Every morning, facing the wall, I knew what the weather was like before I turned around and looked at the shade of the sunshine on the top of the curtain. Sometimes the noise of the beginning of the street comes from the humid and heavy air, and becomes dumb and forked. Sometimes it is like the sound of arrows passing through the open woodlands in the clear, steep and clear mornings, which is intense and loud. It is these voices that bring me the weather message. As the first tram passed, I could tell whether the rumble of the wheels was stagnant in the drizzling rain or heading for a clear blue sky. But perhaps before I heard these sounds, there was something more agile, more intense, more pervasive, passing quietly through my sleep, or putting a gloomy color over the hazy sleepiness, foreshadowing the approaching winter snow, or letting the elves that appeared at some time sing one after another. Praise the sun's glorious carol, until I began to burst into laughter in my sleep, closed my eyelids to withstand the dazzling light, and finally woke up in a lively music. Speaking of it, I did not go out at all during this period, and only felt the outside life in this bedroom. I know Block once said that he always heard voices when he came to see me in the evening; since my mother was far away in Gombre and he had never found anyone else in my room, he thought I was talking to myself. After a long time, when he knew that Albertina was living with me and that I hid her from anyone, he claimed that he finally understood why I never went out during that time. He is wrong. But he is excusable, because everything, even if it is necessary from the point of view of reason, can not be seen clearly from the beginning; and some people, who often like to grasp the details of something in other people's lives, are busy to draw a conclusion that it is not the case at all. Or, based on a little fact just discovered, we can immediately make a fundamental explanation which is not related to each other.

Now I'm thinking that when my girlfriend came back with me from Barbeck, she gave up the idea of traveling by boat. She lived in the same house as me in Paris. Her room was only twenty steps away from me, at the end of the corridor, in my father's tapestry-decorated study. When we parted late at night, she would stick her tongue into my mouth as if it were my daily food and nutrients. There were so many bodies in the world, and the pain we suffered would eventually give us a spiritual pleasure. Her tongue had such a near-sacred quality. By comparison, I don't immediately think of the night Captain Borodino allowed me to spend in the barracks. All his kindness could cure was a temporary distress. I think of the night when my father asked my mother to sleep in the little bed next to me. Every time life tries to free us from seemingly unavoidable suffering, it often does so in different, even totally opposite, situations, so that when we see the grace it gives, we can not help feeling that there seems to be a sense of sacrilege in it.

Albertina heard from Franois that I had drawn the curtains tightly in the dark room, but had not slept, so she took a bold bath, not afraid to make a noise in her bathroom. In this way, I often go to my comfortable bathroom adjacent to her to take a bath before I wait a little longer. There used to be a theatre manager who spent hundreds of thousands of francs on the throne where Red Corner played the queen. The Russian ballet taught us that as long as the lights were properly lit, the same luxury and glamour could be created by the flicker of light alone, but more beautiful and exotic treasures would come. This relatively non-material decoration is wonderful, but when the sunshine pours in at eight o'clock in the morning and makes everyday things that a person who has to sleep until noon suddenly shine, the landscape is much more beautiful. The windows of the two bathrooms are not made of glazed glass, but an old-fashioned ground glass, so that people can not see inside from outside. The sunshine suddenly illuminated the gauze-like glass, and painted them with a golden yellow | color *, bathed in the comfortable sunshine, as if it was no longer me who had been obliterated by the same rhythm of life for a long time, but a younger me. I was intoxicated in the memory, as if I was in the open nature, facing dyed into one. There was a bird singing in the golden trees and even in the ears. That's because I heard Albertina humming a song over and over again:

Sorrow in the heart is insane, the Romance of the Three Kingdoms

Whoever listens to it is more insane. (1)

I love her so much. I just laughed happily at her bad music. Madame Bondang liked this song very much last summer, but soon she heard it was a silly and boring song. Since then, when she came to a guest, she did not ask Albertina to sing it, but let her sing it:

A farewell song poured out from the heart of the riot.

It also became "an old Masney tune that the girl let us listen to."

The reduplicated sentences in the bagpipes written by the French popular composer Theodore Botler (1868-1925).

(2) A phrase in Love Poetry written by French composer Jules Masney (1842-1912).

A dark cloud swept across the sky and covered the sunshine. I watched the shame of the embossed frosted glass fade and melt into the darkness. The partitions of the two bathrooms are very thin (Albertina's room is exactly the same as that of a bathroom. Mother used to use them when she was in the room for fear of noise. Fortunately, there was another one at the other end of our suite). When we bathed in our own bathroom, we could talk to each other, except for the sound of the water, No. There will be other voices interrupting our conversation, this intimate feeling, when staying in a hotel because of the narrow and close, often can be tasted, but in Paris it is very difficult to get.

Some mornings, I lie in bed like this, doing my daydreaming with all my sex, because I told you not to enter my room without ringing the bell, and the pull-wire switch installed on the bed is inconvenient. It always takes half a day to find it. Often I am impatient to find it and would rather lie in bed alone. Now, I'm almost going to sleep again. This is not to say that I am indifferent to Albertina living here. Her break-up with those girlfriends freed my heart from new pain and allowed it to rest in a kind of sleep to heal its wounds. However, the tranquility she brought me was not joy, but a relief of pain. That doesn't mean I haven't relived from this tranquility many of the joys that I've insulated from too much grief, but that's not what Albertina brought me. Moreover, I don't think she's beautiful anymore. I'm tired of her. I clearly feel that I don't love her, on the contrary. The joy I had only tasted when Albertina wasn't with me. So I woke up early in the morning, especially on a good day, and I didn't immediately ask for her. I think that the elf singing in the body that I mentioned earlier made me happier than she did. I just stayed there for a while and then lay down and listened to it singing the praise of the sun to me alone. Each of us is made up of some elves, the most important of which is not the most exposed ones. In me, after they are knocked down one by one by the disease, there will probably be two or three elves who are particularly tenacious, including a philosopher who will be happy only when two works of art find common ground between the two senses. But the last one, I sometimes wondered, was very much like the dwarf who Gombre's glasses dealer put in the window to forecast the weather, and whenever it was sunny, he lifted his hood and put it on again in rainy days. This dwarf, I've taught him his selfishness: when it rains, I'm always stuffy. This attack will not be relieved until it rains. This dwarf doesn't care at all. When the rain I've been longing for finally falls, he puts away the happy look and gets angry. Slap the hood over. Conversely, I believe that when I die, when all the other "I" on me are over, and I have only one last breath, if a ray of sunshine falls from the sky, the barometer villain will happily lift his hood and sing: "Oh! At last it clears up."

