Where it was that Marius went will be disclosed a little further on.
Marius was absent for three days, then he returned to Paris, went straight to the library of the law-school and asked for the files of the Moniteur.
He read the Moniteur, he read all the histories of the Republic and the Empire, the Memorial de Sainte-Helene, all the memoirs, all the newspapers, the bulletins, the proclamations; he devoured everything. The first time that he came across his father's name in the bulletins of the grand army, he had a fever for a week. He went to see the generals under whom Georges Pontmercy had served, among others, Comte H. Church-warden Mabeuf, whom he went to see again, told him about the life at Vernon, the colonel's retreat, his flowers, his solitude. Marius came to a full knowledge of that rare infancy, he had been imbued with the judgments of the party of 1814, on Bonaparte. Now, all the prejudices of the Restoration, all its interests, all its instincts tended to disfigure Napoleon. It execrated him even more than it did Robespierre. It had very cleverly turned to sufficiently good account the fatigue of the nation, and the hatred of mothers. Bonaparte had become an almost fabulous monster, and in order to paint him to the imagination of the people, which, as we lately pointed out, resembles the imagination of children, the party of 1814 made him appear under all sorts of terrifying masks in succession, from that which is terrible though it remains grandiose to that which is terrible and becomes grotesque, from Tiberius to the bugaboo. Thus, in speaking of Bonaparte, one was free to sob or to puff up with laughter, provided that hatred lay at the bottom. Marius had never entertained-- about that man, as he was?煵*鄀 had just cast his eyes appalled him.
The first effect was to dazzle him.
Up to that time, the Republic, the Empire, had been to him only monstrous words. The Republic, a guillotine in the twilight; the Empire, a sword in the night. He had just taken a look at it, and where he had expected to find only a chaos of shadows, he had beheld, with a sort of unprecedented surprise, mingled with fear and joy, stars sparkling, Mirabeau, Vergniaud, Saint-Just, Robespierre, Camille, Desmoulins, Danton, and a sun arise, Napoleon. He did not know where he stood. He recoiled, blinded by the brilliant lights. Little by little, when his astonishment had passed off, he grew accustomed to this radiance, he contemplated these deeds without dizziness, he examined these personages without terror; the Revolution and the Empire presented themselves luminously, in perspective, before his mind's eye; he beheld each of these groups of events and of men summed up in two tremendous facts: the Republic in the sovereignty of civil right restored to the masses, the Empire in the sovereignty of the French idea imposed on Europe; he beheld the grand figure of the people emerge from the Revolution, and the grand figure of France spring forth from the Empire. He asserted in his conscience, that all this had been good. What his dazzled state neglected in this, his first far too synthetic estimation, we do not think it necessary to point out here. It is the state of a mind on the march that we are recording. Progress is not accomplished in one stage. That stated, once for all, in connection with what precedes as well as with what is to follow, we continue.
He then perceived that, up to that moment, he had comprehended his country no more than he had comprehended his father. He had not known either the one or the other, and a sort of voluntary night had obscured his eyes. Now he saw, and on the one hand he admired, while on the other he adored.
He was filled with regret and remorse, and he reflected in despair that all he had in his soul could now be said only to the tomb. Oh! if his father had still been in existence, if he had still had him, if God, in his compassion and his goodness, had permitted his father to be still among the living, how he would have run, how he would have precipitated himself, how he would have cried to his father: "Father! Here I am! It is I! I have the same heart as thou! I am thy son!" How he would have embraced that white head, bathed his hair in tears, gazed upon his scar, pressed his hands, adored his garment, kissed his feet! Oh! Why had his father died so early, before his time, before the justice, the love of his son had come to him? Marius had a continual sob in his heart, which said to him every moment: "Alas!" At the same time, he became more truly serious, more truly grave, more sure of his thought and his faith. At each instant, gleams of the true came to complete his reason. An inward growth seemed to be in progress within him. He was conscious of a sort of natural enlargement, which gave him two things that were new to him--his father and his country.
As everything opens when one has a key, so he explained to himself that which he had hated, he penetrated that which he had abhorred; henceforth he plainly perceived the providential, divine and human sense of the great things which he had been taught to detest, and of the great men whom he had been instructed to curse. When he reflected on his former opinions, which were but those of yesterday, and which, nevertheless, seemed to him already so very ancient, he grew indignant, yet he smiled.
