Chapter 12 Chapter Four One, Two, Three

Elliott returned to the Riviera at the end of the year after he settled the Maturins in his spacious apartment on the Left Bank.His house was designed to suit his own convenience, and there was no room for a family of four, so he couldn't keep them with him even if he wanted to.I don't think he feels bad about it.He was fully aware that a party was far more welcome by itself than always in the company of a niece and niece-in-law; If it is impossible for two people to participate, it cannot be arranged. "For them, it's good to settle down in Paris and get used to a civilized life. Also, the two girls are not young, and it's time to go to school. I also found out that there is a school not far from my apartment. Said it was very classy."

For this reason I did not see Isabel until the following spring.At that time, I had to stay in Paris for several weeks because of some work, so I rented two rooms in a hotel not far from the Place Vendome.I often live in this hotel, not only because of the convenience, but also because of its atmosphere.It was a big house surrounded by a large courtyard, and it had been opened as an inn for nearly two hundred years.The bathrooms were not fancy at all, and the flush toilets were unsatisfactory; the bedrooms were all iron beds, painted white, with old-fashioned white covers, and huge mirrored wardrobes, in poor fashion; The furniture is quaint.The couches and armchairs were the gaudy stuff of the Napoleonic III era, but, though far from being comfortable, they looked colorful and pretty.Sitting in this room one seems to be living in the time of the great French novelists.When I look at the imperial clock in the glass case, I think of a beautiful woman with her hair combed into small curls and a ruffled dress. Maybe she was looking at the long hands of the clock while waiting for Rastier. Let's visit Rastjack; this Rastjack is the climber that Balzac wrote about in his novel.Balzac wrote one novel after another from his humble origins to his final glory and wealth, including his whole life.And Dr. Bianson was such a real person to Balzac that when he was dying, Balzac said, "Only Dr. Bianson can save me"; A rich widow felt her pulse and read her tongue; this rich widow, who had come from the provinces to Paris to discuss a case with a lawyer, had a little ailment and asked a doctor.At that writing-table there might be an amorous lady in a skirt, with her hair parted in the middle, writing a warm letter to her lover, or there might be a irascible old man in a coat. In a green frock coat and a stiff neckerchief, he writes an angry letter to his spendthrift son carefully.

The day after I arrived I called Isabel and asked if she would buy me a cup of tea if I came at five o'clock.I haven't seen her for ten years.When a solemn butler led me into the living room, she was reading a French novel. She immediately stood up, held my hands, and greeted me with a warm and charming smile.I have seen her no more than eleven or twelve times in the past, and only twice alone, but she made me feel immediately that we were old friends rather than casual acquaintances.The past decade has narrowed the gap between a young woman and a middle-aged man, and I don't feel like our ages are that different anymore.She treated me with the unobtrusive flattery of a woman who has seen the world, as if I were about her age, and within five minutes we had a very personal and informal conversation, as if we had been together since childhood. Playing together, seeing each other often, never seemed to stop.She had acquired an air of ease, grace, and poise.

What surprised me most, however, was the change in her appearance.I remember her as a beautiful, buxom woman, one feared she would gain weight.I don't know if she realized this and took the courageous step of losing her weight, or if having a child happened to be a happy consequence; in any case, she is now in a very slender figure that is perfectly ideal.The fashion of the clothes in front of me emphasizes this again.She was dressed in black; I saw at once that her silk dress was neither too plain nor too rich, and had been made to order in one of the finest Parisian dressers, and yet she wore it with such indifference, so nonchalant, as if She was born to dress well.Ten years ago, despite Elliott's advice, her clothes had always been a little shabby and never quite comfortable in them.Now Marie-Louise de Florimon can't say she's not handsome.She was handsome from head to toe down to the tips of her pink nails.She has become more beautiful.I also found that the bridge of her nose was the straightest and most beautiful I have ever seen in a woman.There was not a single wrinkle to be seen either on the forehead or under her hazel eyes, and the skin was not as radiant as it had been in her teenage years, but it was still very fine; It's open, but it makes her skin look moist and smooth, which is simply touching.A little rouge was lightly applied to the shaved cheeks, and the lipstick was not too thick.His rich chestnut hair was cut short, according to the fashion of the time, and had been permed.There were no rings on her hands, and I remembered Elliott telling me she had sold all her jewellery; her hands, though very small, were in good shape.

