letter must have made you see with what care Henriette had studied my
material interests； my political relations； my moral conquests； and
with what ardor she took hold of my life in all permissible
directions。 On such points as these Lady Dudley affected the reticence
of a mere acquaintance。 She never informed herself about my affairs；
nor of my likings or dislikings as a man。 Prodigal for herself without
being generous； she separated too decidedly self…interest and love。
Whereas I knew very well； without proving it； that to save me a pang
Henriette would have sought for me that which she would never seek for
herself。 In any great and overwhelming misfortune I should have gone
for counsel to Henriette； but I would have let myself be dragged to
prison sooner than say a word to Lady Dudley。
Up to this point the contrast relates to feelings； but it was the same
in outward things。 In France； luxury is the expression of the man； the
reproduction of his ideas； of his personal poetry； it portrays the
character； and gives； between lovers； a precious value to every little
attention by keeping before them the dominant thought of the being
loved。 But English luxury； which at first allured me by its choiceness
and delicacy； proved to be mechanical also。 The thousand and one
attentions shown me at Clochegourde Arabella would have considered the
business of servants； each one had his own duty and speciality。 The
choice of the footman was the business of her butler； as if it were a
matter of horses。 She never attached herself to her servants； the
death of the best of them would not have affected her； for money could
replace the one lost by another equally efficient。 As to her duty
towards her neighbor； I never saw a tear in her eye for the
misfortunes of another； in fact her selfishness was so naively candid
that it absolutely created a laugh。 The crimson draperies of the great
lady covered an iron nature。 The delightful siren who sounded at night
every bell of her amorous folly could soon make a young man forget the
hard and unfeeling Englishwoman； and it was only step by step that I
discovered the stony rock on which my seeds were wasted； bringing no
harvest。 Madame de Mortsauf had penetrated that nature at a glance in
their brief encounter。 I remembered her prophetic words。 She was
right； Arabella's love became intolerable to me。 I have since remarked
that most women who ride well on horseback have little tenderness。
Like the Amazons； they lack a breast； their hearts are hard in some
direction； but I do not know in which。
At the moment when I begin to feel the burden of the yoke； when
weariness took possession of soul and body too； when at last I
comprehended the sanctity that true feeling imparts to love； when
memories of Clochegourde were bringing me； in spite of distance； the
fragrance of the roses； the warmth of the terrace； and the warble of
the nightingales；at this frightful moment； when I saw the stony bed
beneath me as the waters of the torrent receded； I received a blow
which still resounds in my heart； for at every hour its echo wakes。
I was working in the cabinet of the king； who was to drive out at four
o'clock。 The Duc de Lenoncourt was on service。 When he entered the
room the king asked him news of the countess。 I raised my head hastily
in too eager a manner； the king； offended by the action； gave me the
look which always preceded the harsh words he knew so well how to say。
〃Sire； my poor daughter is dying；〃 replied the duke。
〃Will the king deign to grant me leave of absence？〃 I cried； with
tears in my eyes； braving the anger which I saw about to burst。
〃Go； MY LORD；〃 he answered； smiling at the satire in his words； and
withholding his reprimand in favor of his own wit。
More courtier than father； the duke asked no leave but got into the
carriage with the king。 I started without bidding Lady Dudley good…
bye； she was fortunately out when I made my preparations； and I left a
note telling her I was sent on a mission by the king。 At the Croix de
Berny I met his Majesty returning from Verrieres。 He threw me a look
full of his royal irony； always insufferable in meaning； which seemed
to say： 〃If you mean to be anything in politics come back； don't
parley with the dead。〃 The duke waved his hand to me sadly。 The two
pompous equipages with their eight horses； the colonels and their gold
lace； the escort and the clouds of dust rolled rapidly away； to cries
of 〃Vive le Roi！〃 It seemed to me that the court had driven over the
dead body of Madame de Mortsauf with the utter insensibility which
nature shows for our catastrophes。 Though the duke was an excellent
man he would no doubt play whist with Monsieur after the king had
retired。 As for the duchess； she had long ago given her daughter the
first stab by writing to her of Lady Dudley。
My hurried journey was like a dream；the dream of a ruined gambler； I
was in despair at having received no news。 Had the confessor pushed
austerity so far as to exclude me from Clochegourde？ I accused
Madeleine； Jacques； the Abbe Dominis； all； even Monsieur de Mortsauf。
