the duchesse de langeais-第3章

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of　the　soul　in　the　presence　of　the　glory　of　the　ever…living　God；　became　the　utterance　of　a　heart　almost　terrified　by　its　gladness　in　the　presence　of　the　glory　of　a　mortal　love；　a　love　that　yet　lived；　a　love　that　had　risen　to　trouble　her　even　beyond　the　grave　in　which　the　nun　is　laid；　that　she　may　rise　again　as　the　bride　of　Christ。

The　organ　is　in　truth　the　grandest；　the　most　daring；　the　most　magnificent　of　all　instruments　invented　by　human　genius。　　It　is　a　whole　orchestra　in　itself。　　It　can　express　anything　in　response　to　a　skilled　touch。　　Surely　it　is　in　some　sort　a　pedestal　on　which　the　soul　poises　for　a　flight　forth　into　space；　essaying　on　her　course　to　draw　picture　after　picture　in　an　endless　series；　to　paint　human　life；　to　cross　the　Infinite　that　separates　heaven　from　earth？　　And　the　longer　a　dreamer　listens　to　those　giant　harmonies；　the　better　he　realises　that　nothing　save　this　hundred…voiced　choir　on　earth　can　fill　all　the　space　between　kneeling　men；　and　a　God　hidden　by　the　blinding　light　of　the　Sanctuary。　　The　music　is　the　one　interpreter　strong　enough　to　bear　up　the　prayers　of　humanity　to　heaven；　prayer　in　its　omnipotent　moods；　prayer　tinged　by　the　melancholy　of　many　different　natures；　coloured　by　meditative　ecstasy；　upspringing　with　the　impulse　of　repentanceblended　with　the　myriad　fancies　of　every　creed。　　Yes。　　In　those　long　vaulted　aisles　the　melodies　inspired　by　the　sense　of　things　divine　are　blent　with　a　grandeur　unknown　before；　are　decked　with　new　glory　and　might。　　Out　of　the　dim　daylight；　and　the　deep　silence　broken　by　the　chanting　of　the　choir　in　response　to　the　thunder　of　the　organ；　a　veil　is　woven　for　God；　and　the　brightness　of　His　attributes　shines　through　it。

And　this　wealth　of　holy　things　seemed　to　be　flung　down　like　a　grain　of　incense　upon　the　fragile　altar　raised　to　Love　beneath　the　eternal　throne　of　a　jealous　and　avenging　God。　　Indeed；　in　the　joy　of　the　nun　there　was　little　of　that　awe　and　gravity　which　should　harmonise　with　the　solemnities　of　the　Magnificat。　　She　had　enriched　the　music　with　graceful　variations；　earthly　gladness　throbbing　through　the　rhythm　of　each。　　In　such　brilliant　quivering　notes　some　great　singer　might　strive　to　find　a　voice　for　her　love；　her　melodies　fluttered　as　a　bird　flutters　about　her　mate。　　There　were　moments　when　she　seemed　to　leap　back　into　the　past；　to　dally　there　now　with　laughter；　now　with　tears。　　Her　changing　moods；　as　it　were；　ran　riot。　　She　was　like　a　woman　excited　and　happy　over　her　lover's　return。

But　at　length；　after　the　swaying　fugues　of　delirium；　after　the　marvellous　rendering　of　a　vision　of　the　past；　a　revulsion　swept　over　the　soul　that　thus　found　utterance　for　itself。　　With　a　swift　transition　from　the　major　to　the　minor；　the　organist　told　her　hearer　of　her　present　lot。　　She　gave　the　story　of　long　melancholy　broodings；　of　the　slow　course　of　her　moral　malady。　　How　day　by　day　she　deadened　the　senses；　how　every　night　cut　off　one　more　thought；　how　her　heart　was　slowly　reduced　to　ashes。　　The　sadness　deepened　shade　after　shade　through　languid　modulations；　and　in　a　little　while　the　echoes　were　pouring　out　a　torrent　of　grief。　　Then　on　a　sudden；　high　notes　rang　out　like　the　voices　of　angels　singing　together；　as　if　to　tell　the　lost　but　not　forgotten　lover　that　their　spirits　now　could　only　meet　in　heaven。　　Pathetic　hope！

Then　followed　the　Amen。　　No　more　Joy；　no　more　tears　in　the　air；　no　sadness；　no　regrets。　　The　Amen　was　the　return　to　God。　　The　final　chord　was　deep；　solemn；　even　terrible；　for　the　last　rumblings　of　the　bass　sent　a　shiver　through　the　audience　that　raised　the　hair　on　their　heads；　the　nun　shook　out　her　veiling　of　crepe；　and　seemed　to　sink　again　into　the　grave　from　which　she　had　risen　for　a　moment。　　Slowly　the　reverberations　died　away；　it　seemed　as　if　the　church；　but　now　so　full　of　light；　had　returned　to　thick　darkness。

