Part 4 Book 4 Chapter 2 Mother Plutarque finds no Difficulty

One evening, little Gavroche had had nothing to eat; he remembered that he had not dined on the preceding day either; this was becoming tiresome. He resolved to make an effort to secure some supper. He strolled out beyond the Salpetriere into deserted regions; that is where windfalls are to be found; where there is no one, one always finds something. He reached a settlement which appeared to him to be the village of Austerlitz.

In one of his preceding lounges he had noticed there an old garden haunted by an old man and an old woman, and in that garden, a passable apple-tree. Beside the apple-tree stood a sort of fruit-house, which was not securely fastened, and where one might contrive to get an apple. One apple is a supper; one apple is life. That which was Adam's ruin might prove Gavroche's salvation. The garden abutted on a solitary, unpaved lane, bordered with brushwood while awaiting the arrival of houses; the garden was separated from it by a hedge.

Gavroche directed his steps towards this garden; he found the lane, he recognized the apple-tree, he verified the fruit-house, he examined the hedge; a hedge means merely one stride. The day was declining, there was not even a cat in the lane, the hour was propitious.Gavroche began the operation of scaling the hedge, then suddenly paused. Some one was talking in the garden. Gavroche peeped through one of the breaks in the hedge.

A couple of paces distant, at the foot of the hedge on the other side, exactly at the point where the gap which he was meditating would have been made, there was a sort of recumbent stone which formed a bench, and on this bench was seated the old man of the garden, while the old woman was standing in front of him. The old woman was grumbling. Gavroche, who was not very discreet, listened.

"Monsieur Mabeuf!" said the old woman.

"Mabeuf!" thought Gavroche, "that name is a perfect farce."

The old man who was thus addressed, did not stir. The old woman repeated:--

"Monsieur Mabeuf!"

The old man, without raising his eyes from the ground, made up his mind to answer:--

"What is it, Mother Plutarque?"

"Mother Plutarque!" thought Gavroche, "another farcical name."

Mother Plutarque began again, and the old man was forced to accept the conversation:--

"The landlord is not pleased."

"Why?"

"We owe three quarters rent."

"In three months, we shall owe him for four quarters."

"He says that he will turn you out to sleep."

"I will go."

"The green-grocer insists on being paid. She will no longer leave her fagots. What will you warm yourself with this winter? We shall have no wood."

"There is the sun."

"The butcher refuses to give credit; he will not let us have any more meat."

"That is quite right. I do not digest meat well. It is too heavy."

"What shall we have for dinner?"

"Bread."

"The baker demands a settlement, and says, no money, no bread.'"

"That is well."

"What will you eat?"

"We have apples in the apple-room."

"But, Monsieur, we can't live like that without money."

"I have none."

The old woman went away, the old man remained alone. He fell into thought. Gavroche became thoughtful also. It was almost dark.

The first result of Gavroche's meditation was, that instead of scaling the hedge, he crouched down under it. The branches stood apart a little at the foot of the thicket.

"Come," exclaimed Gavroche mentally, "here's a nook!" and he curled up in it. His back was almost in contact with Father Mabeuf's bench. He could hear the octogenarian breathe.

Then, by way of dinner, he tried to sleep.

It was a cat-nap, with one eye open. While he dozed, Gavroche kept on the watch.

The twilight pallor of the sky blanched the earth, and the lane formed a livid line between two rows of dark bushes.

All at once, in this whitish band, two figures made their appearance. One was in front, the other some distance in the rear.

"There come two creatures," muttered Gavroche.

The first form seemed to be some elderly bourgeois, who was bent and thoughtful, dressed more than plainly, and who was walking slowly because of his age, and strolling about in the open evening air.

The second was straight, firm, slender. It regulated its pace by that of the first; but in the voluntary slowness of its gait, suppleness and agility were discernible. This figure had also something fierce and disquieting about it, the whole shape was that of what was then called an elegant; the hat was of good shape, the coat black, well cut, probably of fine cloth, and well fitted in at the waist. The head was held erect with a sort of robust grace, and beneath the hat the pale profile of a young man could be made out in the dim light. The profile had a rose in its mouth. This second form was well known to Gavroche; it was Montparnasse.

