the crime of sylvestre bonnard-第21章

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t；　but　it　was　the　first　time　that　I　had　watched　it　with　such　comprehensive　and　friendly　curiosity。　　I　could　discern　that　there　were　all　sorts　of　sympathies　between　the　insect　and　the　flowera　thousand　singular　little　relationships　which　I　had　never　before　even　suspected。

Satiated　with　nectar；　the　insect　rose　and　buzzed　away　in　a　straight　line；　while　I　lifted　myself　up　as　best　I　could；　and　readjusted　myself　upon　my　legs。

〃Adieu！〃　I　said　to　the　flower　and　to　the　bee。　　〃Adieu！　Heaven　grant　I　may　live　long　enough　to　discover　the　secret　of　your　harmonies。　　I　am　very　tired。　　But　man　is　so　made　that　he　can　only　find　relaxation　from　one　kind　of　labour　by　taking　up　another。　　The　flowers　and　insects　will　give　me　that　relaxation；　with　God's　will；　after　my　long　researches　in　philology　and　diplomatics。　　How　full　of　meaning　is　that　old　myth　of　Antaeus！　　I　have　touched　the　Earth　and　I　am　a　new　man；　and　now　at　seventy　years　of　age；　new　feelings　of　curiosity　take　birth　in　my　mind；　even　as　young　shoots　sometimes　spring　up　from　the　hollow　trunk　of　an　aged　oak！〃


June　4。


I　like　to　look　out　of　my　window　at　the　Seine　and　its　quays　on　those　soft　grey　mornings　which　give　such　an　infinite　tenderness　of　tint　to　everything。　　I　have　seen　that　azure　sky　which　flings　so　luminous　a　calm　over　the　Bay　of　Naples。　　But　our　Parisian　sky　is　more　animated；　more　kindly；　more　spiritual。　　It　smiles；　threatens；　caressestakes　an　aspect　of　melancholy　or　a　look　of　merriment　like　a　human　gaze。　　At　this　moment　it　is　pouring　down　a　very　gentle　light　on　the　men　and　beasts　of　the　city　as　they　accomplish　their　daily　tasks。　　Over　there；　on　the　opposite　bank；　the　stevedores　of　the　Port　Saint…Nicholas　are　unloading　a　cargo　of　cow's　horns；　while　two　men　standing　on　a　gangway　are　tossing　sugar…loaves　from　one　to　the　other；　and　thence　to　somebody　in　the　hold　of　a　steamer。　On　the　north　quay；　the　cab…horses；　standing　in　a　line　under　the　shade　of　the　plane…trees　each　with　its　head　in　a　nose…bag；　are　quietly　munching　their　oats；　while　the　rubicund　drivers　are　drinking　at　the　counter　of　the　wine…seller　opposite；　but　all　the　while　keeping　a　sharp　lookout　for　early　customers。

The　dealers　in　second…hand　books　put　their　boxes　on　the　parapet。　These　good　retailers　of　Mind；　who　are　always　in　the　open　air；　with　blouses　loose　to　the　breeze；　have　become　so　weatherbeaten　by　the　wind；　the　rain；　the　frost；　the　snow；　the　fog；　and　the　great　sun；　that　they　end　by　looking　very　much　like　the　old　statues　of　cathedrals。　　They　are　all　friends　of　mine；　and　I　scarcely　ever　pass　by　their　boxes　without　picking　out　of　one　of　them　some　old　book　which　I　had　always　been　in　need　of　up　to　that　very　moment；　without　any　suspicion　of　the　fact　on　my　part。

Then　on　my　return　home　I　have　to　endure　the　outcries　of　my　housekeeper；　who　accuses　me　of　bursting　all　my　pockets　and　filling　the　house　with　waste　paper　to　attract　the　rats。　　Therese　is　wise　about　that；　and　it　is　because　she　is　wise　that　I　do　not　listen　to　her；　for　in　spite　of　my　tranquil　mien；　I　have　always　preferred　the　folly　of　the　passions　to　the　wisdom　of　indifference。　　But　just　because　my　own　passions　are　not　of　that　sort　which　burst　out　with　violence　to　devastate　and　kill；　the　common　mind　is　not　aware　of　their　existence。　　Nevertheless；　I　am　greatly　moved　by　them　at　times；　and　it　has　more　than　once　been　my　fate　to　lose　my　sleep　for　the　sake　of　a　few　pages　written　by　some　forgotten　monk　or　printed　by　some　humble　apprentice　of　Peter　Schaeffer。　　And　if　these　fierce　enthusiasms　are　slowly　being　quenched　in　me；　it　is　only　because　I　am　being　slowly　quenched　myself。　　Our　passions　are　ourselves。　My　old　books　are　Me。　　I　am　just　as　old　and　thumb…worn　as　they　are。