In those days, women wore very short daytime clothes, and I could see that her legs in pale yellow stockings were beautiful, long and thin.Many beautiful women are bad because their legs are not good enough.Isabelle's legs, which had been the most unattractive thing in her maiden life, were now exceedingly handsome.In fact, she used to be attractive because of her health and vitality, but now she has changed from a beautiful girl to a beautiful woman.It doesn't seem to matter how much of her beauty is due to art, exercise, and hard work.In short, the result is extremely satisfactory on the line.It is probable that her grace and delicacy had taken some painstaking effort, but it looked very natural.I had an idea that her four months in Paris had put the finishing touches on a work of art that she had struggled with for so many years.Elliott, even on his harshest terms, couldn't help but admire her; I, not being a hard-to-please person, was certainly charmed by her.

Gray went to play golf at Mautfontaine, but, Isabel told me, he would be back soon. "And you'll have to see my two daughters. They went to play in the Tuileries, but they're coming home soon. The kids are lovely. " We chattered about.She liked life in Paris and was comfortable living in Elliott's apartment.Elliott, before leaving them, had introduced them to some of his friends whom he thought they would like, so they now had a happy company.Elliott always made them socialize, as he had always done in the old days. "You know, we live like rich people, when in fact we're poor. I'm so funny when I think about it."

"Is it really that bad?" She giggled, and it reminded me of that light-hearted laugh I thought was so endearing ten years ago. "Gray was penniless; my income was almost exactly what Larry was earning when he wanted to marry me and I refused; then I didn't think we could live on that, and now I have more Two kids. Pretty ridiculous, isn't it?" "I'm glad you think it's ridiculous." "Do you know anything about Larry?" "Me? No. I didn't see him before you last left Paris. I know a few of the people he knows, and I did ask them about Larry, but it was years. It was a long time ago. No one knew anything about him. He just disappeared."

"We knew the manager of the bank in Chicago where Larry had savings; he told us that every now and then he would get a check from Larry from some strange place. China, Burma, India. He seemed to be in Run around." Without hesitation, I asked the word that came to my lips.After all, if you want to know something, the best way to do it is to ask. "Do you think now that you should have married him?" She smiled narrowly. "I'm very happily married to Gray. He's an as good as a husband. You know, we were very happy until the big crash. We like the same people and we like to do the same things thing.

He was so nice to me.It's always nice to have someone fall for you; and he loves me now as much as we did when we first got married.He thinks I'm the most amazing woman in the world.You can't imagine how gentle and caring he is.He was almost absurdly generous in what he dressed, wore, and used; you know, he thought there was nothing I didn't deserve.In all the years we've been married, he's never said an inconsiderate or harsh word to me. How lucky I am. " I wondered if she thought that was the answer to my question.I changed the subject. "Talk about your two little girls."

As I spoke, the doorbell rang. "Here they come. See for yourself." After a while, two children came in, followed by the nanny.Isabel introduced me to the older one, Joan, and then the younger one, Priscilla.Everyone shakes my hand with a little kick as a courtesy.They were eight and six years old, neither short; Isabel was tall, of course, and Gray, I remember, was a large fellow; but the two children were only as good-looking as ordinary children.They looked frail; they had their father's black hair, their mother's light chestnut eyes; they were not shy around strangers, and they all happily told their mothers about what they were doing in the park.Their eyes were fixed on the exquisite pastries prepared by Isabel's cook for tea, but we did not move yet.When their mother allowed each of them to choose a piece, both of them seemed to be a little confused about which piece to choose.It was good to see the obvious affection they showed for their mother; the three pulled together to form a very moving picture.When they had eaten the cake of their choice, Isabel sent them away, and the children went out without a word.My impression is that Isabel brought up children very well.

