the magic skin(驴皮记)-第27章

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determined　to　win　Foedora。　Her　heart　was　my　last　ticket　in　the
lottery；　my　fortune　depended　upon　it。

〃I　spare　you　the　history　of　my　earlier　visits；　to　reach　the　drama　the
sooner。　In　my　efforts　to　appeal　to　her；　I　essayed　to　engage　her
intellect　and　her　vanity　on　my　side；　in　order　to　secure　her　love；　I
gave　her　any　quantity　of　reasons　for　increasing　her　self…esteem；　I
never　left　her　in　a　state　of　indifference；　women　like　emotions　at　any
cost；　I　gave　them　to　her　in　plenty；　I　would　rather　have　had　her　angry
with　me　than　indifferent。

〃At　first；　urged　by　a　strong　will　and　a　desire　for　her　love；　I　assumed
a　little　authority；　but　my　own　feelings　grew　stronger　and　mastered　me；
I　relapsed　into　truth；　I　lost　my　head；　and　fell　desperately　in　love。

〃I　am　not　very　sure　what　we　mean　by　the　word　love　in　our　poetry　and
our　talk；　but　I　know　that　I　have　never　found　in　all　the　ready
rhetorical　phrases　of　Jean…Jacques　Rousseau；　in　whose　room　perhaps　I
was　lodging；　nor　among　the　feeble　inventions　of　two　centuries　of　our
literature；　nor　in　any　picture　that　Italy　has　produced；　a
representation　of　the　feelings　that　expanded　all　at　once　in　my　double
nature。　The　view　of　the　lake　of　Bienne；　some　music　of　Rossini's；　the
Madonna　of　Murillo's　now　in　the　possession　of　General　Soult；
Lescombat's　letters；　a　few　sayings　scattered　through　collections　of
anecdotes；　but　most　of　all　the　prayers　of　religious　ecstatics；　and
passages　in　our　fabliaux；these　things　alone　have　power　to　carry　me
back　to　the　divine　heights　of　my　first　love。

〃Nothing　expressed　in　human　language；　no　thought　reproducible　in
color；　marble；　sound；　or　articulate　speech；　could　ever　render　the
force；　the　truth；　the　completeness；　the　suddenness　with　which　love
awoke　in　me。　To　speak　of　art；　is　to　speak　of　illusion。　Love　passes
through　endless　transformations　before　it　passes　for　ever　into　our
existence　and　makes　it　glow　with　its　own　color　of　flame。　The　process
is　imperceptible；　and　baffles　the　artist's　analysis。　Its　moans　and
complaints　are　tedious　to　an　uninterested　spectator。　One　would　need　to
be　very　much　in　love　to　share　the　furious　transports　of　Lovelace；　as
one　reads　Clarissa　Harlowe。　Love　is　like　some　fresh　spring；　that
leaves　its　cresses；　its　gravel　bed　and　flowers　to　become　first　a
stream　and　then　a　river；　changing　its　aspect　and　its　nature　as　it
flows　to　plunge　itself　in　some　boundless　ocean；　where　restricted
natures　only　find　monotony；　but　where　great　souls　are　engulfed　in
endless　contemplation。

〃How　can　I　dare　to　describe　the　hues　of　fleeting　emotions；　the
nothings　beyond　all　price；　the　spoken　accents　that　beggar　language；
the　looks　that　hold　more　than　all　the　wealth　of　poetry？　Not　one　of　the
mysterious　scenes　that　draw　us　insensibly　nearer　and　nearer　to　a
woman；　but　has　depths　in　it　which　can　swallow　up　all　the　poetry　that
ever　was　written。　How　can　the　inner　life　and　mystery　that　stirs　in　our
souls　penetrate　through　our　glozes；　when　we　have　not　even　words　to
describe　the　visible　and　outward　mysteries　of　beauty？　What　enchantment
steeped　me　for　how　many　hours　in　unspeakable　rapture；　filled　with　the
sight　of　Her！　What　made　me　happy？　I　know　not。　That　face　of　hers
overflowed　with　light　at　such　times；　it　seemed　in　some　way　to　glow
with　it；　the　outlines　of　her　face；　with　the　scarcely　perceptible　down
on　its　delicate　surface；　shone　with　a　beauty　belonging　to　the　far
distant　horizon　that　melts　into　the　sunlight。　The　light　of　day　seemed
to　caress　her　as　she　mingled　in　it；　rather　it　seemed　that　the　light　of
her　eyes　was　brighter　than　the　daylight　itself；　or　some　shadow　passing
over　that　fair　face　made　a　kind　of　change　there；　altering　its　hues　and
its　expression。　Some　thought　would　often　seem　to　glow　on　her　white
brows；　her　eyes　appeared　to　dilate；　and　her　eyelids　trembled；　a　smile
rippled　over　her　features；　the　living　coral　of　her　lips　grew　full　of
meaning　as　they　closed　and　unclosed；　an　indistinguishable　something　in
her　hair　made　brown　shadows　on　her　fair　temples；　in　each　new　phase
Foedora　spoke。　Every　slight　variation　in　her　beauty　made　a　new
pleasure　for　my　eyes；　disclosed　charms　my　heart　had　never　known
before；　I　tried　to　read　a　separate　emotion　or　a　hope　in　every　change
that　passed　over　her　face。　This　mute　converse　passed　between　soul　and
soul；　like　sound　and　answering　echo；　and　the　short…lived　delights　then
showered　upon　me　have　left　indelible　impressions　behind。　Her　voice
would　cause　a　frenzy　in　me　that　I　could　hardly　understand。　I　could
have　copied　the　example　of　some　prince　of　Lorraine；　and　held　a　live
coal　in　the　hollow　of　my　hand；　if　her　fingers　passed　caressingly
through　my　hair　the　while。　I　felt　no　longer　mere　admiration　and
desire：　I　was　under　the　spell；　I　had　met　my　destiny。　When　back　again
under　my　own　roof；　I　still　vaguely　saw　Foedora　in　her　own　home；　and
had　some　indefinable　share　in　her　life；　if　she　felt　ill；　I　suffered
too。　The　next　day　I　used　to　say　to　her：

