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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Choice of Life, by Georgette Leblanc,
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Choice of Life
+
+
+Author: Georgette Leblanc
+
+
+
+Release Date: August 26, 2007  [eBook #22411]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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+
+
+
+
+
+THE CHOICE OF LIFE
+
+by
+
+GEORGETTE LEBLANC
+
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Georgette Leblanc]
+
+
+
+New York
+Dodd, Mead and Company
+1914
+
+Copyright, 1914, by
+Dodd, Mead and Company
+Published, March, 1914
+
+
+
+
+Women are ever divided by a miserable distrust, whereas all their
+weaknesses intertwined might make for their lives a crown of love and
+strength and beauty....
+
+How one of them strove to deliver her unhappy friend, the words which
+she spoke to her, the examples which she set before her, the joys which
+she offered her: these are what I have tried to record in this book.
+
+                                                                G.L.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE FIRST
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+Here in the garden, close to the quiet house, I sit thinking of that
+strange meeting in the village. A blackbird at regular intervals sings
+the same refrain, which is taken up by others in the distance. The
+lily's chalice gleams under the blazing sun; and the humbler flowers
+meekly droop their heads. White butterflies are everywhere, flitting
+restlessly hither and thither. So fierce is the splendour of the day
+that I cannot raise my eyes to the summit of the trees; and my quivering
+lids show me the whole sky through my lashes.
+
+Thereupon it seems to me that the emotion which bursts from my heart,
+like a too-brilliant light, compels me to close the shutters of my brain
+as well. In my mind, even as before my eyes, distances are lessened and
+I see stretched before me that more or less illusive goal which we would
+all fain reach in the desires of our finer selves.
+
+This idea is soothing to me, for, in my eagerness to act, I am tired of
+demanding from my reason reasons which it cannot vouchsafe me.
+
+Is there anything definite amid the uncertainty of these blind efforts,
+these unaccountable impulses, which have so often, ever since the first
+awakening of my unconsciousness, urged me towards other women? What have
+I wanted hitherto? What was it that I hoped when I stretched out my
+hands to them, when I looked upon their lives, when I searched their
+hearts, when at times I changed the very nature of their strivings? I
+did not know then; and even now I do not succeed in explaining to myself
+the fever that makes my thoughts tingle and burn. I do not understand, I
+do not know. How did that dream stand firm amid the total annihilation
+of unprofitable illusions? Is there then an element of reality, a
+definite truth that encourages me, though I do not discern it?
+
+I see myself going forward recklessly, like a traveller who knows that
+there is somewhere a goal and who makes for it blindly, with the same
+assurance as though the goal stood bright and luminous on a
+mountain-top.
+
+My only apology for these continual excursions is that I lay claim to
+no rigidity of purpose; and I should almost be ashamed to come with
+principles and axioms to those whom I am carrying away. Then why alter
+the course of their destiny? Why appeal to their sympathy and their
+confidence? What better lot have I to offer them and what can I hope for
+even if they respond? Certainly I wish them fairer and more perfect,
+freed from their childish dread of criticism, armed with a prouder and
+more personal conception of honour than the code which is laid upon
+them, respectful of their life and also encompassing it with infinite
+indulgence and kindness. But is not that a wild ideal? In my memory, I
+still see them smiling at it, those radiant faces which all my sermons
+could not cloud, or which, vainly striving to understand them, never
+reflected anything but their crudest and most extravagant features!
+
+The newcomer with the grave countenance, the new soul divined beneath a
+beauty that pleases me, will she at long last teach me how much is
+possible and realisable in the vague ideal to which I pay homage,
+without as yet being able to define it?
+
+I dare not hope.
+
+Hitherto, events have not justified me any more than my reason.
+
+The swift walker goes alone upon his road; there is never any but his
+shadow to follow him.
+
+I know how conscious we are of our weakness when we try to bring our
+energies into action; and I know that my pride will suffer, for I have
+never seen my footprint on the sand without pitying myself....
+
+
+2
+
+Those who are close to our soul have no need of our words to understand
+it; and those who are far removed from it do not hear us speak. Then for
+whom do we speak, alas?
+
+The blackbird's song describes precious waves in the still air; pearls
+are scattered over the blue sky.
+
+The lily's whiteness ascends like a fervent prayer; the bees make haste;
+the careless butterflies enjoy their little day. Near me, a tiny ant
+exhausts herself in a task too heavy for her strength. Lowly and
+excellent counsellors, does not each of them set me the example of her
+humble efforts?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+It was yesterday. When I woke, the cornfield under my windows, which
+seemed a steadfast sea of gold, had already half disappeared. The
+scythes flashed in the sun; and the ripe corn fell in great unresisting
+masses.
+
+The smallest details of that meeting are present in my memory; and I do
+not weary of living every moment of it over again. The air was cool. I
+still feel the caress of my sleeves, which the wind set fluttering over
+my arms. I drank the breeze in great gulps. It filled me, it revived me
+from head to foot. My skirts hampered me and I went slowly, holding my
+hat in both hands before my face and vaguely guided by the little
+patches of landscape that showed through the loose straw: a glimpse of
+blue sky, of swaying tree-tops, smoking chimneys and a dim horizon.
+
+I have come to the far end of the field, where the reapers are. It is
+the hour of the first meal. The men have laid down their scythes, the
+girls have ceased to bind the sheaves and all are sitting on the slope
+beside the road.
+
+Curious, I go closer still. A young woman, whom the others call
+"mademoiselle," is kneeling a few steps away from me, in front of the
+provision-basket; she has her back turned to me and is distributing
+slices of bread and cream-cheese to the labourers; she hands the jug
+filled with cider to the one nearest her, who drinks and sends it round.
+For one second the movement of her arm passes between the sky and my
+gaze, which wavers a little owing to the brilliancy of the light; and
+that arm dewy with heat appears to me admirably moulded, with bold, pure
+lines.
+
+She is dressed like her companions, in a coarse linen skirt, whose
+uncouth folds disguise her hips, and a calico smock imprisoned in a
+black laced bodice, a sort of shapeless, barbarous cuirass. A
+broad-brimmed straw hat, adorned with a faded ribbon, casts its shadow
+on her shoulders; but, when she bends her head, I see the glint of her
+hair, whose tightly bound and twisted masses shine like coils of gold.
+
+The rather powerful neck is beautifully modelled. It is delicately
+hollowed at the nape, where a little silver chain accentuates the
+gentle curve. I can see almost nothing of her figure under the clumsy
+clothes, but its proportions appear to me accurate and fairly slender.
+
+I feel inclined to go away without a word; my fastidious eyes bring me
+misgivings. When the first taste is good, why risk a second? But one of
+the reapers has seen me. He bids me a friendly good-morning; and, before
+I have time to answer, she has turned round.
+
+It is so rare, in our country districts, to see a beautiful woman that,
+for an instant, I blame the charm of the hour and accuse the friendly
+light of complicity. But little by little her perfection overcomes my
+doubts; and, the more I watch her, the lovelier I think her. The almost
+statuesque slowness of her movements, the vigorous line of her body, the
+glad colours that adorn her mouth, her cheeks and her bare arms seem to
+make her share in the health of the soil. The fair human sheaf is bound
+to nature like the golden sheaves that surround it.
+
+Without stirring, we two stand looking at each other face to face.
+
+
+2
+
+O miracle of beauty, sovran of happiness and magnet of wandering eyes,
+that day it shone in the noon-day sun like a star on the forehead of
+that unhappy life; and it and it alone stayed my steps!
+
+But for it, should I have dreamt, in the presence of that humble girl,
+of one of those quests which appeal to the hearts of us women, hearts
+fed on eternal illusions? But for it, should I have suspected a
+sorrowing soul in the depths of those limpid eyes? And, at this moment,
+should I be asking of my weakness the strength that constrains, of my
+doubts the faith that saves, of my pity the tenderness that consoles and
+heals?
+
+
+3
+
+I had moved to go, happy without knowing why; I hastened my steps. With
+my soul heavier and my feet lighter than before, I walked away, glorying
+in my meeting as in a victory over chance, over the thousand trifles,
+the thousand blind agencies that incessantly keep us from what we seek
+and from what unconsciously seeks us.
+
+I could have laughed for joy; and it would have been sweet to me, when
+I passed into the garden, to proclaim my glee aloud. But the peace of
+things laid silence upon me. I slowly followed the paths, bordered with
+marigolds and balsam, that lead to the house; and, when I passed under
+the blinds, which a friend's hand had gently drawn for me, I heard my
+everyday voice describing my discovery and my delight in sober tones.
+
+And yet the moment of exaltation still charged my life; it seemed to me
+clearer and deeper; and I thought that enthusiasm is in us like a
+too-full cup, which overflows at the least movement of the soul.
+
+
+4
+
+I made enquiries that same evening; and all that I learnt encourages me.
+
+She lives at the end of our village of Sainte-Colombe. She was brought
+up at the convent in the town hard by and left it at the age of
+eighteen. Since then, she has not been happy. On Sunday she is never
+with the merrymaking crowd. She has never been seen at church. She
+neither prays nor dances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+I took the road leading to the farm at which she lives. The yard is a
+large one, the trees that hem it in are old and planted close together.
+One can hardly see the straggling, thatched buildings from the road; and
+I walked round the place without being able to satisfy my curiosity. She
+lives there, I was told, with an old woman, her godmother, about whom
+the people of the countryside tell stories of murder and debauchery. I
+have seen her sometimes. She gives a disagreeable impression. She is a
+tall, lean woman, with wisps of white hair straggling about her face.
+Her waving arms and twitching hands carry a perpetual vague menace. The
+black, deep-set eyes gleam evilly in her ivory face; and her hard thin
+mouth, which opens straight across it, often hums coarse ditties in a
+cracked voice.
+
+Her curious attire completes the disorder of her appearance. Over her
+rough peasant's clothes, some article of cast-off apparel cuts a strange
+and lamentable figure: a muslin morning-wrap, once white and covered
+with filmy lace; long, faded ribbons, which fasten a showy Watteau pleat
+to the back, with ravelled ends spreading over the thick red-cotton
+skirt; old pink-satin slippers, with pointed heels that sink into the
+mud. In point of fact, I could say the exact number of times when I have
+seen her and why I noticed her, for the sight of her always hurt me
+cruelly when I met her in the sweet stillness of the country lanes.
+
+For a long time, I wandered round the farm. I was moving away, picking
+flowers as I went, when suddenly, at a bend in the road, I saw the girl
+who filled my thoughts. She was sitting on a heap of stones; and two
+large pails of milk stood beside her. Her attitude betokened great
+weariness; and her drooping arms seemed to enjoy the rest.
+
+I lingered a little while in front of her. Her face appeared to me
+lovelier than on the first occasion, though her uncovered head allowed
+me to see her magnificent hair plastered down so as to leave it no
+freedom whatever. She answered my smile with a blush; and, when I looked
+at her thick and awkward hands, she clasped and unclasped them with an
+embarrassed air.
+
+
+2
+
+Just now, at the wane of the day, I was singing in the drawing-room,
+with the windows open. I caught sight in the mirror of the sky ablaze
+with red and rose quickly from the piano to see the sun dip into the
+sea.... Near the garden, behind the hedge, I surprised the young girl
+trying to hide....
+
+
+3
+
+I had never seen her; but now, because I saw her one day, I am always
+seeing her.
+
+Do we then behold only what we seek? It is a sad thought. We shall be
+called upon to die before we have seen everything, understood
+everything, loved and embraced everything. Our skirts will have brushed
+against joys which we shall not have felt; our streaming tresses will
+have passed through perfumes which we shall not have breathed; our mouth
+will have kissed flowers which our hands have not known how to pick; and
+very often our eyes will have seen without acquainting our intelligence.
+We shall not have been observant continually.
+
+It is a pity that things possess no other life than that which we
+bestow upon them. I dislike to find that, for me, everything is subject
+to my observation and my knowledge. The first is great indeed, but the
+second is so small!...
+
+
+4
+
+A few years ago, the parish priest was on his way to the church at four
+o'clock one morning, to celebrate the harvest mass, when he saw a
+strange thing floating on the surface of the pool that washes the steps
+of the wayside crucifix. As he approached, he perceived that it was a
+woman's long hair. A moment later, they drew the body of a young and
+beautiful girl to the bank. With nothing on her but her night-dress, she
+seemed to have run straight from her bed to the pond. The gossips of the
+neighbourhood will never cease chattering over this incident and the
+shock which it gave the priest; and, though there is no other pond in
+the village, the poor girl will be everlastingly reproached with
+choosing "God's Pool" for her attempt at suicide.
+
+Is it not enough for me to know that she is out of place amid her coarse
+surroundings and that she is not happy there?
+
+
+5
+
+I have been expecting her for a week. I am wishing with all my might
+that she may come; I am drawing her with my eyes, with my smile, with my
+manner and with my will. But I say nothing to her. She must be able to
+take to herself all the credit of this first act of independence.
+Moreover, it will give me the evidence which I require of some sympathy
+between us.
+
+Outwardly, I am following a strict principle. Really, I am yielding to a
+fear: am I not about to perform a dangerous and rather mad action, in
+once more taking upon myself the responsibility of another's life?
+
+We are not always unaware of the follies which we are about to commit;
+but it is natural that the immediate joys should eclipse the probable
+misfortunes and help us to go boldly forward.
+
+Besides, the inquisitive know no weariness. They go with outstretched
+hand to the assistance of events, heedless of increasing the chances of
+suffering, because they always find, in return, something to occupy
+their restlessness. Let us not blame them. In contemplating the good or
+evil outcome of an action, we behold but its main lines; we do not see
+the thousand little broken strokes that go to compose it. They make the
+total of our days; and they have to be lived.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+1
+
+A broad avenue of beeches stretches in front of our garden; and at the
+far end is the open country. Here we have placed a seat which looks out
+over space. Nothing but fields and fields, as far as the eye can reach;
+nothing but land and sky. We love the security of this elemental
+landscape, where the alternations of light succeed one another
+inexorably. The noontides are fierce and dazzling. The soft, opalescent
+mornings are fragrant with love and pleasure. But, most of all, the
+sunsets attract us by their unwearied variety, sometimes sober and
+tender, ever fainter and more ethereal, sometimes blood-red, monstrous
+and barbaric.
+
+The one which I watched to-day was pale and grey; and the obedient earth
+humbly espoused its gentle tones. With my hands clasped in my lap, it
+seemed to me that I was drinking in the peace that filled my heart; and
+my eyes, which unconsciously fastened on my hands, held for a moment my
+whole life enclosed there.
+
+Then I heard indistinctly steps approaching me. A woman sat down on the
+bench. The corner of her apron had brushed against my knees; I raised my
+head and saw the young girl sitting by my side.
+
+She said, simply:
+
+"Here I am."
+
+And at this short speech my mind is in a tumult; thoughts rush wildly
+through my brain without my being able to follow one of them. I press
+her hands, I look at her, I laugh, while little cries of delight burst
+from my lips:
+
+"You are here at last! I was expecting you! Do you know that you are
+very pretty ... and that you look sweet and kind?... Make haste and tell
+me all about yourself...."
+
+But she does not answer. She stares at me with wide-open eyes; and my
+impulsive phrases strike with such force against her stupefaction that
+each one of them seems by degrees to fall back upon myself. I in my turn
+am left utterly dumfounded; she is so ill at ease that I myself become
+nervous; her astonishment embarrasses me; I secretly laugh at my own
+discomfiture; and I end by asking, feebly:
+
+"What's your name?"
+
+"Rose."
+
+"Rose ... Roseline.... My name is...."
+
+And I burst out laughing. We were really talking like two children
+trying to make friends. I threw my arm round her waist and put my lips
+to her cheek. I loved its milky perfume. My kiss left a little white
+mark which the blood soon flushed again.
+
+She told me that she had seen me from a distance and that she had come
+running up without stopping. I was careful not to ask her what she
+wanted to tell me, for I knew that she had obeyed my wishes rather than
+her own; and I led her towards the house:
+
+"Rose, my dear Rose.... I know that you are unhappy."
+
+She stops, gives me a quick look and then turns red and lowers her eyes.
+Thereupon, so as not to startle her, I ask her about her work and about
+the farm.
+
+Rose answers shily, in short sentences, and we walk about in the garden.
+From time to time, she stops to pull up a weed; methodically, she breaks
+off the flowers hanging faded from their stalks; occasionally, she makes
+a reference, full of sound sense, to the care required by plants and
+vegetables. But my will passes like an obliterating line over all that
+we say, over all that we do; and, while Rose anxiously tries to fill the
+silence, I lie in wait, ready for a word, a sigh, a look that will
+enable me to go straight to the heart of that soul, which I am eager to
+grasp even as we take in our hand a mysterious object of which we are
+trying to discover the secret.
+
+Alas, the darkness between us is too dense and there is only the light
+of her beautiful eyes, those sad, submissive eyes, to guide my pity! Our
+conversation is somewhat laboured; the girl evades any direct question;
+and any opinion which I venture to form can be only of the vaguest.
+
+She seems to me to be lacking in spirit, of a nervous and despondent
+temperament, but not unintelligent. I know nothing of her mental powers.
+We sometimes see an active intelligence directing very inferior
+abilities, just as our good friend the dog is an excellent shepherd to
+his silly, docile flock. In her, the most ordinary ideas are so
+logically dovetailed that one is tempted to accept them even when one
+hesitates to approve them. Her mind must be free from baseness, for
+throughout our conversation she made no effort to please me. Would it
+not have needed a very quick discernment, a very uncommon shrewdness to
+know so soon that she would please me better like that?
+
+That was what I said to myself by way of encouragement, so great was my
+haste to pour into her ears those instinctive words of hope and
+independence which it was natural to utter. And, let them be premature
+or tardy, barren or fruitful, I could not refrain from speaking them....
+
+But suddenly she released herself: it was already past the time for
+milking the cows; they must be waiting for her. Nevertheless, she gave a
+shrug of the shoulders which implied that she cared little whether she
+was late or not; and, with a "Good-bye till to-morrow!" she went off
+heavily, making the ground ring with the steady tramp of her wooden
+shoes.
+
+For an instant I stood motionless in the orchard. Her shrill voice still
+sounded in my ears; and the constraint of her attitude oppressed me. The
+road by which she had just gone was now hardly visible. A fog rose from
+the sea and gradually blotted out everything. The plains, the hills, the
+cottages vanished one by one; and already, around me, veils of mist
+clung to the branches of the apple-trees. At regular intervals, the boom
+of the fog-horn startled the silence.
+
+
+2
+
+Those who pass through our life and who will simply play a part there
+take shape in successive images. The first, a fair but illusive picture,
+fades away as another sadly obtrudes itself; and another, paler yet,
+comes in its turn; and thus they all vanish, becoming less and less
+distinct until the end, until the day when a last, vague outline is
+fixed in our memory.
+
+How different is the process in the case of those who are to remain in
+our existence and blend with it for all time! It is then as though the
+living reality at the very outset shattered the image formed by our
+admiration and triumphantly took its place. In point of fact, it
+vivifies it and, later, heightens it, colours it, ever enriching it with
+all the benefits which the daily round brings to healthy minds. Those
+beings will always remain with us, whatever happens; they will be more
+present in their absence than things which are actually present; and the
+taste, the colour, the very life itself of our life will never reach us
+except through them.
+
+I thought of all this vaguely. There were two women before me: one,
+coarse and awkward, was obliterating the other, so beautiful amid the
+ripe corn. Alas, should I ever see that other again? Was she not one of
+those images which fade out of our remembrance, becoming ever paler and
+more shadowy?
+
+I felt a little discouraged. But perhaps the sadness of the hour was
+influencing me? My feminine nerves must be affected by this damp, warm
+mist. I went back to the house, doing my utmost simply to think that I
+was about to undertake a "rather difficult" task.
+
+Under the lamp, which the outside pall had caused to be lit earlier than
+usual, and in the brightness of the red-and-white dining-room, decked
+with gorgeous flowers, I discovered another side to my interview. While
+I was describing it laughingly, my disappointment had seemed natural;
+and, my eagerness being now reinforced by pity, a new fervour inspired
+my curiosity.
+
+In sensitive and therefore anxious natures, the very excess of the
+sensation makes the impression received subject to violent reaction. It
+goes up and down, down and up; and not until it slackens a little can
+reason intervene and bring it to its normal level.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+1
+
+I have before me one of those little exercise-books whose covers are gay
+with pictures of soldiers or rural scenes. It is Rose's diary. I
+received it this morning, I have read it and it has left me both pleased
+and touched.
+
+It is a very simple and rather commonplace narrative, but one which, in
+my eyes, has the outstanding merit of sincerity. To me it represents the
+story of a real living creature, of a woman whom I saw yesterday, whom I
+shall see to-morrow and whose suffering is but a step removed from my
+happiness. The smallest details of that story have a familiar voice and
+aspect....
+
+Poor girl! Would not one think that an evil genius had taken pleasure in
+playing with her destiny, like a child playing at ball? She was born of
+poor parents. Her father, a carpenter, was a drunkard and frequently out
+of work. He would often come home at night intoxicated, when he would
+beat his wife and threaten to kill her. Coarse scenes, visions of
+murder, screams, oaths and suppressed weeping were the first images and
+the first sounds that stamped themselves on Rose's memory. One's heart
+bleeds to think of those child-souls which open in the same hour to the
+light of day and to horror, gaining their knowledge of life whilst
+trembling lest they should lose it. We see them caught in a hurricane of
+madness, like little leaves whirling in the storm; and to the end of
+their days they will shudder at the thought of it.
+
+She was left an orphan at the age of six. A neighbour offered to take
+her, a wealthy and devout old man, who sent her to the Nuns of the
+Visitation at the neighbouring town.
+
+Of those quiet, uneventful years in the convent there is nothing in
+particular to record. The child is perfectly happy, nor could she be
+otherwise, for she is naturally reasonable and she is in no danger of
+forgetting how kind fate has been to her. She pictures what she might
+have been, she sees what she is; and her soul is full of gladness.
+
+In January 18--, Rose is seventeen. She is to pass her examinations the
+following summer. Her diary here gives evidence of a steadfast and
+wholehearted optimism; she views the future with joyous eyes, or rather
+she does not see it at all, which is the surest way of smiling at it
+cheerfully. Her eyes are still the eyes of a child, to whom the
+convent-garden is a world and the present hour an eternity.
+
+Unfortunately, she had a rude awakening to life. The old man who had
+adopted her died after a few days' illness, without having time to make
+arrangements for her future. The good sisters at once wrote to her
+grandmother; and, the next day, Rose was packed off to Sainte-Colombe
+with a parcel of indulgences, a few sacred medals and a scapular round
+her neck. What more can a young life want to stay its uncertain steps?
+
+
+2
+
+From that moment, I see her delicate profile stand out against a
+background of pain and sorrow, like a lovely cameo whose dainty
+workmanship has been obliterated by the hand of time. Moral suffering
+can refine and accentuate the character of a beautiful face, is indeed
+nearly always kind to it. But here the mental distress was only the
+feeble reflection of a crushing and deadening material torture. In the
+evenings, when the hour of rest came at last, Rose, exhausted, accepted
+it dully; her whole body called for oblivion; her heavy eyelids drooped;
+and her submerged wretchedness had no time for tears.
+
+How could the poor girl make any resistance? Her environment was too
+hostile, her disposition too gentle and the task laid upon her too
+oppressive.
+
+The very look of her diary, during those Sainte-Colombe days, tells us
+her story far better than the words which it contains. The first few
+pages are filled with wild and incoherent sentences. There are passages
+that can scarcely be deciphered and others blotted with tears. Her
+suffering is not sufficiently well-expressed for it to be understood and
+more or less identified, but it can be felt and divined: it is a
+landscape of pain, it is the sight of an inner life which has received a
+grievous wound and whose blood is gushing forth in torrents.
+
+And then hope is exhausted drop by drop; and with it go anger and
+resistance. Everything goes under, grows still and silent. For months,
+Rose hardly touches her diary: here and there, scattered on pages
+bearing no date, are occasional melancholy reflections, the last
+flickers of an expiring consciousness....
+
+It is then, no doubt, that one day she flies to death for deliverance.
+She is saved, but for a long time remains ill and weak. When she
+recovers her health, her spirit is finally broken. In silence and gloom,
+she drowns all feeling in work too heavy for her strength.
+
+
+3
+
+In the district they blame this young girl who, after receiving a good
+education, has acquiesced in this miserable existence. And yet I find a
+thousand reasons which explain her conduct and cannot find one for
+condemning it. Rose's soul is still in the chrysalis-stage. Ignorant of
+her own strength and qualities, how could she make use of them?
+
+Is not this the case with most young girls? If our moral transformations
+could bring about physical changes, if a woman, like a butterfly, had to
+pass through different phases before attaining her perfect state, we
+should almost always see her stop at the first and die without even
+approaching the second.
+
+It is difficult enough for us merely to conceive that there are other
+roads to follow than that laid down for us by chance or by parents too
+often shortsighted; and when we make the discovery, our first dreams of
+liberty appear so momentous and so dangerous! Is it not just then that
+we need time to venture upon the most lawful actions, seeing that we
+have no sense of their real proportion?
+
+It is as though a wall separated the life that is forced upon us from
+the life which we do not know. Little by little, slowly, by instinct as
+much as by volition, we withdraw from the wall and it seems to become
+lower. The sky above us becomes vaster, the horizon is disclosed before
+our eyes and we at last distinguish what is happening on the other side.
+Ah, what sight would compare with that, if it broke suddenly upon our
+vision, if we could view life as we view the spreading country beneath
+us, when we stand on the summit of a tower! All our senses, being
+equally affected, would impart to our will a motive force which is, on
+the contrary, dissipated by the tardiness of our feeble comprehension.
+
+Yes, an age comes when our vision is clear and true; but often it is too
+late to find a way out of the circle in which we are imprisoned. That is
+the secret tragedy of many women's lives.
+
+What would one not give to tell them, those women who tremble and weep,
+to lift their minds high enough to see beyond their wretchedness! Let
+them develop and strengthen themselves while still under the yoke, in
+order to throw it off one day like a gossamer garment which one casts
+aside without giving it a thought!...
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+1
+
+I am happy. Wonderful flowers lie at my feet, flowers which have been
+plucked and flung aside: I will pick them all up again, all of them! I
+will gather them in my arms and steep myself in their scent! One by one,
+I will tend them till they lift their heads again, I will blend them
+cunningly; and, when I have bound the fair sheaf, fate may do its worst!
+
+It is no longer a question of the sanity or insanity of my experiment,
+or my wisdom or unwisdom. There is a just action to be accomplished;
+and, this time, circumstances favour my plans. In her distress, in her
+horror of her present life, all the possibilities of deliverance might
+have offered themselves to the girl: she would not have seen them, she
+would even have fled from them instinctively, timid as an animal too
+long confined. To save her, therefore, chance must take to itself a
+substance and a name. Can I not be that chance?
+
+She suffers; I will give her joy. She is tormented; I will give her
+peace again. She knows not liberty; through me she will know its
+rapture. Once already she has been snatched from death, but, on that
+day, while they were carrying Rose to the presbytery, her long, golden
+tresses wept along the wayside. But I will carry her where she pleases.
+She shall be free and happy; and her hair shall laugh around her face.
+It shall help me to light her destiny, for beauty is a beacon for
+benighted hearts. Many will try to steer their course towards my
+Roseline. It will be easy for her to choose her happiness.
+
+True, I am aware how perilous and uncertain is my experiment. Will it be
+possible to efface the evil impress left on that mind and body? How much
+of her early grace, her early vigour shall we find? What will have
+become of all the forces that, at seventeen, should still be frail as
+promises, tender as the little green shoots of a first spring-day?
+
+But no matter? The impulse is irresistible and nothing can stay me now.
+Have no misgivings, Rose: hand in hand we will go through peril and
+suspense. Embrace the hope which I offer you: I will bring it to pass.
+Let nothing astonish you: all that is happening between us to-day is
+natural. You will go hence because it is right that you should go; and
+you will go of your own free will. It is not so much my heart which will
+bring you comfort; it is rather your heart which will open. I shall find
+in you all the good that you will receive from me.
+
+
+2
+
+I send for the girl without further delay. A fortnight has elapsed since
+we first talked together; and I am anxious to know the result.
+
+I look at her. A different woman is before my eyes. Is it a mistake? Is
+it an illusion? No, it is all quite simple; and my words had no need to
+be forcible or brilliant. The word that shows a glimpse of hope to the
+sufferer has its own power.
+
+She says nothing and I dare not question her. The wisdom that has made
+her understand how serious the effect of my plans may be must also make
+her fear their possible flippancy.
+
+I have brought her into the dining-room. Sitting at the window, with her
+hands folded in her lap and her head bowed, she remains there without
+moving, heedless of the sun that is scorching her neck. Her wide-eyed
+gaze wanders over things which it does not take in; her lips,
+half-parted in a smile, betray the indecision of her soul. At last,
+blushing all over her face, she stammers out:
+
+"I am frightened. You have awakened my longings, my dreams. I am
+frightened. I would rather be as I was before I knew you, when I only
+wanted to die. When your message was brought to the farm, I swore that I
+would not come; and yet ... here I am!"
+
+I put my arm round her neck:
+
+"It's too late," I whispered, kissing her. "To discuss the idea of
+rebellion means to give way to it. Resist no longer, Roseline; let
+yourself go."
+
+Her incredulous eyes remained fixed on mine; and she said, slowly:
+
+"There is one thing that puzzles me. How am I to express it? I should
+like to know why you take so much interest in me: I am neither a friend
+nor a relation." And she added, with a knowing air, "You see, what you
+are doing doesn't seem quite natural!"
+
+My heart shrank. So this peasant, this rough, simple girl knew the laws
+of the world! She knew that, even in the manner of doing good, there are
+customs to be followed, "conventions to be observed!" Ah, poor Rose,
+though your instinctive reason is like a broad white fabric which
+circumstances have not yet soiled, your character already has ugly
+streaks in it; the voice of the multitude spoke through your lovely
+mouth and, for a brief second, it became disfigured in my eyes! Alas, if
+I wore a queer head-dress and a veil down my back and a chaplet hanging
+by my side and said to you, "My child, I wish to save your soul," would
+you not think my insistence quite simple and natural?
+
+Taking her poor, deformed hands in mine, I knelt down beside her:
+
+"Rose, the happiness which I find in helping you is a sufficient motive
+for me; and I will offer you no others.... I give you my confidence
+blindly, for one can do nothing without faith. I give you my confidence
+and I ask for yours. Will you vouchsafe it me?"
+
+The sun is streaming upon us; our faces are close together; my smile
+calls for hers; my eyes gaze into hers; and I repeat my prayer.
+
+Then she whispers, shily:
+
+"You see ... I have been deceived once; perhaps you don't know...."
+
+I interrupted her:
+
+"I know that we must have been deceived twenty times before we learn to
+give our confidence blindly, like a little child!... I know that we
+must have been perpetually deceived before we understand that nothing
+proves anything; that everything is unforeseen, inconsistent, and
+unexpected; and that we must just simply 'believe,' because it is good
+to believe and because it is sweet to offer to others what we ourselves
+are unhappy enough to lack."
+
+She went on:
+
+"But what do you want me to do?"
+
+"I want you to go away from here."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because you are wretched here."
+
+"Has any one said so?"
+
+"What does it matter what any one has said? I have only to look at you
+to see that you are not happy. Oh, please don't regard this as an act of
+charity, I would not even dare to talk about kindness! The interest that
+impels me is one which you do not yet know; it looks to none for
+recompense; it is its own reward. It is the mere joy, the mere delight
+of knowledge.... Do you understand?"
+
+She shook her head; and I began to laugh:
+
+"I suppose I really am a little obscure!... But why do you force me to
+explain myself now? You learn to understand me by degrees.... I am
+leading you towards a goal of which I am almost as ignorant as you are;
+I am only the guide waving a hand towards the roads which he himself has
+taken and never knowing what the traveller will see or feel in the
+depths of his being."
+
+She was going to speak, but I placed my hand on her lips:
+
+"Hush! I ask nothing more of you. I shall know how to win your
+confidence."
+
+I feel that she is silenced but not convinced. Hers is not a character
+to be thus persuaded: she will wait for deeds before judging the
+sincerity of words. I feel clearly that she is searching and judging me,
+while I myself am engaged in discovering her; and I shall have some
+curiosity in bending over the untroubled waters of that soul in order to
+see my image there, as soon as there is sufficient light to reflect my
+image.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose is already almost happy. Hope is penetrating her life; and the
+moments of rest filter into her days of wearisome toil like the cool
+water trickling through the rocks.
+
+As soon as she can get away on any excuse, she runs across to me.
+Flushed and laughing, she hurls herself into my arms with all the
+violence of a catastrophe; she crushes my cheek with a vehement kiss
+which waits for no response; and my hair catches in the rough hands
+squeezing my head. Smiling, I cannot help warding off the attack, while
+she pours out a torrent of incoherent words at the top of her voice....
+
+During our early talks, I tried speaking very quietly, as a hint that
+she should do the same. She would shake the house with the thunder of
+her most intimate confidences, bellowed after the fashion of the
+peasants, who are accustomed to keep up a conversation from one end of a
+field to the other. As I obtained no result, I had to speak to her
+about it; and, because I did so as delicately as possible, in order not
+to wound her feelings, she burst into a roar of laughter which showed me
+that her rustic life had robbed her of all sensitiveness.
+
+Being now authorised to admonish her at all times with regard to her
+gestures, her voice and her accent, I often make her repeat the same
+sentence; and, when I at last hear her natural voice, her original sweet
+and attractive voice, to which the music is beginning to return, shily
+and timidly, my heart overflows with joy. But, two minutes after, she is
+again bawling out her most trivial remarks, with a cheerful unconcern
+that disarms my wrath. Then I plead for silence as I would for mercy,
+draw her down upon my lap, take her head in my arms and nurse her as I
+would a child.
+
+
+2
+
+The stillness is so intense in the grove where we are sitting side by
+side, I am so anxious for her to feel it, that I become impatient and
+irritable. When I am with her, I am in a perpetual ferment. Her beauty
+and her coarseness hurt me, like two ill-matched colours that attract
+and wound the eyes. I calm myself by scattering all my thoughts over her
+promiscuously; and, though most of them are carried away by the wind, I
+imagine that I am sprinkling them on her life to make it blossom anew.
+
+"I am nursing you in my arms to wake you, my Roseline, just as one
+nurses children to put them to sleep. See what poor creatures we are! As
+a rule, it is the conventions and constraint of our upbringing, with all
+its artificiality and falsehood, that divide us. To-day, it is the
+opposite that rises between you and me and spoils our happiness! I have
+often longed to meet a woman who was so simple as to be almost
+uncivilised; and, now that you are here, I dread your gestures and your
+voice, which grate upon me and annoy me!"
+
+"But am I not simple?" Rose asks, ingenuously.
+
+"People generally confuse simplicity with ignorance, too often also with
+silliness--which is not the case with you," I added, with a smile.
+"Real, that is to say, conscious simplicity is not even recognised; and,
+when it becomes active, it appears to vulgar minds a danger that must be
+averted. The better to attack it, they disfigure it. It is this proud
+and noble grace that I want you to acquire. Look, it may be compared
+with this diamond which I wear on my finger. The stone is absolutely
+simple; and yet through how many hands has it passed before becoming so!
+How many transformations has it undergone! How magnificent is its bare
+simplicity when set off by the plain gold ring! It is the same with us.
+For simplicity to be beautiful in us, we must have cut and polished our
+soul and person many times over. Above all, we must have learnt the
+harmony of things and become fixed in that knowledge, like the stone
+which you see held in these gold claws."
+
+She asked, with an effort to modulate her voice:
+
+"Oughtn't I to take you for my model?"
+
+"No, Rose! You frighten me when you say that! You must not think of it.
+Listen to me: if ever we are permitted to imitate any one, it is only in
+the pains which she herself takes to improve herself. As for me, I
+wanted to achieve simplicity and I looked for it as one looks for a spot
+that is difficult to reach and easy to miss. For a long time, I wandered
+beyond it. Rather than stoop to false customs, to lying conventions, I
+followed the strangest fancies.... Now it all makes me laugh."
+
+"Makes you laugh?"
+
+"Yes, past errors are dead branches that make our present life burn
+more brightly. But, when I see how I judge my former selves, I become
+suspicious as to what I may soon think of my actual self; and therefore
+I do not wish you to take me as an example."
+
+Rose was still lying in my arms; and her beautiful eyes were looking up
+at me. I raised her head in my hands and whispered, tenderly:
+
+"I feel that you understand me, that my words touch you, that you trust
+me and that you love me deep down in your heart; I feel that you also
+will soon be able to speak and unburden yourself freely, to be silent
+amid silence and peaceful amid the peace of things...."
+
+
+3
+
+The girl rose to her feet, with a glint of emotion animating her
+features; and, as though to escape my eyes, she took a few steps in the
+garden. While she was hidden by the bend of the narrow path fenced by
+the tall sunflowers, my heart was filled with misgiving: her step was so
+heavy, so clumsy! Would she ever be able to improve her walk? Judging by
+the ponderous rhythm of her hips, one would always think that she was
+carrying invisible burdens at the end of each of her drooping arms....
+
+But she soon returned; and her fair countenance was so adorable amid the
+golden glory of the great flowers that I could not suppress a cry of
+admiration. She came towards me smiling; and, to protect herself a
+little from the blinding sunlight, she was holding both hands over her
+head. Was it simply the curve of her raised arms that thus transfigured
+her whole bearing, that reduced the unwieldiness of her figure and made
+its lines freer? It was, no doubt; but it was also the soft breeze which
+now blew against her and accentuated the movement of her limbs by
+plastering her thin cotton skirt against them. And the heavy gait now
+seemed stately; and the excessive stride appeared virile and bold. I
+watched the humble worker in the fields, the poor farm-girl; and I
+thought of the proud _Victory_ whom my mind pictured enfolding all the
+beauties of the Louvre in her mighty wings!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+1
+
+We were lying in the long grass, looking up at the sky through the
+branches of the apple-trees and watching the clouds drift past.
+
+The light was fading slowly, the leaves became dim, the birds stopped
+singing.
+
+"Rose, I do nothing but think of you. Who are you? What will become of
+you? I should like to anticipate everything, so as to save you every
+pain. Had you been happy and well-cared-for, I would have wished you
+trouble and grief. But, strengthened as you now are by many trials, you
+will be able to find in sorrows avoided and only seen in the distance
+all the good which we usually draw from them by draining them to the
+dregs."
+
+"I am not afraid, I expect to be unhappy."
+
+"I hope that you will not be unhappy. The change will be quite simple if
+it is wisely brought about; you will drop out of your present life like
+a ripe fruit dropping from its stalk."
+
+"How shall I prepare myself?"
+
+"So far, your chief merit has been patience. But now rouse yourself,
+look around you, judge, find out your good and bad qualities."
+
+Rose interrupted me:
+
+"My good qualities! Have I any?"
+
+"Indeed you have: plenty of common sense, a great power of resistance,
+shrewdness. By means of these, you have been able to subdue the tyranny
+of others: can you not escape from that of your failings? Your life has
+adapted itself to an evil and stupid environment; it must now adapt
+itself to the environment of your own self."
+
+
+2
+
+From the neighbouring farms came the plaintive, monotonous cry calling
+the cattle home. The drowsy sky became one universal grey, while the
+night dews covered the earth with a faint haze.
+
+"I am surprised that, when you were so unhappy, solitude did not appear
+to you in the light of a beautiful dream."
+
+Rose's timid and astonished voice echoed my last words:
+
+"A beautiful dream! Then do you like solitude?"
+
+"Oh, Rose, I owe it the greatest, the only joys of my childhood! It was
+to gain solitude that, later, I set myself to win my independence,
+knowing that, if I did not meet with the love I wished, I should yet be
+happier alone than among others."
+
+"But, still, you do not live alone!"
+
+I remained silent for a moment, stirred by that question which filled my
+mind with the thought of my own happiness; and then I said in a whisper,
+as though speaking to myself:
+
+"Rose, my present life is the most exquisite form of independence and
+solitude."
+
+And I went on:
+
+"Ah, Rose, to know how to be alone! That is the finest conquest that a
+woman can make! You cannot imagine my rapture when I first found myself
+in a home of my own, surrounded by all the things purchased by my work.
+When I came in at the end of the day, my heart used to throb with
+gladness. No pleasure has ever seemed to equal that blessed harmony
+which reigned and reigns in my soul or that assured peace which no one
+can take from me, because it depends only on my mood."
+
+"Teach me that joy."
+
+"It is only a brighter light of our own consciousness, a more detached
+and loftier contemplation of what affects us, a truer way of seeing and
+understanding...."
+
+The girl murmured:
+
+"Shall I ever have it?"
+
+"Later, when you have gone away."
+
+And, in response to her anxious sigh, I went on, confidently:
+
+"And you will go away when you want to go as badly as I did, when your
+object is not so much to escape unhappiness as to secure happiness; for,
+when you become what I hope to see you, you will look at things so
+differently! You will pity those about you, you will not judge them. The
+irksome duties laid upon you will not be a burden to you. You will
+understand the beauty of the country for the first time; and the thought
+of leaving it will reveal its sweetness to you. But, on the other hand,
+fortunately, new reasons for going will appeal to your conscience:
+first, your just pride in what you are and what you may become; the
+sense of your independence; and the vision of a wider and nobler
+existence. And, in this way, you will go not to escape annoyance or to
+please me, but as a duty towards yourself."
+
+
+3
+
+It was the silent hour when nature seems to be awaiting the darkness.
+Not a breath, not a sound, while the colours of the day vanish one by
+one before the life of the evening has yet begun to throb.
+
+I turned to my companion. With a great labourer's knife in her hand, she
+was solemnly whittling a piece of wood. She answered my enquiring
+glance:
+
+"It is to fasten to Blossom's horns; she's getting into bad ways...."
+
+And, quickly, fearing lest she had hurt me, she added:
+
+"I was listening, you know!"
+
+
+4
+
+Standing in the porch, we breathe the scent of the rose-trees laden with
+roses. It has been raining heavily. Tiny drops drip from leaf to leaf;
+the flowers, for a moment bowed down, raise their heads; the birds
+resume their singing; and, in the sunbeams that now appear, slanting and
+a little treacherous, the pebbles on the path glitter like precious
+stones.
+
+We had taken shelter, during the storm, inside the house, where we sat
+eating sweets, laughing and talking without restraint. But now Rose is
+uneasy; she looks at me and says, abruptly:
+
+"Do you love me?"
+
+"I cannot tell you yet."
+
+She insists, coaxingly:
+
+"Do tell me!"
+
+"Darling, I have become very chary of words like that, for I know what
+pain we can give if, after our lips have uttered them, they are not
+borne out by all our later acts. As we grow in understanding, I believe
+that it becomes more difficult for us to distinguish the exact value of
+the friendship which we bestow."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"For the very reason that we grow at the same time less capable of
+hatred, contempt and indifference. If a fellow-creature is natural, he
+interests us by the sole fact of the life which he represents; and, if
+circumstances make us meet him often, it will be hard for us to be
+certain whether what we are actually lavishing upon him is friendship
+or only interest."
+
+She seemed to like listening to me; and I continued in the same strain:
+
+"A moment, therefore, comes when our understanding is like a second
+heart, a heart that seems to anticipate and complete the other, by
+giving perfect security to its movements...."
+
+A breath of wind passed and stripped the petals from a rose that hung in
+the doorway. And our shoulders were covered with little scented wings.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+1
+
+Beside the house, two old cypresses make great pools of shadow in the
+bright, green garden. Motionless, they keep a pious and jealous watch
+over the stone fountain whose basin seems to round itself into an
+obliging mirror for their benefit. Here, amid the cool stillness, the
+running water murmurs its unceasing orison.
+
+I make Rose sit beside the fountain and slowly I begin unbinding her
+hair.
+
+Oh, the beauty of the honey-coloured waves that roll down her shoulders
+and frame her face in their sweetness! Again and again I lifted and
+shook out those long-imprisoned tresses, giving them life and liberty at
+last. Rose, following the ancient fashion of our Norman peasant-women,
+does her hair into a mass of tight little plaits, twisted so cruelly as
+to forbid all freedom.
+
+The better to efface the impress of their tyrannical past, I had to dip
+them into water. They opened out, like sea-weed.
+
+I had brought rich materials, jewels and flowers for Rose's adornment.
+All her beauty, so long hidden, was at last to stand revealed. I knew
+its potency, I divined its splendour; but her hair was too barbarously
+done, her garments too coarse and rough for me to discover the character
+of her beauty or say what constituted its nobility.
+
+Rose, still smiling, held her head back patiently and, with closed eyes,
+gave herself over to my tender mercies. Then another picture, a similar
+picture, but tragic and now fading into dimness, rose in my mind; and,
+almost in spite of myself, I said, softly:
+
+"Your long hair must have floated like this, I expect, on the day when
+you wished to die. And it must have been its splendour that would not
+suffer such a catastrophe. I wonder, dear, that you should have wished
+that, you who are so faint-hearted in the presence of life!"
+
+Her forehead, bronzed by the summer suns, turned a warmer colour, like a
+ripe apricot; the veins on her temples swelled a little; and she
+murmured:
+
+"I don't know ... I don't know...."
+
+I made fruitless efforts to find out the cause of her embarrassment;
+her face clouded; and she said nothing more. Then, after doing up her
+hair, I began to drape a material around her. I was thoroughly enjoying
+myself. Rose noticed it and asked me why I was smiling.
+
+"Why?" I cried. "Why? Oh, of course, you are incapable at present of
+understanding the pleasure which I feel! And how many are there who
+could distinguish its true quality? People admire the new-blown flower,
+they are touched by a child's first smile, they travel day and night to
+stand on a mountain-top and see the dawn conquering the shadows of the
+earth; and it is considered natural that, at such moments, our feminine
+hearts, always ready to be poured out, should be filled with love and
+incense. But it is thought strange that one of us should recognise and
+greet the union of all the graces in the fairest of her sisters! And yet
+one must be a woman to feel what I feel to-day, in unveiling and
+adorning your beauty. For it charms me without intoxicating me, sheds
+its radiance on me without dazzling me and makes my heart throb without
+causing my hands to tremble.... When the lover for the first time
+beholds the object of his love, longing clouds his eyes. Certainly, his
+sentiment is no less noble or less great, but it is of a very different
+nature! Other joys are mine, a thousand, new and glorious emotions,
+emotions of the heart and of the mind, the childish and girlish joys of
+dressing up, decorating and adorning, of creating form and colour, in a
+word, beauty, the stuff of which happiness is made!"
+
+Rose interrupted me:
+
+"Happiness? Do you think so?"
+
+"Yes, because beauty calls for love. Does not our happiness as women lie
+above everything in love?"
+
+Making one of those horrible movements with her feet, hands and
+shoulders of which I had done my best to correct her, Rose expressed her
+disgust with such violence as to undo the brooch with which I had just
+fastened the folds of a long white drapery to her shoulders:
+
+"Oh," she cried, "I hate love, I hate it!"
+
+Then she covered her face with her open hands; slowly the material
+slipped down to her waist; and her bust stood out against the dark
+trees, white and pure as that of a marble statue.
+
+The great calm that is born of beauty compelled me to silence. Rose
+remained without moving, untroubled by the nudity which, at any other
+time, she would have refused to unveil. Did her emotion make her
+unconscious, or was it, on the contrary, lifting her to a plane in which
+false modesty had no place? Did she, in that brief minute, realise how
+our actions change their values in proportion to the fineness of our
+perception?...
+
+I threw my cloak round her and drew aside her hands: her face was wet
+with tears. I cross-examined her: could she have suffered through love?
+
+"What is the matter, Roseline? Why are you so bitter against something
+you have never experienced?"
+
+She tried to smile through her tears and said, innocently:
+
+"It's nothing.... It was like a shower: it's over now, quite over....
+You are right, I really don't know why love fills me with such horror!"
+
+And she came quietly and sat down again beside the fountain.
+
+
+2
+
+For the third time, I began to coil and uncoil her hair:
+
+"You see, I was wrong just now," I said, "when I uncovered your neck and
+crowned your forehead. This is what suits you: the severe Roman style!
+And, though that loathing which you expressed just now seems to me
+unnatural, I feel almost tempted to excuse it in you, because it is so
+much in keeping with your impassive loveliness."
+
+Kneeling in front of her, I tried to make the folds of the material
+follow the natural curves of her body. Meanwhile, Rose seemed to be
+watching other reflections in the water than ours. Suddenly, she leant
+forward and put her beautiful bronzed arms round my neck; and I felt
+that she was willing me to look up. Then I raised my head and, when we
+were gazing into each other's eyes, she said, laying a sort of grave
+stress on every syllable:
+
+"Do you forgive everything, absolutely everything?"
+
+"To answer yes is not answering half enough," I said. And, kissing her,
+I added, "If you had to tell me of a serious fault, I should love to
+give proof of my indulgence; but are you not the best of girls?"
+
+I had an impression, for a second, that she was hesitating and that I
+was about to receive the solemn confession of a childish fault. But she
+at once replied, in a decisive little way:
+
+"I could not be as indulgent as you, really!"
+
+"Because you are not so happy yet, my dearest.... Come, I have my own
+reasons for spoiling you and coaxing you and wanting you to be
+beautiful. I know what good fruits are born of those flowers of joy!...
+But I have finished my work. Get up, Rose, come with me! Come and see
+yourself a goddess!"
+
+And I carried her off to the drawing-room.
+
+Straight and slender in the long white folds falling to her feet, the
+girl stands before the mirror and stares with astonishment at her
+glorified image. Does she grasp the importance of this hour? Does she
+reflect that, at this minute, one of the great secrets of her destiny
+has been revealed to me by this woman's game which has given me a
+child's pleasure? Does she know that the moment is grave, unmatched and
+marvellous and that, by my friendly hands, chance is to-day showing her
+the power which she can wield and the realm over which she can rule?
+
+Her everyday clothes are lying at her feet: the coarse chemise, the
+barbarous bodice, the hat trimmed with faded ribbons. Ah, Roseline, why
+cannot I as easily fling far from you all that imprisons your life and
+fetters your soul!
+
+"You are beautiful!" I say to her. "You are beautiful! Do you know what
+that means? Beauty is the source of happiness; and it is also the source
+of goodness, forgiveness and indulgence! Your face, if you take pleasure
+in looking at it, will teach you much better than I can what you must
+be. It will make you kind and gentle and generous, if you have the wish
+to be in perfect harmony with it. Thanks to your beauty, my Rose, you
+will be able, if you have a true conception of its dignity, to achieve
+one perfect moment in your life!"
+
+Alas, she does not share my enthusiasm! I take her hand, I lead her
+through the house, into all the rooms which she does not know. I keep on
+hoping that, in a new mirror, in a different light, she will at last
+catch sight of herself as she is and that she will weep for joy!...
+
+Meanwhile, she accompanies me, serene and smiling, pleased above all at
+my delight. In this way, we come to the last mirror; and my hopes are
+frustrated. But, in truth, I am too much entranced with the vision which
+she offers to my eyes to grieve at anything; and soon I am very much
+inclined to think her admirable for not feeling what I should have felt
+in her place. After disappointing me, the very excess of her coldness
+captivates my interest; and my enthusiasm does not permit me to seek
+commonplace or contemptible reasons for it.
+
+When admiration fills a woman's soul, it becomes nothing but an immense
+cup brimming with light, a flower penetrated by the noon-day sun until
+the heat makes its perfume overpowering.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+1
+
+The shadows lengthen when the sun descends in the heavens; and those
+which, in the broad light, enhance the brilliancy of all things now
+overspread and gradually extinguish them. Thus do our anxieties increase
+when our joy lessens; and those which made us smile in the plenitude of
+our happiness before long make us weep....
+
+She has lied to me! I am sure now that she has lied! What has she done?
+What can she be hiding from me? I can imagine nothing that could kill
+the interest which I take in her, but she has lied! I was certain of it
+yesterday, after our talk, when I remembered her blushes and her
+embarrassment. I wanted to write to her then and could not. Darkness has
+fallen suddenly between her and me; and I no longer know to whom I am
+speaking; I no longer know what soul hears me nor at what heart I
+knocked!
+
+A friend's lie hurts us even more than it humiliates us; it tells us
+that we have not been understood and that we inspire distrust or fear. I
+remember saying to her, one day:
+
+"I would rather know that you hate me than ever feel that you fear me.
+You must hide nothing from me, unless you want to wound me deeply; for
+the person to whom we feel obliged to lie is much more responsible for
+our lie than even we are."
+
+But how can I hope that every one of my words will be remembered and
+understood and turned to account! I enjoy talking into the soul of this
+great baby as one likes singing in an unfurnished house; and I am none
+the less conscious of the illusion of it all. If we are to influence a
+fellow-creature, we do so best without aiming at it too carefully.
+Success comes with time, by intercourse and example.
+
+
+2
+
+We are now on the threshold of autumn and the days are already short. By
+seven o'clock, all the farms are sleeping....
+
+When I left Rose yesterday, it was understood that she should sometimes
+come to see me in the evening, when her day's work has not been too
+hard. She is to come across the downs and tap at the shutters of the
+room where I sit every evening after dinner.
+
+To-day, I was hoping that she would not come and I gave a start of
+annoyance when I heard her whisper outside the window:
+
+"Mummy! Mummy, dear!"
+
+It is a name which she sometimes gives me in play. Women who have no
+children and do not expect ever to have any lend to all their emotions
+an extra tenderness, an extra solicitude. It is that unemployed force in
+our hearts which is striving for union with others.
+
+Still, her affection displeased me this evening and, while I was putting
+on a wrap, my hands trembled with irritation. Rose, thinking that I had
+not heard her, raised her voice a little and repeated:
+
+"Mummy! It's your little girl!"
+
+I go out into the moonless, starless night, with my eyes still full of
+the light indoors; and our hands meet blindly before exchanging a
+pressure. She says good-evening and I kiss her without answering. I am
+afraid of betraying my ill-humour; I feel that I am hard and spiteful,
+but I hope that the mood will pass; and my anger, because it remains
+unspoken, takes a form that favours forgiveness. If she confesses of her
+own accord, without being impelled to do so by my attitude, I know that
+my confidence in her will revive.
+
+We walk in silence through the sombre avenue. The night seems darker
+because no sound disturbs its stillness; only the dead leaves, swept
+along by our skirts, drag along, utter a cry like rending silk.
+
+Rose sighed:
+
+"One would think the air was listening!"
+
+I could not help exclaiming:
+
+"That's rather fine, what you said then!"
+
+And silence closes in again around our two little lives, both doubtless
+stirred by one and the same thought.
+
+We go a little farther and sit down in the fields, where an unfinished
+haystack offers us a couch. We can hardly distinguish the line of the
+horizon between the dark earth and the dark sky. A bat flits across our
+faces; and Rose says, quietly:
+
+"It's flying low. That means fine weather to-morrow. I must get in
+the...."
+
+And suddenly her voice breaks and she covers her face with her hands.
+All is silent....
+
+I feel myself brutally good. The certainty of the coming confession
+encourages me in my coldness and I remain mute, while my heart is
+beating with pity and excitement....
+
+But she speaks at last and each note of that tear-filled voice, by turns
+faltering, violent and plaintive, brings before my eyes, staring into
+the darkness, every step of her soul's calvary. I listen in
+astonishment. And yet do we not know that every woman's existence has
+its secret? I see the long procession of those who have told me their
+story. The weakest of them had found strength to love; to yield to man's
+desire, the bravest had been cowardly, the truest had betrayed, the most
+loyal and upright had lied. Everywhen and everywhere the flame of life
+had found its way through rocks, thrust aside obstacles, subjugated
+wills. Even the woman whom nature had most jealously defended, the plain
+woman whom I saw imprisoned in a stunted shape and condemned to live
+behind an ugly mask, even she, when she told me her love-story,
+compelled me to believe that she had been the most beloved, perhaps, and
+her passion the most heroic.
+
+Rose, following the common law, had no strength to fulfil her own will,
+but all strength to obey another's. Soon after arriving at
+Sainte-Colombe, five years ago, she came to know a young man who had
+since left the district. One day, when they were alone in the farmhouse
+kitchen, he flung his arms around her and, without a word, overcame her
+feeble resistance....
+
+I could not help interrupting her story:
+
+"Did you love him, Rose?"
+
+"No," she said, "I did not!"
+
+"Then, why did you yield?... Why?"
+
+"I don't know," she sobbed. "He had such a strange, wild look, I was
+frightened...."
+
+"But what did you do afterwards?"
+
+"He asked me to go and see him; and I went whenever he asked me...."
+
+"Then your godmother didn't know?"
+
+"She guessed it on the first day; and, when I refused to take anything
+from him, she beat me and locked me up."
+
+"Well, what then?"
+
+"I managed to get out at night, by the roof...."
+
+I would not let the subject drop:
+
+"Then you were very, very happy when you were with him?"
+
+But she exclaimed, artlessly:
+
+"Oh, not at all! But he loved me, he said; and I thought that he would
+always stay here, for my sake.... He went away soon, without letting me
+know. When I understood that he was not coming back, I loathed myself
+and him ... and I tried to do away with myself...."
+
+She burst into fresh sobs.
+
+I should have liked to rise and lead her away. I should have liked to
+say:
+
+"Come, cease these repinings; let us walk across the silent fields and
+forget all this for ever! Every one feels love differently and looks at
+it in a different light. Come, waste no time in repentance and don't go
+on being angry with that man! Faults that diminish our ignorance are not
+faults, but almost graces which chance bestows upon us. Come! And break
+away from the bitterness that is spoiling your beauty!"
+
+But, with a sigh, she leant her head on my shoulder and I sat motionless
+and dumb: that little action on her part suddenly altered the whole
+course of my feelings.
+
+At moments of deep emotion, many different voices speak in our hearts.
+They seem to clash, to drown and contradict one another; but really
+they are hesitating and waiting. Even as human voices require the
+striking of a chord before harmonising, so do these inner voices wait
+for our unhappy friend to speak a word that shall unconsciously give the
+note of the thoughts that will comfort and soothe him.
+
+Rose whispered:
+
+"Oh, you do not speak! Your silence frightens me!"
+
+"Don't be afraid of it, dearest. Silence nearly always means that the
+words which will follow will be just." And, summoning all my tenderness,
+I added, "You see, I am trying to bind all my most diverse thoughts
+together. I should like to hand them to you as I would a bunch of
+flowers, for you to choose the one that will restore your peace of mind.
+I am afraid of hurting you, I understand your wound so well."
+
+The girl presses against my breast; and our kisses meet in a spontaneous
+outburst of affection....
+
+Sadly I think of all those who are weeping, weeping over like sorrows.
+There are other wounded hearts bleeding in mine; my memory echoes with
+the mournful prayers of the poor deluded victims of love. Alas, we are
+all subject to the cruel and exquisite law that absorbs the firmest
+wills in its indifferent strength!
+
+I feel Roseline's hands quivering under my fingers, but I dare not
+speak. The silence of the fields and the solemn darkness awe me. Do not
+our least words seem to be written on the velvet of the night in
+precious and lasting letters?...
+
+
+3
+
+At last, I wiped away her tears and long and gently tried to rally her.
+But, suddenly drawing herself up, Rose cried:
+
+"I don't understand you, I no longer understand you! What you are saying
+is just so much more silence and I wait for your judgment in vain! You
+have, you must have, an opinion on what I have done. The reason why I
+hesitated so long to confess my fault was because I knew instinctively
+that you would blame me; and now I feel you so far from me.... Please
+judge me, be angry with me: it will be easier for you to forgive me
+afterwards!..."
+
+I do not know why this blind insistence offended me. Until then I had
+remained calm; but at her words there burst from the depths of my being
+the voice of instinct, that voice which I had tried to stifle, almost
+unconsciously, by force of habit and training.... Oh, that blatant,
+piercing voice! It seemed to me to rend the darkness, to scoff at my
+heart and my sweet reasonableness! It was as though I saw all my kindly
+dreams of tolerance and indulgence fly into a thousand splinters! Never
+had I so clearly realised their brittleness. My anger was all the
+greater because it was still trammelled by fragments of my reason.
+
+I placed my hands on her shoulders and shouted close to her face, which
+my eyes could not distinguish:
+
+"Why, why will you rouse my instinct, my nerves, all those things which
+should never interfere in our judgments and beyond which we should try
+to look if we would understand the actions of others? You give the name
+of silence to the words spoken by my reason and you wish to be judged by
+a blind and senseless power! But that idiot power mercilessly condemns
+all the faults committed in its name! That power, which is making me
+tremble now with excitement, will tell you that you could have done
+nothing worse! Do you understand? Nothing, nothing! And it will
+overwhelm you with reproaches. For it is not your action that revolts
+me; it is your apathy, your flabbiness, your cowardice!... You gave
+yourself without knowing why! You did not surrender for the sake of the
+joy that makes us fairer and better! You did not surrender because love
+had taken your heart by storm! You did not sacrifice yourself to an
+idea: had it been vile and base, I could still have accepted it! No, you
+gave yourself without knowing why! You obeyed the will of the
+first-comer, as the silliest and most docile of wives obeys the
+recognised canons and conventions ... without knowing why!... Ah, Rose,
+Rose! I wanted to help you to become strong and free. What a character,
+what a disposition you bring me! And yet I did not ask so much! I wanted
+your nature to have strength and flexibility, so that my hands might
+have taken it and moulded it. I looked forward to shaping it and giving
+it nobility and refinement...."
+
+Tears choked my words. At that moment, the disappointment appeared to me
+complete and irreparable. Still, so as not to sadden her unduly, I
+murmured:
+
+"Do not misunderstand me, my poor Rose; I am not saying that you soiled
+yourself by yielding to that man. I should not care much if you had;
+for, if the fairest forms could take birth from the mud in the gutter,
+you would see me plunge my hands in it without reluctance. No, what
+distresses me is your weakness; and I have simply likened your nature to
+a substance without consistency and impossible to mould."
+
+Rose moaned and sobbed:
+
+"To please you, I will brave everything.... Don't forsake me!... Go on
+loving me!..."
+
+I divined rather than saw the body lying prone, with her head on the
+ground; and the paler shadow of her hair reminded me of the dear beauty
+of her. I grew calmer. The comfort of having said all that I had to say
+relieved my heart and sent rippling through my veins, like a cool
+stream, a more natural indulgence than that which had animated me at
+first. Bending over Rose, I reflected that reason weighs heavily on a
+woman's breast and that it is well to thrust it aside occasionally. I
+tried to reassure her between my kisses:
+
+"I am wrong to be so irritable and despondent; forgive me! I believe
+that your nature will never be vivid or strong; but your newly-developed
+conscience will save you from fresh weaknesses. Besides, in some
+direction we shall find what you are capable of. Destiny asks little of
+us when we have little to give it; and events pass us by of their own
+accord. Your life can be gentle and passive and still be useful and
+good. It is my own fault if I am disappointed: I am always more or less
+of a child; and I become passionately enthusiastic on the strength of a
+smile, or a pure outline, or a beautiful profile. I ought not to have
+looked in you for what existed only in my imagination...."
+
+"Then you are no longer angry with me?"
+
+"Why should I be?"
+
+I kissed her tenderly. Poor child, so she had suffered through love! I
+pitied her; and yet the happiness of knowing her a little better
+swallowed up my pity. Things move quickly in those who, not believing in
+heaven, seek upon earth the beginning and the end of life and all that
+comes between. And they come to prefer to the highest joys those which
+foster a clearer vision and a truer comprehension.
+
+And, trying to explain myself, I added:
+
+"One would think that a time comes when we judge like a traveller
+looking out from the top of a tower. All the differences melt into unity
+before his eyes. He turns slowly and sees, on the one side, the forest;
+on the other, the sea; at his feet, the noisy town, the world; a little
+farther, the calm and peace of the fields; and, overhead, the infinite
+indifference of the skies. And, like him, we are engrossed in what we
+discover and we no longer see the tower by which we climbed nor feel
+that on which our feet stand; and we are nothing, nothing but a thinking
+light that settles upon some life."
+
+
+4
+
+We lay stretched in the clover that was still warm from the heat of the
+day; and our arms were locked and our hair intertwined. My cheek cooled
+hers, which her tears had set on fire; and the sombre peace of the sky
+sank into us. We were both filled with the peculiar happiness that comes
+after a painful confession, a happiness whose source is a sense of
+security, a joy that seems yearning to cover us with its wings for one
+halcyon hour.
+
+"Rose, darling, never forget the feeling of relief which you have now.
+That sense of security is infinitely precious. Let its fragrance remain
+with you for ever. May it become impossible for you to do without it.
+Seek it, insist upon it silently, even from the strangers whom you may
+meet. Falsehood destroys the perfume and the bloom of women: it makes
+them colourless and uniformly commonplace. Always have the courage to be
+true. A sort of secret combat is waged between any two persons who meet
+for the first time. Remember that, as a woman, you have always the
+choice of weapons; and choose them frankly. In so doing, you will gain
+courage and assurance and the great strength that springs from harmony,
+from the perfect accord of our body, our mind and our speech. I do not
+say that you will necessarily conquer with that weapon, but I do say
+that, even if defeated, you will, contrary to the general rule, feel
+mightier and more exultant than before!"
+
+A star appeared, a quiver ran through the trees near by and passed over
+all the earth. The night was rising.
+
+I was at my ease beside my companion; our hearts were again at one. That
+love-incident, however lacking in love, had brought her nearer to me.
+
+"I do not know which path you will choose, my Rose; but we all have two
+roads by which to reach the goal for which we are making: to be or to
+seem. The real lovers of life will always choose the first. They will
+arrive later; perhaps they will never arrive. But, after all, what does
+arriving mean?"
+
+Rose at once retorted:
+
+"Still, why have a goal, if not to reach it?"
+
+The girl's practical logic amused me; and our laughter rang out in
+unison across the fields.
+
+"Rose, morally speaking, the goal is really the means which we employ to
+attain it. It is a light which we voluntarily flash in front of our
+footsteps. We can neither miss it nor reach it, because it moves with
+us. It becomes greater or smaller or is renewed, according to the
+evolution of our strength and our life...."
+
+We had risen from the ground and, as we talked, were slowly following
+the path that skirts the orchard. Rose asked:
+
+"Cannot you more or less describe your goal, the one you are speaking
+about?"
+
+I hesitated for a moment and, almost involuntarily, murmured:
+
+"To know a little more ... to see a little farther ... to understand a
+little better...."
+
+Rose repeated, slowly and earnestly:
+
+"To know a little more ... to see a little...."
+
+But I laughingly stopped her, for the words sounded too serious in our
+young souls.
+
+The orchard-gate closed between us. I was walking away, when Rose called
+to me:
+
+"Come and kiss me again...."
+
+I ran back to her. She leant over the hedge and I could only just
+distinguish her face. Then our lips met of themselves, like flowers that
+touch.
+
+For a long time, in the still air, I heard her heavy footfall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+1
+
+Next day, Rose was with me early in the morning:
+
+"I could not sleep," she said. "I wanted to speak to you without tears
+or blushes. If I have done wrong, I have atoned for it; and it is done
+with. All that remained of it was a sad memory; and, now that I have
+considered it with you, even that is gone."
+
+I look at her. Her appearance pleases me. Her step is firm, her cheeks
+are pale, her eyes burning; she is living more ardently than usual. She
+continues, with animation:
+
+"You said to me once that people who believe in another life seem to
+sweep their sins and their remorse up to the doors of eternity. For us,
+you said, who have not that illusion, everything is different: we do not
+put off paying the bill for our sins. We can recognise their
+consequences; and that is our expiation." And you added, proudly, "It is
+cowardly to look to another for it, even if that other were God!"
+
+We are walking in the orchard. The long grass is bending under the
+weight of the dew, which has decked it with a thousand glittering
+jewels. As we pass by a tree laden with apples, Rose pulls a branch to
+her and, without plucking the fruit, bites into it. I watch the lips
+part and the white teeth meet and disappear in the juicy pulp. For a
+second, the soft red mouth rounds over the fruit, which seems to match
+its beauty and to be questioning Rose about her pitiful love-affairs.
+
+"Then, Rose dear, you were not really happy for a moment with your
+lover?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But he was young, I suppose, and more or less good-looking?"
+
+She thinks for a moment and then bends her head.
+
+"You remember it, Rose?"
+
+The girl appears astonished and answers, hesitatingly:
+
+"It is five years ago, I don't remember now...."
+
+I was surprised in my turn and looked at her. What! She didn't remember!
+She had forgotten that! Her lips had not retained the impress of the
+first kiss!
+
+My eyes closed and from the background of my life a bygone moment rose,
+one of those memories that linger in the hearts of women with such
+fidelity and vividness that they lack not a scent, a sound, a line, a
+word, a look, a gesture!
+
+I was twelve years old and he fifteen. It was at the seaside. Our
+parents were talking a few steps away, but night was falling and a
+fisherman's hut hid us from their eyes. He bent over to me and our lips
+met in a simple kiss, simple as a flower with petals still unopened, for
+we were both of us innocent....
+
+I can still see the colour and the shape of the drifting clouds. I can
+smell the mingled breath of the sea and of his boyish mouth. I can
+remember how I felt as a frightened, trembling and enraptured little
+girl.... A sailor was singing some way off; and the gulls that circled
+between sea and sky seemed to be keeping the last rays of daylight upon
+their white wings.
+
+Why, I know that boy's mouth by heart and shall always know it! We often
+kissed again, without even dreaming that, at this game as at all games,
+there might be room for progress!... And then ... and then ... that's
+all I remember of him.... The next is another memory, at another place
+and another age.... And then another again....
+
+
+2
+
+Would one not think that, in the more or less happy lives of us women,
+in our more or less easily traversed roads, the sensations of love are
+so many illuminated floral arches that mark the different stages of our
+accomplishment? We go up to them, we pass through them with hopes,
+smiles or sighs. But, whatever they may be, we come out of them fairer
+and better. What should we be without that, without love? The love which
+is rebuked, which we are supposed to hide and blush for! The love that
+entreats both our strength and our weakness, our patience and our
+fervour, our passion and our reason! The love that sets in motion our
+highest faculties and our lowest instincts, that makes each of us know
+her own power and her own poverty by the part which she allows it to
+play in her life!
+
+In that moment, I saw and lived my joys in the kisses of childhood and
+girlhood. I travelled my road again; and the arches of light seemed
+higher to me and they followed hard on one another, becoming ever more
+radiant and decked with gayer flowers, until this very hour when the
+desired happiness has been found, established and kept fast....
+
+
+3
+
+My thoughts return to Rose, who has sat down under a tree; and I stretch
+myself beside her.
+
+A herd of cows suddenly enters the orchard. White and brown, they plunge
+among the apple-trees; driven by a child, who is taking them down to the
+long grass, they amble heavily along in meek-eyed resignation. A smell
+of cow-shed at once reaches our nostrils; and, in the silence, we hear a
+noise of busy munching....
+
+"Darling, you, who have always lived in the midst of nature, should have
+sounder and more accurate ideas on love than those of other women, while
+mine are a little warped by my over-cultivated nerves and feelings. If,
+for instance, you had said to me, yesterday, 'I gave myself because it
+was natural,' you would have dominated my poor reason from the pinnacle
+of an essential truth."
+
+Without quite understanding what I say, Rose smiles in answer to my
+smile and we remain silent; our eyes gaze without seeing and our idle
+hands trail in the wet grass. We hear, without listening, the hoarse,
+fat, cooing-voluptuous voices of the doves: in the cool air of the
+morning, among the leaves, the flowers and the branches, it is an
+undercurrent of joy rising and falling, suspended for a moment and then
+beginning again, in unwearying repetition.
+
+Rose murmurs:
+
+"Why are you always saying that I cannot make progress without love? It
+makes me unhappy when you say that. I should have liked to have nothing
+in the world but your affection. You kissed me so tenderly last night,
+over the hedge."
+
+"It is not the same thing, Rose darling. Certainly, there is nothing
+more harmonious and purer than the kiss that joins the lips of two
+friends like ourselves. But it is not the same thing as the kiss of
+love, for the value of that lies not only in what it is, but in what it
+promises; and it is a delight that sometimes echoes through our whole
+lives.... You will have to love before you understand."
+
+The girl folded her arms around my waist as though to bind herself to
+me:
+
+"But how would you have me love any one but yourself?" she asked. "Have
+you not given me happiness? When I am with you, I seem to be living in a
+fairy-tale."
+
+Despite the pleasure which her words gave me, I made an effort to combat
+them.
+
+The character of a woman who tries to be just is full of these little
+contradictions. In proportion as her heart is satisfied, she finds her
+intellect becoming clearer and stronger; and what calls for her judgment
+rarely leaves her heart unmoved. If Rose had not protested, I should
+still have spoken, from a sense of duty, but my words would have been
+without warmth or conviction. Now it seemed to me that her charming
+compliment gave added force to what I was about to utter in the interest
+of another's happiness.
+
+She leant her face against my breast and my fingers played with her
+sunny hair, her unbound hair, which was now waving joyously, crowning
+her with a shimmer of amber and gold.
+
+"No," I replied, "you must fall in love in order to develop and expand.
+Our women's lives are like summer days: wisdom tells us to follow their
+evolution. After the morning's waiting, we want the noon-day splendour
+and rapture. As you never had that rapture, you have not yet known love:
+and, at your age, is not that an absurd and miserable ignorance? Is it
+not right to wish for love and even to force its coming? Those who go on
+waiting for it in meek resignation appear to me so guilty!... Life has
+always seemed to me to be divided into two parts: the search for love;
+and love. As long as we are not in love, let us continue the search for
+it; let us seek stubbornly, madly, cruelly, if need be; let us be
+untiring and unrelenting. There are no obstacles for the woman with a
+resolute will. Let each of us follow that quest in her own manner,
+according to her strength, her means and her courage, through every
+danger and every pain. When we have at last found love, or rather our
+love, let us go towards it without fear, without false modesty; and, if
+we are loved, let us not wait to be entreated for what we can offer
+generously. Let us never be pilfered of that which it is our privilege
+to give!"
+
+A tendril drops from the creeper above us and caresses our faces....
+
+How delightful life is at this moment! The air is filled with rejoicing,
+with the murmur of an infinite happiness! A tremulous haze hovers over
+the fields, the insatiate doves reiterate their glad refrain. Around us,
+here and there, a slender blade of grass shakes beneath the light weight
+of a butterfly. But is not everything lovely in the eyes of a woman who
+is talking of love? It is as though happiness were the harbinger of her
+glance, flying ahead and settling upon things.
+
+Rose, all attention and curiosity, now questioned me:
+
+"But you, what did you do?"
+
+"In my case," I said, "when I knew that he loved me too, I went to his
+country to find him. I can still see us walking in a meadow all bright
+with flowers. On the horizon, the blue sky met the sea; and, behind us,
+the red roofs, the church-steeples and the tiny white houses of a Dutch
+village slowly vanished from sight. He gave me his arm; and it was a joy
+to me to let him feel the gladness in my heart by the motion of my hip,
+on which he leant slightly. Then he said, 'You walk like a queen for
+whom her subjects wait.' And I knew from his words that he was still
+waiting for me, though I was by his side, and they suddenly told me
+what a blissful kingdom I had to offer him!"
+
+"Did you seek long before that day came?"
+
+"No, once I was free, I found happiness after a few months of trouble
+and difficulty; but you see, dear, I would have gone to the other end of
+the world to meet my love! I had no need to journey so far; and this
+makes me inclined to think that, in our search, we need to be attentive
+even more than active!"
+
+Roseline murmured, pensively:
+
+"The men say that a certain amount of preliminary experience in love is
+indispensable ... to them."
+
+My whole soul revolted. Releasing myself from the girl's embrace, I
+sprang to my feet and faced her:
+
+"But, Rose, isn't it the same with us? And is it right to expect that a
+woman should rivet her whole existence to the first smile, to the first
+look, the first word that moves her? Sensible people tell us that
+marriage is a lottery! By what aberration of the intellect do they come
+to admit that a being's whole life should be voluntarily subjected to
+chance? Not one of us would consent to such a degradation, if women in
+general were not absolutely ignorant! And that is why many, too
+clear-sighted to submit to a ridiculous law and lacking the courage to
+infringe it, die without having known the flavour and the goodness of
+life. Oh, what injustice! Is youth not short enough as it is? Is the
+circle in which our poor intelligence moves not sufficiently limited?
+And is it necessary, in addition, to chain us to phantom principles,
+which falsify nature, disfigure goodness and vilify the miracle of the
+kiss and the innocence of the flesh?"
+
+I was standing against a tree, a few steps away from Rose; and my hand
+plucked nervously at the leaves within my reach. The blue sky seemed
+hypocritical to my eyes, the beauty of the flowers crafty and mocking. I
+continued, in a tone of conviction:
+
+"It is right that woman should make her own experiments, it is right
+that she should know men to judge which of them harmonises with her....
+It is by constantly encountering alien souls that she will form an idea
+of what her twin soul should be. Yes, I know that a natural law rejects
+this morality; and that is why I do not think the woman should give
+herself until she is quite certain of her choice. It is true that her
+experiments will be incomplete; the senses will have played but a small
+part in them, or none at all; but must we not accommodate ourselves to
+the inevitable? In any case, that woman will indeed be enlightened who,
+regardless of public opinion, lives freely in the man's company,
+studying him, observing him and sometimes even loving him!"
+
+Rose listened to me without a word or a movement; only, every now and
+then, her long, dark lashes, tipped with gold, would flicker for a
+moment and then droop discreetly on her cool, fresh cheeks. But the
+thought of her own frailty suggested an objection; and she asked:
+
+"Don't you think that what you propose is difficult for the woman?"
+
+"Oh, yes, difficult and, to many of us, impossible! Through a want of
+pride, through love or pity, they resign themselves to an act of which
+their reason does not approve and they wake up unhappy, sometimes for
+ever.... It is difficult, for the woman who resists appears to the man a
+sort of monster, abominable and detestable. Ah, there must be no
+desertion before possession! Because we have given him our lips, we must
+make him a present of our lives! Because we have consented to certain
+pleasures, we must, so that he may enjoy a greater, sacrifice our future
+to him!... In fact, he goes farther and says that woman, when she
+indulges in those experiments, is following the dictates of a loathsome
+and mean self-interest. Self-interest, when this conduct entails endless
+dangers and bitterness! Self-interest, when it demands of us, before
+all, an absolute contempt of a world to which nearly all are slaves,
+when it exposes us to insults and suffering and increases the number of
+our enemies and multiplies the obstacles in our path!... No, that woman
+is not selfish who, in all good faith, plunges boldly into the adventure
+at the risk of ruining herself, comes near to a man, thinking that she
+has found what she is seeking and hoping that love may result. She feels
+the promptings of her senses and does not resist her heart, but her
+reason is awake! She will not give herself unless everything that she
+learns confirms her expectations; she will give herself if she really
+believes that the happiness of both depends upon it; and the combat that
+is waged enables her to judge clearly of the quality of their love. She
+is judge and combatant in one. She lets herself be carried along so that
+she may have fuller knowledge; and it is not without pain, it is not
+without love that, at the eleventh hour, she will, if need be, refuse
+herself."
+
+Rose here interrupted me:
+
+"If she loves, if she suffers, why does she refuse herself?"
+
+"There are a thousand degrees in love; and a woman of feeling always
+suffers when she inflicts suffering."
+
+I examined my mind for a moment and, as though it were uttering its
+thoughts backwards, I continued, slowly:
+
+"It is sometimes our duty to inflict suffering. The man's instinct is
+always more or less blinded by desire; he always, either craftily or
+brutally, proposes. It is for us to dispose. We are all-powerful. Peace
+or discord springs from our will. He is not as well fitted to choose as
+we are, because he has not the same reasons for wishing to see
+comradeship follow upon passion, to see rapture give way to security. If
+we are one day to be the mother of the child, are we not first of all
+the mother of love? Are we not at the same time the cradle and the
+tabernacle of that god? In any happy couple, is love not cast in the
+woman's image much more than in the man's? The man has a thousand
+things that attract and retain him elsewhere; his temperament is more
+prodigal and less considerate than ours. It is in the woman that love
+dwells; her sensitive nature leads her to a higher knowledge in the art
+of loving; and the infinite details of her tenderness can make her seem
+perfect in her lover's eyes when they do not render her exclusive...."
+
+Struck by this last word, Rose exclaimed:
+
+"What! According to you, love should not be exclusive!" And, lowering
+her voice, she asked, "Are you not faithful?"
+
+"We do not even think of being faithful as long as we love. We should
+blush to offer love the cold homage of fidelity: it is a word devoid of
+meaning in the presence of a genuine love. In love fidelity is like a
+chain disappearing under the flowers. If it is one day seen, that means
+that the flowers are faded."
+
+I kneel beside her and, taking her in my arms, kiss her fondly. Through
+the exquisite silence of the day, the church-bell rings out the
+_Angelus_ in notes of gold. The garden is flooded with sunshine; and the
+marigolds, the phlox, the jasmines, the scabious and the mallows push
+their heads above their white railing. Each eager heart turns towards
+the light.
+
+"You see, my Roseline: just as the great sun shines in his glory and
+governs the realm of flowers, so love must be king in the lives of us
+women! He reigns and is independent of any but himself. Only," I added,
+laughing, "though we accept him as king, we must not make a tyrant of
+him. Poor love! I wonder what wretched transformation he must have
+undergone through the ages for us to have managed to invest him with the
+most selfish of human sentiments, the sense of property! So far from
+that, we ought mutually to respect the life that goes with ours and
+never seek to restrain it."
+
+There is a pause; and Rose, with her face pressed to my cheek, almost
+whispers:
+
+"You are not jealous?"
+
+I felt myself flushing and would have liked not to answer. But, alas,
+would she not by degrees have discovered all the pettiness that is
+ill-concealed under my thin veneer of self-control and determination? I
+tried to reveal it all in one sentence:
+
+"Know this, Rose, that it is in myself and in myself alone that I study
+the women that I would not be!"
+
+
+4
+
+I watch my great girl while she talks. This rustic beauty, in her cotton
+bodice, her blue print skirt and her wooden shoes, no longer shouts. She
+expresses herself better and does not gesticulate so violently. She is
+quieter in her movements and her shyness is not unattractive. Rays of
+light filter through the branches and cast shifting patches of light on
+her face and figure. I always love to observe the details of her beauty,
+but to-day my heart contracts for a moment as my eyes follow the curve
+of her chin, which is charming, but devoid of all firmness, and her
+whole profile, which is beautiful, but lacking in decision....
+
+Will Rose be one of those who accomplish themselves by means of love,
+who exalt themselves by exalting it, who master and improve themselves
+the better to control it?
+
+Love is the great test by which our values are reckoned and weighed. The
+fond vagaries of the body have taught the proud soul its limits; and
+reason has wilted under a kiss like a flower under the scorching sun.
+Every woman has known the exquisite luxury of forgetting herself, of
+losing herself so utterly that no other thing at the moment appears to
+her worth living for. She has heard the voice of the charmer exhorting
+her to abandon pride, ambition, her own personality, to become, in
+short, no more than an atom of happiness under a dark and splendid sky
+which each moment of felicity seems to adorn with a new star.
+
+Where the weak woman goes under, her stronger sister is never lost. The
+lower she may have fallen, the higher she raises herself. She returns
+from each of her strayings more fit for life. She is more resisting, for
+she has known how to sway and bend without breaking; more indulgent,
+because she has seen herself encompassed with weakness and beset with
+longings. She knows how frail is the spring that regulates her strength,
+but also how necessary that strength is to her happiness. She has come
+to understand what real love means, that the union of man and woman
+approaches the nearer to perfection the less the two wills are fused.
+She has understood, above all, that, to contain, glorify and keep love,
+we need all the energy of our respective personalities and all the
+benefit of our dissimilarity!
+
+Rose was silent.
+
+I lay on the grass, with my arms outstretched and my eyes fixed on the
+sky; and the breeze sent my hair playing over my lips. For a long while
+afterwards, my thoughts continued to wander amid the fairest things in
+the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+1
+
+It is typical autumn weather, a dull, dark day which seems never to have
+fully dawned. Beneath the burden of the weary, oppressive clouds, the
+grass is greener and the roads more distinct. The light seems to rise to
+the sky instead of falling from it.
+
+I have been in the kitchen-garden for an hour. There all the plants are
+beaten down by the wind and the rain; the asparagus-fronds lie across
+the paths like tangled hair; but the broad-bottomed cabbages are a joy
+to the eye, with their air of comfortable middle-class prosperity.
+Looking at their closely enfolded hearts, I seemed to recover the
+illusion of my childhood, of the days when my eyes pictured mystery in
+their depths....
+
+How amazed we are when one of our senses happens to receive a sudden
+impression, in the same way as when we were children! We behold the same
+object simultaneously in the present and the past; and between those two
+points, identical and yet different to our eyes, our memory tries to
+stretch a thread that can help it to follow the thousand and one
+intermediate transformations which have led us from the false to the
+true, from the wonderful to the simple, from dreams to reality. We
+should, no doubt, discover here, in the subtle history of our sensations
+and the different ways in which we received them, the gradual forming of
+our character, the pathetic progress of our little knowledge, all the
+frail elements of our personal life; in a word, the plastic substance of
+our joys and sorrows....
+
+I think of the little girl that I was, but between her and me there
+stands a long array of children, girls and women. And I can do nothing
+but inwardly repeat:
+
+"How soon we lose our traces!..."
+
+I smile at the memory of myself as we smile at the unknown child that
+brushes against us in passing; and I leave myself to return to Rose....
+
+
+2
+
+She is a never-failing source of satisfaction to me. My dreams glory in
+having discovered so much hidden virtue here, at my door; and I am
+surprised at the new pleasures which I am constantly finding in her.
+
+In certain natures predisposed to happiness, such happy surprises are
+prolonged and constantly renewed; and this may be one of the innocent
+secrets of the intellect. Are there not a thousand ways of interpreting
+a feeling, even as there are a thousand ways of considering an object?
+Our mind observes it daily under a different aspect, turns and turns it
+again, sees it from above and below, sees it near and from afar and
+loves to show it off and place it in the most favourable light. The mind
+of every woman, especially of a woman with an artistic bias, is not
+without a secret harmony of colour, line and proportion. Something
+intentional even enters into it; and the caprices of her soul are often
+but an outcome of her desire to please. Her natural instinct, which is
+always inclined to give form to the most subtle of her sensations,
+enables her to find in goodness the same clinging grace which she loves
+in her clothes. She likes her happiness to be obvious and highly
+coloured, that it may rejoice the eyes of those around her; and, so as
+not to sadden their eyes, she paints the bitterness of her heart in
+neutral shades of drab and grey. By thinking herself better, she appears
+prettier in her own sight; and it seems to her, as she consults her
+mirror, that she is replying to her own destiny. The soft waves of her
+hair teach her how frail is her will by the side of her life. She learns
+to bestow her own reward on the sympathy of her heart by crowning her
+forehead with her two bare arms; and, when she sees the long folds of
+her dress winding around her body, she recognises the sinuous, slow, but
+determined bent of her feminine power.
+
+I remember once being present at a meeting between two women who gave me
+a charming proof of our natural inclination to lend shape and substance
+to our thoughts and feelings. They were of different nationalities and
+neither of them could speak the other's language. Both were of a warm
+and sensitive nature, endowed with an analytical and artistic
+temperament; and, as soon as they came together amidst the boredom of a
+fashionable crowd, they sat down in a corner and, with the aid of a few
+ordinary words, of facial expression, of vocal intonation, but above all
+by means of gesticulation, they succeeded, in a few moments, in
+explaining themselves and knowing each other better than many do after
+months of intercourse.
+
+I was interested in this strange conversation, this dialogue without a
+sentence, but so vivid and expressive, in the same breath childish and
+profound; for they wished to show each other the inmost recesses of
+their souls and they had nothing to do it with but two or three
+elementary words. How pretty they were, the fair one dressed in red and
+the other, who was dark, all in white, with camellias in the dusk of her
+hair. They were not at all afraid of being frivolous and would linger
+now and then to examine the filmy muslins and laces in which they were
+arrayed.
+
+The elder had already chosen her path, the younger was still seeking
+hers; but the characters of both were alike matured and their minds
+completely formed. Both of them in love and happy in their love, they
+tried above all to express their tastes and ideas.
+
+To understand each other, they employed a thousand ingenious means.
+Their mobile faces eagerly questioned each other with the unconscious
+boldness of children who meet for the first time. They took each other's
+hands, looked at each other, read each other's features. At times, they
+would make use of things around them: a light here, a shadow there,
+people, objects. Once I saw the fair-haired one take up a Gallé cup that
+stood near. For a minute, she held her white arm up to the light; and
+through her fingers the lovely thing seemed like a flash of crystallised
+mist in which precious stones were shedding their last lustre.
+
+I forget the various images, childish and subtle, by which she was able
+to show her friend all her sensitive soul in that fragile cup. A little
+later, there was some music; and the dark one sang while the fair one
+accompanied her on the piano. Through the sounds and harmonies I heard
+the perfect concord of those two lives, which had known nothing of each
+other an hour or two before....
+
+It was an exquisite lesson for me, a wonderful proof that women's souls
+are able to love and unite more easily than men's, if they wish. And I
+once again regretted the unhappy distrust that severs and disunites us,
+whereas all our weaknesses interwoven might be garlands of strength and
+love crowning the life of men.
+
+
+3
+
+By a natural trend of thought, Rose appeared to me contrasted with those
+two rare creatures....
+
+Rose is not sensitive and is not artistic. No doubt, when she left
+school, she could play the piano correctly and likewise draw those
+still-life studies and little landscapes by means of which the
+principles of art and beauty are carefully instilled into the young
+mind. But she did not suspect that there could be anything else. She saw
+nothing beyond the ruined mill which she drew religiously in charcoal;
+twenty times over, she set an orange, a ball of worsted and a pair of
+scissors together on the window-sill without seeing any of the wonders
+which the garden offered her.
+
+Later, when every Sunday she played _The Young Savoyard's Prayer_ on the
+organ, her placid soul conceived no other harmonies. She never felt,
+within the convent-walls, that divine curiosity, that blessed
+insubordination of the artist-child which obtains its first
+understanding of beauty from its hatred of the ugliness around it and
+which turns towards pretty things as flowers and plants turn towards the
+light.
+
+Ah, my poor Rose, how I should like to see you more eager and alive! In
+the close attention which you give me, in the absolute faith which you
+place in me, my least words are invested with a precision of meaning
+that invites me to go on speaking; but how weary I am at heart! Oh, let
+us pass on to other things: it is high time! Let us not sink into
+slumber and call it prudence: up to now I have been content to see you
+sitting patiently at my feet; but I no longer want you there. Enough of
+this! I dream of roaming with you at random in the open fields, I dream
+of making you laugh and cry, of feeling your young soul fresh and
+sensitive as your cheeks. I dream of stirring your heart and rousing
+your imagination. We will go far across the countryside; together we
+shall see the light wane and the darkness begin; and, since you love me,
+you must needs admire with me the rare beauty of all these things!...
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose was to have a holiday the next day. We arranged that she should
+come with the trap from the farm, the first thing in the morning, to
+fetch me.
+
+We start at six o'clock. The harness-bells tinkle gaily to the heavy
+trot of the big horse; and we laugh as we are jolted violently one
+against the other. We drive through the villages, those happy Normandy
+villages where everything seems eloquent of the richness of the soil.
+They are still asleep, the white curtains are drawn and the geraniums on
+the window-ledges alone are awake in all their glowing bloom. A faint
+haze veils the fields and imparts to things a soft warmth of tone that
+makes them more soothing to the eyes. The sun rises and we see the
+breath of earth shimmer in its first rays.
+
+We have never yet been for a whole day's outing together; everything is
+new in my new pleasure. I look at Rose beside me. I had wanted her to
+put on her peasant clothes; and I find her beautiful in her scanty garb
+in the cool morning air.
+
+We follow the long hog's-back that commands a view of the whole country
+round. Here and there, tiny villages float like islands of green amid
+the wide plains. A row of poplars lines the way on either side. Their
+yellow leaves quiver and rustle in the breeze. The rooks stand out
+harshly against the white road. And the mist, which is beginning to lift
+in places, reveals a deep-blue sky.
+
+The keen air that enters my throat and makes my mouth cold as ice tells
+me of the smile that flickers over my face; and my pleasure is
+heightened by the sight of my happiness. A woman sees herself anew in
+everything that she beholds; life is her perpetual looking-glass. In our
+memory, the flowers in a hat often mingle with those along the road; and
+sometimes the muslin of a dress enfolds the recollection of our gravest
+emotions.
+
+O femininity, sublime and ridiculous, wise and foolish! Never shall I
+weary of surprising its movements and variations deep down in my being!
+How it fascinates me in all its shades and forms! I let it play with my
+destiny as much from reason as from love, for we know that nothing can
+subdue it. I worship it in myself, I worship it in all of us! It may
+exhaust us in the performance of superhuman tasks, it may let us merely
+dally with the delight of being beautiful, it may chain us to our bodies
+or deliver us from their tyranny, it may adorn life or give it, enrich
+it or kill it: always and everywhere it arouses my eager interest. Ever
+unexpected and changeful, it floats in front of our woman's souls like a
+gracious veil that draws, unites and yet separates....
+
+The even motion of the trap lulls my dreams and we drive on, in the
+midst of the plains, the fields and the woods. We pass through a dense
+flock of sheep. The warm round backs, the gentle, anxious faces push and
+hustle, while the thousand slender legs mingle and raise clouds of dust
+along the roadside. The timid voices bleat through space; and a pungent
+scent fills our nostrils. We are now going down into the valley. The
+village appears, among the trees: a cluster of red and grey roofs;
+little narrow gardens; white clothes hung out and fluttering in the
+sunlight. Beyond are broad meadows dotted with peaceful cows and
+streaked with running brooks. There, just in the middle, a factory
+displays its grimy buildings. It is an eye-sore, but it leaves the mind
+unscathed. Does it not represent definite and deliberate activity amid
+the unconsciousness of nature?...
+
+At this moment, Rose turns towards me; and I seem to read a sadness in
+her eyes:
+
+"What are you thinking of?" I ask.
+
+"I am thinking that I should like to go away altogether and that we have
+to be back tonight."
+
+I kissed her and laughed.
+
+"My darling, you must live and be happy in the present: there is plenty
+of room there."
+
+We arrived at the country-house to which I was taking her. Pretty women
+in delicate morning-wraps were eagerly awaiting us on the steps, while
+some of the men, attracted by the sound of our wheels, leant out from a
+window to see my pretty Rose. There was a general cry of admiration:
+
+"Why, she's magnificent!"
+
+We stepped out of the trap and I pushed Rose towards the party, with
+whispered words of encouragement; but, suddenly bending forward, with
+her feet wide apart, her arms-swinging and her cheeks on fire, she dips
+here and there in a series of awkward bows....
+
+They were kind enough not to laugh; and I led the girl through the
+great, cool echoing rooms, multiplied by the mirrors and filled with
+marvels....
