modeste mignon- 第14部分

　　drives　all　poetry　from　the　manuscript？



　　But　let　us　look　still　further。　How　could　the　dreamy；　solitary　life

　　you　lead；　doubtless　by　the　sea…shore；　interest　a　poet；　whose

　　mission　it　is　to　imagine　all；　and　to　paint　all？　What　reality　can

　　equal　imagination？　The　young　girls　of　the　poets　are　so　ideal　that

　　no　living　daughter　of　Eve　can　compete　with　them。　And　now　tell　me；

　　what　will　you　gain；you；　a　young　girl；　brought　up　to　be　the

　　virtuous　mother　of　a　family；if　you　learn　to　comprehend　the

　　terrible　agitations　of　a　poet's　life　in　this　dreadful　capital；

　　which　may　be　defined　by　one　sentence；the　hell　in　which　men　love。



　　If　the　desire　to　brighten　the　monotonous　existence　of　a　young　girl

　　thirsting　for　knowledge　has　led　you　to　take　your　pen　in　hand　and

　　write　to　me；　has　not　the　step　itself　the　appearance　of

　　degradation？　What　meaning　am　I　to　give　to　your　letter？　Are　you　one

　　of　a　rejected　caste；　and　do　you　seek　a　friend　far　away　from　you？

　　Or；　are　you　afflicted　with　personal　ugliness；　yet　feeling　within

　　you　a　noble　soul　which　can　give　and　receive　a　confidence？　Alas；

　　alas；　the　conclusion　to　be　drawn　is　grievous。　You　have　said　too

　　much；　or　too　little；　you　have　gone　too　far；　or　not　far　enough。

　　Either　let　us　drop　this　correspondence；　or；　if　you　continue　it；

　　tell　me　more　than　in　the　letter　you　have　now　written　me。



　　But；　mademoiselle；　if　you　are　young；　if　you　are　beautiful；　if　you

　　have　a　home；　a　family；　if　in　your　heart　you　have　the　precious

　　ointment；　the　spikenard；　to　pour　out；　as　did　Magdalene　on　the　feet

　　of　Jesus；　let　yourself　be　won　by　a　man　worthy　of　you；　become　what

　　every　pure　young　girl　should　be；a　good　woman；　the　virtuous

　　mother　of　a　family。　A　poet　is　the　saddest　conquest　that　a　girl　can

　　make；　he　is　full　of　vanity；　full　of　angles　that　will　sharply　wound

　　a　woman's　proper　pride；　and　kill　a　tenderness　which　has　no

　　experience　of　life。　The　wife　of　a　poet　should　love　him　long　before

　　she　marries　him；　she　must　train　herself　to　the　charity　of　angels；

　　to　their　forbearance；　to　all　the　virtues　of　motherhood。　Such

　　qualities；　mademoiselle；　are　but　germs　in　a　young　girl。



　　Hear　the　whole　truth；do　I　not　owe　it　to　you　in　return　for　your

　　intoxicating　flattery？　If　it　is　a　glorious　thing　to　marry　a　great

　　renown；　remember　also　that　you　must　soon　discover　a　superior　man

　　to　be；　in　all　that　makes　a　man；　like　other　men。　He　therefore

　　poorly　realizes　the　hopes　that　attach　to　him　as　a　phoenix。　He

　　becomes　like　a　woman　whose　beauty　is　over…praised；　and　of　whom　we

　　say：　〃I　thought　her　far　more　lovely。〃　She　has　not　warranted　the

　　portrait　painted　by　the　fairy　to　whom　I　owe　your　letter；the

　　fairy　whose　name　is　Imagination。



　　Believe　me；　the　qualities　of　the　mind　live　and　thrive　only　in　a

　　sphere　invisible；　not　in　daily　life；　the　wife　of　a　poet　bears　the

　　burden；　she　sees　the　jewels　manufactured；　but　she　never　wears

　　them。　If　the　glory　of　the　position　fascinates　you；　hear　me　now

　　when　I　tell　you　that　its　pleasures　are　soon　at　an　end。　You　will

　　suffer　when　you　find　so　many　asperities　in　a　nature　which；　from　a

　　distance；　you　thought　equable；　and　such　coldness　at　the　shining

　　summit。　Moreover；　as　women　never　set　their　feet　within　the　world

