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悲惨世界|Les Miserables

Part 2 Book 5 Chapter 6 The Beginning of an Enigma

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[104142]
Part 2 Book 5 Chapter 6 The Beginning of an Enigma
19世纪30年代的法国。富人乘坐马车，用金餐具吃喝。穷人没有工作，没有食物，没有希望——他们是穷苦人，起义一触即发。法国人民还记得1789年的法国大革命。当时，民众在巴黎街头筑起街垒，死去的人数以千计。这样的时刻又要到来了吗? 这是冉阿让的故事。他坐了19年的牢，终于恢复了自由身。可是，他怎么生活，到哪里去找工作呢?像他这样一个人，还有什么希望呢?这也是沙威的故事，他是一个督察，一个残忍的人，一个冷酷的人。他的人生只有一个目标——把冉阿让再次送进大牢。这还是芳汀的故事，芳汀和她的女儿珂赛特。她们的故事是怎样改变了冉阿让的一生?这也是马吕斯的故事。他是巴黎的一名学生，做好了为起义而牺牲的准备——或是为爱情而死。最后，还有伽弗洛什——一个在巴黎街头流浪的孩子，他没有家，没有亲人，没有鞋穿……可他的脸上总是挂着笑容，心中总是有歌儿在欢唱。
不过，我们要先从冉阿让讲起……
France in the 1830s. The rich ride in carriages, and eat from gold plates. The poor have no work, no food, no hope – they are Les Misérables, and rebellion is in the air. France remembers the French Revolution in 1789, when the people built barricades in the streets of Paris, and the dead were counted in thousands. Is that time coming again?
This is the story of Jean Valjean. A prisoner for nineteen years, now at last he is a free man. But how can he live, where can he find work? What hope is there for a man like him? It is also the story of Javert, a police inspector, a cruel man, a hard man. He wants one thing in life – to send Valjean back to prison. And it is Fantine’s story too, Fantine and her daughter Cosette. How does their story change Valjean’s life? And it is also Marius’s story. He is a student in Paris, ready to die for the rebellion – or for love. And last, there is Gavroche – a boy of the Paris streets, with no home, no family, no shoes... But a boy with a smile on his face and a song in his heart.
But we begin with Jean Valjean...
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冉阿让发现自己落在某种园子里，那园子的面积相当宽广，形象奇特，仿佛是一个供人冬夜观望的荒园。园地作长方形，底里有条小路，路旁有成行的大白桦树，墙角都有相当高的树丛，园子中间，有一棵极高的树孤立在一片宽敞的空地上，另外还有几株果树，枝干蜷曲散乱，好象是一大丛荆棘，又有几方菜地，一片瓜田，月亮正照着玻璃瓜罩，闪闪发光，还有一个蓄水坑。几条石凳分布在各处，凳上仿佛有黑苔痕。纵横的小道两旁栽有色暗枝挺的小树。道上半是杂草，半是苔藓。

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冉阿让旁边有栋破屋，他正是从那破屋顶上滑下来的。另外还有一堆柴枝，柴枝后面有一个石刻人像，紧靠着墙，面部已经损坏，在黑暗中隐隐露出一个不成形的脸部。

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破屋已经破烂不堪，几间房的门窗墙壁都坍塌了，其中一间里堆满了东西，仿佛是个堆废料的棚子。

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那栋一面临直壁街一面临比克布斯小街的大楼房在朝园子的一面，有两个交成曲尺形的正面。朝里的这两个正面，比朝外的两面显得更加阴惨。所有的窗口全装了铁条。一点灯光也望不见。楼上几层的窗口外面还装了通风罩，和监狱里的窗子一样。一个正面的影子正投射在另一个正面上，并象一块黑布似的，盖在园地上。

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此外再望不见什么房屋。园子的尽头隐没在迷雾和夜色中了。不过迷蒙中还可以望见一些纵横交错的墙头，仿佛这园子外面也还有一些园子，也可以望见波隆梭街的一些矮屋顶。

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不能想象比这园子更加荒旷更加幽僻的地方了。园里一个人也没有，这很简单，是由于时间的关系，但是这地方，即使是在中午，也不象是供人游玩的。

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冉阿让要做的第一件事便是把鞋子找回来穿上，再领着珂赛特到棚子里去。逃匿的人总以为自己躲藏的地方不够隐蔽。孩子也一直在想着德纳第大娘，和他一样凭着本能，尽量蜷伏起来。

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珂赛特哆哆嗦嗦，紧靠在他身边。他们听到巡逻队搜索那死胡同和街道的一片嘈杂声，枪托撞着石头，沙威对着那些分途把守的密探们的叫喊，他又骂又说，说些什么，却一句也听不清。

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一刻钟过后，那种风暴似的怒吼声渐渐远了。冉阿让屏住了呼吸。

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他一直把一只手轻轻放在珂赛特的嘴上。

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此外他当时所处的孤寂环境是那样异乎寻常的平静，以至在如此凶恶骇人近在咫尺的喧嚣中，也不曾受到丝毫惊扰。

