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The Lily of the Valley-Part11_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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"In the first place, Monsieur de Mortsauf would think he were lost if

I left him. Though he will not admit his condition he is well aware of



it. He is both sane and mad, two natures in one man, a contradiction

which explains many an irrational action. Besides this, he would have



good reason for objecting. Nothing would go right here if I were

absent. You may have seen in me the mother of a family watchful to



protect her young from the hawk that is hovering over them; a weighty

task, indeed, but harder still are the cares imposed upon me by



Monsieur de Mortsauf, whose constant cry, as he follows me about is,

'Where is Madame?' I am Jacques' tutor and Madeleine's governess; but



that is not all, I am bailiff and steward too. You will understand

what that means when you come to see, as you will, that the working of



an estate in these parts is the most fatiguing of all employments. We

get small returns in money; the farms are cultivated on shares, a



system which needs the closest supervision. We are obliged ourselves

to sell our own produce, our cattle and harvests of all kinds. Our



competitors in the markets are our own farmers, who meet consumers in

the wine-shops and determine prices by selling first. I should weary



you if I explained the many difficulties of agriculture in this

region. No matter what care I give to it, I cannot always prevent our



tenants from putting our manure upon their ground, I cannot be ever on

the watch lest they take advantage of us in the division of the crops;



neither can I always know the exact moment when sales should be made.

So, if you think of Monsieur de Mortsauf's defective memory, and the



difficulty you have seen me have in persuading him to attend to

business, you can understand the burden that is on my shoulders, and



the impossibility of my laying it down for a single day. If I were

absent we should be ruined. No one would obey Monsieur de Mortsauf. In



the first place his orders are conflicting; then no one likes him; he

finds incessant fault, and he is very domineering. Moreover, like all



men of feeble mind, he listens too readily to his inferiors. If I left

the house not a servant would be in it in a week's time. So you see I



am attached to Clochegourde as those leaden finals are to our roof. I

have no reserves with you. The whole country-side is still ignorant of



the secrets of this house, but you know them, you have seen them. Say

nothing but what is kind and friendly, and you shall have my esteem--



my gratitude," she added in a softer voice. "On those terms you are

welcome at Clochegourde, where you will find friends."



"Ah!" I exclaimed, "I see that I have never really suffered, while

you--"



"No, no!" she exclaimed, with a smile, that smile of all resigned

women which might melt a granite rock. "Do not be astonished at my



frank confidence; it shows you life as it is, not as your imagination

pictures it. We all have our defects and our good qualities. If I had



married a spendthrift he would have ruined me. If I had given myself

to an ardent and pleasure-loving young man, perhaps I could not have



retained him; he might have left me, and I should have died of

jealousy. For I am jealous!" she said, in a tone of excitement, which



was like the thunderclap of a passing storm. "But Monsieur de Mortsauf

loves me as much as he is capable of loving; all that his heart



contains of affection he pours at my feet, like the Magdalen's cup of

ointment. Believe me, a life of love is an exception to the laws of



this earth; all flowers fade; great joys and emotions have a morrow of

evil--if a morrow at all. Real life is a life of anguish; its image is



in that nettle growing there at the foot of the wall,--no sun can

reach it and it keeps green. Yet, here, as in parts of the North,



there are smiles in the sky, few to be sure, but they compensate for

many a grief. Moreover, women who are naturally mothers live and love



far more through sacrifices than through pleasures. Here I draw upon

myself the storms I fear may break upon my children or my people; and



in doing so I feel a something I cannot explain, which gives me secret

courage. The resignation of the night carries me through the day that



follows. God does not leave me comfortless. Time was when the

condition of my children filled me with despair; to-day as they






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