The following morning, Laurent awoke fresh and fit. He had slept well. The cold air entering by the open window, whipped his sluggish1 blood. He had no clear recollection of the scenes of the previous day, and had it not been for the burning sensation at his neck, he might have thought that he had retired2 to rest after a calm evening.
But the bite Camille had given him stung as if his skin had been branded with a red-hot iron. When his thoughts settled on the pain this gash3 caused him, he suffered cruelly. It seemed as though a dozen needles were penetrating4 little by little into his flesh.
He turned down the collar of his shirt, and examined the wound in a wretched fifteen sous looking-glass hanging against the wall. It formed a red hole, as big as a penny piece. The skin had been torn away, displaying the rosy5 flesh, studded with dark specks6. Streaks7 of blood had run as far as the shoulder in thin threads that had dried up. The bite looked a deep, dull brown colour against the white skin, and was situated8 under the right ear. Laurent scrutinised it with curved back and craned neck, and the greenish mirror gave his face an atrocious grimace9.
Satisfied with his examination, he had a thorough good wash, saying to himself that the wound would be healed in a few days. Then he dressed, and quietly repaired to his office, where he related the accident in an affected10 tone of voice. When his colleagues had read the account in the newspapers, he became quite a hero. During a whole week the clerks at the Orleans Railway had no other subject of conversation: they were all proud that one of their staff should have been drowned. Grivet never ceased his remarks on the imprudence of adventuring into the middle of the Seine, when it was so easy to watch the running water from the bridges.
Laurent retained a feeling of intense uneasiness. The decease of Camille had not been formally proved. The husband of Therese was indeed dead, but the murderer would have liked to have found his body, so as to obtain a certificate of death. The day following the accident, a fruitless search had been made for the corpse11 of the drowned man. It was thought that it had probably gone to the bottom of some hole near the banks of the islands, and men were actively12 dragging the Seine to get the reward.
In the meantime Laurent imposed on himself the task of passing each morning by the Morgue, on the way to his office. He had made up his mind to attend to the business himself. Notwithstanding that his heart rose with repugnance14, notwithstanding the shudders15 that sometimes ran through his frame, for over a week he went and examined the countenance16 of all the drowned persons extended on the slabs18.
When he entered the place an unsavoury odour, an odour of freshly washed flesh, disgusted him and a chill ran over his skin: the dampness of the walls seemed to add weight to his clothing, which hung more heavily on his shoulders. He went straight to the glass separating the spectators from the corpses19, and with his pale face against it, looked. Facing him appeared rows of grey slabs, and upon them, here and there, the naked bodies formed green and yellow, white and red patches. While some retained their natural condition in the rigidity21 of death, others seemed like lumps of bleeding and decaying meat. At the back, against the wall, hung some lamentable22 rags, petticoats and trousers, puckered23 against the bare plaster. Laurent at first only caught sight of the wan24 ensemble25 of stones and walls, spotted26 with dabs27 of russet and black formed by the clothes and corpses. A melodious28 sound of running water broke the silence.
Little by little he distinguished29 the bodies, and went from one to the other. It was only the drowned that interested him. When several human forms were there, swollen30 and blued by the water, he looked at them eagerly, seeking to recognise Camille. Frequently, the flesh on the faces had gone away by strips, the bones had burst through the mellow31 skins, the visages were like lumps of boned, boiled beef. Laurent hesitated; he looked at the corpses, endeavouring to discover the lean body of his victim. But all the drowned were stout32. He saw enormous stomachs, puffy thighs33, and strong round arms. He did not know what to do. He stood there shuddering34 before those greenish-looking rags, which seemed like mocking him, with their horrible wrinkles.
One morning, he was seized with real terror. For some moments, he had been looking at a corpse, taken from the water, that was small in build and atrociously disfigured. The flesh of this drowned person was so soft and broken-up that the running water washing it, carried it away bit by bit. The jet falling on the face, bored a hole to the left of the nose. And, abruptly35, the nose became flat, the lips were detached, showing the white teeth. The head of the drowned man burst out laughing.
Each time Laurent fancied he recognised Camille, he felt a burning sensation in the heart. He ardently36 desired to find the body of his victim, and he was seized with cowardice37 when he imagined it before him. His visits to the Morgue filled him with nightmare, with shudders that set him panting for breath. But he shook off his fear, taxing himself with being childish, when he wished to be strong. Still, in spite of himself, his frame revolted, disgust and terror gained possession of his being, as soon as ever he found himself in the dampness, and unsavoury odour of the hall.
