the lily of the valley-第23章

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that　cold；　calculating；　ambitious　woman　and　a　daughter　abounding　in

the　tender　natural　kindness　that　never　faileth；　you　must　imagine　a

lily；　to　which　my　heart　has　always　compared　her；　bruised　beneath　the

polished　wheels　of　a　steel　car。　That　mother　had　nothing　in　common　with

her　daughter；　she　was　unable　even　to　imagine　the　real　difficulties

which　hindered　her　from　taking　advantage　of　the　Restoration　and　forced

her　to　continue　a　life　of　solitude。　Though　families　bury　their

internal　dissensions　with　the　utmost　care；　enter　behind　the　scenes；

and　you　will　find　in　nearly　all　of　them　deep；　incurable　wounds；　which

lessen　the　natural　affections。　Sometimes　these　wounds　are　given　by

passions　real　and　most　affecting；　rendered　eternal　by　the　dignity　of

those　who　feel　them；　sometimes　by　latent　hatreds　which　slowly　freeze

the　heart　and　dry　all　tears　when　the　hour　of　parting　comes。　Tortured

yesterday　and　to…day；　wounded　by　all；　even　by　the　suffering　children

who　were　guiltless　of　the　ills　they　endured；　how　could　that　poor　soul

fail　to　love　the　one　human　being　who　did　not　strike　her；　who　would

fain　have　built　a　wall　of　defence　around　her　to　guard　her　from　storms；

from　harsh　contacts　and　cruel　blows？　Though　I　suffered　from　a

knowledge　of　these　debates；　there　were　moments　when　I　was　happy　in　the

sense　that　she　rested　upon　my　heart；　for　she　told　me　of　these　new

troubles。　Day　by　day　I　learned　more　fully　the　meaning　of　her　words；

〃Love　me　as　my　aunt　loved　me。〃



〃Have　you　no　ambition？〃　the　duchess　said　to　me　at　dinner；　with　a　stern

air。



〃Madame；〃　I　replied；　giving　her　a　serious　look；　〃I　have　enough　in　me

to　conquer　the　world；　but　I　am　only　twenty…one；　and　I　am　all　alone。〃



She　looked　at　her　daughter　with　some　astonishment。　Evidently　she

believed　that　Henriette　had　crushed　my　ambition　in　order　to　keep　me

near　her。　The　visit　of　Madame　de　Lenoncourt　was　a　period　of　unrelieved

constraint。　The　countess　begged　me　to　be　cautious；　she　was　frightened

by　the　least　kind　word；　to　please　her　I　wore　the　harness　of　deceit。

The　great　Thursday　came；　it　was　a　day　of　wearisome　ceremonial；one　of

those　stiff　days　which　lovers　hate；　when　their　chair　is　no　longer　in

its　place；　and　the　mistress　of　the　house　cannot　be　with　them。　Love　has

a　horror　of　all　that　does　not　concern　itself。　But　the　duchess　returned

at　last　to　the　pomps　and　vanities　of　the　court；　and　Clochegourde

recovered　its　accustomed　order。



My　little　quarrel　with　the　count　resulted　in　making　me　more　at　home　in

the　house　than　ever；　I　could　go　there　at　all　times　without　hindrance；

and　the　antecedents　of　my　life　inclined　me　to　cling　like　a　climbing

plant　to　the　beautiful　soul　which　had　opened　to　me　the　enchanting

world　of　shared　emotions。　Every　hour；　every　minute；　our　fraternal

marriage；　founded　on　trust；　became　a　surer　thing；　each　of　us　settled

firmly　into　our　own　position；　the　countess　enfolded　me　with　her

nurturing　care；　with　the　white　draperies　of　a　love　that　was　wholly

maternal；　while　my　love　for　her；　seraphic　in　her　presence；　seared　me

as　with　hot　irons　when　away　from　her。　I　loved　her　with　a　double　love

which　shot　its　arrows　of　desire；　and　then　lost　them　in　the　sky；　where

they　faded　out　of　sight　in　the　impermeable　ether。　If　you　ask　me　why；

young　and　ardent；　I　continued　in　the　deluding　dreams　of　Platonic　love；

I　must　own　to　you　that　I　was　not　yet　man　enough　to　torture　that　woman；

who　was　always　in　dread　of　some　catastrophe　to　her　children；　always

fearing　some　outburst　of　her　husband's　stormy　temper；　martyrized　by

him　when　not　afflicted　by　the　illness　of　Jacques　or　Madeleine；　and

sitting　beside　one　or　the　other　of　them　when　her　husband　allowed　her　a

little　rest。　The　mere　sound　of　too　warm　a　word　shook　her　whole　being；

a　desire　shocked　her；　what　she　needed　was　a　veiled　love；　support

mingled　with　tenderness；that；　in　short；　which　she　gave　to　others。

Then；　need　I　tell　you；　who　are　so　truly　feminine？　this　situation