After the children had gone, I said the things I usually say to mothers, and Isabelle was obviously pleased with my compliments, but a little dismissive.I asked her if Gray liked Paris. "Pretty much. Uncle Elliott left us a car, so he could play golf almost every day; and he joined the Travelers' Club, where he played bridge. The flat was a real help in keeping us up. Gray's totally broke, and still has that terrible headache. He can't even get a job now; it's got him anxious, of course. He's got to work, Feels like he should work, and the thought of not being able to work makes him feel inferior. You know, he thinks being a man is supposed to work; and if he can't work, he'd be better off dead. He can't stand being a superfluous man; I'm just trying to persuade He brought him to Paris, saying that rest and change of surroundings would bring him back to normal. But I know he can't be happy if his life isn't on track." "I'm afraid that in the past two years or so, your life has been enough." "Well, you know, I couldn't believe it when the collapse started. I think it's inconceivable that we're going to be. I can understand that other people are going to be, but to say that we're— —Well, that's almost impossible. I always thought that in the end, some kind of luck would save us. Then, the blow finally fell on us, and I felt that I couldn't live anymore. Can't look at the days ahead, it's so dark. For two weeks, I'm almost unbearable; God, I have to give up everything, knowing that there will be no joy in the future, and everything I like to do will be without me. For the sake of it, it was horrible—and then two weeks passed and I said, 'Oh, fuck off, I'm determined not to think about it any more,' and to tell you the truth, I haven't thought about it since. I'm not upset at all, I was having fun at the time, now it's over, it's over." "It's clear that I live in a luxury apartment in a high-end residential area, have a capable butler, a cook who cooks well, don't spend a penny, and can wear Chanel on my skinny bones Made-to-measure clothes, the pain of bankruptcy is easy to bear, isn't it?" "It's not Chanel, it's Lanvin," she giggled. "I see you haven't changed much in ten years. You won't believe me, you ghost, but I'm sure I accept Uncle Elliot's kindness for Gray and the boys. .On my $2,800 a year, we can make a good living on the farm. We grow rice, rye, corn, and raise pigs. After all, I was born on a farm in Illinois And grew up there." "You might as well put it that way," I said, smiling, knowing that she had actually been born in a fancy maternity hospital in New York. That's when Gray walked in.Twelve years ago, I really only saw him two or three times, but I saw his wedding photo (Eliot put the photo in a beautiful frame, signed it with the King of Sweden, the Queen of Spain, and the Duke of Guise. I put those photos together on the piano), I remember his appearance very clearly.When we met, I was taken aback.His temples were very bald.There is also a small bald patch on the head, and the face is fat, red, and heavy-chinned.He has put on a lot of weight as a result of paying attention to food and drink for many years. It is only because of his tall stature that he will not become a complete fat man.But what caught my attention most was the expression of his eyes.I fully remember the carefree frankness in those dark blue eyes when he had nothing to worry about when his future was so promising; now I seem to see in them a nameless depression, and even though I don After what happened, I am afraid it is not difficult for me to guess what accident destroyed his confidence in himself and in the world order.I think he has an inferiority complex, like he's ashamed of doing something bad, though he didn't mean it.Obviously, he's broken.He greeted me very politely and willingly, and indeed he looked very happy like an old friend when we meet. However, my impression is that his happy appearance is just a habitual way, and his words are mixed with his heart. Feelings have nothing in common. The servant brought the wine and he made us cocktails.He played two rounds of golf, and found himself quite satisfied; and Isabel seemed to listen with great interest to his account of how he dealt with a difficult hole when he encountered it, in such detail and detail.After a few minutes, I made an appointment with them for dinner and a theatre, and I took my leave. two It gradually became a habit for me to visit Isabel every afternoon, after finishing my day's work, three or four times a week.At this time, she is mostly alone at home, and she is very happy to have someone to chat with.Elliott introduced her to persons much older than she was, and I found that she had very few friends of her own age. My own friends were mostly busy before dinner, and I thought it would be better to chat with Isabelle than to go to my club and play bridge with some grumpy Frenchmen who didn't really welcome outsiders. .Her charming way of treating me as someone her own age made it easy for us to talk; we joked, laughed, joked with each other, sometimes about ourselves, sometimes about our mutual friends, sometimes Time to talk about books, talk about painting, so the time is happy to pass away.I have a flaw in my nature: I can never get used to ugly faces; no matter how good-natured a friend's character is, even if I have been with him for many years, I can't see his crooked teeth or crooked nose. On the other hand, I've always liked the good looks of my friends, and even after twenty years of dating, I still like to see a well-shaped forehead or soft cheekbones.So every time I saw Isabelle