ferragus-第8节

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who　had　just　entered　the　gateway。

In　appearance　this　man　was　a　beggar；　but　not　the　Parisian　beggar；
that　creation　without　a　name　in　human　language；　no；　this　man　formed
another　type；　while　presenting　on　the　outside　all　the　ideas　suggested
by　the　word　〃beggar。〃　He　was　not　marked　by　those　original　Parisian
characteristics　which　strike　us　so　forcibly　in　the　paupers　whom
Charlet　was　fond　of　representing；　with　his　rare　luck　in　observation；
coarse　faces　reeking　of　mud；　hoarse　voices；　reddened　and　bulbous
noses；　mouths　devoid　of　teeth　but　menacing；　humble　yet　terrible
beings；　in　whom　a　profound　intelligence　shining　in　their　eyes　seems
like　a　contradiction。　Some　of　these　bold　vagabonds　have　blotched；
cracked；　veiny　skins；　their　foreheads　are　covered　with　wrinkles；　their
hair　scanty　and　dirty；　like　a　wig　thrown　on　a　dust…heap。　All　are　gay
in　their　degradation；　and　degraded　in　their　joys；　all　are　marked　with
the　stamp　of　debauchery；　casting　their　silence　as　a　reproach；　their
very　attitude　revealing　fearful　thoughts。　Placed　between　crime　and
beggary　they　have　no　compunctions；　and　circle　prudently　around　the
scaffold　without　mounting　it；　innocent　in　the　midst　of　crime；　and
vicious　in　their　innocence。　They　often　cause　a　laugh；　but　they　always
cause　reflection。　One　represents　to　you　civilization　stunted；
repressed；　he　comprehends　everything；　the　honor　of　the　galleys；
patriotism；　virtue；　the　malice　of　a　vulgar　crime；　or　the　fine
astuteness　of　elegant　wickedness。　Another　is　resigned；　a　perfect
mimer；　but　stupid。　All　have　slight　yearnings　after　order　and　work；　but
they　are　pushed　back　into　their　mire　by　society；　which　makes　no
inquiry　as　to　what　there　may　be　of　great　men；　poets；　intrepid　souls；
and　splendid　organizations　among　these　vagrants；　these　gypsies　of
Paris；　a　people　eminently　good　and　eminently　evillike　all　the　masses
who　sufferaccustomed　to　endure　unspeakable　woes；　and　whom　a　fatal
power　holds　ever　down　to　the　level　of　the　mire。　They　all　have　a　dream；
a　hope；　a　happiness；cards；　lottery；　or　wine。

