Chapter 11 Chapter two

Our home is on S Street near Passy.The house was given to me by one of Marceline's brothers, and we saw it the last time we passed through Paris, and it was much larger than the one my father had left me.Marceline is a little worried: not only the rent is high, but also all kinds of expenses will increase accordingly.I tried to reassure her of her misgivings by feigning a profound distaste for exile life; I myself strongly believed and deliberately exaggerated this dislike.It will cost a lot of money to set up a new home, and this year they will not be able to make ends meet.However, our income is already considerable and will be even greater in the future.I put in lecture fees, book publishing fees, and I also included the future income of my farm. It was crazy!Therefore, I am not afraid of any cost, and every time I think that I have added another bondage, which will wipe out the wanderlust I feel or fear to feel in myself.

In the first few days, we went out shopping from morning to night. Although Marceline's brother was helpful and did some shopping on our behalf, after a while, Marceline still felt exhausted; Well, then she had to receive guests again and again; since we have been traveling, this time there were a lot of people coming to our house.Marceline has not been in contact with people for a long time, and she is neither good at shortening the time of visiting guests, nor dare to thank them at the door.In the evening, I found that she was exhausted; if I didn't have to worry about her tiredness due to pregnancy, I would at least try to make her less tired, so I often received guests for her, and sometimes returned visits for her; Guests are boring, and return visits are even more boring.

I have never been good at talking, and I have never liked the extravagance and humor in the salon; however, I used to frequent some salons in the past, but that time is far away.What has changed during this period?I am bored, bored, and annoyed with other people, not only restraining myself but also restraining others.At that time I regarded you as my only real friends, but unfortunately, you are not in Paris, and you will not be back for a while.It was to you at the time, would I have a better conversation?Maybe you understand me better than myself?But what bred in me, how much did I know then of all that I tell you now?In my opinion, the future is very secure, I have never held the future like that.

Even if I had insight at the time, how could I have found in Hubert, Didier, and Maurice, in a thousand others, any good against myself!You know these people and think the same as I do.well!I soon saw that talking to them was like playing the piano to a cow.I have just talked with them a few times, and I feel their invisible pressure, I have to play a hypocritical role, I have to pretend to be what they think I still am, otherwise it will appear artificial; for the convenience of getting along, I pretend to have them Hardcore my thoughts and tastes.One cannot be candid and appear candid. I would like to meet archaeologists and philologists again; but talking to them is like looking through a good historical dictionary.At first I had hoped for a few novelists and poets, thinking that they knew life more or less directly; but if they did, it must be admitted that they did not show much; With a posture of living in the world, I almost feel that life gets in the way of writing, which is irritating.However, I can't condemn them either, it's hard for me to be sure that I'm not at fault... Besides, what is my so-called life? — This is exactly what I hope someone else will point out to me. —Everyone talks about the events of life, but never mentions the reasons for those events.

As for the philosophers, it is their duty to teach me, but I have long known what teachings I can get from them; whether mathematicians or new critics, they try to stay as far away as possible from the turbulent reality. , they ignore reality in the same way that geometers ignore the existence of the multitude of things they measure. I returned to Maceline without trying to hide the annoyance these visits had caused me. "They're all alike," I told her, "and each plays a double role. When I'm talking to one of them, it's like I'm talking to many." "But, my friend," replied Maceline, "you can't ask everyone to be different from everyone else."