I felt a little more at ease with her perfectly oval face, with her creamy skin, and the lightness of her chestnut eyes. Then something unexpected happened. three In all great cities there are always many self-sufficient groups, which do not communicate with each other; they are many small worlds in a large world, each leading a life of its own, and communicating only among its members; This small world is an island separated by an unnavigable strait.In my experience, no city is more like this than Paris.In Paris, high society is seldom accessible to outsiders; politicians confine themselves to the corrupt circles of their lives; In De [Note]'s diary, one thing stands out: he seems to be very close to anyone except those who are engaged in the same profession as him), painters are close to painters, musicians are friends with musicians.The same thing happened in London, but not so markedly; in London, the same kind of people don't get together very much, and at a banquet with so many dozen families, you can meet a duchess at the same time, an actress, a painter, A congressman, a lawyer, a fashion designer and a writer. What happened to me in life led me, at various times, to spend a short time in almost all these little worlds of Paris, even the closed society of the Rue Saint-Germain (via Eliot); but , I prefer the little society with the Avenue Montparnasse as its main artery, compared with the tightly screened coterie centered on what is now called the Avenue Foch, compared with the people who frequented the La Rue Hotel and the Paris Café. That group of people, regardless of nationality, is more popular than the noisy and shabby fun-seekers in the Montmartre district.When I was a young man, I lived for a year in a small apartment near the Belfort Lion Cafe. The apartment was on the sixth floor, and the cemetery could be seen from the top.Montparnasse still has, in my eyes, the quietness of a provincial town that had once characterized it.When I passed the dark and narrow Odessa Street, I would feel a pang of melancholy, thinking of the poor restaurant where we used to dine together.We had painters, sculptors, illustrators among us, and I was the only writer, save for the occasional visit of Arnold Bennett; literature.It is still a pleasure for me now to walk down the Rue Montparnasse, to see young people like me, and to invent stories about them for myself. When I had nothing else to do, I called a car and went to the old Dome coffee shop.It is no longer the gathering place for bohemian artists as it used to be; small traders from the neighborhood often come here, and strangers from across the Seine will come here, trying to see the world that no longer exists. .Of course, students still come here, as well as painters and writers, but mostly foreigners; when you sit in a coffee shop and listen to the people around you, you hear the same Russian, Spanish, German and English as you hear as much French.However, I have a feeling that what they are talking about is roughly the same as what we were talking about forty years ago, except that they are talking about Picasso instead of Manet[Note], and André Breton[Note] Not Guillaume Apollinaire [note].I really yearn for them. Two weeks after I arrived in Paris, I was sitting in the Café du Daum one evening; I had to find a table in the front row because of the crowds on the terrace.The weather is sunny and warm.The plane trees were just beginning to leave their leaves, and there was in the air that air of idleness, lightness, and gayety that is so characteristic of Paris.I feel calm, not from fatigue, but from refreshment. Suddenly, a man walked in front of me, stopped and grinned at me, showing his white teeth, and said: "Hello!" I stared at him.The man was tall and thin, hatless, with matted dark brown hair long overdue for a cut; his upper lip and cheeks were covered by a thick brown beard; his forehead and neck were tanned; Shirt, no tie, a well-worn brown jacket, and gray trousers in tatters.He looks like a beggar, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen him.I judged that he was one of those worthless people stranded in Paris, expecting him to concoct a story of his troubles and trick me into a few francs for a supper and a place to spend the night.He stood before me with his hands in his pockets, his white teeth showing, and his dark brown eyes amused. "You don't remember me?" he said. "I've never seen you in my life." I'm going to give him twenty francs, but I'm not going to let him talk nonsense about what we've seen. "Larry," he said. "My God! Sit down, please." He chuckled, took a step forward, and sat down on the empty chair at my desk. "Have a glass of wine." I greeted the waiter. "How can you expect me to recognize you with such an unshaven face?" The waiter came and he ordered orange juice.Now I'll look at him again.The peculiar look of his eyes, recalled, was due to the fact that the irises were the same black color as the pupils, giving the eyes a strong and dull look. "How long have you been in Paris?" I asked. "One month." "Are you ready to stay?" "Stay for a while." When I asked these questions, my mind kept running.I noticed that his trousers were fuzzy, and his jacket had holes at the elbows.He looked as wretched as the paupers I used to meet in those Eastern ports. In those days it was easy to think of depression, so I wondered if the crash of 1929 had left him destitute.Thinking of this, I feel very uncomfortable, but I never like to go around in circles, so I asked him straight to the point: "Is there nothing you can do?" "No, I'm fine, how could you think of this?" "Oh, you