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diff --git a/3939.txt b/3939.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d52f09 --- /dev/null +++ b/3939.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3728 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v1 +#26 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy +#1 in our series by Alfred de Musset + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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At thirty De Musset was already an old man, seeking +in artificial stimuli the youth that would not spring again. Coming from +a literary family the zeal of his house had eaten him up; his passion had +burned itself out and his heart with it. He had done his work; it +mattered little to him or to literature whether the curtain fell on his +life's drama in 1841 or in 1857. + +Alfred de Musset, by virtue of his genial, ironical temperament, +eminently clear brain, and undying achievements, belongs to the great +poets of the ages. We to-day do not approve the timbre of his epoch: +that impertinent, somewhat irritant mask, that redundant rhetoric, that +occasional disdain for the metre. Yet he remains the greatest poete de +l'amour, the most spontaneous, the most sincere, the most emotional +singer of the tender passion that modern times has produced. + +Born of noble parentage on December 11, 1810--his full name being Louis +Charles Alfred de Musset--the son of De Musset-Pathai, he received his +education at the College Henri IV, where, among others, the Duke of +Orleans was his schoolmate. When only eighteen he was introduced into +the Romantic 'cenacle' at Nodier's. His first work, 'Les Contes +d'Espagne et d'Italie' (1829), shows reckless daring in the choice of +subjects quite in the spirit of Le Sage, with a dash of the dandified +impertinence that mocked the foibles of the old Romanticists. However, +he presently abandoned this style for the more subjective strain of 'Les +Voeux Steyiles, Octave, Les Secretes Pensees de Rafael, Namouna, and +Rolla', the last two being very eloquent at times, though immature. +Rolla (1833) is one of the strongest and most depressing of his works; +the sceptic regrets the faith he has lost the power to regain, and +realizes in lurid flashes the desolate emptiness of his own heart. At +this period the crisis of his life was reached. He accompanied George +Sand to Italy, a rupture between them occurred, and De Musset returned to +Paris alone in 1834. + +More subdued sadness is found in 'Les Nuits' (1832-1837), and in 'Espoir +en Dieu' (1838), etc., and his 'Lettre a Lamartine' belongs to the most +beautiful pages of French literature. But henceforth his production +grows more sparing and in form less romantic, although 'Le Rhin +Allemand', for example, shows that at times he can still gather up all +his powers. The poet becomes lazy and morose, his will is sapped by a +wild and reckless life, and one is more than once tempted to wish that +his lyre had ceased to sing. + +De Musset's prose is more abundant than his lyrics or his dramas. It is +of immense value, and owes its chief significance to the clearness with +which it exhibits the progress of his ethical disintegration. In +'Emmeline (1837) we have a rather dangerous juggling with the psychology +of love. Then follows a study of simultaneous love, 'Les Deux +Mattresses' (1838), quite in the spirit of Jean Paul. He then wrote +three sympathetic depictions of Parisian Bohemia: 'Frederic et +Bernadette, Mimi Pinson, and Le Secret de Javotte', all in 1838. +'Le Fils de Titien (1838) and Croiselles' (1839) are carefully elaborated +historical novelettes; the latter is considered one of his best works, +overflowing with romantic spirit, and contrasting in this respect +strangely with 'La Mouche' (1853), one of the last flickerings of his +imagination. 'Maggot' (1838) bears marks of the influence of George Sand; +'Le Merle Blanc' (1842) is a sort of allegory dealing with their quarrel. +'Pierre et Camille' is a pretty but slight tale of a deaf-mute's love. +His greatest work, 'Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle', crowned with +acclaim by the French Academy, and classic for all time, was written in +1836, when the poet, somewhat recovered from the shock, relates his +unhappy Italian experience. It is an ambitious and deeply interesting +work, and shows whither his dread of all moral compulsion and self- +control was leading him. + +De Musset also wrote some critical essays, witty and satirical in tone, +in which his genius appears in another light. It is not generally known +that he was the translator into French of De Quincey's 'Confessions of an +Opium Eater' (1828). He was also a prominent contributor to the 'Revue +des Deux Mondes.' In 1852 he was elected to the French Academy, but +hardly ever appeared at the sessions. A confrere once made the remark: +"De Musset frequently absents himself," whereupon it is said another +Immortal answered, "And frequently absinthe's himself!" + +While Brunetiere, Lemattre, and others consider De Musset a great +dramatist, Sainte-Beuve, singularly enough, does not appreciate him as a +playwright. Theophile Gautier says about 'Un Caprice' (1847): "Since the +days of Marivaux nothing has been produced in 'La Comedie Francaise' so +fine, so delicate, so dainty, than this tender piece, this chef-d'oeuvre, +long buried within the pages of a review; and we are greatly indebted to +the Russians of St. Petersburg, that snow-covered Athens, for having dug +up and revived it." Nevertheless, his bluette, 'La Nuit Venetienne', was +outrageously treated at the Odeon. The opposition was exasperated by the +recent success of Hugo's 'Hernani.' Musset was then in complete accord +with the fundamental romantic conception that tragedy must mingle with +comedy on the stage as well as in life, but he had too delicate a taste +to yield to the extravagance of Dumas and the lesser romanticists. All +his plays, by the way, were written for the 'Revue des Deux Mondes' +between 1833 and 1850, and they did not win a definite place on the stage +till the later years of the Second Empire. In some comedies the dialogue +is unequalled by any writer since the days of Beaumarchais. Taine says +that De Musset has more real originality in some respects than Hugo, and +possesses truer dramatic genius. Two or three of his comedies will +probably hold the stage longer than any dramatic work of the romantic +school. They contain the quintessence of romantic imaginative art; they +show in full flow that unchecked freedom of fancy which, joined to the +spirit of realistic comedy, produces the modern French drama. Yet De +Musset's prose has in greater measure the qualities that endure. + +The Duke of Orleans created De Musset Librarian in the Department of the +Interior. It was sometimes stated that there was no library at all. It +is certain that it was a sinecure, though the pay, 3,000 francs, was +small. In 1848 the Duke had the bad taste to ask for his resignation, +but the Empire repaired the injury. Alfred de Musset died in Paris, +May 2, 1857. + HENRI DE BORNIER + de l'Academie Francaise. + + + + +THE CONFESSIONS OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY + + +BOOK 1. + + +PART I + +CHAPTER I + +TO THE READER + +Before the history of any life can be written, that life must be lived; +so that it is not my life that I am now writing. Attacked in early youth +by an abominable moral malady, I here narrate what happened to me during +the space of three years. Were I the only victim of that disease, I +would say nothing, but as many others suffer from the same evil, I write +for them, although I am not sure that they will give heed to me. Should +my warning be unheeded, I shall still have reaped the fruit of my +agonizing in having cured myself, and, like the fox caught in a trap, +shall have gnawed off my captive foot. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +REFLECTIONS + +During the wars of the Empire, while husbands and brothers were in +Germany, anxious mothers gave birth to an ardent, pale, and neurotic +generation. Conceived between battles, reared amid the noises of war, +thousands of children looked about them with dull eyes while testing +their limp muscles. From time to time their blood-stained fathers would +appear, raise them to their gold-laced bosoms, then place them on the +ground and remount their horses. + +The life of Europe centred in one man; men tried to fill their lungs with +the air which he had breathed. Yearly France presented that man with +three hundred thousand of her youth; it was the tax to Caesar; without +that troop behind him, he could not follow his fortune. It was the +escort he needed that he might scour the world, and then fall in a little +valley on a deserted island, under weeping willows. + +Never had there been so many sleepless nights as in the time of that man; +never had there been seen, hanging over the ramparts of the cities, such +a nation of desolate mothers; never was there such a silence about those +who spoke of death. And yet there was never such joy, such life, such +fanfares of war, in all hearts. Never was there such pure sunlight as +that which dried all this blood. God made the sun for this man, men +said; and they called it the Sun of Austerlitz. But he made this +sunlight himself with his ever-booming guns that left no clouds but those +which succeed the day of battle. + +It was this air of the spotless sky, where shone so much glory, where +glistened so many swords, that the youth of the time breathed. They well +knew that they were destined to the slaughter; but they believed that +Murat was invulnerable, and the Emperor had been seen to cross a bridge +where so many bullets whistled that they wondered if he were mortal. +And even if one must die, what did it matter? Death itself was so +beautiful, so noble, so illustrious, in its battle-scarred purple! +It borrowed the color of hope, it reaped so many immature harvests that +it became young, and there was no more old age. All the cradles of +France, as indeed all its tombs, were armed with bucklers; there were no +more graybeards, there were only corpses or demi-gods. + +Nevertheless the immortal Emperor stood one day on a hill watching seven +nations engaged in mutual slaughter, not knowing whether he would be +master of all the world or only half. Azrael passed, touched the warrior +with the tip of his wing, and hurled him into the ocean. At the noise of +his fall, the dying Powers sat up in their beds of pain; and stealthily +advancing with furtive tread, the royal spiders made partition of Europe, +and the purple of Caesar became the motley of Harlequin. + +Just as the traveller, certain of his way, hastes night and day through +rain and sunlight, careless of vigils or of dangers, but, safe at home +and seated before the fire, is seized by extreme lassitude and can hardly +drag himself to bed, so France, the widow of Caesar, suddenly felt her +wound. She fell through sheer exhaustion, and lapsed into a coma so +profound that her old kings, believing her dead, wrapped about her a +burial shroud. The veterans, their hair whitened in service, returned +exhausted, and the hearths of deserted castles sadly flickered into life. + +Then the men of the Empire, who had been through so much, who had lived +in such carnage, kissed their emaciated wives and spoke of their first +love. They looked into the fountains of their native fields and found +themselves so old, so mutilated, that they bethought themselves of their +sons, in order that these might close the paternal eyes in peace. They +asked where they were; the children came from the schools, and, seeing +neither sabres, nor cuirasses, neither infantry nor cavalry, asked in +turn where were their fathers. They were told that the war was ended, +that Caesar was dead, and that the portraits of Wellington and of Blucher +were suspended in the ante-chambers of the consulates and the embassies, +with this legend beneath: 'Salvatoribus mundi'. + +Then came upon a world in ruins an anxious youth. The children were +drops of burning blood which had inundated the earth; they were born in +the bosom of war, for war. For fifteen years they had dreamed of the +snows of Moscow and of the sun of the Pyramids. + +They had not gone beyond their native towns; but had been told that +through each gateway of these towns lay the road to a capital of Europe. +They had in their heads a world; they saw the earth, the sky, the streets +and the highways; but these were empty, and the bells of parish churches +resounded faintly in the distance. + +Pale phantoms, shrouded in black robes, slowly traversed the countryside; +some knocked at the doors of houses, and, when admitted, drew from their +pockets large, well-worn documents with which they evicted the tenants. +From every direction came men still trembling with the fear that had +seized them when they had fled twenty years before. All began to urge +their claims, disputing loudly and crying for help; strange that a single +death should attract so many buzzards. + +The King of France was on his throne, looking here and there to see if he +could perchance find a bee [symbol of Napoleon D.W.] in the royal +tapestry. Some men held out their hats, and he gave them money; others +extended a crucifix and he kissed it; others contented themselves with +pronouncing in his ear great names of powerful families, and he replied +to these by inviting them into his grand salle, where the echoes were +more sonorous; still others showed him their old cloaks, when they had +carefully effaced the bees, and to these he gave new robes. + +The children saw all this, thinking that the spirit of Caesar would soon +land at Cannes and breathe upon this larva; but the silence was unbroken, +and they saw floating in the sky only the paleness of the lily. When +these children spoke of glory, they met the answer: + +"Become priests;" when they spoke of hope, of love, of power, of life: +"Become priests." + +And yet upon the rostrum came a man who held in his hand a contract +between king and people. He began by saying that glory was a beautiful +thing, and ambition and war as well; but there was something still more +beautiful, and it was called liberty. + +The children raised their heads and remembered that thus their +grandfathers had spoken. They remembered having seen in certain obscure +corners of the paternal home mysterious busts with long marble hair and a +Latin inscription; they remembered how their grandsires shook their heads +and spoke of streams of blood more terrible than those of the Empire. +Something in that word liberty made their hearts beat with the memory of +a terrible past and the hope of a glorious future. + +They trembled at the word; but returning to their homes they encountered +in the street three coffins which were being borne to Clamart; within +were three young men who had pronounced that word liberty too distinctly. + +A strange smile hovered on their lips at that sad sight; but other +speakers, mounted on the rostrum, began publicly to estimate what +ambition had cost and how very dear was glory; they pointed out the +horror of war and called the battle-losses butcheries. They spoke so +often and so long that all human illusions, like the trees in autumn, +fell leaf by leaf about them, and those who listened passed their hands +over their foreheads as if awakening from a feverish dream. + +Some said: "The Emperor has fallen because the people wished no more of +him;" others added: "The people wished the king; no, liberty; no, reason; +no, religion; no, the English constitution; no, absolutism;" and the last +one said: "No, none of these things, but simply peace." + +Three elements entered into the life which offered itself to these +children: behind them a past forever destroyed, still quivering on its +ruins with all the fossils of centuries of absolutism; before them the +aurora of an immense horizon, the first gleams of the future; and between +these two worlds--like the ocean which separates the Old World from the +New--something vague and floating, a troubled sea filled with wreckage, +traversed from time to time by some distant sail or some ship trailing +thick clouds of smoke; the present, in a word, which separates the past +from the future, which is neither the one nor the other, which resembles +both, and where one can not know whether, at each step, one treads on +living matter or on dead refuse. + +It was in such chaos that choice had to be made; this was the aspect +presented to children full of spirit and of audacity, sons of the Empire +and grandsons of the Revolution. + +As for the past, they would none of it, they had no faith in it; the +future, they loved it, but how? As Pygmalion before Galatea, it was for +them a lover in marble, and they waited for the breath of life to animate +that breast, for blood to color those veins. + +There remained then the present, the spirit of the time, angel of the +dawn which is neither night nor day; they found him seated on a lime-sack +filled with bones, clad in the mantle of egoism, and shivering in +terrible cold. The anguish of death entered into the soul at the sight +of that spectre, half mummy and half foetus; they approached it as does +the traveller who is shown at Strasburg the daughter of an old count of +Sarvenden, embalmed in her bride's dress: that childish skeleton makes +one shudder, for her slender and livid hand wears the wedding-ring and +her head decays enwreathed in orange-blossoms. + +As on the approach of a tempest there passes through the forests a +terrible gust of wind which makes the trees shudder, to which profound +silence succeeds, so had Napoleon, in passing, shaken the world; kings +felt their crowns oscillate in the storm, and, raising hands to steady +them, found only their hair, bristling with terror. The Pope had +travelled three hundred leagues to bless him in the name of God and to +crown him with the diadem; but Napoleon had taken it from his hands. +Thus everything trembled in that dismal forest of old Europe; then +silence succeeded. + +It is said that when you meet a mad dog, if you keep quietly on your way +without turning, the dog will merely follow you a short distance growling +and showing his teeth; but if you allow yourself to be frightened into a +movement of terror, if you but make a sudden step, he will leap at your +throat and devour you; that when the first bite has been taken there is +no escaping him. + +In European history it has often happened that a sovereign has made such +a movement of terror and his people have devoured him; but if one had +done it, all had not done it at the same time--that is to say, one king +had disappeared, but not all royal majesty. Before the sword of Napoleon +majesty made this movement, this gesture which ruins everything, not only +majesty but religion, nobility, all power both human and divine. + +Napoleon dead, human and divine power were reestablished, but belief in +them no longer existed. A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what +is possible, for the mind always goes farther. It is one thing to say: +"That may be" and another thing to say: "That has been;" it is the first +bite of the dog. + +The fall of Napoleon was the last flicker of the lamp of despotism; it +destroyed and it parodied kings as Voltaire the Holy Scripture. And +after him was heard a great noise: it was the stone of St. Helena which +had just fallen on the ancient world. Immediately there appeared in the +heavens the cold star of reason, and its rays, like those of the goddess +of the night, shedding light without heat, enveloped the world in a livid +shroud. + +There had been those who hated the nobles, who cried out against priests, +who conspired against kings; abuses and prejudices had been attacked; but +all that was not so great a novelty as to see a smiling people. If a +noble or a priest or a sovereign passed, the peasants who had made war +possible began to shake their heads and say: "Ah! when we saw this man in +such a time and place he wore a different face." And when the throne and +altar were mentioned, they replied: "They are made of four planks of +wood; we have nailed them together and torn them apart." And when some +one said: "People, you have recovered from the errors which led you +astray; you have recalled your kings and your priests," they replied: +"We have nothing to do with those prattlers." And when some one said +"People, forget the past, work and obey," they arose from their seats and +a dull jangling could be heard. It was the rusty and notched sabre in +the corner of the cottage chimney. Then they hastened to add: "Then keep +quiet, at least; if no one harms you, do not seek to harm." Alas! they +were content with that. + +But youth was not content. It is certain that there are in man two +occult powers engaged in a death-struggle: the one, clear-sighted and +cold, is concerned with reality, calculation, weight, and judges the +past; the other is athirst for the future and eager for the unknown. +When passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning, him of +his danger; but when man listens to the voice of reason, when he stops at +her request and says: "What a fool I am; where am I going?" passion +calls to him: "Ah, must I die?" + +A feeling of extreme uneasiness began to ferment in all young hearts. +Condemned to inaction by the powers which governed the world, delivered +to vulgar pedants of every kind, to idleness and to ennui, the youth saw +the foaming billows which they had prepared to meet, subside. All these +gladiators glistening with oil felt in the bottom of their souls an +insupportable wretchedness. The richest became libertines; those of +moderate fortune followed some profession and resigned themselves to the +sword or to the church. The poorest gave themselves up with cold +enthusiasm to great thoughts, plunged into the frightful sea of aimless +effort. As human weakness seeks association and as men are gregarious by +nature, politics became mingled with it. There were struggles with the +'garde du corps' on the steps of the legislative assembly; at the theatre +Talma wore a wig which made him resemble Caesar; every one flocked to the +burial of a Liberal deputy. + +But of the members of the two