There　was　nothing　of　all　this　in　the　personage　who　now　leaned
carelessly　against　the　wall　in　front　of　Monsieur　de　Maulincour；　like
some　fantastic　idea　drawn　by　an　artist　on　the　back　of　a　canvas　the
front　of　which　is　turned　to　the　wall。　This　tall；　spare　man；　whose
leaden　visage　expressed　some　deep　but　chilling　thought；　dried　up　all
pity　in　the　hearts　of　those　who　looked　at　him　by　the　scowling　look　and
the　sarcastic　attitude　which　announced　an　intention　of　treating　every
man　as　an　equal。　His　face　was　of　a　dirty　white；　and　his　wrinkled
skull；　denuded　of　hair；　bore　a　vague　resemblance　to　a　block　of
granite。　A　few　gray　locks　on　either　side　of　his　head　fell　straight　to
the　collar　of　his　greasy　coat；　which　was　buttoned　to　the　chin。　He
resembled　both　Voltaire　and　Don　Quixote；　he　was；　apparently；　scoffing
but　melancholy；　full　of　disdain　and　philosophy；　but　half…crazy。　He
seemed　to　have　no　shirt。　His　beard　was　long。　A　rusty　black　cravat；
much　worn　and　ragged；　exposed　a　protuberant　neck　deeply　furrowed；　with
veins　as　thick　as　cords。　A　large　brown　circle　like　a　bruise　was
strongly　marked　beneath　his　eyes；　He　seemed　to　be　at　least　sixty　years
old。　His　hands　were　white　and　clean。　His　boots　were　trodden　down　at
the　heels；　and　full　of　holes。　A　pair　of　blue　trousers；　mended　in
various　places；　were　covered　with　a　species　of　fluff　which　made　them
offensive　to　the　eye。　Whether　it　was　that　his　damp　clothes　exhaled　a
fetid　odor；　or　that　he　had　in　his　normal　condition　the　〃poor　smell〃
which　belongs　to　Parisian　tenements；　just　as　offices；　sacristies；　and
hospitals　have　their　own　peculiar　and　rancid　fetidness；　of　which　no
words　can　give　the　least　idea；　or　whether　some　other　reason　affected
them；　those　in　the　vicinity　of　this　man　immediately　moved　away　and
left　him　alone。　He　cast　upon　them　and　also　upon　the　officer　a　calm；
expressionless　look；　the　celebrated　look　of　Monsieur　de　Talleyrand；　a
dull；　wan　glance；　without　warmth；　a　species　of　impenetrable　veil；
beneath　which　a　strong　soul　hides　profound　emotions　and　close
estimation　of　men　and　things　and　events。　Not　a　fold　of　his　face
quivered。　His　mouth　and　forehead　were　impassible；　but　his　eyes　moved
and　lowered　themselves　with　a　noble；　almost　tragic　slowness。　There
was；　in　fact；　a　whole　drama　in　the　motion　of　those　withered　eyelids。

The　aspect　of　this　stoical　figure　gave　rise　in　Monsieur　de　Maulincour
to　one　of　those　vagabond　reveries　which　begin　with　a　common　question
and　end　by　comprising　a　world　of　thought。　The　storm　was　past。　Monsieur
de　Maulincour　presently　saw　no　more　of　the　man　than　the　tail　of　his
coat　as　it　brushed　the　gate…post；　but　as　he　turned　to　leave　his　own
place　he　noticed　at　his　feet　a　letter　which　must　have　fallen　from　the
unknown　beggar　when　he　took；　as　the　baron　had　seen　him　take；　a
handkerchief　from　his　pocket。　The　young　man　picked　it　up；　and　read；
involuntarily；　the　address：　〃To　Monsieur　Ferragusse；　Rue　des　Grands…
Augustains；　corner　of　rue　Soly。〃

The　letter　bore　no　postmark；　and　the　address　prevented　Monsieur　de
Maulincour　from　following　the　beggar　and　returning　it；　for　there　are
few　passions　that　will　not　fail　in　rectitude　in　the　long　run。　The
baron　had　a　presentiment　of　the　opportunity　afforded　by　this　windfall。
He　determined　to　keep　the　letter；　which　would　give　him　the　right　to
enter　the　mysterious　house　to　return　it　to　the　strange　man；　not
doubting　that　he　lived　there。　Suspicions；　vague　as　the　first　faint
gleams　of　daylight；　made　him　fancy　relations　between　this　man　and
Madame　Jules。　A　jealous　lover　supposes　everything；　and　it　is　by
supposing　everything　and　selecting　the　most　probable　of　their
conjectures　that　judges；　spies；　lovers；　and　observers　get　at　the　truth
they　are　looking　for。

〃Is　the　letter　for　him？　Is　it　from　Madame　Jules？〃

His　restless　imagination　tossed　a　thousand　such　questions　to　him；　but
when　he　read　the　first　words　of　the　letter　he　smiled。　Here　it　is；
textually；　in　all　the　simplicity　of　its　artless　phrases　and　its
miserable　orthography；a　letter　to　which　it　would　be　impossible　to
add　anything；　or　to　take　anything　away；　unless　it　were　the　letter
itself。　But　we　have　yielded　to　the　necessity　of　punctuating　it。　In　the
original　there　were　neither　commas　nor　stops　of　any　kind；　not　even
notes　of　exclamation；a　fact　which　tends　to　undervalue　the　system　of
notes　and　dashes　by　which　modern　authors　have　endeavored　to　depict　the
great　disasters　of　all　the　passions：

