Volume 3/Book 2/Chapter 7
Les Misérables, Volume 3: Marius, Book Second: The Great Bourgeois, Chapter 7: Rule: Receive No One except in the Evening
(Tome 3: Marius, Livre deuxième: Le grand bourgeois, Chapitre 7: Règle: Ne recevoir personne que le soir)
Contents
General notes on this chapter
French text
Tel était M. Luc-Esprit Gillenormand, lequel n'avait point perdu ses cheveux, plutôt gris que blancs, et était toujours coiffé en oreilles de chien. En somme, et avec tout cela, vénérable.
Il tenait du dix-huitième siècle: frivole et grand.
Dans les premières années de la Restauration, M. Gillenormand, qui était
encore jeune,—il n'avait que soixante-quatorze ans en 1814,—avait
habité le faubourg Saint-Germain, rue Servandoni, près Saint-Sulpice. Il
ne s'était retiré au Marais qu'en sortant du monde, bien après ses
quatre-vingts ans sonnés.
Et en sortant du monde, il s'était muré dans ses habitudes. La
principale, et où il était invariable, c'était de tenir sa porte
absolument fermée le jour, et de ne jamais recevoir qui que ce soit,
pour quelque affaire que ce fût, que le soir. Il dînait à cinq heures,
puis sa porte était ouverte. C'était la mode de son siècle, et il n'en
voulait point démordre.—Le jour est canaille, disait-il, et ne mérite
qu'un volet fermé. Les gens comme il faut allument leur esprit quand le
zénith allume ses étoiles.—Et il se barricadait pour tout le monde,
fût-ce pour le roi. Vieille élégance de son temps.
English text
Such was M. Luc-Esprit Gillenormand, who had not lost his hair,—which was gray rather than white,—and which was always dressed in "dog's ears." To sum up, he was venerable in spite of all this.
He had something of the eighteenth century about him; frivolous and great.
In 1814 and during the early years of the Restoration, M. Gillenormand,
who was still young,—he was only seventy-four,—lived in the
Faubourg Saint Germain, Rue Servandoni, near Saint-Sulpice. He had only
retired to the Marais when he quitted society, long after attaining the
age of eighty.
And, on abandoning society, he had immured himself in his habits. The
principal one, and that which was invariable, was to keep his door
absolutely closed during the day, and never to receive any one whatever
except in the evening. He dined at five o'clock, and after that his door
was open. That had been the fashion of his century, and he would not
swerve from it. "The day is vulgar," said he, "and deserves only a closed
shutter. Fashionable people only light up their minds when the zenith
lights up its stars." And he barricaded himself against every one, even
had it been the king himself. This was the antiquated elegance of his day.