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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3941.txt b/3941.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..900e3d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/3941.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2645 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v3 +#28 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy +#3 in our series by Alfred de Musset + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the +file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an +entire meal of them. D.W.] + + + + + +CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY +(Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle) + +By ALFRED DE MUSSET + + + +BOOK 3. + + +PART V + +CHAPTER I + +SWEET ANTICIPATIONS + +Having decided on a long tour, we went first to Paris; the necessary +preparations required time, and we took a furnished apartment for one +month. The decision to leave France had changed everything: joy, hope, +confidence, all returned; no more sorrow, no more grief over approaching +separation. We had now nothing but dreams of happiness and vows of +eternal love; I wished, once for all, to make my dear mistress forget all +the suffering I had caused her. How had I been able to resist such proof +of tender affection and courageous resignation? Not only did Brigitte +pardon me, but she was willing to make a still greater sacrifice and +leave everything for me. As I felt myself unworthy of the devotion she +exhibited, I wished to requite her by my love; at last my good angel had +triumphed, and admiration and love resumed their sway in my heart. +Brigitte and I examined a map to determine where we should go and bury +ourselves from the world. We had not yet decided, and we found pleasure +in that very uncertainty; while glancing over the map we said "Where +shall we go? What shall we do? Where shall we begin life anew?" +How shall I tell how deeply I repented my cruelty when I looked upon her +smiling face, a face that laughed at the future, although still pale from +the sorrows of the past! Blissful projects of future joy, you are +perhaps the only true happiness known to man! For eight days we spent +our time making purchases and preparing for our departure; then a young +man presented himself at our apartments: he brought letters to Brigitte. +After their interview I found her sad and distraught; but I could not +guess the cause unless the letters were from N------, that village where +I had confessed my love and where Brigitte's only relatives lived. +Nevertheless, our preparations progressed rapidly and I became impatient +to get away; at the same time I was so happy that I could hardly rest. +When I arose in the morning and the sun was shining through our windows, +I experienced such transports of joy that I was almost intoxicated with +happiness. So anxious was I to prove the sincerity of my love for +Brigitte that I hardly dared kiss the hem of her skirt. Her lightest +words made me tremble as if her voice were strange to me; I alternated +between tears and laughter, and I never spoke of the past except with +horror and disgust. Our room was full of personal effects scattered about +in disorder--albums, pictures, books, and the dear map we loved so much. +We went to and fro about the little apartment; at brief intervals I would +stop and kneel before Brigitte who would call me an idler, saying that +she had to do all the work, and that I was good for nothing; and all +sorts of projects flitted through our minds. Sicily was far away, but +the winters are so delightful there! Genoa is very pretty with its +painted houses, its green gardens, and the Apennines in the background! +But what noise! What crowds! Among every three men on the street, one +is a monk and another a soldier. Florence is sad, it is the Middle Ages +living in the midst of modern life. How can any one endure those grilled +windows and that horrible brown color with which all the houses are +tinted? + +What could we do at Rome? We were not travelling in order to forget +ourselves, much less for the sake of instruction. To the Rhine? But the +season was over, and although we did not care for the world of fashion, +still it is sad to visit its haunts when it has fled. But Spain? Too +many restrictions there; one travels like an army on the march, and may +expect everything except repose. Switzerland? Too many people go there, +and most of them are deceived as to the nature of its attractions; but in +that land are unfolded the three most beautiful colors on God's earth: +the azure of the sky, the verdure of the plains, and the whiteness of the +snows on the summits of glaciers. + +"Let us go, let us go!" cried Brigitte, "let us fly away like two birds. +Let us pretend, my dear Octave, that we met each other only yesterday. +You met me at a ball, I pleased you and I love you; you tell me that some +leagues distant, in a certain little town, you loved a certain Madame +Pierson; what passed between you and her I do not know. You will not +tell me the story of your love for another! And I will whisper to you +that not long since I loved a terrible fellow who made me very unhappy; +you will reprove me and close my mouth, and we will agree never to speak +of such things." + +When Brigitte spoke thus I experienced a feeling that resembled avarice; +I caught her in my arms and cried: + +"Oh, God! I know not whether it is with joy or with fear that I tremble. +I am about to carry off my treasure. Die, my youth; die, all memories of +the past; die, all cares and regrets! Oh, my, good, my brave Brigitte! +You have made a man out of a child. If I lose you now, I shall never +love again. Perhaps, before I knew you, another woman might have cured +me; but now you alone, of all the world, have power to destroy me or to +save me, for I bear in my heart the wound of all the evil I have done +you. I have been an ingrate, blind and cruel. God be praised! You love +me still. If you ever return to that home under whose lindens I first +met you, look carefully about that deserted house; you will find a +phantom there, for the man who left it, and went away with you, is not +the man who entered it." + +"Is it true?" said Brigitte, and her face, all radiant with love, was +raised to heaven; "is it true that I am yours? Yes, far from this odious +world in which you have grown old before your time, yes, my child, you +shall really love. I shall have you as you are, and, wherever we go you +will make me forget the possibility of a day when you will no longer love +me. My mission will have been accomplished, and I shall always be +thankful for it." + +Finally we decided to go to Geneva and then choose some resting place in +the Alps. Brigitte was enthusiastic about the lake; I thought I could +already breathe the air which floats over its surface, and the odor of +the verdure-clad valley; already I beheld Lausanne, Vevey, Oberland, and +in the distance the summits of Monte Rosa and the immense plain of +Lombardy. Already oblivion, repose, travel, all the delights of happy +solitude invited us; already, when in the evening with joined hands, we +looked at each other in silence, we felt rising within us that sentiment +of strange grandeur which takes possession of the heart on the eve of a +long journey, the mysterious and indescribable vertigo which has in it +something of the terrors of exile and the hopes of pilgrimage. Are there +not in the human mind wings that flutter and sonorous chords that +vibrate? How shall I describe it? Is there not a world of meaning in +the simple words: "All is ready, we are about to go"? + +Suddenly Brigitte became languid; she bowed her head in silence. When I +asked her whether she was in pain, she said "No!" in a voice that was +scarcely audible; when I spoke of our departure, she arose, cold and +resigned, and continued her preparations; when I swore to her that she +was going to be happy, and that I would consecrate my life to her, she +shut herself up in her room and wept; when I kissed her she turned pale, +and averted her eyes as my lips approached hers; when I told her that +nothing had yet been done, that it was not too late to renounce our plans, +she frowned severely; when I begged her to open her heart to me and told +her I would die rather than cause her one regret, she threw her arms about +my neck, then stopped and repulsed me as if involuntarily. Finally, +I entered her room holding in my hand a ticket on which our places were +marked for the carriage to Besancon. I approached her and placed it in +her lap; she stretched out her hand, screamed, and fell unconscious at my +feet. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE DEMON OF DOUBT + +All my efforts to divine the cause of so unexpected a change were as vain +as the questions I had first asked. Brigitte was ill, and remained +obstinately silent. After an entire day passed in supplication and +conjecture, I went out without knowing where I was going. Passing the +Opera, I entered it from mere force of habit. + +I could pay no attention to what was going on in the theatre, I was so +overwhelmed with grief, so stupefied, that I did not live, so to speak, +except in myself, and exterior objects made no impression on my senses. +All my powers were centred on a single thought, and the more I turned it +over in my head, the less clearly could I distinguish its meaning. + +What obstacle was this that had so suddenly come between us and the +realization of our fondest hopes? If it was merely some ordinary event +or even an actual misfortune, such as an accident or the loss of a +friend, why that obstinate silence? After all that Brigitte had done, +when our dreams seemed about to be realized, what could be the nature of +a secret that destroyed our happiness and could not be confided to me? +What! to conceal it from me! And yet I could not find it in my heart to +suspect her. The appearance of suspicion revolted me and filled me with +horror. On the other hand, how could I conceive of inconstancy or of +caprice in that woman, as I knew her? I was lost in an abyss of doubt, +and I could not discover a gleam of light, the smallest point, on which +to base conjecture. + +In front of me in the gallery sat a young man whose face was not unknown +to me. As often happens when one is preoccupied, I looked at him without +thinking of him as a personal identity or trying to fit a name on him. +Suddenly I recognized him: it was he who had brought letters to Brigitte +from N------. I arose and started to accost him without thinking what I +was doing. He occupied a place that I could not reach without disturbing +a large number of spectators, and I was forced to await the entr'acte. + +My first thought was that if any one could enlighten me it was this young +man. He had had several interviews with Madame Pierson in the last few +days, and I recalled the fact that she was always much depressed after +his visits. He had seen her the morning of the day she was taken ill. + +The letters he brought Brigitte had not been shown me; it was possible +that he knew the reason why our departure was delayed. Perhaps he did +not know all the circumstances, but he could doubtless enlighten me as to +the contents of those letters, and there was no reason why I should +hesitate to question him. When the curtain fell, I followed him to the +foyer; I do not know that he saw me coming, but he hastened away and +entered a box. I determined to wait until he should come out, and stood +looking at the box for fifteen minutes. At last he appeared. I bowed +and approached him. He hesitated a moment, then turned and disappeared +down a stairway. + +My desire to speak to him had been too evident to admit of any other +explanation than deliberate intention on his part to avoid me. He surely +knew my face, and, whether he knew it or not, a man who sees another +approaching him ought, at least, to wait for him. We were the only +persons in the corridor at the time, and there could be no doubt he did +not wish to speak to me. I did not dream of such impertinent treatment +from a man whom I had cordially received at my apartments; why should he +insult me? He could have no other excuse than a desire to avoid an +awkward interview, during which questions might be asked which he did not +care to answer. But why? This second mystery troubled me almost as much +as the first. Although I tried to drive the thought from my head, that +young man's action in avoiding me seemed to have some connection with +Brigitte's obstinate silence. + +Of all torments uncertainty is the most difficult to endure, and during +my life I have exposed myself to many dangers because I could not wait +patiently. When I returned to my apartments I found Brigitte reading +those same fateful letters from N------. I told her that I could not +remain longer in suspense, and that I wished to be relieved from it at +any cost; that I desired to know the cause of the sudden change which had +taken place in her, and that, if she refused to speak, I should look upon +her silence as a positive refusal to go abroad with me and an order for +me to leave her forever. + +She reluctantly handed me the letters she was reading. Her relatives had +written her that her departure had disgraced them, that every one knew +the circumstances, and that they felt it their duty to warn her of the +consequences; that she was living openly as my mistress, and that, +although she was a widow and free to do as she chose, she ought to think +of the name she bore; that neither they nor her old friends would ever +see her again if she persisted in her course; finally, by all sorts of +threats and entreaties, they urged her to return. + +The tone of the letter angered me, and at first I took it as an insult. + +"And that young man who brings you these remonstrances," I cried, +"doubtless has orders to deliver them personally, and does not fail to do +his own part to the best of his ability. Am I not right?" + +Brigitte's dejection made me reflect and calm my wrath. + +"You will do as you wish, and achieve my ruin," she said. "My fate rests +with you; you have been for a long time my master. Avenge as you please +the last effort my old friends have made to recall me to reason, to the +world that I formerly respected, to the honor that I have lost. I have +not a word to say, and if you wish to dictate my reply, I will obey you." + +"I care to know nothing," I replied, "but your intentions; it is for me +to comply with your wishes, and I assure you I am ready to do it. Tell +me, do you desire to remain, to go away, or shall I go alone?" + +"Why that question?" asked Brigitte; "have I said that I had changed my +mind? I am suffering, and can not travel in my present condition, but +when I recover we will go to Geneva as we have planned." + +We separated at these words, and the coldness with which she had +expressed her resolution saddened me more than usual. It was not the +first time our liaison had been threatened by her relatives; but up to +this time whatever letters Brigitte had received she had never taken them +so much to heart. How could I bring myself to believe that Brigitte had +been so affected by protests which in less happy moments had had no +effect on her? Could it be merely the weakness of a woman who recoils +from an act of final significance? "I will do as you please," she had +said. No, it does not please me to