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悲惨世界|Les Miserables
Part 5 Book 1 Chapter 22 Foot to Foot
属类：
双语小说
【分类】世界名著
-[作者: 维克多-雨果]
阅读：[104271]
Part 5 Book 1 Chapter 22 Foot to Foot
19世纪30年代的法国。富人乘坐马车，用金餐具吃喝。穷人没有工作，没有食物，没有希望——他们是穷苦人，起义一触即发。法国人民还记得1789年的法国大革命。当时，民众在巴黎街头筑起街垒，死去的人数以千计。这样的时刻又要到来了吗? 这是冉阿让的故事。他坐了19年的牢，终于恢复了自由身。可是，他怎么生活，到哪里去找工作呢?像他这样一个人，还有什么希望呢?这也是沙威的故事，他是一个督察，一个残忍的人，一个冷酷的人。他的人生只有一个目标——把冉阿让再次送进大牢。这还是芳汀的故事，芳汀和她的女儿珂赛特。她们的故事是怎样改变了冉阿让的一生?这也是马吕斯的故事。他是巴黎的一名学生，做好了为起义而牺牲的准备——或是为爱情而死。最后，还有伽弗洛什——一个在巴黎街头流浪的孩子，他没有家，没有亲人，没有鞋穿……可他的脸上总是挂着笑容，心中总是有歌儿在欢唱。
不过，我们要先从冉阿让讲起……
France in the 1830s. The rich ride in carriages, and eat from gold plates. The poor have no work, no food, no hope – they are Les Misérables, and rebellion is in the air. France remembers the French Revolution in 1789, when the people built barricades in the streets of Paris, and the dead were counted in thousands. Is that time coming again?
This is the story of Jean Valjean. A prisoner for nineteen years, now at last he is a free man. But how can he live, where can he find work? What hope is there for a man like him? It is also the story of Javert, a police inspector, a cruel man, a hard man. He wants one thing in life – to send Valjean back to prison. And it is Fantine’s story too, Fantine and her daughter Cosette. How does their story change Valjean’s life? And it is also Marius’s story. He is a student in Paris, ready to die for the rebellion – or for love. And last, there is Gavroche – a boy of the Paris streets, with no home, no family, no shoes... But a boy with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.
But we begin with Jean Valjean...
19世纪30年代的法国。富人乘坐马车，用金餐具吃喝。穷人没有工作，没有食物，没有希望——他们是穷苦人，起义一触即发。法国人民还记得1789年的法国大革命。当时，民众在巴黎街头筑起街垒，死去的人数以千计。这样的时刻又要到来了吗? 这是冉阿让的故事。他坐了19年的牢，终于恢复了自由身。可是，他怎么生活，到哪里去找工作呢?像他这样一个人，还有什么希望呢?这也是沙威的故事，他是一个督察，一个残忍的人，一个冷酷的人。他的人生只有一个目标——把冉阿让再次送进大牢。这还是芳汀的故事，芳汀和她的女儿珂赛特。她们的故事是怎样改变了冉阿让的一生?这也是马吕斯的故事。他是巴黎的一名学生，做好了为起义而牺牲的准备——或是为爱情而死。最后，还有伽弗洛什——一个在巴黎街头流浪的孩子，他没有家，没有亲人，没有鞋穿……可他的脸上总是挂着笑容，心中总是有歌儿在欢唱。
不过，我们要先从冉阿让讲起……
France in the 1830s. The rich ride in carriages, and eat from gold plates. The poor have no work, no food, no hope – they are Les Misérables, and rebellion is in the air. France remembers the French Revolution in 1789, when the people built barricades in the streets of Paris, and the dead were counted in thousands. Is that time coming again?
This is the story of Jean Valjean. A prisoner for nineteen years, now at last he is a free man. But how can he live, where can he find work? What hope is there for a man like him? It is also the story of Javert, a police inspector, a cruel man, a hard man. He wants one thing in life – to send Valjean back to prison. And it is Fantine’s story too, Fantine and her daughter Cosette. How does their story change Valjean’s life? And it is also Marius’s story. He is a student in Paris, ready to die for the rebellion – or for love. And last, there is Gavroche – a boy of the Paris streets, with no home, no family, no shoes... But a boy with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.
