（
唐砖）（
红色仕途）（
都市全能系统）（
龙组特工）（
武炼巅峰）（
她们的秘密）by guymaupassant
great misfortunes donot affectvery much, said john bridelle,old bachelor who passed for seen warquite close quarters; i walked across corpses without any feelinreat brutal factsnature,of humanity, may call forth crieshorrorindignation, butnot causethat tighteningthe heart, that shudder that goes down your spinesightcertain little heartrending episodes.
the greatest sorrow that anyone can experiencecertainly the lossa child,a mother; and the losshis mother,intense, terrible,rends your heart and upsets your mind; but onehealedthese shocks, justlarge bleeding woundsmeetings, certain things half perceived,surmised, certain secret sorrows, certain tricksfate which awakeuhole worldpainful thoughts, which suddenly uncloseus the mysterious doormoral suffering, plicated, incurable; all the deeper because they appear benign, all the more bitter because they are intangible, all the more tenacious because they appear almost factitious, leaveour soulorttrailsadness, a tastebitterness, a feelingdisenchantment, from whichtakeong timefreeourselves.
i have always presentmy mind twothree things that others would surely not have noticed, but which peratedbeing like fine, sharp incurable stings.
you might not perhaps understand the emotion thaetained from these hast tell you onas very old, butlivelya youn maythatimagination aloneresponsible foremotion.
oung then and studyin rather sad, somewhata dreamer, fulla pessimistic philosophy and did not care much for noisy cafes, boisterous panions,stupi early and onemy chief enjoyments waswalk alone about eight o'clockthe morningthe nursery gardenthe luxembourg.
you people never knew that nurser was likotten gardenthe last century,prettythe gentle smileanhedges divided the narrow regular paths, peaceful paths between two wallscarefully trimme gardener's great shears were pruning unceasingly these leafy partitions, and here and there one came across bedsflowers, lineslittle trees looking like schoolboys out foalk, paniesmagnificent rose bushes,regimentsfruit trees.
an entire cornerthis charming spot was inhabitetraw hives skillfully arrangeddistancesboards had their entranceslargethe openinga thimble turned towards the sun, and all along the paths one encountered these humming and gilded flies, the true mastersthis peaceful spot, the real promenadersthese quiet paths.
i came there almost ever downa benchi letbook fallmy knees,dream,listenthe lifeparis around me, andenjoy the infinite reposethese old fashioned hedges.
buoon perceived thaas not the onlyfrequent this spotsoonthe gates were opened, anccasionally met faceface,a turnthe path, a strange littleold man.
he wore shoes with silver buckles, knee breeches, a snuff colored frock coat, a lace jabot, andoutlandish gray hat with wide brim and long haired surface that might have e outthe ark.
he was thin, very thin, angular, grimacingbright eyes were restless beneath his eyelids which blinke always carriedhis hanuperb cane witold knob, which must have been for him some glorious souvenir.
this good man astonishedat first, then causedthe intenses him through the leafy walls, i followed hima distance, stoppinga turnthe hedgeas notbe seen.
and one morning whenthoughtwas quite alone,beganmake the most remarkablwould give some little springs, then makow; then, with his slim legs,would givively springthe air, clapping his feethe did so, and then turn round cleverly, skipping and frisking abouta ical manner, smilingifhadaudience, twisting his poor little puppet like body, bowing pathetic and ridiculous little greetings into the empt wasdancing.
i stood petrified with amazement, asking myself whichus was crazy,or i.
he stopped suddenly, advancedactorson the stage, then bowed and retreated with gracious smiles, and kissing his handactors do, his trembling hand,the two rowstrimmed bushes.
thencontinued his walk witolemn demeanor.
after thaever lost sighthim, and each morningbegan anew his outlandish exercises.
i was wildly anxiousspeak trisk it, and one day, after greeting him, i said:
“ita beautiful day, monsieur.”
he bowed.
“yes, sir, the weatherjustit usedbe.”
a week laterwere friends annewhad beeancing masterthe opera,the timelouis xv.his beautiful cane waresent from the thenwe spoke about dancingnever stopping talking.
one daysaidme:“i marriedcastris, will introduce youheryou wish it, but she does not get here til garden, you see,our delight andis all that remainsforme seemsthoughcould not existwe did not have it.itold and distingue,it noeembreatheair here that has not changed since iwife anass all our afternoons here, buomethe morning becausetearly.”
as sooni had finished luncheoeturnedthe luxembourg, and presently perceivedfriend offering his arm ceremoniouslya very old little lady dressedblack,whomintroduced me.wascastris, the great dancer, belovedprinces, belovedthe king, belovedall that centurygallantry that seemshave left behindin the worldatmospherelove.
we sat down was the montdorflowers floatedthe neat paths; a hot sun glided its rays between the branches and coveredwith patchelack dressofcastris seemedbe saturated with sunlight.
the gardenheard the rattlingvehiclesthe distance.
“tell me,” i saidthe old dancer, “what was the minuet?”
he gavtart.
“the minuet, monsieur,the queendances, and the dancequeens,yo thereno longer any royalty, thereno longer any minuet.”
andbegana pompous manneong dithyrambic eulogy whicouldto have the steps, the movements, the positions, became confused, was amazedhis inabilitymakeunderstand, became nervous and worried.
then suddenly, turninghis old panion who had remained silent and serious,said:
“elise, would you like say would you like,wouldvery niceyou, would you likeshow this gentleman whatwas?”
she turned eyes uneasilyall directions, then rose without sayinord and took her position opposite him.
theitnessedunheardthing.
they advanced and retreated with childlike grimaces, smiling, swinging each other, bowing, skipping about like two automaton dolls movedsome old mechanical contrivance, somewhat damaged, but madea clever workman accordingthe fashionhis time.
anookedthem,heart filled with extraordinary emotions,soul touched withindescribablsee beforea pathetic and ical apparition, the outdate ghosta former century.
they suddenl had finished all the figuresth some seconds they stood opposite each other, smilingan astonishin they felleach other's necks sobbing
i left for theprovinces three day saw theturnedparis, two years later, the nursery had bee becamethem, deprivedthe dear gardenformer days, with its mazes, its odorthe past, and the graceful windingsits hedges?
are they dead?are they wandering among modern streets like hopeless exiles?are they dancing grotesque spectreantastic minuetthe moonlight, amid the cypressesa cemetery, along the pathways borderedgraves?
their memory haunts me, obsesses me, torments me, remains withlike ? inot know.
no doubt you think that very absurd?
m.pi.co
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