demand patience, and rather than look +at that sorrowful face even a week longer, unless she speaks I will set +out alone. + +Fool that I was! Had I the strength to do it? I did not close my eyes +that night, and the next morning I resolved to call on that young man I +had seen at the opera. I do not know whether it was wrath or curiosity +that impelled me to this course, nor did I know just what I desired to +learn of him; but I reflected that he could not avoid me this time, and +that was all I desired. + +As I did not know his address, I asked Brigitte for it, pretending that I +felt under an obligation to call on him after all the visits he had made +us; I had not said a word about my experience at the opera. Brigitte's +eyes betrayed signs of tears. When I entered her room she held out her +hand and said: + +"What do you wish?" + +Her voice was sad but tender. We exchanged a few kind words, and I set +out less unhappy. + +The name of the young man I was going to see was Smith; he was living +near us. When I knocked at his door, I experienced a strange sensation +of uneasiness; I was dazed as though by a sudden flash of light. His +first gesture froze my blood. He was in bed, and with the same accent +Brigitte had employed, with a face as pale and haggard as hers, he held +out his hand and said: + +"What do you wish?" + +Say what you please, there are things in a man's life which reason can +not explain. I sat as still as if awakened from a dream, and began to +repeat his questions. Why, in fact, had I come to see him? How could I +tell him what had brought me there? Even if he had anything to tell me, +how did I know he would speak? He had brought letters from N------, +and knew those who had written them. But it cost me an effort to +question him, and I feared he would suspect what was in my mind. Our +first words were polite and insignificant. I thanked him for his +kindness in bringing letters to Madame Pierson; I told him that upon +leaving France we would ask him to do the same favor for us; and then we +were silent, surprised to find ourselves vis-a-vis. + +I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor; +everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical +instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but +everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble. + +As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On +the mantel I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at +it, and he said it was his mother. + +I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him +since childhood. Before I came to the country she used to see him +occasionally at N------, but at the time of her last visit there he was +away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some +particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest +employment that enabled him to support his mother and sister. + +His treatment of these two women deserved the highest praise; he deprived +himself of everything for them, and although he possessed musical talents +that would have enabled him to make a fortune, the immediate needs of +those dependent on him, and an extreme reserve, had always led him to +prefer an assured income to the uncertain chances of success in larger +ventures. + +In a word, he belonged to that small class who live quietly, and who are +worth more to the world than those who do not appreciate them. I had +learned of certain traits in his character which will serve to paint the +man he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl in the neighborhood, and, +after a year of devotion to her, had secured her parents' consent to +their union. She was as poor as he. The contract was ready to be +signed, the preparations for the wedding were complete, when his mother +said: + +"And your sister? Who will marry her?" + +That simple remark made him understand that if he married he would spend +all his money in the household expenses and his sister would have no +dowry. He broke off the engagement, bravely renouncing his happy +prospects; he then came to Paris. + +When I heard that story I wished to see the hero. That simple, +unassuming act of devotion seemed to me more admirable than all the +glories of war. + +The more I examined that young man, the less I felt inclined to broach +the subject nearest my heart. The idea which had first occurred to me, +that he would harm me in Brigitte's eyes, vanished at once. Gradually my +thoughts took another course; I looked at him attentively, and it seemed +to me that he was also examining me with curiosity. + +We were both twenty-one years of age, but what a difference between us! +He, accustomed to an existence regulated by the graduated tick of the +clock; never having seen anything of life, except that part of it which +lies between an obscure room on the fourth floor and a dingy government +office; sending his mother all his savings, that farthing of human joy +which the hand of toil clasps so greedily; having no thought except for +the happiness of others, and that since his childhood, since he had been +a babe in arms! And I, during that precious time, so swift, +so inexorable, during the time that with him had been a round of toil, +what had I done? Was I a man? Which of us had lived? + +What I have said in a page can be comprehended in a moment. He spoke to +me of our journey and the countries we were going to visit. + +"When do you go?" he asked. + +"I do not know; Madame Pierson is indisposed, and has been confined to +her bed for three days." + +"For three days!" he repeated, in surprise. + +"Yes; why are you astonished?" + +He arose and threw himself on me, his arms extended, his eyes fixed. He +was trembling violently. + +"Are you ill?" I asked, taking him by the hand. He pressed his hand to +his head and burst into tears. When he had recovered sufficiently to +speak, he said: + +"Pardon me; be good enough to leave me. I fear I am not well; when I +have sufficiently recovered I will return your visit." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE QUESTION OF SMITH + +Brigitte was better. She had told me that she desired to go away as soon +as she was well enough to travel. But I insisted that she ought to rest +at least fifteen days before undertaking a long journey. + +Whenever I attempted to persuade her to speak frankly, she assured me +that the letter was the only cause of her melancholy, and begged me to +say nothing more about it. Then I tried in vain to guess what was +passing in her heart. We went to the theatre every night in order to +avoid embarrassing interviews. There we sometimes pressed each other's +hands at some fine bit of acting or beautiful strain of music, or +exchanged, perhaps, a friendly glance, but going and returning we were +mute, absorbed in our thoughts. + +Smith came almost every day. Although his presence in the house had been +the cause of all my sorrow, and although my visit to him had left +singular suspicions in my mind, still his apparent good faith and his +simplicity reassured me. I had spoken to him of the letters he had +brought, and he did not appear offended, but saddened. He was ignorant +of the contents, and his friendship for Brigitte led him to censure them +severely. He would have refused to carry them, he said, had he known +what they contained. On account of Brigitte's tone of reserve in his +presence, I did not think he was in her confidence. + +I therefore welcomed him with pleasure, although there was always a sort +of awkward embarrassment in our meeting. He was asked to act as +intermediary between Brigitte and her relatives after our departure. +When we three were together he noticed a certain coldness and restraint +which he endeavored to banish by cheerful good-humor. If he spoke of our +liaison it was with respect and as a man who looks upon love as a sacred +bond; in fact, he was a kind friend, and inspired me with full +confidence. + +But despite all this, despite all his efforts, he was sad, and I could +not get rid of strange thoughts that came to my mind. The tears I had +seen that young man shed, his illness coming on at the same time as +Brigitte's, I know not what melancholy sympathy I thought I discovered +between them, troubled and disquieted me. Not over a month ago I would +have become violently jealous; but now, of what could I suspect Brigitte? +Whatever the secret she was concealing from me, was she not going away +with me? Even were it possible that Smith could share some secret of +which I knew nothing, what could be the nature of the mystery? What was +there to be censured in their sadness and in their friendship? + +She had known him as a child; she met him again after long years just +as she was about to leave France; she chanced to be in an unfortunate +situation, and fate decreed that he should be the instrument of adding +to her sorrow. Was it not natural that they should exchange sorrowful +glances, that the sight of this young man should awaken memories and +regrets? Could he, on the other hand, see her start off on a long +journey, proscribed and almost abandoned, without grave apprehensions? +I felt this that must be the explanation, and that it was my duty to +assure them that I was capable of protecting the one from all dangers, +and of requiting the other for the services he had rendered. And yet a +deadly chill oppressed me, and I could not determine what course to +pursue. + +When Smith left us in the evening, we either were silent or talked of +him. I do not know what fatal attraction led me to ask about him +continually. She, however, told me just what I have told my reader; +Smith's life had never been other than it was now--poor, obscure, and +honest. I made her repeat the story of his life a number of times, +without knowing why I took such an interest in it. + +There was in my heart a secret cause of sorrow which I would not confess. +If that young man had arrived at the time of our greatest happiness, had +he brought an insignificant letter to Brigitte, had he pressed her hand +while assisting her into the carriage, would I have paid the least +attention to it? Had he recognized me at the opera or had he not--had he +shed tears for some unknown reason, what would it matter so long as I was +happy? But while unable to divine the cause of Brigitte's sorrow, I saw +that my past conduct, whatever she might say of it, had something to do +with her present state. If I had been what I ought to have been for the +last six months that we had lived together, nothing in the world, I was +persuaded, could have troubled our love. + +Smith was only an ordinary man, but he was good and devoted; his simple +and modest qualities resembled the large, pure lines which the eye seizes +at the first glance; one could know him in a quarter of an hour, and he +inspired confidence if not admiration. I could not help thinking that if +he were Brigitte's lover, she would cheerfully go with him to the ends of +the earth. + +I had deferred our departure purposely, but now I began to regret it. +Brigitte, too, at times urged me to hasten the day. + +"Why do you wait?" she asked. "Here I am recovered and everything is +ready." + +Why did we wait, indeed? I do not know. + +Seated near the fire, my eyes wandered from Smith to my loved one. I saw +that they were both pale, serious, silent. I did not know why, and I +could not help thinking that there was but one cause, or one secret to +learn. This was not one of those vague, sickly suspicions, such as had +formerly tormented me, but an instinct, persistent and fatal. What +strange creatures are we! It pleased me to leave them alone before the +fire, and to go out on the quay to dream, leaning on the parapet and +looking at the water. When they spoke of their life at N------, and when +Brigitte, almost cheerful, assumed a motherly air to recall some incident +of their childhood days, it seemed to me that I suffered, and yet took +pleasure in it. I asked questions; I spoke to Smith of his mother, of +his plans and his prospects; I gave him an opportunity to show himself in +a favorable light, and forced his modesty to reveal his merit. + +"You love your sister very much, do you not?" I asked. "When do you +expect to marry her off?" + +He blushed, and replied that his expenses were rather heavy and that it +would probably be within two years, perhaps sooner, if his health would +permit him to do some extra work which would bring in enough to provide +her dowry; that there was a well-to-do family in the country, whose +eldest son was her sweetheart; that they were almost agreed on it, and +that fortune would one day come, like sleep, without thinking of it; that +he had set aside for his sister a part of the money left by their father; +that their mother was opposed to it, but that he would insist on it; that +a young man can live from hand to mouth, but that the fate of a young +girl is fixed on the day of her marriage. Thus, little by little, he +expressed what was in his heart, and I watched Brigitte listening to him. +Then, when he arose to leave us, I accompanied him to the door, and stood +there, pensively listening to the sound of his footsteps on the stairs. + +Upon examining our trunks we found that there were still a few things +needed before we could start; Smith was asked to purchase them. He was +remarkably active, and enjoyed attending to matters of this kind. When I +returned to my apartments, I found him on the floor, strapping a trunk. +Brigitte was at the piano we had rented by the week during our stay. She +was playing one of those old airs into which she put so much expression, +and which were so dear to us. I stopped in the hall; every note reached +my ear distinctly; never had she sung so sadly, so divinely. + +Smith was listening with pleasure; he was on his knees holding the buckle +of the strap in his hands. He fastened it, then looked about the room at +the other goods he had packed and covered with a linen cloth. Satisfied +with his work, he still remained kneeling in the same spot; Brigitte, her +hands on the keys, was looking out at the horizon. For the second time I +saw tears fall from the young man's eyes; I was ready to shed tears +myself, and not knowing what was passing in me, I held out my hand to +him. + +"Were you there?" asked Brigitte. She trembled and seemed surprised. + +"Yes, I was there," I replied. "Sing, my dear, I beg of you. Let me +hear your sweet voice." + +She continued her song without a word; she noticed my emotion as well as +Smith's; her voice faltered. With the last notes she arose, and came to +me and kissed me. + +On another occasion I had brought an album containing views of +Switzerland. We were looking at them, all three of us, and when Brigitte +found a scene that pleased her, she would stop to examine it. There was +one view that seemed to attract her more than the others; it was a +certain spot in the canton of Vaud, some distance from Brigues; some +trees with cows grazing in the shade; in the distance a village +consisting of some dozen houses, scattered here and there. In the +foreground a young girl with a large straw hat, seated under a tree, and +a farmer's boy standing before her, apparently pointing out, with his +iron-tipped stick, the route over which he had come; he was directing her +attention to a winding path that led to the mountain. Above them were +the Alps, and the picture was crowned by three snow-capped summits. +Nothing could be more simple or more beautiful than this landscape. The +valley resembled a lake of verdure, and the eye followed its contour with +delight. + +"Shall we go there?" I asked Brigitte. I took a pencil and traced some +figures on the picture. + +"What are you doing?" she asked. + +"I am trying to see if I can not change that face slightly and make it +resemble yours. The pretty hat would become you, and can I not, if I am +skilful, give that fine mountaineer some resemblance to me?" + +The whim seemed to please her and she set about rubbing out the two +faces. When I had painted her portrait, she wished to try mine. The +faces were very small, hence not very difficult; it was agreed that the +likenesses were striking. While we were laughing at it, the door opened +and I was called away by the servant. + +When I returned, Smith was leaning on the table and looking at the +picture with interest. He was absorbed in a profound revery, and was not +aware of my presence; I sat down near the fire, and it was not until I +spoke to Brigitte that he raised his head. He looked at us a moment, +then hastily took his leave and, as he approached the door, I saw him +strike his forehead with his hand. + +When I saw these signs of grief, I said to myself "What does it mean?" +Then I clasped my hands to plead with--whom? I do not know; perhaps my +good angel, perhaps my evil fate. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +IN THE FURNACE + +My heart yearned to set out and yet I delayed; some secret influence +rooted me to the spot. + +When Smith came I knew no repose from the time he entered the room. How +is it that sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness? + +One day a word, a flush, a glance, made me shudder; another day, another +glance, another word, threw me into uncertainty. Why were they both so +sad? Why was I as motionless as a statue where I had formerly been +violent? Every evening in bed I said to myself: "Let me see; let me +think that over." Then I would spring up, crying: "Impossible!" The +next day I did the same thing. + +In Smith's presence, Brigitte treated me with more tenderness than when +we were alone. It happened one evening that some hard words escaped us; +when she heard his voice in the hall she came and sat on my knees. +As for him, it seemed to me he was always making an effort to control +himself. His gestures were carefully regulated; he spoke slowly and +prudently, so that his occasional moments of forgetfulness seemed all the +more striking. + +Was it curiosity that tormented me? I remember that one day I saw a man +drowning near the Pont Royal. It was midsummer and we were rowing on the +river; some thirty boats were crowded together under the bridge, when +suddenly one of the occupants of a boat near mine threw up his hands and +fell overboard. We immediately began diving for him, but in vain; some +hours later the body was found under a raft. + +I shall never forget my experience as I was diving for that man. I +opened my eyes under the water and searched painfully here and there in +the dark corners about the pier; then I returned to the surface for +breath, then resumed my horrible search. I was filled with hope and +terror; the thought that I might feel myself seized by convulsive arms +allured me, and at the same time thrilled me with horror; when I was +exhausted with fatigue, I climbed back into my boat. + +Unless a man is brutalized by debauchery, eager curiosity is one of his +marked traits. I have already remarked that I felt it on the occasion of +my first visit to Desgenais. I will explain my meaning. + +The truth, that skeleton of appearances, ordains that every man, +whatsoever he be, shall come, in his day and hour, to touch the bones +that lie forever at the bottom of some chance experience. It is called +"knowing the world," and experience is purchased at that price. Some +recoil in terror before that test; others, feeble and affrighted, +vacillate. like shadows. Some, the best perhaps, die at once. The +large number forget, and thus all float on to death. + +But there are some men, who, at the fell stroke of chance, neither die +nor forget; when it comes their turn to touch misfortune, otherwise +called truth, they approach it with a firm step and outstretched hand, +and, horrible to say! they mistake love for the livid corpse they have +found at the bottom of the river. They seize it, feel it, clasp it in +their arms; they are drunk with the desire to know; they no longer look +with interest upon things, except to see them pass; they do nothing +except doubt and test; they ransack the world as though they were God's +spies; they sharpen their thoughts into arrows, and give birth to a +monster. + +Roues, more than all others, are exposed to that fury, and the reason is +very simple: ordinary life is the limpid surface, that of the roue is the +rapid current swirling over and over, and at times touching the bottom. +Coming from a ball, for instance, where they have danced with a modest +girl, they seek the company of bad characters, and spend the night in +riotous feasting. The last words they addressed to a beautiful and +virtuous woman are still on their lips; they repeat them and burst into +laughter. Shall I say it? Do they not raise, for some pieces of silver, +the vesture of chastity, that robe so full of mystery, which respects the +being it embellishes and engirds her without touching? What idea can +they have of the world? They are like comedians in the greenroom. +Who, more than they, is skilled in that delving to the bottom of things, +in that groping at once profound and impious? See how they speak of +everything; always in terms the most barren, crude, and abject; +such words appear true to them; the rest is only parade, convention, +prejudice. Let them tell a story, let them recount some experience, +they will always use the same dirty and material expressions. They do +not say "That woman loved me;" they say: "I betrayed that woman;" they do +not say: "I love;" they say, "I desire;" they never say: "If God wills;" +they say: "If I will." I do not know what they think of themselves and +of such monologues as these. + +Hence, of a necessity, either from idleness or curiosity, while they +strive to find evil in everything, they do not comprehend that others +still believe in the good. Therefore they have to be so nonchalant as to +stop their ears, lest the hum of the busy world should suddenly startle +them from sleep. The father allows his son to go where so many others +go, where Cato himself went; he says that youth is but fleeting. +But when he returns, the youth looks upon his sister; and see what has +taken place in him during an hour passed in the society of brutal +reality! He says to himself: "My sister is not like that creature I have +just left!" And from that day he is disturbed and uneasy. + +Sinful curiosity is a vile malady born of impure contact. It is the +prowling instinct of phantoms who raise the lids of tombs; it is an +inexplicable torture with which God punishes those who have sinned; +they wish to believe that all sin as they have done, and would be +disappointed perhaps to find that it was not so. But they inquire, +they search, they dispute; they wag their heads from side to side as does +an architect who adjusts a column, and thus strive to find what they +desire to find. Given proof of evil, they laugh at it; doubtful of evil, +they swear that it exists; the good they refuse to recognize. +"Who knows?" Behold the grand formula, the first words that Satan spoke +when he saw heaven closing against him. Alas! for how many evils are +those words responsible? How many disasters and deaths, how many strokes +of fateful scythes in the ripening harvest of humanity! How many hearts, +how many families where there is naught but ruin, since that word was +first heard! "Who knows! Who knows!" Loathsome words! Rather than +pronounce them one should be as sheep who graze about the slaughter-house +and know it not. That is better than to be called a strong spirit, and +to read La Rochefoucauld. + +What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given? +My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did +I delay? What would have been the result if I had started at once on our +trip? Nothing but a moment of apprehension that would have been +forgotten after travelling three days. When with me, she had no thought +but of me; why should I care to solve a mystery that did not threaten my +happiness? + +She would have consented, and that would have been the end of it. A kiss +on her lips and all would be well; instead of that, see what I did. + +One evening when Smith had dined with us, I retired at an early hour and +left them together. As I closed my door I heard Brigitte order some tea. +In the morning I happened to approach her table, and, sitting beside the +teapot, I saw but one cup. No one had been in that room before me that +morning, so the servant could not have carried away anything that had +been used the night before. I searched everywhere for a second cup but +could find none. + +"Did Smith stay late?" I asked of Brigitte. + +"He left about midnight." + +"Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?" + +"I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep." + +I continued my search and my hands trembled. In what burlesque comedy is +there a jealous lover so stupid as to inquire what has become of a cup? +Why seek to discover whether Smith and Madame Pierson had drunk from the +same cup? What a brilliant idea that! + +Nevertheless I found the cup and I burst into laughter, and threw it on +the floor with such violence that it broke into a thousand pieces. +I ground the pieces under my feet. + +Brigitte looked at me without saying a word. During the two succeeding +days she treated me with a coldness that had something of contempt in it, +and I saw that she treated Smith with more deference and kindness than +usual. She called him Henri and smiled on him sweetly. + +"I feel that the air would do me good," she said after dinner; "shall we +go to the opera, Octave? I would enjoy walking that far." + +"No, I will stay here; go without me." She took Smith's arm and went +out. I remained alone all evening; I had paper before me, and was trying +to collect my thoughts in order to write, but in vain. + +As a lonely lover draws from his bosom a letter from his mistress, and +loses himself in delightful revery, thus I shut myself up in solitude and +yielded to the sweet allurement of doubt. Before me were the two empty +seats which Brigitte and Smith had just occupied; I scrutinized them +anxiously as if they could tell me something. I revolved in my mind all +the things I had heard and seen; from time to time I went to the door and +cast my eyes over our trunks which had been piled against the wall for a +month; I opened them and examined the contents so carefully packed away +by those delicate little hands; I listened to the sound of passing +carriages; the slightest noise made me tremble. I spread out on the +table our map of Europe, and there, in the very presence of all my hopes, +in that room where I had conceived and had so nearly realized them, I +abandoned myself to the most frightful presentiments. + +But, strange as it may seem, I felt neither anger nor jealousy, but a +terrible sense of sorrow and foreboding. I did not suspect, and yet I +doubted. The mind of man is so strangely formed that, with what he sees +and in spite of what he sees, he can conjure up a hundred objects of woe. +In truth his brain resembles the dungeons of the Inquisition, where the +walls are covered with so many instruments of torture that one is dazed, +and asks whether these horrible contrivances he sees before him are +pincers or playthings. Tell me, I say, what difference is there in +saying to my mistress: "All women deceive," or, "You deceive me?" + +What passed through my mind was perhaps as subtle as the finest +sophistry; it was a sort of dialogue between the mind and the conscience. +"If I should lose Brigitte?" I said to the mind." She departs with +you," said the conscience." If she deceives me?"--"How can she deceive +you? Has she not made out her will asking for prayers for you?"--"If +Smith loves her?"--"Fool! What does it matter so long as you know that +she loves you?"--"If she loves me why is she sad?"--"That is her secret, +respect it."--"If I take her away with me, will she be happy?"--"Love her +and she will be."--" Why, when that man looks at her, does she seem to +fear to meet his glance?"--" Because she is a woman and he is young."-- +"Why does that young man turn pale when she looks at him?"--"Because he +is a man and she is beautiful."--"Why, when I went to see him did he +throw himself into my arms, and why did he weep and beat his head with +his hands?"--"Do not seek to know what you must remain ignorant of."-- +"Why can I not know these things?"--" Because you are miserable and weak, +and all mystery is of God." + +"But why is it that I suffer? Why is it that my soul recoils in terror?" +--"Think of your father and do good."--"But why am I unable to do as he +did? Why does evil attract me to itself?"--"Get down on your knees and +confess; if you believe in evil it is because your ways have been evil." +--"If my ways were evil, was it my fault? Why did the good betray me?"-- +"Because you are in the shadow, would you deny the existence of light? +If there are traitors, why are you one of them?"--"Because I am afraid of +becoming the dupe."--"Why do you spend your nights in watching? Why are +you alone now?"--"Because I think, I doubt, and I fear."--"When will you +offer your prayer?"--"When I believe. Why have they lied to me?"-- +"Why do you lie, coward! at this very moment? Why not die if you can not +suffer?" + +Thus spoke and groaned within me two voices, voices that were defiant and +terrible; and then a third voice cried out! "Alas! Alas! my innocence! +Alas! Alas! the days that were!