Robert took the splendid necklace to his mistress's house, but according to their agreement, he should not have given it to her. And the result was the same, because she didn't want it, and she didn't even accept it later. Robert's friends thought that she didn't accept the seemingly selfless necklace, but she was evil in order to keep him firmly tied. But she doesn't like money unless she can throw it away. I've seen her generous and unreasonable giving to people she thinks are poor." At this moment, "said Robert's friend to offset Rachel's selfless behavior with slander," at this moment, she may be having fun at the Shepherdess Amusement Park. This Rachel is a mystery, a real Sphinx. Besides, in reality, we have not seen many women who depend on people to support their desires and interests. Under the influence of this kind of life, we are good at planning, generous and affectionate. Do we want their lover to pay a sum of money for them?
(1) Sphinx is a winged Sphinx in Greek mythology. Legend has it that she often calls passers-by to guess riddles and kills them if she can't guess them. Nowadays it is often used to metaphorize people like "riddles".
Robert knew almost nothing about his mistress's betrayal. He racked his brains to imagine Rachel's life, but circled around trifles. He could not imagine the real life he started every day as soon as he left her. He knew little about these betrayals. You can tell him all of this, but you can't shake his confidence in Rachel, because ignorance of his sweetheart's behavior is a charming natural law that manifests itself in the most complex society. On this side of the glass wall, the infatuated man said to himself, "She is an angel and will never commit herself to me. I only die, but she loves me; she loves me so deeply, maybe... No, it's impossible!" When he can't control his desire, hope, or get upset, he will put all kinds of jewelry at the woman's feet and run to borrow money to dispel her sorrow! But on the other side of the glass wall, the audience said (conversations like this one across the glass wall can't go farther than those of visitors in front of the aquarium): "You don't know her? Then I have to congratulate you. She doesn't know how many men she stole and destroyed! She's an absolute liar! Slipper! This last modifier may make sense, because even a doubtful man who doesn't really love this woman but is interested in her will say to his friend, "No, honey, she's never such a slut. I'm not saying she's not frivolous at all in life, but she's not a woman who can buy it at a price of 50,000 francs or not at all. However, he spent 50,000 francs on her once, but she found an accomplice in him, his self-esteem, and finally convinced him that, like some people, he had won her without spending a penny. Therefore, the most brazen and disreputable person in the world is always known by someone as a delightful and wonderful rarity. In Paris, there are two honest people. Saint Lucia no longer greets them every time he sees them. When he talks about them, his voice will tremble and he will say that they are the ones who use women by all means:
Because they were ruined by Rachel. Metamorphosis
"I only blame myself for doing something wrong," Mrs. de Marsant whispered to me. "I shouldn't say he's unreasonable. He's my beloved son and only child, because I don't have any other son. I rarely see him once and say he's unreasonable. I'd rather he hit me with a stick just now, because I'm sure that no matter what he plays tonight (he usually has little entertainment), he'll be taken aback by this unfair remark. Oh, sir, since you're in a hurry to leave, I won't keep you."
Mrs. de Marsant's previous remarks were all about Robert, and they were very sincere.
But she changed her attitude and became a lady again.
"How interesting it is to talk to you, how delightful and pleasant it is to me. Thank you! Thank you!
She looked at me humbly with gratitude and pleasure, as if speaking to me was the greatest joy of her life. The glamorous eyes were matched by the black flowers on the white dress with flower patterns. This is the eye of an experienced lady.
"I can't go yet. I have to wait for Mr. de Charles to go with me."
Mrs. de Villebarisis heard the last few words with an expression of displeasure. If it hadn't been for shame, I would have thought that the uneasiness on Mrs. de Villebarisis's face was shame. But I didn't think about it at all. I was very satisfied with Mrs. de Gelmont, Mrs. Saint Lue, Mrs. de Marsant and Mr. de Charles, and Mrs. de Villebarisis, so I spoke with great rapture and excitement.
"Are you going with my nephew Palamedes?" She asked me.
I think that my contacts with a nephew whom she appreciates will surely leave a good impression on her: "He asked me to go back with him," I answered deliberately and obliviously.
"I'm very happy. Besides, madam, the friendship between me and him is much deeper than you think, and I am determined to make every effort to promote our friendship."
Mrs. de Villebalisis seemed to be turning from displeasure to anxiety: "Don't wait for him," she said to me uneasily. "He's talking to De Fafenheim. He has forgotten what he said to you just now. Okay, you go, take him with your back, go quickly."
I'm not in a hurry to find Robert and his mistress. But Mrs. de Villebalisis seemed determined to ask me to leave, and I thought she might have something important to say to her nephew, and I said goodbye to her. Around her sat Mr. de Gelmont, proud and dignified, like the gods of Olympia. His wealth filled his limbs like a human-shaped ingot in a crucible, giving the wealthy man an unusual density. When I said goodbye to him, he rose politely from his seat. I felt his lazy body, which was densely packed with 30 million francs, standing in front of me. It was the old French education that drove him to move. It seems to me that I have seen the statue of Zeus of Olympia, which is said to be Fideas, carved in pure gold. This is the power of Jesuit priest education to Mr. de Gelmont, at least to Mr. de Gelmont's body, because it does not dominate the Duke's mind. Mr. de Gelmont laughs at his own witty remarks, but never smiles at others'humour.
Mount Olympia is the place where the gods of Greek mythology live.
(2) Phidias (448-432 BC), an ancient Greek sculptor, is good at statue carving. His works include the huge bronze statue of Athena built on the Acropolis of Athens, and the statue of Zeus inlaid with ivory and gold, which no longer exist.
On the stairs, I heard a voice behind me calling me:
"Sir, why did you leave without waiting for me?"
It's Mr. de Charles.
"How many steps does it matter to you?" When we arrived in the yard, he said to me coldly." Until I find the right taxi.
"You have something to say to me, sir?"
"Ouch! Yes, well, I have something to say to you, but I don't know whether to say it or not. Of course, I think what I'm going to tell you will bring you unspeakable benefits. But I also had a hunch that it would waste a lot of my time and disrupt the order of my life, and I was old enough to aspire to a peaceful life. However, I wonder if you are worth my worrying about, but I don't want to wait until I know enough about you to make a decision. When I was at Balbeck Beach, I thought you were ordinary, even if you took into account the foolishness of the bathers themselves and the kind of canvas shoes that always had to be worn. Besides, you probably don't want me to serve you very much. In that case, I don't have to ask for trouble because, sir, with all due respect, "he repeated vigorously, word by word," it will only cause me trouble."
I made it clear that in that case, there was no need to bother. The conversation was so suspended that it seemed to be out of his taste.
"What's the point of being so polite," he said to me in a stern tone. Nothing in the world is more pleasant than worrying about a person who deserves to be worried about. For the outstanding members of us, the study of art, the love of antiquities, the collection of treasures, and the love of gardening are all substitutes, substitutes, but evasions. Like Diogenes, we stayed in our barrels, looking for someone. When we had to, we planted Begonia and pruned yew, because yew and Begonia were at the mercy of others. But we are more willing to spend our time on bushes like human beings, as long as we are sure that the tree is worth worrying about. The key is here; you should know yourself. Are you worth worrying about?
(1) Diogenes (about 404-323), a philosopher of cynicism in ancient Greece, believed that everything else, including social and cultural life, was of no importance except that natural needs must be met. Legend has it that he was barefoot, wearing only a coat and living in a barrel. It is also said that one day at noon, he was walking in the streets of Athens with a lamp. When someone asked him what he was doing, he said, "I am looking for someone."
