I seemed to have no other reason for living than my love, and to that I clung, expecting nothing, and
with my mind made up to expect nothing, but what should come to me from Alissa.
The next morning, as I was getting ready to go and see her, my aunt handed me the following
letter which she had just received:
‘...Juliette’s extreme restlessness did not yield to the doctor’s prescriptions1 till towards morning. I beg Jérôme
not to come and see us for some days. Juliette might recognize his footsteps or his voice, and she is in need of the
greatest quiet.
‘I am afraid Juliette’s condition will keep me here. If I do not manage to see Jérôme before he leaves, please tell
him, dear Aunt, that I will write to him...’
The Bucolins’ door was shut only against me. My aunt, or anyone else that chose, was free to
knock at it; and, indeed, my aunt was going there that very morning. I might make a noise! What a
feeble excuse! No matter.
‘Very well,’ said I, ‘I won’t go.’
It cost me a great deal not to see Alissa again at once, and yet I was afraid of seeing her, I was
afraid she might hold me responsible for her sister’s condition, and it was easier to bear not seeing
her again than seeing her vexed2.
At any rate, I determined3 I would see Abel.
At his door, the maid gave me a note:
‘I am leaving you this word or two so that you mayn’t be anxious. The idea of staying at Le Havre, so near
Juliette, was intolerable. I embarked4 for Southampton last night, almost directly after I left you. I shall spend the
rest of the holidays with S— in London. We shall meet again at the School.’
All human help failed me at one and the same time. I did not prolong a stay which could only
prove painful to me, and went back to Paris before the beginning of the term. It was to God that I
turned my looks, to Him ‘from whom cometh down all true consolation7 and every good gift.’ It was
to Him that I offered my trouble. I thought that Alissa, too, was taking refuge in Him, and the thought
that she was praying encouraged and exalted8 my prayers.
There went by a long period of meditation9 and study with no other events but Alissa’s letter to me
and mine to her. I have kept all her letters; by their help I can, from this time onwards, check my
recollections when they become confused.
I had news of Le Havre from my aunt, and at first only from her; I learnt through her what anxiety
Juliette’s unhappy condition had caused for the first few days. Twelve days after I had left I at last
received this letter from Alissa:
‘Forgive me, my dear Jérôme, for not having written to you sooner. Our poor Juliette’s state has allowed me
very little time. Since you went away, I have hardly left her. I begged Aunt to give you news of us, and I suppose
she has done so. So you know that Juliette had been better for the last three days. I already thank God, but I dare not
feel happy yet.’
Robert also, of whom I have so far told you very little, was able to give me news of his sisters,
when he returned to Paris a few days after me. For their sake, I spent more time with him than my
disposition10 would have naturally inclined me to; whenever the School of Agriculture, where he was
studying, left him free, I took him in charge and was at great pains to amuse him.
It was through him that I learnt – what I had not dared ask either Alissa or my aunt – that Édouard
Teissières had come to inquire for Juliette very assiduously, but when Robert had left Le Havre she
had not yet seen him. I learnt also that Juliette had kept up an obstinate12 silence towards her sister,
which nothing had been able to break down.
Then I learnt from my aunt a little later that Juliette insisted on her engagement being made
public, in spite of what I instinctively13 felt was Alissa’s hope that it would be broken off at once.
Advice, injunctions, entreaties15, spent themselves in vain against this determination of Juliette’s,
which seemed fixed16 like a bar across her brow and like a bandage over her eyes – which seemed to
immure17 her in silence.
Time passed. I received from Alissa – to whom, indeed, I knew not what to write – nothing but
the most elusive18 notes. The thick fogs of winter wrapped me round; my study lamp and all the
fervour of my love and faith served but ill, alas19! to keep the darkness and the cold from my heart.
Time passed. Then, one morning of sudden spring, came a letter from Alissa to my aunt, who was
absent from Le Havre, a letter which my aunt sent on to me and from which I copy out the part that
throws light on my story.
‘Admire my docility20. As you advised, I have seen M. Teissières and talked to him at length. I confess that his
behaviour has been perfect, and I have almost, I admit, come to the point of believing that the marriage may not
turn out so badly as I feared at first. Certainly Juliette does not love him; but he seems to me every week to be less
unworthy of her love. He speaks of the situation with great clear-sightedness and makes no mistake as to my sister’s
character; but he has great faith in the efficacy of his own love, and flatters himself that there is nothing his
constancy will not be able to overcome. That is to say, he is very much in love.