When there were no drowned persons on the back row of slabs, he breathed at ease; his repugnance was not so great. He then became a simple spectator, who took strange pleasure in looking death by violence in the face, in its lugubriously38 fantastic and grotesque39 attitudes. This sight amused him, particularly when there were women there displaying their bare bosoms40. These nudities, brutally42 exposed, bloodstained, and in places bored with holes, attracted and detained him.
Once he saw a young woman of twenty there, a child of the people, broad and strong, who seemed asleep on the stone. Her fresh, plump, white form displayed the most delicate softness of tint43. She was half smiling, with her head slightly inclined on one side. Around her neck she had a black band, which gave her a sort of necklet of shadow. She was a girl who had hanged herself in a fit of love madness.
Each morning, while Laurent was there, he heard behind him the coming and going of the public who entered and left.
The morgue is a sight within reach of everybody, and one to which passers-by, rich and poor alike, treat themselves. The door stands open, and all are free to enter. There are admirers of the scene who go out of their way so as not to miss one of these performances of death. If the slabs have nothing on them, visitors leave the building disappointed, feeling as if they had been cheated, and murmuring between their teeth; but when they are fairly well occupied, people crowd in front of them and treat themselves to cheap emotions; they express horror, they joke, they applaud or whistle, as at the theatre, and withdraw satisfied, declaring the Morgue a success on that particular day.
Laurent soon got to know the public frequenting the place, that mixed and dissimilar public who pity and sneer44 in common. Workmen looked in on their way to their work, with a loaf of bread and tools under their arms. They considered death droll45. Among them were comical companions of the workshops who elicited46 a smile from the onlookers47 by making witty48 remarks about the faces of each corpse. They styled those who had been burnt to death, coalmen; the hanged, the murdered, the drowned, the bodies that had been stabbed or crushed, excited their jeering49 vivacity50, and their voices, which slightly trembled, stammered51 out comical sentences amid the shuddering silence of the hall.
There came persons of small independent means, old men who were thin and shrivelled-up, idlers who entered because they had nothing to do, and who looked at the bodies in a silly manner with the pouts52 of peaceful, delicate-minded men. Women were there in great numbers: young work-girls, all rosy, with white linen53, and clean petticoats, who tripped along briskly from one end of the glazed54 partition to the other, opening great attentive55 eyes, as if they were before the dressed shop window of a linendraper. There were also women of the lower orders looking stupefied, and giving themselves lamentable airs; and well-dressed ladies, carelessly dragging their silk gowns along the floor.
On a certain occasion Laurent noticed one of the latter standing13 at a few paces from the glass, and pressing her cambric handkerchief to her nostrils56. She wore a delicious grey silk skirt with a large black lace mantle57; her face was covered by a veil, and her gloved hands seemed quite small and delicate. Around her hung a gentle perfume of violet.
She stood scrutinising a corpse. On a slab17 a few paces away, was stretched the body of a great, big fellow, a mason who had recently killed himself on the spot by falling from a scaffolding. He had a broad chest, large short muscles, and a white, well-nourished body; death had made a marble statue of him. The lady examined him, turned him round and weighed him, so to say, with her eyes. For a time, she seemed quite absorbed in the contemplation of this man. She raised a corner of her veil for one last look. Then she withdrew.
At moments, bands of lads arrived--young people between twelve and fifteen, who leant with their hands against the glass, nudging one another with their elbows, and making brutal41 observations.
At the end of a week, Laurent became disheartened. At night he dreamt of the corpses he had seen in the morning. This suffering, this daily disgust which he imposed on himself, ended by troubling him to such a point, that he resolved to pay only two more visits to the place. The next day, on entering the Morgue, he received a violent shock in the chest. Opposite him, on a slab, Camille lay looking at him, extended on his back, his head raised, his eyes half open.
The murderer slowly approached the glass, as if attracted there, unable to detach his eyes from his victim. He did not suffer; he merely experienced a great inner chill, accompanied by slight pricks58 on his skin. He would have thought that he would have trembled more violently. For fully59 five minutes, he stood motionless, lost in unconscious contemplation, engraving60, in spite of himself, in his memory, all the horrible lines, all the dirty colours of the picture he had before his eyes.