But we begin with Jean Valjean...
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当时活着的领队人只剩下队长安灼拉和马吕斯在街垒的两端，由古费拉克、若李、博须埃、弗以伊和公白飞坚持了很久的中部已抵挡不住了。炮火虽没有轰出可通行的缺口，却在棱堡的中部截了一个相当大的凹形。这儿的墙顶已被炮弹打塌，掉下来的碎石乱瓦有的倒向里，有的倒向外，积累成堆，使屏障内外形成了两个斜坡，外面的成了有利于攻打的斜坡。
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发动了一次决定性的突击，这次突击成功了。兵士举着如林的刺刀向前猛冲，势不可档；突击纵队密集的战斗行列在陡坡顶上的烟火中出现了，这时大势已去，在中部抗御的起义人群混乱地退却了。
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有些人燃起了一线模模糊糊的求生的欲望，他们不愿在这枪林弹雨中束手待毙。这时保全自己的本能使他们发出嗥叫，人又重新回复到动物的状态。他们被迫退到棱堡后部一所七层的楼房前面。这所房屋是可以救命的。它从上到下关得紧紧的，象砌了一堵墙似的。在军队进入棱堡之前，有充分的时间来打开又关上一扇门，只要一刹那就够了。这门忽然半开但又立即关上，对这些绝望的人来说，这就是生命。房屋后面，有大路可以逃跑，空旷无阻。他们开始用枪托捶门，用脚踢门，又喊又叫，合掌哀求，可是没有人来开。在四楼的窗口，只有死人的头在望着他们。
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但是安灼拉和马吕斯，还有七八个聚在他们身旁的人，飞跑过去保护他们。安灼拉向士兵们叫喊：“不要近前！”一个军官不听从，安灼拉杀死了他。此刻他在棱堡小后院中，紧靠着科林斯的房屋，他一手持剑，一手握枪，把酒店的门打开，拦住进攻者。他向那些绝望的人大声说：“只有这扇门是开的。”他用身子掩护他们，独自一人应付一个战斗营，让他们在他身后过去。大家都冲进去。安灼拉挥舞着马枪，此刻起到一根棍棒的作用，这一着耍棍棒的人称之为“盖蔷薇”，用来挫倒他四周和前面的刺刀，自己最后一个进门；这时出现了可怖的一刹那，士兵们要进门，起义者要关门。那门关得这样猛，结果在关紧之后，可以见到一个抓住门框的士兵的五个断指粘在门框上。
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马吕斯留在外面，一颗子弹打碎了他的锁骨，他感到晕眩而倒了下来。这时他闭上了眼睛，但还意识到一只有力的手抓住了他。对珂赛特最后的怀念在他心头萦回，他刚刚有时间闪过这样一个念头：“我成了俘虏，要被枪毙了。”接着就昏了过去。
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安灼拉在逃入酒店的人中没有见到马吕斯时，也有同样的想法。但是此刻人只有时间考虑自己的死。安灼拉闩上门闩，插上插销，把钥匙在锁眼里转了两下，再锁上挂锁，这时外面猛烈敲打，士兵用枪托，工兵用斧子。进攻者麇集在门前，开始围攻酒店。
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士兵们，可以这样说，都充满了狂怒。
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炮长之死激怒了他们，更糟的是，在攻打前几小时，士兵中流传着起义者摧残俘虏的说法，据说在酒店里有一具无头士兵的尸体。这种必然会带来灾祸的流言蜚语经常伴随着内战，也正因为这类谣传，后来引起了特兰斯诺南街的事件①。
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①一八三四年四月十四日，政府军进攻特兰斯诺南街垒时，从十二号房屋里射出一枪，伤一军官，军队在攻入街垒后进行血腥屠杀。
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当门已堵住后，安灼拉向其他人说：“我们死也必须使对方付出很高的代价。”
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然后他走向躺着马白夫和伽弗洛什的长桌。黑布下是两个笔直僵硬的形体，一大一小，两张脸在冷冰冰的裹尸布的褶裥下面隐约可辨。一只手从尸布下露出来垂向地面，这是老人的手。
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安灼拉弯腰吻了这只可敬的手，头天晚上他曾吻过他的额头。
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这是他一生中仅有的两次吻。
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我们扼要地说，街垒之战好比底比斯城门之战，酒店之战等于萨拉戈萨的巷战，这种抗拒是顽强的。对战败者不饶命，没有谈判的可能，人们拼死厮杀。当絮歇说：“投降！”帕拉福克斯回答：“炮战后拼刺。”于什鲁酒店遭受突击攻下时什么都使上了：有铺路石从窗口和屋顶如雨般倾泻打击围攻者，使士兵们遭到可怕的伤亡因而怒不可遏，有从地窖和阁楼打出来的枪，有猛烈的攻打，有狂暴的抗击，最后，门攻破后，就是疯狂的杀尽灭绝。进攻者冲进酒店，倒地的破门板绊住了他们的脚，竟找不到一个战士。盘旋的楼梯被斧子砍断，横在楼下厅堂中，几个受伤者刚断了气，所有未被杀死的人都在二楼，从本是楼梯通道的天花板的洞口，猛烈地开了火。这是他们最后的子弹。当子弹用尽了，这些濒于死亡的猛士已没有任何弹药，他们每人手中拿两个安灼拉储备的瓶子（我们前面提到过），他们用这易碎的骇人的粗棒对付攀登者。这是装了镪水的瓶子。我们如实地叙述这种凄惨的残杀。被围者，真可叹，把一切东西都变为武器。希腊的火硝并未伤害阿基米得的声誉，沸滚的松脂也无损于巴亚尔①的名声；一切战争都是恐怖的，没有选择的余地。包围军的机枪手，自下而上虽有些不便，杀伤力仍很可观。天花板洞口四周很快被一圈死人的头围着，流淌着长条的鲜血。那些嘈杂声真无法形容；在紧闭的火热的浓烟中就象在黑夜中作战一样，已到非笔墨所能形容的恐怖程度。这种地狱中的搏斗已没有人性，这已不是巨人对付大汉，这象密尔顿和但丁，而不象荷马。恶魔在进攻，鬼魂在顽抗。
