the lily of the valley-第23部分

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

allow　the　sovereign　lady　to　see　a　tear　upon　some　petal　more　expanded

than　the　rest。　What　do　we　give　to　God？　perfumes；　light；　and　song；　the

purest　expression　of　our　nature。　Well；　these　offerings　to　God；　are

they　not　likewise　offered　to　love　in　this　poem　of　luminous　flowers

murmuring　their　sadness　to　the　heart；　cherishing　its　hidden

transports；　its　unuttered　hopes；　its　illusions　which　gleam　and　fall　to

fragments　like　the　gossamer　of　a　summer's　night？



Such　neutral　pleasures　help　to　soothe　a　nature　irritated　by　long

contemplation　of　the　person　beloved。　They　were　to　me；　I　dare　not　say

to　her；　like　those　fissures　in　a　dam　through　which　the　water　finds　a

vent　and　avoids　disaster。　Abstinence　brings　deadly　exhaustion；　which　a

few　crumbs　falling　from　heaven　like　manna　in　the　desert；　suffices　to

relieve。　Sometimes　I　found　my　Henriette　standing　before　these　bouquets

with　pendant　arms；　lost　in　agitated　reverie；　thoughts　swelling　her

bosom；　illumining　her　brow　as　they　surged　in　waves　and　sank　again；

leaving　lassitude　and　languor　behind　them。　Never　again　have　I　made　a

bouquet　for　any　one。　When　she　and　I　had　created　this　language　and

formed　it　to　our　uses；　a　satisfaction　filled　our　souls　like　that　of　a

slave　who　escapes　his　masters。



During　the　rest　of　this　month　as　I　came　from　the　meadows　through　the

gardens　I　often　saw　her　face　at　the　window；　and　when　I　reached　the

salon　she　was　ready　at　her　embroidery　frame。　If　I　did　not　arrive　at

the　hour　expected　（though　never　appointed）；　I　saw　a　white　form

wandering　on　the　terrace；　and　when　I　joined　her　she　would　say；　〃I　came

to　meet　you；　I　must　show　a　few　attentions　to　my　youngest　child。〃



The　miserable　games　of　backgammon　had　come　to　end。　The　count's　late

purchases　took　all　his　time　in　going　hither　and　thither　about　the

property；　surveying；　examining；　and　marking　the　boundaries　of　his　new

possessions。　He　had　orders　to　give；　rural　works　to　overlook　which

needed　a　master's　eye；all　of　them　planned　and　decided　on　by　his　wife

and　himself。　We　often　went　to　meet　him；　the　countess　and　I；　with　the

children；　who　amused　themselves　on　the　way　by　running　after　insects；

stag…beetles；　darning…needles；　they　too　making　their　bouquets；　or　to

speak　more　truly；　their　bundles　of　flowers。　To　walk　beside　the　woman

we　love；　to　take　her　on　our　arm；　to　guide　her　steps；these　are

illimitable　joys　that　suffice　a　lifetime。　Confidence　is　then　complete。

We　went　alone；　we　returned　with　the　〃general；〃　a　title　given　to　the

count　when　he　was　good…humored。　These　two　ways　of　taking　the　same　path

gave　light　and　shade　to　our　pleasure；　a　secret　known　only　to　hearts

debarred　from　union。　Our　talk；　so　free　as　we　went；　had　hidden

significations　as　we　returned；　when　either　of　us　gave　an　answer　to

some　furtive　interrogation；　or　continued　a　subject；　already　begun；　in

the　enigmatic　phrases　to　which　our　language　lends　itself；　and　which

women　are　so　ingenious　in　composing。　Who　has　not　known　the　pleasure　of

such　secret　understandings　in　a　sphere　apart　from　those　about　us；　a

sphere　where　spirits　meet　outside　of　social　laws？



One　day　a　wild　hope；　quickly　dispelled；　took　possession　of　me；　when

the　count；　wishing　to　know　what　we　were　talking　of；　put　the　inquiry；

and　Henriette　answered　in　words　that　allowed　another　meaning；　which

satisfied　him。　This　amused　Madeleine；　who　laughed；　after　a　moment　her

mother　blushed　and　gave　me　a　forbidding　look；　as　if　to　say　she　might

still　withdraw　from　me　her　soul　as　she　had　once　withdrawn　her　hand。

But　our　purely　spiritual　union　had　far　too　many　charms；　and　on　the

morrow　it　continued　as　before。



The　hours；　days；　and　weeks　fled　by；　filled　with　renascent　joys。　Grape

harvest；　the　festal　season　in　Touraine；　began。　Toward　the　end　of

September　the　sun；　less　hot　than　during　the　wheat　harvest；　allows　of

our　staying　in　the　vineyards　without　danger　of　becoming　overheated。　It

is　easier　to　gather　grapes　than　to　mow　wheat。　Fruits　of　all　kinds　are

ripe；　harvests　are　garnered；　bread　is　less　dear；　the　sense　of　plenty

makes　the　country　people　happy。　Fears　as　to　the　results　of　rural　toil；

in　which　more　money　than　sweat　is　often　spent；　vanish　before　a　full

granary　and　cellars　about　to　overflow。　The　vintage　is　then　like　a　gay

dessert　after　the　dinner　is　eaten；　the　skies　of　Touraine；　where　the

autumns　are　always　magnificent；　smile　upon　it。　In　this　hospitable　land

the　vintagers　are　fed　and　lodged　in　the　master's　house。　The　meals　are

