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An Old Maid-Part19_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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grief, yours and mine, is killing me. You would rather I lived than



died?"

Madame Granson looked at her son with a haggard eye.



"So this is what you have been brooding?" she said. "They told me

right. Do you really mean to go?"



"Yes."

"You will not go without telling me; without warning me? You must have



an outfit and money. I have some louis sewn into my petticoat; I shall

give them to you."



Athanase wept.

"That's all I wanted to tell you," he said. "Now I'll take you to the



du Roncerets'. Come."

The mother and the son went out. Athanase left his mother at the door



of the house where she intended to pass the evening. He looked long at

the light which came through the shutters; he clung closely to the



wall, and a frenzied joy came over him when he presently heard his

mother say, "He has great independence of heart."



"Poor mother! I have deceived her," he cried, as he made his way to

the Sarthe.



He reached the noble poplar beneath which he had meditated so much for

the last forty days, and where he had placed two heavy stones on which



he now sat down. He contemplated that beautiful nature lighted by the

moon; he reviewed once more the glorious future he had longed for; he



passed through towns that were stirred by his name; he heard the

applauding crowds; he breathed the incense of his fame; he adored that



life long dreamed of; radiant, he sprang to radiant triumphs; he

raised his stature; he evoked his illusions to bid them farewell in a



last Olympic feast. The magic had been potent for a moment; but now it

vanished forever. In that awful hour he clung to the beautiful tree to



which, as to a friend, he had attached himself; then he put the two

stones into the pockets of his overcoat, which he buttoned across his



breast. He had come intentionally without a hat. He now went to the

deep pool he had long selected, and glided into it resolutely, trying



to make as little noise as possible, and, in fact, making scarcely

any.



When, at half-past nine o'clock, Madame Granson returned home, her

servant said nothing of Athanase, but gave her a letter. She opened it



and read these few words,--

"My good mother, I have departed; don't be angry with me."



"A pretty trick he has played me!" she thought. "And his linen! and

the money! Well, he will write to me, and then I'll follow him. These



poor children think they are so much cleverer than their fathers and

mothers."



And she went to bed in peace.

During the preceding morning the Sarthe had risen to a height foreseen



by the fisherman. These sudden rises of muddy water brought eels from

their various runlets. It so happened that a fisherman had spread his



net at the very place where poor Athanase had flung himself, believing

that no one would ever find him. About six o'clock in the morning the



man drew in his net, and with it the young body. The few friends of

the poor mother took every precaution in preparing her to receive the



dreadful remains. The news of this suicide made, as may well be

supposed, a great excitement in Alencon. The poor young man of genius



had no protector the night before, but on the morrow of his death a

thousand voices cried aloud, "I would have helped him." It is so easy



and convenient to be charitable gratis!

The suicide was explained by the Chevalier de Valois. He revealed, in



a spirit of revenge, the artless, sincere, and genuine love of

Athanase for Mademoiselle Cormon. Madame Granson, enlightened by the



chevalier, remembered a thousand little circumstances which confirmed

the chevalier's statement. The story then became touching, and many



women wept over it. Madame Granson's grief was silent, concentrated,

and little understood. There are two forms of mourning for mothers.






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