diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3940.txt | 3252 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 3940.zip | bin | 0 -> 64767 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 |
5 files changed, 3268 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/3940.txt b/3940.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9eab88 --- /dev/null +++ b/3940.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3252 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v2 +#27 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy +#2 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. The words +are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they +need about what they can legally do with the texts. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below, including for donations. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541 + + + +Title: Child of a Century, v2 + +Author: Alfred de Musset + +Release Date: April, 2003 [Etext #3940] +[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule] +[The actual date this file first posted = 09/09/01] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, Alfred de Musset, v2 +*********This file should be named 3940.txt or 3940.zip********** + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any +of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after +the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our sites at: +http://gutenberg.org +http://promo.net/pg + + +Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement +can surf to them as follows, and just download by date; this is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 +or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release fifty new Etext +files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 3000+ +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third +of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts unless we +manage to get some real funding. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of July 12, 2001 contributions are only being solicited from people in: +Arkansas, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Idaho, +Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Minnesota, +Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, New Mexico, Nevada, New Jersey, New York, North +Carolina, Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota, +Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia, +Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising +will begin in the additional states. Please feel +free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork +to legally request donations in all 50 states. If +your state is not listed and you would like to know +if we have added it since the list you have, just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in +states where we are not yet registered, we know +of no prohibition against accepting donations +from donors in these states who approach us with +an offer to donate. + + +International donations are accepted, +but we don't know ANYTHING about how +to make them tax-deductible, or +even if they CAN be made deductible, +and don't have the staff to handle it +even if there are ways. + +All donations should be made to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3) +organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541, +and has been approved as a 501(c)(3) organization by the US Internal +Revenue Service (IRS). Donations are tax-deductible to the maximum +extent permitted by law. As the requirements for other states are met, +additions to this list will be made and fund raising will begin in the +additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information at: + +http://www.gutenberg.org/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +hart@pobox.com forwards to hart@prairienet.org and archive.org +if your mail bounces from archive.org, I will still see it, if +it bounces from prairienet.org, better resend later on. . . . + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +*** + + +Example command-line FTP session: + +ftp ftp.ibiblio.org +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd pub/docs/books/gutenberg +cd etext90 through etext99 or etext00 through etext02, etc. +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET GUTINDEX.?? [to get a year's listing of books, e.g., GUTINDEX.99] +GET GUTINDEX.ALL [to get a listing of ALL books] + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etexts, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this etext, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the etext, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this header are copyright (C) 2001 by Michael S. Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.07/27/01*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of the +file for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making an +entire meal of them. D.W.] + + + + + +CONFESSION OF A CHILD OF THE CENTURY +(Confession d'un Enfant du Siecle) + +By ALFRED DE MUSSET + + + +BOOK 2. + + +PART III + +CHAPTER I + +DEATH, THE INEVITABLE + +My father lived in the country some distance from Paris. When I arrived +I found a physician in the house, who said to me: + +"You are too late; your father expressed a desire to see you before he +died." + +I entered, and saw my father dead. "Sir," I said to the physician, +"please have everyone retire that I may be alone here; my father had +something to say to me, and he will say it." + +In obedience to my order the servants left the room. I approached the +bed and raised the shroud which covered the face. But when my eyes fell +on that countenance, I stooped to kiss it and lost consciousness. + +When I recovered, I heard some one say: + +"If he requests it, you must refuse him on some pretext or other." + +I understood that they wanted to get me away from the bed of death, and +so I feigned that I had heard nothing. When they saw that I was resting +quietly, they left me. I waited until the house was quiet, and then took +a candle and made my way to my father's room. I found there a young +priest seated near the bed. + +"Sir," I said, "to dispute with an orphan the last vigil at a father's +side is a bold enterprise. I do not know what your orders may be. You +may remain in the adjoining room; if anything happens, I alone am +responsible." + +He retired. A single candle on the table shone on the bed. I sat down +in the chair the priest had just left, and again uncovered those features +I was to see for the last time. + +"What do you wish to say to me, father?" I asked. "What was your last +thought concerning your child?" + +My father had a book in which he was accustomed to write from day to day +the record of his life. That book lay on the table, and I saw that it +was open; I kneeled before it; on the page were these words and no more: + +"Adieu, my son, I love you and I die." + +I did not shed a tear, not a sob came from my lips; my throat was swollen +and my mouth sealed; I looked at my father without moving. + +He knew my life, and my irregularities had caused him much sorrow and +anxiety. He did not refer to my future, to my youth and my follies. +His advice had often saved me from some evil course, and had influenced +my entire life, for his life had been one of singular virtue and +kindness. I supposed that before dying he wished to see me to try once +more to turn me from the path of error; but death had come too swiftly; +he felt that he could express all he had to say in one word, and he wrote +in his book that he loved me. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BALM OF SOLITUDE + +A little wooden railing surrounded my father's grave. According to his +expressed wish, he was buried in the village cemetery. Every day I +visited his tomb and passed part of the day on a little bench in the +interior of the vault. The rest of the time I lived alone in the house +in which he died, and kept with me only one servant. + +Whatever sorrows the passions may cause, the woes of life are not to be +compared with those of death. My first thought as I sat beside my +father's bedside was that I was a helpless child, knowing nothing, +understanding nothing; I can not say that my heart felt physical pain, +but I sometimes bent over and wrung my hands, as one who wakens from a +long sleep. + +During the first months of my life in the country I had no thought either +of the past or of the future. It did not seem to be I who had lived up +to that time; what I felt was not despair, and in no way resembled the +terrible griefs I had experienced in the past; there was a sort of +languor in every action, a sense of disgust with life, a poignant +bitterness that was eating out my heart. I held a book in my hand all +day long, but I did not read; I did not even know what I dreamed about. +I had no thoughts; within, all was silence; I had received such a violent +blow, and yet one that was so prolonged in its effects, that I remained a +purely passive being and there seemed to be no reaction. + +My servant, Larive by name, had been much attached to my father; he was, +after my father himself, probably the best man I had ever known. He was +of the same height, and wore the clothes my father had left him, having +no livery. + +He was of about the same age--that is, his hair was turning gray, and +during the twenty years he had lived with my father, he had learned some +of his ways. While I was pacing up and down the room after dinner, +I heard him doing the same in the hall; although the door was open he did +not enter, and not a word was spoken; but from time to time we would look +at each other and weep. The entire evening would pass thus, and it would +be late in the night before I would ask for a light, or get one myself. + +Everything about the house was left unchanged, not a piece of paper was +moved. The great leather armchair in which my father used to sit stood +near the fire; his table and his books were just as he left them; I +respected even the dust on these articles, which in life he never liked +to see disturbed. The walls of that solitary house, accustomed to +silence and a most tranquil life, seemed to look down on me in pity as I +sat in my father's chair, enveloped in his dressing-gown. A feeble voice +seemed to whisper: "Where is the father? It is plain to see that this is +an orphan." + +I received several letters from Paris, and replied to each that I desired +to pass the summer alone in the country, as my father was accustomed to +do. I began to realize that in all evil there is some good, and that +sorrow, whatever else may be said of it, is a means of repose. Whatever +the message brought by those who are sent by God, they always accomplish +the happy result of awakening us from the sleep of the world, and when +they speak, all are silent. Passing sorrows blaspheme and accuse heaven; +great sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme--they listen. + +In the morning I passed entire hours in the contemplation of nature. +My windows overlooked a valley, in the midst of which arose a village +steeple; all was plain and calm. Spring, with its budding leaves and +flowers, did not produce on me the sinister effect of which the poets +speak, who find in the contrasts of life the mockery of death. I looked +upon the frivolous idea, if it was serious and not a simple antithesis +made in pleasantry, as the conceit of a heart that has known no real +experience. The gambler who leaves the table at break of day, his eyes +burning and hands empty, may feel that he is at war with nature, like the +torch at some hideous vigil; but what can the budding leaves say to a +child who mourns a lost father? The tears of his eyes are sisters of the +rose; the leaves of the willow are themselves tears. It is when I look +at the sky, the woods and the prairies, that I understand men who seek +consolation. + +Larive had no more desire to console me than to console himself. At the +time of my father's death he feared I would sell the property and take +him to Paris. I did not know what he had learned of my past life, but I +had noticed his anxiety, and, when he saw me settle down in the old home, +he gave me a glance that went to my heart. One day I had a large +portrait of my father sent from Paris, and placed it in the dining-room. +When Larive entered the room to serve me, he saw it; he hesitated, looked +at the portrait and then at me; in his eyes there shone a melancholy joy +that I could not fail to understand. It seemed to say: "What happiness! +We are to suffer here in peace!" + +I gave him my hand, which he covered with tears and kisses. + +He looked upon my grief as the mistress of his own. When I visited my +father's tomb in the morning I found him there watering the flowers; when +he saw me he went away and returned home. He followed me in my rambles; +when I was on my horse I did not expect him to follow me, but when I saw +him trudging down the valley, wiping the sweat from his brow, I bought a +small horse from a peasant and gave it to him; thus we rode through the +woods together. + +In the village were some people of our acquaintance who frequently +visited us. My door was closed to them, although I regretted it; but I +could not see any one with patience. Some time, when sure to be free +from interruption, I hoped to examine my father's papers. Finally Larive +brought them to me, and untying the package with trembling hand, spread +them before me. + +Upon reading the first pages I felt in my heart that vivifying freshness +that characterizes the air near a lake of cool water; the sweet serenity +of my father's soul exhaled as a perfume from the dusty leaves I was +unfolding. The journal of his life lay open before me; I could count the +diurnal throbbings of that noble heart. I began to yield to the +influence of a dream that was both sweet and profound, and in spite of +the serious firmness of his character, I discovered an ineffable grace, +the flower of kindness. While I read, the recollection of his death +mingled with the narrative of his life, I can not tell with what sadness +I followed that limpid stream until its waters mingled with those of the +ocean. + +"Oh! just man," I cried, "fearless and stainless! what candor in thy +experience! Thy devotion to thy friends, thy admiration for nature, thy +sublime love of God, this is thy life, there is no place in thy heart for +anything else. The spotless snow on the mountain's summit is not more +pure than thy saintly old age; thy white hair resembles it. Oh! father, +father! Give thy snowy locks to me, they are younger than my blond head. +Let me live and die as thou hast lived and died. I wish to plant in the +soil over your grave the green branch of my young life; I will water it +with my tears, and the God of orphans will protect that sacred twig +nourished by the grief of youth and the memory of age." + +After examining these precious papers, I classified them and arranged +them in order. I formed a resolution to write a journal myself. +I had one made just like that of my father's, and, carefully searching +out the minor details of his life, I tried to conform my life to his. +Thus, whenever I heard the clock strike the hour, tears came to my eyes: +"This," said I, "is what my father did at this hour," and whether it was +reading, walking, or eating, I never failed to follow his example. Thus +I accustomed myself to a calm and regular life; there was an indefinable +charm about this orderly conduct that did me good. I went to bed with a +sense of comfort and happiness such as I had not known for a long time. +My father spent much of his time about the garden; the rest of the day +was devoted to walking and study, a nice adjustment of bodily and mental +exercise. + +At the same time I followed his example in doing little acts of +benevolence among the unfortunate. I began to search for those who +were in need of my assistance, and there were many of them in the valley. +I soon became known among the poor; my message to them was: "When the +heart is good, sorrow is sacred!" For the first time in my life I was +happy; God blessed my tears and sorrow taught me virtue. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BRIGITTE + +One evening, as I was walking under a row of lindens at the entrance to +the village, I saw a young woman come from a house some distance from the +road. She was dressed simply and veiled so that I could not see her +face; but her form and her carriage seemed so charming that I followed +her with my eyes for some time. As she was crossing a field, a white +goat, straying at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she +caressed it softly, and looked about as if searching for some favorite +plants to feed to it. I saw near me some wild mulberry; I plucked a +branch and stepped up to her holding it in my hand. The goat watched my +approach with apprehension; he was afraid to take the branch from my +hand. His mistress made him a sign as if to encourage him, but he looked +at her with an air of anxiety; she then took the branch from my hand, and +the goat promptly accepted it from hers. I bowed, and she passed on her +way. + +On my return home I asked Larive if he knew who lived in the house I +described to him; it was a small house, modest in appearance, with a +garden. He recognized it; there were but two people in the house, an +old woman who was very religious, and a young woman whose name was Madame +Pierson. It was she I had seen. I asked him who she was, and if she +ever came to see my father. He replied that she was a widow, that she +led a retired life, and that she had visited my father, but rarely. +When I had learned all he knew, I returned to the lindens and sat down +on a bench. + +I do not know what feeling of sadness came over me as I saw the goat +approaching me. I arose from my seat, and, for distraction, I followed +the path I had seen Madame Pierson take, a path that led to the +mountains. + +It was nearly eleven in the evening before I thought of returning; +as I had walked some distance, I directed my steps toward a farmhouse, +intending to ask for some milk and bread. Drops of rain began to splash +at my feet, announcing a thunder-shower which I was anxious to escape. +Although there was a light in the place, and I could hear the sound of +feet going and coming through the house, no one responded to my knock, +and I walked around to one of the windows to ascertain if there was any +one within. + +I saw a bright fire burning in the lower hall; the farmer, whom I knew, +was sitting near his bed; I knocked on the window-pane and called to him. +Just then the door opened, and I was surprised to see Madame Pierson, who +inquired who was there. + +I waited a moment in order to conceal my astonishment. I then entered +the house, and asked permission to remain until the storm should pass. +I could not imagine what she was doing at such an hour in this deserted +spot; suddenly I heard a plaintive voice from the bed, and turning my +head I saw the farmer's wife lying there with the seal of death on her +face. + +Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was +bowed with sorrow; she made me a sign to make no noise as the sick woman +was sleeping. I took a chair and sat in a corner until the storm passed. + +While I sat there I saw her rise from time to time and whisper something +to the farmer. One of the children, whom I took upon my knee, said that +she had been coming every night since the mother's illness. She +performed the duties of a sister of charity; there was no one else in the +country who could do it; there was but one physician, and he was densely +ignorant. + +"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "don't you know her?" + +"No," I replied in a low voice. "Why do you call her by such a name?" + +He replied that he did not know, unless it was because she had been rosy +and the name had clung to her. + +As Madame Pierson had laid aside her veil I could see her face; when the +child left me I raised my head. She was standing near the bed, holding +in her hand a cup, which she was offering the sick woman who had +awakened. She appeared to be pale and thin; her hair was ashen blond. +Her beauty was not of the regular type. How shall I express it? Her +large dark eyes were fixed on those of her patient, and those eyes that +shone with approaching death returned her gaze. There was in that simple +exchange of kindness and gratitude a beauty that can not be described. + +The rain was falling in torrents; a heavy darkness settled over the +lonely mountain-side, pierced by occasional flashes of lightning. The +noise of the storm, the roaring of the wind, the wrath of the unchained +elements made a deep contrast with the religious calm which prevailed in +the little cottage. I looked at the wretched bed, at the broken windows, +the puffs of smoke forced from the fire by the tempest; I observed the +helpless despair of the farmer, the superstitious terror of the children, +the fury of the elements besieging the bed of death; and in the midst of +all, seeing that gentle, pale-faced woman going and coming, bravely +meeting the duties of the moment, regardless of the tempest and of our +presence, it seemed to me there was in that calm performance something +more serene than the most cloudless sky, something, indeed, superhuman +about this woman who, surrounded by such horrors, did not for an instant +lose her faith in God. + +What kind of woman is this, I wondered; whence comes she, and how long +has she been here? A long time, since they remember when her cheeks were +rosy. How is it I have never heard of her? She comes to this spot alone +and at this hour? Yes. She has traversed these mountains and valleys +through storm and fair weather, she goes hither and thither bearing life +and hope wherever they fail, holding in her hand that fragile cup, +caressing her goat as she passes. And this is what has been going on in +this valley while I have been dining and gambling; she was probably born +here, and will be buried in a corner of the cemetery, by the side of her +father. Thus will that obscure woman die, a woman of whom no one speaks +and of whom the children say: "Don't you know her?" + +I can not express what I experienced; I sat quietly in my corner scarcely +breathing, and it seemed to me that if I had tried to assist her, if I +had reached out my hand to spare her a single step, I should have been +guilty of sacrilege, I should have touched sacred vessels. + +The storm lasted two hours. When it subsided the sick woman sat up in +her bed and said that she felt better, that the medicine she had taken +had done her good. The children ran to the bedside, looking up into +their mother's face with great eyes that expressed both surprise and joy. + +"I am very sure you are better," said the husband, who had not stirred +from his seat, "for we have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large +sum." + +At that coarse and stupid expression I glanced at Madame Pierson; her +swollen eyes, her pallor, her attitude, all clearly expressed fatigue and +the exhaustion of long vigils. + +"Ah! my poor man!" said the farmer's wife, "may God reward you!" + +I could hardly contain myself, I was so angered by the stupidity of these +brutes who were capable of crediting the work of charity to the avarice +of a cure. + +I was about to reproach them for their ingratitude and treat them as they +deserved, when Madame Pierson took one of the children in her arms and +said, with a smile: + +"You may kiss your mother, for she is saved." + +I stopped when I heard these words. + +Never was the simple contentment of a happy and benevolent heart painted +in such beauty on so sweet a face. Fatigue and pallor seemed to vanish, +she became radiant with joy. + +A few minutes later Madame Pierson told the children to call the farmer's +boy to conduct her home. I advanced to offer my services; I told her +that it was useless to awaken the boy as I was going in the same +direction, and that she would do me an honor by accepting my offer. She +asked me if I was not Octave de T--------. + +I replied that I was, and that she doubtless remembered my father. +It struck me as strange that she should smile at that question; +she cheerfully accepted my arm and we set out on our return. + +We walked along in silence; the wind was going down; the trees quivered +gently, shaking the rain from the boughs. Some distant flashes of +lightning could still be seen; the perfume of humid verdure filled the +warm air. The sky soon cleared and the moon illumined the mountain. + +I could not help thinking of the whimsicalness of chance, which had seen +fit to make me the solitary companion of a woman of whose existence I +knew nothing a few hours before. She had accepted me as her escort on +account of the name I bore, and leaned on my arm with quiet confidence. +In spite of her distraught air it seemed to me that this confidence was +either very bold or very simple; and she must needs be either the one or +the other, for at each step I felt my heart becoming at once proud and +innocent. + +We spoke of the sick woman she had just quitted, of the scenes along the +route; it did not occur to us to ask the questions incident to a new +acquaintance. She spoke to me of my father, and always in the same tone +I had noted when I first revealed my name--that is, cheerfully, almost +gayly. By degrees I thought I understood why she did this, observing +that she spoke thus of all, both living and dead, of life and of +suffering and death. It was because human sorrows had taught her nothing +that could accuse God, and I felt the piety of her smile. + +I told her of the solitary life I was leading. Her aunt, she said, +had seen more of my father than she, as they had sometimes played cards +together after dinner. She urged me to visit them, assuring me a +welcome. + +When about half way home she complained of fatigue and sat down to rest +on a bench that the heavy foliage had protected from the rain. I stood +before her and watched the pale light of the moon playing on her face. +After a moment's silence she arose and, in a constrained manner, +observed: + +"Of what are you thinking? It is time for us to think of returning." + +"I was wondering," I replied, "why God created you, and I was saying to +myself that it was for the sake of those who suffer." + +"That is an expression that, coming from you, I can not look upon except +as a compliment." + +"Why?" I asked. + +"Because you appear to be very young." + +"It sometimes happens," I said, "that one is older than