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好象他左右的墙壁是用圣书中所说的那种哑石造成的。

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忽然，在这静悄悄的环境中，响起了一种新的声音，一种来自天上、美妙到无可言喻的仙音，和先头听到的咆哮声恰成对比。那是从黑黢黢的万籁俱寂的深夜中传来的一阵颂主歌，一种由和声和祈祷交织成的天乐，是一些妇女的歌唱声，不过，从这种歌声里既可听出贞女们那种纯洁的嗓音，也可听出孩子们那种天真的嗓音，这不是人间的音乐，而象是一种初生婴儿继续在听而垂死的人已经听到的那种声音。歌声是从园中最高的那所大楼里传来的。正当魔鬼们的咆哮渐渐远去时，好象黑夜中飞来了天使们的合唱。

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珂赛特和冉阿让一同跪了下来。

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他们不知道那是什么，他们不知道自己是在什么地方，可是他们俩，老人和孩子，忏悔者和无罪者，都感到应当跪下。

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那阵声音还有这么一个特点：尽管有声，它还是使人感到那大楼象是空的。它仿佛是种从空楼里发出来的天外歌声。

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冉阿让听着歌声，什么都不再想了。他望见的已经不是黑夜，而是一片青天。他觉得自己的心飘飘然振翅欲飞了。

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歌声停止了。它也许曾延续了一段相当长的时间。不过冉阿让说不清。人在出神时，从来就觉得时间过得快。

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一切又归于沉寂。墙外墙里都毫无声息。令人发悸的和令人安心的声音全静下去了。墙头上几根枯草在风中发出轻微凄楚的声音。

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Jean Valjean found himself in a sort of garden which was very vast and of singular aspect; one of those melancholy gardens which seem made to be looked at in winter and at night. This garden was oblong in shape, with an alley of large poplars at the further end, tolerably tall forest trees in the corners, and an unshaded space in the centre, where could be seen a very large, solitary tree, then several fruit-trees, gnarled and bristling like bushes, beds of vegetables, a melon patch, whose glass frames sparkled in the moonlight, and an old well. Here and there stood stone benches which seemed black with moss. The alleys were bordered with gloomy and very erect little shrubs. The grass had half taken possession of them, and a green mould covered the rest.

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Jean Valjean had beside him the building whose roof had served him as a means of descent, a pile of fagots, and, behind the fagots, directly against the wall, a stone statue, whose mutilated face was no longer anything more than a shapeless mask which loomed vaguely through the gloom.

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The building was a sort of ruin, where dismantled chambers were distinguishable, one of which, much encumbered, seemed to serve as a shed.

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The large building of the Rue Droit-Mur, which had a wing on the Rue Petit-Picpus, turned two facades, at right angles, towards this garden. These interior facades were even more tragic than the exterior. All the windows were grated. Not a gleam of light was visible at any one of them. The upper story had scuttles like prisons. One of those facades cast its shadow on the other, which fell over the garden like an immense black pall.

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No other house was visible. The bottom of the garden was lost in mist and darkness. Nevertheless, walls could be confusedly made out, which intersected as though there were more cultivated land beyond, and the low roofs of the Rue Polonceau.

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Nothing more wild and solitary than this garden could be imagined. There was no one in it, which was quite natural in view of the hour; but it did not seem as though this spot were made for any one to walk in, even in broad daylight.

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Jean Valjean’s first care had been to get hold of his shoes and put them on again, then to step under the shed with Cosette. A man who is fleeing never thinks himself sufficiently hidden. The child, whose thoughts were still on the Thenardier, shared his instinct for withdrawing from sight as much as possible.

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Cosette trembled and pressed close to him. They heard the tumultuous noise of the patrol searching the blind alley and the streets; the blows of their gun-stocks against the stones; Javert’s appeals to the police spies whom he had posted, and his imprecations mingled with words which could not be distinguished.

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At the expiration of a quarter of an hour it seemed as though that species of stormy roar were becoming more distant. Jean Valjean held his breath.

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He had laid his hand lightly on Cosette’s mouth.

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However, the solitude in which he stood was so strangely calm, that this frightful uproar, close and furious as it was, did not disturb him by so much as the shadow of a misgiving. It seemed as though those walls had been built of the deaf stones of which the Scriptures speak.

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All at once, in the midst of this profound calm, a fresh sound arose; a sound as celestial, divine, ineffable, ravishing, as the other had been horrible. It was a hymn which issued from the gloom, a dazzling burst of prayer and harmony in the obscure and alarming silence of the night; women’s voices, but voices composed at one and the same time of the pure accents of virgins and the innocent accents of children,-- voices which are not of the earth, and which resemble those that the newborn infant still hears, and which the dying man hears already. This song proceeded from the gloomy edifice which towered above the garden. At the moment when the hubbub of demons retreated, one would have said that a choir of angels was approaching through the gloom.

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Cosette and Jean Valjean fell on their knees.

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They knew not what it was, they knew not where they were; but both of them, the man and the child, the penitent and the innocent, felt that they must kneel.

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These voices had this strange characteristic, that they did not prevent the building from seeming to be deserted. It was a supernatural chant in an uninhabited house.

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While these voices were singing, Jean Valjean thought of nothing. He no longer beheld the night; he beheld a blue sky. It seemed to him that he felt those wings which we all have within us, unfolding.

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The song died away. It may have lasted a long time. Jean Valjean could not have told. Hours of ecstasy are never more than a moment.

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All fell silent again. There was no longer anything in the street; there was nothing in the garden. That which had menaced, that which had reassured him,--all had vanished. The breeze swayed a few dry weeds on the crest of the wall, and they gave out a faint, sweet, melancholy sound.

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