the nabob-第56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！


can　see。　If　I　am　made　a　deputy；　it　is　only　a　joke。　The　court　takes　back　its　decree　and　they　give　me　back　my　treasure　with　every　sort　of　excuse。　If　I　am　not　elected　I　lose　everything；　sixty；　eighty　millions；　even　the　possibility　of　making　another　fortune。　It　is　ruin；　disgrace；　dishonour。　Are　you　going　to　abandon　me　in　such　a　crisis？　ThinkI　have　only　you　in　the　whole　world。　My　wifeyou　have　seen　her；　you　know　what　help；　what　support　she　is　to　her　husband。　My　childrenI　might　as　well　not　have　any。　I　never　see　them；　they　would　scarcely　know　me　in　the　street。　My　horrible　wealth　has　killed　all　affection　around　me　and　has　enveloped　me　with　shameless　self…seeking。　I　have　only　my　mother　to　love　me；　and　she　is　far　away；　and　you　who　came　to　me　from　my　mother。　No；　you　will　not　leave　me　alone　amid　all　the　scandals　that　are　creeping　around　me。　It　is　awfulif　you　only　knew！　At　the　club；　at　the　play；　wherever　I　go　I　seem　to　see　the　little　viper's　head　of　the　Baroness　Hemerlingue；　I　hear　the　echo　of　her　hiss；　I　feel　the　venom　of　her　bite。　Everywhere　mocking　looks；　conversation　stopped　when　I　appear；　lying　smiles；　or　kindness　mixed　with　a　little　pity。　And　then　the　deserters；　and　the　people　who　keep　out　of　the　way　as　at　the　approach　of　a　misfortune。　Look　at　Felicia　Ruys：　just　as　she　had　finished　my　bust　she　pretends　that　some　accident；　I　know　not　what；　has　happened　to　it；　in　order　to　avoid　having　to　send　it　to　the　/Salon/。　I　said　nothing；　I　affected　to　believe　her。　But　I　understood　that　there　again　was　some　new　evil　report。　And　it　is　such　a　disappointment　to　me。　In　a　crisis　as　grave　as　this　everything　has　its　importance。　My　bust　in　the　exhibition；　signed　by　that　famous　name；　would　have　helped　me　greatly　in　Paris。　But　no；　everything　falls　away；　every　one　fails　me。　You　see　now　that　I　cannot　do　without　you。　You　must　not　desert　me。〃



A　DAY　OF　SPLEEN

Five　o'clock　in　the　afternoon。　Rain　since　morning　and　a　gray　sky　low　enough　to　be　reached　with　an　umbrella；　the　close　weather　which　sticks。　Mess；　mud；　nothing　but　mud；　in　heavy　puddles；　in　shining　trails　in　the　gutters；　vainly　chased　by　the　street…scrapers　and　the　scavengers；　heaved　into　enormous　carts　which　carry　it　slowly　towards　Montreuil　promenading　it　in　triumph　through　the　streets；　always　moving；　and　always　springing　up　again；　growing　through　the　pavements；　splashing　the　panels　of　the　carriages；　the　breasts　of　the　horses；　the　clothes　of　the　passers…by；　spattering　the　windows；　the　door…steps；　the　shop…　fronts；　till　one　feared　that　the　whole　of　Paris　would　sink　and　disappear　under　this　sorrowful；　miry　soil　where　everything　dissolves　and　is　lost　in　mud。　And　it　moves　one　to　pity　to　see　the　invasion　of　this　dirt　on　the　whiteness　of　the　new　houses；　on　the　parapets　of　the　quays；　and　on　the　colonnades　of　the　stone　balconies。　There　is　some　one；　however；　who　rejoices　at　the　sight；　a　poor；　sick；　weary　being；　lying　all　her　length　on　a　silk…embroidered　divan；　her　chin　on　her　clinched　fists。　She　is　looking　out　gladly　through　the　dripping　windows　and　delighting　in　all　the　ugliness。

〃Look；　my　fairy！　this　is　indeed　the　weather　I　wanted　to…day。　See　them　draggling　along！　Aren't　they　hideous？　Aren't　they　dirty？　What　mire！　It　is　everywherein　the　streets；　on　the　quays；　right　down　to　the　Seine；　right　up　to　the　heavens。　I　tell　you；　mud　is　good　when　one　is　sad。　I　would　like　to　play　in　it；　to　make　sculpture　with　ita　statue　a　hundred　feet　high；　that　should　be　called　'My　weariness。'　〃

〃But　why　are　you　so　miserable；　dearest？〃　said　the　old　dancer　gently；　amiable　and　pink；　and　sitting　straight　in　her　seat　for　fear　of　disarranging　her　hair；　which　was　even　more　carefully　dressed　than　usual。　〃Haven't　you　everything　to　make　you　happy？〃　And　for　the　hundredth　time　she　enumerated　in　her　tranquil　voice　the　reasons　for　her　happiness：　her　glory；　her　genius；　her　beauty；　all　the　men　at　her　feet；　the　handsomest；　the　greatestoh！　yes；　the　very　greatest；　as　this　very　day　But　a　terrible　howl；　like　the　heart…rending　cry　of　the　jackal　exasperated　by　the　monotony　of　his　desert；　suddenly　made　all　the　studio　windows　shake；　and　frightened　the　old　and　startled　little　chrysalis　back　into　her　cocoon。

