Part 4 Book 9 Chapter 1 Marius
however, and those who have observed the depths of the human heart will understand this, the officer, the lancer, the ninny, cousin theodule, had left no trace in his mind.not the slightest.the dramatic poet might, apparently, expect some complications from this revelation made point-blank by the grandfather to the grandson. but what the drama would gain thereby, truth would lose. marius was at an age when one believes nothing in the line of evil; later on comes the age when one believes everything. suspicions are nothing else than wrinkles. early youth has none of them. that which overwhelmed othello glides innocuous over candide.suspect cosette! there are hosts of crimes which marius could sooner have committed.
he began to wander about the streets, the resource of those who suffer. he thought of nothing, so far as he could afterwards remember. at two o'clock in the morning he returned to courfeyrac's quarters and flung himself, without undressing, on his mattress. the sun was shining brightly when he sank into that frightful leaden slumber which permits ideas to go and come in the brain. when he awoke,he saw courfeyrac, enjolras, feuilly, and combeferre standing in the room with their hats on and all ready to go out.
courfeyrac said to him:--
"are you coming to general lamarque's funeral?"
it seemed to him that courfeyrac was speaking chinese.
he went out some time after them. he put in his pocket the pistols which javert had given him at the time of the adventure on the 3d of february, and which had remained in his hands. these pistols were still loaded. it would be difficult to say what vague thought he had in his mind when he took them with him.
all day long he prowled about, without knowing where he was going; it rained at times, he did not perceive it; for his dinner, he purchased a penny roll at a baker's, put it in his pocket and forgot it. it appears that he took a bath in the seine without being aware of it. there are moments when a man has a furnace within his skull. marius was passing through one of those moments. he no longer hoped for anything; this step he had taken since the preceding evening. he waited for night with feverish impatience, he had but one idea clearly before his mind;--this was, that at nine o'clock he should see cosette. this last happiness now constituted his whole future; after that, gloom. at intervals, as he roamed through the most deserted boulevards, it seemed to him that he heard strange noises in paris. he thrust his head out of his revery and said: "is there fighting on hand?"
at nightfall, at nine o'clock precisely, as he had promised cosette, he was in the rue plumet. when he approached the grating he forgot everything. it was forty-eight hours since he had seen cosette; he was about to behold her once more; every other thought was effaced, and he felt only a profound and unheard-of joy. those minutes in which one lives centuries always have this sovereign and wonderful property, that at the moment when they are passing they fill the heart completely.
marius displaced the bar, and rushed headlong into the garden. cosette was not at the spot where she ordinarily waited for him. he traversed the thicket, and approached the recess near the flight of steps: "she is waiting for me there," said he. cosette was not there. he raised his eyes, and saw that the shutters of the house were closed. he made the tour of the garden, the garden was deserted. then he returned to the house, and, rendered senseless by love, intoxicated, terrified, exasperated with grief and uneasiness, like a master who returns home at an evil hour, he tapped on the shutters. he knocked and knocked again, at the risk of seeing the window open, and her father's gloomy face make its appearance, and demand: "what do you want?" this was nothing in comparison with what he dimly caught a glimpse of. when he had rapped, he lifted up his voice and called cosette.--"cosette!" he cried; "cosette!" he repeated imperiously. there was no reply. all was over. no one in the garden; no one in the house.
marius fixed his despairing eyes on that dismal house, which was as black and as silent as a tomb and far more empty. he gazed at the stone seat on which he had passed so many adorable hours with cosette. then he seated himself on the flight of steps, his heart filled with sweetness and resolution, he blessed his love in the depths of his thought, and he said to himself that, since cosette was gone, all that there was left for him was to die.
all at once he heard a voice which seemed to proceed from the street, and which was calling to him through the trees:--
"mr. marius!"
he started to his feet.
"hey?" said he.
"mr.marius, are you there?"
"yes."
"mr. marius," went on the voice, "your friends are waiting for you at the barricade of the rue de la chanvrerie."
this voice was not wholly unfamiliar to him. it resembled the hoarse, rough voice of eponine. marius hastened to the gate, thrust aside the movable bar, passed his head through the aperture, and saw some one who appeared to him to be a young man, disappearing at a run into the gloom.
