第一百八十九章 第二卷 光所至
第二卷 光所至
第二年，恰逢读者眼下看到的历史发展到这个当口，马吕斯去卢森堡公园的习惯突然中断了，连他自己也莫名其妙，差不多有六个月之久，他没再到那条小径上去。后来，有一天，他终于又去了；那是夏天一个晴朗的早晨，马吕斯心境欢畅，就像天气好时人们常有的那样。他觉得，他听到的每一声鸟鸣，透过树叶瞥见的每一片蓝天，都仿佛化作歌谣，装满了他的心。
他径直走向"他的小径"，到了尽头，又看见那条长凳上，还是那对熟悉的男女。只是，等他走近时，那男人确实还是同一个人；但那个女孩，他觉得已经不是原来那个了。他眼前看到的，是一个高挑美丽的人儿，拥有一个女人最迷人的线条，同时，这线条又恰到好处地混合着孩子最纯真的风韵；那是一个纯净而稍纵即逝的时刻，只能用这两个字来形容——"十五岁"。她有一头美妙的栗色头发，间着缕缕金丝，额头像是大理石雕成的，面颊像是玫瑰花瓣做的，淡淡的红晕，带着一种激动的白净，一张精致的嘴，笑容像阳光一样迸射出来，话语像音乐一样流淌，头像是拉斐尔会画给圣母的那种，安放在让·古戎会赋予维纳斯的颈项上。而且，为了使这张迷人的脸毫无缺憾，她的鼻子并不漂亮——它是俏；不是笔直的，也不是弯曲的，不是意大利式的，也不是希腊式的；它是巴黎式的鼻子，也就是说，灵巧、秀美、不规则、纯净——这使画家绝望，使诗人着迷。
马吕斯走过她身边时，看不见她的眼睛，因为它们一直低垂着。他只看见她那长长的栗色睫毛，浸透着幽暗与谦逊。
但这并不妨碍那个美丽的孩子听着白发老人对她说话时露出笑容，再没有比那清新的笑容配上那低垂的眼睛更迷人的了。
有一阵，马吕斯以为她是同一个男人的另一个女儿，大概是从前那个的妹妹。但是，当他按自己散步的习惯，第二次走近那条长凳时，他仔细地打量了她，认出她还是原来那个。六个月工夫，小姑娘变成了少女；仅此而已。这种现象再常见不过了。有个时刻，女孩们会在眨眼之间绽放，一下子变成玫瑰。昨天你们还觉得她们是孩子，今天，你们就发现她们让感情不安了。
这个孩子不但长大了，而且被理想化了。就像四月的三天足以让某些树木开满花，六个月也足以让她披上美丽的外衣。她的四月来临了。
有时人们会看到一些人，原本穷困卑微，仿佛突然醒来，一下子从贫困变得奢华，各种挥霍，突然间变得耀眼、慷慨、辉煌。那是因为他们口袋里收到了一笔年金；昨天到期了一张票据。那年轻姑娘收到了她季度的一笔收入。
而且，她不再是那个戴毡帽、穿哔叽袍子、穿学生鞋、手冻得通红的女学生了；审美随美貌一起降临了；她成了一个穿着讲究的人，穿着一种丰富而单纯的优雅，没有矫揉造作。她穿一件黑色绫纹连衣裙，一件同样料子的披风，戴一顶白绉纱帽子。她的白手套展示着那只手的纤秀，那只手玩弄着一把中国象牙雕花的伞柄，她的丝鞋衬托着她小脚的纤巧。当她走过身边时，她的整个装束散发出一股青春而沁人心脾的香气。
至于那个男人，他还是老样子。
马吕斯第二次走近那年轻姑娘时，她抬起了眼睑；她的眼睛是一种深沉的、天蓝色的眼睛，但在那蒙着一层薄雾的蔚蓝里，还只有孩子的目光。她淡漠地看着马吕斯，就像她会看着跑到梧桐树下玩耍的小孩，或看着在长凳上投下阴影的大理石花瓶一样，而马吕斯呢，他继续散步，想着别的事。
他走过那年轻姑娘坐着的长凳旁边，有五六次，但连眼睛都没朝她那个方向转一下。
随后的几天，他照常回到卢森堡公园；像往常一样，他看见"父亲和女儿"在那里；但他不再注意他们了。他不再想那个姑娘，哪怕她现在美丽了，正如他过去认为她平常时一样。他走过她坐的长凳旁边，离得非常近，因为那是他的习惯。
During the second year, precisely at the point in this history which
the reader has now reached, it chanced that this habit of the
Luxembourg was interrupted, without Marius himself being quite aware
why, and nearly six months elapsed, during which he did not set foot in
the alley. One day, at last, he returned thither once more; it was a
serene summer morning, and Marius was in joyous mood, as one is when
the weather is fine. It seemed to him that he had in his heart all the
songs of the birds that he was listening to, and all the bits of blue
sky of which he caught glimpses through the leaves of the trees.
