Part 19 (2/2)
Still, love must take the imprint of the character. Perhaps I am wrong.
If nature's elements are compelled to take certain forms determined by climate, why is it not the same with the feelings of individuals? No doubt sentiments, feelings, which hold to the general law in the ma.s.s, differ in expression only. Each soul has its own method. Lady Dudley is the strong woman who can traverse distances and act with the vigor of a man; she would rescue her lover and kill jailers and guards; while other women can only love with their whole souls; in moments of danger they kneel down to pray, and die. Which of the two women suits you best? That is the question. Yes, yes, Lady Dudley must surely love; she has made many sacrifices. Perhaps she will love you when you have ceased to love her!”
”Dear angel,” I said, ”let me ask the question you asked me; how is it that you know these things?”
”Every sorrow teaches a lesson, and I have suffered on so many points that my knowledge is vast.”
My servant had heard the order given, and thinking we should return by the terraces he held my horse ready for me in the avenue. Arabella's dog had scented the horse, and his mistress, drawn by very natural curiosity, had followed the animal through the woods to the avenue.
”Go and make your peace,” said Henriette, smiling without a tinge of sadness. ”Say to Lady Dudley how much she mistakes my intention; I wished to show her the true value of the treasure which has fallen to her; my heart holds none but kind feelings, above all neither anger nor contempt. Explain to her that I am her sister, and not her rival.”
”I shall not go,” I said.
”Have you never discovered,” she said with lofty pride, ”that certain propitiations are insulting? Go!”
I rode towards Lady Dudley wis.h.i.+ng to know the state of her mind. ”If she would only be angry and leave me,” I thought, ”I could return to Clochegourde.”
The dog led me to an oak, from which, as I came up, Arabella galloped crying out to me, ”Come! away! away!” All that I could do was to follow her to Saint Cyr, which we reached about midnight.
”That lady is in perfect health,” said Arabella as she dismounted.
Those who know her can alone imagine the satire contained in that remark, dryly said in a tone which meant, ”I should have died!”
”I forbid you to utter any of your sarcasms about Madame de Mortsauf,” I said.
”Do I displease your Grace in remarking upon the perfect health of one so dear to your precious heart? Frenchwomen hate, so I am told, even their lover's dog. In England we love all that our masters love; we hate all they hate, because we are flesh of their flesh. Permit me therefore to love this lady as much as you yourself love her. Only, my dear child,” she added, clasping me in her arms which were damp with rain, ”if you betray me, I shall not be found either lying down or standing up, not in a carriage with liveried lackeys, nor on horseback on the moors of Charlemagne, nor on any other moor beneath the skies, nor in my own bed, nor beneath a roof of my forefathers; I shall not be anywhere, for I will live no longer. I was born in Lancas.h.i.+re, a country where women die for love. Know you, and give you up? I will yield you to none, not even to Death, for I should die with you.”
She led me to her rooms, where comfort had already spread its charms.
”Love her, dear,” I said warmly. ”She loves you sincerely, not in jest.”
”Sincerely! you poor child!” she said, unfastening her habit.
With a lover's vanity I tried to exhibit Henriette's n.o.ble character to this imperious creature. While her waiting-woman, who did not understand a word of French, arranged her hair I endeavored to picture Madame de Mortsauf by sketching her life; I repeated many of the great thoughts she had uttered at a crisis when nearly all women become either petty or bad. Though Arabella appeared to be paying no attention she did not lose a single word.
”I am delighted,” she said when we were alone, ”to learn your taste for pious conversation. There's an old vicar on one of my estates who understands writing sermons better than any one I know; the country-people like him, for he suits his prosing to his hearers. I'll write to my father to-morrow and ask him to send the good man here by steamboat; you can meet him in Paris, and when once you have heard him you will never wish to listen to any one else,--all the more because his health is perfect. His moralities won't give you shocks that make you weep; they flow along without tempests, like a limpid stream, and will send you to sleep. Every evening you can if you like satisfy your pa.s.sion for sermons by digesting one with your dinner. English morality, I do a.s.sure you, is as superior to that of Touraine as our cutlery, our plate, and our horses are to your knives and your turf. Do me the kindness to listen to my vicar; promise me. I am only a woman, my dearest; I can love, I can die for you if you will; but I have never studied at Eton, or at Oxford, or in Edinburgh. I am neither a doctor of laws nor a reverend; I can't preach morality; in fact, I am altogether unfit for it, I should be awkward if I tried. I don't blame your tastes; you might have others more depraved, and I should still endeavor to conform to them, for I want you to find near me all you like best,--pleasures of love, pleasures of food, pleasures of piety, good claret, and virtuous Christians. Shall I wear hair-cloth to-night? She is very lucky, that woman, to suit you in morality. From what college did she graduate? Poor I, who can only give you myself, who can only be your slave--”
”Then why did you rush away when I wanted to bring you together?”
”Are you crazy, Amedee? I could go from Paris to Rome disguised as a valet; I would do the most unreasonable thing for your sake; but how can you expect me to speak to a woman on the public roads who has never been presented to me,--and who, besides, would have preached me a sermon under three heads? I speak to peasants, and if I am hungry I would ask a workman to share his bread with me and pay him in guineas,--that is all proper enough; but to stop a carriage on the highway, like the gentlemen of the road in England, is not at all within my code of manners. You poor child, you know only how to love; you don't know how to live.
Besides, I am not like you as yet, dear angel; I don't like morality.
Still, I am capable of great efforts to please you. Yes, I will go to work; I will learn how to preach; you shall have no more kisses without verses of the Bible interlarded.”
She used her power and abused it as soon as she saw in my eyes the ardent expression which was always there when she began her sorceries.
She triumphed over everything, and I complacently told myself that the woman who loses all, sacrifices the future, and makes love her only virtue, is far above Catholic polemics.
”So she loves herself better than she loves you?” Arabella went on. ”She sets something that is not you above you. Is that love? how can we women find anything to value in ourselves except that which you value in us?
No woman, no matter how fine a moralist she may be, is the equal of a man. Tread upon us, kill us; never embarra.s.s your lives on our account.
It is for us to die, for you to live, great and honored. For us the dagger in your hand; for you our pardoning love. Does the sun think of the gnats in his beams, that live by his light? they stay as long as they can and when he withdraws his face they die--”
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