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+Project Gutenberg's Child of a Century, Complete, by Alfred de Musset
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Child of a Century, Complete
+
+Author: Alfred de Musset
+
+Last Updated: March 3, 2009
+Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3942]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD OF A CENTURY, COMPLETE ***
+
+
+
+Produced by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY
+
+(Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle)
+
+By ALFRED DE MUSSET
+
+With a Preface by HENRI DE BORNIER, of the French Academy
+
+
+
+
+ALFRED DE MUSSET
+
+A poet has no right to play fast and loose with his genius. It does not
+belong to him, it belongs to the Almighty; it belongs to the world and
+to a coming generation. At thirty De Musset was already an old man,
+seeking in artificial stimuli the youth that would not spring again.
+Coming from a literary family the zeal of his house had eaten him up;
+his passion had burned itself out and his heart with it. He had done
+his work; it mattered little to him or to literature whether the curtain
+fell on his life's drama in 1841 or in 1857.
+
+Alfred de Musset, by virtue of his genial, ironical temperament,
+eminently clear brain, and undying achievements, belongs to the great
+poets of the ages. We to-day do not approve the timbre of his epoch:
+that impertinent, somewhat irritant mask, that redundant rhetoric, that
+occasional disdain for the metre. Yet he remains the greatest poete
+de l'amour, the most spontaneous, the most sincere, the most emotional
+singer of the tender passion that modern times has produced.
+
+Born of noble parentage on December 11, 1810--his full name being Louis
+Charles Alfred de Musset--the son of De Musset-Pathai, he received his
+education at the College Henri IV, where, among others, the Duke of
+Orleans was his schoolmate. When only eighteen he was introduced
+into the Romantic 'cenacle' at Nodier's. His first work, 'Les Contes
+d'Espagne et d'Italie' (1829), shows reckless daring in the choice of
+subjects quite in the spirit of Le Sage, with a dash of the dandified
+impertinence that mocked the foibles of the old Romanticists. However,
+he presently abandoned this style for the more subjective strain of 'Les
+Voeux Steyiles, Octave, Les Secretes Pensees de Rafael, Namouna, and
+Rolla', the last two being very eloquent at times, though immature.
+Rolla (1833) is one of the strongest and most depressing of his works;
+the sceptic regrets the faith he has lost the power to regain, and
+realizes in lurid flashes the desolate emptiness of his own heart. At
+this period the crisis of his life was reached. He accompanied George
+Sand to Italy, a rupture between them occurred, and De Musset returned
+to Paris alone in 1834.
+
+More subdued sadness is found in 'Les Nuits' (1832-1837), and in 'Espoir
+en Dieu' (1838), etc., and his 'Lettre a Lamartine' belongs to the most
+beautiful pages of French literature. But henceforth his production
+grows more sparing and in form less romantic, although 'Le Rhin
+Allemand', for example, shows that at times he can still gather up all
+his powers. The poet becomes lazy and morose, his will is sapped by a
+wild and reckless life, and one is more than once tempted to wish that
+his lyre had ceased to sing.
+
+De Musset's prose is more abundant than his lyrics or his dramas. It is
+of immense value, and owes its chief significance to the clearness
+with which it exhibits the progress of his ethical disintegration. In
+'Emmeline (1837) we have a rather dangerous juggling with the
+psychology of love. Then follows a study of simultaneous love, 'Les
+Deux Mattresses' (1838), quite in the spirit of Jean Paul. He then
+wrote three sympathetic depictions of Parisian Bohemia: 'Frederic et
+Bernadette, Mimi Pinson, and Le Secret de Javotte', all in 1838. 'Le
+Fils de Titien (1838) and Croiselles' (1839) are carefully elaborated
+historical novelettes; the latter is considered one of his best works,
+overflowing with romantic spirit, and contrasting in this respect
+strangely with 'La Mouche' (1853), one of the last flickerings of his
+imagination. 'Maggot' (1838) bears marks of the influence of George
+Sand; 'Le Merle Blanc' (1842) is a sort of allegory dealing with
+their quarrel. 'Pierre et Camille' is a pretty but slight tale of a
+deaf-mute's love. His greatest work, 'Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle',
+crowned with acclaim by the French Academy, and classic for all time,
+was written in 1836, when the poet, somewhat recovered from the shock,
+relates his unhappy Italian experience. It is an ambitious and deeply
+interesting work, and shows whither his dread of all moral compulsion
+and self-control was leading him.
+
+De Musset also wrote some critical essays, witty and satirical in tone,
+in which his genius appears in another light. It is not generally known
+that he was the translator into French of De Quincey's 'Confessions
+of an Opium Eater' (1828). He was also a prominent contributor to the
+'Revue des Deux Mondes.' In 1852 he was elected to the French Academy,
+but hardly ever appeared at the sessions. A confrere once made the
+remark: "De Musset frequently absents himself," whereupon it is said
+another Immortal answered, "And frequently absinthe's himself!"
+
+While Brunetiere, Lemattre, and others consider De Musset a great
+dramatist, Sainte-Beuve, singularly enough, does not appreciate him as a
+playwright. Theophile Gautier says about 'Un Caprice' (1847): "Since the
+days of Marivaux nothing has been produced in 'La Comedie Francaise'
+so fine, so delicate, so dainty, than this tender piece, this
+chef-d'oeuvre, long buried within the pages of a review; and we are
+greatly indebted to the Russians of St. Petersburg, that snow-covered
+Athens, for having dug up and revived it." Nevertheless, his bluette,
+'La Nuit Venetienne', was outrageously treated at the Odeon. The
+opposition was exasperated by the recent success of Hugo's 'Hernani.'
+Musset was then in complete accord with the fundamental romantic
+conception that tragedy must mingle with comedy on the stage as well as
+in life, but he had too delicate a taste to yield to the extravagance
+of Dumas and the lesser romanticists. All his plays, by the way, were
+written for the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' between 1833 and 1850, and they
+did not win a definite place on the stage till the later years of the
+Second Empire. In some comedies the dialogue is unequalled by any writer
+since the days of Beaumarchais. Taine says that De Musset has more real
+originality in some respects than Hugo, and possesses truer dramatic
+genius. Two or three of his comedies will probably hold the stage
+longer than any dramatic work of the romantic school. They contain the
+quintessence of romantic imaginative art; they show in full flow that
+unchecked freedom of fancy which, joined to the spirit of realistic
+comedy, produces the modern French drama. Yet De Musset's prose has in
+greater measure the qualities that endure.
+
+The Duke of Orleans created De Musset Librarian in the Department of the
+Interior. It was sometimes stated that there was no library at all. It
+is certain that it was a sinecure, though the pay, 3,000 francs, was
+small. In 1848 the Duke had the bad taste to ask for his resignation,
+but the Empire repaired the injury. Alfred de Musset died in Paris, May
+2, 1857.
+
+                  HENRI DE BORNIER
+               de l'Academie Francaise.
+
+
+
+
+THE CONFESSIONS OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 1.
+
+
+
+
+PART I
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. TO THE READER
+
+Before the history of any life can be written, that life must be lived;
+so that it is not my life that I am now writing. Attacked in early youth
+by an abominable moral malady, I here narrate what happened to me during
+the space of three years. Were I the only victim of that disease, I
+would say nothing, but as many others suffer from the same evil, I write
+for them, although I am not sure that they will give heed to me. Should
+my warning be unheeded, I shall still have reaped the fruit of my
+agonizing in having cured myself, and, like the fox caught in a trap,
+shall have gnawed off my captive foot.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. REFLECTIONS
+
+During the wars of the Empire, while husbands and brothers were in
+Germany, anxious mothers gave birth to an ardent, pale, and neurotic
+generation. Conceived between battles, reared amid the noises of war,
+thousands of children looked about them with dull eyes while testing
+their limp muscles. From time to time their blood-stained fathers would
+appear, raise them to their gold-laced bosoms, then place them on the
+ground and remount their horses.
+
+The life of Europe centred in one man; men tried to fill their lungs
+with the air which he had breathed. Yearly France presented that man
+with three hundred thousand of her youth; it was the tax to Caesar;
+without that troop behind him, he could not follow his fortune. It was
+the escort he needed that he might scour the world, and then fall in a
+little valley on a deserted island, under weeping willows.
+
+Never had there been so many sleepless nights as in the time of that
+man; never had there been seen, hanging over the ramparts of the cities,
+such a nation of desolate mothers; never was there such a silence about
+those who spoke of death. And yet there was never such joy, such life,
+such fanfares of war, in all hearts. Never was there such pure sunlight
+as that which dried all this blood. God made the sun for this man,
+men said; and they called it the Sun of Austerlitz. But he made this
+sunlight himself with his ever-booming guns that left no clouds but
+those which succeed the day of battle.
+
+It was this air of the spotless sky, where shone so much glory, where
+glistened so many swords, that the youth of the time breathed. They well
+knew that they were destined to the slaughter; but they believed that
+Murat was invulnerable, and the Emperor had been seen to cross a bridge
+where so many bullets whistled that they wondered if he were mortal. And
+even if one must die, what did it matter? Death itself was so beautiful,
+so noble, so illustrious, in its battle-scarred purple! It borrowed the
+color of hope, it reaped so many immature harvests that it became young,
+and there was no more old age. All the cradles of France, as indeed
+all its tombs, were armed with bucklers; there were no more graybeards,
+there were only corpses or demi-gods.
+
+Nevertheless the immortal Emperor stood one day on a hill watching seven
+nations engaged in mutual slaughter, not knowing whether he would be
+master of all the world or only half. Azrael passed, touched the warrior
+with the tip of his wing, and hurled him into the ocean. At the noise of
+his fall, the dying Powers sat up in their beds of pain; and stealthily
+advancing with furtive tread, the royal spiders made partition of
+Europe, and the purple of Caesar became the motley of Harlequin.
+
+Just as the traveller, certain of his way, hastes night and day through
+rain and sunlight, careless of vigils or of dangers, but, safe at home
+and seated before the fire, is seized by extreme lassitude and can
+hardly drag himself to bed, so France, the widow of Caesar, suddenly
+felt her wound. She fell through sheer exhaustion, and lapsed into a
+coma so profound that her old kings, believing her dead, wrapped about
+her a burial shroud. The veterans, their hair whitened in service,
+returned exhausted, and the hearths of deserted castles sadly flickered
+into life.
+
+Then the men of the Empire, who had been through so much, who had lived
+in such carnage, kissed their emaciated wives and spoke of their first
+love. They looked into the fountains of their native fields and found
+themselves so old, so mutilated, that they bethought themselves of their
+sons, in order that these might close the paternal eyes in peace. They
+asked where they were; the children came from the schools, and, seeing
+neither sabres, nor cuirasses, neither infantry nor cavalry, asked in
+turn where were their fathers. They were told that the war was ended,
+that Caesar was dead, and that the portraits of Wellington and of
+Blucher were suspended in the ante-chambers of the consulates and the
+embassies, with this legend beneath: 'Salvatoribus mundi'.
+
+Then came upon a world in ruins an anxious youth. The children were
+drops of burning blood which had inundated the earth; they were born
+in the bosom of war, for war. For fifteen years they had dreamed of the
+snows of Moscow and of the sun of the Pyramids.
+
+They had not gone beyond their native towns; but had been told that
+through each gateway of these towns lay the road to a capital of Europe.
+They had in their heads a world; they saw the earth, the sky, the
+streets and the highways; but these were empty, and the bells of parish
+churches resounded faintly in the distance.
+
+Pale phantoms, shrouded in black robes, slowly traversed the
+countryside; some knocked at the doors of houses, and, when admitted,
+drew from their pockets large, well-worn documents with which they
+evicted the tenants. From every direction came men still trembling with
+the fear that had seized them when they had fled twenty years before.
+All began to urge their claims, disputing loudly and crying for help;
+strange that a single death should attract so many buzzards.
+
+The King of France was on his throne, looking here and there to see if
+he could perchance find a bee [symbol of Napoleon D.W.] in the royal
+tapestry. Some men held out their hats, and he gave them money; others
+extended a crucifix and he kissed it; others contented themselves with
+pronouncing in his ear great names of powerful families, and he replied
+to these by inviting them into his grand salle, where the echoes were
+more sonorous; still others showed him their old cloaks, when they had
+carefully effaced the bees, and to these he gave new robes.
+
+The children saw all this, thinking that the spirit of Caesar would
+soon land at Cannes and breathe upon this larva; but the silence was
+unbroken, and they saw floating in the sky only the paleness of the
+lily. When these children spoke of glory, they met the answer:
+
+"Become priests;" when they spoke of hope, of love, of power, of life:
+"Become priests."
+
+And yet upon the rostrum came a man who held in his hand a contract
+between king and people. He began by saying that glory was a beautiful
+thing, and ambition and war as well; but there was something still more
+beautiful, and it was called liberty.
+
+The children raised their heads and remembered that thus their
+grandfathers had spoken. They remembered having seen in certain obscure
+corners of the paternal home mysterious busts with long marble hair and
+a Latin inscription; they remembered how their grandsires shook their
+heads and spoke of streams of blood more terrible than those of the
+Empire. Something in that word liberty made their hearts beat with the
+memory of a terrible past and the hope of a glorious future.
+
+They trembled at the word; but returning to their homes they encountered
+in the street three coffins which were being borne to Clamart;
+within were three young men who had pronounced that word liberty too
+distinctly.
+
+A strange smile hovered on their lips at that sad sight; but other
+speakers, mounted on the rostrum, began publicly to estimate what
+ambition had cost and how very dear was glory; they pointed out the
+horror of war and called the battle-losses butcheries. They spoke so
+often and so long that all human illusions, like the trees in autumn,
+fell leaf by leaf about them, and those who listened passed their hands
+over their foreheads as if awakening from a feverish dream.
+
+Some said: "The Emperor has fallen because the people wished no more
+of him;" others added: "The people wished the king; no, liberty; no,
+reason; no, religion; no, the English constitution; no, absolutism;" and
+the last one said: "No, none of these things, but simply peace."
+
+Three elements entered into the life which offered itself to these
+children: behind them a past forever destroyed, still quivering on its
+ruins with all the fossils of centuries of absolutism; before them
+the aurora of an immense horizon, the first gleams of the future; and
+between these two worlds--like the ocean which separates the Old World
+from the New--something vague and floating, a troubled sea filled with
+wreckage, traversed from time to time by some distant sail or some ship
+trailing thick clouds of smoke; the present, in a word, which separates
+the past from the future, which is neither the one nor the other, which
+resembles both, and where one can not know whether, at each step, one
+treads on living matter or on dead refuse.
+
+It was in such chaos that choice had to be made; this was the aspect
+presented to children full of spirit and of audacity, sons of the Empire
+and grandsons of the Revolution.
+
+As for the past, they would none of it, they had no faith in it; the
+future, they loved it, but how? As Pygmalion before Galatea, it was
+for them a lover in marble, and they waited for the breath of life to
+animate that breast, for blood to color those veins.
+
+There remained then the present, the spirit of the time, angel of
+the dawn which is neither night nor day; they found him seated on a
+lime-sack filled with bones, clad in the mantle of egoism, and shivering
+in terrible cold. The anguish of death entered into the soul at the
+sight of that spectre, half mummy and half foetus; they approached it
+as does the traveller who is shown at Strasburg the daughter of an
+old count of Sarvenden, embalmed in her bride's dress: that childish
+skeleton makes one shudder, for her slender and livid hand wears the
+wedding-ring and her head decays enwreathed in orange-blossoms.
+
+As on the approach of a tempest there passes through the forests a
+terrible gust of wind which makes the trees shudder, to which profound
+silence succeeds, so had Napoleon, in passing, shaken the world; kings
+felt their crowns oscillate in the storm, and, raising hands to steady
+them, found only their hair, bristling with terror. The Pope had
+travelled three hundred leagues to bless him in the name of God and to
+crown him with the diadem; but Napoleon had taken it from his hands.
+Thus everything trembled in that dismal forest of old Europe; then
+silence succeeded.
+
+It is said that when you meet a mad dog, if you keep quietly on your
+way without turning, the dog will merely follow you a short distance
+growling and showing his teeth; but if you allow yourself to be
+frightened into a movement of terror, if you but make a sudden step, he
+will leap at your throat and devour you; that when the first bite has
+been taken there is no escaping him.
+
+In European history it has often happened that a sovereign has made such
+a movement of terror and his people have devoured him; but if one had
+done it, all had not done it at the same time--that is to say, one king
+had disappeared, but not all royal majesty. Before the sword of Napoleon
+majesty made this movement, this gesture which ruins everything, not
+only majesty but religion, nobility, all power both human and divine.
+
+Napoleon dead, human and divine power were reestablished, but belief in
+them no longer existed. A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what
+is possible, for the mind always goes farther. It is one thing to say:
+"That may be" and another thing to say: "That has been;" it is the first
+bite of the dog.
+
+The fall of Napoleon was the last flicker of the lamp of despotism;
+it destroyed and it parodied kings as Voltaire the Holy Scripture. And
+after him was heard a great noise: it was the stone of St. Helena which
+had just fallen on the ancient world. Immediately there appeared in the
+heavens the cold star of reason, and its rays, like those of the goddess
+of the night, shedding light without heat, enveloped the world in a
+livid shroud.
+
+There had been those who hated the nobles, who cried out against
+priests, who conspired against kings; abuses and prejudices had been
+attacked; but all that was not so great a novelty as to see a smiling
+people. If a noble or a priest or a sovereign passed, the peasants who
+had made war possible began to shake their heads and say: "Ah! when we
+saw this man in such a time and place he wore a different face." And
+when the throne and altar were mentioned, they replied: "They are made
+of four planks of wood; we have nailed them together and torn them
+apart." And when some one said: "People, you have recovered from the
+errors which led you astray; you have recalled your kings and your
+priests," they replied: "We have nothing to do with those prattlers."
+And when some one said "People, forget the past, work and obey," they
+arose from their seats and a dull jangling could be heard. It was the
+rusty and notched sabre in the corner of the cottage chimney. Then they
+hastened to add: "Then keep quiet, at least; if no one harms you, do not
+seek to harm." Alas! they were content with that.
+
+But youth was not content. It is certain that there are in man two
+occult powers engaged in a death-struggle: the one, clear-sighted and
+cold, is concerned with reality, calculation, weight, and judges the
+past; the other is athirst for the future and eager for the unknown.
+When passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning, him of
+his danger; but when man listens to the voice of reason, when he stops
+at her request and says: "What a fool I am; where am I going?" passion
+calls to him: "Ah, must I die?"
+
+A feeling of extreme uneasiness began to ferment in all young hearts.
+Condemned to inaction by the powers which governed the world, delivered
+to vulgar pedants of every kind, to idleness and to ennui, the youth saw
+the foaming billows which they had prepared to meet, subside. All these
+gladiators glistening with oil felt in the bottom of their souls an
+insupportable wretchedness. The richest became libertines; those of
+moderate fortune followed some profession and resigned themselves to
+the sword or to the church. The poorest gave themselves up with cold
+enthusiasm to great thoughts, plunged into the frightful sea of aimless
+effort. As human weakness seeks association and as men are gregarious by
+nature, politics became mingled with it. There were struggles with
+the 'garde du corps' on the steps of the legislative assembly; at the
+theatre Talma wore a wig which made him resemble Caesar; every one
+flocked to the burial of a Liberal deputy.
+
+But of the members of the two parties there was not one who, upon
+returning home, did not bitterly realize the emptiness of his life and
+the feebleness of his hands.
+
+While life outside was so colorless and so mean, the inner life of
+society assumed a sombre aspect of silence; hypocrisy ruled in all
+departments of conduct; English ideas, combining gayety with devotion,
+had disappeared. Perhaps Providence was already preparing new ways,
+perhaps the herald angel of future society was already sowing in the
+hearts of women the seeds of human independence. But it is certain that
+a strange thing suddenly happened: in all the salons of Paris the men
+passed on one side and the women on the other; and thus, the one clad
+in white like brides, and the other in black like orphans, began to take
+measure of one another with the eye.
+
+Let us not be deceived: that vestment of black which the men of our time
+wear is a terrible symbol; before coming to this, the armor must have
+fallen piece by piece and the embroidery flower by flower. Human reason
+has overthrown all illusions; but it bears in itself sorrow, in order
+that it may be consoled.
+
+The customs of students and artists, those customs so free, so
+beautiful, so full of youth, began to experience the universal change.
+Men in taking leave of women whispered the word which wounds to
+the death: contempt. They plunged into the dissipation of wine and
+courtesans. Students and artists did the same; love was treated as were
+glory and religion: it was an old illusion. The grisette, that woman so
+dreamy, so romantic, so tender, and so sweet in love, abandoned herself
+to the counting-house and to the shop. She was poor and no one loved
+her; she needed gowns and hats and she sold herself. Oh! misery! the
+young man who ought to love her, whom she loved, who used to take her
+to the woods of Verrieres and Romainville, to the dances on the lawn,
+to the suppers under the trees; he who used to talk with her as she sat
+near the lamp in the rear of the shop on the long winter evenings; he
+who shared her crust of bread moistened with the sweat of her brow, and
+her love at once sublime and poor; he, that same man, after abandoning
+her, finds her after a night of orgy, pale and leaden, forever lost,
+with hunger on her lips and prostitution in her heart.
+
+About this time two poets, whose genius was second only to that of
+Napoleon, consecrated their lives to the work of collecting the elements
+of anguish and of grief scattered over the universe. Goethe, the
+patriarch of a new literature, after painting in his Weyther the passion
+which leads to suicide, traced in his Faust the most sombre human
+character which has ever represented evil and unhappiness. His writings
+began to pass from Germany into France. From his studio, surrounded
+by pictures and statues, rich, happy, and at ease, he watched with a
+paternal smile his gloomy creations marching in dismal procession across
+the frontiers of France. Byron replied to him in a cry of grief which
+made Greece tremble, and hung Manfred over the abyss, as if oblivion
+were the solution of the hideous enigma with which he enveloped him.
+
+Pardon, great poets! who are now but ashes and who sleep in peace!
+Pardon, ye demigods, for I am only a child who suffers. But while I
+write all this I can not but curse you. Why did you not sing of the
+perfume of flowers, of the voices of nature, of hope and of love, of
+the vine and the sun, of the azure heavens and of beauty? You must have
+understood life, you must have suffered; the world was crumbling
+to pieces about you; you wept on its ruins and you despaired; your
+mistresses were false; your friends calumniated, your compatriots
+misunderstood; your heart was empty; death was in your eyes, and you
+were the Colossi of grief. But tell me, noble Goethe, was there no more
+consoling voice in the religious murmur of your old German forests? You,
+for whom beautiful poesy was the sister of science, could not they find
+in immortal nature a healing plant for the heart of their favorite?
+You, who were a pantheist, and antique poet of Greece, a lover of sacred
+forms, could you not put a little honey in the beautiful vases you made;
+you who had only to smile and allow the bees to come to your lips? And
+thou, Byron, hadst thou not near Ravenna, under the orange-trees of
+Italy, under thy beautiful Venetian sky, near thy Adriatic, hadst thou
+not thy well-beloved? Oh, God! I who speak to you, who am only a feeble
+child, have perhaps known sorrows that you have never suffered, and yet
+I believe and hope, and still bless God.
+
+When English and German ideas had passed thus over our heads there
+ensued disgust and mournful silence, followed by a terrible convulsion.
+For to formulate general ideas is to change saltpetre into powder, and
+the Homeric brain of the great Goethe had sucked up, as an alembic, all
+the juice of the forbidden fruit. Those who did not read him, did not
+believe it, knew nothing of it. Poor creatures! The explosion carried
+them away like grains of dust into the abyss of universal doubt.
+
+It was a denial of all heavenly and earthly facts that might be termed
+disenchantment, or if you will, despair; as if humanity in lethargy had
+been pronounced dead by those who felt its pulse. Like a soldier who is
+asked: "In what do you believe?" and who replies: "In myself," so the
+youth of France, hearing that question, replied: "In nothing."
+
+Then formed two camps: on one side the exalted spirits, sufferers, all
+the expansive souls who yearned toward the infinite, bowed their heads
+and wept; they wrapped themselves in unhealthful dreams and nothing
+could be seen but broken reeds in an ocean of bitterness. On the other
+side the materialists remained erect, inflexible, in the midst of
+positive joys, and cared for nothing except to count the money they had
+acquired. It was but a sob and a burst of laughter, the one coming from
+the soul, the other from the body.
+
+This is what the soul said:
+
+"Alas! Alas! religion has departed; the clouds of heaven fall in rain;
+we have no longer either hope or expectation, not even two little pieces
+of black wood in the shape of a cross before which to clasp our hands.
+The star of the future is loath to appear; it can not rise above the
+horizon; it is enveloped in clouds, and like the sun in winter its disc
+is the color of blood, as in '93. There is no more love, no more glory.
+What heavy darkness over all the earth! And death will come ere the day
+breaks."
+
+This is what the body said:
+
+"Man is here below to satisfy his senses; he has more or less of white
+or yellow metal, by which he merits more or less esteem. To eat, to
+drink, and to sleep, that is life. As for the bonds which exist between
+men, friendship consists in loaning money; but one rarely has a friend
+whom he loves enough for that. Kinship determines inheritance; love is
+an exercise of the body; the only intellectual joy is vanity."
+
+Like the Asiatic plague exhaled from the vapors of the Ganges, frightful
+despair stalked over the earth. Already Chateaubriand, prince of poesy,
+wrapping the horrible idol in his pilgrim's mantle, had placed it on
+a marble altar in the midst of perfumes and holy incense. Already the
+children were clenching idle hands and drinking in a bitter cup the
+poisoned brewage of doubt. Already things were drifting toward the
+abyss, when the jackals suddenly emerged from the earth. A deathly and
+infected literature, which had no form but that of ugliness, began to
+sprinkle with fetid blood all the monsters of nature.
+
+Who will dare to recount what was passing in the colleges? Men doubted
+everything: the young men denied everything. The poets sang of despair;
+the youth came from the schools with serene brow, their faces glowing
+with health, and blasphemy in their mouths. Moreover, the French
+character, being by nature gay and open, readily assimilated English and
+German ideas; but hearts too light to struggle and to suffer withered
+like crushed flowers. Thus the seed of death descended slowly and
+without shock from the head to the bowels. Instead of having the
+enthusiasm of evil we had only the negation of the good; instead of
+despair, insensibility. Children of fifteen, seated listlessly under
+flowering shrubs, conversed for pastime on subjects which would have
+made shudder with terror the still thickets of Versailles. The Communion
+of Christ, the Host, those wafers that stand as the eternal symbol of
+divine love, were used to seal letters; the children spit upon the Bread
+of God.
+
+Happy they who escaped those times! Happy they who passed over the abyss
+while looking up to Heaven. There are such, doubtless, and they will
+pity us.
+
+It is unfortunately true that there is in blasphemy a certain outlet
+which solaces the burdened heart. When an atheist, drawing his watch,
+gave God a quarter of an hour in which to strike him dead, it is certain
+that it was a quarter of an hour of wrath and of atrocious joy. It was
+the paroxysm of despair, a nameless appeal to all celestial powers; it
+was a poor, wretched creature squirming under the foot that was crushing
+him; it was a loud cry of pain. Who knows? In the eyes of Him who sees
+all things, it was perhaps a prayer.
+
+Thus these youth found employment for their idle powers in a fondness
+for despair. To scoff at glory, at religion, at love, at all the world,
+is a great consolation for those who do not know what to do; they mock
+at themselves, and in doing so prove the correctness of their view. And
+then it is pleasant to believe one's self unhappy when one is only idle
+and tired. Debauchery, moreover, the first result of the principles of
+death, is a terrible millstone for grinding the energies.
+
+The rich said: "There is nothing real but riches, all else is a dream;
+let us enjoy and then let us die." Those of moderate fortune said:
+"There is nothing real but oblivion, all else is a dream; let us
+forget and let us die." And the poor said: "There is nothing real but
+unhappiness, all else is a dream; let us blaspheme and die."
+
+Is this too black? Is it exaggerated? What do you think of it? Am I a
+misanthrope? Allow me to make a reflection.
+
+In reading the history of the fall of the Roman Empire, it is impossible
+to overlook the evil that the Christians, so admirable when in the
+desert, did to the State when they were in power. "When I think," said
+Montesquieu, "of the profound ignorance into which the Greek clergy
+plunged the laity, I am obliged to compare them to the Scythians of whom
+Herodotus speaks, who put out the eyes of their slaves in order that
+nothing might distract their attention from their work.... No affair
+of State, no peace, no truce, no negotiations, no marriage could be
+transacted by any one but the clergy. The evils of this system were
+beyond belief."
+
+Montesquieu might have added: Christianity destroyed the emperors but
+it saved the people. It opened to the barbarians the palaces of
+Constantinople, but it opened the doors of cottages to the ministering
+angels of Christ. It had much to do with the great ones of earth. And
+what is more interesting than the death-rattle of an empire corrupt
+to the very marrow of its bones, than the sombre galvanism under the
+influence of which the skeleton of tyranny danced upon the tombs of
+Heliogabalus and Caracalla? How beautiful that mummy of Rome, embalmed
+in the perfumes of Nero and swathed in the shroud of Tiberius! It had
+to do, my friends the politicians, with finding the poor and giving
+them life and peace; it had to do with allowing the worms and tumors
+to destroy the monuments of shame, while drawing from the ribs of this
+mummy a virgin as beautiful as the mother of the Redeemer, Hope, the
+friend of the oppressed.
+
+That is what Christianity did; and now, after many years, what have they
+done who destroyed it? They saw that the poor allowed themselves to be
+oppressed by the rich, the feeble by the strong, because of that saying:
+"The rich and the strong will oppress me on earth; but when they wish to
+enter paradise, I shall be at the door and I will accuse them before the
+tribunal of God." And so, alas! they were patient.
+
+The antagonists of Christ therefore said to the poor: "You wait
+patiently for the day of justice: there is no justice; you wait for the
+life eternal to achieve your vengeance: there is no life eternal; you
+gather up your tears and those of your family, the cries of children
+and the sobs of women, to place them at the feet of God at the hour of
+death: there is no God."
+
+Then it is certain that the poor man dried his tears, that he told his
+wife to check her sobs, his children to come with him, and that he stood
+erect upon the soil with the power of a bull. He said to the rich: "Thou
+who oppressest me, thou art only man," and to the priest: "Thou who
+hast consoled me, thou hast lied." That was just what the antagonists of
+Christ desired. Perhaps they thought this was the way to achieve man's
+happiness, sending him out to the conquest of liberty.
+
+But, if the poor man, once satisfied that the priests deceive him, that
+the rich rob him, that all men have rights, that all good is of this
+world, and that misery is impiety; if the poor man, believing in himself
+and in his two arms, says to himself some fine day: "War on the rich!
+For me, happiness here in this life, since there is no other! for me,
+the earth, since heaven is empty! for me and for all, since all are
+equal." Oh! reasoners sublime, who have led him to this, what will you
+say to him if he is conquered?
+
+Doubtless you are philanthropists, doubtless you are right about the
+future, and the day will come when you will be blessed; but thus far, we
+have not blessed you. When the oppressor said: "This world for me!" the
+oppressed replied: "Heaven for me!" Now what can he say?
+
+All the evils of the present come from two causes: the people who have
+passed through 1793 and 1814 nurse wounds in their hearts. That which
+was is no more; what will be, is not yet. Do not seek elsewhere the
+cause of our malady.
+
+Here is a man whose house falls in ruins; he has torn it down in order
+to build another. The rubbish encumbers the spot, and he waits for new
+materials for his new home. At the moment he has prepared to cut the
+stone and mix the cement, while standing pick in hand with sleeves
+rolled up, he is informed that there is no more stone, and is advised to
+whiten the old material and make the best possible use of that. What
+can you expect this man to do who is unwilling to build his nest out
+of ruins? The quarry is deep, the tools too weak to hew out the stones.
+"Wait!" they say to him, "we will draw out the stones one by one; hope,
+work, advance, withdraw." What do they not tell him? And in the mean
+time he has lost his old house, and has not yet built the new; he does
+not know where to protect himself from the rain, or how to prepare his
+evening meal, nor where to work, nor where to sleep, nor where to die;
+and his children are newly born.
+
+I am much deceived if we do not resemble that man. Oh! people of the
+future! when on a warm summer day you bend over your plows in the green
+fields of your native land; when you see in the pure sunlight, under a
+spotless sky, the earth, your fruitful mother, smiling in her matutinal
+robe on the workman, her well-beloved child; when drying on your brow
+the holy baptism of sweat, you cast your eye over the vast horizon,
+where there will not be one blade higher than another in the human
+harvest, but only violets and marguerites in the midst of ripening ears;
+oh! free men! when you thank God that you were born for that harvest,
+think of those who are no more, tell yourself that we have dearly
+purchased the repose which you enjoy; pity us more than all your
+fathers, for we have suffered the evil which entitled them to pity and
+we have lost that which consoled them.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. THE BEGINNING OF THE CONFESSIONS
+
+I have to explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age.
+
+I was at table, at a great supper, after a masquerade. About me were
+my friends, richly costumed, on all sides young men and women, all
+sparkling with beauty and joy; on the right and on the left exquisite
+dishes, flagons, splendor, flowers; above my head was an obstreperous
+orchestra, and before me my loved one, whom I idolized.
+
+I was then nineteen; I had passed through no great misfortune, I had
+suffered from no disease; my character was at once haughty and frank,
+my heart full of the hopes of youth. The fumes of wine fermented in my
+head; it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that one
+sees and hears speaks to one of the well-beloved. All nature appeared
+a beautiful stone with a thousand facets, on which was engraven the
+mysterious name. One would willingly embrace all who smile, and feel
+that he is brother of all who live. My mistress had granted me a
+rendezvous, and I was gently raising my glass to my lips while my eyes
+were fixed on her.
+
+As I turned to take a napkin, my fork fell. I stooped to pick it up,
+and not finding it at first I raised the table cloth to see where it had
+rolled. I then saw under the table my mistress's foot; it touched that
+of a young man seated beside her; from time to time they exchanged a
+gentle pressure.