+
+
+2
+
+The sun streams through the immense, wide-open windows; and the harmony
+of the ancient park mingles with that of the silk hangings and the old
+furniture. The fallen leaves sprinkle tears of gold upon the deep green
+of the lawns. The soft-flowing river welcomes with a quiver the perfect
+beauty of the skies; rare shrubs and delicate flowers set here and there
+sheaves and garlands of joy; and the golden sand of the paths
+accentuates the variety of the colours. On the hill opposite, a wood
+gilded by the autumn seems to be lying down like some huge animal; in
+the distance, the tree-tops are so close together that one could imagine
+a giant hand stroking its tawny fur. On either side of the tall
+bow-windows, the scarlet satin of the curtains falls in long, straight
+folds.
+
+Let us be in a palace or a hovel, in a museum or an hotel: is not our
+attention always first claimed by the window? However little it reveals,
+that little still means light and life, amid our admiration of the rare
+or our indifference to the ordinary. The windows represent all the
+independence, hope and strength of the little souls behind them; and I
+believe that I love them chiefly because they were the confidants and
+friends of my early years, when, as an idle, questioning little girl, I
+would stand with my hands clasped in front of me and my forehead glued
+to the panes. My childhood spent at those windows was a picture of
+patient waiting.
+
+Often they come back to me, the windows of that big house in a
+provincial town, on one side lighted up and beautiful with the beauty of
+the gay garden on which their lace-veiled casements opened, on the other
+a little dark and lone, as though listening to the voice and the dreary
+illusion of the church which they enframe....
+
+
+3
+
+The current of my life, diverted for a moment, returned to the present
+and, as always, it swelled with the gladness that rises to our hearts
+whenever chance conjures up a past whose chains we have shattered.
+
+Happier and lighter at heart, I continued with Rose my visit to the
+galleries, the gardens and the hot-houses. The luncheon passed off well.
+Rose was quite at ease and suggested in that elegant setting a stage
+shepherdess, whose beauty transfigured the simplest clothes. A silk
+kerchief with a bright pattern of flowers is folded loosely round her
+neck; her chemisette and skirt are freshly washed and ironed, her hands
+well tended and her hair gracefully knotted. She introduces a striking
+and very charming note into the Empire dining-room. More than once,
+during lunch, I congratulated myself on not having yielded to the
+temptation to adorn her with the thousand absurd and cunning trifles
+that constitute our modern dress, for her little blunders of speech and
+movement found an excuse in her peasant's costume. Nevertheless, she
+answered intelligently the questions put to her on the treatment of
+cattle and the cultivation of the soil; and I had every reason to be
+proud of her. Her grave and reserved air charmed everybody. If she often
+grieves and disappoints me, is this not due more particularly to the
+absence of certain qualities which her beauty had wrongly led me to
+expect?
+
+
+4
+
+Before taking our seats in the trap, we go for a stroll through the
+village. As we pass in front of the baker's, a splendid young fellow,
+naked to the waist, comes out of the house and stands in the doorway.
+The flour with which his arms and his bronzed chest are sprinkled
+softens their modelling very prettily. His sturdy neck, on which his
+head, the head of a young Roman, looks almost small, his straight nose,
+long eyes and narrow temples form a combination rarely seen in our
+district. I was pointing him out to Rose, when he called to her
+familiarly and congratulated her on visiting at the great house. I saw
+no movement of foolish vanity in her; on the contrary, there was great
+simplicity in her story of the drive and the lunch. I was pleased at
+this and told her so, later, when we were back in the trap.
+
+"The poor fellow is afraid of anything that might take me from him," she
+said. "He must be very unhappy just now, for he has been imploring me
+for the last two years to marry him."
+
+I gave her a questioning look; and she went on:
+
+"I did not want to. I would rather end my days in poverty than languish
+for ever behind a counter. Still, his love would perhaps have overcome
+my resistance, if I had not met you."
+
+She leant over to kiss me. I returned her caress, though I felt a little
+troubled, as I always do when I receive a positive proof of the way in
+which I have changed the course of her life. At the same time, I
+realised that her nature contained a sense of pride, in which till then
+I had believed her entirely deficient. I remained thoughtful, but not
+astonished. We end by having opinions, on both men and things, which are
+so delicately jointed that they can constantly twist and turn without
+ever breaking.
+
+Meanwhile, the horse was jogging peacefully along; we were going towards
+the sea, for I wanted to finish our holiday there. The willow-edged
+river followed our road; and we already saw the white sheen of the
+cliffs at the far end of the valley.
+
+Soon we are passing through the little old town, where a few visitors
+are still staying for the bathing, though it is late in the season. At
+the inn, where we leave our horse and trap, they seem to think us a
+rather odd couple. I laugh at their amused faces, but Rose is
+embarrassed and hurries me away. All the dark and winding little streets
+lead to the sea. We divine its vastness and immensity beyond the dusky
+lanes that give glimpses of it. In front of one of those luminous
+chinks, under a rounded archway, an old woman stands motionless; she is
+clad like the women of the Pays de Caux: a black dress gathered in thick
+pleats around the waist, a brown apron and a smooth, white cap flattened
+down over her forehead. Poor shrivelled life, whose features seem to
+have been harshly carved out of wood! She is like an interlude in the
+perfect harmony of things. I utter my admiration aloud, so that my
+Roseline's eyes may share it; and we pass under the archway.
+
+We are now on the beach; the wind lashes our skirts and batters my large
+hat, which flaps around my face. For a more intimate enjoyment of the
+sea, we run to it through the glorious, exhilarating air which takes
+away our breath. Over yonder, a few people are gathered round a hideous
+building all decked out with bunting. It is the casino. We hasten in the
+opposite direction. On the patch of sand which the sea uncovers at low
+tide, some boys disturb the solitude; but they are attractive in their
+fresh and nervous grace, with their slender legs, their energetic
+gestures and their as it were beardless voices. Their frolics stand out
+against the pale horizon like positive words in a blissful silence.
+
+As we sat down on the shingle, the sun facing us was still blinding; and
+I reflected that, when my eyes could endure its brilliancy, it would be
+like our human happiness, very near its end....
+
+The excitement of the lunch at the big house has not yet passed off; and
+Rose laughs and is amused at everything. Has she to-day at last, by the
+contact of those happy, care-free lives, foreseen an approaching
+deliverance from hers? Of all the things that we have seen together, how
+much has she really observed? Has the test to which I tried to submit
+her to-day proved vain? As a guide to her impressions, I traced the
+outline of my own before her eyes. I questioned her. Then it seemed to
+me that, in bending my thoughts upon Rose, I saw her as we see our image
+in the water, with vaguer hues and less decided lines. The girl merely,
+from time to time, added a word expressing her contentment, a thought of
+her own; and to me it was as though a little sunbeam had played straight
+on the water and the image through the leafy branches....
+
+Does this mean that we see here a mere reflection, an utterly hollow
+soul, into which the leavings of other souls enter naturally? If it
+seems to me, at this moment, to borrow light and blood from me, is that
+a reason for thinking that it possesses neither sap nor sunshine? No, a
+thousand times no! True, I am the mother of her real life and she must,
+so to speak, pass through my soul before reaching hers. But, though we
+are of one mind, we are two distinct natures, two very different
+characters. It is a question not only of one creature attaching herself
+to another, but of an awakening and self-enquiring spirit, of a late and
+sudden development. Rose does not wish to copy me. Honestly and
+diligently, she spells and lisps to me something like a new language,
+with the aid of which she will soon be able in her turn to express
+herself and to feel. There are moments when she seems to understand me
+perfectly, even to my inmost thoughts; and I sometimes say to her:
+
+"Where was she in the old days, the girl who understands me so well now?
+What did she do? Where did she live?..."
+
+But where are all of us before the hour that reveals us to ourselves?
+And what manner of being would he be who had never undergone any
+influence or contact, who had never seen anything, felt anything? All
+impressions, whether of persons or things, come to us from without, but
+little by little and so imperceptibly that there is never a day in our
+lives that may be called the day of awakening. And yet it exists for all
+of us, shredded into decisive and fugitive minutes throughout our lives.
+Imagine for an instant that we could gather them, put them together and
+place them all in the hands of one being who, with one movement, would
+scatter them all around us. Would not the change in our character, in
+our thoughts, in our feelings be very remarkable? Would we not appear
+actually "possessed" by that person, who, after all, would have been but
+the instrument of a natural reaction of all our inert forces?
+
+Filled with these thoughts, I said to Roseline:
+
+"Dearest, once your life is kindled into feeling and expression, I can
+no longer distinguish it, for it is absorbed in mine.... I shall soon be
+going away; and all that I shall know of you will be your beauty, your
+unhappiness and the tenderness of your heart."
+
+Her great, innocent eyes, lifted to mine, asked:
+
+"Is not that enough?"
+
+And, almost ashamed of my doubts, I at once added:
+
+"You shall come where I am; whatever happens, be sure that I will not
+desert you."
+
+With an abrupt gesture, she flung her arms around me; and, as we looked
+into each other's eyes, the same mist rose before them. Was she at last
+about to accompany me into the depths of my soul?
+
+My heart burns with the fire of this new and longed-for emotion; and I
+feel two crystal tears, two tears of sheer delight, slowly follow the
+curve of my cheeks. Rose's own sensibilities have been blunted for a
+time by her rough life; she does not yet know how to weep for happiness;
+and, almost frightened, she convulsively presses her clasped hands
+against her breast, as though she feared lest it should burst with the
+throbbing of her joy.
+
+I placed my lips to the long golden lashes, I gathered the dear,
+timorous tears that seemed still uncertain which path to take; and,
+behind the veil of my kisses, they gushed forth without fear or shame.
+
+
+5
+
+The setting sun was no more than a thin crimson streak on the dividing
+line of sky and sea; and the peaceful billows whispered mysteriously in
+the dusk that rose from every side.
+
+It was time to go. When we were both standing, so frail and
+insignificant on the great empty beach, a wave of passionate gratitude
+overwhelmed both our hearts; and I at last believed that all nature--the
+sea, the meadows and the fields--had wrought its work of love and beauty
+in my Rose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+1
+
+Immense black clouds scudded past in the darkness; a furious wind
+stripped the groaning branches of their leaves; and, when the moon
+suddenly pierced the night, gaunt figures appeared of almost bare trees
+twisted and shaken by the wind. Behind the orchards, a few
+cottage-windows showed a glimmer of light; and the watch-dogs howled as
+I passed, to the accompaniment of their dragging chains.
+
+I walked quickly, full of misgivings and yet undaunted. I asked myself
+at intervals what was taking me to the farm, to probable suffering. Was
+it Rose's silence: I had heard nothing of her for a week? Was it the
+hope of saying good-bye to her, of letting her know at least that I was
+to go away the next day? Or was it not rather the curiosity that makes
+us wish to see, without being seen ourselves, the man or woman who
+interests us?
+
+We always influence in some way or other the looks or the words that are
+addressed to us. The eye that rests on us becomes unconsciously filled
+with our own rest; and the longing that awakens at the sight of us is
+often born of the unspoken call of our soul or our blood. From the first
+moment when our hands meet, an exchange takes place, and we are no
+longer entirely ourselves, we exist in relation to the persons and the
+things around us. Two honest lives cannot join in falsehood; but either
+of them, if united to a vulgar nature, is perhaps capable of
+deterioration.
+
+While thus arguing, I seek to reassure myself. True, Rose could never be
+at the farm, among those coarse people, what she is with me. Still, what
+will she be like?
+
+I remember something she said to me at the beginning of our
+acquaintance:
+
+"For the sake of peace with those about me, by degrees I made myself the
+same as they were. After a time, I never said what I really thought and
+soon I ceased to notice the difference between the two. As I thought
+that it was impossible for me ever to go away, it seemed to me a wise
+policy to adapt myself to the life I had to live. It was a lie at first;
+later it became second nature...."
+
+But now? Now that all that existence is no more than a temporary
+unpleasantness, what is her attitude?
+
+
+2
+
+It was striking eight when I came up to the farm. As a rule, everybody
+is in bed by then. But to-day was the feast of the patron-saint of the
+village; and there must have been dancing and drinking till nightfall.
+At that moment, the darkness was so thick that I could hardly see
+anything in front of me. I found the gate locked. Clinging to the trees
+and pulling myself through the thorns and brambles, I climbed across the
+bank and dropped into the orchard. I at once called softly to the dog,
+so that he should recognise a friend's voice, and, as soon as I was
+certain of his silence, I walked quietly to the house, where there was a
+light in two of the windows at the back of the farm-yard. Not daring to
+take the path that led to the door, I made my way as best I could
+through the long grass. I was shivering in my dress; and my feet were
+frozen. Whenever the moon peeped through two clouds, I quickly flung
+myself against a tree and waited without moving for the darkness to
+return. Cows were lying here and there on the grass: at each lull in
+the storm, I heard the heavy breathing of the sleeping animals; and
+their peacefulness soothed my troubled mind.
+
+Some thirty yards from the house, I stopped, uncertain what to do. It
+can be approached only by going a little higher, for it is built on a
+mound in the centre of the yard. The whole length of the one-storeyed,
+thatched buildings was without a tree or any dark corner where I could
+shelter.
+
+I was still hesitating, when suddenly a shadow passed across one of the
+windows. I seemed to recognise Rose, and my rising curiosity made me
+cover in a moment the distance that separated me from her. Once there,
+against the window-pane, I thought of nothing else.
+
+No, it was not fear but sorrow that oppressed me from the first glance
+within: Rose was laughing at the top of her voice, her mouth opened in a
+paroxysm of mirth. She was laughing a silly, brutish laugh, lying back
+in her chair, with her knees wide apart and her hands on her hips. A
+lamp stood near her on the long table around which the men were eating
+and drinking; under its torn shade the light flared unevenly, lighting
+up some things with ruthless clearness and leaving others in complete
+darkness. Of the men, I could see nothing distinctly except their heavy
+jaws and coarse hands and the lighter patches of their white shirts and
+blue smocks. I could make out very little of the large, low-ceilinged
+room. A rickety chair here; an old dresser there, with a few battered
+dishes on it. At regular intervals, a brass pendulum sends forth gleams
+as it catches the light; and the smouldering fire in the tall
+chimney-place flickers for a moment and illumines the strings of beans
+and onions drying round the hearth. On the floor, in the middle of the
+room, two little cowherds are quarrelling for the possession of a goose,
+no doubt won as a prize in the village. The poor thing, lying half-dead,
+with its wings and legs tied up, utters piteous sounds, which are the
+signal for a burst of laughter and coarse jokes.
+
+But suddenly all is silence. A door opens at the far end of the room and
+on the threshold stands the mistress, with a candle in her hand and some
+bottles under her arm. The fear inspired by the old madwoman is obvious
+at once. The two urchins take refuge under the table with their prey,
+Rose's laughter ceases abruptly and, through the window-panes, I hear
+the steady ticking of the clock and the clatter of the spoons in the
+bowls.
+
+The old woman has sat down in the full light. She is eating, with bent
+back, lowered head and jerky, nervous movements, while her wicked little
+sunken eyes peer from under her heavy, matted brows. She speaks some
+curt words in _patois_, too fast for me to catch their sense; but her
+strident voice hurts my ears. The conversation becomes livelier by
+degrees and soon everybody is speaking at once....
+
+I wait in vain for an absent look, a gesture of annoyance, an expression
+of pain on Rose's part. No, she seems at her ease among these people, as
+she was at the great house, as she is and as she will be everywhere. She
+follows the remarks of one and all and shows the same attention which
+she vouchsafes to me when I speak to her. From time to time, she says a
+word or two; and I recognise the shrill voice and the vulgar gestures
+that used to hurt me so much during our early talks.
+
+I remained there for a long time, always waiting, always hoping. Excited
+by liquor, the men began to quarrel; and I heard the old woman hurl a
+torrent of vile insults at them. Rose took the part of one of the men
+and interfered, using language as coarse as theirs.
+
+
+3
+
+It was late when I went away. The clouds had dispersed, the wind had
+dropped; the moonbeams were making pools of silver on the ground through
+the trees; and, when I reached the open fields, they appeared to me
+cold, immense, infinite under a molten sky.
+
+The picture which I carry away with me seems to lose its colour before
+my eyes: it is harder and sadder, made up of harsh lights and darker
+shadows, like an etching. I see the rough hands on the white deal table,
+the bony faces brutally outlined by a crude light. I hear the cracked
+voice of the old madwoman, now raised in yells of abuse, now breaking
+into song ... and Rose ... my beautiful Rose....
+
+But I have stolen this sight of a life which I was never meant to see.
+The dishonesty of my invisible presence makes a gulf between my actual
+vision and my perception; and it seems to me that, in this case, I must
+withhold my judgment even as we hold our breath before a flickering
+flame.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE SECOND
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+There is in love, in friendship or in the curiosity that drives us
+towards a fellow-creature a period of ascendency when nothing can quench
+our enthusiasm. The fire that consumes us must burn itself out; until
+then, all that we see, all that we discover feeds it and increases it.
+
+We are aware of a blemish, but we do not see it. We know the weakness
+that to-morrow perhaps will blight our joy, but we do not feel it. We
+hear the word that ought to deal our hopes a mortal blow; and it does
+not even touch them!... And our reason, which knows, sees, hears and
+foresees, remains dumb, as though it delighted in these games which
+bring into play our heart and our capacity for feeling. Besides, to us
+women this exercise of the emotions is something so delightful and so
+salutary that our will has neither the power nor the inclination to
+check it either in its soberest or its most extravagant manifestations.
+The influence of the will would always be commonplace and sordid by the
+side of that generous force which is created by each impulse of the
+heart or mind.
+
+Upon every person or every idea that arouses our enthusiasm we have just
+so much to bestow, a definite sum of energy to expend, which seems, like
+that of our body, to have its own time and season. I have known Rose for
+hardly three months; her picture is still vernal in my heart; nothing
+can prevent its colours from being radiant with freshness, radiant with
+vigour, radiant with sunshine. I shall therefore go away without regret.
+I see the childishness of all the experiments to which I am subjecting
+the girl so as to know her a little better. My interest throws such a
+light upon her that she cannot, do what she will, shrink back into the
+shade.
+
+She is to me the incarnation of one of my most cherished ideas. Until I
+know all, I shall suspend my judgment and my intentions will not change.
+I believe that every seed in the rich soil of a noble heart has to
+fulfil its tender, gracious work of love and kindness.
+
+I cannot, therefore, lay upon Rose the burden of my disappointment last
+night; and my affection suggests a thousand good reasons for absolving
+her. Is this wrong? And are we to consider, with the sapient ones of
+the earth, that our vision is never clear until the day when we no
+longer have the strength to love, believe and admire? I do not think so.
+Setting aside the careful judgment which we exercise in the case of our
+companion for life, it is certain that our opinions on the others, on
+our chance acquaintances, are but an illusion and owe far more to our
+souls than to theirs. In our brief and crowded lives, we have barely
+time to catch a note of beauty here, to perceive a sign of truth there.
+If, therefore, we have to pass days and years without understanding
+everything and loving everything, if we have to remain under a
+misapprehension, why not choose that which is on the side of love and
+gladdens our hearts?
+
+We should take care of the images that adorn our soul. Our women's minds
+would possess more graciousness if we bestowed upon them a little of the
+attention which we lavish on our bodies.
+
+My beautiful Rose is kind and loving; I will deck her with my hopes as
+long as I can. When enthusiasm is shared, it is easy to keep it up. It
+weighs lightly in spite of its infinite preciousness. If I ever find it
+a strain, the reason will be that Rose did not really bear her share of
+it. It will become a burden and I shall relinquish it. All that she
+will have of me will be the careless charity bestowed upon the poor.
+
+
+2
+
+"Paris, ... 19--
+
+"If you knew, Rose, how I miss the lovely autumn landscapes! The weather
+was so bright on the day of my departure that, to enjoy it to the full,
+I bicycled to the railway-town. After leaving the village, I took the
+road through the wood and it was delightful to skim along through the
+dead leaves, the softly-streaming tears of autumn. Sometimes, when a
+gust of wind blew, I went faster; and little yellow waves seemed to rise
+and fall and chase one another all around me. Some of the trees, not yet
+bare, but only thinned, traced an exquisite russet lacework against the
+blue sky; and the birds warbled, cooed and whistled as in spring. I saw
+the noisy, crowded streets of Paris waiting for me at the end of my day;
+and this gave a flavour of sadness to the calm of the high roads, the
+pureness of the air, the dear beauty of the lanes....
+
+"It was quite early in the morning and the fields were still bathed in
+a dewy radiance. I sat down for a little while on a roadside bank; an
+immense plain began at the level of my face and ended by rising slowly
+towards the sky. It was a very young field of corn, which the splendour
+of the day turned into pearly down. I could have looked at it for ever,
+at one moment letting the full glory of it burst on my dazzled eyes and
+then gradually lowering my lids down to the tiny threads that trembled
+and glittered in my breath. Then my mouth formed itself into a kiss; and
+I amused myself by slowly and lovingly making the cool pearls of the
+morning die on my warm lips...."
+
+
+3
+
+"Paris, ... 19--
+
+"I see you, my Rose, laying supper in the wretched kitchen, while the
+farm-hands gather round the hearth. I like to picture you going
+cautiously through the old woman's room at night, so as to write to me
+by the rays of the moon, without disturbing the household with an
+unwonted light. You come and sit on the ledge of the open window, to
+receive the full benefit of the moonbeams, and then you write on your
+knee those trembling lines which convey your emotion to me.
+
+"I see you in the wonderful setting of the silver-flooded orchard. The
+golden silk of your long tresses embroiders your white night-dress. Your
+eyes are filled with peace; you are beautiful like that; and there is
+nothing so sweet as an orchard in the moonlight. The apple-trees seem to
+lay their even shadows softly upon the pallor of the grass; and their
+ordered quiet spreads a serene and simple joy over nature's sleep....
+
+"Rose, at the moving period that brought us together, how I would that
+your sweet composure had been sometimes a little ruffled! It would have
+appeared to me of a finer quality had I found it more variable. A
+woman's reason should be less rigid; and I should loathe mine if it were
+not a leaven of indulgence and forgiveness in my life....
+
+"Oh, Rose, Rose, tell me that the coldness of your soul springs from its
+wonderful purity! Tell me that your heart is so deep that the sound of
+the joys which fall into it cannot be heard outside! Tell me that it is
+the storm of your life that has crushed the flowers of your sensibility
+for the time....
+
+"I well know that our interest cannot always be active, that it must be
+suppressed; I know that indifference is essential to the happy
+equilibrium of our faculties and that, beside the exaltation of our
+soul, it is the untroubled lake fertilising and refreshing the earth.
+And you will find, Rose, how necessary it is to be on our guard against
+it in our judgments and how it can take possession of some natures and
+slowly destroy them under a hateful appearance of wisdom! I would rather
+discover ugly and active defects in you than that beautiful
+impassiveness. Besides, as I have told you many a time, the excellence
+that seems to me ideal has its weaknesses. It is rather a way of
+perfection for our poor humanity, a way that is all the better because
+it is adapted for our feeble and wavering steps!...
+
+"Once, at harvest-time, I met you in the little road near the church. It
+was the end of the day; and you were coming back from the fields. You
+were standing high on a swaying mountain of hay, you were driving a
+great farm-horse, which disappeared under its load. Your tall figure
+stood out against the sky ablaze with the last rays of the sun; and I
+still see your look of absolute unconcern. You wore a long blue apron
+that came all round you and a bodice of the same colour. In that blue
+faded by the sun, with your hair a pale cloud in the gold of the
+sunset, you looked like an archangel taken from some Italian fresco.
+
+"As you passed me, you timidly returned my smile; and I followed you for
+a long time with my eyes. Do you still remember the trouble you had in
+passing under the dark vault of the old oaks? Every now and again, a
+branch, longer and lower than the others, threatened your face: you
+caught it with a quick movement and lifted it over your head. At one
+time, there were so many of those branches and they were so heavy that
+you were obliged to lie back on the hay, holding both arms over your
+face to save it from being struck. Then, when the lumbering wagon
+stopped in front of the farm, my archangel stepped down humbly into the
+mud, took the horse by the bridle and disappeared from sight....
+
+"The reason why this memory now comes back to me is that I find in it
+some affinity with what I would ask of your reason: those simple
+movements by which you will be able to thrust aside the bad habits that
+disfigure you! May your reason be the beautiful archangel to guide and
+sway your humble life, but may it sometimes know how to descend and
+stoop in obedience to the necessities of chance. Even as, on the day
+when I saw you, you could not alter the road which you had to follow, so
+you cannot alter your real nature; but you must 'know the way,' you must
+guide and control."
+
+
+4
+
+"Paris,... 19--
+
+"I am longing to have you here so that I may watch carefully over the
+slightest details of your life and put your temperament incessantly to
+the test. They say that enthusiasm cannot be acquired. But how can they
+tell that it is not merely sleeping, unless they try to awaken it? Those
+around us have sometimes, quite unconsciously, an unhappy way of
+subduing and oppressing us.
+
+"Even the most emotional have often to struggle lest their souls should
+shrink in the presence of certain people, like the flowers whose petals
+exposed to the light timidly hide their hearts as soon as day declines.
+You, whom a placid humour reserves for gentle emotions, must try not to
+let that very beautiful nature exceed its rights, or cast an unnecessary
+shadow over your feelings, or ever check your finest bursts of
+admiration with doubt and misgiving. Circumstances have failed to form
+your taste; and at first you will pass marvels by and prefer to marvel
+at some hideous thing. Never mind! I like to think that, after all, the
+best part of a noble work is the enthusiasm which it arouses and that
+the greatest dignity of art lies in the flame which it kindles.
+
+"Time was when I wept in front of things that now leave me unmoved; but,
+in captivating my childish heart, did they not accomplish their task
+even as those do now which quicken the beating of my woman's heart?...
+
+"Learn to appreciate life and to look upon all that does not enhance it
+as vain and wearisome. As there is nothing in this world which has not
+its relation to life, in loving it, my Roseline, you will understand
+everything and accept everything.
+
+"I want your eyes, when presenting to your mind whatever is best in a
+great work, to learn the luxury of lingering on it; I want your ears to
+perceive the wonderful, voluptuous charm of sounds, your hands to
+rejoice in things soft to the touch; I want you to learn how to breathe
+with delight and how to eat with pleasure. Don't smile. None of all this
+is childish; it is made up of tiny joyous movements which the simplest
+existence can command when it knows how to recognise them. And yet ...
+and yet I feel a selfish wish to leave you still in your prison, so that
+your desire to escape from it may keep on growing! I love that desire, I
+love your actual distress, I love the wretchedness of your past, the
+wretchedness of your present, I love you to see difficulties in the way
+of your deliverance....
+
+"Oh, if those obstacles could give you, as they do me, that sort of
+intoxication for which I cherish them! When at last I see the goal
+beyond them, my heart leaps for joy. But hardly is the goal attained
+when I rejoice in it only because it brings me to another, higher and
+more distant; and my imagination resumes its course, never looking back
+except to measure the road already traversed.... In this way, never
+satisfied and yet happy in the mere fact that I am advancing and in the
+knowledge that no more can be asked of a poor human will, I have the
+feeling that my life never stops."
+
+
+5
+
+
+"Paris,... 19--
+
+"Dearest, it is evening; it is cold and wet out of doors; but peace and
+gaiety shed their radiance in the great drawing-room which you will
+soon know, white and bare as a convent-parlour, living and bright as joy
+itself. Chance gave me to-day a long day of solitude, like those at
+Sainte-Colombe. And yet the hours passed before me and I could not make
+them fruitful. When such favours come to me in the midst of excitement,
+I am too glad of them to be able to profit by them; I can but feel them;
+and they control me without leaving me time to control them in my turn.
+I listen to my life, I contemplate it. It has too many opposing voices,
+too many absolutely different shapes; my consciousness is lost in it as
+a precious stone is swallowed up by the sea. I blush at such chaos. My
+soul appears to me only fit to compare with one of those wretched
+table-cloths which country dressmakers patch together, at the end of the
+year, out of the thousand scraps of the thousand different materials
+which they have cut during the season. But is not this the natural
+result of the diversity of our feminine souls?
+
+"Antagonistic elements have long been at war in me; and the violence of
+their blows has sometimes torn my life asunder. I no longer have cause
+to complain of it now, because time and love have helped me to reconcile
+them. Our powers are injurious to us so long as we do not know how to
+use them. I have suffered, I still suffer from my creeping knowledge. I
+would like to increase the pace of yours. Is it impossible?
+
+"And so I dreamed all day and, of course, I dreamed of you, the Rose
+whom I am always picturing. I imagined that we had arranged to see each
+other this evening. You walked into the drawing-room, drenched with the
+rain, pink-cheeked with the cold. You looked very pretty, in a frock
+that suited your face and your figure. You knew how to hold yourself!
+You knew how to walk! Your movements were graceful! After talking for a
+little while by the fire, we both sat down at the table, under the
+lamp-light, and there began our usual work. What work it was I cannot
+tell; but it will be easy for us to choose: we have everything to learn;
+and I feel that both our minds must follow the same path for some time
+to come. By placing the same objects before them, we shall succeed in
+discovering what you really feel and what you really wish. That is the
+only way of delivering your mind from my involuntary dominion and of
+distinguishing your image from mine. I have no other ideal than to feel
+myself actually moving, even though the movement be an inconsistent
+one. How could I invite you to a similarity which is nothing but a
+perpetual dissimilarity?
+
+"You must cease to be an echo. I shall map out no course for you; and we
+do not know what will become of you. Let us first walk at random. The
+goal is not always visible; but very often the road travelled tells us
+which road to take next. It matters little what work we do, provided
+that it gives a sort of tone to our meetings and that it regulates our
+hours. The freaks of chance and the youthfulness of our minds will
+always furnish colour and fancy in plenty....
+
+"Understand me, Roseline: it is not a friend that I am seeking, not one
+of those uncertain, light-hearted, capricious relations which encumber
+life without adding to it. I am dreaming like a child, of a woman who
+should realise the greatest possible amount of beauty in her mind and
+person and who should add her strength to mine in the service of the
+same ideals. Rose, are you that woman? Will you help me to deliver other
+women still who are oppressed by circumstances or people, to deliver
+those who are shackled by prejudice or fear, to deliver the beauty that
+is unable to show itself and the will that dares not act? To deliver!
+What a magic word! Rose, does it ring in your heart as it rings in
+mine?...
+
+"But, as you see, my dreams are carrying me too far; and I blush at my
+audacity. When I look at you and judge myself, it often seems to me that
+what I have done for you is only a form of vanity, that all my generous
+aspirations are but vanity!... Is it true?
+
+"And, if it were! Is it not still greater and more foolish vanity to
+require that all our actions should spring from pure and sublime
+motives? If, in contributing to your development, I am conscious that I
+am assisting my own, will yours be any the less complete for that? If I
+no longer know which is dearer, you, who represent my dreams, or my
+dreams, which have become embodied in yourself, will you on that account
+be less fondly and less nobly loved?
+
+"And, if it be true that vanity there is, is the vanity vain that sheds
+happiness and joy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+A long month has passed since my return to Paris. Twice Rose has written
+to announce her arrival: I waited for her at the station and she did not
+come. Poor child! We all know how difficult it is to break one's bonds,
+even the most detested. A thousand invisible ties keep us in the place
+where chance has set us; and, when we are about to rend them, they
+become so many unsuspected pangs. Instinct blindly resists all change,
+as though it were unable to distinguish what reason dimly descries
+beyond the trials and dangers of the moment. Rose is leaving nothing but
+wretchedness; in front of her is a fair and pleasant prospect.
+Nevertheless, she hesitates and she is unhappy.
+
+In my present restless state, I no longer know what I wish. If she came
+to-morrow, should I be glad or not? I cannot tell. I can no longer tell.
+Those who do not suffer from this absurd mania for action escape those
+painful moments when we are at the mercy of a distracted will that no
+longer knows exactly what it ought to want. In absence, our feelings
+pass through so many contradictory phases! When the hour of return
+comes, finding it impossible to collect so many conflicting sentiments
+or to bring back to one point so many different desires, we surrender
+ourselves to the impression of the moment; and this impression often has
+nothing in common with what we had previously felt and hoped.
+
+I have done my utmost to make her come. Lately, I have been sending her
+urgent and encouraging letters daily. Now, the hour is approaching; and
+my only feeling is one of anguish.
+
+I have told her twenty times that the talk about responsibility which I
+hear all around me brings a smile to my lips. I have told her how, by
+making my conduct depend on hers, I relieved myself of all personal
+anxiety. And to-day my task appears to me so heavy that I can only laugh
+at my presumption.
+
+
+2
+
+It was foolish of me to write to her:
+
+"What are your faults? Teach me to know you. Tell me what you are."
+
+In reality, our faults arise from our circumstances. Events alone set us
+the questions to which our actions give a definite answer. Up to the
+present, Rose has not lived; she has been accumulating forces that are
+now about to come into being. What will they be? Whither will they tend?
+We can assume nothing in a life that is but beginning; and is it not
+just this that encourages us to seek and to help? Each of us has only to
+look back in order to know that, in the shifting soil of characters, we
+can fix or establish nothing. I found her acquiescing in a shameful
+servitude; and yet I have faith in the nobility of her soul. She was
+untruthful; there was no relation between her wishes and her actions,
+her thoughts and her words. Nevertheless, I do not doubt her essential
+honesty.
+
+The atmosphere that surrounds us is so often treacherous to our pliant
+natures! We women are obliged to lie. So long as we have not found our
+"love," we look in vain for a little confidence. No one believes us, no
+one receives the best part of our soul. One would think that, for those
+who listen to us, our sincerest words are poisoned as they pass through
+our fairest smiles. And, when nature has made us beautiful and gifted,
+people take pleasure in judging us severely, as they might look at the
+summer days through dark-tinted window-panes.
+
+We are always refused recognition. The first feeling which any work that
+we perform arouses is one of doubt. Its merit is disputed. And yet we
+have devoted a part of our youth to it; we have left with it a little of
+our freshness and our bloom. Very often, it is the ransom of our sorrow.
+Our love is written upon it; and it bears the imprint alike of our
+smiles and of our tears. Do we not know that woman, for all her culture,
+remains closer than man to her instinct and her "soil?" She is less
+purely intellectual but more sensitive than man; and, while he can
+create everything in the silence of his imagination, she has to live and
+suffer everything that she brings into the world. She conceives and
+realises with her flesh and with her blood.
+
+A woman said to me, one day:
+
+"If I had to begin life over again, I should not have the courage to
+avoid a single danger, pain or disappointment. In surmounting them, I
+have gained a power of resistance which forms the framework of my
+present and my future. I can see the sparkle of my happiness better when
+I keep in the shadow of my sad memories; and all that I accomplish, all
+that I write seems to me to flow from my past tears."
+
+To refuse recognition to a woman's work is to refuse to recognise her
+soul, her existence and every throb of her heart!...
+
+Man does not know that torture which every true woman suffers when she
+feels that those who are listening to her do not hear her real words,
+that those who are looking at her do not see what she is making every
+effort to show. Even when she is obeying the simplest impulses of her
+nature, people distrust what she says and what she does; and in some
+women, good and kind and beautiful, we see repeated the artless miracle
+of the flowers that exhaust themselves in giving too much fragrance and
+too much blossom. How fearful and timid this moral isolation makes us!
+And how thrice courageous we must be in the hour of realisation! If
+effort sometimes seems useless to men, what about women, who see
+themselves ever confronted by a blank wall of scepticism?
+
+A man is valued by the weight of the forces which he stirs up for and
+against himself. The forces which woman encounters are nearly all
+hostile.
+
+
+3
+
+I was close upon sixteen. One day, I heard some one say, speaking of
+some trifling thing of which I was wrongly suspected:
+
+"She is no longer a child. She's a woman now and she's lying."
+
+That was a cruel speech, the sort of speech that influences a whole
+life. My eyes were gradually opened to the dreary injustice that casts
+its shadow over the fairest destinies of women. Nothing around them
+seems clear and natural. Doubt lies in wait for them, calumny rends
+them. Now my hour was coming: my skirts, touching the ground for the
+first time, had suggested the suspicion of deceit and hypocrisy.
+
+It was perhaps this wound, inflicted on the soul of the growing girl,
+that left the most serious mark on my soul as a woman. Thanks to a
+strange prick of conscience, to a singular need to give to others what I
+did not obtain, I wanted to trust and I did trust! I gave my confidence
+passionately, utterly, rapturously! And this made wells of such deep and
+impetuous joy spring up in me that I felt no bitterness when I saw my
+confidence marred as it passed through others, even as a clear stream
+is muddied in following its course.
+
+Still, I wanted more; I sought to concentrate in one person, herself
+generous and confiding, the happiness which I lacked and whose infinite
+value I suspected. Ah, what a blessed relief when I found her! I was as
+one who has never seen his face save in distorting mirrors and who
+suddenly sees himself as he hoped to be. It seems to me that my
+happiness dates from that day. Before then, I suffered, I was all
+astray, an ill wind hovered round me; and, on the sands of other lives,
+there was never a trace of my footsteps where I believed that I had
+passed. Henceforth, another soul would read mine! Another's eyes would
+own the candour of my eyes!
+
+It was little more than a child that introduced me to love and kindness.
+She was treated with iron severity, she was unhappy; I was alone: she
+became my daily companion. Alas! too early ripe, too intelligent, she
+was of those who cannot stay. Is it a presentiment that makes them hurry
+so, or is it rather their eagerness to live, their over-sharpened senses
+that wear out their strength?
+
+
+4
+
+She was not fifteen; but, already matured in body and mind, she
+attracted immediate attention. Her walk was so superb that I cannot
+think of her without seeing her come swiftly to me, with that dear smile
+of hers and with her lovely arms outstretched in greeting. Her limpid
+eyes obeyed the light, the light of her heart and the light of the sky,
+whereas her dark hair, always tangled and rebellious, bore witness to
+the protest of her dauntless spirit. In her company I tasted for the
+first time the delight of souls that join and blend and unite in mutual
+trust. In an ecstasy of sincerity, for hours I imagined myself baptising
+her whole life with my faith. I said to her, over and over again:
+
+"I believe in you.... I believe in you.... Do you understand what that
+means? It is something greater and better than 'I love you:' it means
+that one can never be alone again!"
+
+She died a few months later; and for years I was to seek in vain in
+others' hearts and eyes the pure and limpid faith which reflects
+everything that bends over it.
+
+One can love people without knowing them fully; one cannot believe in
+them without mingling one's soul with theirs; and the moral luxury of it
+is so great that, when we have once known it, if only for a moment, we
+demand it from all with whom we come in contact.
+
+Roseline, all that I then wished for, that charming bond of tenderness
+and confidence which should link women together, that difficult and
+precious happiness which I knew for one hour through that child-soul:
+that is what I am trying to offer you.
+
+And perhaps you will have something better still, because the assistance
+which you receive is deliberate and has stood the test. In the place of
+that artless faith rushing to meet life, you find a soul that has been
+steeped in it. Rose, may my faith and my soul be your two mirrors. In
+one, you will see your forces rise even as we catch the first swell of a
+cornfield at dawn. In the other, they will appear to you enlarged,
+multiplied, transformed according to nature's laws, ripened by the
+dazzling suns of noon, utilised by the intellect, ready at last to
+nourish you and nourish others.
+
+
+5
+
+Then I met men, I met other women, without ever attaining the wish of my
+heart. They came and went. But, at each soul that I lost, I found my own
+a little more and I remember most gratefully those who were the most
+cruel. This man was ill and unconscious of his actions; that woman was
+wicked; that man too frivolous; and another was a liar....
+
+A liar! Even to-day, among those withered attachments which it pleases
+me to evoke, this last arrests my thoughts. For it was he--O singular
+contrast!--who, by his lying and duplicity, finished the work begun by
+the frank confidence of the child.
+
+He was a liar.--Lying came to him so easily and naturally that he
+himself did not discriminate between what he had done and what he had
+said, between what he had actually experienced and the life which he
+pretended to have lived. His was a strange nature, which, in its
+eagerness to seem, forgot to be, a nature which, no longer
+distinguishing its frontiers from another's, lost in the end its own
+domain! A strange example of a strayed consciousness which, knowing no
+dividing line, attributed the acts of others to itself, spoke from their
+hearts and led their existences! He walked through life as one walks
+through a gallery whose walls are panelled with mirrors. He could not
+take a step without thinking that he was taking a thousand; and his
+vanity enhanced his least actions to such a degree that he actually
+believed himself the lover of a woman if he merely kissed her hand. It
+was thus that he boasted of making innumerable conquests at every hour
+of the day; and, to hear him talk, always tired and exhausted with love,
+he was a wreck at twenty, as the price of his inordinate exploits.
+Enamoured of his appearance, he saw nothing beyond the blankness of his
+little soul, or rather he made it the origin and the end of everything.
+Poor empty head! Wretched puppet, whose spring was the vanity which
+every passer-by could set in motion at will!
+
+At a time when I myself did not know it, he had cleverly discovered what
+he must appear to be in order to arouse my enthusiasm, thus offering me
+the illusion of that faith which I aspire to awaken in you, my Roseline.
+Certainly, I owe him much! If an exact copy of a masterpiece can stir us
+as deeply as the original, the perfect impersonation of a fine intellect
+and a noble character can influence us very happily. How grateful I am
+to him for the trouble which he took to give me a representation of
+virtues which he did not possess! They were painted on his soul in such
+relief, a relief which no reality gives, as I was afterwards to learn!
+The artificial lilies that decorate the chapel of the church hard by
+have an assurance that is absent from those which will soon fade over
+there, on the table. The false boasts an unvarying brilliance, an
+imposing emphasis which we never find in the true. And, no doubt, the
+qualities of which he vouchsafed me the sight would never have had such
+value in my eyes, if his fatuousness had not displayed them to my
+youthful admiration as one shows an object behind a magnifying-glass.
+
+And what does it matter to me now that they were false, those gifts with
+which that soul seemed laden, if for a moment I pictured them as real!
+After the error was dispelled, the image which I once thought true
+remained in me. It had determined my tastes, fixed my opinions, set my
+mind at rest. Subsequently, I was to try and refashion the perfection of
+which I had beheld the mirage and, with still greater ardour, I was to
+pursue in others and conquer at last the reality of the once-known
+happiness which I thought that I had found in him.
+
+We are none the poorer when a sad truth takes the place of a beautiful
+dream. Knowledge has already filled the void which the lost illusion
+leaves behind it....
+
+
+6
+
+Let us seek then, Rose, let us seek even after we have found! Whether we
+be denied or heard, let us go on seeking! When we have lovingly
+performed the little things necessary that a flower may peradventure
+blossom, if it does not give us what we hoped for, does that prevent us
+from loving another exactly like it and from tending it with all the
+greater skill and care?
+
+Our ignorance must be renewed in the presence of each life that touches
+ours. May the quest suffice to keep our faith eternally young, that
+wonderful, childlike faith which alone encourages, finds and sets free.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+It was eleven o'clock when I went to meet Rose this morning; but the day
+was so dark and the fog so dense that the street-lamps were still lit.
+
+It was gloomy and depressing. Wrapped in a long cloak and huddled in a
+corner of the cab, I shivered with cold and nervousness. I reread her
+telegram, dispatched from a railway-station before daybreak; and the
+pathos of those few words went to my heart:
+
+    "Am starting. Ran away yesterday.
+
+                            "YOUR BABY."
+
+Yesterday? Then she had spent the night at an inn? Why?
+
+Alas, in such circumstances, do not we women usually behave like that,
+blindly and illogically? We prepare everything, we look out the trains
+and choose the most favourable time for flight; we announce the minute
+of our arrival to those expecting us; everything is ready, everything is
+decided.... Then the appointed day arrives. The hour strikes, the hour
+passes and we do not stir. We have been kept by some meaningless trifle
+which is magnified in our excitement and acquires an importance which it
+never had before: a word, a look from those whom we are going to desert.
+We forgive them when we are on the point of leaving them for ever. We
+invest them with a little of our own gentleness and kindness. Even as
+the colour of things blurs and fades when our eyes are dim with tears,
+so the hardest people do not appear so to the anxious heart of a woman.
+And pity gains the upper hand, time slips by and we put off to the
+morrow and, on the morrow, we put off again....
+
+Then, one day, we depart all at once, for no definite reason, depart
+empty-handed, with an impassive face and without looking round. We
+perform the most energetic action almost without knowing it, for even
+our will shirks the too-heavy task. It dreads the preparations, it would
+like to be able to tell us feebly that nothing is done, that nothing is
+decided, that we can still go back to the past; and this is enough to
+hurry our steps towards the future. We go, we walk on and on, we walk
+till we are tired. Then does it not seem as if each minute shifted the
+problem of our destiny a little more? And in a few hours would it not
+need more courage to return than to continue our road?
+
+But it is nearly always so, by little unforeseen acts, by fear as much
+as by weakness, that we perform the inaugural act of our
+enfranchisement. We flee bewildered, like poor beasts that have broken
+loose; and the first movements of our liberty echo in our hearts with a
+melancholy sound of dangling chains.
+
+
+2
+
+My dear Rose!... As I go through the damp, dark station, I am already
+picturing her fright....
+
+The train arrives, full of passengers, who hurry towards the exit in
+surging black masses. How shall I recognise her in this crowd, in the
+fog? I do not know what she will look like. A lady? A servant? A
+servant, I expect, because she will have had nothing ready. I hope so;
+and I look out eagerly for a black knitted hood on a head of golden
+hair. I am afraid lest she should not see me in her excitement and
+nervousness. The flood of passengers separates on either side of the
+ticket-collector; and I keep close to him, standing desperately on
+tip-toe....
+
+The crowd has passed and I have not caught sight of her. There are still
+a few people coming from the far end of the train; it is so dark that I
+can hardly see.... There is a tall figure all over feathers in the
+distance, but it cannot be ... And yet ... yes, yes, it is she! Gracious
+goodness, what a sight!... I feel that it would be better to laugh, but
+I can't; and I am furious with myself for keeping a grave face. It is
+Rose! Rose dressed like a Sainte-Colombe lady!
+
+She comes along, calmly, smiling and self-possessed; and I am now able
+to distinguish the painful hues of that appalling garb: the little
+red-velvet hat, studded with glass stones of every imaginable colour and
+trimmed with green feathers of the most aggressive shade and style; the
+serge skirt, too short in front; the black jacket, quite simple, it is
+true, but so badly cut that it murders the figure of the lovely girl!
+She has a large basket, carefully corded, on her arm. I really suffer
+tortures while she kisses me effusively and says, gaily:
+
+"You are looking very well, dearest; but you're upset: what's the
+matter?" And, before I have time to answer, she adds in a triumphant
+tone, "I have a great surprise for you. Look in the basket, look!"
+
+I need not trouble: at that moment there comes from the basket a
+pandemonium of terrified quacks and flapping wings.
+
+"Yes," Rose continues, laughing merrily, "I stole the old woman's best
+two ducks and that's why I'm here.... But first I must tell you, I have
+been looking after them for a month, fattening them for your benefit; I
+would not go before they were just right. And what do you think? All of
+a sudden, she said, at dinner, that she was going to market to-day to
+sell them! It gave me an awful turn. As soon as I could leave the
+kitchen, I flew to the poultry-yard and I took the train to ---- and
+slept there. Luckily, I had already sent my trunk to an hotel."
+
+I looked at Rose in stupefaction:
+
+"Your trunk?"
+
+She went on, with her eyes full of cunning:
+
+"Oh, your baby was rather clever!... As the old woman never paid me
+during the whole of the four years, I worked out what a farm-servant
+gets a year and I decided that I was justified in opening an account in
+her name with one of our customers who keeps a big drapery-store. And so
+I now have a trunk and a complete outfit, as well as these pretty things
+which I have on. It was only fair, wasn't it?"
+
+I turned away my head without a word. It was certainly quite fair; but I
+felt my cheeks flushing scarlet.
+
+Rose gave a yawn which ended in a groan:
+
+"I'm starving. Suppose we had some lunch; we could come back for the
+trunk afterwards."
+
+I eagerly agreed and hurried her to the exit. From the top of the
+stairs, I saw that the fog had lifted at last; the gas-lamps had been
+put out and the street lay before us in a melancholy, wan light. The
+pavements were covered with mud and the houses showed yellow and
+smoke-grimed. Then I looked at Rose and my torture suddenly became more
+than I could bear. I placed her in front of me and feverishly unbuttoned
+the clumsy jacket, which was too tight at the neck, too narrow across
+the shoulders and gave her no waist at all. It fell away on either side;
+her bust showed full and uncompressed in a light-coloured blouse; and I
+breathed more freely.
+
+"Now, take off your hat."
+
+She slowly obeyed; and the gloomy station and the wretched, grimy day
+were suddenly illuminated. Oh, those lovely fair curls, which had been
+crushed and pushed away under the hideous hat with its too narrow brim,
+what bliss it was to see them again full of life and laughter! There
+they were in their graceful, natural clusters, some drooping over her
+forehead, some brushing her cheeks, others kissing her neck and ears!
+How pretty she was! I recognised my Rose at last in her soft, golden,
+shimmering, impalpable, incredible tresses. I passed my fingers lightly
+over that silk for love's loom, while my eyes feasted on its delicate
+colour. No, indeed, nothing was lost. Rose was beautiful, more beautiful
+than ever; and the glad words came crowding to my lips. I forgave her
+and was angry with myself for my coldness.
+
+Poor child, she did not know! She had thought, no doubt, that, to go to
+Paris, she must absolutely have a hat; and how was she to choose one in
+a village-shop? And I told her over and over again how fond I was of
+her.
+
+Rose, a little uncomfortable, with crimson cheeks and downcast eyes,
+stood awkwardly turning the unfortunate object in her hands. I looked
+round: a few people, intent on their business, were hurrying this way
+and that; there was no one on the staircase. Then, bursting with
+laughter, I dashed the hat to the floor and, with the tip of my shoe,
+precipitated it into space....
+
+"Come over to the other side," I said to Rose. "Quick!... Suppose they
+brought it back!"
+
+Good-natured as always and pleased at my amusement, she laughed because
+I laughed; and, while we ran to the other exit, the masterpiece of
+Sainte-Colombe millinery rolled and rolled and hopped from stair to
+stair.
+
+
+3
+
+The bustle of the restaurant and the noise of the street outside
+affected me tremendously. I was nervous and excited, with a wild desire
+to laugh at everything and nothing. I asked Rose all sorts of questions;
+and, whenever any one passed:
+
+"Look!" I said. "Do look!... You're not looking!... There, that's a
+pretty dress, a regular Parisienne!... And, over there, by the door:
+don't you see that queer woman?"
+
+The girl looked and then turned to me and, before I could prevent her,
+bent down and kissed my hand. I wanted to say:
+
+"You mustn't do that, Rose!"
+
+But it was the first charming impulse she had shown: how could I scold
+her? Oh, what a miserable thing our education is; and how often should I
+not find myself in some ridiculous dilemma!
+
+Besides, I wished this first day of hers to be all happiness and
+expectation! And, while we gaily discussed plans for the future, I tried
+to guess what she must be feeling, I scrutinised her movements, I
+interpreted her words. But it appeared too soon yet; and it was I, alas,
+I who had the best part of her happiness! My eyes fell on her chapped
+and swollen hands. She noticed it and murmured, sadly:
+
+"It's the beetroots. You understand, it's the hard season now."
+
+"But the beetroot-days are past, my Roseline! The bad seasons are over,
+over for good, over for good and all!"
+
+And I laid stress on every syllable; and, though I was whispering in her
+ear, I heard the words "for good and all" bursting from my lips like a
+triumphant shout.
+
+She smiled and went on eating, doing her best to eat nicely, with her
+elbows close to her sides and her hands by her plate. Heaven above, did
+she understand what I said?
+
+
+4
+
+There are some people who seem detached from themselves. They do
+something; and the whole flood of their life does not surge into the
+action! They draw near to the object of their love; and their whole soul
+does not fill their eyes! Their soul is not on their lips, to breathe
+love; it is not at their finger-tips, to seize upon happiness; it is not
+there to watch life, to attract all that passes, eagerly, greedily and
+rapturously! Then where is it and what is it doing outside this dear,
+delightful earth?...
+
+And yet woman, the creature who learns through love the admirable gift
+of life, knows better than man how to throw the whole of herself into
+fleeting moments. She lives nearer to the edge of her actions. Her mind,
+which rarely attaches itself to abstract things, seems to float around
+her in search of every sensation. Woman passes and has seen everything;
+she remembers and she quivers as though the caressing touch were still
+upon her. Her light and charming soul drinks eternity straight out of
+the present; and through a man's kisses she has known the art of
+absolute oblivion.
+
+I am afraid that Rose is not much of a woman. Ah, were I in her place, I
+should be wild with excitement, out of my mind with joy, as though I
+were hearing my own name spoken for the first time!
+
+
+5
+
+After lunch, our shopping was a difficult matter. Rose, with her
+uncommon figure, could hardly find anything ready-made to suit her. I
+had to hunt about and to contrive with thought, for I would not wait a
+single day. I was careful to select the quietest and most usual things
+for her, so as to conceal her rusticity as far as possible. The neat
+dark-velvet toque could have its position altered on her head without
+much harm. The black veil would tone down the vividness of a complexion
+too long exposed to the open air; and its fine plain net would set off
+the admirable regularity of her features. Lastly, the deep leather belt
+to her tailor-made frock and the well-starched collar and cuffs would
+more or less hide the effort which it cost her to hold herself upright.
+
+
+6
+
+Two hours later, I introduced Rose to her new home. We climbed a dark,
+interminable staircase. I held a flickering candle in my hand; and, all
+out of breath, I explained to her the advantages of this boarding-house,
+a quiet place where her privacy would not be invaded and where she could
+make useful acquaintances if she wished....
+
+At last, we reached the fifth floor. The daylight had faded. A sea of
+roofs was beneath us; and, through the panes above our heads, a great
+red sky cast lurid gleams over our faces and hands. The girl gave a
+start of pleasure as she entered her room. It was peaceful and white;
+but the flaming fire and sky at that moment turned it quite rosy,
+smiling and aglow. From the rather high window we could see nothing but
+space. I had placed a writing-table underneath it, with some books and a
+few flowers in a dainty crystal bowl. On the walls, several photographs
+of Italian masterpieces disguised the ugliness of the typical
+boarding-house paper. The chimney-mantel was bare and the furniture very
+simple.
+
+We were both happy, both talking at once, Rose exclaiming:
+
+"It's really too lovely, too beautiful!"
+
+And I was saying:
+
+"I should have liked to have a room for you arranged after my own taste,
+but I had to keep within bounds. So I brought a few little things, as
+you see, and bundled the ugly pictures, the tin clock and the plush
+flowers into the cupboards. But come and see the best part of it."
+
+I threw open the window; and, leaning out, we beheld a great expanse
+beyond the enormous gutter that edged the roof. Unfortunately, the last
+glow of the sunset was swiftly dying away in the mist rising from the
+Seine. Opposite us, on the other bank, the Louvre became a heavy,
+shapeless mass; on the right, Notre-Dame was nothing but a shadowy
+spectre; here and there, in a chance, lingering gleam, we could just
+distinguish a steeple, a turret, a house standing out above the rest.
+
+"We came in too late, Rose; we can see nothing; but how wonderful it all
+is! The sound of the quays and bridges hardly reaches us, the city might
+be veiled; at this height, its activity is like a dream and I seem to
+be living over again those quiet moments which we used to spend side by
+side at Sainte-Colombe. Are you happy?"
+
+Smiling and with her eyes still fixed on the sky, she says:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perfectly?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are not afraid of the future?"
+
+"Not for my sake, but I am for yours."
+
+I question her with my eyes; and she adds:
+
+"I am afraid that I shall never be what you want."
+
+I put my hand on her shoulder and said:
+
+"You will be what you are to be; and that is the main thing. It seems to
+me at this moment that the greatest ideas are nothing, that the fairest
+dreams are childish compared with the simple reality of a human being's
+first taste of happiness. You were hidden; and I bring you to the light.
+You were a prisoner; and I set you free. I see nothing to fetter you;
+and that is all I ask. The life of a beautiful woman should be like a
+star whose every beam is the source of a possible joy.... I am glad, for
+this is the day of your first deliverance."
+
+Rose murmured:
+
+"What will the second be, then?"
+
+I hesitated for a moment. Then I replied:
+
+"It is difficult to say, dear; you will come to know gradually. I might
+answer, that of your mental or moral life; but I do not wish to lay down
+any rule. You are about to start on life's journey; I do not wish to
+trace your road with words. How much more precious your smallest actions
+are to me!"
+
+I closed the window and went and sat in a chair by the fire-place. Rose,
+standing with uplifted arms in front of the glass, took off her hat and
+veil, then undid her mantle and her scarf and put everything carefully
+away in the wardrobe. My eyes followed her quiet movements and my heart
+rested on each of them. I spoke her name and she came and sat at my
+feet, against my knees, with her soft, fair head waiting for my caress.
+
+It was now night; the fire lit our faces, but the room was dark wherever
+the flames did not cast their gleams. A chrysanthemum on a longer stalk
+than the others bent its petals into the light. Opposite the fire-place,
+within the shade of the bed-curtains, stood a white figure from the
+Venice Accademia, an allegory representing _Truth_. We could not see
+the mirror which she holds nor the details that surround her. The
+pedestal that raises her above mankind was also invisible; only the nude
+body of the woman invited and retained the light.
+
+I called Rose's attention to her:
+
+"Look, she is more interesting like that. In the doubt which the shadow
+casts around her, I see in her a more human and a truer truth."
+
+After a moment's contemplation, Rose said, gravely:
+
+"I will never hide one of my thoughts from you."
+
+Her statement makes me smile; but why disappoint her? She did not yet
+know that those who are most sincere find it more difficult than the
+others to say what they think. Words, in their souls, are like climbing
+plants which, sown by chance in the middle of a roadway, waver and
+grope, send out tendrils here and there in despair and end by entangling
+themselves with one another. Whereas most people, just as we provide
+supports for flowers, bestow certainties and truths upon their words to
+which they cling, the sincere refuse to yield to any such illusions.
+They hesitate, stammer and contradict themselves without ceasing....
+
+
+7
+
+I drew her head down on my knees; and, softly, in little sentences
+interrupted by long pauses, we spoke of the new life that was opening
+before her. Soon she said nothing more. The fire went out, the room
+became dark and a clock outside struck six. I whispered:
+
+"I am going, darling...."
+
+She did not move and I saw that she was asleep. Then I gently released
+myself, put a pillow under her head and a wrap over her shoulders and
+was almost at the door, when suddenly I pictured her awakening. It would
+not do for her to open her eyes in the dark, to feel lost and alone in
+an unknown house. I lit the lamp, drew the blinds and made up the fire.
+
+Roseline was sleeping soundly. Her breathing was hardly perceptible. At
+times, a deep sigh sent a quiver through her placid beauty, even as a
+keener breath of air ripples the surface of a pool.
+
+What would she do if she should soon awake?... I looked around.
+Everything was peaceful and smiling; the flowers looked fresh and
+radiant in the light; the books on the table seemed to be waiting.... I
+searched among them for some page to charm her imagination and guide her
+first dreams along pleasant paths....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+1
+
+Rose is sitting by the fire with her bare feet in slippers and a
+dressing-wrap flung loosely round her.
+
+"Are you ill?"
+
+"No," she says, smiling.
+
+And her cool hands, pressing mine, and her gay kisses on my cheeks are
+no less reassuring than the actual reply.
+
+"But why are you not dressed?"
+
+"I don't know; time passed and I let them bring my lunch up to me."
+
+I look round the darkened bedroom. Through the blind which I lowered
+yesterday, the light enters timidly, in a thousand broken little shafts;
+on the table, the books still lie as I placed them; on the
+chimney-shelf, the flowers, withered by the heat of the fire, are fading
+and drooping.
+
+All these things which had been left untouched were evidence of a
+lethargy that hurt me. All the emotions which I had been picturing Rose
+as experiencing since the day before had not so much as brushed against
+her. One by one, they dropped back sadly upon my heart.
+
+I rose, moved the flowers, opened the window; and the bright sunshine
+restored my confidence.
+
+"Come, darling, dress and let's go out."
+
+A thousand questions come crowding to my lips while I help her do her
+hair:
+
+"Do they look after you well? Do you feel very lonely? What are the
+other boarders like? Are any of them interesting?"
+
+Her answers, sensible and placid as usual, did not tell me much, except
+that the food was good, that she had slept well and that she was very
+comfortable.
+
+I resolved to wait a few days before asking her any more.
+
+
+2
+
+Roseline throws off her wrap and begins dressing. The water trickles
+from the sponge which she squeezes over her shoulders, runs down,
+lingers here and there and disappears along the flowing lines of her
+body, which, in the broad daylight, looks as though it were flooded with
+diamonds. A cool fragrance mingles with the scent of the roses. The room
+is filled with beauty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+1
+
+It snowed last night for the first time; then it froze; and the trees in
+the Tuileries are now showing the white lines of their branches against
+a dreary sky. The daylight seems all the duller by comparison with the
+glitter of the snow-covered ground.... I slowly follow the little black
+path made by the sweepers; I receive an impression of solitude; the
+streets are very still; it is as though sick people lay behind the
+closed windows; and the voices of the children playing as I pass seem to
+come to me through invisible curtains.
+
+Rose is walking beside me. A keen wind plasters our dresses against us
+and raises them behind into dark, waving banners. The icy air whitens
+the fine pattern of our veils against our mouth.
+
+"Where are we going?" asks Rose.
+
+I hesitate a little before replying:
+
+"We are going to the Louvre."
+
+And to put her at her ease and also to guard against a probable
+disappointment, I hasten to add:
+
+"It is a picture-book which we will look at together. You will turn
+first to what is bright and attractive to the eye; later on, you will
+perceive the shades in the colour, the lines in the form and the
+expression in the subject. And, if at first our admiration is given to
+what is poor and unworthy, what does it matter, so long as it is aroused
+at all?"
+
+
+2
+
+We had reached the foot of the stairs that lead to the _Victory of
+Samothrace_. After staring at it for a minute, Rose remarked, in a voice
+heavy with indifference:
+
+"It's beautiful, very beautiful."
+
+I felt that she had no other object than that of pleasing me; but her
+natural honesty soon prevailed when I asked her what she admired; and
+she answered, simply:
+
+"I don't know."
+
+It is in this way, by never utterly and altogether disappointing me,
+that she keeps her hold on me. She sees and feels nothing of what we
+call beautiful; on the other hand, she is cheerfully oblivious to the
+necessity of assuming what she does not feel; she has no idea of posing
+either to herself or to others; and the strange coldness of her soul
+makes my affection all the warmer. By not trying to appear what she is
+not, she constantly keeps alive in me the illusion of what she may be or
+of what she will become.
+
+We walked quickly through a number of rooms and sat down in a quiet
+corner. I was already under the spell of that deep, reposeful life which
+emanates from some of the Primitives; but Roseline, who had stopped on
+the way in order to have a better view of various ugly things, was
+talking and laughing loudly.
+
+This annoyed me; and I was on the point of telling her so. However, I
+restrained myself: I should have felt ashamed to be angry with her. Was
+she not gay and lively, as I had wished to see her? What right have we
+to let ourselves be swayed by the vagaries of our instinct and expect
+our companion to feel the same obligation of silence or speech at any
+given moment? Our emotion should strike chords so strong and true that
+no minor dissonances of varying temperaments can make them ring false.
+
+Rose chattered away for a long time, speaking all in the same breath of
+her convent days, of her terrible godmother, of the scandal which her
+sudden disappearance must be creating in the village. Then she stopped;
+and I felt her eyes resting vacantly by turns upon myself and upon the
+square in the ceiling which at that moment framed a patch of grey sky
+studded with whirling snow-flakes. At last, she raised her veil with an
+indolent movement, put her hand on my shoulder and, with a long yawn
+that revealed all the pearly freshness of her mouth, asked:
+
+"But what _do_ you see in it?"
+
+I slipped my arm under hers and led her away through the deserted rooms.
+I ought to have spoken. But how empty are our most pregnant words, when
+we try to express one iota of our admiration!
+
+"Why should you mind what I see, my Roseline? It is you and you alone
+who can discover what you like and what interests you."
+
+We were passing in front of Titian's _Laura de' Dianti_. I was struck
+with the relationship that existed between her and my companion.
+Although Rose was different in colouring, fairer, with lighter eyes, she
+had the same purity of feature, the thin, straight nose, the very small
+mouth and, above all, the same vague look that lends itself to the most
+diverse interpretations. She squeezed my arm:
+
+"Speak to me, speak to me!"
+
+I glanced at her. Must it always be so, would she never feel anything
+except when my own emotion found utterance? Impressions reached her soul
+only after filtering through mine. Love, I thought to myself, love alone
+would perhaps one day set free all the raptures now jealously hidden in
+those too-chaste nerves. And, in spite of myself, I exclaimed:
+
+"Don't you think that admiration in a woman is only another form of
+love?"
+
+"But when she is no longer young?" Rose retorted, with a laugh.
+
+"When she is no longer young, nature doubtless suggests other means of
+enthusiasm. Her heart is no longer a bond of union between her and
+things. Then her calmer eyes are perhaps able to look at beauty itself,
+without having all the joys of a woman's love-filled life to kindle
+their fires."
+
+The Rubens pictures were around us, in all their brilliancy and in all
+their glory, uttering cries of passion and luxury with voices of flesh
+and blood and youth. They were another proof of what I had just said;
+and I confessed to my companion:
+
+"It is not so long ago, Rose, that I used to pass unmoved through this
+dazzling room where the Rubens flourish in their luscious beauty. I used
+to look at them: now, I see them; I used to brush by them: now, I grasp
+them. I enter into all this riot of happiness around us, which is a
+thousand miles away from you, Rose; and it adds to my own joy in
+life...."
+
+"But then what has come to you?" exclaimed the girl.
+
+I could not help smiling, for, when I tried to explain myself, it seemed
+to me that, in the depths of my heart, I was playing with words:
+
+"All that hurt me yesterday has become a source of admiration to me
+to-day. Excess appears riches and plenty, tumult becomes orderly; and I
+seem to see in these works the glorification of all that we are bound to
+hold supreme in life: health, beauty, strength, love. Is not the
+exaggerated splendour of these pictures a triumphant challenge, the
+expression of a magnificent principle?"
+
+We stood silent for a moment; then I added:
+
+"We never actually realise all that we have in our minds; but one would
+think that this man's life and work reached the farthest bounds of his
+visions. Or else we are unable even to catch a glimpse of what he saw."
+
+And, musing upon that mystery, our frail feminine imagination seemed to
+us like a landscape fading into the mist: when the day is clear, we can
+distinguish the chain of blue mountains whose summits touch the sky, but
+our imagination, if it would not be lost in the haze, must keep to the
+foreground, in the avenues laid out by man.
+
+I resumed:
+
+"We are very far, Rose, from the parsimony of the Primitives, each of
+whose works contains almost a human life. In their room and in this, you
+will find all the contradictory and complementary instruction which one
+would like to give you. Over there, sobriety, patience, assiduous
+effort, absolute conscientiousness in the smallest detail; life bowed in
+all humility, but yet steadfast and fervent; imagination and beauty that
+do not strive to shine: if you want a proof, look at the great number
+that remained anonymous! Here, on the contrary, prodigality, exultant
+love, blood coursing triumphantly through conquered veins. Rubens is the
+apostle of wholehearted happiness. The biggest things seem easy when you
+are in his presence. If ever you feel tired and ready to be
+discouraged, you should come and look at him. Oh, I wonder, yes, I
+wonder to what, to whom I owe this new enthusiasm? What have I seen,
+what have I learnt? Through what chance acquaintance, what casual word,
+what gesture or action, doubtless far removed from Rubens and his works,
+did I suddenly enter into that wonderful kingdom?"
+
+And, in fact, that is how it had happened. An unknown treasure falls
+into the cup of emotion; and the level is raised. Oh, to feel the
+long-slumbering sensation rise within one's self; to see that which was
+obscure to us yesterday become crystal-clear to-day; to love more
+passionately, to understand a little better, to know a little more: that
+is, to us women, the real progress, the only progress which we must
+desire and seek after! But how can I hope that Rose will progress if she
+never feels?
+
+
+3
+
+In vain I roamed about with her for an hour, not among the pictures,
+whose value she could not yet appreciate, but among the dreams that were
+born of them, among the most moving and delectable visions; vain my
+emotion, vain my rapture: no answering spark lit her indifferent eyes.
+True, there was no question of failure or success; I was putting nothing
+to the test: that would have been insanity. But why this weight of
+oppression on my spirits? I could not get rid of disturbing memories:
+memories of childish raptures finding utterance by chance; memories of
+those first loves which fasten upon anything in their haste to live;
+memories of virgin hearts nurtured on dreams!
+
+O enthusiasm, admiration, love, if you were not at first wanderers,
+neither seeking nor choosing, if you did not blaze fiercely and
+foolishly like a flame burning in the noon-day sun, will you ever be
+able to light the darkness with all the splendours that are awaiting
+your spark in order to burst into life?
+
+O sweet eyes of my Roseline, sweet eyes that shine under your soft, fair
+lashes like two opals set in pure gold, will you close for all time
+without having gazed for a moment upon the wonders of the earth, upon
+the real sky of our human life? Is it true that your beams extinguish
+life and beauty wherever they rest?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+1
+
+It is six o'clock in the evening; I am taking Rose along the boulevards,
+which are so interesting at this time of the year. As usual, I am
+astonished at everything that does not astonish her. I look at her as
+she walks, beautiful and impassive; I keep step with her stride; and my
+thoughts hover to and fro between this life of hers which refuses to
+take form and my ideals which are gradually fading out of existence.
+
+Alas, the days pass over her without arousing either desire or
+weariness! From time to time, I suggest some simple, trifling work for
+her. But, whether the task be mental or material, whether the duty be
+light or complex, she acquiesces in the suggestion only to make it
+easier for her to put it aside later, gently and as a matter of course,
+like tired arms laying down a burden too heavy for them.
+
+This evening, I am merciful to her indolence. Going through the hall of
+her boarding-house just now, I saw the long table laid, at which the
+boarders meet. And I think of those destinies which have been linked
+with Rose's during the past fortnight, while I am still unable to obtain
+a clear idea of any one of them from her involved and incoherent
+accounts.
+
+The house, which is in the old-fashioned style, has at the back a sort
+of glass-covered balcony overhanging the garden of the house next door.
+Here the boarders take their coffee after meals, while the proprietress,
+a gentle, amiable creature, strives to establish some sort of intimacy
+among them, to create an imaginary family out of these strangers who
+have come from all parts of the world with varying objects and for
+diverse reasons.
+
+I know from experience the surprises latent in people like these. To
+look at them, one would set them down as belonging to stereotyped
+models: invalids, travellers, globe-trotters, runaways or students, as
+the case may be. I call up figures from my own recollection and describe
+them to Rose to encourage her to tell me her impressions. Stray
+reminiscences marshal themselves, images rise before my eyes,
+obliterating the things and people around me, and a vision appears over
+which my memory plays like a reflection in a sheet of water. I see a
+long house and its white-and-green front mirrored in a clear lake. A man
+and a woman arrive there at the same time; and I tell Rose the story of
+the two old wanderers:
+
+"It was very curious. Imagine those two people unknown to each other,
+leaving the same country at about the same age and making the same
+journeys in opposite directions. When I met them, they were two
+grey-haired, wizened figures, with the same short-sighted eyes blinking
+behind the same kind of spectacles. It amused me from the first to look
+at them as one and united beforehand, at a time when they were still
+unacquainted. I watched them at the meals which brought them closer
+together daily, as it were perusing each other with the pleasure of
+finding themselves to be alike, as though they were two copies of the
+same guide-book. In their equally commonplace minds, recollections took
+the place of ideas. To them, life was a sort of long classification;
+they recognised no other duty but that of taking notes and cataloguing.
+I don't know if they saw some advantage one day in uniting for good, or
+if they began at last to think that there are other roads to follow in
+the world beside those which lead to lakes, cities, waterfalls and
+mountains. At any rate, after a few weeks, they were sharing the same
+room; and we learnt that in future they meant to live side by side."
+
+"Had they got married?"
+
+"No. And, though they performed a very natural action with the utmost
+simplicity, this was certainly not due to loftiness of soul or breadth
+of mind. But one felt that their knowledge of the manners and morals of
+other civilizations had simplified their moral outlook, just as their
+actual physical outlook had been dimmed through seeing nature under so
+many aspects."
+
+Rose began to laugh:
+
+"There is nothing of that kind at the boarding-house," she said. "For
+the moment, we have no old people: nothing but students, two American
+women, a Spanish lady...."
+
+Then she hesitated a little and added:
+
+"There's an artist, too, an artist who has begun to paint my portrait."
+
+"Your portrait! And you never told me?"
+
+I am interrupted by a violent movement from Rose. She has turned round
+and, in the gathering dusk, her whirling umbrella comes down furiously
+on a man's hat, smashing it in and knocking it off his head. A
+gentleman is standing before us, very well-dressed and looking very
+uncomfortable. He stammers out a vague excuse and tries to escape, but
+the indignant girl addresses him noisily. An altercation follows; the
+loafers stop to listen; a crowd gathers round us; and a policeman
+hurries towards us from the other side of the road. Fortunately, an
+empty cab passes; and I just have time to jump in, followed by Rose, who
+continues to brandish a threatening umbrella through the window.
+
+Then at last I obtain an explanation of the disturbance. It appears
+that, without my noticing it, the man had been following us for an hour;
+and his silent homage had ended by incensing the girl.
+
+I kiss her at the door of the boarding-house and walk back thoughtfully
+through the streets, reflecting on the surprises which that uncivilised
+character holds in store for me.
+
+
+2
+
+Rose had perhaps insulted a man who was simply taking pleasure in
+admiring her, I thought to myself. What did she know of his intentions?
+In any case, is not a silent look enough to keep importunity at a
+distance?
+
+Generally speaking, those who go after us in this way because of the
+swing of our hips, or the mass of hair gleaming on our neck, or a
+shapely shoe under a lifted skirt, are uninteresting; and among all the
+coarse, silly or timid admirers whom a woman can encounter in the street
+there are perhaps one or two at most who will leave an ineffaceable mark
+on her memory. But why not always admit the most charitable
+construction?
+
+
+3
+
+I had been wandering a long time at random. Feeling a little tired, I
+turned into the Parc Monceau, at the time when it was too late for the
+mothers and babies and too early for the lovers' invasion. I sat down by
+the transparent lake which so prettily reflects its diadem of arbours. A
+young willow drooped in gentle sadness over the face of the water; and
+white ducks glided past me in the evening mist. The waning blue light
+mingled with the pale vapour that rises over Paris at nightfall; and all
+this made a mauve sky behind the dark trees. It was soft and
+melancholy, but not grave; and I lingered on, amid the beauty of the
+scene, rapt in some woman's reverie. Then a lamp was lighted behind the
+bench on which I sat; and on the ground before me I saw a shadow beside
+my own. I understood and did not turn my head.
+
+A man had followed me. I felt his eyes resting heavily on my profile, on
+my cheek and on my ungloved hands. He was evidently going to speak.
+Annoyed at this, I took a little volume from my pocket and, to protect
+my solitude, began to read.
+
+But soon I guessed that he was reading with me; and my mind thus
+mingling with a stranger's passed over the words without quite following
+them. His persistency angered me; and I closed the book.
+
+Then he said to me:
+
+"Yes, you are very beautiful."
+
+The words fell into my soul with a disquieting resonance. I rose with a
+flushed face and then hesitated. It was certainly one of those gross and
+lying pieces of flattery which we all of us hear at times. Nevertheless,
+I resisted the instinctive impulse that would have made me move away. Is
+not modesty in such a case merely another stratagem of our coquetry? We
+flee, the man pursues and the wrong impression is confirmed.
+
+Standing in front of him, I frankly turned my eyes on his. Then he
+softly repeated the same words.
+
+Was it the exquisite modulation of his voice? Or again were the gentle,
+friendly words the sudden revelation of a troubled life, a sensitive
+soul ready to pour itself out in a single phrase and longing to
+crystallise itself in one unparalleled second? They surprised me, those
+words of his, they seemed to me new words, grave words, because I had
+not believed that it was possible to speak them in that way to a
+stranger, to speak them in a voice that asked for nothing.
+
+My whole attitude must have betrayed my twofold astonishment. My eyes
+questioned his. Their expression underwent no change. He was really
+asking for nothing. Then I smiled and answered, simply:
+
+"I thank you. A woman is always glad to be told that."
+
+Taking off his hat, he rose and bowed. I moved away with a slight
+feeling of discomfort: would he commit the stupidity of following me?
+Had I made a mistake? No, he resumed his seat. He had not blundered
+either.
+
+
+4
+
+When two people do not know each other and will not meet again, the
+words exchanged between them, if they are not mere commonplaces, become
+fraught with a strange significance and leave behind them a trail of
+melancholy like a mourning-veil; it is the surprise of those voices
+which speak to each other and will never be heard again, the fleeting
+encounter between glance and glance, the smile which knows not where to
+rest and yet would fain enrich the remembrance with a ray of kindness.
+
+The essential image of a human life is contained in a moment like that.
+It awakens, hesitates, seeks, thinks that it has found, speaks a word
+and relapses into nothingness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose's profile stands out in relief against the dark velvet of the box.
+Her soft, fair hair parts into two waves that are like two streams of
+honey following the curve of her cheek. Her long neck is very white in
+the black gown that frames it; and her gloved hands rest near the fan
+that lies opened on her knees like a swan's wing. She is sitting
+straight up, with her eyes fixed in front of her. Her attitude is as
+dignified and cold as a circlet of brilliants on a beautiful forehead.
+
+I am alone, at the back of the box. I prefer to listen like that, in the
+shadow, unseen. Is not the attention of a woman who is anything of a
+coquette, that slight, fitful attention, always affected a little by the
+thought, however unconscious, of the effect which she is producing?
+
+
+2
+
+I am struck by the general attitude of reverence. In the great silence
+through which the music swells, the lives of all those present seem
+penetrated with harmony.
+
+I look at them as at so many open temples, which their thoughts have
+deserted in order to join one another in an invisible communion. There
+is a kind of homage in the bent heads and lowered eyes of the men. The
+women are silent. The fans cease fluttering. The souls of the audience
+are uplifted like the silent instruments of a human symphony that
+mysteriously rises and rises till it mingles with the other and is
+absorbed in it. If some part of us exists beyond words and forms, if our
+thought sometimes floats in regions of pure mentality, is it not this
+principle deprived of consciousness which bathes in the tremulous waves
+of sound?
+
+
+3
+
+And Rose is also listening. But Rose listens without hearing. She, whom
+the most beautiful things leave unmoved, here preserves an appearance of
+absolute attention better than any one else in the audience. She
+listens in that passive manner which is characteristic of her nature.
+She lives a waking sleep. There is no consciousness, no effort, but
+neither any desire.
+
+When the orchestra fills the house with a song of gladness, I forget my
+anxiety and let my imagination soar into its heights and weave romances
+around that strange, cold beauty; but, if the music stops, if Rose moves
+or speaks, then it comes to earth again with some simple little plan,
+quite practical and quite ordinary.
+
+
+4
+
+She leant forward and I saw glittering under the electric lamp the
+little silver chain which she wore round her neck on the day when I saw
+her first, in the Normandy cornfields, standing amid the tall golden
+sheaves; and, as I recalled that first impression, the difference
+between then and now came like a blinding flash. In the cool morning
+breeze, the sickles advance with the sound and the surge of waves; and
+the golden expanse bows before the oncoming death. The sky is blue, the
+village steeple shimmers in the sunlight, a great calm reigns ... and a
+woman stands there, bending over the ground. What have I done? What have
+I done? Was not everything better so?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+1
+
+"It looks like snowing," says Rose.
+
+The words falling upon an absolute silence distract me from my work.
+
+It is a dull, drab winter's day. There is no colour, no light in the sky
+that shows through the muslin blinds. On the branches of the bare trees,
+a few dead leaves, which the wind has left behind, shiver miserably at
+some passing gust. There is just enough noise for us to enjoy the peace
+that enfolds the house. From time to time, carriage-wheels roll by and
+the crack of a whip cuts into our silence; then the dog wakes, sits up,
+looks questioningly at me and quietly puts his nose back between his
+paws and begins to snore again. Rose is sitting opposite him, on the
+other side of the fire-place. She is holding a book in her hands without
+reading it. Her beautiful eyes are staring dreamily at the fitful
+flames.
+
+I rose and went upstairs to fetch a volume which I wanted. Both of
+them, the dog and she, accompanied me, yawning and stretching themselves
+as they went. They stood beside the book-case, like two witnesses,
+equally useless and equally indispensable, and watched me searching. I
+shivered in the cold room. Rose gave a little cough; and the dog tried
+to curl himself up in the folds of my skirt.
+
+Then we all three went down again; and, when I had gone back to my
+place, they docilely resumed theirs on either side of the chimney.
+
+The dog, before settling down, turned several times on his cushion,
+arching his back, with his tail between his legs and his critical nose
+quivering with satisfaction. Rose also has seen that her armchair is as
+comfortable as it can be made. Now, lying back luxuriously, with her
+elbows on the rests and her head on a soft cushion, she is evidently not
+much troubled at the thought of a long day indoors.
+
+
+2
+
+In the two months since Rose left Sainte-Colombe, I have drilled her
+into an intermittent attempt at style which is the utmost that she will
+ever achieve, I fear; for her will, unhappily, is incapable of
+sustained effort. When she has to hold herself upright for several hours
+at a time, I see her gradually stooping as though invisible forces were
+dragging her down.
+
+Certainly, it is no longer the Rose of Sainte-Colombe who is here beside
+me. How much of her remains? Her general appearance is transformed by
+her clothes and the way in which she wears her hair; her voice and
+gestures are softer; but all this minute and complex change is but the
+subtle effect of events, the disconcerting effect of an influence that
+has laid itself upon her nature without altering it in any way. And this
+is what really causes my uneasiness. She is changed, but she has not
+changed.
+
+I take her with me wherever I have to go. She accompanies me on my walks
+and drives, in my shopping, to the play. Men consider her beautiful, but
+her indifference keeps love at a distance: love, the passion in which I
+placed, in which I still place the hopes that remain to me.
+
+
+3
+
+As for Rose herself, she is always pleased, without being enthusiastic,
+and never expresses a wish or a desire.
+
+I sometimes laugh and say:
+
+"You have a weatherproof soul; and your common sense is as starched as
+your Sunday cap used to be!"
+
+But at heart she saddens me. To keep my interest in her alive, I find
+myself wishing that she had some glaring fault. And at the same time I
+am angry with myself for not appreciating the exclusiveness of her
+affection better. I am actually beginning to think that this extravagant
+sentiment is fatal to her. I look upon it in her heart as I look upon
+the great tree in my garden, which interferes with the growth of
+everything around it: fond as I am of that tree, I consider it something
+of an enemy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+1
+
+This afternoon, the whole atmosphere of the house is changed. There is
+no silence, no work. The maid fusses about, spreading out my dresses
+before Rose and me. We cannot settle upon anything.
+
+"We shall have to try them on you," I say.
+
+But at the very first our choice is made.
+
+A cry of admiration escapes me at the sight of Rose sheathed from head
+to foot in a long green-velvet tunic that falls heavily around her,
+without ornament or jewellery. From the high velvet collar, her head
+rises like a flower from its calyx; and I have never beheld a richer
+harmony than that of her golden hair streaming over the emerald green.
+
+While I finish dressing her, we talk:
+
+"You are having all your friends," she says.
+
+"Some of them, those who live in Paris at this season. I have done for
+you to-day what I seldom care to do: I have asked them all together. But
+I have made a point of insisting that the strictest isolation shall be
+maintained."
+
+Rose laughed as she asked me what I meant.
+
+"It's quite simple," I answered. "We shall throw open all the doors; and
+there will be no crowding permitted! No general conversation, no loud
+talking ..."
+
+"In short," she exclaimed, "the exact opposite to the convent, where we
+were forbidden to talk in twos."
+
+"That is to say, where you were forbidden to talk at all; for there is
+no real conversation with more than one. As long as you have not spoken
+to a person alone, can you say that you have ever seen her?"
+
+She did not appear convinced; and I continued:
+
+"But just think! Conversation in pairs, when two people are in
+sympathy--and they are nearly always in sympathy when they are face to
+face--can be as sincere as lonely meditations."
+
+I felt that she shared my sentiment; but her reasonable nature makes her
+always steer a middle course, never leaning to either side.
+
+
+2
+
+The pale winter sun is beginning to wane, but there is still plenty of
+daylight in the white drawing-room. And I look at my friends, who have
+formed little groups in harmony with my wishes and their own. When an
+increased intimacy brings us all closer together, the party will gain by
+that earlier informality. Each life will have been given its normal
+pitch and will try at least to keep it. For our souls are such sensitive
+instruments that they can rarely strike as much as a true third.
+
+Blanche, with the agate eyes and the cloud of chestnut hair, is a
+picture of autumn in the brown and red of her frock, with its bands of
+sable. She is listening attentively to Marcienne. The fair Marcienne
+herself, whom I love for her passionate pride, is sitting near the
+fire-place; and her wonderful profile stands out against the flames. Her
+mouth is a fierce red; but the figure which shows through the
+pale-coloured tailor-made dress is full of tender childish curves. The
+swansdown toque makes her black hair seem blacker still. She is talking
+seriously and holding out to the flames her fingers covered with rings.
+
+The wide-open door reveals the darker bedroom, in which the lights are
+already turned on. A young married woman is sitting with her elbows on
+the table. She is reading a poem in a low voice; and from time to time a
+few words, spoken more loudly, mingle with the semi-silence of the other
+rooms. Bending under the lamp-shade, her brown hair is bathed in the
+light, while her profile is veiled by her hand and the lines of her body
+are lost in the dark dress which melts into the shadow. Near her,
+leaning against the white wall, two white figures listen and dream.
+
+I see Rose. She is standing, all emerald and gold, in the middle of the
+next room. Behind her, a mirror reflects the copper candelabra whose
+lighted branches surround her with stars. A placidly-smiling Madonna,
+chaste and cold, dazzling and glorious, she talks to the inseparables,
+Aurélie and Renée.
+
+Renée, clad in deep mourning, is a delicious little princess of jet,
+with lint-white hair and flax-blue irises. Her companion, crowned with
+glowing tresses, knows the splendour of her green eyes and, with a
+cunning fan-like play of her long eyelids, amuses herself by making them
+appear and disappear.
+
+My attention is recalled to the visitor by my side, a young Dutchwoman
+not yet quite at home in France. She is shy in speaking and she does not
+know my friends. I look at her. Her fair round face is quaintly framed
+in the smooth coils of her golden hair. Her eyes are a cloudless blue.
+Her nose, which is a little heavy and serious, belies the smiling mouth,
+with its corners that turn up so readily. The very long and very lovely
+neck makes one follow in thought the hollow of the nape and the slope of
+the shoulders vanishing in a snowy cloud of Mechlin lace. On the
+deliberately antiquated black-silk dress, a gold chain and a miniature
+set in brilliants give the finishing touch to a style classic in its
+chastity. Seated in a grandfather's chair in the embrasure of the
+window, she reminds one of Mme. de Mortsauf in Balzac's _Lys dans la
+vallée_.
+
+But she is also the very embodiment of Zealand. You can picture her head
+covered with a lace cap and her temples adorned with gold corkscrews.
+Behind her you conjure up flat horizons, slow-turning wind-mills, little
+red-and-green houses in which the inmates seem to play at living. How
+charming she looks in the last rays of light, at once childish and
+dignified, passive and romantic ... and so different from the rest!
+
+But has not each her particular interest, her special grace? When my
+eyes go from one to another, they tell a rosary of precious beads, each
+with its own peculiar beauty, neither greater nor less than its fellows!
+What a glad and wondrous thing it is to be women, to be delicate, pretty
+things, infinitely sensitive and infinitely varied, living works of art,
+matter for kisses, the realised stuff of dreams! When you look at them
+like that, solely in the decorative sense, you are ready to condemn
+those who work, who think and who concentrate upon an aim of some sort,
+for these superfine creatures carry the reason for their existence
+within themselves, so great is the perfection which they achieve with a
+gesture, an attitude, a glance. And then you reflect upon what they too
+often are in the privacy of their lives: narrow and domineering,
+attached to petty, useless duties, their minds lacking dignity, their
+souls lacking horizon; and you are sorry that they have not grown,
+through the sheer consciousness of their beauty, into ways that are
+kindly and generous.
+
+I let my hand rest lightly on Cecilia's hands; and in the sweetness of
+the gathering dusk we both dream. Like the scent of flowers, the
+different natures seem to find a more precise expression as their
+shapes fade. I explain them to Cecilia, who does not know them.
+
+Aurélie and Renée draw my eyes with their laughter; and I begin with
+them. They are the careless lovers, idle for the exquisite pleasure of
+idleness. They live a dream-life, the life of a child that sleeps,
+dresses itself, goes for a walk, eats sweets and plays with its dolls.
+They are good-natured as well as frivolous, lissom of mind as well as of
+body, indulgent to others and charming in themselves. Love, resting on
+their young and tender lives, makes them more tender yet, like the light
+that lingers long and fondly upon a soft-tinted pastel.
+
+Next comes the turn of Marcienne, who, greatly daring, has broken with
+her family and given up worldly luxury, to work and live freely with the
+man of her choice.
+
+Beside her is Blanche, still restless and undecided, attracted by love
+and irritated by her sister Hermione, who pursues a vision of charity
+and redemption.
+
+Here my friend's fine profile turns to the other groups; and I continue:
+
+"The one whom we call Sister Hermione you can see in the dark bedroom,
+reading under the light of the lamp, with her face hidden in her
+hands."
+
+"Is she good-looking?"
+
+"Very, but tries not to seem so. That is why she is always so simply
+dressed."
+
+Cecilia interrupts me:
+
+"But her dress isn't simple!"
+
+"You are quite right. It is made complex by a thousand superfluous
+fripperies. Hermione has not been slow to understand that, to counteract
+perfect beauty, you must read simplicity to mean commonplace
+triviality."
+
+A flutter of silk, a gleam of a silver-white skirt in the waning light,
+a whiff of orris-root; and Marcienne glides down to our feet with a
+lithe, cat-like movement. In a curt, passionate tone, she says:
+
+"You are speaking of Hermione. Oh, do try and persuade her sister not to
+go the same way: is not one enough? Must more loveliness be wasted?"
+
+Sitting on a cushion on the floor, she raises her glowing face, her eyes
+dark as night, her scarlet mouth, her dazzling pallor.
+
+"I shall do nothing of the sort," I answer with a laugh, "for I rather
+like Hermione's folly; besides, her reason will soon conquer it! The
+dangers we run depend on chance; the first roads we take depend on
+influences. The way in which we bear those dangers and return from those
+roads: that is where the interest begins!"
+
+"But, tell me," murmurs Cecilia, "what does your Hermione want?"
+
+"Here is her story, in a couple of words," says Marcienne. "She is rich,
+beautiful and talented; and she belongs to an aristocratic English
+family. At twenty, she yielded to an impulse and went on the stage; in a
+few months, she was a really successful actress; then she made the
+acquaintance of a Hindu high-priest. He came and went; and she followed
+him. During the last two years, she has been his faithful disciple."
+
+"But what does she preach?"
+
+Marcienne made a vague gesture:
+
+"Buddhist doctrines! She believes that she possesses the true faith and
+tries to hand it on to others. In the few days which she has spent in
+Paris, she has already made two converts, those two innocents who are
+hanging on her words. It would all be charming, you know, if her creed
+did not enjoin chastity and if, by holding those views, she did not risk
+the awful fate of never knowing love!"
+
+Marcienne continued, still addressing herself to my new friend:
+
+"Do you see those pretty creatures in white, standing close to Hermione?
+They are two orphans, two girls who fell in love with the same man. I
+don't know the details of the romance, nor can I say whether it was
+fancy or passion that guided the man's choice. All I know is that he
+loved one of them and had a child by her. A little while after, he
+deserted her. Thereupon their unhappy love reunited those two hearts
+which happy love, as always, had divided. The same devotion and kindness
+made them both bend over the one cradle. Oh, the adorable pity that
+prompted Anne's heart on the day when, hearing her baby call her mamma
+for the first time, she sent for her sister Marie and, holding towards
+her those little outstretched arms, those eyes in which consciousness
+was dawning, that little fluttering life seeking a resting-place, she
+offered the maid, in the exquisite mystery of that first smile, the
+first name of love! From that time onward, the baby grew up between its
+two mammas as one treads a sunny path between two flowering banks."
+
+Marcienne had a gift for pretty phrases of this kind, which she would
+let fall not without a certain affectation. She liked talking and I
+liked listening to her. I asked her what she thought of Rose. She
+praised her beauty highly and even said the occasional awkwardness of
+her movements made it more uncommon:
+
+"For that matter," she added, "if it were not so, I should try to be
+blind to it. A woman must understand that she lowers herself by
+belittling her sisters. How immensely we increase man's ascendancy by
+never praising one another!"
+
+I began to laugh:
+
+"Alas, I would not dare to say that the wisest among us, in extolling
+our own sex, are not once more seeking the admiration of some man!"
+
+And Marcienne, who has been to such pains to release herself from the
+worldly surroundings amid which she suffered, goes on speaking long and
+passionately. There is a note of pain in her voice as she says:
+
+"Everything separates us and removes us one from the other, education
+even more than instinct. If woman only knew how she lessens her power by
+blindly respecting the petty social laws of which she is nevertheless
+the sole judge and dictator! Whereas she hands them down meekly, from
+mother to daughter, with all their wearisome restrictions, and grows
+indignant if some one bolder ventures to transgress them. And yet it is
+in this domain, which is hers, that she might extend her power by
+gradually overthrowing the old idols."
+
+And she also says:
+
+"Almost always, in defending a woman, we have occasion to strike a
+mortal blow at some ancient prejudice. For my part, I must confess that
+I take a mischievous delight in bestowing special indulgence on things
+which often are too severe a test for that indulgence in others; for,
+rather than be suspected of impugning ever so lightly some worn-out
+principle, they will wound and wound again the most innocent of their
+sisters."
+
+
+3
+
+It is almost dark. I leave my companions in order to call for the lamps
+and I stop near Rose as I pass through the next room. Here, all the
+girls are clustered round Hermione, who is telling them a story of her
+travels.
+
+Anne and Marie are listening respectfully, while the two inseparables,
+only half-attentive, are sharing a box of sweets.
+
+Roseline throws her arms round me and, shrugging her shoulders, says:
+
+"All this strikes me as such utter nonsense!"
+
+She is certainly right, with her Normandy common sense; but does she not
+need just a touch of this same nonsense to bring her faculties into
+play, her powers into action?
+
+
+4
+
+When I return to the drawing-room, Blanche calls me with a laugh of
+delight:
+
+"Oh, look!" she cries. "I've found a book with a portrait of my beloved
+Elizabeth Browning. Look at that sweet, gentle face, surrounded with
+ringlets: it's just as I imagined her. I love her all the better now."
