the girl with the golden eyes-第9章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


which　Henri　was　obliged　to　wait　while　the　mulatto　was　opening　the　door
of　a　damp　apartment；　fetid　and　unlit；　the　chambers　of　which；　barely
illuminated　by　the　candle　which　his　guide　found　in　the　ante…chamber；
seemed　to　him　empty　and　ill　furnished；　like　those　of　a　house　the
inhabitants　of　which　are　away。　He　recognized　the　sensation　which　he
had　experienced　from　the　perusal　of　one　of　those　romances　of　Anne
Radcliffe；　in　which　the　hero　traverses　the　cold；　sombre；　and
uninhabited　saloons　of　some　sad　and　desert　spot。

At　last　the　mulatto　opened　the　door　of　a　/salon/。　The　condition　of　the
old　furniture　and　the　dilapidated　curtains　with　which　the　room　was
adorned　gave　it　the　air　of　the　reception…room　of　a　house　of　ill　fame。
There　was　the　same　pretension　to　elegance；　and　the　same　collection　of
things　in　bad　taste；　of　dust　and　dirt。　Upon　a　sofa　covered　with　red
Utrecht　velvet；　by　the　side　of　a　smoking　hearth；　the　fire　of　which　was
buried　in　ashes；　sat　an　old；　poorly　dressed　woman；　her　head　capped　by
one　of　those　turbans　which　English　women　of　a　certain　age　have
invented　and　which　would　have　a　mighty　success　in　China；　where　the
artist's　ideal　is　the　monstrous。

The　room；　the　old　woman；　the　cold　hearth；　all　would　have　chilled　love
to　death　had　not　Paquita　been　there；　upon　an　ottoman；　in　a　loose
voluptuous　wrapper；　free　to　scatter　her　gaze　of　gold　and　flame；　free
to　show　her　arched　foot；　free　of　her　luminous　movements。　This　first
interview　was　what　every　/rendezvous/　must　be　between　persons　of
passionate　disposition；　who　have　stepped　over　a　wide　distance　quickly；
who　desire　each　other　ardently；　and　who；　nevertheless；　do　not　know
each　other。　It　is　impossible　that　at　first　there　should　not　occur
certain　discordant　notes　in　the　situation；　which　is　embarrassing　until
the　moment　when　two　souls　find　themselves　in　unison。

If　desire　gives　a　man　boldness　and　disposes　him　to　lay　restraint
aside；　the　mistress；　under　pain　of　ceasing　to　be　woman；　however　great
may　be　her　love；　is　afraid　of　arriving　at　the　end　so　promptly；　and
face　to　face　with　the　necessity　of　giving　herself；　which　to　many　women
is　equivalent　to　a　fall　into　an　abyss；　at　the　bottom　of　which　they
know　not　what　they　shall　find。　The　involuntary　coldness　of　the　woman
contrasts　with　her　confessed　passion；　and　necessarily　reacts　upon　the
most　passionate　lover。　Thus　ideas；　which　often　float　around　souls　like
vapors；　determine　in　them　a　sort　of　temporary　malady。　In　the　sweet
journey　which　two　beings　undertake　through　the　fair　domains　of　love；
this　moment　is　like　a　waste　land　to　be　traversed；　a　land　without　a
tree；　alternatively　damp　and　warm；　full　of　scorching　sand；　traversed
by　marshes；　which　leads　to　smiling　groves　clad　with　roses；　where　Love
and　his　retinue　of　pleasures　disport　themselves　on　carpets　of　soft
verdure。　Often　the　witty　man　finds　himself　afflicted　with　a　foolish
laugh　which　is　his　only　answer　to　everything；　his　wit　is；　as　it　were；
suffocated　beneath　the　icy　pressure　of　his　desires。　It　would　not　be
impossible　for　two　beings　of　equal　beauty；　intelligence；　and　passion
to　utter　at　first　nothing　but　the　most　silly　commonplaces；　until
chance；　a　word；　the　tremor　of　a　certain　glance；　the　communication　of　a
spark；　should　have　brought　them　to　the　happy　transition　which　leads　to
that　flowery　way　in　which　one　does　not　walk；　but　where　one　sways　and
at　the　same　time　does　not　lapse。

