sarrasine-第5部分

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ignorance　of　the　things　of　life　he　had；　as　a　matter　of　principle；
refrained　from　enlightening。　Sarrasine　was　Bouchardon's　guest　for　six
years。　Fanatically　devoted　to　his　art；　as　Canova　was　at　a　later　day；
he　rose　at　dawn　and　went　to　the　studio；　there　to　remain　until　night；
and　lived　with　his　muse　alone。　If　he　went　to　the　Comedie…Francaise；　he
was　dragged　thither　by　his　master。　He　was　so　bored　at　Madame
Geoffrin's；　and　in　the　fashionable　society　to　which　Bouchardon　tried
to　introduce　him；　that　he　preferred　to　remain　alone；　and　held　aloof
from　the　pleasures　of　that　licentious　age。　He　had　no　other　mistresses
than　sculpture　and　Clotilde；　one　of　the　celebrities　of　the　Opera。　Even
that　intrigue　was　of　brief　duration。　Sarrasine　was　decidedly　ugly；
always　badly　dressed；　and　naturally　so　independent；　so　irregular　in
his　private　life；　that　the　illustrious　nymph；　dreading　some
catastrophe；　soon　remitted　the　sculptor　to　love　of　the　arts。　Sophie
Arnould　made　some　witty　remark　on　the　subject。　She　was　surprised；　I
think；　that　her　colleague　was　able　to　triumph　over　statues。

〃Sarrasine　started　for　Italy　in　1758。　On　the　journey　his　ardent
imagination　took　fire　beneath　a　sky　of　copper　and　at　the　sight　of　the
marvelous　monuments　with　which　the　fatherland　of　the　arts　is　strewn。
He　admired　the　statues；　the　frescoes；　the　pictures；　and；　fired　with　a
spirit　of　emulation；　he　went　on　to　Rome；　burning　to　inscribe　his　name
between　the　names　of　Michelangelo　and　Bouchardon。　At　first；　therefore；
he　divided　his　time　between　his　studio　work　and　examination　of　the
works　of　art　which　abound　in　Rome。　He　had　already　passed　a　fortnight
in　the　ecstatic　state　into　which　all　youthful　imaginations　fall　at　the
sight　of　the　queen　of　ruins；　when　he　happened　one　evening　to　enter　the
Argentina　theatre；　in　front　of　which　there　was　an　enormous　crowd。　He
inquired　the　reasons　for　the　presence　of　so　great　a　throng；　and　every
one　answered　by　two　names：

〃　'Zambinella！　Jomelli！'

