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The Country Doctor-Part18_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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sister?"



As they rode on their way again, Genestas said to the doctor, "Will

you regard it as inquisitiveness on my part if I ask to hear more of



La Fosseuse? I have come to know the story of many lives through you,

and hers cannot be less interesting than some of these."



Benassis stopped his horse as he answered. "Perhaps you will not share

in the feelings of interest awakened in me by La Fosseuse. Her fate is



like my own; we have both alike missed our vocation; it is the

similarity of our lots that occasions my sympathy for her and the



feelings that I experience at the sight of her. You either followed

your natural bent when you entered upon a military career, or you took



a liking for your calling after you had adopted it, otherwise you

would not have borne the heavy yoke of military discipline till now;



you, therefore, cannot understand the sorrows of a soul that must

always feel renewed within it the stir of longings that can never be



realized; nor the pining existence of a creature forced to live in an

alien sphere. Such sufferings as these are known only to these natures



and to God who sends their afflictions, for they alone can know how

deeply the events of life affect them. You yourself have seen the



miseries produced by long wars, till they have almost ceased to

impress you, but have you never detected a trace of sadness in your



mind at the sight of a tree bearing sere leaves in the midst of

spring, some tree that is pining and dying because it has been planted



in soil in which it could not find the sustenance required for its

full development? Ever since my twentieth year, there has been



something painful and melancholy for me about the drooping of a

stunted plant, and now I cannot bear the sight and turn my head away.



My youthful sorrow was a vague presentiment of the sorrows of my later

life; it was a kind of sympathy between my present and a future dimly



foreshadowed by the life of the tree that before its time was going

the way of all trees and men."



"I thought that you had suffered when I saw how kind you were."

"You see, sir," the doctor went on without any reply to the remark



made by Genestas, "that to speak of La Fosseuse is to speak of myself.

La Fosseuse is a plant in an alien soil; a human plant moreover,



consumed by sad thoughts that have their source in the depths of her

nature, and that never cease to multiply. The poor girl is never well



and strong. The soul within her kills the body. This fragile creature

was suffering from the sorest of all troubles, a trouble which



receives the least possible sympathy from our selfish world, and how

could I look on with indifferent eyes? for I, a man, strong to wrestle



with pain, was nightly tempted to refuse to bear the burden of a

sorrow like hers. Perhaps I might actually have refused to bear it but



for a thought of religion which soothes my impatience and fills my

heart with sweet illusions. Even if we were not children of the same



Father in heaven, La Fosseuse would still be my sister in suffering!"

Benassis pressed his knees against his horse's sides, and swept ahead



of Commandant Genestas, as if he shrank from continuing this

conversation any further. When their horses were once more cantering



abreast of each other, he spoke again: "Nature has created this poor

girl for sorrow," he said, "as she has created other women for joy. It



is impossible to do otherwise than believe in a future life at the

sight of natures thus predestined to suffer. La Fosseuse is sensitive



and highly strung. If the weather is dark and cloudy, she is

depressed; she 'weeps when the sky is weeping,' a phrase of her own;



she sings with the birds; she grows happy and serene under a cloudless

sky; the loveliness of a bright day passes into her face; a soft sweet



perfume is an inexhaustible pleasure to her; I have seen her take

delight the whole day long in the scent breathed forth by some



mignonette; and, after one of those rainy mornings that bring out all

the soul of the flowers and give indescribablefreshness and



brightness to the day, she seems to overflow with gladness like the

green world around her. If it is close and hot, and there is thunder



in the air, La Fosseuse feels a vague trouble that nothing can soothe.

She lies on her bed, complains of numberless different ills, and does



not know what ails her. In answer to my questions, she tells me that

her bones are melting, that she is dissolving into water; her 'heart



has left her,' to quote another of her sayings.

"I have sometimes come upon the poor child suddenly and found her in



tears, as she gazed at the sunset effects we sometimes see here among

our mountains, when bright masses of cloud gather and crowd together



and pile themselves above the golden peaks of the hills. 'Why are you

crying, little one?' I have asked her. 'I do not know, sir,' has been



the answer; 'I have grown so stupid with looking up there; I have




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