sarrasine-第7节

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He　found　that　she　was　very　bright　and　quick…witted；　but　she　was
amazingly　ignorant　and　seemed　weak　and　superstitious。　The　delicacy　of
her　organs　was　reproduced　in　her　understanding。　When　Vitagliani　opened
the　first　bottle　of　champagne；　Sarrasine　read　in　his　neighbor's　eyes　a
shrinking　dread　of　the　report　caused　by　the　release　of　the　gas。　The
involuntary　shudder　of　that　thoroughly　feminine　temperament　was
interpreted　by　the　amorous　artist　as　indicating　extreme　delicacy　of
feeling。　This　weakness　delighted　the　Frenchman。　There　is　so　much　of
the　element　of　protection　in　a　man's　love！

〃　'You　may　make　use　of　my　power　as　a　shield！'

〃Is　not　that　sentence　written　at　the　root　of　all　declarations　of　love？
Sarrasine；　who　was　too　passionately　in　love　to　make　fine　speeches　to
the　fair　Italian；　was；　like　all　lovers；　grave；　jovial；　meditative；　by
turns。　Although　he　seemed　to　listen　to　the　guests；　he　did　not　hear　a
word　that　they　said；　he　was　so　wrapped　up　in　the　pleasure　of　sitting
by　her　side；　of　touching　her　hand；　of　waiting　on　her。　He　was　swimming
in　a　sea　of　concealed　joy。　Despite　the　eloquence　of　divers　glances
they　exchanged；　he　was　amazed　at　La　Zambinella's　continued　reserve
toward　him。　She　had　begun；　it　is　true；　by　touching　his　foot　with　hers
and　stimulating　his　passion　with　the　mischievous　pleasure　of　a　woman
who　is　free　and　in　love；　but　she　had　suddenly　enveloped　herself　in
maidenly　modesty；　after　she　had　heard　Sarrasine　relate　an　incident
which　illustrated　the　extreme　violence　of　his　temper。　When　the　supper
became　a　debauch；　the　guests　began　to　sing；　inspired　by　the　Peralta
and　the　Pedro…Ximenes。　There　were　fascinating　duets；　Calabrian
ballads；　Spanish　/sequidillas/；　and　Neapolitan　/canzonettes/。
Drunkenness　was　in　all　eyes；　in　the　music；　in　the　hearts　and　voices　of
the　guests。　There　was　a　sudden　overflow　of　bewitching　vivacity；　of
cordial　unconstraint；　of　Italian　good　nature；　of　which　no　words　can
convey　an　idea　to　those　who　know　only　the　evening　parties　of　Paris；
the　routs　of　London；　or　the　clubs　of　Vienna。　Jests　and　words　of　love
flew　from　side　to　side　like　bullets　in　a　battle；　amid　laughter；
impieties；　invocations　to　the　Blessed　Virgin　or　the　/Bambino/。　One　man
lay　on　a　sofa　and　fell　asleep。　A　young　woman　listened　to　a
declaration；　unconscious　that　she　was　spilling　Xeres　wine　on　the
tablecloth。　Amid　all　this　confusion　La　Zambinella；　as　if　terror…
stricken；　seemed　lost　in　thought。　She　refused　to　drink；　but　ate
perhaps　a　little　too　much；　but　gluttony　is　attractive　in　women；　it　is
said。　Sarrasine；　admiring　his　mistress'　modesty；　indulged　in　serious
reflections　concerning　the　future。

〃　'She　desires　to　be　married；　I　presume；'　he　said　to　himself。

〃Thereupon　he　abandoned　himself　to　blissful　anticipations　of　marriage
with　her。　It　seemed　to　him　that　his　whole　life　would　be　too　short　to
exhaust　the　living　spring　of　happiness　which　he　found　in　the　depths　of
his　heart。　Vitagliani；　who　sat　on　his　other　side；　filled　his　glass　so
often　that；　about　three　in　the　morning；　Sarrasine；　while　not
absolutely　drunk；　was　powerless　to　resist　his　delirious　passion。　In　a
moment　of　frenzy　he　seized　the　woman　and　carried　her　to　a　sort　of
boudoir　which　opened　from　the　salon；　and　toward　which　he　had　more　than
once　turned　his　eyes。　The　Italian　was　armed　with　a　dagger。