〃He　entered　and　took　a　seat　in　the　pit；　crowded　between　two
unconscionably　stout　/abbati/；　but　luckily　he　was　quite　near　the
stage。　The　curtain　rose。　For　the　first　time　in　his　life　he　heard　the
music　whose　charms　Monsieur　Jean…Jacques　Rousseau　had　extolled　so
eloquently　at　one　of　Baron　d'Holbach's　evening　parties。　The　young
sculptor's　senses　were　lubricated；　so　to　speak；　by　Jomelli's
harmonious　strains。　The　languorous　peculiarities　of　those　skilfully
blended　Italian　voices　plunged　him　in　an　ecstasy　of　delight。　He　sat
there；　mute　and　motionless；　not　even　conscious　of　the　crowding　of　the
two　priests。　His　soul　poured　out　through　his　ears　and　his　eyes。　He
seemed　to　be　listening　with　every　one　of　his　pores。　Suddenly　a
whirlwind　of　applause　greeted　the　appearance　of　the　prima　donna。　She
came　forward　coquettishly　to　the　footlights　and　curtsied　to　the
audience　with　infinite　grace。　The　brilliant　light；　the　enthusiasm　of　a
vast　multitude；　the　illusion　of　the　stage；　the　glamour　of　a　costume
which　was　most　attractive　for　the　time；　all　conspired　in　that　woman's
favor。　Sarrasine　cried　aloud　with　pleasure。　He　saw　before　him　at　that
moment　the　ideal　beauty　whose　perfections　he　had　hitherto　sought　here
and　there　in　nature；　taking　from　one　model；　often　of　humble　rank；　the
rounded　outline　of　a　shapely　leg；　from　another　the　contour　of　the
breast；　from　another　her　white　shoulders；　stealing　the　neck　of　that
young　girl；　the　hands　of　this　woman；　and　the　polished　knees　of　yonder
child；　but　never　able　to　find　beneath　the　cold　skies　of　Paris　the　rich
and　satisfying　creations　of　ancient　Greece。　La　Zambinella　displayed　in
her　single　person；　intensely　alive　and　delicate　beyond　words；　all
those　exquisite　proportions　of　the　female　form　which　he　had　so
ardently　longed　to　behold；　and　of　which　a　sculptor　is　the　most　severe
and　at　the　same　time　the　most　passionate　judge。　She　had　an　expressive
mouth；　eyes　instinct　with　love；　flesh　of　dazzling　whiteness。　And　add
to　these　details；　which　would　have　filled　a　painter's　soul　with
rapture；　all　the　marvelous　charms　of　the　Venuses　worshiped　and　copied
by　the　chisel　of　the　Greeks。　The　artist　did　not　tire　of　admiring　the
inimitable　grace　with　which　the　arms　were　attached　to　the　body；　the
wonderful　roundness　of　the　throat；　the　graceful　curves　described　by
the　eyebrows　and　the　nose；　and　the　perfect　oval　of　the　face；　the
purity　of　its　clean…cut　lines；　and　the　effect　of　the　thick；　drooping
lashes　which　bordered　the　large　and　voluptuous　eyelids。　She　was　more
than　a　woman；　she　was　a　masterpiece！　In　that　unhoped…for　creation
there　was　love　enough　to　enrapture　all　mankind；　and　beauties
calculated　to　satisfy　the　most　exacting　critic。

〃Sarrasine　devoured　with　his　eyes　what　seemed　to　him　Pygmalion's
statue　descended　from　its　pedestal。　When　La　Zambinella　sang；　he　was
beside　himself。　He　was　cold；　then　suddenly　he　felt　a　fire　burning　in
the　secret　depths　of　his　being；　in　what；　for　lack　of　a　better　word；　we
call　the　heart。　He　did　not　applaud；　he　said　nothing；　he　felt　a　mad
impulse；　a　sort　of　frenzy　of　the　sort　that　seizes　us　only　at　the　age
when　there　is　a　something　indefinably　terrible　and　infernal　in　our
desires。　Sarrasine　longed　to　rush　upon　the　stage　and　seize　that　woman。
His　strength；　increased　a　hundredfold　by　a　moral　depression　impossible
to　describe；for　such　phenomena　take　place　in　a　sphere　inaccessible
to　human　observation；insisted　upon　manifesting　itself　with
deplorable　violence。　Looking　at　him；　you　would　have　said　that　he　was　a
cold；　dull　man。　Renown；　science；　future；　life；　prizes；　all　vanished。

〃　'To　win　her　love　or　die！'　Such　was　the　sentence　Sarrasine　pronounced
upon　himself。

