked the prince de Conde at Mechlin, and Louis XVIII. at Ghent.With the exception of the feeble reserve echelonned behind the ambulance established at the farm of Mont-Saint-Jean, and of Vivian's and Vandeleur's brigades, which flanked the left wing, Wellington had no cavalry left.A number of batteries lay unhorsed. These facts are attested by Siborne; and pringle, exaggerating the disaster, goes so far as to say that the Anglo-Dutch army was reduced to thirty-four thousand men.The Iron Duke remained calm, but his lips blanched.Vincent, the Austrian commissioner, Alava, the Spanish commissioner, who were present at the battle in the English staff, thought the Duke lost.At five o'clock Wellington drew out his watch, and he was heard to murmur these sinister words, "Blucher, or night!"
It was at about that moment that a distant line of bayonets gleamed on the heights in the direction of Frischemont.
Here comes the change of face in this giant drama.

     深沟的惨祸还未尽，埋伏着的炮队已经又露面了。六十尊大炮和十三个方阵同时向着铁骑军劈面射来。无畏将军德洛立即向英国炮队还礼。英国的轻炮队全数急驰回到方阵中间。铁骑军一下也没有停。那条凹路的灾难损伤了他们的元气，却不会伤及他们的勇气。那些人都是因为力寡势孤反而更勇气百倍的。
    只有瓦蒂埃纵队遭了那凹路的殃，德洛尔纵队，却全部到达目的地，因为内伊指示过，教他从左面斜进，仿佛他预先嗅到了陷阱似的。
    铁骑军蹴踏着英军的方阵。腹朝黄土，放开缰勒，衔刀捏熗，那就是当日冲杀的情形。在战争中，有时心情会使人变得僵硬，以致士兵成了塑像，肉身变成青石。英国的各营士兵都被那种攻势吓慌了，呆着不知所措。
    当时的情形实在是触目惊心。英军方阵的每一面都同时受到冲击。铁骑军狂暴地旋转着，把他们包在中间。那些步兵沉着应战，毫不动遥第一行，一只脚跪在地上，用熗刺迎接铁骑；第二行开熗射击；第二行后面，炮兵上着炮弹，方阵的前方让开，让开花弹放过，又随即合拢。铁骑军报以蹴踏。他们的壮马立在两只后蹄上，跨过行列，从熗刺尖上跳过去，巍然落在那四堵人墙中间。炮弹在铁骑队伍中打出了一些空洞，铁骑也在方阵中冲开了一 些缺口。一行行被马蹄踏烂了的人，倒在地上不见了。熗刺也插进了那些神骑的胸腹。人们在别的地方，也许不曾见过那种光怪陆离的伤亡情况。方阵被那种狂暴的骑兵侵蚀以后，便缩小范围，继续应战。他们把射不尽的开花弹在敌人的队伍中爆炸开来。那种战争的形象实在是残暴极了。那些方阵已不是队伍，而是一些火山口。铁骑军也不是马队，而是一阵阵的暴风。每一个方阵都是一座受着乌云侵袭的火山，溶岩在和雷霆交战。
    极右的那个方阵，暴露在外面，是完全没有掩护的一个，几乎是一经接触便全部被消灭了。它是苏格兰第七十五联队组成的。那个吹风笛的士兵坐在方阵中央的一面军鼓上，气囊挟在腋下，无忧无虑地垂着他那双满映着树影湖光的忧郁的眼睛，正当别人在他前后左右厮杀时，他还吹奏着山地民歌。那些苏格兰士兵，在临死时还想着班乐乡，正如希腊人回忆阿戈斯①一样。一个铁甲骑兵把那气囊和抱着它的那条胳膊同时一刀砍下，歌曲也就随着歌手停止了。
①阿戈斯（Argos），希腊城名。
    铁骑军的人数比较少，那凹路上的灾难把他们削弱了，而在那里和他们对抗的，几乎是英国的全部军队，但是他们以一当十，人数就大增。那时，几营汉诺威军队向后折回了。威灵顿见了，想到了他的骑兵。假使拿破仑那时也想到了他的步兵，他也许就打了个胜仗，那一点忽略是他的一个无可弥补的大错。
    那些攻人的铁骑军突然觉得自己被攻了。英国的骑兵已在他们的背后。他们前有方阵，后有萨默塞特，萨默塞特便是那一千四百名龙骑卫队。萨默塞特右有德恩贝格的德国轻骑兵，左有特利伯的比利时火熗队；铁骑军的头部和腰部，前方和后方，都受着骑兵和步兵的袭击。他们得四面应战。这对他们有什么关系？他们是旋风。那种勇气是无可形容的。此外，炮兵始终在他们的背后轰击。不那样，就不能伤他们的背。他们曾穿过的一副铁甲，在左肩胛骨上有一个熗弹孔，现在还陈列在所谓滑铁卢陈列馆里。