From the rehabilitation of his father, he naturally passed to the rehabilitation of Napoleon.
But the latter, we will confess, was not effected without labor.
From his infancy, he had been imbued with the judgments of the party of 1814, on Bonaparte. Now, all the prejudices of the Restoration, all its interests, all its instincts tended to disfigure Napoleon. It execrated him even more than it did Robespierre. It had very cleverly turned to sufficiently good account the fatigue of the nation, and the hatred of mothers. Bonaparte had become an almost fabulous monster, and in order to paint him to the imagination of the people, which, as we lately pointed out, resembles the imagination of children, the party of 1814 made him appear under all sorts of terrifying masks in succession, from that which is terrible though it remains grandiose to that which is terrible and becomes grotesque, from Tiberius to the bugaboo. Thus, in speaking of Bonaparte, one was free to sob or to puff up with laughter, provided that hatred lay at the bottom. Marius had never entertained-- about that man, as he was called--any other ideas in his mind. They had combined with the tenacity which existed in his nature. There was in him a headstrong little man who hated Napoleon.
On reading history, on studying him, especially in the documents and materials for history, the veil which concealed Napoleon from the eyes of Marius was gradually rent. He caught a glimpse of something immense, and he suspected that he had been deceived up to that moment, on the score of Bonaparte as about all the rest; each day he saw more distinctly; and he set about mounting, slowly, step by step, almost regretfully in the beginning, then with intoxication and as though attracted by an irresistible fascination, first the sombre steps, then the vaguely illuminated steps, at last the luminous and splendid steps of enthusiasm.
One night, he was alone in his little chamber near the roof. His candle was burning; he was reading, with his elbows resting on his table close to the open window. All sorts of reveries reached him from space, and mingled with his thoughts. What a spectacle is the night! One hears dull sounds, without knowing whence they proceed; one beholds Jupiter, which is twelve hundred times larger than the earth, glowing like a firebrand, the azure is black, the stars shine; it is formidable.
He was perusing the bulletins of the grand army, those heroic strophes penned on the field of battle; there, at intervals, he beheld his father's name, always the name of the Emperor; the whole of that great Empire presented itself to him; he felt a flood swelling and rising within him; it seemed to him at moments that his father passed close to him like a breath, and whispered in his ear; he gradually got into a singular state; he thought that he heard drums, cannon, trumpets, the measured tread of battalions, the dull and distant gallop of the cavalry; from time to time, his eyes were raised heavenward, and gazed upon the colossal constellations as they gleamed in the measureless depths of space, then they fell upon his book once more, and there they beheld other colossal things moving confusedly. His heart contracted within him. He was in a transport, trembling, panting. All at once, without himself knowing what was in him, and what impulse he was obeying, he sprang to his feet, stretched both arms out of the window, gazed intently into the gloom, the silence, the infinite darkness, the eternal immensity, and exclaimed: "Long live the Emperor!"
From that moment forth, all was over; the Ogre of Corsica,-- the usurper,--the tyrant,--the monster who was the lover of his own sisters,--the actor who took lessons of Talma,--the poisoner of Jaffa,--the tiger,--Buonaparte,--all this vanished, and gave place in his mind to a vague and brilliant radiance in which shone, at an inaccessible height, the pale marble phantom of Caesar. The Emperor had been for his father only the well-beloved captain whom one admires, for whom one sacrifices one's self; he was something more to Marius. He was the predestined constructor of the French group, succeeding the Roman group in the domination of the universe. He was a prodigious architect, of a destruction, the continuer of Charlemagne, of Louis XI., of Henry IV., of Richelieu, of Louis XIV., and of the Committee of Public Safety, having his spots, no doubt, his faults, his crimes even, being a man, that is to say; but august in his faults, brilliant in his spots, powerful in his crime.
He was the predestined man, who had forced all nations to say: "The great nation!" He was better than that, he was the very incarnation of France, conquering Europe by the sword which he grasped, and the world by the light which he shed. Marius saw in Bonaparte the dazzling spectre which will always rise upon the frontier, and which will guard the future. Despot but dictator; a despot resulting from a republic and summing up a revolution. Napoleon became for him the man-people as Jesus Christ is the man-God.
