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悲惨世界|Les Miserables

Part 4 Book 8 Chapter 1 Full Light

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 维克多-雨果] 阅读：[104073]
Part 4 Book 8 Chapter 1 Full Light
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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读者已经懂了，爱潘妮在马侬的授意下，曾去卜吕梅街认清了住在那铁栏门里的女子，并立即挡住了那伙匪徒，随后，她把马吕斯引到那里。马吕斯，如醉如痴地在那铁栏门外张望了几天以后，被那种把铁屑引向磁石、把有情人引向意中人所住房屋门墙的力量所推动，终于仿照罗密欧与朱丽叶的故事，钻进了珂赛特的园子，罗密欧当日还得翻过一道围墙，马吕斯却只要稍微用点力，把铁栏门上年久失修、象老年人的牙齿那样、在锈了的门框上摇晃的铁条从臼里移出一根，他那瘦长的身躯便很容易通过了。

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那条街上从没有人走过，马吕斯又只在天黑以后才进那园子，因此他没有被人发现的危险。

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自从他俩在那幸福和神圣的时刻一吻订终身以后，马吕斯便没有一天不去那里。假使珂赛特在她生命的这一关头遇到的是个不检点的放荡男子的爱，她也就完了，因为和善大方的人儿往往轻易顺从，而珂赛特正属于这种性格。女性宽宏大量的一种表现便是让步。爱情，当它到了它的绝对高度时，常搀和着一种使人莫名其妙把贞操观念抛向九霄云外只一味盲从的感情。可是，高贵的人儿，你得闯过多少危险啊！常常，你捧出的是一片真心，别人取的却是肉体。心还是你的心，你在暗地里望着它发抖。爱情绝不走中间路线，它不护助人便陷害人。人的整个命运便是这两端论。这个非祸即福的两端论在人的命运中，没有什么比爱情奉行得更冷酷无情的了。爱就是生命，如果它不是死亡。是摇篮，也是棺木。同一种感情可以在人的心中作出两种完全相反的决定。在上帝创造的万物中，放出最大光明的是人心，不幸的是，制造最深黑暗的也是人心。

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上帝要珂赛特遇到的爱是那种护助人的爱。

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一八三二那年整个五月的每天夜晚，在那荒芜的小小园子里，在那些日益芬芳茂盛的繁枝杂草丛中，总有那两人在黑暗中相互辉映，他们无比贞洁，无比天真，心中洋溢着齐天幸福，虽是人间情侣却更似天仙，纯洁，忠实，心醉神迷，容光焕发。珂赛特仿佛觉得马吕斯戴着一顶王冠，马吕斯也仿佛觉得珂赛特顶着一圈光轮。他们相偎相望，手握着手，一个挨紧一个，但他们间有一定距离是他们所不曾越过的。他们不是不敢越过，而是从不曾想过。马吕斯感到一道栅栏：珂赛特的贞洁，珂赛特也感到有所依附：马吕斯的忠诚。最初的一吻也就是最后的一吻。马吕斯，从那次以后，也只限于用嘴唇轻轻接触一下珂赛特的手，或是她的围巾、她的一圈头发。对他来说，珂赛特是一种香气，而不是一个女性。他呼吸着她。她无所拒，他也无所求。珂赛特感到快乐，马吕斯感到满足。他们生活在这种幸福无边的状态中棗这种状态也许可以称为一个灵魂对一个灵魂的赞叹吧。那是两颗童贞的心在理想境界中的无可名状的初次燃烧。是两只天鹅在室女星座的相逢。

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在那相爱的时刻，欲念已在景仰亲慕的巨大威力下绝对沉寂的时刻，马吕斯，纯洁如仙童的马吕斯，也许能找一个妓女，但决不会把珂赛特的裙袍边掀起到她踝骨的高度的。一次，在月光下，珂赛特弯腰去拾地上的什么东西，她的衣领开大了一点，开始露出她的颈窝，马吕斯便把眼睛转向别处。

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在这两人之间发生了什么事呢？什么也没有。他们互相爱慕罢了。

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到了夜晚，每当他们在一起时，那园子好象成了个生气勃勃的圣地。所有的花都在他们的周围开放，向他们献出香气，他们，也展开各自的灵魂，撒向花丛。四周的植物，正在精力旺盛、汁液饱满的时节，面对着这两个喁喁私语的天真人儿，也不免感到醉意撩人，春心荡漾。

