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head。 She went on； saying she had an inward religious certainty that
she might love me as a brother without offending God or man； such love
was a living image of the divine love； which her good Saint…Martin
told her was the life of the world。 If I could not be to her somewhat
as her old confessor was； less than a lover yet more than a brother； I
must never see her again。 She could die and take to God her sheaf of
sufferings； borne not without tears and anguish。
〃I gave you；〃 she said in conclusion； 〃more than I ought to have
given； so that nothing might be left to take； and I am punished。〃
I was forced to calm her； to promise never to cause her pain； and to
love her at twenty…one years of age as old men love their youngest
child。
The next day I went early。 There were no flowers in the vases of her
gray salon。 I rushed into the fields and vineyards to make her two
bouquets； but as I gathered the flowers； one by one； cutting their
long stalks and admiring their beauty； the thought occurred to me that
the colors and foliage had a poetry； a harmony； which meant something
to the understanding while they charmed the eye； just as musical
melodies awaken memories in hearts that are loving and beloved。 If
color is light organized； must it not have a meaning of its own； as
the combinations of the air have theirs？ I called in the assistance of
Jacques and Madeleine； and all three of us conspired to surprise our
dear one。 I arranged； on the lower steps of the portico； where we
established our floral headquarters； two bouquets by which I tried to
convey a sentiment。 Picture to yourself a fountain of flowers gushing
from the vases and falling back in curving waves； my message springing
from its bosom in white roses and lilies with their silver cups。 All
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