　　of　real　difficulties；　they　cease　to　appreciate　what　they　once

　　admired　as　soon　as　they　think　they　see　the　inner　mechanism　of　it。



　　I　close　with　a　last　thought；　in　which　there　is　no　disguised

　　entreaty；　it　is　the　counsel　of　a　friend。　The　exchange　of　souls　can

　　take　place　only　between　persons　who　are　resolved　to　hide　nothing

　　from　each　other。　Would　you　show　yourself　for　such　as　you　are　to　an

　　unknown　man？　I　dare　not　follow　out　the　consequences　of　that　idea。



　　Deign　to　accept；　mademoiselle；　the　homage　which　we　owe　to　all

　　women；　even　those　who　are　disguised　and　masked。



So　this　was　the　letter　she　had　worn　between　her　flesh　and　her　corset

above　her　palpitating　heart　throughout　one　whole　day！　For　this　she　had

postponed　the　reading　until　the　midnight　hour　when　the　household

slept；　waiting　for　the　solemn　silence　with　the　eager　anxiety　of　an

imagination　on　fire！　For　this　she　had　blessed　the　poet　by

anticipation；　reading　a　thousand　letters　ere　she　opened　one；fancying

all　things；　except　this　drop　of　cold　water　falling　upon　the　vaporous

forms　of　her　illusion；　and　dissolving　them　as　prussic　acid　dissolves

life。　What　could　she　do　but　hide　herself　in　her　bed；　blow　out　her

candle；　bury　her　face　in　the　sheets　and　weep？



All　this　happened　during　the　first　days　of　July。　But　Modeste　presently

got　up；　walked　across　the　room　and　opened　the　window。　She　wanted　air。

The　fragrance　of　the　flowers　came　to　her　with　the　peculiar　freshness

of　the　odors　of　the　night。　The　sea；　lighted　by　the　moon；　sparkled　like

a　mirror。　A　nightingale　was　singing　in　a　tree。　〃Ah；　there　is　the

poet！〃　thought　Modeste；　whose　anger　subsided　at　once。　Bitter

reflections　chased　each　other　through　her　mind。　She　was　cut　to　the

quick；　she　wished　to　re…read　the　letter；　and　lit　a　candle；　she　studied

the　sentences　so　carefully　studied　when　written；　and　ended　by　hearing

the　wheezing　voice　of　the　outer　world。



〃He　is　right；　and　I　am　wrong；〃　she　said　to　herself。　〃But　who　could

ever　believe　that　under　the　starry　mantle　of　a　poet　I　should　find

nothing　but　one　of　Moliere's　old　men？〃



When　a　woman　or　young　girl　is　taken　in　the　act；　〃flagrante　delicto；〃

she　conceives　a　deadly　hatred　to　the　witness；　the　author；　or　the

object　of　her　fault。　And　so　the　true；　the　single…minded；　the　untamed

and　untamable　Modeste　conceived　within　her　soul　an　unquenchable　desire

to　get　the　better　of　that　righteous　spirit；　to　drive　him　into　some

fatal　inconsistency；　and　so　return　him　blow　for　blow。　This　girl；　this

child；　as　we　may　call　her；　so　pure；　whose　head　alone　had　been

misguided；partly　by　her　reading；　partly　by　her　sister's　sorrows；　and

more　perhaps　by　the　dangerous　meditations　of　her　solitary　life；was

suddenly　caught　by　a　ray　of　sunshine　flickering　across　her　face。　She

had　been　standing　for　three　hours　on　the　shores　of　the　vast　sea　of

Doubt。　Nights　like　these　are　never　forgotten。　Modeste　walked　straight

to　her　little　Chinese　table；　a　gift　from　her　father；　and　wrote　a

letter　dictated　by　the　infernal　spirit　of　vengeance　which　palpitates

in　the　hearts　of　young　girls。







CHAPTER　VIII



BLADE　TO　BLADE



　　To　Monsieur　de　Canalis：



　　Monsieur；You　are　certainly　a　great　poet；　and　you　are　something

　　more；an　honest　man。　After　showing　such　loyal　frankness　to　a

　　young　girl　who　was　stepping　to　the　verge　of　an　abyss；　have　you

