father goriot(高老头)-第3节

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Above　the　third　story　there　was　a　garret　where　the　linen　was　hung　to　dry；　and　a　couple　of　attics。　Christophe；　the　man…of…all…work；　slept　in　one；　and　Sylvie；　the　stout　cook；　in　the　other。　Beside　the　seven　inmates　thus　enumerated；　taking　one　year　with　another；　some　eight　law　or　medical　students　dined　in　the　house；　as　well　as　two　or　three　regular　comers　who　lived　in　the　neighborhood。　There　were　usually　eighteen　people　at　dinner；　and　there　was　room；　if　need　be；　for　twenty　at　Mme。　Vauquer's　table；　at　breakfast；　however；　only　the　seven　lodgers　appeared。　It　was　almost　like　a　family　party。　Every　one　came　down　in　dressing…gown　and　slippers；　and　the　conversation　usually　turned　on　anything　that　had　happened　the　evening　before；　comments　on　the　dress　or　appearance　of　the　dinner　contingent　were　exchanged　in　friendly　confidence。

These　seven　lodgers　were　Mme。　Vauquer's　spoiled　children。　Among　them　she　distributed；　with　astronomical　precision；　the　exact　proportion　of　respect　and　attention　due　to　the　varying　amounts　they　paid　for　their　board。　One　single　consideration　influenced　all　these　human　beings　thrown　together　by　chance。　The　two　second…　floor　lodgers　only　paid　seventy…two　francs　a　month。　Such　prices　as　these　are　confined　to　the　Faubourg　Saint…Marcel　and　the　district　between　La　Bourbe　and　the　Salpetriere；　and；　as　might　be　expected；　poverty；　more　or　less　apparent；　weighed　upon　them　all；　Mme。　Couture　being　the　sole　exception　to　the　rule。

The　dreary　surroundings　were　reflected　in　the　costumes　of　the　inmates　of　the　house；　all　were　alike　threadbare。　The　color　of　the　men's　coats　were　problematical；　such　shoes；　in　more　fashionable　quarters；　are　only　to　be　seen　lying　in　the　gutter；　the　cuffs　and　collars　were　worn　and　frayed　at　the　edges；　every　limp　article　of　clothing　looked　like　the　ghost　of　its　former　self。　The　women's　dresses　were　faded；　old…fashioned；　dyed　and　re…dyed；　they　wore　gloves　that　were　glazed　with　hard　wear；　much…mended　lace；　dingy　ruffles；　crumpled　muslin　fichus。　So　much　for　their　clothing；　but；　for　the　most　part；　their　frames　were　solid　enough；　their　constitutions　had　weathered　the　storms　of　life；　their　cold；　hard　faces　were　worn　like　coins　that　have　been　withdrawn　from　circulation；　but　there　were　greedy　teeth　behind　the　withered　lips。　Dramas　brought　to　a　close　or　still　in　progress　are　foreshadowed　by　the　sight　of　such　actors　as　these；　not　the　dramas　that　are　played　before　the　footlights　and　against　a　background　of　painted　canvas；　but　dumb　dramas　of　life；　frost…bound　dramas　that　sere　hearts　like　fire；　dramas　that　do　not　end　with　the　actors'　lives。

