the lily of the valley(幽谷百合)-第48部分

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letter　must　have　made　you　see　with　what　care　Henriette　had　studied　my
material　interests；　my　political　relations；　my　moral　conquests；　and
with　what　ardor　she　took　hold　of　my　life　in　all　permissible
directions。　On　such　points　as　these　Lady　Dudley　affected　the　reticence
of　a　mere　acquaintance。　She　never　informed　herself　about　my　affairs；
nor　of　my　likings　or　dislikings　as　a　man。　Prodigal　for　herself　without
being　generous；　she　separated　too　decidedly　self…interest　and　love。
Whereas　I　knew　very　well；　without　proving　it；　that　to　save　me　a　pang
Henriette　would　have　sought　for　me　that　which　she　would　never　seek　for
herself。　In　any　great　and　overwhelming　misfortune　I　should　have　gone
for　counsel　to　Henriette；　but　I　would　have　let　myself　be　dragged　to
prison　sooner　than　say　a　word　to　Lady　Dudley。

Up　to　this　point　the　contrast　relates　to　feelings；　but　it　was　the　same
in　outward　things。　In　France；　luxury　is　the　expression　of　the　man；　the
reproduction　of　his　ideas；　of　his　personal　poetry；　it　portrays　the
character；　and　gives；　between　lovers；　a　precious　value　to　every　little
attention　by　keeping　before　them　the　dominant　thought　of　the　being
loved。　But　English　luxury；　which　at　first　allured　me　by　its　choiceness
and　delicacy；　proved　to　be　mechanical　also。　The　thousand　and　one
attentions　shown　me　at　Clochegourde　Arabella　would　have　considered　the
business　of　servants；　each　one　had　his　own　duty　and　speciality。　The
choice　of　the　footman　was　the　business　of　her　butler；　as　if　it　were　a
matter　of　horses。　She　never　attached　herself　to　her　servants；　the
death　of　the　best　of　them　would　not　have　affected　her；　for　money　could
replace　the　one　lost　by　another　equally　efficient。　As　to　her　duty
towards　her　neighbor；　I　never　saw　a　tear　in　her　eye　for　the
misfortunes　of　another；　in　fact　her　selfishness　was　so　naively　candid
that　it　absolutely　created　a　laugh。　The　crimson　draperies　of　the　great
lady　covered　an　iron　nature。　The　delightful　siren　who　sounded　at　night
every　bell　of　her　amorous　folly　could　soon　make　a　young　man　forget　the
hard　and　unfeeling　Englishwoman；　and　it　was　only　step　by　step　that　I
discovered　the　stony　rock　on　which　my　seeds　were　wasted；　bringing　no
harvest。　Madame　de　Mortsauf　had　penetrated　that　nature　at　a　glance　in
their　brief　encounter。　I　remembered　her　prophetic　words。　She　was
right；　Arabella's　love　became　intolerable　to　me。　I　have　since　remarked
that　most　women　who　ride　well　on　horseback　have　little　tenderness。
Like　the　Amazons；　they　lack　a　breast；　their　hearts　are　hard　in　some
direction；　but　I　do　not　know　in　which。

At　the　moment　when　I　begin　to　feel　the　burden　of　the　yoke；　when
weariness　took　possession　of　soul　and　body　too；　when　at　last　I
comprehended　the　sanctity　that　true　feeling　imparts　to　love；　when
memories　of　Clochegourde　were　bringing　me；　in　spite　of　distance；　the
fragrance　of　the　roses；　the　warmth　of　the　terrace；　and　the　warble　of
the　nightingales；at　this　frightful　moment；　when　I　saw　the　stony　bed
beneath　me　as　the　waters　of　the　torrent　receded；　I　received　a　blow
which　still　resounds　in　my　heart；　for　at　every　hour　its　echo　wakes。

I　was　working　in　the　cabinet　of　the　king；　who　was　to　drive　out　at　four
o'clock。　The　Duc　de　Lenoncourt　was　on　service。　When　he　entered　the
room　the　king　asked　him　news　of　the　countess。　I　raised　my　head　hastily
in　too　eager　a　manner；　the　king；　offended　by　the　action；　gave　me　the
look　which　always　preceded　the　harsh　words　he　knew　so　well　how　to　say。