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +TRUTH AT LAST + +What a frightful weapon is human thought! It is our defense and our +safeguard, the most precious gift that God has made us. It is ours and +it obeys us; we may launch it forth into space, but, once outside of our +feeble brains, it is gone; we can no longer control it. + +While I was deferring the time of our departure from day to day I was +gradually losing strength, and, although I did not perceive it, my vital +forces were slowly wasting away. When I sat at table I experienced a +violent distaste for food; at night two pale faces, those of Brigitte and +Smith, pursued me through frightful dreams. When they went to the +theatre in the evening I refused to go with them; then I went alone, +concealed myself in the parquet, and watched them. I pretended that I +had some business to attend to in a neighboring room and sat there an +hour and listened to them. The idea occurred to me to seek a quarrel +with Smith and force him to fight with me; I turned my back on him while +he was talking; then he came to me with a look of surprise on his face, +holding out his hand. When I was alone in the night and every one slept, +I felt a strong desire to go to Brigitte's desk and take from it her +papers. On one occasion I was obliged to go out of the house in order to +resist the temptation. One day I felt like arming myself with a knife +and threatening to kill them if they did not tell me why they were so +sad; another day I turned all this fury against myself. With what shame +do I write it! And if any one should ask me why I acted thus, I could +not reply. + +To see, to doubt, to search, to torture myself and make myself miserable, +to pass entire days with my ear at the keyhole, and the night in a flood +of tears, to repeat over and over that I should die of sorrow, to feel +isolation and feebleness uprooting hope in my heart, to imagine that I +was spying when I was only listening to the feverish beating of my own +pulse; to con over stupid phrases, such as: "Life is a dream, there is +nothing stable here below;" to curse and blaspheme God through misery and +through caprice: that was my joy, the precious occupation for which I +renounced love, the air of heaven, and liberty! + +Eternal God, liberty! Yes, there were certain moments when, in spite of +all, I still thought of it. In the midst of my madness, eccentricity, +and stupidity, there were within me certain impulses that at times +brought me to myself. It was a breath of air which struck my face as I +came from my dungeon; it was a page of a book I read when, in my bitter +days, I happened to read something besides those modern sycophants called +pamphleteers, who, out of regard for the public health, ought to be +prevented from indulging in their crude philosophizings. Since I have +referred to these good moments, let me mention one of them, they were so +rare. One evening I was reading the Memoirs of Constant; I came to the +following lines: + +"Salsdorf, a Saxon surgeon attached to Prince Christian, had his leg +broken by a shell in the battle of Wagram. He lay almost lifeless on the +dusty field. Fifteen paces distant, Amedee of Kerbourg, aide-de-camp (I +have forgotten to whom), wounded in the breast by a bullet, fell to the +ground vomiting blood. Salsdorf saw that if that young man was not cared +for he would die of suffusion; summoning all his powers, he painfully +dragged himself to the side of the wounded man, attended to him and saved +his life. Salsdorf himself died four days later from the effects of +amputation." + +When I read these words I threw down my book, and melted into tears. + +I do not regret those tears, for they were such as I could shed only when +my heart was right; I do not speak merely of Salsdorf, and do not care +for that particular instance. I am sure, however, that I did not suspect +any one that day. Poor dreamer! Ought I to remember that I have been +other than I am? What good will it do me as I stretch out my arms in +anguish to heaven and wait for the bolt that will deliver me forever? +Alas! it was only a gleam that flashed across the night of my life. + +Like those dervish fanatics who find ecstasy in vertigo, so thought, +turning on itself, exhausted by the stress of introspection and tired of +vain effort, falls terror-stricken. So it would seem that man must be a +void and that by dint of delving unto himself he reaches the last turn of +a spiral. There, as on the summits of mountains and at the bottom of +mines, air fails, and God forbids man to go farther. Then, struck with a +mortal chill, the heart, as if impaired by oblivion, seeks to escape into +a new birth; it demands life of that which environs it, it eagerly drinks +in the air; but it finds round about only its own chimeras, which have +exhausted its failing powers and which, self-created, surround it like +pitiless spectres. + +This could not last long. Tired of uncertainty, I resolved to resort to +a test that would discover the truth. + +I ordered post-horses for ten in the evening. We had hired a caleche and +I gave directions that all should be ready at the hour indicated. At the +same time I asked that nothing be said to Madame Pierson. Smith came to +dinner; at the table I affected unusual cheerfulness, and without a word +about my plans, I turned the conversation to our journey. I would +renounce all idea of going away, I said, if I thought Brigitte did not +care to go; I was so well satisfied with Paris that I asked nothing +better than to remain as long as she pleased. I made much of all the +pleasures of the city; I spoke of the balls, the theatres, of the many +opportunities for diversion on every hand. In short, since we were happy +I did not see why we should make a change; and I did not think of going +away at present. + +I was expecting her to insist that we carry out our plan of going to +Geneva, and was not disappointed. However, she insisted but feebly; but, +after a few words, I pretended to yield, and then changing the subject I +spoke of other things, as though it was all settled. + +"And why will not Smith go with us?" I asked. "It is very true that he +has duties here, but can he not obtain leave of absence? Moreover, will +not the talents he possesses and which he is unwilling to use, assure him +an honorable living anywhere? Let him come along with us; the carriage +is large and we offer him a place in it. A young man should see the +world, and there is nothing so irksome for a man of his age as +confinement in an office and restriction to a narrow circle. Is it not +true?" I asked, turning to Brigitte. "Come, my dear, let your wiles +obtain from him what he might refuse me; urge him to give us six weeks of +his time. We will travel together, and after a tour of Switzerland he +will return to his duties with new life." + +Brigitte joined her entreaties to mine, although she knew it was only a +joke on my part. Smith could not leave Paris without danger of losing +his position, and replied that he regretted being obliged to deny himself +the pleasure of accompanying us. Nevertheless I continued to press him, +and, ordering another bottle of wine, I repeated my invitation. After +dinner I went out to assure myself that my orders were carried out; then +I returned in high spirits, and seating myself at the piano I proposed +some music. + +"Let us pass the evening here," I said; "believe me, it is better than +going to the theatre; I can not take part myself, but I can listen. We +will make Smith play if he tires of our company, and the time will pass +pleasantly." + +Brigitte consented with good grace and began singing for us; Smith +accompanied her on the violoncello. The materials for a bowl of punch +were brought and the flame of burning rum soon cheered us with varied +lights. The piano was abandoned for the table; then we had cards; +everything passed off as I wished and we succeeded in diverting ourselves +to my heart's content. + +I had my eyes fixed on the clock and waited impatiently for the hands to +mark the hour of ten. I was tormented with anxiety, but allowed them to +see nothing. Finally the hour arrived; I heard the postilion's whip as +the horses entered the court. Brigitte was seated near me; I took her by +the hand and asked her if she was ready to depart. She looked at me with +surprise, doubtless wondering if I was not joking. I told her that at +dinner she had appeared so anxious to go that I had felt justified in +sending for the horses, and that I went out for that purpose when I left +the table. + +"Are you serious?" asked Brigitte; "do you wish to set out to-night?" + +"Why not?" I replied, "since we have agreed that we ought to leave +Paris?" + +"What! now? At this very moment?" + +"Certainly; have we not been ready for a month? You see there is nothing +to do but load our trunks on the carriage; as we have decided to go, +ought we not go at once? I believe it is better to go now and put off +nothing until tomorrow. You are in the humor to travel to-night and I +hasten to profit by it. Why wait longer and continue to put it off? I +can not endure this life. You wish to go, do you not? Very well, let us +go and be done with it." + +Profound silence ensued. Brigitte stepped to the window and satisfied +herself that the carriage was there. Moreover, the tone in which I spoke +would admit of no doubt, and, however hasty my action may appear to her, +it was due to her own expressed desire. She could not deny her own +words, nor find any pretext for further delay. Her decision was made +promptly; she asked a few questions as though to assure herself that all +the preparations had been made; seeing that nothing had been omitted, she +began to search here and there. She found her hat and shawl, then +continued her search. + +"I am ready," she said; "shall we go? We are really going?" + +She took a light, went to my room, to her own, opened lockers and +closets. She asked for the key to her secretary which she said she had +lost. Where could that key be? She had it in her possession not an hour +ago. + +"Come, come! I am ready," she repeated in extreme agitation; "let us go, +Octave, let us set out at once." + +While speaking she continued her search and then came and sat down near +us. + +I was seated on the sofa watching Smith, who stood before me. He had not +changed countenance and seemed neither troubled nor surprised; but two +drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I heard an ivory counter +crack between his fingers, the pieces falling to the floor. He held out +both hands to us. + +"Bon voyage, my friends!" he said. + +Again silence; I was still watching him, waiting for him to add a word. +"If there is some secret here," thought I, "when shall I learn it, if not +now? It must be on the lips of both of them. Let it but come out into +the light and I will seize it." + +"My dear Octave," said Brigitte, "where are we to stop? You will write +to us, Henri, will you not? You will not forget my relatives and will do +what you can for me?" He replied in a voice that trembled slightly that +he would do all in his power to serve her. + +"I can answer for nothing," he said, "and, judging from the letters you +have received, there is not much hope. But it will not be my fault if I +do not send you good news. Count on me, I am devoted to you." + +After a few more kind words he made ready to take his departure. I arose +and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment +for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a +perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole. + +"When shall I see you again?" he asked. + +"Never," replied Brigitte; "adieu, Henri." She held out her hand. He +bent over it, pressed it to his lips and I had barely time to slip into a +corner as he passed out without seeing me. + +Alone with Brigitte, my heart sank within me. She was waiting for me, +her shawl on her arm, and emotion plainly marked on her face. She had +found the key she had been looking for and her desk was open. I returned +and sat down near the fire. "Listen to me," I said, without daring to +look at her; "I have been so culpable in my treatment of you that I ought +to wait and suffer without a word of complaint. The change which has +taken place in you has thrown me into such despair that I have not been +able to refrain from asking you the cause; but to-day I ask nothing more. +Does it cost you an effort to depart? Tell me, and if so I am resigned." + +"Let us go, let us go!" she replied. + +"As you please, but be frank; whatever blow I may receive, I ought not to +ask whence it comes; I should submit without a murmur. But if I lose +you, do not speak to me of hope, for God knows I will not survive the +loss." + +She turned on me like a flash. + +"Speak to me of your love," she said, "not of your grief." + +"Very well, I love you more than life. Beside my love, my grief is but a +dream. Come with me to the end of the world, I will die or I will live +with you." + +With these words I advanced toward her; she turned pale and recoiled. +She made a vain effort to force a smile on her contracted lips, and +sitting down before her desk she said: + +"One moment; I have some papers here I want to burn." + +She showed me the letters from N------, tore them up and threw them into +the fire; she then took out other papers which she reread and then spread +out on the table. They were bills of purchases she had made and some of +them were still unpaid. While examining them she began to talk rapidly, +while her cheeks burned as if with fever. Then she begged my pardon for +her obstinate silence and her conduct since our arrival. + +She gave evidence of more tenderness, more confidence than ever. She +clapped her hands gleefully at the prospect of a happy journey; in short, +she was all love, or at least apparently all love. I can not tell how I +suffered at the sight of that factitious joy; there was in that grief +which crazed her something more sad than tears and more bitter than +reproaches. I would have preferred to have her cold and indifferent +rather than thus excited; it seemed to me a parody of our happiest +moments. There were the same words, the same woman, the same caresses; +and that which, fifteen days before would have intoxicated me with love +and happiness, repeated thus, filled me with horror. + +"Brigitte," I suddenly inquired, "what secret are you concealing from me? +If you love me, what horrible comedy is this you are enacting before me?" + +"I!" said she, almost offended. "What makes you think I am acting?" + +"What makes me think so? Tell me, my dear, that you have death in your +soul and that you are suffering martyrdom. Behold my arms are ready to +receive you; lean your head on me and weep. Then I will take you away, +perhaps; but in truth, not thus." + +"Let us go, let us go!" she again repeated. + +"No, on my soul! No, not at present; no, not while there is between us a +lie or a mask. I like unhappiness better than such cheerfulness as +yours." + +She was silent, astonished to see that I had not been deceived by her +words and manner and that I saw through them both. + +"Why should we delude ourselves?" I continued. + +"Have I fallen so low in your esteem that you can dissimulate before me? +That unfortunate journey, you think you are condemned to it, do you? +Am I a tyrant, an absolute master? Am I an executioner who drags you to +punishment? How much do you fear my wrath when you come before me with +such mimicry? What terror impels you to lie thus?" + +"You are wrong," she replied; "I beg of you, not a word more." + +"Why so little sincerity? If I am not your confidant, may I not at least +be your friend? If I am denied all knowledge of the source of your +tears, may I not at least see them flow? Have you not enough confidence +in me to believe that I will respect your sorrow? What have I done that +I should be ignorant of it? Might not the remedy lie right there?" + +"No," she replied, "you are wrong; you will achieve your own unhappiness +as well as mine if you press me farther. Is it not enough that we are +going away?" + +"And do you expect me to drag you away against your will? Is it not +evident that you have consented reluctantly, and that you already begin +to repent? Great God! What is it you are concealing from me? What is +the use of playing with words when your thoughts are as clear as that +glass before which you stand? Should I not be the meanest of men to +accept at your hands what is yielded with so much regret? And yet how +can I refuse it? What can I do if you refuse to speak?" + +"No, I do not oppose you, you are mistaken; I love you, Octave; cease +tormenting me thus." + +She threw so much tenderness into these words that I fell down on my +knees before her. Who could resist her glance and her voice? + +"My God!" I cried, "you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love +me?" + +"Yes, I love you; yes. I belong to you; do with me what you will. +I will follow you, let us go away together; come, Octave, the carriage is +waiting." + +She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead. + +"Yes, it must be," she murmured, "it must be." + +"It must be," I repeated to myself. I arose. + +On the table there remained only one piece of paper that Brigitte was +examining. She picked it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor. + +"Is that all?" I asked. + +"Yes, that is all." + +When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished +merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry +my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door. + +"It must be!" I said to myself. "It must be!" I repeated aloud. + +"What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I +do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you +love me?" + +She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief. + +"Ah! Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love!" + +"Yes, I think you are right, but, before God, I know how to suffer. You +must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I +to lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not +leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing +me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool +who destroys his own happiness; I may be demanding something that is not +for me to possess; it may be that an explanation will separate us and +raise before me an insurmountable barrier, which will render our tour, on +which I have set my heart, impossible; whatever it may cost you and me, +you shall speak or I will renounce everything." + +"No, I will not speak." + +"You will speak! Do you fondly imagine I am the dupe of your lies? When +I see you change between morning and evening until you differ more from +your natural self than does night from day, do you think I am deceived? +When you give me as a cause some letters that are not worth the trouble +of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext +that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your +face made of plaster, that it is difficult to see what is passing in your +heart? What is your opinion of me? I do not deceive myself as much as +you suppose, and take care lest in default of words your silence +discloses what you so obstinately conceal." + +"What do you imagine I am concealing?" + +"What do I imagine? You ask me that! Is it to brave me you ask such a +question! Do you think to make me desperate and thus get rid of me? +Yes, I admit it, offended pride is capable of driving me to extremes. +If I should explain myself freely, you would have at your service all +feminine hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can +reply that such a woman as you does not stoop to justify herself. How +skilfully the most guilty and treacherous of your sex contrive to use +proud disdain as a shield! Your great weapon is silence; I did not learn +that yesterday. You wish to be insulted and you hold your tongue until +it comes to that. Come, struggle against my heart--where yours beats you +will find it; but do not struggle against my head, it is harder than +iron, and it has served me as long as yours!" + +"Poor boy!" murmured Brigitte; "you do not want to go?" + +"No, I shall not go except with my beloved, and you are not that now. +I have struggled, I have suffered, I have eaten my own heart long enough. +It is time for day to break, I have loved long enough in the night. Yes +or no, will you answer me?" + +"No." + +"As you please; I will wait." + +I sat down on the other side of the room, determined not to rise until I +had learned what I wished to know. She appeared to be reflecting, and +walked back and forth before me. + +I followed her with an eager eye, while her silence gradually increased +my anger. I was unwilling to have her perceive it and was undecided what +to do. I opened the window. + +"You may drive off," I called to those below, "and I will see that you +are paid. I shall not start to-night." + +"Poor boy!" repeated Brigitte. I quietly closed the window and sat down +as if I had not heard her; but I was so furious with rage that I could +hardly restrain myself. That cold silence, that negative force, +exasperated me to the last point. Had I been really deceived and +convinced of the guilt of a woman I loved I could not have suffered more. +As I had condemned myself to remain in Paris, I reflected that I must +compel Brigitte to speak at any price. In vain I tried to think of some +means of forcing her to enlighten me; for such power I would have given +all I possessed. What could I do or say? She sat there calm and +unruffled, looking at me with sadness. I heard the sound of the horses' +hoofs on the paving as the carriage drew out of the court. I had merely +to turn my hand to call them back, but it seemed to me that there was +something irrevocable about their departure. I slipped the bolt on the +door; something whispered in my ear: "You are face to face with the woman +who must give you life or death." + +While thus buried in thought I tried to invent some expedient that would +lead to the truth. I recalled one of Diderot's romances in which a +woman, jealous of her lover, resorted to a novel plan, for the purpose of +clearing away her doubts. She told him that she no longer loved him and +that she wished to leave him. The Marquis des Arcis (the name of the +lover) falls into the trap, and confesses that he himself has tired of +the liaison. That piece of strategy, which I had read at too early an +age, had struck me as being very skilful, and the recollection of it at +this moment made me smile. "Who knows?" said I to myself. "If I should +try this with Brigitte, she might be deceived and tell me her secret." + +My anger had become furious when the idea of resorting to such trickery +occurred to me. Was it so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of +herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be very weak if I could not +gain my point. I turned over on the sofa with an air of indifference. + +"Very well, my dear," said I, gayly, "this is not a time for confidences, +then?" + +She looked at me in astonishment. + +"And yet," I continued, "we must some day come to the truth. Now I +believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you confiding, +and there is nothing like an understanding between friends." + +Doubtless my face betrayed me as I spoke these words; Brigitte did not +appear to understand and kept on walking up and down. + +"Do you know," I resumed, "that we have been together now six months? +The life we are leading together is not one to be laughed at. You are +young, I also; if this kind of life should become distasteful to you, are +you the woman to tell me of it? In truth, if it were so, I would confess +it to you frankly. And why not? Is it a crime to love? If not, it is +not a crime to love less or to cease to love at all. Would it be +astonishing if at our age we should feel the need of change?" + +She stopped me. + +"At our age!" said she. "Are you addressing me? What comedy are you +now playing, yourself?" + +Blood mounted to my face. I seized her hand. "Sit down here," I said, +"and listen to me." + +"What is the use? It is not you who speak." + +I felt ashamed of my own strategy and abandoned it. + +"Listen to me," I repeated, "and come, I beg of you, sit down near me. +If you wish to remain silent yourself, at least hear what I have to say." + +"I am listening, what have you to say to me?" + +"If some one should say to me: 'You are a coward!' I, who am twenty-two +years of age and have fought on the field of honor, would throw the taunt +back in the teeth of my accuser. Have I not within me the consciousness +of what I am? It would be necessary for me to meet my accuser on the +field, and play my life against his; why? In order to prove that I am +not a coward; otherwise the world would believe it. That single word +demands that reply every time it is spoken, and it matters not by whom." + +"It is true; what is your meaning?" + +"Women do not fight; but as society is constituted there is no being, of +whatever sex, who ought to submit to the indignity involved in an +aspersion on all his or her past life, be that life regulated as by a +pendulum. Reflect; who escapes that law? There are some, I admit; but +what happens? If it is a man, dishonor; if it is a woman, what? +Forgiveness? Every one who loves ought to give some evidence of life, +some proof of existence. There is, then, for woman as well as for man, +a time when an attack must be resented. If she is brave, she rises, +announces that she is present and sits down again. A stroke of the sword +is not for her. She must not only avenge herself, but she must forge her +own arms. Someone suspects her; who? An outsider? She may hold him in +contempt--her lover whom she loves? If so, it is her life that is in +question, and she may not despise him." + +"Her only recourse is silence." + +"You are wrong; the lover who suspects her casts an aspersion on her +entire life. I know it. Her plea is in her tears, her past life, her +devotion and her patience. What will happen if she remains silent? Her +lover will lose her by her own act and time will justify her. Is not +that your thought?" + +"Perhaps; silence before all." + +"Perhaps, you say? Assuredly I will lose you if you do not speak; my +resolution is made: I am going away alone." + +"But, Octave--" + +"But," I cried, "time will justify you! Let us put an end to it; yes or +no?" + +"Yes, I hope so." + +"You hope so! Will you answer me definitely? This is doubtless the last +time you will have the opportunity. You tell me that you love me, and I +believe it. I suspect you; is it your intention to allow me to go away +and rely on time to justify you?" + +"Of what do you suspect me?" + +"I do not choose to say, for I see that it would be useless. But, after +all, misery for misery, at your leisure; I am as well pleased. You +deceive me, you love another; that is your secret and mine." + +"Who is it?" she asked. + +"Smith." + +She placed her hand on her lips and turned aside. I could say no more; +we were both pensive, our eyes fixed on the floor. + +"Listen to me," she began with an effort, "I have suffered much. I call +heaven to bear me witness that I would give my life for you. So long as +the faintest gleam of hope remains, I am ready to suffer anything; but, +although I may rouse your anger in saying to you that I am a woman, I am +nevertheless a woman, my friend. We can not go beyond the limits of +human endurance. Beyond a certain point I will not answer for the +consequences. All I can do at this moment is to get down on my knees +before you and beseech you not to go away." + +She knelt down as she spoke. I arose. + +"Fool that I am!" I muttered, bitterly; "fool, to try to get the truth +from a woman! He who undertakes such a task will earn naught but +derision and will deserve it! Truth! Only he who consorts with +chambermaids knows it, only he who steals to their pillow and listens to +the unconscious utterance of a dream, hears it. He alone knows it who +makes a woman of himself, and initiates himself into the secrets of her +cult of inconstancy! But man, who asks for it openly, he who opens a +loyal hand to receive that frightful alms, he will never obtain it! +They are on guard with him; for reply he receives a shrug of the +shoulders, and, if he rouses himself in his impatience, they rise in +righteous indignation like an outraged vestal, while there falls from +their lips the great feminine oracle that suspicion destroys love, and +they refuse to pardon an accusation which they are unable to meet. Ah! +just God! How weary I am! When will all this cease?" + +"Whenever you please," said she, coldly; "I am as tired of it as you." + +"At this very moment; I leave you forever, and may time justify you! +Time! Time! Oh! what a cold lover! Remember this adieu. Time! and +thy beauty, and thy love, and thy happiness, where will they be? Is it +thus, without regret, you allow me to go? Ah! the day when the jealous +lover will know that he has been unjust, the day when he shall see +proofs, he will understand what a heart he has wounded, is it not so? He +will bewail his shame, he will know neither joy nor sleep; he will live +only in the memory of the time when he might have been happy. But, on +that day, his proud mistress will turn pale as she sees herself avenged; +she will say to herself: 'If I had only done it sooner!' And believe me, +if she loves him, pride will not console her." + +I tried to be calm, but I was no longer master of myself, and I began to +pace the floor as she had done. There are certain glances that resemble +the clashing of drawn swords; such glances Brigitte and I exchanged at +that moment. I looked at her as the prisoner looks on her at the door of +his dungeon. In order to break her sealed lips and force her to speak I +would give my life and hers. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you wish me to tell you?" + +"What you have on your heart. Are you cruel enough to make me repeat +it?" + +"And you, you," she cried, "are you not a hundred times more cruel? Ah! +fool, as you say, who would know the truth! Fool that I should be if I +expected you to believe it! You would know my secret, and my secret is +that I love you. Fool that I am! you will seek another. That pallor of +which you are the cause, you accuse it, you question it. Like a fool, +I have tried to suffer in silence, to consecrate to you my resignation; +I have tried to conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have +counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of +crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from +all who have loved me, leaning for sole support on a heart that doubts +me. Fool that I am! I thought that truth had a glance, an accent, that +could not be mistaken, that would be respected! Ah! when I think of it, +tears choke me. Why, if it must ever be thus, induce me to take a step +that will forever destroy my peace? My head is confused, I do not know +where I am!" + +She leaned on me weeping. "Fool! Fool!" she repeated, in a heartrending +voice. + +"And what is it you ask?" she continued, "what can I do to meet those +suspicions that are ever born anew, that alter with your moods? I must +justify myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying, for +despairing? And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that +cheerfulness offends you. I sacrifice everything to follow you and you +have not gone a league before you look back. Always, everywhere, +whatever I may do, insults and anger!" + +"Ah! dear child, if you knew what a mortal chill comes over me, what +suffering I endure in seeing my simplest words this taken up and hurled +back at me with suspicion and sarcasm! By that course you deprive +yourself of the only happiness there is in the world--perfect love. You +kill all delicate and lofty sentiment in the hearts of those who love +you; soon you will believe in nothing except the material and the gross; +of love there will remain for you only that which is visible and can be +touched with the finger. You are young, Octave, and you have still a +long life before you; you will have other mistresses. Yes, as you say, +pride is a little thing and it is not to it I look for consolation; but +God wills that your tears