"Sir, I dare not let you worry about me," I said to him. "As for my own mood, please believe that whatever you do for me will be my greatest happiness. I am very touched by your concern for me and your efforts to help me.
To my great surprise, he was so grateful for what I said that he almost touched the truth. He took my arm affectionately. This sudden intimacy impressed me when I was in Balbeck, but his tone of voice was still cold, in sharp contrast to this intimate gesture.
"People of your age are bold spirits," he said to me. "Sometimes words may open an insurmountable gap between us. But what you said just now will touch my heart and make me happy to serve you, even overdo it."
Mr. de Charles and I walked arm in arm, side by side, and said these arrogant and true words to me. Sometimes he kept his eyes on my face for a long time (this cold, sharp stare, when I first met him at the gate of the playground one morning at Balbeck Beach, even earlier, when I saw him with Mrs. Swan by the rose bushes in Songville Garden, when I thought she was his mistress). I have been impressed deeply and unforgettably; sometimes I look left and right to examine the past cabs and carriages. At the moment, when the taxi was taking over, there were many passing carriages. Several of them stopped because the coachman saw his stubborn eyes and thought he was going to take a taxi. But Mr. de Charles immediately sent them away.
"There's no suitable one," he said to me. "Just look at the lights and they all go back to their neighborhood, sir," he added. "I'm going to give you a suggestion right away. I hope you don't misunderstand me. I don't have any personal considerations. It's entirely out of kindness."
To my astonishment, his wording was so similar to Swan's that it was even more obvious than when he was in Balbeck.
"I don't think you're very smart. I don't think I'm suggesting to you because I have no friends. I'm afraid of loneliness and boredom. I don't say you'll know about my family, because I think a young man of your age comes from a middle class family (he talks about the middle class with great ambition). It is impossible to be ignorant of French history. It is precisely in my world that people do not read books, do not read newspapers, and are as ignorant as servants. Once upon a time, the king's attendants were recruited from the princes and nobles. Nowadays, there is no difference between the princes and nobles and their attendants. But a young man of bourgeois origin, like you, who has read a lot, must know the wonderful description of our family made by Michelle:'I saw them, the powerful Galmonts, tall and tall, standing tall and tall, dwarfed in the palace of Paris in comparison with them. What does a poor King of France count for? As for my personal situation, sir, I don't like to talk much about it, but one thing you may have heard is that an article in the Times mentioned that the emperor of Austria (who had been very kind to me and even wanted to say goodbye to me) declared in a conversation not long ago. Later, it was announced that if there was a man like me who knew the political inside story of Europe around Count Chamber, he might be the King of France today. I often think, sir, that I have a treasure house of experience, something like precious and secret pieces. My experience is not acquired by my superficial talent, but by opportunities, you will know what it is in the future. I don't think I should apply my experience to myself, but it may be invaluable for a young man who is not long in the world. I will teach this young man all the experience that I have accumulated with more than thirty years'hard work, perhaps only I have, in a few months. I don't need to say how much you enjoy when you know some secrets. It takes a few years for contemporary Kizo to master these secrets. Once he has mastered them, his views on some events will be totally different from those of the past. I want to talk not only about past events, but also about the coherence of situations. * (This is one of Mr. De Charles's favorite expressions. When he uses this expression, he often closes his hands as if he were praying, but his fingers are straight. He seems to use the combination of language and action. Style, let people understand those he did not elaborate on the situation and the coherence between the situation. I want to tell you about the past, not only the past, but also the future, from a new and unheard-of point of view.
Michelle (1798-1874), a French historian and writer, wrote History of France and History of the French Revolution.
(2) Shangbor (1820-1883), the last representative of the eldest son branch of the Bourbon Royal clan. Charlie was the last legal heir to the throne after his tenth abdication in 1830, but it was only in 1871 that he proposed the right to inherit the throne. After the negotiations between the orthodox and the Orleans, he was about to take the throne, but because he refused to abolish the white flag, the negotiations failed because he had no children and the Orleans family became the only heir to the throne.
(3) Gizo (1787-1874), French historian and political activist. From the standpoint of bourgeoisie, he tried to explain history from the standpoint of class struggle. His works include History of the British Revolution, History of European Civilization and History of French Civilization.
Then Mr. de Charles asked me about Block. At Mrs. de Villebarisis's house, people talked about Block, but he didn't seem to hear it. He casually asked me if my classmates were young, beautiful, and so on. He is good at making the tone of his speech seem as if he is not inquiring, as if he is absent-minded, thinking about something else, and barely coping with a few words out of courtesy. If Block heard the questions Mr. de Charles had asked me, he would be eager to know whether Mr. de Charles was a re-judge or a re-judge, even more urgent than to know which faction Mr. de Nobwa belonged to, just for completely different reasons." You're right, "Mr. de Charles said to me after asking me a lot of questions." If you want to learn more, there should be several foreigners among your friends. " I answered him that Block was French." Ah!" Mr. de Charles said, "I thought he was Jewish." His expression of opposition to the Jews convinced me that he was the most resolute anti-retrial of the people I met. But he opposed accusing Dreyfus of treason.
"I think the press is talking about Dreyfus's treason. I believe that's what they say. I'm not interested in newspapers at all. I read the newspaper just like I wash my hands. I don't think it's worth my interest. In any case, crime does not exist. If your friend's fellow countryman betrayed the Jewish kingdom, he could be said to have committed treason, but what does he have to do with France? I countered by saying that once war broke out, Jews would be mobilized like everyone else. Maybe, but I'm not sure it's not a rash act. If Senegalese or Margarchians were recruited to fight, I don't think they would really defend France. That's normal. Your Dreyfus may be convicted of violating the laws and regulations of the host country. Forget it, don't talk about it. Would you ask your friend to take me to a grand meeting of the temple, to see the circumcision ceremony and to listen to a Jewish hymn? Maybe he could rent a hall to perform a play based on the Bible for me, just like a girl at St. Seal's boarding school who performed a play by Racine based on the Bible's Psalms to relieve Louis XIV. Would you arrange for me to play some funny plays to make me happy? Let your friend fight with his father and stab him, for example, just like David IV killing Goliath, it would be a wonderful joke. In the performance, he could even give his humble mother a good beating. If so, that would be great. We would not be unhappy, would we, dear friend? Because we like exotic drama, beating up this non-European woman is like punishing an old bitch as she deserves. Mr. De Charles, speaking terrible madness, clamped my arm so hard that it hurt me. I recall that Mr. de Charles's family used to say that the Baron was very considerate and admirable to his elderly maid, who had just quoted her Moliere dialect, and I wondered if he could analyze the good and evil in the same person (I think so few people have done this so far). It's interesting, though in different ways.
(1) The Jewish Kingdom was established in southern Palestine in 935 B.C. after the division of the Israelite-Jewish Kingdom. It was destroyed by Babylon in 586 BC.
(2) St. Seal Boarding School was founded in 1686 by Mrs. Mantegnon, Louis XIV's mistress, for the noble lady who had no property. The school was located in St. Seal, Versailles. Racine wrote "Estelle" and "Alida" for the school.
(3) Louis XIV (1638-1715), King of France, strongly supported the literary and artistic undertakings and promoted the development of French literature and art at that time.
(4) David (the first eleventh to tenth centuries), the ancient kings of Israel. According to the Bible, David unified the Jewish tribes, established a kingdom, and established the capital of Jerusalem. Goliath, the Philistine warrior, was killed in his childhood. During his reign, Goliath defeated his powerful neighbour many times and was deeply loved by the people.
Goliath, according to the Bible, is a Philistine warrior, tall, wearing a helmet, wearing heavy armor, fighting for no reason, and then killed by David.