+
+Perfectly calm, I asked for another fork and continued my supper. My
+mistress and her neighbor, on their side, were very quiet, talking but
+little and never looking at each other. The young man had his elbows on
+the table and was chatting with another woman, who was showing him her
+necklace and bracelets. My mistress sat motionless, her eyes fixed and
+swimming with languor. I watched both of them during the entire supper,
+and I saw nothing either in their gestures or in their faces that could
+betray them. Finally, at dessert, I dropped my napkin, and stooping down
+saw that they were still in the same position.
+
+I had promised to escort my mistress to her home that night. She was a
+widow and therefore free, living alone with an old relative who served
+as chaperon. As I was crossing the hall she called to me:
+
+"Come, Octave!" she said, "let us go; here I am."
+
+I laughed, and passed out without replying. After walking a short
+distance I sat down on a stone projecting from a wall. I do not know
+what my thoughts were; I sat as if stupefied by the unfaithfulness of
+one of whom I had never been jealous, whom I had never had cause to
+suspect. What I had seen left no room for doubt; I was felled as if by a
+stroke from a club. The only thing I remember doing as I sat there, was
+looking mechanically up at the sky, and, seeing a star shoot across the
+heavens, I saluted that fugitive gleam, in which poets see a worn-out
+world, and gravely took off my hat to it.
+
+I returned to my home very quietly, experiencing nothing, as if deprived
+of all sensation and reflection. I undressed and retired; hardly had my
+head touched the pillow when the spirit of vengeance seized me with such
+force that I suddenly sat bolt upright against the wall as if all my
+muscles were made of wood. I then jumped from my bed with a cry of pain;
+I could walk only on my heels, the nerves in my toes were so irritated.
+I passed an hour in this way, completely beside myself, and stiff as a
+skeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced.
+
+The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimate
+friends. I went to his house the next day, in company with a young
+lawyer named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repaired
+to the woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversary
+or even approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult or
+strike him, a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognized
+the code. But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companion
+of my childhood, and we had lived in the closest intimacy for many
+years. He understood perfectly my love for my mistress, and had several
+times intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, and
+that he would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me, even if he
+loved the same woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and I
+had perhaps never pressed the hand of any human creature more cordially
+than his.
+
+Eagerly and curiously I scrutinized this man whom I had heard speak
+of love like an antique hero and whom yet I had caught caressing my
+mistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; I
+measured him with a haggard eye to see what manner of man was this. He
+whom I had known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived in
+the most perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allow
+me a comparison.
+
+There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stone
+statue comes to sup with a profligate, sent thither by divine justice.
+The profligate puts a good face on the matter and forces himself to
+affect indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when he
+has extended it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls in
+convulsions.
+
+Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend or
+mistress, and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can only
+describe the effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of that
+marble hand. It is the actual impression of marble, it is as if a man of
+stone had embraced me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked more
+than once at my door; more than once we have supped together.
+
+When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facing
+each other and slowly advancing. My adversary fired the first shot,
+wounding me in the right arm. I immediately seized my pistol in the
+other hand; but my strength failed, I could not raise it; I fell on one
+knee.
+
+Then I saw my enemy running up to me with an expression of great anxiety
+on his face, and very pale. Seeing that I was wounded, my seconds
+hastened to my side, but he pushed them aside and seized my wounded
+arm. His teeth were set, and I could see that he was suffering intense
+anguish. His agony was as frightful as man can experience.
+
+"Go!" he cried; "go, stanch your wound at the house of-----"
+
+He choked, and so did I.
+
+I was placed in a cab, where I found a physician. My wound was not
+dangerous, the bone being untouched, but I was in such a state of
+excitation that it was impossible properly to dress my wound. As they
+were about to drive from the field I saw a trembling hand at the door of
+my cab; it was that of my adversary. I shook my head in reply; I was
+in such a rage that I could not pardon him, although I felt that his
+repentance was sincere.
+
+By the time I reached home I had lost much blood and felt relieved, for
+feebleness saved me from the anger which was doing me more harm than my
+wound. I willingly retired to my bed and called for a glass of water,
+which I gulped down with relish.
+
+But I was soon attacked by fever. It was then I began to shed tears. I
+could understand that my mistress had ceased to love me, but not that
+she could deceive me. I could not comprehend why a woman, who was forced
+to it by neither duty nor interest, could lie to one man when she loved
+another. Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that could
+be possible.
+
+"If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her, I could easily
+understand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longer
+loves me, why deceive me?"
+
+I did not understand how any one could lie for love; I was but a child,
+then, but I confess that I do not understand it yet. Every time I have
+loved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her I
+have confessed it with the same sincerity, having always thought that
+in matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was no
+crime but falsehood.
+
+To all this Desgenais replied:
+
+"She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again."
+
+I solemnly promised. He advised me, moreover, not to write to her, not
+even to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply. I promised
+all, with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exact
+such a pledge.
+
+Nevertheless, the first thing I did when I was able to leave my room
+was to visit my mistress. I found her alone, seated in the corner of
+her room, with an expression of sorrow on her face and an appearance
+of general disorder in her surroundings. I overwhelmed her with violent
+reproaches; I was intoxicated with despair. In a paroxysm of grief I
+fell on the bed and gave free course to my tears.
+
+"Ah! faithless one! wretch!" I cried between my sobs, "you knew that it
+would kill me. Did the prospect please you? What have I done to you?"
+
+She threw her arms around my neck, saying that she had been tempted,
+that my rival had intoxicated her at that fatal supper, but that she
+had never been his; that she had abandoned herself in a moment of
+forgetfulness; that she had committed a fault but not a crime; but
+that if I would not pardon her, she, too, would die. All that sincere
+repentance has of tears, all that sorrow has of eloquence, she exhausted
+in order to console me; pale and distraught, her dress deranged, her
+hair falling over her shoulders, she kneeled in the middle of her
+chamber; never have I seen anything so beautiful, and I shuddered with
+horror as my senses revolted at the sight.
+
+I went away crushed, scarcely able to direct my tottering steps. I
+wished never to see her again; but in a quarter of an hour I returned.
+I do not know what desperate resolve I had formed; I experienced a
+full desire to know her mine once more, to drain the cup of tears and
+bitterness to the dregs, and then to die with her. In short I abhorred
+her, yet I idolized her; I felt that her love was ruin, but that to live
+without her was impossible. I mounted the stairs like a flash; I spoke
+to none of the servants, but, familiar with the house, opened the door
+of her chamber.
+
+I found her seated calmly before her toilette-table, covered with
+jewels; she held in her hand a piece of red crepe which she passed
+gently over her cheeks. I thought I was dreaming; it did not seem
+possible that this was the woman I had left, just fifteen minutes
+before, overwhelmed with grief, abased to the floor; I was as motionless
+as a statue. She, hearing the door open, turned her head and smiled:
+
+"Is it you?" she said.
+
+She was going to a ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognized
+me, she compressed her lips and frowned.
+
+I started to leave the room. I looked at her bare neck, lithe and
+perfumed, on which rested her knotted hair confined by a jewelled comb;
+that neck, the seat of vital force, was blacker than hell; two shining
+tresses had fallen there and some light silvern hairs balanced above it.
+Her shoulders and neck, whiter than milk, displayed a heavy growth
+of down. There was in that knotted mass of hair something maddeningly
+lovely, which seemed to mock me when I thought of the sorrowful abandon
+in which I had seen her a moment before. I suddenly stepped up to her
+and struck that neck with the back of my hand. My mistress gave vent to
+a cry of terror, and fell on her hands, while I hastened from the room.
+
+When I reached my room I was again attacked by fever and was obliged
+to take to my bed. My wound had reopened and I suffered great pain.
+Desgenais came to see me and I told him what had happened. He listened
+in silence, then paced up and down the room as if undecided as to his
+next course. Finally he stopped before my bed and burst out laughing.
+
+"Is she your first love?" he asked.
+
+"No!" I replied, "she is my last."
+
+Toward midnight, while sleeping restlessly, I seemed to hear in my
+dreams a profound sigh. I opened my eyes and saw my mistress standing
+near my bed with arms crossed, looking like a spectre. I could not
+restrain a cry of fright, believing it to be an apparition conjured up
+by my diseased brain. I leaped from my bed and fled to the farther end
+of the room; but she followed me.
+
+"It is I!" said she; putting her arms around me, she drew me to her.
+
+"What do you want of me?" I cried. "Leave, me! I fear I shall kill you!"
+
+"Very well, kill me!" she said. "I have deceived you, I have lied to
+you, I am an infamous wretch and I am miserable; but I love you, and I
+can not live without you."
+
+I looked at her; how beautiful she was! Her body was quivering; her
+eyes were languid with love and moist with voluptuousness; her bosom was
+bare, her lips were burning. I raised her in my arms.
+
+"Very well," I said, "but before God who sees us, by the soul of my
+father, I swear that I will kill you and that I will die with you."
+
+I took a knife from the table and placed it under the pillow.
+
+"Come, Octave," she said, smiling and kissing me, "do not be foolish.
+Come, my dear, all these horrors have unsettled your mind; you are
+feverish. Give me that knife."
+
+I saw that she wished to take it.
+
+"Listen to me," I then said; "I do not know what comedy you are playing,
+but as for me I am in earnest. I have loved you as only man can love,
+and to my sorrow I love you still. You have just told me that you love
+me, and I hope it is true; but, by all that is sacred, if I am your
+lover to-night, no one shall take my place tomorrow. Before God, before
+God," I repeated, "I would not take you back as my mistress, for I hate
+you as much as I love you. Before God, if you wish to stay here to-night
+I will kill you in the morning."
+
+When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw her
+cloak over her shoulders and fled from the room.
+
+When I told Desgenais about it he said:
+
+"Why did you do that? You must be very much disgusted, for she is a
+beautiful woman."
+
+"Are you joking?" I asked. "Do you think such a woman could be my
+mistress? Do you think I would ever consent to share her with another?
+Do you know that she confesses that another attracts her, and do you
+expect me, loving her as I do, to share my love? If that is the way you
+love, I pity you."
+
+Desgenais replied that he was not so particular.
+
+"My dear Octave," he added, "you are very young. You want many things,
+beautiful things, which do not exist. You believe in a singular sort
+of love; perhaps you are capable of it; I believe you are, but I do not
+envy you. You will have other mistresses, my friend, and you will live
+to regret what happened last night. If that woman came to you it is
+certain that she loved you; perhaps she does not love you at this
+moment--indeed, she may be in the arms of another; but she loved you
+last night in that room; and what should you care for the rest? You
+will regret it, believe me, for she will not come again. A woman
+pardons everything except such a slight. Her love for you must have been
+something terrible when she came to you knowing and confessing herself
+guilty, risking rebuff and contempt at your hands. Believe me, you will
+regret it, for I am satisfied that you will soon be cured."
+
+There was such an air of simple conviction about my friend's words,
+such a despairing certainty based on experience, that I shuddered as
+I listened. While he was speaking I felt a strong desire to go to my
+mistress, or to write to her to come to me. I was so weak that I could
+not leave my bed, and that saved me from the shame of finding her
+waiting for my rival or perhaps in his company. But I could write to
+her; in spite of myself I doubted whether she would come if I should
+write.
+
+When Desgenais left me I became so desperate that I resolved to put an
+end to my trouble. After a terrible struggle, horror got the better of
+love. I wrote my mistress that I would never see her again, and begged
+her not to try to see me unless she wished to be exposed to the shame of
+being refused admittance. I called a servant and ordered him to deliver
+the letter at once. He had hardly closed the door when I called him
+back. He did not hear me; I did not dare call again; covering my face
+with my hands, I yielded to an overwhelming sense of despair.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. THE PATH OF DESPAIR
+
+The next morning the first question that occurred to my mind was: "What
+shall I do?"
+
+I had no occupation. I had studied medicine and law without being able
+to decide on either of the two careers; I had worked for a banker for
+six months, and my services were so unsatisfactory that I was obliged
+to resign to avoid being discharged. My studies had been varied but
+superficial; my memory was active but not retentive.
+
+My only treasure, after love, was reserve. In my childhood I had devoted
+myself to a solitary way of life, and had, so to speak, consecrated my
+heart to it. One day my father, solicitous about my future, spoke to me
+of several careers among which he allowed me to choose. I was leaning on
+the window-sill, looking at a solitary poplar-tree that was swaying
+in the breeze down in the garden. I thought over all the various
+occupations and wondered which one I should choose. I turned them all
+over, one after another, in my mind, and then, not feeling inclined to
+any of them, I allowed my thoughts to wander. Suddenly it seemed to
+me that I felt the earth move, and that a secret, invisible force was
+slowly dragging me into space and becoming tangible to my senses. I
+saw it mount into the sky; I seemed to be on a ship; the poplar near my
+window resembled a mast; I arose, stretched out my arms, and cried:
+
+"It is little enough to be a passenger for one day on this ship floating
+through space; it is little enough to be a man, a black point on that
+ship; I will be a man, but not any particular kind of man."
+
+Such was the first vow that, at the age of fourteen, I pronounced in the
+face of nature, and since then I have done nothing, except in obedience
+to my father, never being able to overcome my repugnance.
+
+I was therefore free, not through indolence but by choice; loving,
+moreover, all that God had made and very little that man had made. Of
+life I knew nothing but love, of the world only my mistress, and I
+did not care to know anything more. So, falling in love upon leaving
+college, I sincerely believed that it was for life, and every other
+thought disappeared.
+
+My life was indolent. I was accustomed to pass the day with my mistress;
+my greatest pleasure was to take her through the fields on beautiful
+summer days, the sight of nature in her splendor having ever been for me
+the most powerful incentive to love. In winter, as she enjoyed society,
+we attended numerous balls and masquerades, and because I thought of no
+one but her I fondly imagined her equally true to me.
+
+To give you an idea of my state of mind I can not do better than compare
+it to one of those rooms we see nowadays in which are collected and
+mingled the furniture of all times and countries. Our age has no impress
+of its own. We have impressed the seal of our time neither on our houses
+nor our gardens, nor on anything that is ours. On the street may be seen
+men who have their beards trimmed as in the time of Henry III, others
+who are clean-shaven, others who have their hair arranged as in the time
+of Raphael, others as in the time of Christ. So the homes of the rich
+are cabinets of curiosities: the antique, the gothic, the style of the
+Renaissance, that of Louis XIII, all pell-mell. In short, we have every
+century except our own--a thing which has never been seen at any other
+epoch: eclecticism is our taste; we take everything we find, this for
+beauty, that for utility, another for antiquity, still another for its
+ugliness even, so that we live surrounded by debris, as if the end of
+the world were at hand.
+
+Such was the state of my mind; I had read much; moreover I had learned
+to paint. I knew by heart a great many things, but nothing in order, so
+that my head was like a sponge, swollen but empty. I fell in love with
+all the poets one after another; but being of an impressionable nature
+the last acquaintance disgusted me with the rest. I had made of myself
+a great warehouse of odds and ends, so that having no more thirst after
+drinking of the novel and the unknown, I became an oddity myself.
+
+Nevertheless, about me there was still something of youth: it was the
+hope of my heart, which was still childlike.
+
+That hope, which nothing had withered or corrupted and which love had
+exalted to excess, had now received a mortal wound. The perfidy of my
+mistress had struck deep, and when I thought of it, I felt in my soul a
+swooning away, the convulsive flutter of a wounded bird in agony.
+
+Society, which works so much evil, is like that serpent of the Indies
+whose habitat is under a shrub, the leaves of which afford the antidote
+to its venom; in nearly every case it brings the remedy with the wound
+it causes. For example, the man whose life is one of routine, who has
+his business cares to claim his attention upon rising, visits at
+one hour, loves at another, can lose his mistress and suffer no evil
+effects. His occupations and his thoughts are like impassive soldiers
+ranged in line of battle; a single shot strikes one down, his neighbors
+close the gap and the line is intact.
+
+I had not that resource, since I was alone: nature, the kind mother,
+seemed, on the contrary, vaster and more empty than before. Had I been
+able to forget my mistress, I should have been saved. How many there
+are who can be cured with even less than that. Such men are incapable of
+loving a faithless woman, and their conduct, under the circumstances,
+is admirable in its firmness. But is it thus one loves at nineteen when,
+knowing nothing of the world, desiring everything, one feels, within,
+the germ of all the passions? Everywhere some voice appeals to him. All
+is desire, all is revery. There is no reality which holds him when the
+heart is young; there is no oak so gnarled that it may not give birth to
+a dryad; and if one had a hundred arms one need not fear to open them;
+one has but to clasp his mistress and all is well.
+
+As for me, I did not understand what else there was to do but love,
+and when any one spoke to me of other occupations I did not reply. My
+passion for my mistress had something fierce about it, for all my life
+had been severely monachal. Let me cite a single instance. She gave me
+her miniature in a medallion. I wore it over my heart, a practice much
+affected by men; but one day, while idly rummaging about a shop filled
+with curiosities, I found an iron "discipline whip" such as was used
+by the mediaeval flagellants. At the end of this whip was a metal plate
+bristling with sharp iron points; I had the medallion riveted to this
+plate and then returned it to its place over my heart. The sharp points
+pierced my bosom with every movement and caused such strange, voluptuous
+anguish that I sometimes pressed it down with my hand in order to
+intensify the sensation. I knew very well that I was committing a folly;
+love is responsible for many such idiocies.
+
+But since this woman deceived me I loathed the cruel medallion. I can
+not tell with what sadness I removed that iron circlet, and what a sigh
+escaped me when it was gone.
+
+"Ah! poor wounds!" I said, "you will soon heal, but what balm is there
+for that other deeper wound?"
+
+I had reason to hate this woman; she was, so to speak, mingled with the
+blood of my veins; I cursed her, but I dreamed of her. What could I do
+with a dream? By what effort of the will could I drown a memory of flesh
+and blood? Lady Macbeth, having killed Duncan, saw that the ocean would
+not wash her hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds.
+I said to Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow."
+
+My life had been wrapped up in this woman; to doubt her was to doubt
+all; to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all. I no
+longer went out; the world seemed peopled with monsters, with horned
+deer and crocodiles. To all that was said to distract my mind, I
+replied:
+
+"Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing
+of the kind."
+
+I sat in my window and said:
+
+"She will come, I am sure of it; she is coming, she is turning the
+corner at this moment, I can feel her approach. She can no more live
+without me than I without her. What shall I say? How shall I receive
+her?"
+
+Then the thought of her perfidy occurred to me.
+
+"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!"
+
+Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her.
+
+"What is she doing?" I asked myself. "She loves another? Then I will
+love another also. Whom shall I love?"
+
+While thinking, I heard a far distant voice crying:
+
+"Thou, love another? Two beings who love, who embrace, and who are not
+thou and I! Is such a thing possible? Are you a fool?"
+
+"Coward!" said Desgenais, "when will you forget that woman? Is she such
+a great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself."
+
+"No," I replied, "it is not such a great loss. Have I not done what I
+ought? Have I not driven her away from here? What have you to say to
+that? The rest concerns me; the bull wounded in the arena can lie down
+in a corner with the sword of the matador 'twixt his shoulders, and die
+in peace. What can I do, tell me? What do you mean by first comer? You
+will show me a cloudless sky, trees and houses, men who talk, drink,
+sing, women who dance and horses that gallop. All that is not life, it
+is the noise of life. Go, go, leave me in peace."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. A PHILOSOPHER'S ADVICE
+
+Desgenais saw that my despair was incurable, that I would neither listen
+to any advice nor leave my room, he took the thing seriously. I saw him
+enter one evening with an expression of gravity on his face; he spoke of
+my mistress and continued in his tone of persiflage, saying all manner
+of evil of women. While he was speaking I was leaning on my elbow, and,
+rising in my bed, I listened attentively.
+
+It was one of those sombre evenings when the sighing of the wind recalls
+the moaning of a dying man. A fitful storm was brewing, and between
+the plashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All
+nature suffers in such moments, the trees writhe in pain and hide their
+heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of
+cities are deserted. I was suffering from my wound. But a short time
+before I had a mistress and a friend. The mistress had deceived me
+and the friend had stretched me on a bed of pain. I could not clearly
+distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was
+under the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to
+find myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a
+dream, ridiculous and puerile, the falseness of which had just been
+disclosed. Desgenais was seated near the lamp at my side; he was firm
+and serious, although a smile hovered about his lips. He was a man of
+heart, but as dry as a pumice-stone. An early experience had made him
+bald before his time; he knew life and had suffered; but his grief was a
+cuirass; he was a materialist and he waited for death.
+
+"Octave," he said, "after what has happened to you, I see that you
+believe in love such as the poets and romancers have represented; in a
+word, you believe in what is said here below and not in what is done.
+That is because you do not reason soundly, and it may lead you into
+great misfortune.
+
+"Poets represent love as sculptors design beauty, as musicians create
+melody; that is to say, endowed with an exquisite nervous organization,
+they gather up with discerning ardor the purest elements of life,
+the most beautiful lines of matter, and the most harmonious voices of
+nature. There lived, it is said, at Athens a great number of beautiful
+girls; Praxiteles drew them all one after another; then from these
+diverse types of beauty, each one of which had its defects, he formed a
+single faultless beauty and created Venus. The man who first created a
+musical instrument, and who gave to harmony its rules and its laws, had
+for a long time listened to the murmuring of reeds and the singing of
+birds. Thus the poets, who understand life, after knowing much of love,
+more or less transitory, after feeling that sublime exaltation which
+real passion can for the moment inspire, eliminating from human nature
+all that degrades it, created the mysterious names which through the
+ages fly from lip to lip: Daphnis and Chloe, Hero and Leander, Pyramus
+and Thisbe.
+
+"To try to find in real life such love as this, eternal and absolute,
+is but to seek on public squares a woman such as Venus, or to expect
+nightingales to sing the symphonies of Beethoven.
+
+"Perfection does not exist; to comprehend it is the triumph of human
+intelligence; to desire to possess it, the most dangerous of follies.
+Open your window, Octave; do you not see the infinite? You try to form
+some idea of a thing that has no limits, you who were born yesterday and
+who will die to-morrow! This spectacle of immensity in every country in
+the world produces the wildest illusions. Religions are born of it;
+it was to possess the infinite that Cato cut his throat, that the
+Christians delivered themselves to lions, the Huguenots to the
+Catholics; all the people of the earth have stretched out their hands
+to that immensity and have longed to plunge into it. The fool wishes
+to possess heaven; the sage admires it, kneels before it, but does not
+desire it.
+
+"Perfection, my friend, is no more made for us than immensity. We must
+seek for nothing in it, demand nothing of it, neither love nor beauty,
+happiness nor virtue; but we must love it if we would be virtuous, if we
+would attain the greatest happiness of which man is capable.
+
+"Let us suppose you have in your study a picture by Raphael that you
+consider perfect. Let us say that upon a close examination you discover
+in one of the figures a gross defect of design, a limb distorted, or a
+muscle that belies nature, such as has been discovered, they say, in one
+of the arms of an antique gladiator. You would experience a feeling of
+displeasure, but you would not throw that picture in the fire; you would
+merely say that it is not perfect, but that it has qualities that are
+worthy of admiration.
+
+"There are women whose natural singleness of heart and sincerity are
+such that they could not have two lovers at the same time. You believed
+your mistress such an one; that is best, I admit. You have discovered
+that she has deceived you; does that oblige you to depose and to abuse
+her, to believe her deserving of your hatred?
+
+"Even if your mistress had never deceived you, even if at this moment
+she loved none other than you, think, Octave, how far her love would
+still be from perfection, how human it would be, how small, how
+restrained by the hypocrisies and conventions of the world; remember
+that another man possessed her before you, that many others will possess
+her after you.
+
+"Reflect: what drives you at this moment to despair is the idea of
+perfection in your mistress, the idea that has been shattered. But
+when you understand that the primal idea itself was human, small and
+restricted, you will see that it is little more than a rung in the
+rotten ladder of human imperfection.
+
+"I think you will readily admit that your mistress has had other
+admirers, and that she will have still others in the future; you will
+doubtless reply that it matters little, so long as she loved you. But I
+ask you, since she has had others, what difference does it make whether
+it was yesterday or two years since? Since she loves but one at a time,
+what does it matter whether it is during an interval of two years or
+in the course of a single night? Are you a man, Octave? Do you see the
+leaves falling from the trees, the sun rising and setting? Do you hear
+the ticking of the horologe of time with each pulsation of your heart?
+Is there, then, such a difference between the love of a year and the
+love of an hour? I challenge you to answer that, you fool, as you sit
+there looking out at the infinite through a window not larger than your
+hand.
+
+"You consider that woman faithful who loves you two years; you must have
+an almanac that will indicate just how long it takes for an honest man's
+kisses to dry on a woman's lips. You make a distinction between the
+woman who sells herself for money and the one who gives herself for
+pleasure; between the one who gives herself through pride and the one
+who gives herself through devotion. Among women who are for sale, some
+cost more than others; among those who are sought for pleasure some
+inspire more confidence than others; and among those who are worthy of
+devotion there are some who receive a third of a man's heart, others a
+quarter, others a half, depending upon her education, her manner, her
+name, her birth, her beauty, her temperament, according to the occasion,
+according to what is said, according to the time, according to what you
+have drunk at dinner.
+
+"You love women, Octave, because you are young, ardent, because your
+features are regular, and your hair dark and glossy, but you do not, for
+all that, understand woman.
+
+"Nature, having all, desires the reproduction of beings; everywhere,
+from the summit of the mountain to the bottom of the sea, life
+is opposed to death. God, to conserve the work of His hands, has
+established this law-that the greatest pleasure of all sentient beings
+shall be to procreate.
+
+"Oh! my friend, when you feel bursting on your lips the vow of
+eternal love, do not be afraid to yield, but do not confound wine with
+intoxication; do not think of the cup divine because the draught is of
+celestial flavor; do not be astonished to find it broken and empty in
+the evening. It is but woman, but a fragile vase, made of earth by a
+potter.
+
+"Thank God for giving you a glimpse of heaven, but do not imagine
+yourself a bird because you can flap your wings. The birds themselves
+can not escape the clouds; there is a region where air fails them and
+the lark, rising with its song into the morning fog, sometimes falls
+back dead in the field.
+
+"Take love as a sober man takes wine; do not become a drunkard. If your
+mistress is sincere and faithful, love her for that; but if she is
+not, if she is merely young and beautiful, love her for that; if she is
+agreeable and spirituelle, love her for that; if she is none of these
+things but merely loves you, love her for that. Love does not come to us
+every day.
+
+"Do not tear your hair and stab yourself because you have a rival. You
+say that your mistress deceives you for another; it is your pride that
+suffers; but change the words, say that it is for you that she deceives
+him, and behold, you are happy!
+
+"Do not make a rule of conduct, and do not say that you wish to be
+loved exclusively, for in saying that, as you are a man and inconstant
+yourself, you are forced to add tacitly: 'As far as possible.'
+
+"Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is. The
+Spaniards, first among women, love faithfully; their hearts are sincere
+and violent, but they wear a dagger just above them. Italian women are
+lascivious. The English are exalted and melancholy, cold and unnatural.
+The German women are tender and sweet, but colorless and monotonous. The
+French are spirituelle, elegant, and voluptuous, but are false at heart.
+
+"Above all, do not accuse women of being what they are; we have made
+them thus, undoing the work of nature.
+
+"Nature, who thinks of everything, made the virgin for love; but with
+the first child her bosom loses form, her beauty its freshness. Woman
+is made for motherhood. Man would perhaps abandon her, disgusted by
+the loss of beauty; but his child clings to him and weeps. Behold
+the family, the human law; everything that departs from this law is
+monstrous.
+
+"Civilization thwarts the ends of nature. In our cities, according to
+our customs, the virgin destined by nature for the open air, made to
+run in the sunlight; to admire the nude wrestlers, as in Lacedemonia,
+to choose and to love, is shut up in close confinement and bolted in.
+Meanwhile she hides romance under her cross; pale and idle, she
+fades away and loses, in the silence of the nights, that beauty which
+oppresses her and needs the open air. Then she is suddenly snatched from
+this solitude, knowing nothing, loving nothing, desiring everything; an
+old woman instructs her, a mysterious word is whispered in her ear, and
+she is thrown into the arms of a stranger. There you have marriage, that
+is to say, the civilized family.
+
+"A child is born. This poor creature has lost her beauty and she has
+never loved. The child is brought to her with the words: 'You are a
+mother.' She replies: 'I am not a mother; take that child to some woman
+who can nurse it. I can not.' Her husband tells her that she is right,
+that her child would be disgusted with her. She receives careful
+attention and is soon cured of the disease of maternity. A month later
+she may be seen at the Tuileries, at the ball, at the opera; her child
+is at Chaillot, at Auxerre; her husband with another woman. Then young
+men speak to her of love, of devotion, of sympathy, of all that is in
+the heart. She takes one, draws him to her bosom; he dishonors her and
+returns to the Bourse. She cries all night, but discovers that tears
+make her eyes red. She takes a consoler, for the loss of whom another
+consoles her; thus up to the age of thirty or more. Then, blase and
+corrupted, with no human sentiment, not even disgust, she meets a fine
+youth with raven locks, ardent eye and hopeful heart; she recalls her
+own youth, she remembers what she has suffered, and telling him the
+story of her life, she teaches him to eschew love.
+
+"That is woman as we have made her; such are your mistresses. But you
+say they are women and that there is something good in them!
+
+"But if your character is formed, if you are truly a man, sure of
+yourself and confident of your strength, you may taste of life without
+fear and without reserve; you may be sad or joyous, deceived or
+respected; but be sure you are loved, for what matters the rest?
+
+"If you are mediocre and ordinary, I advise you to consider your course
+very carefully before deciding, but do not expect too much of your
+mistress.
+
+"If you are weak, dependent upon others, inclined to allow yourself to
+be dominated by opinion, to take root wherever you see a little soil,
+make for yourself a shield that will resist everything, for if you yield
+to your weaker nature you will not grow, you will dry up like a dead
+plant, and you will bear neither fruit nor flowers. The sap of your life
+will dissipate into the formation of useless bark; all your actions will
+be as colorless as the leaves of the willow; you will have no tears to
+water you, but those from your own eyes; to nourish you, no heart but
+your own.
+
+"But if you are of an exalted nature, believing in dreams and wishing to
+realize them, I say to you plainly: Love does not exist.
+
+"For to love is to give body and soul, or better, it is to make a single
+being of two; it is to walk in the sunlight, in the open air through
+the boundless prairies with a body having four arms, two heads, and two
+hearts. Love is faith, it is the religion of terrestrial happiness, it
+is a luminous triangle suspended in the temple of the world. To love
+is to walk freely through that temple, at your side a being capable of
+understanding why a thought, a word, a flower makes you pause and raise
+your eyes to that celestial triangle. To exercise the noble faculties of
+man is a great good--that is why genius is glorious; but to double those
+faculties, to place a heart and an intelligence upon a heart and an
+intelligence--that is supreme happiness. God has nothing better for man;
+that is why love is better than genius.
+
+"But tell me, is that the love of our women? No, no, it must be
+admitted. Love, for them, is another thing; it is to go out veiled, to
+write in secret, to make trembling advances, to heave chaste sighs under
+starched and unnatural robes, then to draw bolts and throw them aside,
+to humiliate a rival, to deceive a husband, to render a lover desolate.
+To love, for our women, is to play at lying, as children play at hide
+and seek, a hideous orgy of the heart, worse than the lubricity of the
+Romans, or the Saturnalia of Priapus; a bastard parody of vice itself,
+as well as of virtue; a loathsome comedy where all is whispering and
+sidelong glances, where all is small, elegant, and deformed, like those
+porcelain monsters brought from China; a lamentable satire on all that
+is beautiful and ugly, divine and infernal; a shadow without a body, a
+skeleton of all that God has made."
+
+Thus spoke Desgenais; and the shadows of night began to fall.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. MADAME LEVASSEUR
+
+The following morning I rode through the Bois de Boulogne; the weather
+was dark and threatening. At the Porte Maillot I dropped the reins on
+my horse's back and abandoned myself to revery, revolving in my mind the
+words spoken by Desgenais the evening before.
+
+Suddenly I heard my name called. Turning my head I spied one of my
+inamorata's most intimate friends in an open carriage. She bade me stop,
+and, holding out her hand with a friendly air, invited me to dine with
+her if I had no other engagement.
+
+This woman, Madame Levasseur by name, was small, stout, and decidedly
+blonde; I had never liked her, and my attitude toward her had always
+been one of studied politeness. But I could not resist a desire to
+accept her invitation; I pressed her hand and thanked her; I was sure
+that we should talk of my mistress.
+
+She sent a servant to lead my horse and I entered her carriage; she was
+alone, and we at once took the road to Paris. Rain began to fall, and
+the carriage curtains were drawn; thus shut up together we rode on in
+silence. I looked at her with inexpressible sadness; she was not only
+the friend of my faithless one but her confidante. She had often formed
+one of our party when I called on my mistress in the evening. With what
+impatience had I endured her presence! How often I counted the minutes
+that must elapse before she would leave! That was probably the cause of
+my aversion to her. I knew that she approved of our love; she even went
+so far as to defend me in our quarrels. In spite of the services she had
+rendered me, I considered her ugly and tiresome. Alas! now I found
+her beautiful! I looked at her hands, her clothes; every gesture went
+straight to my heart; all the past was associated with her. She noticed
+the change in manner and understood that I was oppressed by sad memories
+of the past. Thus we sped on our way, I looking at her, she smiling at
+me. When we reached Paris she took my hand:
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"Well?" I replied, sobbing, "tell her if you wish." Tears rushed from my
+eyes.
+
+After dinner we sat before the fire.
+
+"But tell me," she said, "is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?"
+
+"Alas! Madame," I replied, "there is nothing irrevocable except the
+grief that is killing me. My condition can be expressed in a few words:
+I can not love her, I can not love another, and I can not cease loving."
+
+At these words she moved uneasily in her chair, and I could see an
+expression of compassion on her face.