I rang the bell to call Francois. I opened the newspaper Figaro. Looking through it, I realized that there was no article I sent to the newspaper, or so-called article. It was written a long time ago when I was sitting in Dr. Pelpiere's carriage and gazing at Matanville's Bell Tower. After I found it out recently, I sent it with only a few changes. Next, I read my mother's letter. A young girl living alone with me made her feel incredible and disgusted. On the day she left Balbeck, just as she looked at me in a depressed mood and felt relieved that I was alone in Paris, she heard that Albertina was with us, and that she might be happy to see Albertina's boxes loaded into the small train. The boxes are next to our own boxes (the boxes that I cried all night at the Barbeck Hotel). I just think they look like coffins, but I don't know whether they will bring life or death to my family. But I didn't even think about it because I was overjoyed to be able to carry Albertina with me on such a sunny morning after the fear of detaining Balbeck. But if at first my mother was not hostile to this arrangement (she spoke very politely to my girlfriend, just like a mother whose son had just been seriously injured expressing gratitude to the young mistress who had devoted herself to taking care of him), then when she saw that arrangement fulfilled, the girl was with us. The longer she stayed at home, and when no other family member was at home, her attitude changed completely. I must say, however, that this hostility had never been expressed to me on any occasion, as she had not dared to blame me me for my impetuosity and laziness in the past, and now she was worried about it - which perhaps I did not fully see at that time, or did not want to see - for fear of telling this man that I would be my wife in the future. The girl who talks long and short will cast a shadow on my life, weaken my love for my wife in the future, and perhaps sow the seeds of guilt in my heart, so that when my mother dies, I will regret that I married Albertina to make her feel unhappy. She preferred to be in favour of a decision she knew she could not change me. However, all the people who met my mother in those days told me that besides being sad about her grandmother's death, she always had a worried look. This kind of irrepressible thinking, this ups and downs of the inner waves, make mother feel hot temple swelling, she kept the window open all day, want to cool herself. But she never made a decision. She was afraid that it would have a bad "impact" on me and destroy what she thought was my happiness. She couldn't even make up her mind not to let Albertina stay at home for the time being. Mother didn't want to appear more harsh than Mrs. Bondang. It wasn't her first responsibility, but she didn't find anything inappropriate, which surprised her. But anyway, when she left for Gombre, she always felt a little sorry for leaving me and Albertina so far, because my aunt and grandmother needed her care day and night, so she might have stayed there (in fact, she did) for several months. But when she arrived at Gombre, she thanked Legrontan for his grace and sincerity. There was hardly anything to do. The gentleman took pains to cover all the big and small things and postponed his return to Paris Monday and week. In fact, he was not very familiar with my aunt and grandmother. He did so only because of the first time. First, she was a friend of his mother's, and secondly, he felt that the dying patient liked to be cared for by him and could not live without him. Subsidiary elegance is a highly reproachable mentality, but it will not spread, not damage the whole soul. My idea was contrary to my mother's. I was very happy that she was going to Gombre, because otherwise I would have to worry (because I couldn't tell Albertina to keep her mouth shut). Sooner or later, my mother would find that Albertina and Miss Vander had a good relationship. For my mother, it was not only a matter of asking me not to speak to Albertina before she died, but also an insurmountable obstacle to Albertina's admission to stay at home. In addition to this crucial reason, which Mother did not know, Mother's attitude was influenced by two factors. On the one hand, because Grandma worshiped George Sander very much and advocated that virtue lies in nobility of heart, while Mother was a model for Grandma, so she was influenced by this kind of instructive and open-minded idea. On the other hand, some of my indecent actions have also affected her. Under this dual influence, she is now quite tolerant of women's behavior and words. She will be very strict if she changes her girlfriend who belongs to her middle class circle in Paris or Gombre from the past or even today. Yes, but now I am in front of her to praise these women * noble hearts, and she loves me so much, so she forgives them in many places.

Nevertheless, despite the appropriate and inappropriate questions, I believe that Albertina still has a lot to put up with for her mother. From Gombre, from Aunt Leonie, from all her relatives, my mother retained the habit of being rigid and methodical, and in my girlfriend's mind, there was no such concept. She never closed the door when she entered the room, and if it was open, she would rush in without scruple, just like a dog or a cat. She's a little uninteresting and charming, and now she's not like a young girl in the house, but like a family kitten and puppy, coming in and out of the room, appearing cold in every place you don't want her to come, and sometimes jumping on the bed and lying in line with me - that's very much for me. A good rest --- like making a nest for yourself, staying motionless and never bothering me at all; if it were a human being, it would not be so. But then she finally succumbed to my sleep system, not only did she not rush into my room anymore, but she never made any noise before I rang the bell. It was Franois who told her not to take these rules lightly. She was one of Gombre's loyal maids, who knew their master's position and the least they could do was to let him get exactly what they thought he deserved. When a stranger said goodbye and wanted to give Franoise some rewards to share with the young maid who helped the kitchen, she had not yet had time for the gentleman to put the money into Franoise's hands. She had already spoken to the maid who came to thank her. Her words were fast, firm and could not be ignored. The priest of Gombre's church was not a genius, but he knew what he was supposed to do. As a result of his persuasion, the daughter of a Protestant cousin of the Saskraf converted to Catholicism and formed what he saw as a perfect marriage. The marriage was married to an aristocrat of Mersegrain. The young man's parents wrote a letter, intended to know something about it, but the tone was rather arrogant, and they were very critical of the woman's original Protestant religion. The priest of Gombreben Hall wrote a strongly worded reply. As a result, the Mersegris nobleman immediately answered a letter with a very different seal and humbly pleaded for the honor of marrying a young girl.