the face would +seem to indicate." + +"Yes," she replied, smiling, "and it sometimes happens that one is +younger than his words would seem to indicate." + +"Have you no faith in experience?" + +"I know that it is the name most young men give to their follies and +their disappointments; what can one know at your age?" + +"Madame, a man of twenty may know more than a woman of thirty. The +liberty which men enjoy enables them to see more of life and its +experiences than women; they go wherever they please, and no barrier +restrains them; they test life in all its phases. When inspired by hope, +they press forward to achievement; what they will they accomplish. When +they have reached the end, they return; hope has been lost on the route, +and happiness has broken its word." + +As I was speaking we reached the summit of a little hill which sloped +down to the valley; Madame Pierson, yielding to the downward tendency, +began to trip lightly down the incline. Without knowing why, I did the +same, and we ran down the hill, arm in arm, the long grass under our feet +retarded our progress. Finally, like two birds, spent with flight, we +reached the foot of the mountain. + +"Behold!" cried Madame Pierson, "just a short time ago I was tired, but +now I am rested. And, believe me," she added, with a charming smile, +"you should treat your experience as I have treated my fatigue. We have +made good time, and shall enjoy supper the more on that account." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +RIPENING ACQUAINTANCE + +I went to see her in the morning. I found her at the piano, her old aunt +at the window sewing, the little room filled with flowers, the sunlight +streaming through the blinds, a large bird-cage at her side. + +I expected to find her something of a religieuse, at least one of those +women of the provinces who know nothing of what happens two leagues away, +and who live in a certain narrow circle from which they never escape. +I confess that such isolated life, which is found here and there in small +towns, under a thousand unknown roofs, had always had on me the effect of +stagnant pools of water; the air does not seem respirable: in everything +on earth that is forgotten, there is something of death. + +On Madame Pierson's table were some papers and new books; they appeared +as if they had not been more than touched. In spite of the simplicity of +everything around her, of furniture and dress, it was easy to recognize +mode, that is to say, life; she did not live for this alone, but that +goes without saying. What struck me in her taste was that there was +nothing bizarre, everything breathed of youth and pleasantness. + +Her conversation indicated a finished education; there was no subject on +which she could not speak well and with ease. While admitting that she +was naive, it was evident that she was at the same time profound in +thought and fertile in resource; an intelligence at once broad and free +soared gently over a simple heart and over the habits of a retired life. +The sea-swallow, whirling through the azure heavens, soars thus over the +blade of grass that marks its nest. + +We talked of literature, music, and even politics. She had visited Paris +during the winter; from time to time she dipped into the world; what she +saw there served as a basis for what she divined. + +But her distinguishing trait was gayety, a cheerfulness that, while not +exactly joy itself, was constant and unalterable; it might be said that +she was born a flower, and that her perfume was gayety. + +Her pallor, her large dark eyes, her manner at certain moments, all led +me to believe that she had suffered. I know not what it was that seemed +to say that the sweet serenity of her brow was not of this world but had +come from God, and that she would return it to Him spotless in spite of +man; and there were times when she reminded one of the careful housewife, +who, when the wind blows, holds her hand before the candle. + +After I had been in the house half an hour I could not help saying what +was in my heart. I thought of my past life, of my disappointment and my +ennui; I walked to and fro, breathing the fragrance of the flowers and +looking at the sun. I asked her to sing, and she did so with good grace. +In the mean time I leaned on the window-sill and watched the birds +flitting about the garden. A saying of Montaigne's came into my head: "I +neither love nor esteem sadness, although the world has invested it, at a +given price, with the honor of its particular favor. They dress up in it +wisdom, virtue, conscience. Stupid and absurd adornment." + +"What happiness!" I cried, in spite of myself. "What repose! What joy! +What forgetfulness of self!" + +The good aunt raised her head and looked at me with an air of +astonishment; Madame Pierson stopped short. I became red as fire when +conscious of my folly, and sat down without a word. + +We went out into the garden. The white goat I had seen the evening +before was lying in the grass; it came up to her and followed us about +the garden. + +When we reached the end of the garden walk, a large young man with a pale +face, clad in a kind of black cassock, suddenly appeared at the railing. +He entered without knocking and bowed to Madame Pierson; it seemed to me +that his face, which I considered a bad omen, darkened