It was during this period that Block completely changed my world outlook. He opened up new possibilities for happiness * (which later turned into possibilities for pain *) because he told me that what women loved most was courtship --- contrary to what I thought when I went for a walk in Messengers. After this enlightenment, he gave me a second enlightenment (the value I learned long after): he took me to the brothel for the first time. He had told me before that there were many beautiful women for possession, but their faces were blurred in my mind, and then I went to a brothel to get a definite impression of them. If I'm grateful for Block, whose gospel is that happiness and possession of beauty are not impossible, and it's foolish to give up willingly (just as grateful to an optimist doctor or philosopher for making us look forward to a long life in the world and a world that is not totally isolated from the world), how many? The brothels I visited after twenty years were of great benefit to me because they provided me with samples of happiness and added a factor to the beauty of women that we could not imagine. It was not just a synthesis of former beauty, but a magical present, a present we could not imagine; it could only come from reality, beyond our wisdom. All the logical creation of force is above: individual charm. I should categorize these brothels with other beneficiaries of similar origin and utility, namely illustrative painting history, symphonic concerts and Art City Album, because before them, we could only imagine Mantana, Wagner and the city without excitement through other painters, musicians and cities. Siena's charm. However, the brothel that Block led me to and that he himself had not been to for a long time was of low specifications, mediocre staff and rarely updated, so I could not satisfy my old curiosity and generate new curiosity. All the women the guests ordered, the brothel businessman pretended not to know, and all the women she proposed were the ones the guests did not want. She praised someone in front of me, laughed and said that she was satisfied (as if it were a rare and delicious dish): "She is Jewish. Aren't you interested?' (Maybe for this reason, she called her Rachel.) She stirred up foolishly and falsely, trying to impress me with it, and finally uttered a gasp of almost carnal pleasure: "Think about it, young man, a Jewish woman, you're sure to be upset, eh!" This Rachel, I've seen her once, but she hasn't seen me. The man had brown hair and was not beautiful, but he did not look silly. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and smiled freely at the lady who had been introduced to her. I heard her talking to them. On both sides of her narrow face were curly black hair, which were very irregular, as if they were some lines in Chinese ink painting. Again and again, the old bustard recommended her, praised her for her intelligence and education, and I promised to come to Rachel every time (I gave her a nickname: "Rachel, be God"). However, on the first night, I heard Rachel say to the old bustard as he was leaving, "Well, I'm free tomorrow. If someone comes, don't forget to call me."

This is the beginning of the famous passage in Act IV of the famous opera Jewish Woman by French composer Allevi (1799-1862).

These words made me see in her not an individual, but a certain type of woman whose common habit was to see if she could make one or two Louis in the evening. Her difference was just to put it another way: "If you need me, or if you need someone."

The bustard had never seen Allevi's opera, and did not understand why I always said, "Rachel, be God." But not understanding this joke is not the same as not feeling ridiculous, so she always laughs at me:

"Why, tonight is not the time when you and Rachel are united from God? How do you say,'Rachel, be God'? Ah, that's wonderful! Ten Days Talk

I'm going to pair you up. Look, you won't regret it."

One time I almost made up my mind, but she was "receiving visitors" and the other time she was receiving a "barber", an old man who, when he was with women, just poured oil on their loose hair and combed it. I waited impatiently, and a few humble women (who claimed to be female workers but never worked) who came to brothels to make me tea and talk to me for a long time, their half-naked or completely naked bodies making serious topics simple and interesting. I stopped going to this brothel. Before that, I saw that the old bustard needed furniture. I wanted to show her my friendship. I chose several pieces from the furniture that Aunt Leonie left me, especially a couch, and gave them to her. I couldn't see them at all, because there was no place to put them in the house and my parents didn't let them move in, so they could only pile them in the warehouse. But I saw them again in the brothel, and I saw the women using them, so the magic of the aunt's bedroom that used to be full of Gombre came back, but it was in distress, because I forced them to bear brutal contact unarmed! I suffer more than any woman who dies. I stopped going to the kite mother. I felt that the furniture was alive. They were begging for me, just like Persian mythology: the objects in the mythology seemed to be lifeless on the surface, but the soul of suffering and praying for relief was hidden inside. In addition, because the memories provided to me by memory often do not follow the time sequence, but seem to be the reflection of the inverted left and right, it was a long time later that I remembered that many years ago, I had tasted the pleasure of love with a cousin on the same couch for the first time. At that time, I did not know where we were going, so she came up with this picture. When the adventurous idea: Take advantage of Leonie's absence.

Many other furniture, especially Aunt Leonie's old and beautiful silverware, I sold them in spite of my parents'objections in order to exchange money for more flowers for Mrs. Swan. When she accepted the huge orchid basket, she said to me, "If I were your father, I would find you a designated guardian." But how could I have imagined that one day I would miss the silver in particular, and that I would have other pleasures over the pleasure of courting Hilbert's parents, which might disappear altogether? Likewise, I decided not to go to the Embassy abroad, precisely for Hilbert's sake, precisely for the sake of not leaving her. People often make final decisions in a temporary mood. It's hard for me to imagine Hilbert moving away from her to someone else the strange substance that flickers in her parents and in her house and makes me indifferent to everything else. This substance did not change, but it had a totally different effect on me, because the same disease has different stages, and when the heart's endurance decreases with age, it can no longer withstand delicious food that is harmful to health.

My parents hoped that the wisdom Bergott had found in me would translate into outstanding achievements. When I didn't know Mr. and Mrs. Swan, I thought I didn't intend to write because I couldn't meet Hilbert freely, because I was anxious. But when they opened the door to me, I just sat down at my desk and got up and ran to their house. I came back from their home alone, but it was only a sign that my mind could not resist the flow of words, because in the past few hours, I had mechanically allowed myself to be swept away by it. I was alone, but continued to fabricate words that might please the Swans, and, in order to make the game more interesting, I acted as the present interlocutor, asking myself fictional questions in order to make my high opinion a clever answer. Although this exercise is carried out in silence, it is a conversation rather than a meditation. My loneliness is a kind of spiritual salon, in which I am not the person who controls my words, but the imaginary interlocutor; I am not expressing what I think is true, but the thought that I hold lightly and lack reflection from the outside to the inside, so I feel a pure passive pleasure, like indigestion. Passive pleasure in staying still.