+
+They had opened other books written by women and, leaning over the
+table, were comparing the frontispiece portraits of the authors,
+interesting or handsome, grave or smiling, young or old. Even so do
+certain little volumes of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries open
+nearly always with an engraving faded by time and representing charming
+faces all of the same class and often with similar expressions and
+features: a delicate nose, a bow-shaped, smiling mouth, intelligent eyes
+with no mysterious depths, dimpled cheeks, a string of pearls round the
+neck, a loosely-tied kerchief just revealing a swelling bosom, wanton
+curls dancing against a dark background in a frame of roses upheld by
+Cupids. And the quiver and the arrows and the flying ribbons and the
+turtle-doves: all this, joined to the letters, the maxims or the verses,
+often grave or even sad, sometimes calm and reasonable, sometimes
+passionate, brings before us in a few strokes the harmonious picture of
+woman's life.
+
+"It is no longer the fashion in these days," murmured Blanche. "And yet
+is there not an intimate relation between a woman's work and her
+appearance?"
+
+"That is the reason, no doubt," replied Marcienne, "why it seems, unlike
+man's, to grow smaller as it passes out of the present. We see the
+immortal pages disappear like the fallen petals of a flower. It's sad,
+don't you think?"
+
+Struck with the beauty of her closing words, we listened to her in
+silence. She continued to turn the leaves at random and resumed:
+
+"But, oh, the exquisite art which a woman's work can show when she is
+not only beautiful, but truly wise, when a lovely hand indites stately
+verse, when a life holds or breathes nothing but high romance ... and
+love! For it is love and love alone that makes a woman's brain
+conceive."
+
+Cecilia, who was gradually losing her shyness, made a gesture to silence
+us and said, slowly:
+
+"I'll tell you something!"
+
+A general peal of laughter greeted this phrase with which the young
+Dutchwoman, according to the custom of her country, always ushers in her
+least words. To make yourself better understood by slow and absent
+minds, is it not well to give a warning? It is a sort of little spring
+that goes off first and arouses people's attention. Then the thought is
+there, ready for utterance. And sometimes, amid the silence, an
+announcement is made that it will be fine to-morrow, or that it is hot
+and that a storm is threatening.
+
+But Cecilia is much too clever to cast aside those little mannerisms of
+her native race which so charmingly accentuate her special type of
+beauty. So she joined in our laughter with a good grace and, after
+repeating her warning, observed, in her hesitating language, that, by
+thus admitting ourselves to be the mere creatures of love, we were
+justifying the opinion of the men who treat us as "looking-glasses."
+
+"Looking-glasses? Men's looking-glasses? And why not?" I exclaimed. "It
+is not for us women to decry that looking-glass side of us. It is
+serious, more serious than you think, for on the beauty of our
+reflection often depend our ardour, our courage, our very character and
+all the energies that create or affect our actions. Besides, whether men
+or women, we can only reflect one another and we ourselves do not become
+conscious of our powers until the day of the supreme love, as if, till
+then, we had only seen ourselves in pocket-mirrors which never reflect
+more than a morsel of our lives, a movement, a gesture ... and which
+always distort it!"
+
+Every mouth quivered with laughter. I insisted:
+
+"If women often have so much difficulty in learning to know their own
+characters, it is because most men are scornful mirrors, occupied with
+nothing smaller than the universe and never dreaming of reflecting women
+except in a grudging and imperfect fashion."
+
+"It is true," said Marcienne, thinking of her lover, a man whose
+domineering temper often made him unjust to her. "Men's lives would be
+less serenely confident if our amiable and accommodating souls did not
+afford them a vision incessantly embellished by love ... and always
+having infinity for a background!"
+
+And, with a satirical smile, she added:
+
+"Let us accept the part of looking-glasses, but let us place our gods in
+a still higher light! They will not complain; and we shall at least have
+the advantage of seeing beyond them a little space and brightness."
+
+The conversation then assumed a more personal character, each of us
+thinking of the well-beloved: Marcienne, ever mournful and passionate;
+the gentle Blanche, anxious, secretly plighted to an absent lover; and
+Cecilia, all absorbed in her young happiness with the husband of her
+choice.
+
+
+5
+
+Hermione and her cluster of girls had gradually come nearer. She dresses
+badly, she does her hair with uncompromising severity, but, in spite of
+it all, Hermione is very beautiful; and her loveliness triumphs over her
+commonplace clothes, even as her generous heart and the noble
+restlessness of her mind keep her on a plane which is loftier than the
+narrow dogmas of her creed.
+
+During a moment's silence, I hear her answer a question put by Rose:
+
+"Oh, what does it matter if I am wrong, as long as I make others happy!"
+
+And all my friends, like a sheaf of glowing flowers, seemed to be bound
+together by that word of loving-kindness. Were they not all, these
+bestowers of joy, living in a world into which neither sin nor error
+entered, their lives obeying the same eternal principles of love,
+following the sacred law of nature which fills our hearts with
+tenderness and our bodies with longing?
+
+
+6
+
+They were now able to talk together. Their remarks would not be vain,
+ordinary or frivolous. During the first moments of isolation, each of
+them had pursued her own thoughts and continued her own life. Each had
+reached that perfect diapason at which the most antagonistic spirits are
+in supreme unison. Heedless of different objects or of diverse aims, the
+same yearning for generosity, the same thirst after graciousness and
+beauty united their hearts; and their minds, leaping all barriers, came
+to an understanding of one another in a region beyond opinions. All
+these young and beautiful creatures, all these forms fashioned for
+delight exhaled an atmosphere of love. Were they not all alike its
+votaries?
+
+One alone, in a fiercer glow of enthusiasm and with a doubtless finer
+sensualism, one alone attempts to offer up her life to a God! The
+glorious folly of her! How I love to see her, vainly tormenting her
+beauty, seeking infinity, aspiring to bear peace across the world. I see
+her soul like a walled garden in which all the flowers lift themselves
+higher and higher, struggling to offer themselves to a moment of light.
+But, in a day of greater discontent and in an hour of maturity, the
+illusory fence will fall and the fair life will stand in open space.
+Then, drunk with boundless earth and boundless sky, the woman, restored
+to nature, will doubtless find herself more attuned to pleasure than
+were the others and more responsive to joy.
+
+I looked at all those bowed heads, dark or fair, dusky or golden, those
+lovely forms revealed by their clinging robes, those delicate profiles
+bent over the portraits and writings of their sisters, far-off friends,
+vanished, unknown or absent, whose power of love still lives for all men
+and for all time ... immortal tears, petals dropped from the flower.
+
+Then my glistening eyes turned towards my Roseline. She was there,
+indifferent, unmoved, perhaps secretly bored.
+
+And my thoughts wept in my heart.
+
+The most beautiful things cannot be given.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+1
+
+I had been out of town for a time. Returning to Paris a day sooner than
+I intended, I wished to give Rose the pleasure of an unexpected arrival
+and I went to see her that same evening. Though it was not more than ten
+o'clock, the lights were already out in the strictly-managed
+boarding-house. There was a row of brass candlesticks on the hall-table.
+The man-servant wanted to give me one; but I was impatient, thanked him
+hurriedly and ran upstairs in the dark.
+
+I could not have told why I was so happy; for, though I should not have
+been willing to confess it, I had long lost all my illusions about the
+girl. But she was so beautiful; and her passive temperament left so much
+room for my fancy! I never made any headway; but at the moment it always
+seemed to me as if I were heard and understood. I used to write on that
+unresisting life as one writes on the sand; and, the easier I found it
+to make the impress of my will, the faster was it obliterated.
+
+When I reached the floor on which Rose's bedroom was, I stopped in the
+dark passage. A narrow streak of light showed me that her door was not
+quite shut. Then, gathering up my skirts to deaden their sound, I felt
+along the wall and crept softly, on tip-toe, so as to take her by
+surprise. With infinite precautions, I slowly pushed the door open. I
+first caught sight of a corner of the empty bed, with its white curtains
+still closed; then of a candle-end burning on the table and of flowers
+and a broken vase lying on the ground. What could she be doing?
+
+I was so far from imagining the truth that I do not know how I beheld it
+without betraying my presence by a movement or a sound. There was a
+young man in the room.
+
+I saw his face, straight opposite me, near the guttering candle. A man
+in Rose's bedroom! A friend, no doubt; a lover, perhaps! But why had she
+never mentioned him to me? I had been away a month; and in not one of
+her letters had she ever spoken of him. A friend? A lover? Could she
+have a whole existence of which I knew nothing? Could her quiet life be
+feigned? But why?
+
+At the risk of revealing my presence, I opened the door still farther;
+and then I saw her profile bending forward. Thus posed, it stood out
+against the black marble of the mantel-piece like a cameo. Rose had let
+down her hair, as she did every evening. Her bodice was unfastened; and
+the two golden tresses brought forward over her breast meekly followed
+the curve of her half-exposed bosom. She was not astonished, she was not
+even excited. She seemed to acquiesce in the man's presence in her room;
+it was no doubt customary.
+
+And suddenly, amid the thousand details that engaged my attention, a
+light flashed across me: was not Rose's companion one of the boarders in
+the house, perhaps that painter of whom she had told me, the one who
+made a sketch of her head which she brought to me a few days after her
+arrival in Paris?
+
+His eyes never left her. He watched and followed her every movement,
+whereas she, in her perfect composure, did not seem even to heed his
+presence. And that was what struck me: Rose's impassiveness in the face
+of that anxious and silent prayer. Did she not see? Could she not
+understand? I almost longed to rush at her and cry:
+
+"But look, open your eyes; that man is entreating you!... If you do not
+share his emotions, at least be touched by his suffering; if not your
+lips, give him a glance or a smile!"
+
+Oh, how like her it all is! And how the anxious pleading of the wooer
+resembles the vain waiting of the friend! But, alas, what in my case is
+but a disappointment of the heart, a tiresome obstacle to the evolution
+of an idea, is perhaps in his case a cruel and lasting ordeal!
+
+Suddenly, he falls on his knees before the girl. With his shaking hands,
+he touches her breast; then he kisses it gently. She does not repel him,
+but her bored and absent expression discourages any amorous action and
+withers the kisses at the very moment when they alight upon her flesh.
+Then he half-raises himself to gaze at her from head to foot; and with
+all his ardour he silently asks for the consenting smile and the word
+that gives permission.
+
+I shall never forget his look, the superb animal look, brilliant,
+glowing and empty as a ball-room deserted by the dancers, the superb,
+outspoken look that accompanies the gift of life and seems to flee its
+mystery at the moment when it approaches.
+
+He stammered a few tender words. His voice thrilled me. It was grave and
+clear as a bronze and silver bell. It rang true, for the most ephemeral
+desire is not false. I knew, by the sense of his words, that Rose had
+not yet given herself.
+
+Sullenly and as though annoyed by the soft words, she brought the dark
+stuff of her bodice over her white bosom. To the young man it was like a
+cloud passing over the sky; and, whether or not because the girl's
+resistance exasperated him, he suddenly pressed her to him, sought her
+lips and made her bend for a moment under the violence of his embrace.
+But, with an abrupt movement, with a sort of vindictive rage, she
+succeeded in releasing herself.
+
+Then I fled from the house.
+
+
+2
+
+I did not recover myself until I was on the quay outside and felt the
+cold night-air against my face. My skirt was trailing on the ground; my
+hands made no movement to hold it up.
+
+With my disgust and resentment there was mingled a vague feeling of
+remorse. Was it not I who had taught the girl the shamelessness that
+admits desire and the prudence that refuses to submit to it? Had I not
+wished for her, above all other treasures, the power of judging,
+appreciating, choosing?
+
+Yes, but when I had talked of choosing, I had never imagined that the
+choice could be made in cold blood! So far from that, it had seemed to
+me that no more dangerous or painful experience could visit a woman's
+heart. The victory of mind over instinct and of will over desire is the
+price of a hideous, abnormal struggle opposed to the very law of our
+nature. A sad victory baptised with tears, a sacred preparation for the
+noble defeat that is to crown a woman's life!
+
+Besides, it was not her refusal that revolted me, for we cannot judge an
+action of which we do not know the reasons; it was her demeanour, her
+horrible indifference. The ugliness of the scene would not have offended
+me, I reflected, if the woman had been in any way troubled by it; if I
+had seen her resist her own desire or at least deplore that which she
+was unable to share; if I had seen her struggle for a sentiment or
+suffer for an idea, however absurd or wild! But Rose had had neither
+tears nor compassion; and the blind instinct that always prompts us to
+give our lives had not tempted her.
+
+I continued to see that face of marble. I heard those impassive words. I
+pictured that body which felt no thrill, that mouth which abandoned
+itself without giving itself. No, I had never taught her anything of
+that kind; for, however light the pain which we cause and whatever its
+nature, we are forgiven only if our own heart feels a deeper wound. I
+did not understand her conduct. What had prompted it? To what chains of
+weakness had her soul stealthily attached itself, that soul which I had
+jealously protected against all principles and prejudices? What secret
+limits had she assigned herself despite my watchful care to give her
+none?
+
+I felt grieved and disappointed; and yet ... and yet I walked along with
+a certain gladness in my step. The tears trembling on my lashes were not
+tears of helplessness, but of a too-insistent energy, for they came
+above all from my overwrought nerves. My mind saw clear and rent my
+remorse like a superfluous veil.
+
+No, I was not responsible! Our thought, once expressed, no longer
+belongs to us. Whether it leave us when scarce ripe, because an accident
+has gathered it, or whether it fall in its season, like the leaf
+falling from the tree, we know nothing of what it will become; and it is
+at once the wretchedness and the greatness of human thought to be
+subjected to the infinite forms of every mind and of every existence.
+
+I walked for a long time without heeding the hour. The sky was clear and
+the stars glowed in its depths like live things; in the distance, the
+Trocadéro decked the night with brilliants.
+
+And, little by little, hope returned to me. I was persuaded that over
+there, in the little room which my care had provided for Rose, love
+would yet be the conqueror. She would awaken under those kisses. My
+Roseline should yet know passion and rapture. Love would triumph. It
+would do what I had been unable to do, it would breathe life into
+beauty! And, in the dead stillness, I kept hearing the kisses falling,
+falling heavily, like the first drops of a storm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+1
+
+We are talking like old friends, he and I, in the little white bedroom.
+Through the two curtains of the window high up in the wall a great ray
+of sunshine falls, a column of dancing light that dies on the table
+between us. I sit drumming absent-mindedly with my fingers in the
+shimmering motes. He looks at me and I feel no need to speak or to turn
+my head. The novelty of his presence makes no impression on me beyond a
+feeling of surprise that I do not find it strange. When by chance we do
+not hold the same view, the difference of opinion lasts only long enough
+to shift the thought which we are considering, even as one shifts an
+object to see its different aspects one after the other.
+
+I came to the boarding-house this morning to see Rose. Her room was
+empty. I was on the point of going, when the young man passed. He
+recognised me, doubtless from the portraits which Rose had shown him;
+and he came up to me of his own accord. His greeting was frank and
+natural. There were breadth and spaciousness in his eyes and his smile
+as well as in his manner. To justify my friendly interest, I pretended
+to have heard about him from Rose as he himself had heard about me: that
+is to say, with the most circumstantial details regarding position,
+occupations and all the externals of life. He did not therefore enter
+into explanations about things of which I was ignorant and we at once
+began to talk without any formality.
+
+What a strange and delightful sensation it was! I remembered all that I
+had noticed about him the night before; I knew his character from
+admiring its gentleness and patience under the supreme test of
+unrequited love, of desire that awakened no response. And he was now
+talking to me from the very depths of his soul, while I knew nothing of
+who or what he was, nor of what he was doing here. I was really seeing
+him from the inside, as we see ourselves behind the scenes of our own
+existence, without ever knowing exactly the spectacle which we present
+to others. I was observing the inner working of his life before I had
+seen the outward presentment.
+
+Speaking to me of his profession, he told me, with a smile, how little
+importance he attached to his painting:
+
+"It is only a favourable pretext for the life I have chosen. As you
+know, my greatest passion is nature; and I cannot but like the work
+which trained my eyes to a clearer vision and my nerves to a finer
+response."
+
+He told me of the years which he had wasted in seeking in the customary
+amusements the joys which are ordinarily found there. He told me of the
+life of luxury and idleness which he had led until the day came when
+adverse fate reduced him to living on the income from a small estate
+which he owned in the country: a thrice-fortunate day, he added, for
+from that moment he had understood that he was made for solitude,
+meditation and all the quiet pleasures of nature. Then he
+enthusiastically described to me the peaceful charm of his little house
+and he employed the words of a lover to extol the charm of his
+willow-swept river and the wonders of his flowers and bees.
+
+
+2
+
+Then I wanted to know what he thought of Rose. He judged her not
+inaccurately; but, with a lover's partiality, he applied the words
+balance, gentleness, equanimity to qualities which one day, when the
+scales had fallen from his eyes, he would call lack of heart and
+feeling. Deep-seated differences, perhaps, but yet not of a nature to
+affect the very sound principles that ensured his tranquillity.
+
+He had no illusions as to the quality of her mind. But to him, as to
+most men, a woman's intellectual value was but a relative factor; and he
+did not pause to estimate it with any attempt at accuracy, preferring to
+repeat:
+
+"She will not disturb the silence of my life; and her beauty will adorn
+it marvellously."
+
+He had a way of speaking which I liked. He knew how to refine his words
+by means of his expression. If they were very positive, his voice would
+hesitate; if too grave, a faint smile would lighten their sombreness. If
+he spoke ironically, his boyish eyes softened any touch of bitterness in
+the wisdom of the satirist.
+
+I did not like to think that the success of his wooing would mean the
+end of his labours. Rose would never become the independent, perfect
+woman of my dreams, capable of preserving her personal life in the midst
+of love and in all circumstances. Alas, my ambition had soared too
+high! Henceforth, I must wish nothing better for her than this purely
+ornamental fate.
+
+"Do you love her?" I asked.
+
+"I was taken captive at once by her beauty," he answered. "She objected
+that this sudden love must be an illusion; and I tried for a time to
+think the same. But, before long, suffering taught me the sincerity of
+my love. I dare not say whether it is senseless or right or usual; but,
+as long as a feeling gives us nothing but joy, we are unable to
+recognise it, we doubt it, we smile at it as a light and fleeting thing.
+Let anguish come, however, with tears and dread; and it is as though the
+seal of reality were placed on our heart. Then we believe in our love."
+
+I repeated, pensively and happily:
+
+"Do you really love her?"
+
+"Yes, I can say so honestly."
+
+He hesitated a little and, speaking very slowly, as though picking his
+words from amid his memories, said:
+
+"When we are sincere, we are bound to confess that the love which
+encircles all the movements of our body follows the movements of its
+strength or its weakness equally. It has its hours of exasperation, it
+is sometimes a tide that rises and floods everything: the past, the
+present, the future, the will, the spirit, the flesh. Then all becomes
+peaceful; the waves subside and we think that we love no more. We do
+love, however, but with a more detached joy. We have stepped outside
+love, as it were, and we contemplate its extent."
+
+My breath came quickly and my hands, clasped on the table, were pressed
+close together. My heart was bursting with gladness for my Roseline. He
+saw my emotion and questioned me with deeper interest.
+
+I replied without hesitation:
+
+"I am happy in this love which comes to Rose so simply and candidly."
+
+He pressed my hand as he said:
+
+"Sometimes, on reading certain passages in your letters, I used to fear
+that you might be opposed to my intentions...."
+
+I began to laugh:
+
+"Yes, you will have read fine views concerning independence; and a
+tirade against the women who surrender too easily; and any number of
+things more or less contrary to your hopes. But do you not agree with me
+that our principles are at their soundest when they are least rigid and
+that our noblest convictions are those of which we see both sides at
+once? Woman even more than man must not be afraid of handling her
+morality a little roughly when occasion demands it, just as she
+sometimes ruffles her laces for the pleasure of the eyes, easily and
+naturally and without attaching too much importance to the matter."
+
+
+3
+
+He listens to my words as I listen to his, with surprised delight. We
+feel as if we were playing with the same thought, for it flashes from
+one life to the other without undergoing any alteration.
+
+In point of fact, the human beings whom we see for the first time are
+not always new to us. True, we have never seen each other before, but
+our sympathies, our enthusiasms, inasmuch as they are common to both of
+us, have met more than once; and, now that we are talking, the form of
+our thoughts also corresponds, for, without intending it, we often look
+at the most abstract things objectively, because he is a painter and I a
+woman.
+
+Oh, I know no more exquisite surprises than those chance meetings which
+suddenly bring you a friend at a turning in life's road! It is like a
+charming landscape which one has seen in a dream and which one now finds
+in reality, without even having hoped for it. You speak, laugh,
+recognise each other and above all you are astonished and go on being
+astonished, adorably and shamelessly, like children.
+
+What we had to say was all interwoven, as though we were both drawing on
+the same memories. We were speaking of those friends of a day whom
+accident sometimes gives us and whom the very briefness of the emotion
+impresses deeply on our heart. They are there for ever, in a few clear,
+sharp strokes, like sketches:
+
+"For instance, you go on a matter of business to see somebody whom you
+don't know. You chafe with annoyance as you cross the threshold. In
+spite of the material duty which you are performing, you consider that
+it is so much time wasted. Then, for some unknown reason, the atmosphere
+seems kindly. You find familiar things in the room where you are
+waiting: a picture which you might have chosen yourself, books which you
+know and like, things which look as if your own hand had arranged them.
+And you forget everything. With your forehead against the pane, you look
+at the roofs of the houses, at the streets, at all that little scene
+which is the constant companion of an existence which you do not know
+and with which you are about to come into touch; and your heart beats
+very fast, for a sort of foresight tells you that a friend is going to
+enter the room."
+
+"That's quite true; and sometimes even we have already met him at some
+house or other; but then his mind displayed itself in a special
+attitude, inaccessible, motionless, lifeless, like a thing in a glass
+case. Now, we see him before us, in his own surroundings; and everything
+is changed. He has a smile which is made of just the same quality of
+affection as our own, a look instinct with the same sort of experience,
+a laugh that cheerfully faces like dangers, a mind responding to the
+same springs. And we talk and are contented and happy; and, when the sun
+enters at the window or when the fire flickers merrily in the hearth, we
+can easily picture spending the rest of our life there, in gladness and
+comfort. Anything that the one says is received by the other with an
+exclamation of delight. Yes, we have felt and seen things in the same
+way; and this little fact, natural though it may seem, is so rare that
+it appears extraordinary!"
+
+With an abrupt movement that must be customary with him, my companion
+shook his head to fling back his thick hair, which darkened his forehead
+whenever he leant forward:
+
+"And very often," he said, "you don't see each other again, or at least
+you don't see each other like that, because time is too swift and
+because everybody has to go his own road."
+
+The bright shaft of sunlight was still between us. It came now from a
+higher point of the little window. In the shimmering dust, I conjured up
+the faces of scarce-seen friends. There were some whose features had
+become almost obliterated; but beyond them, as one sees an image in a
+crystal, I clearly perceived the ideas, the life, the soul that had for
+a moment throbbed on exactly the same level as my own.
+
+I replied, in a very low voice:
+
+"We remain infinitely grateful to people who have given us such minutes
+as those!"
+
+And then, certain of hearing myself echoed, I cried, delightedly:
+
+"Egoists should always be grateful and responsive, for gratitude is
+nothing but happiness prolonged by thought...."
+
+"Yes, that is the whole secret of the responsive soul: to have
+sufficient impetus not to stop the sensation at the place where the joy
+itself stops."
+
+"To have simply, like the runner, an impetus that carries us beyond the
+goal...."
+
+
+4
+
+Thus were our remarks unrolled like the links of one and the same chain;
+and yet how different were our two existences! His was devoid of all
+restlessness and agitation; and mine was still in need of it. His
+intelligence was active, but not at all anxious to appear so. For him,
+meditation was the great object; and, when I expressed my admiration of
+a modesty impossible to my own undisciplined pride, he replied, in all
+simplicity:
+
+"Do not look upon this as modesty. The over-modest are often those whose
+pride is too great to find room on the surface."
+
+"If I were a man or an older woman than I am," I said, laughingly, "I
+would choose your destiny; but, for the time being, I feel a genuine
+need to satisfy my youth and to give it a few of the little pleasures
+that suit it."
+
+He tried to jest, like most men who disapprove of the trouble which we
+take to please them by making ourselves prettier or more brilliant; but
+at heart he was as fond as myself of feminine cajolery and frivolity.
+
+"You are full of pride," I exclaimed, "when you have accomplished some
+noble action or produced some rare work of art; then why should not
+women be happy at realising in their persons consummate beauty and
+grace? It is very probable that, if Plato or Socrates had suddenly been
+turned into beautiful young creatures, their destiny would have been
+different from what it was; it is even exceedingly probable that wisdom
+would have prompted them very often to lay aside their writings and come
+and contemplate their charms in the admiration of men!"
+
+I quoted the words uttered by a woman who had known and loved admiration
+in her day:
+
+"If life were longer, I would devote as many hours to my body as I now
+do to my mind; and I should be right. Unfortunately, I have to make a
+choice; and my very love of beauty makes me turn to that which does not
+fade...."
+
+
+5
+
+We should certainly have gone on talking for hours and without tiring;
+but suddenly we both together remembered that Rose must be waiting for
+me at my house and I rose to go.
+
+As I did so, I said:
+
+"I happen not to know your Christian name. What is it?"
+
+"Floris."
+
+Floris! That name, so little known in France but very frequent in
+Holland, surprised me; and I had some difficulty in not saying:
+
+"Then you are not a Frenchman?"
+
+But all that I said was:
+
+"Floris, you shall have your Rose!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+1
+
+Going down the stairs, I laughed to myself and said:
+
+"It is really one of love's miracles, that that man should be interested
+in Rose. And yet, to a philosopher, does not that beautiful girl offer a
+very unusual sense of security? From the point of view of the life which
+I had planned for her, she is a failure; but will she not be perfect in
+the eyes of a lover, of a man who expects nothing from her but an
+occasion for dreams and pleasure?"
+
+Filled with gladness, I hastened my steps. Although it was the end of
+winter, it was still freezing; and it was pleasant to hear the sound of
+my feet on the hard ground. I also noticed the noises of the street:
+they were sharp and distinct; and in the crisp air things were all black
+and white, as though etched in dry-point.
+
+For a moment, my dream vanished; then suddenly I became aware of it and
+I rifled a shop of its flowers and jumped into a cab in order to be
+with my Roseline the sooner.
+
+
+2
+
+Rose and Floris! The delicious combination filled my heart to
+bursting-point. Is it not always some insignificant little accident that
+sets our impressions overflowing? Like a child, at the last minute, I
+had felt a wish to know what he was called; and I was delighted to find
+that it was a name full of grace and colour. Now all my thoughts
+clustered around those harmonious syllables. Those remarkable eyes, that
+dark hair with its faint wave, that sensitive heart, that profound
+intellect, powerful and yet a little tired, like a tree bowed down with
+fruit: all this went through life under the name of Floris!
+
+Then I saw once more his face, his gentleness, his profound charm; and I
+never doubted the girl's secret assent. In my fond hope, I went to the
+length of imagining that she had wished to choose her life for herself,
+independent of my influence; that she had at last understood that, in
+order to please me, she must first assert her liberty, without fear of
+hurting or vexing me. It was an illusion, certainly; but there are
+times when joy thrusts aside reason in order to burst into full blossom,
+even as in moments of sorrow our despair often goes beyond reality to
+drain itself to the last drop in one passionate outpouring.
+
+
+3
+
+Rose was sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for me. I rushed in like a
+mad thing, without knowing what I was doing. My laughter, my flowers, my
+words all came together and fell upon her like a shower of joy. In one
+breath I told her of my indiscretion of the night before, of those
+stolen sensations, of my anguish, of my life at a standstill, waiting on
+theirs, of my delightful talk with Floris, of the sympathy between us
+and lastly of my conviction that happiness was being offered to her here
+and now.
+
+Then I noticed that she said nothing; and, begging her pardon for my
+incoherence, I tried to express in serious words the future that awaited
+her. But all those glad impressions had dazzled me; I was like some one
+who comes suddenly from the bright sunshine into a room. Shadows fell
+and rose before my brain as before eyes that have looked too long at
+the light; and I could do nothing but kiss her and repeat:
+
+"Believe me, happiness lies there! Seize it, seize it!"
+
+At last she murmured, wearily:
+
+"No, I can't do it."
+
+I questioned her, anxiously:
+
+"Perhaps there is some obstacle that separates you? Do you dislike him?"
+
+"No, I know his whole life and I have nothing against him."
+
+"Well, then ...?"
+
+I tried in vain to obtain a definite reply. Her soul was shut, walled
+in, almost hostile. Was she refusing herself, as she had once given
+herself, without knowing why? Or else was my vague intuition correct and
+was a latent energy escaping from that little low, square forehead,
+white and pure as a camellia, a force of which she herself was unaware
+and which no doubt would one day reveal to me the final choice of her
+life?
+
+I made her sit down and, kneeling beside her, questioned her patiently
+and gently as one asks a sick child to describe the pain which one is
+anxious to relieve. Silently, gazing vaguely into space, she let
+herself rest on my shoulder. The flowers fell from her listless hands.
+Some still hung to her dress, with tangled stalks. Red carnations,
+mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, hyacinths drunk with perfume, guelder-roses
+and white lilac wept at her feet.
+
+I rose slowly and looked at her, my heart aching for the heedless one
+who dropped the joys which chance laid in her arms!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE THIRD
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+The reason why we judge people better after a lapse of time is that,
+when we look at them from a distance, there is no confusion of detail.
+The main lines of their character stand out, relieved of the thousand
+little alterations and erasures which the scrupulous hand of truth is
+constantly making as it passes hither and thither, now rubbing out, now
+redrawing, until at last the impression is no longer a very clear one.
+
+From the day when I separated my life completely from the life of Rose,
+her character appeared to me distinctly; and at the same time, now that
+it was free to come down to its own level, it asserted itself in its
+turn. Until that moment, while I had been careful to put no pressure
+upon her, I had nevertheless been asking her to choose her tastes and
+occupations on a plane that was unsuitable for her.
+
+Her moral outlook was good, true and not at all silly, but it was
+limited; and, in trying to make her see life swiftly and from above, as
+though in a bird's-eye view, I had made it impossible for her to
+distinguish anything.
+
+Her fault was that she had not been able to change, mine was that I had
+had too much faith in her possibilities. My optimism had wound itself
+around her immobility and fastened to it, even as ivy coils around a
+stone statue, without communicating to it the smallest portion of its
+sturdy and luxuriant little life.
+
+
+2
+
+And now it is six months since we parted; and I am going to-day to see
+her for the first time in her new existence.
+
+I look out of the window of the railway-carriage; and my mind calls up
+memories which glide past with the autumn fields. First comes the
+departure of Floris, wearied by the incomprehensible attitude of the
+girl. He went away shortly after our meeting, still philosophical and
+cheerful, in spite of his disappointment. And the part which he played
+in my experiment taught me something that guided my efforts into a fresh
+direction: if Rose's beauty was to him sufficient compensation for her
+commonplace character, could not I also accept the girl as something out
+of which to weave romance and beauty? Does not everything lie in the
+mere fact of consent? Passive and silent, would she not become a rare
+object in my life, a precious stone?
+
+"Woman blossoms into fullest flower by doing nothing," some one has
+said. "Women who do not work form the beauty of the world."
+
+I took Rose to live with me and for weeks devoted myself exclusively to
+her appearance and her manners. I sought if possible to perfect the
+exterior. It was all in vain. This beautiful creature was so totally
+ignorant of what beauty meant that she was constantly deforming herself;
+and I at last gave up the struggle.
+
+Sadly I remember the last pulsation of my will. It happened in the
+silence of my heart; and life went on for a little while longer. Would
+it not have been hateful to send Rose away, as one dismisses a servant?
+And what act, what fault had she committed to deserve such treatment?
+When it would have been so sweet to me to give her everything, for no
+reason at all, how could I find a solid reason for taking everything
+from her?
+
+So I said nothing to her; we had none of those horrible explanations
+which set bristling spikes on the barriers--inevitable barriers,
+alas!--which dissimilarities in taste or character raise between people.
+There are certain persons who cannot bear to make any change without a
+preliminary explanation. They seem to carry a sort of map in their
+heads: on the far side of the frontier that borders the friendly
+territory lies the enemy; and it needs but a word, a gesture, a
+difference of opinion for you to find yourself in exile. Alas, have we
+not enough with all the limits, demarcations, laws and judgments that
+are perhaps necessary to the world at large? And must we lay upon
+ourselves still others in the intimate relations of life?
+
+I had no right to set myself up as a judge and I could not have
+pronounced sentence. I waited. And, my will being no longer in the way,
+circumstances gradually led my companion to her true destiny better than
+I could have done.
+
+She was bored. She was not really made to be a purely decorative object.
+In spite of her trailing silk or velvet dresses, twenty times a day I
+would find her in the larder, with a loaf under her arm and a knife in
+her hand, contentedly buttering thick slices of bread, which she would
+eat slowly in huge mouthfuls, looking straight before her as she did so.
+
+She was bored; and I was powerless to cure this unfamiliar ill. I looked
+out some work for her in my busy life. She wrote letters, kept my
+accounts, hemmed the maids' aprons. Soon she was running the errands.
+One day she answered the front-door.
+
+I still remember that moment when she came and told me, in her pretty,
+gentle way, that there was some one to see me in the drawing-room. I do
+not know why, but that insignificant incident suddenly revealed the
+truth to me. I was ashamed of myself and turned away my head so that she
+should not see me blush. Poor child, she was unconsciously lowering
+herself more and more daily. She was becoming my property. I was making
+use of her.
+
+Without saying anything, I at once began to search for something for
+her. I hesitated between first one thing and then another; but at last
+chance came to my aid. Country-bred as she was, the girl was losing her
+colour in the Paris air; she was ordered to leave town. She knew a
+family at Neufchâtel, in Normandy, who were willing to take her as a
+boarder for a few weeks. She went and did not come back.
+
+
+3
+
+What did she do there, how did she spend her time? She wrote to me
+before long that she was quite happy, that she was earning her
+livelihood without difficulty. There was a little linen-draper's shop,
+it seemed, kept by an old maid, who, having no relations of her own, had
+taken Rose to assist her at first and perhaps to succeed her in time.
+
+I was not at all surprised. For that matter, when we follow the natural
+evolution of things, their conclusion comes so softly that we hardly
+notice it. It is the descent which we are approaching: it becomes less
+steep at every step and, when we reach it, it is only a faint depression
+in the ground.
+
+
+4
+
+Strange temperament! The more I think of it, the more it appears to me
+as an instance of the dangers of virtue, or at least of what we
+understand by the word. Does it not look as though, in the charts of our
+characters, the virtues are the ultimate goals which can be reached only
+by the way of our faults? Each virtue stands like a golden statue in the
+centre of a cross-roads. We can hardly know every side of it unless we
+have beheld it from the various paths that lead to it. It shines in a
+different manner at the end of each road.
+
+Rose never became conscious of her good qualities, because she possessed
+them too naturally; and she remained poor in the midst of all the riches
+which she was unable to discern.
+
+Oh, if only she had been less wise and had had that ardour, that flame
+which feeds on all that is thrown upon it to extinguish it; if she had
+had that inordinate prodigality which teaches us by making us commit a
+thousand acts of folly; if, in short, she had had faults, vices,
+impulses of curiosity, how different her fate would have been! The
+equilibrium of a person's character may be compared with that of a pair
+of scales; and it is safe to say that, by weighing more heavily upon one
+of these, our defects raise our good qualities to their highest level.
+
+
+5
+
+But every minute is now bringing me nearer to this life which I am at
+last to know; and I gaze absent-mindedly at the Bray country, that
+lovely country red with the gold of autumn. By force of habit, my
+nerves spell out a few sensations which my thoughts do not put into
+words. My heart is beating. Now, with no idea or purpose in my mind, I
+am speeding with a full heart towards the girl who was at least the
+inspiration of a splendid hope and above all an incentive to action.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+I arrived at Neufchâtel at the gracious hour when the sun is paling; and
+I was at once charmed with the kindly aspect of this little Norman town.
+
+The house-fronts gleaming with fresh paint, the pigeons picking their
+way across the streets, the grass growing between the cobble-stones, the
+flowers outside the windows and doors, a cleanliness that adorns the
+smallest details: all this is so calm and so empty that our life at once
+settles there as in a frame that takes with equal ease the happy or the
+sad picture which we propose to fit into it.
+
+It reminds me of Bruges, whose infinite, patient calm is a clean page on
+which the visitor's life is printed, happy or distressful at will, since
+there is nothing to define its character. It also has the silence of the
+little Flemish towns, with their streets without carriages or wayfarers.
+The gardens look as though they were artificial; and in the frame of
+the open windows we see interiors which are as sharp as pictures.
+
+Leading out of the main street is a mysterious little alley, dark and
+badly paved. It runs upwards and ends in a clump of trees arching
+against the blue of the sky. There is no visible gate or doorway. I turn
+up it. All along a high wall hang old fire-backs, bas-reliefs of
+cracked, rusty-red iron, once licked by the flames, now washed by the
+rain.
+
+I loiter to examine the subjects: coats of arms, trophies of weapons, or
+allegories and half-obliterated love-scenes. It is curious to see these
+homely relics thus exposed in the street, conjuring up the peaceful soul
+of families gathered round the hearth. From over the wall, the air
+reaches me laden with hallowed fragrance. I picture the box-bordered
+walks on the other side.
+
+Then I climb higher; and, when I come to the trees, I find a charming
+surprise. The public gardens lie in front of me. In the shade of the
+public gardens we seem to find the very spirit of a town; it is to the
+gardens or to the church that our curiosity always turns in the first
+place. Here is the walk edged with stone benches on which old men and
+old women sit coughing and gossiping; here mothers bring their work,
+while their children run about; and in the centre, at the junction of
+the paths, is the platform where the regimental band plays on Sundays.
+
+The Neufchâtel gardens are in no way elaborate: a number of avenues have
+been cut out of an ancient wood; and that is all. There are no shrubs;
+just a patch of dahlias, with a ridiculous little iron railing round
+them. But its whole charm lies in its picturesque situation up above the
+town. In between the tall trees with their interlacing boughs, one can
+see the slopes of the hills, the plains, the meadows, the gleaming roofs
+and the church with its twin spires piercing the blue of the sky. Then,
+in the foreground, I see, behind the houses, the little gardens whose
+breath reached me just now. They are there, divided into small plots of
+equal size, simple or pretentious, sometimes humble kitchen-gardens, but
+sometimes also a patchwork adorned with grottoes, arbours and glass
+bells.
+
+Rose mentioned a garden which brightens her little home. Suppose it were
+one of these!... A woman appears over there: she is tall and
+fair-haired. She stoops over a well; I cannot make out her features. She
+draws herself up again. Oh, no, her figure is clumsy, her hair looks
+dull and colourless and her clothes vulgar. Rose would never dress like
+that, in two colours that clash! Rose would never ...
+
+I wander into a delicious reverie. How infinitely superior Rose is to
+all these people whose lives I can picture around me. Two women sit
+cackling beside me on the bench: they are at once guileless and bad,
+with their mania for eternally wagging tongues that know no rest. A
+little farther on, a good housewife is shaking her troublesome child; a
+stout, overdressed woman of the shop-keeping class is flaunting her
+finery down one of the walks; a priest passes and, while his lips mumble
+prayers, his eyes, held in leash by fear, prowl around me; one of his
+flock curtseys to the ground as she meets him.
+
+A protest rises in my heart at each of the little incidents: is not Rose
+rid of all that? Rose long ago gave up going to mass and confession. She
+has lost the hypocritical sense of shame, knows neither envy nor malice
+and is a stranger to all ostentation.
+
+I often used to reproach her with her extreme humility. How wrong I was!
+I now think that this humility can achieve the same result as pride
+itself. One looks too high, the other too low; but both pass by the
+petty vanities of life and either of them can keep us equally
+indifferent to those vanities.
+
+
+2
+
+I rose from my seat with a happy heart. The time had come for me to go
+in search of her. I would kiss her in all gratitude. Had she not
+enlarged my will to the extent of making it admit her little existence?
+
+I went through the silent streets, in search of the charming, old-world
+name that was to tell me where the aged spinster lived. Rose had said
+that I should see it written over the door in blue letters and that it
+was opposite a place where they sold sportsmen's and anglers'
+requisites, a shop with a sign that would be certain to attract my
+attention.
+
+I therefore walked along with a sure step and suddenly, at a
+street-corner, saw a great silver fish flashing to and fro in the breeze
+at the end of a long line. Soon I was in a quiet backwater of the town.
+There it was! Opposite me, the last gleams of the setting sun shed their
+radiance on a very bright little house covered with a luxuriant vine. On
+one side, in the same golden light, the name of Isaline Coquet smiled
+in sky-blue letters.
+
+The shop was white, with pearl-grey shutters; and on the ledges were
+bunchy plants gay with pink, starry flowers. In the window, a few
+starched caps looked as if they were talking scandal on their respective
+stands.
+
+I walked in. The opening of the door roused the tongue of a little rusty
+bell, but nobody came. On a big grandfather's chair, near the counter,
+were a pair of spectacles and a book. Perhaps Mlle. Coquet had run away
+when she caught sight of me through the panes; Rose said that she was
+shy and a little frightened at the thought of my coming visit. And I had
+the pleasure of looking for my Rose as I followed the mysterious turns
+of a primitive passage.
+
+The walls were spotless and the red-tiled floor shone in the half-light.
+I crossed a neat little kitchen, just as a cuckoo-clock was chiming
+five, and found myself on the threshold of a small room opening on a
+garden. Rose was sitting in the wide, low window.
+
+The noise of the clock no doubt deadened the sound of my steps, for the
+girl did not turn her head. The room exhaled a faint perfume as of
+incense and musk; and I seemed to hold all her peaceful little life in
+my breath and in that swift glance. All that I could see of her face was
+one cheek and the tips of her long eyelashes. Placed as she was in front
+of the light, a golden haze shaded the colours of her beautiful hair;
+and I lingered in contemplation of the long and graceful curve of her
+figure bending over her work. She was sewing in the midst of floods of
+stiff white muslin, which formed a chain of snow-clad peaks with blue
+reflections around her. I looked at the low-ceilinged room with its
+whitewashed wall and its rows of bodices, petticoats and shiny caps
+hanging on lines stretched from one side to the other. A grey tom-cat
+lay purring on a corner of the table; and, near it, in a well-scrubbed
+pot, a pink geranium displayed its sombre leaves and its bright flowers.
+
+Rose was sewing. At regular intervals, her right arm rose, drew out the
+thread and returned to the spot whence it started: an even and captive
+movement symbolical of the amount of activity permitted to women! But
+was she not to choose that movement among all others?
+
+
+3
+
+We dine in her bedroom. What a surprise her room held in store for me!
+Rose had arranged it herself, in harmony with the simplicity which I
+loved.
+
+Brightly-painted wooden shelves make patches of colour on the white
+walls; the furniture is rustic; and the curtains of white muslin with
+mauve spots complete the frank and artless harmony of the room. How
+little this was to be expected from Mlle. Coquet's shop!
+
+Then, on Rose's table, the books I gave her fill the place of honour. I
+dare say that she never reads them; and yet I am glad to see them here.
+
+Rose goes to and fro between our little table and the kitchen. She looks
+pretty, she smiles. The slowness of her movements is no longer
+lethargic; it simply exhales an air of repose, a perfume of peace that
+suits her beauty. Her eyes have fastened on me at once and, as in the
+old days, never leave me.
+
+Is it the tyranny of habit that used to prevent me from reading anything
+in them? Now, those eyes that ingenuously drink in my life as the
+flowers do the light, those eyes not veiled by any shadow, constantly
+bring the tears to mine. She sees this and fondly lays her head on my
+shoulder, whispering:
+
+"I did nothing but expect you, darling, only I had given up hoping...."
+
+This term of endearment, which she addresses to me for the first time,
+as if, being no longer subject to any effort, she were at last yielding
+to the sweets of friendship, this expression and my Christian name,
+which she utters lovingly, complete the pleasantness of the evening.
+
+I feel happy amid it all. We who were brought up in the country never
+lose our appreciation of its peaceful charm. It bows down our lives as
+we bow our forehead in our hands to think beyond our immediate
+surroundings; and from its narrow circle we are better able to judge the
+expanse which has become necessary to us.
+
+
+4
+
+The night rises, things fade away. The sky is a deep blue in the frame
+of the open window. Rose brings the lamp:
+
+"It was the first companion of my solitude," she says, reminiscently;
+then, laughing, "the companion of my boredom, the companion of those
+long, long evenings...."
+
+"But now, dearest?..."
+
+"Ah, now, the days are too short: I have a thousand duties to perform,
+my dear little old woman to look after, my customers, my flowers, my
+animals; then, in the evening, we often have a caller: the priest, the
+notary, the neighbours...."
+
+Then, suddenly fearing that she has hurt me, she adds, in a caressing
+tone:
+
+"When I am with them, I am always talking about you, so as to comfort
+myself for the loss of you; for that is my only sorrow."
+
+
+5
+
+An hour or two later, sitting in the garden, we watched the stars
+appearing one by one. Our arms were round each other; our fair tresses
+were intermingled. We were at the far end of the town. We heard the
+sounds of the country ringing in the transparent air; and the crystal
+voice of the frogs, that small, clear note falling steadily and marking
+time to our thoughts. We were quiet, like everything around us,
+unstirred by a breath of wind.
+
+Rose spoke of her happiness; and I never wearied of inhaling that
+delicious tranquillity. I had been thinking of settling her future for
+her. And what an inestimable lesson I was learning from her! Rose was
+one of those whose road must be marked from hour to hour by a little
+duty of some kind or another. It is thus, by limiting themselves, that
+these characters arrive at knowing and asserting themselves. She said,
+blithely, "my room," "my garden," "my house;" and I smiled as I
+reflected that I had once struggled to rid that mind of all useless
+bonds.
+
+
+6
+
+What a mistake I had made! In order to find her life, she had had to
+earn it and to recognise it in the very things that now belonged to it,
+to mark every hour of it with humdrum tasks, to create for herself
+little troubles on her own level, difficulties which her good sense
+could easily overcome. There was nothing unexpected, nothing
+far-reaching in her life, never an event beyond the tinkle of the
+shop-bell announcing a customer, a little bell with a short, sharp,
+cracked ring, stopping on a single note without vibration, as though it
+were the very voice of the little souls which it excited.
+
+In contrast with this humble destiny, I considered my own full of
+difficulty and agitation, so crowded and yet doubtless equally empty; I
+followed in my mind's eye the lives of my friends; and I reflected that
+the nature of us women, alike of the most wayward and the most direct,
+is too delicate and too complex for us easily to keep our balance in a
+state of complete liberty.
+
+"When we achieve it," I said to Rose, "it is thanks to a close and
+constant observation of ourselves; for woman never has any real moral
+strength. Self-sacrifice and kindness alone lend us some, because our
+capacity for loving knows no limit: our strength is then a loan which we
+make to ourselves at difficult moments by a miracle of love. Once the
+crisis is over, we have to pay ... with interest!"
+
+"In Paris," said Rose, "even from the very first, I had a feeling that I
+should never dare to move in the absolute liberty that was offered me.
+You are not angry with me?"
+
+"How could I be? We were both wanderers, you and I, where circumstances
+led us, both of us with a passion for sincerity, both of us with the
+best of intentions. A cleverer mind than mine would doubtless have
+saved you from going out of your way. It had many unnecessary turnings.
+But perhaps they had their uses...."
+
+"Yes," replied my friend, wisely, "for without them, I should not have
+been so certain that my choice was right...."
+
+
+7
+
+Around us the mysterious life of the night was gradually awaking. All
+the animals that shun the daylight were beginning to stir. A hedgehog
+brushed against my skirt. In the grass, two glowworms summoned love with
+all their fires. The smell of the garden became overpowering. Our
+movements and our words throbbed in a scented air. Rose leant towards
+me:
+
+"There is one thought that troubles me," she said. "Have I discouraged
+you? Will others better equipped than I still find you ready to lend
+them a helping hand?"
+
+"Why not, Roseline?" And I would have liked to put my very soul into the
+kiss which I gave her. "No, you have not discouraged me. The only thing
+that matters is to have the power to choose what suits us. Then alone
+is it possible for us to develop ourselves without restraint. With your
+limited horizon, you are freer, darling, than when you were living with
+me, at the mercy of all the fancies which you did not know how to use.
+Everything is relative; and instinct makes no mistakes. Yours, by
+placing you here among the lives which I can imagine, gives you the
+opportunity of excelling. You felt that you needed to live under
+conditions in which the effort and the merit would lie in not changing,
+in which action would be immobility. You know, Rose, there is always
+some common ground in human beings; to reach it, if you do not stoop,
+the others will raise themselves. With your beauty which is the wonder
+of every one you meet, with that gentleness which wins all hearts and
+with your soul which no longer knows either malice or prayer, you will
+be a new example of life to all around you."
+
+Rose was sitting on a higher chair than mine; and this allowed me to let
+my head sink into her lap. I no longer dreamt of looking at the
+splendour of the night, for was it not throbbing in my heart, where a
+star woke every moment? And I thought out loud:
+
+"You were always asking me the object of my efforts. Do you now
+understand that I could not explain what I myself did not understand
+perfectly until you revealed it to me?"
+
+I reflected for a moment and continued:
+
+"We can wish nothing for others nor force anything on them: we can only
+help them to clear the field before and within themselves...."
+
+She murmured:
+
+"I understand."
+
+And I cried:
+
+"Ah, my dearest, how grateful I am to you! In looking for you, I have
+found myself a little more; and it is always so; and that, you see, is
+why we must love action. However tiny, however humble, it may be, it
+brings us at the same time the knowledge of others and of ourselves. We
+appear to fling ourselves stout-heartedly into the stream whose currents
+we cannot foresee; we are hurt, we are wounded, we struggle; but, when
+we return to the bank, we feel invigorated and refreshed."
+
+Roseline stroked my forehead lightly with her hands and softly
+whispered:
+
+"There was nothing lacking to my peace of mind but your approval. Now I
+am happy and I can begin my life without anxiety."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+Rose was still asleep when I entered the drowsy bedroom to bid her
+good-bye. A small, heart-shaped opening in the middle of the shutters
+allowed the first ray of daylight to penetrate. Sleeping happily and
+trustfully, with streaming hair and hands out-flung, she lay strewn like
+the petals of a flower. I laid my lips on hers and softly went away.
+
+As I climb the slope that leads out of Neufchâtel, I turn and look down
+once more on the little town that slumbers everlastingly in its rich
+peace. Just there, by the church, I picture the house with its grey
+shutters, its white front and its starched caps behind the flower-pots.
+Beyond, the green horizons and the blue hill-sides stand clearly marked
+in the dawning sun; and I gaze and gaze as far as my eyes can see,
+through my lashes sparkling with tears.
+
+For all her lethargy, her slumber as of a beautiful plant, the soul of
+my Rose is wholesome, wholesome as those meadows, those fields, all that
+good Norman earth which gave her to me miserable only to take her back
+happy and free. Certainly, Rose has not been able to achieve the
+strength that makes use of liberty: in that life, still so young, the
+will is a dead branch through which the sap no longer flows. At any
+rate, what she does possess she will not lose; she is one of those who
+instinctively hold in their breath so as not to tarnish the pane through
+which a glimpse of infinity stands revealed to them. Her soul could not
+take in unlimited happiness, it had to feel a touch of sorrow in order
+to taste a little joy. There are many like her, people who perceive that
+the light is good when they come out of the darkness, but who are not
+able to recognise the light in the radiant beauty of the noon-day
+fields.
+
+The sun rises as I slowly make my way up-hill; the wood along the road
+is still wet with the dawn. It offers me its autumnal fragrance; I
+breathe it in, I gaze at its golden tints, I think of Rose, of her past
+and her future. But, beyond my dreams, an unformed idea seems to spread
+like a clear sky, without outline, without colour, without beginning or
+end; and I have a secret feeling that I shall try again.
+
+
+2
+
+I shall go towards other strangers. I shall seek at random among hearts
+and souls! Fearlessly, in spite of censure and derision, I shall lavish
+my confidence in order to win that of others. I shall not linger over
+the vain pleasure of discovering the traces of my power. We can pour out
+our influence boldly: it is a wine that excites no two souls in a like
+manner; and we are always ignorant what the nature of the intoxication
+will be, whether fruitful or barren, blithe or cheerless.
+
+I shall go towards other strangers; I understand now that my sole
+ambition is to bring life within their reach. What matter what their
+thoughts, their loves, their wishes, if at least they have acquired the
+taste and the means of thinking, loving and wishing?
+
+Shall I ever succeed in evolving from this passion of mine a method, a
+system that will make my action less blind and uncertain? I think not.
+
+In a life that never offers us anything logical or foreseen, our moral
+nature must needs resemble a drapery that is folded backwards and
+forwards over events, souls or circumstances. Let us ask no more than
+that it be beautiful and soft, strong and light, submissive to the
+least breath and ready to be transformed at its command. Nothing but an
+essential principle of humanity and loving-kindness can serve as a
+foundation for our actions, without ever confining them.
+
+
+3
+
+On the one hand, we have effort, nearly always vain; on the other,
+knowledge, which is the second look that makes us discern the ordinary,
+the commonplace, where at first we beheld beauty and charm.
+Nevertheless, let us worship effort and knowledge above all things.
+
+Let us act as simply as the little wave that lifts itself and breaks
+against the rock. Others come after it; and it is their light kisses
+which, all unseen, end by biting into the granite.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Choice of Life, by Georgette Leblanc</title>
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+<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Choice of Life, by Georgette Leblanc,
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The Choice of Life</p>
+<p>Author: Georgette Leblanc</p>
+<p>Release Date: August 26, 2007  [eBook #22411]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h1>THE CHOICE OF LIFE</h1>
+
+<hr class='dashed' />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style='width:400px'>
+<a name="illus-000" id="illus-000"></a>
+<img src="images/illus-fpc.jpg" alt="Georgette Leblanc" title="" width="400" /><br />
+<span class="caption">Georgette Leblanc</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='dashed' />
+
+<table style="margin: auto; border: black 1px solid; width:25em" summary=""><tr><td>
+<p style=" font-size:2.4em; margin-top:1em;">THE</p>
+<p style=" font-size:2.4em; margin-bottom:1em;">CHOICE OF LIFE</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.4em;">BY</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.6em; margin-bottom:2em;">GEORGETTE LEBLANC</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.0em;">TRANSLATED BY</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:5em;">ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA de MATTOS</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.2em;">NEW YORK</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.2em;">DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY</p>
+<p style=" font-size:1.0em; margin-bottom:2.2em;">1914</p>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<hr class='dashed' />
+
+<p class='center' style='font-size:small'>
+<span class="smcap">Copyright, 1914, by</span><br />
+DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br />
+Published, March, 1914<br />
+</p>
+
+<hr class='dashed' />
+
+<div style='margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;'>
+<p><i>Women are ever divided by a miserable distrust, whereas all their
+weaknesses intertwined might make for their lives a crown of love and
+strength and beauty</i>....</p>
+
+<p><i>How one of them strove to deliver her unhappy friend, the words which
+she spoke to her, the examples which she set before her, the joys which
+she offered her: these are what I have tried to record in this book</i>.</p>
+
+<p style='text-align:right'>
+<i>G.L.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class='dashed' />
+
+<h2>PART THE FIRST</h2>
+
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_9" id="page_9" title="9"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_93" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_93"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Here in the garden, close to the quiet house, I sit thinking of that
+strange meeting in the village. A blackbird at regular intervals sings
+the same refrain, which is taken up by others in the distance. The
+lily's chalice gleams under the blazing sun; and the humbler flowers
+meekly droop their heads. White butterflies are everywhere, flitting
+restlessly hither and thither. So fierce is the splendour of the day
+that I cannot raise my eyes to the summit of the trees; and my quivering
+lids show me the whole sky through my lashes.</p>
+
+<p>Thereupon it seems to me that the emotion which bursts from my heart,
+like a too-brilliant light, compels me to close the shutters of my brain
+as well. In my mind, even as before my eyes, distances are lessened and
+I see stretched before me that more or less illusive goal which we would
+all fain reach in the desires of our finer selves.<a class="pagenum" name="page_10" id="page_10" title="10"></a></p>
+
+<p>This idea is soothing to me, for, in my eagerness to act, I am tired of
+demanding from my reason reasons which it cannot vouchsafe me.</p>
+
+<p>Is there anything definite amid the uncertainty of these blind efforts,
+these unaccountable impulses, which have so often, ever since the first
+awakening of my unconsciousness, urged me towards other women? What have
+I wanted hitherto? What was it that I hoped when I stretched out my
+hands to them, when I looked upon their lives, when I searched their
+hearts, when at times I changed the very nature of their strivings? I
+did not know then; and even now I do not succeed in explaining to myself
+the fever that makes my thoughts tingle and burn. I do not understand, I
+do not know. How did that dream stand firm amid the total annihilation
+of unprofitable illusions? Is there then an element of reality, a
+definite truth that encourages me, though I do not discern it?</p>
+
+<p>I see myself going forward recklessly, like a traveller who knows that
+there is somewhere a goal and who makes for it blindly, with the same
+assurance as though the goal stood bright and luminous on a
+mountain-top.</p>
+
+<p>My only apology for these continual excursions<a class="pagenum" name="page_11" id="page_11" title="11"></a> is that I lay claim to
+no rigidity of purpose; and I should almost be ashamed to come with
+principles and axioms to those whom I am carrying away. Then why alter
+the course of their destiny? Why appeal to their sympathy and their
+confidence? What better lot have I to offer them and what can I hope for
+even if they respond? Certainly I wish them fairer and more perfect,
+freed from their childish dread of criticism, armed with a prouder and
+more personal conception of honour than the code which is laid upon
+them, respectful of their life and also encompassing it with infinite
+indulgence and kindness. But is not that a wild ideal? In my memory, I
+still see them smiling at it, those radiant faces which all my sermons
+could not cloud, or which, vainly striving to understand them, never
+reflected anything but their crudest and most extravagant features!</p>
+
+<p>The newcomer with the grave countenance, the new soul divined beneath a
+beauty that pleases me, will she at long last teach me how much is
+possible and realisable in the vague ideal to which I pay homage,
+without as yet being able to define it?</p>
+
+<p>I dare not hope.</p>
+
+<p>Hitherto, events have not justified me any more than my reason.<a class="pagenum" name="page_12" id="page_12" title="12"></a></p>
+
+<p>The swift walker goes alone upon his road; there is never any but his
+shadow to follow him.</p>
+
+<p>I know how conscious we are of our weakness when we try to bring our
+energies into action; and I know that my pride will suffer, for I have
+never seen my footprint on the sand without pitying myself....</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Those who are close to our soul have no need of our words to understand
+it; and those who are far removed from it do not hear us speak. Then for
+whom do we speak, alas?</p>
+
+<p>The blackbird's song describes precious waves in the still air; pearls
+are scattered over the blue sky.</p>
+
+<p>The lily's whiteness ascends like a fervent prayer; the bees make haste;
+the careless butterflies enjoy their little day. Near me, a tiny ant
+exhausts herself in a task too heavy for her strength. Lowly and
+excellent counsellors, does not each of them set me the example of her
+humble efforts?</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_13" id="page_13" title="13"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_186" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_186"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>It was yesterday. When I woke, the cornfield under my windows, which
+seemed a steadfast sea of gold, had already half disappeared. The
+scythes flashed in the sun; and the ripe corn fell in great unresisting
+masses.</p>
+
+<p>The smallest details of that meeting are present in my memory; and I do
+not weary of living every moment of it over again. The air was cool. I
+still feel the caress of my sleeves, which the wind set fluttering over
+my arms. I drank the breeze in great gulps. It filled me, it revived me
+from head to foot. My skirts hampered me and I went slowly, holding my
+hat in both hands before my face and vaguely guided by the little
+patches of landscape that showed through the loose straw: a glimpse of
+blue sky, of swaying tree-tops, smoking chimneys and a dim horizon.</p>
+
+<p>I have come to the far end of the field, where the reapers are. It is
+the hour of the first meal. The<a class="pagenum" name="page_14" id="page_14" title="14"></a> men have laid down their scythes, the
+girls have ceased to bind the sheaves and all are sitting on the slope
+beside the road.</p>
+
+<p>Curious, I go closer still. A young woman, whom the others call
+"mademoiselle," is kneeling a few steps away from me, in front of the
+provision-basket; she has her back turned to me and is distributing
+slices of bread and cream-cheese to the labourers; she hands the jug
+filled with cider to the one nearest her, who drinks and sends it round.
+For one second the movement of her arm passes between the sky and my
+gaze, which wavers a little owing to the brilliancy of the light; and
+that arm dewy with heat appears to me admirably moulded, with bold, pure
+lines.</p>
+
+<p>She is dressed like her companions, in a coarse linen skirt, whose
+uncouth folds disguise her hips, and a calico smock imprisoned in a
+black laced bodice, a sort of shapeless, barbarous cuirass. A
+broad-brimmed straw hat, adorned with a faded ribbon, casts its shadow
+on her shoulders; but, when she bends her head, I see the glint of her
+hair, whose tightly bound and twisted masses shine like coils of gold.</p>
+
+<p>The rather powerful neck is beautifully modelled. It is delicately
+hollowed at the nape, where a little<a class="pagenum" name="page_15" id="page_15" title="15"></a> silver chain accentuates the
+gentle curve. I can see almost nothing of her figure under the clumsy
+clothes, but its proportions appear to me accurate and fairly slender.</p>
+
+<p>I feel inclined to go away without a word; my fastidious eyes bring me
+misgivings. When the first taste is good, why risk a second? But one of
+the reapers has seen me. He bids me a friendly good-morning; and, before
+I have time to answer, she has turned round.</p>
+
+<p>It is so rare, in our country districts, to see a beautiful woman that,
+for an instant, I blame the charm of the hour and accuse the friendly
+light of complicity. But little by little her perfection overcomes my
+doubts; and, the more I watch her, the lovelier I think her. The almost
+statuesque slowness of her movements, the vigorous line of her body, the
+glad colours that adorn her mouth, her cheeks and her bare arms seem to
+make her share in the health of the soil. The fair human sheaf is bound
+to nature like the golden sheaves that surround it.</p>
+
+<p>Without stirring, we two stand looking at each other face to face.<a class="pagenum" name="page_16" id="page_16" title="16"></a></p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>O miracle of beauty, sovran of happiness and magnet of wandering eyes,
+that day it shone in the noon-day sun like a star on the forehead of
+that unhappy life; and it and it alone stayed my steps!</p>
+
+<p>But for it, should I have dreamt, in the presence of that humble girl,
+of one of those quests which appeal to the hearts of us women, hearts
+fed on eternal illusions? But for it, should I have suspected a
+sorrowing soul in the depths of those limpid eyes? And, at this moment,
+should I be asking of my weakness the strength that constrains, of my
+doubts the faith that saves, of my pity the tenderness that consoles and
+heals?</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>I had moved to go, happy without knowing why; I hastened my steps. With
+my soul heavier and my feet lighter than before, I walked away, glorying
+in my meeting as in a victory over chance, over the thousand trifles,
+the thousand blind agencies that incessantly keep us from what we seek
+and from what unconsciously seeks us.</p>
+
+<p>I could have laughed for joy; and it would have<a class="pagenum" name="page_17" id="page_17" title="17"></a> been sweet to me, when
+I passed into the garden, to proclaim my glee aloud. But the peace of
+things laid silence upon me. I slowly followed the paths, bordered with
+marigolds and balsam, that lead to the house; and, when I passed under
+the blinds, which a friend's hand had gently drawn for me, I heard my
+everyday voice describing my discovery and my delight in sober tones.</p>
+
+<p>And yet the moment of exaltation still charged my life; it seemed to me
+clearer and deeper; and I thought that enthusiasm is in us like a
+too-full cup, which overflows at the least movement of the soul.</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>I made enquiries that same evening; and all that I learnt encourages me.</p>
+
+<p>She lives at the end of our village of Sainte-Colombe. She was brought
+up at the convent in the town hard by and left it at the age of
+eighteen. Since then, she has not been happy. On Sunday she is never
+with the merrymaking crowd. She has never been seen at church. She
+neither prays nor dances.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_18" id="page_18" title="18"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_301" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_301"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>I took the road leading to the farm at which she lives. The yard is a
+large one, the trees that hem it in are old and planted close together.
+One can hardly see the straggling, thatched buildings from the road; and
+I walked round the place without being able to satisfy my curiosity. She
+lives there, I was told, with an old woman, her godmother, about whom
+the people of the countryside tell stories of murder and debauchery. I
+have seen her sometimes. She gives a disagreeable impression. She is a
+tall, lean woman, with wisps of white hair straggling about her face.
+Her waving arms and twitching hands carry a perpetual vague menace. The
+black, deep-set eyes gleam evilly in her ivory face; and her hard thin
+mouth, which opens straight across it, often hums coarse ditties in a
+cracked voice.</p>
+
+<p>Her curious attire completes the disorder of her appearance. Over her
+rough peasant's clothes, some article of cast-off apparel cuts a strange
+and lamentable<a class="pagenum" name="page_19" id="page_19" title="19"></a> figure: a muslin morning-wrap, once white and covered
+with filmy lace; long, faded ribbons, which fasten a showy Watteau pleat
+to the back, with ravelled ends spreading over the thick red-cotton
+skirt; old pink-satin slippers, with pointed heels that sink into the
+mud. In point of fact, I could say the exact number of times when I have
+seen her and why I noticed her, for the sight of her always hurt me
+cruelly when I met her in the sweet stillness of the country lanes.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time, I wandered round the farm. I was moving away, picking
+flowers as I went, when suddenly, at a bend in the road, I saw the girl
+who filled my thoughts. She was sitting on a heap of stones; and two
+large pails of milk stood beside her. Her attitude betokened great
+weariness; and her drooping arms seemed to enjoy the rest.</p>
+
+<p>I lingered a little while in front of her. Her face appeared to me
+lovelier than on the first occasion, though her uncovered head allowed
+me to see her magnificent hair plastered down so as to leave it no
+freedom whatever. She answered my smile with a blush; and, when I looked
+at her thick and awkward hands, she clasped and unclasped them with an
+embarrassed air.<a class="pagenum" name="page_20" id="page_20" title="20"></a></p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Just now, at the wane of the day, I was singing in the drawing-room,
+with the windows open. I caught sight in the mirror of the sky ablaze
+with red and rose quickly from the piano to see the sun dip into the
+sea.... Near the garden, behind the hedge, I surprised the young girl
+trying to hide....</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>I had never seen her; but now, because I saw her one day, I am always
+seeing her.</p>
+
+<p>Do we then behold only what we seek? It is a sad thought. We shall be
+called upon to die before we have seen everything, understood
+everything, loved and embraced everything. Our skirts will have brushed
+against joys which we shall not have felt; our streaming tresses will
+have passed through perfumes which we shall not have breathed; our mouth
+will have kissed flowers which our hands have not known how to pick; and
+very often our eyes will have seen without acquainting our intelligence.
+We shall not have been observant continually.</p>
+
+<p>It is a pity that things possess no other life than<a class="pagenum" name="page_21" id="page_21" title="21"></a> that which we
+bestow upon them. I dislike to find that, for me, everything is subject
+to my observation and my knowledge. The first is great indeed, but the
+second is so small!...</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>A few years ago, the parish priest was on his way to the church at four
+o'clock one morning, to celebrate the harvest mass, when he saw a
+strange thing floating on the surface of the pool that washes the steps
+of the wayside crucifix. As he approached, he perceived that it was a
+woman's long hair. A moment later, they drew the body of a young and
+beautiful girl to the bank. With nothing on her but her night-dress, she
+seemed to have run straight from her bed to the pond. The gossips of the
+neighbourhood will never cease chattering over this incident and the
+shock which it gave the priest; and, though there is no other pond in
+the village, the poor girl will be everlastingly reproached with
+choosing "God's Pool" for her attempt at suicide.</p>
+
+<p>Is it not enough for me to know that she is out of place amid her coarse
+surroundings and that she is not happy there?<a class="pagenum" name="page_22" id="page_22" title="22"></a></p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>I have been expecting her for a week. I am wishing with all my might
+that she may come; I am drawing her with my eyes, with my smile, with my
+manner and with my will. But I say nothing to her. She must be able to
+take to herself all the credit of this first act of independence.
+Moreover, it will give me the evidence which I require of some sympathy
+between us.</p>
+
+<p>Outwardly, I am following a strict principle. Really, I am yielding to a
+fear: am I not about to perform a dangerous and rather mad action, in
+once more taking upon myself the responsibility of another's life?</p>
+
+<p>We are not always unaware of the follies which we are about to commit;
+but it is natural that the immediate joys should eclipse the probable
+misfortunes and help us to go boldly forward.</p>
+
+<p>Besides, the inquisitive know no weariness. They go with outstretched
+hand to the assistance of events, heedless of increasing the chances of
+suffering, because they always find, in return, something to occupy
+their restlessness. Let us not blame them. In contemplating the good or
+evil outcome of an action,<a class="pagenum" name="page_23" id="page_23" title="23"></a> we behold but its main lines; we do not see
+the thousand little broken strokes that go to compose it. They make the
+total of our days; and they have to be lived.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_24" id="page_24" title="24"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IVspan_422" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IVspan_422"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>A broad avenue of beeches stretches in front of our garden; and at the
+far end is the open country. Here we have placed a seat which looks out
+over space. Nothing but fields and fields, as far as the eye can reach;
+nothing but land and sky. We love the security of this elemental
+landscape, where the alternations of light succeed one another
+inexorably. The noontides are fierce and dazzling. The soft, opalescent
+mornings are fragrant with love and pleasure. But, most of all, the
+sunsets attract us by their unwearied variety, sometimes sober and
+tender, ever fainter and more ethereal, sometimes blood-red, monstrous
+and barbaric.</p>
+
+<p>The one which I watched to-day was pale and grey; and the obedient earth
+humbly espoused its gentle tones. With my hands clasped in my lap, it
+seemed to me that I was drinking in the peace that filled my heart; and
+my eyes, which unconsciously<a class="pagenum" name="page_25" id="page_25" title="25"></a> fastened on my hands, held for a moment my
+whole life enclosed there.</p>
+
+<p>Then I heard indistinctly steps approaching me. A woman sat down on the
+bench. The corner of her apron had brushed against my knees; I raised my
+head and saw the young girl sitting by my side.</p>
+
+<p>She said, simply:</p>
+
+<p>"Here I am."</p>
+
+<p>And at this short speech my mind is in a tumult; thoughts rush wildly
+through my brain without my being able to follow one of them. I press
+her hands, I look at her, I laugh, while little cries of delight burst
+from my lips:</p>
+
+<p>"You are here at last! I was expecting you! Do you know that you are
+very pretty ... and that you look sweet and kind?... Make haste and tell
+me all about yourself...."</p>
+
+<p>But she does not answer. She stares at me with wide-open eyes; and my
+impulsive phrases strike with such force against her stupefaction that
+each one of them seems by degrees to fall back upon myself. I in my turn
+am left utterly dumfounded; she is so ill at ease that I myself become
+nervous; her astonishment embarrasses me; I secretly laugh at my own
+discomfiture; and I end by asking, feebly:<a class="pagenum" name="page_26" id="page_26" title="26"></a></p>
+
+<p>"What's your name?"</p>
+
+<p>"Rose."</p>
+
+<p>"Rose ... Roseline.... My name is...."</p>
+
+<p>And I burst out laughing. We were really talking like two children
+trying to make friends. I threw my arm round her waist and put my lips
+to her cheek. I loved its milky perfume. My kiss left a little white
+mark which the blood soon flushed again.</p>
+
+<p>She told me that she had seen me from a distance and that she had come
+running up without stopping. I was careful not to ask her what she
+wanted to tell me, for I knew that she had obeyed my wishes rather than
+her own; and I led her towards the house:</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, my dear Rose.... I know that you are unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>She stops, gives me a quick look and then turns red and lowers her eyes.
+Thereupon, so as not to startle her, I ask her about her work and about
+the farm.</p>
+
+<p>Rose answers shily, in short sentences, and we walk about in the garden.
+From time to time, she stops to pull up a weed; methodically, she breaks
+off the flowers hanging faded from their stalks; occasionally, she makes
+a reference, full of sound sense, to the care required by plants and
+vegetables. But my<a class="pagenum" name="page_27" id="page_27" title="27"></a> will passes like an obliterating line over all that
+we say, over all that we do; and, while Rose anxiously tries to fill the
+silence, I lie in wait, ready for a word, a sigh, a look that will
+enable me to go straight to the heart of that soul, which I am eager to
+grasp even as we take in our hand a mysterious object of which we are
+trying to discover the secret.</p>
+
+<p>Alas, the darkness between us is too dense and there is only the light
+of her beautiful eyes, those sad, submissive eyes, to guide my pity! Our
+conversation is somewhat laboured; the girl evades any direct question;
+and any opinion which I venture to form can be only of the vaguest.</p>
+
+<p>She seems to me to be lacking in spirit, of a nervous and despondent
+temperament, but not unintelligent. I know nothing of her mental powers.
+We sometimes see an active intelligence directing very inferior
+abilities, just as our good friend the dog is an excellent shepherd to
+his silly, docile flock. In her, the most ordinary ideas are so
+logically dovetailed that one is tempted to accept them even when one
+hesitates to approve them. Her mind must be free from baseness, for
+throughout our conversation she made no effort to please me. Would it
+not have<a class="pagenum" name="page_28" id="page_28" title="28"></a> needed a very quick discernment, a very uncommon shrewdness to
+know so soon that she would please me better like that?</p>
+
+<p>That was what I said to myself by way of encouragement, so great was my
+haste to pour into her ears those instinctive words of hope and
+independence which it was natural to utter. And, let them be premature
+or tardy, barren or fruitful, I could not refrain from speaking them....</p>
+
+<p>But suddenly she released herself: it was already past the time for
+milking the cows; they must be waiting for her. Nevertheless, she gave a
+shrug of the shoulders which implied that she cared little whether she
+was late or not; and, with a "Good-bye till to-morrow!" she went off
+heavily, making the ground ring with the steady tramp of her wooden
+shoes.</p>
+
+<p>For an instant I stood motionless in the orchard. Her shrill voice still
+sounded in my ears; and the constraint of her attitude oppressed me. The
+road by which she had just gone was now hardly visible. A fog rose from
+the sea and gradually blotted out everything. The plains, the hills, the
+cottages vanished one by one; and already, around me, veils of<a class="pagenum" name="page_29" id="page_29" title="29"></a> mist
+clung to the branches of the apple-trees. At regular intervals, the boom
+of the fog-horn startled the silence.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Those who pass through our life and who will simply play a part there
+take shape in successive images. The first, a fair but illusive picture,
+fades away as another sadly obtrudes itself; and another, paler yet,
+comes in its turn; and thus they all vanish, becoming less and less
+distinct until the end, until the day when a last, vague outline is
+fixed in our memory.</p>
+
+<p>How different is the process in the case of those who are to remain in
+our existence and blend with it for all time! It is then as though the
+living reality at the very outset shattered the image formed by our
+admiration and triumphantly took its place. In point of fact, it
+vivifies it and, later, heightens it, colours it, ever enriching it with
+all the benefits which the daily round brings to healthy minds. Those
+beings will always remain with us, whatever happens; they will be more
+present in their absence than things which are actually present; and the
+taste,<a class="pagenum" name="page_30" id="page_30" title="30"></a> the colour, the very life itself of our life will never reach us
+except through them.</p>
+
+<p>I thought of all this vaguely. There were two women before me: one,
+coarse and awkward, was obliterating the other, so beautiful amid the
+ripe corn. Alas, should I ever see that other again? Was she not one of
+those images which fade out of our remembrance, becoming ever paler and
+more shadowy?</p>
+
+<p>I felt a little discouraged. But perhaps the sadness of the hour was
+influencing me? My feminine nerves must be affected by this damp, warm
+mist. I went back to the house, doing my utmost simply to think that I
+was about to undertake a "rather difficult" task.</p>
+
+<p>Under the lamp, which the outside pall had caused to be lit earlier than
+usual, and in the brightness of the red-and-white dining-room, decked
+with gorgeous flowers, I discovered another side to my interview. While
+I was describing it laughingly, my disappointment had seemed natural;
+and, my eagerness being now reinforced by pity, a new fervour inspired
+my curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>In sensitive and therefore anxious natures, the very excess of the
+sensation makes the impression<a class="pagenum" name="page_31" id="page_31" title="31"></a> received subject to violent reaction. It
+goes up and down, down and up; and not until it slackens a little can
+reason intervene and bring it to its normal level.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_32" id="page_32" title="32"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Vspan_588" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Vspan_588"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>I have before me one of those little exercise-books whose covers are gay
+with pictures of soldiers or rural scenes. It is Rose's diary. I
+received it this morning, I have read it and it has left me both pleased
+and touched.</p>
+
+<p>It is a very simple and rather commonplace narrative, but one which, in
+my eyes, has the outstanding merit of sincerity. To me it represents the
+story of a real living creature, of a woman whom I saw yesterday, whom I
+shall see to-morrow and whose suffering is but a step removed from my
+happiness. The smallest details of that story have a familiar voice and
+aspect....</p>
+
+<p>Poor girl! Would not one think that an evil genius had taken pleasure in
+playing with her destiny, like a child playing at ball? She was born of
+poor parents. Her father, a carpenter, was a drunkard and frequently out
+of work. He would often come home at night intoxicated, when he would
+beat<a class="pagenum" name="page_33" id="page_33" title="33"></a> his wife and threaten to kill her. Coarse scenes, visions of
+murder, screams, oaths and suppressed weeping were the first images and
+the first sounds that stamped themselves on Rose's memory. One's heart
+bleeds to think of those child-souls which open in the same hour to the
+light of day and to horror, gaining their knowledge of life whilst
+trembling lest they should lose it. We see them caught in a hurricane of
+madness, like little leaves whirling in the storm; and to the end of
+their days they will shudder at the thought of it.</p>
+
+<p>She was left an orphan at the age of six. A neighbour offered to take
+her, a wealthy and devout old man, who sent her to the Nuns of the
+Visitation at the neighbouring town.</p>
+
+<p>Of those quiet, uneventful years in the convent there is nothing in
+particular to record. The child is perfectly happy, nor could she be
+otherwise, for she is naturally reasonable and she is in no danger of
+forgetting how kind fate has been to her. She pictures what she might
+have been, she sees what she is; and her soul is full of gladness.</p>
+
+<p>In January 18&mdash;, Rose is seventeen. She is to pass her examinations the
+following summer. Her diary here gives evidence of a steadfast and
+wholehearted<a class="pagenum" name="page_34" id="page_34" title="34"></a> optimism; she views the future with joyous eyes, or rather
+she does not see it at all, which is the surest way of smiling at it
+cheerfully. Her eyes are still the eyes of a child, to whom the
+convent-garden is a world and the present hour an eternity.</p>
+
+<p>Unfortunately, she had a rude awakening to life. The old man who had
+adopted her died after a few days' illness, without having time to make
+arrangements for her future. The good sisters at once wrote to her
+grandmother; and, the next day, Rose was packed off to Sainte-Colombe
+with a parcel of indulgences, a few sacred medals and a scapular round
+her neck. What more can a young life want to stay its uncertain steps?</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>From that moment, I see her delicate profile stand out against a
+background of pain and sorrow, like a lovely cameo whose dainty
+workmanship has been obliterated by the hand of time. Moral suffering
+can refine and accentuate the character of a beautiful face, is indeed
+nearly always kind to it. But here the mental distress was only the
+feeble reflection of a crushing and deadening material torture. In the<a class="pagenum" name="page_35" id="page_35" title="35"></a>
+evenings, when the hour of rest came at last, Rose, exhausted, accepted
+it dully; her whole body called for oblivion; her heavy eyelids drooped;
+and her submerged wretchedness had no time for tears.</p>
+
+<p>How could the poor girl make any resistance? Her environment was too
+hostile, her disposition too gentle and the task laid upon her too
+oppressive.</p>
+
+<p>The very look of her diary, during those Sainte-Colombe days, tells us
+her story far better than the words which it contains. The first few
+pages are filled with wild and incoherent sentences. There are passages
+that can scarcely be deciphered and others blotted with tears. Her
+suffering is not sufficiently well-expressed for it to be understood and
+more or less identified, but it can be felt and divined: it is a
+landscape of pain, it is the sight of an inner life which has received a
+grievous wound and whose blood is gushing forth in torrents.</p>
+
+<p>And then hope is exhausted drop by drop; and with it go anger and
+resistance. Everything goes under, grows still and silent. For months,
+Rose hardly touches her diary: here and there, scattered on pages
+bearing no date, are occasional melancholy reflections, the last
+flickers of an expiring consciousness....<a class="pagenum" name="page_36" id="page_36" title="36"></a></p>
+
+<p>It is then, no doubt, that one day she flies to death for deliverance.
+She is saved, but for a long time remains ill and weak. When she
+recovers her health, her spirit is finally broken. In silence and gloom,
+she drowns all feeling in work too heavy for her strength.</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>In the district they blame this young girl who, after receiving a good
+education, has acquiesced in this miserable existence. And yet I find a
+thousand reasons which explain her conduct and cannot find one for
+condemning it. Rose's soul is still in the chrysalis-stage. Ignorant of
+her own strength and qualities, how could she make use of them?</p>
+
+<p>Is not this the case with most young girls? If our moral transformations
+could bring about physical changes, if a woman, like a butterfly, had to
+pass through different phases before attaining her perfect state, we
+should almost always see her stop at the first and die without even
+approaching the second.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult enough for us merely to conceive that there are other
+roads to follow than that laid down<a class="pagenum" name="page_37" id="page_37" title="37"></a> for us by chance or by parents too
+often shortsighted; and when we make the discovery, our first dreams of
+liberty appear so momentous and so dangerous! Is it not just then that
+we need time to venture upon the most lawful actions, seeing that we
+have no sense of their real proportion?</p>
+
+<p>It is as though a wall separated the life that is forced upon us from
+the life which we do not know. Little by little, slowly, by instinct as
+much as by volition, we withdraw from the wall and it seems to become
+lower. The sky above us becomes vaster, the horizon is disclosed before
+our eyes and we at last distinguish what is happening on the other side.
+Ah, what sight would compare with that, if it broke suddenly upon our
+vision, if we could view life as we view the spreading country beneath
+us, when we stand on the summit of a tower! All our senses, being
+equally affected, would impart to our will a motive force which is, on
+the contrary, dissipated by the tardiness of our feeble comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, an age comes when our vision is clear and true; but often it is too
+late to find a way out of the circle in which we are imprisoned. That is
+the secret tragedy of many women's lives.</p>
+
+<p>What would one not give to tell them, those women<a class="pagenum" name="page_38" id="page_38" title="38"></a> who tremble and weep,
+to lift their minds high enough to see beyond their wretchedness! Let
+them develop and strengthen themselves while still under the yoke, in
+order to throw it off one day like a gossamer garment which one casts
+aside without giving it a thought!...</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_39" id="page_39" title="39"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIspan_729" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIspan_729"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>I am happy. Wonderful flowers lie at my feet, flowers which have been
+plucked and flung aside: I will pick them all up again, all of them! I
+will gather them in my arms and steep myself in their scent! One by one,
+I will tend them till they lift their heads again, I will blend them
+cunningly; and, when I have bound the fair sheaf, fate may do its worst!</p>
+
+<p>It is no longer a question of the sanity or insanity of my experiment,
+or my wisdom or unwisdom. There is a just action to be accomplished;
+and, this time, circumstances favour my plans. In her distress, in her
+horror of her present life, all the possibilities of deliverance might
+have offered themselves to the girl: she would not have seen them, she
+would even have fled from them instinctively, timid as an animal too
+long confined. To save her, therefore, chance must take to itself a
+substance and a name. Can I not be that chance?</p>
+
+<p>She suffers; I will give her joy. She is tormented;<a class="pagenum" name="page_40" id="page_40" title="40"></a> I will give her
+peace again. She knows not liberty; through me she will know its
+rapture. Once already she has been snatched from death, but, on that
+day, while they were carrying Rose to the presbytery, her long, golden
+tresses wept along the wayside. But I will carry her where she pleases.
+She shall be free and happy; and her hair shall laugh around her face.
+It shall help me to light her destiny, for beauty is a beacon for
+benighted hearts. Many will try to steer their course towards my
+Roseline. It will be easy for her to choose her happiness.</p>
+
+<p>True, I am aware how perilous and uncertain is my experiment. Will it be
+possible to efface the evil impress left on that mind and body? How much
+of her early grace, her early vigour shall we find? What will have
+become of all the forces that, at seventeen, should still be frail as
+promises, tender as the little green shoots of a first spring-day?</p>
+
+<p>But no matter? The impulse is irresistible and nothing can stay me now.
+Have no misgivings, Rose: hand in hand we will go through peril and
+suspense. Embrace the hope which I offer you: I will bring it to pass.
+Let nothing astonish you: all that is happening between us to-day is
+natural. You will go hence because it is right that you should go; and<a class="pagenum" name="page_41" id="page_41" title="41"></a>
+you will go of your own free will. It is not so much my heart which will
+bring you comfort; it is rather your heart which will open. I shall find
+in you all the good that you will receive from me.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>I send for the girl without further delay. A fortnight has elapsed since
+we first talked together; and I am anxious to know the result.</p>
+
+<p>I look at her. A different woman is before my eyes. Is it a mistake? Is
+it an illusion? No, it is all quite simple; and my words had no need to
+be forcible or brilliant. The word that shows a glimpse of hope to the
+sufferer has its own power.</p>
+
+<p>She says nothing and I dare not question her. The wisdom that has made
+her understand how serious the effect of my plans may be must also make
+her fear their possible flippancy.</p>
+
+<p>I have brought her into the dining-room. Sitting at the window, with her
+hands folded in her lap and her head bowed, she remains there without
+moving, heedless of the sun that is scorching her neck. Her wide-eyed
+gaze wanders over things which it does not take in; her lips,
+half-parted in a smile, betray the<a class="pagenum" name="page_42" id="page_42" title="42"></a> indecision of her soul. At last,
+blushing all over her face, she stammers out:</p>
+
+<p>"I am frightened. You have awakened my longings, my dreams. I am
+frightened. I would rather be as I was before I knew you, when I only
+wanted to die. When your message was brought to the farm, I swore that I
+would not come; and yet ... here I am!"</p>
+
+<p>I put my arm round her neck:</p>
+
+<p>"It's too late," I whispered, kissing her. "To discuss the idea of
+rebellion means to give way to it. Resist no longer, Roseline; let
+yourself go."</p>
+
+<p>Her incredulous eyes remained fixed on mine; and she said, slowly:</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thing that puzzles me. How am I to express it? I should
+like to know why you take so much interest in me: I am neither a friend
+nor a relation." And she added, with a knowing air, "You see, what you
+are doing doesn't seem quite natural!"</p>
+
+<p>My heart shrank. So this peasant, this rough, simple girl knew the laws
+of the world! She knew that, even in the manner of doing good, there are
+customs to be followed, "conventions to be observed!" Ah, poor Rose,
+though your instinctive reason is like a broad white fabric which
+circumstances<a class="pagenum" name="page_43" id="page_43" title="43"></a> have not yet soiled, your character already has ugly
+streaks in it; the voice of the multitude spoke through your lovely
+mouth and, for a brief second, it became disfigured in my eyes! Alas, if
+I wore a queer head-dress and a veil down my back and a chaplet hanging
+by my side and said to you, "My child, I wish to save your soul," would
+you not think my insistence quite simple and natural?</p>
+
+<p>Taking her poor, deformed hands in mine, I knelt down beside her:</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, the happiness which I find in helping you is a sufficient motive
+for me; and I will offer you no others.... I give you my confidence
+blindly, for one can do nothing without faith. I give you my confidence
+and I ask for yours. Will you vouchsafe it me?"</p>
+
+<p>The sun is streaming upon us; our faces are close together; my smile
+calls for hers; my eyes gaze into hers; and I repeat my prayer.</p>
+
+<p>Then she whispers, shily:</p>
+
+<p>"You see ... I have been deceived once; perhaps you don't know...."</p>
+
+<p>I interrupted her:</p>
+
+<p>"I know that we must have been deceived twenty times before we learn to
+give our confidence blindly,<a class="pagenum" name="page_44" id="page_44" title="44"></a> like a little child!... I know that we
+must have been perpetually deceived before we understand that nothing
+proves anything; that everything is unforeseen, inconsistent, and
+unexpected; and that we must just simply 'believe,' because it is good
+to believe and because it is sweet to offer to others what we ourselves
+are unhappy enough to lack."</p>
+
+<p>She went on:</p>
+
+<p>"But what do you want me to do?"</p>
+
+<p>"I want you to go away from here."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because you are wretched here."</p>
+
+<p>"Has any one said so?"</p>
+
+<p>"What does it matter what any one has said? I have only to look at you
+to see that you are not happy. Oh, please don't regard this as an act of
+charity, I would not even dare to talk about kindness! The interest that
+impels me is one which you do not yet know; it looks to none for
+recompense; it is its own reward. It is the mere joy, the mere delight
+of knowledge.... Do you understand?"</p>
+
+<p>She shook her head; and I began to laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"I suppose I really am a little obscure!... But why do you force me to
+explain myself now? You learn to understand me by degrees.... I am<a class="pagenum" name="page_45" id="page_45" title="45"></a>
+leading you towards a goal of which I am almost as ignorant as you are;
+I am only the guide waving a hand towards the roads which he himself has
+taken and never knowing what the traveller will see or feel in the
+depths of his being."</p>
+
+<p>She was going to speak, but I placed my hand on her lips:</p>
+
+<p>"Hush! I ask nothing more of you. I shall know how to win your
+confidence."</p>
+
+<p>I feel that she is silenced but not convinced. Hers is not a character
+to be thus persuaded: she will wait for deeds before judging the
+sincerity of words. I feel clearly that she is searching and judging me,
+while I myself am engaged in discovering her; and I shall have some
+curiosity in bending over the untroubled waters of that soul in order to
+see my image there, as soon as there is sufficient light to reflect my
+image.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_46" id="page_46" title="46"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIspan_897" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIspan_897"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Rose is already almost happy. Hope is penetrating her life; and the
+moments of rest filter into her days of wearisome toil like the cool
+water trickling through the rocks.</p>
+
+<p>As soon as she can get away on any excuse, she runs across to me.
+Flushed and laughing, she hurls herself into my arms with all the
+violence of a catastrophe; she crushes my cheek with a vehement kiss
+which waits for no response; and my hair catches in the rough hands
+squeezing my head. Smiling, I cannot help warding off the attack, while
+she pours out a torrent of incoherent words at the top of her voice....</p>
+
+<p>During our early talks, I tried speaking very quietly, as a hint that
+she should do the same. She would shake the house with the thunder of
+her most intimate confidences, bellowed after the fashion of the
+peasants, who are accustomed to keep up a conversation from one end of a
+field to the other. As I<a class="pagenum" name="page_47" id="page_47" title="47"></a> obtained no result, I had to speak to her
+about it; and, because I did so as delicately as possible, in order not
+to wound her feelings, she burst into a roar of laughter which showed me
+that her rustic life had robbed her of all sensitiveness.</p>
+
+<p>Being now authorised to admonish her at all times with regard to her
+gestures, her voice and her accent, I often make her repeat the same
+sentence; and, when I at last hear her natural voice, her original sweet
+and attractive voice, to which the music is beginning to return, shily
+and timidly, my heart overflows with joy. But, two minutes after, she is
+again bawling out her most trivial remarks, with a cheerful unconcern
+that disarms my wrath. Then I plead for silence as I would for mercy,
+draw her down upon my lap, take her head in my arms and nurse her as I
+would a child.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>The stillness is so intense in the grove where we are sitting side by
+side, I am so anxious for her to feel it, that I become impatient and
+irritable. When I am with her, I am in a perpetual ferment. Her beauty
+and her coarseness hurt me, like two ill-matched<a class="pagenum" name="page_48" id="page_48" title="48"></a> colours that attract
+and wound the eyes. I calm myself by scattering all my thoughts over her
+promiscuously; and, though most of them are carried away by the wind, I
+imagine that I am sprinkling them on her life to make it blossom anew.</p>
+
+<p>"I am nursing you in my arms to wake you, my Roseline, just as one
+nurses children to put them to sleep. See what poor creatures we are! As
+a rule, it is the conventions and constraint of our upbringing, with all
+its artificiality and falsehood, that divide us. To-day, it is the
+opposite that rises between you and me and spoils our happiness! I have
+often longed to meet a woman who was so simple as to be almost
+uncivilised; and, now that you are here, I dread your gestures and your
+voice, which grate upon me and annoy me!"</p>
+
+<p>"But am I not simple?" Rose asks, ingenuously.</p>
+
+<p>"People generally confuse simplicity with ignorance, too often also with
+silliness&mdash;which is not the case with you," I added, with a smile.
+"Real, that is to say, conscious simplicity is not even recognised; and,
+when it becomes active, it appears to vulgar minds a danger that must be
+averted. The better to attack it, they disfigure it. It is this proud
+and noble grace that I want you to acquire. Look, it<a class="pagenum" name="page_49" id="page_49" title="49"></a> may be compared
+with this diamond which I wear on my finger. The stone is absolutely
+simple; and yet through how many hands has it passed before becoming so!
+How many transformations has it undergone! How magnificent is its bare
+simplicity when set off by the plain gold ring! It is the same with us.
+For simplicity to be beautiful in us, we must have cut and polished our
+soul and person many times over. Above all, we must have learnt the
+harmony of things and become fixed in that knowledge, like the stone
+which you see held in these gold claws."</p>
+
+<p>She asked, with an effort to modulate her voice:</p>
+
+<p>"Oughtn't I to take you for my model?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, Rose! You frighten me when you say that! You must not think of it.