A　light　breeze　sweeps　away；　along　with　the　dust　of　the　pavements；　the　winged　seeds　of　the　plane　trees；　and　the　fragments　of　hay　dropped　from　the　mouths　of　the　horses。　　The　dust　is　nothing　remarkable　in　itself；　but　as　I　watch　it　flying；　I　remember　a　moment　in　my　childhood　when　I　watched　just　such　a　swirl　of　dust；　and　my　old　Parisian　soul　is　much　affected　by　that　sudden　recollection。　　All　that　I　see　from　my　windowthat　horizon　which　extends　to　the　left　as　far　as　the　hills　of　Chaillot；　and　enables　me　to　distinguish　the　Arc　de　Triomphe　like　a　die　of　stone；　the　Seine；　river　of　glory；　and　its　bridges；　the　ash…trees　of　the　terrace　of　the　Tuileries；　the　Louvre　of　the　Renaissance；　cut　and　graven　like　goldsmithwork；　and　on　my　right；　towards　the　Pont…Neuf　（pons　Lutetiae　Novus　dictus；　as　it　is　named　on　old　engravings）；　all　the　old　and　venerable　part　of　Paris；　with　its　towers　and　spires：all　that　is　my　life；　it　is　myself；　and　I　should　be　nothing　but　for　all　those　things　which　are　thus　reflected　in　me　through　my　thousand　varying　shades　of　thought；　inspiring　me　and　animating　me。　　That　is　why　I　love　Paris　with　an　immense　love。

And　nevertheless　I　am　weary；　and　I　know　that　there　can　be　no　rest　for　me　in　the　heart　of　this　great　city　which　thinks　so　much；　which　has　taught　me　to　think；　and　which　for　ever　urges　me　to　think　more。　And　how　avoid　being　exited　among　all　these　books　which　incessantly　tempt　my　curiosity　without　ever　satisfying　it？　　At　one　moment　it　is　a　date　I　have　to　look　for；　at　another　it　is　the　name　of　a　place　I　have　to　make　sure　of；　or　some　quaint　term　of　which　it　is　important　to　determine　the　exact　meaning。　　Words？why；　yes！　words。　　As　a　philologist；　I　am　their　sovereign；　they　aer　my　subjects；　and；　like　a　good　king；　I　devote　my　whole　life　to　them。　　But　shall　I　not　be　able　to　abdicate　some　day？　　I　have　an　idea　that　there　is　somewhere　or　other；　quite　far　from　here；　a　certain　little　cottage　where　I　could　enjoy　the　quiet　I　so　much　need；　while　awaiting　that　day　in　which　a　greater　quietthat　which　can　be　never　brokenshall　come　to　wrap　me　all　about。　　I　dream　of　a　bench　before　the　threshold；　and　of　fields　spreading　away　out　of　sight。　　But　I　must　have　a　fresh　smiling　young　face　beside　me；　to　reflect　and　concentrate　all　that　freshness　of　nature。　　I　could　then　imagine　myself　a　grandfather；　and　all　the　long　void　of　my　life　would　be　filled。。。。

I　am　not　a　violent　man；　and　yet　I　become　easily　vexed；　and　all　my　works　have　caused　me　quite　as　much　pain　as　pleasure。　　And　I　do　not　know　how　it　is　that　I　still　keep　thinking　about　that　very　conceited　and　very　inconsiderated　impertinence　which　my　young　friend　of　the　Luxembourg　took　the　liberty　to　utter　about　me　some　three　months　ago。　I　do　not　call　him　〃friend〃　in　irony；　for　I　love　studious　youth　with　all　it　temerities　and　imaginative　eccentricities。　　Still；　my　young　friend　certainly　went　beyond　all　bounds。　　Master　Ambroise　Pare；　who　was　the　first　to　attempt　the　ligature　of　arteries；　and　who；　having　commenced　his　profession　at　a　time　when　surgery　was　only　performed　by　quack　barbers；　nevertheless　succeeded　in　lifting　the　science　to　the　high　place　it　now　occupies；　was　assailed　in　his　old　age　by　all　the　young　sawbones'　apprentices。　　Being　grossly　abused　during　a　discussion　by　some　young　addlehead　who　might　have　been　the　best　son　in　the　world；　but　who　certainly　lacked　all　sense　of　respect；　the　old　master　answered　him　in　his　treatise　De　la　Mumie；　de　la　Licorne；　des　Venins　et　de　la　Peste。　　〃I　pray　him；〃　said　the　great　man〃I　pray　him；　that　if　he　desire　to　make　any　contradictions　to　my　reply；　he　abandon　all　animosities；　and　treat　the　good　old　man　with　gentleness。〃　　This　answer　seems　admirable　from　the　pen　of　Ambroise　Pare；　but　even　had　it　been　written　by　a　village　bonesetter；　grown　grey　in　his　calling；　and　mocked　by　some　young　stripling；　it　would　still　be　worthy　of　all　praise。

