the lily of the valley-第64章

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of　all　which　that　signified；　I　was　so　convulsed　within　me　that　I

staggered；　my　sight　was　blurred；　and　the　two　abbes；　between　whom　I

walked；　led　me　to　the　wall　of　a　terrace；　where　I　sat　for　some　time

completely　broken　down　but　not　unconscious。



〃Poor　Felix；〃　said　the　count；　〃she　forbade　me　to　write　to　you。　She

knew　how　much　you　loved　her。〃



Though　prepared　to　suffer；　I　found　I　had　no　strength　to　bear　a　scene

which　recalled　my　memories　of　past　happiness。　〃Ah！〃　I　thought；　〃I　see

it　still；　that　barren　moor；　dried　like　a　skeleton；　lit　by　a　gray　sky；

in　the　centre　of　which　grew　a　single　flowering　bush；　which　again　and

again　I　looked　at　with　a　shudder；the　forecast　of　this　mournful

hour！〃



All　was　gloom　in　the　little　castle；　once　so　animated；　so　full　of　life。

The　servants　were　weeping；　despair　and　desolation　everywhere。　The

paths　were　not　raked；　work　was　begun　and　left　undone；　the　workmen

standing　idly　about　the　house。　Though　the　grapes　were　being　gathered

in　the　vineyard；　not　a　sound　reached　us。　The　place　seemed　uninhabited；

so　deep　the　silence！　We　walked　about　like　men　whose　grief　rejects　all

ordinary　topics；　and　we　listened　to　the　count；　the　only　one　of　us　who

spoke。



After　a　few　words　prompted　by　the　mechanical　love　he　felt　for　his　wife

he　was　led　by　the　natural　bent　of　his　mind　to　complain　of　her。　She　had

never；　he　said；　taken　care　of　herself　or　listened　to　him　when　he　gave

her　good　advice。　He　had　been　the　first　to　notice　the　symptoms　of　her

illness；　for　he　had　studied　them　in　his　own　case；　he　had　fought　them

and　cured　them　without　other　assistance　than　careful　diet　and　the

avoidance　of　all　emotion。　He　could　have　cured　the　countess；　but　a

husband　ought　not　to　take　so　much　responsibility　upon　himself；

especially　when　he　has　the　misfortune　of　finding　his　experience；　in

this　as　in　everything；　despised。　In　spite　of　all　he　could　say；　the

countess　insisted　on　seeing　Origet；Origet；　who　had　managed　his　case

so　ill；　was　now　killing　his　wife。　If　this　disease　was；　as　they　said；

the　result　of　excessive　grief；　surely　he　was　the　one　who　had　been　in　a

condition　to　have　it。　What　griefs　could　the　countess　have　had？　She　was

always　happy；　she　had　never　had　troubles　or　annoyances。　Their　fortune；

thanks　to　his　care　and　to　his　sound　ideas；　was　now　in　a　most

satisfactory　state；　he　had　always　allowed　Madame　de　Mortsauf　to　reign

at　Clochegourde；　her　children；　well　trained　and　now　in　health；　gave

her　no　anxiety；where；　then；　did　this　grief　they　talked　of　come　from？



Thus　he　argued　and　discussed　the　matter；　mingling　his　expressions　of

despair　with　senseless　accusations。　Then；　recalled　by　some　sudden

memory　to　the　admiration　which　he　felt　for　his　wife；　tears　rolled　from

his　eyes　which　had　been　dry　so　long。



Madeleine　came　to　tell　me　that　her　mother　was　ready。　The　Abbe

Birotteau　followed　me。　Madeleine；　now　a　grave　young　girl；　stayed　with

her　father；　saying　that　the　countess　desired　to　be　alone　with　me；　and

also　that　the　presence　of　too　many　persons　would　fatigue　her。　The

solemnity　of　this　moment　gave　me　that　sense　of　inward　heat　and　outward

cold　which　overcomes　us　often　in　the　great　events　of　life。　The　Abbe

Birotteau；　one　of　those　men　whom　God　marks　for　his　own　by　investing

them　with　sweetness　and　simplicity；　together　with　patience　and

compassion；　took　me　aside。



〃Monsieur；〃　he　said；　〃I　wish　you　to　know　that　I　have　done　all　in　my

power　to　prevent　this　meeting。　The　salvation　of　this　saint　required

it。　I　have　considered　her　only；　and　not　you。　Now　that　you　are　about　to

see　her　to　whom　access　ought　to　have　been　denied　you　by　the　angels；

let　me　say　that　I　shall　be　present　to　protect　you　against　yourself　and

perhaps　against　her。　Respect　her　weakness。　I　do　not　ask　this　of　you　as

a　priest；　but　as　a　humble　friend　whom　you　did　not　know　you　had；　and

who　would　fain　save　you　from　remorse。　Our　dear　patient　is　dying　of

hunger　and　thirst。　Since　morning　she　is　a　victim　to　the　feverish