‘Yes! I am extremely touched to see Jérôme take so much trouble over my brother. I imagine that he does so
only out of a sense of duty, for Robert’s character is very different from his – perhaps, too, in order to please me –
but doubtless he has already come to understand that the more arduous22 the duty one assumes, the more it educates
and uplifts the soul. You will think these very lofty reflections, but do not laugh at your foolish niece too much, for
it is these thoughts which give me support and which help me to try and look upon Juliette’s marriage as a good
thing.
‘Dear aunt, your affectionate solicitude23 is very precious to me. But do not think I am unhappy, I might almost
say the contrary is the case, for the trial through which Juliette has just gone has had its effect on me too. Those
words of Scripture24 which I used to repeat without very well understanding them, have suddenly become dear to me:
“Cursed be the man that trusteth in man.” Long before coming across them in my Bible, I had read them on a little
Christmas card which Jérôme sent me when he was not quite twelve years old and when I was just fourteen. Beside
the bunch of flowers which was painted on it, and which we then thought lovely, there were these lines, from a
paraphrase25 of Corneille’s:
‘Quel charme vainqueur du monde
Vers Dieu m’élève aujourd’hui?
Malheureux l’homme qui fonde
Sur les hom
mes son appui!
‘I confess I infinitely26 prefer the simple text out of Jeremiah. No doubt, Jérôme chose the card at the time
without paying much attention to the lines. But if I am to judge from his letters, his frame of mind at present is not
unlike mine, and every day I thank God that He should have brought us both nearer to Him with one and the same
stroke.
‘I have not forgotten our conversation, and I am not writing to him as much as I used to do, so as not to disturb
him in his work. You will no doubt think that I make up for it by talking about him all the more; lest I should go on
too long, I will end my letter at once. Don’t scold me too much this time.’
What reflections this letter aroused in me! I cursed my aunt’s meddling27 interference (what was
the conversation to which Alissa alluded28, and which was the cause of her silence?) and the clumsy
good nature which made her send the letter on to me. It was already hard enough for me to bear
Alissa’s silence, and oh! would it not have been better a thousand times to have left me in ignorance
that she was writing to another person what she no longer cared to say to me? Everything in the letter
irritated me; to hear her speak to my aunt so easily of our little private affairs, as well as the
naturalness of her tone, her composure, her seriousness, her pleasantry.
‘No, no, my dear fellow! Nothing in the letter irritates you, except the fact that it isn’t addressed
to you,’ said Abel, who was my daily companion; for Abel was the only person to whom I could
speak, and in my loneliness I was constantly drawn29 to him afresh by weakness, by a wistful longing30
for sympathy, by diffidence, and, when I was at fault, by my belief in his advice, in spite of the
difference of our natures – or rather, because of it.
‘Let us study this paper,’ said he, spreading the letter out on his writing table.
Three nights had already passed over my vexation; for four days I had managed to keep it to
myself! I led up almost naturally to a point when Abel said to me:
‘We’ll consign31 the Juliette-Teissières affair to the fire of love – eh? We know what that flame is
worth. Upon my word, Teissières seems just the kind of moth32 to singe33 his wings in it.’
‘That will do!’ said I, for his banter34 was very distasteful to me. ‘Let’s go on to the rest.’
‘The rest,’ he said. ‘The rest is all for you. You haven’t much to complain of. Not a line, not a
word, that isn’t filled with the thought of you. You may say the whole letter is addressed to you;
when Aunt Félicie sent it on to you, she merely sent it to its rightful owner; Alissa writes to the good
lady as a make-shift, in default of you. What can Corneille’s lines (which, by the way, are by Racine)
matter to your aunt? I tell you it’s to you she is talking; she’s saying it all to you. You’re nothing but
a simpleton if a fortnight hence your cousin isn’t writing to you just as lengthily35, as easily, as
agreeably...’
‘She doesn’t seem to be taking the right road!’
‘It only depends upon you for her to take it! Do you want my advice? Don’t say a word for ever
so long, of love or marriage; don’t you see that since her sister’s misfortune, it’s that she’s set
against? Harp36 on the fraternal string and talk to her untiringly of Robert – since you have the patience
to look after the young ass11. Just go on amusing her intelligence; all the rest will follow. Ah! if it were
only I who had to write to her!’
‘You aren’t worthy21 to love her.’
