beatrix-第31部分

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some　decided　means　of　coming　to　an　explanation　with　Beatrix。



XII

CORRESPONDENCE

When　Calyste　reached　home；　he　did　not　leave　his　room　until　dinner
time；　and　after　dinner　he　went　back　to　it。　At　ten　o'clock　his　mother；
uneasy　at　his　absence；　went　to　look　for　him；　and　found　him　writing　in
the　midst　of　a　pile　of　blotted　and　half…torn　paper。　He　was　writing　to
Beatrix；　for　distrust　of　Camille　had　come　into　his　mind。　The　air　and
manner　of　the　marquise　during　their　brief　interview　in　the　garden　had
singularly　encouraged　him。

No　first　love…letter　ever　was　or　ever　will　be；　as　may　readily　be
supposed；　a　brilliant　effort　of　the　mind。　In　all　young　men　not　tainted
by　corruption　such　a　letter　is　written　with　gushings　from　the　heart；
too　overflowing；　too　multifarious　not　to　be　the　essence；　the　elixir　of
many　other　letters　begun；　rejected；　and　rewritten。

Here　is　the　one　that　Calyste　finally　composed　and　which　he　read　aloud
to　his　poor；　astonished　mother。　To　her　the　old　mansion　seemed　to　have
taken　fire；　this　love　of　her　son　flamed　up　in　it　like　the　glare　of　a
conflagration。

　　Calyste　to　Madame　la　Marquise　de　Rochefide。

　　Madame；I　loved　you　when　you　were　to　me　but　a　dream；　judge；
　　therefore；　of　the　force　my　love　acquired　when　I　saw　you。　The　dream
　　was　far　surpassed　by　the　reality。　It　is　my　grief　and　my　misfortune
　　to　have　nothing　to　say　to　you　that　you　do　not　know　already　of　your
　　beauty　and　your　charms；　and　yet；　perhaps；　they　have　awakened　in　no
　　other　heart　so　deep　a　sentiment　as　they　have　in　me。

　　In　so　many　ways　you　are　beautiful；　I　have　studied　you　so　much
　　while　thinking　of　you　day　and　night　that　I　have　penetrated　the
　　mysteries　of　your　being；　the　secrets　of　your　heart；　and　your
　　delicacy；　so　little　appreciated。　Have　you　ever　been　loved；
　　understood；　adored　as　you　deserve　to　be？

　　Let　me　tell　you　now　that　there　is　not　a　trait　in　your　nature　which
　　my　heart　does　not　interpret；　your　pride　is　understood　by　mine；　the
　　grandeur　of　your　glance；　the　grace　of　your　bearing；　the
　　distinction　of　your　movements；all　things　about　your　person　are
　　in　harmony　with　the　thoughts；　the　hopes；　the　desires　hidden　in　the
　　depths　of　your　soul；　it　is　because　I　have　divined　them　all　that　I
　　think　myself　worthy　of　your　notice。　If　I　had　not　become；　within
　　the　last　few　days；　another　yourself；　I　could　not　speak　to　you　of
　　myself；　this　letter；　indeed；　relates　far　more　to　you　than　it　does
　　to　me。

　　Beatrix；　in　order　to　write　to　you；　I　have　silenced　my　youth；　I
　　have　laid　aside　myself；　I　have　aged　my　thoughts；or；　rather；　it
　　is　you　who　have　aged　them；　by　this　week　of　dreadful　sufferings
　　caused；　innocently　indeed；　by　you。

　　Do　not　think　me　one　of　those　common　lovers　at　whom　I　have　heard
　　you　laugh　so　justly。　What　merit　is　there　in　loving　a　young　and
　　beautiful　and　wise　and　noble　woman。　Alas！　I　have　no　merit！　What
　　can　I　be　to　you？　A　child；　attracted　by　effulgence　of　beauty　and　by
　　moral　grandeur；　as　the　insects　are　attracted　to　the　light。　You
　　cannot　do　otherwise　than　tread　upon　the　flowers　of　my　soul；　they
　　are　there　at　your　feet；　and　all　my　happiness　consists　in　your
　　stepping　on　them。

　　Absolute　devotion；　unbounded　faith；　love　unquenchable；all　these
　　treasures　of　a　true　and　tender　heart　are　nothing；　nothing！　they
　　serve　only　to　love　with；　they　cannot　win　the　love　we　crave。
　　Sometimes　I　do　not　understand　why　a　worship　so　ardent　does　not
　　warm　its　idol；　and　when　I　meet　your　eye；　so　cold；　so　stern；　I　turn
　　to　ice　within　me。　Your　disdain；　/that/　is　the　acting　force　between
　　us；　not　my　worship。　Why？　You　cannot　hate　me　as　much　as　I　love　you；
　　why；　then；　does　the　weaker　feeling　rule　the　stronger？　I　loved
　　Felicite　with　all　the　powers　of　my　heart；　yet　I　forgot　her　in　a
　　day；　in　a　moment；　when　I　saw　you。　She　was　my　error；　you　are　my
　　truth。

　　You　have；　unknowingly；　destroyed　my　happiness；　and　yet　you　owe　me
　　nothing　in　return。　I　loved　Camille　without　hope；　and　I　have　no
　　hope　from　you；　nothing　is　changed　but　my　divinity。　I　was　a　pagan；
　　I　am　now　a　Christian；　that　is　all

　　Except　this：　you　have　taught　me　that　to　love　is　the　greatest　of
　　all　joys；　the　joy　of　being　loved　comes　later。　According　to
　　Camille；　it　is　not　loving　to　love　for　a　short　time　only；　the　love
　　that　does　not　grow　from　day　to　day；　from　hour　to　hour；　is　a　mere
　　wretched　passion。　In　order　to　grow；　love　must　not　see　its　end；　and
　　she　saw　the　end　of　ours；　the　setting　of　our　sun　of　love。　When　I
　　beheld　you；　I　understood　her　words；　which；　until　then；　I　had
　　disputed　with　all　my　youth；　with　all　the　ardor　of　my　desires；　with
　　the　despotic　sternness　of　twenty　years。　That　grand　and　noble
　　Camille　mingled　her　tears　with　mine；　and　yet　she　firmly　rejected
　　the　love　she　saw　must　end。　Therefore　I　am　free　to　love　you　here　on
　　earth　and　in　the　heaven　above　us；　as　we　love　God。　If　you　loved　me；
　　you　would　have　no　such　arguments　as　Camille　used　to　overthrow　my
　　love。　We　are　both　young；　we　could　fly　on　equal　wing　across　our
　　sunny　heaven；　not　fearing　storms　as　that　grand　eagle　feared　them。

　　But　ha！　what　am　I　saying？　my　thoughts　have　carried　me　beyond　the
　　humility　of　my　real　hopes。　Believe　me；　believe　in　the　submission；
　　the　patience；　the　mute　adoration　which　I　only　ask　you　not　to　wound
　　uselessly。　I　know；　Beatrix；　that　you　cannot　love　me　without　the
　　loss　of　your　self…esteem；　therefore　I　ask　for　no　return。　Camille
　　once　said　there　was　some　hidden　fatality　in　names；　/a　propos/　of
　　hers。　That　fatality　I　felt　for　myself　on　the　jetty　of　Guerande；
　　when　I　read　on　the　shores　of　the　ocean　your　name。　Yes；　you　will
　　pass　through　my　life　as　Beatrice　passed　through　that　of　Dante。　My
　　heart　will　be　a　pedestal　for　that　white　statue；　cold；　distant；
　　jealous；　and　oppressive。

　　It　is　forbidden　to　you　to　love　me；　I　know　that。　You　will　suffer　a
　　thousand　deaths；　you　will　be　betrayed；　humiliated；　unhappy；　but
　　you　have　in　you　a　devil's　pride；　which　binds　you　to　that　column
　　you　have　once　embraced；you　are　like　Samson；　you　will　perish　by
　　holding　to　it。　But　this　I　have　not　divined；　my　love　is　too　blind
　　for　that；　Camille　has　told　it　to　me。　It　is　not　my　mind　that　speaks
　　to　you　of　this；　it　is　hers。　I　have　no　mind　with　which　to　reason
　　when　I　think　of　you；　blood　gushes　from　my　heart；　and　its　hot　wave
　　darkens　my　intellect；　weakens　my　strength；　paralyzes　my　tongue；
　　and　bends　my　knees。　I　can　only　adore　you；　whatever　you　may　do　to
　　me。

　　Camille　calls　your　resolution　obstinacy；　I　defend　you；　and　I　call
　　it　virtue。　You　are　only　the　more　beautiful　because　of　it。　I　know
　　my　destiny；　and　the　pride　of　a　Breton　can　rise　to　the　height　of
　　the　woman　who　makes　her　pride　a　virtue。