If I hadn't planned to write for a long time, I might be in a hurry to start. Now that my intention is certain, and that in twenty-four hours (tomorrow is a blank box, I haven't entered yet, so everything in the box is arranged in order), my good wishes can be easily realized, why not pick a night when my writing mood is not good enough to start? Of course, unfortunately, the next few days are not auspicious days for writing. Now that you've been waiting for years, what's the point of waiting three more days? I am convinced that by the third day, I will be able to write several pages, so I never mentioned my plans to my parents. I'd rather endure a few more hours and then show my grandmother the works I'm working on to comfort her and convince her. Unfortunately, the next day is still not the vast, action-oriented day I eagerly hope for. At the end of the day, my laziness, my hard struggle with my inner obstacles lasted only 24 hours longer. A few days later, my plan was still on paper. I no longer expected it to be realized immediately, and I no longer had the courage to make it a prerequisite. So I went to bed late again, and I didn't have to lie down early with the exact illusion that I would start writing tomorrow morning. I need to take a few days off before I get back on my feet. One day (the only time) my grandmother summoned up her courage and blamed me in a soft tone of disappointment, "Why, you have no following in this writing?" I resented her for not seeing that I would never change once I decided to. Her words have pushed back the time I will put them into practice, and perhaps for a long time, because her injustice has annoyed me, and I am unwilling to start writing in the mood of annoyance. She realized that her suspicions had blindly interfered with my intentions, apologized to me, and kissed me and said, "I'm sorry, I won't say anything again." Moreover, in order not to discourage me, she said that when I was well, writing would begin naturally.

"What's more," I thought to myself, "to spend time at Swan's, am I not like Bergott?" My parents almost believed that, since I was in a salon with a famous writer, the time spent there would surely greatly promote genius, although I was very lazy. How absurd it is to accept genius from others instead of exerting genius from within oneself! _____________ It's like a person who doesn't care about hygiene at all, eats and drinks excessively and stays healthy by dining with doctors regularly. However, the biggest victim of this illusion, which deceived me and my parents, was Mrs Swan. When I told her that I couldn't come and that I had to stay at home and work, she looked as if she thought I was acting like a fool and pretentious person.

But Bergott is coming. Do you think his work is not good? It will be better in the near future, "she continued." The articles he wrote to the newspaper are sharper, more refined and less verbose than his books. I've arranged for him to write an editorial for the newspaper Figaro in the future. That's the right man in the right place.

She said, "Come on, he knows what you should do best."

It was for my career that she advised me to go to dinner with Bergott the next day anyway (just like meeting volunteers and colonels), and she seemed to think that literary masterpieces were "created through communication".

In this way, neither the Swans nor my parents, who seem to have prevented me at different times, raised any objection to my relaxed life, which enabled me to meet Hilbert with abandon, if not calmly, at least intoxicatedly. There is no peace in love, because people always have to make progress. In the past, I could not go to her home, so I regarded going to her home as an unattainable happiness. Where would I think that there would be new worrying factors in her home? When her parents stopped objecting, and when the problem was finally solved, trouble took on a new form. In this sense, it can be said that a new friendship begins every day. When I came back at night, I always thought about something that was vital to our friendship. I had to talk to Hilbert. It was endless and never the same. But I am happy after all, and this happiness is no longer threatened. Otherwise, the threat finally emerged, and, unfortunately, it came from what I thought was a sure thing, Hillbert and I. The things that comfort me, the happiness I think, should have caused me uneasiness. We are often in an abnormal state of love, with the seriousness. We are happy because there is something unstable in our hearts, and we keep trying to maintain it, and as long as it doesn't move, we hardly notice it anymore. It is true that love contains enduring pain, but it is diluted by joy and becomes a latent and postponed pain, but it can erupt violently at any time (if people don't get what they want, then the pain will erupt long ago).

On several occasions I felt that Hilbert did not want me to go too often. Indeed, her parents are increasingly convinced that I have a good influence on her. I just want them to invite me when I meet her, so I think, "In this way, my love will never be in any danger. Now that they are on my side and they have authority over Hilbert, what should I worry about? However, when her father invited me against her wishes to some extent, she showed impatience, which made me wonder: what I thought was the guarantee of happiness was the secret reason for the interruption of happiness?

The last time I went to see Hilbert, it was raining. She was invited to dance training, but she was not familiar with the family and could not take me. I took more caffeine that day than usual to keep out the dampness. Madame Swan, presumably because of bad weather or prejudice against the family at the party, was angry when her daughter went out and called her, "Hilbert's here!" And pointed to me, that I came to see her, she should stay at home with me. Mrs Swan was kind to me by saying --- or shouting -- "Hilbert," but as Hilbert put down her clothes and shrugged, I immediately realized that the mother had accidentally accelerated the gradual breakup between my girlfriend and me, which might have been prevented before. There's no need to dance every day." Audette said to her daughter that she probably had learned that wisdom from Swan before. Then she returned to Audrey's normal state and spoke English to her daughter. Immediately, it seemed as if a wall had covered part of Hilbert, as if an evil spirit had threatened my girlfriend away from me. For the language we are familiar with, we can replace the opaque voice with the transparent thought, but the language we are not familiar with is like a palace with closed doors and windows, where the woman we love can flirt with others, and we are rejected, desperate and powerless, and nothing can be seen. I can't stop it. Some French proper nouns often appear in this English conversation. They seem to be clues, which make me more uneasy. If I had laughed a month ago, I would have laughed, but now, although they talked within a few feet without moving, I felt that it was a cruel hijacking, leaving me alone and pitied. Finally, Mrs Swan finally walked away. Perhaps this day, because Hillbert complained that I could not help hindering her from dancing, or because I was deliberately colder than ever (I guess she was angry with me), there was no joy, dryness or depression on her face, as if she had been missing the four steps that my visit had prevented her from dancing all afternoon, as if the whole thing had happened. In the afternoon, I blamed everyone, and above all I blamed us for not understanding the mysterious reason why she was so fond of Boston dancing. She just exchanged a few words with me from time to time. What's the weather like? The rain is getting heavier and heavier. The clock is moving faster. There are silence and monosyllabic words in the middle. I struggled desperately to spoil the moments that should have been dedicated to friendship and happiness. It comforts me that everything we say is so rigid, so empty and absurd, because Hillbert will not take my mediocre thoughts and indifferent tone seriously. Although what I said was, "It used to be a slow clock." She understood what I meant: "You're so bad!" On this rainy day, I struggled tenaciously to prolong these words without any sunshine, but all my efforts were in vain. I knew that my indifference was not as solidified as pretence. Hilbert must have felt that, since I had said three times that "the day is shorter," if I repeated it four times rashly, it would be hard for me to be at ease. The system, will tear like rain. There was no laughter in her eyes or face, and her sad eyes and gloomy face were filled with a frustrating monotony. The face became almost ugly, like the dull beach, where the sea had retreated far away, and its glittering uniformity within the fixed, closed horizon was tiresome. Finally, I saw that Hilbert was still not turning around as I had hoped for hours, and I told her she wasn't interesting enough. You're not interesting enough." She answered. What's wrong with me?" I asked myself what I had done wrong and what I had achieved, so I asked her again.