Franois, after all, had no ability to make Albertina respect my sleep. But in her body, it can be said that the traditional milk-juice permeates her whole body. Albertina was totally unconscious about requests to enter my room or to ask me to give her essentials, and so on. She either kept silent or refused them outright. Albertina was shocked and finally realized that she was in a strange place, where she practiced a strange custom. Hand-throwing and foot-throwing had to be governed by rules that she could not disobey. She had a hunch when she was in Balbeck, and when she arrived in Paris, she simply dispelled the idea of resistance and waited patiently every morning for my bell to ring.

Moreover, Franois's instructions to Albertina were also good for the old maid herself. She kept sighing and sighing all day long after she returned from Balbeck, and now she gradually did not hear them. As she was getting on the train, it suddenly occurred to her that she had forgotten to say goodbye to the "housekeeper" of the hotel. The woman who looked after the long-lipped moustache on all floors hardly knew Franois, but was quite polite to her when she met. But Franois insisted on getting off the train and going back to the hotel to say goodbye to the housekeeper, and then set off the next day. Out of reason, but also out of sudden fear of Balbeck, I did not agree with her to achieve this intention, but she was so dismayed that she was in a morbid, restless and bad mood all day long, even if things had changed, the situation was still not improving, and she brought this mood to Paris. For according to Franois's code, as she had seen from the relief paintings of St. Andrey's Church, it was permissible to expect an enemy to die early, or even to kill him by hand, but if he had not done what he ought to do well, he would not have been polite to anyone, like a real rude man. In that case, if you don't say goodbye to a floor manager before you leave, it's a great adversity. There was no memory of saying goodbye to that woman throughout the journey, and she would never be seen again at any time, raising her cheeks to a scary bright red color. All the way to Paris, she didn't eat anything or drink a mouthful of water. It was not so much to punish us as to depress her stomach with that memory. It really made her stomach pouch heavy (every class has its pathology).

Mother has a letter to me every day. There must be excerpts from Mrs. De Sevigny's handbook in every letter. There are many reasons for this, including the factors of remembering Grandma. Mother wrote in the letter: "The Saskraf invited us to have a breakfast that she was good at. If your poor grandmother was still there, she should quote Mrs. De Sevigny as saying that this breakfast allowed us to get rid of our loneliness without inviting guests to come home." When I first answered the letter, I said foolishly: "From these excerpts, your mother can see at a glance that you picked them." Then, three days later, I read, "Poor child, if you're talking to me about my mother, then you're looking for Mrs. De Sevigny's help and you're looking for the wrong door. She'll say to you like she did to Mrs. De Grinion:'Is she so indifferent to you? I thought you were a family. ''

At this moment, I heard my sweetheart's footsteps in and out of her room. I rang the bell because it was time for Andre to take the driver out to pick up Albertina, a friend of Morrel's, who had been borrowed from the Vildiran family. I've talked to Albertina about the rather slim possibility of our marriage *; but I've never spoken to her formally about it; and she, out of reserve, whenever I say, "I don't know, but maybe it's possible," she always shakes her head with a melancholy smile as if to say, "No, no," then. That is to say, "I'm so pathetic." So, while I told her that we were "not sure of anything" about our future, I tried to make her happy and comfortable. Maybe I also subconsciously wanted to make her want to marry me. She has a funny attitude towards this extravagant life. Andre's mother saw me become a rich lady like hers. A lady who, as she said, "has a car, a horse and a picture" must have a face on me. Yes? I never told you she said that? Oh, she's a weirdo! To my surprise, she even elevated the painting to a position comparable to that of a light carriage and a fine horse.

As we will see below, although Albertina's habit of talking silly has not been changed, she has indeed made amazing progress. But it has nothing to do with me. I have always been indifferent to a woman's intellectual merits. Perhaps the only language genius that makes me feel interesting is Celeste's other language genius. For example, when she looked at Albertina and took time to talk to me, I couldn't help laughing softly for a while. She called me "an Angel resting in bed!" I said, "Look at what you said, Celeste, what is an angel?" Oh, if you think that you have something in common with the ordinary people who wander in our humble land, you are very wrong! ______________

"How can you rest in bed?" You see clearly that I am sleeping on my back."

"You're not sleeping on your back. Have you ever seen anyone sleeping on your back like this? You just have a rest here. At this moment, you look like a white dove in this white pajamas and with such a swing of the neck.

Albertina, even in some of the most trivial matters, is no match for the little girl who was in Balbeck a few years ago. When it comes to a political incident that she is very sick of, she will say something. "This is really wonderful." I don't know if it was at that time, she learned to say to a book she thought was badly written: "this book is quite interesting. "

My room was banned before I rang the bell, which made her feel funny. Because she got the biography of our family, she acted in the monastery, and I told her that I liked the tragedies quoted from the classics, and tried to compare me to Ahasuerus.

Unsummoned and unauthorized

That is, daring to commit a crime is beyond reproach.

Regardless of the official, regardless of men and women,

There is no escape from misfortune.

Even me...

It is also bound by laws, no different from other women.

If you don't wait to talk to him

He must at least be called in.

(1) The character of the French playwright Racine's tragedy Esther, the King of Persia. The play is based on biblical stories. The following quotes the lines of Queen Esther in Act I and Act III.

Her appearance has also changed. The slender blue eyes --- now thinner and longer --- changed a little; the color * remained unchanged, but it looked like a pool of water. So when she closes her eyes, you will feel like a curtain closing, covering your gaze at the sea. Perhaps the part of her face that impressed me most was that part of her face --- of course, it just meant breaking up with her every night. Because, for example, by the next morning, that wavy hair would have amazed me as much as I had seen something I had never seen before. But what could be more beautiful than a bright purple-black crown with beautiful hair, above the smiling eyes of a young girl? Smile adds a few feelings, and the shiny little curls on the end of the thick and beautiful hair are closer to the lovely body, as if this is the first ripple from there, which makes people feel fluttering.

As soon as she came into my room, she jumped into bed, sometimes explaining to me solemnly how smart I was, swearing to me with a genuine passion that she would rather die than leave me: I called her after shaving those days. She belongs to a woman who doesn't find out why she feels. The pleasure of a clean-shaven face can be interpreted as the moral virtue of a man who will devote happiness to their future in their eyes, but this happiness will fade away as the beard grows.