"The more they resemble each other, the more they differ from me." Then, I said more sadly: "No one knows that they are sick. They live in a semblance of life, but they don't know that they are living. Besides, I am the same. Since I have been with them, I no longer live. Day after day, what have I done today? I am afraid I left you before nine o'clock; before I go, I have only a moment to read, and this is the only good hour of the day. Your brother is waiting for me at the notary; farewell to the notary He did not let go of me, and took me to the rug shop; I felt that he was in the way in the high-end carpentry shop, but I left him at Gaston's; I had lunch with Philippe in the restaurant on that street, I went to Louis, who was waiting for me at the cafe, and listened to Theodore's ridiculous lectures with him; home; so, I went to see the watercolor exhibition with Arthur; I went to Abertina's house and Julie's house to cast business cards. I was exhausted, and when I came back, you were as tired as I was, and received Adelina, Marthe, Yana and Sophie. Now at night, I look back at what I did during the day and feel that the day has passed, leaving only a blank space. I really want to catch it and live it again hour by hour, and my heart is so sad I want to cry."

However, I can't tell what life I understand, I can't say that I like a life with a wider world and fresh air, a life with less restrictions and worries about others, whether the secret lies in my restraint alone I felt the mystery; I thought it was like the mystery of the dead and risen, for I was a stranger among the others, like someone returning from the underworld.At first, I felt pain and bewilderment, but before long, a new awareness arose.To be honest, I didn't feel the slightest sense of elation when my widely acclaimed research was published.Looking at it now, I'm afraid it was pride, right?Maybe, but at least there wasn't a hint of vanity mixed in.That was the first time I realized my own worth: what separates me from the world, what separates me, matters; what no one else can and cannot say but me, is what I want to say.

Before long I was on stage teaching.Inspired by the topic of the lecture, I poured all my fresh enthusiasm into the first lesson.I spoke of the Latin civilization developed to the extreme, described the culture and art worthy of the people, and said that this culture is like a secretory process, which at the beginning shows sanguinity and excessive energy, and then freezes, rigidifies, and prevents the mind from being in harmony with nature. Any beaded contact with each other will cover up the decline of vitality with the lasting vitality on the surface, forming a cover, and the thought will loosen when it is imprisoned in it, and will soon shrink and become exhausted.In the end, I thoroughly stated my point of view, asserting that this culture is born of life and kills life.

Historians accused me of hasty inferences and generalizations, and others ridiculed my methods; and those who praised me were precisely those who least understood me. I came out of the lecture and met Menard for the first time.I have not had much contact with him; shortly before my marriage, he went out again; it is often more than a year after he goes to conduct such investigations and studies.I didn't like him very much before; he seemed rather haughty and uninterested in my life.I couldn't help being very surprised to see him come to listen to my first lecture this time.At first sight, I kept him away from his presumptuous demeanor, but I liked it very much; the way he smiled at me also made me feel kind and welcoming, which was very rare.At that time, there was an absurd and shameful lawsuit that caused a lot of trouble in the city, and the newspapers slandered him wantonly. Those who were stabbed by his talent and unscrupulous attitude also took the opportunity to retaliate; Much to his annoyance, he seemed unmoved and unperturbed.

"Why bother, let them make sense, since they have nothing else but to comfort themselves." That's how he answered other people's abuse. However, the "high society" was filled with righteous indignation, and those who so-called "mutual respect" felt that they had to pay back with contempt, treating him like a passerby.This is another reason: I was attracted by a secret force, and in full view, I walked up to him and hugged him friendly. Seeing who I was talking to, the last of the ignorant people withdrew, leaving Menalc and me alone. Just now I have received intense criticism and innocuous compliments, but now I just listen to his comments on my lectures, and I feel better.

