12、Alouette and Nightingale 云雀与夜莺 ...
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"I demand to speak."
The audience turned their curious eyes towards the young girl at the centre of the room. Raising her slender arm, she gestured for silence.
"Please listen to me," she began, her demeanor calm yet proud. "I can vouch for Citizen Quenet. My family used to know him well in Rouen. He was no aristocrat. He was a poor painter who lived in a poky inn with people in worn-out trousers. His sleeves had holes, and his shoes were patched.
"I witnessed him skipping meals, yet helping homeless children with the only coins he had! Quenet is more innocent and righteous than anyone else present."
Beside her, Philippe stood onto a chair, stretching his arm. The candid young man raised his voice to address the entire room.
"I, Philippe Percy, also guarantee Citizen Quenet's repute! The accusations against him are either the slander of hypocrites seeking to conceal their own infamy, or the foolish belief in ridiculous lies spread by cheaters!"
The club fell silent for a few moments before a man's voice suddenly cried out, "Vive Quenet!"
Soon, more and more people began shouting with fervor, "Vive Quenet! Vive Robespierre!"
Edith looked up at the podium with relief, meeting Andre's gaze from behind, who shared a knowing smile with her.
After leaving the club, Andre expressed his gratitude to the siblings.
"I was just telling the truth," Philippe laughed heartily.
"Thank you, Edith," Andre looked directly at the girl. "You are truly brave."
"I guess I've returned the favour to you," Edith tossed her braids proudly, but also with a touch of shyness.
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After the event at the club, Andre Quenet began to frequent the Percys more and more, joining them for dinner whenever he could.
In private, he was sincere and amiable. Coupled that lovable appearance of his, even Aunt Adele, who had always harboured prejudices against revolutionaries, began to regard him as family.
On some evenings, the family would sit together to read classics. Andre declaiming verses and plays to them, Philippe and Margot looked up to him with admiration.
Edith came across some journal articles about Andre Quenet, the spokesperson in the National Convention. Reporters described him in either disdainful or awed tones, portraying him as ruthless and callous. Some even wrote that he was arrogant to the point of disgust, "carrying himself like a high priest."
She found it strange because the Andre depicted in those articles was unfamiliar to her. When he was at their house, he was always like a gentle and affable older brother, occasionally cracking witty jokes.
Perhaps this little painter had a side to him that she had yet to discover.
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Edith brought to her good friend Charlene the half-month income from the Lady Liberty Gazette that Andre handed to her, asking her to buy a thicker blanket with it.
"This is too much, Edith," Charlene said, looking a little overwhelmed. "I really don't need anything too fancy. Compared to blankets and food, I might prefer some materials for experiments. It's been so long since I've done any chemical experiments."
She hurriedly added, "Oh, I didn't mean to place you in a difficult position! It was just a throwaway remark. How could I not know how extravagant it is to get those things in such difficult times? I'm sorry, Edith."
Raphael, holding his violin, suggested that the two girls sing a song for relax, to his accompaniment.
The lively melody swirled and floated in the cabin, as the maidens' voices intertwined and resonated, creating a symphony that was enough to make one's heart sway.
Edith's singing voice was like an alouette, clear and soaring, vibrant and vivid, filling the soul with joy and delight.
Charlene, on the other hand, was a nightingale. Her voice sounded ethereal and bewitching, yet evoking a sense of melancholy that touched the heartstrings.
The melody of the violin ended with a warble note.
Charlene held her hand over her bosom and sighed, "What a dulcet time! It reminds me of all the joy we've shared together back then!"
"You have such a golden alto voice, Charlene!" Edith genuinely complimented her. "By the way, could you recite this poem for us? It's a new work by Andre...Citizen Quenet, dedicated to our Lady Liberty Gazette."
"The Ode to Lady Liberty?" Charlene took the tabloid, reading out the title of the poem.
Raphael turned his gaze to them, looking somewhat restless. His music continued to play, but seeming to have taken on a mournful melody.
