MYSELF: "When a man enters into himself, when he examines the bottom of his soul, he perceives nothing in all his sentiments but the development of bodily pain—"
SHE [her eyes closed]: "—and pleasure!"
In the days that followed, we often found ourselves alone in the gardens, discussing philosophy. Was it really true, she asked, that interest and want were the principles of all sociability?
Her arm brushed quite accidentally against mine, stimulating my own interest and want to a degree I declare I had never yet experienced. I composed myself as best I could and answered.
MYSELF: Men exaggerate the force of sentiment and friendship.
She looked away with a suddenness I found surprisingly gratifying. For did not this gesture suggest disappointment at my words? And did not her disappointment suggest the force of her own sentiment, of her own feelings?
Wanting to discover the validity of this proposition, that she was experiencing a forceful sentiment and desire for friendship, I continued.
MYSELF: Men exaggerate the force of friendship. They represent sociability as an innate affection or principle. But there is but one principle of this kind.
We had stopped walking and I was speaking softly to her.
MYSELF: That principle is corporeal sensibility.
Her eyes widened then. Her complexion, pure and white as a pearl, glowed with a sudden rosy hue. She tossed her head in anger.
SHE: I admire your wisdom, sir. But heaven forbid that I should copy it. If all your friendships are nurtured in a sunlight as harsh as this, then your garden must be a dry, insipid place indeed. I myself must seek a little cooling shade. These walks of ours expose us too much to the glare of Apollo's gaze without the serenity of his gentle song.
She began to walk away, and when I attempted to accompany her, she turned and walked in a different direction.
Was this to be the course of my careful tutoring? That it should end before it had in truth begun? That my student should flee her teacher, untouched by understanding?
MYSELF: Please! I meant only to suggest...
But Rameau's niece strode on, deaf to my entreaties. Nor, for days afterward, did she take herself again to those garden paths. "I feel the sun so acutely," she would say when asked by some member of the company why she had forsaken her earlier regimen of exercise and fresh air. She avoided my eyes as carefully as she shunned the garden. Never did I surprise her in a room alone; always was she attended by the marquise's retinue of old women.
For days, and then a week, and two weeks, this inhumane treatment persisted. My sleep was uneasy, my appetite uninspired, and it was only small comfort to notice the same symptoms in the gentle girl who steadfastly refused to respond to my sighs and glances. In the company of the other guests, I would address bitter speeches to my lost student, speeches she and only she could recognize as being meant for her, and only for her.
In these speeches I rendered accusations:
MYSELF: Seeing that life is but a motion of limbs, the beginning whereof is in some principal part within, why may we not say that all automata (engines that move themselves by springs and wheels as doth a watch) have an artificial life? If that is so, is it not true that the heart is nothing more than a spring?
I implored mercy:
MYSELF: It is a law of nature, is it not, that a man ought to pardon the offenses past committed by them that, repenting, desire it? For pardon is nothing but the granting of peace; and not granting it to those who repent is a sign of aversion to peace, and refusing to forgive is therefore contrary to the law of nature.
Sometimes, when I was near her, all my senses were strangely ravished and my eyes did not dare to rest on hers; all my body felt languid and oppressed. But my pupil appeared to notice nothing regarding her teacher.
Only after two weeks of existence in this arid desert devoid of feeling, of charm, of beauty, did I see the first sign of budding life, a mere shoot, a tender sprig of attention, but enough to cause my heart to beat with renewed vigor. Rameau's niece on this day, truly a spring morning, allowed her glance to fall on me.
MYSELF: The understanding is like the eye. While it makes us see and perceive all other things, it takes no notice of itself; and it requires art and pains to set it at a distance and make it its own object.
Her own eyes, large and luminous, looked into mine as if seeking there understanding, the sight of the mind. For a moment, I was unable to continue and remained where I was, silent and trembling in the unaccustomed glory of her gaze. She lowered her lashes then, plunging the world back into the darkness of her indifference. But that one moment gave me hope, and I continued.