It will be perceived, that like all new converts to a religion, his conversion intoxicated him, he hurled himself headlong into adhesion and he went too far. His nature was so constructed; once on the downward slope, it was almost impossible for him to put on the drag. Fanaticism for the sword took possession of him, and complicated in his mind his enthusiasm for the idea. He did not perceive that, along with genius, and pell-mell, he was admitting force, that is to say, that he was installing in two compartments of his idolatry, on the one hand that which is divine, on the other that which is brutal. In many respects, he had set about deceiving himself otherwise. He admitted everything. There is a way of encountering error while on one's way to the truth. He had a violent sort of good faith which took everything in the lump. In the new path which he had entered on, in judging the mistakes of the old regime, as in measuring the glory of Napoleon, he neglected the attenuating circumstances.
At all events, a tremendous step had been taken. Where he had formerly beheld the fall of the monarchy, he now saw the advent of France. His orientation had changed. What had been his East became the West. He had turned squarely round.
All these revolutions were accomplished within him, without his family obtaining an inkling of the case.
When, during this mysterious labor, he had entirely shed his old Bourbon and ultra skin, when he had cast off the aristocrat, the Jacobite and the Royalist, when he had become thoroughly a revolutionist, profoundly democratic and republican, he went to an engraver on the Quai des Orfevres and ordered a hundred cards bearing this name: Le Baron Marius Pontmercy.
This was only the strictly logical consequence of the change which had taken place in him, a change in which everything gravitated round his father.
Only, as he did not know any one and could not sow his cards with any porter, he put them in his pocket.
By another natural consequence, in proportion as he drew nearer to his father, to the latter's memory, and to the things for which the colonel had fought five and twenty years before, he receded from his grandfather. We have long ago said, that M. Gillenormand's temper did not please him. There already existed between them all the dissonances of the grave young man and the frivolous old man. The gayety of Geronte shocks and exasperates the melancholy of Werther. So long as the same political opinions and the same ideas had been common to them both, Marius had met M. Gillenormand there as on a bridge. When the bridge fell, an abyss was formed. And then, over and above all, Marius experienced unutterable impulses to revolt, when he reflected that it was M. Gillenormand who had, from stupid motives, torn him ruthlessly from the colonel, thus depriving the father of the child, and the child of the father.
By dint of pity for his father, Marius had nearly arrived at aversion for his grandfather.
Nothing of this sort, however, was betrayed on the exterior, as we have already said. Only he grew colder and colder; laconic at meals, and rare in the house. When his aunt scolded him for it, he was very gentle and alleged his studies, his lectures, the examinations, etc., as a pretext. His grandfather never departed from his infallible diagnosis: "In love! I know all about it."
From time to time Marius absented himself.
"Where is it that he goes off like this?" said his aunt.
On one of these trips, which were always very brief, he went to Montfermeil, in order to obey the injunction which his father had left him, and he sought the old sergeant to Waterloo, the inn-keeper Thenardier. Thenardier had failed, the inn was closed, and no one knew what had become of him. Marius was away from the house for four days on this quest.
"He is getting decidedly wild," said his grandfather.
They thought they had noticed that he wore something on his breast, under his shirt, which was attached to his neck by a black ribbon.