He could have told nothing about the other, except that he was a respectable old man.

Gavroche immediately began to take observations.

One of these two pedestrians evidently had a project connected with the other. Gavroche was well placed to watch the course of events. The bedroom had turned into a hiding-place at a very opportune moment.

Montparnasse on the hunt at such an hour, in such a place, betokened something threatening. Gavroche felt his gamin's heart moved with compassion for the old man.

What was he to do? Interfere? One weakness coming to the aid of another! It would be merely a laughing matter for Montparnasse. Gavroche did not shut his eyes to the fact that the old man, in the first place, and the child in the second, would make but two mouthfuls for that redoubtable ruffian eighteen years of age.

While Gavroche was deliberating, the attack took place, abruptly and hideously. The attack of the tiger on the wild ass, the attack of the spider on the fly. Montparnasse suddenly tossed away his rose, bounded upon the old man, seized him by the collar, grasped and clung to him, and Gavroche with difficulty restrained a scream. A moment later one of these men was underneath the other, groaning, struggling, with a knee of marble upon his breast. Only, it was not just what Gavroche had expected. The one who lay on the earth was Montparnasse; the one who was on top was the old man. All this took place a few paces distant from Gavroche.

The old man had received the shock, had returned it, and that in such a terrible fashion, that in a twinkling, the assailant and the assailed had exchanged roles.

"Here's a hearty veteran!" thought Gavroche.

He could not refrain from clapping his hands. But it was applause wasted. It did not reach the combatants, absorbed and deafened as they were, each by the other, as their breath mingled in the struggle.

Silence ensued. Montparnasse ceased his struggles. Gavroche indulged in this aside: "Can he be dead!"

The goodman had not uttered a word, nor given vent to a cry. He rose to his feet, and Gavroche heard him say to Montparnasse:--

"Get up."

Montparnasse rose, but the goodman held him fast. Montparnasse's attitude was the humiliated and furious attitude of the wolf who has been caught by a sheep.

Gavroche looked on and listened, making an effort to reinforce his eyes with his ears. He was enjoying himself immensely.

He was repaid for his conscientious anxiety in the character of a spectator. He was able to catch on the wing a dialogue which borrowed from the darkness an indescribably tragic accent. The goodman questioned, Montparnasse replied.

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"You are strong and healthy. Why do you not work?"

"It bores me."

"What is your trade?"

"An idler."

"Speak seriously. Can anything be done for you? What would you like to be?"

"A thief."

A pause ensued. The old man seemed absorbed in profound thought. He stood motionless, and did not relax his hold on Montparnasse.

Every moment the vigorous and agile young ruffian indulged in the twitchings of a wild beast caught in a snare. He gave a jerk, tried a crook of the knee, twisted his limbs desperately, and made efforts to escape.

The old man did not appear to notice it, and held both his arms with one hand, with the sovereign indifference of absolute force.

The old man's revery lasted for some time, then, looking steadily at Montparnasse, he addressed to him in a gentle voice, in the midst of the darkness where they stood, a solemn harangue, of which Gavroche did not lose a single syllable:--