"You set fire to what you valued," he said, "and that's all right. You're only a little late in your step, but it makes the fire even harder. I don't know if you've got your point; People amaze me. I'm not good at talking to people, but I'd like to talk to you. Come and eat with me tonight." "My dear Menalc," I replied, "you seem to have forgotten that I have a family." "Oh, really," he went on, "I thought you were much freer when you dared to speak to me with such warmth and frankness." I was afraid of hurting his face, and even more afraid that I would appear weak, so I told him that I would go to him after dinner. When Menard came to Paris, he always lived temporarily and stayed in hotels; even so, he had several rooms sorted out and arranged into the size of a house.He was served by several servants, ate alone, and lived alone.He thought the walls and furniture were vulgar and ugly, so he hung a few pieces of cloth he brought back from Nepal on them; he said that he would donate them to some museum when the cloth hangings were dirty.I was too eager to see him, and when I entered the door, I saw that he was still eating, so I kept harassing him. "I don't want to end it, though, and I'm sure you'll let me finish my meal. If you come here to supper, I'll treat you to Shiraz, which Hafez sings praises about; but it's too late now. It's late, this wine is good to drink on an empty stomach. Would you at least drink something else?" ① Hafiz (1320-1389), the most famous Persian lyric poet. I agreed, thinking that he would definitely drink with me, but it was strange to see that he only held one cup. "Excuse me, I hardly ever drink," he said. "Are you afraid of getting drunk?" "Ah! On the contrary!" he replied. "Abstaining from alcohol seems to me the perfect match for drunkenness; and I am sober in my drunkenness." "And you pour wine for others." He smiled. "I can't ask everyone to have my character. It would be a mistake to find my idiosyncrasies in them." "At least you still smoke?" "Not a lot of smoke. It's a passive intoxication without character, very easy to attain; I seek in intoxication the uplifting of life, not the diminution of it. That's all. You know where I come from Is it? From Biskra. I heard you were there not long ago, and I wanted to follow your trail. This blind scholar, this bookworm, what did he do in Biskra? I have a habit, only other people Tell me what I have heard, I will not inquire any more, but what I want to know for myself, my curiosity knows no bounds. Therefore, wherever I can go, I seek, search, Checked it out. My rash behavior really paid off, and it was this behavior that made me want to see you again, and I know that I will see you now, not the old conformist old master I saw before, but It is... what it is, it is up to you to explain it to me." I felt my face flush. "What do you know about me, Menalc?" "Do you want to know? But you needn't worry! You know your friend and mine, and know that I can't tell anyone about you. You've also seen whether your lectures are understood or not!" "However," I said a little impatiently, "there's no indication that I can talk to you any further. Now! What have you found out about me?" "First of all, I heard that you have been ill." "Oh, there's no such thing as..." "Ah! That's already important. I've also heard that you go out alone without a book (I've come to admire you from here on), or that, when you're not going out alone, you'd rather have your children than your children." Mrs. Zun is with you. Don't blush, or I won't talk any further." "Speak, don't look at me." "There was a boy, Mokteel, if I remember rightly, not so handsome, stealing, and deceitful; I saw he had a lot to offer, and I got him and bought him Trust me, you know it's not easy because, I think he's lying when he says he won't lie anymore. Tell me if it's true what he told me about you." By this time Menalc had risen, took a small case from a drawer, and opened it. "Aren't these scissors yours?" he asked, handing me something rusty, pointed and curved; however, I didn't have much trouble recognizing it as Mokteel. Little scissors stolen from me. "Yes, mine. These are my wife's old