a woman of thirty-第27章
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ut from Mme。 d'Aiglemont； he strenuously held himself to his distrust； and submitted the progressive situations of his case to a rigorous scrutiny fatal to his own emotions。
〃To…day she gave me to understand that she has been very unhappy and lonely；〃 said he to himself； after the third visit； 〃and that but for her little girl she would have longed for death。 She was perfectly resigned。 Now as I am neither her brother nor her spiritual director； why should she confide her troubles to /me/？ She loves me。〃
Two days later he came away apostrophizing modern manners。
〃Love takes on the hue of every age。 In 1822 love is a doctrinaire。 Instead of proving love by deeds； as in times past； we have taken to argument and rhetoric and debate。 Women's tactics are reduced to three shifts。 In the first place； they declare that we cannot love as they love。 （Coquetry！ the Marquise simply threw it at me； like a challenge； this evening！） Next they grow pathetic； to appeal to our natural generosity or self…love； for does it not flatter a young man's vanity to console a woman for a great calamity？ And lastly； they have a craze for virginity。 She must have thought that I thought her very innocent。 My good faith is like to become an excellent speculation。〃
But a day came when every suspicious idea was exhausted。 He asked himself whether the Marquise was not sincere； whether so much suffering could be feigned； and why she should act the part of resignation？ She lived in complete seclusion； she drank in silence of a cup of sorrow scarcely to be guessed unless from the accent of some chance exclamation in a voice always well under control。 From that moment Charles felt a keen interest in Mme。 d'Aiglemont。 And yet； though his visits had come to be a recognized thing； and in some sort a necessity to them both； and though the hour was kept free by tacit agreement； Vandenesse still thought that this woman with whom he was in love was more clever than sincere。 〃Decidedly； she is an uncommonly clever woman；〃 he used to say to himself as he went away。
When he came into the room； there was the Marquise in her favorite attitude； melancholy expressed in her whole form。 She made no movement when he entered； only raised her eyes and looked full at him； but the glance that she gave him was like a smile。 Mme。 d'Aiglemont's manner meant confidence and sincere friendship； but of love there was no trace。 Charles sat down and found nothing to say。 A sensation for which no language exists troubled him。
〃What is the matter with you？〃 she asked in a softened voice。
〃Nothing。 。 。 。 Yes； I am thinking of something of which； as yet； you have not thought at all。〃
〃What is it？〃
〃Whythe Congress is over。〃
〃Well；〃 she said； 〃and ought you to have been at the Congress？〃
A direct answer would have been the most eloquent and delicate declaration of love； but Charles did not make it。 Before the candid friendship in Mme。 d'Aiglemont's face all the calculations of vanity； the hopes of love； and the diplomatist's doubts died away。 She did not suspect； or she seemed not to suspect； his love for her； and Charles； in utter confusion turning upon himself； was forced to admit that he had said and done nothing which could warrant such a belief on her part。 For M。 de Vandenesse that evening； the Marquise was； as she had always been； simple and friendly； sincere in her sorrow； glad to have a friend； proud to find a nature responsive to her ownnothing more。 It had not entered her mind that a woman could yield twice； she had known lovelove lay bleeding still in the depths of her heart； but she did not imagine that bliss could bring her its rapture twice； for she believed not merely in the intellect； but in the soul； and for her love was no simple attraction； it drew her with all noble attractions。
In a moment Charles became a young man again； enthralled by the splendor of a nature so lofty。 He wished for a fuller initiation into the secret history of a life blighted rather by fate than by her own fault。 Mme。 d'Aiglemont heard him ask the cause of the overwhelming sorrow which had blended all the harmonies of sadness with her beauty； she gave him one glance； but that searching look was like a seal set upon some solemn compact。
〃Ask no more such questions of me；〃 she said。 〃Four years ago； on this very day； the man who loved me； for whom I would have given up everything； even my own self…respect； died； and died to save my name。 That love was still young and pure and full of illusions when it came to an end。 Before I gave way to passionand never was a woman so urged by fateI had been drawn into the mistake that ruins many a girl's life； a marriage with a man whose agreeable manners concealed his emptiness。 Marriage plucked my hopes away one by one。 And now； to…day； I have forfeited happiness through marriage； as well as the happiness styled criminal； and I have known no happiness。 Nothing is left to me。 If I could not die； at least I ought to be faithful to my memories。〃
No tears came with the words。 Her eyes fell； and there was a slight twisting of the fingers interclasped； according to her wont。 It was simply said； but in her voice there was a note of despair； deep as her love seemed to have been； which left Charles without a hope。 The dreadful story of a life told in three sentences； with that twisting of the fingers for all comment； the might of anguish in a fragile woman； the dark depths masked by a fair face； the tears of four years of mourning fascinated Vandenesse； he sat silent and diminished in the presence of her woman's greatness and nobleness； seeing not the physical beauty so exquisite； so perfectly complete； but the soul so great in its power to feel。 He had found； at last； the ideal of his fantastic imaginings； the ideal so vigorously invoked by all who look on life as the raw material of a passion for which many a one seeks ardently； and dies before he has grasped the whole of the dreamed…of treasure。
With those words of hers in his ears； in the presence of her sublime beauty； his own thoughts seemed poor and narrow。 Powerless as he felt himself to find words of his own； simple enough and lofty enough to scale the heights of this exaltation； he took refuge in platitudes as to the destiny of women。
〃Madame； we must either forget our pain； or hollow out a tomb for ourselves。〃
But reason always cuts a poor figure beside sentiment； the one being essentially restricted； like everything that is positive； while the other is infinite。 To set to work to reason where you are required to feel； is the mark of a limited nature。 Vandenesse therefore held his peace； sat awhile with his eyes fixed upon her； then came away。 A prey to novel thoughts which exalted woman for him； he was in something the same position as a painter who has taken the vulgar studio model for a type of womanhood； and suddenly confronts the /Mnemosyne/ of the Musee that noblest and least appreciated of antique statues。
Charles de Vandenesse was deeply in love。 He loved Mme。 d'Aiglemont with the loyalty of youth； with the fervor that communicates such ineffable charm to a first passion； with a simplicity of heart of which a man only recovers some fragments when he loves again at a later day。 Delicious first passion of youth； almost always deliciously savored by the woman who calls it forth； for at the golden prime of thirty； from the poetic summit of a woman's life； she can look out over the whole course of lovebackwards into the past； forwards into the futureand； knowing all the price to be paid for love； enjoys her bliss with the dread of losing it ever present with her。 Her soul is still fair with her waning youth； and passion daily gathers strength from the dismaying prospect of the coming days。
〃This is love；〃 Vandenesse said to himself this time as he left the Marquise； 〃and for my misfortune I love a woman wedded to her memories。 It is hard work to struggle against a dead rival； never present to make blunders and fall out of favor； nothing of him left but his better qualities。 What is it but a sort of high treason against the Ideal to attempt to break the charm of memory； to destroy the hopes that survive a lost lover； precisely because he only awakened longings； and all