Nevertheless, I followed Abel’s advice; and, indeed, Alissa’s letters soon began to get more
animated37; but I could not hope for any real joy on her part, or that she would let herself go without
reserve, until Juliette’s situation, if not her happiness, was assured.
The news which Alissa gave me of her sister improved, however. Her marriage was to take place
in July; Alissa wrote to me that she supposed that at this date Abel and I would be engaged in our
studies. I understood that she judged it better for us not to appear at the ceremony, so we alleged38
some examination or other, and contented39 ourselves with sending our good wishes.
About a fortnight after the marriage this is what Alissa wrote to me:
‘My dear Jérôme,
‘Imagine my astonishment40 yesterday when, on opening at random41 the charming Racine you gave me, I found
the four lines which are on your little old Christmas card that I had kept in my Bible for the last ten years:
‘Quel charme vainqueur du monde
Vers Dieu m’élève aujourd’hui?
Malheureux l’homme qui fonde
Sur les hommes son appui!
‘I had thought they came from a paraphrase of Corneille’s, and I admit I didn’t think much of them. But as I
went on reading the fourth Cantique Spirituel, I came across some verses which are so beautiful, that I cannot resist
copying them. No doubt you know them already, if I am to judge from the indiscreet initials which you have put in
the margin42 of the book.’ [It is true that I had taken the habit of sprinkling my books and Alissa’s with the first letter
of her name, opposite all the passages which I liked and which I wanted her to know.] ‘Never mind! I write them
out for my own pleasure. I was a little vexed at first to see that you had pointed43 out what I thought was a discovery
of my own, but this naughty feeling soon gave way to my pleasure in thinking that you like them as much as I do.
As I copy I feel as if I were reading them over with you.
‘De la sagesse immortelle
La voix tonne et nous instruit:
Enfants des hommes, dit-elle,
De vos soins quel est le fruit?
Par5 quelle erreur, âmes vaines,
Du plus pur sang de vos veines
Achetez-vous si souvent,
Non un pain qui vous repaisse,
Mais une ombre qui vous laisse
Plus affamés que devant?
‘Le pain que je vous propose
Sert aux anges d’aliment ;
Dieu lui-même le compose
De la fleur de son froment.
C’est ce pain si délectable
Que ne sert point à sa table
Le monde que vous suivez.
Je l’offre à qui veut me suivre :
Approchez. Voulez-vous vivre?
Prenez, mangez et vivez.
★
‘L’âme heureusement captive
Sous ton joug trouve la paix,
Et s’abreuve d’une eau vive
Qui ne s’épuise jamais.
Chacun peut boire en cette onde ,
Elle invite tout44 le monde;
Mais nous courons follement
Chercher des sources bourbeuses ,
Ou des citernes trompeuses
D’où l’eau fuit à tout moment.
‘How beautiful! Jérôme, how beautiful! Do you really think it as beautiful as I do? A little note in my edition
says that Mme de Maintenon, when she heard Mlle d’Aumale sing this hymn45, seemed struck with admiration46,
“dropped a few tears”, and made her repeat a part of the piece over again. I know it by heart now, and never weary
of saying it to myself. My only regret is that I haven’t heard you read it.
‘The news from our travellers continues to be very good. You know already how much Juliette enjoyed
Bayonne and Biarritz in spite of the fearful heat. Since then they have visited Fontarrabia, stayed at Burgos and
crossed the Pyrenees twice. Now she writes me an enthusiastic letter from Montserrat. They think of spending ten
days longer at Barcelona before they return to Nîmes, where Édouard wants to be back before September, so as to
be able to look after the vintage.
‘Father and I have been settled at Fongueusemare for a week now, and we expect Miss Ashburton and Robert
in four days’ time. You know the poor boy has failed in his examination; not that it was difficult, but the examiner
asked him such peculiar47 questions that it confused him; I cannot believe, after what you told me about his keenness
for work, that he hadn’t prepared properly, but this examiner, it appears, takes a pleasure in putting people out.
‘As for your successes, my dear, I can hardly say that I congratulate you. I have so much confidence in you,
Jérôme! Whenever I think of you, my heart fills with hope. Will you be able to begin the work you speak about at
once?
‘Nothing is changed here in the garden; but the house seems very empty! You will have understood – won’t
you? – why I asked you not to come this year. I feel it is better so; I tell myself so every day, for it is hard to stay so
long without seeing you. Sometimes I look for you involuntarily; I stop in the middle of what I am reading, I turn
my head quickly... it seems as though you were there!
