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by； but must see all。 Imperceptibly； the articulations begin to crack；
motion communicates itself； the street speaks。 By mid…day； all is
alive； the chimneys smoke； the monster eats； then he roars； and his
thousand paws begin to ramp。 Splendid spectacle！ But； O Paris！ he who
has not admired your gloomy passages； your gleams and flashes of
light； your deep and silent /cul…de…sacs/； who has not listened to
your murmurings between midnight and two in the morning； knows nothing
as yet of your true poesy； nor of your broad and fantastic contrasts。
There are a few amateurs who never go their way heedlessly； who savor
their Paris； so to speak； who know its physiognomy so well that they
see every wart； and pimple； and redness。 To others； Paris is always
that monstrous marvel； that amazing assemblage of activities； of
schemes； of thoughts； the city of a hundred thousand tales； the head
of the universe。 But to those few； Paris is sad or gay； ugly or
beautiful； living or dead； to them Paris is a creature； every man；
every fraction of a house is a lobe of the cellular tissue of that
great courtesan whose head and heart and fantastic customs they know
so well。 These men are lovers of Paris； they lift their noses at such
or such a corner of a street； certain that they can see the face of a
clock； they tell a friend whose tobacco…pouch is empty； 〃Go down that
passage and turn to the left； there's a tobacconist next door to a
confectioner； where there's a pretty girl。〃 Rambling about Paris is；
to these poets； a costly luxury。 How can they help spending precious
minutes before the dramas； disasters； faces； and picturesque events
which meet us everywhere amid this heaving queen of cities； clothed in
posters；who has； nevertheless； not a single clean corner； so
complying is she to the vices of the French nation！ Who has not
chanced to leave his home early in the morning； intending to go to
some extremity of Paris； and found himself unable to get away from the
centre of it by the dinner…hour？ Such a man will know how to excuse
this vagabondizing start upon our tale； which； however； we here sum up
in an observation both useful and novel； as far as any observation can
be novel in Paris； where there is nothing new；not even the statue
erected yesterday； on which some young gamin has already scribbled his
name。
Well； then！ there are streets； or ends of streets； there are houses；
unknown for the most part to persons of social distinction； to which a
woman of that class cannot go without causing cruel and very wounding
things to be thought of her。 Whether the woman be rich and has a
carriage； whether she is on foot； or is disguised； if she enters one
of these Parisian defiles at any hour of the day； she compromises her
reputation as a virtuous woman。 If； by chance； she is there at nine in
the evening the conjectures that an observer permits himself to make
upon her may prove fearful in their consequences。 But if the woman is
young and pretty； if she enters a house in one of those streets； if
the house has a long； dark； damp； and evil…smelling passage…way； at
the end of which flickers the pallid gleam of an oil lamp； and if
beneath that gleam appears the horrid face of a withered old woman
with fleshless fingers； ah； then！ and we say it in the interests of
young and pretty women； that woman is lost。 She is at the mercy of the
first man of her acquaintance who sees her in that Parisian slough。
There is more than one street in Paris where such a meeting may lead
to a frightful drama； a bloody drama of death and love； a drama of the
modern school。
Unhappily； this scene； this modern drama itself； will be comprehended
by only a small number of persons； and it is a pity to tell the tale
to a public which cannot enter into its local merit。 But who can
flatter himself that he will ever be understood？ We all die unknown
'tis the saying of women and of authors。
At half…past eight o'clock one evening； in the rue Pagevin； in the
days when that street had no wall which did not echo some infamous
word； and was； in the direction of the rue Soly； the narrowest and
most impassable street in Paris （not excepting the least frequented
corner of the most deserted street）；at the beginning of the month of
February about thirteen years ago； a young man； by one of those
chances which come but once in life； turned the corner of the rue
Pagevin to enter the rue des Vieux…Augustins； close to the rue Soly。
There； this young man； who lived himself in the rue de Bourbon； saw in
a woman near whom he had been unconsciously walking； a vague
resemblance to the prettiest woman in Paris； a chaste and delightful
person； with whom he was secretly and passionately in love；a love
without hope； she was married。 In a moment his heart leaped； an
intolerable heat surged from his centre and flowed through all his
veins； his back turned cold； the skin of his head crept。 He loved； he
was young； he knew Paris； and his knowledge did not permit him to be
ignorant of all there was of possible infamy in an elegant； rich；
young； and beautiful woman walking there； alone； with a furtively
criminal step。 /She/ in that mud！ at that hour！
The love that this young man felt for that woman may seem romantic；
and all the more so because he was an officer in the Royal Guard。 If
he had been in the infantry； the affair might have seemed more likely；
but； as an officer of rank in the cavalry； he belonged to that French
arm which demands rapidity in its conquests and derives as much vanity
from its amorous exploits as from its dashing uniform。 But the passion
of this officer was a true love； and many young hearts will think it
noble。 He loved this woman because she was virtuous； he loved her
virtue； her modest grace； her imposing saintliness； as the dearest
treasures of his hidden passion。 This woman was indeed worthy to
inspire one of those platonic loves which are found； like flowers amid
bloody ruins； in the history of the middle…ages； worthy to be the
hidden principle of all the actions of a young man's life； a love as
high； as pure as the skies when blue； a love without hope and to which
men bind themselves because it can never deceive； a love that is
prodigal of unchecked enjoyment； especially at an age when the heart
is ardent； the imagination keen； and the eyes of a man see very
clearly。
Strange； weird； inconceivable effects may be met with at night in
Paris。 Only those who have amused themselves by watching those effects
have any idea how fantastic a woman may appear there at dusk。 At times
the creature whom you are following； by accident or design； seems to
you light and slender； the stockings； if they are white； make you
fancy that the legs must be slim and elegant； the figure though
wrapped in a shawl； or concealed by a pelisse； defines itself
gracefully and seductively among the shadows； anon； the uncertain
gleam thrown from a shop…window or a street lamp bestows a fleeting
lustre； nearly always deceptive； on the unknown woman； and fires the
imagination； carrying it far beyond the truth。 The senses then bestir
themselves； everything takes color and animation； the woman appears in
an altogether novel aspect； her person becomes beautiful。 Behold！ she
is not a woman； she is a demon； a siren； who is drawing you by
magnetic attraction to some respectable house； where the worthy
/bourgeoise/； frightened by your threatening step and the clack of
your boots； shuts the door in your face without looking at you。
A vacillating gleam； thrown from the shop…window of a shoemaker；
suddenly illuminated from the waist down the figure of the woman who
was before the young man。 Ah！ surely； /she/ alone had that swaying
figure； she alone knew the secret of that chaste gait which innocently
set into relief the many beauties of that attractive form。 Yes； that
was the shawl； and that the velvet bonnet which she wore in the
mornings。 On her gray silk stockings not a spot； on her shoes not a
splash。 The shawl held tightly round the bust disclosed； vaguely； its
charming lines； and the young man； who had often seen those shoulders
at a ball； knew well the treasures that the shawl concealed。 By the
way a Parisian