“His words haunted me and I began to see my
condition clearly. I understood why all the small
miseries of each day assumed in my eyes the importance
of a catastrophe; I saw that I was organized in such
a way that I suffered dreadfully from everything,
that every painful impression was multiplied by my
diseased sensibility, and an atrocious fear of life
took possession of me. I was without passions,
without ambitions; I resolved to sacrifice possible
joys in order to avoid sure sorrows. Existence
is short, but I made up my mind to spend it in the
service of others, in relieving their troubles and
enjoying their happiness. Having no direct experience
of either one or the other, I should only experience
a milder form of emotion.
“And if you only knew how, in spite of this,
misery tortures me, ravages me! But what would
formerly have been an intolerable affliction has become
commiseration, pity.
“These sorrows which cross my path at every
moment, I could not endure if they affected me directly.
I could not have seen one of my children die without
dying myself. And I have, in spite of everything,
preserved such a mysterious, overwhelming fear of
events that the sight of the postman entering my house
makes a shiver pass every day through my veins, and
yet I have nothing to be afraid of now.”
The Abbe Mauduit ceased speaking. He stared into
the fire in the huge grate, as if he saw there mysterious
things, all the unknown of the existence he might
have passed had he been more fearless in the face of
suffering.
He added, then, in a subdued tone:
“I was right. I was not made for this world.”
The comtesse said nothing at first; but at length,
after a long silence, she remarked:
“For my part, if I had not my grandchildren,
I believe I would not have the courage to live.”
And the cure rose up without saying another word.
As the servants were asleep in the kitchen, she accompanied
him herself to the door, which looked out on the garden,
and she saw his tall shadow, lit up by the reflection
of the lamp, disappearing through the gloom of night.
Then she came back and sat down before the fire, and
pondered over many things we never think of when we
are young.
She had been brought up in one of those families who
live entirely to themselves, apart from all the rest
of the world. Such families know nothing of political
events, although they are discussed at table; for
changes in the Government take place at such a distance
from them that they are spoken of as one speaks of
a historical event, such as the death of Louis XVI
or the landing of Napoleon.
Customs are modified in course of time, fashions succeed
one another, but such variations are taken no account
of in the placid family circle where traditional usages
prevail year after year. And if some scandalous
episode or other occurs in the neighborhood, the disreputable
story dies a natural death when it reaches the threshold
of the house. The father and mother may, perhaps,
exchange a few words on the subject when alone together
some evening, but they speak in hushed tones—for
even walls have ears. The father says, with bated
breath:
