letters of two brides-第17节
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We are each developing in strange ways。 A large dose of philosophy to
a grain of love is your recipe； a large dose of love to a grain of
philosophy is mine。 Why； Rousseau's Julie； whom I thought so learned；
is a mere beginner to you。 Woman's virtue； quotha！ How you have
weighed up life！ Alas！ I make fun of you； and； after all； perhaps you
are right。
In one day you have made a holocaust of your youth and become a miser
before your time。 Your Louis will be happy； I daresay。 If he loves
you； of which I make no doubt； he will never find out； that； for the
sake of your family； you are acting as a courtesan does for money； and
certainly men seem to find happiness with them； judging by the
fortunes they squander thus。 A keen…sighted husband might no doubt
remain in love with you； but what sort of gratitude could he feel in
the long run for a woman who had made of duplicity a sort of moral
armor； as indispensable as her stays？
Love； dear； is in my eyes the first principle of all the virtues；
conformed to the divine likeness。 Like all other first principles； it
is not a matter of arithmetic； it is the Infinite in us。 I cannot but
think you have been trying to justify in your own eyes the frightful
position of a girl； married to a man for whom she feels nothing more
than esteem。 You prate of duty； and make it your rule and measure； but
surely to take necessity as the spring of action is the moral theory
of atheism？ To follow the impulse of love and feeling is the secret
law of every woman's heart。 You are acting a man's part； and your
Louis will have to play the woman！
Oh！ my dear； your letter has plunged me into an endless train of
thought。 I see now that the convent can never take the place of mother
to a girl。 I beg of you； my grand angel with the black eyes； so pure
and proud； so serious and so pretty； do not turn away from these
cries； which the first reading of your letter has torn from me！ I have
taken comfort in the thought that； while I was lamenting； love was
doubtless busy knocking down the scaffolding of reason。
It may be that I shall do worse than you without any reasoning or
calculations。 Passion is an element in life bound to have a logic not
less pitiless than yours。
Monday。
Yesterday night I placed myself at the window as I was going to bed；
to look at the sky； which was wonderfully clear。 The stars were like
silver nails； holding up a veil of blue。 In the silence of the night I
could hear some one breathing； and by the half…light of the stars I
saw my Spaniard； perched like a squirrel on the branches of one of the
trees lining the boulevard； and doubtless lost in admiration of my
windows。
The first effect of this discovery was to make me withdraw into the
room； my feet and hands quite limp and nerveless； but； beneath the
fear； I was conscious of a delicious undercurrent of joy。 I was
overpowered but happy。 Not one of those clever Frenchmen； who aspire
to marry me； has had the brilliant idea of spending the night in an
elm…tree at the risk of being carried off by the watch。 My Spaniard
has； no doubt； been there for some time。 Ah！ he won't give me any more
lessons； he wants to receive themwell； he shall have one。 If only he
knew what I said to myself about his superficial ugliness！ Others can
philosophize besides you； Renee！ It was horrid； I argued； to fall in
love with a handsome man。 Is it not practically avowing that the
senses count for three parts out of four in a passion which ought to
be super…sensual？
Having got over my first alarm； I craned my neck behind the window in
order to see him againand well was I rewarded！ By means of a hollow
cane he blew me in through the window a letter； cunningly rolled round
a leaden pellet。
Good Heavens！ will he suppose I left the window open on purpose？
But what was to be done？ To shut it suddenly would be to make oneself
an accomplice。
I did better。 I returned to my window as though I had seen nothing and
heard nothing of the letter； then I said aloud：
〃Come and look at the stars； Griffith。〃
Griffith was sleeping as only old maids can。 But the Moor； hearing me；
slid down； and vanished with ghostly rapidity。
He must have been dying of fright； and so was I； for I did not hear
him go away； apparently he remained at the foot of the elm。 After a
good quarter of an hour； during which I lost myself in contemplation
of the heavens； and battled with the waves of curiosity； I closed my
widow and sat down on the bed to unfold the delicate bit of paper；
