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第28章

the magic skin-第28章

小说: the magic skin 字数: 每页4000字

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〃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 woman about to

cross the street; a commissionaire held an umbrella above us; and

stood waiting at the carriage…door for his tip。 I would have given ten

years of life just then for a couple of halfpence; but I had not a

penny。 All the man in me and all my vainest susceptibilities were

wru

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