the magic skin-第60节

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had　dwelt　in　every　cave　among　the　rocks。　He　had　learned　the　ways　and

habits　of　growth　of　every　plant；　had　studied　the　laws　of　the

watercourses　and　their　beds；　and　had　come　to　know　the　animals；　he　was

at　last　so　perfectly　at　one　with　this　teeming　earth；　that　he　had　in

some　sort　discerned　its　mysteries　and　caught　the　spirit　of　it。



The　infinitely　varied　forms　of　every　natural　kingdom　were；　to　his

thinking；　only　developments　of　one　and　the　same　substance；　different

combinations　brought　about　by　the　same　impulse；　endless　emanations

from　a　measureless　Being　which　was　acting；　thinking；　moving；　and

growing；　and　in　harmony　with　which　he　longed　to　grow；　to　move；　to

think；　and　act。　He　had　fancifully　blended　his　life　with　the　life　of

the　crags；　he　had　deliberately　planted　himself　there。　During　the

earliest　days　of　his　sojourn　in　these　pleasant　surroundings；　Valentin

tasted　all　the　pleasures　of　childhood　again；　thanks　to　the　strange

hallucination　of　apparent　convalescence；　which　is　not　unlike　the

pauses　of　delirium　that　nature　mercifully　provides　for　those　in　pain。

He　went　about　making　trifling　discoveries；　setting　to　work　on　endless

things；　and　finishing　none　of　them；　the　evening's　plans　were　quite

forgotten　in　the　morning；　he　had　no　cares；　he　was　happy；　he　thought

himself　saved。



One　morning　he　had　lain　in　bed　till　noon；　deep　in　the　dreams　between

sleep　and　waking；　which　give　to　realities　a　fantastic　appearance；　and

make　the　wildest　fancies　seem　solid　facts；　while　he　was　still

uncertain　that　he　was　not　dreaming　yet；　he　suddenly　heard　his　hostess

giving　a　report　of　his　health　to　Jonathan；　for　the　first　time。

Jonathan　came　to　inquire　after　him　daily；　and　the　Auvergnate；　thinking

no　doubt　that　Valentin　was　still　asleep；　had　not　lowered　the　tones　of

a　voice　developed　in　mountain　air。



〃No　better　and　no　worse；〃　she　said。　〃He　coughed　all　last　night　again

fit　to　kill　himself。　Poor　gentleman；　he　coughs　and　spits　till　it　is

piteous。　My　husband　and　I　often　wonder　to　each　other　where　he　gets　the

strength　from　to　cough　like　that。　It　goes　to　your　heart。　What　a　cursed

complaint　it　is！　He　has　no　strength　at　all。　I　am　always　afraid　I　shall

find　him　dead　in　his　bed　some　morning。　He　is　every　bit　as　pale　as　a

waxen　Christ。　DAME！　I　watch　him　while　he　dresses；　his　poor　body　is　as

thin　as　a　nail。　And　he　does　not　feel　well　now；　but　no　matter。　It's　all

the　same；　he　wears　himself　out　with　running　about　as　if　he　had　health

and　to　spare。　All　the　same；　he　is　very　brave；　for　he　never　complains

at　all。　But　really　he　would　be　better　under　the　earth　than　on　it；　for

he　is　enduring　the　agonies　of　Christ。　I　don't　wish　that　myself；　sir；

it　is　quite　in　our　interests；　but　even　if　he　didn't　pay　us　what　he

does；　I　should　be　just　as　fond　of　him；　it　is　not　our　own　interest　that

is　our　motive。



〃Ah；　mon　Dieu！〃　she　continued；　〃Parisians　are　the　people　for　these

dogs'　diseases。　Where　did　he　catch　it；　now？　Poor　young　man！　And　he　is

so　sure　that　he　is　going　to　get　well！　That　fever　just　gnaws　him；　you

know；　it　eats　him　away；　it　will　be　the　death　of　him。　He　has　no　notion

whatever　of　that；　he　does　not　know　it；　sir；　he　sees　nothingYou

mustn't　cry　about　him；　M。　Jonathan；　you　must　remember　that　he　will　be

happy；　and　will　not　suffer　any　more。　You　ought　to　make　a　neuvaine　for

him；　I　have　seen　wonderful　cures　come　of　the　nine　days'　prayer；　and　I

would　gladly　pay　for　a　wax　taper　to　save　such　a　gentle　creature；　so

good　he　is；　a　paschal　lamb〃



As　Raphael's　voice　had　grown　too　weak　to　allow　him　to　make　himself

heard；　he　was　compelled　to　listen　to　this　horrible　loquacity。　His

irritation；　however；　drove　him　out　of　bed　at　length；　and　he　appeared

upon　the　threshold。



〃Old　scoundrel！〃　he　shouted　to　Jonathan；　〃do　you　mean　to　put　me　to

death？〃



The　peasant　woman　took　him　for　a　ghost；　and　fled。



〃I　forbid　you　to　have　any　anxiety　whatever　about　my　health；〃　Raphael

went　on。



〃Yes；　my　Lord　Marquis；〃　said　the　old　servant；　wiping　away　his　tears。



〃And　for　the　future　you　had　very　much　better　not　come　here　without　my

orders。〃



Jonathan　meant　to　be　obedient；　but　in　the　look　full　of　pity　and

devotion　that　he　gave　the　Marquis　before　he　went；　Raphael　read　his　own

death…warrant。　Utterly　disheartened；　brought　all　at　once　to　a　sense　of

his　real　position；　Valentin　sat　down　on　the　threshold；　locked　his　arms

across　his　chest；　and　bowed　his　head。　Jonathan　turned　to　his　master　in

