Sometimes he seated himself near me, pale, melancholy, clothed in mourning, and breathed into my heart a venomous bitterness, such as I had never dreamed of.And feeling myself seized with an inexpressible desire to die; I cried out 'I know you, you must be the brother of death!' But all at once transforming himself, he appeared to me holding a fool's cap in his hand.He shook the bells and sang to me songs which filled my ears with feverish murmurings.My head turned, smoke floated before me, my dazzled eyes were intoxicated with visions, and it seemed to me, poor child, nourished with gall and tears, that life was an eternal fete, upon which Heaven looked down smiling.Then I said to the spirit: 'Now I know you better, you are the brother of folly.' But he changed himself again, and suddenly I saw him standing erect before me folded in the long white wings of the seraphim; at once serious and gentle, divine reason shone in his deep eyes and the serenity on his brow announced an inhabitant of Heaven.In these moments, my Gilbert, his voice was more penetrating and more persuasive than yours; he repeated your words and gave me strength to believe in them; he engraved your lessons on my mind; he instilled your wisdom into my folly, your soul in my soul; and know that if the lily has drunk the juices of the earth, if the lily has grown, if the lily should blossom one day, it shall not be from the impotent sun rays which you brought to me in your breast, to which thanks must be rendered; but to him, the celestial spirit, to him who lighted in my heart a divine flame with which, may it please God that yours too may be illuminated!" And rising at these words, he almost gasped: "Have I said enough? Do you understand me at last?""No!" answered Gilbert resolutely, "I do not understand this celestial spirit at all."Stephane writhed his arms.
"Cruel! you do not wish then to divine anything!" murmured he distractedly.And going to the window, he stood some moments leaning against it.When he turned towards Gilbert, his eyes were wet with tears; but by one of those rapid changes which were familiar to him, he had a smile upon his lips, "What I dare not say to you, I have just now written," resumed he, drawing a letter from his bosom.
"It was a last resort which I hoped you would not force me to call to my aid.Oh! hard heart! to what humiliations have you not abased my pride!" He presented the letter, but changing his mind, he said:
"I wish to add a few words to it."
And ran and seated himself at the table.His pen had fallen on the floor, and not being able to find it, he quickly sharpened a pencil with a keen-edged poniard which he drew from the depths of a drawer.
"What a singular penknife you have there," said Gilbert, approaching him.
"It is a Russian stiletto of Toula manufacture.It belongs to Ivan, he lent it to me day before yesterday, when we were out walking, to uproot a plant with.He has forgotten to take it back.""You will oblige me by returning it to him," answered Gilbert; "it is a plaything I don't like to see in your hands."Stephane gave a sign of assent, and bent over the paper.The letter which he had written was as follows:
"My Gilbert, listen to a story.I was eleven years old when MYBROTHER STEPHANE died.Scarcely was he buried when my father called me to him.He held in his hand a suit of clothes like these I wear now, and he said to me: 'Stephane, understand me clearly.
It was my daughter that just died, my son lives still.' And as Ipersisted in not understanding him, he had a coffin brought in, placed on a table and he laid me in it; and closing the cover by degrees, he said, 'My daughter, are you dead?' When it was entirely closed, I decided to speak, and I cried out, 'Father, your daughter is dead.It shall be as you desire.' Then he drew me out of the coffin half dead with fear and horror, and exclaimed, 'Stephane, remember that my daughter is dead.Should you ever happen to forget it'...He said no more, but his eyes finished the sentence.Gilbert, at this moment the daughter of my father comes back to life to tell you that she loves you with an unconquerable love which she can no longer conceal.In my simplicity, I thought at first that I loved you as you loved me;but you yourself have taken care to undeceive me.One day you spoke of our approaching separation, and you said to me: 'We shall see each other sometimes!' And you did not hear the cry of my heart which answered you; to pass a day without seeing you! What a hell!
"When I had fairly comprehended that your friendship was a devotion, a virtue, a wisdom, and that mine was a folly, then the daughter of my father thought of dying, so bitter were the torments which her rebellious pride inflicted upon her.Ah! what would Inot have given, my Gilbert, if divining who I was, you had fallen at my feet crying: 'I too know how to love madly!'
