letters of two brides-第11章

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their　hair；　their　faces；　and　the　difference　in　their　figures。　My
father　seemed　disappointed　at　my　crassness；　and　inwardly　blamed
himself　for　having　asked　me。

〃Still；　father；〃　I　added；　〃don't　suppose　I　am　saying　what　I　really
think：　mother　made　me　afraid　the　other　day　that　I　had　spoken　more
frankly　than　I　ought　of　my　impressions。〃

〃With　your　family　you　can　speak　quite　freely；〃　my　mother　replied。

〃Very　well；　then；〃　I　went　on。　〃The　young　men　I　have　met　so　far　strike
me　as　too　self…centered　to　excite　interest　in　others；　they　are　much
more　taken　up　with　themselves　than　with　their　company。　They　can't　be
accused　of　lack　of　candor　at　any　rate。　They　put　on　a　certain
expression　to　talk　to　us；　and　drop　it　again　in　a　moment；　apparently
satisfied　that　we　don't　use　our　eyes。　The　man　as　he　converses　is　the
lover；　silent；　he　is　the　husband。　The　girls；　again；　are　so　artificial
that　it　is　impossible　to　know　what　they　really　are；　except　from　the
way　they　dance；　their　figures　and　movements　alone　are　not　a　sham。　But
what　has　alarmed　me　most　in　this　fashionable　society　is　its　brutality。
The　little　incidents　which　take　place　when　supper　is　announced　give
one　some　ideato　compare　small　things　with　greatof　what　a　popular
rising　might　be。　Courtesy　is　only　a　thin　veneer　on　the　general
selfishness。　I　imagined　society　very　different。　Women　count　for　little
in　it；　that　may　perhaps　be　a　survival　of　Bonapartist　ideas。〃

〃Armande　is　coming　on　extraordinarily；〃　said　my　mother。

〃Mother；　did　you　think　I　should　never　get　beyond　asking　to　see　Mme。　de
Stael？〃

My　father　smiled；　and　rose　from　the　table。

Saturday。

My　dear；　I　have　left　one　thing　out。　Here　is　the　tidbit　I　have　reserved
for　you。　The　love　which　we　pictured　must　be　extremely　well　hidden；　I
have　seen　not　a　trace　of　it。　True；　I　have　caught　in　drawing…rooms　now
and　again　a　quick　exchange　of　glances；　but　how　colorless　it　all　is！
Love；　as　we　imagined　it；　a　world　of　wonders；　of　glorious　dreams；　of
charming　realities；　of　sorrows　that　waken　sympathy；　and　smiles　that
make　sunshine；　does　not　exist。　The　bewitching　words；　the　constant
interchange　of　happiness；　the　misery　of　absence；　the　flood　of　joy　at
the　presence　of　the　beloved　onewhere　are　they？　What　soil　produces
these　radiant　flowers　of　the　soul？　Which　is　wrong？　We　or　the　world？

I　have　already　seen　hundreds　of　men；　young　and　middle…aged；　not　one
has　stirred　the　least　feeling　in　me。　No　proof　of　admiration　and
devotion　on　their　part；　not　even　a　sword　drawn　in　my　behalf；　would
have　moved　me。　Love；　dear；　is　the　product　of　such　rare　conditions　that
it　is　quite　possible　to　live　a　lifetime　without　coming　across　the
being　on　whom　nature　has　bestowed　the　power　of　making　one's　happiness。
The　thought　is　enough　to　make　one　shudder；　for　if　this　being　is　found
too　late；　what　then？

For　some　days　I　have　begun　to　tremble　when　I　think　of　the　destiny　of
women；　and　to　understand　why　so　many　wear　a　sad　face　beneath　the　flush
brought　by　the　unnatural　excitement　of　social　dissipation。　Marriage　is
a　mere　matter　of　chance。　Look　at　yours。　A　storm　of　wild　thoughts　has
passed　over　my　mind。　To　be　loved　every　day　the　same；　yet　with　a
difference；　to　be　loved　as　much　after　ten　years　of　happiness　as　on　the
first　day！such　a　love　demands　years。　The　lover　must　be　allowed　to
languish；　curiosity　must　be　piqued　and　satisfied；　feeling　roused　and
responded　to。

Is　there；　then；　a　law　for　the　inner　fruits　of　the　heart；　as　there　is
for　the　visible　fruits　of　nature？　Can　joy　be　made　lasting？　In　what
proportion　should　love　mingle　tears　with　pleasures？　The　cold　policy　of
the　funereal；　monotonous；　persistent　routine　of　the　convent　seemed　to
me　at　these　moments　the　only　real　life；　while　the　wealth；　the
splendor；　the　tears；　the　delights；　the　triumph；　the　joy；　the
satisfaction；　of　a　love　equal；　shared；　and　sanctioned；　appeared　a　mere
idle　vision。

I　see　no　room　in　this　city　for　the　gentle　ways　of　love；　for　precious
walks　in　shady　alleys；　the　full　moon　sparkling　on　the　water；　while　the
suppliant　pleads　in　vain。　Rich；　young；　and　beautiful；　I　have　only　to
love；　and　love　would　become　my　sole　occupation；　my　life；　yet　in　the
three　months　during　which　I　have　come　and　gone；　eager　and　curious；
nothing　has　appealed　to　me　in　the　bright；　covetous；　keen　eyes　around
me。　No　voice　has　thrilled　me；　no　glance　has　made　the　world　seem
brighter。