look like you haven't eaten in three days, and you're wearing clothes fit for the trash." "Is it that bad? I never thought of it. The truth is I was going to buy odds and ends, but I never seem to be able to cash in." I think he's shy or airy, but I don't think it's worth putting up with his nonsense. "Don't be silly, Larry. I'm not a rich man, but I'm not poor either. Let me lend you a few thousand francs if you're short of money. It won't break me." He laughed. "Thanks, but I'm not short of money. I have as much money as I can spend." "Is it still like this after the big crash?" "Oh, the crash didn't bother me. I bought all my money in government bonds. I don't know if they've gone down. I never asked. Just know that Uncle Sam [Note] still behaved as usual and continued to pay Interest. In fact, I've spent very little over the past few years, so I've always had good cash on hand. " "So where are you from?" "India." "Oh, I hear you've been there. Isabel told me. Evidently she knows the manager of your bank in Chicago." "Isabel? When did you see her?" "yesterday." "Could she be in Paris?" "She's really in Paris. Just at Elliott Tanborden's apartment." "That's very interesting. I'd love to see her." When we talked like this, although I watched his eyes quite carefully, apart from the usual surprise and joy, I didn't detect any more complicated emotions. "Grey lives there too, and you know they're married." "Yes, Uncle Bob—Dr. Nelson, my protector—wrote me, but he died a few years ago." It occurred to me that this was probably the only link he had with Chicago and his friends there, and now that the thread was broken, he probably had no idea what had happened in those few years.I told him that Isabel had two daughters, that Henry Maturin and Louisa Bradley were dead; that Gray was completely bankrupt and Elliott's act of generosity. "Is Eliot also in Paris?" "Not here." For the first time in forty years, Eliot spent the spring without Paris.Despite his youthful appearance, he was already seventy years old.At this age, there are times when you feel tired and uncomfortable.Except for walking, he gradually gave up other exercises.He was very worried about his health, and his doctor came to see him twice a week, taking turns injecting injections in both buttocks, subcutaneously a popular injection at that time.Every time he ate a meal, whether at home or outside, he always took out a small gold box from his pocket, took out a pill and swallowed it, as solemnly as performing a religious ceremony.His doctor advised him to go to Montecatini, a spa in northern Italy; after which he suggested going to Venice to find a fountain made to fit in his Romanesque church.His interest in Paris had declined greatly, because he felt that the social life in Paris was getting worse every year.He doesn't like older people, and he hates that when people treat guests, he meets people his own age. However, young people feel that language is boring.Renovating the church he built is now his main interest in life; a place in which he can buy freely to satisfy his deep-seated love of art while feeling at ease that he is glorifying God .He once found an early altar made of honey-yellow stone in Rome, and spent six months bargaining in Florence, buying a triptych carved by the Sienese [note] school to put on the altar. Later Larry asked me if Gray liked Paris. "I'm afraid he doesn't know what to do." I tried to describe to him Gray's impression of me.As he listened, he kept his eyes fixed on my face, without blinking, as if in thought; and it seemed to me--I don't even know why--that he was not using his ears, but a An inner, more sensitive organ is listening.It's weird and uncomfortable. "You'll see for yourself, though," I said when I finished. "Yeah, I'd love to see them. I think they'll be in the phone book." "But if you don't want to scare them out of their wits and make the two children scream like a demon, I think you'd better get your head cut and your beard shaved." he laughed. "I've thought about it too. There's no reason to dazzle yourself like that." "Since you say so, you might as well buy yourself a new suit." "I think I'm a bit of a rag. When I was about to leave India, I found that I had only this outfit left on me." He looked at my clothes and asked which tailor I had made them.I told him, but added that the shop was in London, so even knowing it wouldn't be of much use.Leaving that question behind, I returned to Gray and Isabel. "I see them all the time," I said. "They had a very good time together. I never had the opportunity to speak to Gray alone, but I dare say he wouldn't talk to me about Isabelle anyway. I know, however, that he was very devoted to her love. He quietly When he came down, his face was quite ugly, and there was a kind of confusion in his eyes, but when he saw Isabel, he would show a gentle and loving expression, which was quite touching. I have an idea, in those days when they had an accident She stood with him like a rock from beginning to end, so he'll never forget what she's done to him. You'll find Isabel changed." I didn't tell him, Isabel never As beautiful as she is now.He may not be able to recognize how the good-looking tall girl turned into such an extremely elegant and charming woman.Some men hate the processing of female beauty by art. "She treated Gray very well. Do your best to help him regain his self-confidence. " But the time was running out; and I asked Larry if he would join me in the High Street for dinner. "No, I don't want to, thank you," he replied. "I have to go." He stood up, nodded kindly, and stepped onto the sidewalk.