+Listen to me: if ever we are permitted to imitate any one, it is only in
+the pains which she herself takes to improve herself. As for me, I
+wanted to achieve simplicity and I looked for it as one looks for a spot
+that is difficult to reach and easy to miss. For a long time, I wandered
+beyond it. Rather than stoop to false customs, to lying conventions, I
+followed the strangest fancies.... Now it all makes me laugh."</p>
+
+<p>"Makes you laugh?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, past errors are dead branches that make<a class="pagenum" name="page_50" id="page_50" title="50"></a> our present life burn
+more brightly. But, when I see how I judge my former selves, I become
+suspicious as to what I may soon think of my actual self; and therefore
+I do not wish you to take me as an example."</p>
+
+<p>Rose was still lying in my arms; and her beautiful eyes were looking up
+at me. I raised her head in my hands and whispered, tenderly:</p>
+
+<p>"I feel that you understand me, that my words touch you, that you trust
+me and that you love me deep down in your heart; I feel that you also
+will soon be able to speak and unburden yourself freely, to be silent
+amid silence and peaceful amid the peace of things...."</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>The girl rose to her feet, with a glint of emotion animating her
+features; and, as though to escape my eyes, she took a few steps in the
+garden. While she was hidden by the bend of the narrow path fenced by
+the tall sunflowers, my heart was filled with misgiving: her step was so
+heavy, so clumsy! Would she ever be able to improve her walk? Judging by
+the ponderous rhythm of her hips, one would always<a class="pagenum" name="page_51" id="page_51" title="51"></a> think that she was
+carrying invisible burdens at the end of each of her drooping arms....</p>
+
+<p>But she soon returned; and her fair countenance was so adorable amid the
+golden glory of the great flowers that I could not suppress a cry of
+admiration. She came towards me smiling; and, to protect herself a
+little from the blinding sunlight, she was holding both hands over her
+head. Was it simply the curve of her raised arms that thus transfigured
+her whole bearing, that reduced the unwieldiness of her figure and made
+its lines freer? It was, no doubt; but it was also the soft breeze which
+now blew against her and accentuated the movement of her limbs by
+plastering her thin cotton skirt against them. And the heavy gait now
+seemed stately; and the excessive stride appeared virile and bold. I
+watched the humble worker in the fields, the poor farm-girl; and I
+thought of the proud <i>Victory</i> whom my mind pictured enfolding all the
+beauties of the Louvre in her mighty wings!</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_52" id="page_52" title="52"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIIspan_1028" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIIspan_1028"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>We were lying in the long grass, looking up at the sky through the
+branches of the apple-trees and watching the clouds drift past.</p>
+
+<p>The light was fading slowly, the leaves became dim, the birds stopped
+singing.</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, I do nothing but think of you. Who are you? What will become of
+you? I should like to anticipate everything, so as to save you every
+pain. Had you been happy and well-cared-for, I would have wished you
+trouble and grief. But, strengthened as you now are by many trials, you
+will be able to find in sorrows avoided and only seen in the distance
+all the good which we usually draw from them by draining them to the
+dregs."</p>
+
+<p>"I am not afraid, I expect to be unhappy."</p>
+
+<p>"I hope that you will not be unhappy. The change will be quite simple if
+it is wisely brought about; you will drop out of your present life like
+a ripe fruit dropping from its stalk."<a class="pagenum" name="page_53" id="page_53" title="53"></a></p>
+
+<p>"How shall I prepare myself?"</p>
+
+<p>"So far, your chief merit has been patience. But now rouse yourself,
+look around you, judge, find out your good and bad qualities."</p>
+
+<p>Rose interrupted me:</p>
+
+<p>"My good qualities! Have I any?"</p>
+
+<p>"Indeed you have: plenty of common sense, a great power of resistance,
+shrewdness. By means of these, you have been able to subdue the tyranny
+of others: can you not escape from that of your failings? Your life has
+adapted itself to an evil and stupid environment; it must now adapt
+itself to the environment of your own self."</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>From the neighbouring farms came the plaintive, monotonous cry calling
+the cattle home. The drowsy sky became one universal grey, while the
+night dews covered the earth with a faint haze.</p>
+
+<p>"I am surprised that, when you were so unhappy, solitude did not appear
+to you in the light of a beautiful dream."</p>
+
+<p>Rose's timid and astonished voice echoed my last words:<a class="pagenum" name="page_54" id="page_54" title="54"></a></p>
+
+<p>"A beautiful dream! Then do you like solitude?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rose, I owe it the greatest, the only joys of my childhood! It was
+to gain solitude that, later, I set myself to win my independence,
+knowing that, if I did not meet with the love I wished, I should yet be
+happier alone than among others."</p>
+
+<p>"But, still, you do not live alone!"</p>
+
+<p>I remained silent for a moment, stirred by that question which filled my
+mind with the thought of my own happiness; and then I said in a whisper,
+as though speaking to myself:</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, my present life is the most exquisite form of independence and
+solitude."</p>
+
+<p>And I went on:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, Rose, to know how to be alone! That is the finest conquest that a
+woman can make! You cannot imagine my rapture when I first found myself
+in a home of my own, surrounded by all the things purchased by my work.
+When I came in at the end of the day, my heart used to throb with
+gladness. No pleasure has ever seemed to equal that blessed harmony
+which reigned and reigns in my soul or that assured peace which no one
+can take from me, because it depends only on my mood."<a class="pagenum" name="page_55" id="page_55" title="55"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Teach me that joy."</p>
+
+<p>"It is only a brighter light of our own consciousness, a more detached
+and loftier contemplation of what affects us, a truer way of seeing and
+understanding...."</p>
+
+<p>The girl murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"Shall I ever have it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Later, when you have gone away."</p>
+
+<p>And, in response to her anxious sigh, I went on, confidently:</p>
+
+<p>"And you will go away when you want to go as badly as I did, when your
+object is not so much to escape unhappiness as to secure happiness; for,
+when you become what I hope to see you, you will look at things so
+differently! You will pity those about you, you will not judge them. The
+irksome duties laid upon you will not be a burden to you. You will
+understand the beauty of the country for the first time; and the thought
+of leaving it will reveal its sweetness to you. But, on the other hand,
+fortunately, new reasons for going will appeal to your conscience:
+first, your just pride in what you are and what you may become; the
+sense of your independence; and the vision of a wider and nobler
+existence. And, in this way, you will go not to<a class="pagenum" name="page_56" id="page_56" title="56"></a> escape annoyance or to
+please me, but as a duty towards yourself."</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>It was the silent hour when nature seems to be awaiting the darkness.
+Not a breath, not a sound, while the colours of the day vanish one by
+one before the life of the evening has yet begun to throb.</p>
+
+<p>I turned to my companion. With a great labourer's knife in her hand, she
+was solemnly whittling a piece of wood. She answered my enquiring
+glance:</p>
+
+<p>"It is to fasten to Blossom's horns; she's getting into bad ways...."</p>
+
+<p>And, quickly, fearing lest she had hurt me, she added:</p>
+
+<p>"I was listening, you know!"</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>Standing in the porch, we breathe the scent of the rose-trees laden with
+roses. It has been raining heavily. Tiny drops drip from leaf to leaf;
+the flowers, for a moment bowed down, raise their heads;<a class="pagenum" name="page_57" id="page_57" title="57"></a> the birds
+resume their singing; and, in the sunbeams that now appear, slanting and
+a little treacherous, the pebbles on the path glitter like precious
+stones.</p>
+
+<p>We had taken shelter, during the storm, inside the house, where we sat
+eating sweets, laughing and talking without restraint. But now Rose is
+uneasy; she looks at me and says, abruptly:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you love me?"</p>
+
+<p>"I cannot tell you yet."</p>
+
+<p>She insists, coaxingly:</p>
+
+<p>"Do tell me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Darling, I have become very chary of words like that, for I know what
+pain we can give if, after our lips have uttered them, they are not
+borne out by all our later acts. As we grow in understanding, I believe
+that it becomes more difficult for us to distinguish the exact value of
+the friendship which we bestow."</p>
+
+<p>"Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"For the very reason that we grow at the same time less capable of
+hatred, contempt and indifference. If a fellow-creature is natural, he
+interests us by the sole fact of the life which he represents; and, if
+circumstances make us meet him often, it will be hard for us to be
+certain whether what we are actually<a class="pagenum" name="page_58" id="page_58" title="58"></a> lavishing upon him is friendship
+or only interest."</p>
+
+<p>She seemed to like listening to me; and I continued in the same strain:</p>
+
+<p>"A moment, therefore, comes when our understanding is like a second
+heart, a heart that seems to anticipate and complete the other, by
+giving perfect security to its movements...."</p>
+
+<p>A breath of wind passed and stripped the petals from a rose that hung in
+the doorway. And our shoulders were covered with little scented wings.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_59" id="page_59" title="59"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IXspan_1203" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IXspan_1203"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter IX</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Beside the house, two old cypresses make great pools of shadow in the
+bright, green garden. Motionless, they keep a pious and jealous watch
+over the stone fountain whose basin seems to round itself into an
+obliging mirror for their benefit. Here, amid the cool stillness, the
+running water murmurs its unceasing orison.</p>
+
+<p>I make Rose sit beside the fountain and slowly I begin unbinding her
+hair.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, the beauty of the honey-coloured waves that roll down her shoulders
+and frame her face in their sweetness! Again and again I lifted and
+shook out those long-imprisoned tresses, giving them life and liberty at
+last. Rose, following the ancient fashion of our Norman peasant-women,
+does her hair into a mass of tight little plaits, twisted so cruelly as
+to forbid all freedom.</p>
+
+<p>The better to efface the impress of their tyrannical<a class="pagenum" name="page_60" id="page_60" title="60"></a> past, I had to dip
+them into water. They opened out, like sea-weed.</p>
+
+<p>I had brought rich materials, jewels and flowers for Rose's adornment.
+All her beauty, so long hidden, was at last to stand revealed. I knew
+its potency, I divined its splendour; but her hair was too barbarously
+done, her garments too coarse and rough for me to discover the character
+of her beauty or say what constituted its nobility.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, still smiling, held her head back patiently and, with closed eyes,
+gave herself over to my tender mercies. Then another picture, a similar
+picture, but tragic and now fading into dimness, rose in my mind; and,
+almost in spite of myself, I said, softly:</p>
+
+<p>"Your long hair must have floated like this, I expect, on the day when
+you wished to die. And it must have been its splendour that would not
+suffer such a catastrophe. I wonder, dear, that you should have wished
+that, you who are so faint-hearted in the presence of life!"</p>
+
+<p>Her forehead, bronzed by the summer suns, turned a warmer colour, like a
+ripe apricot; the veins on her temples swelled a little; and she
+murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know ... I don't know...."</p>
+
+<p>I made fruitless efforts to find out the cause of<a class="pagenum" name="page_61" id="page_61" title="61"></a> her embarrassment;
+her face clouded; and she said nothing more. Then, after doing up her
+hair, I began to drape a material around her. I was thoroughly enjoying
+myself. Rose noticed it and asked me why I was smiling.</p>
+
+<p>"Why?" I cried. "Why? Oh, of course, you are incapable at present of
+understanding the pleasure which I feel! And how many are there who
+could distinguish its true quality? People admire the new-blown flower,
+they are touched by a child's first smile, they travel day and night to
+stand on a mountain-top and see the dawn conquering the shadows of the
+earth; and it is considered natural that, at such moments, our feminine
+hearts, always ready to be poured out, should be filled with love and
+incense. But it is thought strange that one of us should recognise and
+greet the union of all the graces in the fairest of her sisters! And yet
+one must be a woman to feel what I feel to-day, in unveiling and
+adorning your beauty. For it charms me without intoxicating me, sheds
+its radiance on me without dazzling me and makes my heart throb without
+causing my hands to tremble.... When the lover for the first time
+beholds the object of his love, longing clouds his eyes. Certainly, his
+sentiment is no less noble or less great,<a class="pagenum" name="page_62" id="page_62" title="62"></a> but it is of a very different
+nature! Other joys are mine, a thousand, new and glorious emotions,
+emotions of the heart and of the mind, the childish and girlish joys of
+dressing up, decorating and adorning, of creating form and colour, in a
+word, beauty, the stuff of which happiness is made!"</p>
+
+<p>Rose interrupted me:</p>
+
+<p>"Happiness? Do you think so?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, because beauty calls for love. Does not our happiness as women lie
+above everything in love?"</p>
+
+<p>Making one of those horrible movements with her feet, hands and
+shoulders of which I had done my best to correct her, Rose expressed her
+disgust with such violence as to undo the brooch with which I had just
+fastened the folds of a long white drapery to her shoulders:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," she cried, "I hate love, I hate it!"</p>
+
+<p>Then she covered her face with her open hands; slowly the material
+slipped down to her waist; and her bust stood out against the dark
+trees, white and pure as that of a marble statue.</p>
+
+<p>The great calm that is born of beauty compelled me to silence. Rose
+remained without moving, untroubled by the nudity which, at any other
+time, she would have refused to unveil. Did her emotion make<a class="pagenum" name="page_63" id="page_63" title="63"></a> her
+unconscious, or was it, on the contrary, lifting her to a plane in which
+false modesty had no place? Did she, in that brief minute, realise how
+our actions change their values in proportion to the fineness of our
+perception?...</p>
+
+<p>I threw my cloak round her and drew aside her hands: her face was wet
+with tears. I cross-examined her: could she have suffered through love?</p>
+
+<p>"What is the matter, Roseline? Why are you so bitter against something
+you have never experienced?"</p>
+
+<p>She tried to smile through her tears and said, innocently:</p>
+
+<p>"It's nothing.... It was like a shower: it's over now, quite over....
+You are right, I really don't know why love fills me with such horror!"</p>
+
+<p>And she came quietly and sat down again beside the fountain.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>For the third time, I began to coil and uncoil her hair:</p>
+
+<p>"You see, I was wrong just now," I said, "when I uncovered your neck and
+crowned your forehead. This is what suits you: the severe Roman style!<a class="pagenum" name="page_64" id="page_64" title="64"></a>
+And, though that loathing which you expressed just now seems to me
+unnatural, I feel almost tempted to excuse it in you, because it is so
+much in keeping with your impassive loveliness."</p>
+
+<p>Kneeling in front of her, I tried to make the folds of the material
+follow the natural curves of her body. Meanwhile, Rose seemed to be
+watching other reflections in the water than ours. Suddenly, she leant
+forward and put her beautiful bronzed arms round my neck; and I felt
+that she was willing me to look up. Then I raised my head and, when we
+were gazing into each other's eyes, she said, laying a sort of grave
+stress on every syllable:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you forgive everything, absolutely everything?"</p>
+
+<p>"To answer yes is not answering half enough," I said. And, kissing her,
+I added, "If you had to tell me of a serious fault, I should love to
+give proof of my indulgence; but are you not the best of girls?"</p>
+
+<p>I had an impression, for a second, that she was hesitating and that I
+was about to receive the solemn confession of a childish fault. But she
+at once replied, in a decisive little way:</p>
+
+<p>"I could not be as indulgent as you, really!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_65" id="page_65" title="65"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Because you are not so happy yet, my dearest.... Come, I have my own
+reasons for spoiling you and coaxing you and wanting you to be
+beautiful. I know what good fruits are born of those flowers of joy!...
+But I have finished my work. Get up, Rose, come with me! Come and see
+yourself a goddess!"</p>
+
+<p>And I carried her off to the drawing-room.</p>
+
+<p>Straight and slender in the long white folds falling to her feet, the
+girl stands before the mirror and stares with astonishment at her
+glorified image. Does she grasp the importance of this hour? Does she
+reflect that, at this minute, one of the great secrets of her destiny
+has been revealed to me by this woman's game which has given me a
+child's pleasure? Does she know that the moment is grave, unmatched and
+marvellous and that, by my friendly hands, chance is to-day showing her
+the power which she can wield and the realm over which she can rule?</p>
+
+<p>Her everyday clothes are lying at her feet: the coarse chemise, the
+barbarous bodice, the hat trimmed with faded ribbons. Ah, Roseline, why
+cannot I as easily fling far from you all that imprisons your life and
+fetters your soul!<a class="pagenum" name="page_66" id="page_66" title="66"></a></p>
+
+<p>"You are beautiful!" I say to her. "You are beautiful! Do you know what
+that means? Beauty is the source of happiness; and it is also the source
+of goodness, forgiveness and indulgence! Your face, if you take pleasure
+in looking at it, will teach you much better than I can what you must
+be. It will make you kind and gentle and generous, if you have the wish
+to be in perfect harmony with it. Thanks to your beauty, my Rose, you
+will be able, if you have a true conception of its dignity, to achieve
+one perfect moment in your life!"</p>
+
+<p>Alas, she does not share my enthusiasm! I take her hand, I lead her
+through the house, into all the rooms which she does not know. I keep on
+hoping that, in a new mirror, in a different light, she will at last
+catch sight of herself as she is and that she will weep for joy!...</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, she accompanies me, serene and smiling, pleased above all at
+my delight. In this way, we come to the last mirror; and my hopes are
+frustrated. But, in truth, I am too much entranced with the vision which
+she offers to my eyes to grieve at anything; and soon I am very much
+inclined to think her admirable for not feeling what I should have felt
+in her place. After disappointing me,<a class="pagenum" name="page_67" id="page_67" title="67"></a> the very excess of her coldness
+captivates my interest; and my enthusiasm does not permit me to seek
+commonplace or contemptible reasons for it.</p>
+
+<p>When admiration fills a woman's soul, it becomes nothing but an immense
+cup brimming with light, a flower penetrated by the noon-day sun until
+the heat makes its perfume overpowering.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_68" id="page_68" title="68"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Xspan_1400" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Xspan_1400"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter X</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>The shadows lengthen when the sun descends in the heavens; and those
+which, in the broad light, enhance the brilliancy of all things now
+overspread and gradually extinguish them. Thus do our anxieties increase
+when our joy lessens; and those which made us smile in the plenitude of
+our happiness before long make us weep....</p>
+
+<p>She has lied to me! I am sure now that she has lied! What has she done?
+What can she be hiding from me? I can imagine nothing that could kill
+the interest which I take in her, but she has lied! I was certain of it
+yesterday, after our talk, when I remembered her blushes and her
+embarrassment. I wanted to write to her then and could not. Darkness has
+fallen suddenly between her and me; and I no longer know to whom I am
+speaking; I no longer know what soul hears me nor at what heart I
+knocked!<a class="pagenum" name="page_69" id="page_69" title="69"></a></p>
+
+<p>A friend's lie hurts us even more than it humiliates us; it tells us
+that we have not been understood and that we inspire distrust or fear. I
+remember saying to her, one day:</p>
+
+<p>"I would rather know that you hate me than ever feel that you fear me.
+You must hide nothing from me, unless you want to wound me deeply; for
+the person to whom we feel obliged to lie is much more responsible for
+our lie than even we are."</p>
+
+<p>But how can I hope that every one of my words will be remembered and
+understood and turned to account! I enjoy talking into the soul of this
+great baby as one likes singing in an unfurnished house; and I am none
+the less conscious of the illusion of it all. If we are to influence a
+fellow-creature, we do so best without aiming at it too carefully.
+Success comes with time, by intercourse and example.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>We are now on the threshold of autumn and the days are already short. By
+seven o'clock, all the farms are sleeping....</p>
+
+<p>When I left Rose yesterday, it was understood that she should sometimes
+come to see me in the<a class="pagenum" name="page_70" id="page_70" title="70"></a> evening, when her day's work has not been too
+hard. She is to come across the downs and tap at the shutters of the
+room where I sit every evening after dinner.</p>
+
+<p>To-day, I was hoping that she would not come and I gave a start of
+annoyance when I heard her whisper outside the window:</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy! Mummy, dear!"</p>
+
+<p>It is a name which she sometimes gives me in play. Women who have no
+children and do not expect ever to have any lend to all their emotions
+an extra tenderness, an extra solicitude. It is that unemployed force in
+our hearts which is striving for union with others.</p>
+
+<p>Still, her affection displeased me this evening and, while I was putting
+on a wrap, my hands trembled with irritation. Rose, thinking that I had
+not heard her, raised her voice a little and repeated:</p>
+
+<p>"Mummy! It's your little girl!"</p>
+
+<p>I go out into the moonless, starless night, with my eyes still full of
+the light indoors; and our hands meet blindly before exchanging a
+pressure. She says good-evening and I kiss her without answering. I am
+afraid of betraying my ill-humour; I feel that I am hard and spiteful,
+but I hope that the mood<a class="pagenum" name="page_71" id="page_71" title="71"></a> will pass; and my anger, because it remains
+unspoken, takes a form that favours forgiveness. If she confesses of her
+own accord, without being impelled to do so by my attitude, I know that
+my confidence in her will revive.</p>
+
+<p>We walk in silence through the sombre avenue. The night seems darker
+because no sound disturbs its stillness; only the dead leaves, swept
+along by our skirts, drag along, utter a cry like rending silk.</p>
+
+<p>Rose sighed:</p>
+
+<p>"One would think the air was listening!"</p>
+
+<p>I could not help exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>"That's rather fine, what you said then!"</p>
+
+<p>And silence closes in again around our two little lives, both doubtless
+stirred by one and the same thought.</p>
+
+<p>We go a little farther and sit down in the fields, where an unfinished
+haystack offers us a couch. We can hardly distinguish the line of the
+horizon between the dark earth and the dark sky. A bat flits across our
+faces; and Rose says, quietly:</p>
+
+<p>"It's flying low. That means fine weather to-morrow. I must get in
+the...."</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly her voice breaks and she covers her face with her hands.
+All is silent....<a class="pagenum" name="page_72" id="page_72" title="72"></a></p>
+
+<p>I feel myself brutally good. The certainty of the coming confession
+encourages me in my coldness and I remain mute, while my heart is
+beating with pity and excitement....</p>
+
+<p>But she speaks at last and each note of that tear-filled voice, by turns
+faltering, violent and plaintive, brings before my eyes, staring into
+the darkness, every step of her soul's calvary. I listen in
+astonishment. And yet do we not know that every woman's existence has
+its secret? I see the long procession of those who have told me their
+story. The weakest of them had found strength to love; to yield to man's
+desire, the bravest had been cowardly, the truest had betrayed, the most
+loyal and upright had lied. Everywhen and everywhere the flame of life
+had found its way through rocks, thrust aside obstacles, subjugated
+wills. Even the woman whom nature had most jealously defended, the plain
+woman whom I saw imprisoned in a stunted shape and condemned to live
+behind an ugly mask, even she, when she told me her love-story,
+compelled me to believe that she had been the most beloved, perhaps, and
+her passion the most heroic.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, following the common law, had no strength to fulfil her own will,
+but all strength to obey another's.<a class="pagenum" name="page_73" id="page_73" title="73"></a> Soon after arriving at
+Sainte-Colombe, five years ago, she came to know a young man who had
+since left the district. One day, when they were alone in the farmhouse
+kitchen, he flung his arms around her and, without a word, overcame her
+feeble resistance....</p>
+
+<p>I could not help interrupting her story:</p>
+
+<p>"Did you love him, Rose?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she said, "I did not!"</p>
+
+<p>"Then, why did you yield?... Why?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know," she sobbed. "He had such a strange, wild look, I was
+frightened...."</p>
+
+<p>"But what did you do afterwards?"</p>
+
+<p>"He asked me to go and see him; and I went whenever he asked me...."</p>
+
+<p>"Then your godmother didn't know?"</p>
+
+<p>"She guessed it on the first day; and, when I refused to take anything
+from him, she beat me and locked me up."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, what then?"</p>
+
+<p>"I managed to get out at night, by the roof...."</p>
+
+<p>I would not let the subject drop:</p>
+
+<p>"Then you were very, very happy when you were with him?"</p>
+
+<p>But she exclaimed, artlessly:<a class="pagenum" name="page_74" id="page_74" title="74"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Oh, not at all! But he loved me, he said; and I thought that he would
+always stay here, for my sake.... He went away soon, without letting me
+know. When I understood that he was not coming back, I loathed myself
+and him ... and I tried to do away with myself...."</p>
+
+<p>She burst into fresh sobs.</p>
+
+<p>I should have liked to rise and lead her away. I should have liked to
+say:</p>
+
+<p>"Come, cease these repinings; let us walk across the silent fields and
+forget all this for ever! Every one feels love differently and looks at
+it in a different light. Come, waste no time in repentance and don't go
+on being angry with that man! Faults that diminish our ignorance are not
+faults, but almost graces which chance bestows upon us. Come! And break
+away from the bitterness that is spoiling your beauty!"</p>
+
+<p>But, with a sigh, she leant her head on my shoulder and I sat motionless
+and dumb: that little action on her part suddenly altered the whole
+course of my feelings.</p>
+
+<p>At moments of deep emotion, many different voices speak in our hearts.
+They seem to clash, to drown and contradict one another; but really
+they<a class="pagenum" name="page_75" id="page_75" title="75"></a> are hesitating and waiting. Even as human voices require the
+striking of a chord before harmonising, so do these inner voices wait
+for our unhappy friend to speak a word that shall unconsciously give the
+note of the thoughts that will comfort and soothe him.</p>
+
+<p>Rose whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, you do not speak! Your silence frightens me!"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't be afraid of it, dearest. Silence nearly always means that the
+words which will follow will be just." And, summoning all my tenderness,
+I added, "You see, I am trying to bind all my most diverse thoughts
+together. I should like to hand them to you as I would a bunch of
+flowers, for you to choose the one that will restore your peace of mind.
+I am afraid of hurting you, I understand your wound so well."</p>
+
+<p>The girl presses against my breast; and our kisses meet in a spontaneous
+outburst of affection....</p>
+
+<p>Sadly I think of all those who are weeping, weeping over like sorrows.
+There are other wounded hearts bleeding in mine; my memory echoes with
+the mournful prayers of the poor deluded victims of love. Alas, we are
+all subject to the cruel and exquisite<a class="pagenum" name="page_76" id="page_76" title="76"></a> law that absorbs the firmest
+wills in its indifferent strength!</p>
+
+<p>I feel Roseline's hands quivering under my fingers, but I dare not
+speak. The silence of the fields and the solemn darkness awe me. Do not
+our least words seem to be written on the velvet of the night in
+precious and lasting letters?...</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>At last, I wiped away her tears and long and gently tried to rally her.
+But, suddenly drawing herself up, Rose cried:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't understand you, I no longer understand you! What you are saying
+is just so much more silence and I wait for your judgment in vain! You
+have, you must have, an opinion on what I have done. The reason why I
+hesitated so long to confess my fault was because I knew instinctively
+that you would blame me; and now I feel you so far from me.... Please
+judge me, be angry with me: it will be easier for you to forgive me
+afterwards!..."</p>
+
+<p>I do not know why this blind insistence offended me. Until then I had
+remained calm; but at her words there burst from the depths of my being
+the<a class="pagenum" name="page_77" id="page_77" title="77"></a> voice of instinct, that voice which I had tried to stifle, almost
+unconsciously, by force of habit and training.... Oh, that blatant,
+piercing voice! It seemed to me to rend the darkness, to scoff at my
+heart and my sweet reasonableness! It was as though I saw all my kindly
+dreams of tolerance and indulgence fly into a thousand splinters! Never
+had I so clearly realised their brittleness. My anger was all the
+greater because it was still trammelled by fragments of my reason.</p>
+
+<p>I placed my hands on her shoulders and shouted close to her face, which
+my eyes could not distinguish:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, why will you rouse my instinct, my nerves, all those things which
+should never interfere in our judgments and beyond which we should try
+to look if we would understand the actions of others? You give the name
+of silence to the words spoken by my reason and you wish to be judged by
+a blind and senseless power! But that idiot power mercilessly condemns
+all the faults committed in its name! That power, which is making me
+tremble now with excitement, will tell you that you could have done
+nothing worse! Do you understand? Nothing, nothing! And it will
+overwhelm you with reproaches. For it<a class="pagenum" name="page_78" id="page_78" title="78"></a> is not your action that revolts
+me; it is your apathy, your flabbiness, your cowardice!... You gave
+yourself without knowing why! You did not surrender for the sake of the
+joy that makes us fairer and better! You did not surrender because love
+had taken your heart by storm! You did not sacrifice yourself to an
+idea: had it been vile and base, I could still have accepted it! No, you
+gave yourself without knowing why! You obeyed the will of the
+first-comer, as the silliest and most docile of wives obeys the
+recognised canons and conventions ... without knowing why!... Ah, Rose,
+Rose! I wanted to help you to become strong and free. What a character,
+what a disposition you bring me! And yet I did not ask so much! I wanted
+your nature to have strength and flexibility, so that my hands might
+have taken it and moulded it. I looked forward to shaping it and giving
+it nobility and refinement...."</p>
+
+<p>Tears choked my words. At that moment, the disappointment appeared to me
+complete and irreparable. Still, so as not to sadden her unduly, I
+murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"Do not misunderstand me, my poor Rose; I am not saying that you soiled
+yourself by yielding to<a class="pagenum" name="page_79" id="page_79" title="79"></a> that man. I should not care much if you had;
+for, if the fairest forms could take birth from the mud in the gutter,
+you would see me plunge my hands in it without reluctance. No, what
+distresses me is your weakness; and I have simply likened your nature to
+a substance without consistency and impossible to mould."</p>
+
+<p>Rose moaned and sobbed:</p>
+
+<p>"To please you, I will brave everything.... Don't forsake me!... Go on
+loving me!..."</p>
+
+<p>I divined rather than saw the body lying prone, with her head on the
+ground; and the paler shadow of her hair reminded me of the dear beauty
+of her. I grew calmer. The comfort of having said all that I had to say
+relieved my heart and sent rippling through my veins, like a cool
+stream, a more natural indulgence than that which had animated me at
+first. Bending over Rose, I reflected that reason weighs heavily on a
+woman's breast and that it is well to thrust it aside occasionally. I
+tried to reassure her between my kisses:</p>
+
+<p>"I am wrong to be so irritable and despondent; forgive me! I believe
+that your nature will never be vivid or strong; but your newly-developed
+conscience will save you from fresh weaknesses. Besides,<a class="pagenum" name="page_80" id="page_80" title="80"></a> in some
+direction we shall find what you are capable of. Destiny asks little of
+us when we have little to give it; and events pass us by of their own
+accord. Your life can be gentle and passive and still be useful and
+good. It is my own fault if I am disappointed: I am always more or less
+of a child; and I become passionately enthusiastic on the strength of a
+smile, or a pure outline, or a beautiful profile. I ought not to have
+looked in you for what existed only in my imagination...."</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are no longer angry with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why should I be?"</p>
+
+<p>I kissed her tenderly. Poor child, so she had suffered through love! I
+pitied her; and yet the happiness of knowing her a little better
+swallowed up my pity. Things move quickly in those who, not believing in
+heaven, seek upon earth the beginning and the end of life and all that
+comes between. And they come to prefer to the highest joys those which
+foster a clearer vision and a truer comprehension.</p>
+
+<p>And, trying to explain myself, I added:</p>
+
+<p>"One would think that a time comes when we judge like a traveller
+looking out from the top of a tower. All the differences melt into unity
+before<a class="pagenum" name="page_81" id="page_81" title="81"></a> his eyes. He turns slowly and sees, on the one side, the forest;
+on the other, the sea; at his feet, the noisy town, the world; a little
+farther, the calm and peace of the fields; and, overhead, the infinite
+indifference of the skies. And, like him, we are engrossed in what we
+discover and we no longer see the tower by which we climbed nor feel
+that on which our feet stand; and we are nothing, nothing but a thinking
+light that settles upon some life."</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>We lay stretched in the clover that was still warm from the heat of the
+day; and our arms were locked and our hair intertwined. My cheek cooled
+hers, which her tears had set on fire; and the sombre peace of the sky
+sank into us. We were both filled with the peculiar happiness that comes
+after a painful confession, a happiness whose source is a sense of
+security, a joy that seems yearning to cover us with its wings for one
+halcyon hour.</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, darling, never forget the feeling of relief which you have now.
+That sense of security is infinitely precious. Let its fragrance remain
+with you for ever. May it become impossible for you to do<a class="pagenum" name="page_82" id="page_82" title="82"></a> without it.
+Seek it, insist upon it silently, even from the strangers whom you may
+meet. Falsehood destroys the perfume and the bloom of women: it makes
+them colourless and uniformly commonplace. Always have the courage to be
+true. A sort of secret combat is waged between any two persons who meet
+for the first time. Remember that, as a woman, you have always the
+choice of weapons; and choose them frankly. In so doing, you will gain
+courage and assurance and the great strength that springs from harmony,
+from the perfect accord of our body, our mind and our speech. I do not
+say that you will necessarily conquer with that weapon, but I do say
+that, even if defeated, you will, contrary to the general rule, feel
+mightier and more exultant than before!"</p>
+
+<p>A star appeared, a quiver ran through the trees near by and passed over
+all the earth. The night was rising.</p>
+
+<p>I was at my ease beside my companion; our hearts were again at one. That
+love-incident, however lacking in love, had brought her nearer to me.</p>
+
+<p>"I do not know which path you will choose, my Rose; but we all have two
+roads by which to reach the goal for which we are making: to be or to
+seem.<a class="pagenum" name="page_83" id="page_83" title="83"></a> The real lovers of life will always choose the first. They will
+arrive later; perhaps they will never arrive. But, after all, what does
+arriving mean?"</p>
+
+<p>Rose at once retorted:</p>
+
+<p>"Still, why have a goal, if not to reach it?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl's practical logic amused me; and our laughter rang out in
+unison across the fields.</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, morally speaking, the goal is really the means which we employ to
+attain it. It is a light which we voluntarily flash in front of our
+footsteps. We can neither miss it nor reach it, because it moves with
+us. It becomes greater or smaller or is renewed, according to the
+evolution of our strength and our life...."</p>
+
+<p>We had risen from the ground and, as we talked, were slowly following
+the path that skirts the orchard. Rose asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Cannot you more or less describe your goal, the one you are speaking
+about?"</p>
+
+<p>I hesitated for a moment and, almost involuntarily, murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"To know a little more ... to see a little farther ... to understand a
+little better...."</p>
+
+<p>Rose repeated, slowly and earnestly:</p>
+
+<p>"To know a little more ... to see a little...."<a class="pagenum" name="page_84" id="page_84" title="84"></a></p>
+
+<p>But I laughingly stopped her, for the words sounded too serious in our
+young souls.</p>
+
+<p>The orchard-gate closed between us. I was walking away, when Rose called
+to me:</p>
+
+<p>"Come and kiss me again...."</p>
+
+<p>I ran back to her. She leant over the hedge and I could only just
+distinguish her face. Then our lips met of themselves, like flowers that
+touch.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time, in the still air, I heard her heavy footfall.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_85" id="page_85" title="85"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIspan_1803" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIspan_1803"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XI</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Next day, Rose was with me early in the morning:</p>
+
+<p>"I could not sleep," she said. "I wanted to speak to you without tears
+or blushes. If I have done wrong, I have atoned for it; and it is done
+with. All that remained of it was a sad memory; and, now that I have
+considered it with you, even that is gone."</p>
+
+<p>I look at her. Her appearance pleases me. Her step is firm, her cheeks
+are pale, her eyes burning; she is living more ardently than usual. She
+continues, with animation:</p>
+
+<p>"You said to me once that people who believe in another life seem to
+sweep their sins and their remorse up to the doors of eternity. For us,
+you said, who have not that illusion, everything is different: we do not
+put off paying the bill for our sins. We can recognise their
+consequences; and that<a class="pagenum" name="page_86" id="page_86" title="86"></a> is our expiation." And you added, proudly, "It is
+cowardly to look to another for it, even if that other were God!"</p>
+
+<p>We are walking in the orchard. The long grass is bending under the
+weight of the dew, which has decked it with a thousand glittering
+jewels. As we pass by a tree laden with apples, Rose pulls a branch to
+her and, without plucking the fruit, bites into it. I watch the lips
+part and the white teeth meet and disappear in the juicy pulp. For a
+second, the soft red mouth rounds over the fruit, which seems to match
+its beauty and to be questioning Rose about her pitiful love-affairs.</p>
+
+<p>"Then, Rose dear, you were not really happy for a moment with your
+lover?"</p>
+
+<p>"No."</p>
+
+<p>"But he was young, I suppose, and more or less good-looking?"</p>
+
+<p>She thinks for a moment and then bends her head.</p>
+
+<p>"You remember it, Rose?"</p>
+
+<p>The girl appears astonished and answers, hesitatingly:</p>
+
+<p>"It is five years ago, I don't remember now...."</p>
+
+<p>I was surprised in my turn and looked at her. What! She didn't remember!
+She had forgotten<a class="pagenum" name="page_87" id="page_87" title="87"></a> that! Her lips had not retained the impress of the
+first kiss!</p>
+
+<p>My eyes closed and from the background of my life a bygone moment rose,
+one of those memories that linger in the hearts of women with such
+fidelity and vividness that they lack not a scent, a sound, a line, a
+word, a look, a gesture!</p>
+
+<p>I was twelve years old and he fifteen. It was at the seaside. Our
+parents were talking a few steps away, but night was falling and a
+fisherman's hut hid us from their eyes. He bent over to me and our lips
+met in a simple kiss, simple as a flower with petals still unopened, for
+we were both of us innocent....</p>
+
+<p>I can still see the colour and the shape of the drifting clouds. I can
+smell the mingled breath of the sea and of his boyish mouth. I can
+remember how I felt as a frightened, trembling and enraptured little
+girl.... A sailor was singing some way off; and the gulls that circled
+between sea and sky seemed to be keeping the last rays of daylight upon
+their white wings.</p>
+
+<p>Why, I know that boy's mouth by heart and shall always know it! We often
+kissed again, without even dreaming that, at this game as at all games,
+there<a class="pagenum" name="page_88" id="page_88" title="88"></a> might be room for progress!... And then ... and then ... that's
+all I remember of him.... The next is another memory, at another place
+and another age.... And then another again....</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Would one not think that, in the more or less happy lives of us women,
+in our more or less easily traversed roads, the sensations of love are
+so many illuminated floral arches that mark the different stages of our
+accomplishment? We go up to them, we pass through them with hopes,
+smiles or sighs. But, whatever they may be, we come out of them fairer
+and better. What should we be without that, without love? The love which
+is rebuked, which we are supposed to hide and blush for! The love that
+entreats both our strength and our weakness, our patience and our
+fervour, our passion and our reason! The love that sets in motion our
+highest faculties and our lowest instincts, that makes each of us know
+her own power and her own poverty by the part which she allows it to
+play in her life!</p>
+
+<p>In that moment, I saw and lived my joys in the kisses of childhood and
+girlhood. I travelled my<a class="pagenum" name="page_89" id="page_89" title="89"></a> road again; and the arches of light seemed
+higher to me and they followed hard on one another, becoming ever more
+radiant and decked with gayer flowers, until this very hour when the
+desired happiness has been found, established and kept fast....</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>My thoughts return to Rose, who has sat down under a tree; and I stretch
+myself beside her.</p>
+
+<p>A herd of cows suddenly enters the orchard. White and brown, they plunge
+among the apple-trees; driven by a child, who is taking them down to the
+long grass, they amble heavily along in meek-eyed resignation. A smell
+of cow-shed at once reaches our nostrils; and, in the silence, we hear a
+noise of busy munching....</p>
+
+<p>"Darling, you, who have always lived in the midst of nature, should have
+sounder and more accurate ideas on love than those of other women, while
+mine are a little warped by my over-cultivated nerves and feelings. If,
+for instance, you had said to me, yesterday, 'I gave myself because it
+was natural,' you would have dominated my poor reason from the pinnacle
+of an essential truth."<a class="pagenum" name="page_90" id="page_90" title="90"></a></p>
+
+<p>Without quite understanding what I say, Rose smiles in answer to my
+smile and we remain silent; our eyes gaze without seeing and our idle
+hands trail in the wet grass. We hear, without listening, the hoarse,
+fat, cooing-voluptuous voices of the doves: in the cool air of the
+morning, among the leaves, the flowers and the branches, it is an
+undercurrent of joy rising and falling, suspended for a moment and then
+beginning again, in unwearying repetition.</p>
+
+<p>Rose murmurs:</p>
+
+<p>"Why are you always saying that I cannot make progress without love? It
+makes me unhappy when you say that. I should have liked to have nothing
+in the world but your affection. You kissed me so tenderly last night,
+over the hedge."</p>
+
+<p>"It is not the same thing, Rose darling. Certainly, there is nothing
+more harmonious and purer than the kiss that joins the lips of two
+friends like ourselves. But it is not the same thing as the kiss of
+love, for the value of that lies not only in what it is, but in what it
+promises; and it is a delight that sometimes echoes through our whole
+lives.... You will have to love before you understand."<a class="pagenum" name="page_91" id="page_91" title="91"></a></p>
+
+<p>The girl folded her arms around my waist as though to bind herself to
+me:</p>
+
+<p>"But how would you have me love any one but yourself?" she asked. "Have
+you not given me happiness? When I am with you, I seem to be living in a
+fairy-tale."</p>
+
+<p>Despite the pleasure which her words gave me, I made an effort to combat
+them.</p>
+
+<p>The character of a woman who tries to be just is full of these little
+contradictions. In proportion as her heart is satisfied, she finds her
+intellect becoming clearer and stronger; and what calls for her judgment
+rarely leaves her heart unmoved. If Rose had not protested, I should
+still have spoken, from a sense of duty, but my words would have been
+without warmth or conviction. Now it seemed to me that her charming
+compliment gave added force to what I was about to utter in the interest
+of another's happiness.</p>
+
+<p>She leant her face against my breast and my fingers played with her
+sunny hair, her unbound hair, which was now waving joyously, crowning
+her with a shimmer of amber and gold.</p>
+
+<p>"No," I replied, "you must fall in love in order to develop and expand.
+Our women's lives are like<a class="pagenum" name="page_92" id="page_92" title="92"></a> summer days: wisdom tells us to follow their
+evolution. After the morning's waiting, we want the noon-day splendour
+and rapture. As you never had that rapture, you have not yet known love:
+and, at your age, is not that an absurd and miserable ignorance? Is it
+not right to wish for love and even to force its coming? Those who go on
+waiting for it in meek resignation appear to me so guilty!... Life has
+always seemed to me to be divided into two parts: the search for love;
+and love. As long as we are not in love, let us continue the search for
+it; let us seek stubbornly, madly, cruelly, if need be; let us be
+untiring and unrelenting. There are no obstacles for the woman with a
+resolute will. Let each of us follow that quest in her own manner,
+according to her strength, her means and her courage, through every
+danger and every pain. When we have at last found love, or rather our
+love, let us go towards it without fear, without false modesty; and, if
+we are loved, let us not wait to be entreated for what we can offer
+generously. Let us never be pilfered of that which it is our privilege
+to give!"</p>
+
+<p>A tendril drops from the creeper above us and caresses our faces....<a class="pagenum" name="page_93" id="page_93" title="93"></a></p>
+
+<p>How delightful life is at this moment! The air is filled with rejoicing,
+with the murmur of an infinite happiness! A tremulous haze hovers over
+the fields, the insatiate doves reiterate their glad refrain. Around us,
+here and there, a slender blade of grass shakes beneath the light weight
+of a butterfly. But is not everything lovely in the eyes of a woman who
+is talking of love? It is as though happiness were the harbinger of her
+glance, flying ahead and settling upon things.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, all attention and curiosity, now questioned me:</p>
+
+<p>"But you, what did you do?"</p>
+
+<p>"In my case," I said, "when I knew that he loved me too, I went to his
+country to find him. I can still see us walking in a meadow all bright
+with flowers. On the horizon, the blue sky met the sea; and, behind us,
+the red roofs, the church-steeples and the tiny white houses of a Dutch
+village slowly vanished from sight. He gave me his arm; and it was a joy
+to me to let him feel the gladness in my heart by the motion of my hip,
+on which he leant slightly. Then he said, 'You walk like a queen for
+whom her subjects wait.' And I knew from his words that he was still
+waiting for me, though I was by his side,<a class="pagenum" name="page_94" id="page_94" title="94"></a> and they suddenly told me
+what a blissful kingdom I had to offer him!"</p>
+
+<p>"Did you seek long before that day came?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, once I was free, I found happiness after a few months of trouble
+and difficulty; but you see, dear, I would have gone to the other end of
+the world to meet my love! I had no need to journey so far; and this
+makes me inclined to think that, in our search, we need to be attentive
+even more than active!"</p>
+
+<p>Roseline murmured, pensively:</p>
+
+<p>"The men say that a certain amount of preliminary experience in love is
+indispensable ... to them."</p>
+
+<p>My whole soul revolted. Releasing myself from the girl's embrace, I
+sprang to my feet and faced her:</p>
+
+<p>"But, Rose, isn't it the same with us? And is it right to expect that a
+woman should rivet her whole existence to the first smile, to the first
+look, the first word that moves her? Sensible people tell us that
+marriage is a lottery! By what aberration of the intellect do they come
+to admit that a being's whole life should be voluntarily subjected to
+chance? Not one of us would consent to such a degradation, if<a class="pagenum" name="page_95" id="page_95" title="95"></a> women in
+general were not absolutely ignorant! And that is why many, too
+clear-sighted to submit to a ridiculous law and lacking the courage to
+infringe it, die without having known the flavour and the goodness of
+life. Oh, what injustice! Is youth not short enough as it is? Is the
+circle in which our poor intelligence moves not sufficiently limited?
+And is it necessary, in addition, to chain us to phantom principles,
+which falsify nature, disfigure goodness and vilify the miracle of the
+kiss and the innocence of the flesh?"</p>
+
+<p>I was standing against a tree, a few steps away from Rose; and my hand
+plucked nervously at the leaves within my reach. The blue sky seemed
+hypocritical to my eyes, the beauty of the flowers crafty and mocking. I
+continued, in a tone of conviction:</p>
+
+<p>"It is right that woman should make her own experiments, it is right
+that she should know men to judge which of them harmonises with her....
+It is by constantly encountering alien souls that she will form an idea
+of what her twin soul should be. Yes, I know that a natural law rejects
+this morality; and that is why I do not think the woman should give
+herself until she is quite certain of her<a class="pagenum" name="page_96" id="page_96" title="96"></a> choice. It is true that her
+experiments will be incomplete; the senses will have played but a small
+part in them, or none at all; but must we not accommodate ourselves to
+the inevitable? In any case, that woman will indeed be enlightened who,
+regardless of public opinion, lives freely in the man's company,
+studying him, observing him and sometimes even loving him!"</p>
+
+<p>Rose listened to me without a word or a movement; only, every now and
+then, her long, dark lashes, tipped with gold, would flicker for a
+moment and then droop discreetly on her cool, fresh cheeks. But the
+thought of her own frailty suggested an objection; and she asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think that what you propose is difficult for the woman?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, yes, difficult and, to many of us, impossible! Through a want of
+pride, through love or pity, they resign themselves to an act of which
+their reason does not approve and they wake up unhappy, sometimes for
+ever.... It is difficult, for the woman who resists appears to the man a
+sort of monster, abominable and detestable. Ah, there must be no
+desertion before possession! Because we have given him our lips, we must
+make him a present of<a class="pagenum" name="page_97" id="page_97" title="97"></a> our lives! Because we have consented to certain
+pleasures, we must, so that he may enjoy a greater, sacrifice our future
+to him!... In fact, he goes farther and says that woman, when she
+indulges in those experiments, is following the dictates of a loathsome
+and mean self-interest. Self-interest, when this conduct entails endless
+dangers and bitterness! Self-interest, when it demands of us, before
+all, an absolute contempt of a world to which nearly all are slaves,
+when it exposes us to insults and suffering and increases the number of
+our enemies and multiplies the obstacles in our path!... No, that woman
+is not selfish who, in all good faith, plunges boldly into the adventure
+at the risk of ruining herself, comes near to a man, thinking that she
+has found what she is seeking and hoping that love may result. She feels
+the promptings of her senses and does not resist her heart, but her
+reason is awake! She will not give herself unless everything that she
+learns confirms her expectations; she will give herself if she really
+believes that the happiness of both depends upon it; and the combat that
+is waged enables her to judge clearly of the quality of their love. She
+is judge and combatant in one. She lets herself be carried along so that
+she may have<a class="pagenum" name="page_98" id="page_98" title="98"></a> fuller knowledge; and it is not without pain, it is not
+without love that, at the eleventh hour, she will, if need be, refuse
+herself."</p>
+
+<p>Rose here interrupted me:</p>
+
+<p>"If she loves, if she suffers, why does she refuse herself?"</p>
+
+<p>"There are a thousand degrees in love; and a woman of feeling always
+suffers when she inflicts suffering."</p>
+
+<p>I examined my mind for a moment and, as though it were uttering its
+thoughts backwards, I continued, slowly:</p>
+
+<p>"It is sometimes our duty to inflict suffering. The man's instinct is
+always more or less blinded by desire; he always, either craftily or
+brutally, proposes. It is for us to dispose. We are all-powerful. Peace
+or discord springs from our will. He is not as well fitted to choose as
+we are, because he has not the same reasons for wishing to see
+comradeship follow upon passion, to see rapture give way to security. If
+we are one day to be the mother of the child, are we not first of all
+the mother of love? Are we not at the same time the cradle and the
+tabernacle of that god? In any happy couple, is love not cast in the
+woman's image much more than in<a class="pagenum" name="page_99" id="page_99" title="99"></a> the man's? The man has a thousand
+things that attract and retain him elsewhere; his temperament is more
+prodigal and less considerate than ours. It is in the woman that love
+dwells; her sensitive nature leads her to a higher knowledge in the art
+of loving; and the infinite details of her tenderness can make her seem
+perfect in her lover's eyes when they do not render her exclusive...."</p>
+
+<p>Struck by this last word, Rose exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"What! According to you, love should not be exclusive!" And, lowering
+her voice, she asked, "Are you not faithful?"</p>
+
+<p>"We do not even think of being faithful as long as we love. We should
+blush to offer love the cold homage of fidelity: it is a word devoid of
+meaning in the presence of a genuine love. In love fidelity is like a
+chain disappearing under the flowers. If it is one day seen, that means
+that the flowers are faded."</p>
+
+<p>I kneel beside her and, taking her in my arms, kiss her fondly. Through
+the exquisite silence of the day, the church-bell rings out the
+<i>Angelus</i> in notes of gold. The garden is flooded with sunshine; and the
+marigolds, the phlox, the jasmines, the scabious and the mallows push
+their heads above<a class="pagenum" name="page_100" id="page_100" title="100"></a> their white railing. Each eager heart turns towards
+the light.</p>
+
+<p>"You see, my Roseline: just as the great sun shines in his glory and
+governs the realm of flowers, so love must be king in the lives of us
+women! He reigns and is independent of any but himself. Only," I added,
+laughing, "though we accept him as king, we must not make a tyrant of
+him. Poor love! I wonder what wretched transformation he must have
+undergone through the ages for us to have managed to invest him with the
+most selfish of human sentiments, the sense of property! So far from
+that, we ought mutually to respect the life that goes with ours and
+never seek to restrain it."</p>
+
+<p>There is a pause; and Rose, with her face pressed to my cheek, almost
+whispers:</p>
+
+<p>"You are not jealous?"</p>
+
+<p>I felt myself flushing and would have liked not to answer. But, alas,
+would she not by degrees have discovered all the pettiness that is
+ill-concealed under my thin veneer of self-control and determination? I
+tried to reveal it all in one sentence:</p>
+
+<p>"Know this, Rose, that it is in myself and in myself alone that I study
+the women that I would not be!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_101" id="page_101" title="101"></a></p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>I watch my great girl while she talks. This rustic beauty, in her cotton
+bodice, her blue print skirt and her wooden shoes, no longer shouts. She
+expresses herself better and does not gesticulate so violently. She is
+quieter in her movements and her shyness is not unattractive. Rays of
+light filter through the branches and cast shifting patches of light on
+her face and figure. I always love to observe the details of her beauty,
+but to-day my heart contracts for a moment as my eyes follow the curve
+of her chin, which is charming, but devoid of all firmness, and her
+whole profile, which is beautiful, but lacking in decision....</p>
+
+<p>Will Rose be one of those who accomplish themselves by means of love,
+who exalt themselves by exalting it, who master and improve themselves
+the better to control it?</p>
+
+<p>Love is the great test by which our values are reckoned and weighed. The
+fond vagaries of the body have taught the proud soul its limits; and
+reason has wilted under a kiss like a flower under the scorching sun.
+Every woman has known the exquisite luxury of forgetting herself, of
+losing herself<a class="pagenum" name="page_102" id="page_102" title="102"></a> so utterly that no other thing at the moment appears to
+her worth living for. She has heard the voice of the charmer exhorting
+her to abandon pride, ambition, her own personality, to become, in
+short, no more than an atom of happiness under a dark and splendid sky
+which each moment of felicity seems to adorn with a new star.</p>
+
+<p>Where the weak woman goes under, her stronger sister is never lost. The
+lower she may have fallen, the higher she raises herself. She returns
+from each of her strayings more fit for life. She is more resisting, for
+she has known how to sway and bend without breaking; more indulgent,
+because she has seen herself encompassed with weakness and beset with
+longings. She knows how frail is the spring that regulates her strength,
+but also how necessary that strength is to her happiness. She has come
+to understand what real love means, that the union of man and woman
+approaches the nearer to perfection the less the two wills are fused.
+She has understood, above all, that, to contain, glorify and keep love,
+we need all the energy of our respective personalities and all the
+benefit of our dissimilarity!</p>
+
+<p>Rose was silent.<a class="pagenum" name="page_103" id="page_103" title="103"></a></p>
+
+<p>I lay on the grass, with my arms outstretched and my eyes fixed on the
+sky; and the breeze sent my hair playing over my lips. For a long while
+afterwards, my thoughts continued to wander amid the fairest things in
+the world.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_104" id="page_104" title="104"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIspan_2211" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIspan_2211"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>It is typical autumn weather, a dull, dark day which seems never to have
+fully dawned. Beneath the burden of the weary, oppressive clouds, the
+grass is greener and the roads more distinct. The light seems to rise to
+the sky instead of falling from it.</p>
+
+<p>I have been in the kitchen-garden for an hour. There all the plants are
+beaten down by the wind and the rain; the asparagus-fronds lie across
+the paths like tangled hair; but the broad-bottomed cabbages are a joy
+to the eye, with their air of comfortable middle-class prosperity.
+Looking at their closely enfolded hearts, I seemed to recover the
+illusion of my childhood, of the days when my eyes pictured mystery in
+their depths....</p>
+
+<p>How amazed we are when one of our senses happens to receive a sudden
+impression, in the same way as when we were children! We behold the same
+object simultaneously in the present and the past; and between those two
+points, identical and yet different<a class="pagenum" name="page_105" id="page_105" title="105"></a> to our eyes, our memory tries to
+stretch a thread that can help it to follow the thousand and one
+intermediate transformations which have led us from the false to the
+true, from the wonderful to the simple, from dreams to reality. We
+should, no doubt, discover here, in the subtle history of our sensations
+and the different ways in which we received them, the gradual forming of
+our character, the pathetic progress of our little knowledge, all the
+frail elements of our personal life; in a word, the plastic substance of
+our joys and sorrows....</p>
+
+<p>I think of the little girl that I was, but between her and me there
+stands a long array of children, girls and women. And I can do nothing
+but inwardly repeat:</p>
+
+<p>"How soon we lose our traces!..."</p>
+
+<p>I smile at the memory of myself as we smile at the unknown child that
+brushes against us in passing; and I leave myself to return to Rose....</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>She is a never-failing source of satisfaction to me. My dreams glory in
+having discovered so much hidden virtue here, at my door; and I am
+surprised at the new pleasures which I am constantly finding in her.<a class="pagenum" name="page_106" id="page_106" title="106"></a></p>
+
+<p>In certain natures predisposed to happiness, such happy surprises are
+prolonged and constantly renewed; and this may be one of the innocent
+secrets of the intellect. Are there not a thousand ways of interpreting
+a feeling, even as there are a thousand ways of considering an object?
+Our mind observes it daily under a different aspect, turns and turns it
+again, sees it from above and below, sees it near and from afar and
+loves to show it off and place it in the most favourable light. The mind
+of every woman, especially of a woman with an artistic bias, is not
+without a secret harmony of colour, line and proportion. Something
+intentional even enters into it; and the caprices of her soul are often
+but an outcome of her desire to please. Her natural instinct, which is
+always inclined to give form to the most subtle of her sensations,
+enables her to find in goodness the same clinging grace which she loves
+in her clothes. She likes her happiness to be obvious and highly
+coloured, that it may rejoice the eyes of those around her; and, so as
+not to sadden their eyes, she paints the bitterness of her heart in
+neutral shades of drab and grey. By thinking herself better, she appears
+prettier in her own sight; and it seems to her, as she consults her
+mirror,<a class="pagenum" name="page_107" id="page_107" title="107"></a> that she is replying to her own destiny. The soft waves of her
+hair teach her how frail is her will by the side of her life. She learns
+to bestow her own reward on the sympathy of her heart by crowning her
+forehead with her two bare arms; and, when she sees the long folds of
+her dress winding around her body, she recognises the sinuous, slow, but
+determined bent of her feminine power.</p>
+
+<p>I remember once being present at a meeting between two women who gave me
+a charming proof of our natural inclination to lend shape and substance
+to our thoughts and feelings. They were of different nationalities and
+neither of them could speak the other's language. Both were of a warm
+and sensitive nature, endowed with an analytical and artistic
+temperament; and, as soon as they came together amidst the boredom of a
+fashionable crowd, they sat down in a corner and, with the aid of a few
+ordinary words, of facial expression, of vocal intonation, but above all
+by means of gesticulation, they succeeded, in a few moments, in
+explaining themselves and knowing each other better than many do after
+months of intercourse.</p>
+
+<p>I was interested in this strange conversation, this dialogue without a
+sentence, but so vivid and expressive,<a class="pagenum" name="page_108" id="page_108" title="108"></a> in the same breath childish and
+profound; for they wished to show each other the inmost recesses of
+their souls and they had nothing to do it with but two or three
+elementary words. How pretty they were, the fair one dressed in red and
+the other, who was dark, all in white, with camellias in the dusk of her
+hair. They were not at all afraid of being frivolous and would linger
+now and then to examine the filmy muslins and laces in which they were
+arrayed.</p>
+
+<p>The elder had already chosen her path, the younger was still seeking
+hers; but the characters of both were alike matured and their minds
+completely formed. Both of them in love and happy in their love, they
+tried above all to express their tastes and ideas.</p>
+
+<p>To understand each other, they employed a thousand ingenious means.
+Their mobile faces eagerly questioned each other with the unconscious
+boldness of children who meet for the first time. They took each other's
+hands, looked at each other, read each other's features. At times, they
+would make use of things around them: a light here, a shadow there,
+people, objects. Once I saw the fair-haired one take up a Gall&eacute; cup that
+stood near. For a minute, she held<a class="pagenum" name="page_109" id="page_109" title="109"></a> her white arm up to the light; and
+through her fingers the lovely thing seemed like a flash of crystallised
+mist in which precious stones were shedding their last lustre.</p>
+
+<p>I forget the various images, childish and subtle, by which she was able
+to show her friend all her sensitive soul in that fragile cup. A little
+later, there was some music; and the dark one sang while the fair one
+accompanied her on the piano. Through the sounds and harmonies I heard
+the perfect concord of those two lives, which had known nothing of each
+other an hour or two before....</p>
+
+<p>It was an exquisite lesson for me, a wonderful proof that women's souls
+are able to love and unite more easily than men's, if they wish. And I
+once again regretted the unhappy distrust that severs and disunites us,
+whereas all our weaknesses interwoven might be garlands of strength and
+love crowning the life of men.</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>By a natural trend of thought, Rose appeared to me contrasted with those
+two rare creatures....</p>
+
+<p>Rose is not sensitive and is not artistic. No doubt,<a class="pagenum" name="page_110" id="page_110" title="110"></a> when she left
+school, she could play the piano correctly and likewise draw those
+still-life studies and little landscapes by means of which the
+principles of art and beauty are carefully instilled into the young
+mind. But she did not suspect that there could be anything else. She saw
+nothing beyond the ruined mill which she drew religiously in charcoal;
+twenty times over, she set an orange, a ball of worsted and a pair of
+scissors together on the window-sill without seeing any of the wonders
+which the garden offered her.</p>
+
+<p>Later, when every Sunday she played <i>The Young Savoyard's Prayer</i> on the
+organ, her placid soul conceived no other harmonies. She never felt,
+within the convent-walls, that divine curiosity, that blessed
+insubordination of the artist-child which obtains its first
+understanding of beauty from its hatred of the ugliness around it and
+which turns towards pretty things as flowers and plants turn towards the
+light.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, my poor Rose, how I should like to see you more eager and alive! In
+the close attention which you give me, in the absolute faith which you
+place in me, my least words are invested with a precision of meaning
+that invites me to go on speaking; but how weary I am at heart! Oh, let
+us pass on to<a class="pagenum" name="page_111" id="page_111" title="111"></a> other things: it is high time! Let us not sink into
+slumber and call it prudence: up to now I have been content to see you
+sitting patiently at my feet; but I no longer want you there. Enough of
+this! I dream of roaming with you at random in the open fields, I dream
+of making you laugh and cry, of feeling your young soul fresh and
+sensitive as your cheeks. I dream of stirring your heart and rousing
+your imagination. We will go far across the countryside; together we
+shall see the light wane and the darkness begin; and, since you love me,
+you must needs admire with me the rare beauty of all these things!...</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_112" id="page_112" title="112"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIIspan_2378" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIIspan_2378"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XIII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Rose was to have a holiday the next day. We arranged that she should
+come with the trap from the farm, the first thing in the morning, to
+fetch me.</p>
+
+<p>We start at six o'clock. The harness-bells tinkle gaily to the heavy
+trot of the big horse; and we laugh as we are jolted violently one
+against the other. We drive through the villages, those happy Normandy
+villages where everything seems eloquent of the richness of the soil.
+They are still asleep, the white curtains are drawn and the geraniums on
+the window-ledges alone are awake in all their glowing bloom. A faint
+haze veils the fields and imparts to things a soft warmth of tone that
+makes them more soothing to the eyes. The sun rises and we see the
+breath of earth shimmer in its first rays.</p>
+
+<p>We have never yet been for a whole day's outing together; everything is
+new in my new pleasure. I look at Rose beside me. I had wanted her to
+put<a class="pagenum" name="page_113" id="page_113" title="113"></a> on her peasant clothes; and I find her beautiful in her scanty garb
+in the cool morning air.</p>
+
+<p>We follow the long hog's-back that commands a view of the whole country
+round. Here and there, tiny villages float like islands of green amid
+the wide plains. A row of poplars lines the way on either side. Their
+yellow leaves quiver and rustle in the breeze. The rooks stand out
+harshly against the white road. And the mist, which is beginning to lift
+in places, reveals a deep-blue sky.</p>
+
+<p>The keen air that enters my throat and makes my mouth cold as ice tells
+me of the smile that flickers over my face; and my pleasure is
+heightened by the sight of my happiness. A woman sees herself anew in
+everything that she beholds; life is her perpetual looking-glass. In our
+memory, the flowers in a hat often mingle with those along the road; and
+sometimes the muslin of a dress enfolds the recollection of our gravest
+emotions.</p>
+
+<p>O femininity, sublime and ridiculous, wise and foolish! Never shall I
+weary of surprising its movements and variations deep down in my being!
+How it fascinates me in all its shades and forms! I let it play with my
+destiny as much from reason as from love, for we know that nothing can
+subdue it. I<a class="pagenum" name="page_114" id="page_114" title="114"></a> worship it in myself, I worship it in all of us! It may
+exhaust us in the performance of superhuman tasks, it may let us merely
+dally with the delight of being beautiful, it may chain us to our bodies
+or deliver us from their tyranny, it may adorn life or give it, enrich
+it or kill it: always and everywhere it arouses my eager interest. Ever
+unexpected and changeful, it floats in front of our woman's souls like a
+gracious veil that draws, unites and yet separates....</p>
+
+<p>The even motion of the trap lulls my dreams and we drive on, in the
+midst of the plains, the fields and the woods. We pass through a dense
+flock of sheep. The warm round backs, the gentle, anxious faces push and
+hustle, while the thousand slender legs mingle and raise clouds of dust
+along the roadside. The timid voices bleat through space; and a pungent
+scent fills our nostrils. We are now going down into the valley. The
+village appears, among the trees: a cluster of red and grey roofs;
+little narrow gardens; white clothes hung out and fluttering in the
+sunlight. Beyond are broad meadows dotted with peaceful cows and
+streaked with running brooks. There, just in the middle, a factory
+displays its grimy buildings. It is an eye-sore, but<a class="pagenum" name="page_115" id="page_115" title="115"></a> it leaves the mind
+unscathed. Does it not represent definite and deliberate activity amid
+the unconsciousness of nature?...</p>
+
+<p>At this moment, Rose turns towards me; and I seem to read a sadness in
+her eyes:</p>
+
+<p>"What are you thinking of?" I ask.</p>
+
+<p>"I am thinking that I should like to go away altogether and that we have
+to be back tonight."</p>
+
+<p>I kissed her and laughed.</p>
+
+<p>"My darling, you must live and be happy in the present: there is plenty
+of room there."</p>
+
+<p>We arrived at the country-house to which I was taking her. Pretty women
+in delicate morning-wraps were eagerly awaiting us on the steps, while
+some of the men, attracted by the sound of our wheels, leant out from a
+window to see my pretty Rose. There was a general cry of admiration:</p>
+
+<p>"Why, she's magnificent!"</p>
+
+<p>We stepped out of the trap and I pushed Rose towards the party, with
+whispered words of encouragement; but, suddenly bending forward, with
+her feet wide apart, her arms-swinging and her cheeks on fire, she dips
+here and there in a series of awkward bows....<a class="pagenum" name="page_116" id="page_116" title="116"></a></p>
+
+<p>They were kind enough not to laugh; and I led the girl through the
+great, cool echoing rooms, multiplied by the mirrors and filled with
+marvels....</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>The sun streams through the immense, wide-open windows; and the harmony
+of the ancient park mingles with that of the silk hangings and the old
+furniture. The fallen leaves sprinkle tears of gold upon the deep green
+of the lawns. The soft-flowing river welcomes with a quiver the perfect
+beauty of the skies; rare shrubs and delicate flowers set here and there
+sheaves and garlands of joy; and the golden sand of the paths
+accentuates the variety of the colours. On the hill opposite, a wood
+gilded by the autumn seems to be lying down like some huge animal; in
+the distance, the tree-tops are so close together that one could imagine
+a giant hand stroking its tawny fur. On either side of the tall
+bow-windows, the scarlet satin of the curtains falls in long, straight
+folds.</p>
+
+<p>Let us be in a palace or a hovel, in a museum or an hotel: is not our
+attention always first claimed by the window? However little it reveals,
+that little<a class="pagenum" name="page_117" id="page_117" title="117"></a> still means light and life, amid our admiration of the rare
+or our indifference to the ordinary. The windows represent all the
+independence, hope and strength of the little souls behind them; and I
+believe that I love them chiefly because they were the confidants and
+friends of my early years, when, as an idle, questioning little girl, I
+would stand with my hands clasped in front of me and my forehead glued
+to the panes. My childhood spent at those windows was a picture of
+patient waiting.</p>
+
+<p>Often they come back to me, the windows of that big house in a
+provincial town, on one side lighted up and beautiful with the beauty of
+the gay garden on which their lace-veiled casements opened, on the other
+a little dark and lone, as though listening to the voice and the dreary
+illusion of the church which they enframe....</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>The current of my life, diverted for a moment, returned to the present
+and, as always, it swelled with the gladness that rises to our hearts
+whenever chance conjures up a past whose chains we have shattered.</p>
+
+<p>Happier and lighter at heart, I continued with<a class="pagenum" name="page_118" id="page_118" title="118"></a> Rose my visit to the
+galleries, the gardens and the hot-houses. The luncheon passed off well.
+Rose was quite at ease and suggested in that elegant setting a stage
+shepherdess, whose beauty transfigured the simplest clothes. A silk
+kerchief with a bright pattern of flowers is folded loosely round her
+neck; her chemisette and skirt are freshly washed and ironed, her hands
+well tended and her hair gracefully knotted. She introduces a striking
+and very charming note into the Empire dining-room. More than once,
+during lunch, I congratulated myself on not having yielded to the
+temptation to adorn her with the thousand absurd and cunning trifles
+that constitute our modern dress, for her little blunders of speech and
+movement found an excuse in her peasant's costume. Nevertheless, she
+answered intelligently the questions put to her on the treatment of
+cattle and the cultivation of the soil; and I had every reason to be
+proud of her. Her grave and reserved air charmed everybody. If she often
+grieves and disappoints me, is this not due more particularly to the
+absence of certain qualities which her beauty had wrongly led me to
+expect?<a class="pagenum" name="page_119" id="page_119" title="119"></a></p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>Before taking our seats in the trap, we go for a stroll through the
+village. As we pass in front of the baker's, a splendid young fellow,
+naked to the waist, comes out of the house and stands in the doorway.
+The flour with which his arms and his bronzed chest are sprinkled
+softens their modelling very prettily. His sturdy neck, on which his
+head, the head of a young Roman, looks almost small, his straight nose,
+long eyes and narrow temples form a combination rarely seen in our
+district. I was pointing him out to Rose, when he called to her
+familiarly and congratulated her on visiting at the great house. I saw
+no movement of foolish vanity in her; on the contrary, there was great
+simplicity in her story of the drive and the lunch. I was pleased at
+this and told her so, later, when we were back in the trap.</p>
+
+<p>"The poor fellow is afraid of anything that might take me from him," she
+said. "He must be very unhappy just now, for he has been imploring me
+for the last two years to marry him."</p>
+
+<p>I gave her a questioning look; and she went on:</p>
+
+<p>"I did not want to. I would rather end my days in poverty than languish
+for ever behind a counter.<a class="pagenum" name="page_120" id="page_120" title="120"></a> Still, his love would perhaps have overcome
+my resistance, if I had not met you."</p>
+
+<p>She leant over to kiss me. I returned her caress, though I felt a little
+troubled, as I always do when I receive a positive proof of the way in
+which I have changed the course of her life. At the same time, I
+realised that her nature contained a sense of pride, in which till then
+I had believed her entirely deficient. I remained thoughtful, but not
+astonished. We end by having opinions, on both men and things, which are
+so delicately jointed that they can constantly twist and turn without
+ever breaking.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, the horse was jogging peacefully along; we were going towards
+the sea, for I wanted to finish our holiday there. The willow-edged
+river followed our road; and we already saw the white sheen of the
+cliffs at the far end of the valley.</p>
+
+<p>Soon we are passing through the little old town, where a few visitors
+are still staying for the bathing, though it is late in the season. At
+the inn, where we leave our horse and trap, they seem to think us a
+rather odd couple. I laugh at their amused faces, but Rose is
+embarrassed and hurries me away. All the dark and winding little streets
+lead to the sea. We divine its vastness and immensity beyond the<a class="pagenum" name="page_121" id="page_121" title="121"></a> dusky
+lanes that give glimpses of it. In front of one of those luminous
+chinks, under a rounded archway, an old woman stands motionless; she is
+clad like the women of the Pays de Caux: a black dress gathered in thick
+pleats around the waist, a brown apron and a smooth, white cap flattened
+down over her forehead. Poor shrivelled life, whose features seem to
+have been harshly carved out of wood! She is like an interlude in the
+perfect harmony of things. I utter my admiration aloud, so that my
+Roseline's eyes may share it; and we pass under the archway.</p>
+
+<p>We are now on the beach; the wind lashes our skirts and batters my large
+hat, which flaps around my face. For a more intimate enjoyment of the
+sea, we run to it through the glorious, exhilarating air which takes
+away our breath. Over yonder, a few people are gathered round a hideous
+building all decked out with bunting. It is the casino. We hasten in the
+opposite direction. On the patch of sand which the sea uncovers at low
+tide, some boys disturb the solitude; but they are attractive in their
+fresh and nervous grace, with their slender legs, their energetic
+gestures and their as it were beardless voices. Their frolics stand out
+against the pale horizon like positive words in a blissful silence.<a class="pagenum" name="page_122" id="page_122" title="122"></a></p>
+
+<p>As we sat down on the shingle, the sun facing us was still blinding; and
+I reflected that, when my eyes could endure its brilliancy, it would be
+like our human happiness, very near its end....</p>
+
+<p>The excitement of the lunch at the big house has not yet passed off; and
+Rose laughs and is amused at everything. Has she to-day at last, by the
+contact of those happy, care-free lives, foreseen an approaching
+deliverance from hers? Of all the things that we have seen together, how
+much has she really observed? Has the test to which I tried to submit
+her to-day proved vain? As a guide to her impressions, I traced the
+outline of my own before her eyes. I questioned her. Then it seemed to
+me that, in bending my thoughts upon Rose, I saw her as we see our image
+in the water, with vaguer hues and less decided lines. The girl merely,
+from time to time, added a word expressing her contentment, a thought of
+her own; and to me it was as though a little sunbeam had played straight
+on the water and the image through the leafy branches....</p>
+
+<p>Does this mean that we see here a mere reflection, an utterly hollow
+soul, into which the leavings of other souls enter naturally? If it
+seems to me, at this moment, to borrow light and blood from me,<a class="pagenum" name="page_123" id="page_123" title="123"></a> is that
+a reason for thinking that it possesses neither sap nor sunshine? No, a
+thousand times no! True, I am the mother of her real life and she must,
+so to speak, pass through my soul before reaching hers. But, though we
+are of one mind, we are two distinct natures, two very different
+characters. It is a question not only of one creature attaching herself
+to another, but of an awakening and self-enquiring spirit, of a late and
+sudden development. Rose does not wish to copy me. Honestly and
+diligently, she spells and lisps to me something like a new language,
+with the aid of which she will soon be able in her turn to express
+herself and to feel. There are moments when she seems to understand me
+perfectly, even to my inmost thoughts; and I sometimes say to her:</p>
+
+<p>"Where was she in the old days, the girl who understands me so well now?
+What did she do? Where did she live?..."</p>
+
+<p>But where are all of us before the hour that reveals us to ourselves?
+And what manner of being would he be who had never undergone any
+influence or contact, who had never seen anything, felt anything? All
+impressions, whether of persons or things, come to us from without, but
+little by little<a class="pagenum" name="page_124" id="page_124" title="124"></a> and so imperceptibly that there is never a day in our
+lives that may be called the day of awakening. And yet it exists for all
+of us, shredded into decisive and fugitive minutes throughout our lives.
+Imagine for an instant that we could gather them, put them together and
+place them all in the hands of one being who, with one movement, would
+scatter them all around us. Would not the change in our character, in
+our thoughts, in our feelings be very remarkable? Would we not appear
+actually "possessed" by that person, who, after all, would have been but
+the instrument of a natural reaction of all our inert forces?</p>
+
+<p>Filled with these thoughts, I said to Roseline:</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest, once your life is kindled into feeling and expression, I can
+no longer distinguish it, for it is absorbed in mine.... I shall soon be
+going away; and all that I shall know of you will be your beauty, your
+unhappiness and the tenderness of your heart."</p>
+
+<p>Her great, innocent eyes, lifted to mine, asked:</p>
+
+<p>"Is not that enough?"</p>
+
+<p>And, almost ashamed of my doubts, I at once added:</p>
+
+<p>"You shall come where I am; whatever happens, be sure that I will not
+desert you."<a class="pagenum" name="page_125" id="page_125" title="125"></a></p>
+
+<p>With an abrupt gesture, she flung her arms around me; and, as we looked
+into each other's eyes, the same mist rose before them. Was she at last
+about to accompany me into the depths of my soul?</p>
+
+<p>My heart burns with the fire of this new and longed-for emotion; and I
+feel two crystal tears, two tears of sheer delight, slowly follow the
+curve of my cheeks. Rose's own sensibilities have been blunted for a
+time by her rough life; she does not yet know how to weep for happiness;
+and, almost frightened, she convulsively presses her clasped hands
+against her breast, as though she feared lest it should burst with the
+throbbing of her joy.</p>
+
+<p>I placed my lips to the long golden lashes, I gathered the dear,
+timorous tears that seemed still uncertain which path to take; and,
+behind the veil of my kisses, they gushed forth without fear or shame.</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>The setting sun was no more than a thin crimson streak on the dividing
+line of sky and sea; and the peaceful billows whispered mysteriously in
+the dusk that rose from every side.</p>
+
+<p>It was time to go. When we were both standing,<a class="pagenum" name="page_126" id="page_126" title="126"></a> so frail and
+insignificant on the great empty beach, a wave of passionate gratitude
+overwhelmed both our hearts; and I at last believed that all nature&mdash;the
+sea, the meadows and the fields&mdash;had wrought its work of love and beauty
+in my Rose.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_127" id="page_127" title="127"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIVspan_2698" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIVspan_2698"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XIV</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Immense black clouds scudded past in the darkness; a furious wind
+stripped the groaning branches of their leaves; and, when the moon
+suddenly pierced the night, gaunt figures appeared of almost bare trees
+twisted and shaken by the wind. Behind the orchards, a few
+cottage-windows showed a glimmer of light; and the watch-dogs howled as
+I passed, to the accompaniment of their dragging chains.</p>
+
+<p>I walked quickly, full of misgivings and yet undaunted. I asked myself
+at intervals what was taking me to the farm, to probable suffering. Was
+it Rose's silence: I had heard nothing of her for a week? Was it the
+hope of saying good-bye to her, of letting her know at least that I was
+to go away the next day? Or was it not rather the curiosity that makes
+us wish to see, without being seen ourselves, the man or woman who
+interests us?</p>
+
+<p>We always influence in some way or other the looks or the words that are
+addressed to us. The<a class="pagenum" name="page_128" id="page_128" title="128"></a> eye that rests on us becomes unconsciously filled
+with our own rest; and the longing that awakens at the sight of us is
+often born of the unspoken call of our soul or our blood. From the first
+moment when our hands meet, an exchange takes place, and we are no
+longer entirely ourselves, we exist in relation to the persons and the
+things around us. Two honest lives cannot join in falsehood; but either
+of them, if united to a vulgar nature, is perhaps capable of
+deterioration.</p>
+
+<p>While thus arguing, I seek to reassure myself. True, Rose could never be
+at the farm, among those coarse people, what she is with me. Still, what
+will she be like?</p>
+
+<p>I remember something she said to me at the beginning of our
+acquaintance:</p>
+
+<p>"For the sake of peace with those about me, by degrees I made myself the
+same as they were. After a time, I never said what I really thought and
+soon I ceased to notice the difference between the two. As I thought
+that it was impossible for me ever to go away, it seemed to me a wise
+policy to adapt myself to the life I had to live. It was a lie at first;
+later it became second nature...."</p>
+
+<p>But now? Now that all that existence is no more<a class="pagenum" name="page_129" id="page_129" title="129"></a> than a temporary
+unpleasantness, what is her attitude?</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>It was striking eight when I came up to the farm. As a rule, everybody
+is in bed by then. But to-day was the feast of the patron-saint of the
+village; and there must have been dancing and drinking till nightfall.
+At that moment, the darkness was so thick that I could hardly see
+anything in front of me. I found the gate locked. Clinging to the trees
+and pulling myself through the thorns and brambles, I climbed across the
+bank and dropped into the orchard. I at once called softly to the dog,
+so that he should recognise a friend's voice, and, as soon as I was
+certain of his silence, I walked quietly to the house, where there was a
+light in two of the windows at the back of the farm-yard. Not daring to
+take the path that led to the door, I made my way as best I could
+through the long grass. I was shivering in my dress; and my feet were
+frozen. Whenever the moon peeped through two clouds, I quickly flung
+myself against a tree and waited without moving for the darkness to
+return. Cows were lying here and<a class="pagenum" name="page_130" id="page_130" title="130"></a> there on the grass: at each lull in
+the storm, I heard the heavy breathing of the sleeping animals; and
+their peacefulness soothed my troubled mind.</p>
+
+<p>Some thirty yards from the house, I stopped, uncertain what to do. It
+can be approached only by going a little higher, for it is built on a
+mound in the centre of the yard. The whole length of the one-storeyed,
+thatched buildings was without a tree or any dark corner where I could
+shelter.</p>
+
+<p>I was still hesitating, when suddenly a shadow passed across one of the
+windows. I seemed to recognise Rose, and my rising curiosity made me
+cover in a moment the distance that separated me from her. Once there,
+against the window-pane, I thought of nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>No, it was not fear but sorrow that oppressed me from the first glance
+within: Rose was laughing at the top of her voice, her mouth opened in a
+paroxysm of mirth. She was laughing a silly, brutish laugh, lying back
+in her chair, with her knees wide apart and her hands on her hips. A
+lamp stood near her on the long table around which the men were eating
+and drinking; under its torn shade the light flared unevenly, lighting
+up some things with ruthless clearness and leaving others in complete
+darkness. Of<a class="pagenum" name="page_131" id="page_131" title="131"></a> the men, I could see nothing distinctly except their heavy
+jaws and coarse hands and the lighter patches of their white shirts and
+blue smocks. I could make out very little of the large, low-ceilinged
+room. A rickety chair here; an old dresser there, with a few battered
+dishes on it. At regular intervals, a brass pendulum sends forth gleams
+as it catches the light; and the smouldering fire in the tall
+chimney-place flickers for a moment and illumines the strings of beans
+and onions drying round the hearth. On the floor, in the middle of the
+room, two little cowherds are quarrelling for the possession of a goose,
+no doubt won as a prize in the village. The poor thing, lying half-dead,
+with its wings and legs tied up, utters piteous sounds, which are the
+signal for a burst of laughter and coarse jokes.</p>
+
+<p>But suddenly all is silence. A door opens at the far end of the room and
+on the threshold stands the mistress, with a candle in her hand and some
+bottles under her arm. The fear inspired by the old madwoman is obvious
+at once. The two urchins take refuge under the table with their prey,
+Rose's laughter ceases abruptly and, through the window-panes, I hear
+the steady ticking of the clock and the clatter of the spoons in the
+bowls.<a class="pagenum" name="page_132" id="page_132" title="132"></a></p>
+
+<p>The old woman has sat down in the full light. She is eating, with bent
+back, lowered head and jerky, nervous movements, while her wicked little
+sunken eyes peer from under her heavy, matted brows. She speaks some
+curt words in <i>patois</i>, too fast for me to catch their sense; but her
+strident voice hurts my ears. The conversation becomes livelier by
+degrees and soon everybody is speaking at once....</p>
+
+<p>I wait in vain for an absent look, a gesture of annoyance, an expression
+of pain on Rose's part. No, she seems at her ease among these people, as
+she was at the great house, as she is and as she will be everywhere. She
+follows the remarks of one and all and shows the same attention which
+she vouchsafes to me when I speak to her. From time to time, she says a
+word or two; and I recognise the shrill voice and the vulgar gestures
+that used to hurt me so much during our early talks.</p>
+
+<p>I remained there for a long time, always waiting, always hoping. Excited
+by liquor, the men began to quarrel; and I heard the old woman hurl a
+torrent of vile insults at them. Rose took the part of one of the men
+and interfered, using language as coarse as theirs.<a class="pagenum" name="page_133" id="page_133" title="133"></a></p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>It was late when I went away. The clouds had dispersed, the wind had
+dropped; the moonbeams were making pools of silver on the ground through
+the trees; and, when I reached the open fields, they appeared to me
+cold, immense, infinite under a molten sky.</p>
+
+<p>The picture which I carry away with me seems to lose its colour before
+my eyes: it is harder and sadder, made up of harsh lights and darker
+shadows, like an etching. I see the rough hands on the white deal table,
+the bony faces brutally outlined by a crude light. I hear the cracked
+voice of the old madwoman, now raised in yells of abuse, now breaking
+into song ... and Rose ... my beautiful Rose....</p>
+
+<p>But I have stolen this sight of a life which I was never meant to see.
+The dishonesty of my invisible presence makes a gulf between my actual
+vision and my perception; and it seems to me that, in this case, I must
+withhold my judgment even as we hold our breath before a flickering
+flame.<a class="pagenum" name="page_135" id="page_135" title="135"></a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>PART THE SECOND<a class="pagenum" name="page_136" id="page_136" title="136"></a></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_137" id="page_137" title="137"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_2855" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_2855"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>There is in love, in friendship or in the curiosity that drives us
+towards a fellow-creature a period of ascendency when nothing can quench
+our enthusiasm. The fire that consumes us must burn itself out; until
+then, all that we see, all that we discover feeds it and increases it.</p>
+
+<p>We are aware of a blemish, but we do not see it. We know the weakness
+that to-morrow perhaps will blight our joy, but we do not feel it. We
+hear the word that ought to deal our hopes a mortal blow; and it does
+not even touch them!... And our reason, which knows, sees, hears and
+foresees, remains dumb, as though it delighted in these games which
+bring into play our heart and our capacity for feeling. Besides, to us
+women this exercise of the emotions is something so delightful and so
+salutary that our will has neither the power nor the inclination to
+check it either in its soberest or its most extravagant manifestations.
+The influence of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_138" id="page_138" title="138"></a> will would always be commonplace and sordid by the
+side of that generous force which is created by each impulse of the
+heart or mind.</p>
+
+<p>Upon every person or every idea that arouses our enthusiasm we have just
+so much to bestow, a definite sum of energy to expend, which seems, like
+that of our body, to have its own time and season. I have known Rose for
+hardly three months; her picture is still vernal in my heart; nothing
+can prevent its colours from being radiant with freshness, radiant with
+vigour, radiant with sunshine. I shall therefore go away without regret.
+I see the childishness of all the experiments to which I am subjecting
+the girl so as to know her a little better. My interest throws such a
+light upon her that she cannot, do what she will, shrink back into the
+shade.</p>
+
+<p>She is to me the incarnation of one of my most cherished ideas. Until I
+know all, I shall suspend my judgment and my intentions will not change.
+I believe that every seed in the rich soil of a noble heart has to
+fulfil its tender, gracious work of love and kindness.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot, therefore, lay upon Rose the burden of my disappointment last
+night; and my affection suggests a thousand good reasons for absolving
+her. Is<a class="pagenum" name="page_139" id="page_139" title="139"></a> this wrong? And are we to consider, with the sapient ones of
+the earth, that our vision is never clear until the day when we no
+longer have the strength to love, believe and admire? I do not think so.
+Setting aside the careful judgment which we exercise in the case of our
+companion for life, it is certain that our opinions on the others, on
+our chance acquaintances, are but an illusion and owe far more to our
+souls than to theirs. In our brief and crowded lives, we have barely
+time to catch a note of beauty here, to perceive a sign of truth there.
+If, therefore, we have to pass days and years without understanding
+everything and loving everything, if we have to remain under a
+misapprehension, why not choose that which is on the side of love and
+gladdens our hearts?</p>
+
+<p>We should take care of the images that adorn our soul. Our women's minds
+would possess more graciousness if we bestowed upon them a little of the
+attention which we lavish on our bodies.</p>
+
+<p>My beautiful Rose is kind and loving; I will deck her with my hopes as
+long as I can. When enthusiasm is shared, it is easy to keep it up. It
+weighs lightly in spite of its infinite preciousness. If I ever find it
+a strain, the reason will be that Rose did not really bear her share of
+it. It will become a burden<a class="pagenum" name="page_140" id="page_140" title="140"></a> and I shall relinquish it. All that she
+will have of me will be the careless charity bestowed upon the poor.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>
+"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, ... 19&mdash;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>"If you knew, Rose, how I miss the lovely autumn landscapes! The weather
+was so bright on the day of my departure that, to enjoy it to the full,
+I bicycled to the railway-town. After leaving the village, I took the
+road through the wood and it was delightful to skim along through the
+dead leaves, the softly-streaming tears of autumn. Sometimes, when a
+gust of wind blew, I went faster; and little yellow waves seemed to rise
+and fall and chase one another all around me. Some of the trees, not yet
+bare, but only thinned, traced an exquisite russet lacework against the
+blue sky; and the birds warbled, cooed and whistled as in spring. I saw
+the noisy, crowded streets of Paris waiting for me at the end of my day;
+and this gave a flavour of sadness to the calm of the high roads, the
+pureness of the air, the dear beauty of the lanes....</p>
+
+<p>"It was quite early in the morning and the fields<a class="pagenum" name="page_141" id="page_141" title="141"></a> were still bathed in
+a dewy radiance. I sat down for a little while on a roadside bank; an
+immense plain began at the level of my face and ended by rising slowly
+towards the sky. It was a very young field of corn, which the splendour
+of the day turned into pearly down. I could have looked at it for ever,
+at one moment letting the full glory of it burst on my dazzled eyes and
+then gradually lowering my lids down to the tiny threads that trembled
+and glittered in my breath. Then my mouth formed itself into a kiss; and
+I amused myself by slowly and lovingly making the cool pearls of the
+morning die on my warm lips...."</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, ... 19&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>"I see you, my Rose, laying supper in the wretched kitchen, while the
+farm-hands gather round the hearth. I like to picture you going
+cautiously through the old woman's room at night, so as to write to me
+by the rays of the moon, without disturbing the household with an
+unwonted light. You come and sit on the ledge of the open window, to
+receive the full benefit of the moonbeams, and then<a class="pagenum" name="page_142" id="page_142" title="142"></a> you write on your
+knee those trembling lines which convey your emotion to me.</p>
+
+<p>"I see you in the wonderful setting of the silver-flooded orchard. The
+golden silk of your long tresses embroiders your white night-dress. Your
+eyes are filled with peace; you are beautiful like that; and there is
+nothing so sweet as an orchard in the moonlight. The apple-trees seem to
+lay their even shadows softly upon the pallor of the grass; and their
+ordered quiet spreads a serene and simple joy over nature's sleep....</p>
+
+<p>"Rose, at the moving period that brought us together, how I would that
+your sweet composure had been sometimes a little ruffled! It would have
+appeared to me of a finer quality had I found it more variable. A
+woman's reason should be less rigid; and I should loathe mine if it were
+not a leaven of indulgence and forgiveness in my life....</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, Rose, Rose, tell me that the coldness of your soul springs from its
+wonderful purity! Tell me that your heart is so deep that the sound of
+the joys which fall into it cannot be heard outside! Tell me that it is
+the storm of your life that has crushed the flowers of your sensibility
+for the time....</p>
+
+<p>"I well know that our interest cannot always be<a class="pagenum" name="page_143" id="page_143" title="143"></a> active, that it must be
+suppressed; I know that indifference is essential to the happy
+equilibrium of our faculties and that, beside the exaltation of our
+soul, it is the untroubled lake fertilising and refreshing the earth.
+And you will find, Rose, how necessary it is to be on our guard against
+it in our judgments and how it can take possession of some natures and
+slowly destroy them under a hateful appearance of wisdom! I would rather
+discover ugly and active defects in you than that beautiful
+impassiveness. Besides, as I have told you many a time, the excellence
+that seems to me ideal has its weaknesses. It is rather a way of
+perfection for our poor humanity, a way that is all the better because
+it is adapted for our feeble and wavering steps!...</p>
+
+<p>"Once, at harvest-time, I met you in the little road near the church. It
+was the end of the day; and you were coming back from the fields. You
+were standing high on a swaying mountain of hay, you were driving a
+great farm-horse, which disappeared under its load. Your tall figure
+stood out against the sky ablaze with the last rays of the sun; and I
+still see your look of absolute unconcern. You wore a long blue apron
+that came all round you and a bodice of the same colour. In that blue
+faded by the<a class="pagenum" name="page_144" id="page_144" title="144"></a> sun, with your hair a pale cloud in the gold of the
+sunset, you looked like an archangel taken from some Italian fresco.</p>
+
+<p>"As you passed me, you timidly returned my smile; and I followed you for
+a long time with my eyes. Do you still remember the trouble you had in
+passing under the dark vault of the old oaks? Every now and again, a
+branch, longer and lower than the others, threatened your face: you
+caught it with a quick movement and lifted it over your head. At one
+time, there were so many of those branches and they were so heavy that
+you were obliged to lie back on the hay, holding both arms over your
+face to save it from being struck. Then, when the lumbering wagon
+stopped in front of the farm, my archangel stepped down humbly into the
+mud, took the horse by the bridle and disappeared from sight....</p>
+
+<p>"The reason why this memory now comes back to me is that I find in it
+some affinity with what I would ask of your reason: those simple
+movements by which you will be able to thrust aside the bad habits that
+disfigure you! May your reason be the beautiful archangel to guide and
+sway your humble life, but may it sometimes know how to descend and
+stoop<a class="pagenum" name="page_145" id="page_145" title="145"></a> in obedience to the necessities of chance. Even as, on the day
+when I saw you, you could not alter the road which you had to follow, so
+you cannot alter your real nature; but you must 'know the way,' you must
+guide and control."</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>
+"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>,... 19&mdash;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>"I am longing to have you here so that I may watch carefully over the
+slightest details of your life and put your temperament incessantly to
+the test. They say that enthusiasm cannot be acquired. But how can they
+tell that it is not merely sleeping, unless they try to awaken it? Those
+around us have sometimes, quite unconsciously, an unhappy way of
+subduing and oppressing us.</p>
+
+<p>"Even the most emotional have often to struggle lest their souls should
+shrink in the presence of certain people, like the flowers whose petals
+exposed to the light timidly hide their hearts as soon as day declines.
+You, whom a placid humour reserves for gentle emotions, must try not to
+let that very beautiful nature exceed its rights, or cast an unnecessary
+shadow over your feelings, or ever check your finest<a class="pagenum" name="page_146" id="page_146" title="146"></a> bursts of
+admiration with doubt and misgiving. Circumstances have failed to form
+your taste; and at first you will pass marvels by and prefer to marvel
+at some hideous thing. Never mind! I like to think that, after all, the
+best part of a noble work is the enthusiasm which it arouses and that
+the greatest dignity of art lies in the flame which it kindles.</p>
+
+<p>"Time was when I wept in front of things that now leave me unmoved; but,
+in captivating my childish heart, did they not accomplish their task
+even as those do now which quicken the beating of my woman's heart?...</p>
+
+<p>"Learn to appreciate life and to look upon all that does not enhance it
+as vain and wearisome. As there is nothing in this world which has not
+its relation to life, in loving it, my Roseline, you will understand
+everything and accept everything.</p>
+
+<p>"I want your eyes, when presenting to your mind whatever is best in a
+great work, to learn the luxury of lingering on it; I want your ears to
+perceive the wonderful, voluptuous charm of sounds, your hands to
+rejoice in things soft to the touch; I want you to learn how to breathe
+with delight and how to eat with pleasure. Don't smile. None of all this
+is childish; it is made up of tiny joyous movements<a class="pagenum" name="page_147" id="page_147" title="147"></a> which the simplest
+existence can command when it knows how to recognise them. And yet ...
+and yet I feel a selfish wish to leave you still in your prison, so that
+your desire to escape from it may keep on growing! I love that desire, I
+love your actual distress, I love the wretchedness of your past, the
+wretchedness of your present, I love you to see difficulties in the way
+of your deliverance....</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, if those obstacles could give you, as they do me, that sort of
+intoxication for which I cherish them! When at last I see the goal
+beyond them, my heart leaps for joy. But hardly is the goal attained
+when I rejoice in it only because it brings me to another, higher and
+more distant; and my imagination resumes its course, never looking back
+except to measure the road already traversed.... In this way, never
+satisfied and yet happy in the mere fact that I am advancing and in the
+knowledge that no more can be asked of a poor human will, I have the
+feeling that my life never stops."</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>
+"<span class="smcap">Paris</span>,... 19&mdash;<br />
+</p>
+
+<p>"Dearest, it is evening; it is cold and wet out of doors; but peace and
+gaiety shed their radiance<a class="pagenum" name="page_148" id="page_148" title="148"></a> in the great drawing-room which you will
+soon know, white and bare as a convent-parlour, living and bright as joy
+itself. Chance gave me to-day a long day of solitude, like those at
+Sainte-Colombe. And yet the hours passed before me and I could not make
+them fruitful. When such favours come to me in the midst of excitement,
+I am too glad of them to be able to profit by them; I can but feel them;
+and they control me without leaving me time to control them in my turn.