scissors." "He said he took it while you were turning around, and there were only the two of you in the big room. But that's not the funny thing; he said he knew you were looking in the mirror when he hid the scissors in his cloak. You watched him in the mirror, and caught a glimpse of your prying eyes reflected in the mirror. You saw him steal and didn't say anything about it! Moktil was surprised by your reticence...and so was I." "After listening to what you said, I was also deeply surprised: what! He actually knew that I had seen it!" "That's not the most important thing. You want to see who's cunning; those boys can always play us in that respect. You think you've got him, but he's got you. . . . That's not the most important thing." Please explain to me why you are silent." "I wish someone could explain it to me." We were silent for a while.Menalc paced up and down the room, casually lighting a cigarette and then throwing it away. "It's a matter of 'awareness,'" he continued, "'awareness,' as others say, and you seem to lack it, my dear Michel." "'Moral awareness,' maybe." I said with a forced smile. "Ah! It's just the sense of ownership." "I don't think you have a strong sense of this yourself." "Very little, you see, nothing here is mine; let alone the bed in which I sleep. I hate ease; possessions breed such thoughts, and rest easy. I I really like life, so I want to live soberly; I use this unstable emotion to stimulate, at least motivate my life. I can’t say I’m easy to take risks, but I like a life full of risks, and I hope that this kind of life will always be I give all my courage, all my happiness, and my whole health." "In that case, what do you blame me for?" I interrupted him. "Ah! You have completely misunderstood me, my dear Michel. I tried to express my convictions, and now I did something stupid! . Approval or disapproval; the words don't mean much to me. I talked too much about myself just now; thinking I'm understood, I can't hold my tongue... I just want to speak to you about a lack of sense of ownership You look rich to someone; that's serious." "What am I rich in?" "Nothing, since you speak like that... But, don't you have classes? Don't you own land in Normandy? Didn't you come to Pachy to make your home luxuriously furnished? You're married, don't you want to?" a child?" "Forget it!" I said impatiently. "However, this only proves that the life I have deliberately arranged for myself is, as you say, more 'dangerous' than your life." "Yes, only," repeated Menalc sarcastically, then turned abruptly and offered me his hand: "Well, good-bye; this evening will be over, and there will be no further talk." What a name. See you some other day." I didn't see him again for a while. I was busy with new affairs, new thoughts.I was informed by an Italian scholar that he had made public a new body of material, which I studied for a long time for my lectures.Feeling that the first lecture was not properly understood, my desire was all the more aroused to illustrate the following lectures more forcefully in different ways.From this, the point of view that I originally put forward as an ingenious hypothesis is now about to be interpreted as a theory.Much of the strength of arguers lies in the failure of others to understand the issues they state in implicit terms.As for me, I honestly cannot tell how much obstinacy goes into the necessary normal arguments.The more difficult the new thing I have to tell, especially the more difficult it is to explain, the more eager I am to tell it. But how pale are words when compared with deeds!Isn't life, Menard's every action, a thousand times more eloquent than my words?I suddenly realized that the almost pure moral teachings of the ancient sages always value both words and deeds, and even deeds are more important than words! Nearly three weeks after our last meeting, I saw Menalc again at home.He arrived at the end of a large gathering.In order to avoid being disturbed by people every day, Marceline and I simply open the door every Thursday night, and open the door to welcome guests on other days.So, every Thursday, people who claimed to be our friends came to our door.Our living