‘I continue my letter. It is night, everybody is asleep; I am sitting up late writing to you, before the open
window. The garden is full of scents49; the air is warm. Do you remember when we were children, whenever we saw
or heard anything very beautiful, we used to say to ourselves, “Thanks, Lord, for having created it.” Tonight I said
to myself with my whole soul, “Thanks, Lord, for having made the night so beautiful!” And suddenly I wanted you
there – I felt you there, close to me – with such violence that perhaps you felt it.
‘Yes, you were right in your letter when you said, “In generous hearts admiration is lost in gratitude50.” How
many other things I should like to write to you! I think of the radiant land Juliette speaks of. I think of other lands,
vaster, more radiant still, more desert-like. A strange conviction dwells in me that one day – but I cannot tell how –
you and I will see together some great mysterious land – but ah! I cannot tell which...’
No doubt you can easily imagine with what transports of joy I read this letter, with what sobs51 of
love! Other letters followed. Alissa, it is true, thanked me for not coming to Fongueusemare; it is true
she begged me not to try and see her again this year, but she regretted my absence, she wanted me;
from page to page there sounded the same appeal. Where did I find strength to resist it? In Abel’s
advice, no doubt, and in the fear of suddenly ruining my joy, and in an instinctive14 stiffening52 of my
will against the inclinations53 of my heart.
From the letters which followed I copy all that bears upon my tale:
‘Dear Jérôme,
‘My heart melts with joy as I read you. I was just going to answer your letter from Orvieto, when the one from
Perugia and the one from Assisi arrived together. My mind has turned traveller; it is only my body that makes
believe to stay behind here; in truth I am with you on the white roads of Umbria. I set out with you in the morning
and watch the dawn with a fresh-created eye... Did you really call me on the terrace of Cortona? I heard you. We
were terribly thirsty on the hills above Assisi, but how good I thought the Franciscan’s glass of water! Oh, my
friend! It is through you that I look at all things. How much I like what you write about St Francis! Yes, what we
should seek for is indeed – is it not? – an exaltation and not an emancipation54 of the mind. The latter goes only with
an abominable55 pride. Our ambition should lie not in revolt but in service.
‘The news from Nîmes is so good, that it seems to me I have God’s permission to give way to joy. The only
shadow this summer is my poor father’s condition. In spite of all my care he still keeps sad, or rather he relapses
into sadness the moment I leave him to himself, and it becomes less and less easy to get him out of it. All the joys of
nature that are about us speak a language which has become foreign to him; he no longer even makes any effort to
understand it. Miss Ashburton is well. I read your letters aloud to them both; each one gives us enough to talk about
for three days, and then comes a fresh one.
‘Robert left us the day before yesterday. He is going to spend the rest of his holidays with his friend R—,
whose father is at the head of a model farm. Certainly the life we lead here is not very amusing for him. I could only
encourage him in his idea when he spoke56 of leaving.
‘...I have so much to say to you. I thirst for a talk, such an endless talk! Sometimes I can find no words, no
distinct ideas – this evening I am writing as in a dream – and all I realize is an almost oppressive sense of infinite
riches to bestow57 and to receive.
‘How did we manage to be silent during so many long months? No doubt we were hibernating58. Oh! may that
frightful59 winter of our silence be for ever past! Now that I have found you again, life, thought, our souls –
everything seems beautiful, adorable, inexhaustibly fertile.
‘12th September.
‘I have got your letter from Pisa. The weather is splendid here, too. Never before have I thought Normandy so
beautiful. The day before yesterday I took an enormously long walk, going across country at random. When I came
in I was not so much tired as excited, almost intoxicated60 with sun and joy. How beautiful the haystacks were in the
burning sun! There was no need to imagine myself in Italy for me to think everything I saw wonderful.
‘Yes, dear friend, it is as you say, an exhortation61 to joy which I hear and understand in Nature’s “mingled
hymn”. I hear it in every bird’s song; I breathe it in the scent48 of every flower, and I have reached the point of
conceiving adoration62 as the only form of prayer, repeating over and over again with St Francis: “My God! My God!
e non altro” – and nothing else – my heart filled with inexpressible love.
