Giới thiệu truyện
I once used to live in a little street which probably is not known to
you—the Rue de Lesdiguieres. It is a turning out of the Rue
Saint-Antoine, beginning just opposite a fountain near the Place de la
Bastille, and ending in the Rue de la Cerisaie. Love of knowledge
stranded me in a garret; my nights I spent in work, my days in reading
at the Bibliotheque d'Orleans, close by. I lived frugally; I had
accepted the conditions of the monastic life, necessary conditions for
every worker, scarcely permitting myself a walk along the Boulevard
Bourdon when the weather was fine. One passion only had power to draw
me from my studies; and yet, what was that passion but a study of
another kind? I used to watch the manners and customs of the Faubourg,
its inhabitants, and their characteristics. As I dressed no better
than a working man, and cared nothing for appearances, I did not put
them on their guard; I could join a group and look on while they drove
bargains or wrangled among themselves on their way home from work.
Even then observation had come to be an instinct with me; a faculty of
penetrating to the soul without neglecting the body; or rather, a
power of grasping external details so th
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