I asked her where she was going." I think Andre's going to take me to Bit-Shomon Park. I've never been there before." Of course, I couldn't tell from all the other words whether she was lying or not. Besides, I'm sure Andre will tell me all the places Albertina and she have been with. In Balbeck, when I was extremely tired of Albertina, I said to Andre half-truthfully, "My little Andre, if only I had met you earlier!" Then I will fall in love with you. But now my heart is in another place. But we can still meet often, because the love for another woman makes me feel infinitely sad, only you can help me, give me comfort. Who expected these jokes to come true three weeks later? Andre must have thought I was lying at Barbeck, but I really loved her, and now in Paris, maybe she still thinks so. Because for each of us, the truth of the matter is really unpredictable, so others simply can not understand the mystery of it. And because I knew what she would do with Albertina, and I told her all about it, I asked her to come here, and she accepted the invitation and came to Albertina almost every day. In this way, I can safely stay at home. Andrea was one of those girls, and with that, I'm sure she'll get everything I want from Albertina. To tell you the truth, I can tell her sincerely now that only she can comfort my heart and make it quiet. On the other hand, the reason why I chose Andrea (she just changed her mind, did not return to Balbeck, stayed in Paris) to be Albertina's companion was also related to what Albertina told me. She told me that her girlfriend was very kind to me when she was in Balbeck, but I always thought Andrea was very kind to me. I hate it. If I had known it, maybe it was her that I fell in love with. Why, you don't know anything about it?" Albertina said to me, "We often make fun of it. Besides, have you never noticed that she is learning from you when she talks and thinks? Every time she comes back from you, it's even more obvious. There's no need for her to tell us if she's ever met you. As soon as she arrives, as long as she has just come from you, it can be seen from her face at a glance. A few of us laughed happily when we looked at you. She was like a charcoal burner, black from head to foot, but she wanted people to believe that he was not the owner of charcoal. The Miller didn't have to tell people what he was doing. People could see his flour and the stamp of the bag on his shoulder. Andre is the same. She frowns like you, twists her long neck like this, and there are many other things I can't tell you. If I take a book from your room, even if I go outside and look at it, people will know that it was taken from you, because it smells like smoke. There are other things that are trivial and insignificant, but they are really interesting things in their bones. Every time someone talks about how good you are and seems to value you, Andre will be delighted.

Nevertheless, I was afraid that Albertina would make some tricks while I wasn't in front of her, so I advised her not to go to Bit-Shaw Park this day and to change places, such as Santa Cruz.

Of course, it's not because I still love Albertina. I know that. Love, perhaps, is nothing more than the aftermath of the whirlpool that stirs your heart up and down after a burst of excitement. When Albertina told me about Miss Vandei in Balbeck, there was such a whirlpool that made my heart churn up and down, but they are now calming down. I don't love Albertina anymore, because now in my heart, the pain I felt when I learned about Albertina's maiden age on the train in Balbeck and knew that she might still be a regular visitor to Montessorvan really no longer exists. All this, I have been thinking over and over, the pain has been healed. But some of Albertina's voices, from time to time, make me wonder - I don't know why - that in her short life, she must have received many expressions of courtesy and courtship, and it was with great joy, that is to say, in a coquettish manner. 。 So she likes to say to everything, "Really? Really?" Of course, if she said something like Audrey: "Look at what he's blowing, is it true?" I will not give birth to this heart, because this statement itself is ridiculous enough, people will only listen to this woman's simple mind, a little silly. But Albertina said, "Really?" That inquiry, on the one hand, gives a very strange impression that this is a woman compatriot who can't judge by herself who is turning to you for confirmation, while she does not seem to have the same ability as you. (People say to her, "We've been out for an hour" or "It's raining." She also asks, "Yes. Are you?") On the other hand, it's a pity that this defect in the ability to judge external phenomena can't be what she said, right? Really?" Real reason. It seems better to say that from the day she grew up into a young girl, these words were used to deal with such things as "You know, I have never seen such a beautiful person as you," and "You know how much I love you, and I love you crazy." These "are they?" Really?" It's to give those words a solemn answer while showing off your amorous acceptance. Since Albertina and I were together, they had only one use left for her: to answer an unnecessary sentence with a question, such as, "You've been sleeping for more than an hour." Really?"

I don't think I have any love for Albertina. I never think of the time we spent together when I recall the joy of the past, but I always have a secret concern about her daily behavior. Of course, I fled Balbeck in order that she would never be able to meet this friend again. Face to face, I have been worried about her group of friends, afraid that she will mix with them in order to amuse, or perhaps to amuse me, to do something indecent, so I decided to leave there immediately, intending to cut off all these harmful links to her once and for all. Albertina has a different general inertia, a ability to forget everything behind her head and to be at ease with the situation, so that when those connections are cut off, the phobia that haunts me for so long will be cured. But just as its origin is nameless evil, this fear can also appear in various forms. Before my jealousy finds a new attachment, I can still get a period of peace when the pain has passed. However, a slight incentive can cause a recurrence of a chronic disease. Similarly, for the evil of a person who provokes such jealousy, a slight chance can trigger it (after a period of chastity interval) to exert its influence again on different objects. I could separate Albertina from her companions, thus dispelling the demonic illusion that surrounded me; but even if I could make her forget those people and cut her off from them, her desire for pleasure was deep-rooted and perhaps waiting for the time to vent. Paris and Barbeck also offer opportunities for such catharsis. No matter which city is the same, she does not need to look for it at all, because evil exists not only in Albertina, but also in other people, and any chance to have fun is what those people want. It takes only one mind to understand the eyes to bring two hungry people together. For a smart woman, it's easy to pretend that she hasn't seen anything at first, and then walk to the person who has already understood and waited for her on a small road in five minutes. It's really easy to arrange a tryst in two words. Who can see a half-crack? For Albertina, it's simpler. If she wants to keep that ambiguous relationship going, she can only tell me that she likes a suburb of Paris and wants to go again. So as long as she comes back too late, or goes for a long, unexplainable ride (although the result may still be that she can easily explain the past, and there's no reason for her to have anything to do with it), it's enough to make me relapse, and this time it's not Barr in the background of what I imagined. Baker's scenes were entangled, and I tried to erase them with my previous impressions, as if eliminating a fleeting incentive would eliminate the cause of a congenital disease. I didn't realize that it was Albertina's changeable personality that made me able to do this. It was her ability to forget and even hate someone I had loved a long time ago. Sometimes I hurt someone I didn't know, but who had given her pleasure. Suffering, I didn't realize that it was in vain for me to impose pain on each of these objects, because they would be abandoned and replaced one after another. On the side of this passageway along which the old people who she had abandoned indiscriminately, there was a parallel path in front of me, which only allowed me to stop occasionally. The relentless and fearless journey of gasping for breath; if I could think about it carefully, I should have understood that my pain would cease only at the moment when Albertina and I had reached the end of our lives. As soon as we returned to Paris, I was not satisfied with Andre's and the driver's reports about going for a ride with Albertina. At that time, I felt that the near effects of Paris and the suburbs of Barbeck were equally disturbing to me. For several days, I accompanied Albertina personally, but wherever I went, I took pictures. I couldn't figure out what she was doing. She could still do little things behind my back. I watched her alone. It was more difficult. Finally, I simply took her back to Paris. To be honest, when I left Balbeck, I thought I was taking Albertina out of Gomoore with me; alas! Gomer is everywhere in the world. Half out of jealousy and half out of ignorance of this interest (a very rare situation), I inadvertently arranged a hide-and-seek game in which Albertina never let me catch it. I would ask her coldly, "Oh! By the way, Albertina, I wonder if it's my imagination or if you really told me that you know Silbert Swan? Well, I said that she always talks to me in class because she has a set of notes on French history; she is kind enough to lend these notes to me, and when I finish reading them, I will take them back to the classroom and return them to her. We only meet in class. Do you think she belongs to the kind of girl I don't like? Oh Not at all. It's the opposite.