+
+For some time she appeared to be reflecting, as if pondering over my
+fate and seeking some remedy for my sorrow. Her eyes were closed and she
+appeared lost in revery. She extended her hand and I took it in mine.
+
+"And I, too," she murmured, "that is just my experience." She stopped,
+overcome by emotion.
+
+Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity. I held Madame
+Levasseur's hand as she began to speak of my mistress, saying all she
+could think of in her favor. My sadness increased. What could I reply?
+Finally she came to speak of herself.
+
+Not long since, she said, a man who loved her abandoned her. She had
+made great sacrifices for him; her fortune was compromised, as well as
+her honor and her name. Her husband, whom she knew to be vindictive, had
+made threats. Her tears flowed as she continued, and I began to forget
+my own sorrow in my sympathy for her. She had been married against her
+will; she struggled a long time; but she regretted nothing except that
+she had not been able to inspire a more sincere affection. I believe she
+even accused herself because she had not been able to hold her lover's
+heart, and because she had been guilty of apparent indifference.
+
+When she had unburdened her heart she became silent.
+
+"Madame," I said, "it was not chance that brought about our meeting in
+the Bois de Boulogne. I believe that human sorrows are but wandering
+sisters and that some good angel unites the trembling hands that are
+stretched out for aid. Do not repent having told me your sorrow. The
+secret you have confided to me is only a tear which has fallen from
+your eye, but has rested on my heart. Permit me to come again and let us
+suffer together."
+
+Such lively sympathy took possession of me that without reflection I
+kissed her; it did not occur to my mind that it could offend her, and
+she did not appear even to notice it.
+
+Our conversation continued in this tone of expansive friendship. She
+told me her sorrows, I told her mine, and between these two experiences
+which touched each other, I felt arise a sweetness, a celestial accord
+born of two voices in anguish. All this time I had seen nothing but her
+face. Suddenly I noticed that her dress was in disorder. It appeared
+singular to me that, seeing my embarrassment, she did not rearrange
+it, and I turned my head to give her an opportunity. She did nothing.
+Finally, meeting her eyes and seeing that she was perfectly aware of the
+state she was in, I felt as if I had been struck by a thunderbolt, for
+I now clearly understood that I was the plaything of her monstrous
+effrontery, that grief itself was for her but a means of seducing the
+senses. I took my hat without a word, bowed profoundly, and left the
+room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE WISDOM OF SIRACH
+
+Upon returning to my apartments I found a large box in the centre of
+the room. One of my aunts had died, and I was one of the heirs to her
+fortune, which was not large.
+
+The box contained, among other things, a number of musty old books. Not
+knowing what to do, and being afflicted with ennui, I began to read one
+of them. They were for the most part romances of the time of Louis XV;
+my pious aunt had probably inherited them herself and never read them,
+for they were, so to speak, catechisms of vice.
+
+I was singularly disposed to reflect on everything that came to my
+notice, to give everything a mental and moral significance; I treated
+events as pearls in a necklace which I tried to string together.
+
+It struck me that there was something significant about the arrival
+of these books at this time. I devoured them with a bitterness and a
+sadness born of despair. "Yes, you are right," I said to myself, "you
+alone possess the secret of life, you alone dare to say that nothing is
+true and real but debauchery, hypocrisy, and corruption. Be my friends,
+throw on the wound in my soul your corrosive poisons, teach me to
+believe in you."
+
+While buried in these shadows, I allowed my favorite poets and
+text-books to accumulate dust. I even ground them under my feet in
+excess of wrath. "You wretched dreamers!" I said to them; "you who teach
+me only suffering, miserable shufflers of words, charlatans, if you know
+the truth, fools, if you speak in good faith, liars in either case, who
+make fairy-tales of the woes of the human heart. I will burn the last
+one of you!"
+
+Then tears came to my aid and I perceived that there was nothing real
+but my grief. "Very well," I cried, in my delirium, "tell me, good and
+bad genii, counselors for good or evil, tell me what to do! Choose an
+arbiter and let him speak."
+
+I seized an old Bible which lay on my table, and read the first passage
+that caught my eye.
+
+"Reply to me, thou book of God!" I said, "what word hast thou for me?"
+My eye fell on this passage in Ecclesiastes, Chapter IX:
+
+   For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this,
+   that the righteous and the wise, and their works, are in the hand
+   of God; no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before
+   them.
+
+   All things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous,
+   and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean;
+   to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the
+   good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an
+   oath.
+
+   This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that
+   there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men
+   is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and
+   after that they go to the dead.
+
+When I read these words I was astounded; I did not know that there was
+such a sentiment in the Bible. "And thou, too, as all others, thou book
+of hope!"
+
+What do the astronomers think when they predict, at a given hour
+and place, the passage of a comet, that most eccentric of celestial
+travellers? What do the naturalists think when they reveal the myriad
+forms of life concealed in a drop of water? Do they think they have
+invented what they see and that their lenses and microscopes make the
+law of nature? What did the first law-giver think when, seeking for
+the corner-stone in the social edifice, angered doubtless by some idle
+importunity, he struck the tables of brass and felt in his bowels the
+yearning for a law of retaliation? Did he, then, invent justice? And
+the first who plucked the fruit planted by his neighbor and who fled
+cowering under his mantle, did he invent shame? And he who, having
+overtaken that same thief who had robbed him of the product of his toil,
+forgave him his sin, and, instead of raising his hand to smite him,
+said, "Sit thou down and eat thy fill;" when, after thus returning good
+for evil, he raised his eyes toward Heaven and felt his heart quivering,
+tears welling from his eyes, and his knees bending to the earth, did he
+invent virtue? Oh, Heaven! here is a woman who speaks of love and who
+deceives me; here is a man who speaks of friendship and counsels me
+to seek consolation in debauchery; here is another woman who weeps and
+would console me with the flesh; here is a Bible that speaks of God and
+says: "Perhaps; but nothing is of any real importance."
+
+I ran to the open window: "Is it true that you are empty?" I cried,
+looking up at the pale expanse of sky which spread above me. "Reply,
+reply! Before I die, grant that I may clasp in these arms of mine
+something more than a dream!"
+
+Profound silence reigned. As I stood with arms outstretched, eyes
+lost in space, a swallow uttered a plaintive cry; in spite of myself I
+followed it with my eyes; while the swallow disappeared from sight like
+a flash, a little girl passed singing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. THE SEARCH FOR HEALING
+
+Yet I was unwilling to yield.
+
+Before taking life on its pleasant side--a side which to me seemed
+rather sinister--I resolved to test everything. I remained thus for some
+time, a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by terrible dreams.
+
+The great obstacle to my cure was my youth. Wherever I happened to be,
+whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight of
+a woman made me tremble.
+
+It had been my fate--a fate as rare as happy--to give to love my
+unsullied youth. But the result of this was that all my senses united
+in idealizing love; there was the cause of my unhappiness. For not being
+able to think of anything but women, I could not help turning over in my
+head, day and night, all the ideas of debauchery, of false love and of
+feminine treason, with which my mind was filled. For me to possess a
+woman was to love her; I thought of nothing but women, but I believed no
+more in the possibility of true love.
+
+All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage. At times I was
+tempted to imitate the monks and starve my body in order to conquer my
+senses; at times I felt like rushing out into the street to throw myself
+at the feet of the first woman I met and vow to her eternal love.
+
+God is my witness that I did all in my power to cure myself. Preoccupied
+from the first with the idea that the society of men was the haunt
+of vice and hypocrisy, where all were like my mistress, I resolved to
+separate myself from them and live in complete isolation. I resumed my
+neglected studies, and plunged into history, poetry, and anatomy. There
+happened to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old and learned
+German. I determined to learn his language; the German was poor and
+friendless, and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. My
+perpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times he waited
+in patient astonishment while I, seated near him with a smoking lamp
+between us, sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in revery,
+oblivious of his presence and of his pity.
+
+"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you are
+the best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me to
+my fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I."
+
+I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and
+there was no more talk of German.
+
+I soon realized that solitude, instead of curing me, was doing me harm,
+and so I completely changed my system. I went into the country, and
+galloped through the woods with the huntsmen; I would ride until I was
+out of breath, trying to cure myself with fatigue, and when, after a
+day of sweat in the fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling of
+powder and the stable, I would bury my head in the pillow, roll about
+under the covers and cry: "Phantom, phantom! are you not satiated? Will
+you not leave me for one single night?"
+
+But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature to
+love. Standing in the street of Mental Observation, I saw myself pale
+and wan, surrounded by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloody
+apron, stifled by the odor of putrefaction, I turned my head in spite
+of myself, and saw floating before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields,
+and the pensive harmony of the evening. "No," said I, "science can not
+console me; rather will I plunge into this sea of irresponsive nature
+and die there myself by drowning. I will not war against my youth; I
+will live where there is life, or at least die in the sunlight." I began
+to mingle with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville, and stretch myself
+on flowery swards in secluded groves. Alas! all the forests and fields
+cried to me:
+
+"What do you seek here? We are young, poor child! We wear the colors of
+hope."
+
+Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; I
+looked up at the lights in its windows, into those mysterious family
+nests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man.
+Oh, what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in
+those tortuous streets where all are hurrying hither and thither,
+working and sweating, where thousands of strangers rub against your
+elbows; a sewer where society is of bodies only, while souls
+are solitary and alone, where all who hold out a hand to you are
+prostitutes! "Become corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!"
+This has been the cry of all cities unto man; it is written with
+charcoal on the walls, on the streets with mud, on men's faces with
+extravasated blood.
+
+At times, when seated in the corner of some salon I watched the women as
+they danced, some rosy, some blue, and others white, their arms bare and
+their hair gathered gracefully about their shapely heads, looking like
+cherubim drunk with light, floating in spheres of harmony and beauty, I
+would think: "Ah, what a garden, what flowers to gather, to breathe!
+Ah! Marguerites, Marguerites! What will your last petal say to him who
+plucks it? A little, a little, but not all. That is the moral of the
+world, that is the end of your smiles. It is over this terrible abyss
+that you are walking in your spangled gauze; it is on this hideous
+reality you run like gazelles on the tips of your little toes!"
+
+"But why take things so seriously?" said Desgenais. "That is something
+that is never seen. You complain because bottles become empty? There are
+many casks in the vaults, and many vaults in the hills. Give me a dainty
+fish-hook gilded with sweet words, a drop of honey for bait, and quick!
+catch in the stream of oblivion a pretty consoler, as fresh and slippery
+as an eel; you will still have the hook when the fish shall have glided
+from your hands. Youth must pass away, and if I were you I would carry
+off the queen of Portugal rather than study anatomy."
+
+Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart,
+my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and my
+poor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struck
+the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. BACCHUS, THE CONSOLER
+
+Suddenly, in the midst of black despair, youth and chance led me to
+commit an act that decided my fate.
+
+I had written my mistress that I wished never to see her again; I kept
+my word, but I passed the nights under her window, seated on a bench
+before her door. I could see the lights in her room, I could hear the
+sound of her piano, at times I saw something that looked like a shadow
+through the partially drawn curtains.
+
+One night as I was seated on the bench, plunged in frightful melancholy,
+I saw a belated workman staggering along the street. He muttered a few
+words in a dazed manner and then began to sing. So much was he under the
+influence of liquor that he walked at times on one side of the gutter
+and then on the other. Finally he fell upon a bench facing another house
+opposite me. There he lay still, supported on his elbows, and slept
+profoundly.
+
+The street was deserted, a dry wind stirred the dust here and there; the
+moon shone through a rift in the clouds and lighted the spot where
+the man slept. So I found myself tete-a-tete with this boor, who, not
+suspecting my presence, was sleeping on that stone bench as peacefully
+as if in his own bed.
+
+The man served to divert my grief; I arose to leave him in full
+possession, but returned and resumed my seat. I could not leave that
+fateful door, at which I would not have knocked for an empire. Finally,
+after walking up and down a few times, I stopped before the sleeper.
+
+"What sleep!" I said. "Surely this man does not dream. His clothes are
+in tatters, his cheeks are wrinkled, his hands hardened with toil; he is
+some unfortunate who does not have a meal every day. A thousand gnawing
+cares, a thousand mortal sorrows await his return to consciousness;
+nevertheless, this evening he had money in his pocket, and entered a
+tavern where he purchased oblivion. He has earned enough in a week to
+enjoy a night of slumber, and perhaps has purchased it at the expense of
+his children's supper. Now his mistress can betray him, his friend can
+glide like a thief into his hut; I could shake him by the shoulder and
+tell him that he is being murdered, that his house is on fire; he would
+turn over and continue to sleep."
+
+"And I--I do not sleep," I continued, pacing up and down the street, "I
+do not sleep, I who have enough in my pocket at this moment to purchase
+sleep for a year. I am so proud and so foolish that I dare not enter
+a tavern, and it seems I do not understand that if unfortunates enter
+there, it is to come out happy. O God! grapes crushed beneath the foot
+suffice to dissipate the deepest sorrow and to break the invisible
+threads that the fates weave about our pathway. We weep like women, we
+suffer like martyrs; in our despair it seems that the world is crumbling
+under our feet, and we sit down in tears as did Adam at Eden's gate.
+And to cure our griefs we have but to make a movement of the hand and
+moisten our throats. How contemptible our sorrow since it can be thus
+assuaged! We are surprised that Providence does not send angels to grant
+our prayers; it need not take the trouble, for it has seen our woes,
+it knows our desires, our pride and bitterness, the ocean of evil that
+surrounds us, and is content to hang a small black fruit along our
+paths. Since that man sleeps so soundly on his bench, why do not I sleep
+on mine? My rival is doubtless passing the night with my mistress; he
+will leave her at daybreak; she will accompany him to the door and they
+will see me asleep on my bench. Their kisses will not awaken me, and
+they will shake me by the shoulder; I will turn over on the other side
+and sleep on."
+
+Thus, inspired by fierce joy, I set out in quest of a tavern. As it was
+past midnight some were closed; this put me in a fury. "What!" I cried,
+"even that consolation is refused me!" I ran hither and thither knocking
+at the doors of taverns, crying: "Wine! Wine!"
+
+At last I found one open; I called for a bottle, and without caring
+whether it was good or bad, I gulped it down; a second followed, and
+then a third. I dosed myself as with medicine, and forced the wine down
+as if it had been prescribed by some physician to save my life.
+
+The heavy fumes of the liquor, doubtless adulterated, mounted to
+my head. As I had gulped it down at a breath, drunkenness seized me
+promptly; I felt that I was becoming muddled, then I experienced a lucid
+moment, then confusion followed. Then consciousness left me, I leaned my
+elbows on the table and said adieu to myself.
+
+But I had a confused idea that I was not alone in the tavern. At the
+other end of the room stood a hideous group with haggard faces and harsh
+voices. Their dress indicated that they belonged to the poorer class,
+but were not bourgeois; in short, they belonged to that ambiguous class,
+the vilest of all, which has neither fortune nor occupation, which never
+works except at some criminal plot, a class which, neither poor nor
+rich, combines the vices of one with the misery of the other.
+
+They were quarrelling over a dirty pack of cards. Among them was a girl
+who appeared to be very young and very pretty, was decently clad, and
+resembled her companions in no way, except in the harshness of her
+voice, which was as rough and broken as if it had performed the office
+of public crier. She looked at me closely, as if astonished to see me
+in such a bad place, for I was elegantly attired. Little by little she
+approached my table and seeing that all the bottles were empty, smiled.
+I saw that she had fine teeth of brilliant whiteness; I took her hand
+and begged her to be seated; she consented with good grace and asked
+what we should have for supper.
+
+I looked at her without saying a word, while my eyes began to fill
+with tears; she observed my emotion and inquired the cause. I could not
+reply. She understood that I had some secret sorrow and forebore any
+attempt to learn the cause; with her handkerchief she dried my tears
+from time to time as we dined.
+
+There was something about this girl at once repulsive and sweet, a
+singular boldness mingled with pity, that I could not understand. If
+she had taken my hand in the street she would have inspired a feeling of
+horror in me; but it seemed so strange that a creature I had never seen
+should come to me, and, without a word, proceed to order supper and
+dry my tears with her handkerchief, that I was rendered speechless; it
+revolted, yet charmed me. What I had done had been done so quickly that
+I seemed to have obeyed some impulse of despair. Perhaps I was a fool,
+or the victim of some supernatural caprice.
+
+"Who are you?" I suddenly cried out; "what do you want of me? How do you
+know who I am? Who told you to dry my tears? Is this your vocation and
+do you think I desire you? I would not touch you with the tip of my
+finger. What are you doing here? Reply at once. Is it money you want?
+What price do you put on your pity?"
+
+I arose and tried to go out, but my feet refused to support me. At the
+same time my eyes failed me, a mortal weakness took possession of me and
+I fell over a stool.
+
+"You are not well," she said, taking me by the arm, "you have drunk,
+like the child that you are, without knowing what you were doing. Sit
+down in this chair and wait until a cab passes. You will tell me where
+you live and I will order the driver to take you home to your mother,
+since," she added, "you really find me ugly."
+
+As she spoke I raised my eyes. Perhaps my drunkenness deceived me, or
+perhaps I had not seen her face clearly before, but suddenly I detected
+in that unfortunate girl a fatal resemblance to my mistress. I shuddered
+at the sight. There is a certain shudder that affects the hair; some say
+it is death passing over the head, but it was not death that passed over
+mine.
+
+It was the malady of the age, or rather was it that girl herself; and it
+was she who, with her pale, halfmocking features and rasping voice, came
+and sat with me at the end of the tavern room.
+
+The moment I perceived her resemblance to my mistress a frightful idea
+occurred to me; it took irresistible possession of my muddled mind, and
+I put it into execution at once.
+
+I escorted that girl to my home; and I arranged my room just as I had
+been wont to do when my mistress was with me, for I was dominated by a
+certain recollection of past joys.
+
+Having arranged my room to my satisfaction, I gave myself up to the
+intoxication of despair. I probed my heart to the bottom in order to
+sound its depths. A Tyrolean song that my loved one used to sing began
+to run through my head:
+
+          Altra volta gieri biele,
+          Blanch' a rossa com' un flore,
+          Ma ora no. Non son piu biele
+          Consumatis dal' amore.
+
+   [Once I was beautiful, white and rosy as a flower; but now I am not.
+   I am no longer beautiful, consumed by the fire of love.]
+
+I listened to the echo of that song as it reverberated through the
+desert of my heart. I said: "Behold the happiness of man; behold my
+little Paradise; behold my queen Mab, a girl from the streets. My
+mistress is no better. Behold what is found at the bottom of the glass
+when the nectar of the gods has been drained; behold the corpse of
+love."
+
+The unfortunate creature heard me singing and began to sing herself. I
+turned pale; for that harsh and rasping voice, coming from the lips
+of one who resembled my mistress, seemed a symbol of my experience. It
+sounded like a gurgle in the throat of debauchery. It seemed to me
+that my mistress, having been unfaithful, must have such a voice. I was
+reminded of Faust who, dancing at the Brocken with a young sorceress,
+saw a red mouse emerge from her throat.
+
+"Stop!" I cried. I arose and approached her.
+
+Let me ask you, O men of the time, bent upon pleasure, who attend the
+balls and the opera and who, upon retiring this night, will seek slumber
+with the aid of some threadbare blasphemy of old Voltaire, some sensible
+satire by Paul Louis Courier, or some essay on economics, you who dally
+with the cold substance of that monstrous water-lily that Reason has
+planted in the hearts of our cities-let me ask, if by some chance this
+obscure book falls into your hands, not to smile with noble disdain or
+shrug your shoulders. Be not too sure that I complain of an imaginary
+evil; be not too sure that human reason is the most beautiful of
+faculties, that there is nothing real here below but quotations on the
+Bourse, gambling in the salon, wine on the table, the glow of health,
+indifference toward others, and the pleasures of the night.
+
+For some day, across your stagnant life, a gust of wind will blow. Those
+beautiful trees, that you water with the stream of oblivion, Providence
+will destroy; despair will overtake you, heedless ones, and tears
+will dim your eyes. I will not say that your mistresses will deceive
+you--that would not grieve you so much as the loss of a horse--but you
+can lose on the Bourse. For the first plunge is not the last, and even
+if you do not gamble, bethink you that your moneyed tranquillity, your
+golden happiness, are in the care of a banker who may fail. In short, I
+tell you, frozen as you are, you are capable of loving something; some
+fibre of your being can be torn and you can give vent to cries that will
+resemble a moan of pain. Some day, wandering about the muddy streets,
+when daily material joys shall have failed, you will find yourself
+seated disconsolately on a deserted bench at midnight.
+
+O men of marble! sublime egoists, inimitable reasoners, who have never
+given way to despair or made a mistake in arithmetic, if this ever
+happens to you, at the hour of your ruin you will remember Abelard when
+he lost Heloise. For he loved her more than you love your horses, your
+money, or your mistresses; and in losing her he lost more than your
+monarch Satan would lose in falling again from the battlements of
+Heaven. He loved her with a love of which the gazettes do not speak,
+the shadow of which your wives and your daughters do not perceive in our
+theatres and in our books. He passed half of his life kissing her white
+forehead, teaching her to sing the psalms of David and the canticles of
+Saul; he had but her on earth alone; and God consoled him.
+
+Believe me, when in your distress you think of Abelard you will not look
+with the same eye upon the rich blasphemy of Voltaire and the badinage
+of Courier; you will feel that human reason can cure illusions but can
+not heal sorrows; that God has use for Reason but that He has not made
+her a sister of Charity. You will find that when the heart of man said:
+"I believe in nothing, for I see nothing," it did not speak the last
+word on the subject. You will look about you for something like hope,
+you will shake the doors of churches to see if they still swing, but
+you will find them walled up; you will think of becoming Trappists, and
+destiny will mock at you, and for reply will give you a bottle of wine
+and a courtesan.
+
+And if you drink the wine, and take the courtesan, you will learn how
+such things come to pass.
+
+
+
+
+PART II
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. AT THE CROSSWAYS
+
+Upon awaking the following morning I experienced a feeling of such deep
+disgust with myself, and felt so degraded in my own eyes that a horrible
+temptation assailed me. Then I sat down and looked gloomily about the
+room, my eyes resting mechanically on a brace of pistols that decorated
+the walls.
+
+When the suffering mind stretches its hands, so to speak, toward
+annihilation, when the soul forms some violent resolution, there seems
+to be an independent physical horror in the act of touching the cold
+steel of some deadly weapon; the fingers stiffen in anguish, the arm
+grows cold and hard. Nature recoils as the condemned walks to death. I
+can not express what I experienced, unless it was as if my pistol had
+said to me: "Think what you are about to do."
+
+Since then I have often wondered what would have happened to me if the
+girl had departed immediately. Doubtless the first flush of shame would
+have subsided; sadness is not despair, and God has joined them in order
+that the one should not leave us alone with the other. Once relieved of
+the presence of that woman, my heart would have become calm. There would
+remain only repentance, for the angel of pardon has forbidden man to
+kill. But I was doubtless cured for life; debauchery was once for all
+driven from my door, and I would never again know the feeling of disgust
+with which its first visit had inspired me.
+
+But it happened otherwise. The struggle which was going on within, the
+poignant reflections which overwhelmed me, the disgust, the fear, the
+wrath, even (for I experienced all these emotions at the same time), all
+these fatal powers nailed me to my chair; and, while I was thus a prey
+to dangerous delirium, the creature, standing before my mirror, thought
+of nothing but how best to arrange her dress and fix her hair, smiling
+the while. This lasted more than a quarter of an hour, during which
+I had almost forgotten her. Finally some slight noise attracted my
+attention to her, and turning about with impatience I ordered her to
+leave the room in such a tone that she at once opened the door and threw
+me a kiss before going out.
+
+At the same moment some one rang the bell of the outer door. I arose
+precipitately, and had only time to open the closet door and motion the
+creature into it, when Desgenais entered the room with two friends.
+
+The great currents that are found in the middle of the ocean resemble
+certain events in life. Fatality, Chance, Providence, what matters the
+name? Those who quarrel over the word admit the fact. Such are not those
+who, speaking of Napoleon or Caesar, say:
+
+"He was a man of Providence." They apparently believe that heroes merit
+the attention which Heaven shows them, and that the color of purple
+attracts gods as well as bulls.
+
+As to what rules the course of these little events, or what objects and
+circumstances, in appearance the least important, lead to changes in
+fortune, there is not, to my mind, a deeper cause and opportunity for
+thought. For something in our ordinary actions resembles the little
+blunted arrows we shoot at targets; little by little we make of our
+successive deeds an abstract and regular entity that we call our
+prudence or our will. Then comes a gust of wind, and lo! the smallest of
+these arrows, the very lightest and most ineffective, is wafted beyond
+our vision, beyond the very horizon to the dwelling-place of God
+himself.
+
+What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then! What becomes of those
+phantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence? Force itself, that
+mistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vain
+do we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to ward
+off with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns aside
+the point, and all the impetus of effort, deflected into space, serves
+only to precipitate our fall.
+
+Thus, at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I had
+committed, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when a
+great horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustain
+a dangerous test.
+
+Desgenais was in good humor; stretching himself out on my sofa he began
+to chaff me about my appearance, which indicated, he said, that I had
+not slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I
+begged him to spare me.
+
+He appeared to pay no attention to me, but, warned by my tone, soon
+broached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that my
+mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three; that is to say,
+she had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy,
+having discovered her inconstancy, made a great ado and all Paris knew
+it. At first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais's words, as I
+was not listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three
+times in detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My first
+impulse was to laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of
+women; but it was no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?"
+was all I could say.
+
+Desgenais's friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had been
+surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene ensued that
+all Paris knew by heart. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or
+remain exposed to the most bitter taunts.
+
+It was easy for me to see that in all this ridicule a great part was
+directed at me, not only on account of my duel in connection with this
+woman, but from my whole conduct in regard to her. To say that she
+deserved severest censure, that she had perhaps committed far worse sins
+than those she was charged with, was but to make me feel that I had been
+one of her dupes.
+
+All this did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of
+curing me of my love, and was prepared to treat my disease heroically.
+A long friendship, founded on mutual services, gave him certain rights,
+and as his motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.
+
+Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame
+increase, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious that
+he could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent--a course that
+irritated me still more.
+
+In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room.
+Although the recital of the story was well-nigh insupportable, I wished
+to hear it again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but
+in vain. Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself
+to be a most virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room he
+looked at me calmly, as if I were a caged fox.
+
+I can not express my state of mind. That a woman who had so long been
+the idol of my heart, and who, since I had lost her, had caused me such
+deep affliction, the only one I had ever loved, for whom indeed I
+might sorrow till death, should become suddenly a shameless wretch, the
+subject of coarse jests, of universal censure and scandal! It seemed to
+me that I felt on my shoulder the brand of a glowing iron and that I was
+marked with a burning stigma.
+
+The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From
+time to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance.
+Desgenais did not leave me; he knew very well what he was doing, and saw
+that I might go to any lengths in my present desperate condition.
+
+When he found that he had brought me to the desired point, he did not
+hesitate to deal the finishing stroke.
+
+"Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. My
+dear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certain
+night when the moon was shining brightly. While the two lovers were
+quarrelling over their fair one, and talking of cutting her throat as
+she sat before the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seen
+to pass up and down before the house, a shadow that resembled you so
+closely that it was decided it must be you."
+
+"Who says so?" I asked, "who saw me in the street?"
+
+"Your mistress herself; she told it to every one who cared to listen,
+just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you love
+her still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you can
+think of; but you ought to know that she talks about you publicly."
+
+I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise the
+truth my face has betrayed me. 'Amour propre', the shame of confessing
+my weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort.
+"It is very true that I was in the street," I thought, "but had I known
+that my mistress was as bad as she is, I should not have been there."
+
+Finally I persuaded myself that I had not been seen distinctly; I
+attempted to deny it. A deep flush suffused my face and I felt the
+futility of my feint. Desgenais smiled.
+
+"Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far."
+
+"But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know--"
+
+Desgenais compressed his lips as if to say:
+
+"You knew enough."
+
+I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so
+hot that I could not continue.
+
+"I in the street bathed in tears, in despair, and during that time
+that encounter within! What! that very night! Mocked by her! Surely,
+Desgenais, you are dreaming. Is it true? Can it be possible? What can
+you know about it?"
+
+Thus talking at haphazard, I lost my head and an irresistible feeling of
+wrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted.
+
+"My friend," said Desgenais, "do not take the thing so seriously. The
+solitary life you have been leading for the last two months has made
+you ill; I see you have need of distraction. Come to supper with me this
+evening, and tomorrow morning we will go to the country."
+
+The tone in which he said this hurt me more than anything else; in vain
+I tried to control myself. "Yes," I thought, "deceived by that woman,
+poisoned by horrible suggestions, having no refuge either in work or in
+fatigue, having for my only safeguard against despair and ruin a sacred
+but frightful grief. O God! it is that grief, that sacred relic of my
+sorrow, that has just crumbled in my hands! It is no longer, my love,
+it is my despair that is insulted. Mockery! She mocks at me as I weep!"
+That appeared incredible to me. All the memories of the past crowded
+about my heart when I thought of it. I seemed to see the spectres of
+our nights of love; they hung over a bottomless, eternal abyss, black
+as chaos, and from the bottom of that abyss arose a shriek of laughter,
+sweet but mocking, that said: "Behold your reward!"
+
+Had I been told that the world mocked at me I would have replied: "So
+much the worse for it," and I should not have been angry; but at the
+same time I was told that my mistress was a shameless wretch. Thus, on
+one side, the ridicule was public, vouched for, stated by two witnesses
+who, before telling what they knew, must have felt that the world was
+against me; and, on the other hand, what reply could I make? How could I
+escape? What could I do when the centre of my life, my heart itself, was
+ruined, killed, annihilated. What could I say when the woman for whom I
+had braved all, ridicule as well as blame, for whom I had borne a load
+of misery, whom I loved, and who loved another, of whom I demanded no
+love, of whom I desired nothing but permission to weep at her door, no
+favor but that of vowing my youth to her memory and of writing her name,
+her name alone, on the tomb of my hopes!--Ah! when I thought of it, I
+felt the hand of death heavy upon me. That woman mocked me, it was she
+who first pointed her finger at me, singling me out to the idle crowd
+which surrounded her; it was she, it was those lips erstwhile so many
+times pressed to mine, it was that body, that soul of my life, my flesh
+and my blood, it was from that source the injury came; yea, the last
+pang of all, the most cowardly and the most bitter, the pitiless laugh
+that sneers in the face of grief.
+
+The more I thought of it the more enraged I became. Did I say enraged?
+I do not know what passion possessed me. What I do know is that an
+inordinate desire for vengeance entered into my soul. How could I
+revenge myself on a woman? I would have paid any price for a weapon
+that could be used against her. But I had none, not even the one she had
+employed; I could not pay her in her own coin.
+
+Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet.
+I had forgotten my prisoner.
+
+"Listen to me!" I cried, rising, "I have loved, I have loved like a
+fool. I deserve all the ridicule you have subjected me to. But, by
+Heaven! I will show you something that will prove to you that I am not
+such a fool as you think."
+
+With these words I pulled aside the curtain and exposed the interior of
+the closet. The girl was trying to conceal herself in a corner.
+
+"Go in, if you choose," I said to Desgenais; "you who call me a fool for
+loving a woman, see how your teaching has affected me. Do you think I
+passed last night under the windows of--? But that is not all," I added,
+"that is not all I have to say. You give a supper to-night and to-morrow
+go to the country; I am with you, and shall not leave you from now on.
+We will not separate, but will pass the entire day together. Are you
+with me? Agreed! I have tried to make of my heart the mausoleum of my
+love, but I will bury my love in another tomb."
+
+With these words I sat down, marvelling how indignation can solace grief
+and restore happiness. Whoever is astonished to learn that, from that
+day, I completely changed my course of life does not know the heart of
+man, and does not understand that a young man of twenty may hesitate
+before taking a step, but does not retreat when he has once taken it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. THE CHOSEN WAY
+
+The first steps in debauchery resemble vertigo, for one feels a sort of
+terror mingled with sensuous delight, as if peering downward from some
+giddy--height. While shameful, secret dissipation ruins the noblest
+of men, in the frank and open defiance of conventionality there is
+something that compels respect even in the most depraved. He who goes
+at nightfall, muffled in his cloak, to sully his life in secret, and
+clandestinely to shake off the hypocrisy of the day, resembles an
+Italian who strikes his enemy from behind, not daring to provoke him to
+open quarrel. There are assassinations in the dark corners of the city
+under shelter of the night. He who goes his way without concealment
+says: "Every one does it and conceals it; I do it and do not conceal
+it." Thus speaks pride, and once that cuirass has been buckled on, it
+glitters with the refulgent light of day.
+
+It is said that Damocles saw a sword suspended over his head. Thus
+libertines seem to have something over their heads which says: "Go on,
+but remember, I hang not by a thread." Those masked carriages that
+are seen during Carnival are the faithful images of their life. A
+dilapidated open wagon, flaming torches lighting up painted faces; some
+laugh, some sing. Among them you see what appear to be women; they are
+in fact what once were women, with human semblance. They are caressed
+and insulted; no one knows who they are or what their names. They float
+and stagger under the flaming torches in an intoxication that thinks of
+nothing, and over which, it is said, a pitying God watches.
+
+But if the first impression be astonishment, the second is horror, and
+the third pity. There is evident so much force, or rather such an
+abuse of force, that often the noblest characters and the strongest
+constitutions are ruined. The life appears hardy and dangerous to these;
+they would make prodigies of themselves; bound to debauchery as Mazeppa
+to his horse, they gallop, making Centaurs of themselves and seeing
+neither the bloody trail that the shreds of their flesh leave, nor the
+eyes of the wolves that gleam in hungry pursuit, nor the desert, nor the
+vultures.
+
+Launched into that life by the circumstances that I have recounted, I
+must now describe what I saw there.
