第九章 巴伯、海嘴、地穴和蒙巴纳斯
从一八三○到一八三五，巴黎的下层社会有一个娃娃脸、地穴、海嘴和蒙巴纳斯四个人合伙，横行霸道。
海嘴是一个大力士，没有一定的窝巢。他的任务是拱桥阴沟。他身高六尺，胸肌象大理石，二头肌象黄铜，呼吸象山洞，躯干象巨神，脑袋象小鸟。望见他，便以为是法尔内斯的大力士穿上布裤和棉绒衫。海嘴生着这种雕塑般的身体，可惜他甘愿做坏蛋。他额门低窄，太阳穴宽大，不到四十岁，眼角却有了鸦爪纹，须发粗硬，两颊如刷，髯毛如野猪。人们看见他的模样就要发问：这是不是个大力士？他需要工作，但笨得不愿干。他是大力而懒惰。他是杀死人没有事的人。大家都认为他还是个克里奥尔人。他大概和勃吕纳元帅有点关系，因为一八一五年他曾亚威农当过马弁。干过那以后，他才当苦役犯。
地穴的阴险和海嘴的粗暴比较起来不相上下。他瘦且多见识。他虽然透明，却无法看见他的内心深处。我们看得见他的骨头，却看不见他的眼睛。他声称自己是化学家。他当过走江湖的滑稽演员，在圣米耶尔演过歌舞剧，也曾在圣米耶尔编过台词，能说会道，语气动作都恰当。他的职业是在露天卖石膏做的人头和国家元首的像。此外，他还替人拔牙齿。他在集市上展出过一些稀奇古怪的东西，摆过棚子，棚子里有喇叭和广告：“地穴，牙科艺术家，科学院的成员，用金把一些物理作用的实验做给金属和类金属看，拔牙，由他同事留下的断牙根。价格：拔一个牙，一元五角；两个牙，二元；三个牙，二元五角。机会难得请从速。”这“机会难得请从速”，意思当然是说“尽可能多拔你的牙”。他结过婚，也有过孩子，但不知妻子和儿女怎样了。他把妻子和儿女丢了，就象丢一块手绢那样。他的出身，有一件值得注意的事，他是和他同一类人中唯一读过《新闻报》的人。有一天，他还带着全家乘着他的流动马车的时候，在《省府公报》上读到一则新闻：有个女人刚生下一个孩子，脸部象牛犊，他喊道：“这一定是个好事！我老婆怎么没有这样的福气，生这么一个孩子！”
随后，他什么都丢开，去“钻研”巴黎了。这是他的话。
娃娃脸又是什么呢？他是黑夜。他总要等到天色漆黑才露面。他从哪个洞里出来，回到哪个洞里，没有人知道。他只和他的同伙交谈，也只有在绝对黑暗的环境中才和他们谈话。他是否叫娃娃脸呢？不是。如果白天有人看见他，那一定是在圣坦门。他出洞时一定戴上面罩。他是百劳鸟的忠实同志和好朋友。他善于口技。地穴说：“娃娃脸是二声部夜曲。”娃娃脸不定的、可怕的、喜欢游荡的。谁也不能肯定他有名字，娃娃脸只是一个绰号；谁也不能肯定他有声音，因为他用肚子讲话的时候比用嘴巴的时候多；谁也不能肯定他有面孔，因为人们只见他的面罩而不见他的脸。他不现形时，就好象是无影无踪的人；他出现时，好象是土里冒出个鬼来。
蒙巴纳斯却又是另一路阴森可怕的人物。蒙巴纳斯是个孩子，不到二十岁，面孔漂亮，嘴唇象樱桃，乌黑的头发，眼睛明亮，外貌象春天，他有一切罪恶，他渴望犯一切罪恶。他专门干坏事，且胃口越来越大，从少年扒手变成强盗。他文雅、纤弱、彬彬有礼、身体强壮、精神萎靡、行动凶暴。他的帽子是反过来戴的，让左边空出一块地方，好让头发垂下来，这是一八二九年的风气。他的全部家当就是靠暴力抢劫来的。他的外套是上等料子，但已经褪色了。蒙巴纳斯象时装画片里的时装，在贫困里生活，却专爱杀人。这个青年的思想深处，主要是想做个衣冠整洁的人。第一个女孩子对他说：“你漂亮！”这样就在他心中投下黑影，变成该隐了。他觉得自己漂亮，就想做个漂亮的人。漂亮的人就是无所事事的人。穷人的无所事事就是犯罪。在那些无赖当中，很少象他那样令人害怕的。他十八岁就已经有过好几次犯罪纪录。许多过路人在黑暗中被这种人欺侮，手臂被绑，脸躺在血泊中。他卷发、涂油、束腰，有女子般的臀部，普鲁士军官似的胸部，街上闲逛的姑娘们都在他身旁赞美他，他的领结也是别出心裁的，口袋里有一根大头棒，纽孔里插一朵花，这就是这个墓中花花公子的模样。
A quartette of ruffians, Claquesous, Gueulemer, Babet, and Montparnasse
governed the third lower floor of Paris, from 1830 to 1835.