However, in addition to this kind of interrogation chat, I spent more often the energy saved by staying at home and imagining Albertina's outing. I spoke to her in a kind of eager tone about our plan to go out with us, and the plan that I could not fulfill made it seem so inadequate. It is reproachable. I expressed my strong desire to go to the Paris Chapel to see the colored glass again, and regretted that I could not accompany her alone. She looked at my eager appearance and said softly to me, "Oh, my dear, since you seem to want to go so far, go with us and have a little bit of energy. We can wait as long as you like until you are ready. Besides, if you find it more interesting to be alone with me, I'll just send Andre home and let her come back next time. However, these invitations to travel, but is enhancing my sense of security, so that I am more comfortable at home.

(1) The ancient city destroyed by God in the Old Testament because of the sins of its inhabitants. Usually it refers to the roots of evil.

(2) The ancient church in the centre of Paris, in which the large painted glass windows built in the thirteenth century are spectacular.

I didn't expect that after I entrusted Albertina, the guard, with the task of calming my inner turmoil, to Andre and the driver so much that they would bother to watch Albertina, I became more and more dull, and the urge to rack my brains and imagination was curbed, by speculating and preventing others from asking for it. The inspiration inspired by willingness to do something is no longer there. What's more dangerous is that as far as my personality * is concerned, the world of possibilities * is always easier for me to understand than the real world of everyday life. Although it helps to understand people's mind, it is also liable to be deceived. My jealousy comes from imagination and is a spiritual self-torture that has nothing to do with possibilities. However, people and even the whole nation (and so I am included) may one day in their life history feel that they need a police chief, a discerning diplomat, and a head of a whole department. These characters never make guesses based on possibilities, but make accurate guesses. Reasonable reasoning, secretly calculating: "If Germany so declared, then it must be another attempt, it is not a general attempt, but a very clear something, and may have been put into practice." If this person has escaped, he must not have escaped to destination a, b, d, but to destination C. He must organize a search and arrest in that place. The specific plan is as follows... My God, I was born short of this skill, and now I am used to letting other people take my part in monitoring Albertina's heart and try to be quiet, so I simply let that weak instinct numb, atrophy and even die.

As for the reason why I wanted to stay at home, I was very reluctant to tell Albertina. I told her that the doctor told me to stay in bed. This is not the truth. Even if it was true, the doctor's advice did not prevent me from accompanying Albertina on a trip. I ask her to allow me not to go out with her and Andre, and I just want to say one reason, one reason for wise consideration. Every time I go out with Albertina, as long as she leaves me for a moment, I feel nervous: I guess she may be talking to someone or looking at someone. If she's in a bad mood, I'll think again, maybe I've upset her appointment or delayed her time. Truth is always just a bait to lead us to the unknown world, and we can't go far in exploring the unknown world. The best way is to try not to know, try not to think, not to provide any specific details for jealousy. Unfortunately, even in isolation from the outside world, the inner world will breed all kinds of things; even if I do not accompany Albertina out, alone at home and daydreaming, sometimes in the minds of a large number of real things can not be more real, they are like a magnet, like some traces of the unknown world. Hold it firmly, and it becomes a source of pain. Even if we live in a sealed cabin, Association and memories of ideas still work. But these internal strikes are not necessarily immediate. Albertina had just left the house, and the enlightening effect of loneliness had restored my spirits in an instant, and I wanted to enjoy myself on this very first day. But if the weather of that day can't not only arouse my imagination of the past, but also show me the real world in front of me, showing the real world at a glance to anyone who is not compelled by some unimportant (and therefore insignificant) circumstances and has to stay at home, then just enjoy it. The wishful desire for pleasure --- this wayward, purely instinctive desire --- is not enough to bring me these pleasures. Some sunny days, cold, the voice of the street is very clear to my ears, communication between me seems so smooth, as if the walls around the house have been demolished, whenever the tram passes by, its jingling bell sounds like a silver knife knocking on the glass of the house. What's more wonderful is the intoxicating New Melody of the potential violin I heard in my heart. With the change of temperature and external light, the strings become tense and relaxed at times. In our bodies, this potential instrument remains silent in the monotonous rhythm of life day after day, and it is the source of difference and change in music that makes it play melodies like songs: in some days, changes in weather can instantly transform us from one musical atmosphere to another. We will recall a long-forgotten tune, the melody of the song will appear in the memory with mathematical precision, even before we can identify which song it is, we will sing it out. Only these internal changes (although they are also influenced by the outside world) will change my impression of the outside world. The long-closed door of communication opened in my mind. The fragments of life in the small town and the scenes of pleasant outings are all appearing in consciousness. As the strings trembled, my whole body trembled. I believe that in order to have such a wonderful experience again, I would be willing to pay the price of all the lives that have passed away and will come - the traces left by these lives, sooner or later, will be wiped out by the rubber of habit.