　　Therefore；　dear　Beatrix；　be　kind；　be　consoling　to　me。　When　victims
　　were　selected；　they　crowned　them　with　flowers；　so　do　you　to　me；
　　you　owe　me　the　flowers　of　pity；　the　music　of　my　sacrifice。　Am　I
　　not　a　proof　of　your　grandeur？　Will　you　not　rise　to　the　level　of　my
　　disdained　love；disdained　in　spite　of　its　sincerity；　in　spite　of
　　its　immortal　passion？

　　Ask　Camille　how　I　behaved　to　her　after　the　day　she　told　me；　on　her
　　return　to　Les　Touches；　that　she　loved　Claude　Vignon。　I　was　mute；　I
　　suffered　in　silence。　Well；　for　you　I　will　show　even　greater
　　strength；I　will　bury　my　feelings　in　my　heart；　if　you　will　not
　　drive　me　to　despair；　if　you　will　only　understand　my　heroism。　A
　　single　word　of　praise　from　you　is　enough　to　make　me　bear　the　pains
　　of　martyrdom。

　　But　if　you　persist　in　this　cold　silence；　this　deadly　disdain；　you
　　will　make　me　think　you　fear　me。　Ah；　Beatrix；　be　with　me　what　you
　　are；charming；　witty；　gay；　and　tender。　Talk　to　me　of　Conti；　as
　　Camille　has　talked　to　me　of　Claude。　I　have　no　other　spirit　in　my
　　soul；　no　other　genius　but　that　of　love；　nothing　is　there　that　can
　　make　you　fear　me；　I　will　be　in　your　presence　as　if　I　loved　you
　　not。

　　Can　you　reject　so　humble　a　prayer？the　prayer　of　a　child　who　only
　　asks　that　his　Light　shall　lighten　him；　that　his　Sun　may　warm　him。

　　He　whom　you　love　can　be　with　you　at　all　times；　but　I；　poor
　　Calyste！　have　so　few　days　in　which　to　see　you；　you　will　soon　be
　　freed　from　me。　Therefore　I　may　return　to　Les　Touches　to…morrow；
　　may　I　not？　You　will　not　refuse　my　arm　for　that　excursion？　We　shall
　　go　together　to　Croisic　and　to　Batz？　If　you　do　not　go　I　shall　take
　　it　for　an　answer；Calyste　will　understand　it！

There　were　four　more　pages　of　the　same　sort　in　close；　fine　writing；
wherein　Calyste　explained　the　sort　of　threat　conveyed　in　the　last
words；　and　related　his　youth　and　life；　but　the　tale　was　chiefly　told
in　exclamatory　phrases；　with　many　of　those　points　and　dashes　of　which
modern　literature　is　so　prodigal　when　it　comes　to　crucial　passages；
as　though　they　were　planks　offered　to　the　reader's　imagination；　to
help　him　across　crevasses。　The　rest　of　this　artless　letter　was　merely
repetition。　But　if　it　was　not　likely　to　touch　Madame　de　Rochefide；　and
would　very　slightly　interest　the　admirers　of　strong　emotions；　it　made
the　mother　weep；　as　she　said　to　her　son；　in　her　tender　voice；

〃My　child；　you　are　not　happy。〃

This　tumultuous　poem　of　sentiments　which　had　arisen　like　a　storm　in
Calyste's　heart；　terrified　the　baroness；　for　the　first　time　in　her
life　she　read　a　love…letter。

Calyste　was　standing　in　deep　perplexity；　how　could　he　send　that
letter？　He　followed　his　mother　back　into　the　salon　with　the　letter　in
his　pocket　and　burning　in　his　heart　like　fire。　The　Chevalier　du　Halga
was　still　there；　and　the　last　deal　of　a　lively　/mouche/　was　going　on。
Charlotte　de　Kergarouet；　in　despair　at　Calyste's　indifference；　was
paying　attention　to　his　father　as　a　means　of　promoting　her　marriage。
Calyste　wandered　hither　and　thither　like　a　butterfly　which　had　flown
into　the　room　by　mistake。　At　last；　when　/mouche/　was　over；　he　drew　the
Chevalier　du　Halga　into　the　great　salon；　from　which　he　sent　away
Mademoiselle　de　Pen…Hoel's　page　and　Mariotte。

〃What　does　he　want　of　the　chevalier？〃　said　old　Zephirine；　addressing
her　friend　Jacqueline。

〃Calyste　strikes　me　as　half…crazy；〃　replied　Mademoiselle　de　Pen…Hoel。
〃He　pays　Charlotte　no　more　attention　than　if　she　were　a　/paludiere/。〃

Remembe