+I listen to my life, I contemplate it. It has too many opposing voices,
+too many absolutely different shapes; my consciousness is lost in it as
+a precious stone is swallowed up by the sea. I blush at such chaos. My
+soul appears to me only fit to compare with one of those wretched
+table-cloths which country dressmakers patch together, at the end of the
+year, out of the thousand scraps of the thousand different materials
+which they have cut during the season. But is not this the natural
+result of the diversity of our feminine souls?</p>
+
+<p>"Antagonistic elements have long been at war in me; and the violence of
+their blows has sometimes torn my life asunder. I no longer have cause
+to complain of it now, because time and love have helped me to reconcile
+them. Our powers are injurious<a class="pagenum" name="page_149" id="page_149" title="149"></a> to us so long as we do not know how to
+use them. I have suffered, I still suffer from my creeping knowledge. I
+would like to increase the pace of yours. Is it impossible?</p>
+
+<p>"And so I dreamed all day and, of course, I dreamed of you, the Rose
+whom I am always picturing. I imagined that we had arranged to see each
+other this evening. You walked into the drawing-room, drenched with the
+rain, pink-cheeked with the cold. You looked very pretty, in a frock
+that suited your face and your figure. You knew how to hold yourself!
+You knew how to walk! Your movements were graceful! After talking for a
+little while by the fire, we both sat down at the table, under the
+lamp-light, and there began our usual work. What work it was I cannot
+tell; but it will be easy for us to choose: we have everything to learn;
+and I feel that both our minds must follow the same path for some time
+to come. By placing the same objects before them, we shall succeed in
+discovering what you really feel and what you really wish. That is the
+only way of delivering your mind from my involuntary dominion and of
+distinguishing your image from mine. I have no other ideal than to feel
+myself actually moving, even though the movement<a class="pagenum" name="page_150" id="page_150" title="150"></a> be an inconsistent
+one. How could I invite you to a similarity which is nothing but a
+perpetual dissimilarity?</p>
+
+<p>"You must cease to be an echo. I shall map out no course for you; and we
+do not know what will become of you. Let us first walk at random. The
+goal is not always visible; but very often the road travelled tells us
+which road to take next. It matters little what work we do, provided
+that it gives a sort of tone to our meetings and that it regulates our
+hours. The freaks of chance and the youthfulness of our minds will
+always furnish colour and fancy in plenty....</p>
+
+<p>"Understand me, Roseline: it is not a friend that I am seeking, not one
+of those uncertain, light-hearted, capricious relations which encumber
+life without adding to it. I am dreaming like a child, of a woman who
+should realise the greatest possible amount of beauty in her mind and
+person and who should add her strength to mine in the service of the
+same ideals. Rose, are you that woman? Will you help me to deliver other
+women still who are oppressed by circumstances or people, to deliver
+those who are shackled by prejudice or fear, to deliver the beauty that
+is unable to show itself and the will that<a class="pagenum" name="page_151" id="page_151" title="151"></a> dares not act? To deliver!
+What a magic word! Rose, does it ring in your heart as it rings in
+mine?...</p>
+
+<p>"But, as you see, my dreams are carrying me too far; and I blush at my
+audacity. When I look at you and judge myself, it often seems to me that
+what I have done for you is only a form of vanity, that all my generous
+aspirations are but vanity!... Is it true?</p>
+
+<p>"And, if it were! Is it not still greater and more foolish vanity to
+require that all our actions should spring from pure and sublime
+motives? If, in contributing to your development, I am conscious that I
+am assisting my own, will yours be any the less complete for that? If I
+no longer know which is dearer, you, who represent my dreams, or my
+dreams, which have become embodied in yourself, will you on that account
+be less fondly and less nobly loved?</p>
+
+<p>"And, if it be true that vanity there is, is the vanity vain that sheds
+happiness and joy?"</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_152" id="page_152" title="152"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_3177" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_3177"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>A long month has passed since my return to Paris. Twice Rose has written
+to announce her arrival: I waited for her at the station and she did not
+come. Poor child! We all know how difficult it is to break one's bonds,
+even the most detested. A thousand invisible ties keep us in the place
+where chance has set us; and, when we are about to rend them, they
+become so many unsuspected pangs. Instinct blindly resists all change,
+as though it were unable to distinguish what reason dimly descries
+beyond the trials and dangers of the moment. Rose is leaving nothing but
+wretchedness; in front of her is a fair and pleasant prospect.
+Nevertheless, she hesitates and she is unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>In my present restless state, I no longer know what I wish. If she came
+to-morrow, should I be glad or not? I cannot tell. I can no longer tell.
+Those who do not suffer from this absurd mania for action escape those
+painful moments when we are at the<a class="pagenum" name="page_153" id="page_153" title="153"></a> mercy of a distracted will that no
+longer knows exactly what it ought to want. In absence, our feelings
+pass through so many contradictory phases! When the hour of return
+comes, finding it impossible to collect so many conflicting sentiments
+or to bring back to one point so many different desires, we surrender
+ourselves to the impression of the moment; and this impression often has
+nothing in common with what we had previously felt and hoped.</p>
+
+<p>I have done my utmost to make her come. Lately, I have been sending her
+urgent and encouraging letters daily. Now, the hour is approaching; and
+my only feeling is one of anguish.</p>
+
+<p>I have told her twenty times that the talk about responsibility which I
+hear all around me brings a smile to my lips. I have told her how, by
+making my conduct depend on hers, I relieved myself of all personal
+anxiety. And to-day my task appears to me so heavy that I can only laugh
+at my presumption.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>It was foolish of me to write to her:</p>
+
+<p class='blockquot'>"What are your faults? Teach me to know you. Tell me what you are."<a class="pagenum" name="page_154" id="page_154" title="154"></a></p>
+
+<p>In reality, our faults arise from our circumstances. Events alone set us
+the questions to which our actions give a definite answer. Up to the
+present, Rose has not lived; she has been accumulating forces that are
+now about to come into being. What will they be? Whither will they tend?
+We can assume nothing in a life that is but beginning; and is it not
+just this that encourages us to seek and to help? Each of us has only to
+look back in order to know that, in the shifting soil of characters, we
+can fix or establish nothing. I found her acquiescing in a shameful
+servitude; and yet I have faith in the nobility of her soul. She was
+untruthful; there was no relation between her wishes and her actions,
+her thoughts and her words. Nevertheless, I do not doubt her essential
+honesty.</p>
+
+<p>The atmosphere that surrounds us is so often treacherous to our pliant
+natures! We women are obliged to lie. So long as we have not found our
+"love," we look in vain for a little confidence. No one believes us, no
+one receives the best part of our soul. One would think that, for those
+who listen to us, our sincerest words are poisoned as they pass through
+our fairest smiles. And, when nature has made us beautiful and gifted,
+people take pleasure<a class="pagenum" name="page_155" id="page_155" title="155"></a> in judging us severely, as they might look at the
+summer days through dark-tinted window-panes.</p>
+
+<p>We are always refused recognition. The first feeling which any work that
+we perform arouses is one of doubt. Its merit is disputed. And yet we
+have devoted a part of our youth to it; we have left with it a little of
+our freshness and our bloom. Very often, it is the ransom of our sorrow.
+Our love is written upon it; and it bears the imprint alike of our
+smiles and of our tears. Do we not know that woman, for all her culture,
+remains closer than man to her instinct and her "soil?" She is less
+purely intellectual but more sensitive than man; and, while he can
+create everything in the silence of his imagination, she has to live and
+suffer everything that she brings into the world. She conceives and
+realises with her flesh and with her blood.</p>
+
+<p>A woman said to me, one day:</p>
+
+<p>"If I had to begin life over again, I should not have the courage to
+avoid a single danger, pain or disappointment. In surmounting them, I
+have gained a power of resistance which forms the framework of my
+present and my future. I can see the sparkle of my happiness better when
+I keep in the shadow of my sad memories; and all that I accomplish, all<a class="pagenum" name="page_156" id="page_156" title="156"></a>
+that I write seems to me to flow from my past tears."</p>
+
+<p>To refuse recognition to a woman's work is to refuse to recognise her
+soul, her existence and every throb of her heart!...</p>
+
+<p>Man does not know that torture which every true woman suffers when she
+feels that those who are listening to her do not hear her real words,
+that those who are looking at her do not see what she is making every
+effort to show. Even when she is obeying the simplest impulses of her
+nature, people distrust what she says and what she does; and in some
+women, good and kind and beautiful, we see repeated the artless miracle
+of the flowers that exhaust themselves in giving too much fragrance and
+too much blossom. How fearful and timid this moral isolation makes us!
+And how thrice courageous we must be in the hour of realisation! If
+effort sometimes seems useless to men, what about women, who see
+themselves ever confronted by a blank wall of scepticism?</p>
+
+<p>A man is valued by the weight of the forces which he stirs up for and
+against himself. The forces which woman encounters are nearly all
+hostile.<a class="pagenum" name="page_157" id="page_157" title="157"></a></p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>I was close upon sixteen. One day, I heard some one say, speaking of
+some trifling thing of which I was wrongly suspected:</p>
+
+<p>"She is no longer a child. She's a woman now and she's lying."</p>
+
+<p>That was a cruel speech, the sort of speech that influences a whole
+life. My eyes were gradually opened to the dreary injustice that casts
+its shadow over the fairest destinies of women. Nothing around them
+seems clear and natural. Doubt lies in wait for them, calumny rends
+them. Now my hour was coming: my skirts, touching the ground for the
+first time, had suggested the suspicion of deceit and hypocrisy.</p>
+
+<p>It was perhaps this wound, inflicted on the soul of the growing girl,
+that left the most serious mark on my soul as a woman. Thanks to a
+strange prick of conscience, to a singular need to give to others what I
+did not obtain, I wanted to trust and I did trust! I gave my confidence
+passionately, utterly, rapturously! And this made wells of such deep and
+impetuous joy spring up in me that I felt no bitterness when I saw my
+confidence marred as it passed<a class="pagenum" name="page_158" id="page_158" title="158"></a> through others, even as a clear stream
+is muddied in following its course.</p>
+
+<p>Still, I wanted more; I sought to concentrate in one person, herself
+generous and confiding, the happiness which I lacked and whose infinite
+value I suspected. Ah, what a blessed relief when I found her! I was as
+one who has never seen his face save in distorting mirrors and who
+suddenly sees himself as he hoped to be. It seems to me that my
+happiness dates from that day. Before then, I suffered, I was all
+astray, an ill wind hovered round me; and, on the sands of other lives,
+there was never a trace of my footsteps where I believed that I had
+passed. Henceforth, another soul would read mine! Another's eyes would
+own the candour of my eyes!</p>
+
+<p>It was little more than a child that introduced me to love and kindness.
+She was treated with iron severity, she was unhappy; I was alone: she
+became my daily companion. Alas! too early ripe, too intelligent, she
+was of those who cannot stay. Is it a presentiment that makes them hurry
+so, or is it rather their eagerness to live, their over-sharpened senses
+that wear out their strength?<a class="pagenum" name="page_159" id="page_159" title="159"></a></p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>She was not fifteen; but, already matured in body and mind, she
+attracted immediate attention. Her walk was so superb that I cannot
+think of her without seeing her come swiftly to me, with that dear smile
+of hers and with her lovely arms outstretched in greeting. Her limpid
+eyes obeyed the light, the light of her heart and the light of the sky,
+whereas her dark hair, always tangled and rebellious, bore witness to
+the protest of her dauntless spirit. In her company I tasted for the
+first time the delight of souls that join and blend and unite in mutual
+trust. In an ecstasy of sincerity, for hours I imagined myself baptising
+her whole life with my faith. I said to her, over and over again:</p>
+
+<p>"I believe in you.... I believe in you.... Do you understand what that
+means? It is something greater and better than 'I love you:' it means
+that one can never be alone again!"</p>
+
+<p>She died a few months later; and for years I was to seek in vain in
+others' hearts and eyes the pure and limpid faith which reflects
+everything that bends over it.</p>
+
+<p>One can love people without knowing them fully;<a class="pagenum" name="page_160" id="page_160" title="160"></a> one cannot believe in
+them without mingling one's soul with theirs; and the moral luxury of it
+is so great that, when we have once known it, if only for a moment, we
+demand it from all with whom we come in contact.</p>
+
+<p>Roseline, all that I then wished for, that charming bond of tenderness
+and confidence which should link women together, that difficult and
+precious happiness which I knew for one hour through that child-soul:
+that is what I am trying to offer you.</p>
+
+<p>And perhaps you will have something better still, because the assistance
+which you receive is deliberate and has stood the test. In the place of
+that artless faith rushing to meet life, you find a soul that has been
+steeped in it. Rose, may my faith and my soul be your two mirrors. In
+one, you will see your forces rise even as we catch the first swell of a
+cornfield at dawn. In the other, they will appear to you enlarged,
+multiplied, transformed according to nature's laws, ripened by the
+dazzling suns of noon, utilised by the intellect, ready at last to
+nourish you and nourish others.<a class="pagenum" name="page_161" id="page_161" title="161"></a></p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>Then I met men, I met other women, without ever attaining the wish of my
+heart. They came and went. But, at each soul that I lost, I found my own
+a little more and I remember most gratefully those who were the most
+cruel. This man was ill and unconscious of his actions; that woman was
+wicked; that man too frivolous; and another was a liar....</p>
+
+<p>A liar! Even to-day, among those withered attachments which it pleases
+me to evoke, this last arrests my thoughts. For it was he&mdash;O singular
+contrast!&mdash;who, by his lying and duplicity, finished the work begun by
+the frank confidence of the child.</p>
+
+<p>He was a liar.&mdash;Lying came to him so easily and naturally that he
+himself did not discriminate between what he had done and what he had
+said, between what he had actually experienced and the life which he
+pretended to have lived. His was a strange nature, which, in its
+eagerness to seem, forgot to be, a nature which, no longer
+distinguishing its frontiers from another's, lost in the end its own
+domain! A strange example of a strayed consciousness which, knowing no
+dividing line, attributed the acts of others to itself, spoke from their
+hearts and led their<a class="pagenum" name="page_162" id="page_162" title="162"></a> existences! He walked through life as one walks
+through a gallery whose walls are panelled with mirrors. He could not
+take a step without thinking that he was taking a thousand; and his
+vanity enhanced his least actions to such a degree that he actually
+believed himself the lover of a woman if he merely kissed her hand. It
+was thus that he boasted of making innumerable conquests at every hour
+of the day; and, to hear him talk, always tired and exhausted with love,
+he was a wreck at twenty, as the price of his inordinate exploits.
+Enamoured of his appearance, he saw nothing beyond the blankness of his
+little soul, or rather he made it the origin and the end of everything.
+Poor empty head! Wretched puppet, whose spring was the vanity which
+every passer-by could set in motion at will!</p>
+
+<p>At a time when I myself did not know it, he had cleverly discovered what
+he must appear to be in order to arouse my enthusiasm, thus offering me
+the illusion of that faith which I aspire to awaken in you, my Roseline.
+Certainly, I owe him much! If an exact copy of a masterpiece can stir us
+as deeply as the original, the perfect impersonation of a fine intellect
+and a noble character can influence us very happily. How grateful I am
+to him for the trouble<a class="pagenum" name="page_163" id="page_163" title="163"></a> which he took to give me a representation of
+virtues which he did not possess! They were painted on his soul in such
+relief, a relief which no reality gives, as I was afterwards to learn!
+The artificial lilies that decorate the chapel of the church hard by
+have an assurance that is absent from those which will soon fade over
+there, on the table. The false boasts an unvarying brilliance, an
+imposing emphasis which we never find in the true. And, no doubt, the
+qualities of which he vouchsafed me the sight would never have had such
+value in my eyes, if his fatuousness had not displayed them to my
+youthful admiration as one shows an object behind a magnifying-glass.</p>
+
+<p>And what does it matter to me now that they were false, those gifts with
+which that soul seemed laden, if for a moment I pictured them as real!
+After the error was dispelled, the image which I once thought true
+remained in me. It had determined my tastes, fixed my opinions, set my
+mind at rest. Subsequently, I was to try and refashion the perfection of
+which I had beheld the mirage and, with still greater ardour, I was to
+pursue in others and conquer at last the reality of the once-known
+happiness which I thought that I had found in him.</p>
+
+<p>We are none the poorer when a sad truth takes the<a class="pagenum" name="page_164" id="page_164" title="164"></a> place of a beautiful
+dream. Knowledge has already filled the void which the lost illusion
+leaves behind it....</p>
+
+<h3>6</h3>
+
+<p>Let us seek then, Rose, let us seek even after we have found! Whether we
+be denied or heard, let us go on seeking! When we have lovingly
+performed the little things necessary that a flower may peradventure
+blossom, if it does not give us what we hoped for, does that prevent us
+from loving another exactly like it and from tending it with all the
+greater skill and care?</p>
+
+<p>Our ignorance must be renewed in the presence of each life that touches
+ours. May the quest suffice to keep our faith eternally young, that
+wonderful, childlike faith which alone encourages, finds and sets free.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_165" id="page_165" title="165"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_3455" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_3455"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>It was eleven o'clock when I went to meet Rose this morning; but the day
+was so dark and the fog so dense that the street-lamps were still lit.</p>
+
+<p>It was gloomy and depressing. Wrapped in a long cloak and huddled in a
+corner of the cab, I shivered with cold and nervousness. I reread her
+telegram, dispatched from a railway-station before daybreak; and the
+pathos of those few words went to my heart:</p>
+
+<div class='figcenter' style='width:20em'>
+<p>"Am starting. Ran away yesterday.</p>
+<p style='text-align:right'>"<span class="smcap">Your Baby."</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Yesterday? Then she had spent the night at an inn? Why?</p>
+
+<p>Alas, in such circumstances, do not we women usually behave like that,
+blindly and illogically? We prepare everything, we look out the trains
+and choose the most favourable time for flight; we announce the<a class="pagenum" name="page_166" id="page_166" title="166"></a> minute
+of our arrival to those expecting us; everything is ready, everything is
+decided.... Then the appointed day arrives. The hour strikes, the hour
+passes and we do not stir. We have been kept by some meaningless trifle
+which is magnified in our excitement and acquires an importance which it
+never had before: a word, a look from those whom we are going to desert.
+We forgive them when we are on the point of leaving them for ever. We
+invest them with a little of our own gentleness and kindness. Even as
+the colour of things blurs and fades when our eyes are dim with tears,
+so the hardest people do not appear so to the anxious heart of a woman.
+And pity gains the upper hand, time slips by and we put off to the
+morrow and, on the morrow, we put off again....</p>
+
+<p>Then, one day, we depart all at once, for no definite reason, depart
+empty-handed, with an impassive face and without looking round. We
+perform the most energetic action almost without knowing it, for even
+our will shirks the too-heavy task. It dreads the preparations, it would
+like to be able to tell us feebly that nothing is done, that nothing is
+decided, that we can still go back to the past; and this is enough to
+hurry our steps towards the future. We<a class="pagenum" name="page_167" id="page_167" title="167"></a> go, we walk on and on, we walk
+till we are tired. Then does it not seem as if each minute shifted the
+problem of our destiny a little more? And in a few hours would it not
+need more courage to return than to continue our road?</p>
+
+<p>But it is nearly always so, by little unforeseen acts, by fear as much
+as by weakness, that we perform the inaugural act of our
+enfranchisement. We flee bewildered, like poor beasts that have broken
+loose; and the first movements of our liberty echo in our hearts with a
+melancholy sound of dangling chains.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>My dear Rose!... As I go through the damp, dark station, I am already
+picturing her fright....</p>
+
+<p>The train arrives, full of passengers, who hurry towards the exit in
+surging black masses. How shall I recognise her in this crowd, in the
+fog? I do not know what she will look like. A lady? A servant? A
+servant, I expect, because she will have had nothing ready. I hope so;
+and I look out eagerly for a black knitted hood on a head of golden
+hair. I am afraid lest she should not see me in her excitement and
+nervousness. The flood of passengers<a class="pagenum" name="page_168" id="page_168" title="168"></a> separates on either side of the
+ticket-collector; and I keep close to him, standing desperately on
+tip-toe....</p>
+
+<p>The crowd has passed and I have not caught sight of her. There are still
+a few people coming from the far end of the train; it is so dark that I
+can hardly see.... There is a tall figure all over feathers in the
+distance, but it cannot be ... And yet ... yes, yes, it is she! Gracious
+goodness, what a sight!... I feel that it would be better to laugh, but
+I can't; and I am furious with myself for keeping a grave face. It is
+Rose! Rose dressed like a Sainte-Colombe lady!</p>
+
+<p>She comes along, calmly, smiling and self-possessed; and I am now able
+to distinguish the painful hues of that appalling garb: the little
+red-velvet hat, studded with glass stones of every imaginable colour and
+trimmed with green feathers of the most aggressive shade and style; the
+serge skirt, too short in front; the black jacket, quite simple, it is
+true, but so badly cut that it murders the figure of the lovely girl!
+She has a large basket, carefully corded, on her arm. I really suffer
+tortures while she kisses me effusively and says, gaily:</p>
+
+<p>"You are looking very well, dearest; but you're<a class="pagenum" name="page_169" id="page_169" title="169"></a> upset: what's the
+matter?" And, before I have time to answer, she adds in a triumphant
+tone, "I have a great surprise for you. Look in the basket, look!"</p>
+
+<p>I need not trouble: at that moment there comes from the basket a
+pandemonium of terrified quacks and flapping wings.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," Rose continues, laughing merrily, "I stole the old woman's best
+two ducks and that's why I'm here.... But first I must tell you, I have
+been looking after them for a month, fattening them for your benefit; I
+would not go before they were just right. And what do you think? All of
+a sudden, she said, at dinner, that she was going to market to-day to
+sell them! It gave me an awful turn. As soon as I could leave the
+kitchen, I flew to the poultry-yard and I took the train to &mdash;&mdash; and
+slept there. Luckily, I had already sent my trunk to an hotel."</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Rose in stupefaction:</p>
+
+<p>"Your trunk?"</p>
+
+<p>She went on, with her eyes full of cunning:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, your baby was rather clever!... As the old woman never paid me
+during the whole of the four years, I worked out what a farm-servant
+gets a year and I decided that I was justified in opening<a class="pagenum" name="page_170" id="page_170" title="170"></a> an account in
+her name with one of our customers who keeps a big drapery-store. And so
+I now have a trunk and a complete outfit, as well as these pretty things
+which I have on. It was only fair, wasn't it?"</p>
+
+<p>I turned away my head without a word. It was certainly quite fair; but I
+felt my cheeks flushing scarlet.</p>
+
+<p>Rose gave a yawn which ended in a groan:</p>
+
+<p>"I'm starving. Suppose we had some lunch; we could come back for the
+trunk afterwards."</p>
+
+<p>I eagerly agreed and hurried her to the exit. From the top of the
+stairs, I saw that the fog had lifted at last; the gas-lamps had been
+put out and the street lay before us in a melancholy, wan light. The
+pavements were covered with mud and the houses showed yellow and
+smoke-grimed. Then I looked at Rose and my torture suddenly became more
+than I could bear. I placed her in front of me and feverishly unbuttoned
+the clumsy jacket, which was too tight at the neck, too narrow across
+the shoulders and gave her no waist at all. It fell away on either side;
+her bust showed full and uncompressed in a light-coloured blouse; and I
+breathed more freely.<a class="pagenum" name="page_171" id="page_171" title="171"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Now, take off your hat."</p>
+
+<p>She slowly obeyed; and the gloomy station and the wretched, grimy day
+were suddenly illuminated. Oh, those lovely fair curls, which had been
+crushed and pushed away under the hideous hat with its too narrow brim,
+what bliss it was to see them again full of life and laughter! There
+they were in their graceful, natural clusters, some drooping over her
+forehead, some brushing her cheeks, others kissing her neck and ears!
+How pretty she was! I recognised my Rose at last in her soft, golden,
+shimmering, impalpable, incredible tresses. I passed my fingers lightly
+over that silk for love's loom, while my eyes feasted on its delicate
+colour. No, indeed, nothing was lost. Rose was beautiful, more beautiful
+than ever; and the glad words came crowding to my lips. I forgave her
+and was angry with myself for my coldness.</p>
+
+<p>Poor child, she did not know! She had thought, no doubt, that, to go to
+Paris, she must absolutely have a hat; and how was she to choose one in
+a village-shop? And I told her over and over again how fond I was of
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Rose, a little uncomfortable, with crimson cheeks and downcast eyes,
+stood awkwardly turning the unfortunate<a class="pagenum" name="page_172" id="page_172" title="172"></a> object in her hands. I looked
+round: a few people, intent on their business, were hurrying this way
+and that; there was no one on the staircase. Then, bursting with
+laughter, I dashed the hat to the floor and, with the tip of my shoe,
+precipitated it into space....</p>
+
+<p>"Come over to the other side," I said to Rose. "Quick!... Suppose they
+brought it back!"</p>
+
+<p>Good-natured as always and pleased at my amusement, she laughed because
+I laughed; and, while we ran to the other exit, the masterpiece of
+Sainte-Colombe millinery rolled and rolled and hopped from stair to
+stair.</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>The bustle of the restaurant and the noise of the street outside
+affected me tremendously. I was nervous and excited, with a wild desire
+to laugh at everything and nothing. I asked Rose all sorts of questions;
+and, whenever any one passed:</p>
+
+<p>"Look!" I said. "Do look!... You're not looking!... There, that's a
+pretty dress, a regular Parisienne!... And, over there, by the door:
+don't you see that queer woman?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_173" id="page_173" title="173"></a></p>
+
+<p>The girl looked and then turned to me and, before I could prevent her,
+bent down and kissed my hand. I wanted to say:</p>
+
+<p>"You mustn't do that, Rose!"</p>
+
+<p>But it was the first charming impulse she had shown: how could I scold
+her? Oh, what a miserable thing our education is; and how often should I
+not find myself in some ridiculous dilemma!</p>
+
+<p>Besides, I wished this first day of hers to be all happiness and
+expectation! And, while we gaily discussed plans for the future, I tried
+to guess what she must be feeling, I scrutinised her movements, I
+interpreted her words. But it appeared too soon yet; and it was I, alas,
+I who had the best part of her happiness! My eyes fell on her chapped
+and swollen hands. She noticed it and murmured, sadly:</p>
+
+<p>"It's the beetroots. You understand, it's the hard season now."</p>
+
+<p>"But the beetroot-days are past, my Roseline! The bad seasons are over,
+over for good, over for good and all!"</p>
+
+<p>And I laid stress on every syllable; and, though I was whispering in her
+ear, I heard the words "for good and all" bursting from my lips like a
+triumphant shout.<a class="pagenum" name="page_174" id="page_174" title="174"></a></p>
+
+<p>She smiled and went on eating, doing her best to eat nicely, with her
+elbows close to her sides and her hands by her plate. Heaven above, did
+she understand what I said?</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>There are some people who seem detached from themselves. They do
+something; and the whole flood of their life does not surge into the
+action! They draw near to the object of their love; and their whole soul
+does not fill their eyes! Their soul is not on their lips, to breathe
+love; it is not at their finger-tips, to seize upon happiness; it is not
+there to watch life, to attract all that passes, eagerly, greedily and
+rapturously! Then where is it and what is it doing outside this dear,
+delightful earth?...</p>
+
+<p>And yet woman, the creature who learns through love the admirable gift
+of life, knows better than man how to throw the whole of herself into
+fleeting moments. She lives nearer to the edge of her actions. Her mind,
+which rarely attaches itself to abstract things, seems to float around
+her in search of every sensation. Woman passes and has seen everything;<a class="pagenum" name="page_175" id="page_175" title="175"></a>
+she remembers and she quivers as though the caressing touch were still
+upon her. Her light and charming soul drinks eternity straight out of
+the present; and through a man's kisses she has known the art of
+absolute oblivion.</p>
+
+<p>I am afraid that Rose is not much of a woman. Ah, were I in her place, I
+should be wild with excitement, out of my mind with joy, as though I
+were hearing my own name spoken for the first time!</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>After lunch, our shopping was a difficult matter. Rose, with her
+uncommon figure, could hardly find anything ready-made to suit her. I
+had to hunt about and to contrive with thought, for I would not wait a
+single day. I was careful to select the quietest and most usual things
+for her, so as to conceal her rusticity as far as possible. The neat
+dark-velvet toque could have its position altered on her head without
+much harm. The black veil would tone down the vividness of a complexion
+too long exposed to the open air; and its fine plain net would set off
+the admirable regularity of her features. Lastly, the deep leather belt
+to her tailor-made frock<a class="pagenum" name="page_176" id="page_176" title="176"></a> and the well-starched collar and cuffs would
+more or less hide the effort which it cost her to hold herself upright.</p>
+
+<h3>6</h3>
+
+<p>Two hours later, I introduced Rose to her new home. We climbed a dark,
+interminable staircase. I held a flickering candle in my hand; and, all
+out of breath, I explained to her the advantages of this boarding-house,
+a quiet place where her privacy would not be invaded and where she could
+make useful acquaintances if she wished....</p>
+
+<p>At last, we reached the fifth floor. The daylight had faded. A sea of
+roofs was beneath us; and, through the panes above our heads, a great
+red sky cast lurid gleams over our faces and hands. The girl gave a
+start of pleasure as she entered her room. It was peaceful and white;
+but the flaming fire and sky at that moment turned it quite rosy,
+smiling and aglow. From the rather high window we could see nothing but
+space. I had placed a writing-table underneath it, with some books and a
+few flowers in a dainty crystal bowl. On the walls, several photographs
+of Italian masterpieces disguised the ugliness<a class="pagenum" name="page_177" id="page_177" title="177"></a> of the typical
+boarding-house paper. The chimney-mantel was bare and the furniture very
+simple.</p>
+
+<p>We were both happy, both talking at once, Rose exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>"It's really too lovely, too beautiful!"</p>
+
+<p>And I was saying:</p>
+
+<p>"I should have liked to have a room for you arranged after my own taste,
+but I had to keep within bounds. So I brought a few little things, as
+you see, and bundled the ugly pictures, the tin clock and the plush
+flowers into the cupboards. But come and see the best part of it."</p>
+
+<p>I threw open the window; and, leaning out, we beheld a great expanse
+beyond the enormous gutter that edged the roof. Unfortunately, the last
+glow of the sunset was swiftly dying away in the mist rising from the
+Seine. Opposite us, on the other bank, the Louvre became a heavy,
+shapeless mass; on the right, Notre-Dame was nothing but a shadowy
+spectre; here and there, in a chance, lingering gleam, we could just
+distinguish a steeple, a turret, a house standing out above the rest.</p>
+
+<p>"We came in too late, Rose; we can see nothing; but how wonderful it all
+is! The sound of the quays and bridges hardly reaches us, the city might
+be<a class="pagenum" name="page_178" id="page_178" title="178"></a> veiled; at this height, its activity is like a dream and I seem to
+be living over again those quiet moments which we used to spend side by
+side at Sainte-Colombe. Are you happy?"</p>
+
+<p>Smiling and with her eyes still fixed on the sky, she says:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"Perfectly?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes."</p>
+
+<p>"You are not afraid of the future?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not for my sake, but I am for yours."</p>
+
+<p>I question her with my eyes; and she adds:</p>
+
+<p>"I am afraid that I shall never be what you want."</p>
+
+<p>I put my hand on her shoulder and said:</p>
+
+<p>"You will be what you are to be; and that is the main thing. It seems to
+me at this moment that the greatest ideas are nothing, that the fairest
+dreams are childish compared with the simple reality of a human being's
+first taste of happiness. You were hidden; and I bring you to the light.
+You were a prisoner; and I set you free. I see nothing to fetter you;
+and that is all I ask. The life of a beautiful woman should be like a
+star whose every beam is the source of a possible joy.... I am glad, for
+this is the day of your first deliverance."<a class="pagenum" name="page_179" id="page_179" title="179"></a></p>
+
+<p>Rose murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"What will the second be, then?"</p>
+
+<p>I hesitated for a moment. Then I replied:</p>
+
+<p>"It is difficult to say, dear; you will come to know gradually. I might
+answer, that of your mental or moral life; but I do not wish to lay down
+any rule. You are about to start on life's journey; I do not wish to
+trace your road with words. How much more precious your smallest actions
+are to me!"</p>
+
+<p>I closed the window and went and sat in a chair by the fire-place. Rose,
+standing with uplifted arms in front of the glass, took off her hat and
+veil, then undid her mantle and her scarf and put everything carefully
+away in the wardrobe. My eyes followed her quiet movements and my heart
+rested on each of them. I spoke her name and she came and sat at my
+feet, against my knees, with her soft, fair head waiting for my caress.</p>
+
+<p>It was now night; the fire lit our faces, but the room was dark wherever
+the flames did not cast their gleams. A chrysanthemum on a longer stalk
+than the others bent its petals into the light. Opposite the fire-place,
+within the shade of the bed-curtains, stood a white figure from the
+Venice Accademia, an allegory representing <i>Truth</i>. We could not see
+the<a class="pagenum" name="page_180" id="page_180" title="180"></a> mirror which she holds nor the details that surround her. The
+pedestal that raises her above mankind was also invisible; only the nude
+body of the woman invited and retained the light.</p>
+
+<p>I called Rose's attention to her:</p>
+
+<p>"Look, she is more interesting like that. In the doubt which the shadow
+casts around her, I see in her a more human and a truer truth."</p>
+
+<p>After a moment's contemplation, Rose said, gravely:</p>
+
+<p>"I will never hide one of my thoughts from you."</p>
+
+<p>Her statement makes me smile; but why disappoint her? She did not yet
+know that those who are most sincere find it more difficult than the
+others to say what they think. Words, in their souls, are like climbing
+plants which, sown by chance in the middle of a roadway, waver and
+grope, send out tendrils here and there in despair and end by entangling
+themselves with one another. Whereas most people, just as we provide
+supports for flowers, bestow certainties and truths upon their words to
+which they cling, the sincere refuse to yield to any such illusions.
+They hesitate, stammer and contradict themselves without ceasing....<a class="pagenum" name="page_181" id="page_181" title="181"></a></p>
+
+<h3>7</h3>
+
+<p>I drew her head down on my knees; and, softly, in little sentences
+interrupted by long pauses, we spoke of the new life that was opening
+before her. Soon she said nothing more. The fire went out, the room
+became dark and a clock outside struck six. I whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"I am going, darling...."</p>
+
+<p>She did not move and I saw that she was asleep. Then I gently released
+myself, put a pillow under her head and a wrap over her shoulders and
+was almost at the door, when suddenly I pictured her awakening. It would
+not do for her to open her eyes in the dark, to feel lost and alone in
+an unknown house. I lit the lamp, drew the blinds and made up the fire.</p>
+
+<p>Roseline was sleeping soundly. Her breathing was hardly perceptible. At
+times, a deep sigh sent a quiver through her placid beauty, even as a
+keener breath of air ripples the surface of a pool.</p>
+
+<p>What would she do if she should soon awake?... I looked around.
+Everything was peaceful and smiling; the flowers looked fresh and
+radiant in the<a class="pagenum" name="page_182" id="page_182" title="182"></a> light; the books on the table seemed to be waiting.... I
+searched among them for some page to charm her imagination and guide her
+first dreams along pleasant paths....</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_183" id="page_183" title="183"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IVspan_3859" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IVspan_3859"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Rose is sitting by the fire with her bare feet in slippers and a
+dressing-wrap flung loosely round her.</p>
+
+<p>"Are you ill?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," she says, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>And her cool hands, pressing mine, and her gay kisses on my cheeks are
+no less reassuring than the actual reply.</p>
+
+<p>"But why are you not dressed?"</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know; time passed and I let them bring my lunch up to me."</p>
+
+<p>I look round the darkened bedroom. Through the blind which I lowered
+yesterday, the light enters timidly, in a thousand broken little shafts;
+on the table, the books still lie as I placed them; on the
+chimney-shelf, the flowers, withered by the heat of the fire, are fading
+and drooping.</p>
+
+<p>All these things which had been left untouched were evidence of a
+lethargy that hurt me. All the emotions<a class="pagenum" name="page_184" id="page_184" title="184"></a> which I had been picturing Rose
+as experiencing since the day before had not so much as brushed against
+her. One by one, they dropped back sadly upon my heart.</p>
+
+<p>I rose, moved the flowers, opened the window; and the bright sunshine
+restored my confidence.</p>
+
+<p>"Come, darling, dress and let's go out."</p>
+
+<p>A thousand questions come crowding to my lips while I help her do her
+hair:</p>
+
+<p>"Do they look after you well? Do you feel very lonely? What are the
+other boarders like? Are any of them interesting?"</p>
+
+<p>Her answers, sensible and placid as usual, did not tell me much, except
+that the food was good, that she had slept well and that she was very
+comfortable.</p>
+
+<p>I resolved to wait a few days before asking her any more.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Roseline throws off her wrap and begins dressing. The water trickles
+from the sponge which she squeezes over her shoulders, runs down,
+lingers here and there and disappears along the flowing lines<a class="pagenum" name="page_185" id="page_185" title="185"></a> of her
+body, which, in the broad daylight, looks as though it were flooded with
+diamonds. A cool fragrance mingles with the scent of the roses. The room
+is filled with beauty.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_186" id="page_186" title="186"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Vspan_3923" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Vspan_3923"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>It snowed last night for the first time; then it froze; and the trees in
+the Tuileries are now showing the white lines of their branches against
+a dreary sky. The daylight seems all the duller by comparison with the
+glitter of the snow-covered ground.... I slowly follow the little black
+path made by the sweepers; I receive an impression of solitude; the
+streets are very still; it is as though sick people lay behind the
+closed windows; and the voices of the children playing as I pass seem to
+come to me through invisible curtains.</p>
+
+<p>Rose is walking beside me. A keen wind plasters our dresses against us
+and raises them behind into dark, waving banners. The icy air whitens
+the fine pattern of our veils against our mouth.</p>
+
+<p>"Where are we going?" asks Rose.</p>
+
+<p>I hesitate a little before replying:</p>
+
+<p>"We are going to the Louvre."</p>
+
+<p>And to put her at her ease and also to guard<a class="pagenum" name="page_187" id="page_187" title="187"></a> against a probable
+disappointment, I hasten to add:</p>
+
+<p>"It is a picture-book which we will look at together. You will turn
+first to what is bright and attractive to the eye; later on, you will
+perceive the shades in the colour, the lines in the form and the
+expression in the subject. And, if at first our admiration is given to
+what is poor and unworthy, what does it matter, so long as it is aroused
+at all?"</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>We had reached the foot of the stairs that lead to the <i>Victory of
+Samothrace</i>. After staring at it for a minute, Rose remarked, in a voice
+heavy with indifference:</p>
+
+<p>"It's beautiful, very beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>I felt that she had no other object than that of pleasing me; but her
+natural honesty soon prevailed when I asked her what she admired; and
+she answered, simply:</p>
+
+<p>"I don't know."</p>
+
+<p>It is in this way, by never utterly and altogether disappointing me,
+that she keeps her hold on me. She sees and feels nothing of what we
+call beautiful;<a class="pagenum" name="page_188" id="page_188" title="188"></a> on the other hand, she is cheerfully oblivious to the
+necessity of assuming what she does not feel; she has no idea of posing
+either to herself or to others; and the strange coldness of her soul
+makes my affection all the warmer. By not trying to appear what she is
+not, she constantly keeps alive in me the illusion of what she may be or
+of what she will become.</p>
+
+<p>We walked quickly through a number of rooms and sat down in a quiet
+corner. I was already under the spell of that deep, reposeful life which
+emanates from some of the Primitives; but Roseline, who had stopped on
+the way in order to have a better view of various ugly things, was
+talking and laughing loudly.</p>
+
+<p>This annoyed me; and I was on the point of telling her so. However, I
+restrained myself: I should have felt ashamed to be angry with her. Was
+she not gay and lively, as I had wished to see her? What right have we
+to let ourselves be swayed by the vagaries of our instinct and expect
+our companion to feel the same obligation of silence or speech at any
+given moment? Our emotion should strike chords so strong and true that
+no minor dissonances of varying temperaments can make them ring false.<a class="pagenum" name="page_189" id="page_189" title="189"></a></p>
+
+<p>Rose chattered away for a long time, speaking all in the same breath of
+her convent days, of her terrible godmother, of the scandal which her
+sudden disappearance must be creating in the village. Then she stopped;
+and I felt her eyes resting vacantly by turns upon myself and upon the
+square in the ceiling which at that moment framed a patch of grey sky
+studded with whirling snow-flakes. At last, she raised her veil with an
+indolent movement, put her hand on my shoulder and, with a long yawn
+that revealed all the pearly freshness of her mouth, asked:</p>
+
+<p>"But what <i>do</i> you see in it?"</p>
+
+<p>I slipped my arm under hers and led her away through the deserted rooms.
+I ought to have spoken. But how empty are our most pregnant words, when
+we try to express one iota of our admiration!</p>
+
+<p>"Why should you mind what I see, my Roseline? It is you and you alone
+who can discover what you like and what interests you."</p>
+
+<p>We were passing in front of Titian's <i>Laura de' Dianti</i>. I was struck
+with the relationship that existed between her and my companion.
+Although Rose was different in colouring, fairer, with lighter eyes, she
+had the same purity of feature, the thin, straight nose, the very small
+mouth and, above all, the same<a class="pagenum" name="page_190" id="page_190" title="190"></a> vague look that lends itself to the most
+diverse interpretations. She squeezed my arm:</p>
+
+<p>"Speak to me, speak to me!"</p>
+
+<p>I glanced at her. Must it always be so, would she never feel anything
+except when my own emotion found utterance? Impressions reached her soul
+only after filtering through mine. Love, I thought to myself, love alone
+would perhaps one day set free all the raptures now jealously hidden in
+those too-chaste nerves. And, in spite of myself, I exclaimed:</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you think that admiration in a woman is only another form of
+love?"</p>
+
+<p>"But when she is no longer young?" Rose retorted, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>"When she is no longer young, nature doubtless suggests other means of
+enthusiasm. Her heart is no longer a bond of union between her and
+things. Then her calmer eyes are perhaps able to look at beauty itself,
+without having all the joys of a woman's love-filled life to kindle
+their fires."</p>
+
+<p>The Rubens pictures were around us, in all their brilliancy and in all
+their glory, uttering cries of passion and luxury with voices of flesh
+and blood and youth. They were another proof of what I had just said;
+and I confessed to my companion:<a class="pagenum" name="page_191" id="page_191" title="191"></a></p>
+
+<p>"It is not so long ago, Rose, that I used to pass unmoved through this
+dazzling room where the Rubens flourish in their luscious beauty. I used
+to look at them: now, I see them; I used to brush by them: now, I grasp
+them. I enter into all this riot of happiness around us, which is a
+thousand miles away from you, Rose; and it adds to my own joy in
+life...."</p>
+
+<p>"But then what has come to you?" exclaimed the girl.</p>
+
+<p>I could not help smiling, for, when I tried to explain myself, it seemed
+to me that, in the depths of my heart, I was playing with words:</p>
+
+<p>"All that hurt me yesterday has become a source of admiration to me
+to-day. Excess appears riches and plenty, tumult becomes orderly; and I
+seem to see in these works the glorification of all that we are bound to
+hold supreme in life: health, beauty, strength, love. Is not the
+exaggerated splendour of these pictures a triumphant challenge, the
+expression of a magnificent principle?"</p>
+
+<p>We stood silent for a moment; then I added:</p>
+
+<p>"We never actually realise all that we have in our minds; but one would
+think that this man's life and work reached the farthest bounds of his
+visions.<a class="pagenum" name="page_192" id="page_192" title="192"></a> Or else we are unable even to catch a glimpse of what he saw."</p>
+
+<p>And, musing upon that mystery, our frail feminine imagination seemed to
+us like a landscape fading into the mist: when the day is clear, we can
+distinguish the chain of blue mountains whose summits touch the sky, but
+our imagination, if it would not be lost in the haze, must keep to the
+foreground, in the avenues laid out by man.</p>
+
+<p>I resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"We are very far, Rose, from the parsimony of the Primitives, each of
+whose works contains almost a human life. In their room and in this, you
+will find all the contradictory and complementary instruction which one
+would like to give you. Over there, sobriety, patience, assiduous
+effort, absolute conscientiousness in the smallest detail; life bowed in
+all humility, but yet steadfast and fervent; imagination and beauty that
+do not strive to shine: if you want a proof, look at the great number
+that remained anonymous! Here, on the contrary, prodigality, exultant
+love, blood coursing triumphantly through conquered veins. Rubens is the
+apostle of wholehearted happiness. The biggest things seem easy when you
+are in his presence. If ever you feel tired<a class="pagenum" name="page_193" id="page_193" title="193"></a> and ready to be
+discouraged, you should come and look at him. Oh, I wonder, yes, I
+wonder to what, to whom I owe this new enthusiasm? What have I seen,
+what have I learnt? Through what chance acquaintance, what casual word,
+what gesture or action, doubtless far removed from Rubens and his works,
+did I suddenly enter into that wonderful kingdom?"</p>
+
+<p>And, in fact, that is how it had happened. An unknown treasure falls
+into the cup of emotion; and the level is raised. Oh, to feel the
+long-slumbering sensation rise within one's self; to see that which was
+obscure to us yesterday become crystal-clear to-day; to love more
+passionately, to understand a little better, to know a little more: that
+is, to us women, the real progress, the only progress which we must
+desire and seek after! But how can I hope that Rose will progress if she
+never feels?</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>In vain I roamed about with her for an hour, not among the pictures,
+whose value she could not yet appreciate, but among the dreams that were
+born of them, among the most moving and delectable visions; vain my
+emotion, vain my rapture: no answering<a class="pagenum" name="page_194" id="page_194" title="194"></a> spark lit her indifferent eyes.
+True, there was no question of failure or success; I was putting nothing
+to the test: that would have been insanity. But why this weight of
+oppression on my spirits? I could not get rid of disturbing memories:
+memories of childish raptures finding utterance by chance; memories of
+those first loves which fasten upon anything in their haste to live;
+memories of virgin hearts nurtured on dreams!</p>
+
+<p>O enthusiasm, admiration, love, if you were not at first wanderers,
+neither seeking nor choosing, if you did not blaze fiercely and
+foolishly like a flame burning in the noon-day sun, will you ever be
+able to light the darkness with all the splendours that are awaiting
+your spark in order to burst into life?</p>
+
+<p>O sweet eyes of my Roseline, sweet eyes that shine under your soft, fair
+lashes like two opals set in pure gold, will you close for all time
+without having gazed for a moment upon the wonders of the earth, upon
+the real sky of our human life? Is it true that your beams extinguish
+life and beauty wherever they rest?</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_195" id="page_195" title="195"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIspan_4136" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIspan_4136"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VI</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>It is six o'clock in the evening; I am taking Rose along the boulevards,
+which are so interesting at this time of the year. As usual, I am
+astonished at everything that does not astonish her. I look at her as
+she walks, beautiful and impassive; I keep step with her stride; and my
+thoughts hover to and fro between this life of hers which refuses to
+take form and my ideals which are gradually fading out of existence.</p>
+
+<p>Alas, the days pass over her without arousing either desire or
+weariness! From time to time, I suggest some simple, trifling work for
+her. But, whether the task be mental or material, whether the duty be
+light or complex, she acquiesces in the suggestion only to make it
+easier for her to put it aside later, gently and as a matter of course,
+like tired arms laying down a burden too heavy for them.</p>
+
+<p>This evening, I am merciful to her indolence. Going through the hall of
+her boarding-house just now,<a class="pagenum" name="page_196" id="page_196" title="196"></a> I saw the long table laid, at which the
+boarders meet. And I think of those destinies which have been linked
+with Rose's during the past fortnight, while I am still unable to obtain
+a clear idea of any one of them from her involved and incoherent
+accounts.</p>
+
+<p>The house, which is in the old-fashioned style, has at the back a sort
+of glass-covered balcony overhanging the garden of the house next door.
+Here the boarders take their coffee after meals, while the proprietress,
+a gentle, amiable creature, strives to establish some sort of intimacy
+among them, to create an imaginary family out of these strangers who
+have come from all parts of the world with varying objects and for
+diverse reasons.</p>
+
+<p>I know from experience the surprises latent in people like these. To
+look at them, one would set them down as belonging to stereotyped
+models: invalids, travellers, globe-trotters, runaways or students, as
+the case may be. I call up figures from my own recollection and describe
+them to Rose to encourage her to tell me her impressions. Stray
+reminiscences marshal themselves, images rise before my eyes,
+obliterating the things and people around me, and a vision appears over
+which my memory plays like a reflection in a sheet of water. I see a<a class="pagenum" name="page_197" id="page_197" title="197"></a>
+long house and its white-and-green front mirrored in a clear lake. A man
+and a woman arrive there at the same time; and I tell Rose the story of
+the two old wanderers:</p>
+
+<p>"It was very curious. Imagine those two people unknown to each other,
+leaving the same country at about the same age and making the same
+journeys in opposite directions. When I met them, they were two
+grey-haired, wizened figures, with the same short-sighted eyes blinking
+behind the same kind of spectacles. It amused me from the first to look
+at them as one and united beforehand, at a time when they were still
+unacquainted. I watched them at the meals which brought them closer
+together daily, as it were perusing each other with the pleasure of
+finding themselves to be alike, as though they were two copies of the
+same guide-book. In their equally commonplace minds, recollections took
+the place of ideas. To them, life was a sort of long classification;
+they recognised no other duty but that of taking notes and cataloguing.
+I don't know if they saw some advantage one day in uniting for good, or
+if they began at last to think that there are other roads to follow in
+the world beside those which lead to lakes, cities, waterfalls and
+mountains. At<a class="pagenum" name="page_198" id="page_198" title="198"></a> any rate, after a few weeks, they were sharing the same
+room; and we learnt that in future they meant to live side by side."</p>
+
+<p>"Had they got married?"</p>
+
+<p>"No. And, though they performed a very natural action with the utmost
+simplicity, this was certainly not due to loftiness of soul or breadth
+of mind. But one felt that their knowledge of the manners and morals of
+other civilizations had simplified their moral outlook, just as their
+actual physical outlook had been dimmed through seeing nature under so
+many aspects."</p>
+
+<p>Rose began to laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"There is nothing of that kind at the boarding-house," she said. "For
+the moment, we have no old people: nothing but students, two American
+women, a Spanish lady...."</p>
+
+<p>Then she hesitated a little and added:</p>
+
+<p>"There's an artist, too, an artist who has begun to paint my portrait."</p>
+
+<p>"Your portrait! And you never told me?"</p>
+
+<p>I am interrupted by a violent movement from Rose. She has turned round
+and, in the gathering dusk, her whirling umbrella comes down furiously
+on a man's hat, smashing it in and knocking it off his<a class="pagenum" name="page_199" id="page_199" title="199"></a> head. A
+gentleman is standing before us, very well-dressed and looking very
+uncomfortable. He stammers out a vague excuse and tries to escape, but
+the indignant girl addresses him noisily. An altercation follows; the
+loafers stop to listen; a crowd gathers round us; and a policeman
+hurries towards us from the other side of the road. Fortunately, an
+empty cab passes; and I just have time to jump in, followed by Rose, who
+continues to brandish a threatening umbrella through the window.</p>
+
+<p>Then at last I obtain an explanation of the disturbance. It appears
+that, without my noticing it, the man had been following us for an hour;
+and his silent homage had ended by incensing the girl.</p>
+
+<p>I kiss her at the door of the boarding-house and walk back thoughtfully
+through the streets, reflecting on the surprises which that uncivilised
+character holds in store for me.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Rose had perhaps insulted a man who was simply taking pleasure in
+admiring her, I thought to myself. What did she know of his intentions?
+In any case,<a class="pagenum" name="page_200" id="page_200" title="200"></a> is not a silent look enough to keep importunity at a
+distance?</p>
+
+<p>Generally speaking, those who go after us in this way because of the
+swing of our hips, or the mass of hair gleaming on our neck, or a
+shapely shoe under a lifted skirt, are uninteresting; and among all the
+coarse, silly or timid admirers whom a woman can encounter in the street
+there are perhaps one or two at most who will leave an ineffaceable mark
+on her memory. But why not always admit the most charitable
+construction?</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>I had been wandering a long time at random. Feeling a little tired, I
+turned into the Parc Monceau, at the time when it was too late for the
+mothers and babies and too early for the lovers' invasion. I sat down by
+the transparent lake which so prettily reflects its diadem of arbours. A
+young willow drooped in gentle sadness over the face of the water; and
+white ducks glided past me in the evening mist. The waning blue light
+mingled with the pale vapour that rises over Paris at nightfall; and all
+this made a mauve sky behind the dark trees. It was soft and<a class="pagenum" name="page_201" id="page_201" title="201"></a>
+melancholy, but not grave; and I lingered on, amid the beauty of the
+scene, rapt in some woman's reverie. Then a lamp was lighted behind the
+bench on which I sat; and on the ground before me I saw a shadow beside
+my own. I understood and did not turn my head.</p>
+
+<p>A man had followed me. I felt his eyes resting heavily on my profile, on
+my cheek and on my ungloved hands. He was evidently going to speak.
+Annoyed at this, I took a little volume from my pocket and, to protect
+my solitude, began to read.</p>
+
+<p>But soon I guessed that he was reading with me; and my mind thus
+mingling with a stranger's passed over the words without quite following
+them. His persistency angered me; and I closed the book.</p>
+
+<p>Then he said to me:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you are very beautiful."</p>
+
+<p>The words fell into my soul with a disquieting resonance. I rose with a
+flushed face and then hesitated. It was certainly one of those gross and
+lying pieces of flattery which we all of us hear at times. Nevertheless,
+I resisted the instinctive impulse that would have made me move away. Is
+not modesty in such a case merely another stratagem of our coquetry?<a class="pagenum" name="page_202" id="page_202" title="202"></a> We
+flee, the man pursues and the wrong impression is confirmed.</p>
+
+<p>Standing in front of him, I frankly turned my eyes on his. Then he
+softly repeated the same words.</p>
+
+<p>Was it the exquisite modulation of his voice? Or again were the gentle,
+friendly words the sudden revelation of a troubled life, a sensitive
+soul ready to pour itself out in a single phrase and longing to
+crystallise itself in one unparalleled second? They surprised me, those
+words of his, they seemed to me new words, grave words, because I had
+not believed that it was possible to speak them in that way to a
+stranger, to speak them in a voice that asked for nothing.</p>
+
+<p>My whole attitude must have betrayed my twofold astonishment. My eyes
+questioned his. Their expression underwent no change. He was really
+asking for nothing. Then I smiled and answered, simply:</p>
+
+<p>"I thank you. A woman is always glad to be told that."</p>
+
+<p>Taking off his hat, he rose and bowed. I moved away with a slight
+feeling of discomfort: would he commit the stupidity of following me?
+Had I made<a class="pagenum" name="page_203" id="page_203" title="203"></a> a mistake? No, he resumed his seat. He had not blundered
+either.</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>When two people do not know each other and will not meet again, the
+words exchanged between them, if they are not mere commonplaces, become
+fraught with a strange significance and leave behind them a trail of
+melancholy like a mourning-veil; it is the surprise of those voices
+which speak to each other and will never be heard again, the fleeting
+encounter between glance and glance, the smile which knows not where to
+rest and yet would fain enrich the remembrance with a ray of kindness.</p>
+
+<p>The essential image of a human life is contained in a moment like that.
+It awakens, hesitates, seeks, thinks that it has found, speaks a word
+and relapses into nothingness.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_204" id="page_204" title="204"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIspan_4336" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIspan_4336"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Rose's profile stands out in relief against the dark velvet of the box.
+Her soft, fair hair parts into two waves that are like two streams of
+honey following the curve of her cheek. Her long neck is very white in
+the black gown that frames it; and her gloved hands rest near the fan
+that lies opened on her knees like a swan's wing. She is sitting
+straight up, with her eyes fixed in front of her. Her attitude is as
+dignified and cold as a circlet of brilliants on a beautiful forehead.</p>
+
+<p>I am alone, at the back of the box. I prefer to listen like that, in the
+shadow, unseen. Is not the attention of a woman who is anything of a
+coquette, that slight, fitful attention, always affected a little by the
+thought, however unconscious, of the effect which she is producing?<a class="pagenum" name="page_205" id="page_205" title="205"></a></p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>I am struck by the general attitude of reverence. In the great silence
+through which the music swells, the lives of all those present seem
+penetrated with harmony.</p>
+
+<p>I look at them as at so many open temples, which their thoughts have
+deserted in order to join one another in an invisible communion. There
+is a kind of homage in the bent heads and lowered eyes of the men. The
+women are silent. The fans cease fluttering. The souls of the audience
+are uplifted like the silent instruments of a human symphony that
+mysteriously rises and rises till it mingles with the other and is
+absorbed in it. If some part of us exists beyond words and forms, if our
+thought sometimes floats in regions of pure mentality, is it not this
+principle deprived of consciousness which bathes in the tremulous waves
+of sound?</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>And Rose is also listening. But Rose listens without hearing. She, whom
+the most beautiful things leave unmoved, here preserves an appearance of
+absolute<a class="pagenum" name="page_206" id="page_206" title="206"></a> attention better than any one else in the audience. She
+listens in that passive manner which is characteristic of her nature.
+She lives a waking sleep. There is no consciousness, no effort, but
+neither any desire.</p>
+
+<p>When the orchestra fills the house with a song of gladness, I forget my
+anxiety and let my imagination soar into its heights and weave romances
+around that strange, cold beauty; but, if the music stops, if Rose moves
+or speaks, then it comes to earth again with some simple little plan,
+quite practical and quite ordinary.</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>She leant forward and I saw glittering under the electric lamp the
+little silver chain which she wore round her neck on the day when I saw
+her first, in the Normandy cornfields, standing amid the tall golden
+sheaves; and, as I recalled that first impression, the difference
+between then and now came like a blinding flash. In the cool morning
+breeze, the sickles advance with the sound and the surge of waves; and
+the golden expanse bows before the oncoming death. The sky is blue, the
+village steeple<a class="pagenum" name="page_207" id="page_207" title="207"></a> shimmers in the sunlight, a great calm reigns ... and a
+woman stands there, bending over the ground. What have I done? What have
+I done? Was not everything better so?</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_208" id="page_208" title="208"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIIspan_4409" id="span_classsmcapChapter_VIIIspan_4409"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter VIII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>"It looks like snowing," says Rose.</p>
+
+<p>The words falling upon an absolute silence distract me from my work.</p>
+
+<p>It is a dull, drab winter's day. There is no colour, no light in the sky
+that shows through the muslin blinds. On the branches of the bare trees,
+a few dead leaves, which the wind has left behind, shiver miserably at
+some passing gust. There is just enough noise for us to enjoy the peace
+that enfolds the house. From time to time, carriage-wheels roll by and
+the crack of a whip cuts into our silence; then the dog wakes, sits up,
+looks questioningly at me and quietly puts his nose back between his
+paws and begins to snore again. Rose is sitting opposite him, on the
+other side of the fire-place. She is holding a book in her hands without
+reading it. Her beautiful eyes are staring dreamily at the fitful
+flames.</p>
+
+<p>I rose and went upstairs to fetch a volume which<a class="pagenum" name="page_209" id="page_209" title="209"></a> I wanted. Both of
+them, the dog and she, accompanied me, yawning and stretching themselves
+as they went. They stood beside the book-case, like two witnesses,
+equally useless and equally indispensable, and watched me searching. I
+shivered in the cold room. Rose gave a little cough; and the dog tried
+to curl himself up in the folds of my skirt.</p>
+
+<p>Then we all three went down again; and, when I had gone back to my
+place, they docilely resumed theirs on either side of the chimney.</p>
+
+<p>The dog, before settling down, turned several times on his cushion,
+arching his back, with his tail between his legs and his critical nose
+quivering with satisfaction. Rose also has seen that her armchair is as
+comfortable as it can be made. Now, lying back luxuriously, with her
+elbows on the rests and her head on a soft cushion, she is evidently not
+much troubled at the thought of a long day indoors.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>In the two months since Rose left Sainte-Colombe, I have drilled her
+into an intermittent attempt at style which is the utmost that she will
+ever achieve,<a class="pagenum" name="page_210" id="page_210" title="210"></a> I fear; for her will, unhappily, is incapable of
+sustained effort. When she has to hold herself upright for several hours
+at a time, I see her gradually stooping as though invisible forces were
+dragging her down.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, it is no longer the Rose of Sainte-Colombe who is here beside
+me. How much of her remains? Her general appearance is transformed by
+her clothes and the way in which she wears her hair; her voice and
+gestures are softer; but all this minute and complex change is but the
+subtle effect of events, the disconcerting effect of an influence that
+has laid itself upon her nature without altering it in any way. And this
+is what really causes my uneasiness. She is changed, but she has not
+changed.</p>
+
+<p>I take her with me wherever I have to go. She accompanies me on my walks
+and drives, in my shopping, to the play. Men consider her beautiful, but
+her indifference keeps love at a distance: love, the passion in which I
+placed, in which I still place the hopes that remain to me.<a class="pagenum" name="page_211" id="page_211" title="211"></a></p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>As for Rose herself, she is always pleased, without being enthusiastic,
+and never expresses a wish or a desire.</p>
+
+<p>I sometimes laugh and say:</p>
+
+<p>"You have a weatherproof soul; and your common sense is as starched as
+your Sunday cap used to be!"</p>
+
+<p>But at heart she saddens me. To keep my interest in her alive, I find
+myself wishing that she had some glaring fault. And at the same time I
+am angry with myself for not appreciating the exclusiveness of her
+affection better. I am actually beginning to think that this extravagant
+sentiment is fatal to her. I look upon it in her heart as I look upon
+the great tree in my garden, which interferes with the growth of
+everything around it: fond as I am of that tree, I consider it something
+of an enemy.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_212" id="page_212" title="212"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IXspan_4498" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IXspan_4498"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter IX</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>This afternoon, the whole atmosphere of the house is changed. There is
+no silence, no work. The maid fusses about, spreading out my dresses
+before Rose and me. We cannot settle upon anything.</p>
+
+<p>"We shall have to try them on you," I say.</p>
+
+<p>But at the very first our choice is made.</p>
+
+<p>A cry of admiration escapes me at the sight of Rose sheathed from head
+to foot in a long green-velvet tunic that falls heavily around her,
+without ornament or jewellery. From the high velvet collar, her head
+rises like a flower from its calyx; and I have never beheld a richer
+harmony than that of her golden hair streaming over the emerald green.</p>
+
+<p>While I finish dressing her, we talk:</p>
+
+<p>"You are having all your friends," she says.</p>
+
+<p>"Some of them, those who live in Paris at this season. I have done for
+you to-day what I seldom care to do: I have asked them all together. But
+I<a class="pagenum" name="page_213" id="page_213" title="213"></a> have made a point of insisting that the strictest isolation shall be
+maintained."</p>
+
+<p>Rose laughed as she asked me what I meant.</p>
+
+<p>"It's quite simple," I answered. "We shall throw open all the doors; and
+there will be no crowding permitted! No general conversation, no loud
+talking ..."</p>
+
+<p>"In short," she exclaimed, "the exact opposite to the convent, where we
+were forbidden to talk in twos."</p>
+
+<p>"That is to say, where you were forbidden to talk at all; for there is
+no real conversation with more than one. As long as you have not spoken
+to a person alone, can you say that you have ever seen her?"</p>
+
+<p>She did not appear convinced; and I continued:</p>
+
+<p>"But just think! Conversation in pairs, when two people are in
+sympathy&mdash;and they are nearly always in sympathy when they are face to
+face&mdash;can be as sincere as lonely meditations."</p>
+
+<p>I felt that she shared my sentiment; but her reasonable nature makes her
+always steer a middle course, never leaning to either side.<a class="pagenum" name="page_214" id="page_214" title="214"></a></p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>The pale winter sun is beginning to wane, but there is still plenty of
+daylight in the white drawing-room. And I look at my friends, who have
+formed little groups in harmony with my wishes and their own. When an
+increased intimacy brings us all closer together, the party will gain by
+that earlier informality. Each life will have been given its normal
+pitch and will try at least to keep it. For our souls are such sensitive
+instruments that they can rarely strike as much as a true third.</p>
+
+<p>Blanche, with the agate eyes and the cloud of chestnut hair, is a
+picture of autumn in the brown and red of her frock, with its bands of
+sable. She is listening attentively to Marcienne. The fair Marcienne
+herself, whom I love for her passionate pride, is sitting near the
+fire-place; and her wonderful profile stands out against the flames. Her
+mouth is a fierce red; but the figure which shows through the
+pale-coloured tailor-made dress is full of tender childish curves. The
+swansdown toque makes her black hair seem blacker still. She is talking
+seriously and holding out to the flames her fingers covered with rings.<a class="pagenum" name="page_215" id="page_215" title="215"></a></p>
+
+<p>The wide-open door reveals the darker bedroom, in which the lights are
+already turned on. A young married woman is sitting with her elbows on
+the table. She is reading a poem in a low voice; and from time to time a
+few words, spoken more loudly, mingle with the semi-silence of the other
+rooms. Bending under the lamp-shade, her brown hair is bathed in the
+light, while her profile is veiled by her hand and the lines of her body
+are lost in the dark dress which melts into the shadow. Near her,
+leaning against the white wall, two white figures listen and dream.</p>
+
+<p>I see Rose. She is standing, all emerald and gold, in the middle of the
+next room. Behind her, a mirror reflects the copper candelabra whose
+lighted branches surround her with stars. A placidly-smiling Madonna,
+chaste and cold, dazzling and glorious, she talks to the inseparables,
+Aur&eacute;lie and Ren&eacute;e.</p>
+
+<p>Ren&eacute;e, clad in deep mourning, is a delicious little princess of jet,
+with lint-white hair and flax-blue irises. Her companion, crowned with
+glowing tresses, knows the splendour of her green eyes and, with a
+cunning fan-like play of her long eyelids, amuses herself by making them
+appear and disappear.</p>
+
+<p>My attention is recalled to the visitor by my side,<a class="pagenum" name="page_216" id="page_216" title="216"></a> a young Dutchwoman
+not yet quite at home in France. She is shy in speaking and she does not
+know my friends. I look at her. Her fair round face is quaintly framed
+in the smooth coils of her golden hair. Her eyes are a cloudless blue.
+Her nose, which is a little heavy and serious, belies the smiling mouth,
+with its corners that turn up so readily. The very long and very lovely
+neck makes one follow in thought the hollow of the nape and the slope of
+the shoulders vanishing in a snowy cloud of Mechlin lace. On the
+deliberately antiquated black-silk dress, a gold chain and a miniature
+set in brilliants give the finishing touch to a style classic in its
+chastity. Seated in a grandfather's chair in the embrasure of the
+window, she reminds one of Mme. de Mortsauf in Balzac's <i>Lys dans la
+vall&eacute;e</i>.</p>
+
+<p>But she is also the very embodiment of Zealand. You can picture her head
+covered with a lace cap and her temples adorned with gold corkscrews.
+Behind her you conjure up flat horizons, slow-turning wind-mills, little
+red-and-green houses in which the inmates seem to play at living. How
+charming she looks in the last rays of light, at once childish and
+dignified, passive and romantic ... and so different from the rest!<a class="pagenum" name="page_217" id="page_217" title="217"></a></p>
+
+<p>But has not each her particular interest, her special grace? When my
+eyes go from one to another, they tell a rosary of precious beads, each
+with its own peculiar beauty, neither greater nor less than its fellows!
+What a glad and wondrous thing it is to be women, to be delicate, pretty
+things, infinitely sensitive and infinitely varied, living works of art,
+matter for kisses, the realised stuff of dreams! When you look at them
+like that, solely in the decorative sense, you are ready to condemn
+those who work, who think and who concentrate upon an aim of some sort,
+for these superfine creatures carry the reason for their existence
+within themselves, so great is the perfection which they achieve with a
+gesture, an attitude, a glance. And then you reflect upon what they too
+often are in the privacy of their lives: narrow and domineering,
+attached to petty, useless duties, their minds lacking dignity, their
+souls lacking horizon; and you are sorry that they have not grown,
+through the sheer consciousness of their beauty, into ways that are
+kindly and generous.</p>
+
+<p>I let my hand rest lightly on Cecilia's hands; and in the sweetness of
+the gathering dusk we both dream. Like the scent of flowers, the
+different natures seem to find a more precise expression as their
+shapes<a class="pagenum" name="page_218" id="page_218" title="218"></a> fade. I explain them to Cecilia, who does not know them.</p>
+
+<p>Aur&eacute;lie and Ren&eacute;e draw my eyes with their laughter; and I begin with
+them. They are the careless lovers, idle for the exquisite pleasure of
+idleness. They live a dream-life, the life of a child that sleeps,
+dresses itself, goes for a walk, eats sweets and plays with its dolls.
+They are good-natured as well as frivolous, lissom of mind as well as of
+body, indulgent to others and charming in themselves. Love, resting on
+their young and tender lives, makes them more tender yet, like the light
+that lingers long and fondly upon a soft-tinted pastel.</p>
+
+<p>Next comes the turn of Marcienne, who, greatly daring, has broken with
+her family and given up worldly luxury, to work and live freely with the
+man of her choice.</p>
+
+<p>Beside her is Blanche, still restless and undecided, attracted by love
+and irritated by her sister Hermione, who pursues a vision of charity
+and redemption.</p>
+
+<p>Here my friend's fine profile turns to the other groups; and I continue:</p>
+
+<p>"The one whom we call Sister Hermione you can see in the dark bedroom,
+reading under the<a class="pagenum" name="page_219" id="page_219" title="219"></a> light of the lamp, with her face hidden in her
+hands."</p>
+
+<p>"Is she good-looking?"</p>
+
+<p>"Very, but tries not to seem so. That is why she is always so simply
+dressed."</p>
+
+<p>Cecilia interrupts me:</p>
+
+<p>"But her dress isn't simple!"</p>
+
+<p>"You are quite right. It is made complex by a thousand superfluous
+fripperies. Hermione has not been slow to understand that, to counteract
+perfect beauty, you must read simplicity to mean commonplace
+triviality."</p>
+
+<p>A flutter of silk, a gleam of a silver-white skirt in the waning light,
+a whiff of orris-root; and Marcienne glides down to our feet with a
+lithe, cat-like movement. In a curt, passionate tone, she says:</p>
+
+<p>"You are speaking of Hermione. Oh, do try and persuade her sister not to
+go the same way: is not one enough? Must more loveliness be wasted?"</p>
+
+<p>Sitting on a cushion on the floor, she raises her glowing face, her eyes
+dark as night, her scarlet mouth, her dazzling pallor.</p>
+
+<p>"I shall do nothing of the sort," I answer with a laugh, "for I rather
+like Hermione's folly; besides, her reason will soon conquer it! The
+dangers<a class="pagenum" name="page_220" id="page_220" title="220"></a> we run depend on chance; the first roads we take depend on
+influences. The way in which we bear those dangers and return from those
+roads: that is where the interest begins!"</p>
+
+<p>"But, tell me," murmurs Cecilia, "what does your Hermione want?"</p>
+
+<p>"Here is her story, in a couple of words," says Marcienne. "She is rich,
+beautiful and talented; and she belongs to an aristocratic English
+family. At twenty, she yielded to an impulse and went on the stage; in a
+few months, she was a really successful actress; then she made the
+acquaintance of a Hindu high-priest. He came and went; and she followed
+him. During the last two years, she has been his faithful disciple."</p>
+
+<p>"But what does she preach?"</p>
+
+<p>Marcienne made a vague gesture:</p>
+
+<p>"Buddhist doctrines! She believes that she possesses the true faith and
+tries to hand it on to others. In the few days which she has spent in
+Paris, she has already made two converts, those two innocents who are
+hanging on her words. It would all be charming, you know, if her creed
+did not enjoin chastity and if, by holding those views, she did not risk
+the awful fate of never knowing love!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_221" id="page_221" title="221"></a></p>
+
+<p>Marcienne continued, still addressing herself to my new friend:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you see those pretty creatures in white, standing close to Hermione?
+They are two orphans, two girls who fell in love with the same man. I
+don't know the details of the romance, nor can I say whether it was
+fancy or passion that guided the man's choice. All I know is that he
+loved one of them and had a child by her. A little while after, he
+deserted her. Thereupon their unhappy love reunited those two hearts
+which happy love, as always, had divided. The same devotion and kindness
+made them both bend over the one cradle. Oh, the adorable pity that
+prompted Anne's heart on the day when, hearing her baby call her mamma
+for the first time, she sent for her sister Marie and, holding towards
+her those little outstretched arms, those eyes in which consciousness
+was dawning, that little fluttering life seeking a resting-place, she
+offered the maid, in the exquisite mystery of that first smile, the
+first name of love! From that time onward, the baby grew up between its
+two mammas as one treads a sunny path between two flowering banks."</p>
+
+<p>Marcienne had a gift for pretty phrases of this kind, which she would
+let fall not without a certain<a class="pagenum" name="page_222" id="page_222" title="222"></a> affectation. She liked talking and I
+liked listening to her. I asked her what she thought of Rose. She
+praised her beauty highly and even said the occasional awkwardness of
+her movements made it more uncommon:</p>
+
+<p>"For that matter," she added, "if it were not so, I should try to be
+blind to it. A woman must understand that she lowers herself by
+belittling her sisters. How immensely we increase man's ascendancy by
+never praising one another!"</p>
+
+<p>I began to laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"Alas, I would not dare to say that the wisest among us, in extolling
+our own sex, are not once more seeking the admiration of some man!"</p>
+
+<p>And Marcienne, who has been to such pains to release herself from the
+worldly surroundings amid which she suffered, goes on speaking long and
+passionately. There is a note of pain in her voice as she says:</p>
+
+<p>"Everything separates us and removes us one from the other, education
+even more than instinct. If woman only knew how she lessens her power by
+blindly respecting the petty social laws of which she is nevertheless
+the sole judge and dictator! Whereas she hands them down meekly, from
+mother to daughter,<a class="pagenum" name="page_223" id="page_223" title="223"></a> with all their wearisome restrictions, and grows
+indignant if some one bolder ventures to transgress them. And yet it is
+in this domain, which is hers, that she might extend her power by
+gradually overthrowing the old idols."</p>
+
+<p>And she also says:</p>
+
+<p>"Almost always, in defending a woman, we have occasion to strike a
+mortal blow at some ancient prejudice. For my part, I must confess that
+I take a mischievous delight in bestowing special indulgence on things
+which often are too severe a test for that indulgence in others; for,
+rather than be suspected of impugning ever so lightly some worn-out
+principle, they will wound and wound again the most innocent of their
+sisters."</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>It is almost dark. I leave my companions in order to call for the lamps
+and I stop near Rose as I pass through the next room. Here, all the
+girls are clustered round Hermione, who is telling them a story of her
+travels.</p>
+
+<p>Anne and Marie are listening respectfully, while the two inseparables,
+only half-attentive, are sharing a box of sweets.<a class="pagenum" name="page_224" id="page_224" title="224"></a></p>
+
+<p>Roseline throws her arms round me and, shrugging her shoulders, says:</p>
+
+<p>"All this strikes me as such utter nonsense!"</p>
+
+<p>She is certainly right, with her Normandy common sense; but does she not
+need just a touch of this same nonsense to bring her faculties into
+play, her powers into action?</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>When I return to the drawing-room, Blanche calls me with a laugh of
+delight:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, look!" she cries. "I've found a book with a portrait of my beloved
+Elizabeth Browning. Look at that sweet, gentle face, surrounded with
+ringlets: it's just as I imagined her. I love her all the better now."</p>
+
+<p>They had opened other books written by women and, leaning over the
+table, were comparing the frontispiece portraits of the authors,
+interesting or handsome, grave or smiling, young or old. Even so do
+certain little volumes of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries open
+nearly always with an engraving faded by time and representing charming
+faces all of the same class and often with similar expressions<a class="pagenum" name="page_225" id="page_225" title="225"></a> and
+features: a delicate nose, a bow-shaped, smiling mouth, intelligent eyes
+with no mysterious depths, dimpled cheeks, a string of pearls round the
+neck, a loosely-tied kerchief just revealing a swelling bosom, wanton
+curls dancing against a dark background in a frame of roses upheld by
+Cupids. And the quiver and the arrows and the flying ribbons and the
+turtle-doves: all this, joined to the letters, the maxims or the verses,
+often grave or even sad, sometimes calm and reasonable, sometimes
+passionate, brings before us in a few strokes the harmonious picture of
+woman's life.</p>
+
+<p>"It is no longer the fashion in these days," murmured Blanche. "And yet
+is there not an intimate relation between a woman's work and her
+appearance?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is the reason, no doubt," replied Marcienne, "why it seems, unlike
+man's, to grow smaller as it passes out of the present. We see the
+immortal pages disappear like the fallen petals of a flower. It's sad,
+don't you think?"</p>
+
+<p>Struck with the beauty of her closing words, we listened to her in
+silence. She continued to turn the leaves at random and resumed:</p>
+
+<p>"But, oh, the exquisite art which a woman's work<a class="pagenum" name="page_226" id="page_226" title="226"></a> can show when she is
+not only beautiful, but truly wise, when a lovely hand indites stately
+verse, when a life holds or breathes nothing but high romance ... and
+love! For it is love and love alone that makes a woman's brain
+conceive."</p>
+
+<p>Cecilia, who was gradually losing her shyness, made a gesture to silence
+us and said, slowly:</p>
+
+<p>"I'll tell you something!"</p>
+
+<p>A general peal of laughter greeted this phrase with which the young
+Dutchwoman, according to the custom of her country, always ushers in her
+least words. To make yourself better understood by slow and absent
+minds, is it not well to give a warning? It is a sort of little spring
+that goes off first and arouses people's attention. Then the thought is
+there, ready for utterance. And sometimes, amid the silence, an
+announcement is made that it will be fine to-morrow, or that it is hot
+and that a storm is threatening.</p>
+
+<p>But Cecilia is much too clever to cast aside those little mannerisms of
+her native race which so charmingly accentuate her special type of
+beauty. So she joined in our laughter with a good grace and, after
+repeating her warning, observed, in her hesitating language, that, by
+thus admitting ourselves to be the<a class="pagenum" name="page_227" id="page_227" title="227"></a> mere creatures of love, we were
+justifying the opinion of the men who treat us as "looking-glasses."</p>
+
+<p>"Looking-glasses? Men's looking-glasses? And why not?" I exclaimed. "It
+is not for us women to decry that looking-glass side of us. It is
+serious, more serious than you think, for on the beauty of our
+reflection often depend our ardour, our courage, our very character and
+all the energies that create or affect our actions. Besides, whether men
+or women, we can only reflect one another and we ourselves do not become
+conscious of our powers until the day of the supreme love, as if, till
+then, we had only seen ourselves in pocket-mirrors which never reflect
+more than a morsel of our lives, a movement, a gesture ... and which
+always distort it!"</p>
+
+<p>Every mouth quivered with laughter. I insisted:</p>
+
+<p>"If women often have so much difficulty in learning to know their own
+characters, it is because most men are scornful mirrors, occupied with
+nothing smaller than the universe and never dreaming of reflecting women
+except in a grudging and imperfect fashion."</p>
+
+<p>"It is true," said Marcienne, thinking of her lover, a man whose
+domineering temper often made him unjust to her. "Men's lives would be
+less serenely<a class="pagenum" name="page_228" id="page_228" title="228"></a> confident if our amiable and accommodating souls did not
+afford them a vision incessantly embellished by love ... and always
+having infinity for a background!"</p>
+
+<p>And, with a satirical smile, she added:</p>
+
+<p>"Let us accept the part of looking-glasses, but let us place our gods in
+a still higher light! They will not complain; and we shall at least have
+the advantage of seeing beyond them a little space and brightness."</p>
+
+<p>The conversation then assumed a more personal character, each of us
+thinking of the well-beloved: Marcienne, ever mournful and passionate;
+the gentle Blanche, anxious, secretly plighted to an absent lover; and
+Cecilia, all absorbed in her young happiness with the husband of her
+choice.</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>Hermione and her cluster of girls had gradually come nearer. She dresses
+badly, she does her hair with uncompromising severity, but, in spite of
+it all, Hermione is very beautiful; and her loveliness triumphs over her
+commonplace clothes, even as her generous heart and the noble
+restlessness of her mind<a class="pagenum" name="page_229" id="page_229" title="229"></a> keep her on a plane which is loftier than the
+narrow dogmas of her creed.</p>
+
+<p>During a moment's silence, I hear her answer a question put by Rose:</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, what does it matter if I am wrong, as long as I make others happy!"</p>
+
+<p>And all my friends, like a sheaf of glowing flowers, seemed to be bound
+together by that word of loving-kindness. Were they not all, these
+bestowers of joy, living in a world into which neither sin nor error
+entered, their lives obeying the same eternal principles of love,
+following the sacred law of nature which fills our hearts with
+tenderness and our bodies with longing?</p>
+
+<h3>6</h3>
+
+<p>They were now able to talk together. Their remarks would not be vain,
+ordinary or frivolous. During the first moments of isolation, each of
+them had pursued her own thoughts and continued her own life. Each had
+reached that perfect diapason at which the most antagonistic spirits are
+in supreme unison. Heedless of different objects or of diverse aims, the
+same yearning for generosity, the same<a class="pagenum" name="page_230" id="page_230" title="230"></a> thirst after graciousness and
+beauty united their hearts; and their minds, leaping all barriers, came
+to an understanding of one another in a region beyond opinions. All
+these young and beautiful creatures, all these forms fashioned for
+delight exhaled an atmosphere of love. Were they not all alike its
+votaries?</p>
+
+<p>One alone, in a fiercer glow of enthusiasm and with a doubtless finer
+sensualism, one alone attempts to offer up her life to a God! The
+glorious folly of her! How I love to see her, vainly tormenting her
+beauty, seeking infinity, aspiring to bear peace across the world. I see
+her soul like a walled garden in which all the flowers lift themselves
+higher and higher, struggling to offer themselves to a moment of light.
+But, in a day of greater discontent and in an hour of maturity, the
+illusory fence will fall and the fair life will stand in open space.
+Then, drunk with boundless earth and boundless sky, the woman, restored
+to nature, will doubtless find herself more attuned to pleasure than
+were the others and more responsive to joy.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at all those bowed heads, dark or fair, dusky or golden, those
+lovely forms revealed by their clinging robes, those delicate profiles
+bent over the<a class="pagenum" name="page_231" id="page_231" title="231"></a> portraits and writings of their sisters, far-off friends,
+vanished, unknown or absent, whose power of love still lives for all men
+and for all time ... immortal tears, petals dropped from the flower.</p>
+
+<p>Then my glistening eyes turned towards my Roseline. She was there,
+indifferent, unmoved, perhaps secretly bored.</p>
+
+<p>And my thoughts wept in my heart.</p>
+
+<p>The most beautiful things cannot be given.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_232" id="page_232" title="232"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Xspan_4951" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Xspan_4951"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter X</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>I had been out of town for a time. Returning to Paris a day sooner than
+I intended, I wished to give Rose the pleasure of an unexpected arrival
+and I went to see her that same evening. Though it was not more than ten
+o'clock, the lights were already out in the strictly-managed
+boarding-house. There was a row of brass candlesticks on the hall-table.
+The man-servant wanted to give me one; but I was impatient, thanked him
+hurriedly and ran upstairs in the dark.</p>
+
+<p>I could not have told why I was so happy; for, though I should not have
+been willing to confess it, I had long lost all my illusions about the
+girl. But she was so beautiful; and her passive temperament left so much
+room for my fancy! I never made any headway; but at the moment it always
+seemed to me as if I were heard and understood. I used to write on that
+unresisting life as one writes<a class="pagenum" name="page_233" id="page_233" title="233"></a> on the sand; and, the easier I found it
+to make the impress of my will, the faster was it obliterated.</p>
+
+<p>When I reached the floor on which Rose's bedroom was, I stopped in the
+dark passage. A narrow streak of light showed me that her door was not
+quite shut. Then, gathering up my skirts to deaden their sound, I felt
+along the wall and crept softly, on tip-toe, so as to take her by
+surprise. With infinite precautions, I slowly pushed the door open. I
+first caught sight of a corner of the empty bed, with its white curtains
+still closed; then of a candle-end burning on the table and of flowers
+and a broken vase lying on the ground. What could she be doing?</p>
+
+<p>I was so far from imagining the truth that I do not know how I beheld it
+without betraying my presence by a movement or a sound. There was a
+young man in the room.</p>
+
+<p>I saw his face, straight opposite me, near the guttering candle. A man
+in Rose's bedroom! A friend, no doubt; a lover, perhaps! But why had she
+never mentioned him to me? I had been away a month; and in not one of
+her letters had she ever spoken of him. A friend? A lover? Could she
+have a<a class="pagenum" name="page_234" id="page_234" title="234"></a> whole existence of which I knew nothing? Could her quiet life be
+feigned? But why?</p>
+
+<p>At the risk of revealing my presence, I opened the door still farther;
+and then I saw her profile bending forward. Thus posed, it stood out
+against the black marble of the mantel-piece like a cameo. Rose had let
+down her hair, as she did every evening. Her bodice was unfastened; and
+the two golden tresses brought forward over her breast meekly followed
+the curve of her half-exposed bosom. She was not astonished, she was not
+even excited. She seemed to acquiesce in the man's presence in her room;
+it was no doubt customary.</p>
+
+<p>And suddenly, amid the thousand details that engaged my attention, a
+light flashed across me: was not Rose's companion one of the boarders in
+the house, perhaps that painter of whom she had told me, the one who
+made a sketch of her head which she brought to me a few days after her
+arrival in Paris?</p>
+
+<p>His eyes never left her. He watched and followed her every movement,
+whereas she, in her perfect composure, did not seem even to heed his
+presence. And that was what struck me: Rose's impassiveness in the face
+of that anxious and silent prayer. Did she not<a class="pagenum" name="page_235" id="page_235" title="235"></a> see? Could she not
+understand? I almost longed to rush at her and cry:</p>
+
+<p>"But look, open your eyes; that man is entreating you!... If you do not
+share his emotions, at least be touched by his suffering; if not your
+lips, give him a glance or a smile!"</p>
+
+<p>Oh, how like her it all is! And how the anxious pleading of the wooer
+resembles the vain waiting of the friend! But, alas, what in my case is
+but a disappointment of the heart, a tiresome obstacle to the evolution
+of an idea, is perhaps in his case a cruel and lasting ordeal!</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly, he falls on his knees before the girl. With his shaking hands,
+he touches her breast; then he kisses it gently. She does not repel him,
+but her bored and absent expression discourages any amorous action and
+withers the kisses at the very moment when they alight upon her flesh.
+Then he half-raises himself to gaze at her from head to foot; and with
+all his ardour he silently asks for the consenting smile and the word
+that gives permission.</p>
+
+<p>I shall never forget his look, the superb animal look, brilliant,
+glowing and empty as a ball-room deserted by the dancers, the superb,
+outspoken look<a class="pagenum" name="page_236" id="page_236" title="236"></a> that accompanies the gift of life and seems to flee its
+mystery at the moment when it approaches.</p>
+
+<p>He stammered a few tender words. His voice thrilled me. It was grave and
+clear as a bronze and silver bell. It rang true, for the most ephemeral
+desire is not false. I knew, by the sense of his words, that Rose had
+not yet given herself.</p>
+
+<p>Sullenly and as though annoyed by the soft words, she brought the dark
+stuff of her bodice over her white bosom. To the young man it was like a
+cloud passing over the sky; and, whether or not because the girl's
+resistance exasperated him, he suddenly pressed her to him, sought her
+lips and made her bend for a moment under the violence of his embrace.
+But, with an abrupt movement, with a sort of vindictive rage, she
+succeeded in releasing herself.</p>
+
+<p>Then I fled from the house.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>I did not recover myself until I was on the quay outside and felt the
+cold night-air against my face. My skirt was trailing on the ground; my
+hands made no movement to hold it up.</p>
+
+<p>With my disgust and resentment there was mingled<a class="pagenum" name="page_237" id="page_237" title="237"></a> a vague feeling of
+remorse. Was it not I who had taught the girl the shamelessness that
+admits desire and the prudence that refuses to submit to it? Had I not
+wished for her, above all other treasures, the power of judging,
+appreciating, choosing?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, but when I had talked of choosing, I had never imagined that the
+choice could be made in cold blood! So far from that, it had seemed to
+me that no more dangerous or painful experience could visit a woman's
+heart. The victory of mind over instinct and of will over desire is the
+price of a hideous, abnormal struggle opposed to the very law of our
+nature. A sad victory baptised with tears, a sacred preparation for the
+noble defeat that is to crown a woman's life!</p>
+
+<p>Besides, it was not her refusal that revolted me, for we cannot judge an
+action of which we do not know the reasons; it was her demeanour, her
+horrible indifference. The ugliness of the scene would not have offended
+me, I reflected, if the woman had been in any way troubled by it; if I
+had seen her resist her own desire or at least deplore that which she
+was unable to share; if I had seen her struggle for a sentiment or
+suffer for an idea, however absurd or wild! But Rose had had neither
+tears nor compassion;<a class="pagenum" name="page_238" id="page_238" title="238"></a> and the blind instinct that always prompts us to
+give our lives had not tempted her.</p>
+
+<p>I continued to see that face of marble. I heard those impassive words. I
+pictured that body which felt no thrill, that mouth which abandoned
+itself without giving itself. No, I had never taught her anything of
+that kind; for, however light the pain which we cause and whatever its
+nature, we are forgiven only if our own heart feels a deeper wound. I
+did not understand her conduct. What had prompted it? To what chains of
+weakness had her soul stealthily attached itself, that soul which I had
+jealously protected against all principles and prejudices? What secret
+limits had she assigned herself despite my watchful care to give her
+none?</p>
+
+<p>I felt grieved and disappointed; and yet ... and yet I walked along with
+a certain gladness in my step. The tears trembling on my lashes were not
+tears of helplessness, but of a too-insistent energy, for they came
+above all from my overwrought nerves. My mind saw clear and rent my
+remorse like a superfluous veil.</p>
+
+<p>No, I was not responsible! Our thought, once expressed, no longer
+belongs to us. Whether it leave us when scarce ripe, because an accident
+has gathered<a class="pagenum" name="page_239" id="page_239" title="239"></a> it, or whether it fall in its season, like the leaf
+falling from the tree, we know nothing of what it will become; and it is
+at once the wretchedness and the greatness of human thought to be
+subjected to the infinite forms of every mind and of every existence.</p>
+
+<p>I walked for a long time without heeding the hour. The sky was clear and
+the stars glowed in its depths like live things; in the distance, the
+Trocad&eacute;ro decked the night with brilliants.</p>
+
+<p>And, little by little, hope returned to me. I was persuaded that over
+there, in the little room which my care had provided for Rose, love
+would yet be the conqueror. She would awaken under those kisses. My
+Roseline should yet know passion and rapture. Love would triumph. It
+would do what I had been unable to do, it would breathe life into
+beauty! And, in the dead stillness, I kept hearing the kisses falling,
+falling heavily, like the first drops of a storm.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_240" id="page_240" title="240"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIspan_5124" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIspan_5124"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XI</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>We are talking like old friends, he and I, in the little white bedroom.
+Through the two curtains of the window high up in the wall a great ray
+of sunshine falls, a column of dancing light that dies on the table
+between us. I sit drumming absent-mindedly with my fingers in the
+shimmering motes. He looks at me and I feel no need to speak or to turn
+my head. The novelty of his presence makes no impression on me beyond a
+feeling of surprise that I do not find it strange. When by chance we do
+not hold the same view, the difference of opinion lasts only long enough
+to shift the thought which we are considering, even as one shifts an
+object to see its different aspects one after the other.</p>
+
+<p>I came to the boarding-house this morning to see Rose. Her room was
+empty. I was on the point of going, when the young man passed. He
+recognised me, doubtless from the portraits which Rose had shown him;
+and he came up to me of his own<a class="pagenum" name="page_241" id="page_241" title="241"></a> accord. His greeting was frank and
+natural. There were breadth and spaciousness in his eyes and his smile
+as well as in his manner. To justify my friendly interest, I pretended
+to have heard about him from Rose as he himself had heard about me: that
+is to say, with the most circumstantial details regarding position,
+occupations and all the externals of life. He did not therefore enter
+into explanations about things of which I was ignorant and we at once
+began to talk without any formality.</p>
+
+<p>What a strange and delightful sensation it was! I remembered all that I
+had noticed about him the night before; I knew his character from
+admiring its gentleness and patience under the supreme test of
+unrequited love, of desire that awakened no response. And he was now
+talking to me from the very depths of his soul, while I knew nothing of
+who or what he was, nor of what he was doing here. I was really seeing
+him from the inside, as we see ourselves behind the scenes of our own
+existence, without ever knowing exactly the spectacle which we present
+to others. I was observing the inner working of his life before I had
+seen the outward presentment.</p>
+
+<p>Speaking to me of his profession, he told me, with<a class="pagenum" name="page_242" id="page_242" title="242"></a> a smile, how little
+importance he attached to his painting:</p>
+
+<p>"It is only a favourable pretext for the life I have chosen. As you
+know, my greatest passion is nature; and I cannot but like the work
+which trained my eyes to a clearer vision and my nerves to a finer
+response."</p>
+
+<p>He told me of the years which he had wasted in seeking in the customary
+amusements the joys which are ordinarily found there. He told me of the
+life of luxury and idleness which he had led until the day came when
+adverse fate reduced him to living on the income from a small estate
+which he owned in the country: a thrice-fortunate day, he added, for
+from that moment he had understood that he was made for solitude,
+meditation and all the quiet pleasures of nature. Then he
+enthusiastically described to me the peaceful charm of his little house
+and he employed the words of a lover to extol the charm of his
+willow-swept river and the wonders of his flowers and bees.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Then I wanted to know what he thought of Rose. He judged her not
+inaccurately; but, with a lover's<a class="pagenum" name="page_243" id="page_243" title="243"></a> partiality, he applied the words
+balance, gentleness, equanimity to qualities which one day, when the
+scales had fallen from his eyes, he would call lack of heart and
+feeling. Deep-seated differences, perhaps, but yet not of a nature to
+affect the very sound principles that ensured his tranquillity.</p>
+
+<p>He had no illusions as to the quality of her mind. But to him, as to
+most men, a woman's intellectual value was but a relative factor; and he
+did not pause to estimate it with any attempt at accuracy, preferring to
+repeat:</p>
+
+<p>"She will not disturb the silence of my life; and her beauty will adorn
+it marvellously."</p>
+
+<p>He had a way of speaking which I liked. He knew how to refine his words
+by means of his expression. If they were very positive, his voice would
+hesitate; if too grave, a faint smile would lighten their sombreness. If
+he spoke ironically, his boyish eyes softened any touch of bitterness in
+the wisdom of the satirist.</p>
+
+<p>I did not like to think that the success of his wooing would mean the
+end of his labours. Rose would never become the independent, perfect
+woman of my dreams, capable of preserving her personal life in the midst
+of love and in all circumstances. Alas,<a class="pagenum" name="page_244" id="page_244" title="244"></a> my ambition had soared too
+high! Henceforth, I must wish nothing better for her than this purely
+ornamental fate.</p>
+
+<p>"Do you love her?" I asked.</p>
+
+<p>"I was taken captive at once by her beauty," he answered. "She objected
+that this sudden love must be an illusion; and I tried for a time to
+think the same. But, before long, suffering taught me the sincerity of
+my love. I dare not say whether it is senseless or right or usual; but,
+as long as a feeling gives us nothing but joy, we are unable to
+recognise it, we doubt it, we smile at it as a light and fleeting thing.