〃　'You　were　not　well　yesterday。'

〃How　often　has　she　not　stood　before　me；　called　by　the　power　of
ecstasy；　in　the　silence　of　the　night！　Sometimes　she　would　break　in
upon　me　like　a　ray　of　light；　make　me　drop　my　pen；　and　put　science　and
study　to　flight　in　grief　and　alarm；　as　she　compelled　my　admiration　by
the　alluring　pose　I　had　seen　but　a　short　time　before。　Sometimes　I　went
to　seek　her　in　the　spirit　world；　and　would　bow　down　to　her　as　to　a
hope；　entreating　her　to　let　me　hear　the　silver　sounds　of　her　voice；
and　I　would　wake　at　length　in　tears。

〃Once；　when　she　had　promised　to　go　to　the　theatre　with　me；　she　took　it
suddenly　into　her　head　to　refuse　to　go　out；　and　begged　me　to　leave　her
alone。　I　was　in　such　despair　over　the　perversity　which　cost　me　a　day's
work；　and　（if　I　must　confess　it）　my　last　shilling　as　well；　that　I　went
alone　where　she　was　to　have　been；　desiring　to　see　the　play　she　had
wished　to　see。　I　had　scarcely　seated　myself　when　an　electric　shock
went　through　me。　A　voice　told　me；　'She　is　here！'　I　looked　round；　and
saw　the　countess　hidden　in　the　shadow　at　the　back　of　her　box　in　the
first　tier。　My　look　did　not　waver；　my　eyes　saw　her　at　once　with
incredible　clearness；　my　soul　hovered　about　her　life　like　an　insect
above　its　flower。　How　had　my　senses　received　this　warning？　There　is
something　in　these　inward　tremors　that　shallow　people　find
astonishing；　but　the　phenomena　of　our　inner　consciousness　are　produced
as　simple　as　those　of　external　vision；　so　I　was　not　surprised；　but
much　vexed。　My　studies　of　our　mental　faculties；　so　little　understood；
helped　me　at　any　rate　to　find　in　my　own　excitement　some　living　proofs
of　my　theories。　There　was　something　exceedingly　odd　in　this
combination　of　lover　and　man　of　science；　of　downright　idolatry　of　a
woman　with　the　love　of　knowledge。　The　causes　of　the　lover's　despair
were　highly　interesting　to　the　man　of　science；　and　the　exultant　lover；
on　the　other　hand；　put　science　far　away　from　him　in　his　joy。　Foedora
saw　me；　and　grew　grave：　I　annoyed　her。　I　went　to　her　box　during　the
first　interval；　and　finding　her　alone；　I　stayed　there。　Although　we　had
not　spoken　of　love；　I　foresaw　an　explanation。　I　had　not　told　her　my
secret；　still　there　was　a　kind　of　understanding　between　us。　She　used
to　tell　me　her　plans　for　amusement；　and　on　the　previous　evening　had
asked　with　friendly　eagerness　if　I　meant　to　call　the　next　day。　After
any　witticism　of　hers；　she　would　give　me　an　inquiring　glance；　as　if
she　had　sought　to　please　me　alone　by　it。　She　would　soothe　me　if　I　was
vexed；　and　if　she　pouted；　I　had　in　some　sort　a　right　to　ask　an
explanation。　Before　she　would　pardon　any　blunder；　she　would　keep　me　a
suppliant　for　long。　All　these　things　that　we　so　relished；　were　so　many
lovers'　quarrels。　What　arch　grace　she　threw　into　it　all！　and　what
happiness　it　was　to　me！

〃But　now　we　stood　before　each　other　as　strangers；　with　the　close
relation　between　us　both　suspended。　The　countess　was　glacial：　a
presentiment　of　trouble　filled　me。

〃　'Will　you　come　home　with　me？'　she　said；　when　the　play　was　over。

〃There　had　been　a　sudden　change　in　the　weather；　and　sleet　was　falling
in　showers　as　we　went　out。　Foedora's　carriage　was　unable　to　reach　the
doorway　of　the　theatre。　At　the　sight　of　a　well…dressed　wo