‘Don’t be afraid, though, of my becoming an ignoramus. I have been reading a great deal lately; with the help
of a few rainy days I have, as it were, folded my adoration up into my books. Finished Malebranche and began at
once on Leibnitz’ Letters to Clarke. Then, as a rest, read Shelley’s Cenci – without pleasure; read The Sensitive
Plant too. I shall make you very indignant, but I would give nearly all Shelley and all Byron for Keats’ four odes,
which we read together last summer; just as I would give all Hugo for a few of Baudelaire’s sonnets63. The words
“great poet” have no meaning – what is important is to be a pure poet. Oh, my brother! thank you for having taught
me to understand and love these things.
‘No, don’t cut short your journey for the sake of a few days’ meeting. Seriously, it is better that we should not
see each other again just yet. Believe me, if you were with me I could not think of you more. I should be sorry to
give you pain, but I have come to the point of no longer wanting your presence – now. Shall I confess? If I knew
you were coming this evening I should fly away.
‘Oh! don’t ask me to explain this feeling, please, I only know that I think of you unceasingly (which ought to be
enough for your happiness) and that I am happy so.’
★
A short time after this last letter, and immediately after my return from Italy, I was called up for
my military service and sent to Nancy. I did not know a living soul there, but I was glad to be alone,
for it was thus more clearly apparent to my lover’s pride and to Alissa herself, that her letters were
my only refuge, and that the thought of her was, as Ronsard would have said, ‘my only entelechy’.
To tell the truth I bore the pretty severe discipline to which we were subjected very cheerily. I
stiffened64 myself to endurance, and in my letters to Alissa complained only of absence. We even
found in this long separation a trial worthy of our valour. ‘You who never complain,’ wrote Alissa:
‘you whom I cannot imagine faltering65.’ What would I not have endured to prove the truth of her
words?
Almost a year had gone by since our last meeting. She seemed not to consider this, but to count
her time of waiting only from now onwards. I reproached her with it.
‘Was I not with you in Italy?’ she replied. ‘Ungrateful! I never left you for a single day. You must understand
that now, for a time, I can’t follow you any longer, and it is that, only that, which I call separation. I try hard, it is
true, to imagine you as a soldier. I can’t succeed. At best I see you in the evening in your little room in the Rue6
Gambetta, writing or reading – but no, not even that! In reality it is only at Fongueusemare or Le Havre that I can
see you, in a year from now.
‘A year! I don’t count the days that have already gone by, my hope fastens its gaze on that point in the future,
which is slowly, slowly, drawing nearer. Do you remember the low wall that shelters the chrysanthemums66, at the
end of the garden, and how sometimes we used to venture along the top of it? Juliette and you walked on it as
boldly as though you were Mussulmans going straight to Paradise; as for me, I was seized with giddiness after the
first step or two, and you used to call to me from below, “Don’t look at your feet! Eyes front! Don’t stop! Look at
the goal!” And then, at last – and it was more of a help than your words – you would climb on to the wall at the
other end and wait for me. Then I no longer trembled; I no longer felt giddy; I no longer saw anything but you; I ran
until I reached your open arms.
‘Without faith in you, Jérôme, what would become of me? I have need to feel you strong; need to lean on you.
Don’t weaken.’
Out of a sort of spirit of defiance67, which made us deliberately68 prolong our time of waiting – out of
fear, too, of an unsatisfactory meeting – we agreed that I should spend my few days’ leave at
Christmas with Miss Ashburton, in Paris.
I have already told you that I do not give all her letters. Here is one I received about the middle of
February:
‘Great excitement the day before yesterday in passing along the Rue de Paris to see Abel’s book, very
ostentatiously displayed in M—’s shop window. You had indeed announced its appearance, but I could not believe
in its reality. I wasn’t able to resist going in; but the title seemed to me so ridiculous that I hesitated to name it to the
shopman; I was, in fact, on the point of going out again with any other book, no matter what. Fortunately a little pile
of Wantonness was set out for customers near the counter, and I took a copy and put down my money, without
having had to speak.