Such　a　state　of　mind　is　always　in　proportion　with　the　violence　of　the
feeling。　Two　creatures　who　love　one　another　weakly　feel　nothing
similar。　The　effect　of　this　crisis　can　even　be　compared　with　that
which　is　produced　by　the　glow　of　a　clear　sky。　Nature；　at　the　first
view；　appears　to　be　covered　with　a　gauze　veil；　the　azure　of　the
firmament　seems　black；　the　intensity　of　light　is　like　darkness。　With
Henri；　as　with　the　Spanish　girl；　there　was　an　equal　intensity　of
feeling；　and　that　law　of　statics；　in　virtue　of　which　two　identical
forces　cancel　each　other；　might　have　been　true　also　in　the　moral
order。　And　the　embarrassment　of　the　moment　was　singularly　increased　by
the　presence　of　the　old　hag。　Love　takes　pleasure　or　fright　at　all；　all
has　meaning　for　it；　everything　is　an　omen　of　happiness　or　sorrow　for
it。

This　decrepit　woman　was　there　like　a　suggestion　of　catastrophe；　and
represented　the　horrid　fish's　tail　with　which　the　allegorical　geniuses
of　Greece　have　terminated　their　chimeras　and　sirens；　whose　figures；
like　all　passions；　are　so　seductive；　so　deceptive。

Although　Henri　was　not　a　free…thinkerthe　phrase　is　always　a　mockery
but　a　man　of　extraordinary　power；　a　man　as　great　as　a　man　can　be
without　faith；　the　conjunction　struck　him。　Moreover；　the　strongest　men
are　naturally　the　most　impressionable；　and　consequently　the　most
superstitious；　if；　indeed；　one　may　call　superstition　the　prejudice　of
the　first　thoughts；　which；　without　doubt；　is　the　appreciation　of　the
result　in　causes　hidden　to　other　eyes　but　perceptible　to　their　own。

The　Spanish　girl　profited　by　this　moment　of　stupefaction　to　let
herself　fall　into　the　ecstasy　of　that　infinite　adoration　which　seizes
the　heart　of　a　woman；　when　she　truly　loves　and　finds　herself　in　the
presence　of　an　idol　for　whom　she　has　vainly　longed。　Her　eyes　were　all
joy；　all　happiness；　and　sparks　flew　from　them。　She　was　under　the
charm；　and　fearlessly　intoxicated　herself　with　a　felicity　of　which　she
had　dreamed　long。　She　seemed　then　so　marvelously　beautiful　to　Henri；
that　all　this　phantasmagoria　of　rags　and　old　age；　of　worn　red　drapery
and　of　the　green　mats　in　front　of　the　armchairs；　the　ill…washed　red
tiles；　all　this　sick　and　dilapidated　luxury；　disappeared。

The　room　seemed　lit　up；　and　it　was　only　through　a　cloud　that　one　could
see　the　fearful　harpy　fixed　and　dumb　on　her　red　sofa；　her　yellow　eyes
betraying　the　servile　sentiments；　inspired　by　misfortune；　or　caused　by
some　vice　beneath　whose　servitude　one　has　fallen　as　beneath　a　tyrant
who　brutalizes　one　with　the　flagellations　of　his　despotism。　Her　eyes
had　the　cold　glitter　of　a　caged　tiger；　knowing　his　impotence　and　being
compelled　to　swallow　his　rage　of　destruction。

〃Who　is　that　woman？〃　said　Henri　to　Paquita。

But　Paquita　did　not　answer。　She　made　a　sign　that　she　understood　no
French；　and　asked　Henri　if　he　spoke　English。

De　Marsay　repeated　his　question　in　English。

〃She　is　the　only　woman　in　whom　I　can　confide；　although　she　has　sold　me
already；〃　said　Paquita；　tranquilly。　〃My　dear　Adolphe；　she　is　my
mother；　a　slave　bought　in　Georgia　for　her　rare　beauty；　little　enough
of　which　remains　to…day。　She　only　speaks　her　native　tongue。〃

The　attitude　of　this　woman　and　her　eagerness　to　guess　from　the
gestures　of　her　daughter　and　Henri　what　was　passing　between　them；　were
suddenly　explained　to　the　young　man；　and　this　explanation　put　him　at
his　ease。

〃Paquita；〃　he　said；　〃are　we　never　to　be　free　then？〃

〃Never；〃　she　said；　with　an　air　of　sadness。　〃Even　now　we　have　but　a　few
days　before　us。〃

She　lowered　her　eyes；　looked　at　and　counted　with　her　right　hand　on　the
fingers　of　her　left；　revealing　so　the　most　beautiful　hands　which　Henri
had　ever　seen。

〃One；　two；　three〃

She　counted　up　to　twelve。

〃Yes；〃　she　said；　〃we　have　twelve　days。〃

〃And　after？〃

〃After；〃　she　said；　showing　the　absorption　of　a　weak　woman　before　the
executioner's　axe；　and　slain　in　advance；　as　it　were；　by　a　fear　which
stripped　her　of　that　magnificent　energy　which　Nature　seemed　to　have
bestowed　upon　her　only　to　aggrandize　pleasure　and　convert　the　most
vulgar　delights　into　endless　poems。　〃After〃　she　repeated。　Her　eyes
took　a　fixed　stare；　she　seemed　to　contemplate　a　threatening　object　far
away。