parties there was not one who, upon +returning home, did not bitterly realize the emptiness of his life and +the feebleness of his hands. + +While life outside was so colorless and so mean, the inner life of +society assumed a sombre aspect of silence; hypocrisy ruled in all +departments of conduct; English ideas, combining gayety with devotion, +had disappeared. Perhaps Providence was already preparing new ways, +perhaps the herald angel of future society was already sowing in the +hearts of women the seeds of human independence. But it is certain that +a strange thing suddenly happened: in all the salons of Paris the men +passed on one side and the women on the other; and thus, the one clad in +white like brides, and the other in black like orphans, began to take +measure of one another with the eye. + +Let us not be deceived: that vestment of black which the men of our time +wear is a terrible symbol; before coming to this, the armor must have +fallen piece by piece and the embroidery flower by flower. Human reason +has overthrown all illusions; but it bears in itself sorrow, in order +that it may be consoled. + +The customs of students and artists, those customs so free, so beautiful, +so full of youth, began to experience the universal change. Men in +taking leave of women whispered the word which wounds to the death: +contempt. They plunged into the dissipation of wine and courtesans. +Students and artists did the same; love was treated as were glory and +religion: it was an old illusion. The grisette, that woman so dreamy, +so romantic, so tender, and so sweet in love, abandoned herself to the +counting-house and to the shop. She was poor and no one loved her; she +needed gowns and hats and she sold herself. Oh! misery! the young man +who ought to love her, whom she loved, who used to take her to the woods +of Verrieres and Romainville, to the dances on the lawn, to the suppers +under the trees; he who used to talk with her as she sat near the lamp in +the rear of the shop on the long winter evenings; he who shared her crust +of bread moistened with the sweat of her brow, and her love at once +sublime and poor; he, that same man, after abandoning her, finds her +after a night of orgy, pale and leaden, forever lost, with hunger on her +lips and prostitution in her heart. + +About this time two poets, whose genius was second only to that of +Napoleon, consecrated their lives to the work of collecting the elements +of anguish and of grief scattered over the universe. Goethe, the +patriarch of a new literature, after painting in his Weyther the passion +which leads to suicide, traced in his Faust the most sombre human +character which has ever represented evil and unhappiness. His writings +began to pass from Germany into France. From his studio, surrounded by +pictures and statues, rich, happy, and at ease, he watched with a +paternal smile his gloomy creations marching in dismal procession across +the frontiers of France. Byron replied to him in a cry of grief which +made Greece tremble, and hung Manfred over the abyss, as if oblivion were +the solution of the hideous enigma with which he enveloped him. + +Pardon, great poets! who are now but ashes and who sleep in peace! +Pardon, ye demigods, for I am only a child who suffers. But while I +write all this I can not but curse you. Why did you not sing of the +perfume of flowers, of the voices of nature, of hope and of love, of the +vine and the sun, of the azure heavens and of beauty? You must have +understood life, you must have suffered; the world was crumbling to +pieces about you; you wept on its ruins and you despaired; your +mistresses were false; your friends calumniated, your compatriots +misunderstood; your heart was empty; death was in your eyes, and you were +the Colossi of grief. But tell me, noble Goethe, was there no more +consoling voice in the religious murmur of your old German forests? You, +for whom beautiful poesy was the sister of science, could not they find +in immortal nature a healing plant for the heart of their favorite? You, +who were a pantheist, and antique poet of Greece, a lover of sacred +forms, could you not put a little honey in the beautiful vases you made; +you who had only to smile and allow the bees to come to your lips? And +thou, Byron, hadst thou not near Ravenna, under the orange-trees of +Italy, under thy beautiful Venetian sky, near thy Adriatic, hadst thou +not thy well-beloved? Oh, God! I who speak to you, who am only a feeble +child, have perhaps known sorrows that you have never suffered, and yet I +believe and hope, and still bless God. + +When English and German ideas had passed thus over our heads there ensued +disgust and mournful silence, followed by a terrible convulsion. For to +formulate general ideas is to change saltpetre into powder, and the +Homeric brain of the great Goethe had sucked up, as an alembic, all the +juice of the forbidden fruit. Those who did not read him, did not +believe it, knew nothing of it. Poor creatures! The explosion carried +them away like grains of dust into the abyss of universal doubt. + +It was a denial of all heavenly and earthly facts that might be termed +disenchantment, or if you will, despair; as if humanity in lethargy had +been pronounced dead by those who felt its pulse. Like a soldier who is +asked: "In what do you believe?" and who replies: "In myself," so the +youth of France, hearing that question, replied: "In nothing." + +Then formed two camps: on one side the exalted spirits, sufferers, all +the expansive souls who yearned toward the infinite, bowed their heads +and wept; they wrapped themselves in unhealthful dreams and nothing could +be seen but broken reeds in an ocean of bitterness. On the other side +the materialists remained erect, inflexible, in the midst of positive +joys, and cared for nothing except to count the money they had acquired. +It was but a sob and a burst of laughter, the one coming from the soul, +the other from the body. + +This is what the soul said: + +"Alas! Alas! religion has departed; the clouds of heaven fall in rain; +we have no longer either hope or expectation, not even two little pieces +of black wood in the shape of a cross before which to clasp our hands. +The star of the future is loath to appear; it can not rise above the +horizon; it is enveloped in clouds, and like the sun in winter its disc +is the color of blood, as in '93. There is no more love, no more glory. +What heavy darkness over all the earth! And death will come ere the day +breaks." + +This is what the body said: + +"Man is here below to satisfy his senses; he has more or less of white or +yellow metal, by which he merits more or less esteem. To eat, to drink, +and to sleep, that is life. As for the bonds which exist between men, +friendship consists in loaning money; but one rarely has a friend whom he +loves enough for that. Kinship determines inheritance; love is an +exercise of the body; the only intellectual joy is vanity." + +Like the Asiatic plague exhaled from the vapors of the Ganges, frightful +despair stalked over the earth. Already Chateaubriand, prince of poesy, +wrapping the horrible idol in his pilgrim's mantle, had placed it on a +marble altar in the midst of perfumes and holy incense. Already the +children were clenching idle hands and drinking in a bitter cup the +poisoned brewage of doubt. Already things were drifting toward the +abyss, when the jackals suddenly emerged from the earth. A deathly and +infected literature, which had no form but that of ugliness, began to +sprinkle with fetid blood all the monsters of nature. + +Who will dare to recount what was passing in the colleges? Men doubted +everything: the young men denied everything. The poets sang of despair; +the youth came from the schools with serene brow, their faces glowing +with health, and blasphemy in their mouths. Moreover, the French +character, being by nature gay and open, readily assimilated English and +German ideas; but hearts too light to struggle and to suffer withered +like crushed flowers. Thus the seed of death descended slowly and +without shock from the head to the bowels. Instead of having the +enthusiasm of evil we had only the negation of the good; instead of +despair, insensibility. Children of fifteen, seated listlessly under +flowering shrubs, conversed for pastime on subjects which would have made +shudder with terror the still thickets of Versailles. The Communion of +Christ, the Host, those wafers that stand as the eternal symbol of divine +love, were used to seal letters; the children spit upon the Bread of God. + +Happy they who escaped those times! Happy they who passed over the abyss +while looking up to Heaven. There are such, doubtless, and they will +pity us. + +It is unfortunately true that there is in blasphemy a certain outlet +which solaces the burdened heart. When an atheist, drawing his watch, +gave God a quarter of an hour in which to strike him dead, it is certain +that it was a quarter of an hour of wrath and of atrocious joy. It was +the paroxysm of despair, a nameless appeal to all celestial powers; it +was a poor, wretched creature squirming under the foot that was crushing +him; it was a loud cry of pain. Who knows? In the eyes of Him who sees +all things, it was perhaps a prayer. + +Thus these youth found employment for their idle powers in a fondness for +despair. To scoff at glory, at religion, at love, at all the world, is a +great consolation for those who do not know what to do; they mock at +themselves, and in doing so prove the correctness of their view. And +then it is pleasant to believe one's self unhappy when one is only idle +and tired. Debauchery, moreover, the first result of the principles of +death, is a terrible millstone for grinding the energies. + +The rich said: "There is nothing real but riches, all else is a dream; +let us enjoy and then let us die." Those of moderate fortune said: +"There is nothing real but oblivion, all else is a dream; let us forget +and let us die." And the poor said: "There is nothing real but +unhappiness, all else is a dream; let us blaspheme and die." + +Is this too black? Is it exaggerated? What do you think of it? Am I a +misanthrope? Allow me to make a reflection. + +In reading the history of the fall of the Roman Empire, it is impossible +to overlook the evil that the Christians, so admirable when in the +desert, did to the State when they were in power. "When I think," said +Montesquieu, "of the profound ignorance into which the Greek clergy +plunged the laity, I am obliged to compare them to the Scythians of whom +Herodotus speaks, who put out the eyes of their slaves in order that +nothing might distract their attention from their work . . . . No +affair of State, no peace, no truce, no negotiations, no marriage could +be transacted by any one but the clergy. The evils of this system were +beyond belief." + +Montesquieu might have added: Christianity destroyed the emperors but it +saved the people. It opened to the barbarians the palaces of +Constantinople, but it opened the doors of cottages to the ministering +angels of Christ. It had much to do with the great ones of earth. And +what is more interesting than the death-rattle of an empire corrupt to +the very marrow of its bones, than the sombre galvanism under the +influence of which the skeleton of tyranny danced upon the tombs of +Heliogabalus and Caracalla? How beautiful that mummy of Rome, embalmed +in the perfumes of Nero and swathed in the shroud of Tiberius! It had to +do, my friends the politicians, with finding the poor and giving them +life and peace; it had to do with allowing the worms and tumors to +destroy the monuments of shame, while drawing from the ribs of this mummy +a virgin as beautiful as the mother of the Redeemer, Hope, the friend of +the oppressed. + +That is what Christianity did; and now, after many years, what have they +done who destroyed it? They saw that the poor allowed themselves to be +oppressed by the rich, the feeble by the strong, because of that saying: +"The rich and the strong will oppress me on earth; but when they wish to +enter paradise, I shall be at the door and I will accuse them before the +tribunal of God." And so, alas! they were patient. + +The antagonists of Christ therefore said to the poor: "You wait patiently +for the day of justice: there is no justice; you wait for the life +eternal to achieve your vengeance: there is no life eternal; you gather +up your tears and those of your family, the cries of children and the +sobs of women, to place them at the feet of God at the hour of death: +there is no God." + +Then it is certain that the poor man dried his tears, that he told his +wife to check her sobs, his children to come with him, and that he stood +erect upon the soil with the power of a bull. He said to the rich: "Thou +who oppressest me, thou art only man," and to the priest: "Thou who hast +consoled me, thou hast lied." That was just what the antagonists of +Christ desired. Perhaps they thought this was the way to achieve man's +happiness, sending him out to the conquest of liberty. + +But, if the poor man, once satisfied that the priests deceive him, that +the rich rob him, that all men have rights, that all good is of this +world, and that misery is impiety; if the poor man, believing in himself +and in his two arms, says to himself some fine day: "War on the rich! +For me, happiness here in this life, since there is no other! for me, +the earth, since heaven is empty! for me and for all, since all are +equal." Oh! reasoners sublime, who have led him to this, what will you +say to him if he is conquered? + +Doubtless you are philanthropists, doubtless you are right about the +future, and the day will come when you will be blessed; but thus far, we +have not blessed you. When the oppressor said: "This world for me!" the +oppressed replied: "Heaven for me!" Now what can he say? + +All the evils of the present come from two causes: the people who have +passed through 1793 and 1814 nurse wounds in their hearts. That which +was is no more; what will be, is not yet. Do not seek elsewhere the +cause of our malady. + +Here is a man whose house falls in ruins; he has torn it down in order to +build another. The rubbish encumbers the spot, and he waits for new +materials for his new home. At the moment he has prepared to cut the +stone and mix the cement, while standing pick in hand with sleeves rolled +up, he is informed that there is no more stone, and is advised to whiten +the old material and make the best possible use of that. What can you +expect this man to do who is unwilling to build his nest out of ruins? +The quarry is deep, the tools too weak to hew out the stones. "Wait!" +they say to him, "we will draw out the stones one by one; hope, work, +advance, withdraw." What do they not tell him? And in the mean time he +has lost his old house, and has not yet built the new; he does not know +where to protect himself from the rain, or how to prepare his evening +meal, nor where to work, nor where to sleep, nor where to die; and his +children are newly born. + +I am much deceived if we do not resemble that man. Oh! people of the +future! when on a warm summer day you bend over your plows in the green +fields of your native land; when you see in the pure sunlight, under a +spotless sky, the earth, your fruitful mother, smiling in her matutinal +robe on the workman, her well-beloved child; when drying on your brow the +holy baptism of sweat, you cast your eye over the vast horizon, where +there will not be one blade higher than another in the human harvest, but +only violets and marguerites in the midst of ripening ears; oh! free +men! when you thank God that you were born for that harvest, think of +those who are no more, tell yourself that we have dearly purchased the +repose which you enjoy; pity us more than all your fathers, for we have +suffered the evil which entitled them to pity and we have lost that which +consoled them. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE BEGINNING OF THE CONFESSIONS + +I have to explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age. + +I was at table, at a great supper, after a masquerade. About me were my +friends, richly costumed, on all sides young men and women, all sparkling +with beauty and joy; on the right and on the left exquisite dishes, +flagons, splendor, flowers; above my head was an obstreperous orchestra, +and before me my loved one, whom I idolized. + +I was then nineteen; I had passed through no great misfortune, I had +suffered from no disease; my character was at once haughty and frank, +my heart full of the hopes of youth. The fumes of wine fermented in my +head; it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that one sees +and hears speaks to one of the well-beloved. All nature appeared a +beautiful stone with a thousand facets, on which was engraven the +mysterious name. One would willingly embrace all who smile, and feel +that he is brother of all who live. My mistress had granted me a +rendezvous, and I was gently raising my glass to my lips while my eyes +were fixed on her. + +As I turned to take a napkin, my fork fell. I stooped to pick it up, and +not finding it at first I raised the table cloth to see where it had +rolled. I then saw under the table my mistress's foot; it touched that +of a young man seated beside her; from time to time they exchanged a +gentle pressure. + +Perfectly calm, I asked for another fork and continued my supper. My +mistress and her neighbor, on their side, were very quiet, talking but +little and never looking at each other. The young man had his elbows on +the table and was chatting with another woman, who was showing him her +necklace and bracelets. My mistress sat motionless, her eyes fixed and +swimming with languor. I watched both of them during the entire supper, +and I saw nothing either in their gestures or in their faces that could +betray them. Finally, at dessert, I dropped my napkin, and stooping down +saw that they were still in the same position. + +I had promised to escort my mistress to her home that night. She was a +widow and therefore free, living alone with an old relative who served as +chaperon. As I was crossing the hall she called to me: + +"Come, Octave!" she said, "let us go; here I am." + +I laughed, and passed out without replying. After walking a short +distance I sat down on a stone projecting from a wall. I do not know +what my thoughts were; I sat as if stupefied by the unfaithfulness of one +of whom I had never been jealous, whom I had never had cause to suspect. +What I had seen left no room for doubt; I was felled as if by a stroke +from a club. The only thing I remember doing as I sat there, was looking +mechanically up at the sky, and, seeing a star shoot across the heavens, +I saluted that fugitive gleam, in which poets see a worn-out world, and +gravely took off my hat to it. + +I returned to my home very quietly, experiencing nothing, as if deprived +of all sensation and reflection. I undressed and retired; hardly had my +head touched the pillow when the spirit of vengeance seized me with such +force that I suddenly sat bolt upright against the wall as if all my +muscles were made of wood. I then jumped from my bed with a cry of pain; +I could walk only on my heels, the nerves in my toes were so irritated. +I passed an hour in this way, completely beside myself, and stiff as a +skeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced. + +The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimate +friends. I went to his house the next day, in company with a young +lawyer named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repaired to +the woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversary or +even approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult or strike +him, a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognized the +code. But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companion of +my childhood, and we had lived in the closest intimacy for many years. +He understood perfectly my love for my mistress, and had several times +intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, and that he +would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me, even if he loved the +same woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and I had perhaps +never pressed the hand of any human creature more cordially than his. + +Eagerly and curiously I scrutinized this man whom I had heard speak of +love like an antique hero and whom yet I had caught caressing my +mistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; +I measured him with a haggard eye to see what manner of man was this. +He whom I had known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived in +the most perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allow +me a comparison. + +There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stone +statue comes to sup with a profligate, sent thither by divine justice. +The profligate puts a good face on the matter and forces himself to +affect indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when he has +extended it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls in +convulsions. + +Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend or mistress, +and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can only describe the +effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of that marble hand. +It is the actual impression of marble, it is as if a man of stone had +embraced me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked more than once +at my door; more than once we have supped together. + +When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facing +each other and slowly advancing. My adversary fired the first shot, +wounding me in the right arm. I immediately seized my pistol in the +other hand; but my strength failed, I could not raise it; I fell on one +knee. + +Then I saw my enemy running up to me with an expression of great anxiety +on his face, and very pale. Seeing that I was wounded, my seconds +hastened to my side, but he pushed them aside and seized my wounded arm. +His teeth were set, and I could see that he was suffering intense +anguish. His agony was as frightful as man can experience. + +"Go!" he cried; "go, stanch your wound at the house of -----" + +He choked, and so did I. + +I was placed in a cab, where I found a physician. My wound was not +dangerous, the bone being untouched, but I was in such a state of +excitation that it was impossible properly to dress my wound. As they +were about to drive from the field I saw a trembling hand at the door of +my cab; it was that of my adversary. I shook my head in reply; I was in +such a rage that I could not pardon him, although I felt that his +repentance was sincere. + +By the time I reached home I had lost much blood and felt relieved, for +feebleness saved me from the anger which was doing me more harm than my +wound. I willingly retired to my bed and called for a glass of water, +which I gulped down with relish. + +But I was soon attacked by fever. It was then I began to shed tears. +I could understand that my mistress had ceased to love me, but not that +she could deceive me. I could not comprehend why a woman, who was forced +to it by neither duty nor interest, could lie to one man when she loved +another. Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that could +be possible. + +"If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her, I could easily +understand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longer +loves me, why deceive me?" + +I did not understand how any one could lie for love; I was but a child, +then, but I confess that I do not understand it yet. Every time I have +loved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her I have +confessed it with the same sincerity, having always thought that in +matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was no +crime but falsehood. + +To all this Desgenais replied: + +"She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again." + +I solemnly promised. He advised me, moreover, not to write to her, not +even to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply. I promised +all, with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exact +such a pledge. + +Nevertheless, the first thing I did when I was able to leave my room was +to visit my mistress. I found her alone, seated in the corner of her +room, with an expression of sorrow on her face and an appearance of +general disorder in her surroundings. I overwhelmed her with violent +reproaches; I was intoxicated with despair. In a paroxysm of grief I +fell on the bed and gave free course to my tears. + +"Ah! faithless one! wretch!" I cried between my sobs, "you knew that it +would kill me. Did the prospect please you? What have I done to you?" + +She threw her arms around my neck, saying that she had been tempted, that +my rival had intoxicated her at that fatal supper, but that she had never +been his; that she had abandoned herself in a moment of forgetfulness; +that she had committed a fault but not a crime; but that if I would not +pardon her, she, too, would die. All that sincere repentance has of +tears, all that sorrow has of eloquence, she exhausted in order to +console me; pale and distraught, her dress deranged, her hair falling +over her shoulders, she kneeled in the middle of her chamber; never have +I seen anything so beautiful, and I shuddered with horror as my senses +revolted at the sight. + +I went away crushed, scarcely able to direct my tottering steps. +I wished never to see her again; but in a quarter of an hour I returned. +I do not know what desperate resolve I had formed; I experienced a full +desire to know her mine once more, to drain the cup of tears and +bitterness to the dregs, and then to die with her. In short I abhorred +her, yet I idolized her; I felt that her love was ruin, but that to live +without her was impossible. I mounted the stairs like a flash; I spoke +to none of the servants, but, familiar with the house, opened the door of +her chamber. + +I found her seated calmly before her toilette-table, covered with jewels; +she held in her hand a piece of red crepe which she passed gently over +her cheeks. I thought I was dreaming; it did not seem possible that this +was the woman I had left, just fifteen minutes before, overwhelmed with +grief, abased to the floor; I was as motionless as a statue. She, +hearing the door open, turned her head and smiled: + +"Is it you?" she said. + +She was going to a ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognized +me, she compressed her lips and frowned. + +I started to leave the room. I looked at her bare neck, lithe and +perfumed, on which rested her knotted hair confined by a jewelled comb; +that neck, the seat of vital force, was blacker than hell; two shining +tresses had fallen there and some light silvern hairs balanced above it. +Her shoulders and neck, whiter than milk, displayed a heavy growth of +down. There was in that knotted mass of hair something maddeningly +lovely, which seemed to mock me when I thought of the sorrowful abandon +in which I had seen her a moment before. I suddenly stepped up to her +and struck that neck with the back of my hand. My mistress gave vent to +a cry of terror, and fell on her hands, while I hastened from the room. + +When I reached my room I was again attacked by fever and was obliged to +take to my bed. My wound had reopened and I suffered great pain. +Desgenais came to see me and I told him what had happened. He listened +in silence, then paced up and down the room as if undecided as to his +next course. Finally he stopped before my bed and burst out laughing. + +"Is she your first love?" he asked. + +"No!" I replied, "she is my last." + +Toward midnight, while sleeping restlessly, I seemed to hear in my dreams +a profound sigh. I opened my eyes and saw my mistress standing near my +bed with arms crossed, looking like a spectre. I could not restrain a +cry of fright, believing it to be an apparition conjured up by my +diseased brain. I leaped from my bed and fled to the farther end of the +room; but she followed me. + +"It is I!" said she; putting her arms around me, she drew me to her. + +"What do you want of me?" I cried. "Leave, me! I fear I shall kill +you!" + +"Very well, kill me!" she said. "I have deceived you, I have lied to +you, I am an infamous wretch and I am miserable; but I love you, and I +can not live without you." + +I looked at her; how beautiful she was! Her body was quivering; her eyes +were languid with love and moist with voluptuousness; her bosom was bare, +her lips were burning. I raised her in my arms. + +"Very well," I said, "but before God who sees us, by the soul of my +father, I swear that I will kill you and that I will die with you." + +I took a knife from the table and placed it under the pillow. + +"Come, Octave," she said, smiling and kissing me, "do not be foolish. +Come, my dear, all these horrors have unsettled your mind; you are +feverish. Give me that knife." + +I saw that she wished to take it. + +"Listen to me," I then said; "I do not know what comedy you are playing, +but as for me I am in earnest. I have loved you as only man can love, +and to my sorrow I love you still. You have just told me that you love +me, and I hope it is true; but, by all that is sacred, if I am your lover +to-night, no one shall take my place tomorrow. Before God, before God," +I repeated, "I would not take you back as my mistress, for I hate you as +much as I love you. Before God, if you wish to stay here to-night I will +kill you in the morning." + +When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw her +cloak over her shoulders and fled from the room. + +When I told Desgenais about it he said: + +"Why did you do that? You must be very much disgusted, for she is a +beautiful woman." + +"Are you joking?" I asked. "Do you think such a woman could be my +mistress? Do you think I would ever consent to share her with another? +Do you know that she confesses that another attracts her, and do you +expect me, loving her as I do, to share my love? If that is the way you +love, I pity you." + +Desgenais replied that he was not so particular. + +"My dear Octave," he added, "you are very young. You want many things, +beautiful things, which do not exist. You believe in a singular sort of +love; perhaps you are capable of it; I believe you are, but I do not envy +you. You will have other mistresses, my friend, and you will live to +regret what happened last night. If that woman came to you it is certain +that she loved you; perhaps she does not love you at this moment--indeed, +she may be in the arms of another; but she loved you last night in that +room; and what should you care for the rest? You will regret it, believe +me, for she will not come again. A woman pardons everything except such +a slight. Her love for you must have been something terrible when she +came to you knowing and confessing herself guilty, risking rebuff and +contempt at your hands. Believe me, you will regret it, for I am +satisfied that you will soon be cured." + +There was such an air of simple conviction about my friend's words, such +a despairing certainty based on experience, that I shuddered as I +listened. While he was speaking I felt a strong desire to go to my +mistress, or to write to her to come to me. I was so weak that I could +not leave my bed, and that saved me from the shame of finding her waiting +for my rival or perhaps in his company. But I could write to her; in +spite of myself I doubted whether she would come if I should write. + +When Desgenais left me I became so desperate that I resolved to put an +end to my trouble. After a terrible struggle, horror got the better of +love. I wrote my mistress that I would never see her again, and begged +her not to try to see me unless she wished to be exposed to the shame of +being refused admittance. I called a servant and ordered him to deliver +the letter at once. He had hardly closed the door when I called him +back. He did not hear me; I did not dare call again; covering my face +with my hands, I yielded to an overwhelming sense of despair. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE PATH OF DESPAIR + +The next morning the first question that occurred to my mind was: "What +shall I do?" + +I had no occupation. I had studied medicine and law without being able +to decide on either of the two careers; I had worked for a banker for six +months, and my services were so unsatisfactory that I was obliged to +resign to avoid being discharged. My studies had been varied but +superficial; my memory was active but not retentive. + +My only treasure, after love, was reserve. In my childhood I had devoted +myself to a solitary way of life, and had, so to speak, consecrated my +heart to it. One day my father, solicitous about my future, spoke to me +of several careers among which he allowed me to choose. I was leaning on +the window-sill, looking at a solitary poplar-tree that was swaying in +the breeze down in the garden. I thought over all the various +occupations and wondered which one I should choose. I turned them all +over, one after another, in my mind, and then, not feeling inclined to +any of them, I allowed my thoughts to wander. Suddenly it seemed to me +that I felt the earth move, and that a secret, invisible force was slowly +dragging me into space and becoming tangible to my senses. I saw it +mount into the sky; I seemed to be on a ship; the poplar near my window +resembled a mast; I arose, stretched out my arms, and cried: + +"It is little enough to be a passenger for one day on this ship floating +through space; it is little enough to be a man, a black point on that +ship; I will be a man, but not any particular kind of man." + +Such was the first vow that, at the age of fourteen, I pronounced in the +face of nature, and since then I have done nothing, except in obedience +to my father, never being able to overcome my repugnance. + +I was therefore free, not through indolence but by choice; loving, +moreover, all that God had made and very little that man had made. +Of life I knew nothing but love, of the world only my mistress, and I did +not care to know anything more. So, falling in love upon leaving +college, I sincerely believed that it was for life, and every other +thought disappeared. + +My life was indolent. I was accustomed to pass the day with my mistress; +my greatest pleasure was to take her through the fields on beautiful +summer days, the sight of nature in her splendor having ever been for me +the most powerful incentive to love. In winter, as she enjoyed society, +we attended numerous balls and masquerades, and because I thought of no +one but her I fondly imagined her equally true to me. + +To give you an idea of my state of mind I can not do better than compare +it to one of those rooms we see nowadays in which are collected and +mingled the furniture of all times and countries. Our age has no impress +of its own. We have impressed the seal of our time neither on our houses +nor our gardens, nor on anything that is ours. On the street may be seen +men who have their beards trimmed as in the time of Henry III, others who +are clean-shaven, others who have their hair arranged as in the time of +Raphael, others as in the time of Christ. So the homes of the rich are +cabinets of curiosities: the antique, the gothic, the style of the +Renaissance, that of Louis XIII, all pell-mell. In short, we have every +century except our own--a thing which has never been seen at any other +epoch: eclecticism is our taste; we take everything we find, this for +beauty, that for utility, another for antiquity, still another for its +ugliness even, so that we live surrounded by debris, as if the end of the +world were at hand. + +Such was the state of my mind; I had read much; moreover I had learned to +paint. I knew by heart a great many things, but nothing in order, so +that my head was like a sponge, swollen but empty. I fell in love with +all the poets one after another; but being of an impressionable nature +the last acquaintance disgusted me with the rest. I had made of myself a +great warehouse of odds and ends, so that having no more thirst after +drinking of the novel and the unknown, I became an oddity myself. + +Nevertheless, about me there was still something of youth: it was the +hope of my heart, which was still childlike. + +That hope, which nothing had withered or corrupted and which love had +exalted to excess, had now received a mortal wound. The perfidy of my +mistress had struck deep, and when I thought of it, I felt in my soul a +swooning away, the convulsive flutter of a wounded bird in agony. + +Society, which works so much evil, is like that serpent of the Indies +whose habitat is under a shrub, the leaves of which afford the antidote +to its venom; in nearly every case it brings the remedy with the wound it +causes. For example, the man whose life is one of routine, who has his +business cares to claim his attention upon rising, visits at one hour, +loves at another, can lose his mistress and suffer no evil effects. His +occupations and his thoughts are like impassive soldiers ranged in line +of battle; a single shot strikes one down, his neighbors close the gap +and the line is intact. + +I had not that resource, since I was alone: nature, the kind mother, +seemed, on the contrary, vaster and more empty than before. Had I been +able to forget my mistress, I should have been saved. How many there are +who can be cured with even less than that. Such men are incapable of +loving a faithless woman, and their conduct, under the circumstances, is +admirable in its firmness. But is it thus one loves at nineteen when, +knowing nothing of the world, desiring everything, one feels, within, the +germ of all the passions? Everywhere some voice appeals to him. All is +desire, all is revery. There is no reality which holds him when the +heart is young; there is no oak so gnarled that it may not give birth to +a dryad; and if one had a hundred arms one need not fear to open them; +one has but to clasp his mistress and all is well. + +As for me, I did not understand what else there was to do but love, and +when any one spoke to me of other occupations I did not reply. My +passion for my mistress had something fierce about it, for all my life +had been severely monachal. Let me cite a single instance. She gave me +her miniature in a medallion. I wore it over my heart, a practice much +affected by men; but one day, while idly rummaging about a shop filled +with curiosities, I found an iron "discipline whip" such as was used by +the mediaeval flagellants. At the end of this whip was a metal plate +bristling with sharp iron points; I had the medallion riveted to this +plate and then returned it to its place over my heart. The sharp points +pierced my bosom with every movement and caused such strange, voluptuous +anguish that I sometimes pressed it down with my hand in order to +intensify the sensation. I knew very well that I was committing a folly; +love is responsible for many such idiocies. + +But since this woman deceived me I loathed the cruel medallion. I can +not tell with what sadness I removed that iron circlet, and what a sigh +escaped me when it was gone. + +"Ah! poor wounds!" I said, "you will soon heal, but what balm is there +for that other deeper wound?" + +I had reason to hate this woman; she was, so to speak, mingled with the +blood of my veins; I cursed her, but I dreamed of her. What could I do +with a dream? By what effort of the will could I drown a memory of flesh +and blood? Lady Macbeth, having killed Duncan, saw that the ocean would +not wash her hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds. +I said to Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow." + +My life had been wrapped up in this woman; to doubt her was to doubt all; +to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all. I no longer +went out; the world seemed peopled with monsters, with horned deer and +crocodiles. To all that was said to distract my mind, I replied: + +"Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing +of the kind." + +I sat in my window and said: + +"She will come, I am sure of it; she is coming, she is turning the corner +at this moment, I can feel her approach. She can no more live without me +than I without her. What shall I say? How shall I receive her?" + +Then the thought of her perfidy occurred to me. + +"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!" + +Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her. + +"What is she doing?" I asked myself. "She loves another? Then I will +love another also. Whom shall I love?" + +While thinking, I heard a far distant voice crying: + +"Thou, love another? Two beings who love, who embrace, and who are not +thou and I! Is such a thing possible? Are you a fool?" + +"Coward!" said Desgenais, "when will you forget that woman? Is she such +a great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself." + +"No," I replied, "it is not such a great loss. Have I not done what I +ought? Have I not driven her away from here? What have you to say to +that? The rest concerns me; the bull wounded in the arena can lie down +in a corner with the sword of the matador 'twixt his shoulders, and die +in peace. What can I do, tell me? What do you mean by first comer? +You will show me a cloudless sky, trees and houses, men who talk, drink, +sing, women who dance and horses that gallop. All that is not life, it +is the noise of life. Go, go, leave me in peace." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A PHILOSOPHER'S ADVICE + +Desgenais saw that my despair was incurable, that I would neither listen +to any advice nor leave my room, he took the thing seriously. I saw him +enter one evening with an expression of gravity on his face; he spoke of +my mistress and continued in his tone of persiflage, saying all manner of +evil of women. While he was speaking I was leaning on my elbow, and, +rising in my bed, I listened attentively. + +It was one of those sombre evenings when the sighing of the wind recalls +the moaning of a dying man. A fitful storm was brewing, and between the +plashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All +nature suffers in such moments, the trees writhe in pain and hide their +heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of +cities are deserted. I was suffering from my wound. But a short time +before I had a mistress and a friend. The mistress had deceived me and +the friend had stretched me on a bed of pain. I could not clearly +distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was under +the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to find +myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a dream, +ridiculous and puerile, the falseness of which had just been disclosed. +Desgenais was seated near the lamp at my side; he was firm and serious, +although a smile hovered about his lips. He was a man of heart, but as +dry as a pumice-stone. An early experience had made him bald before his +time; he knew life and had suffered; but his grief was a cuirass; he was +a materialist and he waited for death. + +"Octave," he said, "after what has happened to you, I see that you +believe in love such as the poets and romancers have represented; in a +word, you believe in what is said here below and not in what is done. +That is because you do not reason soundly, and it may lead you into great +misfortune. + +"Poets represent love as sculptors design beauty, as musicians create +melody; that is to say, endowed with an exquisite nervous organization, +they gather up with discerning ardor the purest elements of life, the +most beautiful lines of matter, and the most harmonious voices of nature. +There lived, it is said, at Athens a great number of beautiful girls; +Praxiteles drew them all one after another; then from these diverse types +of beauty, each one of which had its defects, he formed a single +faultless beauty and created Venus. The man who first created a musical +instrument, and who gave to harmony its rules and its laws, had for a +long time listened to the murmuring of reeds and the singing of birds. +Thus the poets, who understand life, after knowing much of love, more or +less transitory, after feeling that sublime exaltation which real passion +can for the moment inspire, eliminating from human nature all that +degrades it, created the mysterious names which through the ages fly from +lip to lip: Daphnis and Chloe, Hero and Leander, Pyramus and Thisbe. + +"To try to find in real life such love as this, eternal and absolute, is +but to seek on public squares a woman such as Venus, or to expect +nightingales to sing the symphonies of Beethoven. + +"Perfection does not exist; to comprehend it is the triumph of human +intelligence; to desire to possess it, the most dangerous of follies. +Open your window, Octave; do you not see the infinite? You try to form +some idea of a thing that has no limits, you who were born yesterday and +who will die to-morrow! This spectacle of immensity in every country in +the world produces the wildest illusions. Religions are born of it; it +was to possess the infinite that Cato cut his throat, that the Christians +delivered themselves to lions, the Huguenots to the Catholics; all the +people of the earth have stretched out their hands to that immensity and +have longed to plunge into it. The fool wishes to possess heaven; the +sage admires it, kneels before it, but does not desire it. + +"Perfection, my friend, is no more made for us than immensity. We must +seek for nothing in it, demand nothing of it, neither love nor beauty, +happiness nor virtue; but we must love it if we would be virtuous, if we +would attain the greatest happiness of which man is capable. + +"Let us suppose you have in your study a picture by Raphael that you +consider perfect. Let us say that upon a close examination you discover +in one of the figures a gross defect of design, a limb distorted, or a +muscle that belies nature, such as has been discovered, they say, in one +of the arms of an antique gladiator. You would experience a feeling of +displeasure, but you would not throw that picture in the fire; you would +merely say that it is not perfect, but that it has qualities that are +worthy of admiration. + +"There are women whose natural singleness of heart and sincerity are such +that they could not have two lovers at the same time. You believed your +mistress such an one; that is best, I admit. You have discovered that +she has deceived you; does that oblige you to depose and to abuse her, to +believe her deserving of your hatred? + +"Even if your mistress had never deceived you, even if at this moment she +loved none other than you, think, Octave, how far her love would still be +from perfection, how human it would be, how small, how restrained by the +hypocrisies and conventions of the world; remember that another man +possessed her before you, that many others will possess her after you. + +"Reflect: what drives you at this moment to despair is the idea of +perfection in your mistress, the idea that has been shattered. But when +you understand that the primal idea itself was human, small and +restricted, you will see that it is little more than a rung in the rotten +ladder of human imperfection. + +"I think you will readily admit that your mistress has had other +admirers, and that she will have still others in the future; you will +doubtless reply that it matters little, so long as she loved you. But I +ask you, since she has had others, what difference does it make whether +it was yesterday or two years since? Since she loves but one at a time, +what does it matter whether it is during an interval of two years or in +the course of a single night? Are you a man, Octave? Do you see the +leaves falling from the trees, the sun rising and setting? Do you hear +the ticking of the horologe of time with each pulsation of your heart? +Is there, then, such a difference between the love of a year and the love +of an hour? I challenge you to answer that, you fool, as you sit there +looking out at the infinite through a window not larger than your hand. + +"You consider that woman faithful who loves you two years; you must have +an almanac that will indicate just how long it takes for an honest man's +kisses to dry on a woman's lips. You make a distinction between the +woman who sells herself for money and the one who gives herself for +pleasure; between the one who gives herself through pride and the one who +gives herself through devotion. Among women who are for sale, some cost +more than others; among those who are sought for pleasure some inspire +more confidence than others; and among those who are worthy of devotion +there are some who receive a third of a man's heart, others a quarter, +others a half, depending upon her education, her manner, her name, her +birth, her beauty, her temperament, according to the occasion, according +to what is said, according to the time, according to what you have drunk +at dinner. + +"You love women, Octave, because you are young, ardent, because your +features are regular, and your hair dark and glossy, but you do not, for +all that, understand woman. + +"Nature, having all, desires the reproduction of beings; everywhere, from +the summit of the mountain to the bottom of the sea, life is opposed to +death. God, to conserve the work of His hands, has established this law- +that the greatest pleasure of all sentient beings shall be to procreate. + +"Oh! my friend, when you feel bursting on your lips the vow of eternal +love, do not be afraid to yield, but do not confound wine with +intoxication; do not think of the cup divine because the draught is of +celestial flavor; do not be astonished to find it broken and empty in the +evening. It is but woman, but a fragile vase, made of earth by a potter. + +"Thank God for giving you a glimpse of heaven, but do not imagine +yourself a bird because you can flap your wings. The birds themselves +can not escape the clouds; there is a region where air fails them and the +lark, rising with its song into the morning fog, sometimes falls back +dead in the field. + +"Take love as a sober man takes wine; do not become a drunkard. If your +mistress is sincere and faithful, love her for that; but if she is not, +if she is merely young and beautiful, love her for that; if she is +agreeable and spirituelle, love her for that; if she is none of these +things but merely loves you, love her for that. Love does not come to us +every day. + +"Do not tear your hair and stab yourself because you have a rival. You +say that your mistress deceives you for another; it is your pride that +suffers; but change the words, say that it is for you that she deceives +him, and behold, you are happy! + +"Do not make a rule of conduct, and do not say that you wish to be loved +exclusively, for in saying that, as you are a man and inconstant +yourself, you are forced to add tacitly: 'As far as possible.' + +"Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is. The +Spaniards, first among women, love faithfully; their hearts are sincere +and violent, but they wear a dagger just above them. Italian women are +lascivious. The English are exalted and melancholy, cold and unnatural. +The German women are tender and sweet, but colorless and monotonous. The +French are spirituelle, elegant, and voluptuous, but are false at heart. + +"Above all, do not accuse women of being what they are; we have made them +thus, undoing the work of nature. + +"Nature, who thinks of everything, made the virgin for love; but with the +first child her bosom loses form, her beauty its freshness. Woman is +made for motherhood. Man would perhaps abandon her, disgusted by the +loss of beauty; but his child clings to him and weeps. Behold the +family, the human law; everything that departs from this law is +monstrous. + +"Civilization thwarts the ends of nature. In our cities, according to +our customs, the virgin destined by nature for the open air, made to run +in the sunlight; to admire the nude wrestlers, as in Lacedemonia, to +choose and to love, is shut up in close confinement and bolted in. +Meanwhile she hides romance under her cross; pale and idle, she fades +away and loses, in the silence of the nights, that beauty which oppresses +her and needs the open air. Then she is suddenly snatched from this +solitude, knowing nothing, loving nothing, desiring everything; an old +woman instructs her, a mysterious word is whispered in her ear, and she +is thrown into the arms of a stranger. There you have marriage, that is +to say, the civilized family. + +"A child is born. This poor creature has lost her beauty and she has +never loved. The child is brought to her with the words: "You are a +mother." She replies: 'I am not a mother; take that child to some woman +who can nurse it. I can not.' Her husband tells her that she is right, +that her child would be disgusted with her. She receives careful +attention and is soon cured of the disease of maternity. A month later +she may be seen at the Tuileries, at the ball, at the opera; her child is +at Chaillot, at Auxerre; her husband with another woman. Then young men +speak to her of love, of devotion, of sympathy, of all that is in the +heart. She takes one, draws him to her bosom; he dishonors her and +returns to the Bourse. She cries all night, but discovers that tears +make her eyes red. She takes a consoler, for the loss of whom another +consoles her; thus up to the age of thirty or more. Then, blase and +corrupted, with no human sentiment, not even disgust, she meets a fine +youth with raven locks, ardent eye and hopeful heart; she recalls her own +youth, she remembers what she has suffered, and telling him the story of +her life, she teaches him to eschew love. + +"That is woman as we have made her; such are your mistresses. But you +say they are women and that there is something good in them! + +"But if your character is formed, if you are truly a man, sure of +yourself and confident of your strength, you may taste of life without +fear and without reserve; you may be sad or joyous, deceived or +respected; but be sure you are loved, for what matters the rest? + +"If you are mediocre and ordinary, I advise you to consider your course +very carefully before deciding, but do not expect too much of your +mistress. + +"If you are weak, dependent upon others, inclined to allow yourself to be +dominated by opinion, to take root wherever you see a little soil, make +for yourself a shield that will resist everything, for if you yield to +your weaker nature you will not grow, you will dry up like a dead plant, +and you will bear neither fruit nor flowers. The sap of your life will +dissipate into the formation of useless bark; all your actions will be as +colorless as the leaves of the willow; you will have no tears to water +you, but those from your own eyes; to nourish you, no heart but your own. + +"But if you are of an exalted nature, believing in dreams and wishing to +realize them, I say to you plainly: Love does not exist. + +"For to love is to give body and soul, or better, it is to make a single +being of two; it is to walk in the sunlight, in the open air through the +boundless prairies with a body having four arms, two heads, and two +hearts. Love is faith, it is the religion of terrestrial happiness, it +is a luminous triangle suspended in the temple of the world. To love is +to walk freely through that temple, at your side a being capable of +understanding why a thought, a word, a flower makes you pause and raise +your eyes to that celestial triangle. To exercise the noble faculties of +man is a great good--that is why genius is glorious; but to double those +faculties, to place a heart and an intelligence upon a heart and an +intelligence--that is supreme happiness. God has nothing better for man; +that is why love is better than genius. + +"But tell me, is that the love of our women? No, no, it must be +admitted. Love, for them, is another thing; it is to go out veiled, +to write in secret, to make trembling advances, to heave chaste sighs +under starched and unnatural robes, then to draw bolts and throw them +aside, to humiliate a rival, to deceive a husband, to render a lover +desolate. To love, for our women, is to play at lying, as children play +at hide and seek, a hideous orgy of the heart, worse than the lubricity +of the Romans, or the Saturnalia of Priapus; a bastard parody of vice +itself, as well as of virtue; a loathsome comedy where all is whispering +and sidelong glances, where all is small, elegant, and deformed, like +those porcelain monsters brought from China; a lamentable satire on all +that is beautiful and ugly, divine and infernal; a shadow without a body, +a skeleton of all that God has made." + +Thus spoke Desgenais; and the shadows of night began to fall. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +MADAME LEVASSEUR + +The following morning I rode through the Bois de Boulogne; the weather +was dark and threatening. At the Porte Maillot I dropped the reins on my +horse's back and abandoned myself to revery, revolving in my mind the +words spoken by Desgenais the evening before. + +Suddenly I heard my name called. Turning my head I spied one of my +inamorata's most intimate friends in an open carriage. She bade me stop, +and, holding out her hand with a friendly air, invited me to dine with +her if I had no other engagement. + +This woman, Madame Levasseur by name, was small, stout, and decidedly +blonde; I had never liked her, and my attitude toward her had always been +one of studied politeness. But I could not resist a desire to accept her +invitation; I pressed her hand and thanked her; I was sure that we should +talk of my mistress. + +She sent a servant to lead my horse and I entered her carriage; she was +alone, and we at once took the road to Paris. Rain began to fall, and +the carriage curtains were drawn; thus shut up together we rode on in +silence. I looked at her with inexpressible sadness; she was not only +the friend of my faithless one but her confidante. She had often formed +one of our party when I called on my mistress in the evening. With what +impatience had I endured her presence! How often I counted the minutes +that must elapse before she would leave! That was probably the cause of +my aversion to her. I knew that she approved of our love; she even went +so far as to defend me in our quarrels. In spite of the services she had +rendered me, I considered her ugly and tiresome. Alas! now I found her +beautiful! I looked at her hands, her clothes; every gesture went +straight to my heart; all the past was associated with her. She noticed +the change in manner and understood that I was oppressed by sad memories +of the past. Thus we sped on our way, I looking at her, she smiling at +me. When we reached Paris she took my hand: + +"Well?" she said. + +"Well?" I replied, sobbing, "tell her if you wish." Tears rushed from +my eyes. + +After dinner we sat before the fire. + +"But tell me," she said, "is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?" + +"Alas! Madame," I replied, "there is nothing irrevocable except the +grief that is killing me. My condition can be expressed in a few words: +I can not love her, I can not love another, and I can not cease loving." + +At these words she moved uneasily in her chair, and I could see an +expression of compassion on her face. + +For some time she appeared to be reflecting, as if pondering over my fate +and seeking some remedy for my sorrow. Her eyes were closed and she +appeared lost in revery. She extended her hand and I took it in mine. + +"And I, too," she murmured, "that is just my experience." She stopped, +overcome by emotion. + +Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity. I held Madame +Levasseur's hand as she began to speak of my mistress, saying all she +could think of in her favor. My sadness increased. What could I reply? +Finally she came to speak of herself. + +Not long since, she said, a man who loved her abandoned her. She had +made great sacrifices for him; her fortune was compromised, as well as +her honor and her name. Her husband, whom she knew to be vindictive, had +made threats. Her tears flowed as she continued, and I began to forget +my own sorrow in my sympathy for her. She had been married against her +will; she struggled a long time; but she regretted nothing except that +she had not been able to inspire a more sincere affection. I believe she +even accused herself because she had not been able to hold her lover's +heart, and because she had been guilty of apparent indifference. + +When she had unburdened her heart she became silent. + +"Madame," I said, "it was not chance that brought about our meeting in +the Bois de Boulogne. I believe that human sorrows are but wandering +sisters and that some good angel unites the trembling hands that are +stretched out for aid. Do not repent having told me your sorrow. The +secret you have confided to me is only a tear which has fallen from your +eye, but has rested on my heart. Permit me to come again and let us +suffer together." + +Such lively sympathy took possession of me that without reflection I +kissed her; it did not occur to my mind that it could offend her, and she +did not appear even to notice it. + +Our conversation continued in this tone of expansive friendship. She +told me her sorrows, I told her mine, and between these two experiences +which touched each other, I felt arise a sweetness, a celestial accord +born of two voices in anguish. All this time I had seen nothing but her +face. Suddenly I noticed that her dress was in disorder. It appeared +singular to me that, seeing my embarrassment, she did not rearrange it, +and I turned my head to give her an opportunity. She did nothing. +Finally, meeting her eyes and seeing that she was perfectly aware of +the state she was in, I felt as if I had been struck by a thunderbolt, +for I now clearly understood that I was the plaything of her monstrous +effrontery, that grief itself was for her but a means of seducing the +senses. I took my hat without a word, bowed profoundly, and left the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE WISDOM OF SIRACH + +Upon returning to my apartments I found a large box in the centre of the +room. One of my aunts had died, and I was one of the heirs to her +fortune, which was not large. + +The box contained, among other things, a number of musty old books. Not +knowing what to do, and being afflicted with ennui, I began to read one +of them. They were for the most part romances of the time of Louis XV; +my pious aunt had probably inherited them herself and never read them, +for they were, so to speak, catechisms of vice. + +I was singularly disposed to reflect on everything that came to my +notice, to give everything a mental and moral significance; I treated +events as pearls in a necklace which I tried to string together. + +It struck me that there was something significant about the arrival of +these books at this time. I devoured them with a bitterness and a +sadness born of despair. "Yes, you are right," I said to myself, "you +alone possess the secret of life, you alone dare to say that nothing is +true and real but debauchery, hypocrisy, and corruption. Be my friends, +throw on the wound in my soul your corrosive poisons, teach me to believe +in you." + +While buried in these shadows, I allowed my favorite poets and text-books +to accumulate dust. I even ground them under my feet in excess of wrath. +"You wretched dreamers!" I said to them; "you who teach me only +suffering, miserable shufflers of words, charlatans, if you know the +truth, fools, if you speak in good faith, liars in either case, who make +fairy-tales of the woes of the human heart. I will burn the last one of +you!" + +Then tears came to my aid and I perceived that there was nothing real but +my grief. "Very well," I cried, in my delirium, "tell me, good and bad +genii, counselors for good or evil, tell me what to do! Choose an +arbiter and let him speak." + +I seized an old Bible which lay on my table, and read the first passage +that caught my eye. + +"Reply to me, thou book of God!" I said, "what word hast thou for me?" +My eye fell on this passage in Ecclesiastes, Chapter IX: + + For all this I considered in my heart even to declare all this, + that the righteous and the wise, and their works, are in the hand + of God; no man knoweth either love or hatred by all that is before + them. + + All things come alike to all: there is one event to the righteous, + and to the wicked; to the good and to the clean, and to the unclean; + to him that sacrificeth, and to him that sacrificeth not: as is the + good, so is the sinner; and he that sweareth, as he that feareth an + oath. + + This is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, that + there is one event unto all: yea, also the heart of the sons of men + is full of evil, and madness is in their heart while they live, and + after that they go to the dead. + +When I read these words I was astounded; I did not know that there was +such a sentiment in the Bible. "And thou, too, as all others, thou book +of hope!" + +What do the astronomers think when they predict, at a given hour and +place, the passage of a comet, that most eccentric of celestial +travellers? What do the naturalists think when they reveal the myriad +forms of life concealed in a drop of water? Do they think they have +invented what they see and that their lenses and microscopes make the law +of nature? What did the first law-giver think when, seeking for the +corner-stone in the social edifice, angered doubtless by some idle +importunity, he struck the tables of brass and felt in his bowels the +yearning for a law of retaliation? Did he, then, invent justice? And +the first who plucked the fruit planted by his neighbor and who fled +cowering under his mantle, did he invent shame? And he who, having +overtaken that same thief who had robbed him of the product of his toil, +forgave him his sin, and, instead of raising his hand to smite him, said, +"Sit thou down and eat thy fill;" when, after thus returning good for +evil, he raised his eyes toward Heaven and felt his heart quivering, +tears welling from his eyes, and his knees bending to the earth, did he +invent virtue? Oh, Heaven! here is a woman who speaks of love and who +deceives me; here is a man who speaks of friendship and counsels me to +seek consolation in debauchery; here is another woman who weeps and would +console me with the flesh; here is a Bible that speaks of God and says: +"Perhaps; but nothing is of any real importance." + +I ran to the open window: "Is it true that you are empty?" I cried, +looking up at the pale expanse of sky which spread above me. "Reply, +reply! Before I die, grant that I may clasp in these arms of mine +something more than a dream!" + +Profound silence reigned. As I stood with arms outstretched, eyes lost +in space, a swallow uttered a plaintive cry; in spite of myself I +followed it with my eyes; while the swallow disappeared from sight like a +flash, a little girl passed singing. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE SEARCH FOR HEALING + +Yet I was unwilling to yield. + +Before taking life on its pleasant side--a side which to me seemed rather +sinister--I resolved to test everything. I remained thus for some time, +a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by terrible dreams. + +The great obstacle to my cure was my youth. Wherever I happened to be, +whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight of +a woman made me tremble. + +It had been my fate--a fate as rare as happy--to give to love my +unsullied youth. But the result of this was that all my senses united +in idealizing love; there was the cause of my unhappiness. For not being +able to think of anything but women, I could not help turning over in my +head, day and night, all the ideas of debauchery, of false love and of +feminine treason, with which my mind was filled. For me to possess a +woman was to love her; I thought of nothing but women, but I believed no +more in the possibility of true love. + +All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage. At times I was +tempted to imitate the monks and starve my body in order to conquer my +senses; at times I felt like rushing out into the street to throw myself +at the feet of the first woman I met and vow to her eternal love. + +God is my witness that I did all in my power to cure myself. Preoccupied +from the first with the idea that the society of men was the haunt of +vice and hypocrisy, where all were like my mistress, I resolved to +separate myself from them and live in complete isolation. I resumed my +neglected studies, and plunged into history, poetry, and anatomy. There +happened to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old and learned +German. I determined to learn his language; the German was poor and +friendless, and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. My +perpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times he waited in +patient astonishment while I, seated near him with a smoking lamp between +us, sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in revery, oblivious of his +presence and of his pity. + +"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you are +the best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me to +my fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I." + +I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and +there was no more talk of German. + +I soon realized that solitude, instead of curing me, was doing me harm, +and so I completely changed my system. I went into the country, and +galloped through the woods with the huntsmen; I would ride until I was +out of breath, trying to cure myself with fatigue, and when, after a day +of sweat in the fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling of +powder and the stable, I would bury my head in the pillow, roll about +under the covers and cry: "Phantom, phantom! are you not satiated? Will +you not leave me for one single night?" + +But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature to +love. Standing in the street of Mental Observation, I saw myself pale +and wan, surrounded by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloody apron, +stifled by the odor of putrefaction, I turned my head in spite of myself, +and saw floating before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields, and the +pensive harmony of the evening. "No," said I, "science can not console +me; rather will I plunge into this sea of irresponsive nature and die +there myself by drowning. I will not war against my youth; I will live +where there is life, or at least die in the sunlight." I began to mingle +with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville, and stretch myself on flowery +swards in secluded groves. Alas! all the forests and fields cried to +me: + +"What do you seek here? We are young, poor child! We wear the colors of +hope." + +Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; I +looked up at the lights in its windows, into those mysterious family +nests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man. +Oh, what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in +those tortuous streets where all are hurrying hither and thither, working +and sweating, where thousands of strangers rub against your elbows; a +sewer where society is of bodies only, while souls are solitary and +alone, where all who hold out a hand to you are prostitutes! "Become +corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!" This has been the cry +of all cities unto man; it is written with charcoal on the walls, on the +streets with mud, on men's faces with extravasated blood. + +At times, when seated in the corner of some salon I watched the women as +they danced, some rosy, some blue, and others white, their arms bare and +their hair gathered gracefully about their shapely heads, looking like +cherubim drunk with light, floating in spheres of harmony and beauty, +I would think: "Ah, what a garden, what flowers to gather, to breathe! +Ah! Marguerites, Marguerites! What will your last petal say to him who +plucks it? A little, a little, but not all. That is the moral of the +world, that is the end of your smiles. It is over this terrible abyss +that you are walking in your spangled gauze; it is on this hideous +reality you run like gazelles on the tips of your little toes!" + +"But why take things so seriously?" said Desgenais. "That is something +that is never seen. You complain because bottles become empty? There +are many casks in the vaults, and many vaults in the hills. Give me a +dainty fish-hook gilded with sweet words, a drop of honey for bait, and +quick! catch in the stream of oblivion a pretty consoler, as fresh and +slippery as an eel; you will still have the hook when the fish shall have +glided from your hands. Youth must pass away, and if I were you I would +carry off the queen of Portugal rather than study anatomy." + +Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart, +my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and my +poor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struck +the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +BACCHUS, THE CONSOLER + +Suddenly, in the midst of black despair, youth and chance led me to +commit an act that decided my fate. + +I had written my mistress that I wished never to see her again; I kept my +word, but I passed the nights under her window, seated on a bench before +her door. I could see the lights in her room, I could hear the sound of +her piano, at times I saw something that looked like a shadow through the +partially drawn curtains. + +One night as I was seated on the bench, plunged in frightful melancholy, +I saw a belated workman staggering along the street. He muttered a few +words in a dazed manner and then began to sing. So much was he under the +influence of liquor that he walked at times on one side of the gutter and +then on the other. Finally he fell upon a bench facing another house +opposite me. There he lay still, supported on his elbows, and slept +profoundly. + +The street was deserted, a dry wind stirred the dust here and there; the +moon shone through a rift in the clouds and lighted the spot where the +man slept. So I found myself tete-a-tete with this boor, who, not +suspecting my presence, was sleeping on that stone bench as peacefully as +if in his own bed. + +The man served to divert my grief; I arose to leave him in full +possession, but returned and resumed my seat. I could not leave that +fateful door, at which I would not have knocked for an empire. Finally, +after walking up and down a few times, I stopped before the sleeper. + +"What sleep!" I said. "Surely this man does not dream. His clothes are +in tatters, his cheeks are wrinkled, his hands hardened with toil; he is +some unfortunate who does not have a meal every day. A thousand gnawing +cares, a thousand mortal sorrows await his return to consciousness; +nevertheless, this evening he had money in his pocket, and entered a +tavern where he purchased oblivion. He has earned enough in a week to +enjoy a night of slumber, and perhaps has purchased it at the expense of +his children's supper. Now his mistress can betray him, his friend can +glide like a thief into his hut; I could shake him by the shoulder and +tell him that he is being murdered, that his house is on fire; he would +turn over and continue to sleep." + +"And I--I do not sleep," I continued, pacing up and down the street, +"I do not sleep, I who have enough in my pocket at this moment to +purchase sleep for a year. I am so proud and so foolish that I dare not +enter a tavern, and it seems I do not understand that if unfortunates +enter there, it is to come out happy. O God! grapes crushed beneath the +foot suffice to dissipate the deepest sorrow and to break the invisible +threads that the fates weave about our pathway. We weep like women, +we suffer like martyrs; in our despair it seems that the world is +crumbling under our feet, and we sit down in tears as did Adam at Eden's +gate. And to cure our griefs we have but to make a movement of the hand +and moisten our throats. How contemptible our sorrow since it can be +thus assuaged! We are surprised that Providence does not send angels to +grant our prayers; it need not take the trouble, for it has seen our +woes, it knows our desires, our pride and bitterness, the ocean of evil +that surrounds us, and is content to hang a small black fruit along our +paths. Since that man sleeps so soundly on his bench, why do not I sleep +on mine? My rival is doubtless passing the night with my mistress; +he will leave her at daybreak; she will accompany him to the door and +they will see me asleep on my bench. Their kisses will not awaken me, +and they will shake me by the shoulder; I will turn over on the other +side and sleep on." + +Thus, inspired by fierce joy, I set out in quest of a tavern. As it was +past midnight some were closed; this put me in a fury. "What!" I cried, +"even that consolation is refused me!" I ran hither and thither knocking +at the doors of taverns, crying: "Wine! Wine!" + +At last I found one open; I called for a bottle, and without caring +whether it was good or bad, I gulped it down; a second followed, and then +a third. I dosed myself as with medicine, and forced the wine down as if +it had been prescribed by some physician to save my life. + +The heavy fumes of the liquor, doubtless adulterated, mounted to my head. +As I had gulped it down at a breath, drunkenness seized me promptly; I +felt that I was becoming muddled, then I experienced a lucid moment, then +confusion followed. Then consciousness left me, I leaned my elbows on +the table and said adieu to myself. + +But I had a confused idea that I was not alone in the tavern. At the +other end of the room stood a hideous group with haggard faces and harsh +voices. Their dress indicated that they belonged to the poorer class, +but were not bourgeois; in short, they belonged to that ambiguous class, +the vilest of all, which has neither fortune nor occupation, which never +works except at some criminal plot, a class which, neither poor nor rich, +combines the vices of one with the misery of the other. + +They were quarrelling over a dirty pack of cards. Among them was a girl +who appeared to be very young and very pretty, was decently clad, and +resembled her companions in no way, except in the harshness of her voice, +which was as rough and broken as if it had performed the office of public +crier. She looked at me closely, as if astonished to see me in such a +bad place, for I was elegantly attired. Little by little she approached +my table and seeing that all the bottles were empty, smiled. I saw that +she had fine teeth of brilliant whiteness; I took her hand and begged her +to be seated; she consented with good grace and asked what we should have +for supper. + +I looked at her without saying a word, while my eyes began to fill with +tears; she observed my emotion and inquired the cause. I could not +reply. She understood that I had some secret sorrow and forebore any +attempt to learn the cause; with her handkerchief she dried my tears from +time to time as we dined. + +There was something about this girl at once repulsive and sweet, +a singular boldness mingled with pity, that I could not understand. +If she had taken my hand in the street she would have inspired a feeling +of horror in me; but it seemed so strange that a creature I had never +seen should come to me, and, without a word, proceed to order supper and +dry my tears with her handkerchief, that I was rendered speechless; +it revolted, yet charmed me. What I had done had been done so quickly +that I seemed to have obeyed some impulse of despair. Perhaps I was a +fool, or the victim of some supernatural caprice. + +"Who are you?" I suddenly cried out; "what do you want of me? How do +you know who I am? Who told you to dry my tears? Is this your vocation +and do you think I desire you? I would not touch you with the tip of my +finger. What are you doing here? Reply at once. Is it money you want? +What price do you put on your pity?" + +I arose and tried to go out, but my feet refused to support me. At the +same time my eyes failed me, a mortal weakness took possession of me and +I fell over a stool. + +"You are not well," she said, taking me by the arm, "you have drunk, like +the child that you are, without knowing what you were doing. Sit down in +this chair and wait until a cab passes. You will tell me where you live +and I will order the driver to take you home to your mother, since," she +added, "you really find me ugly." + +As she spoke I raised my eyes. Perhaps my drunkenness deceived me, or +perhaps I had not seen her face clearly before, but suddenly I detected +in that unfortunate girl a fatal resemblance to my mistress. I shuddered +at the sight. There is a certain shudder that affects the hair; some say +it is death passing over the head, but it was not death that passed over +mine. + +It was the malady of the age, or rather was it that girl herself; and it +was she who, with her pale, halfmocking features and rasping voice, came +and sat with me at the end of the tavern room. + +The moment I perceived her resemblance to my mistress a frightful idea +occurred to me; it took irresistible possession of my muddled mind, and I +put it into execution at once. + +I escorted that girl to my home; and I arranged my room just as I had +been wont to do when my mistress was with me, for I was dominated by a +certain recollection of past joys. + +Having arranged my room to my satisfaction, I gave myself up to the +intoxication of despair. I probed my heart to the bottom in order to +sound its depths. A Tyrolean song that my loved one used to sing began +to run through my head: + + Altra volta gieri biele, + Blanch' a rossa com' un flore, + Ma ora no. Non son piu biele + Consumatis dal' amore. + + [Once I was beautiful, white and rosy as a flower; but now I am not. + I am no longer beautiful, consumed by the fire of love.] + +I listened to the echo of that song as it reverberated through the desert +of my heart. I said: "Behold the happiness of man; behold my little +Paradise; behold my queen Mab, a girl from the streets. My mistress is +no better. Behold what is found at the bottom of the glass when the +nectar of the gods has been drained; behold the corpse of love." + +The unfortunate creature heard me singing and began to sing herself. +I turned pale; for that harsh and rasping voice, coming from the lips +of one who resembled my mistress, seemed a symbol of my experience. +It sounded like a gurgle in the throat of debauchery. It seemed to me +that my mistress, having been unfaithful, must have such a voice. I was +reminded of Faust who, dancing at the Brocken with a young sorceress, +saw a red mouse emerge from her throat. + +"Stop!" I cried. I arose and approached her. + +Let me ask you, O men of the time, bent upon pleasure, who attend the +balls and the opera and who, upon retiring this night, will seek slumber +with the aid of some threadbare blasphemy of old Voltaire, some sensible +satire by Paul Louis Courier, or some essay on economics, you who dally +with the cold substance of that monstrous water-lily that Reason has +planted in the hearts of our cities-let me ask, if by some chance this +obscure book falls into your hands, not to smile with noble disdain or +shrug your shoulders. Be not too sure that I complain of an imaginary +evil; be not too sure that human reason is the most beautiful of +faculties, that there is nothing real here below but quotations on the +Bourse, gambling in the salon, wine on the table, the glow of health, +indifference toward others, and the pleasures of the night. + +For some day, across your stagnant life, a gust of wind will blow. Those +beautiful trees, that you water with the stream of oblivion, Providence +will destroy; despair will overtake you, heedless ones, and tears will +dim your eyes. I will not say that your mistresses will deceive you-- +that would not grieve you so much as the loss of a horse--but you can +lose on the Bourse. For the first plunge is not the last, and even if +you do not gamble, bethink you that your moneyed tranquillity, your +golden happiness, are in the care of a banker who may fail. In short, +I tell you, frozen as you are, you are capable of loving something; some +fibre of your being can be torn and you can give vent to cries that will +resemble a moan of pain. Some day, wandering about the muddy streets, +when daily material joys shall have failed, you will find yourself seated +disconsolately on a deserted bench at midnight. + +O men of marble! sublime egoists, inimitable reasoners, who have never +given way to despair or made a mistake in arithmetic, if this ever +happens to you, at the hour of your ruin you will remember Abelard when +he lost Heloise. For he loved her more than you love your horses, your +money, or your mistresses; and in losing her he lost more than your +monarch Satan would lose in falling again from the battlements of Heaven. +He loved her with a love of which the gazettes do not speak, the shadow +of which your wives and your daughters do not perceive in our theatres +and in our books. He passed half of his life kissing her white forehead, +teaching her to sing the psalms of David and the canticles of Saul; he +had but her on earth alone; and God consoled him. + +Believe me, when in your distress you think of Abelard you will not look +with the same eye upon the rich blasphemy of Voltaire and the badinage of +Courier; you will feel that human reason can cure illusions but can not +heal sorrows; that God has use for Reason but that He has not made her a +sister of Charity. You will find that when the heart of man said: +"I believe in nothing, for I see nothing," it did not speak the last word +on the subject. You will look about you for something like hope, you +will shake the doors of churches to see if they still swing, but you will +find them walled up; you will think of becoming Trappists, and destiny +will mock at you, and for reply will give you a bottle of wine and a +courtesan. + +And if you drink the wine, and take the courtesan, you will learn how +such things come to pass. + + + + +PART II + +CHAPTER I + +AT THE CROSSWAYS + +Upon awaking the following morning I experienced a feeling of such deep +disgust with myself, and felt so degraded in my own eyes that a horrible +temptation assailed me. Then I sat down and looked gloomily about the +room, my eyes resting mechanically on a brace of pistols that decorated +the walls. + +When the suffering mind stretches its hands, so to speak, toward +annihilation, when the soul forms some violent resolution, there seems to +be an independent physical horror in the act of touching the cold steel +of some deadly weapon; the fingers stiffen in anguish, the arm grows cold +and hard. Nature recoils as the condemned walks to death. I can not +express what I experienced, unless it was as if my pistol had said to me: +"Think what you are about to do." + +Since then I have often wondered what would have happened to me if the +girl had departed immediately. Doubtless the first flush of shame would +have subsided; sadness is not despair, and God has joined them in order +that the one should not leave us alone with the other. Once relieved of +the presence of that woman, my heart would have become calm. There would +remain only repentance, for the angel of pardon has forbidden man to +kill. But I was doubtless cured for life; debauchery was once for all +driven from my door, and I would never again know the feeling of disgust +with which its first visit had inspired me. + +But it happened otherwise. The struggle which was going on within, the +poignant reflections which overwhelmed me, the disgust, the fear, the +wrath, even (for I experienced all these emotions at the same time), all +these fatal powers nailed me to my chair; and, while I was thus a prey to +dangerous delirium, the creature, standing before my mirror, thought of +nothing but how best to arrange her dress and fix her hair, smiling the +while. This lasted more than a quarter of an hour, during which I had +almost forgotten her. Finally some slight noise attracted my attention +to her, and turning about with impatience I ordered her to leave the room +in such a tone that she at once opened the door and threw me a kiss +before going out. + +At the same moment some one rang the bell of the outer door. I arose +precipitately, and had only time to open the closet door and motion the +creature into it, when Desgenais entered the room with two friends. + +The great currents that are found in the middle of the ocean resemble +certain events in life. Fatality, Chance, Providence, what matters the +name? Those who quarrel over the word admit the fact. Such are not +those who, speaking of Napoleon or Caesar, say: + +"He was a man of Providence." They apparently believe that heroes merit +the attention which Heaven shows them, and that the color of purple +attracts gods as well as bulls. + +As to what rules the course of these little events, or what objects and +circumstances, in appearance the least important, lead to changes in +fortune, there is not, to my mind, a deeper cause and opportunity for +thought. For something in our ordinary actions resembles the little +blunted arrows we shoot at targets; little by little we make of our +successive deeds an abstract and regular entity that we call our prudence +or our will. Then comes a gust of wind, and lo! the smallest of these +arrows, the very lightest and most ineffective, is wafted beyond our +vision, beyond the very horizon to the dwelling-place of God himself. + +What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then! What becomes of those +phantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence? Force itself, that +mistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vain +do we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to ward off +with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns aside the +point, and all the impetus of effort, deflected into space, serves only +to precipitate our fall. + +Thus, at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I had +committed, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when a +great horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustain +a dangerous test. + +Desgenais was in good humor; stretching himself out on my sofa he began +to chaff me about my appearance, which indicated, he said, that I had not +slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I begged +him to spare me. + +He appeared to pay no attention to me, but, warned by my tone, soon +broached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that my +mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three; that is to say, +she had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy, +having discovered her inconstancy, made a great ado and all Paris knew +it. At first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais's words, as I was +not listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three times +in detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My first impulse +was to laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of women; +but it was no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?" was +all I could say. + +Desgenais's friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had been +surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene ensued that +all Paris knew by heart. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or +remain exposed to the most bitter taunts. + +It was easy for me to see that in all this ridicule a great part was +directed at me, not only on account of my duel in connection with this +woman, but from my whole conduct in regard to her. To say that she +deserved severest censure, that she had perhaps committed far worse sins +than those she was charged with, was but to make me feel that I had been +one of her dupes. + +All this did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of +curing me of my love, and was prepared to treat my disease heroically. +A long friendship, founded on mutual services, gave him certain rights, +and as his motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way. + +Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame +increase, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious that he +could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent--a course that +irritated me still more. + +In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room. +Although the recital of the story was well-nigh insupportable, I wished +to hear it again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but +in vain. Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself to +be a most virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room he +looked at me calmly, as if I were a caged fox. + +I can not express my state of mind. That a woman who had so long been +the idol of my heart, and who, since I had lost her, had caused me such +deep affliction, the only one I had ever loved, for whom indeed I might +sorrow till death, should become suddenly a shameless wretch, the subject +of coarse jests, of universal censure and scandal! It seemed to me that +I felt on my shoulder the brand of a glowing iron and that I was marked +with a burning stigma. + +The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From +time to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance. +Desgenais did not leave me; he knew very well what he was doing, and saw +that I might go to any lengths in my present desperate condition. + +When he found that he had brought me to the desired point, he did not +hesitate to deal the finishing stroke. + +"Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. +My dear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certain night +when the moon was shining brightly. While the two lovers were +quarrelling over their fair one, and talking of cutting her throat as she +sat before the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seen to pass +up and down before the house, a shadow that resembled you so closely that +it was decided it must be you." + +"Who says so?" I asked, "who saw me in the street?" + +"Your mistress herself; she told it to every one who cared to listen, +just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you love +her still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you can +think of; but you ought to know that she talks about you publicly." + +I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise the +truth my face has betrayed me. 'Amour propre', the shame of confessing +my weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort. +"It is very true that I was in the street," I thought, "but had I known +that my mistress was as bad as she is, I should not have been there." + +Finally I persuaded myself that I had not been seen distinctly; I +attempted to deny it. A deep flush suffused my face and I felt the +futility of my feint. Desgenais smiled. + +"Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far." + +"But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know--" + +Desgenais compressed his lips as if to say: + +"You knew enough." + +I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so +hot that I could not continue. + +"I in the street bathed in tears, in despair, and during that time that +encounter within! What! that very night! Mocked by her! Surely, +Desgenais, you are dreaming. Is it true? Can it be possible? What can +you know about it?" + +Thus talking at haphazard, I lost my head and an irresistible feeling of +wrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted. + +"My friend," said Desgenais, "do not take the thing so seriously. The +solitary life you have been leading for the last two months has made you +ill; I see you have need of distraction. Come to supper with me this +evening, and tomorrow morning we will go to the country." + +The tone in which he said this hurt me more than anything else; in vain I +tried to control myself. "Yes," I thought, "deceived by that woman, +poisoned by horrible suggestions, having no refuge either in work or in +fatigue, having for my only safeguard against despair and ruin a sacred +but frightful grief. O God! it is that grief, that sacred relic of my +sorrow, that has just crumbled in my hands! It is no longer, my love, it +is my despair that is insulted. Mockery! She mocks at me as I weep!" +That appeared incredible to me. All the memories of the past crowded +about my heart when I thought of it. I seemed to see the spectres of our +nights of love; they hung over a bottomless, eternal abyss, black as +chaos, and from the bottom of that abyss arose a shriek of laughter, +sweet but mocking, that said: "Behold your reward!" + +Had I been told that the world mocked at me I would have replied: "So +much the worse for it," and I should not have been angry; but at the same +time I was told that my mistress was a shameless wretch. Thus, on one +side, the ridicule was public, vouched for, stated by two witnesses who, +before telling what they knew, must have felt that the world was against +me; and, on the other hand, what reply could I make? How could I escape? +What could I do when the centre of my life, my heart itself, was ruined, +killed, annihilated. What could I say when the woman for whom I had +braved all, ridicule as well as blame, for whom I had borne a load of +misery, whom I loved, and who loved another, of whom I demanded no love, +of whom I desired nothing but permission to weep at her door, no favor +but that of vowing my youth to her memory and of writing her name, her +name alone, on the tomb of my hopes!--Ah! when I thought of it, I felt +the hand of death heavy upon me. That woman mocked me, it was she who +first pointed her finger at me, singling me out to the idle crowd which +surrounded her; it was she, it was those lips erstwhile so many times +pressed to mine, it was that body, that soul of my life, my flesh and my +blood, it was from that source the injury came; yea, the last pang of +all, the most cowardly and the most bitter, the pitiless laugh that +sneers in the face of grief. + +The more I thought of it the more enraged I became. Did I say enraged? +I do not know what passion possessed me. What I do know is that an +inordinate desire for vengeance entered into my soul. How could I +revenge myself on a woman? I would have paid any price for a weapon +that could be used against her. But I had none, not even the one she +had employed; I could not pay her in her own coin. + +Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet. +I had forgotten my prisoner. + +"Listen to me!" I cried, rising, "I have loved, I have loved like a +fool. I deserve all the ridicule you have subjected me to. But, by +Heaven! I will show you something that will prove to you that I am not +such a fool as you think." + +With these words I pulled aside the curtain and exposed the interior of +the closet. The girl was trying to conceal herself in a corner. + +"Go in, if you choose," I said to Desgenais; "you who call me a fool for +loving a woman, see how your teaching has affected me. Do you think I +passed last night under the windows of--? But that is not all," I added, +"that is not all I have to say. You give a supper to-night and to-morrow +go to the country; I am with you, and shall not leave you from now on. +We will not separate, but will pass the entire day together. Are you +with me? Agreed! I have tried to make of my heart the mausoleum of my +love, but I will bury my love in another tomb." + +With these words I sat down, marvelling how indignation can solace grief +and restore happiness. Whoever is astonished to learn that, from that +day, I completely changed my course of life does not know the heart of +man, and does not understand that a young man of twenty may hesitate +before taking a step, but does not retreat when he has once taken it. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE CHOSEN WAY + +The first steps in debauchery resemble vertigo, for one feels a sort of +terror mingled with sensuous delight, as if peering downward from some +giddy--height. While shameful, secret dissipation ruins the noblest of +men, in the frank and open defiance of conventionality there is something +that compels respect even in the most depraved. He who goes at +nightfall, muffled in his cloak, to sully his life in secret, and +clandestinely to shake off the hypocrisy of the day, resembles an Italian +who strikes his enemy from behind, not daring to provoke him to open +quarrel. There are assassinations in the dark corners of the city under +shelter of the night. He who goes his way without concealment says: +"Every one does it and conceals it; I do it and do not conceal it." +Thus speaks pride, and once that cuirass has been buckled on, it glitters +with the refulgent light of day. + +It is said that Damocles saw a sword suspended over his head. Thus +libertines seem to have something over their heads which says: "Go on, +but remember, I hang not by a thread." Those masked carriages that +are seen during Carnival are the faithful images of their life. +A dilapidated open wagon, flaming torches lighting up painted faces; +some laugh, some sing. Among them you see what appear to be women; +they are in fact what once were women, with human semblance. They are +caressed and insulted; no one knows who they are or what their names. +They float and stagger under the flaming torches in an intoxication that +thinks of nothing, and over which, it is said, a pitying God watches. + +But if the first impression be astonishment, the second is horror, and +the third pity. There is evident so much force, or rather such an abuse +of force, that often the noblest characters and the strongest +constitutions are ruined. The life appears hardy and dangerous to these; +they would make prodigies of themselves; bound to debauchery as Mazeppa +to his horse, they gallop, making Centaurs of themselves and seeing +neither the bloody trail that the shreds of their flesh leave, nor the +eyes of the wolves that gleam in hungry pursuit, nor the desert, nor the +vultures. + +Launched into that life by the circumstances that I have recounted, I +must now describe what I saw there. + +Before I had a close view of one of those famous gatherings called +theatrical masked balls, I had heard the debauchery of the Regency spoken +of, and a reference to the time when a queen of France appeared disguised +as a violet-seller. I found there flower-merchants disguised as +vivandieres. I expected to find libertinism there, but in fact I found +none at all. One sees only the scum of libertinism, some blows, and +drunken women lying in deathlike stupor on broken bottles. + +Ere I saw debauchery at table I had heard of the suppers of Heliogabolus +and of the philosophy of Greece, which made the pleasures of the senses a +kind of natural religion. I expected to find oblivion or something like +joy; I found there the worst thing in the world: ennui trying to live, +and some Englishmen who said: "I do this or that, and so I amuse myself. +I have spent so many sovereigns, and have procured so much pleasure." +And thus they wear out their life on that grindstone. + +I had known nothing of courtesans when I heard of Aspasia, who sat on +the knees of Alcibiades while discussing philosophy with Socrates. +I expected to find something bold and insolent, but gay, free, and +vivacious, something with the sparkle of champagne; I found a yawning +mouth, a fixed eye, and light fingers. + +Before I saw titled courtesans I had read Boccaccio and Bandello; above +all, I had read Shakespeare. I had dreamed of those beautiful triflers; +of those cherubim of hell. A thousand times I had drawn those heads so +poetically foolish, so enterprising in audacity, heads of harebrained +mistresses who wreck a romance with a glance, and who pass through life +by waves and by pulsations, like the sirens of the tides. I thought of +the fairies of the modern tales, who are always drunk with love if not +with wine. I found, instead, writers of letters, exact arrangers of +assignations, who practised lying as an art and cloaked their baseness +under hypocrisy, whose only thought was to give themselves for profit and +to forget. + +Ere first I looked on the gaming-table I had heard of floods of gold, +of fortunes made in a quarter of an hour, and of a lord of the court of +Henry IV, who won on one card a hundred thousand louis. I found a narrow +room where workmen who had but one shirt rented a suit for the evening +for twenty sous, police stationed at the door, and starving wretches +staking a crust of bread against a pistol-shot. + +Unknown to me were those dance-halls, public or other, open to any of +those thirty thousand women who are permitted to sell themselves in +Paris; I had heard of the saturnalia of all ages, of every imaginable +orgy, from Babylon to Rome, from the temple of Priapus to the Parc-aux- +Cerfs, and I have always seen written on the sill of that door the word, +"Pleasure." I found nothing suggestive of pleasure, but in its place +another word; and it has always seemed ineffaceable, not graven in that +glorious metal that takes the sun's light, but in the palest of all, the +cold colors of which seem tinted by the moonlight silver. + +The first time I saw a mob, it was a depressing morning--Ash Wednesday, +near Courtille. A cold, fine rain had been falling since the evening +before; the streets were covered with pools of water. Carriages with +blinds down were strung out hither and thither, crowding between hedges +of hideous men and women standing on the sidewalks. That sinister wall +of spectators had tigerish eyes, red with wine, gleaming with hatred. +The carriage-wheels splashed mud over them, but they did not move. I was +standing on the front seat of an open carriage; from time to time a man +in rags would step out from the wall, hurl a torrent of abuse at us, then +cover us with a cloud of flour. Mud would soon follow; yet we kept on +our way toward the Isle of Love and the pretty wood of Romainville, +consecrated by so many sweet kisses. One of my friends fell from his +seat into the mud, narrowly escaping death on the paving. The people +threw themselves on him to overpower him, and we were obliged to hasten +to his assistance. One of the trumpeters who preceded us on horseback +was struck on the shoulder by a paving-stone; the flour had given out. +I had never heard of anything like that. + +I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AFRICAN HOSPITALITY + +Desgenais had planned a reunion of young people at his country house. +The best wines, a splendid table, gaming, dancing, hunting, nothing was +lacking. Desgenais was rich and generous. He combined an antique +hospitality with modern ways. Moreover one could always find in his +house the best books; his conversation was that of a man of learning and +culture. He was a problem. + +I took with me a taciturn humor that nothing could overcome; he respected +it scrupulously. I did not reply to his questions and he dropped the +subject; he was satisfied that I had forgotten my mistress. I went to +the chase and appeared at the table, and was as convivial as the best; +he asked no more. + +One of the most unfortunate tendencies of inexperienced youth is to judge +of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that there +is a race of men who are also very unhappy; a race which says to youth: +"You are right in believing in evil, for we know what it is." I have +heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium between good and +evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and men worthy of +them--apparently love, but in reality a passing sentiment. They speak of +love as of an engine constructed by a wagon-builder or a building- +contractor. They said to me: "This and that are agreed upon, such and +such phrases are spoken, and certain others are repeated in reply; +letters are written in a prescribed manner, you kneel in a certain +attitude." All is regulated as in a parade. + +This made me laugh. Unfortunately for me, I can not tell a woman whom I +despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention +and that she will not be deceived by it. I have never bent my knee to +the ground when my heart did not go with it. So that class of women +known as facile is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with +them, it is without knowing it, and through innate simplicity. + +I can understand that one's soul can be put aside, but not that it should +be handled. That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I do not +intend either to boast or abase myself. Above all things I hate those +women who laugh at love, and I permit them to reciprocate the sentiment; +there will never be any dispute between us. + +Such women are beneath courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as +they; but courtesans are capable of love, and these women are not. I +remember a woman who loved me, and who said to a man many times richer +than I, with whom she was living: "I am weary of you, I am going to my +lover." That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised +by society. + +I passed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress +had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I +could not overcome. + +At the sight of that world which surrounded and was so new to me, +I experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and +profound, which made me look timorously at things as does a restless +horse. Then an incident occurred which made a deep impression on me. + +Desgenais had with him a very beautiful woman who loved him much. +One evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her +admirable, as much on account of her attachment for him as because of her +beauty. In short, I praised her highly and with warmth, giving him to +understand that he ought to be happy. + +He made no reply. It was his manner, for he was the dryest of men. That +night when all had retired, and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes I +heard a knock at my door. I supposed it was some one of my friends who +could not sleep, and invited him to enter. + +There appeared before my astonished eyes a woman, very pale, carrying a +bouquet in her hands, to which was attached a piece of paper bearing +these words "To Octave, from his friend Desgenais." + +I had no sooner read these words than a flash of light came to me. +I understood the meaning of this action of Desgenais in making me this +African gift. It made me think. The poor woman was weeping and did not +dare dry her tears for fear I would see them. I said to her: "You may +return and fear nothing." + +She replied that if she should return Desgenais would send her back to +Paris. "Yes," I replied, "you are beautiful and I am susceptible to +temptation, but you weep, and your tears not being shed for me, I care +nothing for the rest. Go, therefore, and I will see to it that you are +not sent back to Paris." + +One of my peculiarities is that meditation, which with many is a firm and +constant quality of the mind, is in my case an instinct independent of +the will, and seizes