shall one day pay me for those which I now shed +for you!" + +She arose. + +"Must it be said? Must you know that for six months I have not sought +repose without repeating to myself that it was all in vain, that you +would never be cured; that I have never risen in the morning without +saying that another effort must be made; that after every word you have +spoken I have felt that I ought to leave you, and that you have not given +me a caress that I would rather die than endure; that, day by day, minute +by minute, hesitating between hope and fear, I have vainly tried to +conquer either my love or my grief; that, when I opened my heart to you, +you pierced it with a mocking glance, and that, when I closed it, it +seemed to me I felt within it a treasure that none but you could +dispense? Shall I speak of all the frailty and all the mysteries which +seem puerile to those who do not respect them? Shall I tell you that +when you left me in anger I shut myself up to read your first letters; +that there is a favorite waltz that I never played in vain when I felt +too keenly the suffering caused by your presence? Ah! wretch that I am! +How dearly all these unnumbered tears, all these follies, so sweet to the +feeble, are purchased! Weep now; not even this punishment, this sorrow, +will avail you." + +I tried to interrupt her. + +"Allow me to continue," she said; "the time has come when I must speak. +Let us see, why do you doubt me? For six months, in thought, in body, +and in soul, I have belonged to no one but you. Of what do you dare +suspect me? Do you wish to set out for Switzerland? I am ready, as you +see. Do you think you have a rival? Send him a letter that I will sign +and you will direct. What are we doing? Where are we going? Let us +decide. Are we not always together? Very well then, why would you leave +me? I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment. It +is necessary to have confidence in those we love. Love is either good or +bad: if good, we must believe in it; if evil, we must cure ourselves of +it. All this, you see, is a game we are playing; but our hearts and our +lives are the stakes, and it is horrible! Do you wish to die? That +would perhaps be better. Who am I that you should doubt me?" + +She stopped before the glass. + +"Who am I?" she repeated, "who am I? Think of it. Look at this face of +mine." + +"Doubt thee!" she cried, addressing her own image; "poor, pale face, +thou art suspected! poor, thin cheeks, poor, tired eyes, thou and thy +tears are in disgrace. Very well, put an end to thy suffering; let those +kisses that have wasted thee close thy lids! Descend into the cold +earth, poor trembling body that can no longer support its own weight. +When thou art there, perchance thou wilt be believed, if doubt believes +in death. O sorrowful spectre! On the banks of what stream wilt thou +wander and groan? What fires devour thee? Thou dreamest of a long +journey and thou hast one foot in the grave! + +"Die! God is thy witness that thou hast tried to love. Ah! what wealth +of love has been awakened in thy heart! Ah! what dreams thou hast had, +what poisons thou hast drunk! What evil hast thou committed that there +should be placed in thy breast a fever that consumes! What fury animates +that blind creature who pushes thee into the grave with his foot, while +his lips speak to thee of love? What will become of you if you live? +Is it not time to end it all? Is it not enough? What proof canst thou +give that will satisfy when thou, poor, living proof, art not believed? +To what torture canst thou submit that thou hast not already endured? +By what torments, what sacrifices, wilt thou appease insatiable love? +Thou wilt be only an object of ridicule, a thing to excite laughter; +thou wilt vainly seek a deserted street to avoid the finger of scorn. +Thou wilt lose all shame and even that appearance of virtue which has +been so dear to you; and the man for whom you have disgraced yourself +will be the first to punish you. He will reproach you for living for him +alone, for braving the world for him, and while your friends are +whispering about you, he will listen to assure himself that no word of +pity is spoken; he will accuse you of deceiving him if another hand even +then presses yours, and if, in the desert of life, you find some one who +can spare you a word of pity in passing. + +"O God! dost thou remember a day when a wreath of roses was placed on my +head? Was it this brow on which that crown rested? Ah! the hand that +hung it on the wall of the oratory has now fallen, like it, to dust! +Oh, my native valley! Oh, my old aunt, who now sleeps in peace! Oh, my +lindens, my little white goat, my dear peasants who loved me so much! +You remember when I was happy, proud, and respected? Who threw in my +path that stranger who took me away from all this? Who gave him the +right to enter my life? Ah! wretch! why didst thou turn the first day he +followed you? Why didst thou receive him as a brother? Why didst thou +open thy door, and why didst thou hold out thy hand? Octave, Octave, why +have you loved me if all is to end thus?" + +She was about to faint as I led her to a chair where she sank down and +her head fell on my shoulder. The terrible effort she had made in +speaking to me so bitterly had broken her down. Instead of an outraged +woman I found now only a suffering child. Her eyes closed and she was +motionless. + +When she regained consciousness she complained of extreme languor, and +begged to be left alone that she might rest. She could hardly walk; I +carried her gently to her room and placed her on the bed. There was no +mark of suffering on her face: she was resting from her sorrow as from +great fatigue, and seemed not even to remember it. Her feeble and +delicate body yielded without a struggle; the strain had been too great. +She held my hand in hers; I kissed her; our lips met in loving union, and +after the cruel scene through which she had passed, she slept smilingly +on my heart as on the first day. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SELF-SACRIFICE THE SOLUTION + +Brigitte slept. Silent, motionless, I sat near her. As a husbandman, +when the storm has passed, counts the sheaves that remain in his +devastated field, thus I began to estimate the evil I had done. + +The more I thought of it, the more irreparable I felt it to be. Certain +sorrows, by their very excess, warn us of their limits, and the more +shame and remorse I experienced, the more I felt that after such a scene, +nothing remained for us to do but to say adieu. Whatever courage +Brigitte had shown, she had drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of her sad +love; unless I wished to see her die, I must give her repose. She had +often addressed cruel reproaches to me, and had, perhaps, on certain +other occasions shown more anger than in this scene; but what she had +said this time was not dictated by offended pride; it was the truth, +which, hidden closely in her heart, had broken it in escaping. + +Our present relations, and the fact that I had refused to go away with +her, destroyed all hope; she desired to pardon me, but she had not the +power. This slumber even, this deathlike sleep of one who could suffer +no more, was conclusive evidence; this sudden silence, the tenderness she +had shown in the final moments, that pale face, and that kiss, confirmed +me in the belief that all was over, and that I had broken forever +whatever bond had united us. As surely as she slept now, as soon as I +gave her cause for further suffering she would sleep in eternal rest. +The clock struck and I felt that the last hour had carried away my life +with hers. + +Unwilling to call any one, I lighted Brigitte's lamp; I watched its +feeble flame and my thoughts seemed to flicker in the darkness like its +uncertain rays. + +Whatever I had said or done, the idea of losing Brigitte had never +occurred to me up to this time. A hundred times I wished to leave her, +but who has loved and is ready to say just what is in his heart? That +was in times of despair or of anger. So long as I knew that she loved +me, I was sure of loving her; stern necessity had just arisen between us +for the first time. I experienced a dull languor and could distinguish +nothing clearly. What my mind understood, my soul recoiled from +accepting. "Come," I said to myself, "I have desired it and I have done +it; there is not the slightest hope that we can live together; I am +unwilling to kill this woman, so I have no alternative but to leave her. +It is all over; I shall go away tomorrow." + +And all the while I was thinking neither of my responsibility, nor of the +past, nor future; I thought neither of Smith nor his connection with the +affair; I could not say who had led me there, or what I had done during +the last hour. I looked at the walls of the room and thought that all I +had to do was to wait until to-morrow and decide what carriage I would +take. + +I remained for a long time in this strange calm, just as the man who +receives a thrust from a poignard feels at first only the cold steel and +can often travel some distance ere he becomes weak, and his eyes start +from their sockets and he realizes what has happened. But drop by drop +the blood flows, the ground under his feet becomes red, death comes; +the man, at its approach, shudders with horror and falls as though struck +by a thunderbolt. Thus, apparently calm, I awaited the coming of +misfortune; I repeated in a low voice what Brigitte had said, and I +placed near her all that I supposed she would need for the night; then I +looked at her, then went to the window and pressed my forehead against +the pane peering out at a sombre and lowering sky; then I returned to the +bedside. That I was going away tomorrow was the only thought in my mind, +and little by little the word "depart" became intelligible to me. "Ah! +God!" I suddenly cried, "my poor mistress, I am about to lose you, and I +have not known how to love you!" + +I trembled at these words as if it had been another who had pronounced +them; they resounded through all my being as resounds the string of the +harp that has been plucked to the point of breaking. In an instant two +years of suffering again racked my breast, and after them as their +consequence and as their last expression, the present seized me. How +shall I describe such woe? By a single word, perhaps, for those who have +loved. I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she had +pronounced my name. + +I arose and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. +I held out my arms as if to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is it +possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one +but you. What! you are going away? And forever? What! you, my life, +my adored mistress, you flee me, I shall never see you more? Never! +never!" I said aloud; and, addressing myself to the slumbering Brigitte +as if she could hear me, I added: "Never, never; do not think of it; I +will never consent to it. And why so much pride? Are there no means of +atoning for the offense I have committed? I beg of you, let us seek some +expiation. Have you not pardoned me a thousand times? But you love me, +you will not be able to go, for courage will fail you. What shall we +do?" + +A horrible madness seized me; I began to run here and there in search of +some instrument of death. At last I fell on my knees and beat my head +against the bed. Brigitte stirred, and I remained quiet, fearing I +should waken her. + +"Let her sleep until to-morrow," I said to myself; "I have all night to +watch her." + +I resumed my place; I was so frightened at the idea of waking Brigitte, +that I scarcely dared breathe. Gradually I became more calm and less +bitter tears began to course gently down my cheeks. Tenderness succeeded +fury. I leaned over Brigitte and looked at her as if, for the last time, +my better angel were urging me to grave on my soul the lines of that dear +face! + +How pale she was! Her large eyes, surrounded by a bluish circle, were +moist with tears; her form, once so lithe, was bent as if beneath a +burden; her cheek, wasted and leaden, rested on a hand that was spare and +feeble; her brow seemed to bear the marks of that crown of thorns which +is the diadem of resignation. I thought of the cottage. How young she +was six months ago! How cheerful, how free, how careless! What had I +done with all that? It seemed to me that a strange voice repeated an old +romance that I had long since forgotten: + + Altra volta gieri biele, + Blanch' e rossa com' un flore, + Ma ora no. Non son piu biele + Consumatis dal' amore. + +My sorrow was too great; I sprang to my feet and once more began to walk +the floor. "Yes," I continued, "look at her; think of those who are +consumed by a grief that is not shared with another. The evils you +endure others have suffered, and nothing is singular or peculiar to you. +Think of those who have no mother, no relatives, no friends; of those who +seek and do not find, of those who love in vain, of those who die and are +forgotten." + +"Before thee, there on that bed, lies a being that nature, perchance, +formed for thee. From the highest circles of intelligence to the deepest +and most impenetrable mysteries of matter and of form, that soul and that +body are thy affinities; for six months thy mouth has not spoken, thy +heart has not beat, without a responsive word and heart-beat from her; +and that woman, whom God has sent thee as He sends the rose to the field, +is about to glide from thy heart. While rejoicing in each other's +presence, while the angels of eternal love were singing before you, you +were farther apart than two exiles at the two ends of the earth. Look at +her, but be silent. Thou hast still one night to see her, if thy sobs do +not awaken her." + +Little by little, my thoughts mounted and became more sombre, until I +recoiled in terror. + +"To do evil! Such was the role imposed upon me by Providence. I, to do +evil! I, to whom my conscience, even in the midst of my wildest follies, +said that I was good! I, whom a pitiless destiny was dragging swiftly +toward the abyss and whom a secret horror unceasingly warned of the awful +fate to come! I, who, if I had shed blood with these hands, could yet +repeat that my heart was not guilty; that I was deceived, that it was not +I who did it, but my destiny, my evil genius, some unknown being who +dwelt within me, but who was not born there! + +"I do evil! For six months I had been engaged in that task, not a day +had passed that I had not worked at that impious occupation, and I had at +that moment the proof before my eyes. The man who had loved Brigitte, +who had offended her, then insulted her, then abandoned her only to take +her back again, trembling with fear, beset with suspicion, finally thrown +on that bed of sorrow, where she now lay extended, was I!" + +I beat my breast, and, although looking at her, I could not believe it. +I touched her as if to assure myself that it was not a dream. My face, +as I saw it in the glass, regarded me with astonishment. Who was that +creature who appeared before me bearing my features? Who was that +pitiless man who blasphemed with my mouth and tortured with my hands? +Was it he whom my mother called Octave? Was it he who, at fifteen, +leaning over the crystal waters of a fountain, had a heart not less pure +than they? I closed my eyes and thought of my