〃I　do　not　know；〃　she　said。

〃This　girl　is　mad；〃　said　Henri　to　himself；　falling　into　strange
reflections。

Paquita　appeared　to　him　occupied　by　something　which　was　not　himself；
like　a　woman　constrained　equally　by　remorse　and　passion。　Perhaps　she
had　in　her　heart　another　love　which　she　alternately　remembered　and
forgot。　In　a　moment　Henri　was　assailed　by　a　thousand　contradictory
thoughts。　This　girl　became　a　mystery　for　him；　but　as　he　contemplated
her　with　the　scientific　attention　of　the　/blase/　man；　famished　for　new
pleasures；　like　that　Eastern　king　who　asked　that　a　pleasure　should　be
created　for　him；a　horrible　thirst　with　which　great　souls　are　seized；
Henri　recognized　in　Paquita　the　richest　organization　that　Nature　had
ever　deigned　to　compose　for　love。　The　presumptive　play　of　this
machinery；　setting　aside　the　soul；　would　have　frightened　any　other　man
than　Henri；　but　he　was　fascinated　by　that　rich　harvest　of　promised
pleasures；　by　that　constant　variety　in　happiness；　the　dream　of　every
man；　and　the　desire　of　every　loving　woman　too。　He　was　infuriated　by
the　infinite　rendered　palpable；　and　transported　into　the　most
excessive　raptures　of　which　the　creature　is　capable。　All　that　he　saw
in　this　girl　more　distinctly　than　he　had　yet　seen　it；　for　she　let
herself　be　viewed　complacently；　happy　to　be　admired。　The　admiration　of
De　Marsay　became　a　secret　fury；　and　he　unveiled　her　completely；
throwing　a　glance　at　her　which　the　Spaniard　understood　as　though　she
had　been　used　to　receive　such。

〃If　you　are　not　to　be　mine；　mine　only；　I　will　kill　you！〃　he　cried。

Hearing　this　speech；　Paquita　covered　her　face　in　her　hands；　and　cried
naively：

〃Holy　Virgin！　What　have　I　brought　upon　myself？〃

She　rose；　flung　herself　down　upon　the　red　sofa；　and　buried　her　head　in
the　rags　which　covered　the　bosom　of　her　mother；　and　wept　there。　The
old　woman　received　her　daughter　without　issuing　from　her　state　of
immobility；　or　displaying　any　emotion。　The　mother　possessed　in　the
highest　degree　that　gravity　of　savage　races；　the　impassiveness　of　a
statue　upon　which　all　remarks　are　lost。　Did　she　or　did　she　not　love
her　daughter？　Beneath　that　mask　every　human　emotion　might　broodgood
and　evil；　and　from　this　creature　all　might　be　expected。　Her　gaze
passed　slowly　from　her　daughter's　beautiful　hair；　which　covered　her
like　a　mantle；　to　the　face　of　Henri；　which　she　considered　with　an
indescribable　curiosity。

She　seemed　to　ask　by　what　fatality　he　was　there；　from　what　caprice
Nature　had　made　so　seductive　a　man。

〃These　women　are　making　sport　of　me；〃　said　Henri　to　himself。

At　that　moment　Paquita　raised　her　head；　cast　at　him　one　of　those　looks
which　reach　the　very　soul　and　consume　it。　So　beautiful　seemed　she　that
he　swore　he　would　possess　such　a　treasure　of　beauty。

〃My　Paquita！　Be　mine！〃

〃Wouldst　thou　kill　me？〃　she　said　fearfully；　palpitating　and　anxious；
but　drawn　towards　him　by　an　inexplicable　force。

〃Kill　theeI！〃　he　said；　smiling。

Paquita　uttered　a　cry　of　alarm；　said　a　word　to　the　old　woman；　who
authoritatively　seized　Henri's　hand　and　that　of　her　daughter。　She
gazed　at　them　for　a　long　time；　and　then　released　them；　wagging　her
head　in　a　fashion　horribly　significant。

〃Be　minethis　evening；　this　moment；　follow　me；　do　not　leave　me！　It
must　be；　Paquita！　Dost　thou　love　me？　Come！〃

In　a　moment　he　had　poured　out　a　thousand　foolish　words　to　her；　with
the　rapidity　of　a　torrent　coursing　between　the　rocks；　and　repeating
the　same　sound　in　a　thousand　different　forms。

〃It　is　the　same　voice！〃　said　Paquita；　in　a　melancholy　voice；　which　De
Marsay　could　not　overhear；　〃and　the　sa