马吕斯去了什么地方，我们稍后就会知道。
马吕斯三天没有回家，接着他又到了巴黎，一径跑到法学院的图书馆里，要了一套《通报》。
他读了《通报》，他读了共和时期和帝国时期的全部历史，《圣赫勒拿岛回忆录》和所有其他各种回忆录、报纸、战报、宣言，他饱啖一切。他第一次在大军战报里见到他父亲的名字后，整整发了一星期的高烧。他访问了从前当过乔治·彭眉胥上级的一些将军们，其中之一是H．伯爵。他也看过教区理财神甫马白夫，马白夫把韦尔农的生活、上校的退休、他的花木、他的孤寂全给他谈了。马吕斯这才全面认识了那位稀有、卓越、仁厚、猛如狮子而又驯如羔羊的人，也就是他的父亲。
在他以全部时间和全部精力阅读文献的那一段时间里，他几乎没有和吉诺曼一家人见过面。到了吃饭时他才露一下面，接着，别人去找他，他又不在了。姑奶奶嘟囔不休。老吉诺曼却笑着说：“有什么关系！有什么关系！是找小娘们的时候了！”老头儿有时还补上一句：“见鬼！我还以为只是逢场作戏呢，看样子，竟是一场火热的爱了。”
这确是一场火热的爱。
马吕斯正*地爱着他的父亲。
同时他思想里也正起着一种非常的变化。那种变化是经多次发展逐步形成的。我们认为按阶段一步步把它全部叙述出来是有好处的，因为这正是我们那时代许多人的思想转变过程。
那段历史，他刚读到时就使他感到震惊。
最初的效果是眼花缭乱。
直到那时，*、帝国，在他心里还只是些牛鬼蛇神似的字眼。共和，只是暮色中的一架断头台，帝国，只是黑夜里的一把大刀。他现在仔细观看，满以为见到的只不过是一大堆凌乱杂沓的黑影，可是在那些地方使他无比惊讶又怕又乐的，却是些耀眼的星斗，米拉波、维尼奥①、圣鞠斯特、罗伯斯庇尔、卡米尔·德穆兰、丹东和一个冉冉上升的太阳：拿破仑。他不知道是怎么回事。他被阳光照得两眼昏眩，向后退却。渐渐地，惊恐的心情过去了，他已习惯于光辉的照耀，他已能注视那些动态而不感到晕眩，能细察那些人物也不觉得恐惧了，革命和帝国都在他的犀利目光前面辉煌灿烂地罗列着，他看出那两个阶段中每件大事和每个人都可概括为两种无比伟大的行动，*的伟大在于使交还给民众的民权获得最高的地位，帝国的伟大在于使强加给欧洲的法兰西思想获得最高的地位，他看见从革命中出现了人民的伟大面貌，从帝国中出现了法兰西的伟大面貌。他从心坎里承认那一切都是好的。
①维尼奥（Vergniaud，1753-1793），国民公会吉伦特党代表，一七九三年六月二日被捕，上断头台。
他的这种初步估计确是太过于笼统了，他一时在眩惑中忽视了的事物，我们认为没有必要在此地一一指出。我们要叙述的是个人思想的发展情况。进步是不会一蹴而就的。无论是对以前或以后的问题，我们都只能这样去看，把这话一次交代清楚后我们再往下说。
他当时发现在这以前，他既不了解自己的祖国，也不了解自己的父亲。无论祖国或父亲，他都没有认识，他真好象是甘愿让云雾遮住自己的眼睛。现在他看得清楚了，一方面，他敬佩，另一方面，他崇拜。
他胸中充满了懊丧和悔恨，他悲痛欲绝地想到他心中所有的一切现在只能对一冢孤坟去倾诉了。唉！假使他父亲还活着，假使他还能见着他父亲，假使上帝动了慈悲怜悯的心让这位父亲留在人间，他不知会怎样跑去，扑上去，对他父亲喊道：“父亲！我来了！是我！我的心和你的心完全一样！我是你的儿子！”他不知会怎样抱住他的白头，要淌多少眼泪在他的头发里，要怎样瞻仰他的刀伤，紧握着他的手，爱慕他的衣服，吻他的脚！唉！这父亲，为什么会死得那么早，为什么还没有上年纪，还没有享受公平的待遇，还没有得到他儿子一天的孝养，便死去了呢！马吕斯心中无时不在痛泣，无时不在悲叹。同时他真的变得更加严肃了，真的更加深沉了，对自己的信念和思想也更加有把握了。真理的光随时都在充实他的智慧。他的内心好象正在成长。他感到自己自然而然地壮大起来了，那是他前所未有的两种新因素棗他的父亲和祖国促成的。