I reminded him that Block's mother was dead anyway, and as for Block himself, I wondered how interested he could be in a game that could completely blind him. Mr. de Charles seemed angry." That woman really shouldn't die, "he said." As for blindness of eyes, Judaism is blindness and can't see the truth of the New Testament. Anyway, if you think about it, which Jew nowadays is not frightened by the foolish fury of Christians. They will be overjoyed to see a man like me condescending and watching their performances! ______________. At that moment, I saw Old Block coming, probably to pick up his son. He did not see us, but I asked Mr. de Charles if he wanted to introduce Old Block to him. I anticipated that my companion would be furious: "Introduce him to me!" You don't have any values at all! It's so easy to know me! Besides, the introducer is a young man who is still wet and smelly. The introducer is not worthy of being introduced. Isn't that even more inappropriate? If someday they were to give me an Asian-style play according to my plan, I would be kind enough to say a few words to this disgusting man. That's at best. There was also a condition for him to give his son a good beating. I will even express my satisfaction to him."
Besides, Old Block didn't pay any attention to us at all. He was respectfully saluting the Saskrafs, who readily accepted him. I was surprised, because in Gombre, she was not satisfied with my parents'reception of Little Block. She was a thorough anti-Semitic. However, the retrial campaign was like a wave that rushed Old Block to her house a few days ago. My friend's father found the Saskraf attractive, especially satisfied with her anti-Semitic position, which proved that her beliefs were sincere and that the idea of retrial was true. At the same time, because she was anti-Jewish, it was more valuable to allow him to visit her house. When she bluntly said to him, "It's interesting for Mr. de Lummon to put the reappointment and Protestants and Jews in the same pocket indiscriminately," he was not even ashamed. Back home, he proudly said to Nassim Bernard, "Bernard, you know, she's biased!" But Mr. Nassim Bernard did not say a word. He looked at the sky with angel eyes. Mr. Bernard frowned over the Jewish misfortune, missed his deep friendship with Christians, and the passing of years made him pretend and pretend (we will know why later), so he looked like a devil painted by a pre-Raphaelian painter, with his hair in disorder, as if immersed in it. In a pale white.
Pre-Raphaelism is a school of painting that appeared in England in the mid-nineteenth century. He was named for his belief that true religious art existed before Raphael, an Italian Renaissance painter, in an attempt to develop Raphael's former art to save British painting. It advocates that painting should be taught religion and morality, and the theme should be based on biblical stories and literary works rich in Christian ideas, reflecting the theme faithfully and describing the object.
"The whole case," added the baron, who had not loosened my arm, "has only one trouble, that is, it is destructive to the community (I am not a good society, it has long been unworthy of this compliment) and a group of men and women from the Camel Commune, the Camel School and the Camel Team have flocked in. In social circles, I even find people I don't know in my cousin's home, because they are members of the French Motherland League, an anti-Semitic alliance, who knows what it is, as if a political point of view can qualify people to enter the community."
Mr. de Charles's superficiality made him more like the Duchess of Gelmont. I spoke to him about this view. He didn't seem to believe that I knew Mrs. de Gelmont. I asked him to recall that night at the opera house, when he seemed to hide from me intentionally. He said he hadn't seen me at all. I think he was so serious. If it hadn't been for a little thing that happened immediately that made me feel that he might be too proud to be seen with me, I would have taken his words for granted.
"Talk about you," he said to me. "Talk about my plans for you. Among some people, sir, there is a secret organization similar to the Freemasonry. I can't elaborate on it for you, but I can tell you that there are now four European monarchs in this organization. But there was a monarch, the German emperor, who suffered from delusions, and the people around him wanted to cure him. This is a very serious matter, which may bring us war. Yes, sir. It's quite possible. You must have heard about this man. He thought that the Chinese princess had been put in a bottle by him. It's insane. They are treating him. But when he is not mad, he becomes a fool. Some diseases should not be cured, because it can prevent us from contracting more serious diseases. I have a cousin who has stomach trouble and eats nothing without digestion. The most authoritative stomach specialists have shown him, but it has no effect. I took him to a doctor (by the way, this is another weirdo, and he can't talk about it for three days or three nights). The doctor immediately inferred that the patient had neurosis and advised him not to be afraid, to eat whatever he wanted, and that his stomach could bear what he ate. But my cousin also has nephritis. The stomach digests things to the kidney, but the kidney can't excrete them. My cousin didn't let an imaginary stomach disease that forced him to control his diet grow old, but he died at the age of forty. The stomach was cured, but the kidney was destroyed. If you can go far ahead of life, who knows, you may be able to do what some prominent person in history might have done if a benevolent God had revealed to him the laws of steam and electricity without knowing anything about it. Don't be silly. Don't refuse my help just because you are embarrassed. You know, I'm doing you a great favor, and I think you'll do me a great favor, too. I'm not interested in the social world anymore. I have only one desire now. That is to dedicate my knowledge to a soul that is still pure and can be ignited by morality in order to make up for the mistakes I have made in my life. I have experienced great sorrow, sir. One day I may tell you that my wife is dead. She is the woman people dream of, beautiful, noble and perfect. There are still a few of my relatives who are young, but they can't --- I'm not saying they don't deserve it --- accept the spiritual legacy I told you. Maybe you are the one who can inherit my legacy. Maybe I can guide you and greatly improve your life. Besides, my own life will change as a result. I'll tell you about those important diplomatic events. Maybe I'll regain my self-confidence and eventually start doing something meaningful. You and I will share the responsibility. But before you know these things, I must see you often, often, even every day."
I wanted to take advantage of Mr. de Charles's unexpected enthusiasm for me and ask him if he could manage to get me to meet his sister-in-law, but just then I felt my arm shake like an electric shock. It turned out that for some reason Mr. De Charles pulled his arm from under my arm, a reason that ran counter to his "enlightened" cosmic law a second ago. Despite his eyes looking back and forth as he spoke, what he had just seen was Mr. De Agengoul, who came out of a crossroad. The Foreign Minister of Belgium looked at me with distrust, as if he were looking at a different group of people, the same as Mrs. de Gelmont at Block. He wants to avoid us. However, Mr. de Charles seemed determined to show him that he did not want to hide from him at all, because he greeted him only to tell him a trivial matter. Perhaps Mr. Fear Arjengul could not recognize me. Mr. de Charles said to him that I was a good friend of Mrs. de Villebarisis, Duchess Gelmont and Robert de Saint-Lou, and that Charles, an old friend of my grandmother, was able to transfer part of her affection for her grandmother to her grandson. Happiness. However, although I was only introduced when I was at Mrs. de Villebalisis's house, and although Mr. de Charles had just talked tirelessly about my family, I noticed that Mr. de Agengur's attitude towards me was colder than it was an hour ago, and for a long time afterwards. Every time he sees me, he's always so cold. He looked at me with an animosity and curiosity, even as if overcoming a strong resistance. When he left us, he hesitated to extend a hand to me, but quickly pulled back.
"I deeply regret this unexpected situation," said Mr. de Charles to me. "Agenguel was a noble but ill-bred diplomat, a mediocre diplomat, a mischievous bad husband, as cunning as the characters in the play. He is a man who has not succeeded enough and has more failures. I hope our friendship --- if one day we can build it --- will last forever. I hope you will love it as much as I do, so that it will not be kicked by a donkey. Those donkeys panic because they are idle, or are clumsy, or have a bad stomach. When they see what can last for a long time, they trample flat on what they see. Unfortunately, most people in society are made from this mold."
"The Duchess of Galmont looks very smart. Just now we talked about a possible war. She seems to have a special knowledge of the problem.