Although I did not accompany Albertina on a long outing, my mind was more uncertain than her whereabouts. I refused to use my senses to appreciate this beautiful morning, but I enjoyed all the mornings that were similar to it in my imagination, those that had been and would be, more accurately. To be sure, what I'm enjoying is a typical morning. All the mornings like it are just intermittent reappearances, and I can recognize them at a glance: because when the clear wind blows, the Gospels of the day will be lifted to a suitable position on a page, steadily aligning with my vision and letting me lie in bed. You can see them clearly. This ideal morning, with the eternal truthfulness of all similar mornings, enriches my mind and brings me a joy that does not diminish my interest slightly because of weakness: the feeling of happiness and ease is often not generated from sound body, but from surplus energy that has never been consumed, and we do not need to rely on energy enrichment. Similarly, you can get this feeling just by cutting back on your activities. The energy I accumulated in the hospital bed made my whole body tremble and my heart jump like an immovable machine in situ.

Franois came to light the fire and threw some twigs into the hearth to set it on fire. The forgotten smell of a summer came down and surrounded the hearth, creating a magical atmosphere in which I vaguely felt I was reading a book, a moment in Gombre, and a moment in East Sierra. I felt very happy, even though I was still in my room in Paris, as if I was about to leave along Messenger. Liz went for a walk, or to Saint Luther and his friends in the barracks. It is often the case that we recall the joys of the past accumulated in our memories. In some people, such as those who suffer from illness and are always hopeful of recovery, they will show exceptionally strong, unbearable diseases and hope. On the one hand, it will make it impossible for them to go to nature. Looking for pictures that match memories, on the other hand, makes them confident enough to think they can do it soon, so they will still be full of longing and infinite yearning for these memories. All of these in front of them are not just memories or pictures. However, even though they are always just memories for me, even if I only see some pictures when I recall them, sometimes cold, because of a feeling of the same effect, they will make my whole child or teenager who saw them at first. Not only has the outdoor weather changed, the indoor odor changed, but also my age has fallen back to the ground, and people have changed their appearance. The smell of branches in the cool air, like a passing year, a piece of ice floating from the past winter, which can not see the bottom, broke into my room, which has such a fragrance or that kind of bright traces from time to time. These traces are like the traces left by the passage of time, and even I have a long-cherished hope. Before joy recognized them, I was in the middle of them, bathed in them. The sun shines on my bed, through the transparent shield of my thin body, warming me, making me as hot as crystal glass. Now, like a hungry convalescent patient who even the doctor forbade him to eat the right food, I thought of Albertina, thinking that marrying her would spoil my life, since I had to bear the burden of devoting myself to someone else, which was too heavy for me, and because she was always there. Always in front of me, I am bound to live a life of self-deprivation, and can no longer enjoy the pleasure of leisurely solitude.

The problem goes beyond that. Even if all we ask for in life is the desires it can give us, there are always some of them --- those that are not things, but those that are aroused by people --- that have their unique nature. So if I get up from bed and lift the curtain for a while, it's not just like a musician opening the lid for a while, it's not just to prove that the sun on the balcony and the street is completely in line with my memories. I do that to catch a glimpse of the laundress and the laundrywoman carrying the basket. The woman in charge of a bakery in a blue blouse, or the milkmaid with a curved pole carrying a milk can and an apron turning out the cuffs of a white canvas, is no longer looking at the proud blonde girl who is behind the family teacher. In short, what I want to see is a picture like this, which follows other pictures. The seemingly insignificant difference in appearance is enough to make it completely different from those pictures, as two different notes in the language of music. If I do not see it one day, it will be pale and poor because it cannot provide the object for my desire for happiness. Nevertheless, seeing these unimaginable women has brought me more and more pleasure, made the streets, the city and the world more desirable and worthwhile for me to explore, but it has also made me impatiently eager to recover and go out without Albertina. A free man. How many times, when the strange woman who would leave my reverie to me walked or drove her car fast past the house, I always felt painful that my illness could not keep up with her eyes. My eyes followed the woman like a gun shot out of a window. Don't let her face disappear from my eyes, because I am looking forward to happiness on this face.

A person who lives in seclusion like mine has never tasted happiness - the gift! Water Margin

As for Albertina, I am no longer interested in her situation. Every day she became ugly. It was only when I heard how she pulled other men's desires that I felt pain again, trying to get her back from them and let her hang high on the mast in front of me. She can make me miserable, but she will never make me happy. It is this pain that sustains this tedious relationship between me and her. Once the pain was relieved and the effort to alleviate it --- like a torturing game that forced me to devote all my energy --- became completely unnecessary, I felt that she had become meaningless to me, and I must have done the same to her. What frustrates me is that this situation will continue. Sometimes I even hope to hear what horrible scandal she has done to make me quarrel with her before recovering from illness, so that we can reconcile and make the chain that binds us together softer.

At the same time, I used many occasions, many times the opportunity to have fun, in their interaction to create a happy illusion for her, and this happiness I ask myself can not really give her. Once I recover, I will go to Venice; but if I marry Albertina, how can I make it? I had every suspicion of her. Even in Paris, when I decided to walk, I always took her out with me. Even if I stayed at home all afternoon, my thoughts would follow her all the way. Before my eyes, there would be a distant and blue scene, with me as the center, creating a hazy and vacant zone. If Albertina,'I said to myself,'When I go back for a ride and think that I'm not going to mention my marriage to her anymore, I'm not going to come back, go to her aunt's house, or say goodbye to her, then she'll save me a lot of trouble, so that I won't worry so much about the break-up!' My heart, since its wounds healed, began to part with my girlfriend; I could easily move her away from me in my imagination. Without me, in all likelihood, someone else will marry her, and she, with freedom, may go and do something that frightens me. But now the weather is so good that I'm sure she'll be back in the evening, so even if the idea that she might do something silly comes up in my head, I can still throw it aside and leave it silent in some corner of my mind, as if it was a bad thing done by some imaginary person. It has nothing to do with my real life; my mind runs with ease, feeling that I have both physical and psychological strength, that it is like a kind of muscle activity, a kind of spiritual excitement, so that I transcend the state of worry that has always held me back and begin to feel at ease in an atmosphere of freedom. Once in this atmosphere, I feel that whether it's trying to stop Albertina from marrying someone, or trying to keep her from being nice to other women, they are just as unreasonable in my own eyes as they are in the eyes of a stranger who doesn't know her.

