雨果 悲惨世界 英文版1-第111部分

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　　Take　a　few　steps；　and　you　e　upon　that　fatal　Rue　Croulebarbe；　where　Ulbach　stabbed　the　goat…girl　of　Ivry　to　the　sound　of　thunder；　as　in　the　melodramas。　A　few　paces　more；　and　you　arrive　at　the　abominable　pollarded　elms　of　the　Barriere　Saint…Jacques；　that　expedient　of　the　philanthropist　to　conceal　the　scaffold；　that　miserable　and　shameful　Place　de　Grove　of　a　shop…keeping　and　bourgeois　society；　which　recoiled　before　the　death　penalty；　neither　daring　to　abolish　it　with　grandeur；　nor　to　uphold　it　with　authority。
　　Leaving　aside　this　Place　Saint…Jacques；　which　was；　as　it　were；　predestined；　and　which　has　always　been　horrible；　probably　the　most　mournful　spot　on　that　mournful　boulevard；　seven　and　thirty　years　ago；　was　the　spot　which　even　to…day　is　so　unattractive；　where　stood　the　building　Number　50…52。
　　Bourgeois　houses　only　began　to　spring　up　there　twenty…five　years　later。　The　place　was　unpleasant。
　　In　addition　to　the　gloomy　thoughts　which　assailed　one　there；　one　was　conscious　of　being　between　the　Salpetriere；　a　glimpse　of　whose　dome　could　be　seen；　and　Bicetre；　whose　outskirts　one　was　fairly　touching；　that　is　to　say；　between　the　madness　of　women　and　the　madness　of　men。
　　As　far　as　the　eye　could　see；　one　could　perceive　nothing　but　the　abattoirs；　the　city　wall；　and　the　fronts　of　a　few　factories；　resembling　barracks　or　monasteries；　everywhere　about　stood　hovels；　rubbish；　ancient　walls　blackened　like　cerecloths；　new　white　walls　like　winding…sheets；　everywhere　parallel　rows　of　trees；　buildings　erected　on　a　line；　flat　constructions；　long；　cold　rows；　and　the　melancholy　sadness　of　right　angles。
　　Not　an　unevenness　of　the　ground；　not　a　caprice　in　the　architecture；　not　a　fold。　The　ensemble　was　glacial；　regular；　hideous。
　　Nothing　oppresses　the　heart　like　symmetry。
　　It　is　because　symmetry　is　ennui；　and　ennui　is　at　the　very　foundation　of　grief。
　　Despair　yawns。　Something　more　terrible　than　a　hell　where　one　suffers　may　be　imagined；　and　that　is　a　hell　where　one　is　bored。
　　If　such　a　hell　existed；　that　bit　of　the　Boulevard　de　l'Hopital　might　have　formed　the　entrance　to　it。
　　Nevertheless；　at　nightfall；　at　the　moment　when　the　daylight　is　vanishing；　especially　in　winter；　at　the　hour　when　the　twilight　breeze　tears　from　the　elms　their　last　russet　leaves；　when　the　darkness　is　deep　and　starless；　or　when　the　moon　and　the　wind　are　making　openings　in　the　clouds　and　losing　themselves　in　the　shadows；　this　boulevard　suddenly　bees　frightful。
　　The　black　lines　sink　inwards　and　are　lost　in　the　shades；　like　morsels　of　the　infinite。　The　passer…by　cannot　refrain　from　recalling　the　innumerable　traditions　of　the　place　which　are　connected　with　the　gibbet。　The　solitude　of　this　spot；　where　so　many　crimes　have　been　mitted；　had　something　terrible　about　it。
　　One　almost　had　a　presentiment　of　meeting　with　traps　in　that　darkness；　all　the　confused　forms　of　the　darkness　seemed　suspicious；　and　the　long；　hollow　square；　of　which　one　caught　a　glimpse　between　each　tree；　seemed　graves：　by　day　it　was　ugly；　in　the　evening　melancholy；　by　night　it　was　sinister。