"Not at all," Mr. de Charles answered me coldly. Women, and many men, have no interest in what I'm going to tell you just now. My sister-in-law is a very interesting person. She thinks that this is still the age described in Balzac's novels. Women have to exert influence on politics. If you are now in contact with her, as you are in contact with the community, it will do you no good but harm. That's the first thing I'm going to tell you just now. I didn't expect that ass to interrupt me. The first sacrifice I want you to make for me --- how much I give you, how much I ask you to sacrifice --- is to stay out of society. Just now I saw you attending that absurd gathering, and I feel sorry for you. You'll tell me I'm not going too, but to me, it's not a social gathering, it's a visit to relatives. When you have a reputation in the future, if Yaxing goes to the social circles to play, I think it's okay. If so, I will be of great use to you. I have the curse of opening the door, which will open the door for you to the Galmont Palace and all the palaces that are worthy of your access. I come to be a judge. I hope you will be the master of time. At present, your feathers are not dry, and your appearance in the social arena will arouse a variety of comments. Never do anything inappropriate."
Now that Mr. de Charles mentioned his visit to Mrs. de Villebarisis, I would like to ask him what his relationship with the Marquise was, what her background was, and who knows what to say about the family of Villebarisis instead of me.
"My God, that's a difficult question to answer," Mr. de Charles answered in a voice that seemed to slip on his words, "just as insignificant as what you want me to say to you. My aunt was able to do anything, and on the spur of the moment, she married a humble Mr. Dillion when she remarried, making the most noble family name in France worthless. The Dillon thought that he might be able to change the name of a broken nobleman without any risk, as described in the novel. Did he ever think of using Rado de Ovonne? Did he hesitate between Toulouse and Monmorancy? This is unknown. Anyway, he made another choice and changed into Mr. de Villebalisis. No one has been called Mr. de Villebalisis since 1702, so I think he changed his name just to show humbly that he was a man in a small place near Paris called Villebalisis, where he opened an agent's office or a barber's shop. But my aunt disagreed with her husband's intentions - besides, she was too old to listen to anything. She swollen and fat, insisting that the Marquis was our ancestor, and she wrote to us all to make things magnificent. I don't know why. Now that you've given yourself a name that you don't have the right to get, it's better not to cause so much trouble. Instead of following the example of our distinguished friend, the so-called Countess de M., she refused to listen to Mrs. Alphonse Rothschild's advice and refused to give more money to the church in exchange for a nominal one. Noble. Ironically, my aunt monopolized all paintings related to the real Verbalisian family, even though her late husband, Dilion, had no blood relationship with the family. My aunt's Castle became a hoarding place for the portraits of Verbalisis. There are true and false portraits, and they come from one source and accumulate more and more. Finally, some of the not insignificant portraits of the Gelmont family and the Confucian family were squeezed away. Every year the painter makes a portrait of her. What's more, she even hung a portrait of Saint Simon in the restaurant of the castle, claiming that the first husband of the Duke's niece was Mr. de Villebalisis. In fact, even if the author of Memoirs is not Mr. Dillon's great-grandfather, his ex-wife, there are other identities that can arouse the interest of guests.
(1) The Lado de Ovonne family is an ancient family in the Ovonne region of France. It was named after the castle of Lado de Ovonne in the twelfth century.
(2) The Toulouse family is an ancient French family. The Count of Toulouse was established in the ninth century. At the end of the thirteenth century, the Count's territory was annexed by the Royal family.
(3) The Confucian family is a branch of the Bourbon Royal family.
(4) The author of Memoirs refers to the Duke of Saint Simon (1675-1755). This book recalls the situation in France at the end of Louis XIV's rule.
Originally, when I saw that Mrs. de Villebarisis's salon was just a hodgepodge, her position in my mind began to decline. Now that I heard that she was only Mrs. Dillon, I scoffed at her even more. In my opinion, if a woman had not recently acquired her title and surname, she should not have deceived her contemporaries and future generations by flaunting the kingdom's friendship. She became the woman of my childhood who had no aristocratic bearing. In this way, the noble relatives around her seemed to me to have nothing to do with her. Later, she was still attractive to us. Sometimes I visit her, and she gives me some souvenirs from time to time. But I no longer saw her as a Saint Germanic. If I want to know about St. Germain, she's probably the last person I'm going to ask.
"If you go into social places now," continued Mr. de Charles, "it may affect your future and distort your intelligence and personality. Besides, be extra careful when making friends. You can have a mistress, as long as you don't feel bad at home, which I don't care, I will even encourage you to make a blank, a very soon need to shave the small blank!" As he spoke, he stroked my chin with his hand.
"But making friends among men is not a small thing. Ninety-nine out of ten young people nowadays are hooligans and little bastards. They will bring you irreparable losses. Oh, my nephew Saint Lou can be your good friend if necessary. He can't help you much about your future; however, as long as I'm here, you won't worry about your future. In short, when you get tired of me and you go out with him, I don't think it will do any harm. At least, he's a real man, not a feminine man, and now he's everywhere, looking like a trifle. Maybe tomorrow they'll send innocent victims to the guillotine. (I don't know what it means to be a little lame. Anyone who hears this slang will be as surprised as I am. People in the upper classes always like to use slang, and those who do certain things and know they will be condemned always like to talk about these things in public. They think it's a sign of simplicity, but they are dizzy, they don't know how to handle it. They don't know that jokes can become ridiculous, offensive, vulgar rather than simple.) Saint Lou is different from others. He's cute and serious."
I couldn't help laughing when I heard Mr. de Charles say that St. Lou was "serious". When he said this word, his tone was very special, as if he wanted to give it the meaning of "chastity" and "integrity", just as if he were talking about "seriousness" in the life of a young female worker. Then a taxi came askew; a young coachman, sitting on a cushion in the car, rather than driving in his seat, looked half drunk. Mr. De Charles called the car to a stop. The coachman bargained with him.
"Where are you going?"
"The direction in which you are going (I am surprised, because Mr. de Charles has refused several carriages with the same colour * headlights)."
"I don't want to go back to my seat. I'm still inside. Wouldn't you mind?"
"Yes, but you have to put down the hood. Well, don't forget what I said to you, "Mr. de Charles said to me when he left." I'll give you a few days, and you'll write to me about the results of your consideration. I repeat that I have to see you every day. I want you to be honest and keep your mouth shut. Besides, you seem to have done it. However, I have been deceived too many times in my life, and I no longer believe in superficial phenomena. Damn it! At least let me know who to give a treasure house to before I give it up. Well, remember my advice, you've come to the crossroads like Hutchuli. Unfortunately, you don't have such strong muscles. Never give up choosing the path to morality, or you will regret it for a lifetime. Why, "he said to the coachman," have you not put down the hood yet? I had to do it myself. Besides, since you're drunk like this, I'm sure I'll have to catch the car."
(1) Hercules is the hero in Roman mythology, namely Hercules in Greek mythology.
He jumped into the car and sat next to the coachman. The carriage ran at full speed.
