the crime of sylvestre bonnard(西维斯特·博拉德的罪行)-第14节
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Russian Boyard； into the very street I had just left。 She did not notice me；
she was laughing to herself with that artless grace of expression which still
preserved for her； at thirty years； all the charm of her early youth。
〃Well； well！〃 I said to myself； 〃she is laughing！ I suppose she must
have just found another match…box。〃
And I made my way back to the Ponts； feeling very miserable。
Nature； eternally indifferent； neither hastened nor hurried the twenty…
fourth day of December。 I went to the Hotel Bullion； and took my place in
Salle No。 4； immediately below the high desk at which the auctioneer
Boulouze and the expert Polizzi were to sit。 I saw the hall gradually fill
with familiar faces。 I shook hands with several old booksellers of the
quays； but that prudence which any large interest inspires in even the most
self…assured caused me to keep silence in regard to the reason of my
unaccustomed presence in the halls of the Hotel Bullion。 On the other
hand； I questioned those gentlemen at the auction sale； and I had teh
satisfaction of finding them all interested about matters in no wise related
to my affair。
Little by little the hall became thronged with interested or merely
curious spectators； and； after half an hour's delay； the auctioneer with his
ivory hammer； the clerk with his bundle of memorandum…papers； and the
crier； carrying his collection…box fixed to the end of a pole； all took their
places on the platform in the most solemn business manner。 The attendants
ranged themselves at the foot of the desk。 The presiding officer having
declared the sale open； a partial hush followed。
A commonplace series of Preces dia； with miniatures； were first sold
off at mediocre prices。 Needless to say； the illuminations of these books
were in perfect condition！
The lowness of the bids gave courage to the gathering of second…hand
booksellers present； who began to mingle with us； and become more
familiar。 The dealers in old brass and bric…a…brac pressed forward in their
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
tun； waiting for the doors of an adjoining room to be opened； and the
voice of the auctioneer was drowned by the jests of the Auvergnats。
A magnificent codex of the 〃Guerre des Juifs〃 revived attention。 It was
long disputed for。 〃Five thousand francs！ five thousand！〃 called the crier；
while the bric…a…brac dealers remained silent with admiration。 Then seven
or eight antiphonaries brought us back again to low prices。 A fat old
woman； in a loose gown； bareheadeda dealer in second…hand goods
encouraged by the size of the books and the low prices bidden； had one of
the antiphonaries knocked down to her for thirty francs。
At last the expert Polizzi announced No。 42： 〃The 'Golden Legend'；
French MS。； unpublished； two superb miniatures； with a starting bid of
three thousand francs。〃
〃Three thousand！ three thousand bid！〃 yelled the crier。
〃Three thousand！〃 dryly repeated the auctioneer。
There was a buzzing in my head； and； as through a cloud； I saw a host
of curious faces all turning towards the manuscript； which a boy was
carrying open through the audience。
〃Three thousand and fifty！〃 I said。
I was frightened by the sound of my own voice； and further confused
by seeing； or thinking that I saw； all eyes turned on me。
〃Three thousand and fifty on the right！〃 called the crier； taking up my
bid。
〃Three thousand one hundred！〃 responded Signor Polizzi。
Then began a heroic duel between the expert and myself。
〃Three thousand five hundred！〃
〃Six hundred！〃
〃Seven hundred！〃
〃Four thousand！〃
〃Four thousand five hundred。〃
Then by a sudden bold stroke； Signor Polizzi raised the bid at once to
six thousand。
Six thousand francs was all the money I could dispose of。 It
represented the possible。 I risked the impossible。
〃Six thousand one hundred！〃
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
Alas！ even the impossible did not suffice。
〃Six thousand five hundred！〃 replied Signor Polizzi； with calm。
I bowed my head and sat there stupefied； unable to answer either yes
or no to the crier； who called to me：
〃Six thousand five hundred； by menot by you on the right there！it is
my bidno mistake！ Six thousand five hundred！〃
〃Perfectly understood！〃 declared the auctioneer。 〃Six thousand five
hundred。 Perfectly clear； perfectly plain。。。。 Any more bids？ The last bid is
six thousand five hundred francs。〃
A solemn silence prevailed。 Suddenly I felt as if my head had burst
open。 It was the hammer of the officiant； who； with a loud blow on the
platform； adjudged No。 42 irrevocably to Signor Polizzi。 Forthwith the pen
of the clerk； coursing over the papier…timbre； registered that great fact in a
single line。
I was absolutely prostrated； and I felt the utmost need of rest and quiet。
Nevertheless； I did not leave my seat。 My powers of reflection slowly
returned。 Hope is tenacious。 I had one more hope。 It occurred to me that
the new owner of the 〃Legende Doree〃 might be some intelligent and
liberal bibliophile who would allow me to examine the MS。； and perhaps
even to publish the more important parts。 And； with this idea； as soon as
the sale was over I approached the expert as he was leaving the platform。
〃Monsieur；〃 I asked him； 〃did you buy in No。 42 on your own account；
or on commission？〃
〃On commission。 I was instructed not to let it go at any price。〃
〃Can you tell me the name of the purchaser？〃
〃Monsieur； I regret that I cannot serve you in that respect。 I have been
strictly forbidden to mention the name。〃
I went home in despair。
December 30； 1859。
〃Therese！ don't you hear the bell？ Somebody has been ringing at the
door for the last quarter of an hour？〃
Therese does not answer。 She is chattering downstairs with the
concierge； for sure。 So that is the way you observe your old master's
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
birthday？ You desert me even on the eve of Saint…Sylvestre！ Alas！ if I am
to hear any kind wishes to…day； they must come up from the ground； for all
who love me have long been buried。 I really don't know what I am still
living for。 There is the bell again！。。。 I get up slowly from my seat at the fire；
with my shoulders still bent from stooping over it； and go to the door
myself。 Whom do I see at the threshold？ It is not a dripping love； and I am
not an old Anacreon； but it is a very pretty little boy of about ten years old。
He is alone； he raises his face to look at me。 His cheeks are blushing； but
his little pert nose gives one an idea of mischievous pleasantry。 He has
feathers in his cap； and a great lace…ruff on his jacket。 The pretty little
fellow！ He holds in both arms a bundle as big as himself； and asks me if I
am Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard。 I tell him yes； he gives me the bundle；
tells me his mamma sent it to me； and then he runs downstairs。
I go down a few steps； I lean over the balustrade； and see the little cap
whirling down the spiral of the stairway like a feather in the wind。 〃Good…
bye； my little boy！〃 I should have liked so much to question him。 But what；
after all； could I have asked？ It is not polite to question children。 Besides；
the package itself will probably give me more information than the
messenger could。
It is a very big bundle； but not very heavy。 I take it into my library； and
there untie the ribbons and unfasten the paper wrappings； and I seewhat？
a log！ a first…class log！ a real Christmas log； but so light that I know it
must be hollow。 Then I find that it is indeed composed of two separate
pieces； opening on hinges； and fastened with hooks。 I slip the hooks back；
and find myself inundated with violets！ Violets！ they pour over my table；
over my knees； over the carpet。 They tumble
