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diff --git a/3942-h/3942-h.htm b/3942-h/3942-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b168d62 --- /dev/null +++ b/3942-h/3942-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10271 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Confession of a Child Of the Century, by Alfred de Musset + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +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 + +Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #3942] +Last Updated: August 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD OF A CENTURY, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY + </h1> + <h3> + (Confession d’un Enfant du Siecle) + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Alfred de Musset + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + With a Preface by HENRI DE BORNIER, of the French Academy + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> ALFRED DE MUSSET </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>THE CONFESSIONS OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY</b> + </a><br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>BOOK 1.</b> </a> <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <b>PART I.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>TO THE READER <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>REFLECTIONS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>THE BEGINNING OF THE CONFESSIONS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>THE PATH OF DESPAIR + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>A PHILOSOPHER’S + ADVICE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>MADAME + LEVASSEUR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>THE + WISDOM OF SIRACH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a>THE + SEARCH FOR HEALING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>BACCHUS, + THE CONSOLER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <b>PART II.</b> </a> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER I. </a>AT THE CROSSWAYS + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER II. </a>THE CHOSEN WAY <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER III. </a>AFRICAN HOSPITALITY <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER IV. </a>MARCO <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER V. </a>SATIETY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>BOOK 2.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_PART3"> <b>PART III.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER I. </a>DEATH, THE INEVITABLE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER II. </a>THE BALM OF SOLITUDE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER III. </a>BRIGITTE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER IV. </a>RIPENING ACQUAINTANCE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER V. </a>AN INTERVIEW <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER VI. </a>THE RUGGED PATH OF LOVE <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER VII. </a>THE + VENUSBERG AGAIN <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_PART4"> <b>PART IV.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER I. </a>THE THORNS OF LOVE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER II. </a>UNCERTAINTY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER III. </a>EXPLANATIONS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER IV. </a>BRIGITTE’S LOSS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER V. </a>A TORTURED SOUL <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0035"> <b>BOOK 3.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_PART5"> <b>PART V.</b> </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER I. </a>SWEET ANTICIPATIONS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER II. </a>THE DEMON OF DOUBT <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER III. </a>THE QUESTION OF SMITH <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER IV. </a>IN THE FURNACE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER V. </a>TRUTH AT LAST <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER VI. </a>SELF-SACRIFICE THE SOLUTION <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ALFRED DE MUSSET + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + HENRI DE BORNIER + de l’Academie Francaise. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CONFESSIONS OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 1. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. TO THE READER + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. REFLECTIONS + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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’. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Become priests;” when they spoke of hope, of love, of power, of life: + “Become priests.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This is what the soul said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + This is what the body said: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Is this too black? Is it exaggerated? What do you think of it? Am I a + misanthrope? Allow me to make a reflection. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE BEGINNING OF THE CONFESSIONS + </h2> + <h3> + I have to explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age. + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Come, Octave!” she said, “let us go; here I am.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he cried; “go, stanch your wound at the house of——-” + </p> + <p> + He choked, and so did I. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + To all this Desgenais replied: + </p> + <p> + “She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Is it you?” she said. + </p> + <p> + She was going to a ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognized me, + she compressed her lips and frowned. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is she your first love?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No!” I replied, “she is my last.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It is I!” said she; putting her arms around me, she drew me to her. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want of me?” I cried. “Leave, me! I fear I shall kill you!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I took a knife from the table and placed it under the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I saw that she wished to take it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw her cloak + over her shoulders and fled from the room. + </p> + <p> + When I told Desgenais about it he said: + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do that? You must be very much disgusted, for she is a + beautiful woman.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Desgenais replied that he was not so particular. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE PATH OF DESPAIR + </h2> + <p> + The next morning the first question that occurred to my mind was: “What + shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, about me there was still something of youth: it was the hope + of my heart, which was still childlike. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! poor wounds!” I said, “you will soon heal, but what balm is there for + that other deeper wound?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing + of the kind.” + </p> + <p> + I sat in my window and said: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Then the thought of her perfidy occurred to me. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! let her come! I will kill her!” + </p> + <p> + Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her. + </p> + <p> + “What is she doing?” I asked myself. “She loves another? Then I will love + another also. Whom shall I love?” + </p> + <p> + While thinking, I heard a far distant voice crying: + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Coward!” said Desgenais, “when will you forget that woman? Is she such a + great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. A PHILOSOPHER’S ADVICE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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.’ + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Above all, do not accuse women of being what they are; we have made them + thus, undoing the work of nature. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Thus spoke Desgenais; and the shadows of night began to fall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. MADAME LEVASSEUR + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I replied, sobbing, “tell her if you wish.” Tears rushed from my + eyes. + </p> + <p> + After dinner we sat before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “But tell me,” she said, “is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + At these words she moved uneasily in her chair, and I could see an + expression of compassion on her face. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “And I, too,” she murmured, “that is just my experience.” She stopped, + overcome by emotion. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When she had unburdened her heart she became silent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE WISDOM OF SIRACH + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I seized an old Bible which lay on my table, and read the first passage + that caught my eye. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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. +</pre> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE SEARCH FOR HEALING + </h2> + <h3> + Yet I was unwilling to yield. + </h3> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and + there was no more talk of German. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What do you seek here? We are young, poor child! We wear the colors of + hope.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. BACCHUS, THE CONSOLER + </h2> + <p> + Suddenly, in the midst of black despair, youth and chance led me to commit + an act that decided my fate. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.] +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” I cried. I arose and approached her. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + And if you drink the wine, and take the courtesan, you will learn how such + things come to pass. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. AT THE CROSSWAYS + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When he found that he had brought me to the desired point, he did not + hesitate to deal the finishing stroke. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who says so?” I asked, “who saw me in the street?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” said he, “take care, do not go too far.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I protested, “how did I know it, how could I know—” + </p> + <p> + Desgenais compressed his lips as if to say: + </p> + <p> + “You knew enough.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so + hot that I could not continue. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Thus talking at haphazard, I lost my head and an irresistible feeling of + wrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet. I + had forgotten my prisoner. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE CHOSEN WAY + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Launched into that life by the circumstances that I have recounted, I must + now describe what I saw there. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. AFRICAN HOSPITALITY + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When the woman had left, I sat up. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. MARCO + </h2> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Desgenais asked what ailed me. + </p> + <p> + “And you?” I asked. “What is the matter with you? Have you lost some + relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The baleful idea that truth is nudity beset me on every occasion. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the + life I was leading I was unwilling to change it: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Simigliante a quells ‘nferma + Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume, + Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.—DANTE. +</pre> + <p> + Thus I tortured my mind to give it change, and I fell into all these + vagaries in order to get away from myself. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “But,” the reader objects, “where are the women in all this?” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + If I must speak of women I will mention two; here is one of them: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But here is another case: + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Most of the dancers were girls from the theatres. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that woman?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “What woman? Of whom do you speak?” + </p> + <p> + I took his arm and led him into the hall. The Italian saw us coming and + smiled. I stopped and stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Desgenais, “you have danced with Marco?” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Marco?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied, “I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; I + have no further interest in her.” + </p> + <p> + Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed him. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He left me, and I was alarmed to see him approach her. But they were soon + lost in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Thus I tried to calm myself. A few minutes later Desgenais tapped me on + the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “We shall go to supper at once,” said he. “You will give your arm to + Marco.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Desgenais looked at me but made no reply; taking me by the arm he led me + away. + </p> + <p> + “I am tired,” he said, “and I am sad; this noise wearies me. Let us go to + supper, that will refresh us.” + </p> + <p> + The supper was splendid, but I could not touch it. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” asked Marco. + </p> + <p> + I sat like a statue, making no reply and looking at her from head to foot + with amazement. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” she said, presenting it to me, “per voi, bambino mio.” + </p> + <p> + “For you and for me,” I said, presenting her my glass in turn. + </p> + <p> + She moistened her lips while I emptied my glass, unable to conceal the + sadness she seemed to read in my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not good?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps your head aches?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Or you are tired?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! then it is the ennui of love?” + </p> + <p> + With these words she became serious, for in spite of herself, in speaking + of love, her Italian heart beat the faster. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to distinguish + anything, either laughter, songs, or cries. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of it?” asked Desgenais. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” I replied. “I have stopped my ears and am looking at it.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not wish to do as they?” I asked. “You have just offered me + Cyprian wine; why do you not drink some yourself?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I held my lips to hers; she gave me a listless kiss and then passed her + handkerchief over her mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Marco,” I said, “woe to him who loves you.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Forse!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said I to Marco, “let us go.” + </p> + <p> + She arose and took my arm. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow!” cried Desgenais to me, as we left the hall. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint. + </p> + <p> + I turned my head and saw that the first gleams of morning light were + shining through the window. + </p> + <p> + I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of + the room. The sky was clear. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my childhood! You are there!” I cried. “Oh, heaven! now I am here.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is she dead? Who is dead?” I cried going to the alcove. “Dead! Who?” + </p> + <p> + Marco opened her eyes. She saw me with the letter in my hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is my mother,” she said, “who is dead. You are not coming?” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she extended her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” I said, “sleep, and leave me to myself.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. SATIETY + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + It had been raining, and a light odor came from the garden. + </p> + <p> + “What shall we do this spring?” I asked. “I do not care to travel.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do what I did last year,” replied Desgenais. “I shall go to the + country when the time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” I replied. “Do you do the same thing every year? Are you going to + begin life over again this year?” + </p> + <p> + “What would you expect me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + I was standing before an engraving of the Magdalen in the desert. + Involuntarily I joined my hands. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” asked Desgenais. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you this evening?” he asked, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a woman who reads,” he replied dryly. + </p> + <p> + “And a happy woman,” I continued, “with a happy book.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” I replied, “I know I have a friend; that is not my trouble.” + </p> + <p> + He urged me to explain. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Be frank!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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. + </p> + <p> + “‘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.’” + </p> + <p> + When I had spoken these words I fell back in my chair, and a flood of + tears streamed from my eyes. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud, and + a tear trickled slowly down his cheek. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 2. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. DEATH, THE INEVITABLE + </h2> + <p> + My father lived in the country some distance from Paris. When I arrived I + found a physician in the house, who said to me: + </p> + <p> + “You are too late; your father expressed a desire to see you before he + died.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When I recovered, I heard some one say: + </p> + <p> + “If he requests it, you must refuse him on some pretext or other.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish to say to me, father?” I asked. “What was your last + thought concerning your child?” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, my son, I love you and I die.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE BALM OF SOLITUDE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + I gave him my hand, which he covered with tears and kisses. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. BRIGITTE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “That is Brigitte la Rose,” said the child; “don’t you know her?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied in a low voice. “Why do you call her by such a name?” + </p> + <p> + He replied that he did not know, unless it was because she had been rosy + and the name had clung to her. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my poor man!” said the farmer’s wife, “may God reward you!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “You may kiss your mother, for she is saved.” + </p> + <p> + I stopped when I heard these words. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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————. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Of what are you thinking? It is time for us to think of returning.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “That is an expression that, coming from you, I can not look upon except + as a compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because you appear to be very young.” + </p> + <p> + “It sometimes happens,” I said, “that one is older than the face would + seem to indicate.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she replied, smiling, “and it sometimes happens that one is younger + than his words would seem to indicate.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you no faith in experience?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that it is the name most young men give to their follies and their + disappointments; what can one know at your age?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. RIPENING ACQUAINTANCE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What happiness!” I cried, in spite of myself. “What repose! What joy! + What forgetfulness of self!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “The celebrated Vergniaud,” said he, “was afflicted with the habit of + sitting on the ground and playing with animals.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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— + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + When he had gone our gayety returned. We entered a greenhouse in the rear + of the garden. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “This is my little world; you have seen all I possess, and my domain ends + here.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She extended her hand and I touched it with respect, not daring to raise + it to my lips. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I turned aside my head. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + She arose and stood behind me. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she again asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Who is there at this hour? Is it you?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “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.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. AN INTERVIEW + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish of me?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, she repeated her question in a firmer tone. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She frowned and cast her eyes about her in a strange manner; then she + replied, almost graciously: + </p> + <p> + “Come to-morrow during the day and I will see you.” Then she left me. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She tried to interrupt me. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, and then sat down + again. Then a moment of silence ensued. + </p> + <p> + “Rest assured,” she said, “it is not so.” + </p> + <p> + I thought she was searching for words that would not appear too severe, + and that she was anxious to avoid hurting me. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head; I saw that she was hesitating. + </p> + <p> + “You think I can be cured?” I cried. “May God grant you that solace if you + send me away—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. THE RUGGED PATH OF LOVE + </h2> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is she ill? Why, I left her late yesterday afternoon, and she was very + well at that time!” + </p> + <p> + He bowed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + The same response from Mercanson. I could not understand what this + peculiar manner signified, much less why she had entrusted her mission to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” I said, “I shall see her to-morrow and she will explain what + this means.” + </p> + <p> + His hesitation continued. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Pierson has also told me—that I should inform you—in + fact, I am requested to—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what is it?” I cried, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you are becoming violent! I think Madame Pierson is seriously ill; + she will not be able to see you this week.” + </p> + <p> + Another bow, and he retired. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, Monsieur? You intend to resort to violence?” he + cried. + </p> + <p> + “No, but I intend to make you tell me what you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I am afraid of no one, and I have told you what you ought to + know.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “The servant told me so. Why has she closed her door against me, and why + did she send you to tell me of it?” + </p> + <p> + Mercanson saw a peasant passing. + </p> + <p> + “Pierre!” he cried, calling him by name, “wait a moment, I wish to speak + with you.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us return,” she said, “let us retrace our steps.” + </p> + <p> + I seized her horse’s bridle. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “God be praised!” I cried, “she loves me!” She had returned my kiss. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do not come near me!” she cried, “not a step!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE VENUSBERG AGAIN + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my friend!” I said, “Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are + loved.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “How is it,” she asked, “that you make this announcement and smile at the + same time?” + </p> + <p> + “There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet,” I replied: “‘He who is loved + by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.’” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART IV + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. THE THORNS OF LOVE + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is yours?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” she asked. “Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing; play that air again.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Verily,” I said, “you lie so well? What! that air is yours? Is it + possible you can lie so fluently?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me with an air of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “God of Heaven!” she cried, “is it possible?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + But the next day Brigitte said to me, as if quite by chance: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Do not read that.” + </p> + <p> + I threw the book on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly not,” I said, “I did not think what I was doing.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I have secrets?” she asked, embracing me. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied, “I know nothing except that you are beautiful and that I + would die loving you.” + </p> + <p> + When I returned home to dinner I said to Larive: + </p> + <p> + “Who is Madame Pierson?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?” + </p> + <p> + “He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he + only comes here for the chase.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he young?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he related to Madame Pierson?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he was a friend of her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Has her husband been dead long?” + </p> + <p> + “Five years on All-Saints’ day. He was a worthy man.” + </p> + <p> + “And has this Monsieur de Dalens paid court?” + </p> + <p> + “To the widow? In faith—to tell the truth—” he stopped, + embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, will you answer me?” + </p> + <p> + “Some say so and some do not—I know nothing and have seen nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And you just told me that they do not talk about her in the country?” + </p> + <p> + “That is all they have said, and I supposed you knew that.” + </p> + <p> + “In a word, yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I think so, at least.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he + walked along at my side. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + Mercanson appeared to be astonished. I was somewhat astonished myself; but + who knows his own mind? + </p> + <p> + At his first words I saw that the priest understood what I wanted to know + and had decided not to satisfy me. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + While absorbed in these reflections I was slowly approaching Madame + Pierson’s. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What reply did you make?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my friend,” she said, “I pity you.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name. + </p> + <p> + “Dalens?” she replied. “He was my husband’s friend.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + Brigitte rose with difficulty; she took her fan and began to walk up and + down the room. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” she said, finally. I stepped up to her and took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Read that, read that!” she repeated in freezing tones. + </p> + <p> + I took the letters. At that moment I felt so persuaded of her innocence + that I was seized with remorse. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. UNCERTAINTY + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + In my evil moments I thought of paying court to her just for the sake of + annoying Brigitte. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” I said, “how perfectly Madame Daniel understands life! In her + present sprightly humor could one desire a more charming mistress?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my friend, my friend,” said Brigitte, “it is a pity that you must + seek pastimes.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I advanced on tiptoe, and the door being open, I could see Brigitte + without being seen. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I made some noise at the door. She rose, went to the secretary, closed it, + then came to me with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. EXPLANATIONS + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! my dear child,” she said, “how I pity you! You do not love me.