Mlle。　Michonneau；　that　elderly　young　lady；　screened　her　weak　eyes　from　the　daylight　by　a　soiled　green　silk　shade　with　a　rim　of　brass；　an　object　fit　to　scare　away　the　Angel　of　Pity　himself。　Her　shawl；　with　its　scanty；　draggled　fringe；　might　have　covered　a　skeleton；　so　meagre　and　angular　was　the　form　beneath　it。　Yet　she　must　have　been　pretty　and　shapely　once。　What　corrosive　had　destroyed　the　feminine　outlines？　Was　it　trouble；　or　vice；　or　greed？　Had　she　loved　too　well？　Had　she　been　a　second…hand　clothes　dealer；　a　frequenter　of　the　backstairs　of　great　houses；　or　had　she　been　merely　a　courtesan？　Was　she　expiating　the　flaunting　triumphs　of　a　youth　overcrowded　with　pleasures　by　an　old　age　in　which　she　was　shunned　by　every　passer…by？　Her　vacant　gaze　sent　a　chill　through　you；　her　shriveled　face　seemed　like　a　menace。　Her　voice　was　like　the　shrill；　thin　note　of　the　grasshopper　sounding　from　the　thicket　when　winter　is　at　hand。　She　said　that　she　had　nursed　an　old　gentleman；　ill　of　catarrh　of　the　bladder；　and　left　to　die　by　his　children；　who　thought　that　he　had　nothing　left。　His　bequest　to　her；　a　life　annuity　of　a　thousand　francs；　was　periodically　disputed　by　his　heirs；　who　mingled　slander　with　their　persecutions。　In　spite　of　the　ravages　of　conflicting　passions；　her　face　retained　some　traces　of　its　former　fairness　and　fineness　of　tissue；　some　vestiges　of　the　physical　charms　of　her　youth　still　survived。

M。　Poiret　was　a　sort　of　automaton。　He　might　be　seen　any　day　sailing　like　a　gray　shadow　along　the　walks　of　the　Jardin　des　Plantes；　on　his　head　a　shabby　cap；　a　cane　with　an　old　yellow　ivory　handle　in　the　tips　of　his　thin　fingers；　the　outspread　skirts　of　his　threadbare　overcoat　failed　to　conceal　his　meagre　figure；　his　breeches　hung　loosely　on　his　shrunken　limbs；　the　thin；　blue…stockinged　legs　trembled　like　those　of　a　drunken　man；　there　was　a　notable　breach　of　continuity　between　the　dingy　white　waistcoat　and　crumpled　shirt　frills　and　the　cravat　twisted　about　a　throat　like　a　turkey　gobbler's；　altogether；　his　appearance　set　people　wondering　whether　this　outlandish　ghost　belonged　to　the　audacious　race　of　the　sons　of　Japhet　who　flutter　about　on　the　Boulevard　Italien。　What　devouring　kind　of　toil　could　have　so　shriveled　him？　What　devouring　passions　had　darkened　that　bulbous　countenance；　which　would　have　seemed　outrageous　as　a　caricature？　What　had　he　been？　Well；　perhaps　he　had　been　part　of　the　machinery　of　justice；　a　clerk　in　the　office　to　which　the　executioner　sends　in　his　accounts；so　much　for　providing　black　veils　for　parricides；　so　much　for　sawdust；　so　much　for　pulleys　and　cord　for　the　knife。　Or　he　might　have　been　a　receiver　at　the　door　of　a　public　slaughter…house；　or　a　sub…inspector　of　nuisances。　Indeed；　the　man　appeared　to　have　been　one　of　the　beasts　of　burden　in　our　great　social　mill；　one　of　those　Parisian　Ratons　whom　their　Bertrands　do　not　even　know　by　sight；　a　pivot　in　the　obscure　machinery　that　disposes　of　misery　and　things　unclean；　one　of　those　men；　in　short；　at　sight　of　whom　we　are　prompted　to　remark　that；　〃After　all；　we　cannot　do　without　them。〃

Stately　Paris　ignores　the　existence　of　these　faces　bleached　by　moral　or　physical　suffering；　but；　then；　Paris　is　in　truth　an　ocean　that　no　line　can　plumb。　You　may　survey　its　surface　and　describe　it；　but　no　matter　how　numerous　and　painstaking　the　toilers　in　this　sea；　there　will　always　be　lonely　and　unexplored　regions　in　its　depths；　caverns　unknown；　flowers　and　pearls　and　monsters　of　the　deep　overlooked　or　forgotten　by　the　divers　of　literature。　The　Maison　Vauquer　is　one　of　these　curious　monstrosities。