+
+Before I had a close view of one of those famous gatherings called
+theatrical masked balls, I had heard the debauchery of the Regency
+spoken of, and a reference to the time when a queen of France appeared
+disguised as a violet-seller. I found there flower-merchants disguised
+as vivandieres. I expected to find libertinism there, but in fact I
+found none at all. One sees only the scum of libertinism, some blows,
+and drunken women lying in deathlike stupor on broken bottles.
+
+Ere I saw debauchery at table I had heard of the suppers of Heliogabolus
+and of the philosophy of Greece, which made the pleasures of the senses
+a kind of natural religion. I expected to find oblivion or something
+like joy; I found there the worst thing in the world: ennui trying to
+live, and some Englishmen who said: "I do this or that, and so I amuse
+myself. I have spent so many sovereigns, and have procured so much
+pleasure." And thus they wear out their life on that grindstone.
+
+I had known nothing of courtesans when I heard of Aspasia, who sat on
+the knees of Alcibiades while discussing philosophy with Socrates.
+I expected to find something bold and insolent, but gay, free, and
+vivacious, something with the sparkle of champagne; I found a yawning
+mouth, a fixed eye, and light fingers.
+
+Before I saw titled courtesans I had read Boccaccio and Bandello; above
+all, I had read Shakespeare. I had dreamed of those beautiful triflers;
+of those cherubim of hell. A thousand times I had drawn those heads so
+poetically foolish, so enterprising in audacity, heads of harebrained
+mistresses who wreck a romance with a glance, and who pass through life
+by waves and by pulsations, like the sirens of the tides. I thought of
+the fairies of the modern tales, who are always drunk with love if not
+with wine. I found, instead, writers of letters, exact arrangers of
+assignations, who practised lying as an art and cloaked their baseness
+under hypocrisy, whose only thought was to give themselves for profit
+and to forget.
+
+Ere first I looked on the gaming-table I had heard of floods of gold,
+of fortunes made in a quarter of an hour, and of a lord of the court of
+Henry IV, who won on one card a hundred thousand louis. I found a narrow
+room where workmen who had but one shirt rented a suit for the evening
+for twenty sous, police stationed at the door, and starving wretches
+staking a crust of bread against a pistol-shot.
+
+Unknown to me were those dance-halls, public or other, open to any of
+those thirty thousand women who are permitted to sell themselves in
+Paris; I had heard of the saturnalia of all ages, of every imaginable
+orgy, from Babylon to Rome, from the temple of Priapus to the
+Parc-aux-Cerfs, and I have always seen written on the sill of that door
+the word, "Pleasure." I found nothing suggestive of pleasure, but in its
+place another word; and it has always seemed ineffaceable, not graven
+in that glorious metal that takes the sun's light, but in the palest of
+all, the cold colors of which seem tinted by the moonlight silver.
+
+The first time I saw a mob, it was a depressing morning--Ash Wednesday,
+near Courtille. A cold, fine rain had been falling since the evening
+before; the streets were covered with pools of water. Carriages with
+blinds down were strung out hither and thither, crowding between hedges
+of hideous men and women standing on the sidewalks. That sinister wall
+of spectators had tigerish eyes, red with wine, gleaming with hatred.
+The carriage-wheels splashed mud over them, but they did not move. I was
+standing on the front seat of an open carriage; from time to time a man
+in rags would step out from the wall, hurl a torrent of abuse at us,
+then cover us with a cloud of flour. Mud would soon follow; yet we kept
+on our way toward the Isle of Love and the pretty wood of Romainville,
+consecrated by so many sweet kisses. One of my friends fell from his
+seat into the mud, narrowly escaping death on the paving. The people
+threw themselves on him to overpower him, and we were obliged to hasten
+to his assistance. One of the trumpeters who preceded us on horseback
+was struck on the shoulder by a paving-stone; the flour had given out. I
+had never heard of anything like that.
+
+I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. AFRICAN HOSPITALITY
+
+Desgenais had planned a reunion of young people at his country house.
+The best wines, a splendid table, gaming, dancing, hunting, nothing
+was lacking. Desgenais was rich and generous. He combined an antique
+hospitality with modern ways. Moreover one could always find in his
+house the best books; his conversation was that of a man of learning and
+culture. He was a problem.
+
+I took with me a taciturn humor that nothing could overcome; he
+respected it scrupulously. I did not reply to his questions and he
+dropped the subject; he was satisfied that I had forgotten my mistress.
+I went to the chase and appeared at the table, and was as convivial as
+the best; he asked no more.
+
+One of the most unfortunate tendencies of inexperienced youth is to
+judge of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that
+there is a race of men who are also very unhappy; a race which says to
+youth: "You are right in believing in evil, for we know what it is."
+I have heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium between
+good and evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and men
+worthy of them--apparently love, but in reality a passing sentiment.
+They speak of love as of an engine constructed by a wagon-builder or a
+building-contractor. They said to me: "This and that are agreed upon,
+such and such phrases are spoken, and certain others are repeated
+in reply; letters are written in a prescribed manner, you kneel in a
+certain attitude." All is regulated as in a parade.
+
+This made me laugh. Unfortunately for me, I can not tell a woman whom I
+despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention
+and that she will not be deceived by it. I have never bent my knee to
+the ground when my heart did not go with it. So that class of women
+known as facile is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with
+them, it is without knowing it, and through innate simplicity.
+
+I can understand that one's soul can be put aside, but not that it
+should be handled. That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I
+do not intend either to boast or abase myself. Above all things I hate
+those women who laugh at love, and I permit them to reciprocate the
+sentiment; there will never be any dispute between us.
+
+Such women are beneath courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as
+they; but courtesans are capable of love, and these women are not. I
+remember a woman who loved me, and who said to a man many times richer
+than I, with whom she was living: "I am weary of you, I am going to my
+lover." That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised
+by society.
+
+I passed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress
+had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I
+could not overcome.
+
+At the sight of that world which surrounded and was so new to me,
+I experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and
+profound, which made me look timorously at things as does a restless
+horse. Then an incident occurred which made a deep impression on me.
+
+Desgenais had with him a very beautiful woman who loved him much. One
+evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her
+admirable, as much on account of her attachment for him as because of
+her beauty. In short, I praised her highly and with warmth, giving him
+to understand that he ought to be happy.
+
+He made no reply. It was his manner, for he was the dryest of men. That
+night when all had retired, and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes
+I heard a knock at my door. I supposed it was some one of my friends who
+could not sleep, and invited him to enter.
+
+There appeared before my astonished eyes a woman, very pale, carrying
+a bouquet in her hands, to which was attached a piece of paper bearing
+these words "To Octave, from his friend Desgenais."
+
+I had no sooner read these words than a flash of light came to me. I
+understood the meaning of this action of Desgenais in making me this
+African gift. It made me think. The poor woman was weeping and did not
+dare dry her tears for fear I would see them. I said to her: "You may
+return and fear nothing."
+
+She replied that if she should return Desgenais would send her back
+to Paris. "Yes," I replied, "you are beautiful and I am susceptible to
+temptation, but you weep, and your tears not being shed for me, I care
+nothing for the rest. Go, therefore, and I will see to it that you are
+not sent back to Paris."
+
+One of my peculiarities is that meditation, which with many is a firm
+and constant quality of the mind, is in my case an instinct independent
+of the will, and seizes me like a fit of passion. It comes to me at
+intervals in its own good time, regardless of my will and in almost
+any place. But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes me
+whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it.
+
+When the woman had left, I sat up.
+
+"My friend," I said to myself, "behold what has been sent you. If
+Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have
+been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with
+her.
+
+"Have you well considered it? A sublime and divine mystery is
+accomplished. Such a being costs nature the most vigilant maternal care;
+yet man, who would cure you, can think of nothing better than to offer
+you lips which belong to him in order to teach you how to cease to love.
+
+"How was it accomplished? Others than you have doubtless admired her,
+but they ran no risk. She might employ all the seduction she pleased;
+you alone were in danger.
+
+"It must be that Desgenais has a heart, since he lives. In what respect
+does he differ from you. He is a man who believes in nothing, fears
+nothing, who knows no care or ennui, perhaps, and yet it is clear that
+a scratch on the finger would fill him with terror, for if his body
+abandons him, what becomes of him? He lives only in the body. What sort
+of creature is he who treats his soul as the flagellants treat their
+bodies? Can one live without a head?
+
+"Think of it. Here is a man who possesses one of the most beautiful
+women in the world; he is young and ardent; he finds her beautiful and
+tells her so; she replies that she loves him. Some one touches him on
+the shoulder and says to him: 'She is unfaithful.' Nothing more, he is
+sure of himself. If some one had said: 'She is a poisoner,' he would,
+perhaps have continued to love her, he would not have given her a kiss
+less; but she is unfaithful, and it is no more a question of love with
+him than of the star of Saturn.
+
+"What is there in that word? A word that is merited, positive,
+withering, at will. But why? It is still but a word. Can you kill a body
+with a word?
+
+"And if you love that body? Some one pours a glass of wine and says to
+you: 'Do not love that, for you can get four for six francs.' And it may
+intoxicate you!
+
+"But Desgenais loves his mistress, since he keeps her; he must,
+therefore, have a peculiar fashion of loving? No, he has not; his
+fashion of loving is not love, and he cares no more for the woman who
+merits affection than for her who is unworthy. He loves no one, simply
+and truly.
+
+"What has led him to this? Was he born thus? To love is as natural as
+to eat and to drink. He is not a man. Is he a dwarf or a giant? Is
+he always so impassive? Upon what does he feed, what beverage does
+he drink? Behold him at thirty like old Mithridates; poisons are his
+familiar friends.
+
+"There is the great secret, my child, the key you must grasp. By
+whatever process of reasoning debauchery may be defended, it will
+be proven that it is natural at a given day, hour, or night, but not
+to-morrow nor every day. There is not a nation on earth which has not
+considered woman either the companion and consolation of man or the
+sacred instrument of life, and has not under either of these two forms
+honored her. And yet here is an armed warrior who leaps into the abyss
+that God has dug with His own hands between man and brute; as well might
+he deny that fact. What mute Titan is this who dares repress under the
+kisses of the body the love of the soul, and place on human lips the
+stigma of the brute, the seal of eternal silence?
+
+"There is a word that should be studied. In it you hear the faint moan
+of those dismal labyrinths we know as secret societies, mysteries that
+the angels of destruction whisper in the ear of night as it descends
+upon the earth. That man is better or worse than God has made him. He
+is like a sterile woman, in whom nature has not completed her work, or
+there is distilled in the shadow of his life some venomous poison.
+
+"Ah! yes, neither occupation nor study has been able to cure you, my
+friend. To forget and to learn, that is your device. You turn the leaves
+of dead books; you are too young for antiquities. Look about you, the
+pale throng of men surrounds you. The eyes of life's sphynx glitter in
+the midst of divine hieroglyphics; decipher the book of life! Courage,
+scholar, launch out on the Styx, the deathless flood, and let the waves
+of sorrow waft you to oblivion or to God."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. MARCO
+
+"All the good there was in it, supposing there was some good in it, was
+that false pleasures were the seeds of sorrow and of bitterness which
+fatigued me to the point of exhaustion." Such are the simple words
+spoken with reference to his youth by a man who was the most manly of
+any who have lived--St. Augustine. Of those who have done as I, few
+would say those words; all have them in their hearts; I have found no
+others in mine.
+
+Returning to Paris in the month of December, I passed the winter
+attending pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving
+Desgenais, who was delighted with me: not so was I with him. The more
+I went about, the more unhappy I became. It seemed to me after a short
+time that the world which had at first appeared so strange would hamper
+me, so to speak, at every step; yet where I had expected to see a
+spectre, I discovered, upon closer inspection, a shadow.
+
+Desgenais asked what ailed me.
+
+"And you?" I asked. "What is the matter with you? Have you lost some
+relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?"
+
+At times he seemed to understand and did not question me. Occasionally
+we sat down at a cafe table and drank until our heads swam; or in the
+middle of the night took horses and rode ten or twelve leagues into the
+country; returning to the bath, then to table, then to gambling, then
+to bed; and on reaching mine, I fell on my knees and wept. That was my
+evening prayer.
+
+Strange to say, I took pride in passing for what I was not, I boasted
+of being worse than I really was, and experienced a sort of melancholy
+pleasure in doing so. When I had actually done what I claimed, I felt
+nothing but ennui, but when I invented an account of some folly, some
+story of debauchery, or a recital of an orgy with which I had nothing to
+do, it seemed to me that my heart was better satisfied, although I know
+not why.
+
+Whenever I joined a party of pleasure-seekers and visited some spot
+made sacred by tender associations I became stupid, went off by myself,
+looked gloomily at the trees and bushes as if I would like to trample
+them under my feet. Upon my return I would remain silent for hours.
+
+The baleful idea that truth is nudity beset me on every occasion.
+
+"The world," I said to myself, "is accustomed to call its disguise
+virtue, its chaplet religion, its flowing mantle convenience. Honor and
+Morality are man's chambermaids; he drinks in his wine the tears of the
+poor in spirit who believe in him; while the sun is high in the heavens
+he walks about with downcast eye; he goes to church, to the ball, to
+the assembly, and when evening has come he removes his mantle and there
+appears a naked bacchante with the hoofs of a goat."
+
+But such thoughts aroused a feeling of horror, for I felt that if the
+body was under the clothing, the skeleton was under the body. "Is it
+possible that that is all?" I asked in spite of myself. Then I returned
+to the city, I saw a little girl take her mother's arm, and I became
+like a child.
+
+Although I had followed my friends into all manner of dissipation, I had
+no desire to resume my place in the world of society. The sight of women
+caused me intolerable pain; I could not touch a woman's hand without
+trembling. I had decided never to love again.
+
+Nevertheless I returned from the ball one evening so sick at heart that
+I feared that it was love. I happened to have had beside me at supper
+the most charming and the most distinguished woman whom it had ever been
+my good fortune to meet. When I closed my eyes to sleep I saw her image
+before me. I thought I was lost, and I at once resolved that I would
+avoid meeting her again. A sort of fever seized me, and I lay on my
+bed for fifteen days, repeating over and over the lightest words I had
+exchanged with her.
+
+As there is no spot on earth where one can be so well-known by
+his neighbors as in Paris, it was not long before the people of my
+acquaintance who had seen me with Desgenais began to accuse me of being
+a great libertine. In that I admired the discernment of the world: in
+proportion as I had passed for inexperienced and sensitive at the
+time of my rupture with my mistress, I was now considered corrupt and
+hardened. Some one had just told me that it was clear I had never loved
+that woman, that I had doubtless merely played at love, thereby paying
+me a compliment which I really did not deserve; but the truth of it was
+that I was so swollen with vanity I was charmed with it.
+
+My desire was to pass as blase, even while I was filled with desires and
+my exalted imagination was carrying me beyond all limits. I began to
+say that I could not make any headway with the women; my head was
+filled with chimeras which I preferred to realities. In short, my unique
+pleasure consisted in altering the nature of facts. If a thought were
+but extraordinary, if it shocked common sense, I became its ardent
+champion at the risk of advocating the most dangerous sentiments.
+
+My greatest fault was imitation of everything that struck me, not by
+its beauty but by its strangeness, and not wishing to confess myself
+an imitator I resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original.
+According to my idea, nothing was good or even tolerable; nothing was
+worth the trouble of turning the head, and yet when I had become warmed
+up in a discussion it seemed as if there was no expression in the French
+language strong enough to sustain my cause; but my warmth would subside
+as soon as my opponents ranged themselves on my side.
+
+It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the
+life I was leading I was unwilling to change it:
+
+        Simigliante a quells 'nferma
+        Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume,
+        Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.--DANTE.
+
+Thus I tortured my mind to give it change, and I fell into all these
+vagaries in order to get away from myself.
+
+But while my vanity was thus occupied, my heart was suffering, so that
+ever within me were a man who laughed and a man who wept. It was a
+perpetual struggle between my head and my heart. My own mockeries
+frequently caused me great pain and my deepest sorrows aroused a desire
+to burst into laughter.
+
+One day a man boasted of being proof against superstitious fears, in
+fact, fear of every kind. His friends put a human skeleton in his bed
+and then concealed themselves in an adjoining room to wait for his
+return. They did not hear any noise, but in the morning they found him
+dressed and sitting on the bed playing with the bones; he had lost his
+reason.
+
+I might be that man but for the fact that my favorite bones are those of
+a well-beloved skeleton; they are the debris of my first love, all that
+remains of the past.
+
+But it must not be supposed that there were no joyous moments in all
+this maddened whirl. Among Desgenais's companions were several young
+men of distinction and a number of artists. We sometimes passed together
+delightful evenings imagining ourselves libertines. One of them was
+infatuated with a beautiful singer, who charmed us with her fresh and
+expressive voice. How many times we sat listening to her while supper
+was waiting! How many times, when the flagons had been emptied, one
+of us held a volume of Lamartine and read aloud in a voice choked by
+emotion! Every other thought disappeared. The hours passed by unheeded.
+What strange "libertines" we were! We did not speak a word and there
+were tears in our eyes.
+
+Desgenais especially, habitually the coldest and dryest of men,
+was inexplicable on such occasions; he delivered himself of such
+extraordinary sentiments that he might have been a poet in delirium. But
+after these effusions he would be seized with furious joy. When
+warmed by wine he would break everything within reach; the genius of
+destruction stalked forth in him armed to the teeth. I have seen him
+pickup a chair and hurl it through a closed window.
+
+I could not help making a study of this singular man. He appeared to me
+the exact type of a class which ought to exist somewhere but which
+was unknown to me. One could never tell whether his outbursts were the
+despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child.
+
+During the fete, in particular, he was in such a state of nervous
+excitement that he acted like a schoolboy. Once he persuaded me to go
+out on foot with him, muffled in grotesque costumes, with masks and
+instruments of music. We promenaded all night, in the midst of the most
+frightful din of horrible sounds. We found a driver asleep on his box
+and unhitched his horses; then, pretending we had just come from the
+ball, set up a great cry. The coachman started up, cracked his whip, and
+his horses started off on a trot, leaving him seated on the box. That
+same evening we had passed through the Champs Elysees; Desgenais, seeing
+another carriage passing, stopped it after the manner of a highwayman;
+he intimidated the coachman by threats and forced him to climb down and
+lie flat on his stomach. He opened the carriage door and found within
+a young man and a lady motionless with fright. He whispered to me to
+imitate him, and we began to enter one door and go out by the other,
+so that in the obscurity the poor young people thought they saw a
+procession of bandits going through their carriage.
+
+As I understand it, the men who say that the world gives experience
+ought to be astonished if they are believed. The world is merely a
+number of whirlpools, each one independent of the others; they circle
+in groups like flocks of birds. There is no resemblance between the
+different quarters of the same city, and the denizen of the Chaussee
+d'Antin has as much to learn at Marais as at Lisbon. It is true
+that these various whirlpools are traversed, and have been since the
+beginning of the world, by seven personages who are always the same: the
+first is called hope; the second, conscience; the third, opinion; the
+fourth, desire; the fifth, sorrow; the sixth, pride; and the seventh,
+man.
+
+"But," the reader objects, "where are the women in all this?"
+
+Oh! creatures who bear the name of women and who have passed like dreams
+through a life that was itself a dream, what shall I say of you? Where
+there is no shadow of hope can there be memory? Where shall I seek
+for it? What is there more dumb in human memory? What is there more
+completely forgotten than you?
+
+If I must speak of women I will mention two; here is one of them:
+
+I ask what would be expected of a poor sewing-girl, young and pretty,
+about eighteen, with a romantic affair on her hands that is purely a
+question of love; with little knowledge of life and no idea of morals;
+eternally sewing near a window before which processions were not allowed
+to pass by order of the police, but near which a dozen young women
+prowled who were licensed and recognized by these same police; what
+could you expect of her, when after wearying her hands and eyes all day
+long on a dress or a hat, she leans out of that window as night falls?
+That dress she has sewed, that hat she has trimmed with her poor and
+honest hands in order to earn a supper for the household, she sees
+passing along the street on the head or on the body of a notorious
+woman. Thirty times a day a hired carriage stops before the door, and
+there steps out a dissolute character, numbered as is the hack in which
+she rides, who stands before a glass and primps, taking off and putting
+on the results of many days' work on the part of the poor girl who
+watches her. She sees that woman draw from her pocket gold in plenty,
+she who has but one louis a week; she looks at her feet and her head,
+she examines her dress and eyes her as she steps into her carriage; and
+then, what can you expect? When night has fallen, after a day when work
+has been scarce, when her mother is sick, she opens her door, stretches
+out her hand and stops a passerby.
+
+Such is the story of a girl I once knew. She could play the piano, knew
+something of accounts, a little designing, even a little history and
+grammar, and thus a little of everything. How many times have I regarded
+with poignant compassion that sad work of nature, mutilated by society!
+How many times have I followed in the darkness the pale and vacillating
+gleams of a spark flickering in abortive life! How many times have I
+tried to revive the fire that smouldered under those ashes! Alas! her
+long hair was the color of ashes, and we called her Cendrillon.
+
+I was not rich enough to help her; Desgenais, at my request, interested
+himself in the poor creature; he made her learn over again all of which
+she had a slight knowledge. But she could make no appreciable progress.
+When her teacher left her she would fold her arms and for hours look
+silently across the public square. What days! What misery! One day
+I threatened that if she did not work she should have no money; she
+silently resumed her task, and I learned that she stole out of the house
+a few minutes later. Where did she go? God knows. Before she left I
+asked her to embroider a purse for me. I still have that sad relic, it
+hangs in my room, a monument of the ruin that is wrought here below.
+
+But here is another case:
+
+It was about ten in the evening when, after a riotous day, we
+repaired to Desgenais's, who had left us some hours before to make
+his preparations. The orchestra was ready and the room filled when we
+arrived.
+
+Most of the dancers were girls from the theatres.
+
+As soon as we entered I plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That
+delightful exercise has always been dear to me; I know of nothing more
+beautiful, more worthy of a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances
+compared with the waltz are but insipid conventions or pretexts for
+insignificant converse. It is truly to possess a woman, in a certain
+sense, to hold her for a half hour in your arms, and to draw her on in
+the dance, palpitating in spite of herself, in such a way that it can
+not be positively asserted whether she is being protected or
+seduced. Some deliver themselves up to the pleasure with such modest
+voluptuousness, with such sweet and pure abandon, that one does not know
+whether he experiences desire or fear, and whether, if pressed to the
+heart, they would faint or break in pieces like the rose. Germany, where
+that dance was invented, is surely the land of love.
+
+I held in my arms a superb danseuse from an Italian theatre who had come
+to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a Bacchante with a
+robe of panther's skin. Never have I seen anything so languishing as
+that creature. She was tall and slender, and while dancing with extreme
+rapidity, had the appearance of allowing herself to be led; to see her
+one would think that she would tire her partner, but such was not the
+case, for she moved as if by enchantment.
+
+On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which
+intoxicated me. She yielded to my encircling arms as would an Indian
+vine, with a gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed
+enveloped with a perfumed veil of silk. At each turn there could be
+heard a light tinkling from her metal girdle; she moved so gracefully
+that I thought I beheld a beautiful star, and her smile was that of a
+fairy about to vanish from human sight. The tender and voluptuous music
+of the dance seemed to come from her lips, while her head, covered with
+a wilderness of black tresses, bent backward as if her neck was too
+slender to support its weight.
+
+When the waltz was over I threw myself on a chair; my heart beat wildly:
+"Oh, heaven!" I murmured, "how can it be possible? Oh, superb monster!
+Oh! beautiful reptile! How you writhe, how you coil in and out, sweet
+adder, with supple and spotted skin! Thy cousin the serpent has taught
+thee to coil about the tree of life holding between thy lips the apple
+of temptation. Oh! Melusina! Melusina! The hearts of men are thine. You
+know it well, enchantress, with your soft languor that seems to suspect
+nothing! You know very well that you ruin, that you destroy; you know
+that he who touches you will suffer; you know that he dies who basks in
+your smile, who breathes the perfume of your flowers and comes under
+the magic influence of your charms; that is why you abandon yourself so
+freely, that is why your smile is so sweet, your flowers so fresh; that
+is why you place your arms so gently on our shoulders. Oh, heaven! what
+is your will with us?"
+
+Professor Halle has said a terrible thing: "Woman is the nervous part of
+humanity, man the muscular." Humboldt himself, that serious thinker, has
+said that an invisible atmosphere surrounds the human nerves.
+
+I do not quote the dreamers who watch the wheeling flight of
+Spallanzani's bat, and who think they have found a sixth sense in
+nature. Such as nature is, her mysteries are terrible enough, her powers
+mighty enough--that nature which creates us, mocks at us, and kills
+us--without our seeking to deepen the shadows that surround us. But
+where is the man who thinks he has lived that will deny woman's power
+over us? Has he ever taken leave of a beautiful dancer with trembling
+hands? Has he ever felt that indefinable enervating magnetism which, in
+the midst of the dance, under the influence of music, and the warmth,
+making all else seem cold, that comes from a young woman, electrifying
+her and leaping from her to him as the perfume of aloes from the
+swinging censer?
+
+I was struck with stupor. I was familiar with that sensation similar
+to drunkenness which characterizes love; I knew that it was the
+aureole which crowned my well-beloved. But that she should excite such
+heart-throbs, that she should evoke such phantoms with nothing but her
+beauty, her flowers, her motley costume, and a certain trick of dancing
+she had learned from some merry-andrew; and that without a word, without
+a thought, without even appearing to know it! What was chaos, if it
+required seven days to make such a being?
+
+It was not love, however, that I felt, and I do not know how to describe
+it unless I call it thirst. For the first time I felt vibrating in
+my body a cord that was not attuned to my heart. The sight of that
+beautiful animal had aroused a responsive roar from another animal in my
+nature. I felt sure I could never tell that woman that I loved her, or
+that she pleased me, or even that she was beautiful; there was nothing
+on my lips but a desire to kiss her, and say to her: "Make a girdle of
+those listless arms and lean that head on my breast; place that sweet
+smile on my lips." My body loved hers; I was under the influence of
+beauty as of wine.
+
+Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there.
+
+"Who is that woman?" I asked.
+
+"What woman? Of whom do you speak?"
+
+I took his arm and led him into the hall. The Italian saw us coming and
+smiled. I stopped and stepped back.
+
+"Ah!" said Desgenais, "you have danced with Marco?"
+
+"Who is Marco?" I asked.
+
+"Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please
+you?"
+
+"No," I replied, "I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; I
+have no further interest in her."
+
+Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed
+him.
+
+"You are very prompt," he said, "Marco is no ordinary woman. She was
+almost the wife of M. de------, ambassador to Milan. One of his friends
+brought her here. Yet," he added, "you may rest assured I shall speak to
+her. We shall not allow you to die so long as there is any hope for you
+or any resource left untried. It is possible that she will remain to
+supper."
+
+He left me, and I was alarmed to see him approach her. But they were
+soon lost in the crowd.
+
+"Is it possible," I murmured; "have I come to this? Oh! heavens! is
+this what I am going to love? But after all," I thought, "my senses have
+spoken, but not my heart."
+
+Thus I tried to calm myself. A few minutes later Desgenais tapped me on
+the shoulder.
+
+"We shall go to supper at once," said he. "You will give your arm to
+Marco."
+
+"Listen," I said; "I hardly know what I am experiencing. It seems to me
+I see limping Vulcan covering Venus with kisses while his beard smokes
+with the fumes of the forge. He fixes his staring eyes on the dazzling
+skin of his prey. His happiness in the possession of his prize makes him
+laugh for joy, and at the same time shudder with happiness, and then he
+remembers his father, Jupiter, seated on high among the gods."
+
+Desgenais looked at me but made no reply; taking me by the arm he led me
+away.
+
+"I am tired," he said, "and I am sad; this noise wearies me. Let us go
+to supper, that will refresh us."
+
+The supper was splendid, but I could not touch it.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" asked Marco.
+
+I sat like a statue, making no reply and looking at her from head to
+foot with amazement.
+
+She began to laugh, and Desgenais, who could see us from his table,
+joined her. Before her was a large crystal glass cut in the shape of a
+chalice, which reflected the glittering lights on its thousand sparkling
+facets, shining like the prism and revealing the seven colors of the
+rainbow. She listlessly extended her arm and filled it to the brim with
+Cyprian and a sweetened Oriental wine which I afterward found so bitter
+on the deserted Lido.
+
+"Here," she said, presenting it to me, "per voi, bambino mio."
+
+"For you and for me," I said, presenting her my glass in turn.
+
+She moistened her lips while I emptied my glass, unable to conceal the
+sadness she seemed to read in my eyes.
+
+"Is it not good?" she asked.
+
+"No," I replied.
+
+"Perhaps your head aches?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Or you are tired?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah! then it is the ennui of love?"
+
+With these words she became serious, for in spite of herself, in
+speaking of love, her Italian heart beat the faster.
+
+A scene of folly ensued. Heads were becoming heated, cheeks were
+assuming that purple hue with which wine suffuses the face as if to
+prevent shame appearing there. A confused murmur, like to that of a
+rising sea, could be heard all over the room; here and there eyes would
+become inflamed, then fixed and empty; I know not what wind stirred
+above this drunkenness. A woman rises, as in a tranquil sea the first
+wave that feels the tempest's breath foams up to announce it; she makes
+a sign with her hand to command silence, empties her glass at a gulp and
+with the same movement undoes her hair, which falls in shining tresses
+over her shoulders; she opens her mouth as if to start a drinking-song;
+her eyes are half closed. She breathes with an effort; twice a harsh
+sound comes from her throat; a mortal pallor overspreads her features
+and she drops into her chair.
+
+Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to
+distinguish anything, either laughter, songs, or cries.
+
+"What do you think of it?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"Nothing," I replied. "I have stopped my ears and am looking at it."
+
+In the midst of this Bacchanalian orgy the beautiful Marco remained
+mute, drinking nothing and leaning quietly on her bare arm. She seemed
+neither astonished nor affected by it.
+
+"Do you not wish to do as they?" I asked. "You have just offered me
+Cyprian wine; why do you not drink some yourself?"
+
+With these words I poured out a large glass full to the brim. She raised
+it to her lips and then placed it on the table, and resumed her listless
+attitude.
+
+The more I studied that Marco, the more singular she appeared; she
+took pleasure in nothing and did not seem to be annoyed by anything. It
+appeared as difficult to anger her as to please her; she did what was
+asked of her, but no more. I thought of the genius of eternal repose,
+and I imagined that if that pale statue should become somnambulant it
+would resemble Marco.
+
+"Are you good or bad?" I asked. "Are you sad or gay? Are you loved?
+Do you wish to beloved? Are you fond of money, of pleasure, of what?
+Horses, the country, balls? What pleases you? Of what are you dreaming?"
+
+To all these questions the same smile on her part, a smile that
+expressed neither joy nor sorrow, but which seemed to say, "What does it
+matter?" and nothing more.
+
+I held my lips to hers; she gave me a listless kiss and then passed her
+handkerchief over her mouth.
+
+"Marco," I said, "woe to him who loves you."
+
+She turned her dark eyes on me, then turned them upward, and raising
+her finger with that Italian gesture which can not be imitated, she
+pronounced that characteristic feminine word of her country:
+
+"Forse!"
+
+And then dessert was served. Some of the party had departed, some were
+smoking, others gambling, and a few still at table; some of the women
+danced, others slept. The orchestra returned; the candles paled and
+others were lighted. I recalled a supper of Petronius, where the lights
+went out around the drunken masters, and the slaves entered and stole
+the silver. All the while songs were being sung in various parts of the
+room, and three Englishmen, three of those gloomy figures for whom the
+Continent is a hospital, kept up a most sinister ballad that must have
+been born of the fogs of their marshes.
+
+"Come," said I to Marco, "let us go."
+
+She arose and took my arm.
+
+"To-morrow!" cried Desgenais to me, as we left the hall.
+
+When approaching Marco's house, my heart beat violently and I could not
+speak. I could not understand such a woman; she seemed to experience
+neither desire nor disgust, and I could think of nothing but the fact
+that my hand was trembling and hers motionless.
+
+Her room was, like her, sombre and voluptuous; it was dimly lighted by
+an alabaster lamp. The chairs and sofa were as soft as beds, and there
+was everywhere suggestion of down and silk. Upon entering I was struck
+with the strong odor of Turkish pastilles, not such as are sold here on
+the streets, but those of Constantinople, which are more powerful and
+more dangerous. She rang, and a maid appeared. She entered an alcove
+without a word, and a few minutes later I saw her leaning on her elbow
+in her habitual attitude of nonchalance.
+
+I stood looking at her. Strange to say, the more I admired her, the more
+beautiful I found her, the more rapidly I felt my desires subside. I
+do not know whether it was some magnetic influence or her silence and
+listlessness. I lay down on a sofa opposite the alcove, and the coldness
+of death settled on my soul.
+
+The pulsation of the blood in the arteries is a sort of clock, the
+ticking of which can be heard only at night. Man, free from exterior
+attractions, falls back upon himself; he hears himself live. In spite of
+my fatigue I could not close my eyes; those of Marco were fixed on me;
+we looked at each other in silence, gently, so to speak.
+
+"What are you doing there?" she asked.
+
+She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint.
+
+I turned my head and saw that the first gleams of morning light were
+shining through the window.
+
+I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of
+the room. The sky was clear.
+
+I motioned to her to wait. Considerations of prudence had led her to
+choose an apartment some distance from the centre of the city; perhaps
+she had other quarters, for she sometimes received a number of visitors.
+Her lover's friends sometimes visited her, and this room was doubtless
+only a petite maison; it overlooked the Luxembourg, the gardens of which
+extended as far as my eye could reach.
+
+As a cork held under water seems restless under the hand which holds it,
+and slips through the fingers to rise to the surface, thus there stirred
+in me a sentiment that I could neither overcome nor escape. The gardens
+of the Luxembourg made my heart leap and banished every other thought.