"My child, you are entering, through indolence, on one of the most laborious of lives. Ah! You declare yourself to be an idler! Prepare to toil. There is a certain formidable machine, have you seen it? It is the rolling-mill.You must be on your guard against it,it is crafty and ferocious; if it catches hold of the skirt of your coat, you will be drawn in bodily. That machine is laziness. Stop while there is yet time, and save yourself! Otherwise, it is all over with you; in a short time you will be among the gearing. Once entangled, hope for nothing more. Toil, lazybones! There is no more repose for you! The iron hand of implacable toil has seized you. You do not wish to earn your living, to have a task, to fulfil a duty! It bores you to be like other men? Well! You will be different. Labor is the law; he who rejects it will find ennui his torment. You do not wish to be a workingman, you will be a slave. Toil lets go of you on one side only to grasp you again on the other. You do not desire to be its friend, you shall be its negro slave. Ah! You would have none of the honest weariness of men, you shall have the sweat of the damned. Where others sing, you will rattle in your throat. You will see afar off, from below, other men at work; it will seem to you that they are resting. The laborer, the harvester, the sailor, the blacksmith, will appear to you in glory like the blessed spirits in paradise. What radiance surrounds the forge! To guide the plough, to bind the sheaves, is joy. The bark at liberty in the wind, what delight! Do you, lazy idler, delve, drag on, roll, march! Drag your halter. You are a beast of burden in the team of hell! Ah! To do nothing is your object. Well, not a week, not a day, not an hour shall you have free from oppression. You will be able to lift nothing without anguish. Every minute that passes will make your muscles crack. What is a feather to others will be a rock to you. The simplest things will become steep acclivities. Life will become monstrous all about you. To go, to come, to breathe, will be just so many terrible labors. Your lungs will produce on you the effect of weighing a hundred pounds. Whether you shall walk here rather than there, will become a problem that must be solved. Any one who wants to go out simply gives his door a push, and there he is in the open air. If you wish to go out, you will be obliged to pierce your wall. What does every one who wants to step into the street do? He goes down stairs; you will tear up your sheets, little by little you will make of them a rope, then you will climb out of your window, and you will suspend yourself by that thread over an abyss, and it will be night, amid storm, rain, and the hurricane, and if the rope is too short, but one way of descending will remain to you, to fall. To drop hap-hazard into the gulf, from an unknown height, on what? On what is beneath, on the unknown. Or you will crawl up a chimney-flue, at the risk of burning; or you will creep through a sewer-pipe, at the risk of drowning; I do not speak of the holes that you will be obliged to mask, of the stones which you will have to take up and replace twenty times a day, of the plaster that you will have to hide in your straw pallet. A lock presents itself; the bourgeois has in his pocket a key made by a locksmith. If you wish to pass out, you will be condemned to execute a terrible work of art; you will take a large sou, you will cut it in two plates; with what tools? You will have to invent them. That is your business. Then you will hollow out the interior of these plates, taking great care of the outside, and you will make on the edges a thread, so that they can be adjusted one upon the other like a box and its cover. The top and bottom thus screwed together, nothing will be suspected. To the overseers it will be only a sou; to you it will be a box. What will you put in this box? A small bit of steel. A watch-spring, in which you will have cut teeth, and which will form a saw. With this saw, as long as a pin, and concealed in a sou, you will cut the bolt of the lock, you will sever bolts, the padlock of your chain, and the bar at your window, and the fetter on your leg. This masterpiece finished, this prodigy accomplished, all these miracles of art, address, skill, and patience executed, what will be your recompense if it becomes known that you are the author? The dungeon. There is your future. What precipices are idleness and pleasure! Do you know that to do nothing is a melancholy resolution? To live in idleness on the property of society! To be useless, that is to say, pernicious! This leads straight to the depth of wretchedness. Woe to the man who desires to be a parasite! He will become vermin! Ah! So it does not please you to work? Ah! You have but one thought, to drink well, to eat well, to sleep well. You will drink water, you will eat black bread, you will sleep on a plank with a fetter whose cold touch you will feel on your flesh all night long, riveted to your limbs. You will break those fetters, you will flee. That is well. You will crawl on your belly through the brushwood, and you will eat grass like the beasts of the forest. And you will be recaptured. And then you will pass years in a dungeon, riveted to a wall, groping for your jug that you may drink, gnawing at a horrible loaf of darkness which dogs would not touch, eating beans that the worms have eaten before you. You will be a wood-louse in a cellar. Ah! Have pity on yourself, you miserable young child, who were sucking at nurse less than twenty years ago, and who have, no doubt, a mother still alive! I conjure you, listen to me, I entreat you. You desire fine black cloth, varnished shoes, to have your hair curled and sweet-smelling oils on your locks, to please low women, to be handsome. You will be shaven clean, and you will wear a red blouse and wooden shoes. You want rings on your fingers, you will have an iron necklet on your neck. If you glance at a woman, you will receive a blow. And you will enter there at the age of twenty. And you will come out at fifty! You will enter young, rosy, fresh, with brilliant eyes, and all your white teeth, and your handsome, youthful hair; you will come out broken, bent, wrinkled, toothless, horrible, with white locks! Ah! my poor child, you are on the wrong road; idleness is counselling you badly; the hardest of all work is thieving. Believe me, do not undertake that painful profession of an idle man. It is not comfortable to become a rascal. It is less disagreeable to be an honest man. Now go, and ponder on what I have said to you. By the way, what did you want of me? My purse? Here it is."