"Of course, you think you're good!" After that, she laughed for a long time. So I felt how painful it was that I could not reach another layer of thought, another layer of more elusive thought, expressed by her laughter. Her smile seemed to mean, "No, no, I don't believe you at all. I know you love me, but I don't care. I don't take you seriously." However, I remind myself that laughter is not a clear language after all. How can I be sure that I understand it correctly, let alone that Hilbert's words are full of emotion? What's wrong with me? Tell me, I will do as you say. No, it's not necessary. I can't explain it to you." Suddenly, I was afraid that she thought I didn't love her. It was another kind of pain as strong as that. It demanded another kind of logic. If you knew how sad I was, you would tell me." If she doubts my love, then my sadness will make her happy, but now on the contrary, she is very angry. I realized I was wrong and decided not to believe her anymore. I said to her, "I love you all the time. Someday you will understand." Criminals often say that their innocence will be known to the world, but for mysterious reasons, this day will never be the day they are tried. I plucked up my courage and suddenly decided not to meet her again, but I would not tell her for the time being, because she would not believe it.

The person you love may bring you bitter sorrow, even when you are caught up in worries, affairs, and joys unrelated to her or him. But if sadness, such as my sadness this time, is born when we are immersed in the happiness of meeting her, then there will be a sharp depression in our sunny, stable and tranquil mind, which will set off a violent storm on us and make us not confident to fight it to the end. The storm rising in my heart at the moment was so fierce that I said goodbye, turned dizzy and bruised all over, and felt that I could breathe only if I went back and found an excuse to go back to Hilbert. But she would say, "It's him again! It seems that I can do whatever I want with him. He will always come back. The more painful he is when he leaves, the more obedient he is when he comes back. My thoughts pulled me back to her with irresistible force. When I got home, these uncertain winds, the internal compass imbalance still existed, so I wrote some contradictory letters to Hilbert.

I am going through a difficult situation. People often face this situation many times in their lives, and every time, at different ages, people adopt different attitudes, although their sex * personality or nature * have not changed (our nature * created love, created the women we love, even their mistakes). ). At this point, our lives split into two, as if all of them were on the relative balance plate. It is our wish that we should not upset the people we love but don't understand, but not be too humble and skillfully neglect them slightly. We should not let them feel that they are indispensable because this feeling will make them leave us. The other balance is pain (not definite, partial pain), which, contrary to the former state, can be alleviated only when we stop trying to please the woman and convince her of her possibilities for us and then approach her again. If we take part of our age-depleted perseverance from the self-esteem balance plate and add to the sad balance plate the physical pain we have gradually acquired and allowed to develop, then the balance will not show us the courageous decision at the age of 20, but our decision at the age of nearly half a century - it is ten percent. It's heavy and unbalanced. What's more, the situation is changing in repeated situations. In middle age or later years, we may be willing to confuse certain habits with love (which is fatal to love), but in youth we do not recognize these habits, which are bound by many other obligations and cannot dominate ourselves at will.

I just wrote a letter to Hilbert to vent my anger, but also deliberately arranged a few seemingly accidental words that my girlfriend could grab hold of these lifebuoys and reconcile with me; but a moment later, the wind changed, and I wrote some tender sentences, using some sweet and sad phrases, such as "Never again". Users think these words are touching, while the woman who reads the letter will find them boring, or she thinks it's all a lie and interprets "Never again" as "tonight if you need me"; or she believes it's the truth, so it means breaking up forever (what a pity it is to break up with someone we don't love). Now that we are in love, we can't act as if we were not in love in the future. We can't imagine the woman's real psychological state, because, although we know she is cold and heartless, we still dream of her speaking in the tone of a lover (we do this to deceive ourselves with beautiful fantasies, or to deceive ourselves with beautiful fantasies, or to do so for the sake of her. Free from heavy grief. We are confronted with the thoughts and manners of the women we love, just as the earliest scientists in ancient times were confronted with natural phenomena (science has not yet been established, unknown things have not yet been explained), lost, even worse. We can't see the causality, the connection between this phenomenon and that phenomenon, and the world in our eyes is as vague as a dream. Of course, I try to overcome this disorder and try to find out why. I even tried to be "objective" and seriously considered Hilbert's position in my eyes, my position in her eyes, and her position in other people's eyes, how different they are! If I can't see the disparity, then I will regard my girlfriend's simple courtesy as a manifestation of passionate love, and my own ridiculous and disgraceful behavior as a simple and elegant love of beauty. But I'm also afraid to go to the other extreme, so I regard Hilbert's unpunctuality and bad mood as unchangeable hostility. I tried to find a third point of view that correctly reflected things in these two same distorted views, and the calculations I made for it eased my pain a little. I decided to go to Swan's house the next day (maybe it was the result of these calculations, maybe it was me who made the calculations express my wishes). I was very happy, just like a person who was unwilling to travel and worried about it for a long time. Finally, I came to the station and decided to cancel the trip, so I was happy to go home and unblock my bags. When people hesitate, the idea of taking a certain decision (unless they take no decision, thereby losing the vitality of the idea) is like a viable seed, drawing the outlines of the excitement generated by the completion of the action. Therefore, I say to myself that no longer meeting her is just an idea, but I am like the truth. What a ridiculous thing to feel so painful! Besides, since I will eventually come back to her, why should I make such painful decisions and promises?