‘I am grateful to Abel for not having sent me his book! I have not been able to look through it without shame;
shame, not so much because of the book itself – in which, after all, I see more folly69 than indecency – but shame to
think that Abel, Abel Vautier, your friend, should have written it. I searched in vain, from page to page, for the
“great talent” which the Temps reviewer has discovered in it. In our little society of Le Havre, where Abel is often
mentioned, people say that the book is very successful. I hear his incurable70 futility71 of mind called “lightness” and
“grace”; of course, I keep prudently72 silent, and have told no one but you that I have read it. Poor Pasteur Vautier,
who at first looked deeply grieved – and very rightly – is now beginning to wonder whether, instead, he hasn’t
cause to feel proud; and all his acquaintance are doing their best to persuade him so. Yesterday, at Aunt Plantier’s,
when Mme V— said to him abruptly73: “You must be very happy, Pasteur, over your son’s wonderful success!” he
answered rather abashed74, “Oh! I haven’t got as far as that yet!” “But you will! But you will!” said Aunt, innocently
no doubt, but in such an encouraging voice that everyone began to laugh, even he.
‘What will it be when The New Abelard is brought out? I hear it is going to be acted at some theatre or other on
the Boulevards, and that the papers are beginning to talk of it already! Poor Abel! Is that really the success he
wants? Will he be satisfied with that?
‘Yesterday in the Interior Consolation I read these words: “All human glory, indeed all temporal honour, all
worldly grandeur75, compared with Thy eternal glory, is vanity and foolishness.” And I thought, “Oh, God! I thank
Thee that Thou hast chosen Jérôme for Thy celestial76 glory, compared with which the other is vanity and
foolishness.”‘
The weeks and months went by in monotonous77 occupations; but as there was nothing on which I
could fasten my thoughts but memories or hopes, I hardly noticed how slow the time was, how long
the hours.
My uncle and Alissa were to go in June to the neighbourhood of Nîmes on a visit to Juliette, who
was expecting her baby about that time. Less favourable78 news of her health made them hasten their
departure.
‘Your last letter, addressed to Le Havre’ [wrote Alissa], ‘arrived after we had left. I cannot explain by what
accident it reached me here only a week later. During all that week I went about with a soul that was only half a
soul, a shivering, pitiful, beggarly soul. Oh, my brother! I am only truly myself – more than myself – when I am
with you.
‘Juliette is better again. We are daily expecting her confinement79, without undue80 anxiety. She knows that I am
writing to you this morning. The day after our arrival at Aigues-Vives, she said to me: “And Jérôme? What has
become of him? Does he write to you still?” And as I couldn’t but tell her the truth: “When you write to him,” she
said, “tell him that...” she hesitated a moment, and then, smiling very sweetly, went on: “that I am cured.” I was
rather afraid that in her letters, which are always so gay, she might be acting81 a part and taking herself in by it. The
things she makes her happiness out of nowadays are so different from the things she had dreamt of, the things on
which it seemed her happiness ought to have depended! ...Ah! this, that we call happiness, how intimate a part of
the soul it is, and of what little importance are the outside elements which seem to go to its making! I spare you all
the reflections I make during my walks along the garrigue, when what astonishes me most is that I don’t feel
happier; Juliette’s happiness ought to fill me with joy... why does my heart give way to an incomprehensible
melancholy82 against which I am unable to fight? The very beauty of the country, which I feel, which at any rate I
recognize, adds still further to this inexplicable83 sadness. When you wrote to me from Italy, I was able to see
everything through you; now I feel as if I were depriving you of whatever I look at without you. And then at
Fongueusemare or at Le Havre I had made myself a kind of rough-weather virtue84, for use on rainy days; here, this
virtue seems out of place; and I feel uneasily that there is no occasion for it. The laughter of the people and of the
country jars upon me; perhaps what I call being sad is simply not being so noisy as they. No doubt there was some
pride in my joy formerly85, for at present, in the midst of this alien gaiety, what I feel is not unlike humiliation86.
‘I have scarcely been able to pray since I have been here: I have the childish feeling that God is no longer in the
same place. Good-bye; I must stop now. I am ashamed of this blasphemy87, and of my weakness, and of my sadness,
and of confessing them, and of writing you all this which I should tear up tomorrow if it were not posted tonight...’
The next letter spoke only of the birth of her niece, whose godmother she was to be, of Juliette’s
joy and of my uncle’s, but of her own feelings there was no further question.
Then there were letters dated from Fongueusemare again, where Juliette came to stay with her in
July.
‘Édouard and Juliette left us this morning. It is my little niece whom I regret most; when I see her again in six
months’ time I shall no longer recognize every one of her movements; she had scarcely one which I hadn’t seen her
invent. Growth is always so mysterious and surprising; it is through failure of attention that we are not oftener
astonished at it. How many hours I have spent, bending over the little cradle, where so many hopes lie centred. By
what selfishness, by what conceit88, by what lack of desire for improvement is it that development ceases so soon, and
that every creature becomes definitive89, when still so far from God? Oh! if we could, if we would but approach
nearer to Him... think, what emulation90!