room is very spacious and can host a lot of people, and the party goes well into the night.Thinking about it now, what attracted them was Maslin's Lia and the joy of talking between them; as for me, since the second party, I felt that there was nothing to listen to, nothing to say, and it was hard to hide my boredom. mood.I walked around, from the smoking room to the living room, and from the front hall to the study, listening to a word here and then glancing here and there, not paying attention to what they were doing. Antoine, Étienne, and Godefroy were reclining on my wife's smart armchair, arguing over the latest vote in Parliament.Hubert and Louis were messing with my father's wonderful copperplates.In the smoking room, Mathias put a lighted cigar on the fragrant wood table so that he could listen more intently to Leonard's spiel.A glass of citronella sprinkled on the carpet.Abel's muddy feet rested on the sofa bed recklessly, soiling the cover.People are breathing the dust of badly worn items... I'm so pissed that I want to push my guests out one by one.Furniture, draperies, copper engravings, once stained, seem to me completely worthless; things are soiled, things are diseased, as if they are destined for death.I would love to have it all to myself, to seal it all up.I couldn't help thinking how happy Menalque must be to have nothing!As for me, I am struggling to cherish the collection.Actually, what does it matter to me? In the small living room, dimly lit and separated by an untinted mirror, Marceline received only a few close friends; she was half lying on the cushions, her face was pale and exhausted; Decided that this was the last time we had guests.It's too late.I was about to look at my watch when I felt Mokteel's little pair of scissors in my waistcoat pocket. "This little guy, since he stole the scissors, he broke them and destroyed them, so why did he steal them?" At this time, someone patted me on the shoulder; I turned around suddenly, and it turned out to be Menalc. I'm afraid he's the only one in dress.He just arrived.He asked me to introduce him to my wife; I never offered to introduce him until he asked.Menalc is handsome, with a handsome appearance; his thick gray mustache hangs down to the sides, cutting off the pirate face; his stern eyes show that he is more than courageous and decisive, but not kind and magnanimous.As soon as he met Maceline, I saw that Maceline didn't like him.After they exchanged a few words, I dragged him to the smoking room. I learned that morning that the Colonial Minister had entrusted him with a new mission.While publishing news, many newspapers looked back at his career full of hardships and dangers, fearing that their beautiful words would not be enough to praise him, as if they had forgotten that they wantonly slandered him not long ago.Newspapers scrambled to exaggerate the contribution he made to the country and to all mankind through the beneficial discoveries made in his previous expeditions, as if he was only serving humanitarian purposes; He is dedicated to pursuing such accolades with vigor. I congratulated him as soon as I came up, but he interrupted me just a few words. "Why! You did the same, my dear Michel, but you didn't scold me," he said. "Let the newspapers say such nonsense. A man whose morals are criticized has some good points, It seems strange now. I am so whole that I cannot distinguish the flaws they have thrown at me. I just want to be natural, not to pretend, and the pleasure I feel in every action is the sign of what I should do." "It's likely to make a difference." I said to him. "I have this belief," continued Menalc. "Ah! If only everyone around us believed it. But most people think that nothing can be done without compulsion for themselves." ;they are obsessed with imitation. Everyone should try not to be like himself, and everyone chooses a model to follow; they don't even choose, but accept the ready-made model. But I think there is something else in man. They dare not, dare not turn the page. The law of imitation, which I call the law of fear. Fear of being isolated; not being able to find oneself. I hate this mental agoraphobia: it is the