What a strange and delightful sensation it was! I remembered all that I had noticed about him the night before; I knew his character from admiring its gentleness and patience under the supreme test of unrequited love, of desire that awakened no response. And he was now talking to me from the very depths of his soul, while I knew nothing of who or what he was, nor of what he was doing here. I was really seeing him from the inside, as we see ourselves behind the scenes of our own existence, without ever knowing exactly the spectacle which we present to others. I was observing the inner working of his life before I had seen the outward presentment.
Speaking to me of his profession, he told me, with a smile, how little importance he attached to his painting:
"It is only a favourable pretext for the life I have chosen. As you know, my greatest passion is nature; and I cannot but like the work which trained my eyes to a clearer vision and my nerves to a finer response."
He told me of the years which he had wasted in seeking in the customary amusements the joys which are ordinarily found there. He told me of the life of luxury and idleness which he had led until the day came when adverse fate reduced him to living on the income from a small estate which he owned in the country: a thrice-fortunate day, he added, for from that moment he had understood that he was made for solitude, meditation and all the quiet pleasures of nature. Then he enthusiastically described to me the peaceful charm of his little house and he employed the words of a lover to extol the charm of his willow-swept river and the wonders of his flowers and bees.
2
Then I wanted to know what he thought of Rose. He judged her not inaccurately; but, with a lover's partiality, he applied the words balance, gentleness, equanimity to qualities which one day, when the scales had fallen from his eyes, he would call lack of heart and feeling. Deep-seated differences, perhaps, but yet not of a nature to affect the very sound principles that ensured his tranquillity.
He had no illusions as to the quality of her mind. But to him, as to most men, a woman's intellectual value was but a relative factor; and he did not pause to estimate it with any attempt at accuracy, preferring to repeat:
"She will not disturb the silence of my life; and her beauty will adorn it marvellously."
He had a way of speaking which I liked. He knew how to refine his words by means of his expression. If they were very positive, his voice would hesitate; if too grave, a faint smile would lighten their sombreness. If he spoke ironically, his boyish eyes softened any touch of bitterness in the wisdom of the satirist.
I did not like to think that the success of his wooing would mean the end of his labours. Rose would never become the independent, perfect woman of my dreams, capable of preserving her personal life in the midst of love and in all circumstances. Alas, my ambition had soared too high! Henceforth, I must wish nothing better for her than this purely ornamental fate.