A Virgin Heart
Copyright© 2024 by Remy de Gourmont
Chapter 15
On reaching Barnavast, Leonor had found two letters; which of the two interested him the more he could not tell. One was from M. Des Boys, asking him to come and finish, before the winter, and immediately, if he could, the alterations at Robinvast. A room was ready for him. He had but to give them warning, and they would send for him. The second came from La Mesangerie. It was a diary.
“15th September. What are my children’s kisses after the kisses of my lover? It is like the smell of the humble pink after the heady perfume of the rarest flowers...”
“What a fool the woman is,” said Leonor inwardly. “Why does she write. She has intelligence, her conversation is agreeable, she has taste, and see what she writes! God, how melancholy!...”
“ ... But pinks have their charm, just as they have their own season, and I am happy to come back to them, since their season has returned.”
“That,” thought Leonor, “is better; it’s almost good ... Is Hervart still at Robinvast? I hope not. His holiday wasn’t indefinite, I should think. Suppose I wrote to Gratienne?”
“ ... You flowers that the touch of my Beloved made to blossom in my heart, you perfume my soul, you intoxicate my senses...”
“Intoxicate my senses ... Is it necessary to remember myself to Gratienne? I would as soon get my information from another source.”
“ ... intoxicate my senses. My body trembles at the thought of the night at Compiègne, every moment of which is a star that shines in my dreams. I did not know what love was...”
“Who does know what love is? ... I don’t feel bound to answer that to-day. Now I come to think of it, I don’t know where Gratienne is. She must have left almost at the same time as I did. Let’s leave it at that...”
“ ... what love was ... I have no desire to meet Hervart again at Robinvast. He bores me. Is she really going to marry this civil servant? If Rose knew. Yes, but if Rose knew everything, would she think much more of me than of M. Hervart? I am ten years younger than he, that’s all; and my mistress is a much heavier millstone about my neck than his. It’s easy to get rid of a Gratienne; with some one like Hortense, the process is much more difficult. She may make a scandal, she may kill herself, she may make her husband turn her out and then come and take refuge in my arms ... What then? Besides I love this beautiful woman quite a lot and it would distress me very much if I had to drive her to despair. And then Rose is wildly in love. Let me be reasonable. Where was I? Still at love.”
“ ... what love was, before knowing you; I did not know what pleasure was before our mad night...”
“That’s very likely. But I am doubtful about love. Is it love, that frenzy of sensual curiosity that makes us desire to know, in every aspect and in all its mysteries, the longed-for body? Why not? It is indeed, probably, the best kind of love. Bite, eat, devour! How well they realise it—those who reduce the object of their love to a little bit of bread which they swallow. The Communion—what an act of love! It’s marvellous. Bouret would think that foolish, perhaps; but Bouret, right as he is in being a materialist, is wrong in not understanding materialistic mysticism. Can any one be at once more materialistic and more mystical than those Christians who believe in the Real Presence? Flesh and blood—that’s what lovers want too, and they too have to content themselves with a mere symbol.”
“ ... our mad night. It revealed a new world to me. I shall not die, like Joshua, without having seen the earthly paradise.”
This phrase, despite its banality, pleased Leonor, who had begun to feel more indulgent towards his mistress.
“To write along letter like this was a great effort for her, and as it was for me that she made the effort, I should be a cad to laugh at it. That is why it would be as well to read no more. I shall ask her to give me a rendezvous too. Afterwards I shall go to Robinvast. Everything fits in well.”
The assignation at Carentan was difficult to arrange. Hortense, at first delighted and ready to start, seemed to hesitate. It was too near, the town was too small. But her desire was so strong! What should she do? She hoped to find some pretext for going to Paris alone.
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