with the tender touch of a worker amongst the ancient manuscripts at
Naples。 It felt redhot to my fingers。 〃What a horrible power this man
has over me！〃 I said to myself。
All at once I held out the paper to the candleI would burn it
without reading a word。 Then a thought stayed me； 〃What can he have to
say that he writes so secretly？〃 Well； dear； I /did/ burn it；
reflecting that； though any other girl in the world would have
devoured the letter； it was not fitting that IArmande…Louise…Marie
de Chaulieushould read it。
The next day； at the Italian opera； he was at his post。 But I feel
sure that； ex…prime minister of a constitutional government though he
is； he could not discover the slightest agitation of mind in any
movement of mine。 I might have seen nothing and received nothing the
evening before。 This was most satisfactory to me； but he looked very
sad。 Poor man！ in Spain it is so natural for love to come in at the
window！
During the interval； it seems； he came and walked in the passages。
This I learned from the chief secretary of the Spanish embassy； who
also told the story of a noble action of his。
As Duc de Soria he was to marry one of the richest heiresses in Spain；
the young princess Marie Heredia； whose wealth would have mitigated
the bitterness of exile。 But it seems that Marie； disappointing the
wishes of the fathers； who had betrothed them in their earliest
childhood； loved the younger son of the house of Soria； to whom my
Felipe； gave her up。 Allowing himself to be despoiled by the King of
Spain。
〃He would perform this piece of heroism quite simply；〃 I said to the
young man。
〃You know him then？〃 was his ingenuous reply。
My mother smiled。
〃What will become of him； for he is condemned to death？〃 I asked。
〃Though dead to Spain； he can live in Sardinia。〃
〃Ah！ then Spain is the country of tombs as well as castles？〃 I said；
trying to carry it off as a joke。
〃There is everything in Spain； even Spaniards of the old school；〃 my
mother replied。
〃The Baron de Macumer obtained a passport； not without difficulty；
from the King of Sardinia；〃 the young diplomatist went on。 〃He has now
become a Sardinian subject； and he possesses a magnificent estate in
the island with full feudal rights。 He has a palace at Sassari。 If
Ferdinand VII。 were to die； Macumer would probably go in for
diplomacy； and the Court of Turin would make him ambassador。 Though
young； he is〃
〃Ah！ he is young？〃
〃Certainly； mademoiselle 。 。 。 though young； he is one of the most
distinguished men in Spain。〃
I scanned the house meanwhile through my opera…glass； and seemed to
lend an inattentive ear to the secretary； but； between ourselves； I
was wretched at having burnt his letter。 In what terms would a man
like that express his love？ For he does love me。 To be loved； adored
in secret； to know that in this house； where all the great men of
Paris were collected； there was one entirely devoted to me； unknown to
everybody！ Ah！ Renee； now I understand the life of Paris； its balls；
and its gaieties。 It all flashed on me in the true light。 When we
love； we must have society； were it only to sacrifice it to our love。
I felt a different creatureand such a happy one！ My vanity； pride；
self…love；all were flattered。 Heaven knows what glances I cast upon
the audience！
〃Little rogue！〃 the Duchess whispered in my ear with a smile。
Yes； Renee； my wily mother had deciphered the hidden joy in my
bearing； and I could only haul down my flag before such feminine
strategy。 Those two words taught me more of worldly wisdom than I have
been able to pick up in a yearfor we are in March now。 Alas！ no more
Italian opera in another month。 How will life be possible without that
heavenly music； when one's heart is full of love？
When I got home； my dear； with determination worthy of a Chaulieu； I
opened my window to watch a shower of rain。 Oh！ if men knew the magic
spell that a heroic action throws over us； they would indeed rise to
greatness！ a poltroon would turn hero！ What I had learned about my
Spaniard drove me into a very fever。 I felt certain that he was there；
ready to aim another letter at me。
I was right； and this time I burnt nothing。 Here； then； is the first
love…letter I have received； madame logician： each to her kind：
〃Louise； it is not for your peerless beauty I love you； nor for
your gifted mind； your noble feeling； the wondrous charm of all
you say and do； nor yet for your pride； your queenly scorn of
baser mortalsa pride blent in you with charity； for what angel
could be more tender？Louise； I love you because； for the sake of
a poor exile； you have unbent this lofty majesty； b