It　might　perhaps　seem　that　my　memory　of　the　incident　had　been　kept　alive　only　by　a　base　feeling　of　resentment。　　I　thought　so　myself　at　first；　and　reproached　myself　for　thus　dwelling　on　the　saying　of　a　boy　who　could　not　yet　know　the　meaning　of　his　own　words。　　But　my　reflections　on　this　subject　subsequently　took　a　better　course：　that　is　why　I　now　note　them　down　in　my　diary。　　I　remembered　that　one　day　when　I　was　twenty　years　old　（that　was　more　than　half　a　century　ago）　I　was　walking　about　in　that　very　same　garden　of　the　Luxembourg　with　some　comrades。　　We　were　talking　about　our　old　professors；　and　one　of　us　happened　to　name　Monsieur　Petit…Radel；　an　estimable　and　learned　man；　who　was　the　first　to　throw　some　light　upon　the　origins　of　early　Etruscan　civilisation；　but　who　had　been　unfortunate　enough　to　prepare　a　chronological　table　of　the　lovers　of　Helen。　　We　all　laughed　a　great　deal　about　that　chronological　table；　and　I　cried　out；　〃Petit…Radel　is　an　ass；　not　in　three　letters；　but　in　twelve　whole　volumes！〃

This　foolish　speech　of　my　adolescence　was　uttered　too　lightly　to　be　a　weight　on　my　conscience　as　an　old　man。　　May　God　kindly　prove　to　me　some　day　that　I　never　used　an　less　innocent　shaft　of　speech　in　the　battle　of　life！　　But　I　now　ask　myself　whether　I　really　never　wrote；　at　any　time　in　my　life；　something　quite　as　unconsciously　absurd　as　the　chronological　table　of　the　lovers　of　Helen。　　The　progress　of　science　renders　useless　the　very　books　which　have　been　the　greatest　aids　to　that　progress。　　As　those　works　are　no　longer　useful；　modern　youth　is　naturally　inclined　to　believe　they　never　had　any　value；　it　despises　them；　and　ridicules　them　if　they　happen　to　contain　any　superannuated　opinion　whatever。　　That　is　why；　in　my　twentieth　year；　I　amused　myself　at　the　expense　of　Monsieur　Petit…Radel　and　his　chronological　table；　and　that　was　why；　the　other　day；　at　the　Luxembourg；　my　young　and　irreverent　friend。。。

〃Rentre　en　toi…meme；　Octave；　et　cesse　de　te　plaindre。　　Quoi！　tu　veux　qu'on　t'epargne　et　n'as　rien　epargne！〃　＇　〃Look　into　thyself；　Octavius；　and　cease　complaining。　　What！　thou　wouldst　be　spared；　and　thou　thyself　hast　spared　none！〃＇


June　6。



It　was　the　first　Thursday　in　June。　　I　shut　up　my　books　and　took　my　leave　of　the　holy　abbot　Droctoveus；　who；　being　now　in　the　enjoyment　of　celestial　bliss；　cannot　feel　very　impatient　to　behold　his　name　and　works　glorified　on　earth　through　the　humble　compilation　being　prepared　by　my　hands。　　Must　I　confess　it？　　That　mallow…plant　I　saw　visited　by　a　bee　the　other　day　has　been　occupying　my　thoughts　much　more　than　all　the　ancient　abbots　who　ever　bore　croisers　or　wore　mitres。　　There　is　in　one　of　Sprengel's　books　which　I　read　in　my　youth；　at　that　time　when　I　used　to　read　in　my　youth；　at　that　time　when　I　used　to　read　anything　and　everything；　some　ideas　about　〃the　loves　of　flowers〃　which　now　return　to　memory　after　having　been　forgotten　for　half　a　century；　and　which　to…day　interest　me　so　much　that　I　regret　not　to　have　devoted　the　humble　capacities　of　my　mind　to　the　study　of　insects　and　of　plants。

And　only　awhile　ago　my　housekeeper　surprised　me　at　the　kitchen　window；　in　the　act　of　examining　some　wallflowers　through　a　magnifying…　glass。。。。

It　was　while　looking　for　my　cravat　that　I　made　these　reflections。　But　after　searching　to　no　purpose　in　a　great　number　of　drawers；　I　found　myself　obliged；　after　all；　to　have　recourse　to　my　housekeeper。　Therese　came　limping　in。

〃Monsieur；〃　she　said；　〃you　ought　to　have　told　me　you　were　going　out；　and　I　would　have　given　you　your　cravat！〃

〃But　Therese；〃　I　replied；　〃would　it　not　be　a　great　deal　better　to　put　in　some　place　where　I　could　find　it　without　your　help？〃

Therese　did　not　deign　to　answer　me。

Therese　no　longer　allows　me　to　arrange　anything。　　I　can