the village rector-第4节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


Veronique；and　the　religious　exaltation　to　which　she　yielded　herself
on　receiving　the　communion　must　be　counted　among　the　strongest
emotions　of　so　pure　and　candid　a　young　creature；an　inward　light
seemed　to　efface　for　the　moment　all　traces　of　the　small…pox。　The　pure
and　radiant　face　of　her　childhood　reappeared　in　its　pristine　beauty。
Though　slightly　veiled　by　the　thickened　surface　disease　had　laid
there；　it　shone　with　the　mysterious　brilliancy　of　a　flower　blooming
beneath　the　water　of　the　sea　when　the　sun　is　penetrating　it。　Veronique
was　changed　for　a　few　moments；　the　Little　Virgin　reappeared　and　then
disappeared　again；　like　a　celestial　vision。　The　pupils　of　her　eyes；
gifted　with　the　power　of　great　expansion；　widened　until　they　covered
the　whole　surface　of　the　blue　iris　except　for　a　tiny　circle。　Thus　the
metamorphose　of　the　eye；　which　became　as　keen　and　vivid　as　that　of　an
eagle；　completed　the　extraordinary　change　in　the　face。　Was　it　the
storm　of　restrained　passions；　was　it　some　power　coming　from　the　depths
of　the　soul；　which　enlarged　the　pupils　in　full　daylight　as　they
sometimes　in　other　eyes　enlarge　by　night；　darkening　the　azure　of　those
celestial　orbs？

However　that　may　be；　it　was　impossible　to　look　indifferently　at
Veronique　as　she　returned　to　her　seat　from　the　altar　where　she　had
united　herself　with　God；a　moment　when　she　appeared　to　all　the　parish
in　her　primitive　splendor。　At　such　moments　her　beauty　eclipsed　that　of
the　most　beautiful　of　women。　What　a　charm　was　there　for　the　man　who
loved　her；　guarding　jealously　that　veil　of　flesh　which　hid　the　woman's
soul　from　every　eye；a　veil　which　the　hand　of　love　might　lift　for　an
instant　and　then　let　drop　over　conjugal　delights！　Veronique's　lips
were　faultlessly　curved　and　painted　in　the　clear　vermilion　of　her　pure
warm　blood。　Her　chin　and　the　lower　part　of　her　face　were　a　little
heavy；　in　the　acceptation　given　by　painters　to　that　term；a　heaviness
which　is；　according　to　the　relentless　laws　of　physiognomy；　the
indication　of　an　almost　morbid　vehemence　in　passion。　She　had　above　her
brow；　which　was　finely　modelled　and　almost　imperious；　a　magnificent
diadem　of　hair；　voluminous；　redundant；　and　now　of　a　chestnut　color。

From　the　age　of　sixteen　to　the　day　of　her　marriage　Veronique's　bearing
was　always　thoughtful；　and　sometimes　melancholy。　Living　in　such　deep
solitude；　she　was　forced；　like　other　solitary　persons；　to　examine　and
consider　the　spectacle　of　that　which　went　on　within　her；the　progress
of　her　thought；　the　variety　of　the　images　in　her　mind；　and　the　scope
of　feelings　warmed　and　nurtured　in　a　life　so　pure。

Those　who　looked　up　from　their　lower　level　as　they　passed　along　the
rue　de　la　Cite　might　have　seen；　on　all　fine　days；　the　daughter　of　the
Sauviats　sitting　at　her　open　window；　sewing；　embroidering；　or　pricking
the　needle　through　the　canvas　of　her　worsted…work；　with　a　look　that
was　often　dreamy。　Her　head　was　vividly　defined　among　the　flowers　which
poetized　the　brown　and　crumbling　sills　of　her　casement　windows　with
their　leaded　panes。　Sometimes　the　reflection　of　the　red　damask　window…
curtains　added　to　the　effect　of　that　head；　already　so　highly　colored；
like　a　crimson　flower　she　glowed　in　the　aerial　garden　so　carefully
trained　upon　her　window…sill。

The　quaint　old　house　possessed　therefore　something　more　quaint　than
itself；the　portrait　of　a　young　girl　worthy　of　Mieris；　or　Van　Ostade；
or　Terburg；　or　Gerard　Douw；　framed　in　one　of　those　old；　defaced；　half
ruined　windows　the　brushes　of　the　old　Dutch　painters　loved　so　well。
When　some　stranger；　surprised　or　interested　by　the　building；　stopped
before　it　and　gazed　at　the　second　story；　old　Sauviat　would　poke　his
head　beyond　the　overhanging　projection；　certain　that　he　should　see　his
daughter　at　her　window。　Then　he　would　retreat　into　the　shop　rubbing
his　hands　and　saying　to　his　wife　in　the　Auvergne　vernacular：

〃Hey！　old　woman；　they're　admiring　your　daughter！〃

In　1820　an　incident　occurred　in　the　simple　uneventful　life　the　girl
was　leading；　which　might　have　had　no　importance　in　the　life　of　any
other　young　woman；　but　which；　in　point　of　fact；　did　no　doubt　exercise
over　Veronique's　future　a　terrible　influence。

On　one　of　the　suppressed　church　fete…days；　when　many　persons　went
about　their　daily　labor；　though　the　Sauviats　scrupulously　closed　their
shop；　attended　mass；　and　took　a　walk；　Veronique　passed；　on　their　way
to　the　fields；　a　bookseller's　stall　on　which　lay　a　copy　of　〃Paul　and
Virginia。〃　She　had　a　fancy　to　buy　it　for　the　sake　of　the　engraving；
and　her　father　paid　a　hundred　sous　for　the　fatal　volume；　which　he　put
into　the　pocket　of　his　coat。