正好象人有了钥匙便可以随处开门一样，他从头分析起他以前所仇视的，深入研究他以前所鄙弃的，从此以后他能看清当初别人教他侮蔑咒骂的那些事和人中间的天意、神意和人意了。他以往的那些见解都还只是昨天的事，可是在他看来，仿佛已过去很久了，当他想起时，他便感到愤慨，并且会哑然失笑。
自从他改变了对父亲的看法，他对拿破仑的看法也自然改变了。
可是这方面的转变，我们得指出，不是没有艰苦过程的。
别人在他做孩子时，便已把一八一四年的党人①对波拿巴所作的定论灌输给他了。复辟王朝的所有偏见、利益、本性，都使人歪曲拿破仑的形象。王朝痛恨拿破仑更甚于罗伯斯庇尔。它相当巧妙地把国力的疲惫和母亲们的怨愤拿来作为口实。于是波拿巴几乎成了一种传说中的怪物，而且，一八一四年的党人，为了要把它描绘在人民的幻想中棗我们前面说过，人民的幻想是和孩子的幻想相似的棗便给他捏了一连串形形色色的骗人的脸谱，从凶恶而不失威严直到凶恶得令人发笑，从提比利乌斯到马虎子，样样齐全。因此，人们在谈到波拿巴时，只要以愤恨为基础也可以痛泣也可以狂笑。在马吕斯的思想里，对“那个人”棗当时人们是这样称呼他的棗从来就不曾有过其他的看法。那些看法又和他坚强的性格结合在一起。在他心里早就有个憎恨拿破仑的顽固小人儿了。
①一八一四年欧洲联军攻入巴黎，拿破仑逊位，王朝复辟。这里所说党人，指保王党人。
在读历史时，尤其是在从文件和原始资料中研究历史时，那妨碍马吕斯看清拿破仑的障眼法逐渐破了。他隐隐约约看到一个广大无比的形象，于是开始怀疑自己以前对拿破仑及其他一切是错了，他的眼睛一天天明亮起来，他一步步慢慢地往上攀登，起初还几乎是不乐意的，到后来便心旷神怡，好象有一种无可抗拒的诱惑力在推引着他似的，首先登上的是昏暗的台阶，接着又登上半明半暗的梯级，最后来到光明灿烂令人振奋的梯级了。
有天晚上，他独自待在屋顶下的那间卧室里。他燃起了烛，推开了窗，两肘倚在窗前的桌子上，从事阅读。种种幻象从天空飞来，和他的思想交织在一起。夜是多么奇异的景象！人们听到无数微渺的声音而不知来自何处，人们看见比地球大一千二百倍的木星象一块炽炭似的发着光，天空是黑暗的，群星闪烁，令人惊悸。
他读着大军的战报，那是些在战场上写就具有荷马风格的诗篇。在那里，他偶尔见到他父亲的名字，也处处见到皇帝的名字，伟大帝国的全貌出现在他的眼前，他感到好象有一阵阵浪潮在他胸中澎湃，直往上涌，他有时仿佛感到他父亲象阵微风从他身边拂过，并且还在他耳边和他说话。他的感受越来越奇特了，他仿佛听到鼓声、炮声、军号声和队伍行进的整齐步伐，骑兵在远处奔驰的马蹄声也隐约可辨，他不时抬起眼睛仰望天空，望着那些巨大的星群在无边无际的穹苍中发光，他又低下头来看他的书，在书中他又看到另一些巨大的形象在杂乱地移转。他感到胸中郁结。他已经无法自持了，他心惊胆战，呼吸急促，突然他并不知道自己在想什么，也不知道自己受着什么力量的驱使，他立了起来，把两只手臂伸向窗外，睁眼望着那幽暝寥寂、永无极限、永无尽期的邈邈太空大吼了一声：“皇帝万岁！”
从那时起，他已胸有成竹了。科西嘉的吃人魔鬼、僭主、暴君、奸淫胞妹的禽兽、跟塔尔马学习的票友、在雅法下毒的凶犯、老虎、布宛纳巴，那一切全破灭了，在他心里都让位于茫茫一片明亮的光，在光中高不可及处竖着一座云石的恺撒像，容光惨淡，类似幽灵。对马吕斯的父亲来说，皇上还只是个人们所爱戴并愿为之效死的将领，而在马吕斯心目中却不单是那样。他是命中注定来为继罗马人而起的法兰西人在统御宇宙的事业中充当工程师的。