He went straight to “his alley,” and when he reached the end of it he
perceived, still on the same bench, that well-known couple. Only, when
he approached, it certainly was the same man; but it seemed to him that
it was no longer the same girl. The person whom he now beheld was a
tall and beautiful creature, possessed of all the most charming lines
of a woman at the precise moment when they are still combined with all
the most ingenuous graces of the child; a pure and fugitive moment,
which can be expressed only by these two words,—“fifteen years.” She
had wonderful brown hair, shaded with threads of gold, a brow that
seemed made of marble, cheeks that seemed made of rose-leaf, a pale
flush, an agitated whiteness, an exquisite mouth, whence smiles darted
like sunbeams, and words like music, a head such as Raphael would have
given to Mary, set upon a neck that Jean Goujon would have attributed
to a Venus. And, in order that nothing might be lacking to this
bewitching face, her nose was not handsome—it was pretty; neither
straight nor curved, neither Italian nor Greek; it was the Parisian
nose, that is to say, spiritual, delicate, irregular, pure,—which
drives painters to despair, and charms poets.
When Marius passed near her, he could not see her eyes, which were
constantly lowered. He saw only her long chestnut lashes, permeated
with shadow and modesty.
This did not prevent the beautiful child from smiling as she listened
to what the white-haired old man was saying to her, and nothing could
be more fascinating than that fresh smile, combined with those drooping
eyes.
For a moment, Marius thought that she was another daughter of the same
man, a sister of the former, no doubt. But when the invariable habit of
his stroll brought him, for the second time, near the bench, and he had
examined her attentively, he recognized her as the same. In six months
the little girl had become a young maiden; that was all. Nothing is
more frequent than this phenomenon. There is a moment when girls
blossom out in the twinkling of an eye, and become roses all at once.
One left them children but yesterday; today, one finds them disquieting
to the feelings.
This child had not only grown, she had become idealized. As three days
in April suffice to cover certain trees with flowers, six months had
sufficed to clothe her with beauty. Her April had arrived.
One sometimes sees people, who, poor and mean, seem to wake up, pass
suddenly from indigence to luxury, indulge in expenditures of all
sorts, and become dazzling, prodigal, magnificent, all of a sudden.
That is the result of having pocketed an income; a note fell due
yesterday. The young girl had received her quarterly income.
And then, she was no longer the school-girl with her felt hat, her
merino gown, her scholar’s shoes, and red hands; taste had come to her
with beauty; she was a well-dressed person, clad with a sort of rich
and simple elegance, and without affectation. She wore a dress of black
damask, a cape of the same material, and a bonnet of white crape. Her
white gloves displayed the delicacy of the hand which toyed with the
carved, Chinese ivory handle of a parasol, and her silken shoe outlined
the smallness of her foot. When one passed near her, her whole toilette
exhaled a youthful and penetrating perfume.
As for the man, he was the same as usual.
The second time that Marius approached her, the young girl raised her
eyelids; her eyes were of a deep, celestial blue, but in that veiled
azure, there was, as yet, nothing but the glance of a child. She looked
at Marius indifferently, as she would have stared at the brat running
beneath the sycamores, or the marble vase which cast a shadow on the
bench, and Marius, on his side, continued his promenade, and thought
about something else.
He passed near the bench where the young girl sat, five or six times,
but without even turning his eyes in her direction.
On the following days, he returned, as was his wont, to the Luxembourg;
as usual, he found there “the father and daughter;” but he paid no
further attention to them. He thought no more about the girl now that
she was beautiful than he had when she was homely. He passed very near
the bench where she sat, because such was his habit.
