the blue flowers； harebells； forget…me…nots； and ox…tongues； whose
tines； caught from the skies； blended so well with the whiteness of
the lilies； sparkled on this dewy texture； were they not the type of
two purities； the one that knows nothing； the other that knows all； an
image of the child； an image of the martyr？ Love has its blazon； and
the countess discerned it inwardly。 She gave me a poignant glance
which was like the cry of a soldier when his wound is touched； she was
humbled but enraptured too。 My reward was in that glance； to refresh
her heart； to have given her comfort； what encouragement for me！ Then
it was that I pressed the theories of Pere Castel into the service of
love； and recovered a science lost to Europe； where written pages have
supplanted the flowery missives of the Orient with their balmy tints。
What charm in expressing our sensations through these daughters of the
sun； sisters to the flowers that bloom beneath the rays of love！
Before long I communed with the flora of the fields； as a man whom I
met in after days at Grandlieu communed with his bees。
Twice a week during the remainder of my stay at Frapesle I continued
the slow labor of this poetic enterprise； for the ultimate
accomplishment of which I needed all varieties of herbaceous plants；
into these I made a deep research； less as a botanist than as a poet；
studying their spirit rather than their form。 To find a flower in its
native haunts I walked enormous distances； beside the brooklets；
through the valleys； to the summit of the cliffs； across the moorland；
garnering thoughts even from the heather。 During these rambles I
initiated myself into pleasures unthought of by the man of science who
lives in meditation； unknown to the horticulturist busy with
specialities； to the artisan fettered to a city； to the merchant
fastened to his desk； but known to a few foresters； to a few woodsmen；
and to some dreamers。 Nature can show effects the significations of
which are limitless； they rise to the grandeur of the highest moral
conceptionsbe it the heather in bloom； covered with the diamonds of
the dew on which the sunlight dances； infinitude decked for the single
glance that may chance to fall upon it：be it a corner of the forest
hemmed in with time…worn rocks crumbling to gravel and clothed with
mosses overgrown with juniper； which grasps our minds as something
savage； aggressive； terrifying as the cry of the kestrel issuing from
it：be it a hot and barren moor without vegetation； stony； rigid； its
horizon like those of the desert； where once I gathered a sublime and
solitary flower； the anemone pulsatilla； with its violet petals
opening for the golden stamens； affecting image of my pure idol alone
in her valley：be it great sheets of water； where nature casts those
spots of greenery； a species of transition between the plant and
animal； where life makes haste to come in flowers and insects；
floating there like worlds in ether：be it a cottage with its garden
of cabbages； its vineyards； its hedges overhanging a bog； surrounded
by a few sparse fields of rye； true image of many humble existences：
be it a forest path like some cathedral nave； where the trees are
columns and their branches arch the roof； at the far end of which a
light breaks through； mingled with shadows or tinted with sunset reds
athwart the leaves which gleam like the colored windows of a chancel：
then； leaving these woods so cool and branchy； behold a chalk…land
lying fallow； where among the warm and cavernous mosses adders glide
to their lairs； or lift their proud slim heads。 Cast upon all these
pictures torrents of sunlight like beneficent waters； or the shadow of
gray clouds drawn in lines like the wrinkles of an old man's brow； or
the cool tones of a sky faintly orange and streaked with lines of a
paler tint； then listenyou will hear indefinable harmonies amid a
silence which blends them all。
During the months of September and October I did not make a single
bouquet which cost me less than three hours search； so much did I
admire； with the real sympathy of a poet； these fugitive allegories of
human life； that vast theatre I was about to enter； the scenes of
which my memory must presently recall。 Often do I now compare those
splendid scenes with memories of my soul thus expending itself on
nature； again I walk that valley with my sovereign； whose white robe
brushed the coppice and floated on the green sward； whose spirit rose；
like a promised fruit； from each calyx filled with amorous stamens。
No declaration of love； no vows of uncontrollable passion ever
conveyed more than these symphonies of flowers； my baffled desires
impelled me to efforts of expression through them like those of
Beethoven through his notes； to the same bitter reactions； to the same
mighty bounds towards heaven。 In their presence Madame de Mortsauf was
my Henriette。 She looked at them constantly； they fed her spirit； she