〃He　was　so　completely　intoxicated　that　he　no　longer　saw　theatre；
audience；　or　actors；　no　longer　heard　the　music。　Nay；　more；　there　was
no　space　between　him　and　La　Zambinella；　he　possessed　her；　his　eyes；
fixed　steadfastly　upon　her；　took　possession　of　her。　An　almost
diabolical　power　enabled　him　to　feel　the　breath　of　that　voice；　to
inhale　the　fragrant　powder　with　which　her　hair　was　covered；　to　see　the
slightest　inequalities　of　her　face；　to　count　the　blue　veins　which
threaded　their　way　beneath　the　satiny　skin。　And　that　fresh；　brisk
voice　of　silvery　/timbre/；　flexible　as　a　thread　to　which　the　faintest
breath　of　air　gives　form；　which　it　rolls　and　unrolls；　tangles　and
blows　away；　that　voice　attacked　his　heart　so　fiercely　that　he　more
than　once　uttered　an　involuntary　exclamation；　extorted　by　the
convulsive　ecstasy　too　rarely　evoked　by　human　passions。　He　was　soon
obliged　to　leave　the　theatre。　His　trembling　legs　almost　refused　to
bear　him。　He　was　prostrated；　weak；　like　a　nervous　man　who　has　given
way　to　a　terrible　burst　of　anger。　He　had　had　such　exquisite　pleasure；
or　perhaps　had　suffered　so；　that　his　life　had　flowed　away　like　water
from　an　overturned　vessel。　He　felt　a　void　within　him；　a　sense　of
goneness　like　the　utter　lack　of　strength　which　discourages　a
convalescent　just　recovering　from　a　serious　sickness。　Overwhelmed　by
inexplicable　melancholy；　he　sat　down　on　the　steps　of　a　church。　There；
with　his　back　resting　against　a　pillar；　he　lost　himself　in　a　fit　of
meditation　as　confused　as　a　dream。　Passion　had　dealt　him　a　crushing
blow。　On　his　return　to　his　apartments　he　was　seized　by　one　of　those
paroxysms　of　activity　which　reveal　to　us　the　presence　of　new
principles　in　our　existence。　A　prey　to　that　first　fever　of　love　which
resembles　pain　as　much　as　pleasure；　he　sought　to　defeat　his　impatience
and　his　frenzy　by　sketching　La　Zambinella　from　memory。　It　was　a　sort
of　material　meditation。　Upon　one　leaf　La　Zambinella　appeared　in　that
pose；　apparently　calm　and　cold；　affected　by　Raphael；　Georgione；　and
all　the　great　painters。　On　another；　she　was　coyly　turning　her　head　as
she　finished　a　roulade；　and　seemed　to　be　listening　to　herself。
Sarrasine　drew　his　mistress　in　all　poses：　he　drew　her　unveiled；
seated；　standing；　reclining；　chaste；　and　amorousinterpreting；　thanks
to　the　delirious　activity　of　his　pencil；　all　the　fanciful　ideas　which
beset　our　imagination　when　our　thoughts　are　completely　engrossed　by　a
mistress。　But　his　frantic　thoughts　outran　his　pencil。　He　met　La
Zambinella；　spoke　to　her；　entreated　her；　exhausted　a　thousand　years　of
life　and　happiness　with　her；　placing　her　in　all　imaginable　situations；
trying　the　future　with　her；　so　to　speak。　The　next　day　he　sent　his
servant　to　hire　a　box　near　the　stage　for　the　whole　season。　Then；　like
all　young　men　of　powerful　feelings；　he　exaggerated　the　difficulties　of
his　undertaking；　and　gave　his　passion；　for　its　first　pasturage；　the
joy　of　being　able　to　admire　his　mistress　without　obstacle。　The　golden
age　of　love；　during　which　we　enjoy　our　own　sentiments；　and　in　which　we
are　almost　as　happy　by　ourselves；　was　not　likely　to　last　long　with
Sarrasine。　However；　events　surprised　him　when　he　was　still　under　the
spell　of　that　springtime　hallucination；　as　naive　as　it　was　voluptuous。
In　a　week　he　lived　a　whole　lifetime；　occupied　through　the　day　in
molding　the　clay　with　which　he　succeeded　in　copying　La　Zambinella；
notwithstanding　the　veils；　the　skirts；　the　waists；　and　the　bows　of
ribbon　which　concealed　her　from　him。　In　the　evening；　installed　at　an
early　hour　in　his　box；　alone；　reclining　on　a