第一百六十七章 第八章 天生不是一对
第八章 天生不是一对
上文刚提到吉诺曼先生的两个女儿。她们相差十岁。年轻时彼此无论性格还是相貌都毫无相似之处，也谈不上有什么姐妹情谊。小女儿生就一颗迷人的灵魂，倾心于一切光明的事物，陶醉于鲜花、诗歌与音乐，翱翔于壮丽的太空，热情奔放，超凡脱俗，从少女时代起便已在理想中与一个模糊的英雄形象结合。大女儿也有自己的幻想：她在蔚蓝的天际窥见某个家财万贯的供应商、某个承包商、一个阔绰而愚蠢的丈夫、一个百万富翁，甚至一位省长；省长府的招待会、前厅里颈挂链条的传令官、官方舞会、市政厅的演讲，以及成为"省长夫人"——这一切在她想象中掀起了旋风。两姐妹就这样各怀梦想度过了少女时代。两人都有翅膀：一个像天使，一个像呆鹅。
任何野心都难以完全实现——至少在人世如此。在我们这个时代，没有哪个天堂能变成人间。妹妹嫁给了梦中的情人，却死了。姐姐根本没有结婚。
在她进入我们讲述的这个故事时，她已是一块古老的贞节牌坊，一块烧不化的冰砖，长着最尖的鼻子和可能见过的最迟钝的头脑。有个典型细节：除了直系亲属，没人知道她的名字。大家都叫她"吉诺曼大小姐"。
论起假正经，吉诺曼大小姐足以让英国老处女甘拜下风。她的端庄羞怯已发展到极端的黑色地步。她一生有个可怕的记忆：某天，一个男人看见过她的吊袜带。
岁月只加剧了这种无情的羞怯。她的胸衣永远不够严密，永远升得不够高。她在没人会想到的地方别满搭扣和别针。贞洁的特点就是：堡垒越不容易受到威胁，就越是布满岗哨。
不过，谁能解释这些纯洁的古奥之谜呢？她竟允许一位名叫泰奥杜尔的枪骑兵军官——她的侄孙——拥抱她而不生气。
尽管有这位受宠的枪骑兵，我们加在她头上的"假正经"标签仍完全适合她。吉诺曼大小姐是一种黄昏般的灵魂。假正经是半边德行、半边恶习。
假正经之外她还添上了笃信宗教——这可是绝配。她加入了圣母会，在某些节日披白纱，念诵特殊祷文，崇敬"圣血"，膜拜"圣心"，在普通信徒不得入内的小教堂里对着洛可可-耶稣会风格的祭坛沉思数小时，任凭灵魂在云状大理石和金色木雕的光晕中飘荡。
她有一位小教堂密友，和她一样的老处女，名叫沃布瓦小姐，是个地地道道的傻瓜，有她在身边，吉诺曼大小姐便有了做鹰的乐趣。除了天主羔羊经和圣母颂，沃布瓦小姐一无所知，只懂得不同果酱的制法。沃布瓦小姐在自己那类人中堪称完美，是愚蠢的银鼠皮——没有一丝智慧的斑点。
坦白说，吉诺曼大小姐随着年龄增长有所得而非所失。被动天性往往如此。她从不恶毒——这算是相对的善良；而且岁月磨平了棱角，时间的软化作用也已降临到她身上。她忧郁寡欢，带着某种连她自己也不明所以的暗愁。她整个人散发出一种生命已然终结、却从未真正开始的呆滞感。
她替父亲操持家务。吉诺曼先生让女儿住在身边——正如我们所见，卞福汝主教大人也让妹妹陪伴左右。这种由老父与老处女组成的家庭并不少见，总带有两个弱者相依为命的动人意味。
在这所房子里，除了这位老处女和这位老人，还有一个孩子——一个小男孩，在吉诺曼先生面前总是瑟瑟发抖、缄默不语。吉诺曼先生从不以温和口气跟这孩子说话，有时还举起手杖："喂，小子！无赖，恶棍，过来！——回答我，小坏蛋！让我瞧瞧你，废物！"等等等等。他却宠爱这孩子。
这是他的外孙。我们以后还会见到这孩子。
We have just spoken of M. Gillenormand’s two daughters. They had come
into the world ten years apart. In their youth they had borne very
little resemblance to each other, either in character or countenance,
and had also been as little like sisters to each other as possible. The
youngest had a charming soul, which turned towards all that belongs to
the light, was occupied with flowers, with verses, with music, which
fluttered away into glorious space, enthusiastic, ethereal, and was
wedded from her very youth, in ideal, to a vague and heroic figure. The
elder had also her chimera; she espied in the azure some very wealthy
purveyor, a contractor, a splendidly stupid husband, a million made
man, or even a prefect; the receptions of the Prefecture, an usher in
the antechamber with a chain on his neck, official balls, the harangues
of the town-hall, to be “Madame la Préfète,”—all this had created a
whirlwind in her imagination. Thus the two sisters strayed, each in her
own dream, at the epoch when they were young girls. Both had wings, the
one like an angel, the other like a goose.