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这是残酷的英雄主义。
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①巴亚尔（Bayard，1475-1524），法国骑士，被同代人誉为“大无畏而又无可责难的骑士”。
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When there were no longer any of the leaders left alive, except Enjolras and Marius at the two extremities of the barricade, the centre, which had so long sustained Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly and Combeferre, gave way. The cannon, though it had not effected a practicable breach, had made a rather large hollow in the middle of the redoubt; there, the summit of the wall had disappeared before the balls, and had crumbled away; and the rubbish which had fallen, now inside, now outside, had, as it accumulated, formed two piles in the nature of slopes on the two sides of the barrier, one on the inside, the other on the outside. The exterior slope presented an inclined plane to the attack.
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A final assault was there attempted, and this assault succeeded. The mass bristling with bayonets and hurled forward at a run, came up with irresistible force, and the serried front of battle of the attacking column made its appearance through the smoke on the crest of the battlements. This time, it was decisive. The group of insurgents who were defending the centre retreated in confusion.
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Then the gloomy love of life awoke once more in some of them. Many, finding themselves under the muzzles of this forest of guns, did not wish to die. This is a moment when the instinct of self-preservation emits howls, when the beast re-appears in men. They were hemmed in by the lofty, six-story house which formed the background of their redoubt. This house might prove their salvation. The building was barricaded, and walled, as it were, from top to bottom. Before the troops of the line had reached the interior of the redoubt, there was time for a door to open and shut, the space of a flash of lightning was sufficient for that, and the door of that house, suddenly opened a crack and closed again instantly, was life for these despairing men. Behind this house, there were streets, possible flight, space. They set to knocking at that door with the butts of their guns, and with kicks, shouting, calling, entreating, wringing their hands. No one opened. From the little window on the third floor, the head of the dead man gazed down upon them.
