第二零一章 第一章 马吕斯在寻找一个戴帽子的姑娘时，遇到一个戴鸭舌帽的人
夏去秋来，冬季降临。勒布朗先生和那位年轻姑娘再也没有到卢森堡公园来过。马吕斯从此只有一个念头——再次看到那张甜蜜可爱的脸庞。他不停地寻找，到处寻找，却一无所获。他不再是那个充满热情的梦想家，那个坚定、刚毅、热血沸腾的汉子，那个敢于大胆挑战命运的勇者，那个将未来层层叠加的头脑，那个充满计划、抱负、骄傲、思想和愿望的年轻灵魂——他成了一条丧家之犬。他陷入了深沉的忧郁。一切都完了。工作让他厌恶，散步让他疲惫。昔日那片广阔的自然，曾经充满形态、光芒、声音、劝诫、远景、地平线和教诲，如今在他面前变得空空荡荡。在他看来，一切都消失了。
他不停地思考，因为他别无选择；但他再也无法从思绪中得到愉悦。对于脑海中低声向他提出的每一个建议，他都在黑暗中回答：“有何用？”
他对自己百般责备。“我为什么要跟着她？仅仅看到她一眼，我就曾那么幸福！她曾看着我——那难道不够吗？她看上去像是爱我的。难道那还不代表一切？我还想要什么？在那之后，便再无他物。我太荒唐了。这是我自己的错。”等等，等等。古费拉克——马吕斯对他什么都不透露（这是马吕斯的性格），但他却能猜到一切（这是古费拉克的性格）——起初还为马吕斯坠入爱河而恭喜他，尽管对此感到惊讶；随后，看到马吕斯陷入这种忧郁状态，他终于对他说：“我看你简直就是一头蠢驴。得了，到‘茅庐’去吧。”
有一次，仗着九月和煦的阳光，马吕斯被古费拉克、博苏埃和格朗泰尔拉到了索镇参加舞会，心里怀着一个梦想——也许能在那里找到她。当然，他没有看到他要找的人。“不过，所有迷路女人都会出现在这个地方。”格朗泰尔低声咕哝道。马吕斯把朋友们留在舞会上，独自一人徒步回家，穿过黑夜，疲惫不堪，浑身发热，眼神悲戚而迷惘，被那些满载着欢歌笑语从节日归来的欢乐马车扬起的喧嚣和尘土震得头晕目眩。那些马车从他身边驶过时，他垂头丧气地呼吸着路旁胡桃树散发出的刺鼻气味，好让自己的脑袋清醒一些。
他越来越孤僻，完全被压垮了，全身心沉浸在自己内心的痛苦中，像困在陷阱里的狼一样在痛苦中来来回回，四处寻找那个不在身边的人，因爱情而变得痴迷。
另一次，他遇到了一件事，给他带来了奇特的影响。在荣军院大街附近的小巷里，他遇见一个穿着工人衣服、戴着长帽檐鸭舌帽的男人，帽子下露出几缕雪白的头发。马吕斯被这头白发的美丽惊住了，仔细打量着那个男人——他走得很慢，仿佛沉浸在痛苦的沉思中。说来奇怪，他竟觉得自己认出了勒布朗先生。头发一模一样，帽檐下露出的侧面轮廓也一模一样，神态也相同，只是更显忧郁。但为什么穿着工人衣服？这算什么？这身伪装意味着什么？马吕斯大为震惊。等他回过神来，第一个冲动就是跟上那个人——谁知道他是不是终于找到了他正在寻找的线索呢？无论如何，他必须近距离看看那个人，解开这个谜。但这个念头来得太晚了，那人已经不见了。他拐进了一条小街，马吕斯找不到他了。这次相遇困扰了他三天，然后便淡忘了。“说到底，”他自言自语道，“那可能仅仅是相似罢了。”
A CAP
Summer passed, then the autumn; winter came. Neither M. Leblanc nor the
young girl had again set foot in the Luxembourg garden. Thenceforth,
Marius had but one thought,—to gaze once more on that sweet and
adorable face. He sought constantly, he sought everywhere; he found
nothing. He was no longer Marius, the enthusiastic dreamer, the firm,
resolute, ardent man, the bold defier of fate, the brain which erected
future on future, the young spirit encumbered with plans, with
projects, with pride, with ideas and wishes; he was a lost dog. He fell
into a black melancholy. All was over. Work disgusted him, walking
tired him. Vast nature, formerly so filled with forms, lights, voices,
counsels, perspectives, horizons, teachings, now lay empty before him.
It seemed to him that everything had disappeared.
He thought incessantly, for he could not do otherwise; but he no longer
took pleasure in his thoughts. To everything that they proposed to him
in a whisper, he replied in his darkness: “What is the use?”
He heaped a hundred reproaches on himself. “Why did I follow her? I was
so happy at the mere sight of her! She looked at me; was not that
immense? She had the air of loving me. Was not that everything? I
wished to have, what? There was nothing after that. I have been absurd.
It is my own fault,” etc., etc. Courfeyrac, to whom he confided
nothing,—it was his nature,—but who made some little guess at
everything,—that was his nature,—had begun by congratulating him on
being in love, though he was amazed at it; then, seeing Marius fall
into this melancholy state, he ended by saying to him: “I see that you
have been simply an animal. Here, come to the Chaumière.”
Once, having confidence in a fine September sun, Marius had allowed
himself to be taken to the ball at Sceaux by Courfeyrac, Bossuet, and
Grantaire, hoping, what a dream! that he might, perhaps, find her
there. Of course he did not see the one he sought.—“But this is the
place, all the same, where all lost women are found,” grumbled
Grantaire in an aside. Marius left his friends at the ball and returned
home on foot, alone, through the night, weary, feverish, with sad and
troubled eyes, stunned by the noise and dust of the merry wagons filled
with singing creatures on their way home from the feast, which passed
close to him, as he, in his discouragement, breathed in the acrid scent
of the walnut-trees, along the road, in order to refresh his head.
He took to living more and more alone, utterly overwhelmed, wholly
given up to his inward anguish, going and coming in his pain like the
wolf in the trap, seeking the absent one everywhere, stupefied by love.
On another occasion, he had an encounter which produced on him a
singular effect. He met, in the narrow streets in the vicinity of the
Boulevard des Invalides, a man dressed like a workingman and wearing a
cap with a long visor, which allowed a glimpse of locks of very white
hair. Marius was struck with the beauty of this white hair, and
scrutinized the man, who was walking slowly and as though absorbed in
painful meditation. Strange to say, he thought that he recognized M.
Leblanc. The hair was the same, also the profile, so far as the cap
permitted a view of it, the mien identical, only more depressed. But
why these workingman’s clothes? What was the meaning of this? What
signified that disguise? Marius was greatly astonished. When he
recovered himself, his first impulse was to follow the man; who knows
whether he did not hold at last the clue which he was seeking? In any
case, he must see the man near at hand, and clear up the mystery. But
the idea occurred to him too late, the man was no longer there. He had
turned into some little side street, and Marius could not find him.
This encounter occupied his mind for three days and then was effaced.
“After all,” he said to himself, “it was probably only a resemblance.”
