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The Lily of the Valley-Part28_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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countess sitting by the window with her handkerchief to her face. She

heard my step and made me an imperiousgesture, commanding me to leave



her. I went up to her, my heart stabbed with fear, and tried to take

her handkerchief away by force. Her face was bathed in tears and she



fled into her room, which she did not leave again until the hour for

evening prayer. When that was over, I led her to the terrace and asked



the cause of her emotion; she affected a wild gaiety and explained it

by the news Monsieur Origet had given her.



"Henriette, Henriette, you knew that news when I saw you weeping.

Between you and me a lie is monstrous. Why did you forbid me to dry



your tears? were they mine?"

"I was thinking," she said, "that for me this illness has been a halt



in pain. Now that I no longer fear for Monsieur de Mortsauf I fear for

myself."



She was right. The count's recovery was soon attested by the return of

his fantastic humor. He began by saying that neither the countess, nor



I, nor the doctor had known how to take care of him; we were ignorant

of his constitution and also of his disease; we misunderstood his



sufferings and the necessary remedies. Origet, infatuated with his own

doctrines, had mistaken the case, he ought to have attended only to



the pylorus. One day he looked at us maliciously, with an air of

having guessed our thoughts, and said to his wife with a smile, "Now,



my dear, if I had died you would have regretted me, no doubt, but pray

admit you would have been quite resigned."



"Yes, I should have mourned you in pink and black, court mourning,"

she answered laughing, to change the tone of his remarks.



But it was chiefly about his food, which the doctor insisted on

regulating, that scenes of violence and wrangling now took place,



unlike any that had hitherto occurred; for the character of the count

was all the more violent for having slumbered. The countess, fortified



by the doctor's orders and the obedience of her servants, stimulated

too by me, who thought this struggle a good means to teach her to



exercise authority over the count, held out against his violence. She

showed a calm front to his demented cries, and even grew accustomed to



his insulting epithets, taking him for what he was, a child. I had the

happiness of at last seeing her take the reins in hand and govern that



unsound mind. The count cried out, but he obeyed; and he obeyed all

the better when he had made an outcry. But in spite of the evidence of



good results, Henriette often wept at the spectacle of this emaciated,

feeble old man, with a forehead yellower than the falling leaves, his



eyes wan, his hands trembling. She blamed herself for too much

severity, and could not resist the joy she saw in his eyes when, in



measuring out his food, she gave him more than the doctor allowed. She

was even more gentle and gracious to him than she had been to me; but



there were differences here which filled my heart with joy. She was

not unwearying, and she sometimes called her servants to wait upon the



count when his caprices changed too rapidly, and he complained of not

being understood.



The countess wished to return thanks to God for the count's recovery;

she directed a mass to be said, and asked if I would take her to



church. I did so, but I left her at the door, and went to see Monsieur

and Madame Chessel. On my return she reproached me.



"Henriette," I said, "I cannot be false. I will throw myself into the

water to save my enemy from drowning, and give him my coat to keep him



warm; I will forgive him, but I cannot forget the wrong."

She was silent, but she pressed my arm.



"You are an angel, and you were sincere in your thanksgiving," I said,

continuing. "The mother of the Prince of the Peace was saved from the



hands of an angry populace who sought to kill her, and when the queen

asked, 'What did you do?' she answered, 'I prayed for them.' Women are



ever thus. I am a man, and necessarily imperfect."

"Don't calumniate yourself," she said, shaking my arm, "perhaps you



are more worthy than I."




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