the　only　ones　throughout　the　year　when　these　poor　people　taste

substantial；　well…cooked　food；　and　they　cling　to　the　custom　as　the

children　of　patriarchal　families　cling　to　anniversaries。　As　the　time

approaches　they　flock　in　crowds　to　those　houses　where　the　masters　are

known　to　treat　the　laborers　liberally。　The　house　is　full　of　people　and

of　provisions。　The　presses　are　open。　The　country　is　alive　with　the

coming　and　going　of　itinerant　coopers；　of　carts　filled　with　laughing

girls　and　joyous　husbandmen；　who　earn　better　wages　than　at　any　other

time　during　the　year；　and　who　sing　as　they　go。　There　is　also　another

cause　of　pleasurable　content：　classes　and　ranks　are　equal；　women；

children；　masters；　and　men；　all　that　little　world；　share　in　the

garnering　of　the　divine　hoard。　These　various　elements　of　satisfaction

explain　the　hilarity　of　the　vintage；　transmitted　from　age　to　age　in

these　last　glorious　days　of　autumn；　the　remembrance　of　which　inspired

Rabelais　with　the　bacchic　form　of　his　great　work。



The　children；　Jacques　and　Madeleine；　had　never　seen　a　vintage；　I　was

like　them；　and　they　were　full　of　infantine　delight　at　finding　a　sharer

of　their　pleasure；　their　mother；　too；　promised　to　accompany　us。　We

went　to　Villaines；　where　baskets　are　manufactured；　in　quest　of　the

prettiest　that　could　be　bought；　for　we　four　were　to　cut　certain　rows

reserved　for　our　scissors；　it　was；　however；　agreed　that　none　of　us

were　to　eat　too　many　grapes。　To　eat　the　fat　bunches　of　Touraine　in　a

vineyard　seemed　so　delicious　that　we　all　refused　the　finest　grapes　on

the　dinner…table。　Jacques　made　me　swear　I　would　go　to　no　other

vineyard；　but　stay　closely　at　Clochegourde。　Never　were　these　frail

little　beings；　usually　pallid　and　smiling；　so　fresh　and　rosy　and

active　as　they　were　this　morning。　They　chattered　for　chatter's　sake；

and　trotted　about　without　apparent　object；　they　suddenly　seemed；　like

other　children；　to　have　more　life　than　they　needed；　neither　Monsieur

nor　Madame　de　Mortsauf　had　ever　seen　them　so　before。　I　became　a　child

again　with　them；　more　of　a　child　than　either　of　them；　perhaps；　I；　too；

was　hoping　for　my　harvest。　It　was　glorious　weather　when　we　went　to　the

vineyard；　and　we　stayed　there　half　the　day。　How　we　disputed　as　to　who

had　the　finest　grapes　and　who　could　fill　his　basket　quickest！　The

little　human　shoots　ran　to　and　fro　from　the　vines　to　their　mother；　not

a　bunch　could　be　cut　without　showing　it　to　her。　She　laughed　with　the

good；　gay　laugh　of　her　girlhood　when　I；　running　up　with　my　basket

after　Madeleine；　cried　out；　〃Mine　too！　See　mine；　mamma！〃　To　which　she

answered：　〃Don't　get　overheated；　dear　child。〃　Then　passing　her　hand

round　my　neck　and　through　my　hair；　she　added；　giving　me　a　little　tap

on　the　cheek；　〃You　are　melting　away。〃　It　was　the　only　caress　she　ever

gave　me。　I　looked　at　the　pretty　line　of　purple　clusters；　the　hedges

full　of　haws　and　blackberries；　I　heard　the　voices　of　the　children；　I

watched　the　trooping　girls；　the　cart　loaded　with　barrels；　the　men　with

the　panniers。　Ah；　it　is　all　engraved　on　my　memory；　even　to　the　almond…

tree　beside　which　she　stood；　girlish；　rosy；　smiling；　beneath　the

sunshade　held　open　in　her　hand。　Then　I　busied　myself　in　cutting　the

bunches　and　filling　my　basket；　going　forward　to　empty　it　in　the　vat；

silently；　with　measured　bodily　movement　and　slow　steps　that　left　my

spirit　free。　I　discovered　then　the　ineffable　pleasure　of　an　external

labor　which　carries　life　along；　and　thus　regulates　the　rush　of

passion；　often　so　near；　but　for　this　mechanical　motion；　to　kindle　into

flame。　I　learned　how　much　wisdom　is　contained　in　uniform　labor；　I

understood　monastic　discipline。



For　the　first　time　in　many　days　the　count　was　neither　surly　nor　cruel。

His　son　was　so　well；　the　future　Duc　de　Lenoncourt…Mortsauf；　fair　and

rosy　and　stained　with　grape…juice；　rejoiced　his　heart。　This　day　being

the　last　of　the　vintage；　he　had　promised　a　dance　in　front　of

Clochegourde　in　honor　of　the　return　of　the　Bourbons；　so　that　our

festival　gratified　everybody。　As　we　returned　to　the　house；　the

countess　took　my　arm　and　leaned　upon　it；　as　if　to　let　my　heart　feel

the　weight　of　hers；the　instinctive　movement　of　a　mother　who　seeks　to

convey　her　joy。　Then　she　whispered　in　my　ear；　〃You　bring　us

happiness。〃



Ah；　to　me；　who　knew　her　sleepless　nights；　her　cares；　her　fears；　her

former　existence；　in　which；　although　the　hand　of　God　sustained　her；

all　was　barren　and　wearisome；　those　words　u