〃　'If　you　come　hear　me；'　she　said；　'I　shall　be　compelled　to　plunge
this　blade　into　your　heart。　Go！　you　would　despise　me。　I　have　conceived
too　great　a　respect　for　your　character　to　abandon　myself　to　you　thus。
I　do　not　choose　to　destroy　the　sentiment　with　which　you　honor　me。'

〃　'Ah！'　said　Sarrasine；　'to　stimulate　a　passion　is　a　poor　way　to
extinguish　it！　Are　you　already　so　corrupt　that；　being　old　in　heart；
you　act　like　a　young　prostitute　who　inflames　the　emotions　in　which　she
trades？'

〃　'Why；　this　is　Friday；'　she　replied；　alarmed　by　the　Frenchman's
violence。

〃Sarrasine；　who　was　not　piously　inclined；　began　to　laugh。　La
Zambinella　gave　a　bound　like　a　young　deer；　and　darted　into　the　salon。
When　Sarrasine　appeared；　running　after　her；　he　was　welcomed　by　a　roar
of　infernal　laughter。　He　saw　La　Zambinella　swooning　on　a　sofa。　She　was
very　pale；　as　if　exhausted　by　the　extraordinary　effort　she　had　made。
Although　Sarrasine　knew　but　little　Italian；　he　understood　his　mistress
when　she　said　to　Vitagliani　in　a　low　voice：

〃　'But　he　will　kill　me！'

〃This　strange　scene　abashed　the　sculptor。　His　reason　returned。　He
stood　still　for　a　moment；　then　he　recovered　his　speech；　sat　down
beside　his　mistress；　and　assured　her　of　his　profound　respect。　He　found
strength　to　hold　his　passion　in　check　while　talking　to　her　in　the　most
exalted　strain；　and；　to　describe　his　love；　he　displayed　all　the
treasures　of　eloquencethat　sorcerer；　that　friendly　interpreter；　whom
women　rarely　refuse　to　believe。　When　the　first　rays　of　dawn　surprised
the　boon　companions；　some　woman　suggested　that　they　go　to　Frascati。
One　and　all　welcomed　with　loud　applause　the　idea　of　passing　the　day　at
Villa　Ludovisi。　Vitagliani　went　down　to　hire　carriages。　Sarrasine　had
the　good　fortune　to　drive　La　Zambinella　in　a　phaeton。　When　they　had
left　Rome　behind；　the　merriment　of　the　party；　repressed　for　a　moment
by　the　battle　they　had　all　been　fighting　against　drowsiness；　suddenly
awoke。　All；　men　and　women　alike；　seemed　accustomed　to　that　strange
life；　that　constant　round　of　pleasures；　that　artistic　energy；　which
makes　of　life　one　never　ending　/fete/；　where　laughter　reigns；
unchecked　by　fear　of　the　future。　The　sculptor's　companion　was　the　only
one　who　seemed　out　of　spirits。

〃　'Are　you　ill？'　Sarrasine　asked　her。　'Would　you　prefer　to　go　home？'

〃　'I　am　not　strong　enough　to　stand　all　this　dissipation；'　she　replied。
'I　have　to　be　very　careful；　but　I　feel　so　happy　with　you！　Except　for
you；　I　should　not　have　remained　to　this　supper；　a　night　like　this
takes　away　all　my　freshness。'

〃　'You　are　so　delicate！'　rejoined　Sarrasine；　gazing　in　rapture　at　the
charming　creature's　dainty　features。

〃　'Dissipation　ruins　my　voice。'

〃　'Now　that　we　are　alone；'　cried　the　artist；　'and　that　you　no　longer
have　reason　to　fear　the　effervescence　of　my　passion；　tell　me　that　you
love　me。'

