a woman of thirty-第15章

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man　who　thought；　a　self　that　suffered　and　a　self　that　could　fain　suffer　no　longer。　Her　mind　traveled　back　to　the　joys　of　childish　days；　they　had　gone　by；　and　she　had　never　known　how　happy　they　were。　Scenes　crowded　up　in　her　memory　as　in　a　bright　mirror　glass；　to　demonstrate　the　deception　of　a　marriage　which；　all　that　it　should　be　in　the　eyes　of　the　world；　was　in　reality　wretched。　What　had　the　delicate　pride　of　young　womanhood　done　for　herthe　bliss　foregone；　the　sacrifices　made　to　the　world？　Everything　in　her　expressed　love；　awaited　love；　her　movements　still　were　full　of　perfect　grace；　her　smile；　her　charm；　were　hers　as　before；　why？　she　asked　herself。　The　sense　of　her　own　youth　and　physical　loveliness　no　more　affected　her　than　some　meaningless　reiterated　sound。　Her　very　beauty　had　grown　intolerable　to　her　as　a　useless　thing。　She　shrank　aghast　from　the　thought　that　through　the　rest　of　life　she　must　remain　an　incomplete　creature；　had　not　the　inner　self　lost　its　power　of　receiving　impressions　with　that　zest；　that　exquisite　sense　of　freshness　which　is　the　spring　of　so　much　of　life's　gladness？　The　impressions　of　the　future　would　for　the　most　part　be　effaced　as　soon　as　received；　and　many　of　the　thoughts　which　once　would　have　moved　her　now　would　move　her　no　more。

After　the　childhood　of　the　creature　dawns　the　childhood　of　the　heart；　but　this　second　infancy　was　over；　her　lover　had　taken　it　down　with　him　into　the　grave。　The　longings　of　youth　remained；　she　was　young　yet；　but　the　completeness　of　youth　was　gone；　and　with　that　lost　completeness　the　whole　value　and　savor　of　life　had　diminished　somewhat。　Should　she　not　always　bear　within　her　the　seeds　of　sadness　and　mistrust；　ready　to　grow　up　and　rob　emotion　of　its　springtide　of　fervor？　Conscious　she　must　always　be　that　nothing　could　give　her　now　the　happiness　so　longed　for；　that　seemed　so　fair　in　her　dreams。　The　fire　from　heaven　that　sheds　abroad　its　light　in　the　heart；　in　the　dawn　of　love；　had　been　quenched　in　tears；　the　first　real　tears　which　she　had　shed；　henceforth　she　must　always　suffer；　because　it　was　no　longer　in　her　power　to　be　what　once　she　might　have　been。　This　is　a　belief　which　turns　us　in　aversion　and　bitterness　of　spirit　from　any　proffered　new　delight。

Julie　had　come　to　look　at　life　from　the　point　of　view　of　age　about　to　die。　Young　though　she　felt；　the　heavy　weight　of　joyless　days　had　fallen　upon　her；　and　left　her　broken…spirited　and　old　before　her　time。　With　a　despairing　cry；　she　asked　the　world　what　it　could　give　her　in　exchange　for　the　love　now　lost；　by　which　she　had　lived。　She　asked　herself　whether　in　that　vanished　love；　so　chaste　and　pure；　her　will　had　not　been　more　criminal　than　her　deeds；　and　chose　to　believe　herself　guilty；　partly　to　affront　the　world；　partly　for　her　own　consolation；　in　that　she　had　missed　the　close　union　of　body　and　soul；　which　diminishes　the　pain　of　the　one　who　is　left　behind　by　the　knowledge　that　once　it　has　known　and　given　joy　to　the　full；　and　retains　within　itself　the　impress　of　that　which　is　no　more。

Something　of　the　mortification　of　the　actress　cheated　of　her　part　mingled　with　the　pain　which　thrilled　through　every　fibre　of　her　heart　and　brain。　Her　nature　had　been　thwarted；　her　vanity　wounded；　her　woman's　generosity　cheated　of　self…sacrifice。　Then；　when　she　had　raised　all　these　questions；　set　vibrating　all　the　springs　in　those　different　phases　of　being　which　we　distinguish　as　social；　moral；　and　physical；　her　energies　were　so　far　exhausted　and　relaxed　that　she　was　powerless　to　grasp　a　single　thought　amid　the　chase　of　conflicting　ideas。

Sometimes　as　the　mists　fell；　she　would　throw　her　window　open；　and　would　stay　there；　motionless；　breathing　in　unheedingly　the　damp　earthly　scent　in　the　air；　her　mind　to　all　appearance　an　unintelligent　blank；　for　the　ceaseless　burden　of　sorrow　humming　in　her　brain　left　her　deaf　to　earth's　harmonies　and　insensible　to　the　delights　of　thought。

