the memoirs of victor hugo-第11部分

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　loving　the　unknown？

In　these　nocturnal　regions　and　with　the　winds　of　dispersion　that　blow；　meetings　are　almost　impossible。　　The　lovers　see　each　other　in　dreams。　　In　all　probability　the　woman　will　never　set　eyes　on　the　man。　　Is　he　young？　　Is　he　old？　　Is　he　handsome？　　Is　he　ugly？　　She　does　not　know；　she　knows　nothing　about　him。　　She　adores　him。　And　it　is　because　she　does　not　know　him　that　she　loves　him。　　Idolatry　is　born　of　mystery。

This　woman；　drifting　aimlessly　on　life's　tide；　yearns　for　something　to　cling　to；　a　tie　to　bind　her；　a　duty　to　perform。　The　pit　from　amid　its　scum　throws　it　to　her；　she　accepts　it　and　devotes　herself　to　it。　　This　mysterious　bandit；　transformed　into　heliotrope　or　iris；　becomes　a　religion　to　her。　She　espouses　him　in　the　presence　of　night。　　She　has　a　thousand　little　wifely　attentions　for　him；　poor　for　herself；　she　is　rich　for　him；　she　whelms　this　manure　with　her　delicate　solicitude。　　She　is　faithful　to　him　with　all　the　fidelity　of　which　she　is　still　capable；　the　incorruptible　emanates　from　the　corruptible。　　Never　does　this　woman　betray　her　love。　　It　is　an　immaterial；　pure；　ethereal　love；　subtile　as　the　breath　of　spring；　solid　as　brass。

A　flower　has　done　all　this。　　What　a　well　is　the　human　heart；　and　how　giddy　it　makes　one　to　peer　into　it！　　Lo！　the　cloaca。　　Of　what　is　it　thinking？　　Of　perfume。　　A　prostitute　loves　a　thief　through　a　lily。　　What　plunger　into　human　thought　could　reach　the　bottom　of　this？　　Who　shall　fathom　this　immense　yearning　for　flowers　that　springs　from　mud？　　In　the　secret　self　of　these　hapless　women　is　a　strange　equilibrium　that　consoles　and　reassures　them。　　A　rose　counterbalances　an　act　of　shame。

Hence　these　amours　based　on　and　sustained　by　illusion。　This　thief　is　idolized　by　this　girl。　　She　has　not　seen　his　face；　she　does　not　know　his　name；　she　sees　him　in　visions　induced　by　the　perfume　of　jessamine　or　of　pinks。　　Henceforward　flower…gardens；　the　May　sunshine；　the　birds　in　their　nests；　exquisite　tints；　radiant　blossoms；　boxes　of　orange　trees　and　daphne　odora；　velvet　petals　upon　which　golden　bees　alight；　the　sacred　odours　of　spring…tide；　balms；　incense；　purling　brooks；　and　soft　green　grass　are　associated　with　this　bandit。　The　divine　smile　of　nature　penetrates　and　illumines　him。

This　desperate　aspiring　to　paradise　lost；　this　deformed　dream　of　the　beautiful；　is　not　less　tenacious　on　the　part　of　the　man。　　He　turns　towards　the　woman；　and　this　preoccupation；　become　insensate；　persists　even　when　the　dreadful　shadow　of　the　two　red　posts　of　the　guillotine　is　thrown　upon　the　window　of　his　cell。　　The　day　before　his　execution　Delaporte；　chief　of　the　Trappes　band；　who　was　wearing　the　strait…jacket；　asked　of　the　convict　Cogniard；　whom；　through　the　grating　in　the　door　of　the　condemned　cell；　he　saw　passing　by：　〃Are　there　any　pretty　women　in　the　visitors'　parlor　this　morning？〃　　Another　condemned　man；　Avril　（what　a　name！）；　in　this　same　cell；　bequeathed　all　that　he　possessedfive　francsto　a　female　prisoner　whom　he　had　seen　at　a　distance　in　the　women's　yard；　〃in　order　that　she　may　buy　herself　a　fichu　a　la　mode。〃

Between　the　male　and　female　wretch　dreams　build　a　Bridge　of　Sighs；　as　it　were。　　The　mire　of　the　gutter　dallies　with　the　door　of　a　prison　cell。　　The　Aspasia　of　the　street…corner　aspires　and　respires　with　the　heart　of　the　Alcibiades　who　waylays　the　passer…by　at　the　corner　of　a　wood。