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + All was silent about us; above our heads spread the heavens resplendent + with stars. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” I said, “do you remember the first day?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. BRIGITTE’S LOSS + </h2> + <p> + As I was crossing the public square one evening I saw two men standing + together; one of them said: + </p> + <p> + “It appears to me that he has ill-treated her.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I, then, nothing to you?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Must I leave you?” I said to it; “Must I lose you? O little dress, would + you go away without me?” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + “Brigitte!” I cried, returning to her room, “wait an hour for me, and I + will return.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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.”’ + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She trembled and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she replied, turning pale. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I cried, “yes, on my life! Give me the pieces.” + </p> + <p> + I gathered them up and placed them on the altar, then I was silent, my + eyes fixed on the offering. + </p> + <p> + “Was I not right,” she asked, “if it was my crown, to take it from the + wall where it has hung so long? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. A TORTURED SOUL + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I began by indifference; I was soon to grow malignant. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + At first I kept such thoughts to myself, but soon found pleasure in + revealing them to Brigitte. We had gone out for a walk: + </p> + <p> + “That dress is pretty,” I said, “such and such a girl, belonging to one of + my friends, has one like it.” + </p> + <p> + We were now seated at table. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; you + promised, you know, to imitate her.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down at the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! pardon me, but will you play that waltz that was so popular last + winter? That will remind me of happy times.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + One evening the rain was driving against the windows; we were alone, the + curtains were closed. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Come,” I said, “what shall we do while waiting for supper?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I opened the book, although Brigitte made a gesture as if to prevent me; + on the first page I read these words: + </p> + <p> + “This is my last will and testament.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I bent over her and kissed her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet!” she cried, in anguish. But I repulsed her and left the room. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + I kissed her with such passion that I feared my heart would burst. + </p> + <p> + “Drive on!” I cried to the coachman. We threw ourselves into each other’s + arms, and the horses set out at a gallop. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 3. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART5" id="link2H_PART5"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART V + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. SWEET ANTICIPATIONS + </h2> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When Brigitte spoke thus I experienced a feeling that resembled avarice; I + caught her in my arms and cried: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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”? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. THE DEMON OF DOUBT + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The tone of the letter angered me, and at first I took it as an insult. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Brigitte’s dejection made me reflect and calm my wrath. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was sad but tender. We exchanged a few kind words, and I set out + less unhappy. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “What do you wish?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “And your sister? Who will marry her?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “When do you go?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; Madame Pierson is indisposed, and has been confined to her + bed for three days.” + </p> + <p> + “For three days!” he repeated, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; why are you astonished?” + </p> + <p> + He arose and threw himself on me, his arms extended, his eyes fixed. He + was trembling violently. + </p> + <p> + “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: + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; be good enough to leave me. I fear I am not well; when I have + sufficiently recovered I will return your visit.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE QUESTION OF SMITH + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + I had deferred our departure purposely, but now I began to regret it. + Brigitte, too, at times urged me to hasten the day. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you wait?” she asked. “Here I am recovered and everything is + ready.” + </p> + <p> + Why did we wait, indeed? I do not know. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You love your sister very much, do you not?” I asked. “When do you expect + to marry her off?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Were you there?” asked Brigitte. She trembled and seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was there,” I replied. “Sing, my dear, I beg of you. Let me hear + your sweet voice.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go there?” I asked Brigitte. I took a pencil and traced some + figures on the picture. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. IN THE FURNACE + </h2> + <p> + My heart yearned to set out and yet I delayed; some secret influence + rooted me to the spot. + </p> + <p> + When Smith came I knew no repose from the time he entered the room. How is + it that sometimes we seem to enjoy unhappiness? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Did Smith stay late?” I asked of Brigitte. + </p> + <p> + “He left about midnight.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?” + </p> + <p> + “I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. TRUTH AT LAST + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + When I read these words I threw down my book, and melted into tears. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + This could not last long. Tired of uncertainty, I resolved to resort to a + test that would discover the truth. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious?” asked Brigitte; “do you wish to set out to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” I replied, “since we have agreed that we ought to leave Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “What! now? At this very moment?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “I am ready,” she said; “shall we go? We are really going?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come! I am ready,” she repeated in extreme agitation; “let us go, + Octave, let us set out at once.” + </p> + <p> + While speaking she continued her search and then came and sat down near + us. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Bon voyage, my friends!” he said. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “When shall I see you again?