One　day；　towards　noon；　when　the　sun　shone　out　for　a　little；　her　maid　came　in　without　a　summons。

〃This　is　the　fourth　time　that　M。　le　Cure　has　come　to　see　Mme。　la　Marquise；　to…day　he　is　so　determined　about　it；　that　we　did　not　know　what　to　tell　him。〃

〃He　has　come　to　ask　for　some　money　for　the　poor；　no　doubt；　take　him　twenty…five　louis　from　me。〃

The　woman　went　only　to　return。

〃M。　le　Cure　will　not　take　the　money；　my　lady；　he　wants　to　speak　to　you。〃

〃Then　let　him　come！〃　said　Mme。　d'Aiglemont；　with　an　involuntary　shrug　which　augured　ill　for　the　priest's　reception。　Evidently　the　lady　meant　to　put　a　stop　to　persecution　by　a　short　and　sharp　method。

Mme。　d'Aiglemont　had　lost　her　mother　in　her　early　childhood；　and　as　a　natural　consequence　in　her　bringing…up；　she　had　felt　the　influence　of　the　relaxed　notions　which　loosened　the　hold　of　religion　upon　France　during　the　Revolution。　Piety　is　a　womanly　virtue　which　women　alone　can　really　instil；　and　the　Marquise；　a　child　of　the　eighteenth　century；　had　adopted　her　father's　creed　of　philosophism；　and　practised　no　religious　observances。　A　priest；　to　her　way　of　thinking；　was　a　civil　servant　of　very　doubtful　utility。　In　her　present　position；　the　teaching　of　religion　could　only　poison　her　wounds；　she　had；　moreover；　but　scanty　faith　in　the　lights　of　country　cures；　and　made　up　her　mind　to　put　this　one　gently　but　firmly　in　his　place；　and　to　rid　herself　of　him；　after　the　manner　of　the　rich；　by　bestowing　a　benefit。

At　first　sight　of　the　cure　the　Marquise　felt　no　inclination　to　change　her　mind。　She　saw　before　her　a　stout；　rotund　little　man；　with　a　ruddy；　wrinkled；　elderly　face；　which　awkwardly　and　unsuccessfully　tried　to　smile。　His　bald；　quadrant…shaped　forehead；　furrowed　by　intersecting　lines；　was　too　heavy　for　the　rest　of　his　face；　which　seemed　to　be　dwarfed　by　it。　A　fringe　of　scanty　white　hair　encircled　the　back　of　his　head；　and　almost　reached　his　ears。　Yet　the　priest　looked　as　if　by　nature　he　had　a　genial　disposition；　his　thick　lips；　his　slightly　curved　nose；　his　chin；　which　vanished　in　a　double　fold　of　wrinkles；　all　marked　him　out　as　a　man　who　took　cheerful　views　of　life。

At　first　the　Marquise　saw　nothing　but　these　salient　characteristics；　but　at　the　first　word　she　was　struck　by　the　sweetness　of　the　speaker's　voice。　Looking　at　him　more　closely；　she　saw　that　the　eyes　under　the　grizzled　eyebrows　had　shed　tears；　and　his　face；　turned　in　profile；　wore　so　sublime　an　impress　of　sorrow；　that　the　Marquise　recognized　the　man　in　the　cure。

〃Madame　la　Marquise；　the　rich　only　come　within　our　province　when　they　are　in　trouble。　It　is　easy　to　see　that　the　troubles　of　a　young；　beautiful；　and　wealthy　woman；　who　has　lost　neither　children　nor　relatives；　are　caused　by　wounds　whose　pangs　religion　alone　can　soothe。　Your　soul　is　in　danger；　madame。　I　am　not　speaking　now　of　the　hereafter　which　awaits　us。　No；　I　am　not　in　the　confessional。　But　it　is　my　duty；　is　it　not；　to　open　your　eyes　to　your　future　life　here　on　earth？　You　will　pardon　an　old　man；　will　you　not；　for　importunity　which　has　your　own　happiness　for　its　object？〃

〃There　is　no　more　happiness　for　me；　monsieur。　I　shall　soon　be；　as　you　say；　in　your　province；　but　it　will　be　for　ever。〃

〃Nay；　madame。　You　will　not　die　of　this　pain　which　lies　heavy　upon　you；　and　can　be　read　in　your　face。　If　you　had　been　destined　to　die　of　it；　you　would　not　be　here　at　Saint…Lange。　A　definite　regret　is　not　so　deadly　as　hope　deferred。　I　have　known　others　pass　through　more　intolerable　and　more　awful　anguish；　and　yet　they　live。〃

The　Marquise　looked　incredulous。

〃Madame；　I　know　a　man　whose　affliction　was　so　sore　that　your　trouble　would　seem　to　you　to　be　light　compared　with　his。〃