You　laugh？　　You　should　not。　　It　is　a　terrible　thing。




II。



The　murderer　is　a　flower　for　the　courtesan。　　The　prostitute　is　the　Clytia　of　the　assassin　sun。　　The　eye　of　the　woman　damned　languourously　seeks　Satan　among　the　myrtles。

What　is　this　phenomenon？　　It　is　the　need　of　the　ideal。　A　sublime　and　awful　need。

A　terrible　thing；　I　say。

Is　it　a　disease？　　Is　it　a　remedy？　　Both。　　This　noble　yearning　is　at　the　same　time　and　for　the　same　beings　a　chastisement　and　a　reward；　a　voluptuousness　full　of　expiation；　a　chastisement　for　faults　committed；　a　recompense　for　sorrows　borne！　　None　may　escape　it。　　It　is　a　hunger　of　angels　felt　by　demons。　　Saint　Theresa　experiences　it；　Messalina　also。　　This　need　of　the　immaterial　is　the　most　deeply　rooted　of　all　needs。　　One　must　have　bread；　but　before　bread；　one　must　have　the　ideal。　　One　is　a　thief；　one　is　a　street…walkerall　the　more　reason。　　The　more　one　drinks　of　the　darkness　of　night　the　more　is　one　thirsty　for　the　light　of　dawn。　　Schinderhannes　becomes　a　cornflower；　Poulailler　a　violet。　　Hence　these　sinisterly　ideal　weddings。

And　then；　what　happens？

What　I　have　just　said。

Cloaca；　but　abyss。　　Here　the　human　heart　opens　partly；　disclosing　unimaginable　depths。　　Astarte　becomes　platonic。　The　miracle　of　the　transformation　of　monsters　by　love　is　being　accomplished。　　Hell　is　being　gilded。　　The　vulture　is　being　metamorphosed　into　a　bluebird。　　Horror　ends　in　the　pastoral。　　You　think　you　are　at　Vouglans's　and　　Parent…Duchatelet's；　you　are　at　Longus's。　　Another　step　and　you　will　stumble　into　Berquin's。　　Strange　indeed　is　it　to　encounter　Daphnis　and　Chloe　in　the　Forest　of　Bondy！

The　dark　Saint　Martin　Canal；　into　which　the　footpad　pushes　the　passer…by　with　his　elbow　as　he　snatches　his　　victim's　watch；　traverses　the　Tender　and　empties　itself　into　the　Lignon。　　Poulmann　begs　a　ribbon　bow；　one　is　tempted　to　present　a　shepherdess's　crook　to　Papavoine。　　Through　the　straw　of　the　sabot　one　sees　gossamer　wings　appearing　on　horrible　heels。　　The　miracle　of　the　roses　is　performed　for　Goton。　　All　fatalities　combined　have　for　result　a　flower。　A　vague　Rambouillet　Palace　is　superposed　upon　the　forbidding　silhouette　of　the　Salpêtrière。　　The　leprous　wall　of　evil；　suddenly　covered　with　blossoms；　affords　a　pendant　to　the　wreath　of　Juliet。　　The　sonnets　of　Petrarch；　that　flight　of　the　ideal　which　soars　in　the　shadow　of　souls；　venture　through　the　twilight　towards　this　abjection　and　suffering；　attracted　by　one　knows　not　what　obscure　affinity；　even　as　a　swarm　of　bees　is　sometimes　seen　humming　over　a　dungheap　from　which　arises；　perceptible　to　the　bees　alone　and　mingling　with　the　miasms；　the　perfume　of　a　hidden　flower。　The　gemoniae　are　Elysian。　　The　chimerical　thread　of　celestial　unions　floats　'neath　the　darkest　vault　of　the　human　Erebus　and　binds　despairing　hearts　to　hearts　that　are　monstrous。　　Manon　through　the　infinite　sends　to　Cartouche　a　smile　ineffable　as　that　with　which　Everallin　entranced　Fingal。　From　one　pole　of　misery　to　the　other；　from　one　gehenna　to　another；　from　the　galleys　to　the　brothel；　tenebrous　mouths　wildly　exchange　the　kiss　of　azure。

It　is　night。　　The　monstrous　ditch　of　Clamart　opens。　From　it　arises　a　miasm；　a　phosphorescent　glow。　　It　shines　and　flickers　in　two　separate　tarts；　it　takes　shape；　the　head　rejoins　the　body；　it　is　a　phantom；　the　phantom　gazes　into　the　darkness　with　wild；　baleful　eyes；　rises；　grows　bigger　and　blue；　hovers　for　an　instant　and　then　speeds　away　to　the　zenith　to　open　the　door　of　the　palace　of　the　sun　where　butterflies　flit　from　flower　to　flower　and　angels　flit　from　star　to　star。