However, the resumption of this friendly relationship lasted only a moment, that is, on my way to Swan's house. It didn't break down because the Chief Food Officer (who liked me very much) told me that Hilbert wasn't at home (I learned from the people who met her that night that she wasn't at home), but because of the way he spoke: "Sir, Miss is not at home, I assure you that she is indeed not at home." Sir, if you want to know clearly, I can call Miss's maid. Mr. A can be sure that I will do everything possible to make Mr. A happy. If Miss is at home, I will go to see her immediately ahead of the students." The only significance of this remark lies in its spontaneity, because it X-rays (at least roughly) the unimaginable reality concealed by pretentious speech. These words prove that I am an entangler in the eyes of people around Hilbert. As soon as these words came out of his mouth, they aroused hatred in my heart. Of course, I would like to treat Hilbert as the object of hatred rather than him. I will pour all my anger on him, so that my love can get rid of it and remain alone. However, this statement also shows that I should not go to Hilbert in the short term. She will write to apologize to me. Nevertheless, I will not go to see her at once. I will prove to her that I can live without her. Besides, when I receive a letter from Hilbert, I can more easily tolerate the temporary absence from her, because as long as I want to see her, I will be able to see her. In order to withstand this deliberate design of separation without too much pain, my heart must get rid of terrible doubts, such as that we have since broken up, or that she has been engaged and robbed. The next few days were very similar to the New Year's week, when I had to live without Hilbert. However, I knew very well that at the end of that Monday, she would return to Champs Elysees Street, and I would see her as before. On the other hand, as long as the New Year's holiday was not over, it would be useless for me to go to Champs Elysees Street. So, during that long, gloomy week, I calmly endured gloom without fear or hope. But now it's not. The latter emotion, hope, is almost as painful as fear.

I did not receive a letter from Hilbert that evening. I blamed her negligence and busyness. I was convinced that there must be a letter from Hilbert in the morning. Every day I look forward to morning letters, and my heart beats violently, and when I receive letters from other people, not from Hillbert, I am depressed. Sometimes I don't have a letter, which is not worse, because another woman's friendly gesture to me will make Hillbert's indifference more ruthless. I then looked forward to the afternoon letter. Even outside the post office hours, I don't go out because she's likely to be sent. Eventually, it was too late for the postman or Swan's servant to come to the door, so I relayed my hope of calming down to the next morning. I do this because I don't think my pain will last. I have to keep it up to date. Sadness remains the same as before, but it no longer invariably prolongs the initial excitement as before. Instead, it starts again and again every day. The excitement is renewed so frequently that it finally --- it is a purely material and temporary state --- stays there. Therefore, the confusion caused by the former expectation has not calmed down. The second expectation came, and I was anxious all the time (it was not easy to endure an hour). The pain of this time is a hundred times more severe than that of the previous New Year holiday, because this time I am not totally suffering, but always looking forward to ending the pain.

After all, I accepted the pain, and I knew it was decisive. I would give up Hillbert forever. It was also for my love, because I would never want her to still despise me in her memory. From now on, when she made an appointment with me, I even promised to avoid thinking that I was gambling on love, but at the last quarter of an hour, I wrote to her saying that I couldn't keep the appointment and repeatedly expressed regret, as if I were dealing with someone I didn't want to see. I think these polite expressions of apology, commonly used in general acquaintances, are more likely to convince Hilbert of my indifference than to pretend to be indifferent to the woman he loves. I don't need words, but repetitive actions to better illustrate my unwillingness to meet her; when I do, she may be interested in me again. Unfortunately, this is fantasy. Not meeting her anymore in order to arouse her interest in meeting me again is tantamount to losing her forever, for, first, when the interest revives, in order to make it last, I cannot obey it immediately. Secondly, by that time, the harshest moment has passed, because I need her most is this moment. I really want to warn her that the pain of this separation will soon be greatly reduced, and I will not think of surrender, reconciliation and meeting her again in order to end the pain as I do now. In the future, when Hilbert regains his interest in me and I can express it to her without any danger, it will not survive such a long separation. Hilbert will become an indispensable person to me. I know that very well, but I can't tell her. If I told her that I would never love her again after a long absence, she would think that my purpose was simply to make her call me quickly. In the meantime, I always chose Hillbert not at home. She and her girlfriend went out to visit Mrs. Swan on days when they did not go home for dinner. (For me, she became the old one again, when I seldom saw her daughter, when the girl did not come to Champs Elysees, I went for a walk in Sophora Street to make Hillbert understand why I was. Not to see her was not to be entangled by something else, nor to be in poor health, but to be unwilling to meet, despite my statement to the contrary. This method made me more smoothly adhere to the separation. Now that I can hear people talking about Hilbert, she must have heard people talking about me, and she will understand that I am not attached to her. Like all those in distress, I felt that my situation was not the worst, though not the worst, because I could go in and out of Hilbert's house at will (although I would never take advantage of this privilege). If the pain is too severe, I can stop it. So my pain is temporary every day, and that's not enough. How many times an hour (but the suffocating, anxious expectations of the first few weeks that are now unbroken - before I get back to Swan's house), I recite to myself the letter Hillbert will send to me one day, or personally! This moment of imaginary happiness has helped me endure the destruction of real happiness. Whether our women are like "missing persons", although we know there is no hope, we still look forward to waiting for a little movement, a little noise. It's like a mother who knows that her son, who is a dangerous prospector, has been buried in the sea, but sometimes imagines that he will be miraculously saved and that he will enter the door strong and strong. This waiting, based on the strength of the memories and the resistance of the organs, or the fact that the mother admits it after many years, gradually forgets the son and lives, or causes the mother to die. On the other hand, I feel a little relieved at the thought that my sadness is good for my love. I visited Mrs. Swan instead of meeting Hilbert, which was cruel every time, but I felt it would improve Hilbert's view of me. Don Quixote

Every time I visit Mrs. Swan, I always ask if her daughter is really not at home. I do this not only because I am determined to break up with her, but also because I still want to reconcile. This hope overlaps with the intention of breaking up the relationship (hope and intention are seldom absolute, at least not always absolute, because of people). There is a law in the mind, which is governed by the sudden emergence of different memories, which is discontinuity, and which makes me unconscious of the cruelty of this intention. I know very well that hope is very slim. I'm like a poor man. If he chews dry bread and thinks that maybe a stranger will give him all his money later, he won't cry so sadly. In order to make reality tolerable, we often have to keep a little ridiculous idea in mind. So, if I don't meet Hilbert, my hope will be more intact - although at the same time, our separation will become more realistic. If I meet her face to face at her mother's house, we may exchange a few irreparable words, which will make the break eternal and destroy my hope. On the other hand, the new anxiety it produces will awaken my love and make me hard to resign to fate.