When I returned to the Gelmont House, I was confronted by a conversation between our chief dietary officers and the chief dietary officer of the Gelmont family. One was a retrial and the other was a retrial. The conversation was the same as the conversation between Block and Mr. de Nobwa. But in form, the conversation between the two chief dietary officers was simple and straightforward. Yin-Yang is eccentric and ruthless: in fact, it has become a quarrel. Indeed, the tit-for-tat truth and lies among the top intellectuals of the French Federation of Motherlands and the League of Human Rights have spread widely among the lower classes. Mr. Renak used his tactics to exploit the feelings of people he had never met before. The Dreyfus case is just an irrefutable theorem in front of his reason. He did prove it with a strange, unheard-of, rational political card game (some say against France). After two years, he finally replaced the Biyo Cabinet with the Clemenceau Cabinet, completely changed public opinion, rescued Bikar from prison, and made him a minister of the army in vain. Perhaps the rationalist who manipulated the masses himself was manipulated by his ancestors. Since the philosophical system that embraces the most truth is ultimately imposed on the founder of the system by an emotion, how can we assume that in a simple political event like the Dreyfus case, such an emotion will not grasp the reasoner's reason unconsciously? Block thought he had chosen to be re-judged logically, but he knew that his nose, skin color and hair were imposed on him by the Jewish race. Reason may be more liberal; but it obeys certain laws that are not prescribed by it. The controversy between the two dietary directors is rather special. The reappraisal and the counter-reappraisal divide France from top to bottom. Although the voices of these two waves are weak, few echoes are sincere. In a conversation in which people avoided talking about the case, we could deduce his tendency from the target predicted by the reporter when we heard that someone carefully reported a usually untrue but popular political news. Therefore, there are conflicts on some issues, one is concealed missionary zeal, the other is moral indignation. When I entered the room, I heard two controversial dietary directors, with the exception of course. The one in our family said Dreyfus was guilty, and the Garments said he was innocent. They did this not to hide their beliefs, but to have ulterior motives and to be red-eyed. The one in our family was not sure if the case could be retried. He wanted to preempt the trial so that if the retrial failed, the dietary director of the Galmont family would not dare to gloat over the failure of the just cause. The Gelmonts thought that if the Zhengg government refused to re-examine it, the chief dietary officer would be more upset to see an innocent person still imprisoned on the Devil Island. The Porter watched them quarrel. It seems to me that this split among the servants in the Galmont House was not initiated by him.
(1) Clemenceau (1841-1929), French statesman. The Second Empire belonged to the Left-wing Republican Party and later to the radical leader. He served as Prime Minister of the Cabinet twice between 1906 and 1920.
(2) Biyo (1828-1907), French general and politician, served as Minister of the Army twice from 1882 to 1883 and 1898.
I went upstairs and came home to find that my grandmother was more ill. For some days, she often complained of physical discomfort, but did not know what was wrong. It is only when we are sick that we realize that our lives are not only ours, but also our bodies, a different kind of existence. The abyss separates us from our bodies. It doesn't know us, and we can't make them understand us. If we meet robbers on the road, no matter what kind of robbers they are, we can at least impress them with our interests, even if we can't make them sympathize with us. But to have compassion for us is like playing the piano to a cow. For the body, our words are no more meaningful than the sound of water, and we have to live with it, which is not without fear. My grandmother often doesn't notice any discomfort because her attention is focused on us. When she feels uncomfortable, in order to cure the disease, she always wants to know what it is, but in vain. If the symptoms of her body are still vague and incomprehensible in her mind, they are clear and well understood for the creations that belong to the same circle. A man's mind needs to know what the body says to it, and in the end he always asks for help with these creations, just as a foreigner must find a compatriot to translate if he wants to know what to answer. They can talk to our bodies and tell us whether they are in a rage or are about to calm down. We invited Dr. Godard to see my grandmother. As soon as he heard us say that Grandma was ill, his face showed an unpredictable smile and asked us, "Is she ill? It's not a diplomatic disease, is it? This makes us angry and annoyed. To relieve the patient's agitation, he asked her to try a milk-based diet. Grandma ate milk soup every meal, but it didn't work because she put a lot of salt in the soup. At that time, we did not know the harmful effects of salt on human body (Vida III has not yet been studied). Medical science is a combination of conflicting errors made one after another by doctors; if you invite the best doctors to see you, you have the privilege of turning to a truth which, in a few years'time, may well be regarded as a fallacy. Therefore, if it weren't for believing in medicine to be more absurd than believing in medicine (because some truth gradually emerged from the accumulation of errors), otherwise, believing in medicine would probably be the greatest absurdity in the world. Godard told us to give Grandma a temperature test. Someone brought the thermometer. The glass tube of the thermometer was almost empty, mercury was invisible, and the silver salamander could barely be seen lying in its trough. It seems dead. We stuffed the glass tube into Grandma's mouth (the glass tube didn't stay in Grandma's mouth for long). Soon, the little witch gave her life. We found that the little witch stopped in the middle of the tower and remained motionless, accurately showing us the number we wanted her to show, which my grandmother had repeatedly elucidated and could not get: 38 degrees 3. For the first time, we felt uneasy. We tried hard to shake the thermometer, trying to shake off the fate-determining symbol, as if it would not only make the temperature indicated by the thermometer drop, but also make the temperature of the grandmother drop. Alas! The irrational witch was obviously unwilling to satisfy our wishes, because the next day, as soon as the thermometer was inserted into her grandmother's mouth, the prophetess jumped to the same degree and stopped relentlessly. With her sparkling magic wand, she pointed out the same number to us: 38 degrees 3, firm beliefs and credentials. Intuitively, the fact that we couldn't feel made her a beauty. She turned a deaf ear to our wishes and expectations, our demands, and refused to give in, as if it were her last warning and threat. In order to change the witch's reaction, we turn to another one that belongs to the same field as the thermometer, but is more powerful than the thermometer. It can not only inquire, but also command the body's creations: antipyretics. This antipyretic drug belongs to the same class as aspirin, but has not yet been used in clinical practice. We didn't drop the thermometer below 37 degrees. I hope it doesn't go up again. We had Grandma take antipyretics and put the thermometer in her mouth. The vigilant witch remained motionless this time, like an iron-faced and ruthless guard. When someone showed her a pass from a superior authority obtained through the relationship, she thought it was in line with the regulations and said, "Okay, I have no objection. In that case, let's go." But she was depressed and listless, as if to say, "What good is it for you? Since you know Quinine, he can order me not to move. One time, ten times, twenty times. But he'll be bored. I know it. Let's see. Good days won't last long, and then you'll be even sicker."
Creation here refers to the following thermometers and medicines and other objects.
(2) False sickness as an excuse for not performing duties or appearing in public.
(3) Vida (1862-1929), French doctor. Many of his medical research, especially typhoid fever research, has a great influence on the development of medical and biological research. His method of diagnosing nephritis based on the rate of urea in blood is called the Widal's rule.
So my grandmother felt that there was a life in her body that knew the human body better than she did, and that the extinct tree species were contemporaries, the first occupier of the earth, earlier than the emergence of thoughtful human beings. She felt that the old ally was touching her head, heart and arms, which was even a little unbearable; it knew the ropes well and organized everything in order to cope with a very old battle to be unveiled. Soon after, Pidong was killed and the heat and cold were overcome by powerful chemical elements. My grandmother might want to thank this chemical element by crossing all the boundaries of the earth and all the animals and plants. Her excitement lasted for a long time because she had just had a conversation with an element that existed before plants, centuries apart. Besides, the thermometer, like a goddess of fate temporarily defeated by older gods, stopped spinning with a silver spindle. Alas! Unfortunately, humans have also tamed other low-level creations to pursue mysterious prey that they cannot pursue, but these creations have mercilessly brought us a small amount of protein, but there is a certain amount of protein every day, which seems to be related to a state of persistence that we do not feel. Dr. Bergott once recommended to me Dr. Di Bourbon that he would not make me bored, that he would come up with some treatments, which, though absurd, were well suited to my peculiar wisdom; that I was born serious and had never subjected my wisdom to my own nature*, so I listened to Bergott. The suggestion was very angry. However, people's thinking is constantly changing. It can break through the defense line set by our nature and absorb nutrients from the ready-made wealth of wisdom. When we hear someone talking about a person we don't know, we often imagine the stranger as a talented person. Similarly, I now have unlimited confidence in Dr. Di Bourbon, as if he were more sensitive and insightful than others. Of course, to be more precise, I know that he is a neurologist, and Dr. Chango predicted to him before he died that he would become the supreme authority in neurology and psychiatry. Ah! I don't know. It's entirely possible." Franois was also present, and for the first time she heard the names of Di Bourbon and Chango, but that did not prevent her from saying, "That's quite possible." It is ironic to say "this is absolutely possible", "maybe", "I don't know" on such occasions. I really want to answer her: "Since you know nothing about what others say, of course you will not know; since you do not know, why is it possible and impossible? Anyway, you can't say now that you don't know what Chango said to Di Silbon. Now that we have spoken to you, you will know; since this is for sure, your "maybe" and "this is entirely possible" will not be used here.
