The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 5Sue, Eugène
General
The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 5
Sue, Eugène
Paris (France) -- Fiction
Rendered more timid and sensitive by imprisonment, he could not for an
instant believe it possible for Rigolette to reciprocate the attachment
of a poor prisoner like himself, whose character was, moreover,
tarnished by so foul an accusation as he laboured under, while previous
to this calamity she had never manifested more than a sisterly interest
in him. The grisette, finding herself so little understood, stifled a
sigh, and awaited with hopeful eagerness a better opportunity of opening
the eyes of Germain to the real state of her heart. She contented
herself, therefore, with merely replying:
"To be sure, it is quite natural the sight of these wicked men should
fill you with horror and disgust; but that is no reason for your
exposing yourself to unnecessary dangers."
"I assure you that, in order to follow your advice, I have endeavoured
to force myself to converse with such as seemed the least depraved among
them; but you can form no notion what dreadful men they are, or what
shocking language they talk."
"I dare say they do, poor unfortunate creatures! It must be horrid to
hear them."
"But there is something more terrible than that, the getting gradually
used to the disgusting conversations which, in spite of yourself, you
are compelled to hear all day long. Yes, I am sorry to say, I now hear
with gloomy indifference horrible remarks and speeches that would have
excited my utmost indignation when I first came here. So, you see,"
continued Germain, bitterly, "I begin to be more afraid of myself than I
am of them."
"Oh, M. Germain!"
"I am sure of it," pursued the unfortunate young man. "After a residence
within a prison in company with such as are always to be found assembled
there, the mind becomes accustomed to guilty thoughts, in the same
manner as the ear gets inured to the coarse and vulgar expressions
continually in use. Oh, God, I can well believe how possible it is to
enter these walls innocent of the crimes ascribed to one, and to leave
them with principles utterly and irretrievably perverted!"
"But you never could be so changed! Oh, no, not you!"
"Ay, me, and others twenty times better than myself! Alas, alas! those
who condemn men to this fearful association little think that they
expose their fellow creatures to breathe an air laden with the direst
moral contagion, and inevitably fatal to every right or honourable
feeling!"
"Pray do not go on so! You know not how you grieve me!"
"Nay, I but wished to explain to you why I am daily more and more
melancholy. I wished not to have said so much, but I have only one way
of repaying the pity you have evinced for me."
"Pity? Pity? Indeed--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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