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Part 1 Book 3 Chapter 6 A Chapter in which they adore Each O

发布时间:2017-01-20 10:14:50

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Chat at table, the chat of love; it is as impossible to reproduce one as the other; the chat of love is a cloud; the chat at table is smoke.

Fameuil and Dahlia were humming. Tholomyes was drinking. Zephine was laughing, Fantine smiling, Listolier blowing a wooden trumpet which he had purchased at Saint-Cloud.

Favourite gazed tenderly at Blachevelle and said:--

"Blachevelle, I adore you."

This called forth a question from Blachevelle:--

"What would you do, Favourite, if I were to cease to love you?"

"I!" cried Favourite. "Ah! Do not say that even in jest! If you were to cease to love me, I would spring after you, I would scratch you, I should rend you, I would throw you into the water, I would have you arrested."

Blachevelle smiled with the voluptuous self-conceit of a man who is tickled in his self-love. Favourite resumed:--

"Yes, I would scream to the police! Ah! I should not restrain myself, not at all! Rabble!"

Blachevelle threw himself back in his chair, in an ecstasy, and closed both eyes proudly.

Dahlia, as she ate, said in a low voice to Favourite, amid the uproar:--

"So you really idolize him deeply, that Blachevelle of yours?"

"I? I detest him," replied Favourite in the same tone, seizing her fork again. "He is avaricious. I love the little fellow opposite me in my house. He is very nice, that young man; do you know him? One can see that he is an actor by profession. I love actors. As soon as he comes in, his mother says to him: `Ah! mon Dieu! My peace of mind is gone. There he goes with his shouting. But, my dear, you are splitting my head!' So he goes up to rat-ridden garrets, to black holes, as high as he can mount, and there he sets to singing, declaiming, how do I know what? so that he can be heard down stairs! He earns twenty sous a day at an attorney's by penning quibbles. He is the son of a former precentor of Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas. Ah! he is very nice. He idolizes me so, that one day when he saw me making batter for some pancakes, he said to me: `Mamselle, make your gloves into fritters, and I will eat them.' It is only artists who can say such things as that. Ah! he is very nice. I am in a fair way to go out of my head over that little fellow. Never mind; I tell Blachevelle that I adore him--how I lie! Hey! How I do lie!"

Favourite paused, and then went on:--

"I am sad, you see, Dahlia. It has done nothing but rain all summer; the wind irritates me; the wind does not abate. Blachevelle is very stingy; there are hardly any green peas in the market; one does not know what to eat. I have the spleen, as the English say, butter is so dear! and then you see it is horrible, here we are dining in a room with a bed in it, and that disgusts me with life."

餐桌上的谈话和情侣们的谈话同样是不可捉摸的,情侣们的谈话是云霞,餐桌上的谈话是烟雾。

法梅依和大丽哼着歌儿,多罗米埃喝着酒,瑟芬笑着,芳汀微笑着。李士多里吹着在圣克鲁买来的木喇叭。宠儿脉脉含情地望着勃拉什维尔说道:

“勃拉什维尔。我爱你。”

这话引起了勃拉什维尔的一个问题。

“宠儿,假使我不爱你了,你将怎样呢?”

“我吗!”宠儿喊着说,“唉!不要说这种话,哪怕是开玩笑,也不要说这种话!假使你不爱我了,我就跳到你后面,抓你的皮,扯你的头发,把水淋到你的身上,叫你吃官司。”

勃拉什维尔自诩多情地微笑了一下,正如一个自尊心获得极端满足而感到舒服的人一样。宠儿又说:

“是呀!我会叫警察!哼!你以为我有什么事做不出的!

坏种!”

勃拉什维尔,受宠若惊,仰在椅上,沾沾自喜地闭上了眼睛。

大丽吃个不停,从喧杂的语声中对宠儿说:

“看来,你对你的勃拉什维尔不是很痴心吗?”

“我,我厌恶他,”宠儿用了同样的语调回答,重又拿起她的叉子。“他舍不得花钱。我爱着在我对面住的那个小伙子。那小子长得漂亮得很,你认得他吗?他很有做戏子的派头。我喜欢戏子。他一回家,他娘就说:‘呀!我的上帝!我又不得安静了。他要叫起来了。唉,我的朋友,你要叫破我的脑袋吗!’因为他一到家里,便到那些住耗子的阁楼上,那些黑洞里,越高越好,他在那里又唱又朗诵,谁知道他搞些什么!下面的人都听得见。他在一个律师家里写讼词,每天已能赚二十个苏了。他父亲是圣雅克教堂里的唱诗人。呀!他生得非常好。他已经爱我到这种地步,有一天,他看见我在调灰面做薄饼,他对我说:‘小姐,您拿您的手套做些饼,我全会吃下去。’世界上只有艺术家才会说这样的话。听!他生得非常好。我已要为那小白脸发疯了。这不打紧,我对勃拉什维尔还是说我爱他。

我多么会撒谎!你说是吗?我多么会撒谎!”

宠儿喘了口气,又继续说:

“大丽,你知道吗?我心里烦得很。落了一夏季的雨,这风真叫我受不了,风又熄不了我心头的火,勃拉什维尔是个小气鬼,菜场里又不大有豌豆卖,他只知道吃,正好象英国人说的,我害‘忧郁病’了,奶油又那么贵!并且,你瞧,真是笑话,我们竟会在有床铺的房间里吃饭,我还不如死了的好。”

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