Pidong was a serpent in Greek mythology, killed by Apollo at the foot of Mount Parnassus.
(2) Qiango (1825-1893), a French doctor, has studied hysteria and hypnosis and made great contributions to the development of neuropathology. Qiango's disease has become a synonym for amyotrophic lateral sclerosis of the spinal cord.
Although De Bourbon was mainly good at brain and neurology, I still begged his mother to invite him to see his grandmother because I knew that he was a famous doctor and a leader in a brilliant and creative doctor. Although we were afraid that another doctor would frighten our grandmother, we were reluctant to give up a glimmer of hope that Dr. Bourbon might be able to diagnose the cause and cure her. My mother decided to invite Doctor Di Bourbon because my grandmother was unconsciously encouraged by Dr. Godard to stay indoors and almost stay in bed. Grandma used Mrs. De Sevigny's Handbook on Mrs. De Lafayette to refute us: "Some people say that she stayed at home because she was insane. I said to these eager judges,'Mrs. de Lafayette is not mad'. But that's all I have to say. It was only after her death that everyone saw that she was right not to go out." But it's a waste of breath. If Dr. Di Bourbon didn't say Mrs. De Sevigny was wrong (we didn't tell him about it), at least he thought my grandmother should not go out. He did not give her a hearing, but gazed at her with a fantastic eye, in which there might be an illusion of inquiry into the patient, or the illusion of being inquired into, which seemed spontaneous but actually was not unconscious, or in order not to let the patient see that he was thinking of something else. Something, or trying to influence her - he's talking about Beggot.
Mrs. Sevigny (1626-1696), French woman writer. Born in a noble family, he approached the court of Louis XIV. The Collection of Books reflects the life of the court and the nobility at that time. It is a representative work of French classical prose in the seventeenth century.
Lafayette (1634-1693), French woman writer. Creation is close to classicism and is good at psychological description. The main works are the novel Princess Clive and the Memoirs of the French Court from 1688 to 1689, which narrates the court customs of Louis XIV.
"Ah! I believe, madam, that he is indeed admirable; it makes sense for you to like him! But which book do you like best? Ah! Really, my God, this is probably the best book. Anyway, this is the best one in his novel. Claire is very attractive; which male character do you think is the most popular?
I thought at first that he let her talk about literature because he was tired of the doctor's profession, or because he wanted to show that he was open-minded, or to help patients regain self-confidence, to prove to her that he was optimistic about her illness, to relieve her worries, so as to produce a better therapeutic effect. But I soon understood that as an outstanding psychiatrist, he had a deep understanding of the human brain. He asked these questions to see if my grandmother's memory had been damaged. When he asked her about her life, his eyes were gloomy and dull, as if he had to ask. Suddenly, he seemed to have discovered the truth, and he seemed to have decided to seize it at all costs, and made an effort to shake himself first, as if to shake off the waves surrounding it, that is, the last hesitation he might have and all the objections we might raise; his eyes were clear and unconstrained. He stared at my grandmother with great certainty; he accentuated every word with a gentle and moving tone, and his superhuman wisdom made his voice show all kinds of subtle changes (besides, his voice was so gentle and melodious from beginning to end as if it were born); under his unkempt eyebrows, a pair of people would mock him. The eyes of laughter contain goodwill.
"You will be all right, madam. Maybe it will take a long time, maybe it will get better quickly, maybe even today. It depends entirely on you, as long as you understand that you have no illness, as long as you return to normal life. You just said to me that you don't eat or go out, do you?"
"But, sir, I have a fever."
He touched her hand:
"At least not now. Besides, it's just a beautiful excuse. Don't you know that we also let the 39 degree fever tuberculosis patients go outdoors to strengthen their nutrition?
"But I still have albuminuria."
"How do you know? You have a psychoalbuminuria I have described. We all have this situation, when we are not feeling well, the protein in our body will suddenly increase. The doctor will point out to us in a minute, and we will feel that there are too many proteins in our body. Doctors who cure a disease with drugs can cause ten diseases in healthy people (at least nobody denies that this happens from time to time), because they repeatedly instill in you the idea that you are sick, and the toxicity of this pathogen * is beyond the reach of any bacteria. The idea of believing in one's illness can have an effect on people of all sexes and personalities, and has a deeper impact on those who are neurotic. You say to nervous people,'The window behind you is open'(actually closed), and they start sneezing; if you lie to them and say you put magnesium oxide in their soup, they will cry out for stomach aches; if you convince them that their coffee is thicker than usual, they will not be able to look at it overnight. Believe me, madam. I only need to see your eyes and hear your speech. What can I say? See your daughter and grandson (they are so much like you!) I knew who I was dealing with.
"If the doctor permits, your grandmother may be able to sit down on a path in Champs Elysees, next to the laurel bushes you used to play when you were a child." My mother, speaking to me in name, was actually asking Di Bourbon's advice directly because her voice sounded unconfident. If she had spoken to me alone, she would not have spoken in such a tone. The doctor turned his face to my grandmother and said in the tone of medical authority rather than a writer:
"Sit by the laurel bushes your grandson likes on Champs Elysees, madam. Laurel bushes are good for your health. It can dispel evil spirits and evil spirits. After Apollo killed Snake Pidong, he entered Delphis with a laurel. He wanted to use laurel to prevent the deadly bacteria of poisonous animals from invading his body. You see, laurel is the oldest and most respectable, and I have to add the most beautiful bactericide, which is valuable both in treatment and prevention. Delphis is the place name of ancient Greece. According to Greek mythology, Apollo killed the serpent Pidong and built a shrine here.
Doctors learn most of their knowledge from patients, so it's easy for them to think that the knowledge about "patients" is available to everyone, and they think they can show the patients around them what they have learned from other patients before. So Dr. De Bourbon, like a Parisian talking to a countryman, wished to surprise him with a dialect, smiled slyly and said to my grandmother, "The most powerful hypnotic is helpless to you. Maybe the storm will make you sleep." On the contrary, sir, the strong wind absolutely keeps me awake." But the doctor's breath is very small. Damn it! Di Bourbon frowned and muttered as if someone had stepped on his foot, thinking that my grandmother's sleeplessness on a stormy night was a personal attack on him. After all, his self-esteem was not too strong, and as an "extraordinary" man, he believed that it was his duty not to believe in medicine, so he quickly regained his composure.
My mother tried to get a reassuring pill from her friend. In support of his opinion, she added that one of my grandmother's cousins had neurosis and had been bedridden in her room in Gombre for seven years, getting up only once or twice a week.
"Look, madam, I don't know if there's anything else, or I'll give you an example."