greatest cowardice. Always inventing alone. But who here is determined to invent? The difference in oneself from ordinary people is precisely the rare thing that makes a person valuable. However, people try to cancel it in every possible way; He also keeps saying that he loves life." I let Menalc speak.He said exactly what I had said to Marceline last month; I should have agreed.However, out of cowardice, I interrupted him and repeated exactly what Marceline had said when he interrupted me: "However, dear Menalc, you cannot demand that every Individuals are different from everyone else." Menalc stopped short, stared at me strangely, then, taking his leave exactly as Ausebe did, he turned unceremoniously to talk to Hector. ①Eusebe (265-340), a Greek Christian writer. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt stupid, and I was especially regretful that Menalc might think that I felt stung by his words.It was late at night, and the guests left one after another.When the living room was almost empty, Menalc came up to me again and said: "I cannot leave you like this. No doubt I misunderstood what you said, at least let me hope." "No," I replied, "you have not misunderstood me. What I said was meaningless and stupid, and I regretted it as soon as I uttered it, and especially felt that in your mind, I would be driven into your mind by it. condemned, and I can tell you unequivocally that I hate that kind of people as much as you do, and I hate all people who play by the rules." "They are the most despicable things in the world," laughed Menalc again. "You can't expect the slightest frankness in your dealings with them; for they have to obey the code of ethics, otherwise they will be considered improper. I am a little I felt the words freeze on my lips as soon as I realized that you might be like those people. The sadness I felt at once revealed to me how deep my feelings for you are. Your feelings, but my judgment of you." "Indeed, you are wrong in your judgment." "Oh! Is that so?" he said, grabbing my hand suddenly. "I'll tell you, I'm going to leave soon, but I still want to meet you. My trip this time is longer than the previous ones, the risk is greater, and the return date is unpredictable. I will leave in half a month; here Nobody knows yet that I'm so near, I'll just tell you privately. I'm going as soon as the day breaks. But the night before every time I go, I'm always restless. Prove to me that you're not a man of rules; That last night, can I count on you to accompany me?" "Before then, we will meet again." I said rather surprised. "I won't see each other anymore. For the past half month, I haven't seen anyone, not even in Paris. Tomorrow, I will go to Budapest, and six days later, I will go to Rome. There are my friends in those two places. Before leaving Europe, I will I'm going to say good-bye to them. There's another waiting for me in Madrid." "It's a deal, I'll spend that night with you." "Okay, we can drink Shiraz," Menalc said. A few days after the party, Marceline began to feel unwell.As mentioned earlier, she often felt tired, but she could not complain.But I thought this kind of burnout was due to her pregnancy, which was very natural, so I didn't care.At first we invited an old doctor, he was either confused or he didn't treat his illness, so we could rest assured.However, seeing that Marceline was always restless and feverish, I decided to call in another doctor, Dr. XX, who is recognized as the most skilled medical expert.The doctor wondered why he didn't see a doctor earlier, and made strict dietary regulations, saying that the patient should have followed them a while ago.Marceline was too strong, she didn't know what to do, and she was exhausted as a result.She will have to spend all day in a canvas chair until she goes into labor at the end of January.She obeyed the excruciating doctor's orders, no doubt worried, and more ill than she had admitted.She had always been stiff, but now a kind of religious obedience broke her will, so that within a few days, her condition suddenly worsened. I took care of her more carefully, and tried my best to comfort her, saying that the doctor didn't think she had