Camille was hideous61. He had been a fortnight in the water. His face still appeared firm and rigid20; the features were preserved, but the skin had taken a yellowish, muddy tint. The thin, bony, and slightly tumefied head, wore a grimace. It was a trifle inclined on one side, with the hair sticking to the temples, and the lids raised, displaying the dull globes of the eyes. The twisted lips were drawn62 to a corner of the mouth in an atrocious grin; and a piece of blackish tongue appeared between the white teeth. This head, which looked tanned and drawn out lengthwise, while preserving a human appearance, had remained all the more frightful63 with pain and terror.
The body seemed a mass of ruptured64 flesh; it had suffered horribly. You could feel that the arms no longer held to their sockets65; and the clavicles were piercing the skin of the shoulders. The ribs66 formed black bands on the greenish chest; the left side, ripped open, was gaping67 amidst dark red shreds68. All the torso was in a state of putrefaction69. The extended legs, although firmer, were daubed with dirty patches. The feet dangled70 down.
Laurent gazed at Camille. He had never yet seen the body of a drowned person presenting such a dreadful aspect. The corpse, moreover, looked pinched. It had a thin, poor appearance. It had shrunk up in its decay, and the heap it formed was quite small. Anyone might have guessed that it belonged to a clerk at 1,200 francs a year, who was stupid and sickly, and who had been brought up by his mother on infusions71. This miserable72 frame, which had grown to maturity73 between warm blankets, was now shivering on a cold slab.
When Laurent could at last tear himself from the poignant74 curiosity that kept him motionless and gaping before his victim, he went out and begun walking rapidly along the quay75. And as he stepped out, he repeated:
"That is what I have done. He is hideous."
A smell seemed to be following him, the smell that the putrefying body must be giving off.
He went to find old Michaud, and told him he had just recognized Camille lying on one of the slabs in the Morgue. The formalities were performed, the drowned man was buried, and a certificate of death delivered. Laurent, henceforth at ease, felt delighted to be able to bury his crime in oblivion, along with the vexatious and painful scenes that had followed it.
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1
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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3
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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5
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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specks
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| n.眼镜；斑点，微粒，污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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8
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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9
grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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10
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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corpse
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| n.尸体，死尸 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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13
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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14
repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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15
shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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16
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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22
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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ensemble
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| n.合奏(唱)组；全套服装；整体，总效果 | |
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26
spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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27
dabs
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| 少许( dab的名词复数 )； 是…能手； 做某事很在行； 在某方面技术熟练 | |
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28
melodious
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| adj.旋律美妙的，调子优美的，音乐性的 | |
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29
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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30
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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31
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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33
thighs
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| n.股，大腿( thigh的名词复数 )；食用的鸡（等的）腿 | |
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34
shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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35
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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36
ardently
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| adv.热心地，热烈地 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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lugubriously
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39
grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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41
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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42
brutally
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| adv.残忍地，野蛮地，冷酷无情地 | |
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43
tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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44
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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45
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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46
elicited
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| 引出，探出( elicit的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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48
witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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49
jeering
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| adj.嘲弄的，揶揄的v.嘲笑( jeer的现在分词 ) | |
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50
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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51
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
pouts
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| n.撅嘴，生气( pout的名词复数 )v.撅（嘴）( pout的第三人称单数 ) | |
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53
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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54
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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55
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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56
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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57
mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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58
pricks
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| 刺痛( prick的名词复数 )； 刺孔； 刺痕； 植物的刺 | |
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59
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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60
engraving
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| n.版画；雕刻（作品）；雕刻艺术；镌版术v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的现在分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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61
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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62
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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63
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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64
ruptured
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| v.（使）破裂( rupture的过去式和过去分词 )；（使体内组织等）断裂；使（友好关系）破裂；使绝交 | |
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65
sockets
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| n.套接字，使应用程序能够读写与收发通讯协定(protocol)与资料的程序( Socket的名词复数 )；孔( socket的名词复数 )；（电器上的）插口；托座；凹穴 | |
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66
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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67
gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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68
shreds
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| v.撕碎，切碎( shred的第三人称单数 )；用撕毁机撕毁（文件） | |
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69
putrefaction
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| n.腐坏，腐败 | |
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70
dangled
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| 悬吊着( dangle的过去式和过去分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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71
infusions
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| n.沏或泡成的浸液（如茶等）( infusion的名词复数 )；注入，注入物 | |
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72
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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73
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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74
poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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75
quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
参考例句： |
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