    有了那样的法国人，也就必须有那样的英国人。那已不是混战，而是一阵黑旋风，一种狂怒，是灵魂和勇气的一种触目惊心的昂扬，是一阵剑光与闪电交驰的风暴。一刹那间，那一千四 百名龙骑卫队只剩下八百了，他们的大佐弗来也落马而死。内伊领着勒费弗尔—戴努埃特的长矛兵和狙击队赶来。圣约翰山高地被占领，再被占领，又被占领了。铁骑军丢开骑兵，回头再去攻步兵，或者，说得准确一些，那一群乱人乱马，已经扭作一团，谁也不肯放手。那些方阵始终不动。先后冲击过十二次。内伊的坐骑连死四匹。铁骑军的半数死在高地上。那种搏斗延续了两个钟头。
    英军深受震动。大家都知道，假使铁骑军最初不曾遭受那凹路的损伤，他们早已突破了英军的中部而胜利在握了。见过塔拉韦腊①和巴达霍斯②战役的克林东望见这种稀有的骑兵也不免瞠目结舌，呆如石人。十有七成败定了的威灵顿也不失英雄本色，加以赞叹。他低声说着：“出色！”
    ③铁骑军歼灭了十三个方阵中的七个，夺取或钉塞了六十尊大炮，并获得英军联队的六面军旗，由羽林军的三个铁骑兵和三个狙击兵送到佳盟庄上，献给了皇帝。
①塔拉韦腊（Talavera），一八○九年威灵顿在此战胜法军。
②巴达霍斯（Badajoz），西班牙城名，一八一一年被法军攻占。
③原字是英文 aplendid。——原注。
    威灵顿的地位更加不利了。那种奇怪的战争就象两个负伤恶斗的人的肉搏，双方的血都已流尽，但是彼此都不放手，仍继续搏斗。看两个人中究竟谁先倒下？
    高地的争夺战继续进行。
    那些铁骑军究竟到达过什么地方？谁也不清楚。但有一点是确实的，就是在战争的翌日，在尼维尔、热纳普、拉羽泊和布鲁塞尔四条大路的交叉处，有人发现了一个铁骑兵，连人带马，一同死在一个用来称那些进入圣约翰山的车子的天秤架子里。那个骑士穿过了英军的防线。抬过他尸体的那些人中，现在还有一个住在圣约翰山，他的名字叫德阿茨。当时他十八岁。
    威灵顿觉得自己渐渐支持不住了。这是生死关头。
    铁骑军丝毫也没有成功，因为他们并未突破中部防线。双方都占住了那高地，也就等于双方都没有占住，并且大部分还在英军手里。威灵顿有那村子和那片最高的平地，内伊只得了山脊和山坡。双方都好象在那片满目疮痍的土地上扎下了根。
    但是英军的困惫看来是无可救药的。他们流血的程度真是可怕。左翼的兰伯特请援。威灵顿回答：“无援可增，牺牲吧！”几乎同时——这种不约而同的怪事正可说明两军都已精疲力惊—内伊也向拿破仑请求步兵，拿破仑喊着说：“步兵！他要我到哪里去找步兵？他要我临时变出来吗？”
    但是英军是病得最厉害的。那些钢胸铁甲的大队人马的猛突已把他们的步兵踏成了肉醢。寥寥几个人围着一面旗，就标志着一个联队的防地，某些营的长官只剩了一个上尉或是一个中尉；已经在圣拉埃大受损伤的阿尔顿师几乎死绝，范?克吕茨的一旅比利时勇士已经伏尸在尼维尔路一带的梨麦田中；在一八一一年混在我们队伍中到西班牙去攻打威灵顿，又在一八一五年联合英军来攻打拿破仑的那些荷兰近卫军，几乎没剩下什么人。军官的伤亡也是突出的。翌日亲自埋腿的那位贵人阿克斯布里吉当时已经炸裂膝盖。从法国方面说，在那次战斗的过程中，德洛尔、雷力杰、柯尔培尔、德诺普、特拉维尔和布朗卡都已负伤退阵，在英国方面，阿尔顿受了伤，巴恩受了伤，德朗塞阵亡，范?梅朗阵亡，昂普特达阵亡，威灵顿的作战指挥部全完了，在那种两败俱伤的局面中，英国的损失更为严重。护卫步兵第二联联队丢了五个中校、四个上尉和三个守旗官，步兵第三十联队第一营丢了二十四个官长和一百十二个士兵，第七十九山地联队有二十四个官长受伤，十八个官长丧命，四百五 十个士兵阵亡。坎伯兰部下的汉诺威骑兵有个联队，在哈克上校率领下，竟在酣战中掉转辔头，全部逃进了索瓦宁森林，以致布鲁塞尔的人心也动摇起来，过后他受到审判，免去军职。他们看见法军节节前进，逼近森林，便连忙把轻重、车辆、行李、满载伤兵的篷车运进森林。被法国骑兵杀惨了的荷兰兵都叫“倒霉”。据当日亲眼目睹今天还活着的人说，那天从绿班鸠到格昂达尔的那条通到布鲁塞尔几乎长达两法里的大路上，满是逃兵。当时恐怖万状，以致在马林①的孔代亲王和在根特的路易十八都提心吊胆。除了驻在圣约翰山庄屋战地医院后面的那一小撮后备骑兵和掩护左翼的维维安和范德勒尔两旅的一小部分骑兵外，威灵顿已没有骑兵了。许多大炮的残骸倒在地上。这些事实都是西博恩报导的，普林格尔甚至说英荷联军只剩下三四千人。那位铁公爵②貌似镇静，但嘴唇却发白了。在英军作战指挥部里的奥地利代表万塞纳和西班牙代表阿拉瓦都认为那位公爵玩完了。五点钟时威灵顿取出他的表，说了这样一 句忧心如焚的话：“布吕歇尔不来就完了！”正在此时前后，在弗里谢蒙方面的高丘上，远远地出现了一线明晃晃的熗刺。
    从此这场恶战发生了剧变。
①马林（Malines），比利时产精致花边的城市。
②铁公爵，威灵顿的外号。