〃　'Why？'　said　she；　'for　what　good　purpose？　You　think　me　pretty。　But
you　are　a　Frenchman；　and　your　fancy　will　pass　away。　Ah！　you　would　not
love　me　as　I　should　like　to　be　loved。'

〃　'How？'

〃　'Purely；　with　no　mingling　of　vulgar　passion。　I　abhor　men　even　more；
perhaps　than　I　hate　women。　I　need　to　take　refuge　in　friendship。　The
world　is　a　desert　to　me。　I　am　an　accursed　creature；　doomed　to
understand　happiness；　to　feel　it；　to　desire　it；　and　like　many；　many
others；　compelled　to　see　it　always　fly　from　me。　Remember；　signor；　that
I　have　not　deceived　you。　I　forbid　you　to　love　me。　I　can　be　a　devoted
friend　to　you；　for　I　admire　your　strength　of　will　and　your　character。
I　need　a　brother；　a　protector。　Be　both　of　these　to　me；　but　nothing
more。'

〃　'And　not　love　you！'　cried　Sarrasine；　'but　you　are　my　life；　my
happiness；　dear　angel！'

〃　'If　I　should　say　a　word；　you　would　spurn　me　with　horror。'

〃　'Coquette！　nothing　can　frighten　me。　Tell　me　that　you　will　cost　me　my
whole　future；　that　I　shall　die　two　months　hence；　that　I　shall　be
damned　for　having　kissed　you　but　once'

〃And　he　kissed　her；　despite　La　Zambinella's　efforts　to　avoid　that
passionate　caress。

〃　'Tell　me　that　you　are　a　demon；　that　I　must　give　you　my　fortune；　my
name；　all　my　renown！　Would　you　have　me　cease　to　be　a　sculptor？　Speak。'

〃　'Suppose　I　were　not　a　woman？'　queried　La　Zambinella；　timidly；　in　a
sweet；　silvery　voice。

〃　'A　merry　jest！'　cried　Sarrasine。　'Think　you　that　you　can　deceive　an
artist's　eye？　Have　I　not；　for　ten　days　past；　admired；　examined；
devoured；　thy　perfections？　None　but　a　woman　can　have　this　soft　and
beautifully　rounded　arm；　these　graceful　outlines。　Ah！　you　seek
compliments！'

〃She　smiled　sadly；　and　murmured：

〃　'Fatal　beauty！'

〃She　raised　her　eyes　to　the　sky。　At　that　moment；　there　was　in　her　eyes
an　indefinable　expression　of　horror；　so　startling；　so　intense；　that
Sarrasine　shuddered。

〃　'Signor　Frenchman；'　she　continued；　'forget　forever　a　moment's
madness。　I　esteem　you；　but　as　for　love；　do　not　ask　me　for　that；　that
sentiment　is　suffocated　in　my　heart。　I　have　no　heart！'　she　cried；
weeping　bitterly。　'The　stage　on　which　you　saw　me；　the　applause；　the
music；　the　renown　to　which　I　am　condemnedthose　are　my　life；　I　have
no　other。　A　few　hours　hence　you　will　no　longer　look　upon　me　with　the
same　eyes；　the　woman　you　love　will　be　dead。'

〃The　sculptor　did　not　reply。　He　was　seized　with　a　dull　rage　which
contracted　his　heart。　He　could　do　nothing　but　gaze　at　that
extraordinary　woman；　with　inflamed；　burning　eyes。　That　feeble　voice；
La　Zambinella's　attitude；　manners；　and　gestures；　instinct　with
dejection；　melancholy；　and　discouragement；　reawakened　in　his　soul　all
the　treasures　of　passion。　Each　word　was　a　spur。　At　that　moment；　they
arrived　at　Frascati。　When　the　artist　held　out　his　arms　to　help　his
mistress　to　alight；　he　felt　that　she　trembled　from　head　to　foot。

〃　'What　is　the　matter？　You　would　kill　me；'　he　cried；　seeing　that　she
turned　pale；　'if　you　should　suffer　the　slightest　pain　of　which　I　am；
ev