irritation　which　precedes　that　horrible　death；　and　I　cannot　conceal

from　you　how　deeply　she　regrets　life。　The　cries　of　her　rebellious

flesh　are　stifled　in　my　heartwhere　they　wake　echoes　of　a　wound　still

tender。　But　Monsieur　de　Dominis　and　I　accept　this　duty　that　we　may

spare　the　sight　of　this　moral　anguish　to　her　family；　as　it　is；　they　no

longer　recognize　their　star　by　night　and　by　day　in　her；　they　all；

husband；　children；　servants；　all　are　asking；　'Where　is　she？'she　is

so　changed！　When　she　sees　you；　her　regrets　will　revive。　Lay　aside　your

thoughts　as　a　man　of　the　world；　forget　its　vanities；　be　to　her　the

auxiliary　of　heaven；　not　of　earth。　Pray　God　that　this　dear　saint　die

not　in　a　moment　of　doubt；　giving　voice　to　her　despair。〃



I　did　not　answer。　My　silence　alarmed　the　poor　confessor。　I　saw；　I

heard；　I　walked；　and　yet　I　was　no　longer　on　the　earth。　The　thought；

〃In　what　state　shall　I　find　her？　Why　do　they　use　these　precautions？〃

gave　rise　to　apprehensions　which　were　the　more　cruel　because　so

indefinite；　all　forms　of　suffering　crowded　my　mind。



We　reached　the　door　of　the　chamber　and　the　abbe　opened　it。　I　then　saw

Henriette；　dressed　in　white；　sitting　on　her　little　sofa　which　was

placed　before　the　fireplace；　on　which　were　two　vases　filled　with

flowers；　flowers　were　also　on　a　table　near　the　window。　The　expression

of　the　abbe's　face；　which　was　that　of　amazement　at　the　change　in　the

room；　now　restored　to　its　former　state；　showing　me　that　the　dying

woman　had　sent　away　the　repulsive　preparations　which　surround　a　sick…

bed。　She　had　spent　the　last　waning　strength　of　fever　in　decorating　her

room　to　receive　him　whom　in　that　final　hour　she　loved　above　all　things

else。　Surrounded　by　clouds　of　lace；　her　shrunken　face；　which　had　the

greenish　pallor　of　a　magnolia　flower　as　it　opens；　resembled　the　first

outline　of　a　cherished　head　drawn　in　chalks　upon　the　yellow　canvas　of

a　portrait。　To　feel　how　deeply　the　vulture's　talons　now　buried

themselves　in　my　heart；　imagine　the　eyes　of　that　outlined　face

finished　and　full　of　life；hollow　eyes　which　shone　with　a　brilliancy

unusual　in　a　dying　person。　The　calm　majesty　given　to　her　in　the　past

by　her　constant　victory　over　sorrow　was　there　no　longer。　Her　forehead；

the　only　part　of　her　face　which　still　kept　its　beautiful　proportions；

wore　an　expression　of　aggressive　will　and　covert　threats。　In　spite　of

the　waxy　texture　of　her　elongated　face；　inward　fires　were　issuing　from

it　like　the　fluid　mist　which　seems　to　flame　above　the　fields　of　a　hot

day。　Her　hollow　temples；　her　sunken　cheeks　showed　the　interior

formation　of　the　face；　and　the　smile　upon　her　whitened　lips　vaguely

resembled　the　grin　of　death。　Her　robe；　which　was　folded　across　her

breast；　showed　the　emaciation　of　her　beautiful　figure。　The　expression

of　her　head　said　plainly　that　she　knew　she　was　changed；　and　that　the

thought　filled　her　with　bitterness。　She　was　no　longer　the　arch

Henriette；　nor　the　sublime　and　saintly　Madame　de　Mortsauf；　but　the

nameless　something　of　Bossuet　struggling　against　annihilation；　driven

to　the　selfish　battle　of　life　against　death　by　hunger　and　balked

desire。　I　took　her　hand；　which　was　dry　and　burning；　to　kiss　it；　as　I

seated　myself　beside　her。　She　guessed　my　sorrowful　surprise　from　the

very　effort　that　I　made　to　hide　it。　Her　discolored　lips　drew　up　from

her　famished　teeth　trying　to　form　a　smile；the　forced　smile　with

which　we　strive　to　hide　either　the　irony　of　vengeance；　the　expectation

of　pleasure；　the　intoxication　of　our　souls；　or　the　fury　of

disappointment。



〃Ah；　my　poor　Felix；　this　is　death；〃　she　said；　〃and　you　do　not　like

death；　odious　death；　of　which　every　human　creature；　even　the　boldest

lover；　feels　a　horror。　This　is　the　end　of　love；　I　knew　it　would　be　so。

Lady　Dudley　will　never　see　you　thus　surprised　at　the　change　in　her。

Ah！　why　have　I　so　longed　for　you；　Felix？　You　have　come　at　last；　and　I

reward　your　devotion　by　the　same　horrible　sight　that　made　the　Comte　de

Rance　a　Trappist。　I；　who　hoped　to　remain　ever　beautiful