And the old man, releasing Montparnasse, put his purse in the latter's hand; Montparnasse weighed it for a moment, after which he allowed it to slide gently into the back pocket of his coat, with the same mechanical precaution as though he had stolen it.

All this having been said and done, the goodman turned his back and tranquilly resumed his stroll.

"The blockhead!" muttered Montparnasse.

Who was this goodman? The reader has, no doubt, already divined.

Montparnasse watched him with amazement, as he disappeared in the dusk. This contemplation was fatal to him.

While the old man was walking away, Gavroche drew near.

Gavroche had assured himself, with a sidelong glance, that Father Mabeuf was still sitting on his bench, probably sound asleep. Then the gamin emerged from his thicket, and began to crawl after Montparnasse in the dark, as the latter stood there motionless. In this manner he came up to Montparnasse without being seen or heard, gently insinuated his hand into the back pocket of that frock-coat of fine black cloth, seized the purse, withdrew his hand, and having recourse once more to his crawling, he slipped away like an adder through the shadows. Montparnasse, who had no reason to be on his guard, and who was engaged in thought for the first time in his life, perceived nothing. When Gavroche had once more attained the point where Father Mabeuf was, he flung the purse over the hedge, and fled as fast as his legs would carry him.

The purse fell on Father Mabeuf's foot. This commotion roused him.

He bent over and picked up the purse.

He did not understand in the least, and opened it.

The purse had two compartments; in one of them there was some small change; in the other lay six napoleons.

M. Mabeuf, in great alarm, referred the matter to his housekeeper.

"That has fallen from heaven," said Mother Plutarque.

一天晚上，小伽弗洛什一点东西也没有吃，他想起前一晚也不曾有什么东西下肚，老这样下去可真受不了。他决计去找点东西来充饥。他走到妇女救济院那一面的荒凉地方去打主意，在那一带可能有点意外收获，在没有人的地方常能找到东西。他一直走到一个有些人家聚居的地方，说不定就是奥斯特里茨村。

前几次他来这地方游荡时，便注意到这儿有一个老园子，住着一个老头和一个老妇人，园里还有一棵勉强过得去的苹果树。苹果树的旁边，是一口关不严实的鲜果箱，也许能从里面摸到个把苹果。一个苹果，便是一顿夜餐，一个苹果，便能救人一命。害了亚当①的也许能救伽弗洛什。那园子紧挨着一条荒僻的土巷，两旁杂草丛生，还没有盖房子，园子和巷子中间隔着一道篱笆。

伽弗洛什向园子走去，他找到了那条巷子，也认出了那株苹果树，看到了那只鲜果箱，也研究了那道篱笆，篱笆是一抬腿便可以跨过去的。天黑下来了，巷子里连一只猫也没有，这时间正合适。伽弗洛什摆起架势准备跨篱笆，又忽然停了下来。园里有人说话。伽弗洛什凑近一个空隙往里望。

离他两步的地方，在篱笆那一面的底下，恰好在他原先考虑要跨越的那个缺口的地方，地上平躺着一块当坐凳用的条石，园里的那位老人正坐在条石上，他前面站着一个老妇人。老妇人正在絮叨不休。伽弗洛什不大知趣，偷听了他们的谈话。

“马白夫先生！”那老妇人说。

“马白夫！”伽弗洛什心里想，“这名字好古怪。”②

①据《圣经》记载，亚当偷吃了乐园的苹果，受到上帝责罚。

②马白夫（Mabeuf）的发音有点象“我的牛”。

被称呼的老人一点也不动。老妇人又说：

“马白夫先生！”

老人，眼不离地，决定回话：

“什么事，普卢塔克妈妈？”