Beyond Tours； as I came down the road bordered with poplars which
leads to Poncher； which I so much admired that first day of my search
for mine Unknown； I met Monsieur Origet。 He guessed that I was going
to Clochegourde； I guessed that he was returning。 We stopped our
carriages and got out； I to ask for news； he to give it。
〃How is Madame de Mortsauf？〃 I said。
〃I doubt if you find her living；〃 he replied。 〃She is dying a
frightful deathof inanition。 When she called me in； last June； no
medical power could control the disease； she had the symptoms which
Monsieur de Mortsauf has no doubt described to you； for he thinks he
has them himself。 Madame la comtesse was not in any transient
condition of ill…health； which our profession can direct and which is
often the cause of a better state； nor was she in the crisis of a
disorder the effects of which can be repaired； no； her disease had
reached a point where science is useless； it is the incurable result
of grief； just as a mortal wound is the result of a stab。 Her physical
condition is produced by the inertia of an organ as necessary to life
as the action of the heart itself。 Grief has done the work of a
dagger。 Don't deceive yourself； Madame de Mortsauf is dying of some
hidden grief。〃
〃Hidden！〃 I exclaimed。 〃Her children have not been ill？〃
〃No；〃 he said； looking at me significantly； 〃and since she has been so
seriously attacked Monsieur de Mortsauf has ceased to torment her。 I
am no longer needed； Monsieur Deslandes of Azay is all…sufficient；
nothing can be done； her sufferings are dreadful。 Young； beautiful；
and rich； to die emaciated； shrunken with hungerfor she dies of
hunger！ During the last forty days the stomach； being as it were
closed up； has rejected all nourishment； under whatever form we
attempt to give it。〃
Monsieur Origet pressed my hand with a gesture of respect。
〃Courage； monsieur；〃 he said； lifting his eyes to heaven。
The words expressed his compassion for sufferings he thought shared；
he little suspected the poisoned arrow which they shot into my heart。
I sprang into the carriage and ordered the postilion to drive on；
promising a good reward if I arrived in time。
Notwithstanding my impatience I seemed to do the distance in a few
minutes； so absorbed was I in the bitter reflections that crowded upon
my soul。 Dying of grief； yet her children were well？ then she died
through me！ My conscience uttered one of those arraignments which echo
throughout our lives and sometimes beyond them。 What weakness； what
impotence in human justice； which avenges none but open deeds！ Why
shame and death to the murderer who kills with a blow； who comes upon
you unawares in your sleep and makes it last eternally； who strikes
without warning and spares you a struggle？ Why a happy life； an
honored life； to the murderer who drop by drop pours gall into the
soul and saps the body to destroy it？ How many murderers go
unpunished！ What indulgence for fashionable vice！ What condoning of
the homicides caused by moral wrongs！ I know not whose avenging hand
it was that suddenly； at that moment； raised the painted curtain that
reveals society。 I saw before me many victims known to you and me；
Madame de Beauseant； dying； and starting for Normandy only a few days
earlier； the Duchesse de Langeais lost； Lady Brandon hiding herself in
Touraine in the little house where Lady Dudley had stayed two weeks；
and dying there； killed by a frightful catastrophe；you know it。 Our
period teems with such events。 Who does not remember that poor young
woman who poisoned herself； overcome by jealousy； which was perhaps
killing Madame de Mortsauf？ Who has not shuddered at the fate of that
enchanting young girl who perished after two years of marriage； like a
flower torn by the wind； the victim of her chaste ignorance； the
victim of a villain with whom Ronquerolles； Montriveau； and de Marsay
shake hands because he is useful to their political projects？ What
heart has failed to throb at the recital of the last hours of the
woman whom no entreaties could soften； and who would never see her
husband after nobly paying his debts？ Madame d'Aiglemont saw death
beside her and was saved only by my brother's care。 Society and
science are accomplices in crimes for which there are no assizes。 The
world declares that no one dies of grief； or of despair； nor yet of
love； of anguish hidden； of hopes cultivated yet fruitless； again and
again replanted yet forever uprooted。 Our new scientific nomenclature
has plenty of words to explain these things； gastritis； pericarditis；
all the thousand maladies of women the names of which are whispered in
the ear； all serve as passports to the coffin followed by hypocritical
tears that are soon wiped by the hand of a notary。 Can there be at the
bottom of this great evil some law which we do not know？ Must the
centenary pitilessly strew the earth with corpses and dry them to dust
about him that he may raise himself； as the millionaire battens on a
myriad of little industries？ Is there some powerful and venomous life
which feasts on these gentle； te