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go, let us go!” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She turned on me like a flash. + </p> + <p> + “Speak to me of your love,” she said, “not of your grief.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “One moment; I have some papers here I want to burn.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I!” said she, almost offended. “What makes you think I am acting?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us go, let us go!” she again repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent, astonished to see that I had not been deceived by her + words and manner and that I saw through them both. + </p> + <p> + “Why should we delude ourselves?” I continued. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong,” she replied; “I beg of you, not a word more.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not oppose you, you are mistaken; I love you, Octave; cease + tormenting me thus.” + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + “My God!” I cried, “you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it must be,” she murmured, “it must be.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be,” I repeated to myself. I arose. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “It must be!” I said to myself. “It must be!” I repeated aloud. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Unhappy man!” she cried, “you will never know how to love!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not speak.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you imagine I am concealing?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy!” murmured Brigitte; “you do not want to go?” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “As you please; I will wait.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “You may drive off,” I called to those below, “and I will see that you are + paid. I shall not start to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, my dear,” said I, gayly, “this is not a time for confidences, + then?” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Doubtless my face betrayed me as I spoke these words; Brigitte did not + appear to understand and kept on walking up and down. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She stopped me. + </p> + <p> + “At our age!” said she. “Are you addressing me? What comedy are you now + playing, yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Blood mounted to my face. I seized her hand. “Sit down here,” I said, “and + listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + “What is the use? It is not you who speak.” + </p> + <p> + I felt ashamed of my own strategy and abandoned it. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I am listening, what have you to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true; what is your meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Her only recourse is silence.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps; silence before all.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, you say? Assuredly I will lose you if you do not speak; my + resolution is made: I am going away alone.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Octave—” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I cried, “time will justify you! Let us put an end to it; yes or + no?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Of what do you suspect me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Smith.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + She knelt down as she spoke. I arose. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Whenever you please,” said she, coldly; “I am as tired of it as you.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked. “What do you wish me to tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “What you have on your heart. Are you cruel enough to make me repeat it?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She leaned on me weeping. “Fool! Fool!” she repeated, in a heartrending + voice. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + She arose. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + I tried to interrupt her. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + She stopped before the glass. + </p> + <p> + “Who am I?” she repeated, “who am I? Think of it. Look at this face of + mine.” + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. SELF-SACRIFICE THE SOLUTION + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “Let her sleep until to-morrow,” I said to myself; “I have all night to + watch her.” + </p> + <p> + 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! + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Altra volta gieri biele, + Blanch’ e rossa com’ un flore, + Ma ora no. Non son piu biele + Consumatis dal’ amore. +</pre> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Little by little, my thoughts mounted and became more sombre, until I + recoiled in terror. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I mused, “I did not do that. These things are but an absurd dream.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + My senses stirred within me. Was it grief or despair? I do not know. + Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to me. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + I found a knife on the table and I picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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? + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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! + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “O Lord, my God,” I said, in trembling tones, “Lord, my God, thou art + there!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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? + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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.” + </pre> + <p> + I turned the letter over when I had read it, and saw that it was addressed + to “M. Henri Smith, N———, poste restante.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + 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: + </p> + <p> + “Octave, are you sure of yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Octave, Octave,” repeated the woman, “are you sure you are not deceiving + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Why could we not meet again? Why not some day—you are so young!” + </p> + <p> + Then she added, with a smile: + </p> + <p> + “We could see each other without danger.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” replied the woman. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Then he continued, softly: + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will write to me?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck again; it was time to go; when they passed out they + seemed as joyful as when they entered. + </p> + <p> + “What a beautiful sun!” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “And a beautiful day,” said Brigitte, “the memory of which shall never + fade.” + </p> + <p> + They hastened away and disappeared in the crowd. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 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 +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Child of a Century, Complete, by Alfred de Musset + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD OF A CENTURY, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3942-h.htm or 3942-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/4/3942/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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