A　week　ago；　Felicia's　group　was　finished　and　sent　to　the　exhibition；　leaving　her　in　a　state　of　nervous　prostration；　moral　sickness；　and　distressful　exasperation。　It　needs　all　the　tireless　patience　of　the　fairy；　all　the　magic　of　her　memories　constantly　evoked；　to　make　life　supportable　beside　this　restlessness；　this　wicked　anger；　which　growls　beneath　the　girl's　long　silences　and　suddenly　bursts　out　in　a　bitter　word　or　in　an　〃Ugh！〃　of　disgust　at　everything。　All　the　critics　are　asses。　The　public？　An　immense　goitre　with　three　rows　of　chains。　And　yet；　the　other　Sunday；　when　the　Duc　de　Mora　came　with　the　superintendent　of　the　art　section　to　see　her　exhibits　in　the　studio；　she　was　so　happy；　so　proud　of　the　praise　they　gave　her；　so　fully　delighted　with　her　own　work；　which　she　admired　from　the　outside；　as　though　the　work　of　some　one　else；　now　that　her　tools　no　longer　created　between　her　and　her　work　that　bond　which　makes　impartial　judgment　so　hard　for　the　artist。

But　it　is　like　this　every　year。　The　studio　stripped　of　her　recent　work；　her　glorious　name　once　again　thrown　to　the　unexpected　caprice　of　the　public；　Felicia's　thoughts；　now　without　a　visible　object；　stray　in　the　emptiness　of　her　heart　and　in　the　hollowness　of　her　lifethat　of　the　woman　who　leaves　the　quiet　grooveuntil　she　be　engrossed　in　some　new　work。　She　shuts　herself　up　and　will　see　no　one；　as　though　she　mistrusted　herself。　Jenkins　is　the　only　person　who　can　help　her　during　these　attacks。　He　seems　even　to　court　them；　as　though　he　expected　something　therefrom。　She　is　not　pleasant　with　him；　all　the　same；　goodness　knows。　Yesterday；　even；　he　stayed　for　hours　beside　this　wearied　beauty　without　her　speaking　to　him　once。　If　that　be　the　welcome　she　is　keeping　for　the　great　personage　who　is　doing　them　the　honour　of　dining　with　them　Here　the　good　Crenmitz；　who　is　quietly　turning　over　all　these　thoughts　as　she　gazes　at　the　bows　on　the　pointed　toes　of　her　slippers；　remembers　that　she　has　promised　to　make　a　dish　of　Viennese　cakes　for　the　dinner　of　the　personage　in　question；　and　goes　out　of　the　studio；　silently；　on　the　tips　of　her　little　feet。

The　rain　falls；　the　mud　deepens；　the　beautiful　sphinx　lies　still；　her　eyes　lost　in　the　dull　horizon。　What　is　she　thinking　of？　What　does　she　see　coming　there；　over　those　filthy　roads；　in　the　falling　night；　that　her　lip　should　take　that　curve　of　disgust　and　her　brow　that　frown？　Is　she　waiting　for　her　fate？　A　sad　fate；　that　sets　forth　in　such　weather；　fearless　of　the　darkness　and　the　dirt。

Some　one　comes　into　the　studio　with　a　heavier　tread　than　the　mouse…　like　step　of　Constancethe　little　servant；　doubtless；　and；　without　looking　round；　Felicia　says　roughly；　〃Go　away！　I　don't　want　any　one　in。〃

〃I　should　have　liked　to　speak　to　you　very　much；　all　the　same；〃　says　a　friendly　voice。

She　starts；　sits　up。　Mollified　and　almost　smiling　at　this　unexpected　visitor；　she　says：

〃Whatyou；　young　Minerva！　How　did　you　get　in？〃

〃Very　easily。　All　the　doors　are　open。〃

〃I　am　not　surprised。　Constance　is　crazy；　since　this　morning；　over　her　dinner。〃

〃Yes；　I　saw。　The　anteroom　is　full　of　flowers。　Who　is　coming？〃

〃Oh！　a　stupid　dinneran　official　dinner。　I　don't　know　how　I　could　Sit　down　here；　near　me。　I　am　so　glad　to　see　you。〃

Paul　sat　down；　a　little　disturbed。　She　had　never　seemed　to　him　so　beautiful。　In　the　dusk　of　the　studio；　amid　the　shadowy　brilliance　of　the　works　of　art；　bronzes；　and　tapestries；　her　pallor　was　like　a　soft　light；　her　eyes　shone　like　precious　stones；　and　her　long；　close…　fitting　gown　revealed　the　unrestraint　of　her　goddess…like　body。　Then；　she　spoke　so　affectionately；　she　seemed　so　happy　because　he　had　come。　Why　had　he　stayed　away　so　long？　It　was　almost　a　month　since　they　had　seen　him。　Were　they　no　longer　friends？　He　excused　himself　as　best　he　couldbusiness；　a　journey。　Besides；　if　he　hadn't　been　there；　he　had　often　spoken　of　heroh；　very　often；　almost　every　day。

〃Really？　And　with　whom？〃

〃With〃

He　was　going　to　say　〃With　Aline　Joyeuse；〃　but　a　feeling　of　restraint　stopped　him；　an　undefinable　sentiment；　a　sense　of　shame　at　pronouncing　her　name　in　the