any serious symptoms.However, her uneasiness was so disturbing that it finally frightened me too.what!The happiness I put my hope on is really like a swallow's nest on the curtain!The future is uncertain!At the beginning, I was completely buried in the pile of old papers, but suddenly one day, the reality made me fascinated. How can I know that the future will unravel the charm of the present more than the present will undo the charm of the past.All my love, all my life, since that good night we spent in Sorrento, has been projected on the foreground. The talk came to the night that I promised to accompany Menalc.Although I was worried about leaving Marceline behind for a whole winter night, I tried my best to make her understand that this date was no different from my promise, and that I must not break the promise.That night, Marceline felt better, but I was still worried; a nurse was watching over her in my place.But when I was out on the street, I was again apprehensive.I wrestled, trying to get rid of the emotion, and hating myself for not being able to get rid of it.My nerves gradually became highly tense, and I entered a state of extreme excitement, which was different from and similar to the painful suspense that caused this state, but closer to happiness.It was getting late, and I strode away; heavy snow fell one after another.I breathe the bitter air, face the severe cold, face the wind and snow and the night, and finally feel very happy; I am experiencing my courage. Menalc heard my footsteps and greeted me on the stairs.He waited for me quite anxiously, only to see that his face was pale and his flesh twitched slightly.He helped me take off my overcoat, and forced me to take off my wet leather boots and put on soft Persian slippers.On the one-legged round table next to the fire, there are various candies.There were two lamps burning in the room, but not as bright as the fire.Menalc first asked about Marceline's physical condition.I replied that she was in good health, without saying a word. "Where is your child, will it be born soon?" He asked again. "There are still two months." Menalc bent over the fire, as if to hide his face.He fell silent for a long time, which made me a little embarrassed, and I didn't know what to say for a while.I got up and walked a few steps, then walked up to him and put my hand on his shoulder.So, as if following his own train of thought, he said to himself: "You have to make a choice. The key is to figure out what you want." "Well! Aren't you going to start?" I asked, not quite sure what he meant. "Maybe." "Are you still hesitating?" "Why ask? You have a wife and children, just stay. There are thousands of forms in life, and each person can only experience one. Envying other people's happiness is just wishful thinking. Even if you get it, you will not enjoy that blessing. Ready-made Happiness is not worth it, it should be obtained gradually. I set off tomorrow; I understand: I am tailoring this happiness according to my body. You should keep the peace and happiness of your family." "I cut my happiness to fit my body too," I said aloud, "but I've grown taller again. Now my happiness clings to me so tightly that sometimes I can barely breathe !" "Oh! You'll get used to it!" said Menalc.Then, he stood in front of me, looked straight into my eyes, and seeing that I was speechless, he blushed bitterly, and said: "People always think they possess, but they don't realize that they are possessed instead. "Pour Shiraz, dear Michelle, you don't get it often; have this pink jam, it's a Persian drink. I'll exchange glasses with you this evening and forget about tomorrow's Let’s just talk about it and think it’s a very long night. Do you know why poetry, especially philosophy, has become a dead letter nowadays? It’s because poetry and philosophy are divorced from life. Ancient Greece straightforwardly put the ideal of life so that the artist's life itself is a poem, and the philosopher's life is the practice of his own philosophy; similarly, poetry and philosophy participate in life, no longer separated from each other, but philosophy nourishes poetry, poetry expresses philosophy, The two complement each other and are deafeningly powerful. Yet beauty no longer plays a role, and behavior no longer considers beauty; wisdom acts alone." "Your life is full of wisdom," I said, "why not write your memoirs?