the lily of the valley-第22部分

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gray　salon。　I　rushed　into　the　fields　and　vineyards　to　make　her　two

bouquets；　but　as　I　gathered　the　flowers；　one　by　one；　cutting　their

long　stalks　and　admiring　their　beauty；　the　thought　occurred　to　me　that

the　colors　and　foliage　had　a　poetry；　a　harmony；　which　meant　something

to　the　understanding　while　they　charmed　the　eye；　just　as　musical

melodies　awaken　memories　in　hearts　that　are　loving　and　beloved。　If

color　is　light　organized；　must　it　not　have　a　meaning　of　its　own；　as

the　combinations　of　the　air　have　theirs？　I　called　in　the　assistance　of

Jacques　and　Madeleine；　and　all　three　of　us　conspired　to　surprise　our

dear　one。　I　arranged；　on　the　lower　steps　of　the　portico；　where　we

established　our　floral　headquarters；　two　bouquets　by　which　I　tried　to

convey　a　sentiment。　Picture　to　yourself　a　fountain　of　flowers　gushing

from　the　vases　and　falling　back　in　curving　waves；　my　message　springing

from　its　bosom　in　white　roses　and　lilies　with　their　silver　cups。　All

the　blue　flowers；　harebells；　forget…me…nots；　and　ox…tongues；　whose

tines；　caught　from　the　skies；　blended　so　well　with　the　whiteness　of

the　lilies；　sparkled　on　this　dewy　texture；　were　they　not　the　type　of

two　purities；　the　one　that　knows　nothing；　the　other　that　knows　all；　an

image　of　the　child；　an　image　of　the　martyr？　Love　has　its　blazon；　and

the　countess　discerned　it　inwardly。　She　gave　me　a　poignant　glance

which　was　like　the　cry　of　a　soldier　when　his　wound　is　touched；　she　was

humbled　but　enraptured　too。　My　reward　was　in　that　glance；　to　refresh

her　heart；　to　have　given　her　comfort；　what　encouragement　for　me！　Then

it　was　that　I　pressed　the　theories　of　Pere　Castel　into　the　service　of

love；　and　recovered　a　science　lost　to　Europe；　where　written　pages　have

supplanted　the　flowery　missives　of　the　Orient　with　their　balmy　tints。

What　charm　in　expressing　our　sensations　through　these　daughters　of　the

sun；　sisters　to　the　flowers　that　bloom　beneath　the　rays　of　love！

Before　long　I　communed　with　the　flora　of　the　fields；　as　a　man　whom　I

met　in　after　days　at　Grandlieu　communed　with　his　bees。



Twice　a　week　during　the　remainder　of　my　stay　at　Frapesle　I　continued

the　slow　labor　of　this　poetic　enterprise；　for　the　ultimate

accomplishment　of　which　I　needed　all　varieties　of　herbaceous　plants；

into　these　I　made　a　deep　research；　less　as　a　botanist　than　as　a　poet；

studying　their　spirit　rather　than　their　form。　To　find　a　flower　in　its

native　haunts　I　walked　enormous　distances；　beside　the　brooklets；

through　the　valleys；　to　the　summit　of　the　cliffs；　across　the　moorland；

garnering　thoughts　even　from　the　heather。　During　these　rambles　I

initiated　myself　into　pleasures　unthought　of　by　the　man　of　science　who

lives　in　meditation；　unknown　to　the　horticulturist　busy　with

specialities；　to　the　artisan　fettered　to　a　city；　to　the　merchant

fastened　to　his　desk；　but　known　to　a　few　foresters；　to　a　few　woodsmen；

and　to　some　dreamers。　Nature　can　show　effects　the　significations　of

which　are　limitless；　they　rise　to　the　grandeur　of　the　highest　moral

conceptionsbe　it　the　heather　in　bloom；　covered　with　the　diamonds　of

the　dew　on　which　the　sunlight　dances；　infinitude　decked　for　the　single

glance　that　may　chance　to　fall　upon　it：be　it　a　corner　of　the　forest

hemmed　in　with　time…worn　rocks　crumbling　to　gravel　and　clothed　with

mosses　overgrown　with　juniper；　which　grasps　our　minds　as　something

savage；　aggressive；　terrifying　as　the　cry　of　the　kestrel　issuing　from

it：be　it　a　hot　and　barren　moor　without　vegetation；　stony；　rigid；　its

horizon　like　those　of　the　desert；　where　once　I　gathered　a　sublime　and

solitary　flower；　the　anemone　pulsatilla；　with　its　violet　petals

opening　for　the　golden　stamens；　affecting　image　of　my　pure　idol　alone

in　her　valley：be　it　great　sheets　of　water；　where　nature　casts　those

spots　of　greenery；　a　species　of　transition　between　the　plant　and

animal；　where　life　makes　haste　to　come　in　flowers　and　insects；

floating　there　like　worlds　in　ether：be　it　a　cottage　with　its　garden

of　cabbages；　its　vineyards；　its　hedges　overhanging　a　bog；　surrounded

by　a　few　sparse　fields　of　rye；　true　image　of　many　humble　existences：

be　it　a　forest　path　like　some　cathedral　nave；　where　the　trees　are

columns　and　their　branches　arch　the　roof；　at　the　far　end　of　which　a

light　breaks　through；　mingled　with　shadows　or　tinted　with　sunset　reds

athwart　the　leaves　which　gleam　like　the　colored　windows　of　a　chancel：

then；　leaving　these　woods　so　cool　and　branchy；　behold　a　chalk…land