+How many times had I stretched myself out on one of those little mounds,
+a sort of sylvan school, while I read in the cool shade some book
+filled with foolish poetry! For such, alas, were the extravagances of my
+childhood. I saw many souvenirs of the past among those leafless trees
+and faded lawns. There, when ten years of age, I had walked with
+my brother and my tutor, throwing bits of bread to some of the poor
+half-starved birds; there, seated under a tree, I had watched a group of
+little girls as they danced, and felt my heart beat in unison with the
+refrain of their childish song. There, returning from school, I had
+followed a thousand times the same path, lost in meditation upon some
+verse of Virgil and kicking the pebbles at my feet.
+
+"Oh, my childhood! You are there!" I cried. "Oh, heaven! now I am here."
+
+I turned around. Marco was asleep, the lamp had gone out, the light of
+day had changed the aspect of the room; the hangings which had at first
+appeared blue were now a faded yellow, and Marco, the beautiful statue,
+was livid as death.
+
+I shuddered in spite of myself; I looked at the alcove, then at the
+garden; my head became drowsy and fell on my breast. I sat down before
+an open secretary near one of the windows. A piece of paper caught my
+eye; it was an open letter and I looked at it mechanically. I read it
+several times before I thought what I was doing. Suddenly a gleam of
+intelligence came to me, although I could not understand everything. I
+picked up the paper and read what follows, written in an unskilled hand
+and filled with errors in spelling:
+
+"She died yesterday. She began to fail at twelve the night before. She
+called me and said: 'Louison, I am going to join my companion; go to the
+closet and take down the cloth that hangs on a nail; it is the mate of
+the other.' I fell on my knees and wept, but she took my hand and said:
+'Do not weep, do not weep!' And she heaved such a sigh--"
+
+The rest was torn, I can not describe the impression that sad letter
+made on me; I turned it over and saw on the other side Marco's address
+and the date that of the evening previous.
+
+"Is she dead? Who is dead?" I cried going to the alcove. "Dead! Who?"
+
+Marco opened her eyes. She saw me with the letter in my hand.
+
+"It is my mother," she said, "who is dead. You are not coming?"
+
+As she spoke she extended her hand.
+
+"Silence!" I said, "sleep, and leave me to myself."
+
+She turned over and went to sleep. I looked at her for some time to
+assure myself that she would not hear me, and then quietly left the
+house.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. SATIETY
+
+One evening I was seated before the fire with Desgenais. The window was
+open; it was one of the early days in March, a harbinger of spring.
+
+It had been raining, and a light odor came from the garden.
+
+"What shall we do this spring?" I asked. "I do not care to travel."
+
+"I shall do what I did last year," replied Desgenais. "I shall go to the
+country when the time comes."
+
+"What!" I replied. "Do you do the same thing every year? Are you going
+to begin life over again this year?"
+
+"What would you expect me to do?"
+
+"What would I expect you to do?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "That is
+just like you. Ah! Desgenais, how all this wearies me! Do you never tire
+of this sort of life?"
+
+"No," he replied.
+
+I was standing before an engraving of the Magdalen in the desert.
+Involuntarily I joined my hands.
+
+"What are you doing?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"If I were an artist," I replied, "and wished to represent melancholy, I
+would not paint a dreamy girl with a book in her hands."
+
+"What is the matter with you this evening?" he asked, smiling.
+
+"No, in truth," I continued, "that Magdalen in tears has a spark of hope
+in her bosom; that pale and sickly hand on which she supports her head,
+is still sweet with the perfume with which she anointed the feet of
+her Lord. You do not understand that in that desert there are thinking
+people who pray. This is not melancholy."
+
+"It is a woman who reads," he replied dryly.
+
+"And a happy woman," I continued, "with a happy book."
+
+Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had taken
+possession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. I
+hesitated, but did not reply.
+
+"My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate to
+confide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!"
+
+"I know it," I replied, "I know I have a friend; that is not my
+trouble."
+
+He urged me to explain.
+
+"But what will it avail," I asked, "since neither of us can help
+matters? Do you want the fulness of my heart or merely a word and an
+excuse?"
+
+"Be frank!" he said.
+
+"Very well," I replied, "you have seen fit to give me advice in the past
+and now I ask you to listen to me as I have listened to you. You ask
+what is in my heart, and I am about to tell you.
+
+"Take the first comer and say to, him: 'Here are people who pass their
+lives drinking, riding, laughing, gambling, enjoying all kinds of
+pleasures; no barrier restrains them, their law is their pleasure, women
+are their playthings; they are rich. They have no cares, not one. All
+their days are days of feasting.' What do you think of it? Unless that
+man happened to be a severe bigot, he would probably reply that it was
+the greatest happiness that could be imagined.
+
+"'Then take that man into the centre of the whirl, place him at a table
+with a woman on either side, a glass in his hand, a handful of gold
+every morning and say to him: 'This is your life. While you sleep near
+your mistress, your horses neigh in the stables; while you drive your
+horses along the boulevards, your wines are ripening in your vaults;
+while you pass away the night drinking, the bankers are increasing your
+wealth. You have but to express a wish and your desires are gratified.
+You are the happiest of men. But take care lest some night of carousal
+you drink too much and destroy the capacity of your body for enjoyment.
+That would be a serious misfortune, for all the ills that afflict human
+flesh can be cured, except that. You ride some night through the woods
+with joyous companions; your horse falls and you are thrown into a ditch
+filled with mud, and it may be that your companions, in the midst of
+their happy shoutings will not hear your cry of anguish; it may be that
+the sound of their trumpets will die away in the distance while you drag
+your broken limbs through the deserted forest.
+
+"'Some night you will lose at the gaming-table; fortune has its bad
+days. When you return home and are seated before the fire, do not strike
+your forehead with your hands, and allow sorrow to moisten your cheeks
+with tears; do not anxiously cast your eyes about here and there as if
+searching for a friend; do not, under any circumstances, think of those
+who, under some thatched roof, enjoy a tranquil life and who sleep
+holding each other by the hand; for before you on your luxurious bed
+reclines a pale creature who loves--your money. From her you will seek
+consolation for your grief, and she will remark that you are very sad
+and ask if your loss was considerable; the tears from your eyes will
+concern her deeply, for they may be the cause of allowing her dress to
+grow old or the rings to drop from her fingers. Do not name him who won
+your money that night, for she may meet him on the morrow, and may make
+sweet eyes at him that would destroy your remaining happiness.
+
+"'That is what is to be expected of human frailty; have you the strength
+to endure it? Are you a man? Beware of disgust, it is an incurable evil;
+death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life. Have you a
+heart? Beware of love, for it is worse than disease for a debauchee,
+and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay their mistresses, and the woman who
+sells herself has no right but that of contempt for the purchaser. Are
+you passionate? Take care of your face. It is shameful for a soldier to
+throw down his arms and for a debauchee to appear to hold to anything;
+his glory consists in touching nothing except with hands of marble that
+have been bathed in oil in order that nothing may stick to them.
+
+"'Are you hot-headed? If you desire to live, learn how to kill, for wine
+is a wrangler. Have you a conscience? Take care of your slumber, for a
+debauchee who repents too late is like a ship that leaks: it can neither
+return to land nor continue on its course; the winds can with difficulty
+move it, the ocean yawns for it, it careens and disappears. If you have
+a body, look out for suffering; if you have a soul, despair awaits you.
+
+"'O unhappy one! beware of men; while they walk along the same path with
+you, you will see a vast plain strewn with garlands where a happy throng
+of dancers trip the gladsome farandole standing in a circle, each a link
+in an endless chain. It is but a mirage; those who look down know
+that they are dancing on a silken thread stretched over an abyss that
+swallows up all who fall and shows not even a ripple on its surface.
+What foot is sure? Nature herself seems to deny you her divine
+consolation; trees and flowers are yours no more; you have broken your
+mother's laws, you are no longer one of her foster children; the birds
+of the field become silent when you appear.
+
+"'You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing
+like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no
+longer refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind no
+longer gives you the kiss of life, its benediction on all that lives and
+breathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger. Every woman who kisses
+you takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; you
+exhaust yourself on phantoms; wherever falls a drop of your sweat there
+springs up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! You
+are the enemy of all who love; blot yourself from the face of the
+earth, do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do not
+perpetuate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, do
+not deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight.'"
+
+When I had spoken these words I fell back in my chair, and a flood of
+tears streamed from my eyes.
+
+"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Did
+you not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?"
+
+But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud,
+and a tear trickled slowly down his cheek.
+
+A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered that
+it was on this hour and this day one year ago that my mistress deceived
+me.
+
+"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know what
+it means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour, and one that will
+count in my life."
+
+I was beside myself, and scarcely knew what I was saying. But at that
+instant a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led me
+aside, whispering in my ear:
+
+"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has just
+been seized with an attack of apoplexy and the physicians despair of his
+life."
+
+
+
+
+BOOK 2.
+
+
+
+
+PART III
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. DEATH, THE INEVITABLE
+
+My father lived in the country some distance from Paris. When I arrived
+I found a physician in the house, who said to me:
+
+"You are too late; your father expressed a desire to see you before he
+died."
+
+I entered, and saw my father dead. "Sir," I said to the physician,
+"please have everyone retire that I may be alone here; my father had
+something to say to me, and he will say it."
+
+In obedience to my order the servants left the room. I approached the
+bed and raised the shroud which covered the face. But when my eyes fell
+on that countenance, I stooped to kiss it and lost consciousness.
+
+When I recovered, I heard some one say:
+
+"If he requests it, you must refuse him on some pretext or other."
+
+I understood that they wanted to get me away from the bed of death, and
+so I feigned that I had heard nothing. When they saw that I was resting
+quietly, they left me. I waited until the house was quiet, and then
+took a candle and made my way to my father's room. I found there a young
+priest seated near the bed.
+
+"Sir," I said, "to dispute with an orphan the last vigil at a father's
+side is a bold enterprise. I do not know what your orders may be.
+You may remain in the adjoining room; if anything happens, I alone am
+responsible."
+
+He retired. A single candle on the table shone on the bed. I sat down in
+the chair the priest had just left, and again uncovered those features I
+was to see for the last time.
+
+"What do you wish to say to me, father?" I asked. "What was your last
+thought concerning your child?"
+
+My father had a book in which he was accustomed to write from day to day
+the record of his life. That book lay on the table, and I saw that it
+was open; I kneeled before it; on the page were these words and no more:
+
+"Adieu, my son, I love you and I die."
+
+I did not shed a tear, not a sob came from my lips; my throat was
+swollen and my mouth sealed; I looked at my father without moving.
+
+He knew my life, and my irregularities had caused him much sorrow and
+anxiety. He did not refer to my future, to my youth and my follies. His
+advice had often saved me from some evil course, and had influenced my
+entire life, for his life had been one of singular virtue and kindness.
+I supposed that before dying he wished to see me to try once more to
+turn me from the path of error; but death had come too swiftly; he felt
+that he could express all he had to say in one word, and he wrote in his
+book that he loved me.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. THE BALM OF SOLITUDE
+
+A little wooden railing surrounded my father's grave. According to
+his expressed wish, he was buried in the village cemetery. Every day
+I visited his tomb and passed part of the day on a little bench in the
+interior of the vault. The rest of the time I lived alone in the house
+in which he died, and kept with me only one servant.
+
+Whatever sorrows the passions may cause, the woes of life are not to
+be compared with those of death. My first thought as I sat beside my
+father's bedside was that I was a helpless child, knowing nothing,
+understanding nothing; I can not say that my heart felt physical pain,
+but I sometimes bent over and wrung my hands, as one who wakens from a
+long sleep.
+
+During the first months of my life in the country I had no thought
+either of the past or of the future. It did not seem to be I who had
+lived up to that time; what I felt was not despair, and in no way
+resembled the terrible griefs I had experienced in the past; there was
+a sort of languor in every action, a sense of disgust with life, a
+poignant bitterness that was eating out my heart. I held a book in
+my hand all day long, but I did not read; I did not even know what
+I dreamed about. I had no thoughts; within, all was silence; I had
+received such a violent blow, and yet one that was so prolonged in its
+effects, that I remained a purely passive being and there seemed to be
+no reaction.
+
+My servant, Larive by name, had been much attached to my father; he was,
+after my father himself, probably the best man I had ever known. He was
+of the same height, and wore the clothes my father had left him, having
+no livery.
+
+He was of about the same age--that is, his hair was turning gray, and
+during the twenty years he had lived with my father, he had learned some
+of his ways. While I was pacing up and down the room after dinner, I
+heard him doing the same in the hall; although the door was open he did
+not enter, and not a word was spoken; but from time to time we would
+look at each other and weep. The entire evening would pass thus, and it
+would be late in the night before I would ask for a light, or get one
+myself.
+
+Everything about the house was left unchanged, not a piece of paper was
+moved. The great leather armchair in which my father used to sit stood
+near the fire; his table and his books were just as he left them; I
+respected even the dust on these articles, which in life he never
+liked to see disturbed. The walls of that solitary house, accustomed to
+silence and a most tranquil life, seemed to look down on me in pity as I
+sat in my father's chair, enveloped in his dressing-gown. A feeble voice
+seemed to whisper: "Where is the father? It is plain to see that this is
+an orphan."
+
+I received several letters from Paris, and replied to each that I
+desired to pass the summer alone in the country, as my father was
+accustomed to do. I began to realize that in all evil there is some
+good, and that sorrow, whatever else may be said of it, is a means of
+repose. Whatever the message brought by those who are sent by God, they
+always accomplish the happy result of awakening us from the sleep of the
+world, and when they speak, all are silent. Passing sorrows blaspheme
+and accuse heaven; great sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme--they
+listen.
+
+In the morning I passed entire hours in the contemplation of nature.
+My windows overlooked a valley, in the midst of which arose a village
+steeple; all was plain and calm. Spring, with its budding leaves and
+flowers, did not produce on me the sinister effect of which the poets
+speak, who find in the contrasts of life the mockery of death. I looked
+upon the frivolous idea, if it was serious and not a simple antithesis
+made in pleasantry, as the conceit of a heart that has known no real
+experience. The gambler who leaves the table at break of day, his eyes
+burning and hands empty, may feel that he is at war with nature, like
+the torch at some hideous vigil; but what can the budding leaves say to
+a child who mourns a lost father? The tears of his eyes are sisters of
+the rose; the leaves of the willow are themselves tears. It is when I
+look at the sky, the woods and the prairies, that I understand men who
+seek consolation.
+
+Larive had no more desire to console me than to console himself. At the
+time of my father's death he feared I would sell the property and take
+him to Paris. I did not know what he had learned of my past life, but
+I had noticed his anxiety, and, when he saw me settle down in the old
+home, he gave me a glance that went to my heart. One day I had a large
+portrait of my father sent from Paris, and placed it in the dining-room.
+When Larive entered the room to serve me, he saw it; he hesitated,
+looked at the portrait and then at me; in his eyes there shone a
+melancholy joy that I could not fail to understand. It seemed to say:
+"What happiness! We are to suffer here in peace!"
+
+I gave him my hand, which he covered with tears and kisses.
+
+He looked upon my grief as the mistress of his own. When I visited my
+father's tomb in the morning I found him there watering the flowers;
+when he saw me he went away and returned home. He followed me in my
+rambles; when I was on my horse I did not expect him to follow me, but
+when I saw him trudging down the valley, wiping the sweat from his brow,
+I bought a small horse from a peasant and gave it to him; thus we rode
+through the woods together.
+
+In the village were some people of our acquaintance who frequently
+visited us. My door was closed to them, although I regretted it; but
+I could not see any one with patience. Some time, when sure to be free
+from interruption, I hoped to examine my father's papers. Finally Larive
+brought them to me, and untying the package with trembling hand, spread
+them before me.
+
+Upon reading the first pages I felt in my heart that vivifying freshness
+that characterizes the air near a lake of cool water; the sweet serenity
+of my father's soul exhaled as a perfume from the dusty leaves I was
+unfolding. The journal of his life lay open before me; I could count
+the diurnal throbbings of that noble heart. I began to yield to the
+influence of a dream that was both sweet and profound, and in spite of
+the serious firmness of his character, I discovered an ineffable grace,
+the flower of kindness. While I read, the recollection of his death
+mingled with the narrative of his life, I can not tell with what sadness
+I followed that limpid stream until its waters mingled with those of the
+ocean.
+
+"Oh! just man," I cried, "fearless and stainless! what candor in thy
+experience! Thy devotion to thy friends, thy admiration for nature, thy
+sublime love of God, this is thy life, there is no place in thy heart
+for anything else. The spotless snow on the mountain's summit is not
+more pure than thy saintly old age; thy white hair resembles it. Oh!
+father, father! Give thy snowy locks to me, they are younger than my
+blond head. Let me live and die as thou hast lived and died. I wish to
+plant in the soil over your grave the green branch of my young life; I
+will water it with my tears, and the God of orphans will protect that
+sacred twig nourished by the grief of youth and the memory of age."
+
+After examining these precious papers, I classified them and arranged
+them in order. I formed a resolution to write a journal myself. I had
+one made just like that of my father's, and, carefully searching out
+the minor details of his life, I tried to conform my life to his. Thus,
+whenever I heard the clock strike the hour, tears came to my eyes:
+"This," said I, "is what my father did at this hour," and whether it was
+reading, walking, or eating, I never failed to follow his example. Thus
+I accustomed myself to a calm and regular life; there was an indefinable
+charm about this orderly conduct that did me good. I went to bed with a
+sense of comfort and happiness such as I had not known for a long time.
+My father spent much of his time about the garden; the rest of the day
+was devoted to walking and study, a nice adjustment of bodily and mental
+exercise.
+
+At the same time I followed his example in doing little acts of
+benevolence among the unfortunate. I began to search for those who were
+in need of my assistance, and there were many of them in the valley.
+I soon became known among the poor; my message to them was: "When the
+heart is good, sorrow is sacred!" For the first time in my life I was
+happy; God blessed my tears and sorrow taught me virtue.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. BRIGITTE
+
+One evening, as I was walking under a row of lindens at the entrance to
+the village, I saw a young woman come from a house some distance from
+the road. She was dressed simply and veiled so that I could not see her
+face; but her form and her carriage seemed so charming that I followed
+her with my eyes for some time. As she was crossing a field, a white
+goat, straying at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she
+caressed it softly, and looked about as if searching for some favorite
+plants to feed to it. I saw near me some wild mulberry; I plucked a
+branch and stepped up to her holding it in my hand. The goat watched
+my approach with apprehension; he was afraid to take the branch from my
+hand. His mistress made him a sign as if to encourage him, but he looked
+at her with an air of anxiety; she then took the branch from my hand,
+and the goat promptly accepted it from hers. I bowed, and she passed on
+her way.
+
+On my return home I asked Larive if he knew who lived in the house I
+described to him; it was a small house, modest in appearance, with a
+garden. He recognized it; there were but two people in the house, an old
+woman who was very religious, and a young woman whose name was Madame
+Pierson. It was she I had seen. I asked him who she was, and if she ever
+came to see my father. He replied that she was a widow, that she led a
+retired life, and that she had visited my father, but rarely. When I had
+learned all he knew, I returned to the lindens and sat down on a bench.
+
+I do not know what feeling of sadness came over me as I saw the goat
+approaching me. I arose from my seat, and, for distraction, I followed
+the path I had seen Madame Pierson take, a path that led to the
+mountains.
+
+It was nearly eleven in the evening before I thought of returning; as
+I had walked some distance, I directed my steps toward a farmhouse,
+intending to ask for some milk and bread. Drops of rain began to splash
+at my feet, announcing a thunder-shower which I was anxious to escape.
+Although there was a light in the place, and I could hear the sound of
+feet going and coming through the house, no one responded to my knock,
+and I walked around to one of the windows to ascertain if there was any
+one within.
+
+I saw a bright fire burning in the lower hall; the farmer, whom I knew,
+was sitting near his bed; I knocked on the window-pane and called
+to him. Just then the door opened, and I was surprised to see Madame
+Pierson, who inquired who was there.
+
+I waited a moment in order to conceal my astonishment. I then entered
+the house, and asked permission to remain until the storm should pass.
+I could not imagine what she was doing at such an hour in this deserted
+spot; suddenly I heard a plaintive voice from the bed, and turning my
+head I saw the farmer's wife lying there with the seal of death on her
+face.
+
+Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was
+bowed with sorrow; she made me a sign to make no noise as the sick woman
+was sleeping. I took a chair and sat in a corner until the storm passed.
+
+While I sat there I saw her rise from time to time and whisper something
+to the farmer. One of the children, whom I took upon my knee, said
+that she had been coming every night since the mother's illness. She
+performed the duties of a sister of charity; there was no one else in
+the country who could do it; there was but one physician, and he was
+densely ignorant.
+
+"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "don't you know her?"
+
+"No," I replied in a low voice. "Why do you call her by such a name?"
+
+He replied that he did not know, unless it was because she had been rosy
+and the name had clung to her.
+
+As Madame Pierson had laid aside her veil I could see her face; when the
+child left me I raised my head. She was standing near the bed, holding
+in her hand a cup, which she was offering the sick woman who had
+awakened. She appeared to be pale and thin; her hair was ashen blond.
+Her beauty was not of the regular type. How shall I express it? Her
+large dark eyes were fixed on those of her patient, and those eyes that
+shone with approaching death returned her gaze. There was in that simple
+exchange of kindness and gratitude a beauty that can not be described.
+
+The rain was falling in torrents; a heavy darkness settled over the
+lonely mountain-side, pierced by occasional flashes of lightning. The
+noise of the storm, the roaring of the wind, the wrath of the unchained
+elements made a deep contrast with the religious calm which prevailed in
+the little cottage. I looked at the wretched bed, at the broken windows,
+the puffs of smoke forced from the fire by the tempest; I observed
+the helpless despair of the farmer, the superstitious terror of the
+children, the fury of the elements besieging the bed of death; and in
+the midst of all, seeing that gentle, pale-faced woman going and coming,
+bravely meeting the duties of the moment, regardless of the tempest
+and of our presence, it seemed to me there was in that calm performance
+something more serene than the most cloudless sky, something, indeed,
+superhuman about this woman who, surrounded by such horrors, did not for
+an instant lose her faith in God.
+
+What kind of woman is this, I wondered; whence comes she, and how long
+has she been here? A long time, since they remember when her cheeks were
+rosy. How is it I have never heard of her? She comes to this spot alone
+and at this hour? Yes. She has traversed these mountains and valleys
+through storm and fair weather, she goes hither and thither bearing
+life and hope wherever they fail, holding in her hand that fragile cup,
+caressing her goat as she passes. And this is what has been going on in
+this valley while I have been dining and gambling; she was probably born
+here, and will be buried in a corner of the cemetery, by the side of her
+father. Thus will that obscure woman die, a woman of whom no one speaks
+and of whom the children say: "Don't you know her?"
+
+I can not express what I experienced; I sat quietly in my corner
+scarcely breathing, and it seemed to me that if I had tried to assist
+her, if I had reached out my hand to spare her a single step, I should
+have been guilty of sacrilege, I should have touched sacred vessels.
+
+The storm lasted two hours. When it subsided the sick woman sat up in
+her bed and said that she felt better, that the medicine she had taken
+had done her good. The children ran to the bedside, looking up into
+their mother's face with great eyes that expressed both surprise and
+joy.
+
+"I am very sure you are better," said the husband, who had not stirred
+from his seat, "for we have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a
+large sum."
+
+At that coarse and stupid expression I glanced at Madame Pierson; her
+swollen eyes, her pallor, her attitude, all clearly expressed fatigue
+and the exhaustion of long vigils.
+
+"Ah! my poor man!" said the farmer's wife, "may God reward you!"
+
+I could hardly contain myself, I was so angered by the stupidity of
+these brutes who were capable of crediting the work of charity to the
+avarice of a cure.
+
+I was about to reproach them for their ingratitude and treat them as
+they deserved, when Madame Pierson took one of the children in her arms
+and said, with a smile:
+
+"You may kiss your mother, for she is saved."
+
+I stopped when I heard these words.
+
+Never was the simple contentment of a happy and benevolent heart painted
+in such beauty on so sweet a face. Fatigue and pallor seemed to vanish,
+she became radiant with joy.
+
+A few minutes later Madame Pierson told the children to call the
+farmer's boy to conduct her home. I advanced to offer my services; I
+told her that it was useless to awaken the boy as I was going in the
+same direction, and that she would do me an honor by accepting my offer.
+She asked me if I was not Octave de T--------.
+
+I replied that I was, and that she doubtless remembered my father.
+It struck me as strange that she should smile at that question; she
+cheerfully accepted my arm and we set out on our return.
+
+We walked along in silence; the wind was going down; the trees quivered
+gently, shaking the rain from the boughs. Some distant flashes of
+lightning could still be seen; the perfume of humid verdure filled the
+warm air. The sky soon cleared and the moon illumined the mountain.
+
+I could not help thinking of the whimsicalness of chance, which had seen
+fit to make me the solitary companion of a woman of whose existence I
+knew nothing a few hours before. She had accepted me as her escort on
+account of the name I bore, and leaned on my arm with quiet confidence.
+In spite of her distraught air it seemed to me that this confidence was
+either very bold or very simple; and she must needs be either the one or
+the other, for at each step I felt my heart becoming at once proud and
+innocent.
+
+We spoke of the sick woman she had just quitted, of the scenes along
+the route; it did not occur to us to ask the questions incident to a new
+acquaintance. She spoke to me of my father, and always in the same tone
+I had noted when I first revealed my name--that is, cheerfully, almost
+gayly. By degrees I thought I understood why she did this, observing
+that she spoke thus of all, both living and dead, of life and of
+suffering and death. It was because human sorrows had taught her nothing
+that could accuse God, and I felt the piety of her smile.
+
+I told her of the solitary life I was leading. Her aunt, she said, had
+seen more of my father than she, as they had sometimes played cards
+together after dinner. She urged me to visit them, assuring me a
+welcome.
+
+When about half way home she complained of fatigue and sat down to rest
+on a bench that the heavy foliage had protected from the rain. I stood
+before her and watched the pale light of the moon playing on her
+face. After a moment's silence she arose and, in a constrained manner,
+observed:
+
+"Of what are you thinking? It is time for us to think of returning."
+
+"I was wondering," I replied, "why God created you, and I was saying to
+myself that it was for the sake of those who suffer."
+
+"That is an expression that, coming from you, I can not look upon except
+as a compliment."
+
+"Why?" I asked.
+
+"Because you appear to be very young."
+
+"It sometimes happens," I said, "that one is older than the face would
+seem to indicate."
+
+"Yes," she replied, smiling, "and it sometimes happens that one is
+younger than his words would seem to indicate."
+
+"Have you no faith in experience?"
+
+"I know that it is the name most young men give to their follies and
+their disappointments; what can one know at your age?"
+
+"Madame, a man of twenty may know more than a woman of thirty. The
+liberty which men enjoy enables them to see more of life and its
+experiences than women; they go wherever they please, and no barrier
+restrains them; they test life in all its phases. When inspired by hope,
+they press forward to achievement; what they will they accomplish. When
+they have reached the end, they return; hope has been lost on the route,
+and happiness has broken its word."
+
+As I was speaking we reached the summit of a little hill which sloped
+down to the valley; Madame Pierson, yielding to the downward tendency,
+began to trip lightly down the incline. Without knowing why, I did the
+same, and we ran down the hill, arm in arm, the long grass under our
+feet retarded our progress. Finally, like two birds, spent with flight,
+we reached the foot of the mountain.
+
+"Behold!" cried Madame Pierson, "just a short time ago I was tired, but
+now I am rested. And, believe me," she added, with a charming smile,
+"you should treat your experience as I have treated my fatigue. We have
+made good time, and shall enjoy supper the more on that account."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. RIPENING ACQUAINTANCE
+
+I went to see her in the morning. I found her at the piano, her old aunt
+at the window sewing, the little room filled with flowers, the sunlight
+streaming through the blinds, a large bird-cage at her side.
+
+I expected to find her something of a religieuse, at least one of those
+women of the provinces who know nothing of what happens two leagues
+away, and who live in a certain narrow circle from which they never
+escape. I confess that such isolated life, which is found here and there
+in small towns, under a thousand unknown roofs, had always had on me the
+effect of stagnant pools of water; the air does not seem respirable: in
+everything on earth that is forgotten, there is something of death.
+
+On Madame Pierson's table were some papers and new books; they appeared
+as if they had not been more than touched. In spite of the simplicity of
+everything around her, of furniture and dress, it was easy to recognize
+mode, that is to say, life; she did not live for this alone, but that
+goes without saying. What struck me in her taste was that there was
+nothing bizarre, everything breathed of youth and pleasantness.
+
+Her conversation indicated a finished education; there was no subject on
+which she could not speak well and with ease. While admitting that she
+was naive, it was evident that she was at the same time profound in
+thought and fertile in resource; an intelligence at once broad and free
+soared gently over a simple heart and over the habits of a retired life.
+The sea-swallow, whirling through the azure heavens, soars thus over the
+blade of grass that marks its nest.
+
+We talked of literature, music, and even politics. She had visited Paris
+during the winter; from time to time she dipped into the world; what she
+saw there served as a basis for what she divined.
+
+But her distinguishing trait was gayety, a cheerfulness that, while not
+exactly joy itself, was constant and unalterable; it might be said that
+she was born a flower, and that her perfume was gayety.
+
+Her pallor, her large dark eyes, her manner at certain moments, all led
+me to believe that she had suffered. I know not what it was that seemed
+to say that the sweet serenity of her brow was not of this world but had
+come from God, and that she would return it to Him spotless in spite
+of man; and there were times when she reminded one of the careful
+housewife, who, when the wind blows, holds her hand before the candle.
+
+After I had been in the house half an hour I could not help saying what
+was in my heart. I thought of my past life, of my disappointment and my
+ennui; I walked to and fro, breathing the fragrance of the flowers and
+looking at the sun. I asked her to sing, and she did so with good grace.
+In the mean time I leaned on the window-sill and watched the birds
+flitting about the garden. A saying of Montaigne's came into my head: "I
+neither love nor esteem sadness, although the world has invested it, at
+a given price, with the honor of its particular favor. They dress up in
+it wisdom, virtue, conscience. Stupid and absurd adornment."
+
+"What happiness!" I cried, in spite of myself. "What repose! What joy!
+What forgetfulness of self!"
+
+The good aunt raised her head and looked at me with an air of
+astonishment; Madame Pierson stopped short. I became red as fire when
+conscious of my folly, and sat down without a word.
+
+We went out into the garden. The white goat I had seen the evening
+before was lying in the grass; it came up to her and followed us about
+the garden.
+
+When we reached the end of the garden walk, a large young man with a
+pale face, clad in a kind of black cassock, suddenly appeared at the
+railing. He entered without knocking and bowed to Madame Pierson; it
+seemed to me that his face, which I considered a bad omen, darkened a
+little when he saw me. He was a priest I had often seen in the village,
+and his name was Mercanson; he came from St. Sulpice and was related to
+the cure of the parish.
+
+He was large and at the same time pale, a thing which always displeases
+me and which is, in fact, unpleasant; it impresses me as a sort of
+diseased healthfulness. Moreover, he had the slow yet jerky way of
+speaking that characterizes the pedant. Even his manner of walking,
+which was not that of youth and health, repelled me; as for his glance,
+it might be said that he had none. I do not know what to think of a man
+whose eyes have nothing to say. These are the signs which led me to an
+unfavorable opinion of Mercanson, an opinion which was unfortunately
+correct.
+
+He sat down on a bench and began to talk about Paris, which he called
+the modern Babylon. He had been there, he knew every one; he knew Madame
+de B------, who was an angel; he had preached sermons in her salon
+and was listened to on bended knee. (The worst of this was that it
+was true.) One of his friends, who had introduced him there, had been
+expelled from school for having seduced a girl; a terrible thing to
+do, very sad. He paid Madame Pierson a thousand compliments for
+her charitable deeds throughout the country; he had heard of her
+benefactions, her care for the sick, her vigils at the bed of suffering
+and of death. It was very beautiful and noble; he would not fail to
+speak of it at St. Sulpice. Did he not seem to say that he would not
+fail to speak of it to God?
+
+Wearied by this harangue, in order to conceal my rising disgust, I sat
+down on the grass and began to play with the goat. Mercanson turned on
+me his dull and lifeless eye:
+
+"The celebrated Vergniaud," said he, "was afflicted with the habit of
+sitting on the ground and playing with animals."
+
+"It is a habit that is innocent enough," I replied. "If there were none
+worse the world would get along very well, without so much meddling on
+the part of others."
+
+My reply did not please him; he frowned and changed the subject. He was
+charged with a commission; his uncle the cure had spoken to him of a
+poor devil who was unable to earn his daily bread. He lived in such and
+such a place; he had been there himself and was interested in him; he
+hoped that Madame Pierson--
+
+I was looking at her while he was speaking, wondering what reply she
+would make and hoping she would say something in order to efface the
+memory of the priest's voice with her gentle tones. She merely bowed and
+he retired.
+
+When he had gone our gayety returned. We entered a greenhouse in the
+rear of the garden.
+
+Madame Pierson treated her flowers as she did her birds and her
+peasants: everything about her must be well cared for, each flower must
+have its drop of water and ray of sunlight in order that it might be gay
+and happy as an angel; so nothing could be in better condition than her
+little greenhouse. When we had made the round of the building, she said:
+
+"This is my little world; you have seen all I possess, and my domain
+ends here."
+
+"Madame," I said, "as my father's name has secured for me the favor of
+admittance here, permit me to return, and I will believe that happiness
+has not entirely forgotten me."
+
+She extended her hand and I touched it with respect, not daring to raise
+it to my lips.
+
+I returned home, closed my door and retired. There danced before my
+eyes a little white house; I saw myself walking through the village
+and knocking at the garden gate. "Oh, my poor heart!" I cried. "God
+be praised, you are still young, you are still capable of life and of
+love!"
+
+One evening I was with Madame Pierson. More than three months had
+passed, during which I had seen her almost every day; and what can I
+say of that time except that I saw her? "To be with those we love," said
+Bruyere, "suffices; to dream, to talk to them, not to talk to them, to
+think of them, to think of the most indifferent things, but to be near
+them, that is all."