However, jealousy belongs to the unpredictable and uncontrollable triggers, which are often the same in one patient and the same in another. Some patients with asthma have to open windows and breathe fresh air from the hills in the air vent to relieve their illness, while others have to stay in the city and hide in smoky rooms. But since they are all born with jealousy, they will all have a temper to follow the rules. Some people don't care about being deceived, as long as they are told the truth, others hope that others can hide the truth from him. In fact, these two kinds of people are equally ridiculous, because if the latter kind of person is more deceived because others conceal the truth from him, the former one should know. The truth of Tao is nothing more than to let troubles breed, continue and recur.

Moreover, the two different manifestations of jealousy are often paranoid, whether they are implored to inform or refused to hear. We can see that some men who are jealous of their mistress's slowness still allow her to commit herself to other men, as long as things have been permitted by him, and are near, even if not under his eyes, at least under his roof. This is not uncommon among men who are older and have young mistresses. This kind of man feels that he can hardly please his mistress, and sometimes even can't satisfy her demands. Instead of letting her deceive him, he should introduce a man who can make her happy, but can't give her bad ideas, into a neighborhood of the family. For others, the opposite is true: in a city he knows well, he would never allow his mistress to leave half a step and treat her as a complete slave, but he would allow her to run away for a month to a country he is totally unfamiliar with and can't imagine how she would live there. For Albertina, I have these two mindsets of paranoia for peace at the same time. If she was in my neighbourhood, and I encouraged her to do so, I would be able to monitor her every move without fear of being deceived by her, so I would not be jealous; if she went to a distant country that I was completely unfamiliar with, I could not imagine, could not and did not want to know how she was doing. Well, I probably won't be jealous. In either case, doubts can never arise either because of the fact that one knows nothing or because one knows nothing.

The sunset glowed, and memories brought me into a long and fresh atmosphere, which I felt as if Orpheus had breathed a wonderful breath from heaven that had never been seen before. But evening * finally came and drowned me in melancholy. I looked subconsciously at the clock to see how long Albertina would be back. I found it was time to get dressed and go downstairs. I asked Mrs. Landlord Gelmont about some dressing, because I was going to buy something for Albert. Tina. Sometimes I meet the Duchess in the yard on foot to go shopping, and even in bad weather, she always wears a cap and a fur coat. It was clear to me that in the eyes of many wise men, this lady was nothing at all. Now that there was no Duke territory or prince's feudal town, the title of Duchess de Gelmont was meaningless; but I had a different view of the prince or the castle feudal. 。 The lady in fur overcoat, rain or shine, who owned the castles as a duchess, Princess and lady, seemed to me to be still in her hands, just as the people engraved on the lintels of huge stones of buildings held up the cathedral they built or the city they protected. But only the eyes of my heart can see these castles and forests in the hands of this lady in a fur coat and gloves, this cousin of the king. All I can see with my naked eye in the cloudy and sunny days is that the Duchess dares to arm herself with an umbrella." In case of an unexpected situation, I should take some insurance with me. What should I do if I walk a long way and the price of the car is too expensive? It's too expensive, "Ah, I can't afford it." The Duchess talked about it all day. Another sentence was, "I'm too poor." It was unclear whether she said that because she thought it was interesting to say that she was poor as a rich man or because she thought she was (noble though she pretended to be one). It's not like those upstarts who despise the poor when they have a few dollars. It's like a country woman. But maybe it's just a habit at some stage of her life. She's very rich, but she's not rich enough to support the scene. It's inevitable that she doesn't have enough money, and she doesn't want people to think she wants to hide it, so she just put it on her lips. What a person says in a joking tone is often something that upsets him, but he is unwilling to show his annoyance, and may secretly have a sense of luck, expecting the other side of the conversation to hear his joking tone, so that he thinks the matter can not be taken seriously.

But at this time of the evening, I knew that the Duchess was always at home, and I was glad that it would be more convenient for me to consult her in detail about all the knowledge that Albertina needed. When I went downstairs, I hardly thought about how strange it was to say that Mrs. de Gelmont, who had made me feel so mysterious in my childhood, was going to her house just for practical purposes and wanted to send her to use, as if she were making a phone call, which had never been used before. The amazing thing, its miracle once made us feel amazed and amazed, but today, when an offer tailor came or a shop was called to deliver ice cream, we picked up the phone and called, without thinking about it at all.

Albertina has a strong interest in all kinds of gadgets. I couldn't help buying her something new every day. Whenever she talked to me with a flickering eyebrow about her elegant eyes on a dress, through a window or in the yard, and saw Mrs. de Gelmont around her neck, over her shoulders, or a long scarf, leather shawl or umbrella in her hand, I knew very well that the lady had a good taste. It's hard to come by (talking to Elstell, getting more and more sophisticated after she's interesting), let alone say something that just looks passable. Even if it's really beautiful, it's already very elegant in the eyes of ordinary people, but as long as it's not exactly the case, it's never going to suit her. I went quietly to ask the Duchess where, how and how Albertina's favorite dress was made, and how I could get it exactly the same way, including the maker's secrets and his features * (Albertina calls it "demeanor"). ” The exact name --- resounding and crucial --- and the texture of the material I have to choose.