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他们谈的是些什么呢？只不过是些声息。再没有旁的。这些声息已够使整个自然界骚动兴奋了。我们从书本中读到这类谈话，总会感到那是只能让风吹散的枝叶下的烟雾，而里面的巨大魔力却是难于理解的。你从两个情人的窃窃私语中，去掉那些有如竖琴的伴奏、发自灵魂深处的旋律，剩下的便只是一团黑影，你说，怎么！就这么点东西！可不是，只是一些孩子话，人人说了又说的话，毫无意义的开玩笑的话，毫无益处的废话，傻话，但也是人间最卓绝最深刻的话！唯一值得一述也值得一听的话！

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这些傻话，这些浅薄的语言。凡是从来没有听说过的人，从来没有亲自说过的人，都是蠢材和恶人。

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当时珂赛特对马吕斯说：

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“你知道吗？……”

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（他俩既然都怀着那种绝无浊念的童贞情感，在这一切的谈话中，又怎能随意以“你”相称，这是他和她都说不清楚的。）

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“你知道吗？我的名字是欧福拉吉。”

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“欧福拉吉？不会吧，你叫珂赛特。”

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“呵！珂赛特，这名字多难听，是我小时人家随便叫出来的。我的真名是欧福拉吉。你不喜欢这名字吗，欧福拉吉？”

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“当然喜欢……但是珂赛特并不难听。”

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“你觉得珂赛特比欧福拉吉好些吗？”

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“呃……是的。”

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“那么我也觉得珂赛特好些。没有错，珂赛特确是好听。你就叫我珂赛特吧。”

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她脸上还漾起一阵笑容，使这些对话可以和天国林园中牧童牧女的语言媲美。

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另一次，她定定地望着他，喊道：

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“先生，您生得美，生得漂亮，您聪明，一点也不笨，您的知识比我渊博多了，但是我敢说，说到‘我爱你’这三个字，您的体会却比不上我！”

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马吕斯，在这时候，神游太空，仿佛听到了星星唱出的一首恋歌。

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或者，她轻轻拍着他，因为他咳了一声嗽，她对他说：

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“请不要咳嗽，先生。我不许人家在我家里不先得到我的同意就咳嗽。咳嗽是很不对的，并且叫我担忧。我要你身体健康，因为，首先，我，假使你身体不好，我就太痛苦了。你叫我怎么办呀！”

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这种话地地道道是只应天上才有的。

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一次，马吕斯向珂赛特说：

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“你想想，有一段时间，我还以为你叫玉秀儿呢。”

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他们为这话笑了一整夜。

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在另一次谈话中，他偶然想起，大声说道：

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“呵！有一天，在卢森堡公园，我险些儿没把一个老伤兵的骨头砸碎。”

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但是他立即停了下来没往下说。要不，他便得谈到珂赛特的吊袜带，那在他是不可能的。这里有一道无形的堤岸，一涉及到肉体问题，自有一种神圣的畏惧心使这天真豪迈的情人向后退缩。在马吕斯的想象中，他和珂赛特的生活，只应是这样而不应有旁的：他每晚来到卜吕梅街，把那法院院长铁栏门上的一根肯成人之美的老铁条挪动一下，并肩坐在石凳上，仰望傍晚时分树枝中间的闪闪星光，让他裤腿膝头上的褶纹和珂赛特的宽大的裙袍挨在一起，摸抚她的指甲，对她说“你”，轮番嗅一朵鲜花……天长地久，了无尽期。这时，朵朵白云在他们的头上浮过。微风吹走的人间梦幻常多于天上的白云。

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难道在这种近乎朴拙的纯爱中，绝对没有承颜献媚的表现吗？不。向意中人“说奉承话”，这是温存爱抚的最初形式，是试探性的半进攻。奉承，具有隔着面纱亲吻的意味。在其中，狎昵的意念已遮遮掩掩地伸出了它温柔的指尖。在狎昵念意的跟前，心，为了更好地爱，后退了。马吕斯的甜言蜜语是充满了遐想的，可以说，具有碧空的颜色。天上的鸟儿，当它们和天使比翼双飞时，应当听到这些话的。但这里也杂有生活、人情、马吕斯大大的坚强的自信心。那是岩洞里的语言，来日洞房情话的前奏，是真情的婉转披露，歌与诗的合流，鹧鸪咕咕求偶声的亲切夸张，是表达崇拜心情的一切美如花团锦簇、吐放馥郁天香的绮文丽藻，是两心交唤声中无可名状的嘤嘤啼唱。