+
+I loved. During the three months we had taken many long walks; I was
+initiated into the mysteries of her modest charities; we passed through
+dark streets, she on her pony, I on foot, a small stick in my hand; thus
+half conversing, half dreaming, we went from cottage to cottage. There
+was a little bench near the edge of the wood where I was accustomed to
+rest after dinner; we met here regularly, as though by chance. In the
+morning, music, reading; in the evening, cards with the aunt as in the
+days of my father; and she always there, smiling, her presence filling
+my heart. By what road, O Providence! have you led me? What irrevocable
+destiny am I to accomplish? What! a life so free, an intimacy so
+charming, so much repose, such buoyant hope! O God! Of what do men
+complain? What is there sweeter than love?
+
+To live, yes, to feel intensely, profoundly, that one exists, that one
+is a sentient man, created by God, that is the first, the greatest gift
+of love. We can not deny, however, that love is a mystery, inexplicable,
+profound. With all the chains, with all the pains, and I may even say,
+with all the disgust with which the world has surrounded it, buried as
+it is under a mountain of prejudices which distort and deprave it, in
+spite of all the ordure through which it has been dragged, love, eternal
+and fatal love, is none the less a celestial law as powerful and as
+incomprehensible as that which suspends the sun in the heavens.
+
+What is this mysterious bond, stronger and more durable than iron, that
+can neither be seen nor touched? What is there in meeting a woman, in
+looking at her, in speaking one word to her, and then never forgetting
+her? Why this one rather than that one? Invoke the aid of reason, of
+habit, of the senses, the head, the heart, and explain it if you can.
+You will find nothing but two bodies, one here, the other there, and
+between them, what? Air, space, immensity. O blind fools! who fondly
+imagine yourselves men, and who reason of love! Have you talked with
+it? No, you have felt it. You have exchanged a glance with a passing
+stranger, and suddenly there flies out from you something that can not
+be defined, that has no name known to man. You have taken root in the
+ground like the seed concealed in the turf which feels the life within
+it, and which is on its way to maturity.
+
+We were alone, the window was open, the murmur of a little fountain came
+to us from the garden. O God! would that I could count, drop by drop,
+all the water that fell while we were sitting there, while she was
+talking and I was answering. It was there that I became intoxicated with
+her to the point of madness.
+
+It is said that there is nothing so rapid as a feeling of antipathy, but
+I believe that the road to love is more swiftly traversed. How priceless
+the slightest words! What signifies the conversation, when you listen
+for the heart to answer? What sweetness in the glance of a woman who
+begins to attract you! At first it seems as though everything that
+passes between you is timid and tentative, but soon there is born a
+strange joy, an echo answers you; you know a dual life. What a touch!
+What a strange attraction! And when love is sure of itself and knows
+response in the object beloved, what serenity in the soul! Words die
+on the lips, for each one knows what the other is about to say before
+utterance has shaped the thought. Souls expand, lips are silent. Oh!
+what silence! What forgetfulness of all!
+
+Although my love began the first day and had since grown to ardor, the
+respect I felt for Madame Pierson sealed my lips. If she had been less
+frank in permitting me to become her friend, perhaps I should have been
+more bold, for she had made such a strong impression on me, that I never
+quitted her without transports of love. But there was something in the
+frankness and the confidence she placed in me that checked me; moreover,
+it was in my father's name that I had been treated as a friend. That
+consideration rendered me still more respectful, and I resolved to prove
+worthy of that name.
+
+To talk of love, they say, is to make love. We rarely spoke of it. Every
+time I happened to touch the subject Madame Pierson led the conversation
+to some other topic. I did not discern her motive, but it was not
+prudery; it seemed to me that at such times her face took on a stern
+aspect, and a wave of feeling, even of suffering, passed over it. As I
+had never questioned her about her past life and was unwilling to do so,
+I respected her obvious wishes.
+
+Sunday there was dancing in the village; she was almost always there. On
+those occasions her toilet, although quite simple, was more elegant than
+usual; there was a flower in her hair, a bright ribbon, or some such
+bagatelle; but there was something youthful and fresh about her. The
+dance, which she loved for itself as an amusing exercise, seemed to
+inspire her with a frolicsome gayety. Once launched on the floor it
+seemed to me she allowed herself more liberty than usual, that there was
+an unusual familiarity. I did not dance, being still in mourning, but I
+managed to keep near her, and seeing her in such good humor, I was often
+tempted to confess my love.
+
+But for some strange reason, whenever I thought of it, I was seized with
+an irresistible feeling of fear; the idea of an avowal was enough
+to render me serious in the midst of gayety. I conceived the idea of
+writing to her, but burned the letters before they were half finished.
+
+That evening I dined with her, and looked about me at the many evidences
+of a tranquil life; I thought of the quiet life that I was leading, of
+my happiness since I had known her, and said to myself: "Why ask for
+more? Does not this suffice? Who knows, perhaps God has nothing more for
+you? If I should tell her that I love her, what would happen? Perhaps
+she would forbid me the pleasure of seeing her. Would I, in speaking the
+words, make her happier than she is to-day? Would I be happier myself?"
+
+I was leaning on the piano, and as I indulged in these reflections
+sadness took possession of me. Night was coming on and she lighted a
+candle; while returning to her seat she noticed a tear in my eye.
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked.
+
+I turned aside my head.
+
+I sought an excuse, but could find none; I was afraid to meet her
+glance. I arose and stepped to the window. The air was balmy, the moon
+was rising beyond those lindens where I had first met her. I fell into
+a profound revery; I even forgot that she was present and, extending my
+arms toward heaven, a sob welled up from my heart.
+
+She arose and stood behind me.
+
+"What is it?" she again asked.
+
+I replied that the sight of that valley stretching out beneath us had
+recalled my father's death; I took leave of her and went out.
+
+Why I decided to silence my love I can not say. Nevertheless, instead of
+returning home, I began to wander about the woods like a fool. Whenever
+I found a bench I sat down only to rise precipitately. Toward midnight
+I approached Madame Pierson's house; she was at the window. Seeing
+her there I began to tremble and tried to retrace my steps, but I was
+fascinated; I advanced gently and sadly and sat down beneath her window.
+
+I do not know whether she recognized me; I had been there some time when
+I heard her sweet, fresh voice singing the refrain of a romance, and
+at the same instant a flower fell on my shoulder. It was a rose she
+had worn that evening on her bosom; I picked it up and pressed it to my
+lips.
+
+"Who is there at this hour? Is it you?"
+
+She called me by name. The gate leading into the garden was open; I
+arose without replying and entered it, I stopped before a plot of grass
+in the centre of the garden; I was walking like a somnambulist, without
+knowing what I was doing.
+
+Suddenly I saw her at the door opening into the garden; she seemed to be
+undecided and looked attentively at the rays of the moon. She made a few
+steps toward me and I advanced to meet her. I could not speak, I fell on
+my knees before her and seized her hand.
+
+"Listen to me," she said; "I know all; but if it has come to that,
+Octave, you must go away. You come here every day and you are always
+welcome, are you not? Is not that enough? What more can I do for you? My
+friendship you have won; I wish you had been able to keep yours a little
+longer."
+
+When Madame Pierson had spoken these words she waited in silence as
+though expecting a reply. As I remained overwhelmed with sadness, she
+gently withdrew her hand, stepped back, waited a moment longer and then
+reentered the house.
+
+I remained kneeling on the grass. I had been expecting what she said; my
+resolution was soon taken, and I decided to go away. I arose, my heart
+bleeding but firm. I looked at the house, at her window; I opened the
+garden-gate and placed my lips on the lock as I passed out.
+
+When I reached home I told Larive to make what preparations were
+necessary, as I would set out in the morning. The poor fellow was
+astonished, but I made him a sign to obey and ask no questions.
+He brought a large trunk and busied himself with preparations for
+departure.
+
+It was five o'clock in the morning and day was beginning to break when I
+asked myself where I was going. At that thought, which had not occurred
+to me before, I experienced a profound feeling of discouragement. I cast
+my eyes over the country, scanning the horizon. A sense of weakness took
+possession of me; I was exhausted with fatigue. I sat down in a chair
+and my ideas became confused; I bore my hand to my forehead and found it
+bathed in sweat. A violent fever made my limbs tremble; I could hardly
+reach my bed with Larive's assistance. My thoughts were so confused
+that I had no recollection of what had happened. The day passed; toward
+evening I heard the sound of instruments. It was the Sunday dance, and I
+asked Larive to go and see if Madame Pierson was there. He did not find
+her; I sent him to her house. The blinds were closed, and a servant
+informed him that Madame Pierson and her aunt had gone to spend some
+days with a relative who lived at N------, a small town some distance
+north. He handed me a letter that had been given him. It was couched in
+the following terms:
+
+   "I have known you three months, and for one month have noticed that
+   you feel for me what at your age is called love. I thought I
+   detected on your part a resolution to conceal this from me and
+   conquer yourself. I already esteemed you, this enhanced my respect.
+   I do not reproach you for the past, nor for the weakness of your
+   will.
+
+   "What you take for love is nothing more than desire. I am well
+   aware that many women seek to arouse it; it would be better if they
+   did not feel the necessity of pleasing those who approach them.
+   Such a feeling is a dangerous thing, and I have done wrong in
+   entertaining it with you.
+
+   "I am some years older than you, and ask you not to try to see me
+   again. It would be vain for you to try to forget the weakness of a
+   moment; what has passed between us can neither be repeated nor
+   forgotten.
+
+   "I do not take leave of you without sorrow; I expect to be absent
+   some time; if, when I return, I find that you have gone away, I
+   shall appreciate your action as the final evidence of your
+   friendship and esteem.
+
+                    "BRIGITTE PIERSON."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. AN INTERVIEW
+
+The fever kept me in bed a week. When I was able to write I assured
+Madame Pierson that she should be obeyed, and that I would go away. I
+wrote in good faith, without any intention to deceive, but I was very
+far from keeping my promise. Before I had gone ten leagues I ordered the
+driver to stop, and stepped out of the carriage. I began to walk along
+the road. I could not resist the temptation to look back at the village
+which was still visible in the distance. Finally, after a period of
+frightful irresolution, I felt that it was impossible for me to continue
+on my route, and rather than get into the carriage again, I would have
+died on the spot. I told the driver to turn around, and, instead of
+going to Paris as I had intended, I made straight for N------, whither
+Madame Pierson had gone.
+
+I arrived at ten in the night. As soon as I reached the inn I had a boy
+direct me to the house of her relatives, and, without reflecting what I
+was doing, at once made my way to the spot. A servant opened the door.
+I asked if Madame Pierson was there, and directed him to tell her that
+some one wished to speak to her on the part of M. Desprez. That was the
+name of our village cure.
+
+While the servant was executing my order I remained alone in a sombre
+little court; as it was raining, I entered the hall and stood at
+the foot of the stairway, which was not lighted. Madame Pierson soon
+arrived, preceding the servant; she descended rapidly, and did not
+see me in the darkness; I stepped up to her and touched her arm. She
+recoiled with terror and cried out:
+
+"What do you wish of me?"
+
+Her voice trembled so painfully and, when the servant appeared with a
+light, her face was so pale, that I did not know what to think. Was
+it possible that my unexpected appearance could disturb her in such a
+manner? That reflection occurred to me, but I decided that it was merely
+a feeling of fright natural to a woman who is suddenly touched.
+
+Nevertheless, she repeated her question in a firmer tone.
+
+"You must permit me to see you once more," I replied. "I will go away, I
+will leave the country. You shall be obeyed, I swear it, and that beyond
+your real desire, for I will sell my father's house and go abroad; but
+that is only on condition that I am permitted to see you once more;
+otherwise I remain; you need fear nothing from me, but I am resolved on
+that."
+
+She frowned and cast her eyes about her in a strange manner; then she
+replied, almost graciously:
+
+"Come to-morrow during the day and I will see you." Then she left me.
+
+The next day at noon I presented myself. I was introduced into a room
+with old hangings and antique furniture. I found her alone, seated on a
+sofa. I sat down before her.
+
+"Madame," I began, "I come neither to speak of what I suffer, nor to
+deny that I love you. You have written me that what has passed between
+us can not be forgotten, and that is true; but you say that on that
+account we can not meet on the same footing as heretofore, and you are
+mistaken. I love you, but I have not offended you; nothing is changed
+in our relations since you do not love me. If I am permitted to see
+you, responsibility rests with me, and as far as your responsibility is
+concerned, my love for you should be sufficient guarantee."
+
+She tried to interrupt me.
+
+"Kindly allow me to finish what I have to say. No one knows better than
+I that in spite of the respect I feel for you, and in spite of all the
+protestations by which I might bind myself, love is the stronger. I
+repeat I do not intend to deny what is in my heart; but you do not learn
+of that love to-day for the first time, and I ask you what has prevented
+me from declaring it up to the present time? The fear of losing you;
+I was afraid I would not be permitted to see you, and that is what has
+happened. Make a condition that the first word I shall speak, the first
+thought or gesture that shall seem to be inconsistent with the most
+profound respect, shall be the signal for the closing of your door; as I
+have been silent in the past, I will be silent in the future, You think
+that I have loved you for a month, when in fact I have loved you from
+the first day I met you. When you discovered it, you did not refuse to
+see me on that account. If you had at that time enough esteem for me to
+believe me incapable of offending you, why have you lost that esteem?
+
+"That is what I have come to ask you. What have I done? I have bent my
+knee, but I have not said a word. What have I told you? What you already
+knew. I have been weak because I have suffered. It is true, Madame, that
+I am twenty years of age and what I have seen of life has only disgusted
+me (I could use a stronger word); it is true that there is not at this
+hour on earth, either in the society of men or in solitude, a place,
+however small and insignificant, that I care to occupy.
+
+"The space enclosed within the four walls of your garden is the only
+spot in the world where I live; you are the only human being who has
+made me love God. I had renounced everything before I knew you; why
+deprive me of the only ray of light that Providence has spared me? If
+it is on account of fear, what have I done to inspire it? If it is on
+account of dislike, in what respect am I culpable? If it is on account
+of pity and because I suffer, you are mistaken in supposing that I can
+cure myself; it might have been done, perhaps, two months ago; but I
+preferred to see you and to suffer, and I do not repent, whatever may
+come of it. The only misfortune that can reach me is to lose you. Put me
+to the proof. If I ever feel that there is too much suffering for me in
+our bargain I will go away; and you may be sure of it, since you send me
+away to-day, and I am ready to go. What risk do you run in giving me a
+month or two of the only happiness I shall ever know?"
+
+I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, and then sat down
+again. Then a moment of silence ensued.
+
+"Rest assured," she said, "it is not so."
+
+I thought she was searching for words that would not appear too severe,
+and that she was anxious to avoid hurting me.
+
+"One word," I said, rising, "one word, nothing more. I know who you are
+and if there is any compassion for me in your heart, I thank you; speak
+but one word, this moment decides my life."
+
+She shook her head; I saw that she was hesitating.
+
+"You think I can be cured?" I cried. "May God grant you that solace if
+you send me away--"
+
+I looked out of the window at the horizon, and felt in my soul such
+a frightful sensation of loneliness at the idea of going away that my
+blood froze in my veins. She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixed
+on her, awaiting her reply; all my life was hanging in suspense upon her
+lips.
+
+"Very well," she said, "listen to me. This move of yours in coming to
+see me was an act of great imprudence; however, it is not necessary to
+assume that you have come here to see me; accept a commission that I
+will give you for a friend of my family. If you find that it is a little
+far, let it be the occasion of an absence which shall last as long as
+you choose, but which must not be too short. Although you said a moment
+ago," she added with a smile, "that a short trip would calm you. You
+will stop in the Vosges and you will go as far as Strasburg. Then in a
+month, or, better, in two months, you will return and report to me; I
+will see you again and give you further instructions."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. THE RUGGED PATH OF LOVE
+
+That evening I received from Madame Pierson a letter addressed to M. R.
+D., at Strasburg. Three weeks later my mission had been accomplished and
+I returned. During my absence I had thought of nothing but her, and I
+despaired of ever forgetting her. Nevertheless I determined to restrain
+my feelings in her presence; I had suffered too cruelly at the prospect
+of losing her to run any further risks. My esteem for her rendered it
+impossible for me to suspect her sincerity, and I did not see, in
+her plan of getting me to leave the country, anything that resembled
+hypocrisy. In a word, I was firmly convinced that at the first word of
+love her door would be closed to me. Upon my return I found her thin and
+changed. Her habitual smile seemed to languish on her discolored lips.
+She told me that she had been suffering. We did not speak of the past.
+She did not appear to wish to recall it, and I had no desire to refer to
+it. We resumed our old relations of neighbors; yet there was something
+of constraint between us, a sort of conventional familiarity. It was
+as if we had agreed: "It was thus before, let it still be thus." She
+granted me her confidence, a concession that was not without its charms
+for me; but our conversation was colder, for the reason that our eyes
+expressed as much as our tongues. In all that we said there was more to
+be surmised than was actually spoken. We no longer endeavored to fathom
+each other's minds; there was not the same interest attaching to each
+word, to each sentiment; that curious analysis that characterized our
+past intercourse; she treated me with kindness, but I distrusted
+even that kindness; I walked with her in the garden, but no longer
+accompanied her outside of the premises; we no longer wandered through
+the woods and valleys; she opened the piano when we were alone; the
+sound of her voice no longer awakened in my heart those transports of
+joy which are like sobs that are inspired by hope. When I took leave of
+her, she gave me her hand, but I was conscious of the fact that it was
+lifeless; there was much effort in our familiar ease, many reflections
+in our lightest remarks, much sadness at the bottom of it all. We felt
+that there was a third party between us: it was my love for her.
+My actions never betrayed it, but it appeared in my face. I lost my
+cheerfulness, my energy, and the color of health that once shone in my
+cheeks. At the end of one month I no longer resembled my old self. And
+yet in all our conversations I insisted on my disgust with the world, on
+my aversion to returning to it. I tried to make Madame Pierson feel
+that she had no reason to reproach herself for allowing me to see her;
+I depicted my past life in the most sombre colors, and gave her to
+understand that if she should refuse to allow me to see her, she would
+condemn me to a loneliness worse than death. I told her that I held
+society in abhorrence and the story of my life, as I recited it, proved
+my sincerity. So I affected a cheerfulness that I was far from feeling,
+in order to show her that in permitting me to see her, she had saved me
+from the most frightful misfortune; I thanked her almost every time I
+went to see her, that I might return in the evening or the following
+morning. "All my dreams of happiness," said I, "all my hopes, all my
+ambitions, are enclosed in the little corner of the earth where you
+dwell; outside of the air that you breathe there is no life for me."
+
+She saw that I was suffering and could not help pitying me. My courage
+was pathetic, and her every word and gesture shed a sort of tender
+light over my devotion. She saw the struggle that was going on in me; my
+obedience flattered her pride, while my pallor awakened her charitable
+instinct. At times she appeared to be irritated, almost coquettish; she
+would say in a tone that was almost rebellious: "I shall not be here
+to-morrow, do not come on such and such a day." Then, as I was going
+away sad, but resigned, she sweetened the cup of bitterness by adding:
+"I am not sure of it, come whenever you please;" or her adieu was more
+friendly than usual, her glance more tender.
+
+"Rest assured that Providence has led me to you," I said. "If I had not
+met you, I might have relapsed into the irregular life I was leading
+before I knew you.
+
+"God has sent you as an angel of light to draw me from the abyss. He
+has confided a sacred mission to you; who knows, if I should lose you,
+whither the sorrow that consumes me might lead me, because of the sad
+experience I have been through, the terrible combat between my youth and
+my ennui?"
+
+That thought, sincere enough on my part, had great weight with a woman
+of lofty devotion whose soul was as pious as it was ardent. It was
+probably the only consideration that induced Madame Pierson to permit me
+to see her.
+
+I was preparing to visit her one day when some one knocked at my door,
+and I saw Mercanson enter, that priest I had met in the garden on
+the occasion of my first visit. He began to make excuses that were as
+tiresome as himself for presuming to call on me without having made my
+acquaintance; I told him that I knew him very well as the nephew of our
+cure, and asked what I could do for him.
+
+He turned uneasily from one side to the other with an air of constraint,
+searching for phrases and fingering everything on the table before him
+as if at a loss what to say. Finally he informed me that Madame Pierson
+was ill and that she had sent word to me by him that she would not be
+able to see me that day.
+
+"Is she ill? Why, I left her late yesterday afternoon, and she was very
+well at that time!"
+
+He bowed.
+
+"But," I continued, "if she is ill why send word to me by a third
+person? She does not live so far away that a useless call would harm
+me."
+
+The same response from Mercanson. I could not understand what this
+peculiar manner signified, much less why she had entrusted her mission
+to him.
+
+"Very well," I said, "I shall see her to-morrow and she will explain
+what this means."
+
+His hesitation continued.
+
+"Madame Pierson has also told me--that I should inform you--in fact, I
+am requested to--"
+
+"Well, what is it?" I cried, impatiently.
+
+"Sir, you are becoming violent! I think Madame Pierson is seriously ill;
+she will not be able to see you this week."
+
+Another bow, and he retired.
+
+It was clear that his visit concealed some mystery: either Madame
+Pierson did not wish to see me, and I could not explain why; or
+Mercanson had interfered on his own responsibility.
+
+I waited until the following day and then presented myself at her door;
+the servant who met me said that her mistress was indeed very ill and
+could not see me; she refused to accept the money I offered her, and
+would not answer my questions.
+
+As I was passing through the village on my return, I saw Mercanson;
+he was surrounded by a number of schoolchildren, his uncle's pupils.
+I stopped him in the midst of his harangue and asked if I could have a
+word with him.
+
+He followed me aside; but now it was my turn to hesitate, for I was at a
+loss how to proceed to draw his secret from him.
+
+"Sir," I finally said, "will you kindly inform me if what you told me
+yesterday was the truth, or was there some motive behind it? Moreover,
+as there is not a physician in the neighborhood who can be called in,
+in case of necessity, it is important that I should know whether her
+condition is serious."
+
+He protested that Madame Pierson was ill, but that he knew nothing more,
+except that she had sent for him and asked him to notify me as he had
+done. While talking we had walked down the road some distance and had
+now reached a deserted spot. Seeing that neither strategy nor entreaty
+would serve my purpose, I suddenly turned and seized him by the arms.
+
+"What does this mean, Monsieur? You intend to resort to violence?" he
+cried.
+
+"No, but I intend to make you tell me what you know."
+
+"Monsieur, I am afraid of no one, and I have told you what you ought to
+know."
+
+"You have told me what you think I ought to know, but not what you know.
+Madame Pierson is not sick; I am sure of it."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"The servant told me so. Why has she closed her door against me, and why
+did she send you to tell me of it?"
+
+Mercanson saw a peasant passing.
+
+"Pierre!" he cried, calling him by name, "wait a moment, I wish to speak
+with you."
+
+The peasant approached; that was all he wanted, thinking I would not
+dare use violence in the presence of a third person. I released him, but
+so roughly that he staggered back and fell against a tree. He clenched
+his fist and turned away without a word.
+
+For three weeks I suffered terribly. Three times a day I called at
+Madame Pierson's and each time was refused admittance. I received one
+letter from her; she said that my assiduity was causing talk in the
+village, and begged me to call less frequently. Not a word about
+Mercanson or her illness.
+
+This precaution on her part was so unnatural, and contrasted so strongly
+with her former proud indifference in matters of this kind, that at
+first I could hardly believe it. Not knowing what else to say, I replied
+that there was no desire in my heart but obedience to her wishes. But in
+spite of me, the words I used did not conceal the bitterness I felt.
+
+I purposely delayed going to see her even when permitted to do so, and
+no longer sent to inquire about her condition, as I wished to have her
+know that I did not believe in her illness. I did not know why she
+kept me at a distance; but I was so miserably unhappy that, at times,
+I thought seriously of putting an end to a life that had become
+insupportable. I was accustomed to spend entire days in the woods, and
+one day I happened to encounter her there.
+
+I hardly had the courage to ask for an explanation; she did not reply
+frankly, and I did not recur to the subject; I could only count the
+days I was obliged to pass without seeing her, and live in the hope of
+a visit. All the time I was sorely tempted to throw myself at her feet,
+and tell her of my despair. I knew that she would not be insensible to
+it, and that she would at least express her pity; but her severity and
+the abrupt manner of her departure recalled me to my senses; I trembled
+lest I should lose her, and I would rather die than expose myself to
+that danger.
+
+Thus denied the solace of confessing my sorrow, my health began to
+give way. My feet lagged on the way to her house; I felt that I was
+exhausting the source of tears, and each visit cost me added sorrow; I
+was torn with the thought that I ought not to see her.
+
+On her part there was neither the same tone nor the same ease as of old;
+she spoke of going away on a tour; she pretended to confess to me her
+longing to get away, leaving me more dead than alive after her cruel
+words. If surprised by a natural impulse of sympathy, she immediately
+checked herself and relapsed into her accustomed coldness. Upon one
+occasion I could not restrain my tears. I saw her turn pale. As I was
+going, she said to me at the door:
+
+"To-morrow I am going to Sainte-Luce (a neighboring village), and it is
+too far to go on foot. Be here with your horse early in the morning, if
+you have nothing to do, and go with me."
+
+I was on hand promptly, as may readily be imagined. I had slept
+over that word with transports of joy; but, upon leaving my house,
+I experienced a feeling of deep dejection. In restoring me to the
+privilege I had formerly enjoyed of accompanying her on her missions
+about the country, she had clearly been guilty of a cruel caprice if
+she did not love me. She knew how I was suffering; why abuse my courage
+unless she had changed her mind?
+
+This reflection had a strange influence on me. When she mounted her
+horse my heart beat violently as I took her foot; I do not know whether
+it was from desire or anger. "If she is touched," I said to myself, "why
+this reserve? If she is a coquette, why so much liberty?"
+
+Such are men. At my first word she saw that a change had taken place in
+me. I did not speak to her, but kept to the other side of the road. When
+we reached the valley she appeared at ease, and only turned her head
+from time to time to see if I was following her; but when we came to the
+forest and our horses' hoofs resounded against the rocks that lined the
+road, I saw that she was trembling. She stopped as though to wait for
+me, as I was some distance in the rear; when I had overtaken her she
+set out at a gallop. We soon reached the foot of the mountain and were
+compelled to slacken our pace. I then made my way to her side; our heads
+were bowed; the time had come, I took her hand.
+
+"Brigitte," I said, "are you weary of my complaints? Since I have been
+reinstated in your favor, since I have been allowed to see you every
+day and every evening, I have asked myself if I have been importunate.
+During the last two months, while strength and hope have been failing
+me, have I said a word of that fatal love which is consuming me? Raise
+your head and answer me. Do you not see that I suffer and that my nights
+are given to weeping? Have you not met in the forest an unfortunate
+wretch sitting in solitary dejection with his hands pressed to his
+forehead? Have you not seen tears on these bushes? Look at me, look at
+these mountains; do you realize that I love you? They know it, they are
+my witnesses; these rocks and these trees know my secret. Why lead me
+before them? Am I not wretched enough? Do I fail in courage? Have I
+obeyed you? To what tests, what tortures am I subjected, and for what
+crime? If you do not love me, what are you doing here?"
+
+"Let us return," she said, "let us retrace our steps."
+
+I seized her horse's bridle.
+
+"No," I replied, "for I have spoken. If we return, I lose you, I realize
+it; I know in advance what you will say. You have been pleased to try
+my patience, you have set my sorrow at defiance, perhaps that you might
+have the right to drive me from your presence; you have become tired of
+that sorrowful lover who suffered without complaint and who drank with
+resignation the bitter chalice of your disdain! You knew that, alone
+with you in the presence of these trees, in the midst of this solitude
+where my love had its birth, I could not be silent! You wish to
+be offended. Very well, Madame, I lose you! I have wept and I have
+suffered, I have too long nourished in my heart a pitiless love that
+devours me. You have been cruel!"
+
+As she was about to leap from her saddle, I seized her in my arms and
+pressed my lips to hers. She turned pale, her eyes closed, her bridle
+slipped from her hand and she fell to the ground.
+
+"God be praised!" I cried, "she loves me!" She had returned my kiss.
+
+I leaped to the ground and hastened to her side. She was extended on the
+ground. I raised her, she opened her eyes, and shuddered with terror;
+she pushed my arm aside, and burst into tears.
+
+I stood near the roadside; I looked at her as she leaned against a tree,
+as beautiful as the day, her long hair falling over her shoulders, her
+hands twitching and trembling, her cheeks suffused with crimson, whereon
+shone pearly tears.
+
+"Do not come near me!" she cried, "not a step!"
+
+"Oh, my love!" I said, "fear nothing; if I have offended you, you know
+how to punish me. I was angry and I gave way to my grief; treat me as
+you choose; you may go away now, you may send me away! I know that you
+love me, Brigitte, and you are safer here than a king in his palace."
+
+As I spoke these words, Madame Pierson fixed her humid eyes on mine; I
+saw the happiness of my life come to me in the flash of those orbs.
+I crossed the road and knelt before her. How little he loves who can
+recall the words he uses when he confesses that love!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE VENUSBERG AGAIN
+
+If I were a jeweler and had in stock a pearl necklace that I wished to
+give a friend, it seems to me I should take great pleasure in placing it
+about her neck with my own hands; but were I that friend, I would rather
+die than snatch the necklace from the jeweler's hand. I have seen many
+men hasten to give themselves to the woman they love, but I have
+always done the contrary, not through calculation, but through natural
+instinct. The woman who loves a little and resists does not love enough,
+and she who loves enough and resists knows that she is not sincerely
+loved.
+
+Madame Pierson gave evidence of more confidence in me, confessing that
+she loved me when she had never shown it in her actions. The respect I
+felt for her inspired me with such joy that her face looked to me like a
+budding rose. At times she would abandon herself to an impulse of sudden
+gayety, then she would suddenly check herself; treating me like a child,
+and then look at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a thousand
+pleasantries as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress, she would
+suddenly leave me, go aside and abandon herself to revery. Was ever a
+more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for
+her in the same spot where I had remained watching her.
+
+"Oh! my friend!" I said, "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are
+loved."
+
+Yet I could conceal neither the violence of my desires nor the pain I
+endured struggling against them. One evening I told her that I had
+just learned of the loss of an important case, which would involve a
+considerable change in my affairs.
+
+"How is it," she asked, "that you make this announcement and smile at
+the same time?"
+
+"There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet," I replied: "'He who is
+loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.'"
+
+Madame Pierson made no reply; all that evening she was even more
+cheerful than usual. When we played cards with her aunt and I lost she
+was merciless in her scorn, saying that I knew nothing of the game, and
+she bet against me with so much success that she won all I had in my
+purse. When the old lady retired, she stepped out on the balcony and I
+followed her in silence.
+
+The night was beautiful; the moon was setting and the stars shone
+brightly in a field of deep azure. Not a breath of wind stirred the
+trees; the air was warm and freighted with the perfume of spring.
+
+She was leaning on her elbow, her eyes in the heavens; I leaned over her
+and watched her as she dreamed. Then I raised my own eyes; a voluptuous
+melancholy seized us both. We breathed together the warm perfume wafted
+to us from the garden; we followed, in its lingering course, the pale
+light of the moon which glinted through the chestnut-trees. I thought of
+a certain day when I had looked up at the broad expanse of heaven with
+despair; I trembled at the recollection of that hour; life was so rich
+now! I felt a hymn of praise welling up in my heart. Around the form of
+my dear mistress I slipped my arm; she gently turned her head; her eyes
+were bathed in tears. Her body yielded as does the rose, her open lips
+fell on mine, and the universe was forgotten.
+
+Eternal angel of happy nights, who shall interpret thy silence?
+Mysterious vintage that flows from lips that meet as from a stainless
+chalice! Intoxication of the senses! O, supremest joy! Yes, like
+God, thou art immortal! Sublime exaltation of the creature, universal
+communion of beings, thrice sacred pleasure, what have they sung who
+have celebrated thy praise? They have called thee transitory, O thou who
+dost create! And they have said that thy passing beams have illumined
+their fugitive life. Words that are as feeble as the dying breath! Words
+of a sensual brute who is astonished that he should live for an hour,
+and who mistakes the rays of the eternal lamp for the spark which is
+struck from the flint!
+
+O love! thou principle of life! Precious flame over which all nature,
+like a careful vestal, incessantly watches in the temple of God! Centre
+of all, by whom all exists, the spirit of destruction would itself
+die, blowing at thy flame! I am not astonished that thy name should be
+blasphemed, for they do not know who thou art, they who think they have
+seen thy face because they have opened their eyes; and when thou findest
+thy true prophets, united on earth with a kiss, thou closest their eyes
+lest they look upon the face of perfect joy.
+
+But you, O rapturous delights, languishing smiles, and first caressing,
+stammering utterance of love, you who can be seen, who are you? Are you
+less in God's sight than all the rest, beautiful cherubim who soar
+in the alcove and who bring to this world man awakened from the dream
+divine! Ah! dear children of pleasure, how your mother loves you! It
+is you, curious prattlers, who behold the first mysteries, touches,
+trembling yet chaste, glances that are already insatiable, who begin
+to trace on the heart, as a tentative sketch, the ineffaceable image of
+cherished beauty! O royalty! O conquest! It is you who make lovers.
+And thou, true diadem, serenity of happiness! The first true concept of
+man's life, and first return of happiness in the many little things of
+life which are seen only through the medium of joy, first steps made by
+nature in the direction of the well-beloved! Who will paint you? What
+human word will ever express thy slightest caress?
+
+He who, in the freshness of youth, has taken leave of an adored
+mistress; he who has walked through the streets without hearing the
+voices of those who speak to him; he who has sat in a lonely spot,
+laughing and weeping without knowing why; he who has placed his hands to
+his face in order to breathe the perfume that still clings to them; he
+who has suddenly forgotten what he had been doing on earth; he who has
+spoken to the trees along the route and to the birds in their flight;
+finally, he who, in the midst of men, has acted the madman, and then
+has fallen on his knees and thanked God for it; let him die without
+complaint: he has known the joy of love.