　　In　summer；　at　twilight；　one　saw；　here　and　there；　a　few　old　women　seated　at　the　foot　of　the　elm；　on　benches　mouldy　with　rain。　These　good　old　women　were　fond　of　begging。
　　However；　this　quarter；　which　had　a　superannuated　rather　than　an　antique　air；　was　tending　even　then　to　transformation。
　　Even　at　that　time　any　one　who　was　desirous　of　seeing　it　had　to　make　haste。　Each　day　some　detail　of　the　whole　effect　was　disappearing。　For　the　last　twenty　years　the　station　of　the　Orleans　railway　has　stood　beside　the　old　faubourg　and　distracted　it；　as　it　does　to…day。　Wherever　it　is　placed　on　the　borders　of　a　capital；　a　railway　station　is　the　death　of　a　suburb　and　the　birth　of　a　city。　It　seems　as　though；　around　these　great　centres　of　the　movements　of　a　people；　the　earth；　full　of　germs；　trembled　and　yawned；　to　engulf　the　ancient　dwellings　of　men　and　to　allow　new　ones　to　spring　forth；　at　the　rattle　of　these　powerful　machines；　at　the　breath　of　these　monstrous　horses　of　civilization　which　devour　coal　and　vomit　fire。　The　old　houses　crumble　and　new　ones　rise。
　　Since　the　Orleans　railway　has　invaded　the　region　of　the　Salpetriere；　the　ancient；　narrow　streets　which　adjoin　the　moats　Saint…Victor　and　the　Jardin　des　Plantes　tremble；　as　they　are　violently　traversed　three　or　four　times　each　day　by　those　currents　of　coach　fiacres　and　omnibuses　which；　in　a　given　time；　crowd　back　the　houses　to　the　right　and　the　left；　for　there　are　things　which　are　odd　when　said　that　are　rigorously　exact；　and　just　as　it　is　true　to　say　that　in　large　cities　the　sun　makes　the　southern　fronts　of　houses　to　vegetate　and　grow；　it　is　certain　that　the　frequent　passage　of　vehicles　enlarges　streets。
　　The　symptoms　of　a　new　life　are　evident。　In　this　old　provincial　quarter；　in　the　wildest　nooks；　the　pavement　shows　itself；　the　sidewalks　begin　to　crawl　and　to　grow　longer；　even　where　there　are　as　yet　no　pedestrians。
　　One　morning；a　memorable　morning　in　July；　1845；black　pots　of　bitumen　were　seen　smoking　there；　on　that　day　it　might　be　said　that　civilization　had　arrived　in　the　Rue　de　l'Ourcine；　and　that　Paris　had　entered　the　suburb　of　Saint…Marceau。
　　MASTER　GORBEAU　
　　Forty　years　ago；　a　rambler　who　had　ventured　into　that　unknown　country　of　the　Salpetriere；　and　who　had　mounted　to　the　Barriere　d'Italie　by　way　of　the　boulevard；　reached　a　point　where　it　might　be　said　that　Paris　disappeared。
　　It　was　no　longer　solitude；　for　there　were　passers…by；　it　was　not　the　country；　for　there　were　houses　and　streets；　it　was　not　the　city；　for　the　streets　had　ruts　like　highways；　and　the　grass　grew　in　them；　it　was　not　a　village；　the　houses　were　too　lofty。
　　What　was　it；　then？
　　It　was　an　inhabited　spot　where　there　was　no　one；　it　was　a　desert　place　where　there　was　some　one；　it　was　a　boulevard　of　the　great　city；　a　street　of　Paris；　more　wild　at　night　than　the　forest；　more　gloomy　by　day　than　a　cemetery。
　　It　was　the　old　quarter　of　the　Marche…aux…Chevaux。