childhood days. As a ray +of light pierces a cloud, a gleam from the past pierced my heart. + +"No," I mused, "I did not do that. These things are but an absurd +dream." + +I recalled the time when I was ignorant of life, when I was taking my +first steps in experience. I remembered an old beggar who used to sit on +a stone bench before the farm gate, to whom I was sometimes sent with the +remains of our morning meal. Holding out his feeble, wrinkled hands he +would bless me as he smiled upon me. I felt the morning wind blowing on +my brow and a freshness as of the rose descending from heaven into my +soul. Then I opened my eyes and, by the light of the lamp, saw the +reality before me. + +"And you do not believe yourself guilty?" I demanded, with horror. +"O novice of yesterday, how corrupt art thou today! Because you weep, +you fondly imagine yourself innocent? What you consider the evidence of +your conscience is only remorse; and what murderer does not experience +it? If your virtue cries out, is it not because it feels the approach of +death? O wretch! those far-off voices that you hear groaning in your +heart, do you think they are sobs? They are perhaps only the cry of the +sea-mew, that funereal bird of the tempest, whose presence portends +shipwreck. Who has ever told the story of the childhood of those who +have died stained with human blood? They, also, have been good in their +day; they sometimes bury their faces in their hands and think of those +happy days. You do evil, and you repent? Nero did the same when he +killed his mother. Who has told you that tears can wash away the stains +of guilt? + +"And even if it were true that a part of your soul is not devoted to evil +forever, what will you do with the other part that is not yours? You +will touch with your left hand the wounds that you inflict with your +right; you will make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your +crimes; you will strike, and like Brutus you will engrave on your sword +the prattle of Plato! Into the heart of the being who opens her arms to +you, you will plunge that blood-stained but repentant arm; you will +follow to the cemetery the victim of your passion, and you will plant on +her grave the sterile flower of your pity. You will say to those who see +you 'What could you expect? I have learned how to kill, and observe that +I already, weep; learn that God made me better than you see me.' You will +speak of your youth, and you will persuade yourself that heaven ought to +pardon you, that your misfortunes are involuntary, and you will implore +sleepless nights to grant you a little repose. + +"But who knows? You are still young. The more you trust in your heart, +the farther astray you will be led by your pride. To-day you stand +before the first ruin you are going to leave on your route. If Brigitte +dies to-morrow you will weep on her tomb; where will you go when you +leave her? You will go away for three months perhaps, and you will +travel in Italy; you will wrap your cloak about you like a splenetic +Englishman, and you will say some beautiful morning, sitting in your inn +with your glasses before you, that it is time to forget in order to live +again. + +"You who weep too late, take care lest you weep more than one day. Who +knows? When the present which makes you shudder shall have become the +past, an old story, a confused memory, may it not happen some night of +debauchery that you will overturn your chair and recount, with a smile on +your lips, what you witnessed with tears in your eyes? It is thus that +one drinks away shame. You have begun by being good, you will become +weak, and you will become a monster. + +"My poor friend," said I, from the bottom of my heart, "I have a word of +advice for you, and it is this: I believe that you must die. While there +is still some virtue left, profit by it in order that you may not become +altogether bad; while a woman you love lies there dying on that bed, and +while you have a horror of yourself, strike the decisive blow; she still +lives; that is enough; do not attend her funeral obsequies for fear that +on the morrow you will not be consoled; turn the poignard against your +own heart while that heart yet loves the God who made it. Is it your +youth that gives you pause? And would you spare those youthful locks? +Never allow them to whiten if they are not white to-night. + +"And then what would you do in the world? If you go away, where will you +go? What can you hope for if you remain? Ah! in looking at that woman +you seem to have a treasure buried in your heart. It is not merely that +you lose her; it is less what has been than what might have been. When +the hands of the clock indicated such and such an hour, you might have +been happy. If you suffer why do you not open your heart? If you love, +why do you not say so? Why do you die of hunger, clasping a priceless +treasure in your hands? You have closed the door, you miser; you debate +with yourself behind locks and bolts. Shake them, for it was your hand +that forged them. + +"O fool! who desired and have possessed your desire, you have not thought +of God! You play with happiness as a child plays with a rattle, and you +do not reflect how rare and fragile a thing you hold in your hands; you +treat it with disdain, you smile at it and you continue to amuse yourself +with it, forgetting how many prayers it has cost your good angel to +preserve for you that shadow of daylight! Ah! if there is in heaven one +who watches over you, what is he doing at this moment? He is seated +before an organ; his wings are half-folded, his hands extended over the +ivory keys; he begins an eternal hymn; the hymn of love and immortal +rest, but his wings droop, his head falls over the keys; the angel of +death has touched him on the shoulder, he disappears into the Nirvana. + +"And you, at the age of twenty-two, when a noble and exalted passion, +when the strength of youth might perhaps have made something of you when +after so many sorrows and bitter disappointments, a youth so dissipated, +you saw a better time shining in the future; when your life, consecrated +to the object of your adoration, gave promise of new strength, at that +moment the abyss yawns before you! You no longer experience vague +desires, but real regrets; your heart is no longer hungry, it is broken! +And you hesitate? What do you expect? Since she no longer cares for +your life, it counts for nothing! Since she abandons you, abandon +yourself! + +"Let those who have loved you in your youth weep for you! They are not +many. If you would live, you must not only forget love, but you must +deny that it exists; not only deny what there has been of good in you, +but kill all that may be good in the future; for what will you do if you +remember? Life for you would be one ceaseless regret. No, no, you must +choose between your soul and your body; you must kill one or the other. +The memory of the good drives you to the evil, make a corpse of yourself +unless you wish to become your own spectre. O child, child! die while +you can! May tears be shed over your grave!" + +I threw myself on the foot of the bed in such a frightful state of +despair that my reason fled and I no longer knew where I was or what I +was doing. Brigitte sighed. + +My senses stirred within me. Was it grief or despair? I do not know. +Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to me. + +"What!" I muttered, "leave that for another! Die, descend into the +ground, while that bosom heaves with the air of heaven? Just God! +another hand than mine on that fine, transparent skin! Another mouth on +those lips, another love in that heart! Brigitte happy, loving, adored, +and I in a corner of the cemetery, crumbling into dust in a ditch! How +long will it take her to forget me if I cease to exist to-morrow? How +many tears will she shed? None, perhaps! Not a friend who speaks to her +but will say that my death was a good thing, who will not hasten to +console her, who will not urge her to forget me! If she weeps, they will +seek to distract her attention from her loss; if memory haunts her, they +will take her away; if her love for me survives me, they will seek to +cure her as if she had been poisoned; and she herself, who will perhaps +at first say that she desires to follow me, will a month later turn aside +to avoid the weeping-willow planted over my grave! + +"How could it be otherwise? Who, as beautiful as she, wastes life in +idle regrets? If she should think of dying of grief, that beautiful +bosom would urge her to live, and her mirror would persuade her; and the +day when her exhausted tears give place to the first smile, who will not +congratulate her on her recovery? When, after eight days of silence, she +consents to hear my name pronounced in her presence, then she will speak +of it herself as if to say: 'Console me;' then little by little she will +no longer refuse to think of the past but will speak of it, and she will +open her window some beautiful spring morning when the birds are singing +in the garden; she will become pensive and say: 'I have loved!' Who will +be there at her side? Who will dare to tell her that she must continue +to love? + +"Ah! then I shall be no more! You will listen to him, faithless one! +You will blush as does the budding rose, and the blood of youth will +mount to your face. While saying that your heart is sealed, you will +allow it to escape through that fresh aureole of beauty, each ray of +which allures a kiss. How much they desire to be loved who say they love +no more! And why should that astonish you? You are a woman; that body, +that spotless bosom, you know what they are worth; when you conceal them +under your dress you do not believe, as do the virgins, that all are +alike, and you know the price of your modesty. How can a woman who has +been praised resolve to be praised no more? Does she think she is living +when she remains in the shadow and there is silence round about her +beauty? Her beauty itself is the admiring glance of her lover. No, no, +there can be no doubt of it; she who has loved, can not live without +love; she who has seen death clings to life. Brigitte loves me and will +perhaps die of love; I will kill myself and another will have her. + +"Another, another!" I repeated, bending over her until my head touched +her shoulder. "Is she not a widow? Has she not already seen death? +Have not these little hands prepared the dead for burial? Her tears for +the second will not flow as long as those shed for the first. Ah! God +forgive me! While she sleeps why should I not kill her? If I should +awaken her now and tell her that her hour had come, and that we were +going to die with a last kiss, she would consent. What does it matter? +Is it certain that all does not end with that?" + +I found a knife on the table and I picked it up. + +"Fear, cowardice, superstition! What do they know about it who talk of +something else beyond? It is for the ignorant common people that a +future life has been invented, but who really believes in it? What +watcher in the cemetery has seen Death leave his tomb and hold +consultation with a priest? In olden times there were phantoms; they are +interdicted by the police in civilized cities, and no cries are now heard +issuing from the earth except from those buried in haste. Who has +silenced death, if it has ever spoken? Because funeral processions are +no longer permitted to encumber our streets, does the celestial spirit +languish? + +"To die, that is the final purpose, the end. God has established it, +man discusses it; but over every door is written: 'Do what thou wilt, +thou shalt die.' What will be said if I kill Brigitte? Neither of us +will hear. In to-morrow's journal would appear the intelligence that +Octave de T----- had killed his mistress, and the day after no one would +speak of it. Who would follow us to the grave? No one who, upon +returning to his home, could not enjoy a hearty dinner; and when we were +extended side by side in our narrow, bed, the world could walk over our +graves without disturbing us. + +"Is it not true, my well-beloved, is it not true that it would be well +with us? It is a soft bed, that bed of earth; no suffering can reach us +there; the occupants of the neighboring tombs will not gossip about us; +our bones will embrace in peace and without pride, for death is solace, +and that which binds does not also separate. Why should annihilation +frighten thee, poor body, destined to corruption? Every hour that +strikes drags thee on to thy doom, every step breaks the round on which +thou hast just rested; thou art nourished by the dead; the air of heaven +weighs upon and crushes thee, the earth on which thou treadest attracts +thee by the soles of thy feet. + +"Down with thee! Why art thou affrighted? Dost thou tremble at a word? +Merely say: 'We will not live.' Is not life a burden that we long to lay +down? Why hesitate when it is merely a question of a little sooner or a +little later? Matter is indestructible, and the physicists, we are told, +grind to infinity the smallest speck of dust without being able to +annihilate it. If matter is the property of chance, what harm can it do +to change its form since it can not cease to be matter? Why should God +care what form I have received and with what livery I invest my grief? +Suffering lives in my brain; it belongs to me, I kill it; but my bones do +not belong to me and I return them to Him who lent them to me: may some +poet make a cup of my skull from which to drink his new wine! + +"What reproach can I incur and what harm can that reproach do me? What +stern judge will tell me that I have done wrong? What does he know about +it? + +"Was he such as I? If every creature has his task to perform, and if it +is a crime to shirk it, what culprits are the babes who die on the +nurse's breast! Why should they be spared? Who will be instructed by +the lessons which are taught after death? Must heaven be a desert in +order that man may be punished for having lived? Is it not enough to +have lived? I do not know who asked that question, unless it were +Voltaire on his death-bed; it is a cry of despair worthy of the helpless +old atheist. + +"But to what purpose? Why so many struggles? Who is there above us who +delights in so much agony? Who amuses himself and wiles away an idle +hour watching this spectacle of creation, always renewed and always +dying, seeing the work of man's hands rising, the grass growing; looking +upon the planting of the seed and the fall of the thunderbolt; beholding +man walking about upon his earth until he meets the beckoning finger of +death; counting tears and watching them dry upon the cheek of pain; +noting the pure profile of love and the wrinkled face of age; seeing +hands stretched up to him in supplication, bodies prostrate before him, +and not a blade of wheat more in the harvest! + +"Who is it, then, that has made so much for the pleasure of knowing that +it all amounts to nothing! The earth is dying--Herschel says it is of +cold; who holds in his hand the drop of condensed vapor and watches it as +it dries up, as a fisher watches a grain of sand in his hand? That +mighty law of attraction that suspends the world in space, torments it-- +and consumes it in endless desire--every planet that carries its load of +misery and groans on its axle--calls to each other across the abyss, and +each wonders which will stop first. God controls