+
+
+
+
+PART IV
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE THORNS OF LOVE
+
+I have now to recount what happened to my love, and the change that took
+place in me. What reason can I give for it? None, except as I repeat the
+story and as I say: "It is the truth." For two days, neither more
+nor less, I was Madame Pierson's lover. One fine night I set out and
+traversed the road that led to her house. I was feeling so well in body
+and soul that I leaped for joy and extended my arms to heaven. I found
+her at the top of the stairway leaning on the railing, a lighted candle
+beside her. She was waiting for me, and when she saw me ran to meet me.
+
+She showed me how she had changed her coiffure which had displeased me,
+and told me how she had passed the day arranging her hair to suit my
+taste; how she had taken down a villainous black picture-frame that had
+offended my eye; how she had renewed the flowers; she recounted all she
+had done since she had known me, how she had seen me suffer and how she
+had suffered herself; how she had thought of leaving the country, of
+fleeing from her love; how she had employed every precaution against
+me; how she had sought advice from her aunt, from Mercanson and from the
+cure; how she had vowed to herself that she would die rather than yield,
+and how all that had been dissipated by a single word of mine, a glance,
+an incident; and with every confession a kiss.
+
+She said that whatever I saw in her room that pleased my taste, whatever
+bagatelle on her table attracted my attention, she would give me; that
+whatever she did in the future, in the morning, in the evening, at any
+hour, I should regulate as I pleased; that the judgments of the world
+did not concern her; that if she had appeared to care for them, it was
+only to send me away; but that she wished to be happy and close her
+ears, that she was thirty years of age and had not long to be loved by
+me. "And you will love me a long time? Are those fine words, with which
+you have beguiled me, true?" And then loving reproaches because I had
+been late in coming to her; that she had put on her slippers in order
+that I might see her foot, but that she was no longer beautiful; that
+she could wish she were; that she had been at fifteen. She went here
+and there, silly with love, rosy with joy; and she did not know what to
+imagine, what to say or do, in order to give herself and all that she
+had.
+
+I was lying on the sofa; I felt, at every word she spoke, a bad hour of
+my past life slipping away from me. I watched the star of love rising
+in my sky, and it seemed to me I was like a tree filled with sap that
+shakes off its dry leaves in order to attire itself in new foliage.
+She sat down at the piano and told me she was going to play an air by
+Stradella. More than all else I love sacred music, and that morceau
+which she had sung for me a number of times gave me great pleasure.
+
+"Yes," she said when she had finished, "but you are very much mistaken,
+the air is mine, and I have made you believe it was Stradella's."
+
+"It is yours?"
+
+"Yes, and I told you it was by Stradella in order to see what you would
+say of it. I never play my own music when I happen to compose any; but
+I wanted to try it with you, and you see it has succeeded since you were
+deceived."
+
+What a monstrous machine is man! What could be more innocent? A bright
+child might have adopted that ruse to surprise his teacher. She laughed
+heartily the while, but I felt a strange coldness as if a dark cloud had
+settled on me; my countenance changed:
+
+"What is the matter?" she asked. "Are you ill?"
+
+"It is nothing; play that air again."
+
+While she was playing I walked up and down the room; I passed my
+hand over my forehead as if to brush away the fog; I stamped my foot,
+shrugged my shoulders at my own madness; finally I sat down on a cushion
+which had fallen to the floor; she came to me. The more I struggled with
+the spirit of darkness which had seized me, the thicker the night that
+gathered around my head.
+
+"Verily," I said, "you lie so well? What! that air is yours? Is it
+possible you can lie so fluently?"
+
+She looked at me with an air of astonishment.
+
+"What is it?" she asked.
+
+Unspeakable anxiety was depicted on her face. Surely she could not
+believe me fool enough to reproach her for such a harmless bit of
+pleasantry; she did not see anything serious in that sadness which I
+felt; but the more trifling the cause, the greater the surprise. At
+first she thought I, too, must be joking; but when she saw me growing
+paler every moment as if about to faint, she stood with open lips and
+bent body, looking like a statue.
+
+"God of Heaven!" she cried, "is it possible?"
+
+You smile, perhaps, reader, at this page; I who write it still shudder
+as I think of it. Misfortunes have their symptoms as well as diseases,
+and there is nothing so terrible at sea as a little black point on the
+horizon.
+
+However, my dear Brigitte drew a little round table into the centre of
+the room and brought out some supper. She had prepared it herself, and
+I did not drink a drop that was not first borne to her lips. The blue
+light of day, piercing through the curtains, illumined her charming
+face and tender eyes; she was tired and allowed her head to fall on my
+shoulder with a thousand terms of endearment.
+
+I could not struggle against such charming abandon, and my heart
+expanded with joy; I believed I had rid myself of the bad dream that had
+just tormented me, and I begged her pardon for giving way to a sudden
+impulse which I myself did not understand.
+
+"My friend," I said, from the bottom of my heart, "I am very sorry that
+I unjustly reproached you for a piece of innocent badinage; but if you
+love me, never lie to me, even in the smallest matter, for a lie is an
+abomination to me and I can not endure it."
+
+I told her I would remain until she was asleep. I saw her close her
+beautiful eyes and heard her murmur something in her sleep as I bent
+over and kissed her adieu. Then I went away with a tranquil heart,
+promising myself that I would henceforth enjoy my happiness and allow
+nothing to disturb it.
+
+But the next day Brigitte said to me, as if quite by chance:
+
+"I have a large book in which I have written my thoughts, everything
+that has occurred to my mind, and I want you to see what I said of you
+the first day I met you."
+
+We read together what concerned me, to which we added a hundred foolish
+comments, after which I began to turn the leaves in a mechanical way.
+A phrase written in capital letters caught my eye on one of the pages I
+was turning; I distinctly saw some words that were insignificant enough,
+and I was about to read the rest when Brigitte stopped me and said:
+
+"Do not read that."
+
+I threw the book on the table.
+
+"Why, certainly not," I said, "I did not think what I was doing."
+
+"Do you still take things seriously?" she asked, smiling, doubtless
+seeing my malady coming on again; "take the book, I want you to read
+it."
+
+The book lay on the table within easy reach and I did not take my eyes
+from it. I seemed to hear a voice whispering in my ear, and I thought
+I saw, grimacing before me, with his glacial smile and dry face,
+Desgenais. "What are you doing here, Desgenais?" I asked as if I really
+saw him. He looked as he did that evening, when he leaned over my table
+and unfolded to me his catechism of vice.
+
+I kept my eyes on the book and I felt vaguely stirring in my memory some
+forgotten words of the past. The spirit of doubt hanging over my head
+had injected into my veins a drop of poison; the vapor mounted to
+my head and I staggered like a drunken man. What secret was Brigitte
+concealing from me? I knew very well that I had only to bend over and
+open the book; but at what place? How could I recognize the leaf on
+which my eye had chanced to fall?
+
+My pride, moreover, would not permit me to take the book; was it indeed
+pride? "O God!" I said to myself with a frightful sense of sadness, "is
+the past a spectre? and can it come out of its tomb? Ah! wretch that I
+am, can I never love?"
+
+All my ideas of contempt for women, all the phrases of mocking fatuity
+which I had repeated as a schoolboy his lesson, suddenly came to my
+mind; and strange to say, while formerly I did not believe in making a
+parade of them, now it seemed that they were real, or at least that they
+had been.
+
+I had known Madame Pierson four months, but I knew nothing of her past
+life and had never questioned her about it. I had yielded to my love for
+her with confidence and without reservation. I found a sort of pleasure
+in taking her just as she was, for just what she seemed, while suspicion
+and jealousy are so foreign to my nature that I was more surprised at
+feeling them toward Brigitte than she was in discovering them in me.
+Never in my first love nor in the affairs of daily life have I been
+distrustful, but on the contrary bold and frank, suspecting nothing. I
+had to see my mistress betray me before my eyes before I would believe
+that she could deceive me. Desgenais himself, while preaching to me
+after his manner, joked me about the ease with which I could be duped.
+The story of my life was an incontestable proof that I was credulous
+rather than suspicious; and when the words in that book suddenly struck
+me, it seemed to me I felt a new being within me, a sort of unknown
+self; my reason revolted against the feeling, and I did not dare ask
+whither all this was leading me.
+
+But the suffering I had endured, the memory of the perfidy that I had
+witnessed, the frightful cure I had imposed on myself, the opinions of
+my friends, the corrupt life I had led, the sad truths I had learned,
+as well as those that I had unconsciously surmised during my sad
+experience, ending in debauchery, contempt of love, abuse of everything,
+that is what I had in my heart although I did not suspect it; and at
+the moment when life and hope were again being born within me, all these
+furies that were being atrophied by time seized me by the throat and
+cried that they were yet alive.
+
+I bent over and opened the book, then immediately closed it and threw
+it on the table. Brigitte was looking at me; in her beautiful eyes was
+neither wounded pride nor anger; nothing but tender solicitude, as if I
+were ill.
+
+"Do you think I have secrets?" she asked, embracing me.
+
+"No," I replied, "I know nothing except that you are beautiful and that
+I would die loving you."
+
+When I returned home to dinner I said to Larive:
+
+"Who is Madame Pierson?"
+
+He looked at me in astonishment.
+
+"You have lived here many years," I continued; "you ought to know better
+than I. What do they say of her here? What do they think of her in the
+village? What kind of life did she lead before I knew her? Whom did she
+receive as her friends?"
+
+"In faith, sir, I have never seen her do otherwise than she does every
+day, that is to say, walk in the valley, play picquet with her aunt,
+and visit the poor. The peasants call her Brigitte la Rose; I have never
+heard a word against her except that she goes through the woods alone at
+all hours of the day and night; but that is when engaged in charitable
+work. She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she
+receives, there are only the cure and Monsieur de Dalens during
+vacation."
+
+"Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?"
+
+"He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he
+only comes here for the chase."
+
+"Is he young?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is he related to Madame Pierson?"
+
+"No, he was a friend of her husband."
+
+"Has her husband been dead long?"
+
+"Five years on All-Saints' day. He was a worthy man."
+
+"And has this Monsieur de Dalens paid court?"
+
+"To the widow? In faith--to tell the truth--" he stopped, embarrassed.
+
+"Well, will you answer me?"
+
+"Some say so and some do not--I know nothing and have seen nothing."
+
+"And you just told me that they do not talk about her in the country?"
+
+"That is all they have said, and I supposed you knew that."
+
+"In a word, yes or no?"
+
+"Yes, sir, I think so, at least."
+
+I arose from the table and walked down the road; Mercanson was there. I
+expected he would try to avoid me; on the contrary he approached me.
+
+"Sir," he said, "you exhibited signs of anger which it does not become
+a man of my character to resent. I wish to express my regret that I was
+charged to communicate a message which appeared so unwelcome."
+
+I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he
+walked along at my side.
+
+"Dalens! Dalens!" I repeated between my teeth, "who will tell me about
+Dalens?" For Larive had told me nothing except what a valet might learn.
+From whom had he learned it? From some servant or peasant. I must have
+some witness who had seen Dalens with Madame Pierson and who knew all
+about their relations. I could not get that Dalens out of my head, and
+not being able to talk to any one else, I asked Mercanson about him.
+
+If Mercanson was not a bad man, he was either a fool or very shrewd, I
+have never known which. It is certain that he had reason to hate me and
+that he treated me as meanly as possible. Madame Pierson, who had the
+greatest friendship for the cure, had almost come to think equally well
+of the nephew. He was proud of it, and consequently jealous. It is not
+love alone that inspires jealousy; a favor, a kind word, a smile from a
+beautiful mouth, may arouse some people to jealous rage.
+
+Mercanson appeared to be astonished. I was somewhat astonished myself;
+but who knows his own mind?
+
+At his first words I saw that the priest understood what I wanted to
+know and had decided not to satisfy me.
+
+"How does it happen that you have known Madame Pierson so long and so
+intimately (I think so, at least) and have not met Monsieur de Dalens?
+But, doubtless, you have some reason unknown to me for inquiring about
+him to-day. All I can say is that as far as I know, he is an honest
+man, kind and charitable; he was, like you, very intimate with Madame
+Pierson; he is fond of hunting and entertains handsomely. He and Madame
+Pierson were accustomed to devote much of their time to music. He
+punctually attended to his works of charity and, when--in the country,
+accompanied that lady on her rounds, just as you do. His family enjoys
+an excellent reputation at Paris; I used to find him with Madame Pierson
+whenever I called; his manners were excellent. As for the rest, I speak
+truly and frankly, as becomes me when it concerns persons of his merit.
+I believe that he only comes here for the chase; he was a friend of her
+husband; he is said to be rich and very generous; but I know nothing
+about it except that--"
+
+With what tortured phrases was this dull tormentor teasing me. I was
+ashamed to listen to him, yet not daring to ask a single question or
+interrupt his vile insinuations. I was alone on the promenade; the
+poisoned arrow of suspicion had entered my heart. I did not know whether
+I felt more of anger or of sorrow. The confidence with which I had
+abandoned myself to my love for Brigitte had been so sweet and so
+natural that I could not bring myself to believe that so much happiness
+had been built upon an illusion. That sentiment of credulity which had
+attracted me to her seemed a proof that she was worthy. Was it possible
+that these four months of happiness were but a dream?
+
+But after all, I thought, that woman has yielded too easily. Was there
+not deception in that pretended anxiety to have me leave the country? Is
+she not just like all the rest? Yes, that is the way they all do; they
+attempt to escape in order to experience the happiness of being pursued:
+it is the feminine instinct. Was it not she who confessed her love by
+her own act, at the very moment I had decided that she would never be
+mine? Did she not accept my arm the first day I met her? If Dalens has
+been her lover, he probably is still; there is a certain sort of liaison
+that has neither beginning nor end; when chance ordains a meeting, it is
+resumed; when parted, it is forgotten.
+
+If that man comes here this summer, she will probably see him without
+breaking with me. Who is this aunt, what mysterious life is this that
+has charity for its cloak, this liberty that cares nothing for opinion?
+May they not be adventurers, these two women with their little house,
+their prudence, and their caution, which enable them to impose on people
+so easily? Assuredly, for all I know, I have fallen into an affair of
+gallantry when I thought I was engaged in a romance. But what can I do?
+There is no one here who can help me except the priest, who does not
+care to tell me what he knows, and his uncle, who will say still less.
+Who will save me? How can I learn the truth?
+
+Thus spoke jealousy; thus, forgetting so many tears and all that I
+had suffered, I had come at the end of two days to a point where I was
+tormenting myself with the idea that Brigitte had yielded too easily.
+Thus, like all who doubt, I brushed aside sentiment and reason to
+dispute with facts, to attach myself to the letter and dissect my love.
+
+While absorbed in these reflections I was slowly approaching Madame
+Pierson's.
+
+I found the gate open, and as I entered the garden I saw a light in the
+kitchen. I thought of questioning the servant, I stepped to the window.
+
+A feeling of horror rooted me to the spot. The servant was an old woman,
+thin and wrinkled and bent, a common deformity in people who have worked
+in the fields. I found her shaking a cooking utensil over a filthy sink.
+A dirty candle fluttered in her trembling hand; about her were pots,
+kettles, and dishes, the remains of dinner that a dog sniffed at, from
+time to time, as though ashamed; a warm, nauseating odor emanated from
+the reeking walls. When the old woman caught sight of me, she smiled in
+a confidential way; she had seen me take leave of her mistress.
+
+I shuddered as I thought what I had come to seek in a spot so well
+suited to my ignoble purpose. I fled from that old woman as from
+jealousy personified, and as if the stench of her cooking had come from
+my heart.
+
+Brigitte was at the window watering her well-beloved flowers; a child
+of one of her neighbors was lying in a cradle at her side, and she was
+gently rocking the cradle with her disengaged hand; the child's mouth
+was full of bonbons, and in gurgling eloquence it was addressing an
+incomprehensible apostrophe to its nurse. I sat down near her and kissed
+the child on its fat cheeks, as if to imbibe some of its innocence.
+Brigitte accorded me a timid greeting; she could see her troubled image
+in my eyes. For my part I avoided her glance; the more I admired her
+beauty and her air of candor, the more I was convinced that such a woman
+was either an angel or a monster of perfidy; I forced myself to recall
+each one of Mercanson's words, and I confronted, so to speak, the man's
+insinuations with her presence and her face. "She is very beautiful," I
+said to myself, "and very dangerous if she knows how, to deceive; but
+I will fathom her and I will sound her heart; and she shall know who I
+am."
+
+"My dear," I said after a long silence, "I have just given a piece of
+advice to a friend who consulted me. He is an honest young man, and he
+writes me that a woman he loves has another lover. He asks me what he
+ought to do."
+
+"What reply did you make?"
+
+"Two questions: Is she pretty? Do you love her? If you love her,
+forget her; if she is pretty and you do not love her, keep her for
+your pleasure; there will always be time to quit her, if it is merely a
+matter of beauty, and one is worth as much as another."
+
+Hearing me speak thus, Brigitte put down the child she was holding and
+sat down at the other end of the room. There was no light in the room;
+the moon, which was shining on the spot where she had been standing,
+threw a shadow over the sofa on which she was now seated. The words I
+had uttered were so heartless, so cruel, that I was dazed myself, and my
+heart was filled with bitterness. The child in its cradle began to cry.
+Then all three of us were silent while a cloud passed over the moon.
+
+A servant entered the room with a light and carried the child away. I
+arose, Brigitte also; but she suddenly placed her hand on her heart and
+fell to the floor.
+
+I hastened to her side; she had not lost consciousness and begged me
+not to call any one. She explained that she was subject to violent
+palpitation of the heart and had been troubled by fainting spells from
+her youth; that there was no danger and no remedy. I kneeled beside
+her; she sweetly opened her arms; I raised her head and placed it on my
+shoulder.
+
+"Ah! my friend," she said, "I pity you."
+
+"Listen to me," I whispered in her ear, "I am a wretched fool, but I can
+keep nothing on my heart. Who is this Monsieur de Dalens who lives on
+the mountain and comes to see you?"
+
+She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name.
+
+"Dalens?" she replied. "He was my husband's friend."
+
+She looked at me as if to inquire: "Why do you ask?" It seemed to me
+that her face wore a grieved expression. I bit my lips. "If she wants to
+deceive me," I thought, "I was foolish to question her."
+
+Brigitte rose with difficulty; she took her fan and began to walk up and
+down the room.
+
+She was breathing hard; I had wounded her. She was absorbed in thought
+and we exchanged two or three glances that were almost cold. She stepped
+to her desk, opened it, drew out a package of letters tied together with
+a ribbon, and threw it at my feet without a word.
+
+But I was looking neither at her nor her letters; I had just thrown a
+stone into the abyss and was listening to the echoes. For the first
+time offended pride was depicted on Brigitte's face. There was no longer
+either anxiety or pity in her eyes, and, just as I had come to feel
+myself other than I had ever been, so I saw in her a woman I did not
+know.
+
+"Read that," she said, finally. I stepped up to her and took her hand.
+
+"Read that, read that!" she repeated in freezing tones.
+
+I took the letters. At that moment I felt so persuaded of her innocence
+that I was seized with remorse.
+
+"You remind me," she said, "that I owe you the story of my life; sit
+down and you shall learn it. You will open these drawers, and you will
+read all that I have written and all that has been written to me."
+
+She sat down and motioned me to a chair. I saw that she found it
+difficult to speak. She was pale as death, her voice constrained, her
+throat swollen.
+
+"Brigitte! Brigitte!" I cried, "in the name of heaven, do not speak! God
+is my witness I was not born such as you see me; during my life I have
+been neither suspicious nor distrustful. I have been undone, my heart
+has been seared by the treachery of others. A frightful experience has
+led me to the very brink of the precipice, and for a year I have seen
+nothing but evil here below. God is my witness that, up to this day,
+I did not believe myself capable of playing the ignoble role I have
+assumed, the meanest role of all, that of a jealous lover. God is my
+witness that I love you and that you are the only one in the world who
+can cure me of the past.
+
+"I have had to do, up to this time, with women who deceived me, or who
+were unworthy of love. I have led the life of a libertine; I bear on
+my heart certain marks that will never be effaced. Is it my fault if
+calumny, and base suggestion, to-day planted in a heart whose fibres
+were still trembling with pain and ready to assimilate all that
+resembles sorrow, have driven me to despair? I have just heard the name
+of a man I have never met, of whose existence I was ignorant; I have
+been given to understand that there has been between you and him a
+certain intimacy, which proves nothing. I do not intend to question you;
+I have suffered from it, I have confessed to you, and I have done you an
+irreparable wrong. But rather than consent to what you propose, I will
+throw it all in the fire. Ah! my friend, do not degrade me; do not
+attempt to justify yourself, do not punish me for suffering. How could
+I, in the bottom of my heart, suspect you of deceiving me? No, you are
+beautiful and you are true; a single glance of yours, Brigitte, tells me
+more than words could utter and I am content. If you knew what horrors,
+what monstrous deceit, the man who stands before you has seen! If you
+knew how he has been treated, how they have mocked at all that is good,
+how they have taken pains to teach him all that leads to doubt, to
+jealousy, to despair!
+
+"Alas! alas! my dear mistress, if you knew whom you love! Do not
+reproach me, but rather pity me; I must forget that other beings than
+you exist. Who can know through what frightful trials, through what
+pitiless suffering I have passed! I did not expect this, I did not
+anticipate this moment. Since you have become mine, I realize what I
+have done; I have felt, in kissing you, that my lips were not, like
+yours, unsullied. In the name of heaven, help me live! God made me a
+better man than the one you see before you."
+
+Brigitte held out her hands and caressed me tenderly. She begged me
+to tell her all that had led to this sad scene. I spoke of what I had
+learned from Larive, but did not dare confess that I had interviewed
+Mercanson. She insisted that I listen to her explanation. M. de Dalens
+had loved her; but he was a man of frivolous disposition, dissipated
+and inconstant; she had given him to understand that, not wishing to
+remarry, she could only request that he drop the role of suitor, and
+he had yielded to her wishes with good grace; but his visits had become
+more rare since that time, until now they had ceased altogether. She
+drew from the bundle a certain letter which she showed me, the date
+of which was recent; I could not help blushing as I found in it the
+confirmation of all she had said; she assured me that she pardoned me,
+and exacted a promise that in the future I would promptly tell her of
+any cause I might have to suspect her. Our treaty was sealed with a
+kiss, and when I left her we had both forgotten that M. de Dalens ever
+existed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. UNCERTAINTY
+
+A kind of stagnant inertia, tempered with bitter joy, is characteristic
+of debauchery. It is the sequence of a life of caprice, where nothing is
+regulated according to the needs of the body, but everything according
+to the fantasy of the mind, and one must be always ready to obey the
+behests of the other. Youth and will can resist excess; but nature
+silently avenges herself, and the day when she decides to repair her
+forces, the will struggles to retard her work and abuses her anew.
+
+Finding about him then all the objects that were able to tempt him the
+evening before, the man who is incapable of enjoying them looks down at
+them with a smile of disgust. At the same time the objects which excite
+his desire are never attained with sang-froid; all that the debauches
+loves, he seizes; his life is a fever; his organs, in order to search
+the depths of joy, are forced to avail themselves of the stimulant of
+fermented liquors and sleepless nights; in the days of ennui and of
+idleness he feels more keenly than other men the disparity between his
+impotence and his temptations, and, in order to resist the latter, pride
+must come to his aid and make him believe that he disdains them. It
+is thus he spits on all the feasts and pleasures of his life, and so,
+between an ardent thirst and a profound satiety, a feeling of tranquil
+vanity leads him to his death.
+
+Although I was no longer a debauches, it came to pass that my body
+suddenly remembered that it had been. It is easy to understand why I
+had not felt the effects of it sooner. While mourning my father's death
+every other thought was crowded from my mind. Then a passionate love
+succeeded; while I was alone, ennui had nothing to struggle for. Sad or
+gay, fair or foul, what matters it to him who is alone?
+
+As zinc, rarely found unmixed, drawn from the vein where it lies
+sleeping, attracts to itself a ray of light when placed near green
+leather, thus Brigitte's kisses gradually awakened in my heart what had
+been buried there. At her side I perceived what I really was.
+
+There were days when I felt such a strange sensation in the mornings
+that it is impossible for me to define it. I awakened without a motive,
+feeling like a man who has spent the night in eating and drinking to
+the point of exhaustion. All external sensations caused me insupportable
+fatigue, all well-known objects of daily life repelled and annoyed
+me; if I spoke it was in ridicule of what others thought or of what
+I thought myself. Then, extended on the bed, as if incapable of any
+motion, I dismissed any thought of undertaking whatever had been agreed
+upon the evening before; I recalled all the tender and loving things I
+had said to my mistress during my better moments, and was not satisfied
+until I had spoiled and poisoned those memories of happy days. "Can you
+not forget all that?" Brigitte would sadly inquire, "if there are two
+different men in you, can you not, when the bad rouses himself, forget
+the good?"
+
+The patience with which Brigitte opposed these vagaries only served to
+excite my sinister gayety. Strange that the man who suffers wishes to
+make her whom he loves suffer! To lose control of one's self, is that
+not the worst of evils? Is there anything more cruel for a woman than to
+hear a man turn to derision all that is sacred and mysterious? Yet she
+did not flee from me; she remained at my side, while in my savage humor
+I insulted love and allowed insane ravings to escape from lips that were
+still moist with her kisses.
+
+On such days, contrary to my usual inclination, I liked to talk of Paris
+and speak of my life of debauchery as the most commendable thing in the
+world. "You are nothing but a saint," I would laughingly observe; "you
+do not understand what I say. There is nothing like those careless ones
+who make love without believing in it." Was that not the same as saying
+that I did not believe in it?
+
+"Very well," Brigitte replied, "teach me how to please you always. I
+am perhaps as pretty as those mistresses whom you mourn; if I have not
+their skill to divert you, I beg that you will instruct me. Act as if
+you did not love me, and let me love you without saying anything about
+it. If I am devoted to religion, I am also devoted to love. What can I
+do to make you believe it?"
+
+Then she would stand before the mirror arraying herself as if for a
+soiree, affecting a coquetry that she was far from feeling, trying
+to adopt my tone, laughing and skipping about the room. "Am I to your
+taste?" she would ask. "Which one of your mistresses do I resemble? Am
+I beautiful, enough to make you forget that any one can believe in love?
+Have I a sufficiently careless air to suit you?" Then, in the midst of
+that factitious joy, she would turn her back and I could see her shudder
+until the flowers she had placed in her hair trembled. I threw myself at
+her feet.
+
+"Stop!" I cried, "you resemble only too closely that which you try to
+imitate, that which my mouth has been so vile as to conjure up before
+you. Lay aside those flowers and that dress. Let us wash away such
+mimicry with a sincere tear; do not remind me that I am but a prodigal
+son; I remember the past too well."
+
+But even this repentance was cruel, as it proved to her that the
+phantoms in my heart were full of reality. In yielding to an impulse
+of horror I merely gave her to understand that her resignation and her
+desire to please me only served to call up an impure image.
+
+And it was true; I reached her side transported with joy, swearing that
+I would regret my past life; on my knees I protested my respect for
+her; then a gesture, a word, a trick of turning as she approached me,
+recalled to my mind the fact that such and such a woman had made that
+gesture, had used that word, had that same trick of turning.
+
+Poor devoted soul! What didst thou suffer in seeing me turn pale before
+thee, in seeing my arms fall as though lifeless at my side! When the
+kiss died on my lips, and the full glance of love, that pure ray of
+God's light, fled from my eyes like an arrow turned by the wind! Ah!
+Brigitte! what diamonds trickled from thine eyes! What treasures of
+charity didst thou exhaust with patient hand! How pitiful thy love!
+
+For a long time good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularly;
+I showed myself alternately cruel and scornful, tender and devoted,
+insensible and haughty, repentant and submissive. The face of Desgenais,
+which had at first appeared to me as though to warn me whither I
+was drifting, was now constantly before me. On my days of doubt and
+coldness, I conversed, so to speak, with him; often when I had offended
+Brigitte by some cruel mockery I said to myself "If he were in my place
+he would do as I do!"
+
+And then at other times, when putting on my hat to visit Brigitte, I
+would look in my glass and say: "What is there so terrible about it,
+anyway? I have, after all, a pretty mistress; she has given herself to
+a libertine, let her take me for what I am." I reached her side with
+a smile on my lips, I sank into a chair with an air of deliberate
+insolence; then I saw Brigitte approach, her large eyes filled with
+tenderness and anxiety; I seized her little hands in mine and lost
+myself in an infinite dream.
+
+How name a thing that is nameless? Was I good or bad? Was I distrustful
+or a fool? It is useless to reflect on it; it happened thus.
+
+One of our neighbors was a young woman whose name was Madame Daniel. She
+possessed some beauty, and still more coquetry; she was poor, but tried
+to pass for rich; she would come to see us after dinner and always
+played a heavy game against us, although her losses embarrassed her; she
+sang, but had no voice. In the solitude of that unknown village, where
+an unkind fate had buried her, she was consumed with an uncontrollable
+passion for pleasure. She talked of nothing but Paris, which she visited
+two or three times a year. She pretended to keep up with the fashions,
+and my dear Brigitte assisted her as best she could, while smiling with
+pity. Her husband was employed by the government; once a year he would
+take her to the house of the chief of his department, where, attired
+in her best, the little woman danced to her heart's content. She would
+return with shining eyes and tired body; she would come to us to tell of
+her prowess, and her success in assaulting the masculine heart. The rest
+of the time she read novels, never taking the trouble to look after her
+household affairs, which were not always in the best condition.
+
+Whenever I saw her, I laughed at her, finding nothing so ridiculous
+as the high life she thought she was leading. I would interrupt
+her description of a ball to inquire about her husband and her
+father-in-law, both of whom she detested, the one because he was her
+husband, and the other because he was only a peasant; in short, we were
+always disputing on some subject.
+
+In my evil moments I thought of paying court to her just for the sake of
+annoying Brigitte.
+
+"You see," I said, "how perfectly Madame Daniel understands life! In her
+present sprightly humor could one desire a more charming mistress?"
+
+I then paid her the most extravagant compliments; her senseless
+chatting I described as unrestraint tempered by finesse, her pretentious
+exaggerations as a natural desire to please; was it her fault that she
+was poor? At least she thought of nothing but pleasure and confessed it
+freely; she did not preach sermons herself, nor did she listen to them
+from others; I went so far as to tell Brigitte that she ought to adopt
+her as a model, and that she was just the kind of woman to please me.
+
+Poor Madame Daniel discovered signs of melancholy in Brigitte's eyes.
+She was a strange creature, as good and sincere--when you could
+get finery out of her head--as she was stupid when absorbed in such
+frivolous affairs. On occasion she could be both good and stupid.
+One fine day, when they were walking together, she threw herself into
+Brigitte's arms, and told her that she had noticed I was beginning to
+pay court to her, and that I had made certain proposals to her, the
+meaning of which was not doubtful; but she knew that I was another's
+lover, and as for her, whatever might happen, she would die rather than
+destroy the happiness of a friend. Brigitte thanked her, and Madame
+Daniel, having set her conscience at ease, considered it no sin to
+render me desolate by languishing glances.
+
+In the evening, when she had gone, Brigitte, in a severe tone, told
+me what had happened; she begged me to spare her such affronts in the
+future.
+
+"Not that I attach any importance to such pleasantries," she said, "but
+if you have any love for me, it seems to me it is useless to inform a
+third party that there are times when you have not."
+
+"Is it possible," I replied with a smile, "that it is important? You see
+very well that I was only joking, and that I did it only to pass away
+the time."
+
+"Ah! my friend, my friend," said Brigitte, "it is a pity that you must
+seek pastimes."
+
+A few days later I proposed that we go to the prefecture to see Madame
+Daniel dance; she unwillingly consented. While she was arranging her
+toilette, I sat near the window and reproached her for losing her former
+cheerfulness.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" I asked. (I knew as well as she.) "Why
+that morose air that never leaves you? In truth, you make our life quite
+sad. I have known you when you were more joyous, more free and more
+open; I am not flattered by the thought that I am responsible for the
+change. But you have a cloistral disposition; you were born to live in a
+convent."
+
+It was Sunday; as we were driving down the road Brigitte ordered the
+carriage to stop in order to say good-evening to some friends, fresh and
+vigorous country girls, who were going to dance at Tilleuls. When they
+had gone on, Brigitte followed them with, longing eyes; her little
+rustic dance was very dear to her; she dried her eyes with her
+handkerchief.
+
+We found Madame Daniel at the prefecture in high feather. I danced with
+her so often that it excited comment; I paid her a thousand compliments
+and she replied as best she could.
+
+Brigitte was near us, and her eyes never left us. I can hardly describe
+what I felt; it was both pleasure and pain. I clearly saw that she was
+jealous; but instead of being moved by it I did all I could to increase
+her suffering.
+
+On the return I expected to hear her reproaches; she made none, but
+remained silent for three days. When I came to see her she would
+greet me kindly; then we would sit down facing each other, both of
+us preoccupied, hardly exchanging a word. The third day she spoke,
+overwhelmed me with bitter reproaches, told me that my conduct
+was unreasonable, that she could not account for it except on the
+supposition that I had ceased to love her; but she could not endure this
+life and would resort to anything rather than submit to my caprices and
+coldness. Her eyes were full of tears, and I was about to ask her pardon
+when some words escaped her that were so bitter that my pride revolted.
+I replied in the same tone, and our quarrel became violent.
+
+I told her that it was absurd to suppose that I could not inspire enough
+confidence in my mistress to escape the necessity of explaining my every
+action; that Madame Daniel was only a pretext; that she very well knew
+I did not think of that woman seriously; that her pretended jealousy was
+nothing but the expression of her desire for despotic power, and that,
+moreover, if she had tired of this life, it was easy enough to put an
+end to it.