他是重建废墟的宗师巨匠，是查理大帝、路易十一、亨利四世、黎塞留、路易十四、*委员会的继承者，他当然有污点，有疏失，甚至有罪恶，就是说，他是一个人；但他在疏失中仍是庄严的，在污点中仍是卓越的，在罪恶中也还是有雄才大略的。他是承天之命来迫使其他国家臣服大国的。他还不只是那样，他是法兰西的化身，他以手中的剑征服欧洲，以他所放射的光征服世界。马吕斯觉得波拿巴是个光芒四射的鬼物，他将永远立在国境线上保卫将来。他是暴君，但又是*者，是从一个*里诞生出来并总结一次革命的暴君。拿破仑在他的心中竟成了民意的体现者，正如耶稣是神意的体现者一样。
我们可以看出，正和所有新皈依宗教的人一样，他思想的转变使他自己陶醉了，他急急归向，并且走得太远了。他的性格原是那样的，一旦上了下行的斜坡，便几乎无法煞脚。崇拜武力的*冲击了他，并且打乱了他求知的热情。他一点没有察觉他在崇敬天才的同时也在胡乱地崇敬武力，就是说，他把他所崇拜的两个对象，神力和暴力，同时并列在他的崇敬心左右两旁的两个格子里了。他在旁的许多问题上也多次发生过错误。他什么都接受。在追求真理的道路上出错的机会原是常有的。他有一种大口吞下一切的鲁莽自信的劲儿。他在新走上的那条道路上审判旧秩序时，也正和他衡量拿破仑的光荣一样，忽略了减尊因素。
总之，他向前迈进了极大的一步。在他从前看见君权倾覆的地方，他现在看见了法兰西的崛起。他的方向变了。当日望残阳，而今见旭日。他转了个向。
种种转变在他心中已一一完成，但他家里人却一点也没有察觉。
通过这次隐秘的攻读，他完全蜕去了旧有的那身波旁王党和极端派的皮，也摆脱了贵族、詹姆士派①、保王派的见解，成了完全革命的，彻底*的，并且几乎是拥护共和的。就在这时，他到金匠河沿的一家刻字铺里，订了一百张名片，上面印着：“男爵马吕斯·彭眉胥”。
①詹姆士派（Jacobites，“詹姆士”之拉丁文为Jacobus），指一六八八年被资产阶级引用外力赶下王位的英王詹姆士二世的党徒，此处泛指一般保王党人。
这只是他父亲在他心中引起的那次转变的一种非常自然的反应。不过，他谁也不认识，不能随意到人家门房里去散发那些名片，只好揣在自己的衣袋里。
由于另一种自然反应，他越接近他的父亲、他父亲的形象，越接近上校为之奋斗了二十五年的那些事物，他便越和他的外祖父疏远了。我们已提到过，长期以来，他早已感到吉诺曼先生的性格和他一点也合不来。他俩之间早已存在着一个严肃的青年人和一个轻浮的老年人之间的各种不和协。惹隆德①的嬉皮笑脸冒犯着刺激着维特的沉郁心情。在马吕斯和吉诺曼之间，当他们还有共同的政治见解和共同意识时，彼此似乎还可以在一座桥梁上开诚相见。一旦桥梁崩塌，鸿沟便出现了。尤其当马吕斯想到，为了一些荒谬绝顶的动机把他从上校的怀里夺过来、使父亲失去了孩子、孩子也失去了父亲的，正是这吉诺曼先生，他胸中就感到一种说不出的愤懑心情。
①惹隆德（Géronte），法国戏剧中一种顽固可笑、以老前辈自居的人物形象。
由于对他父亲的爱，马吕斯心中几乎有了对外祖父的厌恶。
我们已经谈到，这一切却丝毫没有流露出来。不过，他变得越来越冷淡了，在餐桌上不大开口，也很少待在家里。姨母为了这些责备他，他表现得非常温顺，总推说是由于学习、功课、考试、讲座，等等。那位外祖父却总离不了他那万无一失的诊断：“发情了！准错不了。”
马吕斯不时要出门走动走动。
“他究竟是去些什么地方？”那位姑奶奶常这样问。
他旅行的时间总是很短的，一次，他去了孟费郿，那是为了遵从他父亲的遗言，去寻找滑铁卢的那个退役中士，客店老板德纳第。德纳第亏了本，客店也关了门，没人知道他的下落。
为了这次寻访，马吕斯四天没回家。
“老实说，”那位外祖父说，“他真舍得干。”
有人好象觉察到，他脖子上有条黑带挂着个什么，直到胸前，在他的衬衫里面。