them; they accomplish +assiduously and eternally their appointed and useless task; they whirl +about, they suffer, they burn, they become extinct and they light up with +new flame; they descend and they reascend, they follow and yet they avoid +one another, they interlace like rings; they carry on their surface +thousands of beings who are ceaselessly renewed; the beings move about, +cross one another's paths, clasp one another for an hour, and then fall, +and others rise in their place. + +"Where life fails, life hastens to the spot; where air is wanting, air +rushes; no disorder, everything is regulated, marked out, written down in +lines of gold and parables of fire; everything keeps step with the +celestial music along the pitiless paths of life; and all for nothing! +And we, poor nameless dreams, pale and sorrowful apparitions, helpless +ephemera, we who are animated by the breath of a second in order that +death may exist, we exhaust ourselves with fatigue in order to prove that +we are living for a purpose, and that something indefinable is stirring +within us. + +"We hesitate to turn against our breasts a little piece of steel, or to +blow out our brains with a little instrument no larger than our hands; it +seems to us that chaos would return again; we have written and revised +the laws both human and divine, and we are afraid of our catechisms; we +suffer thirty years without murmuring and imagine that we are struggling; +finally suffering becomes the stronger, we send a pinch of powder into +the sanctuary of intelligence, and a flower pierces the soil above our +grave." + +As I finished these words I directed the knife I held in my hand against +Brigitte's bosom. I was no longer master of myself, and in my delirious +condition I know not what might have happened; I threw back the bed- +clothing to uncover the heart, when I discovered on her white bosom a +little ebony crucifix. + +I recoiled, seized with sudden fear; my hand relaxed, my weapon fell to +the floor. It was Brigitte's aunt who had given her that little crucifix +on her deathbed. I did not remember ever having seen it before; +doubtless, at the moment of setting out, she had suspended it about her +neck as a preserving charm against the dangers of the journey. Suddenly +I joined my hands and knelt on the floor. + +"O Lord, my God," I said, in trembling tones, "Lord, my God, thou art +there!" + +Let those who do not believe in Christ read this page; I no longer +believed in Him. Neither as a child, nor at school, nor as a man, have I +frequented churches; my religion, if I had any, had neither rite nor +symbol, and I believed in a God without form, without a cult, and without +revelation. Poisoned, from youth, by all the writings of the last +century, I had sucked, at an early hour, the sterile milk of impiety. +Human pride, that God of the egoist, closed my mouth against prayer, +while my affrighted soul took refuge in the hope of nothingness. I was +as if drunken or insensate when I saw that effigy of Christ on Brigitte's +bosom; while not believing in Him myself, I recoiled, knowing that she +believed in Him. + +It was not vain terror that arrested my hand. Who saw me? I was alone +and it was night. Was it prejudice? What prevented me from hurling out +of my sight that little piece of black wood? I could have thrown it into +the fire, but it was my weapon I threw there. Ah! what an experience +that was and still is for my soul! What miserable wretches are men who +mock at that which can save a human being! What matters the name, the +form, the belief? Is not all that is good sacred? How dare any one +touch God? + +As at a glance from the sun the snows descend the mountains, and the +glaciers that threatened heaven melt into streams in the valley, so there +descended into my heart a stream that overflowed its banks. Repentance +is a pure incense; it exhaled from all my suffering. Although I had +almost committed a crime when my hand was arrested, I felt that my heart +was innocent. In an instant, calm, self-possession, reason returned; I +again approached the bed; I leaned over my idol and kissed the crucifix. + +"Sleep in peace," I said to her, "God watches over you! While your lips +were parting in a smile, you were in greater danger than you have ever +known before. But the hand that threatened you will harm no one; I swear +by the faith you profess I will not kill either you or myself! I am a +fool, a madman, a child who thinks himself a man. God be praised! You +are young and beautiful. You live and you will forget me. You will +recover from the evil I have done you, if you can forgive me. Sleep in +peace until day, Brigitte, and then decide our fate; to whatever sentence +you pronounce I will submit without complaint. + +"And thou, Lord, who hast saved me, grant me pardon. I was born in an +impious century, and I have many crimes to expiate. Thou Son of God, +whom men forget, I have not been taught to love Thee. I have never +worshipped in Thy temples, but I thank heaven that where I find Thee, +I tremble and bow in reverence. I have at least kissed with my lips a +heart that is full of Thee. Protect that heart so long as life lasts; +dwell within it, Thou Holy One; a poor unfortunate has been brave enough +to defy death at the sight of Thy suffering and Thy death; though +impious, Thou hast saved him from evil; if he had believed, Thou wouldst +have consoled him. + +"Pardon those who have made him incredulous since Thou hast made him +repentant; pardon those who blaspheme! When they were in despair they +did not see Thee! Human joys are a mockery; they are scornful and +pitiless; O Lord! the happy of this world think they have no need of +Thee! Pardon them. Although their pride may outrage Thee, they will be, +sooner or later, baptized in tears; grant that they may cease to believe +in any other shelter from the tempest than Thy love, and spare them the +severe lessons of unhappiness. Our wisdom and scepticism are in our +hands but children's toys; forgive us for dreaming that we can defy Thee, +Thou who smilest at Golgotha. The worst result of all our vain misery is +that it tempts us to forget Thee. + +"But Thou knowest that it is all but a shadow which a glance from Thee +can dissipate. Hast not Thou Thyself been a man? It was sorrow that +made Thee God; sorrow is an instrument of torture by which Thou hast +mounted to the very throne of God, Thy Father, and it is sorrow that +leads us to Thee with our crown of thorns to kneel before Thy mercy-seat; +we touch Thy bleeding feet with our bloodstained hands, for Thou hast +suffered martyrdom to be loved by the unfortunate." + +The first rays of dawn began to appear: man and nature were rousing +themselves from sleep and the air. was filled with the confusion of +distant sounds. Weak and exhausted, I was about to leave Brigitte, and +seek a little repose. As I was passing out of the room, a dress thrown +on a chair slipped to the floor near me, and in its folds I spied a piece +of paper. I picked it up; it was a letter, and I recognized Brigitte's +hand. The envelope was not sealed. I opened it and read as follows: + + 23 December, 18-- + + "When you receive this letter I shall be far away from you, and + shall perhaps never see you again. My destiny is bound up with that + of a man for whom I have sacrificed everything; he can not live + without me, and I am going to try to die for him. I love you; + adieu, and pity us." + +I turned the letter over when I had read it, and saw that it was +addressed to "M. Henri Smith, N------, poste restante." + +On the morrow, a clear December day, a young man and a woman who rested +on his arm, passed through the garden of the Palais-Royal. They entered +a jeweler's store where they chose two similar rings which they smilingly +exchanged. After a short walk they took breakfast at the Freres- +Provencaux, in one of those little rooms which are, all things +considered, the most beautiful spots in the world. There, when the +garcon had left them, they sat near the windows hand in hand. + +The young man was in travelling dress; to see the joy which shone on his +face, one would have taken him for a young husband showing his young wife +the beauties and pleasures of Parisian life. His happiness was calm and +subdued, as true happiness always is. The experienced would have +recognized in him the youth who merges into manhood. From time to time +he looked up at the sky, then at his companion, and tears glittered in +his eyes, but he heeded them not, but smiled as he wept. The woman was +pale and thoughtful, her eyes were fixed on the man. On her face were +traces of sorrow which she could not conceal, although evidently touched +by the exalted joy of her companion. + +When he smiled, she smiled too, but never alone; when he spoke, she +replied, and she ate what he served her; but there was about her a +silence which was only broken at his instance. In her languor could be +clearly distinguished that gentleness of soul, that lethargy of the +weaker of two beings who love, one of whom exists only in the other and +responds to him as does the echo. The young man was conscious of it, and +seemed proud of it and grateful for it; but it could be seen even by his +pride that his happiness was new to him. + +When the woman became sad and her eyes fell, he cheered her with his +glance; but he could not always succeed, and seemed troubled himself. +That mingling of strength and weakness, of joy and sorrow, of anxiety +and serenity, could not have been understood by an indifferent spectator; +at times they appeared the most happy of living creatures, and the next +moment the most unhappy; but, although ignorant of their secret, one +would have felt that they were suffering together, and, whatever their +mysterious trouble, it could be seen that they had placed on their sorrow +a seal more powerful than love itself-friendship. While their hands were +clasped their glances were chaste; although they were alone they spoke in +low tones. As if overcome by their feelings, they sat face to face, +although their lips did not touch. They looked at each other tenderly +and solemnly. When the clock struck one, the woman heaved a sigh and +said: + +"Octave, are you sure of yourself?" + +"Yes, my friend, I am resolved. I shall suffer much, a long time, +perhaps forever; but we will cure ourselves, you with time, I with God." + +"Octave, Octave," repeated the woman, "are you sure you are not deceiving +yourself?" + +"I do not believe we can forget each other; but I believe that we can +forgive, and that is what I desire even at the price of separation." + +"Why could we not meet again? Why not some day--you are so young!" + +Then she added, with a smile: + +"We could see each other without danger." + +"No, my friend, for you must know that I could never see you again +without loving you. May he to whom I bequeath you be worthy of you! +Smith is brave, good, and honest, but however much you may love him, you +see very well that you still love me, for if I should decide to remain, +or to take you away with me, you would consent." + +"It is true," replied the woman. + +"True! true!" repeated the young man, looking into her eyes with all +his soul. "Is it true that if I wished it you would go with me?" + +Then he continued, softly: + +"That is the reason why I must never see you again. There are certain +loves in life that overturn the head, the senses, the mind, the heart; +there is among them all but one that does not disturb, that penetrates, +and that dies only with the being in which it has taken root." + +"But you will write to me?" + +"Yes, at first, for what I have to suffer is so keen that the absence of +the habitual object of my love would kill me. When I was unknown to you, +I gradually approached closer and closer to you, until--but let us not go +into the past. Little by little my letters will become less frequent +until they cease altogether. I shall thus descend the hill that I have +been climbing for the past year. When one stands before a fresh grave, +over which are engraved two cherished names, one experiences a mysterious +sense of grief, which causes tears to trickle down one's cheeks; it is +thus that I wish to remember having once lived." + +At these words the woman threw herself on the couch and burst into tears. +The young man wept with her, but he did not move and seemed anxious to +appear unconscious of her emotion. When her tears ceased to flow, he +approached her, took her hand in his and kissed it. + +"Believe me," said he, "to be loved by you, whatever the name of the +place I occupy in your heart, will give me strength and courage. Rest +assured, Brigitte, no one will ever understand you better than I; another +will love you more worthily, no one will love you more truly. Another +will be considerate of those feelings that I offend, he will surround you +with his love; you will have a better lover, you will not have a better +brother. Give me your hand and let the world laugh at a sentence that it +does not understand: Let us be friends, and part forever. Before we +became such intimate friends there was something within that told us we +were destined to mingle our lives. Let our souls never know that we have +parted upon earth; let not the paltry chance of a moment undo our eternal +happiness!" + +He held the woman's hand; she arose, tears streaming from her eyes, and, +stepping up to the mirror with a strange smile on her face, she cut from +her head a long tress of hair; then she looked at herself thus disfigured +and deprived of a part of her beautiful crown, and gave it to her lover. + +The clock struck again; it was time to go; when they passed out they +seemed as joyful as when they entered. + +"What a beautiful sun!" said the young man. + +"And a beautiful day," said Brigitte, "the memory of which shall never +fade." + +They hastened away and disappeared in the crowd. + +Some time later a carriage passed over a little hill behind +Fontainebleau. The young man was the only occupant; he looked for the +last time upon his native town as it disappeared in the distance, and +thanked God that, of the three beings who had suffered through his fault, +there remained but one of them still unhappy. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Because you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocent +Cold silence, that negative force +Contrive to use proud disdain as a shield +Fool who destroys his own happiness +Funeral processions are no longer permitted +How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more +I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment +Is it not enough to have lived? +Make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes +Reading the Memoirs of Constant +Sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness +Speak to me of your love, she said, "not of your grief +Suffered, and yet took pleasure in it +Suspicions that are ever born anew +"Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love" +Who has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt +You play with happiness as a child plays with a rattle +Your great weapon is silence + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, v3 +by Alfred de Musset + diff --git a/3941.zip b/3941.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aebfebb --- /dev/null +++ b/3941.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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