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Baron Trigault
Baron Trigault
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I
Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself
victimized, when his honor and fortune, his present and future,
are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under such
circumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them
a hundredfold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at the
first moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of anger
rises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather,
none are perceived. But later, when the faculties have regained their
equilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream from
reality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how many
discouragements arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victim
wavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He
despairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this way
the success of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for the
first time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the name of
Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earth--he could
kill his slanderer, but afterward--? How was he to reach and stifle the
slander itself? As well try to hold a handful of water; as well try to
stay with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which wafts
an epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened
his heart faded away again. Since he had received that fatal letter from
Madame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost to
him forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate.
What would be the use of victory even if he conquered? Marguerite lost
to him--what did the rest matter? Ah! if he had been alone in the world.
But he had his mother to think of;--he belonged to this brave-hearted
woman, who had saved him from suicide already. "I will not yield, then;
I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foresees
the futility of his efforts.
Vengeance! that is the first, the only thought, when a man finds himself
victimized, when his honor and fortune, his present and future,
are wrecked by a vile conspiracy! The torment he endures under such
circumstances can only be alleviated by the prospect of inflicting them
a hundredfold upon his persecutors. And nothing seems impossible at the
first moment, when hatred surges in the brain, and the foam of anger
rises to the lips; no obstacle seems insurmountable, or, rather,
none are perceived. But later, when the faculties have regained their
equilibrium, one can measure the distance which separates the dream from
reality, the project from execution. And on setting to work, how many
discouragements arise! The fever of revolt passes by, and the victim
wavers. He still breathes bitter vengeance, but he does not act. He
despairs, and asks himself what would be the good of it? And in this way
the success of villainy is once more assured.
Similar despondency attacked Pascal Ferailleur when he awoke for the
first time in the abode where he had hidden himself under the name of
Maumejan. A frightful slander had crushed him to the earth--he could
kill his slanderer, but afterward--? How was he to reach and stifle the
slander itself? As well try to hold a handful of water; as well try to
stay with extended arms the progress of the poisonous breeze which wafts
an epidemic on its wings. So the hope that had momentarily lightened
his heart faded away again. Since he had received that fatal letter from
Madame Leon the evening before, he believed that Marguerite was lost to
him forever, and in this case, it was useless to struggle against fate.
What would be the use of victory even if he conquered? Marguerite lost
to him--what did the rest matter? Ah! if he had been alone in the world.
But he had his mother to think of;--he belonged to this brave-hearted
woman, who had saved him from suicide already. "I will not yield, then;
I will struggle on for her sake," he muttered, like a man who foresees
the futility of his efforts.
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