me like a fit of passion. It comes to me at +intervals in its own good time, regardless of my will and in almost any +place. But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes me +whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it. + +When the woman had left, I sat up. + +"My friend," I said to myself, "behold what has been sent you. If +Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have +been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with +her. + +"Have you well considered it? A sublime and divine mystery is +accomplished. Such a being costs nature the most vigilant maternal care; +yet man, who would cure you, can think of nothing better than to offer +you lips which belong to him in order to teach you how to cease to love. + +"How was it accomplished? Others than you have doubtless admired her, +but they ran no risk. She might employ all the seduction she pleased; +you alone were in danger. + +"It must be that Desgenais has a heart, since he lives. In what respect +does he differ from you. He is a man who believes in nothing, fears +nothing, who knows no care or ennui, perhaps, and yet it is clear that a +scratch on the finger would fill him with terror, for if his body +abandons him, what becomes of him? He lives only in the body. What sort +of creature is he who treats his soul as the flagellants treat their +bodies? Can one live without a head? + +"Think of it. Here is a man who possesses one of the most beautiful +women in the world; he is young and ardent; he finds her beautiful and +tells her so; she replies that she loves him. Some one touches him on +the shoulder and says to him: 'She is unfaithful.' Nothing more, he is +sure of himself. If some one had said: 'She is a poisoner,' he would, +perhaps have continued to love her, he would not have given her a kiss +less; but she is unfaithful, and it is no more a question of love with +him than of the star of Saturn. + +"What is there in that word? A word that is merited, positive, +withering, at will. But why? It is still but a word. Can you kill a +body with a word? + +"And if you love that body? Some one pours a glass of wine and says to +you: 'Do not love that, for you can get four for six francs.' And it may +intoxicate you! + +"But Desgenais loves his mistress, since he keeps her; he must, +therefore, have a peculiar fashion of loving? No, he has not; his +fashion of loving is not love, and he cares no more for the woman who +merits affection than for her who is unworthy. He loves no one, simply +and truly. + +"What has led him to this? Was he born thus? To love is as natural as +to eat and to drink. He is not a man. Is he a dwarf or a giant? Is he +always so impassive? Upon what does he feed, what beverage does he +drink? Behold him at thirty like old Mithridates; poisons are his +familiar friends. + +"There is the great secret, my child, the key you must grasp. By +whatever process of reasoning debauchery may be defended, it will be +proven that it is natural at a given day, hour, or night, but not to- +morrow nor every day. There is not a nation on earth which has not +considered woman either the companion and consolation of man or the +sacred instrument of life, and has not under either of these two forms +honored her. And yet here is an armed warrior who leaps into the abyss +that God has dug with His own hands between man and brute; as well might +he deny that fact. What mute Titan is this who dares repress under the +kisses of the body the love of the soul, and place on human lips the +stigma of the brute, the seal of eternal silence? + +"There is a word that should be studied. In it you hear the faint moan +of those dismal labyrinths we know as secret societies, mysteries that +the angels of destruction whisper in the ear of night as it descends upon +the earth. That man is better or worse than God has made him. He is +like a sterile woman, in whom nature has not completed her work, or there +is distilled in the shadow of his life some venomous poison. + +"Ah! yes, neither occupation nor study has been able to cure you, my +friend. To forget and to learn, that is your device. You turn the +leaves of dead books; you are too young for antiquities. Look about you, +the pale throng of men surrounds you. The eyes of life's sphynx glitter +in the midst of divine hieroglyphics; decipher the book of life! +Courage, scholar, launch out on the Styx, the deathless flood, and let +the waves of sorrow waft you to oblivion or to God." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +MARCO + +"All the good there was in it, supposing there was some good in it, was +that false pleasures were the seeds of sorrow and of bitterness which +fatigued me to the point of exhaustion." Such are the simple words +spoken with reference to his youth by a man who was the most manly of any +who have lived--St. Augustine. Of those who have done as I, few would +say those words; all have them in their hearts; I have found no others in +mine. + +Returning to Paris in the month of December, I passed the winter +attending pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving +Desgenais, who was delighted with me: not so was I with him. The more +I went about, the more unhappy I became. It seemed to me after a short +time that the world which had at first appeared so strange would hamper +me, so to speak, at every step; yet where I had expected to see a +spectre, I discovered, upon closer inspection, a shadow. + +Desgenais asked what ailed me. + +"And you?" I asked. "What is the matter with you? Have you lost some +relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?" + +At times he seemed to understand and did not question me. Occasionally +we sat down at a cafe table and drank until our heads swam; or in the +middle of the night took horses and rode ten or twelve leagues into the +country; returning to the bath, then to table, then to gambling, then to +bed; and on reaching mine, I fell on my knees and wept. That was my +evening prayer. + +Strange to say, I took pride in passing for what I was not, I boasted of +being worse than I really was, and experienced a sort of melancholy +pleasure in doing so. When I had actually done what I claimed, I felt +nothing but ennui, but when I invented an account of some folly, some +story of debauchery, or a recital of an orgy with which I had nothing to +do, it seemed to me that my heart was better satisfied, although I know +not why. + +Whenever I joined a party of pleasure-seekers and visited some spot made +sacred by tender associations I became stupid, went off by myself, looked +gloomily at the trees and bushes as if I would like to trample them under +my feet. Upon my return I would remain silent for hours. + +The baleful idea that truth is nudity beset me on every occasion. + +"The world," I said to myself, "is accustomed to call its disguise +virtue, its chaplet religion, its flowing mantle convenience. Honor and +Morality are man's chambermaids; he drinks in his wine the tears of the +poor in spirit who believe in him; while the sun is high in the heavens +he walks about with downcast eye; he goes to church, to the ball, to the +assembly, and when evening has come he removes his mantle and there +appears a naked bacchante with the hoofs of a goat." + +But such thoughts aroused a feeling of horror, for I felt that if the +body was under the clothing, the skeleton was under the body. "Is it +possible that that is all?." I asked in spite of myself. Then I +returned to the city, I saw a little girl take her mother's arm, and I +became like a child. + +Although I had followed my friends into all manner of dissipation, I had +no desire to resume my place in the world of society. The sight of women +caused me intolerable pain; I could not touch a woman's hand without +trembling. I had decided never to love again. + +Nevertheless I returned from the ball one evening so sick at heart that I +feared that it was love. I happened to have had beside me at supper the +most charming and the most distinguished woman whom it had ever been my +good fortune to meet. When I closed my eyes to sleep I saw her image +before me. I thought I was lost, and I at once resolved that I would +avoid meeting her again. A sort of fever seized me, and I lay on my bed +for fifteen days, repeating over and over the lightest words I had +exchanged with her. + +As there is no spot on earth where one can be so well-known by his +neighbors as in Paris, it was not long before the people of my +acquaintance who had seen me with Desgenais began to accuse me of being a +great libertine. In that I admired the discernment of the world: in +proportion as I had passed for inexperienced and sensitive at the time of +my rupture with my mistress, I was now considered corrupt and hardened. +Some one had just told me that it was clear I had never loved that woman, +that I had doubtless merely played at love, thereby paying me a +compliment which I really did not deserve; but the truth of it was that +I was so swollen with vanity I was charmed with it. + +My desire was to pass as blase, even while I was filled with desires and +my exalted imagination was carrying me beyond all limits. I began to say +that I could not make any headway with the women; my head was filled with +chimeras which I preferred to realities. In short, my unique pleasure +consisted in altering the nature of facts. If a thought were but +extraordinary, if it shocked common sense, I became its ardent champion +at the risk of advocating the most dangerous sentiments. + +My greatest fault was imitation of everything that struck me, not by its +beauty but by its strangeness, and not wishing to confess myself an +imitator I resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original. +According to my idea, nothing was good or even tolerable; nothing was +worth the trouble of turning the head, and yet when I had become warmed +up in a discussion it seemed as if there was no expression in the French +language strong enough to sustain my cause; but my warmth would subside +as soon as my opponents ranged themselves on my side. + +It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the +life I was leading I was unwilling to change it: + + Simigliante a quells 'nferma + Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume, + Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.--DANTE. + +Thus I tortured my mind to give it change, and I fell into all these +vagaries in order to get away from myself. + +But while my vanity was thus occupied, my heart was suffering, so that +ever within me were a man who laughed and a man who wept. It was a +perpetual struggle between my head and my heart. My own mockeries +frequently caused me great pain and my deepest sorrows aroused a desire +to burst into laughter. + +One day a man boasted of being proof against superstitious fears, in +fact, fear of every kind. His friends put a human skeleton in his bed +and then concealed themselves in an adjoining room to wait for his +return. They did not hear any noise, but in the morning they found him +dressed and sitting on the bed playing with the bones; he had lost his +reason. + +I might be that man but for the fact that my favorite bones are those of +a well-beloved skeleton; they are the debris of my first love, all that +remains of the past. + +But it must not be supposed that there were no joyous moments in all this +maddened whirl. Among Desgenais's companions were several young men of +distinction and a number of artists. We sometimes passed together +delightful evenings imagining ourselves libertines. One of them was +infatuated with a beautiful singer, who charmed us with her fresh and +expressive voice. How many times we sat listening to her while supper +was waiting! How many times, when the flagons had been emptied, one of +us held a volume of Lamartine and read aloud in a voice choked by +emotion! Every other thought disappeared. The hours passed by unheeded. +What strange "libertines" we were! We did not speak a word and there +were tears in our eyes. + +Desgenais especially, habitually the coldest and dryest of men, +was inexplicable on such occasions; he delivered himself of such +extraordinary sentiments that he might have been a poet in delirium. +But after these effusions he would be seized with furious joy. When +warmed by wine he would break everything within reach; the genius of +destruction stalked forth in him armed to the teeth. I have seen him +pickup a chair and hurl it through a closed window. + +I could not help making a study of this singular man. He appeared to me +the exact type of a class which ought to exist somewhere but which was +unknown to me. One could never tell whether his outbursts were the +despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child. + +During the fete, in particular, he was in such a state of nervous +excitement that he acted like a schoolboy. Once he persuaded me to go +out on foot with him, muffled in grotesque costumes, with masks and +instruments of music. We promenaded all night, in the midst of the most +frightful din of horrible sounds. We found a driver asleep on his box +and unhitched his horses; then, pretending we had just come from the +ball, set up a great cry. The coachman started up, cracked his whip, +and his horses started off on a trot, leaving him seated on the box. +That same evening we had passed through the Champs Elysees; Desgenais, +seeing another carriage passing, stopped it after the manner of a +highwayman; he intimidated the coachman by threats and forced him to +climb down and lie flat on his stomach. He opened the carriage door and +found within a young man and a lady motionless with fright. He whispered +to me to imitate him, and we began to enter one door and go out by the +other, so that in the obscurity the poor young people thought they saw a +procession of bandits going through their carriage. + +As I understand it, the men who say that the world gives experience ought +to be astonished if they are believed. The world is merely a number of +whirlpools, each one independent of the others; they circle in groups +like flocks of birds. There is no resemblance between the different +quarters of the same city, and the denizen of the Chaussee d'Antin has as +much to learn at Marais as at Lisbon. It is true that these various +whirlpools are traversed, and have been since the beginning of the world, +by seven personages who are always the same: the first is called hope; +the second, conscience; the third, opinion; the fourth, desire; the +fifth, sorrow; the sixth, pride; and the seventh, man. + +"But," the reader objects, "where are the women in all this?" + +Oh! creatures who bear the name of women and who have passed like dreams +through a life that was itself a dream, what shall I say of you? Where +there is no shadow of hope can there be memory? Where shall I seek for +it? What is there more dumb in human memory? What is there more +completely forgotten than you? + +If I must speak of women I will mention two; here is one of them: + +I ask what would be expected of a poor sewing-girl, young and pretty, +about eighteen, with a romantic affair on her hands that is purely a +question of love; with little knowledge of life and no idea of morals; +eternally sewing near a window before which processions were not allowed +to pass by order of the police, but near which a dozen young women +prowled who were licensed and recognized by these same police; what could +you expect of her, when after wearying her hands and eyes all day long on +a dress or a hat, she leans out of that window as night falls? That +dress she has sewed, that hat she has trimmed with her poor and honest +hands in order to earn a supper for the household, she sees passing along +the street on the head or on the body of a notorious woman. Thirty times +a day a hired carriage stops before the door, and there steps out a +dissolute character, numbered as is the hack in which she rides, who +stands before a glass and primps, taking off and putting on the results +of many days' work on the part of the poor girl who watches her. She +sees that woman draw from her pocket gold in plenty, she who has but one +louis a week; she looks at her feet and her head, she examines her dress +and eyes her as she steps into her carriage; and then, what can you +expect? When night has fallen, after a day when work has been scarce, +when her mother is sick, she opens her door, stretches out her hand and +stops a passerby. + +Such is the story of a girl I once knew. She could play the piano, knew +something of accounts, a little designing, even a little history and +grammar, and thus a little of everything. How many times have I regarded +with poignant compassion that sad work of nature, mutilated by society! +How many times have I followed in the darkness the pale and vacillating +gleams of a spark flickering in abortive life! How many times have I +tried to revive the fire that smouldered under those ashes! Alas! her +long hair was the color of ashes, and we called her Cendrillon. + +I was not rich enough to help her; Desgenais, at my request, interested +himself in the poor creature; he made her learn over again all of which +she had a slight knowledge. But she could make no appreciable progress. +When her teacher left her she would fold her arms and for hours look +silently across the public square. What days! What misery! One day I +threatened that if she did not work she should have no money; she +silently resumed her task, and I learned that she stole out of the house +a few minutes later. Where did she go? God knows. Before she left I +asked her to embroider a purse for me. I still have that sad relic, it +hangs in my room, a monument of the ruin that is wrought here below. + +But here is another case: + +It was about ten in the evening when, after a riotous day, we repaired to +Desgenais's, who had left us some hours before to make his preparations. +The orchestra was ready and the room filled when we arrived. + +Most of the dancers were girls from the theatres. + +As soon as we entered I plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That +delightful exercise has always been dear to me; I know of nothing more +beautiful, more worthy of a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances +compared with the waltz are but insipid conventions or pretexts for +insignificant converse. It is truly to possess a woman, in a certain +sense, to hold her for a half hour in your arms, and to draw her on in +the dance, palpitating in spite of herself, in such a way that it can not +be positively asserted whether she is being protected or seduced. Some +deliver themselves up to the pleasure with such modest voluptuousness, +with such sweet and pure abandon, that one does not know whether he +experiences desire or fear, and whether, if pressed to the heart, they +would faint or break in pieces like the rose. Germany, where that dance +was invented, is surely the land of love. + +I held in my arms a superb danseuse from an Italian theatre who had come +to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a Bacchante with a +robe of panther's skin. Never have I seen anything so languishing as +that creature. She was tall and slender, and while dancing with extreme +rapidity, had the appearance of allowing herself to be led; to see her +one would think that she would tire her partner, but such was not the +case, for she moved as if by enchantment. + +On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which intoxicated +me. She yielded to my encircling arms as would an Indian vine, with +a gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed enveloped with +a perfumed veil of silk. At each turn there could be heard a light +tinkling from her metal girdle; she moved so gracefully that I thought +I beheld a beautiful star, and her smile was that of a fairy about to +vanish from human sight. The tender and voluptuous music of the dance +seemed to come from her lips, while her head, covered with a wilderness +of black tresses, bent backward as if her neck was too slender to support +its weight. + +When the waltz was over I threw myself on a chair; my heart beat wildly: +"Oh, heaven!" I murmured, "how can it be possible? Oh, superb monster! +Oh! beautiful reptile! How you writhe, how you coil in and out, sweet +adder, with supple and spotted skin! Thy cousin the serpent has taught +thee to coil about the tree of life holding between thy lips the apple of +temptation. Oh! Melusina! Melusina! The hearts of men are thine. You +know it well, enchantress, with your soft languor that seems to suspect +nothing! You know very well that you ruin, that you destroy; +you know that he who touches you will suffer; you know that he dies who +basks in your smile, who breathes the perfume of your flowers and comes +under the magic influence of your charms; that is why you abandon +yourself so freely, that is why your smile is so sweet, your flowers so +fresh; that is why you place your arms so gently on our shoulders. Oh, +heaven! what is your will with us?" + +Professor Halle has said a terrible thing: "Woman is the nervous part of +humanity, man the muscular." Humboldt himself, that serious thinker, has +said that an invisible atmosphere surrounds the human nerves. + +I do not quote the dreamers who watch the wheeling flight of +Spallanzani's bat, and who think they have found a sixth sense in nature. +Such as nature is, her mysteries are terrible enough, her powers mighty +enough--that nature which creates us, mocks at us, and kills us--without +our seeking to deepen the shadows that surround us. But where is the man +who thinks he has lived that will deny woman's power over us? Has he +ever taken leave of a beautiful dancer with trembling hands? Has he ever +felt that indefinable enervating magnetism which, in the midst of the +dance, under the influence of music, and the warmth, making all else seem +cold, that comes from a young woman, electrifying her and leaping from +her to him as the perfume of aloes from the swinging censer? + +I was struck with stupor. I was familiar with that sensation similar to +drunkenness which characterizes love; I knew that it was the aureole +which crowned my well-beloved. But that she should excite such heart- +throbs, that she should evoke such phantoms with nothing but her beauty, +her