"But, sir, I am totally different from her, on the contrary. My doctor can't make me stay in bed, "said my grandmother. Maybe she was a little irritated by the doctor's theory, or she wanted to raise the objections that others might have raised to the theory in the hope that he could refute it, so that after he left, she didn't need to doubt his authoritative diagnosis any more.
"Of course, madam, psychosis, I'm sorry, my words are not pleasant, psychosis has a variety of symptoms, a person can not concentrate all the symptoms. You don't get one, you get another. Yesterday, I went to a private sanatorium for neurasthenia. In the garden, I saw a man standing on a bench, motionless as an acrobat, crooked his neck and looking laborious. When I asked him what he was doing, he didn't move or look back. He answered, "Doctor, my rheumatism is very serious, and I easily catch a cold. I was too active just now. When I sweated so foolishly, my neck would fall on my flannel collar. If I left my neck off the flannel without waiting for the sweat to recede, I would have a crooked neck disease or bronchitis. Indeed, he may have a crooked neck. You are a lovely patient with neurasthenia, and you are such a patient,'I said to him. Do you know what reason he used to prove to me that he was not a neurasthenic? He said that all the patients in the sanatorium had a bizarre habit of weighing, so doctors had to lock the scales so that the patients would not weigh all day long. But he was different. He had no interest in weighing. The doctor had to force him to weigh. He was proud of not having other people's eccentricities, but did not want to think that he also had his own eccentricities, because he had his own eccentricities, there was no other eccentricity. Don't be surprised, madam, because this man who is afraid of cold and dares not wring his neck is the greatest poet of our time. This eccentric poor man is the smartest person I know. Don't be afraid to say you're neurotic. You belong to this extraordinary and poor family, which is the backbone of society. All the great things we know are created by neurotic people. It is they, not others, who founded religion and wrote masterpieces. The world will never know their merits, especially the pain they endured in their creation. We appreciate beautiful music, beautiful pictures and countless beautiful things, but we don't know the price the author paid for insomnia, moodiness, laughter when crying, urticaria, asthma, epilepsy, and fear of death, which is more harmful than all the afflictions mentioned above. Maybe you also have this kind of distress, madam?" He asked my grandmother with a smile, "Because you have to admit I saw you upset when I entered the room. You believe you are sick. You may be very ill. God knows what symptoms you believe you have found in your body. You're not mistaken. It's symptomatic. Neuroticism has a capacity for imitation. No matter what disease it is, it imitates perfectly. It imitates the abdominal distension of patients with indigestion, vomiting of pregnant women, arrhythmia of heart patients and fever of tuberculosis patients. It is hard to tell the truth from the truth. Even doctors are deceived. How can patients not believe it? Ah! Don't think I'm making fun of your illness. If I don't understand your illness, it's impossible to prescribe the right medicine. You know, honesty and frankness should be mutual. I just told you that without neurosis, there would be no great artist, and, "he said solemnly with his index finger," there would be no great scientist. I would also like to say that if a neurologist does not have to be a neurologist, let alone a good doctor, he is not even a general doctor. In neuropathology, a doctor, though not very silly, is also a half-cured neurotic patient, just as a critic is a poet who no longer writes poetry, and a policeman is a thief who no longer steals. And I, madam, I don't think I have albuminuria like you do. I'm not nervous about nutrition or going out, but I'm always afraid that the door is not closed at night and I can't fall asleep without getting up more than twenty times. That sanatorium, where I found out yesterday that there was a poet who could not turn his neck, I went there and booked a ward, because you must keep it secret for me. When I was overtired to see others and aggravated my condition, I would go there for sick leave.
"But, sir, am I going to receive that treatment?" My grandmother asked in a trembling voice. Unbearable Lightness in Life
"That's not necessary, madam. Your complaint will disappear, I assure you. Besides, there is a very capable person beside you. I want him to be your doctor in the future. This person is your disease, your overactive nerve. I know how to cure your disease. I don't need to do it myself. I just need to direct your nerves. I saw a book by Bergott on your desk. When your neuroticism heals, you won't like this book any more. However, do I have the right to use your overactive pathological nerve to bring you happiness in exchange for a perfect and non-destructive nerve that can not give you happiness? Your nerves bring you happiness, it is a powerful medicine, perhaps no medicine can match it. No, I don't want to weaken your active nerves. I just want it to listen to me; I want to entrust you to it. Hopefully, it will be able to use its strength to prevent you from walking and eating to encourage you to eat, to encourage you to read and go out. In a word, you should be entertained. Don't tell me you're tired. Fatigue is a concrete manifestation of preconceptions in the body. The first thing you need to do is not think about fatigue. If you sometimes feel uncomfortable --- which is unavoidable for everyone --- you pretend that nothing happens, because your active nerves will turn you into a healthy man, as Mr. de Talleen once said profoundly. Look, it has cured your illness a little. You sit up straight when I speak. You never lean back. Your eyes are bright and your face is ruddy, but the clock has only gone half an hour. Of course you can't feel it yourself. Please accept my respect, madam."
(1) Taleland (1754-1838); French politician, aristocrat, bishop, since 1797 successive governor Zheng House, Zheng House, First Empire and foreign ministers in the early Restoration Dynasty, known for contingency and fraud, was one of the main representatives of bourgeois diplomats in the early nineteenth century.
When I sent Dr. Di Bourbon out and went back to my room (my mother was alone in the room, and the sorrow that had been weighing on me like a stone for weeks vanished. I felt that my mother was overwhelmed with joy and that I would soon be overjoyed myself; I would like to share my excitement with someone around me. In another sense, this urgency could frighten us by knowing that someone was going to come in through a closed door. Psychological comparison: I want to talk to my mother, but my voice can not make a sound, tears brush out. I leaned my head on my mother and cried for pain for a long time, and appreciated the pain of accepting and cherishing it (because I knew it came from my life), just as we always like to be excited about some morally sound plan that the situation does not allow us to put it into practice.
Franois was indifferent to our happiness, which made me very angry. She was very emotional because the Garments'attendant had a big fight with the whistleblower's porter. It is imperative that the Duchess be kind and mediate, and that the two men make a reluctant peace, and that the Duchess forgive the attendants. Because she was kind-hearted after all, she did not believe that gossip was the best way to solve the dispute.
Several days ago, people began to know that my grandmother was ill and came to us for information. Saint Lou wrote to me and said, "I don't want to blame you too much when your dear grandmother is ill. She's not at fault. But if I tell you, or by hinting, that I will forget your treachery and forgive your cunning and betrayal, it is a lie." But some of my friends thought that my grandmother was not seriously ill, or did not know that she was ill. They asked me to go to Champs Elysees the next day to find them, and then with them to visit a person first, and then go to the countryside for a dinner. They said that this dinner would bring me happiness. I have no reason to give up these two entertainment opportunities. When we told our grandmother that she should listen to Dr. Di Bourbon and go out for more walks, she immediately offered to go to Champs Elysees. Taking her there was a lot of work for me. She sat reading and I could arrange a meeting place with my friends. As long as I hurried up, I might be able to catch the train to Ville Daffrey with them. But when she was going out, my grandmother didn't want to move. She felt very tired. But my mother was inspired by Dr. Di Bourbon, and she lost her temper and insisted that my grandmother obey her. She almost cried when she thought that her grandmother was going back to her neurotic state. It was warm and windy, and there was no weather better suited for Grandma to go out. The sun keeps changing its position, shining its sparse and bright light on the seemingly unstable balcony, making the surface of the stone slightly heated and giving it a hazy golden halo. Because Franois had no time to call her daughter, she left immediately after lunch. However, she was quite good. She went to Hubby's house once before leaving and asked him to sew a few stitches in the short overcoat my grandmother was going to wear. I just came back from a walk and went to the tailor's house with her." "Did your younger employer bring you here," said Hubien to Francois, "or did you bring your younger employer here? Otherwise, the ancient wind and the goddess of fate brought you both together. Although he had never studied, Shubian was naturally grammatical, just as Mr. de Gelmont was born to violate grammar, despite his great efforts. Franois has gone and her coat has been mended. It's time for my grandmother to dress up. She stubbornly refused to leave her mother by her side, dressed up alone in the room, and never saw her out. Now I know she's in good health and I don't care about her anymore (as long as our relatives are still alive, we'll adopt this strange indifference towards them, putting them in an insignificant position, behind everyone else). I think she's too selfish and knows that I have a date with my friends and want to go to Wei. Al-Daffrey went to dinner, but she kept on slowly, as if she wanted me to be late on purpose. I waited impatiently, and although I was told twice that she was ready to stop, I went downstairs alone. She finally caught up, as she always did when she was late, without an apology, like a man in a hurry, flushed and panicked, forgetting half of what she had to take with her. When she caught up with me, I was almost at the glass door. The door was half open, warm wind blowing in from the outside, bubbling as if someone had opened the gate of a reservoir, but the inner walls of the house were still as cold as ice.