　　enough　left　to　answer　without　hypocrisy　or　evasion　the　following

　　question？



　　Would　you　have　written　the　letter　I　now　hold　in　answer　to　mine；

　　would　your　ideas；　your　language　have　been　the　same；had　some　one

　　whispered　in　your　ear　（what　may　prove　true）；　Mademoiselle　O。

　　d'Este　M。　has　six　millions　and　does　intend　to　have　a　dunce　for　a

　　master？



　　Admit　the　supposition　for　a　moment。　Be　with　me　what　you　are　with

　　yourself；　fear　nothing。　I　am　wiser　than　my　twenty　years；　nothing

　　that　is　frank　can　hurt　you　in　my　mind。　When　I　have　read　your

　　confidence；　if　you　deign　to　make　it；　you　shall　receive　from　me　an

　　answer　to　your　first　letter。



　　Having　admired　your　talent；　often　so　sublime；　permit　me　to　do

　　homage　to　your　delicacy　and　your　integrity；　which　force　me　to

　　remain　always；



Your　humble　servant；

O。　d'Este　M。





When　Ernest　de　La　Briere　had　held　this　letter　in　his　hands　for　some

little　time　he　went　to　walk　along　the　boulevards；　tossed　in　mind　like

a　tiny　vessel　by　a　tempest　when　the　wind　is　blowing　from　all　points　of

the　compass。　Most　young　men；　specially　true　Parisians；　would　have

settled　the　matter　in　a　single　phrase；　〃The　girl　is　a　little　hussy。〃

But　for　a　youth　whose　soul　was　noble　and　true；　this　attempt　to　put

him；　as　it　were；　upon　his　oath；　this　appeal　to　truth；　had　the　power　to

awaken　the　three　judges　hidden　in　the　conscience　of　every　man。　Honor；

Truth；　and　Justice；　getting　on　their　feet；　cried　out　in　their　several

ways　energetically。



〃Ah；　my　dear　Ernest；〃　said　Truth；　〃you　never　would　have　read　that

lesson　to　a　rich　heiress。　No；　my　boy；　you　would　have　gone　in　hot　haste

to　Havre　to　find　out　if　the　girl　were　handsome；　and　you　would　have

been　very　unhappy　indeed　at　her　preference　for　genius；　and　if　you

could　have　tripped　up　your　friend　and　supplanted　him　in　her

affections；　Mademoiselle　d'Este　would　have　been　a　divinity。〃



〃What？〃　cried　Justice；　〃are　you　not　always　bemoaning　yourselves；　you

penniless　men　of　wit　and　capacity；　that　rich　girls　marry　beings　whom

you　wouldn't　take　as　your　servants？　You　rail　against　the　materialism

of　the　century　which　hastens　to　join　wealth　to　wealth；　and　never

marries　some　fine　young　man　with　brains　and　no　money　to　a　rich　girl。

What　an　outcry　you　make　about　it；　and　yet　here　is　a　young　woman　who

revolts　against　that　very　spirit　of　the　age；　and　behold！　the　poet

replies　with　a　blow　at　her　heart！〃



〃Rich　or　poor；　young　or　old；　ugly　or　handsome；　the　girl　is　right；　she

has　sense　and　judgment；　she　has　tripped　you　over　into　the　slough　of

self…interest　and　lets　you　know　it；〃　cried　Honor。　〃She　deserves　an

answer；　a　sincere　and　loyal　and　frank　answer；　and；　above　all；　the

honest　expression　of　your　thought。　Examine　yourself！　sound　your　heart

and　purge　it　of　its　meannesses。　What　would　Moliere's　Alceste　say？〃



And　La　Briere；　having　started　from　the　boulevard　Poissoniere；　walked

so　slowly；　absorbed　in　these　reflections；　that　he　was　more　than　an

hour　in　reaching　the　boulevard　des　Capucines。　Then　he　followed　the

quays；　which　led　him　to　the　Cour　des　Comptes；　situated　in　that　time

close　to　the　Saint…Chapelle。　Instead　of　beginning　on　the　accounts　as

he　should　have　done；　he　remained　at　the　mercy　of　his　perplexities。



〃One　thing　is　evident；〃　he　said　to　himself；　〃she　hasn't　six　millions；