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“呵！”马吕斯低声说，“你多么美！我不敢看你。因此我只是向往你。你是一种美的形态。我不知道我是怎么搞的。只要你的鞋子尖儿从你裙袍下伸出来，我便会心慌意乱。并且当你让我猜着你的思想时，我便看见一种多么耀眼的光！你说的话有惊人的说服力。有时我会觉得你只是幻境中的人。你说话吧，我听你说，我敬佩你。呵珂赛特！这是多么奇特，多么迷人，我确实要疯了。你是可敬爱的，小姐。我用显微镜研究你的脚，用望远镜研究你的灵魂。”

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珂赛特回答说：

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“从今早到现在，我一刻比一刻越来越爱你了。”在这种对话中，一问一答，漫无目标，随心所欲，最后总象乳水交融，情投意合。

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珂赛特处处显得天真、淳朴、赤诚、白洁、坦率、光明。我们可以说她是明亮的。她让见到她的人仿佛感到如见春光，如见晓色。她眼睛里有露水。珂赛特是曙光凝聚起来的妇女形体。马吕斯既崇拜她，便钦佩她，这是极自然的。但事实是，这个新从修院里打磨出来的小寄读生，谈起话来，确有美妙的洞察力，有时也谈得合情合理，体贴入微。她那孩子话未必尽是孩子气。她啥也不会搞错，并且看得准。妇女是凭着她心中的温柔的天性棗那种不犯错误的本能棗来领悟和交谈的。谁也不会象妇女那样把话说得既甜美又深刻。甜美和深刻，整个女性也就在这里了，全部禀赋也就在这里了。

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在这种美满的时刻，他们随时都会感到眼里泪水汪汪。一个被踏死的金龟子，一片从鸟巢里落下的羽毛，一根被折断的山楂枝，都会使他们伤感，望着发怔，沉浸在轻微的惆怅中，恨不得哭它一场。爱的最主要症状便是一种有时几乎无法按捺的感伤情绪。

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与此同时棗这些矛盾现象都是爱情的闪电游戏棗他们又常会放声大笑，无拘无束。笑得怪有趣的，有时几乎象是两个男孩子。但是，尽管沉醉了的童心已无顾虑，天生的性别观念总还是难忘的。它依然存在于他俩的心中，既能使人粗俗，也能使人高尚。无论他俩的灵魂如何皎洁无邪，在这种最贞洁的促膝密谈中，仍能感到把一对情人和两个朋友区别开来的那种可敬的和神秘的分寸。

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他们互敬互爱，如对神明。

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永恒不变的事物依然存在。他们相爱，相对微笑，撅起嘴来做小丑脸，相互交叉着手指，说话“你”来“你”去，这并不妨碍时间无尽期地推移。夜晚，两个情人和鸟雀、玫瑰一同躲在昏暗隐秘处，把满腔心事倾注在各自的眼睛里，在黑暗中相互吸引注视，这时，太空中充满着巨大天体的运行。

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The reader has probably understood that Eponine, having recognized through the gate, the inhabitant of that Rue Plumet whither Magnon had sent her, had begun by keeping the ruffians away from the Rue Plumet, and had then conducted Marius thither, and that, after many days spent in ecstasy before that gate, Marius, drawn on by that force which draws the iron to the magnet and a lover towards the stones of which is built the house of her whom he loves, had finally entered Cosette’s garden as Romeo entered the garden of Juliet. This had even proved easier for him than for Romeo; Romeo was obliged to scale a wall, Marius had only to use a little force on one of the bars of the decrepit gate which vacillated in its rusty recess, after the fashion of old people’s teeth. Marius was slender and readily passed through.

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As there was never any one in the street, and as Marius never entered the garden except at night, he ran no risk of being seen.