"My God, knowing you were going to meet your friends, I should have worn another coat. It's a bit shameful to see."
I was surprised to see how red she was. I realized that she must have known it was late and hurried downstairs. We got out of the taxi on Gabriel Boulevard. As soon as I got out of the car, I saw that my grandmother didn't even say hello, so I turned and walked towards the ancient house with green walls. Once upon a time, I waited for Franois in this hut. I followed my grandmother (she probably wanted to vomit, one hand covering her mouth) up the steps of the idyllic "little theater" built in the middle of the garden. I saw the Ranger I met here last time still next to the "Marquise". The Marquise, as always, sat at the door of the toilet to collect money. Her big, unorthodox face was covered with a layer of poor white powder, her head was covered with brown wigs, and her wig was covered with a small soft cap with red flowers and black lace. It was like a circus with white powder on her face to collect tickets at the door. The clown. But I'm sure she didn't recognize me. The Ranger left his post without permission and sat beside her to chat with her. His uniform was also green, in harmony with the color of the trees.
"Well," he said, "do you always stay like that? You don't want to leave?"
"Why am I leaving, sir?" Let me tell you the truth. Where can I be better than here? Where to find these comforts and comforts? Besides, I'm happy with the people coming and going here. I call this my little Paris, and I know from my customers what's happening all over Paris. Listen, sir, a customer who went out here five minutes ago was a very high-ranking executive. Hi! "Sir," she cried excitedly, as if - if the Ranger pretended to doubt her arguments and raise objections - he was ready to defend her arguments by force. "For eight years, listen carefully. Every week God created, he came here at three o'clock every day, always polite and never spoke. He never dirty the ground. He stays in it for more than half an hour, releasing his hands and reading newspapers. Only one day did not come. At that time, I didn't care, but in the evening I suddenly said to myself,'A day has passed, but the gentleman didn't come. Maybe he's dead. I have a bad taste in my heart. Because I always miss good people. So the next day, when I saw him again, I was so happy. I said to him,'Sir, were you all right yesterday? He said to me that he had nothing to do with himself, that his wife had died, that he was in a state of uncertainty, that he was not coming. Of course, he looked as sad as the man who lost his wife twenty-five years after marriage, but he was happy because he came again. I felt that his usual little habits were disrupted. I tried to encourage him and said to him,'Don't give up on yourself. Come here every day as you used to, and it will give you a little amusement in your sorrow. ''
The "Marquise" then changed to a more mild tone, because she saw that the patron saint of the flower bed and lawn was convinced of her words and did not raise any objection. His sword, which looked more like a gardening tool, was still lying quietly in the scabbard.
"And," she said, "I have a choice of customers. Not everyone can be welcomed in what I call the'living room'. Look, isn't this like a living room? And flowers! Because several of my customers are very polite, and they --- either this or that --- are willing to bring me a beautiful lilac, jasmine, or rose. I like roses best."
We didn't bring her cloves or roses. I don't think she'll have a good impression on us. She looks like a fish out of water. In order to avoid face-to-face --- rather let her stand trial in absentia --- and listen to her criticism of us, I went to the exit. But in life, the people who receive the warmest reception are not always those who hold beautiful roses, because the Marquis thinks I can't wait and says to me:
"Would you like to open a small one for you?"
I said no.
"No?" She smiled and said that it seemed sincere, but I knew that it was not necessary to pay for it, but there must be a need for it.
At this time, a woman in disgraceful clothes rushed into the toilet, and it seemed that she really needed to untie. But she's not a Marquise, because Marquise uses a vicious way of pretending to be an upper-class woman to say to her:
"It's full, ma'am."
"Will it take a long time?" The poor woman asked, her face red with yellow flowers on her head.
"Ah! Madam, I would advise you to go somewhere else, because you see there are two other gentlemen waiting, "she said, pointing to us - me and the ranger.
"Besides, I have only one room to use, and the others are being repaired... Looking at the woman's face, she knows she won't pay, "said the Marquise." She's not here, she's dirty, and she doesn't respect other people's work. I'm afraid it will take me an hour to clean the lady's toilet. I don't regret losing two sous."
Grandma finally came out, and she stayed there for half an hour. I didn't think she would ever tip for her improper behavior, so I left first, lest the Marquise might sneer at her and I should be taken along. I took a path, but it was slow enough for my grandmother to come up with me without any difficulty. Sure enough, my grandmother was soon turned away. I thought she would say to me, "I hope you won't miss your date with a friend because you've been waiting so long." But she didn't say a word. I was a little disappointed and didn't want to speak first. I finally looked up at her and I saw her walking next to me, but her head turned to the other side. I'm afraid she's sick again. I looked at her carefully and found that she walked bumpy and shocked my heart. Her hat was askew, her overcoat was dirty, she looked dirty, she looked dissatisfied, her face was red, she looked worried, like a man knocked down by a car or pulled up from a mud pit.
Grandma, I was afraid you were sick again. Are you better now?" I told her.
She must be thinking that if I didn't answer, I would feel uneasy.
"I heard all the conversations between the Marquis and the ranger," she said to me. "It's just the tone of Gelmont's voice and the voice of the people in Villeland's circle. God! That kind of thing can be said so elegantly." Then she earnestly quoted the words of her marquis, Mrs. De Sevigny:
"Listening to them, I thought to myself that they were preparing a happy farewell party for me."
That's what she said to me. When she said these words, she used all her wisdom. Her fondness for quoting classics and her memory of classical works are even more attentive than usual, as if to show that she remembers all these things clearly. But these words, rather than what I heard, were guessed, because her voice was muttering and her teeth were clenched so tightly that it was difficult to explain the phenomenon with reasons for fear of vomiting.
"Well," I said to her lightly, trying not to take her discomfort too seriously. "Now that you feel a little sick, let's go home if you like. I don't want to take a dyspeptic grandmother for a stroll on Champs Elysees."
"Because you have an appointment with a friend, I dare not propose to go home," she answered, "Poor child! But, of course, that would be better if you wanted to."
I'm afraid she'll find her voice a little special. Reading of Masterpieces
"All right," I said to her stiffly, "stop talking. You'll be tired. Since you're nauseous, it's not reasonable to talk any more. Talk back home."
She smiled sadly and took my hand. She knew there was no need to hide it from me. I had guessed that she had a minor heart attack just now.