〃Sire；　my　poor　daughter　is　dying；〃　replied　the　duke。

〃Will　the　king　deign　to　grant　me　leave　of　absence？〃　I　cried；　with
tears　in　my　eyes；　braving　the　anger　which　I　saw　about　to　burst。

〃Go；　MY　LORD；〃　he　answered；　smiling　at　the　satire　in　his　words；　and
withholding　his　reprimand　in　favor　of　his　own　wit。

More　courtier　than　father；　the　duke　asked　no　leave　but　got　into　the
carriage　with　the　king。　I　started　without　bidding　Lady　Dudley　good…
bye；　she　was　fortunately　out　when　I　made　my　preparations；　and　I　left　a
note　telling　her　I　was　sent　on　a　mission　by　the　king。　At　the　Croix　de
Berny　I　met　his　Majesty　returning　from　Verrieres。　He　threw　me　a　look
full　of　his　royal　irony；　always　insufferable　in　meaning；　which　seemed
to　say：　〃If　you　mean　to　be　anything　in　politics　come　back；　don't
parley　with　the　dead。〃　The　duke　waved　his　hand　to　me　sadly。　The　two
pompous　equipages　with　their　eight　horses；　the　colonels　and　their　gold
lace；　the　escort　and　the　clouds　of　dust　rolled　rapidly　away；　to　cries
of　〃Vive　le　Roi！〃　It　seemed　to　me　that　the　court　had　driven　over　the
dead　body　of　Madame　de　Mortsauf　with　the　utter　insensibility　which
nature　shows　for　our　catastrophes。　Though　the　duke　was　an　excellent
man　he　would　no　doubt　play　whist　with　Monsieur　after　the　king　had
retired。　As　for　the　duchess；　she　had　long　ago　given　her　daughter　the
first　stab　by　writing　to　her　of　Lady　Dudley。

My　hurried　journey　was　like　a　dream；the　dream　of　a　ruined　gambler；　I
was　in　despair　at　having　received　no　news。　Had　the　confessor　pushed
austerity　so　far　as　to　exclude　me　from　Clochegourde？　I　accused
Madeleine；　Jacques；　the　Abbe　Dominis；　all；　even　Monsieur　de　Mortsauf。
Beyond　Tours；　as　I　came　down　the　road　bordered　with　poplars　which
leads　to　Poncher；　which　I　so　much　admired　that　first　day　of　my　search
for　mine　Unknown；　I　met　Monsieur　Origet。　He　guessed　that　I　was　going
to　Clochegourde；　I　guessed　that　he　was　returning。　We　stopped　our
carriages　and　got　out；　I　to　ask　for　news；　he　to　give　it。

〃How　is　Madame　de　Mortsauf？〃　I　said。

〃I　doubt　if　you　find　her　living；〃　he　replied。　〃She　is　dying　a
frightful　deathof　inanition。　When　she　called　me　in；　last　June；　no
medical　power　could　control　the　disease；　she　had　the　symptoms　which
Monsieur　de　Mortsauf　has　no　doubt　described　to　you；　for　he　thinks　he
has　them　himself。　Madame　la　comtesse　was　not　in　any　transient
condition　of　ill…health；　which　our　profession　can　direct　and　which　is
often　the　cause　of　a　better　state；　nor　was　she　in　the　crisis　of　a
disorder　the　effects　of　which　can　be　repaired；　no；　her　disease　had
reached　a　point　where　science　is　useless；　it　is　the　incurable　result
of　grief；　just　as　a　mortal　wound　is　the　result　of　a　stab。　Her　physical
condition　is　produced　by　the　inertia　of　an　organ　as　necessary　to　life
as　the　action　of　the　heart　itself。　Grief　has　done　the　work　of　a
dagger。　Don't　deceive　yourself；　Madame　de　Mortsauf　is　dying　of　some
hidden　grief。〃

〃Hidden！〃　I　exclaimed。　〃Her　children　have　not　been　ill？〃

〃No；〃　he　said；　looking　at　me　significantly；　〃and　since　she　has　been　so
seriously　attacked　Monsieur　de　Mortsauf　has　ceased　to　torment　her。　I
am　no　longer　needed；　Monsieur　Deslandes　of　Azay　is　all…sufficient；
nothing　can　be　done；　her　sufferings　are　dreadful。　Young；　beautiful；
and　rich；　to　die　emaciated；　shrunken　with　hungerfor　she　dies　of
hunger！　During　the　last　forty　days　the　stomach；　being　as　it　were
closed　up；　has　rejected　all　nourishment；　under　whatever　form　we
attempt　to　give　it。〃