The　General　had　been　caught　up　and　borne　swiftly　away　by　this　strong…winged　spirit；　he　had　followed　the　course　of　its　flight　from　beginning　to　end。　　He　understood　to　the　fullest　extent　the　imagery　of　that　burning　symphony；　for　him　the　chords　reached　deep　and　far。　　For　him；　as　for　the　sister；　the　poem　meant　future；　present；　and　past。　　Is　not　music；　and　even　opera　music；　a　sort　of　text；　which　a　susceptible　or　poetic　temper；　or　a　sore　and　stricken　heart；　may　expand　as　memories　shall　determine？　　If　a　musician　must　needs　have　the　heart　of　a　poet；　must　not　the　listener　too　be　in　a　manner　a　poet　and　a　lover　to　hear　all　that　lies　in　great　music？　　Religion；　love；　and　musicwhat　are　they　but　a　threefold　expression　of　the　same　fact；　of　that　craving　for　expansion　which　stirs　in　every　noble　soul。　　And　these　three　forms　of　poetry　ascend　to　God；　in　whom　all　passion　on　earth　finds　its　end。　　Wherefore　the　holy　human　trinity　finds　a　place　amid　the　infinite　glories　of　God；　of　God；　whom　we　always　represent　surrounded　with　the　fires　of　love　and　seistrons　of　goldmusic　and　light　and　harmony。　　Is　not　He　the　Cause　and　the　End　of　all　our　strivings？

The　French　General　guessed　rightly　that　here　in　the　desert；　on　this　bare　rock　in　the　sea；　the　nun　had　seized　upon　music　as　an　outpouring　of　the　passion　that　still　consumed　her。　　Was　this　her　manner　of　offering　up　her　love　as　a　sacrifice　to　God？　　Or　was　it　Love　exultant　in　triumph　over　God？　　The　questions　were　hard　to　answer。　　But　one　thing　at　least　the　General　could　not　mistakein　this　heart；　dead　to　the　world；　the　fire　of　passion　burned　as　fiercely　as　in　his　own。

Vespers　over；　he　went　back　to　the　alcalde　with　whom　he　was　staying。　　In　the　all…absorbing　joy　which　comes　in　such　full　measure　when　a　satisfaction　sought　long　and　painfully　is　attained　at　last；　he　could　see　nothing　beyond　thishe　was　still　loved！　　In　her　heart　love　had　grown　in　loneliness；　even　as　his　love　had　grown　stronger　as　he　surmounted　one　barrier　after　another　which　this　woman　had　set　between　them！　　The　glow　of　soul　came　to　its　natural　end。　　There　followed　a　longing　to　see　her　again；　to　contend　with　God　for　her；　to　snatch　her　awaya　rash　scheme；　which　appealed　to　a　daring　nature。　　He　went　to　bed；　when　the　meal　was　over；　to　avoid　questions；　to　be　alone　and　think　at　his　ease；　and　he　lay　absorbed　by　deep　thought　till　day　broke。

He　rose　only　to　go　to　mass。　　He　went　to　the　church　and　knelt　close　to　the　screen；　with　his　forehead　touching　the　curtain；　he　would　have　torn　a　hole　in　it　if　he　had　been　alone；　but　his　host　had　come　with　him　out　of　politeness；　and　the　least　imprudence　might　compromise　the　whole　future　of　his　love；　and　ruin　the　new　hopes。

The　organ　sounded；　but　it　was　another　player；　and　not　the　nun　of　the　last　two　days　whose　hands　touched　the　keys。　　It　was　all　colourless　and　cold　for　the　General。　　Was　the　woman　he　loved　prostrated　by　emotion　which　wellnigh　overcame　a　strong　man's　heart？　　Had　she　so　fully　realised　and　shared　an　unchanged；　longed…for　love；　that　now　she　lay　dying　on　her　bed　in　her　cell？　　While　innumerable　thoughts　of　this　kind　perplexed　his　mind；　the　voice　of　the　woman　he　worshipped　rang　out　close　beside　him；　he　knew　its　clear　resonant　soprano。　　It　was　her　voice；　with　that　faint　tremor　in　it　which　gave　it　all　the　charm　that　shyness　and　diffidence　gives　to　a　young　girl；　her　voice；　distinct　from　the　mass　of　singing　as　a　prima　donna's　in　the　chorus　of　a　finale。　　It　was　like　a　golden　or　silver　thread　in　dark　frieze。

It　was　she！　　There　could　be　no　mistake。　　Parisienne　now　as　ever；　she　had　not　laid　coquetry　aside　when　she　threw　off　worldly　adornments　for　the　veil　and　the　Carmelite's　coarse　serge。　　She　who　had　affirmed　her　love　last　evening　in　the　praise　sent　up　to　God；　seemed　now　to　say　to　her　lover；　〃Yes；　it　is　I。　　I　am　here。　　My　love　is　unchanged；　but　I　am　beyond　the　reach　of　love。　　You　will　hear　my　voice；　my　soul　shall　enfold　you；　and　I　shall　abide　here　under　the　brown　shroud　in　the　choir　from　which　no　power　on　earth　can　tear　me。　　You　shall　never　see　me　more！〃

〃It　is　she　indeed！〃　the　General　said　to　himself；　raising　his　head。　　He　had　leant　his　face　on　his　hands；　unable　at　first　to　bear　the　intolerable　emotion　that　surged　like　a　whirlpool　in　his　heart；　when　that　well…known　voice　vibrated　under　the　arcading；　with　the　sound　of　the　sea　for　accompaniment。

Storm　was　without；　and　calm　within　the　sanctuary。　　Still　that　rich　voice