“普卢塔克妈妈！”伽弗洛什心里想，“又一个古怪名字。”①

①普卢塔克（Plutarque，约46?25）古希腊作家，唯心主义哲学家。写有古希腊罗马杰出活动家比较传记。

普卢塔克妈妈往下谈，老人答话却极勉强。

“房主人不高兴了。”

“为什么？”

“我们的房租欠了三个季度了。”

“再过三个月，便欠四个季度了。”

“他说他要撵您走。”

“我走就是。”

“卖柴的大妈要我们付钱。她不肯再供应树枝了。今年冬天您用什么取暖呢？我们不会有柴烧了。”

“有太阳嘛。”

“卖肉的不肯赊账。他不再给肉了。”

“正好。我消化不了肉。太腻。”

“吃什么呢？”

“吃面包。”

“卖面包的要求清账，他也说了：‘没有钱，就没有面包。’”

“好吧。”

“您吃什么呢？”

“我们有这苹果树上的苹果。”

“可是，先生，我们这样没有钱总过不下去吧。”

“我没有钱。”

老妇人走了，老人独自待着。他开始思考。伽弗洛什也在思考。天几乎全黑了。

伽弗洛什思考的第一个结果，便是蹲在篱笆底下不动，不想翻过去了。靠近地面的树枝比较稀疏。

“嗨！”伽弗洛什心里想，“一间壁厢！”他便蹲在那里。他的背几乎靠着马白夫公公的石凳。他能听到那八旬老人的呼吸。

于是，代替晚餐，他只好睡大觉。

猫儿睡觉，闭一只眼。伽弗洛什一面打盹，一面张望。

天上苍白的微光把大地映成白色，那条巷子成了两行深黑的矮树中间的一条灰白道儿。

忽然，在这白茫茫的道上，出现两个人影。一个走在前，一个跟在后，相隔只几步。

“来了两个生灵。”伽弗洛什低声说。

第一个影子仿佛是个老头儿，低着头，在想什么，穿得极简单，由于年事已高，步伐缓慢，正趁着星光夜游似的。

第二个是挺身健步的瘦长个子。他正合着前面那个人的步伐慢慢前进，从他故意放慢脚步的体态中，可以看出他的轻捷矫健。这个人影带有某种凶险恼人的味道，整个形态使人想起当时的那种时髦少年，帽子的式样是好的，一身黑骑马服，裁剪入时，料子应当也是上等的，紧裹着腰身。头向上仰起，有一种刚健秀美的风度，映着微明的惨白光线，帽子下面露出一张美少年的侧影。侧影的嘴里含着一朵玫瑰，这是伽弗洛什熟悉的，他就是巴纳斯山。

关于另外那个人，他什么也不知道，只知道是个老头儿。

伽弗洛什立即进入观察。

这两个行人，显然其中一个对另一个有所企图。伽弗洛什所在的地方正便于观察。所谓壁厢恰好是个掩蔽体。

巴纳斯山在这种时刻，这种地方，出来打猎，那是极可怕的。伽弗洛什觉得他那野孩子的好心肠在为那老人叫苦。

怎么办？出去干涉吗？以弱小救老弱！那只能为巴纳斯山提供笑料，伽弗洛什明知道，对那个十八岁的凶残匪徒来说，先一老，后一小，他两口便能吞掉。

伽弗洛什正在踌躇，那边凶猛的突袭已经开始。老虎对野驴的袭击，蜘蛛对苍蝇的袭击。巴纳斯山突然一下丢了那朵玫瑰，扑向老人，抓住他的衣领，掐住他的咽喉，揪着不放，伽弗洛什好不容易没有喊出来。过了一会，那两人中的一个已被另一个压倒在下面，力竭声嘶，还在挣扎，一个铁膝头抵在胸口上。但是情况并不完全象伽弗洛什预料的那样。在底下的，是巴纳斯山，在上面的，是那老头。

这一切是在离伽弗洛什两步远的地方发生的。

老人受到冲击，便立刻狠狠还击，转眼之间，进攻者和被攻者便互换了地位。

“好一个猛老将！”伽弗洛什心里想。

他不禁拍起手来。不过这是一种没有效果的鼓掌。掌声达不到那两个搏斗的人那里，他们正在全力搏斗，气喘如牛，耳朵已完全不管事。

忽然一下，声息全无。巴纳斯山已停止斗争。伽弗洛什对自己说：“敢情他死了！”