+Let anguish come, however, with tears and dread; and it is as though the
+seal of reality were placed on our heart. Then we believe in our love."</p>
+
+<p>I repeated, pensively and happily:</p>
+
+<p>"Do you really love her?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, I can say so honestly."</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated a little and, speaking very slowly, as though picking his
+words from amid his memories, said:</p>
+
+<p>"When we are sincere, we are bound to confess that the love which
+encircles all the movements of our body follows the movements of its
+strength or its weakness equally. It has its hours of exasperation,<a class="pagenum" name="page_245" id="page_245" title="245"></a> it
+is sometimes a tide that rises and floods everything: the past, the
+present, the future, the will, the spirit, the flesh. Then all becomes
+peaceful; the waves subside and we think that we love no more. We do
+love, however, but with a more detached joy. We have stepped outside
+love, as it were, and we contemplate its extent."</p>
+
+<p>My breath came quickly and my hands, clasped on the table, were pressed
+close together. My heart was bursting with gladness for my Roseline. He
+saw my emotion and questioned me with deeper interest.</p>
+
+<p>I replied without hesitation:</p>
+
+<p>"I am happy in this love which comes to Rose so simply and candidly."</p>
+
+<p>He pressed my hand as he said:</p>
+
+<p>"Sometimes, on reading certain passages in your letters, I used to fear
+that you might be opposed to my intentions...."</p>
+
+<p>I began to laugh:</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, you will have read fine views concerning independence; and a
+tirade against the women who surrender too easily; and any number of
+things more or less contrary to your hopes. But do you not agree with me
+that our principles are at their soundest when they are least rigid and
+that our noblest<a class="pagenum" name="page_246" id="page_246" title="246"></a> convictions are those of which we see both sides at
+once? Woman even more than man must not be afraid of handling her
+morality a little roughly when occasion demands it, just as she
+sometimes ruffles her laces for the pleasure of the eyes, easily and
+naturally and without attaching too much importance to the matter."</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>He listens to my words as I listen to his, with surprised delight. We
+feel as if we were playing with the same thought, for it flashes from
+one life to the other without undergoing any alteration.</p>
+
+<p>In point of fact, the human beings whom we see for the first time are
+not always new to us. True, we have never seen each other before, but
+our sympathies, our enthusiasms, inasmuch as they are common to both of
+us, have met more than once; and, now that we are talking, the form of
+our thoughts also corresponds, for, without intending it, we often look
+at the most abstract things objectively, because he is a painter and I a
+woman.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, I know no more exquisite surprises than those chance meetings which
+suddenly bring you a friend<a class="pagenum" name="page_247" id="page_247" title="247"></a> at a turning in life's road! It is like a
+charming landscape which one has seen in a dream and which one now finds
+in reality, without even having hoped for it. You speak, laugh,
+recognise each other and above all you are astonished and go on being
+astonished, adorably and shamelessly, like children.</p>
+
+<p>What we had to say was all interwoven, as though we were both drawing on
+the same memories. We were speaking of those friends of a day whom
+accident sometimes gives us and whom the very briefness of the emotion
+impresses deeply on our heart. They are there for ever, in a few clear,
+sharp strokes, like sketches:</p>
+
+<p>"For instance, you go on a matter of business to see somebody whom you
+don't know. You chafe with annoyance as you cross the threshold. In
+spite of the material duty which you are performing, you consider that
+it is so much time wasted. Then, for some unknown reason, the atmosphere
+seems kindly. You find familiar things in the room where you are
+waiting: a picture which you might have chosen yourself, books which you
+know and like, things which look as if your own hand had arranged them.
+And you forget everything. With your forehead against the pane, you look
+at the roofs of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_248" id="page_248" title="248"></a> houses, at the streets, at all that little scene
+which is the constant companion of an existence which you do not know
+and with which you are about to come into touch; and your heart beats
+very fast, for a sort of foresight tells you that a friend is going to
+enter the room."</p>
+
+<p>"That's quite true; and sometimes even we have already met him at some
+house or other; but then his mind displayed itself in a special
+attitude, inaccessible, motionless, lifeless, like a thing in a glass
+case. Now, we see him before us, in his own surroundings; and everything
+is changed. He has a smile which is made of just the same quality of
+affection as our own, a look instinct with the same sort of experience,
+a laugh that cheerfully faces like dangers, a mind responding to the
+same springs. And we talk and are contented and happy; and, when the sun
+enters at the window or when the fire flickers merrily in the hearth, we
+can easily picture spending the rest of our life there, in gladness and
+comfort. Anything that the one says is received by the other with an
+exclamation of delight. Yes, we have felt and seen things in the same
+way; and this little fact, natural though it may seem, is so rare that
+it appears extraordinary!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_249" id="page_249" title="249"></a></p>
+
+<p>With an abrupt movement that must be customary with him, my companion
+shook his head to fling back his thick hair, which darkened his forehead
+whenever he leant forward:</p>
+
+<p>"And very often," he said, "you don't see each other again, or at least
+you don't see each other like that, because time is too swift and
+because everybody has to go his own road."</p>
+
+<p>The bright shaft of sunlight was still between us. It came now from a
+higher point of the little window. In the shimmering dust, I conjured up
+the faces of scarce-seen friends. There were some whose features had
+become almost obliterated; but beyond them, as one sees an image in a
+crystal, I clearly perceived the ideas, the life, the soul that had for
+a moment throbbed on exactly the same level as my own.</p>
+
+<p>I replied, in a very low voice:</p>
+
+<p>"We remain infinitely grateful to people who have given us such minutes
+as those!"</p>
+
+<p>And then, certain of hearing myself echoed, I cried, delightedly:</p>
+
+<p>"Egoists should always be grateful and responsive, for gratitude is
+nothing but happiness prolonged by thought...."<a class="pagenum" name="page_250" id="page_250" title="250"></a></p>
+
+<p>"Yes, that is the whole secret of the responsive soul: to have
+sufficient impetus not to stop the sensation at the place where the joy
+itself stops."</p>
+
+<p>"To have simply, like the runner, an impetus that carries us beyond the
+goal...."</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>Thus were our remarks unrolled like the links of one and the same chain;
+and yet how different were our two existences! His was devoid of all
+restlessness and agitation; and mine was still in need of it. His
+intelligence was active, but not at all anxious to appear so. For him,
+meditation was the great object; and, when I expressed my admiration of
+a modesty impossible to my own undisciplined pride, he replied, in all
+simplicity:</p>
+
+<p>"Do not look upon this as modesty. The over-modest are often those whose
+pride is too great to find room on the surface."</p>
+
+<p>"If I were a man or an older woman than I am," I said, laughingly, "I
+would choose your destiny; but, for the time being, I feel a genuine
+need to satisfy my youth and to give it a few of the little pleasures
+that suit it."<a class="pagenum" name="page_251" id="page_251" title="251"></a></p>
+
+<p>He tried to jest, like most men who disapprove of the trouble which we
+take to please them by making ourselves prettier or more brilliant; but
+at heart he was as fond as myself of feminine cajolery and frivolity.</p>
+
+<p>"You are full of pride," I exclaimed, "when you have accomplished some
+noble action or produced some rare work of art; then why should not
+women be happy at realising in their persons consummate beauty and
+grace? It is very probable that, if Plato or Socrates had suddenly been
+turned into beautiful young creatures, their destiny would have been
+different from what it was; it is even exceedingly probable that wisdom
+would have prompted them very often to lay aside their writings and come
+and contemplate their charms in the admiration of men!"</p>
+
+<p>I quoted the words uttered by a woman who had known and loved admiration
+in her day:</p>
+
+<p>"If life were longer, I would devote as many hours to my body as I now
+do to my mind; and I should be right. Unfortunately, I have to make a
+choice; and my very love of beauty makes me turn to that which does not
+fade...."<a class="pagenum" name="page_252" id="page_252" title="252"></a></p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>We should certainly have gone on talking for hours and without tiring;
+but suddenly we both together remembered that Rose must be waiting for
+me at my house and I rose to go.</p>
+
+<p>As I did so, I said:</p>
+
+<p>"I happen not to know your Christian name. What is it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Floris."</p>
+
+<p>Floris! That name, so little known in France but very frequent in
+Holland, surprised me; and I had some difficulty in not saying:</p>
+
+<p>"Then you are not a Frenchman?"</p>
+
+<p>But all that I said was:</p>
+
+<p>"Floris, you shall have your Rose!"</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_253" id="page_253" title="253"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIspan_5425" id="span_classsmcapChapter_XIIspan_5425"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter XII</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Going down the stairs, I laughed to myself and said:</p>
+
+<p>"It is really one of love's miracles, that that man should be interested
+in Rose. And yet, to a philosopher, does not that beautiful girl offer a
+very unusual sense of security? From the point of view of the life which
+I had planned for her, she is a failure; but will she not be perfect in
+the eyes of a lover, of a man who expects nothing from her but an
+occasion for dreams and pleasure?"</p>
+
+<p>Filled with gladness, I hastened my steps. Although it was the end of
+winter, it was still freezing; and it was pleasant to hear the sound of
+my feet on the hard ground. I also noticed the noises of the street:
+they were sharp and distinct; and in the crisp air things were all black
+and white, as though etched in dry-point.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment, my dream vanished; then suddenly I became aware of it and
+I rifled a shop of its flowers<a class="pagenum" name="page_254" id="page_254" title="254"></a> and jumped into a cab in order to be
+with my Roseline the sooner.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>Rose and Floris! The delicious combination filled my heart to
+bursting-point. Is it not always some insignificant little accident that
+sets our impressions overflowing? Like a child, at the last minute, I
+had felt a wish to know what he was called; and I was delighted to find
+that it was a name full of grace and colour. Now all my thoughts
+clustered around those harmonious syllables. Those remarkable eyes, that
+dark hair with its faint wave, that sensitive heart, that profound
+intellect, powerful and yet a little tired, like a tree bowed down with
+fruit: all this went through life under the name of Floris!</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw once more his face, his gentleness, his profound charm; and I
+never doubted the girl's secret assent. In my fond hope, I went to the
+length of imagining that she had wished to choose her life for herself,
+independent of my influence; that she had at last understood that, in
+order to please me, she must first assert her liberty, without fear of
+hurting or vexing me. It was an illusion, certainly; but<a class="pagenum" name="page_255" id="page_255" title="255"></a> there are
+times when joy thrusts aside reason in order to burst into full blossom,
+even as in moments of sorrow our despair often goes beyond reality to
+drain itself to the last drop in one passionate outpouring.</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>Rose was sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for me. I rushed in like a
+mad thing, without knowing what I was doing. My laughter, my flowers, my
+words all came together and fell upon her like a shower of joy. In one
+breath I told her of my indiscretion of the night before, of those
+stolen sensations, of my anguish, of my life at a standstill, waiting on
+theirs, of my delightful talk with Floris, of the sympathy between us
+and lastly of my conviction that happiness was being offered to her here
+and now.</p>
+
+<p>Then I noticed that she said nothing; and, begging her pardon for my
+incoherence, I tried to express in serious words the future that awaited
+her. But all those glad impressions had dazzled me; I was like some one
+who comes suddenly from the bright sunshine into a room. Shadows fell
+and rose<a class="pagenum" name="page_256" id="page_256" title="256"></a> before my brain as before eyes that have looked too long at
+the light; and I could do nothing but kiss her and repeat:</p>
+
+<p>"Believe me, happiness lies there! Seize it, seize it!"</p>
+
+<p>At last she murmured, wearily:</p>
+
+<p>"No, I can't do it."</p>
+
+<p>I questioned her, anxiously:</p>
+
+<p>"Perhaps there is some obstacle that separates you? Do you dislike him?"</p>
+
+<p>"No, I know his whole life and I have nothing against him."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then ...?"</p>
+
+<p>I tried in vain to obtain a definite reply. Her soul was shut, walled
+in, almost hostile. Was she refusing herself, as she had once given
+herself, without knowing why? Or else was my vague intuition correct and
+was a latent energy escaping from that little low, square forehead,
+white and pure as a camellia, a force of which she herself was unaware
+and which no doubt would one day reveal to me the final choice of her
+life?</p>
+
+<p>I made her sit down and, kneeling beside her, questioned her patiently
+and gently as one asks a sick child to describe the pain which one is
+anxious to<a class="pagenum" name="page_257" id="page_257" title="257"></a> relieve. Silently, gazing vaguely into space, she let
+herself rest on my shoulder. The flowers fell from her listless hands.
+Some still hung to her dress, with tangled stalks. Red carnations,
+mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, hyacinths drunk with perfume, guelder-roses
+and white lilac wept at her feet.</p>
+
+<p>I rose slowly and looked at her, my heart aching for the heedless one
+who dropped the joys which chance laid in her arms!<a class="pagenum" name="page_259" id="page_259" title="259"></a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>PART THE THIRD<a class="pagenum" name="page_260" id="page_260" title="260"></a></p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_261" id="page_261" title="261"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_5533" id="span_classsmcapChapter_Ispan_5533"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>The reason why we judge people better after a lapse of time is that,
+when we look at them from a distance, there is no confusion of detail.
+The main lines of their character stand out, relieved of the thousand
+little alterations and erasures which the scrupulous hand of truth is
+constantly making as it passes hither and thither, now rubbing out, now
+redrawing, until at last the impression is no longer a very clear one.</p>
+
+<p>From the day when I separated my life completely from the life of Rose,
+her character appeared to me distinctly; and at the same time, now that
+it was free to come down to its own level, it asserted itself in its
+turn. Until that moment, while I had been careful to put no pressure
+upon her, I had nevertheless been asking her to choose her tastes and
+occupations on a plane that was unsuitable for her.</p>
+
+<p>Her moral outlook was good, true and not at all silly, but it was
+limited; and, in trying to make her<a class="pagenum" name="page_262" id="page_262" title="262"></a> see life swiftly and from above, as
+though in a bird's-eye view, I had made it impossible for her to
+distinguish anything.</p>
+
+<p>Her fault was that she had not been able to change, mine was that I had
+had too much faith in her possibilities. My optimism had wound itself
+around her immobility and fastened to it, even as ivy coils around a
+stone statue, without communicating to it the smallest portion of its
+sturdy and luxuriant little life.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>And now it is six months since we parted; and I am going to-day to see
+her for the first time in her new existence.</p>
+
+<p>I look out of the window of the railway-carriage; and my mind calls up
+memories which glide past with the autumn fields. First comes the
+departure of Floris, wearied by the incomprehensible attitude of the
+girl. He went away shortly after our meeting, still philosophical and
+cheerful, in spite of his disappointment. And the part which he played
+in my experiment taught me something that guided my efforts into a fresh
+direction: if Rose's beauty was<a class="pagenum" name="page_263" id="page_263" title="263"></a> to him sufficient compensation for her
+commonplace character, could not I also accept the girl as something out
+of which to weave romance and beauty? Does not everything lie in the
+mere fact of consent? Passive and silent, would she not become a rare
+object in my life, a precious stone?</p>
+
+<p>"Woman blossoms into fullest flower by doing nothing," some one has
+said. "Women who do not work form the beauty of the world."</p>
+
+<p>I took Rose to live with me and for weeks devoted myself exclusively to
+her appearance and her manners. I sought if possible to perfect the
+exterior. It was all in vain. This beautiful creature was so totally
+ignorant of what beauty meant that she was constantly deforming herself;
+and I at last gave up the struggle.</p>
+
+<p>Sadly I remember the last pulsation of my will. It happened in the
+silence of my heart; and life went on for a little while longer. Would
+it not have been hateful to send Rose away, as one dismisses a servant?
+And what act, what fault had she committed to deserve such treatment?
+When it would have been so sweet to me to give her everything, for no
+reason at all, how could I find a solid reason for taking everything
+from her?<a class="pagenum" name="page_264" id="page_264" title="264"></a></p>
+
+<p>So I said nothing to her; we had none of those horrible explanations
+which set bristling spikes on the barriers&mdash;inevitable barriers,
+alas!&mdash;which dissimilarities in taste or character raise between people.
+There are certain persons who cannot bear to make any change without a
+preliminary explanation. They seem to carry a sort of map in their
+heads: on the far side of the frontier that borders the friendly
+territory lies the enemy; and it needs but a word, a gesture, a
+difference of opinion for you to find yourself in exile. Alas, have we
+not enough with all the limits, demarcations, laws and judgments that
+are perhaps necessary to the world at large? And must we lay upon
+ourselves still others in the intimate relations of life?</p>
+
+<p>I had no right to set myself up as a judge and I could not have
+pronounced sentence. I waited. And, my will being no longer in the way,
+circumstances gradually led my companion to her true destiny better than
+I could have done.</p>
+
+<p>She was bored. She was not really made to be a purely decorative object.
+In spite of her trailing silk or velvet dresses, twenty times a day I
+would find her in the larder, with a loaf under her arm and a knife in
+her hand, contentedly buttering thick<a class="pagenum" name="page_265" id="page_265" title="265"></a> slices of bread, which she would
+eat slowly in huge mouthfuls, looking straight before her as she did so.</p>
+
+<p>She was bored; and I was powerless to cure this unfamiliar ill. I looked
+out some work for her in my busy life. She wrote letters, kept my
+accounts, hemmed the maids' aprons. Soon she was running the errands.
+One day she answered the front-door.</p>
+
+<p>I still remember that moment when she came and told me, in her pretty,
+gentle way, that there was some one to see me in the drawing-room. I do
+not know why, but that insignificant incident suddenly revealed the
+truth to me. I was ashamed of myself and turned away my head so that she
+should not see me blush. Poor child, she was unconsciously lowering
+herself more and more daily. She was becoming my property. I was making
+use of her.</p>
+
+<p>Without saying anything, I at once began to search for something for
+her. I hesitated between first one thing and then another; but at last
+chance came to my aid. Country-bred as she was, the girl was losing her
+colour in the Paris air; she was ordered to leave town. She knew a
+family at Neufch&acirc;tel, in Normandy, who were willing to take her as a
+boarder for a few weeks. She went and did not come back.<a class="pagenum" name="page_266" id="page_266" title="266"></a></p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>What did she do there, how did she spend her time? She wrote to me
+before long that she was quite happy, that she was earning her
+livelihood without difficulty. There was a little linen-draper's shop,
+it seemed, kept by an old maid, who, having no relations of her own, had
+taken Rose to assist her at first and perhaps to succeed her in time.</p>
+
+<p>I was not at all surprised. For that matter, when we follow the natural
+evolution of things, their conclusion comes so softly that we hardly
+notice it. It is the descent which we are approaching: it becomes less
+steep at every step and, when we reach it, it is only a faint depression
+in the ground.</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>Strange temperament! The more I think of it, the more it appears to me
+as an instance of the dangers of virtue, or at least of what we
+understand by the word. Does it not look as though, in the charts of our
+characters, the virtues are the ultimate goals which can be reached only
+by the way of our faults? Each virtue stands like a golden statue in the
+centre<a class="pagenum" name="page_267" id="page_267" title="267"></a> of a cross-roads. We can hardly know every side of it unless we
+have beheld it from the various paths that lead to it. It shines in a
+different manner at the end of each road.</p>
+
+<p>Rose never became conscious of her good qualities, because she possessed
+them too naturally; and she remained poor in the midst of all the riches
+which she was unable to discern.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, if only she had been less wise and had had that ardour, that flame
+which feeds on all that is thrown upon it to extinguish it; if she had
+had that inordinate prodigality which teaches us by making us commit a
+thousand acts of folly; if, in short, she had had faults, vices,
+impulses of curiosity, how different her fate would have been! The
+equilibrium of a person's character may be compared with that of a pair
+of scales; and it is safe to say that, by weighing more heavily upon one
+of these, our defects raise our good qualities to their highest level.</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>But every minute is now bringing me nearer to this life which I am at
+last to know; and I gaze absent-mindedly at the Bray country, that
+lovely<a class="pagenum" name="page_268" id="page_268" title="268"></a> country red with the gold of autumn. By force of habit, my
+nerves spell out a few sensations which my thoughts do not put into
+words. My heart is beating. Now, with no idea or purpose in my mind, I
+am speeding with a full heart towards the girl who was at least the
+inspiration of a splendid hope and above all an incentive to action.</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_269" id="page_269" title="269"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_5699" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIspan_5699"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>I arrived at Neufch&acirc;tel at the gracious hour when the sun is paling; and
+I was at once charmed with the kindly aspect of this little Norman town.</p>
+
+<p>The house-fronts gleaming with fresh paint, the pigeons picking their
+way across the streets, the grass growing between the cobble-stones, the
+flowers outside the windows and doors, a cleanliness that adorns the
+smallest details: all this is so calm and so empty that our life at once
+settles there as in a frame that takes with equal ease the happy or the
+sad picture which we propose to fit into it.</p>
+
+<p>It reminds me of Bruges, whose infinite, patient calm is a clean page on
+which the visitor's life is printed, happy or distressful at will, since
+there is nothing to define its character. It also has the silence of the
+little Flemish towns, with their streets without carriages or wayfarers.
+The gardens look as though they were artificial; and in the frame of<a class="pagenum" name="page_270" id="page_270" title="270"></a>
+the open windows we see interiors which are as sharp as pictures.</p>
+
+<p>Leading out of the main street is a mysterious little alley, dark and
+badly paved. It runs upwards and ends in a clump of trees arching
+against the blue of the sky. There is no visible gate or doorway. I turn
+up it. All along a high wall hang old fire-backs, bas-reliefs of
+cracked, rusty-red iron, once licked by the flames, now washed by the
+rain.</p>
+
+<p>I loiter to examine the subjects: coats of arms, trophies of weapons, or
+allegories and half-obliterated love-scenes. It is curious to see these
+homely relics thus exposed in the street, conjuring up the peaceful soul
+of families gathered round the hearth. From over the wall, the air
+reaches me laden with hallowed fragrance. I picture the box-bordered
+walks on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>Then I climb higher; and, when I come to the trees, I find a charming
+surprise. The public gardens lie in front of me. In the shade of the
+public gardens we seem to find the very spirit of a town; it is to the
+gardens or to the church that our curiosity always turns in the first
+place. Here is the walk edged with stone benches on which old men and
+old women sit coughing and gossiping; here mothers<a class="pagenum" name="page_271" id="page_271" title="271"></a> bring their work,
+while their children run about; and in the centre, at the junction of
+the paths, is the platform where the regimental band plays on Sundays.</p>
+
+<p>The Neufch&acirc;tel gardens are in no way elaborate: a number of avenues have
+been cut out of an ancient wood; and that is all. There are no shrubs;
+just a patch of dahlias, with a ridiculous little iron railing round
+them. But its whole charm lies in its picturesque situation up above the
+town. In between the tall trees with their interlacing boughs, one can
+see the slopes of the hills, the plains, the meadows, the gleaming roofs
+and the church with its twin spires piercing the blue of the sky. Then,
+in the foreground, I see, behind the houses, the little gardens whose
+breath reached me just now. They are there, divided into small plots of
+equal size, simple or pretentious, sometimes humble kitchen-gardens, but
+sometimes also a patchwork adorned with grottoes, arbours and glass
+bells.</p>
+
+<p>Rose mentioned a garden which brightens her little home. Suppose it were
+one of these!... A woman appears over there: she is tall and
+fair-haired. She stoops over a well; I cannot make out her features. She
+draws herself up again. Oh, no, her<a class="pagenum" name="page_272" id="page_272" title="272"></a> figure is clumsy, her hair looks
+dull and colourless and her clothes vulgar. Rose would never dress like
+that, in two colours that clash! Rose would never ...</p>
+
+<p>I wander into a delicious reverie. How infinitely superior Rose is to
+all these people whose lives I can picture around me. Two women sit
+cackling beside me on the bench: they are at once guileless and bad,
+with their mania for eternally wagging tongues that know no rest. A
+little farther on, a good housewife is shaking her troublesome child; a
+stout, overdressed woman of the shop-keeping class is flaunting her
+finery down one of the walks; a priest passes and, while his lips mumble
+prayers, his eyes, held in leash by fear, prowl around me; one of his
+flock curtseys to the ground as she meets him.</p>
+
+<p>A protest rises in my heart at each of the little incidents: is not Rose
+rid of all that? Rose long ago gave up going to mass and confession. She
+has lost the hypocritical sense of shame, knows neither envy nor malice
+and is a stranger to all ostentation.</p>
+
+<p>I often used to reproach her with her extreme humility. How wrong I was!
+I now think that this humility can achieve the same result as pride
+itself. One looks too high, the other too low; but both pass<a class="pagenum" name="page_273" id="page_273" title="273"></a> by the
+petty vanities of life and either of them can keep us equally
+indifferent to those vanities.</p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>I rose from my seat with a happy heart. The time had come for me to go
+in search of her. I would kiss her in all gratitude. Had she not
+enlarged my will to the extent of making it admit her little existence?</p>
+
+<p>I went through the silent streets, in search of the charming, old-world
+name that was to tell me where the aged spinster lived. Rose had said
+that I should see it written over the door in blue letters and that it
+was opposite a place where they sold sportsmen's and anglers'
+requisites, a shop with a sign that would be certain to attract my
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>I therefore walked along with a sure step and suddenly, at a
+street-corner, saw a great silver fish flashing to and fro in the breeze
+at the end of a long line. Soon I was in a quiet backwater of the town.
+There it was! Opposite me, the last gleams of the setting sun shed their
+radiance on a very bright little house covered with a luxuriant vine. On
+one<a class="pagenum" name="page_274" id="page_274" title="274"></a> side, in the same golden light, the name of Isaline Coquet smiled
+in sky-blue letters.</p>
+
+<p>The shop was white, with pearl-grey shutters; and on the ledges were
+bunchy plants gay with pink, starry flowers. In the window, a few
+starched caps looked as if they were talking scandal on their respective
+stands.</p>
+
+<p>I walked in. The opening of the door roused the tongue of a little rusty
+bell, but nobody came. On a big grandfather's chair, near the counter,
+were a pair of spectacles and a book. Perhaps Mlle. Coquet had run away
+when she caught sight of me through the panes; Rose said that she was
+shy and a little frightened at the thought of my coming visit. And I had
+the pleasure of looking for my Rose as I followed the mysterious turns
+of a primitive passage.</p>
+
+<p>The walls were spotless and the red-tiled floor shone in the half-light.
+I crossed a neat little kitchen, just as a cuckoo-clock was chiming
+five, and found myself on the threshold of a small room opening on a
+garden. Rose was sitting in the wide, low window.</p>
+
+<p>The noise of the clock no doubt deadened the sound of my steps, for the
+girl did not turn her head. The room exhaled a faint perfume as of
+incense and<a class="pagenum" name="page_275" id="page_275" title="275"></a> musk; and I seemed to hold all her peaceful little life in
+my breath and in that swift glance. All that I could see of her face was
+one cheek and the tips of her long eyelashes. Placed as she was in front
+of the light, a golden haze shaded the colours of her beautiful hair;
+and I lingered in contemplation of the long and graceful curve of her
+figure bending over her work. She was sewing in the midst of floods of
+stiff white muslin, which formed a chain of snow-clad peaks with blue
+reflections around her. I looked at the low-ceilinged room with its
+whitewashed wall and its rows of bodices, petticoats and shiny caps
+hanging on lines stretched from one side to the other. A grey tom-cat
+lay purring on a corner of the table; and, near it, in a well-scrubbed
+pot, a pink geranium displayed its sombre leaves and its bright flowers.</p>
+
+<p>Rose was sewing. At regular intervals, her right arm rose, drew out the
+thread and returned to the spot whence it started: an even and captive
+movement symbolical of the amount of activity permitted to women! But
+was she not to choose that movement among all others?<a class="pagenum" name="page_276" id="page_276" title="276"></a></p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>We dine in her bedroom. What a surprise her room held in store for me!
+Rose had arranged it herself, in harmony with the simplicity which I
+loved.</p>
+
+<p>Brightly-painted wooden shelves make patches of colour on the white
+walls; the furniture is rustic; and the curtains of white muslin with
+mauve spots complete the frank and artless harmony of the room. How
+little this was to be expected from Mlle. Coquet's shop!</p>
+
+<p>Then, on Rose's table, the books I gave her fill the place of honour. I
+dare say that she never reads them; and yet I am glad to see them here.</p>
+
+<p>Rose goes to and fro between our little table and the kitchen. She looks
+pretty, she smiles. The slowness of her movements is no longer
+lethargic; it simply exhales an air of repose, a perfume of peace that
+suits her beauty. Her eyes have fastened on me at once and, as in the
+old days, never leave me.</p>
+
+<p>Is it the tyranny of habit that used to prevent me from reading anything
+in them? Now, those eyes that ingenuously drink in my life as the
+flowers do the light, those eyes not veiled by any shadow, constantly<a class="pagenum" name="page_277" id="page_277" title="277"></a>
+bring the tears to mine. She sees this and fondly lays her head on my
+shoulder, whispering:</p>
+
+<p>"I did nothing but expect you, darling, only I had given up hoping...."</p>
+
+<p>This term of endearment, which she addresses to me for the first time,
+as if, being no longer subject to any effort, she were at last yielding
+to the sweets of friendship, this expression and my Christian name,
+which she utters lovingly, complete the pleasantness of the evening.</p>
+
+<p>I feel happy amid it all. We who were brought up in the country never
+lose our appreciation of its peaceful charm. It bows down our lives as
+we bow our forehead in our hands to think beyond our immediate
+surroundings; and from its narrow circle we are better able to judge the
+expanse which has become necessary to us.</p>
+
+<h3>4</h3>
+
+<p>The night rises, things fade away. The sky is a deep blue in the frame
+of the open window. Rose brings the lamp:</p>
+
+<p>"It was the first companion of my solitude," she says, reminiscently;
+then, laughing, "the companion<a class="pagenum" name="page_278" id="page_278" title="278"></a> of my boredom, the companion of those
+long, long evenings...."</p>
+
+<p>"But now, dearest?..."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, now, the days are too short: I have a thousand duties to perform,
+my dear little old woman to look after, my customers, my flowers, my
+animals; then, in the evening, we often have a caller: the priest, the
+notary, the neighbours...."</p>
+
+<p>Then, suddenly fearing that she has hurt me, she adds, in a caressing
+tone:</p>
+
+<p>"When I am with them, I am always talking about you, so as to comfort
+myself for the loss of you; for that is my only sorrow."</p>
+
+<h3>5</h3>
+
+<p>An hour or two later, sitting in the garden, we watched the stars
+appearing one by one. Our arms were round each other; our fair tresses
+were intermingled. We were at the far end of the town. We heard the
+sounds of the country ringing in the transparent air; and the crystal
+voice of the frogs, that small, clear note falling steadily and marking
+time to our thoughts. We were quiet, like everything around us,
+unstirred by a breath of wind.<a class="pagenum" name="page_279" id="page_279" title="279"></a></p>
+
+<p>Rose spoke of her happiness; and I never wearied of inhaling that
+delicious tranquillity. I had been thinking of settling her future for
+her. And what an inestimable lesson I was learning from her! Rose was
+one of those whose road must be marked from hour to hour by a little
+duty of some kind or another. It is thus, by limiting themselves, that
+these characters arrive at knowing and asserting themselves. She said,
+blithely, "my room," "my garden," "my house;" and I smiled as I
+reflected that I had once struggled to rid that mind of all useless
+bonds.</p>
+
+<h3>6</h3>
+
+<p>What a mistake I had made! In order to find her life, she had had to
+earn it and to recognise it in the very things that now belonged to it,
+to mark every hour of it with humdrum tasks, to create for herself
+little troubles on her own level, difficulties which her good sense
+could easily overcome. There was nothing unexpected, nothing
+far-reaching in her life, never an event beyond the tinkle of the
+shop-bell announcing a customer, a little bell with a short, sharp,
+cracked ring, stopping on a single note without<a class="pagenum" name="page_280" id="page_280" title="280"></a> vibration, as though it
+were the very voice of the little souls which it excited.</p>
+
+<p>In contrast with this humble destiny, I considered my own full of
+difficulty and agitation, so crowded and yet doubtless equally empty; I
+followed in my mind's eye the lives of my friends; and I reflected that
+the nature of us women, alike of the most wayward and the most direct,
+is too delicate and too complex for us easily to keep our balance in a
+state of complete liberty.</p>
+
+<p>"When we achieve it," I said to Rose, "it is thanks to a close and
+constant observation of ourselves; for woman never has any real moral
+strength. Self-sacrifice and kindness alone lend us some, because our
+capacity for loving knows no limit: our strength is then a loan which we
+make to ourselves at difficult moments by a miracle of love. Once the
+crisis is over, we have to pay ... with interest!"</p>
+
+<p>"In Paris," said Rose, "even from the very first, I had a feeling that I
+should never dare to move in the absolute liberty that was offered me.
+You are not angry with me?"</p>
+
+<p>"How could I be? We were both wanderers, you and I, where circumstances
+led us, both of us with a passion for sincerity, both of us with the
+best of<a class="pagenum" name="page_281" id="page_281" title="281"></a> intentions. A cleverer mind than mine would doubtless have
+saved you from going out of your way. It had many unnecessary turnings.
+But perhaps they had their uses...."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied my friend, wisely, "for without them, I should not have
+been so certain that my choice was right...."</p>
+
+<h3>7</h3>
+
+<p>Around us the mysterious life of the night was gradually awaking. All
+the animals that shun the daylight were beginning to stir. A hedgehog
+brushed against my skirt. In the grass, two glowworms summoned love with
+all their fires. The smell of the garden became overpowering. Our
+movements and our words throbbed in a scented air. Rose leant towards
+me:</p>
+
+<p>"There is one thought that troubles me," she said. "Have I discouraged
+you? Will others better equipped than I still find you ready to lend
+them a helping hand?"</p>
+
+<p>"Why not, Roseline?" And I would have liked to put my very soul into the
+kiss which I gave her. "No, you have not discouraged me. The only thing
+that matters is to have the power to choose what<a class="pagenum" name="page_282" id="page_282" title="282"></a> suits us. Then alone
+is it possible for us to develop ourselves without restraint. With your
+limited horizon, you are freer, darling, than when you were living with
+me, at the mercy of all the fancies which you did not know how to use.
+Everything is relative; and instinct makes no mistakes. Yours, by
+placing you here among the lives which I can imagine, gives you the
+opportunity of excelling. You felt that you needed to live under
+conditions in which the effort and the merit would lie in not changing,
+in which action would be immobility. You know, Rose, there is always
+some common ground in human beings; to reach it, if you do not stoop,
+the others will raise themselves. With your beauty which is the wonder
+of every one you meet, with that gentleness which wins all hearts and
+with your soul which no longer knows either malice or prayer, you will
+be a new example of life to all around you."</p>
+
+<p>Rose was sitting on a higher chair than mine; and this allowed me to let
+my head sink into her lap. I no longer dreamt of looking at the
+splendour of the night, for was it not throbbing in my heart, where a
+star woke every moment? And I thought out loud:</p>
+
+<p>"You were always asking me the object of my<a class="pagenum" name="page_283" id="page_283" title="283"></a> efforts. Do you now
+understand that I could not explain what I myself did not understand
+perfectly until you revealed it to me?"</p>
+
+<p>I reflected for a moment and continued:</p>
+
+<p>"We can wish nothing for others nor force anything on them: we can only
+help them to clear the field before and within themselves...."</p>
+
+<p>She murmured:</p>
+
+<p>"I understand."</p>
+
+<p>And I cried:</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, my dearest, how grateful I am to you! In looking for you, I have
+found myself a little more; and it is always so; and that, you see, is
+why we must love action. However tiny, however humble, it may be, it
+brings us at the same time the knowledge of others and of ourselves. We
+appear to fling ourselves stout-heartedly into the stream whose currents
+we cannot foresee; we are hurt, we are wounded, we struggle; but, when
+we return to the bank, we feel invigorated and refreshed."</p>
+
+<p>Roseline stroked my forehead lightly with her hands and softly
+whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"There was nothing lacking to my peace of mind but your approval. Now I
+am happy and I can begin my life without anxiety."</p>
+
+<hr class="major" />
+<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em">
+<a class="pagenum" name="page_284" id="page_284" title="284"></a>
+<a name="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_6041" id="span_classsmcapChapter_IIIspan_6041"></a>
+<h3><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span></h3>
+</div>
+
+<h3>1</h3>
+
+<p>Rose was still asleep when I entered the drowsy bedroom to bid her
+good-bye. A small, heart-shaped opening in the middle of the shutters
+allowed the first ray of daylight to penetrate. Sleeping happily and
+trustfully, with streaming hair and hands out-flung, she lay strewn like
+the petals of a flower. I laid my lips on hers and softly went away.</p>
+
+<p>As I climb the slope that leads out of Neufch&acirc;tel, I turn and look down
+once more on the little town that slumbers everlastingly in its rich
+peace. Just there, by the church, I picture the house with its grey
+shutters, its white front and its starched caps behind the flower-pots.
+Beyond, the green horizons and the blue hill-sides stand clearly marked
+in the dawning sun; and I gaze and gaze as far as my eyes can see,
+through my lashes sparkling with tears.</p>
+
+<p>For all her lethargy, her slumber as of a beautiful plant, the soul of
+my Rose is wholesome, wholesome as those meadows, those fields, all that
+good Norman<a class="pagenum" name="page_285" id="page_285" title="285"></a> earth which gave her to me miserable only to take her back
+happy and free. Certainly, Rose has not been able to achieve the
+strength that makes use of liberty: in that life, still so young, the
+will is a dead branch through which the sap no longer flows. At any
+rate, what she does possess she will not lose; she is one of those who
+instinctively hold in their breath so as not to tarnish the pane through
+which a glimpse of infinity stands revealed to them. Her soul could not
+take in unlimited happiness, it had to feel a touch of sorrow in order
+to taste a little joy. There are many like her, people who perceive that
+the light is good when they come out of the darkness, but who are not
+able to recognise the light in the radiant beauty of the noon-day
+fields.</p>
+
+<p>The sun rises as I slowly make my way up-hill; the wood along the road
+is still wet with the dawn. It offers me its autumnal fragrance; I
+breathe it in, I gaze at its golden tints, I think of Rose, of her past
+and her future. But, beyond my dreams, an unformed idea seems to spread
+like a clear sky, without outline, without colour, without beginning or
+end; and I have a secret feeling that I shall try again.<a class="pagenum" name="page_286" id="page_286" title="286"></a></p>
+
+<h3>2</h3>
+
+<p>I shall go towards other strangers. I shall seek at random among hearts
+and souls! Fearlessly, in spite of censure and derision, I shall lavish
+my confidence in order to win that of others. I shall not linger over
+the vain pleasure of discovering the traces of my power. We can pour out
+our influence boldly: it is a wine that excites no two souls in a like
+manner; and we are always ignorant what the nature of the intoxication
+will be, whether fruitful or barren, blithe or cheerless.</p>
+
+<p>I shall go towards other strangers; I understand now that my sole
+ambition is to bring life within their reach. What matter what their
+thoughts, their loves, their wishes, if at least they have acquired the
+taste and the means of thinking, loving and wishing?</p>
+
+<p>Shall I ever succeed in evolving from this passion of mine a method, a
+system that will make my action less blind and uncertain? I think not.</p>
+
+<p>In a life that never offers us anything logical or foreseen, our moral
+nature must needs resemble a drapery that is folded backwards and
+forwards over events, souls or circumstances. Let us ask no more than
+that it be beautiful and soft, strong and light,<a class="pagenum" name="page_287" id="page_287" title="287"></a> submissive to the
+least breath and ready to be transformed at its command. Nothing but an
+essential principle of humanity and loving-kindness can serve as a
+foundation for our actions, without ever confining them.</p>
+
+<h3>3</h3>
+
+<p>On the one hand, we have effort, nearly always vain; on the other,
+knowledge, which is the second look that makes us discern the ordinary,
+the commonplace, where at first we beheld beauty and charm.
+Nevertheless, let us worship effort and knowledge above all things.</p>
+
+<p>Let us act as simply as the little wave that lifts itself and breaks
+against the rock. Others come after it; and it is their light kisses
+which, all unseen, end by biting into the granite.</p>
+
+<p style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:3em; text-align:center;'>THE END</p>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***</p>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Choice of Life, by Georgette Leblanc,
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Choice of Life
+
+
+Author: Georgette Leblanc
+
+
+
+Release Date: August 26, 2007  [eBook #22411]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustration.
+      See 22411-h.htm or 22411-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/1/22411/22411-h/22411-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/4/1/22411/22411-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE CHOICE OF LIFE
+
+by
+
+GEORGETTE LEBLANC
+
+Translated by Alexander Teixeira de Mattos
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: Georgette Leblanc]
+
+
+
+New York
+Dodd, Mead and Company
+1914
+
+Copyright, 1914, by
+Dodd, Mead and Company
+Published, March, 1914
+
+
+
+
+Women are ever divided by a miserable distrust, whereas all their
+weaknesses intertwined might make for their lives a crown of love and
+strength and beauty....
+
+How one of them strove to deliver her unhappy friend, the words which
+she spoke to her, the examples which she set before her, the joys which
+she offered her: these are what I have tried to record in this book.
+
+                                                                G.L.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE FIRST
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+Here in the garden, close to the quiet house, I sit thinking of that
+strange meeting in the village. A blackbird at regular intervals sings
+the same refrain, which is taken up by others in the distance. The
+lily's chalice gleams under the blazing sun; and the humbler flowers
+meekly droop their heads. White butterflies are everywhere, flitting
+restlessly hither and thither. So fierce is the splendour of the day
+that I cannot raise my eyes to the summit of the trees; and my quivering
+lids show me the whole sky through my lashes.
+
+Thereupon it seems to me that the emotion which bursts from my heart,
+like a too-brilliant light, compels me to close the shutters of my brain
+as well. In my mind, even as before my eyes, distances are lessened and
+I see stretched before me that more or less illusive goal which we would
+all fain reach in the desires of our finer selves.
+
+This idea is soothing to me, for, in my eagerness to act, I am tired of
+demanding from my reason reasons which it cannot vouchsafe me.
+
+Is there anything definite amid the uncertainty of these blind efforts,
+these unaccountable impulses, which have so often, ever since the first
+awakening of my unconsciousness, urged me towards other women? What have
+I wanted hitherto? What was it that I hoped when I stretched out my
+hands to them, when I looked upon their lives, when I searched their
+hearts, when at times I changed the very nature of their strivings? I
+did not know then; and even now I do not succeed in explaining to myself
+the fever that makes my thoughts tingle and burn. I do not understand, I
+do not know. How did that dream stand firm amid the total annihilation
+of unprofitable illusions? Is there then an element of reality, a
+definite truth that encourages me, though I do not discern it?
+
+I see myself going forward recklessly, like a traveller who knows that
+there is somewhere a goal and who makes for it blindly, with the same
+assurance as though the goal stood bright and luminous on a
+mountain-top.
+
+My only apology for these continual excursions is that I lay claim to
+no rigidity of purpose; and I should almost be ashamed to come with
+principles and axioms to those whom I am carrying away. Then why alter
+the course of their destiny? Why appeal to their sympathy and their
+confidence? What better lot have I to offer them and what can I hope for
+even if they respond? Certainly I wish them fairer and more perfect,
+freed from their childish dread of criticism, armed with a prouder and
+more personal conception of honour than the code which is laid upon
+them, respectful of their life and also encompassing it with infinite
+indulgence and kindness. But is not that a wild ideal? In my memory, I
+still see them smiling at it, those radiant faces which all my sermons
+could not cloud, or which, vainly striving to understand them, never
+reflected anything but their crudest and most extravagant features!
+
+The newcomer with the grave countenance, the new soul divined beneath a
+beauty that pleases me, will she at long last teach me how much is
+possible and realisable in the vague ideal to which I pay homage,
+without as yet being able to define it?
+
+I dare not hope.
+
+Hitherto, events have not justified me any more than my reason.
+
+The swift walker goes alone upon his road; there is never any but his
+shadow to follow him.
+
+I know how conscious we are of our weakness when we try to bring our
+energies into action; and I know that my pride will suffer, for I have
+never seen my footprint on the sand without pitying myself....
+
+
+2
+
+Those who are close to our soul have no need of our words to understand
+it; and those who are far removed from it do not hear us speak. Then for
+whom do we speak, alas?
+
+The blackbird's song describes precious waves in the still air; pearls
+are scattered over the blue sky.
+
+The lily's whiteness ascends like a fervent prayer; the bees make haste;
+the careless butterflies enjoy their little day. Near me, a tiny ant
+exhausts herself in a task too heavy for her strength. Lowly and
+excellent counsellors, does not each of them set me the example of her
+humble efforts?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+It was yesterday. When I woke, the cornfield under my windows, which
+seemed a steadfast sea of gold, had already half disappeared. The
+scythes flashed in the sun; and the ripe corn fell in great unresisting
+masses.
+
+The smallest details of that meeting are present in my memory; and I do
+not weary of living every moment of it over again. The air was cool. I
+still feel the caress of my sleeves, which the wind set fluttering over
+my arms. I drank the breeze in great gulps. It filled me, it revived me
+from head to foot. My skirts hampered me and I went slowly, holding my
+hat in both hands before my face and vaguely guided by the little
+patches of landscape that showed through the loose straw: a glimpse of
+blue sky, of swaying tree-tops, smoking chimneys and a dim horizon.
+
+I have come to the far end of the field, where the reapers are. It is
+the hour of the first meal. The men have laid down their scythes, the
+girls have ceased to bind the sheaves and all are sitting on the slope
+beside the road.
+
+Curious, I go closer still. A young woman, whom the others call
+"mademoiselle," is kneeling a few steps away from me, in front of the
+provision-basket; she has her back turned to me and is distributing
+slices of bread and cream-cheese to the labourers; she hands the jug
+filled with cider to the one nearest her, who drinks and sends it round.
+For one second the movement of her arm passes between the sky and my
+gaze, which wavers a little owing to the brilliancy of the light; and
+that arm dewy with heat appears to me admirably moulded, with bold, pure
+lines.
+
+She is dressed like her companions, in a coarse linen skirt, whose
+uncouth folds disguise her hips, and a calico smock imprisoned in a
+black laced bodice, a sort of shapeless, barbarous cuirass. A
+broad-brimmed straw hat, adorned with a faded ribbon, casts its shadow
+on her shoulders; but, when she bends her head, I see the glint of her
+hair, whose tightly bound and twisted masses shine like coils of gold.
+
+The rather powerful neck is beautifully modelled. It is delicately
+hollowed at the nape, where a little silver chain accentuates the
+gentle curve. I can see almost nothing of her figure under the clumsy
+clothes, but its proportions appear to me accurate and fairly slender.
+
+I feel inclined to go away without a word; my fastidious eyes bring me
+misgivings. When the first taste is good, why risk a second? But one of
+the reapers has seen me. He bids me a friendly good-morning; and, before
+I have time to answer, she has turned round.
+
+It is so rare, in our country districts, to see a beautiful woman that,
+for an instant, I blame the charm of the hour and accuse the friendly
+light of complicity. But little by little her perfection overcomes my
+doubts; and, the more I watch her, the lovelier I think her. The almost
+statuesque slowness of her movements, the vigorous line of her body, the
+glad colours that adorn her mouth, her cheeks and her bare arms seem to
+make her share in the health of the soil. The fair human sheaf is bound
+to nature like the golden sheaves that surround it.
+
+Without stirring, we two stand looking at each other face to face.
+
+
+2
+
+O miracle of beauty, sovran of happiness and magnet of wandering eyes,
+that day it shone in the noon-day sun like a star on the forehead of
+that unhappy life; and it and it alone stayed my steps!
+
+But for it, should I have dreamt, in the presence of that humble girl,
+of one of those quests which appeal to the hearts of us women, hearts
+fed on eternal illusions? But for it, should I have suspected a
+sorrowing soul in the depths of those limpid eyes? And, at this moment,
+should I be asking of my weakness the strength that constrains, of my
+doubts the faith that saves, of my pity the tenderness that consoles and
+heals?
+
+
+3
+
+I had moved to go, happy without knowing why; I hastened my steps. With
+my soul heavier and my feet lighter than before, I walked away, glorying
+in my meeting as in a victory over chance, over the thousand trifles,
+the thousand blind agencies that incessantly keep us from what we seek
+and from what unconsciously seeks us.
+
+I could have laughed for joy; and it would have been sweet to me, when
+I passed into the garden, to proclaim my glee aloud. But the peace of
+things laid silence upon me. I slowly followed the paths, bordered with
+marigolds and balsam, that lead to the house; and, when I passed under
+the blinds, which a friend's hand had gently drawn for me, I heard my
+everyday voice describing my discovery and my delight in sober tones.
+
+And yet the moment of exaltation still charged my life; it seemed to me
+clearer and deeper; and I thought that enthusiasm is in us like a
+too-full cup, which overflows at the least movement of the soul.
+
+
+4
+
+I made enquiries that same evening; and all that I learnt encourages me.
+
+She lives at the end of our village of Sainte-Colombe. She was brought
+up at the convent in the town hard by and left it at the age of
+eighteen. Since then, she has not been happy. On Sunday she is never
+with the merrymaking crowd. She has never been seen at church. She
+neither prays nor dances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+I took the road leading to the farm at which she lives. The yard is a
+large one, the trees that hem it in are old and planted close together.
+One can hardly see the straggling, thatched buildings from the road; and
+I walked round the place without being able to satisfy my curiosity. She
+lives there, I was told, with an old woman, her godmother, about whom
+the people of the countryside tell stories of murder and debauchery. I
+have seen her sometimes. She gives a disagreeable impression. She is a
+tall, lean woman, with wisps of white hair straggling about her face.
+Her waving arms and twitching hands carry a perpetual vague menace. The
+black, deep-set eyes gleam evilly in her ivory face; and her hard thin
+mouth, which opens straight across it, often hums coarse ditties in a
+cracked voice.
+
+Her curious attire completes the disorder of her appearance. Over her
+rough peasant's clothes, some article of cast-off apparel cuts a strange
+and lamentable figure: a muslin morning-wrap, once white and covered
+with filmy lace; long, faded ribbons, which fasten a showy Watteau pleat
+to the back, with ravelled ends spreading over the thick red-cotton
+skirt; old pink-satin slippers, with pointed heels that sink into the
+mud. In point of fact, I could say the exact number of times when I have
+seen her and why I noticed her, for the sight of her always hurt me
+cruelly when I met her in the sweet stillness of the country lanes.
+
+For a long time, I wandered round the farm. I was moving away, picking
+flowers as I went, when suddenly, at a bend in the road, I saw the girl
+who filled my thoughts. She was sitting on a heap of stones; and two
+large pails of milk stood beside her. Her attitude betokened great
+weariness; and her drooping arms seemed to enjoy the rest.
+
+I lingered a little while in front of her. Her face appeared to me
+lovelier than on the first occasion, though her uncovered head allowed
+me to see her magnificent hair plastered down so as to leave it no
+freedom whatever. She answered my smile with a blush; and, when I looked
+at her thick and awkward hands, she clasped and unclasped them with an
+embarrassed air.
+
+
+2
+
+Just now, at the wane of the day, I was singing in the drawing-room,
+with the windows open. I caught sight in the mirror of the sky ablaze
+with red and rose quickly from the piano to see the sun dip into the
+sea.... Near the garden, behind the hedge, I surprised the young girl
+trying to hide....
+
+
+3
+
+I had never seen her; but now, because I saw her one day, I am always
+seeing her.
+
+Do we then behold only what we seek? It is a sad thought. We shall be
+called upon to die before we have seen everything, understood
+everything, loved and embraced everything. Our skirts will have brushed
+against joys which we shall not have felt; our streaming tresses will
+have passed through perfumes which we shall not have breathed; our mouth
+will have kissed flowers which our hands have not known how to pick; and
+very often our eyes will have seen without acquainting our intelligence.
+We shall not have been observant continually.
+
+It is a pity that things possess no other life than that which we
+bestow upon them. I dislike to find that, for me, everything is subject
+to my observation and my knowledge. The first is great indeed, but the
+second is so small!...
+
+
+4
+
+A few years ago, the parish priest was on his way to the church at four
+o'clock one morning, to celebrate the harvest mass, when he saw a
+strange thing floating on the surface of the pool that washes the steps
+of the wayside crucifix. As he approached, he perceived that it was a
+woman's long hair. A moment later, they drew the body of a young and
+beautiful girl to the bank. With nothing on her but her night-dress, she
+seemed to have run straight from her bed to the pond. The gossips of the
+neighbourhood will never cease chattering over this incident and the
+shock which it gave the priest; and, though there is no other pond in
+the village, the poor girl will be everlastingly reproached with
+choosing "God's Pool" for her attempt at suicide.
+
+Is it not enough for me to know that she is out of place amid her coarse
+surroundings and that she is not happy there?
+
+
+5
+
+I have been expecting her for a week. I am wishing with all my might
+that she may come; I am drawing her with my eyes, with my smile, with my
+manner and with my will. But I say nothing to her. She must be able to
+take to herself all the credit of this first act of independence.
+Moreover, it will give me the evidence which I require of some sympathy
+between us.
+
+Outwardly, I am following a strict principle. Really, I am yielding to a
+fear: am I not about to perform a dangerous and rather mad action, in
+once more taking upon myself the responsibility of another's life?
+
+We are not always unaware of the follies which we are about to commit;
+but it is natural that the immediate joys should eclipse the probable
+misfortunes and help us to go boldly forward.
+
+Besides, the inquisitive know no weariness. They go with outstretched
+hand to the assistance of events, heedless of increasing the chances of
+suffering, because they always find, in return, something to occupy
+their restlessness. Let us not blame them. In contemplating the good or
+evil outcome of an action, we behold but its main lines; we do not see
+the thousand little broken strokes that go to compose it. They make the
+total of our days; and they have to be lived.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+1
+
+A broad avenue of beeches stretches in front of our garden; and at the
+far end is the open country. Here we have placed a seat which looks out
+over space. Nothing but fields and fields, as far as the eye can reach;
+nothing but land and sky. We love the security of this elemental
+landscape, where the alternations of light succeed one another
+inexorably. The noontides are fierce and dazzling. The soft, opalescent
+mornings are fragrant with love and pleasure. But, most of all, the
+sunsets attract us by their unwearied variety, sometimes sober and
+tender, ever fainter and more ethereal, sometimes blood-red, monstrous
+and barbaric.
+
+The one which I watched to-day was pale and grey; and the obedient earth
+humbly espoused its gentle tones. With my hands clasped in my lap, it
+seemed to me that I was drinking in the peace that filled my heart; and
+my eyes, which unconsciously fastened on my hands, held for a moment my
+whole life enclosed there.
+
+Then I heard indistinctly steps approaching me. A woman sat down on the
+bench. The corner of her apron had brushed against my knees; I raised my
+head and saw the young girl sitting by my side.
+
+She said, simply:
+
+"Here I am."
+
+And at this short speech my mind is in a tumult; thoughts rush wildly
+through my brain without my being able to follow one of them. I press
+her hands, I look at her, I laugh, while little cries of delight burst
+from my lips:
+
+"You are here at last! I was expecting you! Do you know that you are
+very pretty ... and that you look sweet and kind?... Make haste and tell
+me all about yourself...."
+
+But she does not answer. She stares at me with wide-open eyes; and my
+impulsive phrases strike with such force against her stupefaction that
+each one of them seems by degrees to fall back upon myself. I in my turn
+am left utterly dumfounded; she is so ill at ease that I myself become
+nervous; her astonishment embarrasses me; I secretly laugh at my own
+discomfiture; and I end by asking, feebly:
+
+"What's your name?"
+
+"Rose."
+
+"Rose ... Roseline.... My name is...."
+
+And I burst out laughing. We were really talking like two children
+trying to make friends. I threw my arm round her waist and put my lips
+to her cheek. I loved its milky perfume. My kiss left a little white
+mark which the blood soon flushed again.
+
+She told me that she had seen me from a distance and that she had come
+running up without stopping. I was careful not to ask her what she
+wanted to tell me, for I knew that she had obeyed my wishes rather than
+her own; and I led her towards the house:
+
+"Rose, my dear Rose.... I know that you are unhappy."
+
+She stops, gives me a quick look and then turns red and lowers her eyes.
+Thereupon, so as not to startle her, I ask her about her work and about
+the farm.
+
+Rose answers shily, in short sentences, and we walk about in the garden.
+From time to time, she stops to pull up a weed; methodically, she breaks
+off the flowers hanging faded from their stalks; occasionally, she makes
+a reference, full of sound sense, to the care required by plants and
+vegetables. But my will passes like an obliterating line over all that
+we say, over all that we do; and, while Rose anxiously tries to fill the
+silence, I lie in wait, ready for a word, a sigh, a look that will
+enable me to go straight to the heart of that soul, which I am eager to
+grasp even as we take in our hand a mysterious object of which we are
+trying to discover the secret.
+
+Alas, the darkness between us is too dense and there is only the light
+of her beautiful eyes, those sad, submissive eyes, to guide my pity! Our
+conversation is somewhat laboured; the girl evades any direct question;
+and any opinion which I venture to form can be only of the vaguest.
+
+She seems to me to be lacking in spirit, of a nervous and despondent
+temperament, but not unintelligent. I know nothing of her mental powers.
+We sometimes see an active intelligence directing very inferior
+abilities, just as our good friend the dog is an excellent shepherd to
+his silly, docile flock. In her, the most ordinary ideas are so
+logically dovetailed that one is tempted to accept them even when one
+hesitates to approve them. Her mind must be free from baseness, for
+throughout our conversation she made no effort to please me. Would it
+not have needed a very quick discernment, a very uncommon shrewdness to
+know so soon that she would please me better like that?
+
+That was what I said to myself by way of encouragement, so great was my
+haste to pour into her ears those instinctive words of hope and
+independence which it was natural to utter. And, let them be premature
+or tardy, barren or fruitful, I could not refrain from speaking them....
+
+But suddenly she released herself: it was already past the time for
+milking the cows; they must be waiting for her. Nevertheless, she gave a
+shrug of the shoulders which implied that she cared little whether she
+was late or not; and, with a "Good-bye till to-morrow!" she went off
+heavily, making the ground ring with the steady tramp of her wooden
+shoes.
+
+For an instant I stood motionless in the orchard. Her shrill voice still
+sounded in my ears; and the constraint of her attitude oppressed me. The
+road by which she had just gone was now hardly visible. A fog rose from
+the sea and gradually blotted out everything. The plains, the hills, the
+cottages vanished one by one; and already, around me, veils of mist
+clung to the branches of the apple-trees. At regular intervals, the boom
+of the fog-horn startled the silence.
+
+
+2
+
+Those who pass through our life and who will simply play a part there
+take shape in successive images. The first, a fair but illusive picture,
+fades away as another sadly obtrudes itself; and another, paler yet,
+comes in its turn; and thus they all vanish, becoming less and less
+distinct until the end, until the day when a last, vague outline is
+fixed in our memory.
+
+How different is the process in the case of those who are to remain in
+our existence and blend with it for all time! It is then as though the
+living reality at the very outset shattered the image formed by our
+admiration and triumphantly took its place. In point of fact, it
+vivifies it and, later, heightens it, colours it, ever enriching it with
+all the benefits which the daily round brings to healthy minds. Those
+beings will always remain with us, whatever happens; they will be more
+present in their absence than things which are actually present; and the
+taste, the colour, the very life itself of our life will never reach us
+except through them.
+
+I thought of all this vaguely. There were two women before me: one,
+coarse and awkward, was obliterating the other, so beautiful amid the
+ripe corn. Alas, should I ever see that other again? Was she not one of
+those images which fade out of our remembrance, becoming ever paler and
+more shadowy?
+
+I felt a little discouraged. But perhaps the sadness of the hour was
+influencing me? My feminine nerves must be affected by this damp, warm
+mist. I went back to the house, doing my utmost simply to think that I
+was about to undertake a "rather difficult" task.
+
+Under the lamp, which the outside pall had caused to be lit earlier than
+usual, and in the brightness of the red-and-white dining-room, decked
+with gorgeous flowers, I discovered another side to my interview. While
+I was describing it laughingly, my disappointment had seemed natural;
+and, my eagerness being now reinforced by pity, a new fervour inspired
+my curiosity.
+
+In sensitive and therefore anxious natures, the very excess of the
+sensation makes the impression received subject to violent reaction. It
+goes up and down, down and up; and not until it slackens a little can
+reason intervene and bring it to its normal level.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+1
+
+I have before me one of those little exercise-books whose covers are gay
+with pictures of soldiers or rural scenes. It is Rose's diary. I
+received it this morning, I have read it and it has left me both pleased
+and touched.
+
+It is a very simple and rather commonplace narrative, but one which, in
+my eyes, has the outstanding merit of sincerity. To me it represents the
+story of a real living creature, of a woman whom I saw yesterday, whom I
+shall see to-morrow and whose suffering is but a step removed from my
+happiness. The smallest details of that story have a familiar voice and
+aspect....
+
+Poor girl! Would not one think that an evil genius had taken pleasure in
+playing with her destiny, like a child playing at ball? She was born of
+poor parents. Her father, a carpenter, was a drunkard and frequently out
+of work. He would often come home at night intoxicated, when he would
+beat his wife and threaten to kill her. Coarse scenes, visions of
+murder, screams, oaths and suppressed weeping were the first images and
+the first sounds that stamped themselves on Rose's memory. One's heart
+bleeds to think of those child-souls which open in the same hour to the
+light of day and to horror, gaining their knowledge of life whilst
+trembling lest they should lose it. We see them caught in a hurricane of
+madness, like little leaves whirling in the storm; and to the end of
+their days they will shudder at the thought of it.
+
+She was left an orphan at the age of six. A neighbour offered to take
+her, a wealthy and devout old man, who sent her to the Nuns of the
+Visitation at the neighbouring town.
+
+Of those quiet, uneventful years in the convent there is nothing in
+particular to record. The child is perfectly happy, nor could she be
+otherwise, for she is naturally reasonable and she is in no danger of
+forgetting how kind fate has been to her. She pictures what she might
+have been, she sees what she is; and her soul is full of gladness.
+
+In January 18--, Rose is seventeen. She is to pass her examinations the
+following summer. Her diary here gives evidence of a steadfast and
+wholehearted optimism; she views the future with joyous eyes, or rather
+she does not see it at all, which is the surest way of smiling at it
+cheerfully. Her eyes are still the eyes of a child, to whom the
+convent-garden is a world and the present hour an eternity.
+
+Unfortunately, she had a rude awakening to life. The old man who had
+adopted her died after a few days' illness, without having time to make
+arrangements for her future. The good sisters at once wrote to her
+grandmother; and, the next day, Rose was packed off to Sainte-Colombe
+with a parcel of indulgences, a few sacred medals and a scapular round
+her neck. What more can a young life want to stay its uncertain steps?
+
+
+2
+
+From that moment, I see her delicate profile stand out against a
+background of pain and sorrow, like a lovely cameo whose dainty
+workmanship has been obliterated by the hand of time. Moral suffering
+can refine and accentuate the character of a beautiful face, is indeed
+nearly always kind to it. But here the mental distress was only the
+feeble reflection of a crushing and deadening material torture. In the
+evenings, when the hour of rest came at last, Rose, exhausted, accepted
+it dully; her whole body called for oblivion; her heavy eyelids drooped;
+and her submerged wretchedness had no time for tears.
+
+How could the poor girl make any resistance? Her environment was too
+hostile, her disposition too gentle and the task laid upon her too
+oppressive.
+
+The very look of her diary, during those Sainte-Colombe days, tells us
+her story far better than the words which it contains. The first few
+pages are filled with wild and incoherent sentences. There are passages
+that can scarcely be deciphered and others blotted with tears. Her
+suffering is not sufficiently well-expressed for it to be understood and
+more or less identified, but it can be felt and divined: it is a
+landscape of pain, it is the sight of an inner life which has received a
+grievous wound and whose blood is gushing forth in torrents.
+
+And then hope is exhausted drop by drop; and with it go anger and
+resistance. Everything goes under, grows still and silent. For months,
+Rose hardly touches her diary: here and there, scattered on pages
+bearing no date, are occasional melancholy reflections, the last
+flickers of an expiring consciousness....
+
+It is then, no doubt, that one day she flies to death for deliverance.
+She is saved, but for a long time remains ill and weak. When she
+recovers her health, her spirit is finally broken. In silence and gloom,
+she drowns all feeling in work too heavy for her strength.
+
+
+3
+
+In the district they blame this young girl who, after receiving a good
+education, has acquiesced in this miserable existence. And yet I find a
+thousand reasons which explain her conduct and cannot find one for
+condemning it. Rose's soul is still in the chrysalis-stage. Ignorant of
+her own strength and qualities, how could she make use of them?
+
+Is not this the case with most young girls? If our moral transformations
+could bring about physical changes, if a woman, like a butterfly, had to
+pass through different phases before attaining her perfect state, we
+should almost always see her stop at the first and die without even
+approaching the second.
+
+It is difficult enough for us merely to conceive that there are other
+roads to follow than that laid down for us by chance or by parents too
+often shortsighted; and when we make the discovery, our first dreams of
+liberty appear so momentous and so dangerous! Is it not just then that
+we need time to venture upon the most lawful actions, seeing that we
+have no sense of their real proportion?
+
+It is as though a wall separated the life that is forced upon us from
+the life which we do not know. Little by little, slowly, by instinct as
+much as by volition, we withdraw from the wall and it seems to become
+lower. The sky above us becomes vaster, the horizon is disclosed before
+our eyes and we at last distinguish what is happening on the other side.
+Ah, what sight would compare with that, if it broke suddenly upon our
+vision, if we could view life as we view the spreading country beneath
+us, when we stand on the summit of a tower! All our senses, being
+equally affected, would impart to our will a motive force which is, on
+the contrary, dissipated by the tardiness of our feeble comprehension.
+
+Yes, an age comes when our vision is clear and true; but often it is too
+late to find a way out of the circle in which we are imprisoned. That is
+the secret tragedy of many women's lives.
+
+What would one not give to tell them, those women who tremble and weep,
+to lift their minds high enough to see beyond their wretchedness! Let
+them develop and strengthen themselves while still under the yoke, in
+order to throw it off one day like a gossamer garment which one casts
+aside without giving it a thought!...
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+1
+
+I am happy. Wonderful flowers lie at my feet, flowers which have been
+plucked and flung aside: I will pick them all up again, all of them! I
+will gather them in my arms and steep myself in their scent! One by one,
+I will tend them till they lift their heads again, I will blend them
+cunningly; and, when I have bound the fair sheaf, fate may do its worst!
+
+It is no longer a question of the sanity or insanity of my experiment,
+or my wisdom or unwisdom. There is a just action to be accomplished;
+and, this time, circumstances favour my plans. In her distress, in her
+horror of her present life, all the possibilities of deliverance might
+have offered themselves to the girl: she would not have seen them, she
+would even have fled from them instinctively, timid as an animal too
+long confined. To save her, therefore, chance must take to itself a
+substance and a name. Can I not be that chance?
+
+She suffers; I will give her joy. She is tormented; I will give her
+peace again. She knows not liberty; through me she will know its
+rapture. Once already she has been snatched from death, but, on that
+day, while they were carrying Rose to the presbytery, her long, golden
+tresses wept along the wayside. But I will carry her where she pleases.
+She shall be free and happy; and her hair shall laugh around her face.
+It shall help me to light her destiny, for beauty is a beacon for
+benighted hearts. Many will try to steer their course towards my
+Roseline. It will be easy for her to choose her happiness.
+
+True, I am aware how perilous and uncertain is my experiment. Will it be
+possible to efface the evil impress left on that mind and body? How much
+of her early grace, her early vigour shall we find? What will have
+become of all the forces that, at seventeen, should still be frail as
+promises, tender as the little green shoots of a first spring-day?
+
+But no matter? The impulse is irresistible and nothing can stay me now.
+Have no misgivings, Rose: hand in hand we will go through peril and
+suspense. Embrace the hope which I offer you: I will bring it to pass.
+Let nothing astonish you: all that is happening between us to-day is
+natural. You will go hence because it is right that you should go; and
+you will go of your own free will. It is not so much my heart which will
+bring you comfort; it is rather your heart which will open. I shall find
+in you all the good that you will receive from me.
+
+
+2
+
+I send for the girl without further delay. A fortnight has elapsed since
+we first talked together; and I am anxious to know the result.
+
+I look at her. A different woman is before my eyes. Is it a mistake? Is
+it an illusion? No, it is all quite simple; and my words had no need to
+be forcible or brilliant. The word that shows a glimpse of hope to the
+sufferer has its own power.
+
+She says nothing and I dare not question her. The wisdom that has made
+her understand how serious the effect of my plans may be must also make
+her fear their possible flippancy.
+
+I have brought her into the dining-room. Sitting at the window, with her
+hands folded in her lap and her head bowed, she remains there without
+moving, heedless of the sun that is scorching her neck. Her wide-eyed
+gaze wanders over things which it does not take in; her lips,
+half-parted in a smile, betray the indecision of her soul. At last,
+blushing all over her face, she stammers out:
+
+"I am frightened. You have awakened my longings, my dreams. I am
+frightened. I would rather be as I was before I knew you, when I only
+wanted to die. When your message was brought to the farm, I swore that I
+would not come; and yet ... here I am!"
+
+I put my arm round her neck:
+
+"It's too late," I whispered, kissing her. "To discuss the idea of
+rebellion means to give way to it. Resist no longer, Roseline; let
+yourself go."
+
+Her incredulous eyes remained fixed on mine; and she said, slowly:
+
+"There is one thing that puzzles me. How am I to express it? I should
+like to know why you take so much interest in me: I am neither a friend
+nor a relation." And she added, with a knowing air, "You see, what you
+are doing doesn't seem quite natural!"
+
+My heart shrank. So this peasant, this rough, simple girl knew the laws
+of the world! She knew that, even in the manner of doing good, there are
+customs to be followed, "conventions to be observed!" Ah, poor Rose,
+though your instinctive reason is like a broad white fabric which
+circumstances have not yet soiled, your character already has ugly
+streaks in it; the voice of the multitude spoke through your lovely
+mouth and, for a brief second, it became disfigured in my eyes! Alas, if
+I wore a queer head-dress and a veil down my back and a chaplet hanging
+by my side and said to you, "My child, I wish to save your soul," would
+you not think my insistence quite simple and natural?
+
+Taking her poor, deformed hands in mine, I knelt down beside her:
+
+"Rose, the happiness which I find in helping you is a sufficient motive
+for me; and I will offer you no others.... I give you my confidence
+blindly, for one can do nothing without faith. I give you my confidence
+and I ask for yours. Will you vouchsafe it me?"
+
+The sun is streaming upon us; our faces are close together; my smile
+calls for hers; my eyes gaze into hers; and I repeat my prayer.
+
+Then she whispers, shily:
+
+"You see ... I have been deceived once; perhaps you don't know...."
+
+I interrupted her:
+
+"I know that we must have been deceived twenty times before we learn to
+give our confidence blindly, like a little child!... I know that we
+must have been perpetually deceived before we understand that nothing
+proves anything; that everything is unforeseen, inconsistent, and
+unexpected; and that we must just simply 'believe,' because it is good
+to believe and because it is sweet to offer to others what we ourselves
+are unhappy enough to lack."
+
+She went on:
+
+"But what do you want me to do?"
+
+"I want you to go away from here."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because you are wretched here."
+
+"Has any one said so?"
+
+"What does it matter what any one has said? I have only to look at you
+to see that you are not happy. Oh, please don't regard this as an act of
+charity, I would not even dare to talk about kindness! The interest that
+impels me is one which you do not yet know; it looks to none for
+recompense; it is its own reward. It is the mere joy, the mere delight
+of knowledge.... Do you understand?"
+
+She shook her head; and I began to laugh:
+
+"I suppose I really am a little obscure!... But why do you force me to
+explain myself now? You learn to understand me by degrees.... I am
+leading you towards a goal of which I am almost as ignorant as you are;
+I am only the guide waving a hand towards the roads which he himself has
+taken and never knowing what the traveller will see or feel in the
+depths of his being."
+
+She was going to speak, but I placed my hand on her lips:
+
+"Hush! I ask nothing more of you. I shall know how to win your
+confidence."
+
+I feel that she is silenced but not convinced. Hers is not a character
+to be thus persuaded: she will wait for deeds before judging the
+sincerity of words. I feel clearly that she is searching and judging me,
+while I myself am engaged in discovering her; and I shall have some
+curiosity in bending over the untroubled waters of that soul in order to
+see my image there, as soon as there is sufficient light to reflect my
+image.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose is already almost happy. Hope is penetrating her life; and the
+moments of rest filter into her days of wearisome toil like the cool
+water trickling through the rocks.
+
+As soon as she can get away on any excuse, she runs across to me.
+Flushed and laughing, she hurls herself into my arms with all the
+violence of a catastrophe; she crushes my cheek with a vehement kiss
+which waits for no response; and my hair catches in the rough hands
+squeezing my head. Smiling, I cannot help warding off the attack, while
+she pours out a torrent of incoherent words at the top of her voice....
+
+During our early talks, I tried speaking very quietly, as a hint that
+she should do the same. She would shake the house with the thunder of
+her most intimate confidences, bellowed after the fashion of the
+peasants, who are accustomed to keep up a conversation from one end of a
+field to the other. As I obtained no result, I had to speak to her
+about it; and, because I did so as delicately as possible, in order not
+to wound her feelings, she burst into a roar of laughter which showed me
+that her rustic life had robbed her of all sensitiveness.
+
+Being now authorised to admonish her at all times with regard to her
+gestures, her voice and her accent, I often make her repeat the same
+sentence; and, when I at last hear her natural voice, her original sweet
+and attractive voice, to which the music is beginning to return, shily
+and timidly, my heart overflows with joy. But, two minutes after, she is
+again bawling out her most trivial remarks, with a cheerful unconcern
+that disarms my wrath. Then I plead for silence as I would for mercy,
+draw her down upon my lap, take her head in my arms and nurse her as I
+would a child.
+
+
+2
+
+The stillness is so intense in the grove where we are sitting side by
+side, I am so anxious for her to feel it, that I become impatient and
+irritable. When I am with her, I am in a perpetual ferment. Her beauty
+and her coarseness hurt me, like two ill-matched colours that attract
+and wound the eyes. I calm myself by scattering all my thoughts over her
+promiscuously; and, though most of them are carried away by the wind, I
+imagine that I am sprinkling them on her life to make it blossom anew.
+
+"I am nursing you in my arms to wake you, my Roseline, just as one
+nurses children to put them to sleep. See what poor creatures we are! As
+a rule, it is the conventions and constraint of our upbringing, with all
+its artificiality and falsehood, that divide us. To-day, it is the
+opposite that rises between you and me and spoils our happiness! I have
+often longed to meet a woman who was so simple as to be almost
+uncivilised; and, now that you are here, I dread your gestures and your
+voice, which grate upon me and annoy me!"
+
+"But am I not simple?" Rose asks, ingenuously.
+
+"People generally confuse simplicity with ignorance, too often also with
+silliness--which is not the case with you," I added, with a smile.
+"Real, that is to say, conscious simplicity is not even recognised; and,
+when it becomes active, it appears to vulgar minds a danger that must be
+averted. The better to attack it, they disfigure it. It is this proud
+and noble grace that I want you to acquire. Look, it may be compared
+with this diamond which I wear on my finger. The stone is absolutely
+simple; and yet through how many hands has it passed before becoming so!
+How many transformations has it undergone! How magnificent is its bare
+simplicity when set off by the plain gold ring! It is the same with us.
+For simplicity to be beautiful in us, we must have cut and polished our
+soul and person many times over. Above all, we must have learnt the
+harmony of things and become fixed in that knowledge, like the stone
+which you see held in these gold claws."
+
+She asked, with an effort to modulate her voice:
+
+"Oughtn't I to take you for my model?"
+
+"No, Rose! You frighten me when you say that! You must not think of it.
+Listen to me: if ever we are permitted to imitate any one, it is only in
+the pains which she herself takes to improve herself. As for me, I
+wanted to achieve simplicity and I looked for it as one looks for a spot
+that is difficult to reach and easy to miss. For a long time, I wandered
+beyond it. Rather than stoop to false customs, to lying conventions, I
+followed the strangest fancies.... Now it all makes me laugh."
+
+"Makes you laugh?"
+
+"Yes, past errors are dead branches that make our present life burn
+more brightly. But, when I see how I judge my former selves, I become
+suspicious as to what I may soon think of my actual self; and therefore
+I do not wish you to take me as an example."
+
+Rose was still lying in my arms; and her beautiful eyes were looking up
+at me. I raised her head in my hands and whispered, tenderly:
+
+"I feel that you understand me, that my words touch you, that you trust
+me and that you love me deep down in your heart; I feel that you also
+will soon be able to speak and unburden yourself freely, to be silent
+amid silence and peaceful amid the peace of things...."
+
+
+3
+
+The girl rose to her feet, with a glint of emotion animating her
+features; and, as though to escape my eyes, she took a few steps in the
+garden. While she was hidden by the bend of the narrow path fenced by
+the tall sunflowers, my heart was filled with misgiving: her step was so
+heavy, so clumsy! Would she ever be able to improve her walk? Judging by
+the ponderous rhythm of her hips, one would always think that she was
+carrying invisible burdens at the end of each of her drooping arms....
+
+But she soon returned; and her fair countenance was so adorable amid the
+golden glory of the great flowers that I could not suppress a cry of
+admiration. She came towards me smiling; and, to protect herself a
+little from the blinding sunlight, she was holding both hands over her
+head. Was it simply the curve of her raised arms that thus transfigured
+her whole bearing, that reduced the unwieldiness of her figure and made
+its lines freer? It was, no doubt; but it was also the soft breeze which
+now blew against her and accentuated the movement of her limbs by
+plastering her thin cotton skirt against them. And the heavy gait now
+seemed stately; and the excessive stride appeared virile and bold. I
+watched the humble worker in the fields, the poor farm-girl; and I
+thought of the proud _Victory_ whom my mind pictured enfolding all the
+beauties of the Louvre in her mighty wings!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+1
+
+We were lying in the long grass, looking up at the sky through the
+branches of the apple-trees and watching the clouds drift past.
+
+The light was fading slowly, the leaves became dim, the birds stopped
+singing.
+
+"Rose, I do nothing but think of you. Who are you? What will become of
+you? I should like to anticipate everything, so as to save you every
+pain. Had you been happy and well-cared-for, I would have wished you
+trouble and grief. But, strengthened as you now are by many trials, you
+will be able to find in sorrows avoided and only seen in the distance
+all the good which we usually draw from them by draining them to the
+dregs."
+
+"I am not afraid, I expect to be unhappy."
+
+"I hope that you will not be unhappy. The change will be quite simple if
+it is wisely brought about; you will drop out of your present life like
+a ripe fruit dropping from its stalk."
+
+"How shall I prepare myself?"
+
+"So far, your chief merit has been patience. But now rouse yourself,
+look around you, judge, find out your good and bad qualities."
+
+Rose interrupted me:
+
+"My good qualities! Have I any?"
+
+"Indeed you have: plenty of common sense, a great power of resistance,
+shrewdness. By means of these, you have been able to subdue the tyranny
+of others: can you not escape from that of your failings? Your life has
+adapted itself to an evil and stupid environment; it must now adapt
+itself to the environment of your own self."
+
+
+2
+
+From the neighbouring farms came the plaintive, monotonous cry calling
+the cattle home. The drowsy sky became one universal grey, while the
+night dews covered the earth with a faint haze.
+
+"I am surprised that, when you were so unhappy, solitude did not appear
+to you in the light of a beautiful dream."
+
+Rose's timid and astonished voice echoed my last words:
+
+"A beautiful dream! Then do you like solitude?"
+
+"Oh, Rose, I owe it the greatest, the only joys of my childhood! It was
+to gain solitude that, later, I set myself to win my independence,
+knowing that, if I did not meet with the love I wished, I should yet be
+happier alone than among others."
+
+"But, still, you do not live alone!"
+
+I remained silent for a moment, stirred by that question which filled my
+mind with the thought of my own happiness; and then I said in a whisper,
+as though speaking to myself:
+
+"Rose, my present life is the most exquisite form of independence and
+solitude."
+
+And I went on:
+
+"Ah, Rose, to know how to be alone! That is the finest conquest that a
+woman can make! You cannot imagine my rapture when I first found myself
+in a home of my own, surrounded by all the things purchased by my work.
+When I came in at the end of the day, my heart used to throb with
+gladness. No pleasure has ever seemed to equal that blessed harmony
+which reigned and reigns in my soul or that assured peace which no one
+can take from me, because it depends only on my mood."
+
+"Teach me that joy."
+
+"It is only a brighter light of our own consciousness, a more detached
+and loftier contemplation of what affects us, a truer way of seeing and
+understanding...."
+
+The girl murmured:
+
+"Shall I ever have it?"
+
+"Later, when you have gone away."
+
+And, in response to her anxious sigh, I went on, confidently:
+
+"And you will go away when you want to go as badly as I did, when your
+object is not so much to escape unhappiness as to secure happiness; for,
+when you become what I hope to see you, you will look at things so
+differently! You will pity those about you, you will not judge them. The
+irksome duties laid upon you will not be a burden to you. You will
+understand the beauty of the country for the first time; and the thought
+of leaving it will reveal its sweetness to you. But, on the other hand,
+fortunately, new reasons for going will appeal to your conscience:
+first, your just pride in what you are and what you may become; the
+sense of your independence; and the vision of a wider and nobler
+existence. And, in this way, you will go not to escape annoyance or to
+please me, but as a duty towards yourself."
+
+
+3
+
+It was the silent hour when nature seems to be awaiting the darkness.
+Not a breath, not a sound, while the colours of the day vanish one by
+one before the life of the evening has yet begun to throb.
+
+I turned to my companion. With a great labourer's knife in her hand, she
+was solemnly whittling a piece of wood. She answered my enquiring
+glance:
+
+"It is to fasten to Blossom's horns; she's getting into bad ways...."
+
+And, quickly, fearing lest she had hurt me, she added:
+
+"I was listening, you know!"
+
+
+4
+
+Standing in the porch, we breathe the scent of the rose-trees laden with
+roses. It has been raining heavily. Tiny drops drip from leaf to leaf;
+the flowers, for a moment bowed down, raise their heads; the birds
+resume their singing; and, in the sunbeams that now appear, slanting and
+a little treacherous, the pebbles on the path glitter like precious
+stones.
+
+We had taken shelter, during the storm, inside the house, where we sat
+eating sweets, laughing and talking without restraint. But now Rose is
+uneasy; she looks at me and says, abruptly:
+
+"Do you love me?"
+
+"I cannot tell you yet."
+
+She insists, coaxingly:
+
+"Do tell me!"
+
+"Darling, I have become very chary of words like that, for I know what
+pain we can give if, after our lips have uttered them, they are not
+borne out by all our later acts. As we grow in understanding, I believe
+that it becomes more difficult for us to distinguish the exact value of
+the friendship which we bestow."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"For the very reason that we grow at the same time less capable of
+hatred, contempt and indifference. If a fellow-creature is natural, he
+interests us by the sole fact of the life which he represents; and, if
+circumstances make us meet him often, it will be hard for us to be
+certain whether what we are actually lavishing upon him is friendship
+or only interest."
+
+She seemed to like listening to me; and I continued in the same strain:
+
+"A moment, therefore, comes when our understanding is like a second
+heart, a heart that seems to anticipate and complete the other, by
+giving perfect security to its movements...."
+
+A breath of wind passed and stripped the petals from a rose that hung in
+the doorway. And our shoulders were covered with little scented wings.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+1
+
+Beside the house, two old cypresses make great pools of shadow in the
+bright, green garden. Motionless, they keep a pious and jealous watch
+over the stone fountain whose basin seems to round itself into an
+obliging mirror for their benefit. Here, amid the cool stillness, the
+running water murmurs its unceasing orison.
+
+I make Rose sit beside the fountain and slowly I begin unbinding her
+hair.
+
+Oh, the beauty of the honey-coloured waves that roll down her shoulders
+and frame her face in their sweetness! Again and again I lifted and
+shook out those long-imprisoned tresses, giving them life and liberty at
+last. Rose, following the ancient fashion of our Norman peasant-women,
+does her hair into a mass of tight little plaits, twisted so cruelly as
+to forbid all freedom.
+
+The better to efface the impress of their tyrannical past, I had to dip
+them into water. They opened out, like sea-weed.
+
+I had brought rich materials, jewels and flowers for Rose's adornment.
+All her beauty, so long hidden, was at last to stand revealed. I knew
+its potency, I divined its splendour; but her hair was too barbarously
+done, her garments too coarse and rough for me to discover the character
+of her beauty or say what constituted its nobility.
+
+Rose, still smiling, held her head back patiently and, with closed eyes,
+gave herself over to my tender mercies. Then another picture, a similar
+picture, but tragic and now fading into dimness, rose in my mind; and,
+almost in spite of myself, I said, softly:
+
+"Your long hair must have floated like this, I expect, on the day when
+you wished to die. And it must have been its splendour that would not
+suffer such a catastrophe. I wonder, dear, that you should have wished
+that, you who are so faint-hearted in the presence of life!"
+
+Her forehead, bronzed by the summer suns, turned a warmer colour, like a
+ripe apricot; the veins on her temples swelled a little; and she
+murmured:
+
+"I don't know ... I don't know...."
+
+I made fruitless efforts to find out the cause of her embarrassment;
+her face clouded; and she said nothing more. Then, after doing up her
+hair, I began to drape a material around her. I was thoroughly enjoying
+myself. Rose noticed it and asked me why I was smiling.
+
+"Why?" I cried. "Why? Oh, of course, you are incapable at present of
+understanding the pleasure which I feel! And how many are there who
+could distinguish its true quality? People admire the new-blown flower,
+they are touched by a child's first smile, they travel day and night to
+stand on a mountain-top and see the dawn conquering the shadows of the
+earth; and it is considered natural that, at such moments, our feminine
+hearts, always ready to be poured out, should be filled with love and
+incense. But it is thought strange that one of us should recognise and
+greet the union of all the graces in the fairest of her sisters! And yet
+one must be a woman to feel what I feel to-day, in unveiling and
+adorning your beauty. For it charms me without intoxicating me, sheds
+its radiance on me without dazzling me and makes my heart throb without
+causing my hands to tremble.... When the lover for the first time
+beholds the object of his love, longing clouds his eyes. Certainly, his
+sentiment is no less noble or less great, but it is of a very different
+nature! Other joys are mine, a thousand, new and glorious emotions,
+emotions of the heart and of the mind, the childish and girlish joys of
+dressing up, decorating and adorning, of creating form and colour, in a
+word, beauty, the stuff of which happiness is made!"
+
+Rose interrupted me:
+
+"Happiness? Do you think so?"
+
+"Yes, because beauty calls for love. Does not our happiness as women lie
+above everything in love?"
+
+Making one of those horrible movements with her feet, hands and
+shoulders of which I had done my best to correct her, Rose expressed her
+disgust with such violence as to undo the brooch with which I had just
+fastened the folds of a long white drapery to her shoulders:
+
+"Oh," she cried, "I hate love, I hate it!"
+
+Then she covered her face with her open hands; slowly the material
+slipped down to her waist; and her bust stood out against the dark
+trees, white and pure as that of a marble statue.
+
+The great calm that is born of beauty compelled me to silence. Rose
+remained without moving, untroubled by the nudity which, at any other
+time, she would have refused to unveil. Did her emotion make her
+unconscious, or was it, on the contrary, lifting her to a plane in which
+false modesty had no place? Did she, in that brief minute, realise how
+our actions change their values in proportion to the fineness of our
+perception?...
+
+I threw my cloak round her and drew aside her hands: her face was wet
+with tears. I cross-examined her: could she have suffered through love?
+
+"What is the matter, Roseline? Why are you so bitter against something
+you have never experienced?"
+
+She tried to smile through her tears and said, innocently:
+
+"It's nothing.... It was like a shower: it's over now, quite over....
+You are right, I really don't know why love fills me with such horror!"
+
+And she came quietly and sat down again beside the fountain.
+
+
+2
+
+For the third time, I began to coil and uncoil her hair:
+
+"You see, I was wrong just now," I said, "when I uncovered your neck and
+crowned your forehead. This is what suits you: the severe Roman style!
+And, though that loathing which you expressed just now seems to me
+unnatural, I feel almost tempted to excuse it in you, because it is so
+much in keeping with your impassive loveliness."
+
+Kneeling in front of her, I tried to make the folds of the material
+follow the natural curves of her body. Meanwhile, Rose seemed to be
+watching other reflections in the water than ours. Suddenly, she leant
+forward and put her beautiful bronzed arms round my neck; and I felt
+that she was willing me to look up. Then I raised my head and, when we
+were gazing into each other's eyes, she said, laying a sort of grave
+stress on every syllable:
+
+"Do you forgive everything, absolutely everything?"
+
+"To answer yes is not answering half enough," I said. And, kissing her,
+I added, "If you had to tell me of a serious fault, I should love to
+give proof of my indulgence; but are you not the best of girls?"
+
+I had an impression, for a second, that she was hesitating and that I
+was about to receive the solemn confession of a childish fault. But she
+at once replied, in a decisive little way:
+
+"I could not be as indulgent as you, really!"
+
+"Because you are not so happy yet, my dearest.... Come, I have my own
+reasons for spoiling you and coaxing you and wanting you to be
+beautiful. I know what good fruits are born of those flowers of joy!...
+But I have finished my work. Get up, Rose, come with me! Come and see
+yourself a goddess!"
+
+And I carried her off to the drawing-room.
+
+Straight and slender in the long white folds falling to her feet, the
+girl stands before the mirror and stares with astonishment at her
+glorified image. Does she grasp the importance of this hour? Does she
+reflect that, at this minute, one of the great secrets of her destiny
+has been revealed to me by this woman's game which has given me a
+child's pleasure? Does she know that the moment is grave, unmatched and
+marvellous and that, by my friendly hands, chance is to-day showing her
+the power which she can wield and the realm over which she can rule?
+
+Her everyday clothes are lying at her feet: the coarse chemise, the
+barbarous bodice, the hat trimmed with faded ribbons. Ah, Roseline, why
+cannot I as easily fling far from you all that imprisons your life and
+fetters your soul!
+
+"You are beautiful!" I say to her. "You are beautiful! Do you know what
+that means? Beauty is the source of happiness; and it is also the source
+of goodness, forgiveness and indulgence! Your face, if you take pleasure
+in looking at it, will teach you much better than I can what you must
+be. It will make you kind and gentle and generous, if you have the wish
+to be in perfect harmony with it. Thanks to your beauty, my Rose, you
+will be able, if you have a true conception of its dignity, to achieve
+one perfect moment in your life!"
+
+Alas, she does not share my enthusiasm! I take her hand, I lead her
+through the house, into all the rooms which she does not know. I keep on
+hoping that, in a new mirror, in a different light, she will at last
+catch sight of herself as she is and that she will weep for joy!...
+
+Meanwhile, she accompanies me, serene and smiling, pleased above all at
+my delight. In this way, we come to the last mirror; and my hopes are
+frustrated. But, in truth, I am too much entranced with the vision which
+she offers to my eyes to grieve at anything; and soon I am very much
+inclined to think her admirable for not feeling what I should have felt
+in her place. After disappointing me, the very excess of her coldness
+captivates my interest; and my enthusiasm does not permit me to seek
+commonplace or contemptible reasons for it.
+
+When admiration fills a woman's soul, it becomes nothing but an immense
+cup brimming with light, a flower penetrated by the noon-day sun until
+the heat makes its perfume overpowering.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+1
+
+The shadows lengthen when the sun descends in the heavens; and those
+which, in the broad light, enhance the brilliancy of all things now
+overspread and gradually extinguish them. Thus do our anxieties increase
+when our joy lessens; and those which made us smile in the plenitude of
+our happiness before long make us weep....
+
+She has lied to me! I am sure now that she has lied! What has she done?
+What can she be hiding from me? I can imagine nothing that could kill
+the interest which I take in her, but she has lied! I was certain of it
+yesterday, after our talk, when I remembered her blushes and her
+embarrassment. I wanted to write to her then and could not. Darkness has
+fallen suddenly between her and me; and I no longer know to whom I am
+speaking; I no longer know what soul hears me nor at what heart I
+knocked!
+
+A friend's lie hurts us even more than it humiliates us; it tells us
+that we have not been understood and that we inspire distrust or fear. I
+remember saying to her, one day:
+
+"I would rather know that you hate me than ever feel that you fear me.
+You must hide nothing from me, unless you want to wound me deeply; for
+the person to whom we feel obliged to lie is much more responsible for
+our lie than even we are."
+
+But how can I hope that every one of my words will be remembered and
+understood and turned to account! I enjoy talking into the soul of this
+great baby as one likes singing in an unfurnished house; and I am none
+the less conscious of the illusion of it all. If we are to influence a
+fellow-creature, we do so best without aiming at it too carefully.
+Success comes with time, by intercourse and example.
+
+
+2
+
+We are now on the threshold of autumn and the days are already short. By
+seven o'clock, all the farms are sleeping....
+
+When I left Rose yesterday, it was understood that she should sometimes
+come to see me in the evening, when her day's work has not been too
+hard. She is to come across the downs and tap at the shutters of the
+room where I sit every evening after dinner.
+
+To-day, I was hoping that she would not come and I gave a start of
+annoyance when I heard her whisper outside the window:
+
+"Mummy! Mummy, dear!"
+
+It is a name which she sometimes gives me in play. Women who have no
+children and do not expect ever to have any lend to all their emotions
+an extra tenderness, an extra solicitude. It is that unemployed force in
+our hearts which is striving for union with others.
+
+Still, her affection displeased me this evening and, while I was putting
+on a wrap, my hands trembled with irritation. Rose, thinking that I had
+not heard her, raised her voice a little and repeated:
+
+"Mummy! It's your little girl!"