Gueulemer was a Hercules of no defined position. For his lair he had
the sewer of the Arche-Marion. He was six feet high, his pectoral
muscles were of marble, his biceps of brass, his breath was that of a
cavern, his torso that of a colossus, his head that of a bird. One
thought one beheld the Farnese Hercules clad in duck trousers and a
cotton velvet waistcoat. Gueulemer, built after this sculptural
fashion, might have subdued monsters; he had found it more expeditious
to be one. A low brow, large temples, less than forty years of age, but
with crow’s-feet, harsh, short hair, cheeks like a brush, a beard like
that of a wild boar; the reader can see the man before him. His muscles
called for work, his stupidity would have none of it. He was a great,
idle force. He was an assassin through coolness. He was thought to be a
creole. He had, probably, somewhat to do with Marshal Brune, having
been a porter at Avignon in 1815. After this stage, he had turned
ruffian.
The diaphaneity of Babet contrasted with the grossness of Gueulemer.
Babet was thin and learned. He was transparent but impenetrable.
Daylight was visible through his bones, but nothing through his eyes.
He declared that he was a chemist. He had been a jack of all trades. He
had played in vaudeville at Saint-Mihiel. He was a man of purpose, a
fine talker, who underlined his smiles and accentuated his gestures.
His occupation consisted in selling, in the open air, plaster busts and
portraits of “the head of the State.” In addition to this, he extracted
teeth. He had exhibited phenomena at fairs, and he had owned a booth
with a trumpet and this poster: “Babet, Dental Artist, Member of the
Academies, makes physical experiments on metals and metalloids,
extracts teeth, undertakes stumps abandoned by his brother
practitioners. Price: one tooth, one franc, fifty centimes; two teeth,
two francs; three teeth, two francs, fifty. Take advantage of this
opportunity.” This _Take advantage of this opportunity_ meant: Have as
many teeth extracted as possible. He had been married and had had
children. He did not know what had become of his wife and children. He
had lost them as one loses his handkerchief. Babet read the papers, a
striking exception in the world to which he belonged. One day, at the
period when he had his family with him in his booth on wheels, he had
read in the _Messager_, that a woman had just given birth to a child,
who was doing well, and had a calf’s muzzle, and he exclaimed: “There’s
a fortune! my wife has not the wit to present me with a child like
that!”
Later on he had abandoned everything, in order to “undertake Paris.”
This was his expression.
Who was Claquesous? He was night. He waited until the sky was daubed
with black, before he showed himself. At nightfall he emerged from the
hole whither he returned before daylight. Where was this hole? No one
knew. He only addressed his accomplices in the most absolute darkness,
and with his back turned to them. Was his name Claquesous? Certainly
not. If a candle was brought, he put on a mask. He was a ventriloquist.
Babet said: “Claquesous is a nocturne for two voices.” Claquesous was
vague, terrible, and a roamer. No one was sure whether he had a name,
Claquesous being a sobriquet; none was sure that he had a voice, as his
stomach spoke more frequently than his voice; no one was sure that he
had a face, as he was never seen without his mask. He disappeared as
though he had vanished into thin air; when he appeared, it was as
though he sprang from the earth.
A lugubrious being was Montparnasse. Montparnasse was a child; less
than twenty years of age, with a handsome face, lips like cherries,
charming black hair, the brilliant light of springtime in his eyes; he
had all vices and aspired to all crimes.
The digestion of evil aroused in him an appetite for worse. It was the
street boy turned pickpocket, and a pickpocket turned garroter. He was
genteel, effeminate, graceful, robust, sluggish, ferocious. The rim of
his hat was curled up on the left side, in order to make room for a
tuft of hair, after the style of 1829. He lived by robbery with
violence. His coat was of the best cut, but threadbare. Montparnasse
was a fashion-plate in misery and given to the commission of murders.
The cause of all this youth’s crimes was the desire to be well-dressed.
The first grisette who had said to him: “You are handsome!” had cast
the stain of darkness into his heart, and had made a Cain of this Abel.
Finding that he was handsome, he desired to be elegant: now, the height
of elegance is idleness; idleness in a poor man means crime. Few
prowlers were so dreaded as Montparnasse. At eighteen, he had already
numerous corpses in his past. More than one passer-by lay with
outstretched arms in the presence of this wretch, with his face in a
pool of blood. Curled, pomaded, with laced waist, the hips of a woman,
the bust of a Prussian officer, the murmur of admiration from the
boulevard wenches surrounding him, his cravat knowingly tied, a
bludgeon in his pocket, a flower in his buttonhole; such was this dandy
of the sepulchre.