Two；　however；　of　Mme。　Vauquer's　boarders　formed　a　striking　contrast　to　the　rest。　There　was　a　sickly　pallor；　such　as　is　often　seen　in　anaemic　girls；　in　Mlle。　Victorine　Taillefer's　face；　and　her　unvarying　expression　of　sadness；　like　her　embarrassed　manner　and　pinched　look；　was　in　keeping　with　the　general　wretchedness　of　the　establishment　in　the　Rue　Nueve…Saint…Genevieve；　which　forms　a　background　to　this　picture；　but　her　face　was　young；　there　was　youthfulness　in　her　voice　and　elasticity　in　her　movements。　This　young　misfortune　was　not　unlike　a　shrub；　newly　planted　in　an　uncongenial　soil；　where　its　leaves　have　already　begun　to　wither。　The　outlines　of　her　figure；　revealed　by　her　dress　of　the　simplest　and　cheapest　materials；　were　also　youthful。　There　was　the　same　kind　of　charm　about　her　too　slender　form；　her　faintly　colored　face　and　light…brown　hair；　that　modern　poets　find　in　mediaeval　statuettes；　and　a　sweet　expression；　a　look　of　Christian　resignation　in　the　dark　gray　eyes。　She　was　pretty　by　force　of　contrast；　if　she　had　been　happy；　she　would　have　been　charming。　Happiness　is　the　poetry　of　woman；　as　the　toilette　is　her　tinsel。　If　the　delightful　excitement　of　a　ball　had　made　the　pale　face　glow　with　color；　if　the　delights　of　a　luxurious　life　had　brought　the　color　to　the　wan　cheeks　that　were　slightly　hollowed　already；　if　love　had　put　light　into　the　sad　eyes；　then　Victorine　might　have　ranked　among　the　fairest；　but　she　lacked　the　two　things　which　create　woman　a　second　timepretty　dresses　and　love…　letters。

A　book　might　have　been　made　of　her　story。　Her　father　was　persuaded　that　he　had　sufficient　reason　for　declining　to　acknowledge　her；　and　allowed　her　a　bare　six　hundred　francs　a　year；　he　had　further　taken　measures　to　disinherit　his　daughter；　and　had　converted　all　his　real　estate　into　personalty；　that　he　might　leave　it　undivided　to　his　son。　Victorine's　mother　had　died　broken…hearted　in　Mme。　Couture's　house；　and　the　latter；　who　was　a　near　relation；　had　taken　charge　of　the　little　orphan。　Unluckily；　the　widow　of　the　commissary…general　to　the　armies　of　the　Republic　had　nothing　in　the　world　but　her　jointure　and　her　widow's　pension；　and　some　day　she　might　be　obliged　to　leave　the　helpless；　inexperienced　girl　to　the　mercy　of　the　world。　The　good　soul；　therefore；　took　Victorine　to　mass　every　Sunday；　and　to　confession　once　a　fortnight；　thinking　that；　in　any　case；　she　would　bring　up　her　ward　to　be　devout。　She　was　right；　religion　offered　a　solution　of　the　problem　of　the　young　girl's　future。　The　poor　child　loved　the　father　who　refused　to　acknowledge　her。　Once　every　year　she　tried　to　see　him　to　deliver　her　mother's　message　of　forgiveness；　but　every　year　hitherto　she　had　knocked　at　that　door　in　vain；　her　father　was　inexorable。　Her　brother；　her　only　means　of　communication；　had　not　come　to　see　her　for　four　years；　and　had　sent　her　no　assistance；　yet　she　prayed　to　God　to　unseal　her　father's　eyes　and　to　soften　her　brother's　heart；　and　no　accusations　mingled　with　her　prayers。　Mme。　Couture　and　Mme。　Vauquer　exhausted　the　vocabulary　of　abuse；　and　failed　to　find　words　that　did　justice　to　the　banker