lying　fallow；　where　among　the　warm　and　cavernous　mosses　adders　glide

to　their　lairs；　or　lift　their　proud　slim　heads。　Cast　upon　all　these

pictures　torrents　of　sunlight　like　beneficent　waters；　or　the　shadow　of

gray　clouds　drawn　in　lines　like　the　wrinkles　of　an　old　man's　brow；　or

the　cool　tones　of　a　sky　faintly　orange　and　streaked　with　lines　of　a

paler　tint；　then　listenyou　will　hear　indefinable　harmonies　amid　a

silence　which　blends　them　all。



During　the　months　of　September　and　October　I　did　not　make　a　single

bouquet　which　cost　me　less　than　three　hours　search；　so　much　did　I

admire；　with　the　real　sympathy　of　a　poet；　these　fugitive　allegories　of

human　life；　that　vast　theatre　I　was　about　to　enter；　the　scenes　of

which　my　memory　must　presently　recall。　Often　do　I　now　compare　those

splendid　scenes　with　memories　of　my　soul　thus　expending　itself　on

nature；　again　I　walk　that　valley　with　my　sovereign；　whose　white　robe

brushed　the　coppice　and　floated　on　the　green　sward；　whose　spirit　rose；

like　a　promised　fruit；　from　each　calyx　filled　with　amorous　stamens。



No　declaration　of　love；　no　vows　of　uncontrollable　passion　ever

conveyed　more　than　these　symphonies　of　flowers；　my　baffled　desires

impelled　me　to　efforts　of　expression　through　them　like　those　of

Beethoven　through　his　notes；　to　the　same　bitter　reactions；　to　the　same

mighty　bounds　towards　heaven。　In　their　presence　Madame　de　Mortsauf　was

my　Henriette。　She　looked　at　them　constantly；　they　fed　her　spirit；　she

gathered　all　the　thoughts　I　had　given　them；　saying；　as　she　raised　her

head　from　the　embroidery　frame　to　receive　my　gift；　〃Ah；　how

beautiful！〃



Natalie；　you　will　understand　this　delightful　intercourse　through　the

details　of　a　bouquet；　just　as　you　would　comprehend　Saadi　from　a

fragment　of　his　verse。　Have　you　ever　smelt　in　the　fields　in　the　month

of　May　the　perfume　that　communicates　to　all　created　beings　the

intoxicating　sense　of　a　new　creation；　the　sense　that　makes　you　trail

your　hand　in　the　water　from　a　boat；　and　loosen　your　hair　to　the　breeze

while　your　mind　revives　with　the　springtide　greenery　of　the　trees？　A

little　plant；　a　species　of　vernal　grass；　is　a　powerful　element　in　this

veiled　harmony；　it　cannot　be　worn　with　impunity；　take　into　your　hand

its　shining　blade；　striped　green　and　white　like　a　silken　robe；　and

mysterious　emotions　will　stir　the　rosebuds　your　modesty　keeps　hidden

in　the　depths　of　your　heart。　Round　the　neck　of　a　porcelain　vase

imagine　a　broad　margin　of　the　gray…white　tufts　peculiar　to　the　sedum

of　the　vineyards　of　Touraine；　vague　image　of　submissive　forms；　from

this　foundation　come　tendrils　of　the　bind…weed　with　its　silver　bells；

sprays　of　pink　rest…barrow　mingled　with　a　few　young　shoots　of　oak…

leaves；　lustrous　and　magnificently　colored；　these　creep　forth

prostrate；　humble　as　the　weeping…willow；　timid　and　supplicating　as

prayer。　Above；　see　those　delicate　threads　of　the　purple　amoret；　with

its　flood　of　anthers　that　are　nearly　yellow；　the　snowy　pyramids　of　the

meadow…sweet；　the　green　tresses　of　the　wild　oats；　the　slender　plumes

of　the　agrostis；　which　we　call　wind…ear；　roseate　hopes；　decking　love's

earliest　dream　and　standing　forth　against　the　gray　surroundings。　But

higher　still；　remark　the　Bengal　roses；　sparsely　scattered　among　the

laces　of　the　daucus；　the　plumes　of　the　linaria；　the　marabouts　of　the

meadow…queen；　see　the　umbels　of　the　myrrh；　the　spun　glass　of　the

clematis　in　seed；　the　dainty　petals　of　the　cross…wort；　white　as　milk；

the　corymbs　of　the　yarrow；　the　spreading　stems　of　the　fumitory　with

their　black　and　rosy　blossoms；　the　tendrils　of　the　grape；　the　twisted

shoots　of　the　honeysuckle；　in　short；　all　the　innocent　creatures　have

that　is　most　tangled；　wayward；　wild；flames　and　triple　darts；　leaves

lanceolated　or　jagged；　stalks　convoluted　like　passionate　desires

writhing　in　the　soul。　From　the　bosom　of　this　torrent　of　love　rises　the

scarlet　poppy；　its　tassels　about　to　open；　spreading　its　flaming　flakes

above　the　starry　jessamine；　dominating　the　rain　of　pollenthat　soft

mist　fluttering　in　the　air　and　reflecting　the　light　in　its　myriad

particles。　What　woman　intoxicated　with　the　odor　of　the　vernal　grasses

would　fail　to　understand　this　wealth　of　offered　thoughts；　these　ardent

desires　of　a　love　demanding　the　happiness　refused　in　a　hundred

struggles　which　passion　still　renews；　continuous；　unwearying；　eternal！



Put　this　speech　of　the　flowers　in　the　light　of　a　window　to　show　its

crisp　details；　its　delicate　contrasts；　its　arabesques　of　color；　and

allow　th