+
+I go out into the moonless, starless night, with my eyes still full of
+the light indoors; and our hands meet blindly before exchanging a
+pressure. She says good-evening and I kiss her without answering. I am
+afraid of betraying my ill-humour; I feel that I am hard and spiteful,
+but I hope that the mood will pass; and my anger, because it remains
+unspoken, takes a form that favours forgiveness. If she confesses of her
+own accord, without being impelled to do so by my attitude, I know that
+my confidence in her will revive.
+
+We walk in silence through the sombre avenue. The night seems darker
+because no sound disturbs its stillness; only the dead leaves, swept
+along by our skirts, drag along, utter a cry like rending silk.
+
+Rose sighed:
+
+"One would think the air was listening!"
+
+I could not help exclaiming:
+
+"That's rather fine, what you said then!"
+
+And silence closes in again around our two little lives, both doubtless
+stirred by one and the same thought.
+
+We go a little farther and sit down in the fields, where an unfinished
+haystack offers us a couch. We can hardly distinguish the line of the
+horizon between the dark earth and the dark sky. A bat flits across our
+faces; and Rose says, quietly:
+
+"It's flying low. That means fine weather to-morrow. I must get in
+the...."
+
+And suddenly her voice breaks and she covers her face with her hands.
+All is silent....
+
+I feel myself brutally good. The certainty of the coming confession
+encourages me in my coldness and I remain mute, while my heart is
+beating with pity and excitement....
+
+But she speaks at last and each note of that tear-filled voice, by turns
+faltering, violent and plaintive, brings before my eyes, staring into
+the darkness, every step of her soul's calvary. I listen in
+astonishment. And yet do we not know that every woman's existence has
+its secret? I see the long procession of those who have told me their
+story. The weakest of them had found strength to love; to yield to man's
+desire, the bravest had been cowardly, the truest had betrayed, the most
+loyal and upright had lied. Everywhen and everywhere the flame of life
+had found its way through rocks, thrust aside obstacles, subjugated
+wills. Even the woman whom nature had most jealously defended, the plain
+woman whom I saw imprisoned in a stunted shape and condemned to live
+behind an ugly mask, even she, when she told me her love-story,
+compelled me to believe that she had been the most beloved, perhaps, and
+her passion the most heroic.
+
+Rose, following the common law, had no strength to fulfil her own will,
+but all strength to obey another's. Soon after arriving at
+Sainte-Colombe, five years ago, she came to know a young man who had
+since left the district. One day, when they were alone in the farmhouse
+kitchen, he flung his arms around her and, without a word, overcame her
+feeble resistance....
+
+I could not help interrupting her story:
+
+"Did you love him, Rose?"
+
+"No," she said, "I did not!"
+
+"Then, why did you yield?... Why?"
+
+"I don't know," she sobbed. "He had such a strange, wild look, I was
+frightened...."
+
+"But what did you do afterwards?"
+
+"He asked me to go and see him; and I went whenever he asked me...."
+
+"Then your godmother didn't know?"
+
+"She guessed it on the first day; and, when I refused to take anything
+from him, she beat me and locked me up."
+
+"Well, what then?"
+
+"I managed to get out at night, by the roof...."
+
+I would not let the subject drop:
+
+"Then you were very, very happy when you were with him?"
+
+But she exclaimed, artlessly:
+
+"Oh, not at all! But he loved me, he said; and I thought that he would
+always stay here, for my sake.... He went away soon, without letting me
+know. When I understood that he was not coming back, I loathed myself
+and him ... and I tried to do away with myself...."
+
+She burst into fresh sobs.
+
+I should have liked to rise and lead her away. I should have liked to
+say:
+
+"Come, cease these repinings; let us walk across the silent fields and
+forget all this for ever! Every one feels love differently and looks at
+it in a different light. Come, waste no time in repentance and don't go
+on being angry with that man! Faults that diminish our ignorance are not
+faults, but almost graces which chance bestows upon us. Come! And break
+away from the bitterness that is spoiling your beauty!"
+
+But, with a sigh, she leant her head on my shoulder and I sat motionless
+and dumb: that little action on her part suddenly altered the whole
+course of my feelings.
+
+At moments of deep emotion, many different voices speak in our hearts.
+They seem to clash, to drown and contradict one another; but really
+they are hesitating and waiting. Even as human voices require the
+striking of a chord before harmonising, so do these inner voices wait
+for our unhappy friend to speak a word that shall unconsciously give the
+note of the thoughts that will comfort and soothe him.
+
+Rose whispered:
+
+"Oh, you do not speak! Your silence frightens me!"
+
+"Don't be afraid of it, dearest. Silence nearly always means that the
+words which will follow will be just." And, summoning all my tenderness,
+I added, "You see, I am trying to bind all my most diverse thoughts
+together. I should like to hand them to you as I would a bunch of
+flowers, for you to choose the one that will restore your peace of mind.
+I am afraid of hurting you, I understand your wound so well."
+
+The girl presses against my breast; and our kisses meet in a spontaneous
+outburst of affection....
+
+Sadly I think of all those who are weeping, weeping over like sorrows.
+There are other wounded hearts bleeding in mine; my memory echoes with
+the mournful prayers of the poor deluded victims of love. Alas, we are
+all subject to the cruel and exquisite law that absorbs the firmest
+wills in its indifferent strength!
+
+I feel Roseline's hands quivering under my fingers, but I dare not
+speak. The silence of the fields and the solemn darkness awe me. Do not
+our least words seem to be written on the velvet of the night in
+precious and lasting letters?...
+
+
+3
+
+At last, I wiped away her tears and long and gently tried to rally her.
+But, suddenly drawing herself up, Rose cried:
+
+"I don't understand you, I no longer understand you! What you are saying
+is just so much more silence and I wait for your judgment in vain! You
+have, you must have, an opinion on what I have done. The reason why I
+hesitated so long to confess my fault was because I knew instinctively
+that you would blame me; and now I feel you so far from me.... Please
+judge me, be angry with me: it will be easier for you to forgive me
+afterwards!..."
+
+I do not know why this blind insistence offended me. Until then I had
+remained calm; but at her words there burst from the depths of my being
+the voice of instinct, that voice which I had tried to stifle, almost
+unconsciously, by force of habit and training.... Oh, that blatant,
+piercing voice! It seemed to me to rend the darkness, to scoff at my
+heart and my sweet reasonableness! It was as though I saw all my kindly
+dreams of tolerance and indulgence fly into a thousand splinters! Never
+had I so clearly realised their brittleness. My anger was all the
+greater because it was still trammelled by fragments of my reason.
+
+I placed my hands on her shoulders and shouted close to her face, which
+my eyes could not distinguish:
+
+"Why, why will you rouse my instinct, my nerves, all those things which
+should never interfere in our judgments and beyond which we should try
+to look if we would understand the actions of others? You give the name
+of silence to the words spoken by my reason and you wish to be judged by
+a blind and senseless power! But that idiot power mercilessly condemns
+all the faults committed in its name! That power, which is making me
+tremble now with excitement, will tell you that you could have done
+nothing worse! Do you understand? Nothing, nothing! And it will
+overwhelm you with reproaches. For it is not your action that revolts
+me; it is your apathy, your flabbiness, your cowardice!... You gave
+yourself without knowing why! You did not surrender for the sake of the
+joy that makes us fairer and better! You did not surrender because love
+had taken your heart by storm! You did not sacrifice yourself to an
+idea: had it been vile and base, I could still have accepted it! No, you
+gave yourself without knowing why! You obeyed the will of the
+first-comer, as the silliest and most docile of wives obeys the
+recognised canons and conventions ... without knowing why!... Ah, Rose,
+Rose! I wanted to help you to become strong and free. What a character,
+what a disposition you bring me! And yet I did not ask so much! I wanted
+your nature to have strength and flexibility, so that my hands might
+have taken it and moulded it. I looked forward to shaping it and giving
+it nobility and refinement...."
+
+Tears choked my words. At that moment, the disappointment appeared to me
+complete and irreparable. Still, so as not to sadden her unduly, I
+murmured:
+
+"Do not misunderstand me, my poor Rose; I am not saying that you soiled
+yourself by yielding to that man. I should not care much if you had;
+for, if the fairest forms could take birth from the mud in the gutter,
+you would see me plunge my hands in it without reluctance. No, what
+distresses me is your weakness; and I have simply likened your nature to
+a substance without consistency and impossible to mould."
+
+Rose moaned and sobbed:
+
+"To please you, I will brave everything.... Don't forsake me!... Go on
+loving me!..."
+
+I divined rather than saw the body lying prone, with her head on the
+ground; and the paler shadow of her hair reminded me of the dear beauty
+of her. I grew calmer. The comfort of having said all that I had to say
+relieved my heart and sent rippling through my veins, like a cool
+stream, a more natural indulgence than that which had animated me at
+first. Bending over Rose, I reflected that reason weighs heavily on a
+woman's breast and that it is well to thrust it aside occasionally. I
+tried to reassure her between my kisses:
+
+"I am wrong to be so irritable and despondent; forgive me! I believe
+that your nature will never be vivid or strong; but your newly-developed
+conscience will save you from fresh weaknesses. Besides, in some
+direction we shall find what you are capable of. Destiny asks little of
+us when we have little to give it; and events pass us by of their own
+accord. Your life can be gentle and passive and still be useful and
+good. It is my own fault if I am disappointed: I am always more or less
+of a child; and I become passionately enthusiastic on the strength of a
+smile, or a pure outline, or a beautiful profile. I ought not to have
+looked in you for what existed only in my imagination...."
+
+"Then you are no longer angry with me?"
+
+"Why should I be?"
+
+I kissed her tenderly. Poor child, so she had suffered through love! I
+pitied her; and yet the happiness of knowing her a little better
+swallowed up my pity. Things move quickly in those who, not believing in
+heaven, seek upon earth the beginning and the end of life and all that
+comes between. And they come to prefer to the highest joys those which
+foster a clearer vision and a truer comprehension.
+
+And, trying to explain myself, I added:
+
+"One would think that a time comes when we judge like a traveller
+looking out from the top of a tower. All the differences melt into unity
+before his eyes. He turns slowly and sees, on the one side, the forest;
+on the other, the sea; at his feet, the noisy town, the world; a little
+farther, the calm and peace of the fields; and, overhead, the infinite
+indifference of the skies. And, like him, we are engrossed in what we
+discover and we no longer see the tower by which we climbed nor feel
+that on which our feet stand; and we are nothing, nothing but a thinking
+light that settles upon some life."
+
+
+4
+
+We lay stretched in the clover that was still warm from the heat of the
+day; and our arms were locked and our hair intertwined. My cheek cooled
+hers, which her tears had set on fire; and the sombre peace of the sky
+sank into us. We were both filled with the peculiar happiness that comes
+after a painful confession, a happiness whose source is a sense of
+security, a joy that seems yearning to cover us with its wings for one
+halcyon hour.
+
+"Rose, darling, never forget the feeling of relief which you have now.
+That sense of security is infinitely precious. Let its fragrance remain
+with you for ever. May it become impossible for you to do without it.
+Seek it, insist upon it silently, even from the strangers whom you may
+meet. Falsehood destroys the perfume and the bloom of women: it makes
+them colourless and uniformly commonplace. Always have the courage to be
+true. A sort of secret combat is waged between any two persons who meet
+for the first time. Remember that, as a woman, you have always the
+choice of weapons; and choose them frankly. In so doing, you will gain
+courage and assurance and the great strength that springs from harmony,
+from the perfect accord of our body, our mind and our speech. I do not
+say that you will necessarily conquer with that weapon, but I do say
+that, even if defeated, you will, contrary to the general rule, feel
+mightier and more exultant than before!"
+
+A star appeared, a quiver ran through the trees near by and passed over
+all the earth. The night was rising.
+
+I was at my ease beside my companion; our hearts were again at one. That
+love-incident, however lacking in love, had brought her nearer to me.
+
+"I do not know which path you will choose, my Rose; but we all have two
+roads by which to reach the goal for which we are making: to be or to
+seem. The real lovers of life will always choose the first. They will
+arrive later; perhaps they will never arrive. But, after all, what does
+arriving mean?"
+
+Rose at once retorted:
+
+"Still, why have a goal, if not to reach it?"
+
+The girl's practical logic amused me; and our laughter rang out in
+unison across the fields.
+
+"Rose, morally speaking, the goal is really the means which we employ to
+attain it. It is a light which we voluntarily flash in front of our
+footsteps. We can neither miss it nor reach it, because it moves with
+us. It becomes greater or smaller or is renewed, according to the
+evolution of our strength and our life...."
+
+We had risen from the ground and, as we talked, were slowly following
+the path that skirts the orchard. Rose asked:
+
+"Cannot you more or less describe your goal, the one you are speaking
+about?"
+
+I hesitated for a moment and, almost involuntarily, murmured:
+
+"To know a little more ... to see a little farther ... to understand a
+little better...."
+
+Rose repeated, slowly and earnestly:
+
+"To know a little more ... to see a little...."
+
+But I laughingly stopped her, for the words sounded too serious in our
+young souls.
+
+The orchard-gate closed between us. I was walking away, when Rose called
+to me:
+
+"Come and kiss me again...."
+
+I ran back to her. She leant over the hedge and I could only just
+distinguish her face. Then our lips met of themselves, like flowers that
+touch.
+
+For a long time, in the still air, I heard her heavy footfall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+1
+
+Next day, Rose was with me early in the morning:
+
+"I could not sleep," she said. "I wanted to speak to you without tears
+or blushes. If I have done wrong, I have atoned for it; and it is done
+with. All that remained of it was a sad memory; and, now that I have
+considered it with you, even that is gone."
+
+I look at her. Her appearance pleases me. Her step is firm, her cheeks
+are pale, her eyes burning; she is living more ardently than usual. She
+continues, with animation:
+
+"You said to me once that people who believe in another life seem to
+sweep their sins and their remorse up to the doors of eternity. For us,
+you said, who have not that illusion, everything is different: we do not
+put off paying the bill for our sins. We can recognise their
+consequences; and that is our expiation." And you added, proudly, "It is
+cowardly to look to another for it, even if that other were God!"
+
+We are walking in the orchard. The long grass is bending under the
+weight of the dew, which has decked it with a thousand glittering
+jewels. As we pass by a tree laden with apples, Rose pulls a branch to
+her and, without plucking the fruit, bites into it. I watch the lips
+part and the white teeth meet and disappear in the juicy pulp. For a
+second, the soft red mouth rounds over the fruit, which seems to match
+its beauty and to be questioning Rose about her pitiful love-affairs.
+
+"Then, Rose dear, you were not really happy for a moment with your
+lover?"
+
+"No."
+
+"But he was young, I suppose, and more or less good-looking?"
+
+She thinks for a moment and then bends her head.
+
+"You remember it, Rose?"
+
+The girl appears astonished and answers, hesitatingly:
+
+"It is five years ago, I don't remember now...."
+
+I was surprised in my turn and looked at her. What! She didn't remember!
+She had forgotten that! Her lips had not retained the impress of the
+first kiss!
+
+My eyes closed and from the background of my life a bygone moment rose,
+one of those memories that linger in the hearts of women with such
+fidelity and vividness that they lack not a scent, a sound, a line, a
+word, a look, a gesture!
+
+I was twelve years old and he fifteen. It was at the seaside. Our
+parents were talking a few steps away, but night was falling and a
+fisherman's hut hid us from their eyes. He bent over to me and our lips
+met in a simple kiss, simple as a flower with petals still unopened, for
+we were both of us innocent....
+
+I can still see the colour and the shape of the drifting clouds. I can
+smell the mingled breath of the sea and of his boyish mouth. I can
+remember how I felt as a frightened, trembling and enraptured little
+girl.... A sailor was singing some way off; and the gulls that circled
+between sea and sky seemed to be keeping the last rays of daylight upon
+their white wings.
+
+Why, I know that boy's mouth by heart and shall always know it! We often
+kissed again, without even dreaming that, at this game as at all games,
+there might be room for progress!... And then ... and then ... that's
+all I remember of him.... The next is another memory, at another place
+and another age.... And then another again....
+
+
+2
+
+Would one not think that, in the more or less happy lives of us women,
+in our more or less easily traversed roads, the sensations of love are
+so many illuminated floral arches that mark the different stages of our
+accomplishment? We go up to them, we pass through them with hopes,
+smiles or sighs. But, whatever they may be, we come out of them fairer
+and better. What should we be without that, without love? The love which
+is rebuked, which we are supposed to hide and blush for! The love that
+entreats both our strength and our weakness, our patience and our
+fervour, our passion and our reason! The love that sets in motion our
+highest faculties and our lowest instincts, that makes each of us know
+her own power and her own poverty by the part which she allows it to
+play in her life!
+
+In that moment, I saw and lived my joys in the kisses of childhood and
+girlhood. I travelled my road again; and the arches of light seemed
+higher to me and they followed hard on one another, becoming ever more
+radiant and decked with gayer flowers, until this very hour when the
+desired happiness has been found, established and kept fast....
+
+
+3
+
+My thoughts return to Rose, who has sat down under a tree; and I stretch
+myself beside her.
+
+A herd of cows suddenly enters the orchard. White and brown, they plunge
+among the apple-trees; driven by a child, who is taking them down to the
+long grass, they amble heavily along in meek-eyed resignation. A smell
+of cow-shed at once reaches our nostrils; and, in the silence, we hear a
+noise of busy munching....
+
+"Darling, you, who have always lived in the midst of nature, should have
+sounder and more accurate ideas on love than those of other women, while
+mine are a little warped by my over-cultivated nerves and feelings. If,
+for instance, you had said to me, yesterday, 'I gave myself because it
+was natural,' you would have dominated my poor reason from the pinnacle
+of an essential truth."
+
+Without quite understanding what I say, Rose smiles in answer to my
+smile and we remain silent; our eyes gaze without seeing and our idle
+hands trail in the wet grass. We hear, without listening, the hoarse,
+fat, cooing-voluptuous voices of the doves: in the cool air of the
+morning, among the leaves, the flowers and the branches, it is an
+undercurrent of joy rising and falling, suspended for a moment and then
+beginning again, in unwearying repetition.
+
+Rose murmurs:
+
+"Why are you always saying that I cannot make progress without love? It
+makes me unhappy when you say that. I should have liked to have nothing
+in the world but your affection. You kissed me so tenderly last night,
+over the hedge."
+
+"It is not the same thing, Rose darling. Certainly, there is nothing
+more harmonious and purer than the kiss that joins the lips of two
+friends like ourselves. But it is not the same thing as the kiss of
+love, for the value of that lies not only in what it is, but in what it
+promises; and it is a delight that sometimes echoes through our whole
+lives.... You will have to love before you understand."
+
+The girl folded her arms around my waist as though to bind herself to
+me:
+
+"But how would you have me love any one but yourself?" she asked. "Have
+you not given me happiness? When I am with you, I seem to be living in a
+fairy-tale."
+
+Despite the pleasure which her words gave me, I made an effort to combat
+them.
+
+The character of a woman who tries to be just is full of these little
+contradictions. In proportion as her heart is satisfied, she finds her
+intellect becoming clearer and stronger; and what calls for her judgment
+rarely leaves her heart unmoved. If Rose had not protested, I should
+still have spoken, from a sense of duty, but my words would have been
+without warmth or conviction. Now it seemed to me that her charming
+compliment gave added force to what I was about to utter in the interest
+of another's happiness.
+
+She leant her face against my breast and my fingers played with her
+sunny hair, her unbound hair, which was now waving joyously, crowning
+her with a shimmer of amber and gold.
+
+"No," I replied, "you must fall in love in order to develop and expand.
+Our women's lives are like summer days: wisdom tells us to follow their
+evolution. After the morning's waiting, we want the noon-day splendour
+and rapture. As you never had that rapture, you have not yet known love:
+and, at your age, is not that an absurd and miserable ignorance? Is it
+not right to wish for love and even to force its coming? Those who go on
+waiting for it in meek resignation appear to me so guilty!... Life has
+always seemed to me to be divided into two parts: the search for love;
+and love. As long as we are not in love, let us continue the search for
+it; let us seek stubbornly, madly, cruelly, if need be; let us be
+untiring and unrelenting. There are no obstacles for the woman with a
+resolute will. Let each of us follow that quest in her own manner,
+according to her strength, her means and her courage, through every
+danger and every pain. When we have at last found love, or rather our
+love, let us go towards it without fear, without false modesty; and, if
+we are loved, let us not wait to be entreated for what we can offer
+generously. Let us never be pilfered of that which it is our privilege
+to give!"
+
+A tendril drops from the creeper above us and caresses our faces....
+
+How delightful life is at this moment! The air is filled with rejoicing,
+with the murmur of an infinite happiness! A tremulous haze hovers over
+the fields, the insatiate doves reiterate their glad refrain. Around us,
+here and there, a slender blade of grass shakes beneath the light weight
+of a butterfly. But is not everything lovely in the eyes of a woman who
+is talking of love? It is as though happiness were the harbinger of her
+glance, flying ahead and settling upon things.
+
+Rose, all attention and curiosity, now questioned me:
+
+"But you, what did you do?"
+
+"In my case," I said, "when I knew that he loved me too, I went to his
+country to find him. I can still see us walking in a meadow all bright
+with flowers. On the horizon, the blue sky met the sea; and, behind us,
+the red roofs, the church-steeples and the tiny white houses of a Dutch
+village slowly vanished from sight. He gave me his arm; and it was a joy
+to me to let him feel the gladness in my heart by the motion of my hip,
+on which he leant slightly. Then he said, 'You walk like a queen for
+whom her subjects wait.' And I knew from his words that he was still
+waiting for me, though I was by his side, and they suddenly told me
+what a blissful kingdom I had to offer him!"
+
+"Did you seek long before that day came?"
+
+"No, once I was free, I found happiness after a few months of trouble
+and difficulty; but you see, dear, I would have gone to the other end of
+the world to meet my love! I had no need to journey so far; and this
+makes me inclined to think that, in our search, we need to be attentive
+even more than active!"
+
+Roseline murmured, pensively:
+
+"The men say that a certain amount of preliminary experience in love is
+indispensable ... to them."
+
+My whole soul revolted. Releasing myself from the girl's embrace, I
+sprang to my feet and faced her:
+
+"But, Rose, isn't it the same with us? And is it right to expect that a
+woman should rivet her whole existence to the first smile, to the first
+look, the first word that moves her? Sensible people tell us that
+marriage is a lottery! By what aberration of the intellect do they come
+to admit that a being's whole life should be voluntarily subjected to
+chance? Not one of us would consent to such a degradation, if women in
+general were not absolutely ignorant! And that is why many, too
+clear-sighted to submit to a ridiculous law and lacking the courage to
+infringe it, die without having known the flavour and the goodness of
+life. Oh, what injustice! Is youth not short enough as it is? Is the
+circle in which our poor intelligence moves not sufficiently limited?
+And is it necessary, in addition, to chain us to phantom principles,
+which falsify nature, disfigure goodness and vilify the miracle of the
+kiss and the innocence of the flesh?"
+
+I was standing against a tree, a few steps away from Rose; and my hand
+plucked nervously at the leaves within my reach. The blue sky seemed
+hypocritical to my eyes, the beauty of the flowers crafty and mocking. I
+continued, in a tone of conviction:
+
+"It is right that woman should make her own experiments, it is right
+that she should know men to judge which of them harmonises with her....
+It is by constantly encountering alien souls that she will form an idea
+of what her twin soul should be. Yes, I know that a natural law rejects
+this morality; and that is why I do not think the woman should give
+herself until she is quite certain of her choice. It is true that her
+experiments will be incomplete; the senses will have played but a small
+part in them, or none at all; but must we not accommodate ourselves to
+the inevitable? In any case, that woman will indeed be enlightened who,
+regardless of public opinion, lives freely in the man's company,
+studying him, observing him and sometimes even loving him!"
+
+Rose listened to me without a word or a movement; only, every now and
+then, her long, dark lashes, tipped with gold, would flicker for a
+moment and then droop discreetly on her cool, fresh cheeks. But the
+thought of her own frailty suggested an objection; and she asked:
+
+"Don't you think that what you propose is difficult for the woman?"
+
+"Oh, yes, difficult and, to many of us, impossible! Through a want of
+pride, through love or pity, they resign themselves to an act of which
+their reason does not approve and they wake up unhappy, sometimes for
+ever.... It is difficult, for the woman who resists appears to the man a
+sort of monster, abominable and detestable. Ah, there must be no
+desertion before possession! Because we have given him our lips, we must
+make him a present of our lives! Because we have consented to certain
+pleasures, we must, so that he may enjoy a greater, sacrifice our future
+to him!... In fact, he goes farther and says that woman, when she
+indulges in those experiments, is following the dictates of a loathsome
+and mean self-interest. Self-interest, when this conduct entails endless
+dangers and bitterness! Self-interest, when it demands of us, before
+all, an absolute contempt of a world to which nearly all are slaves,
+when it exposes us to insults and suffering and increases the number of
+our enemies and multiplies the obstacles in our path!... No, that woman
+is not selfish who, in all good faith, plunges boldly into the adventure
+at the risk of ruining herself, comes near to a man, thinking that she
+has found what she is seeking and hoping that love may result. She feels
+the promptings of her senses and does not resist her heart, but her
+reason is awake! She will not give herself unless everything that she
+learns confirms her expectations; she will give herself if she really
+believes that the happiness of both depends upon it; and the combat that
+is waged enables her to judge clearly of the quality of their love. She
+is judge and combatant in one. She lets herself be carried along so that
+she may have fuller knowledge; and it is not without pain, it is not
+without love that, at the eleventh hour, she will, if need be, refuse
+herself."
+
+Rose here interrupted me:
+
+"If she loves, if she suffers, why does she refuse herself?"
+
+"There are a thousand degrees in love; and a woman of feeling always
+suffers when she inflicts suffering."
+
+I examined my mind for a moment and, as though it were uttering its
+thoughts backwards, I continued, slowly:
+
+"It is sometimes our duty to inflict suffering. The man's instinct is
+always more or less blinded by desire; he always, either craftily or
+brutally, proposes. It is for us to dispose. We are all-powerful. Peace
+or discord springs from our will. He is not as well fitted to choose as
+we are, because he has not the same reasons for wishing to see
+comradeship follow upon passion, to see rapture give way to security. If
+we are one day to be the mother of the child, are we not first of all
+the mother of love? Are we not at the same time the cradle and the
+tabernacle of that god? In any happy couple, is love not cast in the
+woman's image much more than in the man's? The man has a thousand
+things that attract and retain him elsewhere; his temperament is more
+prodigal and less considerate than ours. It is in the woman that love
+dwells; her sensitive nature leads her to a higher knowledge in the art
+of loving; and the infinite details of her tenderness can make her seem
+perfect in her lover's eyes when they do not render her exclusive...."
+
+Struck by this last word, Rose exclaimed:
+
+"What! According to you, love should not be exclusive!" And, lowering
+her voice, she asked, "Are you not faithful?"
+
+"We do not even think of being faithful as long as we love. We should
+blush to offer love the cold homage of fidelity: it is a word devoid of
+meaning in the presence of a genuine love. In love fidelity is like a
+chain disappearing under the flowers. If it is one day seen, that means
+that the flowers are faded."
+
+I kneel beside her and, taking her in my arms, kiss her fondly. Through
+the exquisite silence of the day, the church-bell rings out the
+_Angelus_ in notes of gold. The garden is flooded with sunshine; and the
+marigolds, the phlox, the jasmines, the scabious and the mallows push
+their heads above their white railing. Each eager heart turns towards
+the light.
+
+"You see, my Roseline: just as the great sun shines in his glory and
+governs the realm of flowers, so love must be king in the lives of us
+women! He reigns and is independent of any but himself. Only," I added,
+laughing, "though we accept him as king, we must not make a tyrant of
+him. Poor love! I wonder what wretched transformation he must have
+undergone through the ages for us to have managed to invest him with the
+most selfish of human sentiments, the sense of property! So far from
+that, we ought mutually to respect the life that goes with ours and
+never seek to restrain it."
+
+There is a pause; and Rose, with her face pressed to my cheek, almost
+whispers:
+
+"You are not jealous?"
+
+I felt myself flushing and would have liked not to answer. But, alas,
+would she not by degrees have discovered all the pettiness that is
+ill-concealed under my thin veneer of self-control and determination? I
+tried to reveal it all in one sentence:
+
+"Know this, Rose, that it is in myself and in myself alone that I study
+the women that I would not be!"
+
+
+4
+
+I watch my great girl while she talks. This rustic beauty, in her cotton
+bodice, her blue print skirt and her wooden shoes, no longer shouts. She
+expresses herself better and does not gesticulate so violently. She is
+quieter in her movements and her shyness is not unattractive. Rays of
+light filter through the branches and cast shifting patches of light on
+her face and figure. I always love to observe the details of her beauty,
+but to-day my heart contracts for a moment as my eyes follow the curve
+of her chin, which is charming, but devoid of all firmness, and her
+whole profile, which is beautiful, but lacking in decision....
+
+Will Rose be one of those who accomplish themselves by means of love,
+who exalt themselves by exalting it, who master and improve themselves
+the better to control it?
+
+Love is the great test by which our values are reckoned and weighed. The
+fond vagaries of the body have taught the proud soul its limits; and
+reason has wilted under a kiss like a flower under the scorching sun.
+Every woman has known the exquisite luxury of forgetting herself, of
+losing herself so utterly that no other thing at the moment appears to
+her worth living for. She has heard the voice of the charmer exhorting
+her to abandon pride, ambition, her own personality, to become, in
+short, no more than an atom of happiness under a dark and splendid sky
+which each moment of felicity seems to adorn with a new star.
+
+Where the weak woman goes under, her stronger sister is never lost. The
+lower she may have fallen, the higher she raises herself. She returns
+from each of her strayings more fit for life. She is more resisting, for
+she has known how to sway and bend without breaking; more indulgent,
+because she has seen herself encompassed with weakness and beset with
+longings. She knows how frail is the spring that regulates her strength,
+but also how necessary that strength is to her happiness. She has come
+to understand what real love means, that the union of man and woman
+approaches the nearer to perfection the less the two wills are fused.
+She has understood, above all, that, to contain, glorify and keep love,
+we need all the energy of our respective personalities and all the
+benefit of our dissimilarity!
+
+Rose was silent.
+
+I lay on the grass, with my arms outstretched and my eyes fixed on the
+sky; and the breeze sent my hair playing over my lips. For a long while
+afterwards, my thoughts continued to wander amid the fairest things in
+the world.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+1
+
+It is typical autumn weather, a dull, dark day which seems never to have
+fully dawned. Beneath the burden of the weary, oppressive clouds, the
+grass is greener and the roads more distinct. The light seems to rise to
+the sky instead of falling from it.
+
+I have been in the kitchen-garden for an hour. There all the plants are
+beaten down by the wind and the rain; the asparagus-fronds lie across
+the paths like tangled hair; but the broad-bottomed cabbages are a joy
+to the eye, with their air of comfortable middle-class prosperity.
+Looking at their closely enfolded hearts, I seemed to recover the
+illusion of my childhood, of the days when my eyes pictured mystery in
+their depths....
+
+How amazed we are when one of our senses happens to receive a sudden
+impression, in the same way as when we were children! We behold the same
+object simultaneously in the present and the past; and between those two
+points, identical and yet different to our eyes, our memory tries to
+stretch a thread that can help it to follow the thousand and one
+intermediate transformations which have led us from the false to the
+true, from the wonderful to the simple, from dreams to reality. We
+should, no doubt, discover here, in the subtle history of our sensations
+and the different ways in which we received them, the gradual forming of
+our character, the pathetic progress of our little knowledge, all the
+frail elements of our personal life; in a word, the plastic substance of
+our joys and sorrows....
+
+I think of the little girl that I was, but between her and me there
+stands a long array of children, girls and women. And I can do nothing
+but inwardly repeat:
+
+"How soon we lose our traces!..."
+
+I smile at the memory of myself as we smile at the unknown child that
+brushes against us in passing; and I leave myself to return to Rose....
+
+
+2
+
+She is a never-failing source of satisfaction to me. My dreams glory in
+having discovered so much hidden virtue here, at my door; and I am
+surprised at the new pleasures which I am constantly finding in her.
+
+In certain natures predisposed to happiness, such happy surprises are
+prolonged and constantly renewed; and this may be one of the innocent
+secrets of the intellect. Are there not a thousand ways of interpreting
+a feeling, even as there are a thousand ways of considering an object?
+Our mind observes it daily under a different aspect, turns and turns it
+again, sees it from above and below, sees it near and from afar and
+loves to show it off and place it in the most favourable light. The mind
+of every woman, especially of a woman with an artistic bias, is not
+without a secret harmony of colour, line and proportion. Something
+intentional even enters into it; and the caprices of her soul are often
+but an outcome of her desire to please. Her natural instinct, which is
+always inclined to give form to the most subtle of her sensations,
+enables her to find in goodness the same clinging grace which she loves
+in her clothes. She likes her happiness to be obvious and highly
+coloured, that it may rejoice the eyes of those around her; and, so as
+not to sadden their eyes, she paints the bitterness of her heart in
+neutral shades of drab and grey. By thinking herself better, she appears
+prettier in her own sight; and it seems to her, as she consults her
+mirror, that she is replying to her own destiny. The soft waves of her
+hair teach her how frail is her will by the side of her life. She learns
+to bestow her own reward on the sympathy of her heart by crowning her
+forehead with her two bare arms; and, when she sees the long folds of
+her dress winding around her body, she recognises the sinuous, slow, but
+determined bent of her feminine power.
+
+I remember once being present at a meeting between two women who gave me
+a charming proof of our natural inclination to lend shape and substance
+to our thoughts and feelings. They were of different nationalities and
+neither of them could speak the other's language. Both were of a warm
+and sensitive nature, endowed with an analytical and artistic
+temperament; and, as soon as they came together amidst the boredom of a
+fashionable crowd, they sat down in a corner and, with the aid of a few
+ordinary words, of facial expression, of vocal intonation, but above all
+by means of gesticulation, they succeeded, in a few moments, in
+explaining themselves and knowing each other better than many do after
+months of intercourse.
+
+I was interested in this strange conversation, this dialogue without a
+sentence, but so vivid and expressive, in the same breath childish and
+profound; for they wished to show each other the inmost recesses of
+their souls and they had nothing to do it with but two or three
+elementary words. How pretty they were, the fair one dressed in red and
+the other, who was dark, all in white, with camellias in the dusk of her
+hair. They were not at all afraid of being frivolous and would linger
+now and then to examine the filmy muslins and laces in which they were
+arrayed.
+
+The elder had already chosen her path, the younger was still seeking
+hers; but the characters of both were alike matured and their minds
+completely formed. Both of them in love and happy in their love, they
+tried above all to express their tastes and ideas.
+
+To understand each other, they employed a thousand ingenious means.
+Their mobile faces eagerly questioned each other with the unconscious
+boldness of children who meet for the first time. They took each other's
+hands, looked at each other, read each other's features. At times, they
+would make use of things around them: a light here, a shadow there,
+people, objects. Once I saw the fair-haired one take up a Galle cup that
+stood near. For a minute, she held her white arm up to the light; and
+through her fingers the lovely thing seemed like a flash of crystallised
+mist in which precious stones were shedding their last lustre.
+
+I forget the various images, childish and subtle, by which she was able
+to show her friend all her sensitive soul in that fragile cup. A little
+later, there was some music; and the dark one sang while the fair one
+accompanied her on the piano. Through the sounds and harmonies I heard
+the perfect concord of those two lives, which had known nothing of each
+other an hour or two before....
+
+It was an exquisite lesson for me, a wonderful proof that women's souls
+are able to love and unite more easily than men's, if they wish. And I
+once again regretted the unhappy distrust that severs and disunites us,
+whereas all our weaknesses interwoven might be garlands of strength and
+love crowning the life of men.
+
+
+3
+
+By a natural trend of thought, Rose appeared to me contrasted with those
+two rare creatures....
+
+Rose is not sensitive and is not artistic. No doubt, when she left
+school, she could play the piano correctly and likewise draw those
+still-life studies and little landscapes by means of which the
+principles of art and beauty are carefully instilled into the young
+mind. But she did not suspect that there could be anything else. She saw
+nothing beyond the ruined mill which she drew religiously in charcoal;
+twenty times over, she set an orange, a ball of worsted and a pair of
+scissors together on the window-sill without seeing any of the wonders
+which the garden offered her.
+
+Later, when every Sunday she played _The Young Savoyard's Prayer_ on the
+organ, her placid soul conceived no other harmonies. She never felt,
+within the convent-walls, that divine curiosity, that blessed
+insubordination of the artist-child which obtains its first
+understanding of beauty from its hatred of the ugliness around it and
+which turns towards pretty things as flowers and plants turn towards the
+light.
+
+Ah, my poor Rose, how I should like to see you more eager and alive! In
+the close attention which you give me, in the absolute faith which you
+place in me, my least words are invested with a precision of meaning
+that invites me to go on speaking; but how weary I am at heart! Oh, let
+us pass on to other things: it is high time! Let us not sink into
+slumber and call it prudence: up to now I have been content to see you
+sitting patiently at my feet; but I no longer want you there. Enough of
+this! I dream of roaming with you at random in the open fields, I dream
+of making you laugh and cry, of feeling your young soul fresh and
+sensitive as your cheeks. I dream of stirring your heart and rousing
+your imagination. We will go far across the countryside; together we
+shall see the light wane and the darkness begin; and, since you love me,
+you must needs admire with me the rare beauty of all these things!...
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose was to have a holiday the next day. We arranged that she should
+come with the trap from the farm, the first thing in the morning, to
+fetch me.
+
+We start at six o'clock. The harness-bells tinkle gaily to the heavy
+trot of the big horse; and we laugh as we are jolted violently one
+against the other. We drive through the villages, those happy Normandy
+villages where everything seems eloquent of the richness of the soil.
+They are still asleep, the white curtains are drawn and the geraniums on
+the window-ledges alone are awake in all their glowing bloom. A faint
+haze veils the fields and imparts to things a soft warmth of tone that
+makes them more soothing to the eyes. The sun rises and we see the
+breath of earth shimmer in its first rays.
+
+We have never yet been for a whole day's outing together; everything is
+new in my new pleasure. I look at Rose beside me. I had wanted her to
+put on her peasant clothes; and I find her beautiful in her scanty garb
+in the cool morning air.
+
+We follow the long hog's-back that commands a view of the whole country
+round. Here and there, tiny villages float like islands of green amid
+the wide plains. A row of poplars lines the way on either side. Their
+yellow leaves quiver and rustle in the breeze. The rooks stand out
+harshly against the white road. And the mist, which is beginning to lift
+in places, reveals a deep-blue sky.
+
+The keen air that enters my throat and makes my mouth cold as ice tells
+me of the smile that flickers over my face; and my pleasure is
+heightened by the sight of my happiness. A woman sees herself anew in
+everything that she beholds; life is her perpetual looking-glass. In our
+memory, the flowers in a hat often mingle with those along the road; and
+sometimes the muslin of a dress enfolds the recollection of our gravest
+emotions.
+
+O femininity, sublime and ridiculous, wise and foolish! Never shall I
+weary of surprising its movements and variations deep down in my being!
+How it fascinates me in all its shades and forms! I let it play with my
+destiny as much from reason as from love, for we know that nothing can
+subdue it. I worship it in myself, I worship it in all of us! It may
+exhaust us in the performance of superhuman tasks, it may let us merely
+dally with the delight of being beautiful, it may chain us to our bodies
+or deliver us from their tyranny, it may adorn life or give it, enrich
+it or kill it: always and everywhere it arouses my eager interest. Ever
+unexpected and changeful, it floats in front of our woman's souls like a
+gracious veil that draws, unites and yet separates....
+
+The even motion of the trap lulls my dreams and we drive on, in the
+midst of the plains, the fields and the woods. We pass through a dense
+flock of sheep. The warm round backs, the gentle, anxious faces push and
+hustle, while the thousand slender legs mingle and raise clouds of dust
+along the roadside. The timid voices bleat through space; and a pungent
+scent fills our nostrils. We are now going down into the valley. The
+village appears, among the trees: a cluster of red and grey roofs;
+little narrow gardens; white clothes hung out and fluttering in the
+sunlight. Beyond are broad meadows dotted with peaceful cows and
+streaked with running brooks. There, just in the middle, a factory
+displays its grimy buildings. It is an eye-sore, but it leaves the mind
+unscathed. Does it not represent definite and deliberate activity amid
+the unconsciousness of nature?...
+
+At this moment, Rose turns towards me; and I seem to read a sadness in
+her eyes:
+
+"What are you thinking of?" I ask.
+
+"I am thinking that I should like to go away altogether and that we have
+to be back tonight."
+
+I kissed her and laughed.
+
+"My darling, you must live and be happy in the present: there is plenty
+of room there."
+
+We arrived at the country-house to which I was taking her. Pretty women
+in delicate morning-wraps were eagerly awaiting us on the steps, while
+some of the men, attracted by the sound of our wheels, leant out from a
+window to see my pretty Rose. There was a general cry of admiration:
+
+"Why, she's magnificent!"
+
+We stepped out of the trap and I pushed Rose towards the party, with
+whispered words of encouragement; but, suddenly bending forward, with
+her feet wide apart, her arms-swinging and her cheeks on fire, she dips
+here and there in a series of awkward bows....
+
+They were kind enough not to laugh; and I led the girl through the
+great, cool echoing rooms, multiplied by the mirrors and filled with
+marvels....
+
+
+2
+
+The sun streams through the immense, wide-open windows; and the harmony
+of the ancient park mingles with that of the silk hangings and the old
+furniture. The fallen leaves sprinkle tears of gold upon the deep green
+of the lawns. The soft-flowing river welcomes with a quiver the perfect
+beauty of the skies; rare shrubs and delicate flowers set here and there
+sheaves and garlands of joy; and the golden sand of the paths
+accentuates the variety of the colours. On the hill opposite, a wood
+gilded by the autumn seems to be lying down like some huge animal; in
+the distance, the tree-tops are so close together that one could imagine
+a giant hand stroking its tawny fur. On either side of the tall
+bow-windows, the scarlet satin of the curtains falls in long, straight
+folds.
+
+Let us be in a palace or a hovel, in a museum or an hotel: is not our
+attention always first claimed by the window? However little it reveals,
+that little still means light and life, amid our admiration of the rare
+or our indifference to the ordinary. The windows represent all the
+independence, hope and strength of the little souls behind them; and I
+believe that I love them chiefly because they were the confidants and
+friends of my early years, when, as an idle, questioning little girl, I
+would stand with my hands clasped in front of me and my forehead glued
+to the panes. My childhood spent at those windows was a picture of
+patient waiting.
+
+Often they come back to me, the windows of that big house in a
+provincial town, on one side lighted up and beautiful with the beauty of
+the gay garden on which their lace-veiled casements opened, on the other
+a little dark and lone, as though listening to the voice and the dreary
+illusion of the church which they enframe....
+
+
+3
+
+The current of my life, diverted for a moment, returned to the present
+and, as always, it swelled with the gladness that rises to our hearts
+whenever chance conjures up a past whose chains we have shattered.
+
+Happier and lighter at heart, I continued with Rose my visit to the
+galleries, the gardens and the hot-houses. The luncheon passed off well.
+Rose was quite at ease and suggested in that elegant setting a stage
+shepherdess, whose beauty transfigured the simplest clothes. A silk
+kerchief with a bright pattern of flowers is folded loosely round her
+neck; her chemisette and skirt are freshly washed and ironed, her hands
+well tended and her hair gracefully knotted. She introduces a striking
+and very charming note into the Empire dining-room. More than once,
+during lunch, I congratulated myself on not having yielded to the
+temptation to adorn her with the thousand absurd and cunning trifles
+that constitute our modern dress, for her little blunders of speech and
+movement found an excuse in her peasant's costume. Nevertheless, she
+answered intelligently the questions put to her on the treatment of
+cattle and the cultivation of the soil; and I had every reason to be
+proud of her. Her grave and reserved air charmed everybody. If she often
+grieves and disappoints me, is this not due more particularly to the
+absence of certain qualities which her beauty had wrongly led me to
+expect?
+
+
+4
+
+Before taking our seats in the trap, we go for a stroll through the
+village. As we pass in front of the baker's, a splendid young fellow,
+naked to the waist, comes out of the house and stands in the doorway.
+The flour with which his arms and his bronzed chest are sprinkled
+softens their modelling very prettily. His sturdy neck, on which his
+head, the head of a young Roman, looks almost small, his straight nose,
+long eyes and narrow temples form a combination rarely seen in our
+district. I was pointing him out to Rose, when he called to her
+familiarly and congratulated her on visiting at the great house. I saw
+no movement of foolish vanity in her; on the contrary, there was great
+simplicity in her story of the drive and the lunch. I was pleased at
+this and told her so, later, when we were back in the trap.
+
+"The poor fellow is afraid of anything that might take me from him," she
+said. "He must be very unhappy just now, for he has been imploring me
+for the last two years to marry him."
+
+I gave her a questioning look; and she went on:
+
+"I did not want to. I would rather end my days in poverty than languish
+for ever behind a counter. Still, his love would perhaps have overcome
+my resistance, if I had not met you."
+
+She leant over to kiss me. I returned her caress, though I felt a little
+troubled, as I always do when I receive a positive proof of the way in
+which I have changed the course of her life. At the same time, I
+realised that her nature contained a sense of pride, in which till then
+I had believed her entirely deficient. I remained thoughtful, but not
+astonished. We end by having opinions, on both men and things, which are
+so delicately jointed that they can constantly twist and turn without
+ever breaking.
+
+Meanwhile, the horse was jogging peacefully along; we were going towards
+the sea, for I wanted to finish our holiday there. The willow-edged
+river followed our road; and we already saw the white sheen of the
+cliffs at the far end of the valley.
+
+Soon we are passing through the little old town, where a few visitors
+are still staying for the bathing, though it is late in the season. At
+the inn, where we leave our horse and trap, they seem to think us a
+rather odd couple. I laugh at their amused faces, but Rose is
+embarrassed and hurries me away. All the dark and winding little streets
+lead to the sea. We divine its vastness and immensity beyond the dusky
+lanes that give glimpses of it. In front of one of those luminous
+chinks, under a rounded archway, an old woman stands motionless; she is
+clad like the women of the Pays de Caux: a black dress gathered in thick
+pleats around the waist, a brown apron and a smooth, white cap flattened
+down over her forehead. Poor shrivelled life, whose features seem to
+have been harshly carved out of wood! She is like an interlude in the
+perfect harmony of things. I utter my admiration aloud, so that my
+Roseline's eyes may share it; and we pass under the archway.
+
+We are now on the beach; the wind lashes our skirts and batters my large
+hat, which flaps around my face. For a more intimate enjoyment of the
+sea, we run to it through the glorious, exhilarating air which takes
+away our breath. Over yonder, a few people are gathered round a hideous
+building all decked out with bunting. It is the casino. We hasten in the
+opposite direction. On the patch of sand which the sea uncovers at low
+tide, some boys disturb the solitude; but they are attractive in their
+fresh and nervous grace, with their slender legs, their energetic
+gestures and their as it were beardless voices. Their frolics stand out
+against the pale horizon like positive words in a blissful silence.
+
+As we sat down on the shingle, the sun facing us was still blinding; and
+I reflected that, when my eyes could endure its brilliancy, it would be
+like our human happiness, very near its end....
+
+The excitement of the lunch at the big house has not yet passed off; and
+Rose laughs and is amused at everything. Has she to-day at last, by the
+contact of those happy, care-free lives, foreseen an approaching
+deliverance from hers? Of all the things that we have seen together, how
+much has she really observed? Has the test to which I tried to submit
+her to-day proved vain? As a guide to her impressions, I traced the
+outline of my own before her eyes. I questioned her. Then it seemed to
+me that, in bending my thoughts upon Rose, I saw her as we see our image
+in the water, with vaguer hues and less decided lines. The girl merely,
+from time to time, added a word expressing her contentment, a thought of
+her own; and to me it was as though a little sunbeam had played straight
+on the water and the image through the leafy branches....
+
+Does this mean that we see here a mere reflection, an utterly hollow
+soul, into which the leavings of other souls enter naturally? If it
+seems to me, at this moment, to borrow light and blood from me, is that
+a reason for thinking that it possesses neither sap nor sunshine? No, a
+thousand times no! True, I am the mother of her real life and she must,
+so to speak, pass through my soul before reaching hers. But, though we
+are of one mind, we are two distinct natures, two very different
+characters. It is a question not only of one creature attaching herself
+to another, but of an awakening and self-enquiring spirit, of a late and
+sudden development. Rose does not wish to copy me. Honestly and
+diligently, she spells and lisps to me something like a new language,
+with the aid of which she will soon be able in her turn to express
+herself and to feel. There are moments when she seems to understand me
+perfectly, even to my inmost thoughts; and I sometimes say to her:
+
+"Where was she in the old days, the girl who understands me so well now?
+What did she do? Where did she live?..."
+
+But where are all of us before the hour that reveals us to ourselves?
+And what manner of being would he be who had never undergone any
+influence or contact, who had never seen anything, felt anything? All
+impressions, whether of persons or things, come to us from without, but
+little by little and so imperceptibly that there is never a day in our
+lives that may be called the day of awakening. And yet it exists for all
+of us, shredded into decisive and fugitive minutes throughout our lives.
+Imagine for an instant that we could gather them, put them together and
+place them all in the hands of one being who, with one movement, would
+scatter them all around us. Would not the change in our character, in
+our thoughts, in our feelings be very remarkable? Would we not appear
+actually "possessed" by that person, who, after all, would have been but
+the instrument of a natural reaction of all our inert forces?
+
+Filled with these thoughts, I said to Roseline:
+
+"Dearest, once your life is kindled into feeling and expression, I can
+no longer distinguish it, for it is absorbed in mine.... I shall soon be
+going away; and all that I shall know of you will be your beauty, your
+unhappiness and the tenderness of your heart."
+
+Her great, innocent eyes, lifted to mine, asked:
+
+"Is not that enough?"
+
+And, almost ashamed of my doubts, I at once added:
+
+"You shall come where I am; whatever happens, be sure that I will not
+desert you."
+
+With an abrupt gesture, she flung her arms around me; and, as we looked
+into each other's eyes, the same mist rose before them. Was she at last
+about to accompany me into the depths of my soul?
+
+My heart burns with the fire of this new and longed-for emotion; and I
+feel two crystal tears, two tears of sheer delight, slowly follow the
+curve of my cheeks. Rose's own sensibilities have been blunted for a
+time by her rough life; she does not yet know how to weep for happiness;
+and, almost frightened, she convulsively presses her clasped hands
+against her breast, as though she feared lest it should burst with the
+throbbing of her joy.
+
+I placed my lips to the long golden lashes, I gathered the dear,
+timorous tears that seemed still uncertain which path to take; and,
+behind the veil of my kisses, they gushed forth without fear or shame.
+
+
+5
+
+The setting sun was no more than a thin crimson streak on the dividing
+line of sky and sea; and the peaceful billows whispered mysteriously in
+the dusk that rose from every side.
+
+It was time to go. When we were both standing, so frail and
+insignificant on the great empty beach, a wave of passionate gratitude
+overwhelmed both our hearts; and I at last believed that all nature--the
+sea, the meadows and the fields--had wrought its work of love and beauty
+in my Rose.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+
+1
+
+Immense black clouds scudded past in the darkness; a furious wind
+stripped the groaning branches of their leaves; and, when the moon
+suddenly pierced the night, gaunt figures appeared of almost bare trees
+twisted and shaken by the wind. Behind the orchards, a few
+cottage-windows showed a glimmer of light; and the watch-dogs howled as
+I passed, to the accompaniment of their dragging chains.
+
+I walked quickly, full of misgivings and yet undaunted. I asked myself
+at intervals what was taking me to the farm, to probable suffering. Was
+it Rose's silence: I had heard nothing of her for a week? Was it the
+hope of saying good-bye to her, of letting her know at least that I was
+to go away the next day? Or was it not rather the curiosity that makes
+us wish to see, without being seen ourselves, the man or woman who
+interests us?
+
+We always influence in some way or other the looks or the words that are
+addressed to us. The eye that rests on us becomes unconsciously filled
+with our own rest; and the longing that awakens at the sight of us is
+often born of the unspoken call of our soul or our blood. From the first
+moment when our hands meet, an exchange takes place, and we are no
+longer entirely ourselves, we exist in relation to the persons and the
+things around us. Two honest lives cannot join in falsehood; but either
+of them, if united to a vulgar nature, is perhaps capable of
+deterioration.
+
+While thus arguing, I seek to reassure myself. True, Rose could never be
+at the farm, among those coarse people, what she is with me. Still, what
+will she be like?
+
+I remember something she said to me at the beginning of our
+acquaintance:
+
+"For the sake of peace with those about me, by degrees I made myself the
+same as they were. After a time, I never said what I really thought and
+soon I ceased to notice the difference between the two. As I thought
+that it was impossible for me ever to go away, it seemed to me a wise
+policy to adapt myself to the life I had to live. It was a lie at first;
+later it became second nature...."
+
+But now? Now that all that existence is no more than a temporary
+unpleasantness, what is her attitude?
+
+
+2
+
+It was striking eight when I came up to the farm. As a rule, everybody
+is in bed by then. But to-day was the feast of the patron-saint of the
+village; and there must have been dancing and drinking till nightfall.
+At that moment, the darkness was so thick that I could hardly see
+anything in front of me. I found the gate locked. Clinging to the trees
+and pulling myself through the thorns and brambles, I climbed across the
+bank and dropped into the orchard. I at once called softly to the dog,
+so that he should recognise a friend's voice, and, as soon as I was
+certain of his silence, I walked quietly to the house, where there was a
+light in two of the windows at the back of the farm-yard. Not daring to
+take the path that led to the door, I made my way as best I could
+through the long grass. I was shivering in my dress; and my feet were
+frozen. Whenever the moon peeped through two clouds, I quickly flung
+myself against a tree and waited without moving for the darkness to
+return. Cows were lying here and there on the grass: at each lull in
+the storm, I heard the heavy breathing of the sleeping animals; and
+their peacefulness soothed my troubled mind.
+
+Some thirty yards from the house, I stopped, uncertain what to do. It
+can be approached only by going a little higher, for it is built on a
+mound in the centre of the yard. The whole length of the one-storeyed,
+thatched buildings was without a tree or any dark corner where I could
+shelter.
+
+I was still hesitating, when suddenly a shadow passed across one of the
+windows. I seemed to recognise Rose, and my rising curiosity made me
+cover in a moment the distance that separated me from her. Once there,
+against the window-pane, I thought of nothing else.
+
+No, it was not fear but sorrow that oppressed me from the first glance
+within: Rose was laughing at the top of her voice, her mouth opened in a
+paroxysm of mirth. She was laughing a silly, brutish laugh, lying back
+in her chair, with her knees wide apart and her hands on her hips. A
+lamp stood near her on the long table around which the men were eating
+and drinking; under its torn shade the light flared unevenly, lighting
+up some things with ruthless clearness and leaving others in complete
+darkness. Of the men, I could see nothing distinctly except their heavy
+jaws and coarse hands and the lighter patches of their white shirts and
+blue smocks. I could make out very little of the large, low-ceilinged
+room. A rickety chair here; an old dresser there, with a few battered
+dishes on it. At regular intervals, a brass pendulum sends forth gleams
+as it catches the light; and the smouldering fire in the tall
+chimney-place flickers for a moment and illumines the strings of beans
+and onions drying round the hearth. On the floor, in the middle of the
+room, two little cowherds are quarrelling for the possession of a goose,
+no doubt won as a prize in the village. The poor thing, lying half-dead,
+with its wings and legs tied up, utters piteous sounds, which are the
+signal for a burst of laughter and coarse jokes.
+
+But suddenly all is silence. A door opens at the far end of the room and
+on the threshold stands the mistress, with a candle in her hand and some
+bottles under her arm. The fear inspired by the old madwoman is obvious
+at once. The two urchins take refuge under the table with their prey,
+Rose's laughter ceases abruptly and, through the window-panes, I hear
+the steady ticking of the clock and the clatter of the spoons in the
+bowls.
+
+The old woman has sat down in the full light. She is eating, with bent
+back, lowered head and jerky, nervous movements, while her wicked little
+sunken eyes peer from under her heavy, matted brows. She speaks some
+curt words in _patois_, too fast for me to catch their sense; but her
+strident voice hurts my ears. The conversation becomes livelier by
+degrees and soon everybody is speaking at once....
+
+I wait in vain for an absent look, a gesture of annoyance, an expression
+of pain on Rose's part. No, she seems at her ease among these people, as
+she was at the great house, as she is and as she will be everywhere. She
+follows the remarks of one and all and shows the same attention which
+she vouchsafes to me when I speak to her. From time to time, she says a
+word or two; and I recognise the shrill voice and the vulgar gestures
+that used to hurt me so much during our early talks.
+
+I remained there for a long time, always waiting, always hoping. Excited
+by liquor, the men began to quarrel; and I heard the old woman hurl a
+torrent of vile insults at them. Rose took the part of one of the men
+and interfered, using language as coarse as theirs.
+
+
+3
+
+It was late when I went away. The clouds had dispersed, the wind had
+dropped; the moonbeams were making pools of silver on the ground through
+the trees; and, when I reached the open fields, they appeared to me
+cold, immense, infinite under a molten sky.
+
+The picture which I carry away with me seems to lose its colour before
+my eyes: it is harder and sadder, made up of harsh lights and darker
+shadows, like an etching. I see the rough hands on the white deal table,
+the bony faces brutally outlined by a crude light. I hear the cracked
+voice of the old madwoman, now raised in yells of abuse, now breaking
+into song ... and Rose ... my beautiful Rose....
+
+But I have stolen this sight of a life which I was never meant to see.
+The dishonesty of my invisible presence makes a gulf between my actual
+vision and my perception; and it seems to me that, in this case, I must
+withhold my judgment even as we hold our breath before a flickering
+flame.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE SECOND
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+There is in love, in friendship or in the curiosity that drives us
+towards a fellow-creature a period of ascendency when nothing can quench
+our enthusiasm. The fire that consumes us must burn itself out; until
+then, all that we see, all that we discover feeds it and increases it.
+
+We are aware of a blemish, but we do not see it. We know the weakness
+that to-morrow perhaps will blight our joy, but we do not feel it. We
+hear the word that ought to deal our hopes a mortal blow; and it does
+not even touch them!... And our reason, which knows, sees, hears and
+foresees, remains dumb, as though it delighted in these games which
+bring into play our heart and our capacity for feeling. Besides, to us
+women this exercise of the emotions is something so delightful and so
+salutary that our will has neither the power nor the inclination to
+check it either in its soberest or its most extravagant manifestations.
+The influence of the will would always be commonplace and sordid by the
+side of that generous force which is created by each impulse of the
+heart or mind.
+
+Upon every person or every idea that arouses our enthusiasm we have just
+so much to bestow, a definite sum of energy to expend, which seems, like
+that of our body, to have its own time and season. I have known Rose for
+hardly three months; her picture is still vernal in my heart; nothing
+can prevent its colours from being radiant with freshness, radiant with
+vigour, radiant with sunshine. I shall therefore go away without regret.
+I see the childishness of all the experiments to which I am subjecting
+the girl so as to know her a little better. My interest throws such a
+light upon her that she cannot, do what she will, shrink back into the
+shade.
+
+She is to me the incarnation of one of my most cherished ideas. Until I
+know all, I shall suspend my judgment and my intentions will not change.
+I believe that every seed in the rich soil of a noble heart has to
+fulfil its tender, gracious work of love and kindness.
+
+I cannot, therefore, lay upon Rose the burden of my disappointment last
+night; and my affection suggests a thousand good reasons for absolving
+her. Is this wrong? And are we to consider, with the sapient ones of
+the earth, that our vision is never clear until the day when we no
+longer have the strength to love, believe and admire? I do not think so.
+Setting aside the careful judgment which we exercise in the case of our
+companion for life, it is certain that our opinions on the others, on
+our chance acquaintances, are but an illusion and owe far more to our
+souls than to theirs. In our brief and crowded lives, we have barely
+time to catch a note of beauty here, to perceive a sign of truth there.
+If, therefore, we have to pass days and years without understanding
+everything and loving everything, if we have to remain under a
+misapprehension, why not choose that which is on the side of love and
+gladdens our hearts?
+
+We should take care of the images that adorn our soul. Our women's minds
+would possess more graciousness if we bestowed upon them a little of the
+attention which we lavish on our bodies.
+
+My beautiful Rose is kind and loving; I will deck her with my hopes as
+long as I can. When enthusiasm is shared, it is easy to keep it up. It
+weighs lightly in spite of its infinite preciousness. If I ever find it
+a strain, the reason will be that Rose did not really bear her share of
+it. It will become a burden and I shall relinquish it. All that she
+will have of me will be the careless charity bestowed upon the poor.
+
+
+2
+
+"Paris, ... 19--
+
+"If you knew, Rose, how I miss the lovely autumn landscapes! The weather
+was so bright on the day of my departure that, to enjoy it to the full,
+I bicycled to the railway-town. After leaving the village, I took the
+road through the wood and it was delightful to skim along through the
+dead leaves, the softly-streaming tears of autumn. Sometimes, when a
+gust of wind blew, I went faster; and little yellow waves seemed to rise
+and fall and chase one another all around me. Some of the trees, not yet
+bare, but only thinned, traced an exquisite russet lacework against the
+blue sky; and the birds warbled, cooed and whistled as in spring. I saw
+the noisy, crowded streets of Paris waiting for me at the end of my day;
+and this gave a flavour of sadness to the calm of the high roads, the
+pureness of the air, the dear beauty of the lanes....
+
+"It was quite early in the morning and the fields were still bathed in
+a dewy radiance. I sat down for a little while on a roadside bank; an
+immense plain began at the level of my face and ended by rising slowly
+towards the sky. It was a very young field of corn, which the splendour
+of the day turned into pearly down. I could have looked at it for ever,
+at one moment letting the full glory of it burst on my dazzled eyes and
+then gradually lowering my lids down to the tiny threads that trembled
+and glittered in my breath. Then my mouth formed itself into a kiss; and
+I amused myself by slowly and lovingly making the cool pearls of the
+morning die on my warm lips...."
+
+
+3
+
+"Paris, ... 19--
+
+"I see you, my Rose, laying supper in the wretched kitchen, while the
+farm-hands gather round the hearth. I like to picture you going
+cautiously through the old woman's room at night, so as to write to me
+by the rays of the moon, without disturbing the household with an
+unwonted light. You come and sit on the ledge of the open window, to
+receive the full benefit of the moonbeams, and then you write on your
+knee those trembling lines which convey your emotion to me.
+
+"I see you in the wonderful setting of the silver-flooded orchard. The
+golden silk of your long tresses embroiders your white night-dress. Your
+eyes are filled with peace; you are beautiful like that; and there is
+nothing so sweet as an orchard in the moonlight. The apple-trees seem to
+lay their even shadows softly upon the pallor of the grass; and their
+ordered quiet spreads a serene and simple joy over nature's sleep....
+
+"Rose, at the moving period that brought us together, how I would that
+your sweet composure had been sometimes a little ruffled! It would have
+appeared to me of a finer quality had I found it more variable. A
+woman's reason should be less rigid; and I should loathe mine if it were
+not a leaven of indulgence and forgiveness in my life....
+
+"Oh, Rose, Rose, tell me that the coldness of your soul springs from its
+wonderful purity! Tell me that your heart is so deep that the sound of
+the joys which fall into it cannot be heard outside! Tell me that it is
+the storm of your life that has crushed the flowers of your sensibility
+for the time....
+
+"I well know that our interest cannot always be active, that it must be
+suppressed; I know that indifference is essential to the happy
+equilibrium of our faculties and that, beside the exaltation of our
+soul, it is the untroubled lake fertilising and refreshing the earth.
+And you will find, Rose, how necessary it is to be on our guard against
+it in our judgments and how it can take possession of some natures and
+slowly destroy them under a hateful appearance of wisdom! I would rather
+discover ugly and active defects in you than that beautiful
+impassiveness. Besides, as I have told you many a time, the excellence
+that seems to me ideal has its weaknesses. It is rather a way of
+perfection for our poor humanity, a way that is all the better because
+it is adapted for our feeble and wavering steps!...
+
+"Once, at harvest-time, I met you in the little road near the church. It
+was the end of the day; and you were coming back from the fields. You
+were standing high on a swaying mountain of hay, you were driving a
+great farm-horse, which disappeared under its load. Your tall figure
+stood out against the sky ablaze with the last rays of the sun; and I
+still see your look of absolute unconcern. You wore a long blue apron
+that came all round you and a bodice of the same colour. In that blue
+faded by the sun, with your hair a pale cloud in the gold of the
+sunset, you looked like an archangel taken from some Italian fresco.
+
+"As you passed me, you timidly returned my smile; and I followed you for
+a long time with my eyes. Do you still remember the trouble you had in
+passing under the dark vault of the old oaks? Every now and again, a
+branch, longer and lower than the others, threatened your face: you
+caught it with a quick movement and lifted it over your head. At one
+time, there were so many of those branches and they were so heavy that
+you were obliged to lie back on the hay, holding both arms over your
+face to save it from being struck. Then, when the lumbering wagon
+stopped in front of the farm, my archangel stepped down humbly into the
+mud, took the horse by the bridle and disappeared from sight....
+
+"The reason why this memory now comes back to me is that I find in it
+some affinity with what I would ask of your reason: those simple
+movements by which you will be able to thrust aside the bad habits that
+disfigure you! May your reason be the beautiful archangel to guide and
+sway your humble life, but may it sometimes know how to descend and
+stoop in obedience to the necessities of chance. Even as, on the day
+when I saw you, you could not alter the road which you had to follow, so
+you cannot alter your real nature; but you must 'know the way,' you must
+guide and control."
+
+
+4
+
+"Paris,... 19--
+
+"I am longing to have you here so that I may watch carefully over the
+slightest details of your life and put your temperament incessantly to
+the test. They say that enthusiasm cannot be acquired. But how can they
+tell that it is not merely sleeping, unless they try to awaken it? Those
+around us have sometimes, quite unconsciously, an unhappy way of
+subduing and oppressing us.
+
+"Even the most emotional have often to struggle lest their souls should
+shrink in the presence of certain people, like the flowers whose petals
+exposed to the light timidly hide their hearts as soon as day declines.
+You, whom a placid humour reserves for gentle emotions, must try not to
+let that very beautiful nature exceed its rights, or cast an unnecessary
+shadow over your feelings, or ever check your finest bursts of
+admiration with doubt and misgiving. Circumstances have failed to form
+your taste; and at first you will pass marvels by and prefer to marvel
+at some hideous thing. Never mind! I like to think that, after all, the
+best part of a noble work is the enthusiasm which it arouses and that
+the greatest dignity of art lies in the flame which it kindles.
+
+"Time was when I wept in front of things that now leave me unmoved; but,
+in captivating my childish heart, did they not accomplish their task
+even as those do now which quicken the beating of my woman's heart?...
+
+"Learn to appreciate life and to look upon all that does not enhance it
+as vain and wearisome. As there is nothing in this world which has not
+its relation to life, in loving it, my Roseline, you will understand
+everything and accept everything.
+
+"I want your eyes, when presenting to your mind whatever is best in a
+great work, to learn the luxury of lingering on it; I want your ears to
+perceive the wonderful, voluptuous charm of sounds, your hands to
+rejoice in things soft to the touch; I want you to learn how to breathe
+with delight and how to eat with pleasure. Don't smile. None of all this
+is childish; it is made up of tiny joyous movements which the simplest
+existence can command when it knows how to recognise them. And yet ...
+and yet I feel a selfish wish to leave you still in your prison, so that
+your desire to escape from it may keep on growing! I love that desire, I
+love your actual distress, I love the wretchedness of your past, the
+wretchedness of your present, I love you to see difficulties in the way
+of your deliverance....
+
+"Oh, if those obstacles could give you, as they do me, that sort of
+intoxication for which I cherish them! When at last I see the goal
+beyond them, my heart leaps for joy. But hardly is the goal attained
+when I rejoice in it only because it brings me to another, higher and
+more distant; and my imagination resumes its course, never looking back
+except to measure the road already traversed.... In this way, never
+satisfied and yet happy in the mere fact that I am advancing and in the
+knowledge that no more can be asked of a poor human will, I have the
+feeling that my life never stops."
+
+
+5
+
+
+"Paris,... 19--
+
+"Dearest, it is evening; it is cold and wet out of doors; but peace and
+gaiety shed their radiance in the great drawing-room which you will
+soon know, white and bare as a convent-parlour, living and bright as joy
+itself. Chance gave me to-day a long day of solitude, like those at
+Sainte-Colombe. And yet the hours passed before me and I could not make
+them fruitful. When such favours come to me in the midst of excitement,
+I am too glad of them to be able to profit by them; I can but feel them;
+and they control me without leaving me time to control them in my turn.
+I listen to my life, I contemplate it. It has too many opposing voices,
+too many absolutely different shapes; my consciousness is lost in it as
+a precious stone is swallowed up by the sea. I blush at such chaos. My
+soul appears to me only fit to compare with one of those wretched
+table-cloths which country dressmakers patch together, at the end of the
+year, out of the thousand scraps of the thousand different materials
+which they have cut during the season. But is not this the natural
+result of the diversity of our feminine souls?
+
+"Antagonistic elements have long been at war in me; and the violence of
+their blows has sometimes torn my life asunder. I no longer have cause
+to complain of it now, because time and love have helped me to reconcile
+them. Our powers are injurious to us so long as we do not know how to
+use them. I have suffered, I still suffer from my creeping knowledge. I
+would like to increase the pace of yours. Is it impossible?
+
+"And so I dreamed all day and, of course, I dreamed of you, the Rose
+whom I am always picturing. I imagined that we had arranged to see each
+other this evening. You walked into the drawing-room, drenched with the
+rain, pink-cheeked with the cold. You looked very pretty, in a frock
+that suited your face and your figure. You knew how to hold yourself!
+You knew how to walk! Your movements were graceful! After talking for a
+little while by the fire, we both sat down at the table, under the
+lamp-light, and there began our usual work. What work it was I cannot
+tell; but it will be easy for us to choose: we have everything to learn;
+and I feel that both our minds must follow the same path for some time
+to come. By placing the same objects before them, we shall succeed in
+discovering what you really feel and what you really wish. That is the
+only way of delivering your mind from my involuntary dominion and of
+distinguishing your image from mine. I have no other ideal than to feel
+myself actually moving, even though the movement be an inconsistent
+one. How could I invite you to a similarity which is nothing but a
+perpetual dissimilarity?
+
+"You must cease to be an echo. I shall map out no course for you; and we
+do not know what will become of you. Let us first walk at random. The
+goal is not always visible; but very often the road travelled tells us
+which road to take next. It matters little what work we do, provided
+that it gives a sort of tone to our meetings and that it regulates our
+hours. The freaks of chance and the youthfulness of our minds will
+always furnish colour and fancy in plenty....
+
+"Understand me, Roseline: it is not a friend that I am seeking, not one
+of those uncertain, light-hearted, capricious relations which encumber
+life without adding to it. I am dreaming like a child, of a woman who
+should realise the greatest possible amount of beauty in her mind and
+person and who should add her strength to mine in the service of the
+same ideals. Rose, are you that woman? Will you help me to deliver other
+women still who are oppressed by circumstances or people, to deliver
+those who are shackled by prejudice or fear, to deliver the beauty that
+is unable to show itself and the will that dares not act? To deliver!
+What a magic word! Rose, does it ring in your heart as it rings in
+mine?...
+
+"But, as you see, my dreams are carrying me too far; and I blush at my
+audacity. When I look at you and judge myself, it often seems to me that
+what I have done for you is only a form of vanity, that all my generous
+aspirations are but vanity!... Is it true?
+
+"And, if it were! Is it not still greater and more foolish vanity to
+require that all our actions should spring from pure and sublime
+motives? If, in contributing to your development, I am conscious that I
+am assisting my own, will yours be any the less complete for that? If I
+no longer know which is dearer, you, who represent my dreams, or my
+dreams, which have become embodied in yourself, will you on that account
+be less fondly and less nobly loved?
+
+"And, if it be true that vanity there is, is the vanity vain that sheds
+happiness and joy?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+A long month has passed since my return to Paris. Twice Rose has written
+to announce her arrival: I waited for her at the station and she did not
+come. Poor child! We all know how difficult it is to break one's bonds,
+even the most detested. A thousand invisible ties keep us in the place
+where chance has set us; and, when we are about to rend them, they
+become so many unsuspected pangs. Instinct blindly resists all change,
+as though it were unable to distinguish what reason dimly descries
+beyond the trials and dangers of the moment. Rose is leaving nothing but
+wretchedness; in front of her is a fair and pleasant prospect.
+Nevertheless, she hesitates and she is unhappy.
+
+In my present restless state, I no longer know what I wish. If she came
+to-morrow, should I be glad or not? I cannot tell. I can no longer tell.
+Those who do not suffer from this absurd mania for action escape those
+painful moments when we are at the mercy of a distracted will that no
+longer knows exactly what it ought to want. In absence, our feelings
+pass through so many contradictory phases! When the hour of return
+comes, finding it impossible to collect so many conflicting sentiments
+or to bring back to one point so many different desires, we surrender
+ourselves to the impression of the moment; and this impression often has
+nothing in common with what we had previously felt and hoped.
+
+I have done my utmost to make her come. Lately, I have been sending her
+urgent and encouraging letters daily. Now, the hour is approaching; and
+my only feeling is one of anguish.
+
+I have told her twenty times that the talk about responsibility which I
+hear all around me brings a smile to my lips. I have told her how, by
+making my conduct depend on hers, I relieved myself of all personal
+anxiety. And to-day my task appears to me so heavy that I can only laugh
+at my presumption.
+
+
+2
+
+It was foolish of me to write to her:
+
+"What are your faults? Teach me to know you. Tell me what you are."
+
+In reality, our faults arise from our circumstances. Events alone set us
+the questions to which our actions give a definite answer. Up to the
+present, Rose has not lived; she has been accumulating forces that are
+now about to come into being. What will they be? Whither will they tend?
+We can assume nothing in a life that is but beginning; and is it not
+just this that encourages us to seek and to help? Each of us has only to
+look back in order to know that, in the shifting soil of characters, we
+can fix or establish nothing. I found her acquiescing in a shameful
+servitude; and yet I have faith in the nobility of her soul. She was
+untruthful; there was no relation between her wishes and her actions,
+her thoughts and her words. Nevertheless, I do not doubt her essential
+honesty.
+
+The atmosphere that surrounds us is so often treacherous to our pliant
+natures! We women are obliged to lie. So long as we have not found our
+"love," we look in vain for a little confidence. No one believes us, no
+one receives the best part of our soul. One would think that, for those
+who listen to us, our sincerest words are poisoned as they pass through
+our fairest smiles. And, when nature has made us beautiful and gifted,
+people take pleasure in judging us severely, as they might look at the
+summer days through dark-tinted window-panes.
+
+We are always refused recognition. The first feeling which any work that
+we perform arouses is one of doubt. Its merit is disputed. And yet we
+have devoted a part of our youth to it; we have left with it a little of
+our freshness and our bloom. Very often, it is the ransom of our sorrow.
+Our love is written upon it; and it bears the imprint alike of our
+smiles and of our tears. Do we not know that woman, for all her culture,
+remains closer than man to her instinct and her "soil?" She is less
+purely intellectual but more sensitive than man; and, while he can
+create everything in the silence of his imagination, she has to live and
+suffer everything that she brings into the world. She conceives and
+realises with her flesh and with her blood.
+
+A woman said to me, one day:
+
+"If I had to begin life over again, I should not have the courage to
+avoid a single danger, pain or disappointment. In surmounting them, I
+have gained a power of resistance which forms the framework of my
+present and my future. I can see the sparkle of my happiness better when
+I keep in the shadow of my sad memories; and all that I accomplish, all
+that I write seems to me to flow from my past tears."
+
+To refuse recognition to a woman's work is to refuse to recognise her
+soul, her existence and every throb of her heart!...
+
+Man does not know that torture which every true woman suffers when she
+feels that those who are listening to her do not hear her real words,
+that those who are looking at her do not see what she is making every
+effort to show. Even when she is obeying the simplest impulses of her
+nature, people distrust what she says and what she does; and in some
+women, good and kind and beautiful, we see repeated the artless miracle
+of the flowers that exhaust themselves in giving too much fragrance and
+too much blossom. How fearful and timid this moral isolation makes us!
+And how thrice courageous we must be in the hour of realisation! If
+effort sometimes seems useless to men, what about women, who see
+themselves ever confronted by a blank wall of scepticism?
+
+A man is valued by the weight of the forces which he stirs up for and
+against himself. The forces which woman encounters are nearly all
+hostile.
+
+
+3
+
+I was close upon sixteen. One day, I heard some one say, speaking of
+some trifling thing of which I was wrongly suspected:
+
+"She is no longer a child. She's a woman now and she's lying."
+
+That was a cruel speech, the sort of speech that influences a whole
+life. My eyes were gradually opened to the dreary injustice that casts
+its shadow over the fairest destinies of women. Nothing around them
+seems clear and natural. Doubt lies in wait for them, calumny rends
+them. Now my hour was coming: my skirts, touching the ground for the
+first time, had suggested the suspicion of deceit and hypocrisy.
+
+It was perhaps this wound, inflicted on the soul of the growing girl,
+that left the most serious mark on my soul as a woman. Thanks to a
+strange prick of conscience, to a singular need to give to others what I
+did not obtain, I wanted to trust and I did trust! I gave my confidence
+passionately, utterly, rapturously! And this made wells of such deep and
+impetuous joy spring up in me that I felt no bitterness when I saw my
+confidence marred as it passed through others, even as a clear stream
+is muddied in following its course.
+
+Still, I wanted more; I sought to concentrate in one person, herself
+generous and confiding, the happiness which I lacked and whose infinite
+value I suspected. Ah, what a blessed relief when I found her! I was as
+one who has never seen his face save in distorting mirrors and who
+suddenly sees himself as he hoped to be. It seems to me that my
+happiness dates from that day. Before then, I suffered, I was all
+astray, an ill wind hovered round me; and, on the sands of other lives,
+there was never a trace of my footsteps where I believed that I had
+passed. Henceforth, another soul would read mine! Another's eyes would
+own the candour of my eyes!
+
+It was little more than a child that introduced me to love and kindness.
+She was treated with iron severity, she was unhappy; I was alone: she
+became my daily companion. Alas! too early ripe, too intelligent, she
+was of those who cannot stay. Is it a presentiment that makes them hurry
+so, or is it rather their eagerness to live, their over-sharpened senses
+that wear out their strength?
+
+
+4
+
+She was not fifteen; but, already matured in body and mind, she
+attracted immediate attention. Her walk was so superb that I cannot
+think of her without seeing her come swiftly to me, with that dear smile
+of hers and with her lovely arms outstretched in greeting. Her limpid
+eyes obeyed the light, the light of her heart and the light of the sky,
+whereas her dark hair, always tangled and rebellious, bore witness to
+the protest of her dauntless spirit. In her company I tasted for the
+first time the delight of souls that join and blend and unite in mutual
+trust. In an ecstasy of sincerity, for hours I imagined myself baptising
+her whole life with my faith. I said to her, over and over again:
+
+"I believe in you.... I believe in you.... Do you understand what that
+means? It is something greater and better than 'I love you:' it means
+that one can never be alone again!"
+
+She died a few months later; and for years I was to seek in vain in
+others' hearts and eyes the pure and limpid faith which reflects
+everything that bends over it.
+
+One can love people without knowing them fully; one cannot believe in
+them without mingling one's soul with theirs; and the moral luxury of it
+is so great that, when we have once known it, if only for a moment, we
+demand it from all with whom we come in contact.
+
+Roseline, all that I then wished for, that charming bond of tenderness
+and confidence which should link women together, that difficult and
+precious happiness which I knew for one hour through that child-soul:
+that is what I am trying to offer you.
+
+And perhaps you will have something better still, because the assistance
+which you receive is deliberate and has stood the test. In the place of
+that artless faith rushing to meet life, you find a soul that has been
+steeped in it. Rose, may my faith and my soul be your two mirrors. In
+one, you will see your forces rise even as we catch the first swell of a
+cornfield at dawn. In the other, they will appear to you enlarged,
+multiplied, transformed according to nature's laws, ripened by the
+dazzling suns of noon, utilised by the intellect, ready at last to
+nourish you and nourish others.
+
+
+5
+
+Then I met men, I met other women, without ever attaining the wish of my
+heart. They came and went. But, at each soul that I lost, I found my own
+a little more and I remember most gratefully those who were the most
+cruel. This man was ill and unconscious of his actions; that woman was
+wicked; that man too frivolous; and another was a liar....
+
+A liar! Even to-day, among those withered attachments which it pleases
+me to evoke, this last arrests my thoughts. For it was he--O singular
+contrast!--who, by his lying and duplicity, finished the work begun by
+the frank confidence of the child.
+
+He was a liar.--Lying came to him so easily and naturally that he
+himself did not discriminate between what he had done and what he had
+said, between what he had actually experienced and the life which he
+pretended to have lived. His was a strange nature, which, in its
+eagerness to seem, forgot to be, a nature which, no longer
+distinguishing its frontiers from another's, lost in the end its own
+domain! A strange example of a strayed consciousness which, knowing no
+dividing line, attributed the acts of others to itself, spoke from their
+hearts and led their existences! He walked through life as one walks
+through a gallery whose walls are panelled with mirrors. He could not
+take a step without thinking that he was taking a thousand; and his
+vanity enhanced his least actions to such a degree that he actually
+believed himself the lover of a woman if he merely kissed her hand. It
+was thus that he boasted of making innumerable conquests at every hour
+of the day; and, to hear him talk, always tired and exhausted with love,
+he was a wreck at twenty, as the price of his inordinate exploits.
+Enamoured of his appearance, he saw nothing beyond the blankness of his
+little soul, or rather he made it the origin and the end of everything.
+Poor empty head! Wretched puppet, whose spring was the vanity which
+every passer-by could set in motion at will!
+
+At a time when I myself did not know it, he had cleverly discovered what
+he must appear to be in order to arouse my enthusiasm, thus offering me
+the illusion of that faith which I aspire to awaken in you, my Roseline.
+Certainly, I owe him much! If an exact copy of a masterpiece can stir us
+as deeply as the original, the perfect impersonation of a fine intellect
+and a noble character can influence us very happily. How grateful I am
+to him for the trouble which he took to give me a representation of
+virtues which he did not possess! They were painted on his soul in such
+relief, a relief which no reality gives, as I was afterwards to learn!
+The artificial lilies that decorate the chapel of the church hard by
+have an assurance that is absent from those which will soon fade over
+there, on the table. The false boasts an unvarying brilliance, an
+imposing emphasis which we never find in the true. And, no doubt, the
+qualities of which he vouchsafed me the sight would never have had such
+value in my eyes, if his fatuousness had not displayed them to my
+youthful admiration as one shows an object behind a magnifying-glass.
+
+And what does it matter to me now that they were false, those gifts with
+which that soul seemed laden, if for a moment I pictured them as real!
+After the error was dispelled, the image which I once thought true
+remained in me. It had determined my tastes, fixed my opinions, set my
+mind at rest. Subsequently, I was to try and refashion the perfection of
+which I had beheld the mirage and, with still greater ardour, I was to
+pursue in others and conquer at last the reality of the once-known
+happiness which I thought that I had found in him.
+
+We are none the poorer when a sad truth takes the place of a beautiful
+dream. Knowledge has already filled the void which the lost illusion
+leaves behind it....
+
+
+6
+
+Let us seek then, Rose, let us seek even after we have found! Whether we
+be denied or heard, let us go on seeking! When we have lovingly
+performed the little things necessary that a flower may peradventure
+blossom, if it does not give us what we hoped for, does that prevent us
+from loving another exactly like it and from tending it with all the
+greater skill and care?
+
+Our ignorance must be renewed in the presence of each life that touches
+ours. May the quest suffice to keep our faith eternally young, that
+wonderful, childlike faith which alone encourages, finds and sets free.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+It was eleven o'clock when I went to meet Rose this morning; but the day
+was so dark and the fog so dense that the street-lamps were still lit.
+
+It was gloomy and depressing. Wrapped in a long cloak and huddled in a
+corner of the cab, I shivered with cold and nervousness. I reread her
+telegram, dispatched from a railway-station before daybreak; and the
+pathos of those few words went to my heart:
+
+    "Am starting. Ran away yesterday.
+
+                            "YOUR BABY."
+
+Yesterday? Then she had spent the night at an inn? Why?
+
+Alas, in such circumstances, do not we women usually behave like that,
+blindly and illogically? We prepare everything, we look out the trains
+and choose the most favourable time for flight; we announce the minute
+of our arrival to those expecting us; everything is ready, everything is
+decided.... Then the appointed day arrives. The hour strikes, the hour
+passes and we do not stir. We have been kept by some meaningless trifle
+which is magnified in our excitement and acquires an importance which it
+never had before: a word, a look from those whom we are going to desert.
+We forgive them when we are on the point of leaving them for ever. We
+invest them with a little of our own gentleness and kindness. Even as
+the colour of things blurs and fades when our eyes are dim with tears,
+so the hardest people do not appear so to the anxious heart of a woman.
+And pity gains the upper hand, time slips by and we put off to the
+morrow and, on the morrow, we put off again....
+
+Then, one day, we depart all at once, for no definite reason, depart
+empty-handed, with an impassive face and without looking round. We
+perform the most energetic action almost without knowing it, for even
+our will shirks the too-heavy task. It dreads the preparations, it would
+like to be able to tell us feebly that nothing is done, that nothing is
+decided, that we can still go back to the past; and this is enough to
+hurry our steps towards the future. We go, we walk on and on, we walk
+till we are tired. Then does it not seem as if each minute shifted the
+problem of our destiny a little more? And in a few hours would it not
+need more courage to return than to continue our road?
+
+But it is nearly always so, by little unforeseen acts, by fear as much
+as by weakness, that we perform the inaugural act of our
+enfranchisement. We flee bewildered, like poor beasts that have broken
+loose; and the first movements of our liberty echo in our hearts with a
+melancholy sound of dangling chains.
+
+
+2
+
+My dear Rose!... As I go through the damp, dark station, I am already
+picturing her fright....
+
+The train arrives, full of passengers, who hurry towards the exit in
+surging black masses. How shall I recognise her in this crowd, in the
+fog? I do not know what she will look like. A lady? A servant? A
+servant, I expect, because she will have had nothing ready. I hope so;
+and I look out eagerly for a black knitted hood on a head of golden
+hair. I am afraid lest she should not see me in her excitement and
+nervousness. The flood of passengers separates on either side of the
+ticket-collector; and I keep close to him, standing desperately on
+tip-toe....
+
+The crowd has passed and I have not caught sight of her. There are still
+a few people coming from the far end of the train; it is so dark that I
+can hardly see.... There is a tall figure all over feathers in the
+distance, but it cannot be ... And yet ... yes, yes, it is she! Gracious
+goodness, what a sight!... I feel that it would be better to laugh, but
+I can't; and I am furious with myself for keeping a grave face. It is
+Rose! Rose dressed like a Sainte-Colombe lady!
+
+She comes along, calmly, smiling and self-possessed; and I am now able
+to distinguish the painful hues of that appalling garb: the little
+red-velvet hat, studded with glass stones of every imaginable colour and
+trimmed with green feathers of the most aggressive shade and style; the
+serge skirt, too short in front; the black jacket, quite simple, it is
+true, but so badly cut that it murders the figure of the lovely girl!
+She has a large basket, carefully corded, on her arm. I really suffer
+tortures while she kisses me effusively and says, gaily:
+
+"You are looking very well, dearest; but you're upset: what's the
+matter?" And, before I have time to answer, she adds in a triumphant
+tone, "I have a great surprise for you. Look in the basket, look!"
+
+I need not trouble: at that moment there comes from the basket a
+pandemonium of terrified quacks and flapping wings.
+
+"Yes," Rose continues, laughing merrily, "I stole the old woman's best
+two ducks and that's why I'm here.... But first I must tell you, I have
+been looking after them for a month, fattening them for your benefit; I
+would not go before they were just right. And what do you think? All of
+a sudden, she said, at dinner, that she was going to market to-day to
+sell them! It gave me an awful turn. As soon as I could leave the
+kitchen, I flew to the poultry-yard and I took the train to ---- and
+slept there. Luckily, I had already sent my trunk to an hotel."
+
+I looked at Rose in stupefaction:
+
+"Your trunk?"
+
+She went on, with her eyes full of cunning:
+
+"Oh, your baby was rather clever!... As the old woman never paid me
+during the whole of the four years, I worked out what a farm-servant
+gets a year and I decided that I was justified in opening an account in
+her name with one of our customers who keeps a big drapery-store. And so
+I now have a trunk and a complete outfit, as well as these pretty things
+which I have on. It was only fair, wasn't it?"
+
+I turned away my head without a word. It was certainly quite fair; but I
+felt my cheeks flushing scarlet.
+
+Rose gave a yawn which ended in a groan:
+
+"I'm starving. Suppose we had some lunch; we could come back for the
+trunk afterwards."
+
+I eagerly agreed and hurried her to the exit. From the top of the
+stairs, I saw that the fog had lifted at last; the gas-lamps had been
+put out and the street lay before us in a melancholy, wan light. The
+pavements were covered with mud and the houses showed yellow and
+smoke-grimed. Then I looked at Rose and my torture suddenly became more
+than I could bear. I placed her in front of me and feverishly unbuttoned
+the clumsy jacket, which was too tight at the neck, too narrow across
+the shoulders and gave her no waist at all. It fell away on either side;
+her bust showed full and uncompressed in a light-coloured blouse; and I
+breathed more freely.
+
+"Now, take off your hat."
+
+She slowly obeyed; and the gloomy station and the wretched, grimy day
+were suddenly illuminated. Oh, those lovely fair curls, which had been
+crushed and pushed away under the hideous hat with its too narrow brim,
+what bliss it was to see them again full of life and laughter! There
+they were in their graceful, natural clusters, some drooping over her
+forehead, some brushing her cheeks, others kissing her neck and ears!
+How pretty she was! I recognised my Rose at last in her soft, golden,
+shimmering, impalpable, incredible tresses. I passed my fingers lightly
+over that silk for love's loom, while my eyes feasted on its delicate
+colour. No, indeed, nothing was lost. Rose was beautiful, more beautiful
+than ever; and the glad words came crowding to my lips. I forgave her
+and was angry with myself for my coldness.
+
+Poor child, she did not know! She had thought, no doubt, that, to go to
+Paris, she must absolutely have a hat; and how was she to choose one in
+a village-shop? And I told her over and over again how fond I was of
+her.
+
+Rose, a little uncomfortable, with crimson cheeks and downcast eyes,
+stood awkwardly turning the unfortunate object in her hands. I looked
+round: a few people, intent on their business, were hurrying this way
+and that; there was no one on the staircase. Then, bursting with
+laughter, I dashed the hat to the floor and, with the tip of my shoe,
+precipitated it into space....
+
+"Come over to the other side," I said to Rose. "Quick!... Suppose they
+brought it back!"
+
+Good-natured as always and pleased at my amusement, she laughed because
+I laughed; and, while we ran to the other exit, the masterpiece of
+Sainte-Colombe millinery rolled and rolled and hopped from stair to
+stair.
+
+
+3
+
+The bustle of the restaurant and the noise of the street outside
+affected me tremendously. I was nervous and excited, with a wild desire
+to laugh at everything and nothing. I asked Rose all sorts of questions;
+and, whenever any one passed:
+
+"Look!" I said. "Do look!... You're not looking!... There, that's a
+pretty dress, a regular Parisienne!... And, over there, by the door:
+don't you see that queer woman?"
+
+The girl looked and then turned to me and, before I could prevent her,
+bent down and kissed my hand. I wanted to say:
+
+"You mustn't do that, Rose!"
+
+But it was the first charming impulse she had shown: how could I scold
+her? Oh, what a miserable thing our education is; and how often should I
+not find myself in some ridiculous dilemma!
+
+Besides, I wished this first day of hers to be all happiness and
+expectation! And, while we gaily discussed plans for the future, I tried
+to guess what she must be feeling, I scrutinised her movements, I
+interpreted her words. But it appeared too soon yet; and it was I, alas,
+I who had the best part of her happiness! My eyes fell on her chapped
+and swollen hands. She noticed it and murmured, sadly:
+
+"It's the beetroots. You understand, it's the hard season now."
+
+"But the beetroot-days are past, my Roseline! The bad seasons are over,
+over for good, over for good and all!"
+
+And I laid stress on every syllable; and, though I was whispering in her
+ear, I heard the words "for good and all" bursting from my lips like a
+triumphant shout.
+
+She smiled and went on eating, doing her best to eat nicely, with her
+elbows close to her sides and her hands by her plate. Heaven above, did
+she understand what I said?
+
+
+4
+
+There are some people who seem detached from themselves. They do
+something; and the whole flood of their life does not surge into the
+action! They draw near to the object of their love; and their whole soul
+does not fill their eyes! Their soul is not on their lips, to breathe
+love; it is not at their finger-tips, to seize upon happiness; it is not
+there to watch life, to attract all that passes, eagerly, greedily and
+rapturously! Then where is it and what is it doing outside this dear,
+delightful earth?...
+
+And yet woman, the creature who learns through love the admirable gift
+of life, knows better than man how to throw the whole of herself into
+fleeting moments. She lives nearer to the edge of her actions. Her mind,
+which rarely attaches itself to abstract things, seems to float around
+her in search of every sensation. Woman passes and has seen everything;
+she remembers and she quivers as though the caressing touch were still
+upon her. Her light and charming soul drinks eternity straight out of
+the present; and through a man's kisses she has known the art of
+absolute oblivion.
+
+I am afraid that Rose is not much of a woman. Ah, were I in her place, I
+should be wild with excitement, out of my mind with joy, as though I
+were hearing my own name spoken for the first time!
+
+
+5
+
+After lunch, our shopping was a difficult matter. Rose, with her
+uncommon figure, could hardly find anything ready-made to suit her. I
+had to hunt about and to contrive with thought, for I would not wait a
+single day. I was careful to select the quietest and most usual things
+for her, so as to conceal her rusticity as far as possible. The neat
+dark-velvet toque could have its position altered on her head without
+much harm. The black veil would tone down the vividness of a complexion
+too long exposed to the open air; and its fine plain net would set off
+the admirable regularity of her features. Lastly, the deep leather belt
+to her tailor-made frock and the well-starched collar and cuffs would
+more or less hide the effort which it cost her to hold herself upright.
+
+
+6
+
+Two hours later, I introduced Rose to her new home. We climbed a dark,
+interminable staircase. I held a flickering candle in my hand; and, all
+out of breath, I explained to her the advantages of this boarding-house,
+a quiet place where her privacy would not be invaded and where she could
+make useful acquaintances if she wished....