马吕斯怀着沮丧的心情离开了吉诺曼先生的家。他进去时，原只抱着极小的一点希望，出来时，失望却是大极了。
此外，凡是对人的心性从头观察过的人，对他必能理解。外祖父向外孙当面胡诌了一些什么长矛兵、军官、傻小子、表哥忒阿杜勒，这都没留下一点阴影在他心里。绝对没有。写剧本的诗人从表面看来也许会在外祖父对外孙的泄露里使情况突然复杂化，但是增加戏剧性会损害真实性。马吕斯正在绝不相信人能做坏事的年龄，但还没有到轻信一切的年龄。疑心有如皮上的皱纹。青年的早期没有这种皱纹。能使奥赛罗心慌意乱的，不能触动老实人①。猜疑珂赛特！马吕斯也许可以犯种种罪行，却不至于猜疑珂赛特。
①奥赛罗（othello），莎士比亚同名悲剧中的主人公，一般指轻信的人。老实人（candide），伏尔泰小说《老实人》中的主人公。
他在街上走个不停，这是苦恼人的常态。他能回忆起的一切他全不去想。凌晨两点，他回到了古费拉克的住所，不脱衣服便一头倒在他的褥子上。当他矇眬入睡时天早已大亮了。他昏昏沉沉地睡着，脑子仍在胡思乱想。他醒来时，看见古费拉克、安灼拉、弗以伊和公白飞都站在屋子里，戴上帽子，非常忙乱，正准备上街。
古费拉克对他说：
“你去不去送拉马克将军①入葬？”
他听起来以为古费拉克在说中国话。
他们走后不久，他也出去了。二月三日发生那次事件时，沙威曾交给他两支手枪，枪还一直留在他手中。他上街时，把这两支枪揣在衣袋里。枪里的子弹原封不动。很难说清他心里有什么隐秘的想法要揣上这两支枪。
他在街上毫无目的地荡了一整天，有时下着雨，他也全不觉得，他在一家面包铺里买了一个面包卷，准备当作晚餐，面包一经放进衣袋，便完全把它忘了。据说他在塞纳河里洗了一个澡，他自己却没有一点印象。有时脑子里是会有火炉的②。马吕斯正是在这种时刻。他什么也不再指望，什么也无所畏惧，从昨晚起，他已迈出了这一步。他象热锅上的蚂蚁，等着天黑，他也只剩下一个清晰的念头：九点他将和珂赛特见面。这最后的幸福将成为他的整个前程，此后，便是茫茫一片黑暗。他在最荒僻的大路上走时，不时听到在巴黎方面有些奇特的声音。他振作精神，伸着脑袋细听，说道：“是不是打起来了？”
①拉马克（maximilien lamarque，1770?832），法国将军，复辟时期和七月王朝时期自由主义反对派的著名活动家之一。
②“脑子里是会有火炉的”，指思想斗争激烈。
天刚黑，九点正，他遵守向珂赛特作出的诺言，来到了卜吕梅街。当他走近那铁栏门时，什么都忘了。他已有四十八小时不曾和珂赛特见面，他即将看见她，任何其他的想法全消失了，他目前只有这一件空前深刻的称心事。这种以几个世纪的渴望换来的几分钟，总有那么一种胜于一切和美不胜收的感受，它一经到来，便把整个心灵全占了去。
马吕斯挪动那根铁条，溜进园子。珂赛特却不在她平时等待他的地方。他穿过草丛，走到台阶旁边的凹角里。“她一定是在那里等着我。”他说。珂赛特也不在那里。他抬起眼睛，望见房子各处的板窗全是闭着的。他在园里寻了一圈，园子是空的。他又回到房子的前面，一心要找出他的爱侣，急得心惊肉跳，满腹疑惑，心里乱作一团，痛苦万分，象个回家回得不是时候的家长似的，在各处板窗上一顿乱捶。捶了一阵，又捶一阵，也顾不得是否会看见她父亲忽然推开窗子，伸出头来，狠巴巴地问他干什么。在他这时的心中，即使发生了这种事，这和他猜想的情形相比，也算不了一回事。他捶过以后，又提高嗓子喊珂赛特。“珂赛特！”他喊。“珂赛特！”他喊得更急迫。没有人应声。完了。园子里没有人，屋子里也没有人。
马吕斯大失所望，呆呆地盯着那所阴沉沉、和坟墓一般黑一般寂静因而更加空旷的房子。他望着石凳，在那上面，他和珂赛特曾一同度过多少美好的时刻啊！接着他坐在台阶的石级上，心里充满了温情和决心，他在思想深处为他的爱侣祝福，并对自己说：“珂赛特既然走了，他只有一死。”
忽然他听见一个声音穿过树木在街上喊道：
“马吕斯先生！”
他立了起来。
“嗳！”他说。
“马吕斯先生，是您吗？”
“是我。”
“马吕斯先生，”那声音又说，“您的那些朋友在麻厂街的街垒里等您。”
这人的声音对他并不是完全陌生的，象是爱潘妮嘶哑粗糙的声音。马吕斯跑向铁栏门，移开那根活动铁条，把头伸过去，看见一个人，好象是个小伙子，向着昏暗处跑去不见了。