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Beginning with that blessed and holy hour when a kiss betrothed these two souls, Marius was there every evening. If, at that period of her existence, Cosette had fallen in love with a man in the least unscrupulous or debauched, she would have been lost; for there are generous natures which yield themselves, and Cosette was one of them. One of woman’s magnanimities is to yield. Love, at the height where it is absolute, is complicated with some indescribably celestial blindness of modesty. But what dangers you run, O noble souls! Often you give the heart, and we take the body. Your heart remains with you, you gaze upon it in the gloom with a shudder. Love has no middle course; it either ruins or it saves. All human destiny lies in this dilemma. This dilemma, ruin, or safety, is set forth no more inexorably by any fatality than by love. Love is life, if it is not death. Cradle; also coffin. The same sentiment says "yes" and "no" in the human heart. Of all the things that God has made, the human heart is the one which sheds the most light, alas! and the most darkness.

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God willed that Cosette’s love should encounter one of the loves which save.

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Throughout the whole of the month of May of that year 1832, there were there, in every night, in that poor, neglected garden, beneath that thicket which grew thicker and more fragrant day by day, two beings composed of all chastity, all innocence, overflowing with all the felicity of heaven, nearer to the archangels than to mankind, pure, honest, intoxicated, radiant, who shone for each other amid the shadows. It seemed to Cosette that Marius had a crown, and to Marius that Cosette had a nimbus. They touched each other, they gazed at each other, they clasped each other’s hands, they pressed close to each other; but there was a distance which they did not pass. Not that they respected it; they did not know of its existence. Marius was conscious of a barrier, Cosette’s innocence; and Cosette of a support, Marius’ loyalty. The first kiss had also been the last. Marius, since that time, had not gone further than to touch Cosette’s hand, or her kerchief, or a lock of her hair, with his lips. For him, Cosette was a perfume and not a woman. He inhaled her. She refused nothing, and he asked nothing. Cosette was happy, and Marius was satisfied. They lived in this ecstatic state which can be described as the dazzling of one soul by another soul. It was the ineffable first embrace of two maiden souls in the ideal. Two swans meeting on the Jungfrau.

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At that hour of love, an hour when voluptuousness is absolutely mute, beneath the omnipotence of ecstasy, Marius, the pure and seraphic Marius, would rather have gone to a woman of the town than have raised Cosette’s robe to the height of her ankle. Once, in the moonlight, Cosette stooped to pick up something on the ground, her bodice fell apart and permitted a glimpse of the beginning of her throat. Marius turned away his eyes.

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What took place between these two beings? Nothing. They adored each other.

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At night, when they were there, that garden seemed a living and a sacred spot. All flowers unfolded around them and sent them incense; and they opened their souls and scattered them over the flowers. The wanton and vigorous vegetation quivered, full of strength and intoxication, around these two innocents, and they uttered words of love which set the trees to trembling.

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What words were these? Breaths. Nothing more. These breaths sufficed to trouble and to touch all nature round about. Magic power which we should find it difficult to understand were we to read in a book these conversations which are made to be borne away and dispersed like smoke wreaths by the breeze beneath the leaves. Take from those murmurs of two lovers that melody which proceeds from the soul and which accompanies them like a lyre, and what remains is nothing more than a shade; you say: "What! is that all!" eh! yes, childish prattle, repetitions, laughter at nothing, nonsense, everything that is deepest and most sublime in the world! The only things which are worth the trouble of saying and hearing!

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The man who has never heard, the man who has never uttered these absurdities, these paltry remarks, is an imbecile and a malicious fellow. Cosette said to Marius:--

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"Dost thou know?--"

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[In all this and athwart this celestial maidenliness, and without either of them being able to say how it had come about, they had begun to call each other thou.]

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"Dost thou know? My name is Euphrasie."

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"Euphrasie? Why, no, thy name is Cosette."

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"Oh! Cosette is a very ugly name that was given to me when I was a little thing. But my real name is Euphrasie. Dost thou like that name--Euphrasie?"

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"Yes. But Cosette is not ugly."

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"Do you like it better than Euphrasie?"

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"Why, yes."

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"Then I like it better too.Truly, it is pretty, Cosette.Call me Cosette."

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And the smile that she added made of this dialogue an idyl worthy of a grove situated in heaven.On another occasion she gazed intently at him and exclaimed:--

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"Monsieur, you are handsome, you are good-looking, you are witty, you are not at all stupid, you are much more learned than I am, but I bid you defiance with this word: I love you!"

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And Marius, in the very heavens, thought he heard a strain sung by a star.