In　all　these　strange；　concordant　phenomena　appears　the　inadmissibility　of　the　principle　that　is　all　of　man。　　The　mysterious　marriage　which　we　have　just　related；　marriage　of　servitude　with　captivity；　exaggerates　the　ideal　from　the　very　fact　that　it　is　weighed　down　by　all　the　most　hideous　burdens　of　destiny。　　A　frightful　combination！　　It　is　the　From　it　rises　a　miasm；　a　phosphorescent　glow。　　It　shines　meeting　of　these　two　redoubtable　words　in　which　human　existence　is　summed　up：　enjoy　and　suffer。

Alas！　　And　how　can　we　prevent　this　cry　from　escaping　us？　　For　these　hapless　ones；　enjoy；　laugh；　sing；　please；　and　love　exist；　persist；　but　there　is　a　death…rattle　in　sing；　a　grating　sound　in　laugh；　putrefaction　in　enjoy；　there　are　ashes　in　please；　there　is　night　in　love。　　All　these　joys　are　attached　to　their　destiny　by　coffin…nails。

What　does　that　matter？　　They　thirst　for　these　lugubrious；　chimerical　glimpses　of　light　that　are　full　of　dreams。

What　is　tobacco；　that　is　so　precious　and　so　dear　to　the　prisoner？　　It　is　a　dream。　　〃Put　me　in　the　dungeon；〃　said　a　convict；　〃but　give　me　some　tobacco。〃　　In　other　words：　〃Throw　me　into　a　pit；　but　give　me　a　palace。〃　　Press　the　prostitute　and　the　bandit；　mix　Tartarus　and　Avernus；　stir　the　fatal　vat　of　social　mire；　pile　all　the　deformities　of　matter　together；　and　what　issues　therefrom？　　The　immaterial。

The　ideal　is　the　Greek　fire　of　the　gutter。　　It　burns　there。　Its　brightness　in　the　impure　water　dazzles　the　thinker　and　touches　his　heart。　　Nini　Lassive　stirs　and　brightens　with　Fiesehi's　bilets…doux　that　sombre　lamp　of　Vesta　which　is　in　the　heart　of　every　woman；　and　which　is　as　inextinguishable　in　that　of　the　courtesan　as　in　that　of　the　Carmelite。　　This　is　what　explains　the　word　〃virgin；〃　accorded　by　the　Bible　equally　to　the　foolish　virgin　and　to　the　wise　virgin。

That　was　so　yesterday；　it　is　so　to…day。　　Here　again　the　surface　has　changed；　the　bottom　remains　the　same。　　The　frank　harshness　of　the　Middle　Ages　has　been　somewhat　softened　in　our　times。　　Ribald　is　pronounced　light　o'　love；　Toinon　answers　to　the　name　of　Olympia　or　Imperia；　Thomasse…la…Maraude　is　called　Mme。　de　Saint　Alphonse。　The　caterpillar　was　real；　the　butterfly　is　false；　that　is　the　only　change。　　Clout　has　become　chiffon。

Regnier　used　to　say　〃sows　〃；　we　say　〃fillies。〃

Other　fashions；　same　manners。

The　foolish　virgin　is　lugubriously　immutable。




III。



Whosoever　witnesses　this　kind　of　anguish　witnesses　the　extreme　of　human　misfortune。

Dark　zones　are　these。　　Baleful　night　bursts　and　spreads　o'er　them。　　Evil　accumulated　dissolves　in　misfortune　upon　them；　they　are　swept　with　blasts　of　despair　by　the　tempest　of　fatalities；　there　a　downpour　of　trials　and　sorrows　streams　upon　dishevelled　heads　in　the　darkness；　squalls；　hail；　a　hurricane　of　distress；　swirl　and　whirl　back　and　forth　athwart　them；　it　rains；　rains　without　cease：　it　rains　horror；　it　rains　vice；　it　rains　crime；　it　rains　the　blackness　of　night；　yet　we　must　explore　this　obscurity；　and　in　the　sombre　storm　the　mind　essays　a　difficult　flight；　the　flight　of　a　wet　bird；　as　it　were。

There　is　always　a　vague；　spectral　dread　in　these　low　regions　where　hell　penetrates；　they　are　so　little　in　the　human　order　and　so　disproportionate　that　they　create　phantoms。　　It　is　hardly　surprising；　therefore；　that　a　legend