老人没有说一句话，也没有喊一声。他站了起来，伽弗洛什听见他对巴纳斯山说：

“起来。”

巴纳斯山起来，那老人仍抓住他不放。巴纳斯山又羞又恼，模样象一头被绵羊咬住了的狼。

伽弗洛什睁着眼望，竖起耳听，竭力用耳朵来帮助眼睛。

他可真乐开了。

作为一个旁观者，他那从良心出发的焦虑得到了补偿。他听到了他们的对话，他们的话从黑暗中传来，具有一种说不出的悲剧味道。老人问，巴纳斯山答。

“你多大了？”

“十九岁。”

“你有气力，身体结实。为什么不工作呢？”

“不高兴。”

“你是干哪一行的？”

“闲游浪荡。”

“好好说话。我可以替你干点什么吗？你想做什么？”

“做强盗。”

对话停止了。老人好象在深思细想。他丝毫不动，也不放松巴纳斯山。

那年轻的匪徒，矫健敏捷，象一头被铁夹子夹住了的野兽，不时要乱蹦一阵。他突然挣一下，试一个钩腿，拼命扭动四肢，企图逃脱。老人好象没有感到这些似的，用一只手抓住他的两只手臂，镇定自若，岿然不动。

老人深思了一段时间，才定定地望着巴纳斯山，用温和的语调，在黑暗中向他作了一番语重心长的劝告，字字进入伽弗洛什的耳朵：

“我的孩子，你想啥也不干，便进入最辛苦的人生。啊！你说你闲游浪荡，还是准备劳动吧。你见过一种可怕的机器吗？那东西叫做碾片机。对它应当小心，那是个阴险凶恶的东西，假使它拖住了你衣服的一只角，你整个人便会被卷进去。这架机器，便象是游手好闲的习惯。不要去惹它，在你还没有被卷住的时候，赶快避开！要不，你便完了，不用多久，你便陷在那一套联动齿轮里。一旦被它卡住，你便啥也不用指望了。你将受一辈子苦。懒骨头！不会再有休息了。不容情的苦工的铁手已经抓住了你。自己挣饭吃吧，找工作做吧，尽你的义务吧，你不愿意！学别人那样，你不高兴！好吧！你便不会和大家一样。劳动是法则。谁把它当作麻烦的事来抗拒，谁就会在强制中劳动。你不愿意当工人，你就得当奴隶。劳动在这一方面放松你，只是为了在另一方面抓紧你，你不肯当它的朋友，便得当它的奴才。啊！你拒绝人们的诚实的疲劳，你便将到地狱里去流汗。在别人歌唱的地方，你将哀号痛哭。你将只能从远处，从下面望着别人劳动，你将感到他们是在休息。掘土的人、种庄稼的人、水手、铁匠，都将以天堂里的快乐人的形象出现在你眼前的光明里。铁砧里有多大的光芒！使犁、捆草是一种快乐。船在风里自由行驶，多么欢畅！你这个懒汉，去锄吧，拖吧，滚吧，走吧！挽你的重轭吧，你成了在地狱里拖车的载重牲口！啊！什么事都不干，这是你的目的。好吧！你便不会有一个星期，不会有一天、不会有一个钟点不吃苦受罪的。你搬任何东西都将腰酸背痛。每过一分钟都将使你感到筋骨开裂。对别人轻得象羽毛的东西，对你会重得象岩石。最简单的事物也会变得异常艰巨。生活将处处与你为敌。走一步路，吸一口气，同样成了非常吃力的苦活。你的肺将使你感到是个百斤重的负担。走这边还是走那边，也将成为一个待解决的难题。任何人要出去，他只要推一下门，门一开，他便到了外面。而你，你如果要出去，便非在你的墙上打洞不可。要上街，人家怎么办呢？人家走下楼梯便成了，人人都是这样；而你，你得撕裂你床上的褥单，一条一条地把它接成一根绳子，随后，你得从窗口爬出去，你得临空吊在这根绳子上，并且是在黑夜里，在起狂风、下大雨、飞砂走石的时候，并且，万一那根绳子太短，你便只有一个办法可以下去，掉下去。