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Or she bestowed on him a gentle tap because he coughed, and she said to him:--

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"Don’t cough, sir; I will not have people cough on my domain without my permission. It’s very naughty to cough and to disturb me. I want you to be well, because, in the first place, if you were not well, I should be very unhappy. What should I do then?"

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And this was simply divine.

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Once Marius said to Cosette:--

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"Just imagine, I thought at one time that your name was Ursule."

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This made both of them laugh the whole evening.

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In the middle of another conversation, he chanced to exclaim:--

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"Oh! One day, at the Luxembourg, I had a good mind to finish breaking up a veteran!" But he stopped short, and went no further.He would have been obliged to speak to Cosette of her garter, and that was impossible. This bordered on a strange theme, the flesh, before which that immense and innocent love recoiled with a sort of sacred fright.

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Marius pictured life with Cosette to himself like this, without anything else; to come every evening to the Rue Plumet, to displace the old and accommodating bar of the chief-justice’s gate, to sit elbow to elbow on that bench, to gaze through the trees at the scintillation of the on-coming night, to fit a fold of the knee of his trousers into the ample fall of Cosette’s gown, to caress her thumb-nail, to call her thou, to smell of the same flower, one after the other, forever, indefinitely. During this time, clouds passed above their heads. Every time that the wind blows it bears with it more of the dreams of men than of the clouds of heaven.

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This chaste, almost shy love was not devoid of gallantry, by any means. To pay compliments to the woman whom a man loves is the first method of bestowing caresses, and he is half audacious who tries it. A compliment is something like a kiss through a veil. voluptuousness mingles there with its sweet tiny point, while it hides itself. The heart draws back before voluptuousness only to love the more. Marius’ blandishments, all saturated with fancy, were, so to speak, of azure hue. The birds when they fly up yonder, in the direction of the angels, must hear such words. There were mingled with them, nevertheless, life, humanity, all the positiveness of which Marius was capable. It was what is said in the bower, a prelude to what will be said in the chamber; a lyrical effusion, strophe and sonnet intermingled, pleasing hyperboles of cooing, all the refinements of adoration arranged in a bouquet and exhaling a celestial perfume, an ineffable twitter of heart to heart.

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"Oh!" murmured Marius, "how beautiful you are! I dare not look at you. It is all over with me when I contemplate you. You are a grace. I know not what is the matter with me. The hem of your gown, when the tip of your shoe peeps from beneath, upsets me. And then, what an enchanted gleam when you open your thought even but a little! You talk astonishingly good sense. It seems to me at times that you are a dream. Speak, I listen, I admire. Oh Cosette! How strange it is and how charming! I am really beside myself. You are adorable, Mademoiselle. I study your feet with the microscope and your soul with the telescope."

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And Cosette answered:--

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"I have been loving a little more all the time that has passed since this morning."

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Questions and replies took care of themselves in this dialogue, which always turned with mutual consent upon love, as the little pith figures always turn on their peg.

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Cosette’s whole person was ingenuousness, ingenuity, transparency, whiteness, candor, radiance. It might have been said of Cosette that she was clear. She produced on those who saw her the sensation of April and dawn. There was dew in her eyes. Cosette was a condensation of the auroral light in the form of a woman.

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It was quite simple that Marius should admire her, since he adored her. But the truth is, that this little school-girl, fresh from the convent, talked with exquisite penetration and uttered, at times, all sorts of true and delicate sayings. Her prattle was conversation. She never made a mistake about anything, and she saw things justly. The woman feels and speaks with the tender instinct of the heart, which is infallible.

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No one understands so well as a woman, how to say things that are, at once, both sweet and deep. Sweetness and depth, they are the whole of woman; in them lies the whole of heaven.

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In this full felicity, tears welled up to their eyes every instant. A crushed lady-bug, a feather fallen from a nest, a branch of hawthorn broken, aroused their pity, and their ecstasy, sweetly mingled with melancholy, seemed to ask nothing better than to weep. The most sovereign symptom of love is a tenderness that is, at times,almost unbearable.

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The permanent and the immutable are persistent. People live, they smile, they laugh, they make little grimaces with the tips of their lips, they interlace their fingers, they call each other thou, and that does not prevent eternity.

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Two lovers hide themselves in the evening, in the twilight, in the invisible, with the birds, with the roses; they fascinate each other in the darkness with their hearts which they throw into their eyes, they murmur, they whisper, and in the meantime, immense librations of the planets fill the infinite universe.

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