Человек, который смеется / The Man Who Laughs. Уровень 4

”

The duchess asked, -

“And who is Gwynplaine?”

GWYNPLAINE AND DEA

Nature had bestowed on Gwynplaine a mouth opening to his ears, ears folding over to his eyes, a shapeless nose to support the spectacles, and a face that no one could look upon without laughing.

Gwynplaine was a mountebank. He showed himself on the platform. Hypochondriacs were cured by the sight of him alone. He was avoided by folks in mourning, because they were compelled to laugh when they saw him. One day the executioner came, and Gwynplaine made him laugh.

It was Gwynplaine’s laugh which created the laughter of others, yet he did not laugh himself. His face laughed; his thoughts did not. The extraordinary face which chance or a special and weird industry had fashioned for him, laughed alone. Gwynplaine had nothing to do with it. The outside did not depend on the interior. The laugh which he had not placed, himself, on his brow, on his eyelids, on his mouth, he could not remove.

On seeing Gwynplaine, all laughed. When they had laughed they turned away their heads. Women especially shrank from him with horror. The man was frightful. Gwynplaine was intolerable for a woman to see, and impossible to contemplate. But he was tall, well made, and agile, and no way deformed, excepting in his face.

This led to the presumption that Gwynplaine was rather a creation of art than a work of nature. Gwynplaine, beautiful in figure, had probably been beautiful in face.

Behind his laugh there was a soul, dreaming, as all our souls dream. However, his laugh was to Gwynplaine quite a talent. He could do nothing with it. By means of it he gained his living.

Gwynplaine, as you have doubtless already guessed, was the child abandoned one winter evening on the coast of Portland, and received into a poor caravan at Weymouth.

That boy was at this time a man. Fifteen years had elapsed.

Ursus had kept the two children with him. They were a group of wanderers. Ursus and Homo had aged. Ursus had become quite bald. The wolf was growing gray.

The little girl found on the dead woman was now a tall creature of sixteen, with brown hair, slight, fragile, admirably beautiful, her eyes full of light, yet blind. That fatal winter had killed the mother and blinded the child.