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Alamontade
by
Late that evening, I saw the windows lighted, and her shadow passing to and fro; I took my harp, and with its sounds, my feelings gradually became calm.
I did not awake till late the next morning, having passed a sleepless night. When I stepped to the window I saw Clementine leaning from hers in her morning dress. I saluted her, and received a scarcely perceptible return; but she looked kindly. I was riveted to the spot while she remained, our glances met timidly; but my soul conversed with her, and I seemed to receive soft answers.
Oh! blessed hours which I dreamed away harmlessly in the secret contemplation of a lovely being. With my poor and humble parentage, and without claim, as I was, to personal attractions, how could I raise my hopes to the most lovely, richest heiress of Montpellier, whose favour was courted by the noblest youths of the country?
How much do my thoughts love to dwell on the recollection of those days! Friendship and love belong only to mortal man; he shares them neither with angels nor the animal creation; they are the offspring of the union of the earthly and divine nature within us: they constitute the privilege of man. In their possession we are more pious, more believing, more indulgent, and more at home in the universe; we have more confidence, and endure the thorns by the way. Nay, even the wilderness appears more splendid in the glow of a calm, bright fancy.
In the evening I again took the harp, struck the chords, and played the sufferings of Count Peter of Provence and his beloved Magellone, then one of the newest and most affecting ballads, and full of expressive melody. When I had finished the first stanza, and rested a minute, I heard the sound of a harp, softly repeating the same air in the stillness of the night. Who could it be but Clementine, who wished to become the echo of my sentiments? When she had finished I began again; thus we responded to each other. Music is the language of the soul. What an ineffable delight to my heart, Clementine thought me worthy of this converse!
Alas! I must pass over in silence a thousand nameless trifles which receive their inestimable value only from the sense by which they are given and received; but they cannot be forgotten. The corse of the dream of my happy youth, I mean recollection, is also still delightful, though its life has passed away.
My dream lasted thus for two years. During that time we saw each other in silence, but still loving, and we conversed only by means of the chords of the harp, without ever approaching nearer. I knew the church where she prayed; I also went and prayed too. I knew the days when she, in the company of her mother and friends, promenaded amid the shady trees of the Peyrou;[1] there I went also. Her look showed that she recognised me, and timidly rewarded me.
Without having spoken to each other during this long space of time, we had by degrees become the most intimate confidants; we reciprocated our joys and sorrows; we entreated and granted, hoped and feared, and made vows that were never broken.
No one suspected the intercourse of our souls, our sweet and innocent familiarity. Only M. Bertollon’s kindness threatened more than once to rob me of my joys, as he insisted on my occupying a better room, and it was with difficulty I retained possession of my garret.
When Madame Bertollon had returned from her country house her husband introduced me to her. “Here,” said he, “is Alamontade, a young man whom I love as a friend, and to whom I wish nothing better than that he may become yours also.”
What I had heard of her was not exaggerated. She seemed scarcely twenty years old, was very beautiful, and might have served an artist as an idea for a Madonna. A pleasing timidity rendered her the more attractive, especially as most of her sex and rank in Montpellier knew less of that reserve, without which grace itself loses all its charms.