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The Secrets of the Princesse de Cadignan-Part7_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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ever loved, for the happiness she had once received from him. Oh! you

need not be astonished at so horrible a conspiracy; it frequently



takes place. Many women are more lovers than mothers, though the

majority are more mothers than wives. The two sentiments, love and



motherhood, developed as they are by our manners and customs, often

struggle together in the hearts of women; one or other must succumb



when they are not of equal strength; when they are, they produce some

exceptional women, the glory of our sex. A man of your genius must



surely comprehend many things that bewilder fools but are none the

less true; indeed I may go further and call them justifiable through



difference of characters, temperaments, attachments, situations. I,

for example, at this moment, after twenty years of misfortunes, of



deceptions, of calumnies endured, and weary days and hollow pleasures,

is it not natural that I should incline to fall at the feet of a man



who would love me sincerely and forever? And yet, the world would

condemn me. But twenty years of suffering might well excuse a few



brief years which may still remain to me of youth given to a sacred

and real love. This will not happen. I am not so rash as to sacrifice



my hopes of heaven. I have borne the burden and heat of the day, I

shall finish my course and win my recompense."



"Angel!" thought d'Arthez.

"After all, I have never blamed my mother; she knew little of me.



Mothers who lead a life like that of the Duchesse d'Uxelles keep their

children at a distance. I saw and knew nothing of the world until my



marriage. You can judge of my innocence! I knew nothing; I was

incapable of understanding the causes of my marriage. I had a fine



fortune; sixty thousand francs a year in forests, which the Revolution

overlooked (or had not been able to sell) in the Nivernais, with the



noble chateau of d'Anzy. Monsieur de Maufrigneuse was steeped in debt.

Later I learned what it was to have debts, but then I was too utterly



ignorant of life to suspect my position; the money saved out of my

fortune went to pacify my husband's creditors. Monsieur de



Maufrigneuse was forty-eight years of age when I married him; but

those years were like military campaigns, they ought to count for



twice what they were. Ah! what a life I led for ten years! If any one

had known the suffering of this poor, calumniated little woman! To be



watched by a mother jealous of her daughter! Heavens! You who make

dramas, you will never invent anything as direful as that. Ordinarily,



according to the little that I know of literature, a drama is a suite

of actions, speeches, movements which hurry to a catastrophe; but what



I speak of was a catastrophe in action. It was an avalanche fallen in

the morning and falling again at night only to fall again the next



day. I am cold now as I speak to you of that cavern without an

opening, cold, sombre, in which I lived. I, poor little thing that I



was! brought up in a convent like a mystic rose, knowing nothing of

marriage, developing late, I was happy at first; I enjoyed the



goodwill and harmony of our family. The birth of my poor boy, who is

all me--you must have been struck by the likeness? my hair, my eyes,



the shape of my face, my mouth, my smile, my teeth!--well, his birth

was a relief to me; my thoughts were diverted by the first joys of



maternity from my husband, who gave me no pleasure and did nothing for

me that was kind or amiable; those joys were all the keener because I



knew no others. It had been so often rung into my ears that a mother

should respect herself. Besides, a young girl loves to play the



mother. I was so proud of my flower--for Georges was beautiful, a

miracle, I thought! I saw and thought of nothing but my son, I lived



with my son. I never let his nurse dress or undress him. Such cares,

so wearing to mothers who have a regiment of children, were all my



pleasure. But after three or four years, as I was not an actual fool,

light came to my eyes in spite of the pains taken to blindfold me. Can



you see me at that final awakening, in 1819? The drama of 'The

Brothers at enmity' is a rose-water tragedy beside that of a mother






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