gathered all the thoughts I had given them； saying； as she raised her
head from the embroidery frame to receive my gift； 〃Ah； how
beautiful！〃
Natalie； you will understand this delightful intercourse through the
details of a bouquet； just as you would comprehend Saadi from a
fragment of his verse。 Have you ever smelt in the fields in the month
of May the perfume that communicates to all created beings the
intoxicating sense of a new creation； the sense that makes you trail
your hand in the water from a boat； and loosen your hair to the breeze
while your mind revives with the springtide greenery of the trees？ A
little plant； a species of vernal grass； is a powerful element in this
veiled harmony； it cannot be worn with impunity； take into your hand
its shining blade； striped green and white like a silken robe； and
mysterious emotions will stir the rosebuds your modesty keeps hidden
in the depths of your heart。 Round the neck of a porcelain vase
imagine a broad margin of the gray…white tufts peculiar to the sedum
of the vineyards of Touraine； vague image of submissive forms； from
this foundation come tendrils of the bind…weed with its silver bells；
sprays of pink rest…barrow mingled with a few young shoots of oak…
leaves； lustrous and magnificently colored； these creep forth
prostrate； humble as the weeping…willow； timid and supplicating as
prayer。 Above； see those delicate threads of the purple amoret； with
its flood of anthers that are nearly yellow； the snowy pyramids of the
meadow…sweet； the green tresses of the wild oats； the slender plumes
of the agrostis； which we call wind…ear； roseate hopes； decking love's
earliest dream and standing forth against the gray surroundings。 But
higher still； remark the Bengal roses； sparsely scattered among the
laces of the daucus； the plumes of the linaria； the marabouts of the
meadow…queen； see the umbels of the myrrh； the spun glass of the
clematis in seed； the dainty petals of the cross…wort； white as milk；
the corymbs of the yarrow； the spreading stems of the fumitory with
their black and rosy blossoms； the tendrils of the grape； the twisted
shoots of the honeysuckle； in short； all the innocent creatures have
that is most tangled； wayward； wild；flames and triple darts； leaves
lanceolated or jagged； stalks convoluted like passionate desires
writhing in the soul。 From the bosom of this torrent of love rises the
scarlet poppy； its tassels about to open； spreading its flaming flakes
above the starry jessamine； dominating the rain of pollenthat soft
mist fluttering in the air and reflecting the light in its myriad
particles。 What woman intoxicated with the odor of the vernal grasses
would fail to understand this wealth of offered thoughts； these ardent
desires of a love demanding the happiness refused in a hundred
struggles which passion still renews； continuous； unwearying； eternal！
Put this speech of the flowers in the light of a window to show its
crisp details； its delicate contrasts； its arabesques of color； and
allow the sovereign lady to see a tear upon some petal more expanded
than the rest。 What do we give to God？ perfumes； light； and song； the
purest expression of our nature。 Well； these offerings to God； are
they not likewise offered to love in this poem of luminous flowers
murmuring their sadness to the heart； cherishing its hidden
transports； its unuttered hopes； its illusions which gleam and fall to
fragments like the gossamer of a summer's night？
Such neutral pleasures help to soothe a nature irritated by long
contemplation of the person beloved。 They were to me； I dare not say
to her； like those fissures in a dam through which the water finds a
vent and avoids disaster。 Abstinence brings deadly exhaustion； which a
few crumbs falling from heaven like manna in the desert； suffices to
relieve。 Sometimes I found my Henriette standing before these bouquets
with pendant arms； lost in agitated reverie； thoughts swelling her
bosom； illumining her brow as they surged in waves and sank again；
leaving lassitude and languor behind them。 Never again have I made a
bouquet for any one。 When she and I had created this language and
formed it to our uses； a satisfaction filled our souls like that of a
slave who escapes his masters。
During the rest of this month as I came from the meadows through the
gardens I often saw her face at the window； and when I reached the
salon she was ready at her embroidery frame。 If I did not arrive at
the hour expected （though never appointed）； I saw a white form
wandering on the terrace； and when I joined her she would say； 〃I came
to meet you； I must show a few attentions to my youngest child。〃
The miserable games of backgammon had come to end。 The count's late
purchases took all his time in going hither and thither about the
property； surveying； examining； and marking the boundaries of his new
possessions。 He had orders to give； rural works to overlook which
needed a master's eye；all of