Music　alone　has　filled　my　soul；　music　alone　has　at　all　taken　the　place
of　our　friendship。　Sometimes；　at　night；　I　will　linger　for　an　hour　by
my　window；　gazing　into　the　garden；　summoning　the　future；　with　all　it
brings；　out　of　the　mystery　which　shrouds　it。　There　are　days　too　when；
having　started　for　a　drive；　I　get　out　and　walk　in　the　Champs…Elysees；
and　picture　to　myself　that　the　man　who　is　to　waken　my　slumbering　soul
is　at　hand；　that　he　will　follow　and　look　at　me。　Then　I　meet　only
mountebanks；　vendors　of　gingerbread；　jugglers；　passers…by　hurrying　to
their　business；　or　lovers　who　try　to　escape　notice。　These　I　am　tempted
to　stop；　asking　them；　〃You　who　are　happy；　tell　me　what　is　love。〃

But　the　impulse　is　repressed；　and　I　return　to　my　carriage；　swearing　to
die　an　old　maid。　Love　is　undoubtedly　an　incarnation；　and　how　many
conditions　are　needful　before　it　can　take　place！　We　are　not　certain　of
never　quarreling　with　ourselves；　how　much　less　so　when　there　are　two？
This　is　a　problem　which　God　alone　can　solve。

I　begin　to　think　that　I　shall　return　to　the　convent。　If　I　remain　in
society；　I　shall　do　things　which　will　look　like　follies；　for　I　cannot
possibly　reconcile　myself　to　what　I　see。　I　am　perpetually　wounded
either　in　my　sense　of　delicacy；　my　inner　principles；　or　my　secret
thoughts。

Ah！　my　mother　is　the　happiest　of　women；　adored　as　she　is　by　Canalis；
her　great　little　man。　My　love；　do　you　know　I　am　seized　sometimes　with
a　horrible　craving　to　know　what　goes　on　between　my　mother　and　that
young　man？　Griffith　tells　me　she　has　gone　through　all　these　moods；　she
has　longed　to　fly　at　women；　whose　happiness　was　written　in　their　face；
she　has　blackened　their　character；　torn　them　to　pieces。　According　to
her；　virtue　consists　in　burying　all　these　savage　instincts　in　one's
innermost　heart。　But　what　then　of　the　heart？　It　becomes　the　sink　of
all　that　is　worst　in　us。

It　is　very　humiliating　that　no　adorer　has　yet　turned　up　for　me。　I　am　a
marriageable　girl；　but　I　have　brothers；　a　family；　relations；　who　are
sensitive　on　the　point　of　honor。　Ah！　if　that　is　what　keeps　men　back；
they　are　poltroons。

The　part　of　Chimene　in　the　/Cid/　and　that　of　the　Cid　delight　me。　What
a　marvelous　play！　Well；　good…bye。



VIII

THE　SAME　TO　THE　SAME
January。

Our　master　is　a　poor　refugee；　forced　to　keep　in　hiding　on　account　of
the　part　he　played　in　the　revolution　which　the　Duc　d'Angouleme　has
just　quelleda　triumph　to　which　we　owe　some　splendid　fetes。　Though　a
Liberal；　and　doubtless　a　man　of　the　people；　he　has　awakened　my
interest：　I　fancy　that　he　must　have　been　condemned　to　death。　I　make
him　talk　for　the　purpose　of　getting　at　his　secret；　but　he　is　of　a
truly　Castilian　taciturnity；　proud　as　though　he　were　Gonsalvo　di
Cordova；　and　nevertheless　angelic　in　his　patience　and　gentleness。　His
pride　is　not　irritable　like　Miss　Griffith's；　it　belongs　to　his　inner
nature；　he　forces　us　to　civility　because　his　own　manners　are　so
perfect；　and　holds　us　at　a　distance　by　the　respect　he　shows　us。　My
father　declares　that　there　is　a　great　deal　of　the　nobleman　in　Senor
Henarez；　whom；　among　ourselves；　he　calls　in　fun　Don　Henarez。

A　few　days　ago　I　took　the　liberty　of　addressing　him　thus。　He　raised
his　eyes；　which　are　generally　bent　on　the　ground；　and　flashed　a　look
from　them　that　quite　abashed　me；　my　dear；　he　certainly　has　the　most
beautiful　eyes　imaginable。　I　asked　him　if　I　had　offended　him　in　any
way；　and　he　said　to　me　in　his　grand；　rolling　Spanish：

〃I　am　here　only　to　teach　you　Spanish。〃

I　blushed　and　felt　quite　snubbed。　I　was　on　the　point　of　making　some
pert　answer；　when　I　remembered　what　our　dear　mother　in　God　used　to　say
to　us；　and　I　replied　instead：

〃It　would　be　a　kindness　to　tell　me　if　you　have　anything　to　complain
of。〃

A　tremor　passed　through　him；　the　blood　rose　in　his　olive　cheeks；　he
replied　i