　　Henry；Among　the　manny　sacrifisis　I　imposed　upon　myself　for　your
　　sake　was　that　of　not　giving　you　anny　news　of　me；　but　an
　　iresistible　voise　now　compells　me　to　let　you　know　the　wrong　you
　　have　done　me。　I　know　beforehand　that　your　soul　hardened　in　vise
　　will　not　pitty　me。　Your　heart　is　deaf　to　feeling。　Is　it　deaf　to
　　the　cries　of　nature？　But　what　matter？　I　must　tell　you　to　what　a
　　dredful　point　you　are　gilty；　and　the　horror　of　the　position　to
　　which　you　have　brought　me。　Henry；　you　knew　what　I　sufered　from　my
　　first　wrong…doing；　and　yet　you　plunged　me　into　the　same　misery；
　　and　then　abbandoned　me　to　my　dispair　and　sufering。　Yes；　I　will　say
　　it；　the　belif　I　had　that　you　loved　me　and　esteemed　me　gave　me
　　corage　to　bare　my　fate。　But　now；　what　have　I　left？　Have　you　not
　　made　me　loose　all　that　was　dear　to　me；　all　that　held　me　to　life；
　　parents；　frends；　onor；　reputation；all；　I　have　sacrifised　all　to
　　you；　and　nothing　is　left　me　but　shame；　oprobrum；　andI　say　this
　　without　blushingpoverty。　Nothing　was　wanting　to　my　misfortunes
　　but　the　sertainty　of　your　contempt　and　hatred；　and　now　I　have　them
　　I　find　the　corage　that　my　project　requires。　My　decision　is　made；
　　the　onor　of　my　famly　commands　it。　I　must　put　an　end　to　my
　　suferins。　Make　no　remarks　upon　my　conduct；　Henry；　it　is　orful；　I
　　know；　but　my　condition　obliges　me。　Without　help；　without　suport；
　　without　one　frend　to　comfort　me；　can　I　live？　No。　Fate　has　desided
　　for　me。　So　in　two　days；　Henry；　two　days；　Ida　will　have　seased　to
　　be　worthy　of　your　regard。　Oh；　Henry！　oh；　my　frend！　for　I　can　never
　　change　to　you；　promise　me　to　forgive　me　for　what　I　am　going　to　do。
　　Do　not　forget　that　you　have　driven　me　to　it；　it　is　your　work；　and
　　you　must　judge　it。　May　heven　not　punish　you　for　all　your　crimes。　I
　　ask　your　pardon　on　my　knees；　for　I　feel　nothing　is　wanting　to　my
　　misery　but　the　sorow　of　knowing　you　unhappy。　In　spite　of　the
　　poverty　I　am　in　I　shall　refuse　all　help　from　you。　If　you　had　loved
　　me　I　would　have　taken　all　from　your　friendship；　but　a　benfit　given
　　by　pitty　/my　soul　refussis/。　I　would　be　baser　to　take　it　than　he
　　who　offered　it。　I　have　one　favor　to　ask　of　you。　I　don't　know　how
　　long　I　must　stay　at　Madame　Meynardie's；　be　genrous　enough　not　to
　　come　there。　Your　last　two　vissits　did　me　a　harm　I　cannot　get　ofer。
　　I　cannot　enter　into　particlers　about　that　conduct　of　yours。　You
　　hate　me；you　said　so；　that　word　is　writen　on　my　heart；　and
　　freeses　it　with　fear。　Alas！　it　is　now；　when　I　need　all　my　corage；
　　all　my　strength；　that　my　faculties　abandon　me。　Henry；　my　frend；
　　before　I　put　a　barrier　forever　between　us；　give　me　a　last　pruf　of
　　your　esteem。　Write　me；　answer　me；　say　you　respect　me　still；　though
　　you　have　seased