Clearing her throat, Charlene began her elocnte:
"Liberty, oh liberty,
In my most ardent dreams, thy beauty I see;
This heart within my breast doth leap and sing,
For thee, the sprite of hope and spring！"
Raphael never ceased his bowing, yet it was apparent that the melody he played was not to harmonise with the passionate verse. The dissonant notes only added to the sombre tone of the music.
In the brief gaps between every two bars, Charlene's worried eyes would flick to her brother in the corner.
She lowered her head to press on with the poem, the pure and restrained sorrow in her voice, perfectly complementing the poem's content:
"O’Lady Liberty divine!
For thee alone, my life I'd resign:
I beseech all to carve thy name so fair,
On my tombstone, for all to stare."
The poem had come to an end, and so had Raphael's playing. The despondent youth silently put away his instrument and stumbled out of the room once again.
"Alas, this is almost a love poem, Edith! " Charlene shook her head with a bitter tone.
"A love poem! You do think so?" Edith exclaimed.
"You must have felt it too, that this Lady Liberty is referring exactly to you!" Charlene said.
"I don't know, I..."
"My friend, you are so excellent, so radiant, I'm not at all surprised that Citizen Quenet is smitten with you at first sight. But I still feel jealous for poor Raphael!" Charlene sighed deeply.
"Poor Raphael!" Edith echoed.
"Did you notice how lost he looked just now? He's always been sensitive, and this poem must have been such a torment for him! Plus your defending Monsieur Quenet at the club..."
"I'm sorry, dear Charlene, but I don't think Raphael and I can have any further relationship," Edith hesitated as she spoke to her friend. "There is a lack of...spiritual resonance between us."
"I understand," Charlene took her friend's hand. "But Edith, you don't have to apologise to me! No matter who you choose, I sincerely bless you. Our friendship will never ever change."
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Edith returned home, her heart unable to calm down for a long time.
He's in love with me! She silently repeated to herself.
Can I believe it? She thought over and over.
"So I can fall in love too!" The young girl stood in front of the mirror, examining her face and figure from every angle. "But just yesterday, I still felt I was a child!"
It is indeed natural for a girl like Edith to experience such state of mind.
She had grown up in a family life full of comfort and ease, the transition from childhood to adulthood had been a totally seamless process for her. The memories as a child did not appear to her distant or blurry.
It's like raising a kid by your side, so you don't marvel at her huge changes due to familiarity. Though she was attracted to Andre, she had never clearly realised the difference from that in her childhood. Until Charlene's words became a turning point, suddenly awakening her heart: she had grown into a woman.
Edith began to compulsively search for her charming features in the mirror. "How incredible!"
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Edith unexpectedly received a note from Madame Roland inviting her for a chat.
Nervously, she sat down at the low table across from her idol, who looked aglow in a dark green velvet dress today.
Madame Roland greeted her warmly as usual, but Edith hoped inwardly that Madame would first bring up their previous argument.
"My dear, after you ran out of my house all at once last time, I have been thinking a lot," After some small talk, Madame Roland finally broached the subject.
Edith became serious at a draught.
"You are talented, Edith, and possess the rarest quality of compassion," Madame Roland smiled at her. "But have you ever considered this: is there some similarity between the noble Princess Lamballe, who died in the incident in September, and the suffering lower-class prostitutes you spoke of?"
Madame Roland didn't say "September Massacre" this time, but Edith sensed the persuasive intent behind her beginning, tensing up immediately.
"Don't look at me with that alertness, my child!" Madame Roland continued. "Marie Antoinette is subjected to far more vicious condemnation than her husband, being called a 'whore' and blamed for the disaster. Is it just because she's a foreigner? Princess Lamballe was raped and tortured by the September mobs, men laughing in hysterics while they occupied and abused this untouchable noblewoman. Was it only because of her class?"
"Citizeness Manon!" Edith called in a low voice.
"My friend, beyond class and nationality, there is gender," Madame Roland laid her hand on the young girl's thin shoulder. "Gender is the greatest alliance."
Edith didn't respond.
She didn't want to admit it, but she could feel something changing inside her.
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第12章 Alouette and Nightingale