brought　with　it　hours　of　delightful　languor；　moments　of　divine

sweetness　and　content　which　followed　by　secret　immolation。　Her

conscience　was；　if　I　may　call　it　so；　contagious；　her　self…devotion

without　earthly　recompense　awed　me　by　its　persistence；　the　living；

inward　piety　which　was　the　bond　of　her　other　virtues　filled　the　air

about　her　with　spiritual　incense。　Besides；　I　was　young；young　enough

to　concentrate　my　whole　being　on　the　kiss　she　allowed　me　too　seldom　to

lay　upon　her　hand；　of　which　she　gave　me　only　the　back；　and　never　the

palm；　as　though　she　drew　the　line　of　sensual　emotions　there。　No　two

souls　ever　clasped　each　other　with　so　much　ardor；　no　bodies　were　ever

more　victoriously　annihilated。　Later　I　understood　the　cause　of　this

sufficing　joy。　At　my　age　no　worldly　interests　distracted　my　heart；　no

ambitions　blocked　the　stream　of　a　love　which　flowed　like　a　torrent；

bearing　all　things　on　its　bosom。　Later；　we　love　the　woman　in　a　woman；

but　the　first　woman　we　love　is　the　whole　of　womanhood；　her　children

are　ours；　her　interests　are　our　interests；　her　sorrows　our　greatest

sorrow；　we　love　her　gown；　the　familiar　things　about　her；　we　are　more

grieved　by　a　trifling　loss　of　hers　than　if　we　knew　we　had　lost

everything。　This　is　the　sacred　love　that　makes　us　live　in　the　being　of

another；　whereas　later；　alas！　we　draw　another　life　into　ours；　and

require　a　woman　to　enrich　our　pauper　spirit　with　her　young　soul。



I　was　now　one　of　the　household；　and　I　knew　for　the　first　time　an

infinite　sweetness；　which　to　a　nature　bruised　as　mine　was　like　a　bath

to　a　weary　body；　the　soul　is　refreshed　in　every　fibre；　comforted　to

its　very　depths。　You　will　hardly　understand　me；　for　you　are　a　woman；

and　I　am　speaking　now　of　a　happiness　women　give　but　do　not　receive。　A

man　alone　knows　the　choice　happiness　of　being；　in　the　midst　of　a

strange　household；　the　privileged　friend　of　its　mistress；　the　secret

centre　of　her　affections。　No　dog　barks　at　you；　the　servants；　like　the

dogs；　recognize　your　rights；　the　children　（who　are　never　misled；　and

know　that　their　power　cannot　be　lessened；　and　that　you　cherish　the

light　of　their　life）；　the　children　possess　the　gift　of　divination；

they　play　with　you　like　kittens　and　assume　the　friendly　tyranny　they

show　only　to　those　they　love；　they　are　full　of　intelligent　discretion

and　come　and　go　on　tiptoe　without　noise。　Every　one　hastens　to　do　you

service；　all　like　you；　and　smile　upon　you。　True　passions　are　like

beautiful　flowers　all　the　more　charming　to　the　eye　when　they　grow　in　a

barren　soil。



But　if　I　enjoyed　the　delightful　benefits　of　naturalization　in　a　family

where　I　found　relations　after　my　own　heart；　I　had　also　to　pay　some

costs　for　it。　Until　then　Monsieur　de　Mortsauf　had　more　or　less

restrained　himself　before　me。　I　had　only　seen　his　failings　in　the

mass；　I　was　now　to　see　the　full　extent　of　their　application　and

discover　how　nobly　charitable　the　countess　had　been　in　the　account　she

had　given　me　of　these　daily　struggles。　I　learned　now　all　the　angles　of

her　husband's　intolerable　nature；　I　heard　his　perpetual　scolding　about

nothing；　complaints　of　evils　of　which　not　a　sign　existed；　I　saw　the

inward　dissatisfaction　which　poisoned　his　life；　and　the　incessant　need

of　his　tyrannical　spirit　for　new　victims。　When　we　went　to　walk　in　the

evenings　he　selected　the　way；　but　whichever　direction　we　took　he　was

always　bored；　when　we　reached　home　he　blamed　others；　his　wife　had

insisted　on　going　where　she　wanted；　why　was　he　governed　by　her　in　all

the　trifling　things　of　life？　was　he　to　have　no　will；　no　thought　of　his

own？　must　he　consent　to　be　a　cipher　in　his　own　house？　If　his　harshness

was　to　be　received　in　patient　silence　he　was　angry　because　he　felt　a

limit　to　his　power；　he　asked　sharply　if　religion　did　not　require　a

wife　to　please　her　husband；　and　whether　it　was　proper　to　despise　the

father　of　her　children？　He　always　ended　by　touching　some　sensitive

chord　in　his　wife's　mind；　and　he　seemed　to　find　a　domineering　pleasure

in　making　it　sound。　Sometimes　he　tried　gloomy