Perhaps　the　long　solitary　hours　had　begun　to　hang　heavily；　perhaps　in　the　recesses　of　the　Marquise's　mind　lay　the　thought　that　here　was　a　friendly　heart　to　whom　she　might　be　able　to　pour　out　her　troubles。　However；　it　was；　she　gave　the　cure　a　questioning　glance　which　could　not　be　mistaken。

〃Madame；〃　he　continued；　〃the　man　of　whom　I　tell　you　had　but　three　children　left　of　a　once　large　family　circle。　He　lost　his　parents；　his　daughter；　and　his　wife；　whom　he　dearly　loved。　He　was　left　alone　at　last　on　the　little　farm　where　he　had　lived　so　happily　for　so　long。　His　three　sons　were　in　the　army；　and　each　of　the　lads　had　risen　in　proportion　to　his　time　of　service。　During　the　Hundred　Days；　the　oldest　went　into　the　Guard　with　a　colonel's　commission；　the　second　was　a　major　in　the　artillery；　the　youngest　a　major　in　a　regiment　of　dragoons。　Madame；　those　three　boys　loved　their　father　as　much　as　he　loved　them。　If　you　but　knew　how　careless　young　fellows　grow　of　home　ties　when　they　are　carried　away　by　the　current　of　their　own　lives；　you　would　realize　from　this　one　little　thing　how　warmly　they　loved　the　lonely　old　father；　who　only　lived　in　and　for　themnever　a　week　passed　without　a　letter　from　one　of　the　boys。　But　then　he　on　his　side　had　never　been　weakly　indulgent；　to　lessen　their　respect　for　him；　nor　unjustly　severe；　to　thwart　their　affection；　or　apt　to　grudge　sacrifices；　the　thing　that　estranges　children's　hearts。　He　had　been　more　than　a　father；　he　had　been　a　brother　to　them；　and　their　friend。

〃At　last　he　went　to　Paris　to　bid　them　good…bye　before　they　set　out　for　Belgium；　he　wished　to　see　that　they　had　good　horses　and　all　that　they　needed。　And　so　they　went；　and　the　father　returned　to　his　home　again。　Then　the　war　began。　He　had　letters　from　Fleurus；　and　again　from　Ligny。　All　went　well。　Then　came　the　battle　of　Waterloo；　and　you　know　the　rest。　France　was　plunged　into　mourning；　every　family　waited　in　intense　anxiety　for　news。　You　may　imagine；　madame；　how　the　old　man　waited　for　tidings；　in　anxiety　that　knew　no　peace　nor　rest。　He　used　to　read　the　gazettes；　he　went　to　the　coach　office　every　day。　One　evening　he　was　told　that　the　colonel's　servant　had　come。　The　man　was　riding　his　master's　horsewhat　need　was　there　to　ask　any　questions？the　colonel　was　dead；　cut　in　two　by　a　shell。　Before　the　evening　was　out　the　youngest　son's　servant　arrivedthe　youngest　had　died　on　the　eve　of　the　battle。　At　midnight　came　a　gunner　with　tidings　of　the　death　of　the　last；　upon　whom；　in　those　few　hours；　the　poor　father　had　centered　all　his　life。　Madame；　they　all　had　fallen。〃

After　a　pause　the　good　man　controlled　his　feelings；　and　added　gently：

〃And　their　father　is　still　living；　madame。　He　realized　that　if　God　had　left　him　on　earth；　he　was　bound　to　live　on　and　suffer　on　earth；　but　he　took　refuge　in　the　sanctuary。　What　could　he　be？〃

The　Marquise　looked　up　and　saw　the　cure's　face；　grown　sublime　in　its　sorrow　and　resignation；　and　waited　for　him　to　speak。　When　the　words　came；　tears　broke　from　her。

〃A　priest；　madame；　consecrated　by　his　own　tears　previously　shed　at　the　foot　of　the　altar。〃

Silence　prevailed　for　a　little。　The　Marquise　and　the　cure　looked　out　at　the　foggy　landscape；　as　if　they　could　see　the　figures　of　those　who　were　no　more。

〃Not　a　priest　in　a　city；　but　a　simple　country　cure；〃　added　he。

〃At　Saint…Lange；〃　she　said；　drying　her　eyes。

〃Yes；　madame。〃

Never　had　the　majesty　of　grief　seemed　so　great　to　Julie。　The　two　words　sank　straight　into　her　heart　with　the　weight　of　infinite　sorrow。　The　gentle；　sonorous　tones　troubled　her　heart。　Ah！　that　full；　deep　voice；　charged　with　plangent　vibration；　was　the　voice　of　one　who　had　suffered　indeed。

〃And　if　I　do　not　die；　monsieur；