it on my heart, which was
beating fast.
"Again!" she said, withdrawing her hand as if it pained her. "Are you
determined to deny me the sad comfort of letting my wounds be stanched
by a friendly hand? Do not add to my sufferings; you do not know them
all; those that are
hidden are the worst to bear. If you were a woman
you would know the
melancholydisgust that fills her soul when she
sees herself the object of attentions which atone for nothing, but are
thought to atone for all. For the next few days I shall be courted and
caressed, that I may
pardon the wrong that has been done. I could then
obtain consent to any wish of mine, however
unreasonable. I am
humiliated by his
humility, by caresses which will cease as soon as he
imagines that I have forgotten that scene. To owe our master's good
graces to his faults--"
"His crimes!" I interrupted quickly.
"Is not that a
frightful condition of existence?" she continued, with
a sad smile. "I cannot use this
transient power. At such times I am
like the knights who could not strike a fallen
adversary. To see in
the dust a man whom we ought to honor, to raise him only to
enable him
to deal other blows, to suffer from his
degradation more than he
suffers himself, to feel ourselves degraded if we profit by such
influence for even a useful end, to spend our strength, to waste the
vigor of our souls in struggles that have no
grandeur, to have no
power except for a moment when a fatal
crisis comes--ah, better death!
If I had no children I would let myself drift on the
wretched current
of this life; but if I lose my courage, what will become of them? I
must live for them, however cruel this life may be. You talk to me of
love. Ah! my dear friend, think of the hell into which I should fling
myself if I gave that
pitiless being,
pitiless like all weak
creatures, the right to
despise me. The
purity of my conduct is my
strength. Virtue, dear friend, is holy water in which we gain fresh
strength, from which we issue renewed in the love of God."
"Listen to me, dear Henriette; I have only another week to stay here,
and I wish--"
"Ah, you mean to leave us!" she exclaimed.
"You must know what my father intends to do with me," I replied. "It
is now three months--"
"I have not counted the days," she said, with
momentary self-
abandonment. Then she checked herself and cried, "Come, let us go to
Frapesle."
She called the count and the children, sent for a shawl, and when all
were ready she, usually so calm and slow in all her movements, became
as active as a Parisian, and we started in a body to pay a visit at
Frapesle which the
countess did not owe. She forced herself to talk to
Madame de Chessel, who was
fortunately discursive in her answers. The
count and Monsieur de Chessel conversed on business. I was afraid the
former might boast of his
carriage and horses; but he committed no
such solecisms. His neighbor questioned him about his projected
improvements at the Cassine and the Rhetoriere. I looked at the count,
wondering if he would avoid a subject of conversation so full of
painful memories to all, so
cruelly mortifying to him. On the
contrary, he explained how
urgent a duty it was to better the
agricultural condition of the
canton, to build good houses and make
the premises salubrious; in short, he glorified himself with his
wife's ideas. I blushed as I looked at her. Such want of
scruple in a
man who, on certain occasions, could be scrupulous enough, this
oblivion of the
dreadful scene, this
adoption of ideas against which
he had fought so
violently, this
confidentbelief in himself,
petrified me.
When Monsieur de Chessel said to him, "Do you expect to recover your
outlay?"
"More than recover it!" he exclaimed, with a
confident gesture.
Such contradictions can be explained only by the word "insanity."
Henriette,
celestial creature, was
radiant. The count was appearing to
be a man of
intelligence, a good
administrator, an excellent
agriculturist; she played with her boy's curly head,
joyous for him,
happy for herself. What a
comedy of pain, what
mockery in this drama;
I was horrified by it. Later in life, when the curtain of the world's
stage was lifted before me, how many other Mortsaufs I saw without the
loyalty and the religious faith of this man. What strange, relentless
power is it that perpetually awards an angel to a
madman; to a man of
heart, of true
poeticpassion, a base woman; to the petty,
grandeur;
to this demented brain, a beautiful,
sublime being; to Juana, Captain
Diard, whose history at Bordeaux I have told you; to Madame de
Beauseant, an Ajuda; to Madame d'Aiglemont, her husband; to the
Marquis d'Espard, his wife! Long have I sought the meaning of this
enigma. I have ransacked many mysteries, I have discovered the reason
of many natural laws, the
purport of some
divine hieroglyphics; of the
meaning of this dark secret I know nothing. I study it as I would the
form of an Indian
weapon, the symbolic
construction of which is known
only to the Brahmans. In this dread
mystery the spirit of Evil is too
visibly the master; I dare not lay the blame to God. Anguish
irremediable, what power finds
amusement in weaving you? Can Henriette
and her
mysteriousphilosopher be right? Does their mysticism contain
the
explanation of humanity?
The autumn leaves were falling during the last few days which I passed
in the
valley, days of lowering clouds, which do sometimes obscure the
heaven of Touraine, so pure, so warm at that fine season. The evening
before my
departure Madame de Mortsauf took me to the
terrace before
dinner.
"My dear Felix," she said, after we had taken a turn in silence under
the leafless trees, "you are about to enter the world, and I wish to
go with you in thought. Those who have suffered much have lived and
known much. Do not think that
solitary souls know nothing of the
world; on the
contrary, they are able to judge it. Hear me: If I am to
live in and for my friend I must do what I can for his heart and for
his
conscience. When the
conflict rages it is hard to remember rules;
therefore let me give you a few instructions, the warnings of a mother
to her son. The day you leave us I shall give you a letter, a long
letter, in which you will find my woman's thoughts on the world, on
society, on men, on the right methods of meeting difficulty in this
great clash of human interests. Promise me not to read this letter
till you reach Paris. I ask it from a fanciful
sentiment, one of those
secrets of womanhood not impossible to understand, but which we grieve
to find deciphered; leave me this
covert way where as a woman I wish
to walk alone."
"Yes, I promise it," I said, kissing her hand.
"Ah," she added, "I have one more promise to ask of you; but grant it
first."
"Yes, yes!" I cried, thinking it was surely a promise of fidelity.
"It does not concern myself," she said smiling, with some bitterness.
"Felix, do not
gamble in any house, no matter whose it be; I except
none."
"I will never play at all," I replied.
"Good," she said. "I have found a better use for your time than to
waste it on cards. The end will be that where others must sooner or
later be losers you will
invariably win."
"How so?"
"The letter will tell you," she said, with a
playful smile, which took
from her advice the serious tone which might certainly have been that
of a grandfather.
The
countess talked to me for an hour, and proved the depth of her
affection by the study she had made of my nature during the last three
months. She penetrated the recesses of my heart, entering it with her
own; the tones of her voice were changeful and
convincing; the words
fell from
maternal lips, showing by their tone as well as by their
meaning how many ties already bound us to each other.
"If you knew," she said in
conclusion, "with what
anxiety I shall
follow your course, what joy I shall feel if you walk straight, what
tears I must shed if you strike against the angles! Believe that my
affection has no equal; it is
involuntary and yet
deliberate. Ah, I
would that I might see you happy, powerful, respected,--you who are to
me a living dream."
She made me weep, so tender and so terrible was she. Her feelings came
boldly to the surface, yet they were too pure to give the slightest
hope even to a young man thirsting for pleasure. Ignoring my tortured