Monsieur　Origet　pressed　my　hand　with　a　gesture　of　respect。

〃Courage；　monsieur；〃　he　said；　lifting　his　eyes　to　heaven。

The　words　expressed　his　compassion　for　sufferings　he　thought　shared；
he　little　suspected　the　poisoned　arrow　which　they　shot　into　my　heart。
I　sprang　into　the　carriage　and　ordered　the　postilion　to　drive　on；
promising　a　good　reward　if　I　arrived　in　time。

Notwithstanding　my　impatience　I　seemed　to　do　the　distance　in　a　few
minutes；　so　absorbed　was　I　in　the　bitter　reflections　that　crowded　upon
my　soul。　Dying　of　grief；　yet　her　children　were　well？　then　she　died
through　me！　My　conscience　uttered　one　of　those　arraignments　which　echo
throughout　our　lives　and　sometimes　beyond　them。　What　weakness；　what
impotence　in　human　justice；　which　avenges　none　but　open　deeds！　Why
shame　and　death　to　the　murderer　who　kills　with　a　blow；　who　comes　upon
you　unawares　in　your　sleep　and　makes　it　last　eternally；　who　strikes
without　warning　and　spares　you　a　struggle？　Why　a　happy　life；　an
honored　life；　to　the　murderer　who　drop　by　drop　pours　gall　into　the
soul　and　saps　the　body　to　destroy　it？　How　many　murderers　go
unpunished！　What　indulgence　for　fashionable　vice！　What　condoning　of
the　homicides　caused　by　moral　wrongs！　I　know　not　whose　avenging　hand
it　was　that　suddenly；　at　that　moment；　raised　the　painted　curtain　that
reveals　society。　I　saw　before　me　many　victims　known　to　you　and　me；
Madame　de　Beauseant；　dying；　and　starting　for　Normandy　only　a　few　days
earlier；　the　Duchesse　de　Langeais　lost；　Lady　Brandon　hiding　herself　in
Touraine　in　the　little　house　where　Lady　Dudley　had　stayed　two　weeks；
and　dying　there；　killed　by　a　frightful　catastrophe；you　know　it。　Our
period　teems　with　such　events。　Who　does　not　remember　that　poor　young
woman　who　poisoned　herself；　overcome　by　jealousy；　which　was　perhaps
killing　Madame　de　Mortsauf？　Who　has　not　shuddered　at　the　fate　of　that
enchanting　young　girl　who　perished　after　two　years　of　marriage；　like　a
flower　torn　by　the　wind；　the　victim　of　her　chaste　ignorance；　the
victim　of　a　villain　with　whom　Ronquerolles；　Montriveau；　and　de　Marsay
shake　hands　because　he　is　useful　to　their　political　projects？　What
heart　has　failed　to　throb　at　the　recital　of　the　last　hours　of　the
woman　whom　no　entreaties　could　soften；　and　who　would　never　see　her
husband　after　nobly　paying　his　debts？　Madame　d'Aiglemont　saw　death
beside　her　and　was　saved　only　by　my　brother's　care。　Society　and
science　are　accomplices　in　crimes　for　which　there　are　no　assizes。　The
world　declares　that　no　one　dies　of　grief；　or　of　despair；　nor　yet　of
love；　of　anguish　hidden；　of　hopes　cultivated　yet　fruitless；　again　and
again　replanted　yet　forever　uprooted。　Our　new　scientific　nomenclature
has　plenty　of　words　to　explain　these　things；　gastritis；　pericarditis；
all　the　thousand　maladies　of　women　the　names　of　which　are　whispered　in
the　ear；　all　serve　as　passports　to　the　coffin　followed　by　hypocritical
tears　that　are　soon　wiped　by　the　hand　of　a　notary。　Can　there　be　at　the
bottom　of　this　great　evil　some　law　which　we　do　not　know？　Must　the
centenary　pitilessly　strew　the　earth　with　corpses　and　dry　them　to　dust
about　him　that　he　may　raise　himself；　as　the　millionaire　battens　on　a
myriad　of　little　industries？　Is　there　some　powerful　and　venomous　life
which　feasts　on　these　gentle；　te