No ambition is ever fully realized, here below at least. No paradise
becomes terrestrial in our day. The younger wedded the man of her
dreams, but she died. The elder did not marry at all.
At the moment when she makes her entrance into this history which we
are relating, she was an antique virtue, an incombustible prude, with
one of the sharpest noses, and one of the most obtuse minds that it is
possible to see. A characteristic detail; outside of her immediate
family, no one had ever known her first name. She was called
_Mademoiselle Gillenormand, the elder_.
In the matter of _cant_, Mademoiselle Gillenormand could have given
points to a miss. Her modesty was carried to the other extreme of
blackness. She cherished a frightful memory of her life; one day, a man
had beheld her garter.
Age had only served to accentuate this pitiless modesty. Her guimpe was
never sufficiently opaque, and never ascended sufficiently high. She
multiplied clasps and pins where no one would have dreamed of looking.
The peculiarity of prudery is to place all the more sentinels in
proportion as the fortress is the less menaced.
Nevertheless, let him who can explain these antique mysteries of
innocence, she allowed an officer of the Lancers, her grand nephew,
named Théodule, to embrace her without displeasure.
In spite of this favored Lancer, the label: _Prude_, under which we
have classed her, suited her to absolute perfection. Mademoiselle
Gillenormand was a sort of twilight soul. Prudery is a demi-virtue and
a demi-vice.
To prudery she added bigotry, a well-assorted lining. She belonged to
the society of the Virgin, wore a white veil on certain festivals,
mumbled special orisons, revered “the holy blood,” venerated “the
sacred heart,” remained for hours in contemplation before a
rococo-jesuit altar in a chapel which was inaccessible to the rank and
file of the faithful, and there allowed her soul to soar among little
clouds of marble, and through great rays of gilded wood.
She had a chapel friend, an ancient virgin like herself, named
Mademoiselle Vaubois, who was a positive blockhead, and beside whom
Mademoiselle Gillenormand had the pleasure of being an eagle. Beyond
the Agnus Dei and Ave Maria, Mademoiselle Vaubois had no knowledge of
anything except of the different ways of making preserves. Mademoiselle
Vaubois, perfect in her style, was the ermine of stupidity without a
single spot of intelligence.
Let us say it plainly, Mademoiselle Gillenormand had gained rather than
lost as she grew older. This is the case with passive natures. She had
never been malicious, which is relative kindness; and then, years wear
away the angles, and the softening which comes with time had come to
her. She was melancholy with an obscure sadness of which she did not
herself know the secret. There breathed from her whole person the
stupor of a life that was finished, and which had never had a
beginning.
She kept house for her father. M. Gillenormand had his daughter near
him, as we have seen that Monseigneur Bienvenu had his sister with him.
These households comprised of an old man and an old spinster are not
rare, and always have the touching aspect of two weaknesses leaning on
each other for support.
There was also in this house, between this elderly spinster and this
old man, a child, a little boy, who was always trembling and mute in
the presence of M. Gillenormand. M. Gillenormand never addressed this
child except in a severe voice, and sometimes, with uplifted cane:
“Here, sir! rascal, scoundrel, come here!—Answer me, you scamp! Just
let me see you, you good-for-nothing!” etc., etc. He idolized him.
This was his grandson. We shall meet with this child again later on.