〃Wouldn't　it　be　well　to　show　that　book　to　Monsieur　le　vicaire　before
you　read　it？〃　said　her　mother；　to　whom　all　printed　books　were　a　sealed
mystery。

〃I　thought　of　it；〃　answered　Veronique。

The　girl　passed　the　whole　night　reading　the　story；one　of　the　most
touching　bits　of　writing　in　the　French　language。　The　picture　of　mutual
love；　half　Biblical　and　worthy　of　the　earlier　ages　of　the　world；
ravaged　her　heart。　A　handwas　it　divine　or　devilish？raised　the　veil
which；　till　then；　had　hidden　nature　from　her。　The　Little　Virgin　still
existing　in　the　beautiful　young　girl　thought　on　the　morrow　that　her
flowers　had　never　been　so　beautiful；　she　heard　their　symbolic
language；　she　looked　into　the　depths　of　the　azure　sky　with　a　fixedness
that　was　almost　ecstasy；　and　tears　without　a　cause　rolled　down　her
cheeks。

In　the　life　of　all　women　there　comes　a　moment　when　they　comprehend
their　destiny；when　their　hitherto　mute　organization　speaks
peremptorily。　It　is　not　always　a　man；　chosen　by　some　furtive
involuntary　glance；　who　awakens　their　slumbering　sixth　sense；　oftener
it　is　some　unexpected　sight；　the　aspect　of　scenery；　the　/coup　d'oeil/
of　religious　pomp；　the　harmony　of　nature's　perfumes；　a　rosy　dawn
veiled　in　slight　mists；　the　winning　notes　of　some　divinest　music；　or
indeed　any　unexpected　motion　within　the　soul　or　within　the　body。　To
this　lonely　girl；　buried　in　that　old　house；　brought　up　by　simple；　half
rustic　parents；　who　had　never　heard　an　unfit　word；　whose　pure
unsullied　mind　had　never　known　the　slightest　evil　thought；to　the
angelic　pupil　of　Soeur　Marthe　and　the　vicar　of　Saint…Etienne　the
revelation　of　love；　the　life　of　womanhood；　came　from　the　hand　of
genius　through　one　sweet　book。　To　any　other　mind　the　book　would　have
offered　no　danger；　to　her　it　was　worse　in　its　effects　than　an　obscene
tale。　Corruption　is　relative。　There　are　chaste　and　virgin　natures
which　a　single　thought　corrupts；　doing　all　the　more　harm　because　no
thought　of　the　duty　of　resistance　has　occurred。

The　next　day　Veronique　showed　the　book　to　the　good　priest；　who
approved　the　purchase；　for　what　could　be　more　childlike　and　innocent
and　pure　than　the　history　of　Paul　and　Virginia？　But　the　warmth　of　the
tropics；　the　beauty　of　the　scenery；　the　almost　puerile　innocence　of　a
love　that　seemed　so　sacred　had　done　their　work　on　Veronique。　She　was
led　by　the　sweet　and　noble　achievement　of　its　author　to　the　worship　of
the　Ideal；　that　fatal　human　religion！　She　dreamed　of　a　lover　like
Paul。　Her　thoughts　caressed　the　voluptuous　image　of　that　balmy　isle。
Childlike；　she　named　an　island　in　the　Vienne；　below　Limoges　and　nearly
opposite　to　the　Faubourg　Saint…Martial；　the　Ile　de　France。　Her　mind
lived　there　in　the　world　of　fancy　all　young　girls　construct；a　world
they　enrich　with　their　own　perfections。　She　spent　long　hours　at　her
window；　looking　at　the　artisans　or　the　mechanics　who　passed　it；　the
only　men　whom　the　modest　position　of　her　parents　allowed　her　to　think
of。　Accustomed；　of　course；　to　the　idea　of　eventually　marrying　a　man　of
the　people；　she　now　became　aware　of　instincts　within　herself　which
revolved　from　all　coarseness。

In　such　a　situation　she　naturally　made　many　a　romance　such　as　young
girls　are　fond　of　weaving。　She　clasped　the　ideaperhaps　with　the
natural　ardor　of　a　noble　and　virgin　imaginationof　ennobling　one　of
those　men；　and　of　raising　him　to　the　height　where　her　own　dreams　led
her。　She　may　have　made　a　Paul　of　some　young　man　who　caught　her　eye；
merely　to　fasten　her　wild　ideas　on　an　actual　being；　as　the　mists　of　a
damp　atmosphere；　touched　by　frost；　crystallize　on　the　branches　of　a
tree　by　the　wayside。　She　must　have　flung　herself　deep　into　the　abysses
of　her　dream；　for　though　she　often　returned　bearing　on　her　brow；　as　if
from　vast　heights；　some　luminous　reflections；　oftener　she　seemed　to
carry　in　her　hand　the　flowers　that　grew　beside　a　torrent　she　had
followed　down　a　precipice。

On　the　warm　summer　evenings　she　would　ask　her　father　to　take　her　on
his　arm　to　the　banks　of　the　Vienne；　where　she　went　into　ecstasies　over
the　beauties　of　the　sky　and　fields；　the　glories　of　the　setting　sun；　or
the　infinite　sweetness　of　the　dewy　evening。　Her　soul　exhaled　itself
thenceforth　in　a　fragrance　of　natural　poesy。　Her　hair；　until　then
simply　wound　about　her　head；　she　now　curled　and　braided。　Her　dress
showed　some　research。　The　vine　which　was　running　wild　and　naturally
among　the　branches　of　the　old　elm；　was　transplanted；　cut　and　trained
over　a　green　and　pretty　trellis。

After　the　return　of　old　Sauviat　（then　seventy　years　of　age）　from　a
trip　to　Par