+
+At last, we reached the fifth floor. The daylight had faded. A sea of
+roofs was beneath us; and, through the panes above our heads, a great
+red sky cast lurid gleams over our faces and hands. The girl gave a
+start of pleasure as she entered her room. It was peaceful and white;
+but the flaming fire and sky at that moment turned it quite rosy,
+smiling and aglow. From the rather high window we could see nothing but
+space. I had placed a writing-table underneath it, with some books and a
+few flowers in a dainty crystal bowl. On the walls, several photographs
+of Italian masterpieces disguised the ugliness of the typical
+boarding-house paper. The chimney-mantel was bare and the furniture very
+simple.
+
+We were both happy, both talking at once, Rose exclaiming:
+
+"It's really too lovely, too beautiful!"
+
+And I was saying:
+
+"I should have liked to have a room for you arranged after my own taste,
+but I had to keep within bounds. So I brought a few little things, as
+you see, and bundled the ugly pictures, the tin clock and the plush
+flowers into the cupboards. But come and see the best part of it."
+
+I threw open the window; and, leaning out, we beheld a great expanse
+beyond the enormous gutter that edged the roof. Unfortunately, the last
+glow of the sunset was swiftly dying away in the mist rising from the
+Seine. Opposite us, on the other bank, the Louvre became a heavy,
+shapeless mass; on the right, Notre-Dame was nothing but a shadowy
+spectre; here and there, in a chance, lingering gleam, we could just
+distinguish a steeple, a turret, a house standing out above the rest.
+
+"We came in too late, Rose; we can see nothing; but how wonderful it all
+is! The sound of the quays and bridges hardly reaches us, the city might
+be veiled; at this height, its activity is like a dream and I seem to
+be living over again those quiet moments which we used to spend side by
+side at Sainte-Colombe. Are you happy?"
+
+Smiling and with her eyes still fixed on the sky, she says:
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perfectly?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are not afraid of the future?"
+
+"Not for my sake, but I am for yours."
+
+I question her with my eyes; and she adds:
+
+"I am afraid that I shall never be what you want."
+
+I put my hand on her shoulder and said:
+
+"You will be what you are to be; and that is the main thing. It seems to
+me at this moment that the greatest ideas are nothing, that the fairest
+dreams are childish compared with the simple reality of a human being's
+first taste of happiness. You were hidden; and I bring you to the light.
+You were a prisoner; and I set you free. I see nothing to fetter you;
+and that is all I ask. The life of a beautiful woman should be like a
+star whose every beam is the source of a possible joy.... I am glad, for
+this is the day of your first deliverance."
+
+Rose murmured:
+
+"What will the second be, then?"
+
+I hesitated for a moment. Then I replied:
+
+"It is difficult to say, dear; you will come to know gradually. I might
+answer, that of your mental or moral life; but I do not wish to lay down
+any rule. You are about to start on life's journey; I do not wish to
+trace your road with words. How much more precious your smallest actions
+are to me!"
+
+I closed the window and went and sat in a chair by the fire-place. Rose,
+standing with uplifted arms in front of the glass, took off her hat and
+veil, then undid her mantle and her scarf and put everything carefully
+away in the wardrobe. My eyes followed her quiet movements and my heart
+rested on each of them. I spoke her name and she came and sat at my
+feet, against my knees, with her soft, fair head waiting for my caress.
+
+It was now night; the fire lit our faces, but the room was dark wherever
+the flames did not cast their gleams. A chrysanthemum on a longer stalk
+than the others bent its petals into the light. Opposite the fire-place,
+within the shade of the bed-curtains, stood a white figure from the
+Venice Accademia, an allegory representing _Truth_. We could not see
+the mirror which she holds nor the details that surround her. The
+pedestal that raises her above mankind was also invisible; only the nude
+body of the woman invited and retained the light.
+
+I called Rose's attention to her:
+
+"Look, she is more interesting like that. In the doubt which the shadow
+casts around her, I see in her a more human and a truer truth."
+
+After a moment's contemplation, Rose said, gravely:
+
+"I will never hide one of my thoughts from you."
+
+Her statement makes me smile; but why disappoint her? She did not yet
+know that those who are most sincere find it more difficult than the
+others to say what they think. Words, in their souls, are like climbing
+plants which, sown by chance in the middle of a roadway, waver and
+grope, send out tendrils here and there in despair and end by entangling
+themselves with one another. Whereas most people, just as we provide
+supports for flowers, bestow certainties and truths upon their words to
+which they cling, the sincere refuse to yield to any such illusions.
+They hesitate, stammer and contradict themselves without ceasing....
+
+
+7
+
+I drew her head down on my knees; and, softly, in little sentences
+interrupted by long pauses, we spoke of the new life that was opening
+before her. Soon she said nothing more. The fire went out, the room
+became dark and a clock outside struck six. I whispered:
+
+"I am going, darling...."
+
+She did not move and I saw that she was asleep. Then I gently released
+myself, put a pillow under her head and a wrap over her shoulders and
+was almost at the door, when suddenly I pictured her awakening. It would
+not do for her to open her eyes in the dark, to feel lost and alone in
+an unknown house. I lit the lamp, drew the blinds and made up the fire.
+
+Roseline was sleeping soundly. Her breathing was hardly perceptible. At
+times, a deep sigh sent a quiver through her placid beauty, even as a
+keener breath of air ripples the surface of a pool.
+
+What would she do if she should soon awake?... I looked around.
+Everything was peaceful and smiling; the flowers looked fresh and
+radiant in the light; the books on the table seemed to be waiting.... I
+searched among them for some page to charm her imagination and guide her
+first dreams along pleasant paths....
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+
+1
+
+Rose is sitting by the fire with her bare feet in slippers and a
+dressing-wrap flung loosely round her.
+
+"Are you ill?"
+
+"No," she says, smiling.
+
+And her cool hands, pressing mine, and her gay kisses on my cheeks are
+no less reassuring than the actual reply.
+
+"But why are you not dressed?"
+
+"I don't know; time passed and I let them bring my lunch up to me."
+
+I look round the darkened bedroom. Through the blind which I lowered
+yesterday, the light enters timidly, in a thousand broken little shafts;
+on the table, the books still lie as I placed them; on the
+chimney-shelf, the flowers, withered by the heat of the fire, are fading
+and drooping.
+
+All these things which had been left untouched were evidence of a
+lethargy that hurt me. All the emotions which I had been picturing Rose
+as experiencing since the day before had not so much as brushed against
+her. One by one, they dropped back sadly upon my heart.
+
+I rose, moved the flowers, opened the window; and the bright sunshine
+restored my confidence.
+
+"Come, darling, dress and let's go out."
+
+A thousand questions come crowding to my lips while I help her do her
+hair:
+
+"Do they look after you well? Do you feel very lonely? What are the
+other boarders like? Are any of them interesting?"
+
+Her answers, sensible and placid as usual, did not tell me much, except
+that the food was good, that she had slept well and that she was very
+comfortable.
+
+I resolved to wait a few days before asking her any more.
+
+
+2
+
+Roseline throws off her wrap and begins dressing. The water trickles
+from the sponge which she squeezes over her shoulders, runs down,
+lingers here and there and disappears along the flowing lines of her
+body, which, in the broad daylight, looks as though it were flooded with
+diamonds. A cool fragrance mingles with the scent of the roses. The room
+is filled with beauty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+
+1
+
+It snowed last night for the first time; then it froze; and the trees in
+the Tuileries are now showing the white lines of their branches against
+a dreary sky. The daylight seems all the duller by comparison with the
+glitter of the snow-covered ground.... I slowly follow the little black
+path made by the sweepers; I receive an impression of solitude; the
+streets are very still; it is as though sick people lay behind the
+closed windows; and the voices of the children playing as I pass seem to
+come to me through invisible curtains.
+
+Rose is walking beside me. A keen wind plasters our dresses against us
+and raises them behind into dark, waving banners. The icy air whitens
+the fine pattern of our veils against our mouth.
+
+"Where are we going?" asks Rose.
+
+I hesitate a little before replying:
+
+"We are going to the Louvre."
+
+And to put her at her ease and also to guard against a probable
+disappointment, I hasten to add:
+
+"It is a picture-book which we will look at together. You will turn
+first to what is bright and attractive to the eye; later on, you will
+perceive the shades in the colour, the lines in the form and the
+expression in the subject. And, if at first our admiration is given to
+what is poor and unworthy, what does it matter, so long as it is aroused
+at all?"
+
+
+2
+
+We had reached the foot of the stairs that lead to the _Victory of
+Samothrace_. After staring at it for a minute, Rose remarked, in a voice
+heavy with indifference:
+
+"It's beautiful, very beautiful."
+
+I felt that she had no other object than that of pleasing me; but her
+natural honesty soon prevailed when I asked her what she admired; and
+she answered, simply:
+
+"I don't know."
+
+It is in this way, by never utterly and altogether disappointing me,
+that she keeps her hold on me. She sees and feels nothing of what we
+call beautiful; on the other hand, she is cheerfully oblivious to the
+necessity of assuming what she does not feel; she has no idea of posing
+either to herself or to others; and the strange coldness of her soul
+makes my affection all the warmer. By not trying to appear what she is
+not, she constantly keeps alive in me the illusion of what she may be or
+of what she will become.
+
+We walked quickly through a number of rooms and sat down in a quiet
+corner. I was already under the spell of that deep, reposeful life which
+emanates from some of the Primitives; but Roseline, who had stopped on
+the way in order to have a better view of various ugly things, was
+talking and laughing loudly.
+
+This annoyed me; and I was on the point of telling her so. However, I
+restrained myself: I should have felt ashamed to be angry with her. Was
+she not gay and lively, as I had wished to see her? What right have we
+to let ourselves be swayed by the vagaries of our instinct and expect
+our companion to feel the same obligation of silence or speech at any
+given moment? Our emotion should strike chords so strong and true that
+no minor dissonances of varying temperaments can make them ring false.
+
+Rose chattered away for a long time, speaking all in the same breath of
+her convent days, of her terrible godmother, of the scandal which her
+sudden disappearance must be creating in the village. Then she stopped;
+and I felt her eyes resting vacantly by turns upon myself and upon the
+square in the ceiling which at that moment framed a patch of grey sky
+studded with whirling snow-flakes. At last, she raised her veil with an
+indolent movement, put her hand on my shoulder and, with a long yawn
+that revealed all the pearly freshness of her mouth, asked:
+
+"But what _do_ you see in it?"
+
+I slipped my arm under hers and led her away through the deserted rooms.
+I ought to have spoken. But how empty are our most pregnant words, when
+we try to express one iota of our admiration!
+
+"Why should you mind what I see, my Roseline? It is you and you alone
+who can discover what you like and what interests you."
+
+We were passing in front of Titian's _Laura de' Dianti_. I was struck
+with the relationship that existed between her and my companion.
+Although Rose was different in colouring, fairer, with lighter eyes, she
+had the same purity of feature, the thin, straight nose, the very small
+mouth and, above all, the same vague look that lends itself to the most
+diverse interpretations. She squeezed my arm:
+
+"Speak to me, speak to me!"
+
+I glanced at her. Must it always be so, would she never feel anything
+except when my own emotion found utterance? Impressions reached her soul
+only after filtering through mine. Love, I thought to myself, love alone
+would perhaps one day set free all the raptures now jealously hidden in
+those too-chaste nerves. And, in spite of myself, I exclaimed:
+
+"Don't you think that admiration in a woman is only another form of
+love?"
+
+"But when she is no longer young?" Rose retorted, with a laugh.
+
+"When she is no longer young, nature doubtless suggests other means of
+enthusiasm. Her heart is no longer a bond of union between her and
+things. Then her calmer eyes are perhaps able to look at beauty itself,
+without having all the joys of a woman's love-filled life to kindle
+their fires."
+
+The Rubens pictures were around us, in all their brilliancy and in all
+their glory, uttering cries of passion and luxury with voices of flesh
+and blood and youth. They were another proof of what I had just said;
+and I confessed to my companion:
+
+"It is not so long ago, Rose, that I used to pass unmoved through this
+dazzling room where the Rubens flourish in their luscious beauty. I used
+to look at them: now, I see them; I used to brush by them: now, I grasp
+them. I enter into all this riot of happiness around us, which is a
+thousand miles away from you, Rose; and it adds to my own joy in
+life...."
+
+"But then what has come to you?" exclaimed the girl.
+
+I could not help smiling, for, when I tried to explain myself, it seemed
+to me that, in the depths of my heart, I was playing with words:
+
+"All that hurt me yesterday has become a source of admiration to me
+to-day. Excess appears riches and plenty, tumult becomes orderly; and I
+seem to see in these works the glorification of all that we are bound to
+hold supreme in life: health, beauty, strength, love. Is not the
+exaggerated splendour of these pictures a triumphant challenge, the
+expression of a magnificent principle?"
+
+We stood silent for a moment; then I added:
+
+"We never actually realise all that we have in our minds; but one would
+think that this man's life and work reached the farthest bounds of his
+visions. Or else we are unable even to catch a glimpse of what he saw."
+
+And, musing upon that mystery, our frail feminine imagination seemed to
+us like a landscape fading into the mist: when the day is clear, we can
+distinguish the chain of blue mountains whose summits touch the sky, but
+our imagination, if it would not be lost in the haze, must keep to the
+foreground, in the avenues laid out by man.
+
+I resumed:
+
+"We are very far, Rose, from the parsimony of the Primitives, each of
+whose works contains almost a human life. In their room and in this, you
+will find all the contradictory and complementary instruction which one
+would like to give you. Over there, sobriety, patience, assiduous
+effort, absolute conscientiousness in the smallest detail; life bowed in
+all humility, but yet steadfast and fervent; imagination and beauty that
+do not strive to shine: if you want a proof, look at the great number
+that remained anonymous! Here, on the contrary, prodigality, exultant
+love, blood coursing triumphantly through conquered veins. Rubens is the
+apostle of wholehearted happiness. The biggest things seem easy when you
+are in his presence. If ever you feel tired and ready to be
+discouraged, you should come and look at him. Oh, I wonder, yes, I
+wonder to what, to whom I owe this new enthusiasm? What have I seen,
+what have I learnt? Through what chance acquaintance, what casual word,
+what gesture or action, doubtless far removed from Rubens and his works,
+did I suddenly enter into that wonderful kingdom?"
+
+And, in fact, that is how it had happened. An unknown treasure falls
+into the cup of emotion; and the level is raised. Oh, to feel the
+long-slumbering sensation rise within one's self; to see that which was
+obscure to us yesterday become crystal-clear to-day; to love more
+passionately, to understand a little better, to know a little more: that
+is, to us women, the real progress, the only progress which we must
+desire and seek after! But how can I hope that Rose will progress if she
+never feels?
+
+
+3
+
+In vain I roamed about with her for an hour, not among the pictures,
+whose value she could not yet appreciate, but among the dreams that were
+born of them, among the most moving and delectable visions; vain my
+emotion, vain my rapture: no answering spark lit her indifferent eyes.
+True, there was no question of failure or success; I was putting nothing
+to the test: that would have been insanity. But why this weight of
+oppression on my spirits? I could not get rid of disturbing memories:
+memories of childish raptures finding utterance by chance; memories of
+those first loves which fasten upon anything in their haste to live;
+memories of virgin hearts nurtured on dreams!
+
+O enthusiasm, admiration, love, if you were not at first wanderers,
+neither seeking nor choosing, if you did not blaze fiercely and
+foolishly like a flame burning in the noon-day sun, will you ever be
+able to light the darkness with all the splendours that are awaiting
+your spark in order to burst into life?
+
+O sweet eyes of my Roseline, sweet eyes that shine under your soft, fair
+lashes like two opals set in pure gold, will you close for all time
+without having gazed for a moment upon the wonders of the earth, upon
+the real sky of our human life? Is it true that your beams extinguish
+life and beauty wherever they rest?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+
+1
+
+It is six o'clock in the evening; I am taking Rose along the boulevards,
+which are so interesting at this time of the year. As usual, I am
+astonished at everything that does not astonish her. I look at her as
+she walks, beautiful and impassive; I keep step with her stride; and my
+thoughts hover to and fro between this life of hers which refuses to
+take form and my ideals which are gradually fading out of existence.
+
+Alas, the days pass over her without arousing either desire or
+weariness! From time to time, I suggest some simple, trifling work for
+her. But, whether the task be mental or material, whether the duty be
+light or complex, she acquiesces in the suggestion only to make it
+easier for her to put it aside later, gently and as a matter of course,
+like tired arms laying down a burden too heavy for them.
+
+This evening, I am merciful to her indolence. Going through the hall of
+her boarding-house just now, I saw the long table laid, at which the
+boarders meet. And I think of those destinies which have been linked
+with Rose's during the past fortnight, while I am still unable to obtain
+a clear idea of any one of them from her involved and incoherent
+accounts.
+
+The house, which is in the old-fashioned style, has at the back a sort
+of glass-covered balcony overhanging the garden of the house next door.
+Here the boarders take their coffee after meals, while the proprietress,
+a gentle, amiable creature, strives to establish some sort of intimacy
+among them, to create an imaginary family out of these strangers who
+have come from all parts of the world with varying objects and for
+diverse reasons.
+
+I know from experience the surprises latent in people like these. To
+look at them, one would set them down as belonging to stereotyped
+models: invalids, travellers, globe-trotters, runaways or students, as
+the case may be. I call up figures from my own recollection and describe
+them to Rose to encourage her to tell me her impressions. Stray
+reminiscences marshal themselves, images rise before my eyes,
+obliterating the things and people around me, and a vision appears over
+which my memory plays like a reflection in a sheet of water. I see a
+long house and its white-and-green front mirrored in a clear lake. A man
+and a woman arrive there at the same time; and I tell Rose the story of
+the two old wanderers:
+
+"It was very curious. Imagine those two people unknown to each other,
+leaving the same country at about the same age and making the same
+journeys in opposite directions. When I met them, they were two
+grey-haired, wizened figures, with the same short-sighted eyes blinking
+behind the same kind of spectacles. It amused me from the first to look
+at them as one and united beforehand, at a time when they were still
+unacquainted. I watched them at the meals which brought them closer
+together daily, as it were perusing each other with the pleasure of
+finding themselves to be alike, as though they were two copies of the
+same guide-book. In their equally commonplace minds, recollections took
+the place of ideas. To them, life was a sort of long classification;
+they recognised no other duty but that of taking notes and cataloguing.
+I don't know if they saw some advantage one day in uniting for good, or
+if they began at last to think that there are other roads to follow in
+the world beside those which lead to lakes, cities, waterfalls and
+mountains. At any rate, after a few weeks, they were sharing the same
+room; and we learnt that in future they meant to live side by side."
+
+"Had they got married?"
+
+"No. And, though they performed a very natural action with the utmost
+simplicity, this was certainly not due to loftiness of soul or breadth
+of mind. But one felt that their knowledge of the manners and morals of
+other civilizations had simplified their moral outlook, just as their
+actual physical outlook had been dimmed through seeing nature under so
+many aspects."
+
+Rose began to laugh:
+
+"There is nothing of that kind at the boarding-house," she said. "For
+the moment, we have no old people: nothing but students, two American
+women, a Spanish lady...."
+
+Then she hesitated a little and added:
+
+"There's an artist, too, an artist who has begun to paint my portrait."
+
+"Your portrait! And you never told me?"
+
+I am interrupted by a violent movement from Rose. She has turned round
+and, in the gathering dusk, her whirling umbrella comes down furiously
+on a man's hat, smashing it in and knocking it off his head. A
+gentleman is standing before us, very well-dressed and looking very
+uncomfortable. He stammers out a vague excuse and tries to escape, but
+the indignant girl addresses him noisily. An altercation follows; the
+loafers stop to listen; a crowd gathers round us; and a policeman
+hurries towards us from the other side of the road. Fortunately, an
+empty cab passes; and I just have time to jump in, followed by Rose, who
+continues to brandish a threatening umbrella through the window.
+
+Then at last I obtain an explanation of the disturbance. It appears
+that, without my noticing it, the man had been following us for an hour;
+and his silent homage had ended by incensing the girl.
+
+I kiss her at the door of the boarding-house and walk back thoughtfully
+through the streets, reflecting on the surprises which that uncivilised
+character holds in store for me.
+
+
+2
+
+Rose had perhaps insulted a man who was simply taking pleasure in
+admiring her, I thought to myself. What did she know of his intentions?
+In any case, is not a silent look enough to keep importunity at a
+distance?
+
+Generally speaking, those who go after us in this way because of the
+swing of our hips, or the mass of hair gleaming on our neck, or a
+shapely shoe under a lifted skirt, are uninteresting; and among all the
+coarse, silly or timid admirers whom a woman can encounter in the street
+there are perhaps one or two at most who will leave an ineffaceable mark
+on her memory. But why not always admit the most charitable
+construction?
+
+
+3
+
+I had been wandering a long time at random. Feeling a little tired, I
+turned into the Parc Monceau, at the time when it was too late for the
+mothers and babies and too early for the lovers' invasion. I sat down by
+the transparent lake which so prettily reflects its diadem of arbours. A
+young willow drooped in gentle sadness over the face of the water; and
+white ducks glided past me in the evening mist. The waning blue light
+mingled with the pale vapour that rises over Paris at nightfall; and all
+this made a mauve sky behind the dark trees. It was soft and
+melancholy, but not grave; and I lingered on, amid the beauty of the
+scene, rapt in some woman's reverie. Then a lamp was lighted behind the
+bench on which I sat; and on the ground before me I saw a shadow beside
+my own. I understood and did not turn my head.
+
+A man had followed me. I felt his eyes resting heavily on my profile, on
+my cheek and on my ungloved hands. He was evidently going to speak.
+Annoyed at this, I took a little volume from my pocket and, to protect
+my solitude, began to read.
+
+But soon I guessed that he was reading with me; and my mind thus
+mingling with a stranger's passed over the words without quite following
+them. His persistency angered me; and I closed the book.
+
+Then he said to me:
+
+"Yes, you are very beautiful."
+
+The words fell into my soul with a disquieting resonance. I rose with a
+flushed face and then hesitated. It was certainly one of those gross and
+lying pieces of flattery which we all of us hear at times. Nevertheless,
+I resisted the instinctive impulse that would have made me move away. Is
+not modesty in such a case merely another stratagem of our coquetry? We
+flee, the man pursues and the wrong impression is confirmed.
+
+Standing in front of him, I frankly turned my eyes on his. Then he
+softly repeated the same words.
+
+Was it the exquisite modulation of his voice? Or again were the gentle,
+friendly words the sudden revelation of a troubled life, a sensitive
+soul ready to pour itself out in a single phrase and longing to
+crystallise itself in one unparalleled second? They surprised me, those
+words of his, they seemed to me new words, grave words, because I had
+not believed that it was possible to speak them in that way to a
+stranger, to speak them in a voice that asked for nothing.
+
+My whole attitude must have betrayed my twofold astonishment. My eyes
+questioned his. Their expression underwent no change. He was really
+asking for nothing. Then I smiled and answered, simply:
+
+"I thank you. A woman is always glad to be told that."
+
+Taking off his hat, he rose and bowed. I moved away with a slight
+feeling of discomfort: would he commit the stupidity of following me?
+Had I made a mistake? No, he resumed his seat. He had not blundered
+either.
+
+
+4
+
+When two people do not know each other and will not meet again, the
+words exchanged between them, if they are not mere commonplaces, become
+fraught with a strange significance and leave behind them a trail of
+melancholy like a mourning-veil; it is the surprise of those voices
+which speak to each other and will never be heard again, the fleeting
+encounter between glance and glance, the smile which knows not where to
+rest and yet would fain enrich the remembrance with a ray of kindness.
+
+The essential image of a human life is contained in a moment like that.
+It awakens, hesitates, seeks, thinks that it has found, speaks a word
+and relapses into nothingness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+
+1
+
+Rose's profile stands out in relief against the dark velvet of the box.
+Her soft, fair hair parts into two waves that are like two streams of
+honey following the curve of her cheek. Her long neck is very white in
+the black gown that frames it; and her gloved hands rest near the fan
+that lies opened on her knees like a swan's wing. She is sitting
+straight up, with her eyes fixed in front of her. Her attitude is as
+dignified and cold as a circlet of brilliants on a beautiful forehead.
+
+I am alone, at the back of the box. I prefer to listen like that, in the
+shadow, unseen. Is not the attention of a woman who is anything of a
+coquette, that slight, fitful attention, always affected a little by the
+thought, however unconscious, of the effect which she is producing?
+
+
+2
+
+I am struck by the general attitude of reverence. In the great silence
+through which the music swells, the lives of all those present seem
+penetrated with harmony.
+
+I look at them as at so many open temples, which their thoughts have
+deserted in order to join one another in an invisible communion. There
+is a kind of homage in the bent heads and lowered eyes of the men. The
+women are silent. The fans cease fluttering. The souls of the audience
+are uplifted like the silent instruments of a human symphony that
+mysteriously rises and rises till it mingles with the other and is
+absorbed in it. If some part of us exists beyond words and forms, if our
+thought sometimes floats in regions of pure mentality, is it not this
+principle deprived of consciousness which bathes in the tremulous waves
+of sound?
+
+
+3
+
+And Rose is also listening. But Rose listens without hearing. She, whom
+the most beautiful things leave unmoved, here preserves an appearance of
+absolute attention better than any one else in the audience. She
+listens in that passive manner which is characteristic of her nature.
+She lives a waking sleep. There is no consciousness, no effort, but
+neither any desire.
+
+When the orchestra fills the house with a song of gladness, I forget my
+anxiety and let my imagination soar into its heights and weave romances
+around that strange, cold beauty; but, if the music stops, if Rose moves
+or speaks, then it comes to earth again with some simple little plan,
+quite practical and quite ordinary.
+
+
+4
+
+She leant forward and I saw glittering under the electric lamp the
+little silver chain which she wore round her neck on the day when I saw
+her first, in the Normandy cornfields, standing amid the tall golden
+sheaves; and, as I recalled that first impression, the difference
+between then and now came like a blinding flash. In the cool morning
+breeze, the sickles advance with the sound and the surge of waves; and
+the golden expanse bows before the oncoming death. The sky is blue, the
+village steeple shimmers in the sunlight, a great calm reigns ... and a
+woman stands there, bending over the ground. What have I done? What have
+I done? Was not everything better so?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+
+1
+
+"It looks like snowing," says Rose.
+
+The words falling upon an absolute silence distract me from my work.
+
+It is a dull, drab winter's day. There is no colour, no light in the sky
+that shows through the muslin blinds. On the branches of the bare trees,
+a few dead leaves, which the wind has left behind, shiver miserably at
+some passing gust. There is just enough noise for us to enjoy the peace
+that enfolds the house. From time to time, carriage-wheels roll by and
+the crack of a whip cuts into our silence; then the dog wakes, sits up,
+looks questioningly at me and quietly puts his nose back between his
+paws and begins to snore again. Rose is sitting opposite him, on the
+other side of the fire-place. She is holding a book in her hands without
+reading it. Her beautiful eyes are staring dreamily at the fitful
+flames.
+
+I rose and went upstairs to fetch a volume which I wanted. Both of
+them, the dog and she, accompanied me, yawning and stretching themselves
+as they went. They stood beside the book-case, like two witnesses,
+equally useless and equally indispensable, and watched me searching. I
+shivered in the cold room. Rose gave a little cough; and the dog tried
+to curl himself up in the folds of my skirt.
+
+Then we all three went down again; and, when I had gone back to my
+place, they docilely resumed theirs on either side of the chimney.
+
+The dog, before settling down, turned several times on his cushion,
+arching his back, with his tail between his legs and his critical nose
+quivering with satisfaction. Rose also has seen that her armchair is as
+comfortable as it can be made. Now, lying back luxuriously, with her
+elbows on the rests and her head on a soft cushion, she is evidently not
+much troubled at the thought of a long day indoors.
+
+
+2
+
+In the two months since Rose left Sainte-Colombe, I have drilled her
+into an intermittent attempt at style which is the utmost that she will
+ever achieve, I fear; for her will, unhappily, is incapable of
+sustained effort. When she has to hold herself upright for several hours
+at a time, I see her gradually stooping as though invisible forces were
+dragging her down.
+
+Certainly, it is no longer the Rose of Sainte-Colombe who is here beside
+me. How much of her remains? Her general appearance is transformed by
+her clothes and the way in which she wears her hair; her voice and
+gestures are softer; but all this minute and complex change is but the
+subtle effect of events, the disconcerting effect of an influence that
+has laid itself upon her nature without altering it in any way. And this
+is what really causes my uneasiness. She is changed, but she has not
+changed.
+
+I take her with me wherever I have to go. She accompanies me on my walks
+and drives, in my shopping, to the play. Men consider her beautiful, but
+her indifference keeps love at a distance: love, the passion in which I
+placed, in which I still place the hopes that remain to me.
+
+
+3
+
+As for Rose herself, she is always pleased, without being enthusiastic,
+and never expresses a wish or a desire.
+
+I sometimes laugh and say:
+
+"You have a weatherproof soul; and your common sense is as starched as
+your Sunday cap used to be!"
+
+But at heart she saddens me. To keep my interest in her alive, I find
+myself wishing that she had some glaring fault. And at the same time I
+am angry with myself for not appreciating the exclusiveness of her
+affection better. I am actually beginning to think that this extravagant
+sentiment is fatal to her. I look upon it in her heart as I look upon
+the great tree in my garden, which interferes with the growth of
+everything around it: fond as I am of that tree, I consider it something
+of an enemy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+
+1
+
+This afternoon, the whole atmosphere of the house is changed. There is
+no silence, no work. The maid fusses about, spreading out my dresses
+before Rose and me. We cannot settle upon anything.
+
+"We shall have to try them on you," I say.
+
+But at the very first our choice is made.
+
+A cry of admiration escapes me at the sight of Rose sheathed from head
+to foot in a long green-velvet tunic that falls heavily around her,
+without ornament or jewellery. From the high velvet collar, her head
+rises like a flower from its calyx; and I have never beheld a richer
+harmony than that of her golden hair streaming over the emerald green.
+
+While I finish dressing her, we talk:
+
+"You are having all your friends," she says.
+
+"Some of them, those who live in Paris at this season. I have done for
+you to-day what I seldom care to do: I have asked them all together. But
+I have made a point of insisting that the strictest isolation shall be
+maintained."
+
+Rose laughed as she asked me what I meant.
+
+"It's quite simple," I answered. "We shall throw open all the doors; and
+there will be no crowding permitted! No general conversation, no loud
+talking ..."
+
+"In short," she exclaimed, "the exact opposite to the convent, where we
+were forbidden to talk in twos."
+
+"That is to say, where you were forbidden to talk at all; for there is
+no real conversation with more than one. As long as you have not spoken
+to a person alone, can you say that you have ever seen her?"
+
+She did not appear convinced; and I continued:
+
+"But just think! Conversation in pairs, when two people are in
+sympathy--and they are nearly always in sympathy when they are face to
+face--can be as sincere as lonely meditations."
+
+I felt that she shared my sentiment; but her reasonable nature makes her
+always steer a middle course, never leaning to either side.
+
+
+2
+
+The pale winter sun is beginning to wane, but there is still plenty of
+daylight in the white drawing-room. And I look at my friends, who have
+formed little groups in harmony with my wishes and their own. When an
+increased intimacy brings us all closer together, the party will gain by
+that earlier informality. Each life will have been given its normal
+pitch and will try at least to keep it. For our souls are such sensitive
+instruments that they can rarely strike as much as a true third.
+
+Blanche, with the agate eyes and the cloud of chestnut hair, is a
+picture of autumn in the brown and red of her frock, with its bands of
+sable. She is listening attentively to Marcienne. The fair Marcienne
+herself, whom I love for her passionate pride, is sitting near the
+fire-place; and her wonderful profile stands out against the flames. Her
+mouth is a fierce red; but the figure which shows through the
+pale-coloured tailor-made dress is full of tender childish curves. The
+swansdown toque makes her black hair seem blacker still. She is talking
+seriously and holding out to the flames her fingers covered with rings.
+
+The wide-open door reveals the darker bedroom, in which the lights are
+already turned on. A young married woman is sitting with her elbows on
+the table. She is reading a poem in a low voice; and from time to time a
+few words, spoken more loudly, mingle with the semi-silence of the other
+rooms. Bending under the lamp-shade, her brown hair is bathed in the
+light, while her profile is veiled by her hand and the lines of her body
+are lost in the dark dress which melts into the shadow. Near her,
+leaning against the white wall, two white figures listen and dream.
+
+I see Rose. She is standing, all emerald and gold, in the middle of the
+next room. Behind her, a mirror reflects the copper candelabra whose
+lighted branches surround her with stars. A placidly-smiling Madonna,
+chaste and cold, dazzling and glorious, she talks to the inseparables,
+Aurelie and Renee.
+
+Renee, clad in deep mourning, is a delicious little princess of jet,
+with lint-white hair and flax-blue irises. Her companion, crowned with
+glowing tresses, knows the splendour of her green eyes and, with a
+cunning fan-like play of her long eyelids, amuses herself by making them
+appear and disappear.
+
+My attention is recalled to the visitor by my side, a young Dutchwoman
+not yet quite at home in France. She is shy in speaking and she does not
+know my friends. I look at her. Her fair round face is quaintly framed
+in the smooth coils of her golden hair. Her eyes are a cloudless blue.
+Her nose, which is a little heavy and serious, belies the smiling mouth,
+with its corners that turn up so readily. The very long and very lovely
+neck makes one follow in thought the hollow of the nape and the slope of
+the shoulders vanishing in a snowy cloud of Mechlin lace. On the
+deliberately antiquated black-silk dress, a gold chain and a miniature
+set in brilliants give the finishing touch to a style classic in its
+chastity. Seated in a grandfather's chair in the embrasure of the
+window, she reminds one of Mme. de Mortsauf in Balzac's _Lys dans la
+vallee_.
+
+But she is also the very embodiment of Zealand. You can picture her head
+covered with a lace cap and her temples adorned with gold corkscrews.
+Behind her you conjure up flat horizons, slow-turning wind-mills, little
+red-and-green houses in which the inmates seem to play at living. How
+charming she looks in the last rays of light, at once childish and
+dignified, passive and romantic ... and so different from the rest!
+
+But has not each her particular interest, her special grace? When my
+eyes go from one to another, they tell a rosary of precious beads, each
+with its own peculiar beauty, neither greater nor less than its fellows!
+What a glad and wondrous thing it is to be women, to be delicate, pretty
+things, infinitely sensitive and infinitely varied, living works of art,
+matter for kisses, the realised stuff of dreams! When you look at them
+like that, solely in the decorative sense, you are ready to condemn
+those who work, who think and who concentrate upon an aim of some sort,
+for these superfine creatures carry the reason for their existence
+within themselves, so great is the perfection which they achieve with a
+gesture, an attitude, a glance. And then you reflect upon what they too
+often are in the privacy of their lives: narrow and domineering,
+attached to petty, useless duties, their minds lacking dignity, their
+souls lacking horizon; and you are sorry that they have not grown,
+through the sheer consciousness of their beauty, into ways that are
+kindly and generous.
+
+I let my hand rest lightly on Cecilia's hands; and in the sweetness of
+the gathering dusk we both dream. Like the scent of flowers, the
+different natures seem to find a more precise expression as their
+shapes fade. I explain them to Cecilia, who does not know them.
+
+Aurelie and Renee draw my eyes with their laughter; and I begin with
+them. They are the careless lovers, idle for the exquisite pleasure of
+idleness. They live a dream-life, the life of a child that sleeps,
+dresses itself, goes for a walk, eats sweets and plays with its dolls.
+They are good-natured as well as frivolous, lissom of mind as well as of
+body, indulgent to others and charming in themselves. Love, resting on
+their young and tender lives, makes them more tender yet, like the light
+that lingers long and fondly upon a soft-tinted pastel.
+
+Next comes the turn of Marcienne, who, greatly daring, has broken with
+her family and given up worldly luxury, to work and live freely with the
+man of her choice.
+
+Beside her is Blanche, still restless and undecided, attracted by love
+and irritated by her sister Hermione, who pursues a vision of charity
+and redemption.
+
+Here my friend's fine profile turns to the other groups; and I continue:
+
+"The one whom we call Sister Hermione you can see in the dark bedroom,
+reading under the light of the lamp, with her face hidden in her
+hands."
+
+"Is she good-looking?"
+
+"Very, but tries not to seem so. That is why she is always so simply
+dressed."
+
+Cecilia interrupts me:
+
+"But her dress isn't simple!"
+
+"You are quite right. It is made complex by a thousand superfluous
+fripperies. Hermione has not been slow to understand that, to counteract
+perfect beauty, you must read simplicity to mean commonplace
+triviality."
+
+A flutter of silk, a gleam of a silver-white skirt in the waning light,
+a whiff of orris-root; and Marcienne glides down to our feet with a
+lithe, cat-like movement. In a curt, passionate tone, she says:
+
+"You are speaking of Hermione. Oh, do try and persuade her sister not to
+go the same way: is not one enough? Must more loveliness be wasted?"
+
+Sitting on a cushion on the floor, she raises her glowing face, her eyes
+dark as night, her scarlet mouth, her dazzling pallor.
+
+"I shall do nothing of the sort," I answer with a laugh, "for I rather
+like Hermione's folly; besides, her reason will soon conquer it! The
+dangers we run depend on chance; the first roads we take depend on
+influences. The way in which we bear those dangers and return from those
+roads: that is where the interest begins!"
+
+"But, tell me," murmurs Cecilia, "what does your Hermione want?"
+
+"Here is her story, in a couple of words," says Marcienne. "She is rich,
+beautiful and talented; and she belongs to an aristocratic English
+family. At twenty, she yielded to an impulse and went on the stage; in a
+few months, she was a really successful actress; then she made the
+acquaintance of a Hindu high-priest. He came and went; and she followed
+him. During the last two years, she has been his faithful disciple."
+
+"But what does she preach?"
+
+Marcienne made a vague gesture:
+
+"Buddhist doctrines! She believes that she possesses the true faith and
+tries to hand it on to others. In the few days which she has spent in
+Paris, she has already made two converts, those two innocents who are
+hanging on her words. It would all be charming, you know, if her creed
+did not enjoin chastity and if, by holding those views, she did not risk
+the awful fate of never knowing love!"
+
+Marcienne continued, still addressing herself to my new friend:
+
+"Do you see those pretty creatures in white, standing close to Hermione?
+They are two orphans, two girls who fell in love with the same man. I
+don't know the details of the romance, nor can I say whether it was
+fancy or passion that guided the man's choice. All I know is that he
+loved one of them and had a child by her. A little while after, he
+deserted her. Thereupon their unhappy love reunited those two hearts
+which happy love, as always, had divided. The same devotion and kindness
+made them both bend over the one cradle. Oh, the adorable pity that
+prompted Anne's heart on the day when, hearing her baby call her mamma
+for the first time, she sent for her sister Marie and, holding towards
+her those little outstretched arms, those eyes in which consciousness
+was dawning, that little fluttering life seeking a resting-place, she
+offered the maid, in the exquisite mystery of that first smile, the
+first name of love! From that time onward, the baby grew up between its
+two mammas as one treads a sunny path between two flowering banks."
+
+Marcienne had a gift for pretty phrases of this kind, which she would
+let fall not without a certain affectation. She liked talking and I
+liked listening to her. I asked her what she thought of Rose. She
+praised her beauty highly and even said the occasional awkwardness of
+her movements made it more uncommon:
+
+"For that matter," she added, "if it were not so, I should try to be
+blind to it. A woman must understand that she lowers herself by
+belittling her sisters. How immensely we increase man's ascendancy by
+never praising one another!"
+
+I began to laugh:
+
+"Alas, I would not dare to say that the wisest among us, in extolling
+our own sex, are not once more seeking the admiration of some man!"
+
+And Marcienne, who has been to such pains to release herself from the
+worldly surroundings amid which she suffered, goes on speaking long and
+passionately. There is a note of pain in her voice as she says:
+
+"Everything separates us and removes us one from the other, education
+even more than instinct. If woman only knew how she lessens her power by
+blindly respecting the petty social laws of which she is nevertheless
+the sole judge and dictator! Whereas she hands them down meekly, from
+mother to daughter, with all their wearisome restrictions, and grows
+indignant if some one bolder ventures to transgress them. And yet it is
+in this domain, which is hers, that she might extend her power by
+gradually overthrowing the old idols."
+
+And she also says:
+
+"Almost always, in defending a woman, we have occasion to strike a
+mortal blow at some ancient prejudice. For my part, I must confess that
+I take a mischievous delight in bestowing special indulgence on things
+which often are too severe a test for that indulgence in others; for,
+rather than be suspected of impugning ever so lightly some worn-out
+principle, they will wound and wound again the most innocent of their
+sisters."
+
+
+3
+
+It is almost dark. I leave my companions in order to call for the lamps
+and I stop near Rose as I pass through the next room. Here, all the
+girls are clustered round Hermione, who is telling them a story of her
+travels.
+
+Anne and Marie are listening respectfully, while the two inseparables,
+only half-attentive, are sharing a box of sweets.
+
+Roseline throws her arms round me and, shrugging her shoulders, says:
+
+"All this strikes me as such utter nonsense!"
+
+She is certainly right, with her Normandy common sense; but does she not
+need just a touch of this same nonsense to bring her faculties into
+play, her powers into action?
+
+
+4
+
+When I return to the drawing-room, Blanche calls me with a laugh of
+delight:
+
+"Oh, look!" she cries. "I've found a book with a portrait of my beloved
+Elizabeth Browning. Look at that sweet, gentle face, surrounded with
+ringlets: it's just as I imagined her. I love her all the better now."
+
+They had opened other books written by women and, leaning over the
+table, were comparing the frontispiece portraits of the authors,
+interesting or handsome, grave or smiling, young or old. Even so do
+certain little volumes of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries open
+nearly always with an engraving faded by time and representing charming
+faces all of the same class and often with similar expressions and
+features: a delicate nose, a bow-shaped, smiling mouth, intelligent eyes
+with no mysterious depths, dimpled cheeks, a string of pearls round the
+neck, a loosely-tied kerchief just revealing a swelling bosom, wanton
+curls dancing against a dark background in a frame of roses upheld by
+Cupids. And the quiver and the arrows and the flying ribbons and the
+turtle-doves: all this, joined to the letters, the maxims or the verses,
+often grave or even sad, sometimes calm and reasonable, sometimes
+passionate, brings before us in a few strokes the harmonious picture of
+woman's life.
+
+"It is no longer the fashion in these days," murmured Blanche. "And yet
+is there not an intimate relation between a woman's work and her
+appearance?"
+
+"That is the reason, no doubt," replied Marcienne, "why it seems, unlike
+man's, to grow smaller as it passes out of the present. We see the
+immortal pages disappear like the fallen petals of a flower. It's sad,
+don't you think?"
+
+Struck with the beauty of her closing words, we listened to her in
+silence. She continued to turn the leaves at random and resumed:
+
+"But, oh, the exquisite art which a woman's work can show when she is
+not only beautiful, but truly wise, when a lovely hand indites stately
+verse, when a life holds or breathes nothing but high romance ... and
+love! For it is love and love alone that makes a woman's brain
+conceive."
+
+Cecilia, who was gradually losing her shyness, made a gesture to silence
+us and said, slowly:
+
+"I'll tell you something!"
+
+A general peal of laughter greeted this phrase with which the young
+Dutchwoman, according to the custom of her country, always ushers in her
+least words. To make yourself better understood by slow and absent
+minds, is it not well to give a warning? It is a sort of little spring
+that goes off first and arouses people's attention. Then the thought is
+there, ready for utterance. And sometimes, amid the silence, an
+announcement is made that it will be fine to-morrow, or that it is hot
+and that a storm is threatening.
+
+But Cecilia is much too clever to cast aside those little mannerisms of
+her native race which so charmingly accentuate her special type of
+beauty. So she joined in our laughter with a good grace and, after
+repeating her warning, observed, in her hesitating language, that, by
+thus admitting ourselves to be the mere creatures of love, we were
+justifying the opinion of the men who treat us as "looking-glasses."
+
+"Looking-glasses? Men's looking-glasses? And why not?" I exclaimed. "It
+is not for us women to decry that looking-glass side of us. It is
+serious, more serious than you think, for on the beauty of our
+reflection often depend our ardour, our courage, our very character and
+all the energies that create or affect our actions. Besides, whether men
+or women, we can only reflect one another and we ourselves do not become
+conscious of our powers until the day of the supreme love, as if, till
+then, we had only seen ourselves in pocket-mirrors which never reflect
+more than a morsel of our lives, a movement, a gesture ... and which
+always distort it!"
+
+Every mouth quivered with laughter. I insisted:
+
+"If women often have so much difficulty in learning to know their own
+characters, it is because most men are scornful mirrors, occupied with
+nothing smaller than the universe and never dreaming of reflecting women
+except in a grudging and imperfect fashion."
+
+"It is true," said Marcienne, thinking of her lover, a man whose
+domineering temper often made him unjust to her. "Men's lives would be
+less serenely confident if our amiable and accommodating souls did not
+afford them a vision incessantly embellished by love ... and always
+having infinity for a background!"
+
+And, with a satirical smile, she added:
+
+"Let us accept the part of looking-glasses, but let us place our gods in
+a still higher light! They will not complain; and we shall at least have
+the advantage of seeing beyond them a little space and brightness."
+
+The conversation then assumed a more personal character, each of us
+thinking of the well-beloved: Marcienne, ever mournful and passionate;
+the gentle Blanche, anxious, secretly plighted to an absent lover; and
+Cecilia, all absorbed in her young happiness with the husband of her
+choice.
+
+
+5
+
+Hermione and her cluster of girls had gradually come nearer. She dresses
+badly, she does her hair with uncompromising severity, but, in spite of
+it all, Hermione is very beautiful; and her loveliness triumphs over her
+commonplace clothes, even as her generous heart and the noble
+restlessness of her mind keep her on a plane which is loftier than the
+narrow dogmas of her creed.
+
+During a moment's silence, I hear her answer a question put by Rose:
+
+"Oh, what does it matter if I am wrong, as long as I make others happy!"
+
+And all my friends, like a sheaf of glowing flowers, seemed to be bound
+together by that word of loving-kindness. Were they not all, these
+bestowers of joy, living in a world into which neither sin nor error
+entered, their lives obeying the same eternal principles of love,
+following the sacred law of nature which fills our hearts with
+tenderness and our bodies with longing?
+
+
+6
+
+They were now able to talk together. Their remarks would not be vain,
+ordinary or frivolous. During the first moments of isolation, each of
+them had pursued her own thoughts and continued her own life. Each had
+reached that perfect diapason at which the most antagonistic spirits are
+in supreme unison. Heedless of different objects or of diverse aims, the
+same yearning for generosity, the same thirst after graciousness and
+beauty united their hearts; and their minds, leaping all barriers, came
+to an understanding of one another in a region beyond opinions. All
+these young and beautiful creatures, all these forms fashioned for
+delight exhaled an atmosphere of love. Were they not all alike its
+votaries?
+
+One alone, in a fiercer glow of enthusiasm and with a doubtless finer
+sensualism, one alone attempts to offer up her life to a God! The
+glorious folly of her! How I love to see her, vainly tormenting her
+beauty, seeking infinity, aspiring to bear peace across the world. I see
+her soul like a walled garden in which all the flowers lift themselves
+higher and higher, struggling to offer themselves to a moment of light.
+But, in a day of greater discontent and in an hour of maturity, the
+illusory fence will fall and the fair life will stand in open space.
+Then, drunk with boundless earth and boundless sky, the woman, restored
+to nature, will doubtless find herself more attuned to pleasure than
+were the others and more responsive to joy.
+
+I looked at all those bowed heads, dark or fair, dusky or golden, those
+lovely forms revealed by their clinging robes, those delicate profiles
+bent over the portraits and writings of their sisters, far-off friends,
+vanished, unknown or absent, whose power of love still lives for all men
+and for all time ... immortal tears, petals dropped from the flower.
+
+Then my glistening eyes turned towards my Roseline. She was there,
+indifferent, unmoved, perhaps secretly bored.
+
+And my thoughts wept in my heart.
+
+The most beautiful things cannot be given.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+
+1
+
+I had been out of town for a time. Returning to Paris a day sooner than
+I intended, I wished to give Rose the pleasure of an unexpected arrival
+and I went to see her that same evening. Though it was not more than ten
+o'clock, the lights were already out in the strictly-managed
+boarding-house. There was a row of brass candlesticks on the hall-table.
+The man-servant wanted to give me one; but I was impatient, thanked him
+hurriedly and ran upstairs in the dark.
+
+I could not have told why I was so happy; for, though I should not have
+been willing to confess it, I had long lost all my illusions about the
+girl. But she was so beautiful; and her passive temperament left so much
+room for my fancy! I never made any headway; but at the moment it always
+seemed to me as if I were heard and understood. I used to write on that
+unresisting life as one writes on the sand; and, the easier I found it
+to make the impress of my will, the faster was it obliterated.
+
+When I reached the floor on which Rose's bedroom was, I stopped in the
+dark passage. A narrow streak of light showed me that her door was not
+quite shut. Then, gathering up my skirts to deaden their sound, I felt
+along the wall and crept softly, on tip-toe, so as to take her by
+surprise. With infinite precautions, I slowly pushed the door open. I
+first caught sight of a corner of the empty bed, with its white curtains
+still closed; then of a candle-end burning on the table and of flowers
+and a broken vase lying on the ground. What could she be doing?
+
+I was so far from imagining the truth that I do not know how I beheld it
+without betraying my presence by a movement or a sound. There was a
+young man in the room.
+
+I saw his face, straight opposite me, near the guttering candle. A man
+in Rose's bedroom! A friend, no doubt; a lover, perhaps! But why had she
+never mentioned him to me? I had been away a month; and in not one of
+her letters had she ever spoken of him. A friend? A lover? Could she
+have a whole existence of which I knew nothing? Could her quiet life be
+feigned? But why?
+
+At the risk of revealing my presence, I opened the door still farther;
+and then I saw her profile bending forward. Thus posed, it stood out
+against the black marble of the mantel-piece like a cameo. Rose had let
+down her hair, as she did every evening. Her bodice was unfastened; and
+the two golden tresses brought forward over her breast meekly followed
+the curve of her half-exposed bosom. She was not astonished, she was not
+even excited. She seemed to acquiesce in the man's presence in her room;
+it was no doubt customary.
+
+And suddenly, amid the thousand details that engaged my attention, a
+light flashed across me: was not Rose's companion one of the boarders in
+the house, perhaps that painter of whom she had told me, the one who
+made a sketch of her head which she brought to me a few days after her
+arrival in Paris?
+
+His eyes never left her. He watched and followed her every movement,
+whereas she, in her perfect composure, did not seem even to heed his
+presence. And that was what struck me: Rose's impassiveness in the face
+of that anxious and silent prayer. Did she not see? Could she not
+understand? I almost longed to rush at her and cry:
+
+"But look, open your eyes; that man is entreating you!... If you do not
+share his emotions, at least be touched by his suffering; if not your
+lips, give him a glance or a smile!"
+
+Oh, how like her it all is! And how the anxious pleading of the wooer
+resembles the vain waiting of the friend! But, alas, what in my case is
+but a disappointment of the heart, a tiresome obstacle to the evolution
+of an idea, is perhaps in his case a cruel and lasting ordeal!
+
+Suddenly, he falls on his knees before the girl. With his shaking hands,
+he touches her breast; then he kisses it gently. She does not repel him,
+but her bored and absent expression discourages any amorous action and
+withers the kisses at the very moment when they alight upon her flesh.
+Then he half-raises himself to gaze at her from head to foot; and with
+all his ardour he silently asks for the consenting smile and the word
+that gives permission.
+
+I shall never forget his look, the superb animal look, brilliant,
+glowing and empty as a ball-room deserted by the dancers, the superb,
+outspoken look that accompanies the gift of life and seems to flee its
+mystery at the moment when it approaches.
+
+He stammered a few tender words. His voice thrilled me. It was grave and
+clear as a bronze and silver bell. It rang true, for the most ephemeral
+desire is not false. I knew, by the sense of his words, that Rose had
+not yet given herself.
+
+Sullenly and as though annoyed by the soft words, she brought the dark
+stuff of her bodice over her white bosom. To the young man it was like a
+cloud passing over the sky; and, whether or not because the girl's
+resistance exasperated him, he suddenly pressed her to him, sought her
+lips and made her bend for a moment under the violence of his embrace.
+But, with an abrupt movement, with a sort of vindictive rage, she
+succeeded in releasing herself.
+
+Then I fled from the house.
+
+
+2
+
+I did not recover myself until I was on the quay outside and felt the
+cold night-air against my face. My skirt was trailing on the ground; my
+hands made no movement to hold it up.
+
+With my disgust and resentment there was mingled a vague feeling of
+remorse. Was it not I who had taught the girl the shamelessness that
+admits desire and the prudence that refuses to submit to it? Had I not
+wished for her, above all other treasures, the power of judging,
+appreciating, choosing?
+
+Yes, but when I had talked of choosing, I had never imagined that the
+choice could be made in cold blood! So far from that, it had seemed to
+me that no more dangerous or painful experience could visit a woman's
+heart. The victory of mind over instinct and of will over desire is the
+price of a hideous, abnormal struggle opposed to the very law of our
+nature. A sad victory baptised with tears, a sacred preparation for the
+noble defeat that is to crown a woman's life!
+
+Besides, it was not her refusal that revolted me, for we cannot judge an
+action of which we do not know the reasons; it was her demeanour, her
+horrible indifference. The ugliness of the scene would not have offended
+me, I reflected, if the woman had been in any way troubled by it; if I
+had seen her resist her own desire or at least deplore that which she
+was unable to share; if I had seen her struggle for a sentiment or
+suffer for an idea, however absurd or wild! But Rose had had neither
+tears nor compassion; and the blind instinct that always prompts us to
+give our lives had not tempted her.
+
+I continued to see that face of marble. I heard those impassive words. I
+pictured that body which felt no thrill, that mouth which abandoned
+itself without giving itself. No, I had never taught her anything of
+that kind; for, however light the pain which we cause and whatever its
+nature, we are forgiven only if our own heart feels a deeper wound. I
+did not understand her conduct. What had prompted it? To what chains of
+weakness had her soul stealthily attached itself, that soul which I had
+jealously protected against all principles and prejudices? What secret
+limits had she assigned herself despite my watchful care to give her
+none?
+
+I felt grieved and disappointed; and yet ... and yet I walked along with
+a certain gladness in my step. The tears trembling on my lashes were not
+tears of helplessness, but of a too-insistent energy, for they came
+above all from my overwrought nerves. My mind saw clear and rent my
+remorse like a superfluous veil.
+
+No, I was not responsible! Our thought, once expressed, no longer
+belongs to us. Whether it leave us when scarce ripe, because an accident
+has gathered it, or whether it fall in its season, like the leaf
+falling from the tree, we know nothing of what it will become; and it is
+at once the wretchedness and the greatness of human thought to be
+subjected to the infinite forms of every mind and of every existence.
+
+I walked for a long time without heeding the hour. The sky was clear and
+the stars glowed in its depths like live things; in the distance, the
+Trocadero decked the night with brilliants.
+
+And, little by little, hope returned to me. I was persuaded that over
+there, in the little room which my care had provided for Rose, love
+would yet be the conqueror. She would awaken under those kisses. My
+Roseline should yet know passion and rapture. Love would triumph. It
+would do what I had been unable to do, it would breathe life into
+beauty! And, in the dead stillness, I kept hearing the kisses falling,
+falling heavily, like the first drops of a storm.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+
+1
+
+We are talking like old friends, he and I, in the little white bedroom.
+Through the two curtains of the window high up in the wall a great ray
+of sunshine falls, a column of dancing light that dies on the table
+between us. I sit drumming absent-mindedly with my fingers in the
+shimmering motes. He looks at me and I feel no need to speak or to turn
+my head. The novelty of his presence makes no impression on me beyond a
+feeling of surprise that I do not find it strange. When by chance we do
+not hold the same view, the difference of opinion lasts only long enough
+to shift the thought which we are considering, even as one shifts an
+object to see its different aspects one after the other.
+
+I came to the boarding-house this morning to see Rose. Her room was
+empty. I was on the point of going, when the young man passed. He
+recognised me, doubtless from the portraits which Rose had shown him;
+and he came up to me of his own accord. His greeting was frank and
+natural. There were breadth and spaciousness in his eyes and his smile
+as well as in his manner. To justify my friendly interest, I pretended
+to have heard about him from Rose as he himself had heard about me: that
+is to say, with the most circumstantial details regarding position,
+occupations and all the externals of life. He did not therefore enter
+into explanations about things of which I was ignorant and we at once
+began to talk without any formality.
+
+What a strange and delightful sensation it was! I remembered all that I
+had noticed about him the night before; I knew his character from
+admiring its gentleness and patience under the supreme test of
+unrequited love, of desire that awakened no response. And he was now
+talking to me from the very depths of his soul, while I knew nothing of
+who or what he was, nor of what he was doing here. I was really seeing
+him from the inside, as we see ourselves behind the scenes of our own
+existence, without ever knowing exactly the spectacle which we present
+to others. I was observing the inner working of his life before I had
+seen the outward presentment.
+
+Speaking to me of his profession, he told me, with a smile, how little
+importance he attached to his painting:
+
+"It is only a favourable pretext for the life I have chosen. As you
+know, my greatest passion is nature; and I cannot but like the work
+which trained my eyes to a clearer vision and my nerves to a finer
+response."
+
+He told me of the years which he had wasted in seeking in the customary
+amusements the joys which are ordinarily found there. He told me of the
+life of luxury and idleness which he had led until the day came when
+adverse fate reduced him to living on the income from a small estate
+which he owned in the country: a thrice-fortunate day, he added, for
+from that moment he had understood that he was made for solitude,
+meditation and all the quiet pleasures of nature. Then he
+enthusiastically described to me the peaceful charm of his little house
+and he employed the words of a lover to extol the charm of his
+willow-swept river and the wonders of his flowers and bees.
+
+
+2
+
+Then I wanted to know what he thought of Rose. He judged her not
+inaccurately; but, with a lover's partiality, he applied the words
+balance, gentleness, equanimity to qualities which one day, when the
+scales had fallen from his eyes, he would call lack of heart and
+feeling. Deep-seated differences, perhaps, but yet not of a nature to
+affect the very sound principles that ensured his tranquillity.
+
+He had no illusions as to the quality of her mind. But to him, as to
+most men, a woman's intellectual value was but a relative factor; and he
+did not pause to estimate it with any attempt at accuracy, preferring to
+repeat:
+
+"She will not disturb the silence of my life; and her beauty will adorn
+it marvellously."
+
+He had a way of speaking which I liked. He knew how to refine his words
+by means of his expression. If they were very positive, his voice would
+hesitate; if too grave, a faint smile would lighten their sombreness. If
+he spoke ironically, his boyish eyes softened any touch of bitterness in
+the wisdom of the satirist.
+
+I did not like to think that the success of his wooing would mean the
+end of his labours. Rose would never become the independent, perfect
+woman of my dreams, capable of preserving her personal life in the midst
+of love and in all circumstances. Alas, my ambition had soared too
+high! Henceforth, I must wish nothing better for her than this purely
+ornamental fate.
+
+"Do you love her?" I asked.
+
+"I was taken captive at once by her beauty," he answered. "She objected
+that this sudden love must be an illusion; and I tried for a time to
+think the same. But, before long, suffering taught me the sincerity of
+my love. I dare not say whether it is senseless or right or usual; but,
+as long as a feeling gives us nothing but joy, we are unable to
+recognise it, we doubt it, we smile at it as a light and fleeting thing.
+Let anguish come, however, with tears and dread; and it is as though the
+seal of reality were placed on our heart. Then we believe in our love."
+
+I repeated, pensively and happily:
+
+"Do you really love her?"
+
+"Yes, I can say so honestly."
+
+He hesitated a little and, speaking very slowly, as though picking his
+words from amid his memories, said:
+
+"When we are sincere, we are bound to confess that the love which
+encircles all the movements of our body follows the movements of its
+strength or its weakness equally. It has its hours of exasperation, it
+is sometimes a tide that rises and floods everything: the past, the
+present, the future, the will, the spirit, the flesh. Then all becomes
+peaceful; the waves subside and we think that we love no more. We do
+love, however, but with a more detached joy. We have stepped outside
+love, as it were, and we contemplate its extent."
+
+My breath came quickly and my hands, clasped on the table, were pressed
+close together. My heart was bursting with gladness for my Roseline. He
+saw my emotion and questioned me with deeper interest.
+
+I replied without hesitation:
+
+"I am happy in this love which comes to Rose so simply and candidly."
+
+He pressed my hand as he said:
+
+"Sometimes, on reading certain passages in your letters, I used to fear
+that you might be opposed to my intentions...."
+
+I began to laugh:
+
+"Yes, you will have read fine views concerning independence; and a
+tirade against the women who surrender too easily; and any number of
+things more or less contrary to your hopes. But do you not agree with me
+that our principles are at their soundest when they are least rigid and
+that our noblest convictions are those of which we see both sides at
+once? Woman even more than man must not be afraid of handling her
+morality a little roughly when occasion demands it, just as she
+sometimes ruffles her laces for the pleasure of the eyes, easily and
+naturally and without attaching too much importance to the matter."
+
+
+3
+
+He listens to my words as I listen to his, with surprised delight. We
+feel as if we were playing with the same thought, for it flashes from
+one life to the other without undergoing any alteration.
+
+In point of fact, the human beings whom we see for the first time are
+not always new to us. True, we have never seen each other before, but
+our sympathies, our enthusiasms, inasmuch as they are common to both of
+us, have met more than once; and, now that we are talking, the form of
+our thoughts also corresponds, for, without intending it, we often look
+at the most abstract things objectively, because he is a painter and I a
+woman.
+
+Oh, I know no more exquisite surprises than those chance meetings which
+suddenly bring you a friend at a turning in life's road! It is like a
+charming landscape which one has seen in a dream and which one now finds
+in reality, without even having hoped for it. You speak, laugh,
+recognise each other and above all you are astonished and go on being
+astonished, adorably and shamelessly, like children.
+
+What we had to say was all interwoven, as though we were both drawing on
+the same memories. We were speaking of those friends of a day whom
+accident sometimes gives us and whom the very briefness of the emotion
+impresses deeply on our heart. They are there for ever, in a few clear,
+sharp strokes, like sketches:
+
+"For instance, you go on a matter of business to see somebody whom you
+don't know. You chafe with annoyance as you cross the threshold. In
+spite of the material duty which you are performing, you consider that
+it is so much time wasted. Then, for some unknown reason, the atmosphere
+seems kindly. You find familiar things in the room where you are
+waiting: a picture which you might have chosen yourself, books which you
+know and like, things which look as if your own hand had arranged them.
+And you forget everything. With your forehead against the pane, you look
+at the roofs of the houses, at the streets, at all that little scene
+which is the constant companion of an existence which you do not know
+and with which you are about to come into touch; and your heart beats
+very fast, for a sort of foresight tells you that a friend is going to
+enter the room."
+
+"That's quite true; and sometimes even we have already met him at some
+house or other; but then his mind displayed itself in a special
+attitude, inaccessible, motionless, lifeless, like a thing in a glass
+case. Now, we see him before us, in his own surroundings; and everything
+is changed. He has a smile which is made of just the same quality of
+affection as our own, a look instinct with the same sort of experience,
+a laugh that cheerfully faces like dangers, a mind responding to the
+same springs. And we talk and are contented and happy; and, when the sun
+enters at the window or when the fire flickers merrily in the hearth, we
+can easily picture spending the rest of our life there, in gladness and
+comfort. Anything that the one says is received by the other with an
+exclamation of delight. Yes, we have felt and seen things in the same
+way; and this little fact, natural though it may seem, is so rare that
+it appears extraordinary!"
+
+With an abrupt movement that must be customary with him, my companion
+shook his head to fling back his thick hair, which darkened his forehead
+whenever he leant forward:
+
+"And very often," he said, "you don't see each other again, or at least
+you don't see each other like that, because time is too swift and
+because everybody has to go his own road."
+
+The bright shaft of sunlight was still between us. It came now from a
+higher point of the little window. In the shimmering dust, I conjured up
+the faces of scarce-seen friends. There were some whose features had
+become almost obliterated; but beyond them, as one sees an image in a
+crystal, I clearly perceived the ideas, the life, the soul that had for
+a moment throbbed on exactly the same level as my own.
+
+I replied, in a very low voice:
+
+"We remain infinitely grateful to people who have given us such minutes
+as those!"
+
+And then, certain of hearing myself echoed, I cried, delightedly:
+
+"Egoists should always be grateful and responsive, for gratitude is
+nothing but happiness prolonged by thought...."
+
+"Yes, that is the whole secret of the responsive soul: to have
+sufficient impetus not to stop the sensation at the place where the joy
+itself stops."
+
+"To have simply, like the runner, an impetus that carries us beyond the
+goal...."
+
+
+4
+
+Thus were our remarks unrolled like the links of one and the same chain;
+and yet how different were our two existences! His was devoid of all
+restlessness and agitation; and mine was still in need of it. His
+intelligence was active, but not at all anxious to appear so. For him,
+meditation was the great object; and, when I expressed my admiration of
+a modesty impossible to my own undisciplined pride, he replied, in all
+simplicity:
+
+"Do not look upon this as modesty. The over-modest are often those whose
+pride is too great to find room on the surface."
+
+"If I were a man or an older woman than I am," I said, laughingly, "I
+would choose your destiny; but, for the time being, I feel a genuine
+need to satisfy my youth and to give it a few of the little pleasures
+that suit it."
+
+He tried to jest, like most men who disapprove of the trouble which we
+take to please them by making ourselves prettier or more brilliant; but
+at heart he was as fond as myself of feminine cajolery and frivolity.
+
+"You are full of pride," I exclaimed, "when you have accomplished some
+noble action or produced some rare work of art; then why should not
+women be happy at realising in their persons consummate beauty and
+grace? It is very probable that, if Plato or Socrates had suddenly been
+turned into beautiful young creatures, their destiny would have been
+different from what it was; it is even exceedingly probable that wisdom
+would have prompted them very often to lay aside their writings and come
+and contemplate their charms in the admiration of men!"
+
+I quoted the words uttered by a woman who had known and loved admiration
+in her day:
+
+"If life were longer, I would devote as many hours to my body as I now
+do to my mind; and I should be right. Unfortunately, I have to make a
+choice; and my very love of beauty makes me turn to that which does not
+fade...."
+
+
+5
+
+We should certainly have gone on talking for hours and without tiring;
+but suddenly we both together remembered that Rose must be waiting for
+me at my house and I rose to go.
+
+As I did so, I said:
+
+"I happen not to know your Christian name. What is it?"
+
+"Floris."
+
+Floris! That name, so little known in France but very frequent in
+Holland, surprised me; and I had some difficulty in not saying:
+
+"Then you are not a Frenchman?"
+
+But all that I said was:
+
+"Floris, you shall have your Rose!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+
+1
+
+Going down the stairs, I laughed to myself and said:
+
+"It is really one of love's miracles, that that man should be interested
+in Rose. And yet, to a philosopher, does not that beautiful girl offer a
+very unusual sense of security? From the point of view of the life which
+I had planned for her, she is a failure; but will she not be perfect in
+the eyes of a lover, of a man who expects nothing from her but an
+occasion for dreams and pleasure?"
+
+Filled with gladness, I hastened my steps. Although it was the end of
+winter, it was still freezing; and it was pleasant to hear the sound of
+my feet on the hard ground. I also noticed the noises of the street:
+they were sharp and distinct; and in the crisp air things were all black
+and white, as though etched in dry-point.
+
+For a moment, my dream vanished; then suddenly I became aware of it and
+I rifled a shop of its flowers and jumped into a cab in order to be
+with my Roseline the sooner.
+
+
+2
+
+Rose and Floris! The delicious combination filled my heart to
+bursting-point. Is it not always some insignificant little accident that
+sets our impressions overflowing? Like a child, at the last minute, I
+had felt a wish to know what he was called; and I was delighted to find
+that it was a name full of grace and colour. Now all my thoughts
+clustered around those harmonious syllables. Those remarkable eyes, that
+dark hair with its faint wave, that sensitive heart, that profound
+intellect, powerful and yet a little tired, like a tree bowed down with
+fruit: all this went through life under the name of Floris!
+
+Then I saw once more his face, his gentleness, his profound charm; and I
+never doubted the girl's secret assent. In my fond hope, I went to the
+length of imagining that she had wished to choose her life for herself,
+independent of my influence; that she had at last understood that, in
+order to please me, she must first assert her liberty, without fear of
+hurting or vexing me. It was an illusion, certainly; but there are
+times when joy thrusts aside reason in order to burst into full blossom,
+even as in moments of sorrow our despair often goes beyond reality to
+drain itself to the last drop in one passionate outpouring.
+
+
+3
+
+Rose was sitting in the drawing-room, waiting for me. I rushed in like a
+mad thing, without knowing what I was doing. My laughter, my flowers, my
+words all came together and fell upon her like a shower of joy. In one
+breath I told her of my indiscretion of the night before, of those
+stolen sensations, of my anguish, of my life at a standstill, waiting on
+theirs, of my delightful talk with Floris, of the sympathy between us
+and lastly of my conviction that happiness was being offered to her here
+and now.
+
+Then I noticed that she said nothing; and, begging her pardon for my
+incoherence, I tried to express in serious words the future that awaited
+her. But all those glad impressions had dazzled me; I was like some one
+who comes suddenly from the bright sunshine into a room. Shadows fell
+and rose before my brain as before eyes that have looked too long at
+the light; and I could do nothing but kiss her and repeat:
+
+"Believe me, happiness lies there! Seize it, seize it!"
+
+At last she murmured, wearily:
+
+"No, I can't do it."
+
+I questioned her, anxiously:
+
+"Perhaps there is some obstacle that separates you? Do you dislike him?"
+
+"No, I know his whole life and I have nothing against him."
+
+"Well, then ...?"
+
+I tried in vain to obtain a definite reply. Her soul was shut, walled
+in, almost hostile. Was she refusing herself, as she had once given
+herself, without knowing why? Or else was my vague intuition correct and
+was a latent energy escaping from that little low, square forehead,
+white and pure as a camellia, a force of which she herself was unaware
+and which no doubt would one day reveal to me the final choice of her
+life?
+
+I made her sit down and, kneeling beside her, questioned her patiently
+and gently as one asks a sick child to describe the pain which one is
+anxious to relieve. Silently, gazing vaguely into space, she let
+herself rest on my shoulder. The flowers fell from her listless hands.
+Some still hung to her dress, with tangled stalks. Red carnations,
+mimosa, tuberose, narcissus, hyacinths drunk with perfume, guelder-roses
+and white lilac wept at her feet.
+
+I rose slowly and looked at her, my heart aching for the heedless one
+who dropped the joys which chance laid in her arms!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PART THE THIRD
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+
+1
+
+The reason why we judge people better after a lapse of time is that,
+when we look at them from a distance, there is no confusion of detail.
+The main lines of their character stand out, relieved of the thousand
+little alterations and erasures which the scrupulous hand of truth is
+constantly making as it passes hither and thither, now rubbing out, now
+redrawing, until at last the impression is no longer a very clear one.
+
+From the day when I separated my life completely from the life of Rose,
+her character appeared to me distinctly; and at the same time, now that
+it was free to come down to its own level, it asserted itself in its
+turn. Until that moment, while I had been careful to put no pressure
+upon her, I had nevertheless been asking her to choose her tastes and
+occupations on a plane that was unsuitable for her.
+
+Her moral outlook was good, true and not at all silly, but it was
+limited; and, in trying to make her see life swiftly and from above, as
+though in a bird's-eye view, I had made it impossible for her to
+distinguish anything.
+
+Her fault was that she had not been able to change, mine was that I had
+had too much faith in her possibilities. My optimism had wound itself
+around her immobility and fastened to it, even as ivy coils around a
+stone statue, without communicating to it the smallest portion of its
+sturdy and luxuriant little life.
+
+
+2
+
+And now it is six months since we parted; and I am going to-day to see
+her for the first time in her new existence.
+
+I look out of the window of the railway-carriage; and my mind calls up
+memories which glide past with the autumn fields. First comes the
+departure of Floris, wearied by the incomprehensible attitude of the
+girl. He went away shortly after our meeting, still philosophical and
+cheerful, in spite of his disappointment. And the part which he played
+in my experiment taught me something that guided my efforts into a fresh
+direction: if Rose's beauty was to him sufficient compensation for her
+commonplace character, could not I also accept the girl as something out
+of which to weave romance and beauty? Does not everything lie in the
+mere fact of consent? Passive and silent, would she not become a rare
+object in my life, a precious stone?
+
+"Woman blossoms into fullest flower by doing nothing," some one has
+said. "Women who do not work form the beauty of the world."
+
+I took Rose to live with me and for weeks devoted myself exclusively to
+her appearance and her manners. I sought if possible to perfect the
+exterior. It was all in vain. This beautiful creature was so totally
+ignorant of what beauty meant that she was constantly deforming herself;
+and I at last gave up the struggle.
+
+Sadly I remember the last pulsation of my will. It happened in the
+silence of my heart; and life went on for a little while longer. Would
+it not have been hateful to send Rose away, as one dismisses a servant?
+And what act, what fault had she committed to deserve such treatment?
+When it would have been so sweet to me to give her everything, for no
+reason at all, how could I find a solid reason for taking everything
+from her?
+
+So I said nothing to her; we had none of those horrible explanations
+which set bristling spikes on the barriers--inevitable barriers,
+alas!--which dissimilarities in taste or character raise between people.
+There are certain persons who cannot bear to make any change without a
+preliminary explanation. They seem to carry a sort of map in their
+heads: on the far side of the frontier that borders the friendly
+territory lies the enemy; and it needs but a word, a gesture, a
+difference of opinion for you to find yourself in exile. Alas, have we
+not enough with all the limits, demarcations, laws and judgments that
+are perhaps necessary to the world at large? And must we lay upon
+ourselves still others in the intimate relations of life?
+
+I had no right to set myself up as a judge and I could not have
+pronounced sentence. I waited. And, my will being no longer in the way,
+circumstances gradually led my companion to her true destiny better than
+I could have done.
+
+She was bored. She was not really made to be a purely decorative object.
+In spite of her trailing silk or velvet dresses, twenty times a day I
+would find her in the larder, with a loaf under her arm and a knife in
+her hand, contentedly buttering thick slices of bread, which she would
+eat slowly in huge mouthfuls, looking straight before her as she did so.
+
+She was bored; and I was powerless to cure this unfamiliar ill. I looked
+out some work for her in my busy life. She wrote letters, kept my
+accounts, hemmed the maids' aprons. Soon she was running the errands.
+One day she answered the front-door.
+
+I still remember that moment when she came and told me, in her pretty,
+gentle way, that there was some one to see me in the drawing-room. I do
+not know why, but that insignificant incident suddenly revealed the
+truth to me. I was ashamed of myself and turned away my head so that she
+should not see me blush. Poor child, she was unconsciously lowering
+herself more and more daily. She was becoming my property. I was making
+use of her.
+
+Without saying anything, I at once began to search for something for
+her. I hesitated between first one thing and then another; but at last
+chance came to my aid. Country-bred as she was, the girl was losing her
+colour in the Paris air; she was ordered to leave town. She knew a
+family at Neufchatel, in Normandy, who were willing to take her as a
+boarder for a few weeks. She went and did not come back.
+
+
+3
+
+What did she do there, how did she spend her time? She wrote to me
+before long that she was quite happy, that she was earning her
+livelihood without difficulty. There was a little linen-draper's shop,
+it seemed, kept by an old maid, who, having no relations of her own, had
+taken Rose to assist her at first and perhaps to succeed her in time.
+
+I was not at all surprised. For that matter, when we follow the natural
+evolution of things, their conclusion comes so softly that we hardly
+notice it. It is the descent which we are approaching: it becomes less
+steep at every step and, when we reach it, it is only a faint depression
+in the ground.
+
+
+4
+
+Strange temperament! The more I think of it, the more it appears to me
+as an instance of the dangers of virtue, or at least of what we
+understand by the word. Does it not look as though, in the charts of our
+characters, the virtues are the ultimate goals which can be reached only
+by the way of our faults? Each virtue stands like a golden statue in the
+centre of a cross-roads. We can hardly know every side of it unless we
+have beheld it from the various paths that lead to it. It shines in a
+different manner at the end of each road.
+
+Rose never became conscious of her good qualities, because she possessed
+them too naturally; and she remained poor in the midst of all the riches
+which she was unable to discern.
+
+Oh, if only she had been less wise and had had that ardour, that flame
+which feeds on all that is thrown upon it to extinguish it; if she had
+had that inordinate prodigality which teaches us by making us commit a
+thousand acts of folly; if, in short, she had had faults, vices,
+impulses of curiosity, how different her fate would have been! The
+equilibrium of a person's character may be compared with that of a pair
+of scales; and it is safe to say that, by weighing more heavily upon one
+of these, our defects raise our good qualities to their highest level.
+
+
+5
+
+But every minute is now bringing me nearer to this life which I am at
+last to know; and I gaze absent-mindedly at the Bray country, that
+lovely country red with the gold of autumn. By force of habit, my
+nerves spell out a few sensations which my thoughts do not put into
+words. My heart is beating. Now, with no idea or purpose in my mind, I
+am speeding with a full heart towards the girl who was at least the
+inspiration of a splendid hope and above all an incentive to action.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+
+1
+
+I arrived at Neufchatel at the gracious hour when the sun is paling; and
+I was at once charmed with the kindly aspect of this little Norman town.
+
+The house-fronts gleaming with fresh paint, the pigeons picking their
+way across the streets, the grass growing between the cobble-stones, the
+flowers outside the windows and doors, a cleanliness that adorns the
+smallest details: all this is so calm and so empty that our life at once
+settles there as in a frame that takes with equal ease the happy or the
+sad picture which we propose to fit into it.
+
+It reminds me of Bruges, whose infinite, patient calm is a clean page on
+which the visitor's life is printed, happy or distressful at will, since
+there is nothing to define its character. It also has the silence of the
+little Flemish towns, with their streets without carriages or wayfarers.
+The gardens look as though they were artificial; and in the frame of
+the open windows we see interiors which are as sharp as pictures.
+
+Leading out of the main street is a mysterious little alley, dark and
+badly paved. It runs upwards and ends in a clump of trees arching
+against the blue of the sky. There is no visible gate or doorway. I turn
+up it. All along a high wall hang old fire-backs, bas-reliefs of
+cracked, rusty-red iron, once licked by the flames, now washed by the
+rain.
+
+I loiter to examine the subjects: coats of arms, trophies of weapons, or
+allegories and half-obliterated love-scenes. It is curious to see these
+homely relics thus exposed in the street, conjuring up the peaceful soul
+of families gathered round the hearth. From over the wall, the air
+reaches me laden with hallowed fragrance. I picture the box-bordered
+walks on the other side.
+
+Then I climb higher; and, when I come to the trees, I find a charming
+surprise. The public gardens lie in front of me. In the shade of the
+public gardens we seem to find the very spirit of a town; it is to the
+gardens or to the church that our curiosity always turns in the first
+place. Here is the walk edged with stone benches on which old men and
+old women sit coughing and gossiping; here mothers bring their work,
+while their children run about; and in the centre, at the junction of
+the paths, is the platform where the regimental band plays on Sundays.
+
+The Neufchatel gardens are in no way elaborate: a number of avenues have
+been cut out of an ancient wood; and that is all. There are no shrubs;
+just a patch of dahlias, with a ridiculous little iron railing round
+them. But its whole charm lies in its picturesque situation up above the
+town. In between the tall trees with their interlacing boughs, one can
+see the slopes of the hills, the plains, the meadows, the gleaming roofs
+and the church with its twin spires piercing the blue of the sky. Then,
+in the foreground, I see, behind the houses, the little gardens whose
+breath reached me just now. They are there, divided into small plots of
+equal size, simple or pretentious, sometimes humble kitchen-gardens, but
+sometimes also a patchwork adorned with grottoes, arbours and glass
+bells.
+
+Rose mentioned a garden which brightens her little home. Suppose it were
+one of these!... A woman appears over there: she is tall and
+fair-haired. She stoops over a well; I cannot make out her features. She
+draws herself up again. Oh, no, her figure is clumsy, her hair looks
+dull and colourless and her clothes vulgar. Rose would never dress like
+that, in two colours that clash! Rose would never ...
+
+I wander into a delicious reverie. How infinitely superior Rose is to
+all these people whose lives I can picture around me. Two women sit
+cackling beside me on the bench: they are at once guileless and bad,
+with their mania for eternally wagging tongues that know no rest. A
+little farther on, a good housewife is shaking her troublesome child; a
+stout, overdressed woman of the shop-keeping class is flaunting her
+finery down one of the walks; a priest passes and, while his lips mumble
+prayers, his eyes, held in leash by fear, prowl around me; one of his
+flock curtseys to the ground as she meets him.
+
+A protest rises in my heart at each of the little incidents: is not Rose
+rid of all that? Rose long ago gave up going to mass and confession. She
+has lost the hypocritical sense of shame, knows neither envy nor malice
+and is a stranger to all ostentation.
+
+I often used to reproach her with her extreme humility. How wrong I was!
+I now think that this humility can achieve the same result as pride
+itself. One looks too high, the other too low; but both pass by the
+petty vanities of life and either of them can keep us equally
+indifferent to those vanities.
+
+
+2
+
+I rose from my seat with a happy heart. The time had come for me to go
+in search of her. I would kiss her in all gratitude. Had she not
+enlarged my will to the extent of making it admit her little existence?
+
+I went through the silent streets, in search of the charming, old-world
+name that was to tell me where the aged spinster lived. Rose had said
+that I should see it written over the door in blue letters and that it
+was opposite a place where they sold sportsmen's and anglers'
+requisites, a shop with a sign that would be certain to attract my
+attention.
+
+I therefore walked along with a sure step and suddenly, at a
+street-corner, saw a great silver fish flashing to and fro in the breeze
+at the end of a long line. Soon I was in a quiet backwater of the town.
+There it was! Opposite me, the last gleams of the setting sun shed their
+radiance on a very bright little house covered with a luxuriant vine. On
+one side, in the same golden light, the name of Isaline Coquet smiled
+in sky-blue letters.
+
+The shop was white, with pearl-grey shutters; and on the ledges were
+bunchy plants gay with pink, starry flowers. In the window, a few
+starched caps looked as if they were talking scandal on their respective
+stands.
+
+I walked in. The opening of the door roused the tongue of a little rusty
+bell, but nobody came. On a big grandfather's chair, near the counter,
+were a pair of spectacles and a book. Perhaps Mlle. Coquet had run away
+when she caught sight of me through the panes; Rose said that she was
+shy and a little frightened at the thought of my coming visit. And I had
+the pleasure of looking for my Rose as I followed the mysterious turns
+of a primitive passage.
+
+The walls were spotless and the red-tiled floor shone in the half-light.
+I crossed a neat little kitchen, just as a cuckoo-clock was chiming
+five, and found myself on the threshold of a small room opening on a
+garden. Rose was sitting in the wide, low window.
+
+The noise of the clock no doubt deadened the sound of my steps, for the
+girl did not turn her head. The room exhaled a faint perfume as of
+incense and musk; and I seemed to hold all her peaceful little life in
+my breath and in that swift glance. All that I could see of her face was
+one cheek and the tips of her long eyelashes. Placed as she was in front
+of the light, a golden haze shaded the colours of her beautiful hair;
+and I lingered in contemplation of the long and graceful curve of her
+figure bending over her work. She was sewing in the midst of floods of
+stiff white muslin, which formed a chain of snow-clad peaks with blue
+reflections around her. I looked at the low-ceilinged room with its
+whitewashed wall and its rows of bodices, petticoats and shiny caps
+hanging on lines stretched from one side to the other. A grey tom-cat
+lay purring on a corner of the table; and, near it, in a well-scrubbed
+pot, a pink geranium displayed its sombre leaves and its bright flowers.
+
+Rose was sewing. At regular intervals, her right arm rose, drew out the
+thread and returned to the spot whence it started: an even and captive
+movement symbolical of the amount of activity permitted to women! But
+was she not to choose that movement among all others?
+
+
+3
+
+We dine in her bedroom. What a surprise her room held in store for me!
+Rose had arranged it herself, in harmony with the simplicity which I
+loved.
+
+Brightly-painted wooden shelves make patches of colour on the white
+walls; the furniture is rustic; and the curtains of white muslin with
+mauve spots complete the frank and artless harmony of the room. How
+little this was to be expected from Mlle. Coquet's shop!
+
+Then, on Rose's table, the books I gave her fill the place of honour. I
+dare say that she never reads them; and yet I am glad to see them here.
+
+Rose goes to and fro between our little table and the kitchen. She looks
+pretty, she smiles. The slowness of her movements is no longer
+lethargic; it simply exhales an air of repose, a perfume of peace that
+suits her beauty. Her eyes have fastened on me at once and, as in the
+old days, never leave me.
+
+Is it the tyranny of habit that used to prevent me from reading anything
+in them? Now, those eyes that ingenuously drink in my life as the
+flowers do the light, those eyes not veiled by any shadow, constantly
+bring the tears to mine. She sees this and fondly lays her head on my
+shoulder, whispering:
+
+"I did nothing but expect you, darling, only I had given up hoping...."
+
+This term of endearment, which she addresses to me for the first time,
+as if, being no longer subject to any effort, she were at last yielding
+to the sweets of friendship, this expression and my Christian name,
+which she utters lovingly, complete the pleasantness of the evening.
+
+I feel happy amid it all. We who were brought up in the country never
+lose our appreciation of its peaceful charm. It bows down our lives as
+we bow our forehead in our hands to think beyond our immediate
+surroundings; and from its narrow circle we are better able to judge the
+expanse which has become necessary to us.
+
+
+4
+
+The night rises, things fade away. The sky is a deep blue in the frame
+of the open window. Rose brings the lamp:
+
+"It was the first companion of my solitude," she says, reminiscently;
+then, laughing, "the companion of my boredom, the companion of those
+long, long evenings...."
+
+"But now, dearest?..."
+
+"Ah, now, the days are too short: I have a thousand duties to perform,
+my dear little old woman to look after, my customers, my flowers, my
+animals; then, in the evening, we often have a caller: the priest, the
+notary, the neighbours...."
+
+Then, suddenly fearing that she has hurt me, she adds, in a caressing
+tone:
+
+"When I am with them, I am always talking about you, so as to comfort
+myself for the loss of you; for that is my only sorrow."
+
+
+5
+
+An hour or two later, sitting in the garden, we watched the stars
+appearing one by one. Our arms were round each other; our fair tresses
+were intermingled. We were at the far end of the town. We heard the
+sounds of the country ringing in the transparent air; and the crystal
+voice of the frogs, that small, clear note falling steadily and marking
+time to our thoughts. We were quiet, like everything around us,
+unstirred by a breath of wind.
+
+Rose spoke of her happiness; and I never wearied of inhaling that
+delicious tranquillity. I had been thinking of settling her future for
+her. And what an inestimable lesson I was learning from her! Rose was
+one of those whose road must be marked from hour to hour by a little
+duty of some kind or another. It is thus, by limiting themselves, that
+these characters arrive at knowing and asserting themselves. She said,
+blithely, "my room," "my garden," "my house;" and I smiled as I
+reflected that I had once struggled to rid that mind of all useless
+bonds.
+
+
+6
+
+What a mistake I had made! In order to find her life, she had had to
+earn it and to recognise it in the very things that now belonged to it,
+to mark every hour of it with humdrum tasks, to create for herself
+little troubles on her own level, difficulties which her good sense
+could easily overcome. There was nothing unexpected, nothing
+far-reaching in her life, never an event beyond the tinkle of the
+shop-bell announcing a customer, a little bell with a short, sharp,
+cracked ring, stopping on a single note without vibration, as though it
+were the very voice of the little souls which it excited.
+
+In contrast with this humble destiny, I considered my own full of
+difficulty and agitation, so crowded and yet doubtless equally empty; I
+followed in my mind's eye the lives of my friends; and I reflected that
+the nature of us women, alike of the most wayward and the most direct,
+is too delicate and too complex for us easily to keep our balance in a
+state of complete liberty.
+
+"When we achieve it," I said to Rose, "it is thanks to a close and
+constant observation of ourselves; for woman never has any real moral
+strength. Self-sacrifice and kindness alone lend us some, because our
+capacity for loving knows no limit: our strength is then a loan which we
+make to ourselves at difficult moments by a miracle of love. Once the
+crisis is over, we have to pay ... with interest!"
+
+"In Paris," said Rose, "even from the very first, I had a feeling that I
+should never dare to move in the absolute liberty that was offered me.
+You are not angry with me?"
+
+"How could I be? We were both wanderers, you and I, where circumstances
+led us, both of us with a passion for sincerity, both of us with the
+best of intentions. A cleverer mind than mine would doubtless have
+saved you from going out of your way. It had many unnecessary turnings.
+But perhaps they had their uses...."
+
+"Yes," replied my friend, wisely, "for without them, I should not have
+been so certain that my choice was right...."
+
+
+7
+
+Around us the mysterious life of the night was gradually awaking. All
+the animals that shun the daylight were beginning to stir. A hedgehog
+brushed against my skirt. In the grass, two glowworms summoned love with
+all their fires. The smell of the garden became overpowering. Our
+movements and our words throbbed in a scented air. Rose leant towards
+me:
+
+"There is one thought that troubles me," she said. "Have I discouraged
+you? Will others better equipped than I still find you ready to lend
+them a helping hand?"
+
+"Why not, Roseline?" And I would have liked to put my very soul into the
+kiss which I gave her. "No, you have not discouraged me. The only thing
+that matters is to have the power to choose what suits us. Then alone
+is it possible for us to develop ourselves without restraint. With your
+limited horizon, you are freer, darling, than when you were living with
+me, at the mercy of all the fancies which you did not know how to use.
+Everything is relative; and instinct makes no mistakes. Yours, by
+placing you here among the lives which I can imagine, gives you the
+opportunity of excelling. You felt that you needed to live under
+conditions in which the effort and the merit would lie in not changing,
+in which action would be immobility. You know, Rose, there is always
+some common ground in human beings; to reach it, if you do not stoop,
+the others will raise themselves. With your beauty which is the wonder
+of every one you meet, with that gentleness which wins all hearts and
+with your soul which no longer knows either malice or prayer, you will
+be a new example of life to all around you."
+
+Rose was sitting on a higher chair than mine; and this allowed me to let
+my head sink into her lap. I no longer dreamt of looking at the
+splendour of the night, for was it not throbbing in my heart, where a
+star woke every moment? And I thought out loud:
+
+"You were always asking me the object of my efforts. Do you now
+understand that I could not explain what I myself did not understand
+perfectly until you revealed it to me?"
+
+I reflected for a moment and continued:
+
+"We can wish nothing for others nor force anything on them: we can only
+help them to clear the field before and within themselves...."
+
+She murmured:
+
+"I understand."
+
+And I cried:
+
+"Ah, my dearest, how grateful I am to you! In looking for you, I have
+found myself a little more; and it is always so; and that, you see, is
+why we must love action. However tiny, however humble, it may be, it
+brings us at the same time the knowledge of others and of ourselves. We
+appear to fling ourselves stout-heartedly into the stream whose currents
+we cannot foresee; we are hurt, we are wounded, we struggle; but, when
+we return to the bank, we feel invigorated and refreshed."
+
+Roseline stroked my forehead lightly with her hands and softly
+whispered:
+
+"There was nothing lacking to my peace of mind but your approval. Now I
+am happy and I can begin my life without anxiety."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+
+1
+
+Rose was still asleep when I entered the drowsy bedroom to bid her
+good-bye. A small, heart-shaped opening in the middle of the shutters
+allowed the first ray of daylight to penetrate. Sleeping happily and
+trustfully, with streaming hair and hands out-flung, she lay strewn like
+the petals of a flower. I laid my lips on hers and softly went away.
+
+As I climb the slope that leads out of Neufchatel, I turn and look down
+once more on the little town that slumbers everlastingly in its rich
+peace. Just there, by the church, I picture the house with its grey
+shutters, its white front and its starched caps behind the flower-pots.
+Beyond, the green horizons and the blue hill-sides stand clearly marked
+in the dawning sun; and I gaze and gaze as far as my eyes can see,
+through my lashes sparkling with tears.
+
+For all her lethargy, her slumber as of a beautiful plant, the soul of
+my Rose is wholesome, wholesome as those meadows, those fields, all that
+good Norman earth which gave her to me miserable only to take her back
+happy and free. Certainly, Rose has not been able to achieve the
+strength that makes use of liberty: in that life, still so young, the
+will is a dead branch through which the sap no longer flows. At any
+rate, what she does possess she will not lose; she is one of those who
+instinctively hold in their breath so as not to tarnish the pane through
+which a glimpse of infinity stands revealed to them. Her soul could not
+take in unlimited happiness, it had to feel a touch of sorrow in order
+to taste a little joy. There are many like her, people who perceive that
+the light is good when they come out of the darkness, but who are not
+able to recognise the light in the radiant beauty of the noon-day
+fields.
+
+The sun rises as I slowly make my way up-hill; the wood along the road
+is still wet with the dawn. It offers me its autumnal fragrance; I
+breathe it in, I gaze at its golden tints, I think of Rose, of her past
+and her future. But, beyond my dreams, an unformed idea seems to spread
+like a clear sky, without outline, without colour, without beginning or
+end; and I have a secret feeling that I shall try again.
+
+
+2
+
+I shall go towards other strangers. I shall seek at random among hearts
+and souls! Fearlessly, in spite of censure and derision, I shall lavish
+my confidence in order to win that of others. I shall not linger over
+the vain pleasure of discovering the traces of my power. We can pour out
+our influence boldly: it is a wine that excites no two souls in a like
+manner; and we are always ignorant what the nature of the intoxication
+will be, whether fruitful or barren, blithe or cheerless.
+
+I shall go towards other strangers; I understand now that my sole
+ambition is to bring life within their reach. What matter what their
+thoughts, their loves, their wishes, if at least they have acquired the
+taste and the means of thinking, loving and wishing?
+
+Shall I ever succeed in evolving from this passion of mine a method, a
+system that will make my action less blind and uncertain? I think not.
+
+In a life that never offers us anything logical or foreseen, our moral
+nature must needs resemble a drapery that is folded backwards and
+forwards over events, souls or circumstances. Let us ask no more than
+that it be beautiful and soft, strong and light, submissive to the
+least breath and ready to be transformed at its command. Nothing but an
+essential principle of humanity and loving-kindness can serve as a
+foundation for our actions, without ever confining them.
+
+
+3
+
+On the one hand, we have effort, nearly always vain; on the other,
+knowledge, which is the second look that makes us discern the ordinary,
+the commonplace, where at first we beheld beauty and charm.
+Nevertheless, let us worship effort and knowledge above all things.
+
+Let us act as simply as the little wave that lifts itself and breaks
+against the rock. Others come after it; and it is their light kisses
+which, all unseen, end by biting into the granite.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOICE OF LIFE***
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