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of May the perfume that communicates to all created beings the
intoxicating sense of a new creation； the sense that makes you trail
your hand in the water from a boat； and loosen your hair to the breeze
while your mind revives with the springtide greenery of the trees？ A
little plant； a species of vernal grass； is a powerful element in this
veiled harmony； it cannot be worn with impunity； take into your hand
its shining blade； striped green and white like a silken robe； and
mysterious emotions will stir the rosebuds your modesty keeps hidden
in the depths of your heart。 Round the neck of a porcelain vase
imagine a broad margin of the gray…white tufts peculiar to the sedum
of the vineyards of Touraine； vague image of submissive forms； from
this foundation come tendrils of the bind…weed with its silver bells；
sprays of pink rest…barrow mingled with a few young shoots of oak…
leaves； lustrous and magnificently colored； these creep forth
prostrate； humble as the weeping…willow； timid and supplicating as
prayer。 Above； see those delicate threads of the purple amoret； with
its flood of anthers that are nearly yellow； the snowy pyramids of the
meadow…sweet； the green tresses of the wild oats； the slender plumes
of the agrostis； which we call wind…ear； roseate hopes； decking love's
earliest dream and standing forth against the gray surroundings。 But
higher still； remark the Bengal roses； sparsely scattered among the
laces of the daucus； the plumes of the linaria； the marabouts of the
meadow…queen； see the umbels of the myrrh； the spun glass of the
clematis in seed； the dainty petals of the cross…wort； white as milk；
the corymbs of the yarrow； the spreading stems of the fumitory with
their black and rosy blossoms； the tendrils of the grape； the twisted
shoots of the honeysuckle； in short； all the innocent creatures have
that is most tangled； wayward； wild；flames and triple darts； leaves
lanceolated or jagged； stalks convoluted like passionate desires
writhing in the soul。 From the bosom of this torrent of love rises the
scarlet poppy； its tassels about to open； spreading its flaming flakes
above the starry jessamine； dominating the rain of pollenthat soft
mist fluttering in the air and reflecting the light in its myriad
particles。 What woman intoxicated with the odor of the vernal grasses
would fail to understand this wealth of offered thoughts； these ardent
desires of a love demanding the happiness refused in a hundred
struggles which passion still renews； continuous； unwearying； eternal！
Put this speech of the flowers in the light of a window to show its
crisp details； its delicate contrasts； its arabesques of color； and
allow the sovereign lady to see a tear upon some petal more expanded
than the rest。 What do we give to God？ perfumes； light； and song； the
purest expression of our nature。 Well； these offerings to God； are
they not likewise offered to love in this poem of luminous flowers
murmuring their sadness to the heart； cherishing its hidden
transports； its unuttered hopes； its illusions which gleam and fall to
fragments like the gossamer of a summer's night？
Such neutral pleasures help to soothe a nature irritated by long
contemplation of the person beloved。 They were to me； I dare not say
to her； like those fissures in a dam through which the water finds a
vent and avoids disaster。 Abstinence brings deadly exhaustion； which a
few crumbs falling from heaven like manna in the desert； suffices to
relieve。 Sometimes I found my Henriette standing before these bouquets
with pendant arms； lost in agitated reverie； thoughts swelling her
bosom； illumining her brow as they surged in waves and sank again；
leaving lassitude and languor behind them。 Never again have I made a
bouquet for any one。 When she and I had created this language and
formed it to our uses； a satisfaction filled our souls like that of a
slave who escapes his masters。
During the rest of this month as I came from the meadows through the
gardens I often saw her face at the window； and when I reached the
salon she was ready at her embroidery frame。 If I did not arrive at
the hour expected （though never appointed）； I saw a white form
wandering on the terrace； and when I joined her she would say； 〃I came
to meet you； I must show a few attentions to my youngest child。〃
The miserable games of backgammon had come to end。 The count's late
purchases took all his time in going hither and thither about the
property； surveying； examining； and marking the boundaries of his new
possessions。 He had orders to give； rural works to overlook which