Long ago, long before I broke up with her daughter, Mrs. Swan said to me, "It's good for you to come to see Hilbert, but I hope you can come to see me sometimes, but don't come to my Schuffleriday. There are so many guests that you will be tired of coming on other days. I'm always at home a little later." Therefore, my visit seemed to be merely to satisfy her wishes expressed long ago. I went out to Mrs. Swan's House late at night, when my parents were about to have dinner. I knew I would not meet Hillbert during the visit, but all I wanted was her. Paris was not as brightly lit as it is today. Even the streets in the centre of the city had no lights, and indoor lights were rare. In this then considered remote neighborhood, the living room on the ground floor or on the second and middle floors slightly higher than the ground floor (where Mrs. Swan usually receives guests) shone bright lights to illuminate the street. Let passers-by look up. Naturally, he linked the obvious and obscure cause of the light to the magnificent carriages at the gate. When he saw a carriage start, he felt that the cause of the mystery had changed. In fact, the driver was afraid that the horse would catch cold, so he let the horse walk back and forth. This movement was impressive because the rubber wheels were silent, which made the hoofs sound more crisp and distinct.

Schuffleri, the protagonist of Openbach Opera, here refers to the official reception day.

In those days, as long as the house was not too high from the sidewalk, indoor "winter gardens" could be seen from the street (now only seen in the concave photographs of Stahl's New Year's Gift Series). This kind of gardens and the decoration of Louis XVI living room today - very few flowers, long neck crystal glass. There is only a single rose or Japanese butterfly in the bottle, and no more one can be inserted - on the contrary, it has a large number of interior decorative plants, which were popular at that time, and there is no particular arrangement. It reflects not how the hostess calmly adopt lifeless decoration, but how she loves it. Living plants. It is more reminiscent of the portable mini-flower house which was popular in the public hall at that time. In the early morning of January 1st, people put this kind of flower house under the lamp --- the children have no patience to wait until dawn --- in the middle of New Year's gifts, and it is the most beautiful gift, because people can use it to cultivate plants, thus forgetting the bare winter. The winter garden is not only similar to this kind of flower house, but also to the flower house picture in the beautiful book beside the flower house. It is also a New Year gift, not for the children, but for the heroine Miss Lily in the book. It fascinates the children so much that even though they are old now, they still think of those pictures. Winter in a lucky age is the best season. Passers-by standing on tiptoe can often see in the depth of this winter garden, in the interior of all kinds of trees (from the street, the window with the lamp is like the glass cover of a children's flower room - picture or object), a man in a dress, button with a gardenia or carnation flower, is standing in a sitting position. In front of the lady, they are silhouetted like two concave carvings in a topaz. The living room is filled with the mist of tea cookers, which were imported at that time. The mist of tea cookers still exists today, but people are used to it and ignore it. Mrs Swan attaches great importance to this kind of tea. She thinks it's novel and charming to say to a man, "You come later every day, I'm always at home, you come to tea." She uses a British accent for the time being, accompanied by a gentle and sweet smile, so she bows to her very seriously and with a serious look, as if it's very important. Strange, people should be respectful, must not be taken lightly.

(1) Starr was a French scholar and publisher (1814-1886).

The flowers in Mrs. Swan's living room are not only decorative, but also have something to do with the times, only with Audrey's old life. She used to be a social flower. She spent most of her time with her lover, that is, at her home, so she had to arrange her own home. What you see in a decent woman's home, and what decent women think is important, is even more important for social flowers. The rush hour of her day was not to dress up for others to watch, but to take off her clothes and have a tryst with men. Whether she wears casual robes or pajamas, she must be as graceful as going out to dress up. Other women show off the jewelry, while she hides it in the interior. This type of life requires and accustoms people to a hidden, almost casual luxury. Mrs Swan's luxury also extends to flowers and plants. There was always a huge crystal glass basin beside her easy chair, full of Parma butterflies or daisies with petals scattered in the water. The flowerpot seemed to prove to the visitor that it was her favorite pastime - just as she liked to drink tea alone, unfortunately it was interrupted by unexpected visitors. This pastime is even more intimate and mysterious than tea. Therefore, when visitors see the flowers displayed beside her, they can't help apologizing to her, as if he had looked through the title of the book Audrey has not closed yet, and the title would reveal what she was reading, that is, what she was thinking at the moment. Besides, flowers are more alive than books. People went into the living room to visit her and found that she was not alone, and they were disturbed; they went home with her and saw that the living room was not empty and confused. These flowers occupy a mysterious position in the living room. They are closely related to the life of the hostess who is unknown to people. They were not for visitors, but as if they had been forgotten by Audrey. They used to talk to Audette and now, so people were afraid to disturb them, and they stared at the diluted watercolor, Lavender * Parma butterfly in vain, trying to see the mystery. Since the end of October, Audrey has tried to get home on time for tea, which is still called fiveo Eclockter, because Audrey heard (and likes to repeat) that Mrs. Vildiran runs a Salon just to tell people that she must be at home at this hour. Audrey also wants to run a salon of the same type as Verdiland salon, but more freely, in her words, senzarigore. So she seemed to be Miss De Lesbinas, who had snatched the most pleasant men from Mrs. De Fontaine of the small group, especially Swan, in order to set up a new door. In some ways, Swan has followed her in her divisive and secluded life. However, although she can easily convince new acquaintances who don't know the past, she does not believe herself. However, when we like certain roles, we play them in front of people and rehearse them in private again and again, so we often think of their illusory witnesses and forget the truth almost completely. Mrs. Swan stayed at home all day wearing crepe de Chine casual gowns, which were as pure as the first snow. Sometimes she wore pleated Tulle gowns covered with pink and white petals. Today, people may think that this dress is not suitable for winter, but it is not. These light silk and soft colours made her (the living room was covered with curtains, very sultry, and the novelist describing salon's life at that time had the highest compliment of "comfortably padded thick") as delicate and frightened as those roses around her that bared fleshy red from winter to spring. The carpet makes footsteps hard to detect, and the hostess sits in the corner of the living room, unaware of your arrival. So when you come to her, she is still buried in reading, which adds romance and charm - as if we suddenly discovered the secret, and we still remember it. Mrs Swan's casual gowns were out of fashion at that time, and probably only she was still wearing them, so they seemed to be characters in the novel (only Henry Gravi's novels had seen such casual gowns). It was early winter, and the huge chrysanthemums in Odette's living room were so red that Swan had never seen them in her apartment before. I admire them - when I visit Mrs. Swan gloomily, my frustration makes this Hillbert's mother mysterious and poetic, because she will say to her daughter the next day, "Your friend has come to see me" - probably because the chrysanthemums are as light pink as the Louis XV silk cushions, or because they are with her. Crepe-crepe nightgowns are as white as snow, or as copper-red as her tea utensils. They add another layer of decoration to the layout of the living room, which is equally gorgeous and elegant, but has life and lasts only a few days. I am particularly touched by the fact that chrysanthemum Color * is not fleeting, but lasts longer than the brilliant red * or dark brown * emitted by the setting sun in the November evening mist. I saw the sunshine fading in the sky. I stepped into Mrs. Swan's house and found the sunshine reappearing and shifting to the flame of chrysanthemum. These chrysanthemums seem to be superb colours * painters hunting for the glory of their houses from the ever-changing atmosphere and sunshine, urging me to abandon my deep melancholy and use the hour of tea to greedily enjoy the brief pleasures of November (the pleasures glisten in the warm and mysterious chrysanthemum glow beside me). ) Unfortunately, the conversation I heard did not bring me this glory, and there was nothing in common with it. It was not early, but Mrs. Swan gently said to Mrs. Godard, "Oh, no, it's still early. Don't look at the clock. It's not yet time. The clock is not right. What are you in a hurry to go?" At the same time, he handed a small piece of pie to the professor's wife who had not put down her wallet.

Italian: unrestrained.

(2) De Lesbinas and De Fang were the hostesses of the famous salon in the eighteenth century.

(3) Henry Gravi, a French female novelist (1842-1902), works with a tortuous plot and a Russian background.

"It's not easy to get out of here." Mrs. Bondang said to Mrs. Swan. This sentence expresses Mrs. Godard's feelings. She exclaimed in surprise, "No, that's what my cerebellum always thinks." Her words were approved by the gentlemen of the horse racing club. When Mrs. Swan introduced them to the unattractive, mediocre, short woman, they seemed to be flattered and saluted again and again, and Mrs. Godard was very cautious about Audet's distinguished friends, saying in her words, "Wait tight." (She likes to use elegant words to express the simplest things). "Look, you missed your appointment for three Wednesdays." Mrs Swan said to Mrs. Godard." No, Audrey, how many centuries and days have we not met? Didn't I plead guilty? But, you know, "she said in an over-shy and vague manner (although she was the doctor's wife, she was not straightforward about rheumatism or renal colic)," I had a lot of trouble. Everyone has a difficult story to read. There was a disturbance in my servant's life. Actually, I don't value authority more than other women. But I had to dismiss the director of meals as a warning. He was also looking for a more lucrative job. His departure almost led to the resignation of the cabinet, and even my maid was reluctant to stay, a scene comparable to Homer's. Nevertheless, I managed to stabilize the rudder, and I learned a lot from this lesson. Look, I bore you with these servants'trifles. You know how nervous it is to have to adjust personnel. Is your beautiful daughter not at home? She asked. No, my beautiful daughter is eating at her girlfriend's house, "Mrs Swan answered, turning to me and saying,"I thought she wrote to you to let you see her tomorrow." Then he said to the professor's wife, "How is your baby?" I breathed a long sigh of relief. Mrs Swan's words prove to me that I can meet Hilbert if I want, and that's the consolation I came to seek, and that's why my visit during this period has become indispensable. No, I'll write her a few words tonight. Besides, Hillbert and I will never see each other again." My tone of voice seemed to attribute the separation to some mysterious cause, so that I could keep the illusion of love alive. The gentle tone I spoke of Hilbert and her about me kept it alive.

You know she loves you very much. Are you really not coming tomorrow? Mrs Swan said. A burst of joy suddenly made me fly up, and I thought to myself, "Why not come? Since her mother invited me herself?" But I immediately fell into sorrow. I was afraid that when Hillbert saw me, he would think my recent indifference was disguised, so I would rather not meet again. In individual conversations, Mrs. Bondang complained that she hated the ladies of politicians and pretended that everyone was boring and ridiculous. She regretted her husband's status.

"So you can receive fifty doctor's wives at one sitting?" She said to Mrs. Godard that the latter was kind to everyone and fulfilled her obligations conscientiously. Ah, you are a man of virtue. Well, in the ministry, of course, I have to receive. Hey! Those ladies, you know, there's no way I can't help sticking out my tongue to them. My niece Albertina is just like me. You don't know how rash the little girl is. Last week, on my reception day, a wife of the deputy finance minister came and said she knew nothing about cooking. My niece answered with the most beautiful smile:'But, madam, you must know what cooking is all about, because your father has brushed the dishes. ''

"Ah! I really like this story. It's fantastic!" Mrs. Swan said, and then suggested to Mrs. Godard, "On the day of the doctor's visit, you can at least enjoy a lovely home, with flowers, books and things you like."

"So she gave the lady two straight shots, bang, bang, she was not ambiguous. There was no wind in advance, and the little villain was as clever as a monkey. You are lucky. You can restrain yourself. I especially envy those who are good at concealing their thoughts.

"I don't need to do that, madam. I'm easy-going." Mrs. Godard whispered, "First of all, I don't have your privileged status," and she raised her voice slightly. Whenever she stuffed her conversation with subtle courtesy and clever compliments to win favor and benefit her husband's career, she always raised her voice slightly to enhance the effect. "Secondly, I devoted myself to the professor."

"But, madam, the problem is not willingness, but ability. You probably don't belong to a neurotic person. And I couldn't help imitating the wife of the Minister of Defense when I saw her pretending. I have a terrible temper."