‘Juliette seems very happy. I was grieved at first to find that she had given up her piano and her reading, but
Édouard Teissières doesn’t like music and hasn’t much taste for books; no doubt Juliette is acting wisely in not
seeking her pleasure where he cannot follow her. On the other hand, she takes an interest in her husband’s
occupations and he tells her all about his business. It has developed greatly this year; it pleases him to say that it is
because of his marriage, which has brought him an important clientèle at Le Havre. Robert accompanied him the
last time he went on a business journey. Édouard is very kind to him, declares he understands his character and
doesn’t despair of seeing him take seriously to this kind of work.
‘Father is much better; the sight of his daughter’s happiness has made him young again; he is interesting
himself again in the farm and the garden, and has just asked me to go on with our reading aloud, which we had
begun with Miss Ashburton and which was interrupted by the Teissières’ visit. I am reading them Baron91 Hübner’s
travels, and enjoy them very much myself. I shall have more time for my own reading too; but I want some advice
from you; this morning I took up several books, one after the other, without feeling a taste for any of them!’
Alissa’s letters, henceforward, became more troubled, more pressing.
‘The fear of troubling you prevents me from telling you how much I want you,’ [she wrote towards the end of
the summer]. ‘Every day that has to be got through before I see you again weighs on me, oppresses me. Another
two months. It seems longer than all the rest of the time which has already gone by without you! Everything I take
up to while away the hours, seems nothing but an absurd stop-gap, and I cannot set myself to anything. My books
are without virtue and without charm; my walks have no attraction; Nature has lost her glamour92; the garden is
emptied of colour, of scent.
‘I envy you your fatigue-parties and your compulsory93 drills which are constantly dragging you out of yourself,
tiring you, hurrying along your days, and, at night, flinging you, wearied out, to your sleep. The stirring description
you gave me of the manoeuvres haunts me. For the last few nights I have been sleeping badly, and several times I
have been awakened94 with a start by the bugles95 sounding reveille... I actually heard them. I can so well imagine the
intoxication96 of which you speak, the morning rapture97, the lightheadedness almost... How beautiful the plateau of
Malzéville must have been in the icy radiance of dawn!
I'm a little worse for some time; oh! nothing serious. I think I simply find the waiting very difficult.
And six weeks later:
‘This is my last letter, my friend. However uncertain the date of your return may be, it cannot be delayed much
longer. I shall not be able to write to you any more. I should have preferred our meeting to have been at
Fongueusemare, but the weather has broken; it is very cold, and father talks of nothing but going back to town. Now
that Juliette and Robert are no longer with us we could easily take you in, but it is better that you should go to Aunt
Félicie, who will be glad, too, to have you.
‘As the day of our meeting comes near, I look forward to it with growing anxiety, almost with apprehension98. I
seem now to dread99 your coming that I so longed for; I try not to think of it; I imagine your ring at the bell, your step
on the stairs, and my heart stops beating or hurts me... And whatever you do, don’t expect me to be able to speak to
you. I feel my past comes to an end here; I see nothing beyond; my life stops...’
Four days later, however – a week, that is, before I was liberated100 from my military service – I
received one more letter, a very short one:
‘My friend, I entirely101 approve of your not wanting to prolong beyond measure your stay at Le Havre and the
time of our first meeting. What should we have to say to each other that we have not already written? So if the
business connected with your examination calls you to Paris as early as the 28th, don’t hesitate, don’t even regret
that you are not able to give us more than two days. Shall we not have all our lives?’