alarm；　with　〃My　Lord〃



〃Go　away；　go　away；〃　cried　the　invalid。



In　the　hours　of　the　next　morning；　Raphael　climbed　the　crags；　and　sat

down　in　a　mossy　cleft　in　the　rocks；　whence　he　could　see　the　narrow

path　along　which　the　water　for　the　dwelling　was　carried。　At　the　base

of　the　hill　he　saw　Jonathan　in　conversation　with　the　Auvergnate。　Some

malicious　power　interpreted　for　him　all　the　woman's　forebodings；　and

filled　the　breeze　and　the　silence　with　her　ominous　words。　Thrilled

with　horror；　he　took　refuge　among　the　highest　summits　of　the

mountains；　and　stayed　there　till　the　evening；　but　yet　he　could　not

drive　away　the　gloomy　presentiments　awakened　within　him　in　such　an

unfortunate　manner　by　a　cruel　solicitude　on　his　account。



The　Auvergne　peasant　herself　suddenly　appeared　before　him　like　a

shadow　in　the　dusk；　a　perverse　freak　of　the　poet　within　him　found　a

vague　resemblance　between　her　black　and　white　striped　petticoat　and

the　bony　frame　of　a　spectre。



〃The　damp　is　falling　now；　sir；〃　said　she。　〃If　you　stop　out　there；　you

will　go　off　just　like　rotten　fruit。　You　must　come　in。　It　isn't　healthy

to　breathe　the　damp；　and　you　have　taken　nothing　since　the　morning；

besides。〃



〃TONNERRE　DE　DIEU！　old　witch；〃　he　cried；　〃let　me　live　after　my　own

fashion；　I　tell　you；　or　I　shall　be　off　altogether。　It　is　quite　bad

enough　to　dig　my　grave　every　morning；　you　might　let　it　alone　in　the

evenings　at　least〃



〃Your　grave；　sir！　I　dig　your　grave！and　where　may　your　grave　be？　I

want　to　see　you　as　old　as　father　there；　and　not　in　your　grave　by　any

manner　of　means。　The　grave！　that　comes　soon　enough　for　us　all；　in　the

grave〃



〃That　is　enough；〃　said　Raphael。



〃Take　my　arm；　sir。〃



〃No。〃



The　feeling　of　pity　in　others　is　very　difficult　for　a　man　to　bear；　and

it　is　hardest　of　all　when　the　pity　is　deserved。　Hatred　is　a　tonicit

quickens　life　and　stimulates　revenge；　but　pity　is　death　to　usit

makes　our　weakness　weaker　still。　It　is　as　if　distress　simpered

ingratiatingly　at　us；　contempt　lurks　in　the　tenderness；　or　tenderness

in　an　affront。　In　the　centenarian　Raphael　saw　triumphant　pity；　a

wondering　pity　in　the　child's　eyes；　an　officious　pity　in　the　woman；

and　in　her　husband　a　pity　that　had　an　interested　motive；　but　no　matter

how　the　sentiment　declared　itself；　death　was　always　its　import。



A　poet　makes　a　poem　of　everything；　it　is　tragical　or　joyful；　as　things

happen　to　strike　his　imagination；　his　lofty　soul　rejects　all　half…

tones；　he　always　prefers　vivid　and　decided　colors。　In　Raphael's　soul

this　compassion　produced　a　terrible　poem　of　mourning　and　melancholy。

When　he　had　wished　to　live　in　close　contact　with　nature；　he　had　of

course　forgotten　how　freely　natural　emotions　are　expressed。　He　would

think　himself　quite　alone　under　a　tree；　whilst　he　struggled　with　an

obstinate　coughing　fit；　a　terrible　combat　from　which　he　never　issued

victorious　without　utter　exhaustion　afterwards；　and　then　he　would　meet

the　clear；　bright　eyes　of　the　little　boy；　who　occupied　the　post　of

sentinel；　like　a　savage　in　a　bent　of　grass；　the　eyes　scrutinized　him

with　a　childish　wonder；　in　which　there　was　as　much　amusement　as

pleasure；　and　an　indescribable　mixture　of　indifference　and　interest。

The　awful　BROTHER；　YOU　MUST　DIE；　of　the　Trappists　seemed　constantly

legible　in　the　eyes　of　the　peasants　with　whom　Raphael　was　living；　he

scarcely　knew　which　he　dreaded　most；　their　unfettered　talk　or　their

silence；　their　presence　became　torture。



One　morning　he　saw　two　men　in　black　prowling　about　in　his

neighborhood；　who　furtively　studied　him　and　took　observations。　They

made　as　though　they　had　come　there　for　a　stroll；　and　asked　him　a　few

indifferent　questions；　to　which　he　returned　short　answers。　He

recognized　them　both。　One　was　the　cure　and　the　other　the　doctor　at　the

springs；　Jonathan　had　no　doubt　sent　them；　or　the　people　in　the　house

had　called　them　in；　or　the　scent　of　an　approaching　death　had　drawn

them　thither。　He　beheld　his　own　funeral；　heard　the　chanting　of　the

priests；　and　counted　the　tall　wax　candles；　and　all　that　lovely　fertile

nature　around　him；　in　whose　lap　he　had　thought　to　find　life　once　more；

he　saw　no　longer；　save　through　a　veil　of　crape。　Everything　that　but

lately　had　spoken　of　length　of　days　to　him；　now　prophesied　a　speedy

end。　He　set　out　the　next　day　for　Paris；　not　before　he　had　been

inundated　with　cordial　wishes；　which　the　people　of　the　house　uttered

in　melancholy　and　wistful　tones　for　his　benefit。



He　traveled　through　the　night；　and　awoke　as　th