"Ah! That's right, "said Mrs. Godard." I heard she had convulsions. My husband also knows a very high-ranking man. Of course, these gentlemen talk about it in private..."

"By the way, madam, just like the humpbacked Chief of Protocol. Every time he comes, I have to touch his hump in less than five minutes. My husband said I would let him lose his job. What can I do? Let his department go to hell! Yes, let his ministry go to hell! I should have printed this sentence on the stationery as a motto. I must make your ears piercing. You are a kind person, and I admit that I like little pranks, otherwise life will be too monotonous.

She kept talking about her husband's department as if it had been Olympus. To divert the subject, Mrs. Swan turned to Mrs. Godard and said:

"You look beautiful. Was it made at the Ledford store?

"No, you know, I'm a believer in the Rodneys store. Besides, it's a change."

"Really, quite respectable!"

"How much do you guess?" No, the first digit is wrong."

"Why, it's so cheap, it's just for nothing. I was told it was three times more expensive."

"That's how people write history." The doctor's wife answered. Then she pointed to the ribbon around Mrs. Swan's neck and said, "Look, Audrey, do you recognize it?"

Half of the curtain was lifted and a head reached in. He was respectful, courteous and playfully pretending to be afraid of disturbing people. This was Swan." Odette, Prince Aggregate is in my study. He asks if he can come and see you. How can I answer him? I'd love to." Audrey said with apparent satisfaction, but her face was calm. It's natural, because she has received elegant people (even when she was a social flower). Swan took the order of approval to the prince. If it had not been for Mrs. Riverdiland to come in, he would have led the prince back to his wife.

When Swan and Audrey got married, they asked her not to associate with that small group anymore (for many reasons, of course, and even if there was no reason, he would do so, because ingratitude is a rule, and it can't be exceptional, which proves that all the intermediaries who lead the way are not short-sighted. It's selfless. He only allowed Audrey and Mrs. Vildiran to visit each other twice a year." Some of the followers of the hostess were very angry. They thought it was too much to complain about her, because Odette, even Swan, had been regarded as a guest for many years. It is true that there are false brothers in the small group. They don't go to Mrs. Verdiland's house, but go to Audrey's date secretly. Moreover, in case anything leaks out, they excuse to see Bergott (although the hostess says that Bergott doesn't go to Swan's house, and that he has no talent, but she still manages to -) In her words --- to attract him), but there are also "radicals" in the small group, who can't steal proper individual treatment (which tends to prevent the parties from taking extreme attitudes towards someone), but expect Mrs. Verdiland to break with Audrey (which of course fails) and make Audrey henceforth. No longer can we laugh triumphantly and say, "Since splitting up, we seldom go to the hostess's house." When my husband was a bachelor, it was easier to go to her house, but it was not so easy after he got married. To be honest, Mr. Swan can't stand Aunt Verdiland, so he doesn't want me to keep up with her. And I, as a faithful wife... Swan accompanied his wife to the Vildeland party, but when Vildeland came to see Audrey, he often avoided it. Therefore, if the "hostess" was present, he would let Prince Aggregate in alone. Odette introduced the prince to Mrs. Vildiran alone. She did not want Mrs. Vildiran to hear her unknown surname here, but to let her see many strange faces, so that she considered herself among the noble celebrities. That's very effective, and Mrs. vareland said to her husband with disdain that evening: "her friends are lovely, indeed the essence of the reactionary forces!"

Audrey had the opposite illusion about Mrs. Vildiran. This salon did not have a prototype at that time, Mrs. Vildiran was not even in incubation period - during which time the big party was stopped, because the newly won and considerable celebrities would be drowned out by many nobodies, so they would rather wait until the ten decent figures attracted multiplied seventy times! As Audrey is about to do, Mrs. Verdiland will also target "upper class society", but her offensive scope is still narrow and far from Audrey's offensive area (Audrey may achieve the same goal, may break through). Therefore, Audrey's strategic plan for "hostess" Know nothing about. When people told Audrey that Mrs. Verdiland was a fashionable woman, Audrey laughed and said sincerely, "On the contrary. First of all, she does not have the conditions to catch up with fashion. She knows nobody. Secondly, to be fair, she thinks it's good now. No, what she likes is Wednesday's party and a pleasant conversation. She secretly envied Mrs. Vildiran as the "hostess"

The art emphasized (Audrey also learned this art in this outstanding school) is the art of "gathering", "organizing", "exerting", "retreating". It acts as a "bridge", although these arts are only coloring the void and carrying on the void. Sculpture, to be exact, is the art of nihility. Hundred Years of Loneliness

Mrs. Swan's girlfriends were surprised to see Mrs. Vildiran's visit, because they imagined that Mrs. Vildiran and her crowded (always small group) living room could not be separated, and at this moment they were surprised to see that on the hostess as a guest, in her easy chair, The whole group was reappeared, condensed and condensed. She was wrapped in a furry white fur coat hanging on the wall of the living room, as if it were the living room in the living room. Fearing to disturb the host, the timid guest rose to say goodbye and said in the plural, "Odette, let's go first." It is as if people use plural person to talk when visiting a patient who can walk just to suggest that the patient should not be overtired. People admire Mrs. Godard because "hostess" calls her by name. Shall I take you with me? Mrs. Vildiran asked Mrs. Godard how she could bear to be left alone by a believer who did not follow her. The lady has kindly asked me to take her car." Mrs. Godard answered that she did not want people to think that she had forgotten her promise to ride Mrs. Bondang's tricolor carriage in order to please famous people: "I really thank you friends. You want me to ride in your car. It's really lucky for me, a man without a driver. In particular, "the hostess" answered (she dared not say too much because she had a little knowledge of Mrs. Bondang and had just invited her to Wednesday's party), "You live so far away from Mrs. Cracy. Oh, my God, I'll never get used to saying Mrs Swan." It is also a joke to pretend to be not accustomed to calling Mrs. Swan for the sake of the small group of mediocre intellectuals. Mrs. Verdiland added, "I've always been accustomed to calling Mrs. Cressie. I almost missed the point." In fact, she made a deliberate mistake when she spoke to Audrey, and by no means nearly missed the point." Odette, aren't you afraid of living in such a remote place? I'll be scared to go home at night. Besides, it's damp here, which is bad for your husband's eczema. Are there no mice? No How terrible! That's good. That's what I was told. I'm glad it's a rumor. I'm so afraid of mice that I dare not come to see you. Goodbye, dear. See you later. You know how glad I am to see you. You don't play with chrysanthemums." As she went out, she said, Mrs. Swan got up and gave her a send-off. This is Japanese chrysanthemum. You have to arrange flowers in Japanese way. When the hostess left, Mrs. Godard said aloud, "I disagree with Mrs. Vildiran, though I regard her as a precept and prophet on all matters. Audrey, only you can find such a beautiful chrysanthemum, in a new way, beautiful use of positive * adjectives. Mrs Swan answered softly, "My dear Mrs. Verdiland is sometimes not friendly enough to other people's flowers." To interrupt her criticism of the hostess, Mrs. Godard asked, "Which flower shop are you going to?" Le Maitre? There was a big pink shrub in front of the Lemmettle Flower Shop that day, so I did a big foolish thing. But she was embarrassed to say the exact price of the shrub. She just said, "It's not easy to catch fire." The Professor jumped into a rage and said that she was wasting money. No, no, I don't have a fixed Florist except Derbuck." Mrs. Godard said, "I am the same, but I admit that I am occasionally unfaithful to it and go to the Rashome Flower Shop." Ha! You abandoned the Derbuck Flower Shop and went to the Rashome Flower Shop. I'm going to inform you." Audrey answered, trying to be funny and guide the conversation. She was much more relaxed in her own home than in a small group, and she added with a laugh: "Besides, the price of Rashome Flower is amazing. It's too expensive for me. I don't think it's true."