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
prescriptions
|
|
| 药( prescription的名词复数 )； 处方； 开处方； 计划 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
2
vexed
|
|
| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
3
determined
|
|
| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
4
embarked
|
|
| 乘船( embark的过去式和过去分词 )； 装载； 从事 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
5
par
|
|
| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
6
rue
|
|
| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
7
consolation
|
|
| n.安慰，慰问 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
8
exalted
|
|
| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
9
meditation
|
|
| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
10
disposition
|
|
| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
11
ass
|
|
| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
12
obstinate
|
|
| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
13
instinctively
|
|
| adv.本能地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
14
instinctive
|
|
| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
15
entreaties
|
|
| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
16
fixed
|
|
| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
17
immure
|
|
| v.囚禁，幽禁 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
18
elusive
|
|
| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
19
alas
|
|
| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
20
docility
|
|
| n.容易教，易驾驶，驯服 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
21
worthy
|
|
| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
22
arduous
|
|
| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
23
solicitude
|
|
| n.焦虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
24
scripture
|
|
| n.经文，圣书，手稿；Scripture:(常用复数)《圣经》，《圣经》中的一段 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
25
paraphrase
|
|
| vt.将…释义，改写；n.释义，意义 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
26
infinitely
|
|
| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
27
meddling
|
|
| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
28
alluded
|
|
| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
29
drawn
|
|
| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
30
longing
|
|
| n.（for）渴望 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
31
consign
|
|
| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
32
moth
|
|
| n.蛾，蛀虫 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
33
singe
|
|
| v.(轻微地)烧焦；烫焦；烤焦 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
34
banter
|
|
| n.嘲弄，戏谑；v.取笑，逗弄，开玩笑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
35
lengthily
|
|
| adv.长，冗长地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
36
harp
|
|
| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
37
animated
|
|
| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
38
alleged
|
|
| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
39
contented
|
|
| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
40
astonishment
|
|
| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
41
random
|
|
| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
42
margin
|
|
| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
43
pointed
|
|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
44
tout
|
|
| v.推销，招徕；兜售；吹捧，劝诱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
45
hymn
|
|
| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
46
admiration
|
|
| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
47
peculiar
|
|
| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
48
scent
|
|
| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
49
scents
|
|
| n.香水( scent的名词复数 )；气味；（动物的）臭迹；（尤指狗的）嗅觉 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
50
gratitude
|
|
| adj.感激，感谢 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
51
sobs
|
|
| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
52
stiffening
|
|
| n. (使衣服等)变硬的材料, 硬化 动词stiffen的现在分词形式 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
53
inclinations
|
|
| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
54
emancipation
|
|
| n.（从束缚、支配下）解放 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
55
abominable
|
|
| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
56
spoke
|
|
| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
57
bestow
|
|
| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
58
hibernating
|
|
| （某些动物）冬眠，蛰伏( hibernate的现在分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
59
frightful
|
|
| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
60
intoxicated
|
|
| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
61
exhortation
|
|
| n.劝告，规劝 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
62
adoration
|
|
| n.爱慕，崇拜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
63
sonnets
|
|
| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
64
stiffened
|
|
| 加强的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
65
faltering
|
|
| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
66
chrysanthemums
|
|
| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
67
defiance
|
|
| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
68
deliberately
|
|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
69
folly
|
|
| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
70
incurable
|
|
| adj.不能医治的，不能矫正的，无救的；n.不治的病人，无救的人 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
71
futility
|
|
| n.无用 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
72
prudently
|
|
| adv. 谨慎地，慎重地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
73
abruptly
|
|
| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
74
abashed
|
|
| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
75
grandeur
|
|
| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
76
celestial
|
|
| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
77
monotonous
|
|
| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
78
favourable
|
|
| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
79
confinement
|
|
| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
80
undue
|
|
| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
81
acting
|
|
| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
82
melancholy
|
|
| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
83
inexplicable
|
|
| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
84
virtue
|
|
| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
85
formerly
|
|
| adv.从前，以前 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
86
humiliation
|
|
| n.羞辱 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
87
blasphemy
|
|
| n.亵渎，渎神 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
88
conceit
|
|
| n.自负，自高自大 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
89
definitive
|
|
| adj.确切的，权威性的；最后的，决定性的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
90
emulation
|
|
| n.竞争；仿效 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
91
baron
|
|
| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
92
glamour
|
|
| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
93
compulsory
|
|
| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
94
awakened
|
|
| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
95
bugles
|
|
| 妙脆角，一种类似薯片但做成尖角或喇叭状的零食； 号角( bugle的名词复数 )； 喇叭； 匍匐筋骨草； （装饰女服用的）柱状玻璃（或塑料）小珠 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
96
intoxication
|
|
| n.wild excitement;drunkenness；poisoning | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
97
rapture
|
|
| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
98
apprehension
|
|
| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
99
dread
|
|
| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
100
liberated
|
|
| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
|
101
entirely
|
|
| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
参考例句： |
|
|
|
| 欢迎访问英文小说网 |