【英文读物】Dross.docx
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1、【英文读物】DrossChapter I Mushrooms La clbrit est comme le feu, qui br?le de prs et illumine de loin.Under a glorious sky, in the year 1869, Paris gathered to rejoice in the centenary of the birth of the First Napoleon. A gathering this of mushroom nobility, soldiery and diplomacy, to celebrate the hundr
2、edth anniversary of the greatest mushroom that ever sprang to life in the hotbed of internecine strife. Adventurers all, said John Turner, the great Paris banker, with whom I was in the Church of the Invalides; and yonder, he added, indicating the Third Napoleon, is the cleverest. We had pushed our
3、way into the gorgeous church, and now rubbed elbows with some that wore epaulettes on peaceful shoulders. There were ladies present, too. Did not the fair beings contribute to the rise and fall of that marvellous Second Empire? Representatives of almost every European power paid homage that day to t
4、he memory of a little Corsican officer of artillery.2 As for me, I went from motives of curiosity, as, no doubt, went many others, if indeed all had so good a call. In my neighbourhood, for instance, stood a stout gentleman in court uniform, who wept aloud whenever the organ permitted his grief to b
5、e audible. Who is that? I inquired of my companion. A Legitimist, who would perhaps accept a Napoleonic post, replied John Turner, in his stout and simple way. And is he weeping because the man who was born a hundred years ago is dead? No! He is weeping because that mans nephew may perchance note hi
6、s emotion. One could never tell how dense or how acute John Turner really was. His round, fat face was always immobile and fleshyno wrinkle, no movement of lip or eyelid, ever gave the cue to his inmost thought. He was always good-natured and indifferenta middle-aged bachelor who had found life not
7、hollow, but fullof food. Nature having given me long legs (wherewith to give the slip to my responsibilities, and also to the bailiffs, as many of my female relatives have enjoyed saying), I could look over the heads of the majority of people present, and so saw the Emperor Napoleon III for the firs
8、t time in my life. The mind is, after all, a smaller thing than those who deny3 the existence of that which is beyond their comprehension would have us believe. At that moment I forgot to think of all that lay behind those dull, extinguished eyes. I forgot that this was a maker of history, and one w
9、ho will be placed by chroniclers, writing in the calm of the twentieth century, only second to his greater uncle among remarkable Frenchmen, and merely wondered whether Napoleon III perceived the somewhat obtrusive emotion of my neighbour in the court uniform. But a keener observer than myself could
10、 scarce have discerned the information on the still, pale features of the Emperor, who, indeed, in his implacability always reminded me more of my own countrymen than of the French. The service was proceeding with that cunning rise and fall of voice and music which, I take it, has won not a few emot
11、ional souls back to the Mother Church. Suddenly John Turner chuckled in a way that fat people have. Laughing at your dd piano-case, he explained. I had told him shortly before how I had boarded the Calais boat at Dover in the form and semblance of a piano, snugly housed in one of Messrs. Erards case
12、s, while my servant engaged in pleasant converse on the quay the bailiff who had been set to watch for me: this, while they were actually slinging me on board. The picture of the4 surprise of my fellow-passengers when Loomer gravely unscrewed me and I emerged from my travelling-carriage in mid-chann
13、el had pleased John Turner vastly. Indeed, he told the story to the end of his days, and even brought that end within hail at times by an over-indulgence in apoplectic mirth. He chuckled at it now in the midst of this solemn service. But I, more easily moved perhaps by outward show and pomp, could o
14、nly think of our surroundings. The excitement of giving my creditors the slip was a thing of the past; for those were rapid days, and I no laggard, as many took care to tell me, on the heel of the flying moment. The ceremony in which we were taking part was indeed strange enough to rivet the attenti
15、on of any who witnessed itstrange, I take it, as any historical scene of a century that saw the rise and fall of Napoleon I. Strange beyond belief, that this dynasty should arise from ashes as cold as those that Europe heaped on St. Helenas dead, to celebrate the birth of its founder! Who would have
16、 dared to prophesy fifty years earlier that a second Emperor should some day sit upon the throne of France? Who would have ventured to foretell that this capricious people, loathing as they did in 1815 the name of Buonaparte, should one day choose by universal suffrage another of that family to rule
17、 over them?5 Few of those assembled in the great tomb were of devout enough mind to take much heed of the service now proceeding at the altar, where the priest droned and the incense rose in slow clouds towards the dome. We all stared at each other freely enough, and in truth the faces of many, not
18、to mention bright uniforms and brilliant names, warranted the abstraction from holy thought and fervour. The old soldiers lining the aisle had fought, some at Inkerman, some at Solferino, some in Mexico, that land of ill-omen. The generals of all nations, mixing freely in the crowd, bowed grimly eno
19、ugh to each other. They had met before. It was indeed a strange jumble of prince and pauper, friend and foe, patriot and adventurer. And the face that drew my gaze oftenest was one as still and illegible now as it was on the morning of January 11, four years later, when I bowed before it at Chiselhu
20、rst. The Third Napoleon, with eyes that none could reada quiet, self-possessed enigmapassed down the aisle between his ranked soldiers, and the religious part of the days festivities was over. Paris promised to be en fte while daylight lasted, and at night a display of fireworks of unprecedented spl
21、endour was to close the festive celebration. There is no lighter heart than that which beats within the narrow waistcoat of the little Parisian6 bourgeois, unless indeed it be that in the trim bodice of madame his wife; and even within the church walls we could hear the sound of merriment in the str
22、eets. When the Emperor had gone we all moved towards the doors of the church, congratulating each other, embracing each other, laughing and weeping all in one breath. One near to me seized my hand. You are English! he cried. I am. Then embrace me. We embraced. Waterloohe called it Vatterlois forgott
23、en. It is buried in the Crimea, cried this emotional son of Gaul. He was a stout man who had partaken of garlic at dje?ner. It is, I answered. And we embraced again. Then I got away from him. It was gratifying but inexpedient to be an Englishman at that moment, and John Turner, whose clothes were ma
24、de in Paris, silently denied me and edged away. Others seemed desirous of burying Waterloo also, but I managed the obsequies of that great victory with a shake of the hand. Vive lEmpereur! they cried. Long live Napoleon!7 And I shouted as loud as any. Whatever one may think, it is always wise to agr
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