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But Enjolras and Marius, and the seven or eight rallied about them, sprang forward and protected them. Enjolras had shouted to the soldiers: "Don’t advance!" and as an officer had not obeyed, Enjolras had killed the officer. He was now in the little inner court of the redoubt, with his back planted against the Corinthe building, a sword in one hand, a rifle in the other, holding open the door of the wine-shop which he barred against assailants. He shouted to the desperate men:--"There is but one door open; this one."-- And shielding them with his body, and facing an entire battalion alone, he made them pass in behind him. All precipitated themselves thither. Enjolras, executing with his rifle, which he now used like a cane, what single-stick players call a "covered rose" round his head, levelled the bayonets around and in front of him, and was the last to enter; and then ensued a horrible moment, when the soldiers tried to make their way in, and the insurgents strove to bar them out. The door was slammed with such violence, that, as it fell back into its frame, it showed the five fingers of a soldier who had been clinging to it, cut off and glued to the post.
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Marius remained outside. A shot had just broken his collar bone, he felt that he was fainting and falling. At that moment, with eyes already shut, he felt the shock of a vigorous hand seizing him, and the swoon in which his senses vanished, hardly allowed him time for the thought, mingled with a last memory of Cosette:--"I am taken prisoner. I shall be shot."
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Enjolras, not seeing Marius among those who had taken refuge in the wine-shop, had the same idea. But they had reached a moment when each man has not the time to meditate on his own death. Enjolras fixed the bar across the door, and bolted it, and double-locked it with key and chain, while those outside were battering furiously at it, the soldiers with the butts of their muskets, the sappers with their axes. The assailants were grouped about that door. The siege of the wine-shop was now beginning.
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The soldiers, we will observe, were full of wrath.
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The death of the artillery-sergeant had enraged them, and then, a still more melancholy circumstance. during the few hours which had preceded the attack, it had been reported among them that the insurgents were mutilating their prisoners, and that there was the headless body of a soldier in the wine-shop. This sort of fatal rumor is the usual accompaniment of civil wars, and it was a false report of this kind which, later on, produced the catastrophe of the Rue Transnonain.
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When the door was barricaded, Enjolras said to the others:
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"Let us sell our lives dearly."
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Then he approached the table on which lay Mabeuf and Gavroche. Beneath the black cloth two straight and rigid forms were visible, one large, the other small, and the two faces were vaguely outlined beneath the cold folds of the shroud. A hand projected from beneath the winding sheet and hung near the floor. It was that of the old man.
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Enjolras bent down and kissed that venerable hand, just as he had kissed his brow on the preceding evening.
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These were the only two kisses which he had bestowed in the course of his life.
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Let us abridge the tale. The barricade had fought like a gate of Thebes; the wine-shop fought like a house of Saragossa. These resistances are dogged. No quarter. No flag of truce possible. Men are willing to die, provided their opponent will kill them.
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When Suchet says:--"Capitulate,"--Palafox replies: "After the war with cannon, the war with knives." Nothing was lacking in the capture by assault of the Hucheloup wine-shop; neither paving-stones raining from the windows and the roof on the besiegers and exasperating the soldiers by crushing them horribly, nor shots fired from the attic-windows and the cellar, nor the fury of attack, nor, finally, when the door yielded, the frenzied madness of extermination. The assailants, rushing into the wine-shop, their feet entangled in the panels of the door which had been beaten in and flung on the ground, found not a single combatant there. The spiral staircase, hewn asunder with the axe, lay in the middle of the tap-room, a few wounded men were just breathing their last, every one who was not killed was on the first floor, and from there, through the hole in the ceiling, which had formed the entrance of the stairs, a terrific fire burst forth. It was the last of their cartridges. When they were exhausted, when these formidable men on the point of death had no longer either powder or ball, each grasped in his hands two of the bottles which Enjolras had reserved, and of which we have spoken, and held the scaling party in check with these frightfully fragile clubs. They were bottles of aquafortis.
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We relate these gloomy incidents of carnage as they occurred. The besieged man, alas! converts everything into a weapon. Greek fire did not disgrace Archimedes, boiling pitch did not disgrace Bayard. All war is a thing of terror, and there is no choice in it. The musketry of the besiegers, though confined and embarrassed by being directed from below upwards, was deadly. The rim of the hole in the ceiling was speedily surrounded by heads of the slain, whence dripped long, red and smoking streams, the uproar was indescribable; a close and burning smoke almost produced night over this combat. Words are lacking to express horror when it has reached this pitch. There were no longer men in this conflict, which was now infernal. They were no longer giants matched with colossi. It resembled Milton and Dante rather than Homer. Demons attacked, spectres resisted.
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It was heroism become monstrous.
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