—or," I added, seeing him smile, "wouldn't it be better to just describe your travels?" "Because I don't like remembering," he replied, "I think that would block the future and allow the past to invade. I inherit every moment on the premise that I have completely forgotten yesterday. Once happy, never Satisfies me. I don't believe in dead things, conflating no longer with what never was." This remark went far beyond my thoughts and finally irritated me.I wanted to pull back, to hold him, but I racked my brains and could not think of a rebuttal; besides, I was more angry with myself than with Menalc.So, I remained silent.Menalc paced up and down like a beast in a cage, leaned over the fire, was silent for a long time, and said again: "Even if our poor minds are good at preserving memories! But they are not good at preserving memories." The most exquisite spoiled; the most fragrant rotted; the sweetest became the most dangerous later. The things that are regretted are often sweet at the beginning." There was a long silence again, and then he said: "Regrets, annoyances, remorse, these are the joys of the past seen from behind. I don't like to look back, and I always leave my past far away, like a bird fluttering away. And leave your own shadow. Ah! Michel, any pleasure is always waiting for us, but always to find an empty nest, to monopolize, to meet it with the celibate. Ah! Michel, any pleasure is like decaying day by day The wilderness manna of the wilderness is like the fountain of Ameles, which, according to Plato, no earthen jar can contain. Let each moment take with it all that it brings." ① Manna in the wilderness, the food given by God recorded in the "Bible? Old Testament", enabled the ancient Israelites to survive in the wilderness for forty years. Menalc talked for a long time, and I cannot repeat his words here; many words are etched in my mind, and the more I try to forget them as soon as possible, the more I will never forget them.Not because I found these words to be anything new, but because they suddenly exposed my thought; and with so many veils I almost thought I had killed it.The night passed like this. In the morning I sent Menalc to the train, and after waving goodbye, I walked alone to get back to Marceline, depressed all the way, hating Menalc's shameless joy; Fake it, and vehemently deny it.The annoying thing is that I have nothing to say, and the annoying thing is that the few words I answer will make him doubt my happiness and love.我牢牢抓住我这毫无把握的幸福，拿梅纳尔克的话说，牢牢抓住我的“平静的幸福”；唉！我无法排除忧虑，却又故意把这忧虑当成我的爱情的食粮。我探望将来，已经看见我的小孩冲我微笑了；为了孩子，我的道德现在重新形成并加强。我步履坚定地朝前走去。 well!这天早晨，我回到家，刚进前厅，只见异常混乱，不禁大吃一惊。女护士迎上来，用词委婉地告诉我，昨天夜里，我妻子突然感到特别难受，继而剧烈疼痛，尽管算来她还没到预产期；由于感觉不好，她就派人去请大夫；大夫虽然连夜赶到，但是现在还没有离开病人。接着，想必看到我面如土色，女护士就想安慰我， 说现在情况已经好转，而且……我冲向玛丝琳的卧室。 房间很暗，乍一进去，我只看清打手势叫我肃静的大夫，接着看见昏暗中有一个陌生的面孔。我惶惶不安，蹑手蹑脚地走到床前。玛丝琳紧闭双目，脸色惨白， 乍一看我还以为她死了。不过，她虽然没有睁开眼睛，却向我转过头来。那个陌生人在昏暗的角落里收拾并藏起几样物品；我看见有发亮的仪器、药棉；还看见，我以为看见一块满是血污的布单……我感到身子摇晃起来，倒向大夫，被他扶住了。 我明白了，可又害怕明白。 “孩子吗？”我惶恐地问道。 大夫惨然地耸了耸肩膀。 ——我一时懵了头，扑倒在病榻上，失声痛哭。oh!猝然而至的未来！我脚下忽地塌陷；前面惟有空洞，我在里面踉跄而行。 这段时间，记忆一片模糊。不过，最初，玛丝琳的身体似乎恢复得挺快。年初放假，我有点闲暇时间，几乎终日陪伴她。我在她身边看书，写东西，或者轻声给她念。每次出去，准给她带回来鲜花。记得我患病时，她尽心护理，十分体贴温柔，这次我也以深挚的爱对待她，以致她时常微笑起来，显得心情很舒畅。我们只字不提毁掉我们希望的那件惨事。 不久，玛丝琳得了静脉炎；炎症刚缓和，栓塞又突发，她生命垂危。那是在深夜，还记得我俯身凝视她，感到自己的心脏随着她的心脏停止或重新跳动。我定睛看着她，希望以强烈的爱向她注入一点我的生命，像这样守护了她多少夜晚啊！当时我自然不大考虑幸福了，但是，能时常看到她的笑容，却是我忧伤中的惟一快慰。 我重又讲课了。哪儿来的力量备课讲授呢？记忆已经消泯，我也说不清一周一周是如何度过的。不过有一件小事，我要向你们叙述：那是玛丝琳栓塞突发之后不久的一天上午，我守在她的身边，看她似乎见好，但是遵照医嘱，她必须静卧，甚至连胳膊也不能动一下。我俯身喂她水喝，等她喝完仍未离开；这时，她向我国示一个匣子，求我打开，然而由于言语障碍，说话的声音极其微弱。匣子就放在桌子上，我打开了，只见里面装满了带子、布片和毫无价值的小首饰。她要什么呢？我把匣子拿到床前，把东西一样一样捡出来给她看。“是这个吗？是那个吗？……” 都不是，还没有找到；我觉察出她有些躁急。——“哦！玛丝琳！你是要这小念珠啊！”她强颜微微一笑。 “难道你担心我不能很好护理你吗？” “嗳！我的朋友！”她轻声说道。——我当即想起我们在比斯克拉的谈话，想起她听到我拒绝她所说的“上帝的救援”时畏怯的责备。我语气稍微生硬地又说道：“我完全是靠自己治好的。” “我为你祈祷过多少回啊。”她答道，声音哀哀而轻柔。我见她眼睛流露出一种祈求的不安的神色，便拿起小念珠，撂在她那只歇在胸前床单上的无力的手中， 赢得了她那充满爱的泪眼的一瞥，却不知道如何回答。我又呆了一会儿，颇不自在，有点手足无措，终于忍耐不住了，对她说道：“我出去一下。” 说着我离开怀有敌意的房间，仿佛被人赶出来似的。 那期间，栓塞引起了严重的紊乱；心脏掷出的血块使肺堵塞，负担加重，呼吸困难，发生噬噬的喘息声。病魔已经进驻玛丝琳的体内，症状日渐明显。病人膏盲了。