needed a master's eye；all of them planned and decided on by his wife
and himself。 We often went to meet him； the countess and I； with the
children； who amused themselves on the way by running after insects；
stag…beetles； darning…needles； they too making their bouquets； or to
speak more truly； their bundles of flowers。 To walk beside the woman
we love； to take her on our arm； to guide her steps；these are
illimitable joys that suffice a lifetime。 Confidence is then complete。
We went alone； we returned with the 〃general；〃 a title given to the
count when he was good…humored。 These two ways of taking the same path
gave light and shade to our pleasure； a secret known only to hearts
debarred from union。 Our talk； so free as we went； had hidden
significations as we returned； when either of us gave an answer to
some furtive interrogation； or continued a subject； already begun； in
the enigmatic phrases to which our language lends itself； and which
women are so ingenious in composing。 Who has not known the pleasure of
such secret understandings in a sphere apart from those about us； a
sphere where spirits meet outside of social laws？
One day a wild hope； quickly dispelled； took possession of me； when
the count； wishing to know what we were talking of； put the inquiry；
and Henriette answered in words that allowed another meaning； which
satisfied him。 This amused Madeleine； who laughed； after a moment her
mother blushed and gave me a forbidding look； as if to say she might
still withdraw from me her soul as she had once withdrawn her hand。
But our purely spiritual union had far too many charms； and on the
morrow it continued as before。
The hours； days； and weeks fled by； filled with renascent joys。 Grape
harvest； the festal season in Touraine； began。 Toward the end of
September the sun； less hot than during the wheat harvest； allows of
our staying in the vineyards without danger of becoming overheated。 It
is easier to gather grapes than to mow wheat。 Fruits of all kinds are
ripe； harvests are garnered； bread is less dear； the sense of plenty
makes the country people happy。 Fears as to the results of rural toil；
in which more money than sweat is often spent； vanish before a full
granary and cellars about to overflow。 The vintage is then like a gay
dessert after the dinner is eaten； the skies of Touraine； where the
autumns are always magnificent； smile upon it。 In this hospitable land
the vintagers are fed and lodged in the master's house。 The meals are
the only ones throughout the year when these poor people taste
substantial； well…cooked food； and they cling to the custom as the
children of patriarchal families cling to anniversaries。 As the time
approaches they flock in crowds to those houses where the masters are
known to treat the laborers liberally。 The house is full of people and
of provisions。 The presses are open。 The country is alive with the
coming and going of itinerant coopers； of carts filled with laughing
girls and joyous husbandmen； who earn better wages than at any other
time during the year； and who sing as they go。 There is also another
cause of pleasurable content： classes and ranks are equal； women；
children； masters； and men； all that little world； share in the
garnering of the divine hoard。 These various elements of satisfaction
explain the hilarity of the vintage； transmitted from age to age in
these last glorious days of autumn； the remembrance of which inspired
Rabelais with the bacchic form of his great work。
The children； Jacques and Madeleine； had never seen a vintage； I was
like them； and they were full of infantine delight at finding a sharer
of their pleasure； their mother； too； promised to accompany us。 We
went to Villaines； where baskets are manufactured； in quest of the
prettiest that could be bought； for we four were to cut certain rows
reserved for our scissors； it was； however； agreed that none of us
were to eat too many grapes。 To eat the fat bunches of Touraine in a
vineyard seemed so delicious that we all refused the finest grapes on
the dinner…table。 Jacques made me swear I would go to no other
vineyard； but stay closely at Clochegourde。 Never were these frail
little beings； usually pallid and smiling； so fresh and rosy and
active as they were this morning。 They chattered for chatter's sake；
and trotted about without apparent object； they suddenly seemed； like
other children； to have more life than they needed； neither Monsieur
nor Madame de Mortsauf had ever seen them so before。 I became a child
again with them； more of a child than either of them； perhaps； I； too；
was hoping for m