Mrs. Bondang had said more than a hundred times that she was unwilling to go to the Villandilans, but now she was thrilled by the invitation to Wednesday's party and wondered how she could go as many times as possible. First of all, she did not know that Mrs. Vildiran could not tolerate any absence. Secondly, Mrs. Bondang belongs to a group of women who people are not willing to associate with, and who are invited to "series" parties often do not simply go to an appointment (they do not make the host happy as those who are willing to go out when they are a little free), but rather force themselves not to attend the first and third parties. Hopefully their absence will attract attention; they only attend the second and fourth parties, but if they are told that the third party will be excellent, they will turn the order upside down, on the pretext that "unfortunately, they were not free last time". As such, Mrs. Bondang figured out how she could go more than once before Easter without being forced upon. She wanted to get some inspiration on her way home with Mrs. Godard." Ah! Mrs. Bondang, you're standing up. It's a bad signal to run away. You didn't come last Thursday. You should compensate me. Come on, sit down again, just a moment. You're never going to visit anybody before dinner. Really, you don't want to try it?" As Mrs. Swan passed the snacks, she said, "You know, these gadgets don't taste bad. Although they don't look good, you'll like them if you try them." Mrs. Godard said, "No, it looks delicious. Odette, there's a lot of food in your house. I don't need to ask where you bought it. I know you always go to the Rebate store. I have to admit that I'm not as dedicated as you are. I often go to Bunebone's to buy snacks and candies. The ice cream there is really bad. The Rebate Store is very good at frozen foods, whether frozen desserts or juice ice cakes. My husband says, "necpluscultra1." However, these snacks are made at home. You really don't want them?" Mrs. Bondang said, "No, or I won't be able to eat. But I'll sit down for a moment. You know, it's a pleasure to talk to such a smart woman as you. You'll think I'm nosy, Audrey, but I'd like to know what you think of Mrs. Trombe's big hat. Of course, big hats are the current fashion, but are they a little too much? Her hat just now is a little witch compared with the one she came to my house the other day. Where, I'm not smart, "said Audrey with such a rightful air." In fact, I'm very credulous. I believe everything people say, and I often worry about trifles. She alluded to the initial anguish of marrying someone like Swan, who had his own life and interacted with other women. Prince Aggregate heard her say, "I'm not smart," and immediately thought it should be denied, but lacked the agility to respond. What nonsense are you talking about?' Mrs. Bondang said aloud. Are you not smart?" The Prince grabbed the straw and said, "What is this? Perhaps the ears are deceiving me?" Audrey said, "Really, I don't lie to you. I'm really a small citizen. I'm easily fussy, prejudiced and ignorant." Then she inquired about Baron Charles: "Have you seen my dear Baron?" Are you ignorant? Mrs. Bondang exclaimed, "Well, what about the officials, the Royal ladies who only talk about clothes and clothes!................................................ By the way, madam, just last week, I talked to the wife of the Minister of Public Education about Lohengreen. She said,'Ah, Lohen Green, by the way, this is a performance on the Shepherdess'playground. It's said that it makes people laugh too hard to stand up. I really want to slap her on the face. You see, madam, what can I do to stop it from getting angry? I'm a stubborn person, you know, "and then she turned to me and said,"What do you say, sir, is my statement reasonable?" In my opinion, "said Mrs. Godard," it is excusable that we are often caught off guard by unexpected questions, so I have a little experience in answering them, because Mrs. Vildiran often makes us look like that." Speaking of Mrs. Vildiran,'Mrs. Bondang asked Mrs. Godard,'Do you know who will be at her house next Wednesday?' I remember. Yes, we accepted the invitation to go to her house next Wednesday. Would you like to come to my house for dinner first? Then we went to her house together. I'm a little timid to go alone, and I don't know why. This noble lady has always frightened me. I can tell you, "Mrs. Godard said." What frightens you is her voice. That's impossible. Where can everyone have Mrs. Swan's beautiful voice? But the word'hostess'is quite right. As long as you speak, the ice and snow melt immediately. Mrs. Vildiran is really hospitable. Of course, I understand your mood at the moment. It's always uncomfortable to go to a strange place for the first time.

"Come and have dinner with us," Mrs. Bondang said to Mrs. Swan. "After dinner, we'll go to the Vildeland's and play the Vildeland game. When we get there, the three of us will stay and talk to each other. The hostess will stare at me and never invite me again, but I don't care. That will make me very happy." Her remarks seemed untrue, because she went on to ask, "Do you know who will be at her house next Wednesday?" What do you do at the party? Aren't there too many guests? I'm sure I won't go, "said Audrey." We'll only show up on the last Wednesday. If you'd like to wait till then..." However, Mrs. Bondang seemed uninterested in the extension proposal.