盲目地掉下去，掉在一个黑洞里，也不知道有多深，掉在什么东西上面呢？下面有什么便掉在什么上面，掉在自己不知道的东西上面。或者你从烟囱里爬出去，烧死了活该；或者你从排粪道里爬出去，淹死也活该。我还没有跟你说有多少洞得掩盖起来，多少石头每天得取下又放上二十次，多少灰渣得藏在他的草荐里。遇到一把锁，那个有钱的先生，在他的衣袋里，有锁匠替他做好的钥匙。而你呢，假使你要过去，你便非作一件杰出的惊人作品不可，你得拿一个大个的苏，把它剖成两片，用什么工具呢？你自己去想办法。那是你的事。随后，你把那两片的里面挖空，还得小心谨慎，不让它的外表受损伤，你再沿着周围的边，刻出一道螺旋纹，让那两个薄片，象一盖一底似的，能严密地合上。上下两片这样旋紧以后，别人便一点也猜不出了。对狱监们，因为你是受到监视的，这只是一个大个的苏；对你，却是个匣子。你在这匣子里放什么呢？一小片钢。一条表上的发条，你在发条上已凿出了许多齿，使它成为一把锯子。这条藏在苏里的锯子，只有别针一般长，你能用来锯断锁上的梢子，门闩上的横条，挂锁上的梁，你窗上的铁条，你脚上的铁镣。这个杰作告成了，这一神奇的工具做成了，这一系列巧妙、细致、精微、艰苦的奇迹全完成了，万一被人发觉是你干的，你会得到怎样的报酬呢？坐地牢。这便是你的前程。懒惰，贪图舒服，多么险恶的悬崖！什么事也不干，那是一种可悲的打算，你知道吗？无所事事地专靠社会的物质来生活！做一个无用的、就是说有害的人！那只能把我们一直带到绝路的尽头。当个寄生虫，结果必然是不幸。那种人只能变成蛆。啊！你不高兴工作！啊！你只有一个念头：喝得好好的，吃得好好的，睡得好好的。你将来只能喝水，吃黑面包，睡木板，还要在你的手脚上铆上铁件，教你整夜都感到皮肉是冷的！你将弄断那些铁件，逃跑。这很好。你将在草莽中爬着走，你将象树林中的野人一样吃草。结果你又被逮回来。到那时候，一连好几年，你将待在阴沟里，一条链子拴在墙上，摸着你的瓦罐去喝水，啃一块连狗也不要吃的怪可怕的黑面包，吃那种在你到嘴以前早已被虫蛀空了的蚕豆。你将成为地窖里的一只土鳖。啊！可怜你自己吧，倒霉的孩子，这样年轻，你断奶还不到二十年，也一定还有母亲！我诚恳地奉劝你，听我的话吧。你要穿优质的黑料子衣服、薄底漆皮鞋、烫头发、在蓬松的头发里擦上香油、讨女人的喜欢、显得漂亮。结果你将被推成光头，戴一顶红帽子，穿双木鞋。你要在指头上戴个戒指，将来你会在颈子上戴一面枷。并且，只要你望一眼女人，便给你一棒子。并且，你二十岁进去，五十岁出来！你进去时是小伙子，绯红的脸、鲜润的皮肤、亮晶晶的眼睛、满嘴雪白的牙齿、一头美丽的乌发，出来的时候呢，垮了，驼了，皱了，没牙了，怪难看的，头发也白了！啊！我可怜的孩子，你走错路了，懒鬼替你出了个坏主意，最艰苦的活计是抢人。相信我，不要干那种当懒汉的苦活计。做一个坏蛋，并不那么方便嘛。做一个诚实人，反而麻烦少些。现在你去吧，把我对你说的话，仔细想想。你刚才想要我的什么东西？我的钱包。在这儿。”

老人放了巴纳斯山，把他的钱包放在他手里，巴纳斯山拿来托在手上掂了一阵，随后，
j@!!!
l?瘃
,