+
+"Very well," she replied; "it is true that I do not recognize you as
+the same man I first knew; you doubtless performed a little comedy to
+persuade me that you loved me; you are tired of your role and can think
+of nothing but abuse. You suspect me of deceiving you upon the first
+word, and I am under no obligation to submit to your insults. You are no
+longer the man I loved."
+
+"I know what your sufferings are," I replied. "I can not make a step
+without exciting your alarm. Soon I shall not be permitted to address a
+word to any one but you. You pretend that you have been abused in order
+that you may be justified in offering insult; you accuse me of tyranny
+in order that I may become your slave. Since I trouble your repose, I
+leave you in peace; you will never see me again."
+
+We parted in anger, and I passed an entire day without seeing her. The
+next night, toward midnight, I was seized by a feeling of melancholy
+that I could not resist. I shed a torrent of tears; I overwhelmed myself
+with reproaches that I richly deserved. I told myself that I was nothing
+but a fool, and a cowardly fool at that, to make the noblest, the best
+of creatures, suffer in this way. I ran to her to throw myself at her
+feet.
+
+Entering the garden, I saw that her room was lighted and a flash of
+suspicion crossed my mind. "She does not expect me at this hour," I
+said to myself; "who knows what she may be doing. I left her in tears
+yesterday; I may find her ready to sing to-day and caring no more for me
+than if I never existed. I must enter gently, in order to surprise her."
+
+I advanced on tiptoe, and the door being open, I could see Brigitte
+without being seen.
+
+She was seated at her table and was writing in that same book that had
+aroused my suspicions. She held in her left hand a little box of white
+wood which she looked at from time to time and trembled. There was
+something sinister in the quiet that reigned in the room. Her secretary
+was open and several bundles of papers were carefully ranged in order.
+
+I made some noise at the door. She rose, went to the secretary, closed
+it, then came to me with a smile:
+
+"Octave," she said, "we are two children. If you had not come here, I
+should have gone to you. Pardon me, I was wrong. Madame Daniel comes
+to dinner to-morrow; make me repent, if you choose, of what you call my
+despotism. If you but love me I am happy; let us forget what is past and
+let us not spoil our happiness."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. EXPLANATIONS
+
+But quarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliation; it
+was attended, on Brigitte's part, by a mystery which frightened me at
+first and then planted in my soul the seeds of constant dread.
+
+There developed in me, in spite of my struggles, the two elements of
+misfortune which the past had bequeathed me: at times furious jealousy
+attended by reproaches and insults; at other times a cruel gayety, an
+affected cheerfulness, that mockingly outraged whatever I held most
+dear. Thus the inexorable spectres of the past pursued me without
+respite; thus Brigitte, seeing herself treated alternately as a
+faithless mistress and a shameless woman, fell into a condition of
+melancholy that clouded our entire life; and worst of all, that sadness
+even, the cause of which I knew, was not the most burdensome of our
+sorrows. I was young and I loved pleasure; that daily association with
+a woman older than I, who suffered and languished, that face, more and
+more serious, which was always before me, all this repelled my youth and
+aroused within me bitter regrets for the liberty I had lost.
+
+One night we were passing through the forest in the beautiful light of
+the moon, and both experienced a profound melancholy. Brigitte looked
+at me in pity. We sat down on a rock near a wild gorge and passed two
+entire hours there; her half-veiled eyes plunged into my soul, crossing
+a glance from mine; then wandered to nature, to the heavens and the
+valley.
+
+"Ah! my dear child," she said, "how I pity you! You do not love me."
+
+To reach that rock we had to travel two leagues; two more in returning
+makes four. Brigitte was afraid of neither fatigue nor darkness. We
+set out at eleven at night, expecting to reach home some time in the
+morning. When we went on long tramps she always dressed in a blue blouse
+and the apparel of a man, saying that skirts were not made for bushes.
+She walked before me in the sand with a firm step and such a charming
+mingling of feminine delicacy and childlike innocence, that I stopped
+every few moments to look at her. It seemed that, once started, she had
+to accomplish a difficult but sacred task; she walked in front like a
+soldier, her arms swinging, her voice ringing through the woods in song;
+suddenly she would turn, come to me and kiss me. This was on the
+outward journey; on the return she leaned on my arm; then more songs,
+confidences, tender avowals in low tones, although we were alone, two
+leagues from anywhere. I do not recall a single word spoken on the
+return that was not of love or friendship.
+
+Another night we struck out through the woods, leaving the road which
+led to the rock. Brigitte was tramping along so stoutly and her little
+velvet cap on her light hair made her look so much like a resolute
+youth, that I forgot she was a woman when there were no obstacles in
+our path. More than once she was obliged to call me to her aid when I,
+without thinking of her, had pushed on ahead. I can not describe the
+effect produced on me in the clear night air, in the midst of the
+forest, by that voice of hers, half-joyous and half-plaintive, coming,
+as it were, from that little schoolboy body wedged in between roots and
+trunks of trees, unable to advance. I took her in my arms.
+
+"Come, Madame," I cried, laughing, "you are a pretty little mountaineer,
+but you are blistering your white hands, and in spite of your hobnailed
+shoes, your stick and your martial air, I see that you must be carried."
+
+We arrived at the rock breathless; about my body was strapped a leather
+belt to which was attached a wicker bottle. When we were seated on the
+rock, my dear Brigitte asked for the bottle; I had lost it, as well as
+a tinder-box which served another purpose: that was to read the
+inscriptions on the guide-posts when we went astray, which occurred
+frequently. At such times I would climb the posts, and read the
+half-effaced inscription by the light of the tinder-box; all this in
+play, like the children that we were. At a crossroad we would have
+to examine not one guide-post but five or six until the right one was
+found. But this time we had lost our baggage on the way.
+
+"Very well," said Brigitte, "we will pass the night here, as I am rather
+tired. This rock will make a hard bed, but we can cover it with dry
+leaves. Let us sit down and make the best of it."
+
+The night was superb; the moon was rising behind us; I looked at it over
+my left shoulder. Brigitte was watching the lines of the wooded hills as
+they began to outline themselves against the background of sky. As
+the light flooded the copse and threw its halo over sleeping nature,
+Brigitte's song became more gentle and more melancholy. Then she bent
+over, and, throwing her arms around my neck, said:
+
+"Do not think that I do not understand your heart or that I would
+reproach you for what you make me suffer. It is not your fault, my
+friend, if you have not the power to forget your past life; you have
+loved me in good faith and I shall never regret, although I should die
+for it, the day I gave myself to you. You thought you were entering upon
+a new life, and that with me you would forget the women who had deceived
+you. Alas! Octave, I used to smile at that precocious experience which
+you said you had been through, and of which I heard you boast like a
+child who knows nothing of life. I thought I had but to will it, and all
+that there was that was good in your heart would come to your lips with
+my first kiss. You, too, believed it, but we were both mistaken.
+
+"Oh, my child! You have in your heart a plague that can not be cured;
+that woman who deceived you, how you must have loved her! Yes, more
+than you love me, alas! much more, since with all my poor love I can not
+efface her image; she must have deceived you most cruelly, since it is
+in vain that I am faithful!
+
+"And the others, those wretches who then poisoned your youth! The
+pleasures they sold must have been terrible since you ask me to imitate
+them! You remember them with me! Alas! my dear child, that is too cruel.
+I like you better when you are unjust and furious, when you reproach me
+for imaginary crimes and avenge on me the wrong done you by others,
+than when you are under the influence of that frightful gayety, when you
+assume that air of hideous mockery, when that mask of scorn affronts my
+eyes.
+
+"Tell me, Octave, why that? Why those moments when you speak of love
+with contempt and rail at the most sacred mysteries of love? What
+frightful power over your irritable nerves has that life you have led,
+that such insults should mount to your lips in spite of you? Yes, in
+spite of you; for your heart is noble, you blush at your own blasphemy;
+you love me too much, not to suffer when you see me suffer. Ah! I know
+you now. The first time I saw you thus, I was seized with a feeling of
+terror of which I can give you no idea. I thought you were only a roue,
+that you had deliberately deceived me by feigning a love you did not
+feel, and that I saw you such as you really were. O my friend! I thought
+it was time to die; what a night I passed! You do not know my life; you
+do not know that I who speak to you have had an experience as terrible
+as yours. Alas! life is sweet only to those who do not know life.
+
+"You are not, my dear Octave, the only man I have loved. There is hidden
+in my heart a fatal story that I wish you to know. My father destined
+me, when I was quite young, for the only son of an old friend. They were
+neighbors and each owned a little domain of almost equal value. The two
+families saw each other every day, and lived, so to speak, together. My
+father died; my mother had been dead some time. I lived with the aunt
+whom you know. A journey she was compelled to take forced her to confide
+me to the care of my future father-in-law. He called me his daughter,
+and it was so well known about the country that I was to marry his son
+that we were allowed the greatest liberty together.
+
+"That young man, whose name you need not know, appeared to love me. What
+had been friendship from infancy became love in time. He began to tell
+me of the happiness that awaited us; he spoke of his impatience, I was
+only one year younger than he; but he had made the acquaintance of a man
+of dissipated habits who lived in the vicinity, a sort of adventurer,
+and had listened to his evil suggestions. While I was yielding to his
+caresses with the confidence of a child, he resolved to deceive his
+father, and to abandon me after he had ruined me.
+
+"His father called us into his room one evening and, in the presence of
+the family, set the day of our wedding. The very evening before that day
+he had met me in the garden and had spoken to me of love with more force
+than usual; he said that since the time was set, we were just the same
+as married, and for that matter had been in the eyes of God, ever since
+our birth. I have no other excuse to offer than my youth, my ignorance,
+and my confidence in him. I gave myself to him before becoming his wife,
+and eight days afterward he left his father's house. He fled with a
+woman his new friend had introduced to him; he wrote that he had gone to
+Germany and that we should never see him again.
+
+"That is, in a word, the story of my life; my husband knew it as you now
+know it. I am proud, my child, and I have sworn that no man shall ever
+make me again suffer what I suffered then. I saw you and forgot my oath,
+but not my sorrow. You must treat me gently; if you are sick, I am also;
+we must care for each other. You see, Octave, I, too, know what it is to
+call up memories of the past. It inspires me at times with cruel terror;
+I should have more courage than you, for perhaps I have suffered more.
+It is my place to begin; my heart is not sure of itself, I am still very
+feeble; my life in this village was so tranquil before you came! I had
+promised myself that it should never change! All this makes me exacting.
+
+"Ah! well, it does not matter, I am yours. You have told me, in your
+better moments, that Providence appointed me to watch over you as a
+mother. Yes, when you make me suffer I do not look upon you as a lover,
+but as a sick child, fretful and rebellious, that I must care for and
+cure in order that I may always keep him and love him. May God give me
+that power!" she added looking up to heaven. "May God who sees me, who
+hears us, may the God of mothers and of lovers permit me to accomplish
+that task! When I feel as if I should sink under it, when my pride
+rebels, when my heart is breaking, when all my life--"
+
+She could not finish; her tears choked her. Oh, God! I saw her there on
+her knees, her hands clasped on the rock; she swayed in the breeze as
+did the bushes about us. Frail and sublime creature! she prayed for her
+love. I raised her in my arms.
+
+"Oh! my only friend," I cried, "oh! my mistress, my mother, and my
+sister! Pray also for me that I may be able to love you as you deserve.
+Pray that I may have the courage to live; that my heart may be cleansed
+in your tears; that it may become a holy offering before God and that we
+may share it together."
+
+All was silent about us; above our heads spread the heavens resplendent
+with stars.
+
+"Do you remember," I said, "do you remember the first day?"
+
+From that night we never returned to that spot. That rock was an altar
+which has retained its purity; it is one of the visions of my life, and
+it still passes before my eyes wreathed in spotless white.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. BRIGITTE'S LOSS
+
+As I was crossing the public square one evening I saw two men standing
+together; one of them said:
+
+"It appears to me that he has ill-treated her."
+
+"It is her fault," replied the other; "why choose such a man? He has
+known only public women; she is paying the price of her folly."
+
+I advanced in the darkness to see who was speaking thus, and to hear
+more if possible; but they passed on as soon as they spied me.
+
+I found Brigitte much disturbed; her aunt was seriously ill; she had
+time for only a few words with me. I did not see her for an entire week;
+I knew that she had summoned a physician from Paris; finally she sent
+for me.
+
+"My aunt is dead," she said; "I lose the only one left me on earth, I am
+now alone in the world, and I am going to leave the country."
+
+"Am I, then, nothing to you?"
+
+"Yes, my friend; you know that I love you, and I often believe that you
+love me. But how can I count on you? I am your mistress, alas! but you
+are not my lover. It is for you that Shakespeare has written these sad
+words: 'Make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very
+opal.' And I, Octave," she added, pointing to her mourning costume,
+"I am reduced to a single color, and I shall not change it for a long
+time."
+
+"Leave the country if you choose; I will either kill myself or I will
+follow you. Ah! Brigitte," I continued, throwing myself on my knees
+before her, "you thought you were alone when your aunt died! That is the
+most cruel punishment you could inflict on me; never have I so keenly
+felt the misery of my love for you. You must retract those terrible
+words; I deserve them, but they will kill me. Oh, God! can it be true
+that I count for nothing in your life, or that I am an influence in your
+life only because of the evil I have done you!"
+
+"I do not know," she said, "who is busying himself in our affairs;
+certain insinuations, mixed with idle gossip, have been set afloat in
+the village and in the neighboring country. Some say that I have been
+ruined; others accuse me of imprudence and folly; others represent you
+as a cruel and dangerous man. Some one has spied into our most secret
+thoughts; things that I thought no one else knew, events in your life
+and sad scenes to which they have led, are known to others; my poor
+aunt spoke to me about it not long ago, and she knew it some time before
+speaking to me. Who knows but that that has hastened her death?
+
+"When I meet my old friends in the street, they either treat me coldly,
+or turn aside. Even my dear peasant girls, those good girls who love
+me so much, shrug their shoulders when they see my place empty at the
+Sunday afternoon balls. How has that come about? I do not know, nor do
+you, I suppose; but I must go away, I can not endure it. And my aunt's
+death, so sudden, so unexpected, above all, this solitude! this empty
+room! Courage fails me; my friend, my friend, do not abandon me!"
+
+She wept; in an adjoining room I saw her household goods in disorder, a
+trunk on the floor, everything indicating preparations for departure. It
+was evident that, at the time of her aunt's death, Brigitte had tried
+to go away without seeing me, but could not. She was so overwhelmed with
+emotion that she could hardly speak; her condition was pitiful, and it
+was I who had brought her to it. Not only was she unhappy, but she was
+insulted in public, and the man who ought to be her support and her
+consolation in such an hour was the cause of all her troubles.
+
+I felt the wrong I had done her so keenly that I was overcome with
+shame. After so many promises, so much useless exaltation, so many plans
+and hopes, what had I, in fact, accomplished in three months? I thought
+I had a treasure in my heart, and out of it came nothing but malice, the
+shadow of a dream, and the misfortune of a woman I adored. For the first
+time I found myself really face to face with myself. Brigitte reproached
+me for nothing; she had tried to go away and could not; she was ready to
+suffer still. I suddenly asked myself whether I ought not to leave her,
+whether it was not my duty to flee from her and rid her of the scourge
+of my presence.
+
+I arose, and, passing into the next room, sat down on Brigitte's trunk.
+There I leaned my head on my hand and sat motionless. I looked about me
+at the confused piles of goods. Alas! I knew them all; my heart was
+not so hardened that it could not be moved by the memories which they
+awakened. I began to calculate all the harm I had done; I saw my dear
+Brigitte walking under the lindens with her goat beside her.
+
+"O man!" I mused, "and by what right?--how dared you come to this house,
+and lay hands on this woman? Who has ordained that she should suffer for
+you? You array yourself in fine linen, and set out, sleek and happy,
+for the home where your mistress languishes; you throw yourself upon the
+cushions where she has just knelt in prayer, for you and for her, and
+you gently stroke those delicate hands that still tremble. You think
+it no evil to inflame a poor heart, and you perorate as warmly in your
+deliriums of love as the wretched lawyer who comes with red eyes from
+a suit he has lost. You play the infant prodigy in making sport of
+suffering; you find it amusing to occupy your leisure moments in
+committing murder by means of little pin pricks.
+
+"What will you say to the living God, when your work is finished? What
+will become of the woman who loves you? Where will you fall while she
+leans on you for support? With what face will you one day bury your pale
+and wretched creature, just as she buried the last man who protected
+her? Yes, yes, you will doubtless have to bury her, for your love kills
+and consumes; you have devoted her to the Furies and it is she who
+appeases them. If you follow that woman you will be the cause of her
+death. Take care! her guardian angel hesitates; he has just knocked at
+the door of this house, in order to frighten away a fatal and shameful
+passion! He inspired Brigitte with the idea of flight; at this moment he
+may be whispering in her ear his final warning. O assassin! O murderer!
+Beware! it is a matter of life and death."
+
+Thus I communed with myself; then on the sofa I caught sight of a little
+gingham dress, folded and ready to be packed in the trunk. It had been a
+witness of our happy days. I took it up and examined it.
+
+"Must I leave you?" I said to it; "Must I lose you? O little dress,
+would you go away without me?"
+
+No, I can not abandon Brigitte; in these circumstances it would be
+cowardly. She has just lost her aunt, and is all alone; she is exposed
+to the power of I know not what enemy. Can it be Mercanson? He may have
+spoken of my conversation with him, and, seeing that I was jealous of
+Dalens, may have guessed the rest. Assuredly he is the snake who has
+been hissing about my well-beloved flower. I must punish him, and I
+must repair the wrong I have done Brigitte. Fool that I am! I think of
+leaving her, when I ought to consecrate my life to her, to the expiation
+of my sins, to rendering her happy after the tears I have drawn from her
+eyes-when I am her only support in the world, her only friend, her
+only protector! when I ought to follow her to the end of the world, to
+shelter her with my body, to console her for having loved me, for having
+given herself to me!
+
+"Brigitte!" I cried, returning to her room, "wait an hour for me, and I
+will return."
+
+"Where are you going?" she asked.
+
+"Wait for me," I replied, "do not set out without me. Remember the words
+of Ruth: 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will
+lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou
+diest, will I die, and there will I be buried."'
+
+I left her precipitately, and rushed out to find Mercanson. I was told
+that he had gone out, and I entered his house to wait for him.
+
+I sat in the corner of the room on a priest's chair before a dirty black
+table. I was becoming impatient when I recalled my duel on account of my
+first mistress.
+
+"I received a wound from a bullet and am still a fool," I said to
+myself. "What have I come to do here? This priest will not fight; if I
+seek a quarrel with him, he will say that his priestly robes forbid, and
+he will continue his vile gossip when I have gone. Moreover, for what
+can I hold him responsible? What is it that has disturbed Brigitte? They
+say that her reputation has been sullied, that I ill-treat her, and that
+she ought not to submit to it. What stupidity! That concerns no one;
+there is nothing to do but allow them to talk; in such a case, to notice
+an insult is to give it importance.
+
+"Is it possible to prevent provincials from talking about their
+neighbors? Can any one prevent a gossip from maligning a woman who
+loves? What measures can be taken to stop a public rumor? If they say
+that I ill-treat her, it is for me--to prove the contrary by my conduct
+with her, and not by violence. It would be as ridiculous to seek a
+quarrel with Mercanson as to leave the country on account of gossip. No,
+we must not leave the country; that would be a bad move; that would be
+to say to all the world that there is truth in its idle rumors, and to
+give excuse to the gossips. We must neither go away nor take any notice
+of such things."
+
+I returned to Brigitte. A half hour had passed, and I had changed my
+mind three times. I dissuaded her from her plans; I told her what I had
+just done and why I had not carried out my first impulse. She listened
+resignedly, yet she wished to go away; the house where her aunt had died
+had become odious to her. Much effort and persuasion on my part were
+required to get her to consent to remain; finally I accomplished it. We
+repeated that we would despise the world, that we would yield nothing,
+that we would not change our manner of life. I swore that my love should
+console her for all her sorrows, and she pretended to hope for the best.
+I told her that this circumstance had so enlightened me in the matter
+of the wrongs I had done her, that my conduct would prove my repentance,
+that I would drive from me as a phantom all the evil that remained in my
+heart; that hence forth she should not be offended either by my pride or
+by my caprices; and thus, sad and patient, her arms around my neck, she
+yielded obedience to the pure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash
+of reason.
+
+One day I saw a little chamber she called her oratory; there was no
+furniture except a prie-dieu and a little altar with a cross and some
+vases of flowers. As for the rest, the walls and curtains were as white
+as snow. She shut herself up in that room at times, but rarely since I
+had known her.
+
+I stepped to the door and saw Brigitte seated on the floor in the middle
+of the room, surrounded by the flowers she was throwing here and there.
+She held in her hand a little wreath that appeared to be made of dried
+grass, and she was breaking it in pieces.
+
+"What are you doing?" I asked.
+
+She trembled and stood up.
+
+"It is nothing but a child's plaything," she said; "it is a rose wreath
+that has faded here in the oratory; I have come here to change my
+flowers, as I have not attended to them for some time."
+
+Her voice trembled, and she appeared to be about to faint. I recalled
+that name of Brigitte la Rose that I had heard given her. I asked her
+whether it was not her crown of roses that she had just broken thus.
+
+"No," she replied, turning pale.
+
+"Yes," I cried, "yes, on my life! Give me the pieces."
+
+I gathered them up and placed them on the altar, then I was silent, my
+eyes fixed on the offering.
+
+"Was I not right," she asked, "if it was my crown, to take it from the
+wall where it has hung so long?
+
+"Of what use are these remains? Brigitte la Rose is no more, nor the
+flowers that baptized her." She went out. I heard her sobs, and the door
+closed on me; I fell on my knees and wept bitterly. When I returned to
+her room, I found her waiting for me; dinner was ready. I took my place
+in silence, and not a word was said of what was in our hearts.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. A TORTURED SOUL
+
+It was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateau my
+conversation with him about Dalens and the suspicions that, in spite of
+myself, I had allowed him clearly to see. Every one knows how bad news
+travels in the provinces, flying from mouth to mouth and growing as it
+flies; that is what had happened in this case.
+
+Brigitte and I found ourselves face to face with each other in a
+new position. However feebly she may have tried to flee, she had
+nevertheless made the attempt. It was on account of my prayers that
+she remained; there was an obligation implied. I was under oath not
+to grieve her either by my jealousy or my levity; every thoughtless or
+mocking word that escaped me was a sin, every sorrowful glance from her
+was a reproach acknowledged and merited.
+
+Her simple good-nature gave a charm even to solitude; she could see
+me now at all hours without resorting to any precaution. Perhaps she
+consented to this arrangement in order to prove to me that she valued
+her love more highly than her reputation; she seemed to regret having
+shown that she cared for the representations of malice. At any rate,
+instead of making any attempt to disarm criticism or thwart curiosity,
+we lived the freest kind of life, more regardless of public opinion than
+ever.
+
+For some time I kept my word, and not a cloud troubled our life. These
+were happy days, but it is not of these that I would speak.
+
+It was said everywhere about the country that Brigitte was living
+publicly with a libertine from Paris; that her lover ill-treated her,
+that they spent their time quarrelling, and that she would come to a bad
+end. As they had praised Brigitte for her conduct in the past, so they
+blamed her now. There was nothing in her past life, even, that was
+not picked to pieces and misrepresented. Her lonely tramps over the
+mountains, when engaged in works of charity, suddenly became the subject
+of quibbles and of raillery. They spoke of her as of a woman who had
+lost all human respect and who deserved the frightful misfortunes she
+was drawing down on her head.
+
+I had told Brigitte that it was best to let them talk and pay no
+attention to them; but the truth is, it became insupportable to me. I
+sometimes tried to catch a word that could be construed as an insult
+and to demand an explanation. I listened to whispered conversations in
+a salon where I was visiting, but could hear nothing; in order to do us
+better justice they waited until I had gone. I returned to Brigitte and
+told her that all these stories were mere nonsense; that it was foolish
+to notice them; that they could talk about us as much as they pleased
+and we would care nothing about it.
+
+Was I not terribly mistaken? If Brigitte was imprudent, was it not my
+place to be cautious and ward off danger? On the contrary, I took, so to
+speak, the part of the world against her.
+
+I began by indifference; I was soon to grow malignant.
+
+"It is true," I said, "that they speak evil of your nocturnal
+excursions. Are you sure that they are wrong? Has nothing happened
+in those romantic grottoes and by-paths in the forest? Have you never
+accepted the arm of an unknown as you accepted mine? Was it merely
+charity that served as your divinity in that beautiful temple of verdure
+that you visited so bravely?"
+
+Brigitte's glance when I adopted this tone I shall never forget; I
+shuddered at it myself. "But, bah!" I thought, "she would do the same
+thing that my other mistress did--she would point me out as a ridiculous
+fool, and I should pay for it all in the eyes of the public."
+
+Between the man who doubts and the man who denies there is only a step.
+All philosophy is akin to atheism. Having told Brigitte that I suspected
+her past conduct, I began to regard it with real suspicion.
+
+I came to imagine that Brigitte was deceiving me, she who never left me
+at any hour of the day; I sometimes planned long absences in order to
+test her, as I supposed; but in truth it was only to give myself some
+excuse for suspicion and mockery. And then I took pleasure in observing
+that I had outgrown my foolish jealousy, which was the same as saying
+that I no longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of her.
+
+At first I kept such thoughts to myself, but soon found pleasure in
+revealing them to Brigitte. We had gone out for a walk:
+
+"That dress is pretty," I said, "such and such a girl, belonging to one
+of my friends, has one like it."
+
+We were now seated at table.
+
+"Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; you
+promised, you know, to imitate her."
+
+She sat down at the piano.
+
+"Ah! pardon me, but will you play that waltz that was so popular last
+winter? That will remind me of happy times."
+
+Reader, this lasted six months: for six long months Brigitte,
+scandalized, exposed to the insults of the world, had to endure from me
+all the wrongs that a wrathful and cruel libertine can inflict on woman.
+
+After these distressing scenes, in which my own spirit exhausted itself
+in suffering and in painful contemplation of the past; after recovering
+from that frenzy, a strange access of love, an extreme exaltation, led
+me to treat my mistress like an idol, or a divinity. A quarter of an
+hour after insulting her I was on my knees before her; when I was not
+accusing her of some crime, I was begging her pardon; when I was not
+mocking, I was weeping. Then, seized by a delirium of joy, I almost lost
+my reason in the violence of my transports; I did not know what to do,
+what to say, what to think, in order to repair the evil I had done. I
+took Brigitte in my arms, and made her repeat a hundred times that she
+loved me and that she pardoned me. I threatened to expiate my evil deeds
+by blowing out my brains if I ever ill-treated her again. These periods
+of exaltation sometimes lasted several hours, during which time I
+exhausted myself in foolish expressions of love and esteem. Then morning
+came; day appeared; I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and I awakened
+with a smile on my lips, mocking at everything, believing in nothing.
+
+During these terrible hours, Brigitte appeared to forget that there
+was a man in me other than the one she saw. When I asked her pardon she
+shrugged her shoulders as if to answer: "Do you not know that I pardon
+you?" She would not complain as long as a spark of love remained in
+my heart; she assured me that all was good and sweet coming from me,
+insults as well as tears.
+
+And yet as time passed my evil grew worse, my moments of malignity and
+irony became more sombre and intractable. A real physical fever attended
+my outbursts of passion; I awakened trembling in every limb and covered
+with cold sweat. Brigitte, too, although she did not complain of it,
+began to fail in health. When I started to abuse her she would leave me
+without a word and lock herself in her room. Thank God, I never raised
+my hand against her; in my most violent moments I would rather have died
+than touched her.
+
+One evening the rain was driving against the windows; we were alone, the
+curtains were closed.
+
+"I am in happy humor this evening," I said to Brigitte, "and yet the
+horrible weather saddens me. Let us seek some diversion in spite of the
+storm."
+
+I arose and lighted all the candles I could find. The room was small and
+the illumination brilliant. At the same time a bright fire threw out a
+stifling heat:
+
+"Come," I said, "what shall we do while waiting for supper?"
+
+I happened to remember that it was carnival time in Paris I seemed to
+see the carriages filled with masks crossing the boulevards. I heard the
+shouts of the crowds before the theatres; I saw the lascivious dances,
+the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all my youth bounded in my
+heart.
+
+"Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for our
+own amusement, but what does that matter? If you have no costumes we can
+make them, and pass away the time agreeably."
+
+We searched in the closet for dresses, cloaks, and artificial flowers;
+Brigitte, as usual, was patient and cheerful. We both arranged a sort of
+travesty; she wished to dress my hair herself; we painted and powdered
+ourselves freely; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that had
+belonged, I believe, to the aunt. In an hour we could not recognize each
+other. The evening passed in singing, in a thousand follies; toward one
+o'clock in the morning it was time for supper.
+
+We had ransacked all the closets; there was one near me that remained
+open. While sitting down at the table, I perceived on a shelf the book
+of which I have already spoken, the one in which Brigitte was accustomed
+to write.
+
+"Is it not a collection of your thoughts?" I asked, stretching out my
+hand and taking the book down. "If I may, allow me to look at it."
+
+I opened the book, although Brigitte made a gesture as if to prevent me;
+on the first page I read these words:
+
+"This is my last will and testament."
+
+Everything was written in a firm hand; I found first a faithful recital
+of all that Brigitte had suffered on my account since she had been my
+mistress. She announced her firm determination to endure everything,
+so long as I loved her, and to die when I left her. Her daily life was
+recorded there; what she had lost, what she had hoped, the isolation she
+experienced even in my presence, the barrier that was growing up between
+us; the cruelties I subjected her to in return for her love and her
+resignation. All this was written down without a complaint; on the
+contrary she undertook to justify me. Then followed personal details,
+the disposition of her effects. She would end her life by poison, she
+wrote. She would die by her own hand and expressly forbade that her
+death should be charged to me. "Pray for him!" were her last words.
+
+I found in the closet on the same shelf a little box that I remembered I
+had seen before, filled with a fine bluish powder resembling salt.
+
+"What is this?" I asked of Brigitte, raising the box to my lips. She
+gave vent to a scream of terror and threw herself upon me.
+
+"Brigitte," I said, "bid me farewell. I shall carry this box away with
+me; you will forget me, and you will live if you wish to save me from
+becoming a murderer. I shall set out this very night; you will agree
+with me that God demands it. Give me a last kiss."
+
+I bent over her and kissed her forehead.
+
+"Not yet!" she cried, in anguish. But I repulsed her and left the room.
+
+Three hours later I was ready to set out, and the horses were at the
+door. It was still raining when I entered the carriage. At the moment
+the carriage was starting, I felt two arms about my body and a sob which
+spent itself on my lips.
+
+It was Brigitte. I did all I could to persuade her to remain; I ordered
+the driver to stop; I even told her that I would return to her when time
+should have effaced the memory of the wrongs I had done her. I forced
+myself to prove to her that yesterday was the same as to-day, to-day
+as yesterday; I repeated that I could only render her unhappy, that to
+attach herself to me was but to make an assassin of me. I resorted to
+prayers, to vows, to threats even; her only reply was: "You are going
+away; take me, let us take leave of the country, let us take leave
+of the past. We can not live here; let us go elsewhere, wherever you
+please; let us go and die together in some remote corner of the world.
+We must be happy, I by you, you by me."
+
+I kissed her with such passion that I feared my heart would burst.
+
+"Drive on!" I cried to the coachman. We threw ourselves into each
+other's arms, and the horses set out at a gallop.
+
+
+
+
+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:
+
+     A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what is possible
+     Accustomed to call its disguise virtue
+     Adieu, my son, I love you and I die
+     All philosophy is akin to atheism
+     All that is not life, it is the noise of life
+     And when love is sure of itself and knows response
+     Because you weep, you fondly imagine yourself innocent
+     Become corrupt, and you will cease to suffer
+     Began to forget my own sorrow in my sympathy for her
+     Beware of disgust, it is an incurable evil
+     Can any one prevent a gossip
+     Cold silence, that negative force
+     Contrive to use proud disdain as a shield
+     Death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life
+     Despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child
+     Do they think they have invented what they see
+     Each one knows what the other is about to say
+     Fool who destroys his own happiness
+     Force itself, that mistress of the world
+     Funeral processions are no longer permitted
+     Galileo struck the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!"
+     Good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularly
+     Great sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme--they listen
+     Grief itself was for her but a means of seducing
+     Happiness of being pursued
+     He who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow
+     He lives only in the body
+     How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more
+     Human weakness seeks association
+     I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment
+     I can not love her, I can not love another
+     I boasted of being worse than I really was
+     I neither love nor esteem sadness
+     I do not intend either to boast or abase myself
+     Ignorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laity
+     In what do you believe?
+     Indignation can solace grief and restore happiness
+     Is he a dwarf or a giant
+     Is it not enough to have lived?
+     It is a pity that you must seek pastimes
+     Make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes
+     Man who suffers wishes to make her whom he loves suffer
+     Men doubted everything: the young men denied everything
+     No longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of her
+     Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity
+     Perfection does not exist
+     Pure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash of reason
+     Quarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliation
+     Reading the Memoirs of Constant
+     Resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original
+     Sceptic regrets the faith he has lost the power to regain
+     Seven who are always the same: the first is called hope
+     She pretended to hope for the best
+     Sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness
+     Speak to me of your love, she said, "not of your grief"
+     St. Augustine
+     Suffered, and yet took pleasure in it
+     Suspicions that are ever born anew
+     Terrible words; I deserve them, but they will kill me
+     There are two different men in you
+     Ticking of which (our arteries) can be heard only at night
+     "Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love"
+     We have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large sum
+     What you take for love is nothing more than desire
+     What human word will ever express thy slightest caress
+     When passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning
+     Who has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt
+     Wine suffuses the face as if to prevent shame appearing there
+     You believe in what is said here below and not in what is done
+     You play with happiness as a child plays with a rattle
+     You turn the leaves of dead books
+     Your great weapon is silence
+     Youth is to judge of the world from first impressions
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Child of a Century, Complete, by Alfred de Musset
+
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