As soon as I arrived at Balbeck, I told Albertina that Duchess de Gelmont lived opposite us in the same building. She heard the air of this distinguished title and surname, and said that it was indifferent, hostile and contemptuous. It was a man of proud and passionate nature. An emotional expression when one is unable to fulfill one's wishes. Although Albertina's sexuality may have something remarkable about it, the strengths it contains can only be found in the box of our hobbies, in the middle of our mourning for those hobbies we have to give up (pretending to be elegant for Albertina) - that's what we usually call disgust. To seek development. Albertina's aversion to the people in the social circle is only a small part of her personality, but as one of the most revolutionary aspects of her personality, it interests me - that is, a resentful attachment to the nobility - which is exactly reflected in Mrs. de Gelmont's nobility. The French * lattice forms an interesting contrast. Albertina may not care much about that aristocratic temperament, but she remembers that Elstier once told her that the Duchess was the most well-dressed woman in Paris, so in my girlfriend, her contempt for the Republican colour of a Duchess gave way. A woman in elegant dress has a strong interest. She often asked me about Mrs. de Gelmont and encouraged me to go to the Duchess for advice on her dress. In fact, I could go to Mrs. Swan for advice. For this reason, I did send her a letter, but I think Mrs. de Gelmont seems to be better at dressing art. If I'm sure she's not going out and I'll take care of it when Albertina comes home and informs me, I'll go downstairs and see the Duchess in a misty grey * Chinese crepe dress, floating in ecstasy, and I'll think it's because of some complexity that she appears in front of me like this. The reason is, and it should be so, but it can't be any other way. I listen to myself soaking in such a comfortable atmosphere, as in some foggy, pearl-grey * toned quiet afternoon; if, conversely, she is wearing a Chinese Nightgown decorated with yellow and red flames, then I will. Looking at it in ecstasy is like looking at a dazzling sunset; these clothes are not an indifferent and changeable decoration, but a definite and poetic reality, like the weather of a day, like the specific light at a certain time of the day.

Among all Mrs. de Gelmont's long skirts and nightgowns, the ones that best reflect a clear tendency and have a special significance are those made by Fordini in imitation of Venice's ancient patterns. Whether it's because of their historical origins or because each of them is unique, these dresses are endowed with a very special quality that makes the woman who is waiting for you or talking to you in these dresses extraordinarily important, as if the dress is long. The deliberate results of the period are as if the conversation were beyond everyday life as if it were a scene in a novel. In Balzac's novels, we have seen the heroine wear this or that costume on the day she receives a visitor. Today's clothing is not as personal as it is now, but Fordini's long skirt is an exception. The novelists do not have any ambiguity in describing these skirts, because they do exist, and the finest patterns on them can give you a detailed look like the authentic works of art. The lady really had to make a choice whether to wear this dress or that dress.

But when it comes to long skirts, I have to say more about this lady. I think Mrs. de Gelmont is even more adorable now than when I was in love with her. Because I had nothing to expect from her (I went there for no purpose of visiting her), when I put my feet on the mantelpiece and listened to her, as if I were reading a book written in the old style, I was almost as free and peaceful as if I were there alone. My spiritual realm is detached, so I can savor the French elegance in her speech, the purity of its charm, in today's oral and written language is irreplaceable. I listened to her as if I were listening to a lovely French folk song with pure flavor, and I even felt that I could vaguely hear her complaints about Metlink (but, given the lack of opinion and the tendency of women to be influenced by the fashion in the literary world, she may have been influenced by the delayed praise, for that matter. A Belgian playwright admired it as much as I could feel Merrime's criticism of Baudelaire, Stenda of Balzac, Paul-Louis Gurier of Victor Hugo, and Merck of Malamey. I know that those who scoff at others have more limitations in their thinking than the people they scoff at, but their vocabulary is more pure. Mrs. de Gelmont's vocabulary was almost the same as that of St. Lou's mother, and it was an amazing state. Today's writers who like to say things like "truth" (instead of "truth"), what's more (without saying "especially"), and "surprise" (without saying "surprise") and so on, I'm not from their dull vocabulary, but from a writer named Mrs. de Gelmont or Ford. Lonsovas's women's conversation learned the ancient style and the true pronunciation of each word. I learned from Franois when I was five years old that people did not talk about Tarner, but about Tar, not about Bernard, but about Beir. So when I entered the social circle at the age of 20, there was no need for me to be taught that I should not say "Mrs. de Bernard" as Mrs. Bondang did.

If I say that the Duchess is not aware of her local flavor and half-lady village spirit, or that she did not show some kind of affectation when she was a child, then I'm talking about it. For her, however, it was not so much the innocence of the lady as the countryman's appearance, as the pride of the Duchess who scorned the rich woman who did not know her, but rather the artistic spirit of a woman who knew her charm and did not want to let it bring a little artistic anger to the woman who had been spoiled by modern whitewash. Aesthetic taste of quality. An example is similar to this. We all know that there is a Normandy shopkeeper in Diver, the owner of William the Conqueror. He insists that his inn is not susceptible to the luxury of modern hotels. Although he is a millionaire, he still keeps the Normandy peasant style of speaking and dressing. And just like in a country cottage, letting a customer run into the kitchen to see him cook a meal in person is by no means inferior to the most luxurious restaurant, but much more expensive. Wuthering Heights

But it is not enough for an old aristocratic family to have the vitality of its native land alone. A clever and just member of the family must be born in order not to despise this vitality and let it not be obliterated under the gloss of secularity. Mrs. de Gelmont, it's a pity that she's too talented and Parisian. When I met her, she didn't save any breath except her accent. But at least when she described her life as a young girl, she found a kind of writing (in the voice and affectation of the provincial people who seemed too vulgar). The eclectic way of conversation, the language of this style, makes some of the legends in George Sonne's Little Fadette and Chateaubrion's Memoirs by the Tomb seem so lovely. My favorite thing is to listen to Mrs. de Gelmont's stories about the peasants who appeared with her. Ancient names and long-standing customs make the villages set off by these castles have an attractive appeal.

Her way of pronunciation, without any pretension or intention to create a vocabulary, is really a museum of French history with conversation as its exhibit. My uncle, Fitz James, would not be surprising because we knew that the Fitz James family would be very willing to declare that they were eminent families in France and would not want to hear their names pronounced in an English accent. But some people, who thought they had to try their best to pronounce certain names according to the rules of grammatical spelling, suddenly heard that Mrs. de Gelmont did not pronounce them that way, tried to pronounce those names in a way they had never heard before. It was really delicious for them to be so tame. Surprise. For example, the Duchess had a great-grandfather who served as Count de Chamber's attendant. To make a joke on her husband, who later became an Orleans party member, she always liked to say "we old people of Frostov". Those who had thought they should read Frostov immediately changed the courtyard and kept talking about Frostov.