flowers, her motley costume, and a certain trick of dancing she had +learned from some merry-andrew; and that without a word, without a +thought, without even appearing to know it! What was chaos, if it +required seven days to make such a being? + +It was not love, however, that I felt, and I do not know how to describe +it unless I call it thirst. For the first time I felt vibrating in my +body a cord that was not attuned to my heart. The sight of that +beautiful animal had aroused a responsive roar from another animal in my +nature. I felt sure I could never tell that woman that I loved her, or +that she pleased me, or even that she was beautiful; there was nothing on +my lips but a desire to kiss her, and say to her: "Make a girdle of those +listless arms and lean that head on my breast; place that sweet smile on +my lips." My body loved hers; I was under the influence of beauty as of +wine. + +Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there. + +"Who is that woman?" I asked. + +"What woman? Of whom do you speak?" + +I took his arm and led him into the hall. The Italian saw us coming and +smiled. I stopped and stepped back. + +"Ah!" said Desgenais, "you have danced with Marco?" + +"Who is Marco?" I asked. + +"Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please +you?" + +"No," I replied, "I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; +I have no further interest in her." + +Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed +him. + +"You are very prompt," he said, "Marco is no ordinary woman. She was +almost the wife of M. de ------, ambassador to Milan. One of his friends +brought her here. Yet," he added, "you may rest assured I shall speak to +her. We shall not allow you to die so long as there is any hope for you +or any resource left untried. It is possible that she will remain to +supper." + +He left me, and I was alarmed to see him approach her. But they were +soon lost in the crowd. + +"Is it possible," I murmured; "have I come to this? Oh! heavens! is this +what I am going to love? But after all," I thought, "my senses have +spoken, but not my heart." + +Thus I tried to calm myself. A few minutes later Desgenais tapped me on +the shoulder. + +"We shall go to supper at once," said he. "You will give your arm to +Marco." + +"Listen," I said; "I hardly know what I am experiencing. It seems to me +I see limping Vulcan covering Venus with kisses while his beard smokes +with the fumes of the forge. He fixes his staring eyes on the dazzling +skin of his prey. His happiness in the possession of his prize makes him +laugh for joy, and at the same time shudder with happiness, and then he +remembers his father, Jupiter, seated on high among the gods." + +Desgenais looked at me but made no reply; taking me by the arm he led me +away. + +"I am tired," he said, "and I am sad; this noise wearies me. Let us go +to supper, that will refresh us." + +The supper was splendid, but I could not touch it. + +"What is the matter with you?" asked Marco. + +I sat like a statue, making no reply and looking at her from head to foot +with amazement. + +She began to laugh, and Desgenais, who could see us from his table, +joined her. Before her was a large crystal glass cut in the shape of a +chalice, which reflected the glittering lights on its thousand sparkling +facets, shining like the prism and revealing the seven colors of the +rainbow. She listlessly extended her arm and filled it to the brim with +Cyprian and a sweetened Oriental wine which I afterward found so bitter +on the deserted Lido. + +"Here," she said, presenting it to me, "per voi, bambino mio." + +"For you and for me," I said, presenting her my glass in turn. + +She moistened her lips while I emptied my glass, unable to conceal the +sadness she seemed to read in my eyes. + +"Is it not good?" she asked. + +"No," I replied. + +"Perhaps your head aches?" + +"No." + +"Or you are tired?" + +"No." + +"Ah! then it is the ennui of love?" + +With these words she became serious, for in spite of herself, in speaking +of love, her Italian heart beat the faster. + +A scene of folly ensued. Heads were becoming heated, cheeks were +assuming that purple hue with which wine suffuses the face as if to +prevent shame appearing there. A confused murmur, like to that of a +rising sea, could be heard all over the room; here and there eyes would +become inflamed, then fixed and empty; I know not what wind stirred above +this drunkenness. A woman rises, as in a tranquil sea the first wave +that feels the tempest's breath foams up to announce it; she makes a sign +with her hand to command silence, empties her glass at a gulp and with +the same movement undoes her hair, which falls in shining tresses over +her shoulders; she opens her mouth as if to start a drinking-song; her +eyes are half closed. She breathes with an effort; twice a harsh sound +comes from her throat; a mortal pallor overspreads her features and she +drops into her chair. + +Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to +distinguish anything, either laughter, songs, or cries. + +"What do you think of it?" asked Desgenais. + +"Nothing," I replied. "I have stopped my ears and am looking at it." + +In the midst of this Bacchanalian orgy the beautiful Marco remained mute, +drinking nothing and leaning quietly on her bare arm. She seemed neither +astonished nor affected by it. + +"Do you not wish to do as they?" I asked. "You have just offered me +Cyprian wine; why do you not drink some yourself?" + +With these words I poured out a large glass full to the brim. She raised +it to her lips and then placed it on the table, and resumed her listless +attitude. + +The more I studied that Marco, the more singular she appeared; she took +pleasure in nothing and did not seem to be annoyed by anything. +It appeared as difficult to anger her as to please her; she did what +was asked of her, but no more. I thought of the genius of eternal +repose, and I imagined that if that pale statue should become +somnambulant it would resemble Marco. + +"Are you good or bad?" I asked. "Are you sad or gay? Are you loved? +Do you wish to beloved? Are you fond of money, of pleasure, of what? +Horses, the country, balls? What pleases you? Of what are you +dreaming?" + +To all these questions the same smile on her part, a smile that expressed +neither joy nor sorrow, but which seemed to say, "What does it matter?" +and nothing more. + +I held my lips to hers; she gave me a listless kiss and then passed her +handkerchief over her mouth. + +"Marco," I said, "woe to him who loves you." + +She turned her dark eyes on me, then turned them upward, and raising her +finger with that Italian gesture which can not be imitated, she +pronounced that characteristic feminine word of her country: + +"Forse!" + +And then dessert was served. Some of the party had departed, some were +smoking, others gambling, and a few still at table; some of the women +danced, others slept. The orchestra returned; the candles paled and +others were lighted. I recalled a supper of Petronius, where the lights +went out around the drunken masters, and the slaves entered and stole the +silver. All the while songs were being sung in various parts of the +room, and three Englishmen, three of those gloomy figures for whom the +Continent is a hospital, kept up a most sinister ballad that must have +been born of the fogs of their marshes. + +"Come," said I to Marco, "let us go." + +She arose and took my arm. + +"To-morrow!" cried Desgenais to me, as we left the hall. + +When approaching Marco's house, my heart beat violently and I could not +speak. I could not understand such a woman; she seemed to experience +neither desire nor disgust, and I could think of nothing but the fact +that my hand was trembling and hers motionless. + +Her room was, like her, sombre and voluptuous; it was dimly lighted by an +alabaster lamp. The chairs and sofa were as soft as beds, and there was +everywhere suggestion of down and silk. Upon entering I was struck with +the strong odor of Turkish pastilles, not such as are sold here on the +streets, but those of Constantinople, which are more powerful and more +dangerous. She rang, and a maid appeared. She entered an alcove without +a word, and a few minutes later I saw her leaning on her elbow in her +habitual attitude of nonchalance. + +I stood looking at her. Strange to say, the more I admired her, the more +beautiful I found her, the more rapidly I felt my desires subside. I do +not know whether it was some magnetic influence or her silence and +listlessness. I lay down on a sofa opposite the alcove, and the coldness +of death settled on my soul. + +The pulsation of the blood in the arteries is a sort of clock, the +ticking of which can be heard only at night. Man, free from exterior +attractions, falls back upon himself; he hears himself live. In spite of +my fatigue I could not close my eyes; those of Marco were fixed on me; we +looked at each other in silence, gently, so to speak. + +"What are you doing there?" she asked. + +She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint. + +I turned my head and saw that the first gleams of morning light were +shining through the window. + +I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of +the room. The sky was clear. + +I motioned to her to wait. Considerations of prudence had led her to +choose an apartment some distance from the centre of the city; perhaps +she had other quarters, for she sometimes received a number of visitors. +Her lover's friends sometimes visited her, and this room was doubtless +only a petite maison; it overlooked the Luxembourg, the gardens of which +extended as far as my eye could reach. + +As a cork held under water seems restless under the hand which holds it, +and slips through the fingers to rise to the surface, thus there stirred +in me a sentiment that I could neither overcome nor escape. The gardens +of the Luxembourg made my heart leap and banished every other thought. +How many times had I stretched myself out on one of those little mounds, +a sort of sylvan school, while I read in the cool shade some book filled +with foolish poetry! For such, alas, were the extravagances of my +childhood. I saw many souvenirs of the past among those leafless trees +and faded lawns. There, when ten years of age, I had walked with my +brother and my tutor, throwing bits of bread to some of the poor half- +starved birds; there, seated under a tree, I had watched a group of +little girls as they danced, and felt my heart beat in unison with the +refrain of their childish song. There, returning from school, I had +followed a thousand times the same path, lost in meditation upon some +verse of Virgil and kicking the pebbles at my feet. + +"Oh, my childhood! You are there!" I cried. "Oh, heaven! now I am +here." + +I turned around. Marco was asleep, the lamp had gone out, the light of +day had changed the aspect of the room; the hangings which had at first +appeared blue were now a faded yellow, and Marco, the beautiful statue, +was livid as death. + +I shuddered in spite of myself; I looked at the alcove, then at the +garden; my head became drowsy and fell on my breast. I sat down before +an open secretary near one of the windows. A piece of paper caught my +eye; it was an open letter and I looked at it mechanically. I read it +several times before I thought what I was doing. Suddenly a gleam of +intelligence came to me, although I could not understand everything. I +picked up the paper and read what follows, written in an unskilled hand +and filled with errors in spelling: + +"She died yesterday. She began to fail at twelve the night before. She +called me and said: 'Louison, I am going to join my companion; go to the +closet and take down the cloth that hangs on a nail; it is the mate of +the other.' I fell on my knees and wept, but she took my hand and said: +'Do not weep, do not weep!' And she heaved such a sigh--" + +The rest was torn, I can not describe the impression that sad letter made +on me; I turned it over and saw on the other side Marco's address and the +date that of the evening previous. + +"Is she dead? Who is dead?" I cried going to the alcove. "Dead! Who?" + +Marco opened her eyes. She saw me with the letter in my hand. + +"It is my mother," she said, "who is dead. You are not coming?" + +As she spoke she extended her hand. + +"Silence!" I said, "sleep, and leave me to myself." + +She turned over and went to sleep. I looked at her for some time to +assure myself that she would not hear me, and then quietly left the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SATIETY + +One evening I was seated before the fire with Desgenais. The window was +open; it was one of the early days in March, a harbinger of spring. + +It had been raining, and a light odor came from the garden. + +"What shall we do this spring?" I asked. "I do not care to travel." + +"I shall do what I did last year," replied Desgenais. "I shall go to the +country when the time comes." + +"What!" I replied. "Do you do the same thing every year? Are you going +to begin life over again this year?" + +"What would you expect me to do?" + +"What would I expect you to do?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "That is +just like you. Ah! Desgenais, how all this wearies me! Do you never +tire of this sort of life?" + +"No," he replied. + +I was standing before an engraving of the Magdalen in the desert. +Involuntarily I joined my hands. + +"What are you doing?" asked Desgenais. + +"If I were an artist," I replied, "and wished to represent melancholy, +I would not paint a dreamy girl with a book in her hands." + +"What is the matter with you this evening?" he asked, smiling. + +"No, in truth," I continued, "that Magdalen in tears has a spark of hope +in her bosom; that pale and sickly hand on which she supports her head, +is still sweet with the perfume with which she anointed the feet of her +Lord. You do not understand that in that desert there are thinking +people who pray. This is not melancholy." + +"It is a woman who reads," he replied dryly. + +"And a happy woman," I continued, "with a happy book." + +Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had taken +possession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. +I hesitated, but did not reply. + +"My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate to +confide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!" + +"I know it," I replied, "I know I have a friend; that is not my trouble." + +He urged me to explain. + +"But what will it avail," I asked, "since neither of us can help matters? +Do you want the fulness of my heart or merely a word and an excuse?" + +"Be frank!" he said. + +"Very well," I replied, "you have seen fit to give me advice in the past +and now I ask you to listen to me as I have listened to you. You ask +what is in my heart, and I am about to tell you. + +"Take the first comer and say to, him: 'Here are people who pass their +lives drinking, riding, laughing, gambling, enjoying all kinds of +pleasures; no barrier restrains them, their law is their pleasure, women +are their playthings; they are rich. They have no cares, not one. All +their days are days of feasting.' What do you think of it? Unless that +man happened to be a severe bigot, he would probably reply that it was +the greatest happiness that could be imagined. + +"'Then take that man into the centre of the whirl, place him at a table +with a woman on either side, a glass in his hand, a handful of gold every +morning and say to him: 'This is your life. While you sleep near your +mistress, your horses neigh in the stables; while you drive your horses +along the boulevards, your wines are ripening in your vaults; while you +pass away the night drinking, the bankers are increasing your wealth. +You have but to express a wish and your desires are gratified. You are +the happiest of men. But take care lest some night of carousal you drink +too much and destroy the capacity of your body for enjoyment. That would +be a serious misfortune, for all the ills that afflict human flesh can be +cured, except that. You ride some night through the woods with joyous +companions; your horse falls and you are thrown into a ditch filled with +mud, and it may be that your companions, in the midst of their happy +shoutings will not hear your cry of anguish; it may be that the sound of +their trumpets will die away in the distance while you drag your broken +limbs through the deserted forest. + +"'Some night you will lose at the gaming-table; fortune has its bad days. +When you return home and are seated before the fire, do not strike your +forehead with your hands, and allow sorrow to moisten your cheeks with +tears; do not anxiously cast your eyes about here and there as if +searching for a friend; do not, under any circumstances, think of those +who, under some thatched roof, enjoy a tranquil life and who sleep +holding each other by the hand; for before you on your luxurious bed +reclines a pale creature who loves--your money. From her you will seek +consolation for your grief, and she will remark that you are very sad and +ask if your loss was considerable; the tears from your eyes will concern +her deeply, for they may be the cause of allowing her dress to grow old +or the rings to drop from her fingers. Do not name him who won your +money that night, for she may meet him on the morrow, and may make sweet +eyes at him that would destroy your remaining happiness. + +"'That is what is to be expected of human frailty; have you the strength +to endure it? Are you a man? Beware of disgust, it is an incurable +evil; death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life. Have +you a heart? Beware of love, for it is worse than disease for a +debauchee, and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay their mistresses, and +the woman who sells herself has no right but that of contempt for the +purchaser. Are you passionate? Take care of your face. It is shameful +for a soldier to throw down his arms and for a debauchee to appear to +hold to anything; his glory consists in touching nothing except with +hands of marble that have been bathed in oil in order that nothing may +stick to them. + +"'Are you hot-headed? If you desire to live, learn how to kill, for wine +is a wrangler. Have you a conscience? Take care of your slumber, for a +debauchee who repents too late is like a ship that leaks: it can neither +return to land nor continue on its course; the winds can with difficulty +move it, the ocean yawns for it, it careens and disappears. If you have +a body, look out for suffering; if you have a soul, despair awaits you. + +"'O unhappy one! beware of men; while they walk along the same path with +you, you will see a vast plain strewn with garlands where a happy throng +of dancers trip the gladsome farandole standing in a circle, each a link +in an endless chain. It is but a mirage; those who look down know that +they are dancing on a silken thread stretched over an abyss that swallows +up all who fall and shows not even a ripple on its surface. What foot is +sure? Nature herself seems to deny you her divine consolation; trees and +flowers are yours no more; you have broken your mother's laws, you are no +longer one of her foster children; the birds of the field become silent +when you appear. + +"'You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing +like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no +longer refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind no +longer gives you the kiss of life, its benediction on all that lives and +breathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger. Every woman who kisses +you takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; you +exhaust yourself on phantoms; wherever falls a drop of your sweat there +springs up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! +You are the enemy of all who love; blot yourself from the face of the +earth, do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do not +perpetuate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, do +not deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight.'" + +When I had spoken these words I fell back in my chair, and a flood of +tears streamed from my eyes. + +"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Did +you not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?" + +But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud, +and a tear trickled slowly down his cheek. + +A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered that +it was on this hour and this day one year ago that my mistress deceived +me. + +"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know what +it means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour, and one that will +count in my life." + +I was beside myself, and scarcely knew what I was saying. But at that +instant a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led me aside, +whispering in my ear: + +"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has just +been seized with an attack of apoplexy and the physicians despair of his +life." + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what is possible +Accustomed to call its disguise virtue +All that is not life, it is the noise of life +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 +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 +Force itself, that mistress of the world +Galileo struck the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" +Grief itself was for her but a means of seducing +He lives only in the body +Human weakness seeks association +I boasted of being worse than I really was +I can not love her, I can not love another +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 +Men doubted everything: the young men denied everything +Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity +Perfection does not exist +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 +St. Augustine +Ticking of which (our arteries) can be heard only at night +When passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning +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 turn the leaves of dead books +Youth is to judge of the world from first impressions + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of The Child of a Century, v1 +by Alfred de Musset + |