　　The　rambler；　if　he　risked　himself　outside　the　four　decrepit　walls　of　this　Marche…aux…Chevaux；　if　he　consented　even　to　pass　beyond　the　Rue　du　Petit…Banquier；　after　leaving　on　his　right　a　garden　protected　by　high　walls；　then　a　field　in　which　tan…bark　mills　rose　like　gigantic　beaver　huts；　then　an　enclosure　encumbered　with　timber；　with　a　heap　of　stumps；　sawdust；　and　shavings；　on　which　stood　a　large　dog；　barking；　then　a　long；　low；　utterly　dilapidated　wall；　with　a　little　black　door　in　mourning；　laden　with　mosses；　which　were　covered　with　flowers　in　the　spring；　then；　in　the　most　deserted　spot；　a　frightful　and　decrepit　building；　on　which　ran　the　inscription　in　large　letters：
　　POST　NO　BILLS；this　daring　rambler　would　have　reached　little　known　latitudes　at　the　corner　of　the　Rue　des　Vignes…Saint…Marcel。　There；　near　a　factory；　and　between　two　garden　walls；　there　could　be　seen；　at　that　epoch；　a　mean　building；　which；　at　the　first　glance；　seemed　as　small　as　a　thatched　hovel；　and　which　was；　in　reality；　as　large　as　a　cathedral。　It　presented　its　side　and　gable　to　the　public　road；　hence　its　apparent　diminutiveness。
　　Nearly　the　whole　of　the　house　was　hidden。　Only　the　door　and　one　window　could　be　seen。
　　This　hovel　was　only　one　story　high。
　　The　first　detail　that　struck　the　observer　was；　that　the　door　could　never　have　been　anything　but　the　door　of　a　hovel；　while　the　window；　if　it　had　been　carved　out　of　dressed　stone　instead　of　being　in　rough　masonry；　might　have　been　the　lattice　of　a　lordly　mansion。
　　The　door　was　nothing　but　a　collection　of　worm…eaten　planks　roughly　bound　together　by　cross…beams　which　resembled　roughly　hewn　logs。　It　opened　directly　on　a　steep　staircase　of　lofty　steps；　muddy；　chalky；　plaster…stained；　dusty　steps；　of　the　same　width　as　itself；　which　could　be　seen　from　the　street；　running　straight　up　like　a　ladder　and　disappearing　in　the　darkness　between　two　walls。
　　The　top　of　the　shapeless　bay　into　which　this　door　shut　was　masked　by　a　narrow　scantling　in　the　centre　of　which　a　triangular　hole　had　been　sawed；　which　served　both　as　wicket　and　air…hole　when　the　door　was　closed。　On　the　inside　of　the　door　the　figures　52　had　been　traced　with　a　couple　of　strokes　of　a　brush　dipped　in　ink；　and　above　the　scantling　the　same　hand　had　daubed　the　number　50；　so　that　one　hesitated。　Where　was　one？
　　Above　the　door　it　said；　〃Number　50〃；　the　inside　replied；　〃no；　Number　52。〃
　　No　one　knows　what　dust…colored　figures　were　suspended　like　draperies　from　the　triangular　opening。
　　The　window　was　large；　sufficiently　elevated；　garnished　with　Venetian　blinds；　and　with　a　frame　in　large　square　panes；　only　these　large　panes　were　suffering　from　various　wounds；　which　were　both　concealed　and　betrayed　by　an　ingenious　paper　bandage。　And　the　blinds；　dislocated　and　unpasted；　threatened　passers…by　rather　than　screened　the　occupants。
　　The　horizontal　slats　were　missing　here　and　there　and　had　been　naively　replaced　with　boards　nailed　on　perpendicularly；　so　that　what　began　as　a　blind　ended　as　a　shutter。
　　This　door　with　an　unclean；　and　this　window　with　an　honest　though　dilapidated　air；　thus　beheld　on　the　same　house；　produced　the　effect　of　two　inplete　beggars　walking　side　by　side；　with　different　miens　beneath　the　same　rags；