a little when he +saw me. He was a priest I had often seen in the village, and his name +was Mercanson; he came from St. Sulpice and was related to the cure of +the parish. + +He was large and at the same time pale, a thing which always displeases +me and which is, in fact, unpleasant; it impresses me as a sort of +diseased healthfulness. Moreover, he had the slow yet jerky way of +speaking that characterizes the pedant. Even his manner of walking, +which was not that of youth and health, repelled me; as for his glance, +it might be said that he had none. I do not know what to think of a man +whose eyes have nothing to say. These are the signs which led me to an +unfavorable opinion of Mercanson, an opinion which was unfortunately +correct. + +He sat down on a bench and began to talk about Paris, which he called the +modern Babylon. He had been there, he knew every one; he knew Madame de +B------, who was an angel; he had preached sermons in her salon and was +listened to on bended knee. (The worst of this was that it was true.) +One of his friends, who had introduced him there, had been expelled from +school for having seduced a girl; a terrible thing to do, very sad. +He paid Madame Pierson a thousand compliments for her charitable deeds +throughout the country; he had heard of her benefactions, her care for +the sick, her vigils at the bed of suffering and of death. It was very +beautiful and noble; he would not fail to speak of it at St. Sulpice. +Did he not seem to say that he would not fail to speak of it to God? + +Wearied by this harangue, in order to conceal my rising disgust, I sat +down on the grass and began to play with the goat. Mercanson turned on +me his dull and lifeless eye: + +"The celebrated Vergniaud," said he, "was afflicted with the habit of +sitting on the ground and playing with animals." + +"It is a habit that is innocent enough," I replied. "If there were none +worse the world would get along very well, without so much meddling on +the part of others." + +My reply did not please him; he frowned and changed the subject. He was +charged with a commission; his uncle the cure had spoken to him of a poor +devil who was unable to earn his daily bread. He lived in such and such +a place; he had been there himself and was interested in him; he hoped +that Madame Pierson-- + +I was looking at her while he was speaking, wondering what reply she +would make and hoping she would say something in order to efface the +memory of the priest's voice with her gentle tones. She merely bowed and +he retired. + +When he had gone our gayety returned. We entered a greenhouse in the +rear of the garden. + +Madame Pierson treated her flowers as she did her birds and her peasants: +everything about her must be well cared for, each flower must have its +drop of water and ray of sunlight in order that it might be gay and happy +as an angel; so nothing could be in better condition than her little +greenhouse. When we had made the round of the building, she said: + +"This is my little world; you have seen all I possess, and my domain ends +here." + +"Madame," I said, "as my father's name has secured for me the favor of +admittance here, permit me to return, and I will believe that happiness +has not entirely forgotten me." + +She extended her hand and I touched it with respect, not daring to raise +it to my lips. + +I returned home, closed my door and retired. There danced before my eyes +a little white house; I saw myself walking through the village and +knocking at the garden gate. "Oh, my poor heart!" I cried. "God be +praised, you are still young, you are still capable of life and of love!" + +One evening I was with Madame Pierson. More than three months had +passed, during which I had seen her almost every day; and what can I say +of that time except that I saw her? "To be with those we love," said +Bruyere, "suffices; to dream, to talk to them, not to talk to them, to +think of them, to think of the most indifferent things, but to be near +them, that is all." + +I loved. During the three months we had taken many long walks; I was +initiated into the mysteries of her modest charities; we passed through +dark streets, she on her pony, I on foot, a small stick in my hand; thus +half conversing, half dreaming, we went from cottage to cottage. There +was a little bench near the edge of the wood where I was accustomed to +rest after dinner; we met here regularly, as though by chance. In the +morning, music, reading; in the evening, cards with the aunt as in the +days of my father; and she always there, smiling, her presence filling my +heart. By what road, O Providence! have you led me? What irrevocable +destiny am I to accomplish? What! a life so free, an intimacy so +charming, so much repose, such buoyant hope! O God! Of what do men +complain? What is there sweeter than love? + +To live, yes, to feel intensely, profoundly, that one exists, that one is +a sentient man, created by God, that is the first, the greatest gift of +love. We can not deny, however, that love is a mystery, inexplicable, +profound. With all the chains, with all the pains, and I may even say, +with all the disgust with which the world has surrounded it, buried as it +is under a mountain of prejudices which distort and deprave it, in spite +of all the ordure through which it has been dragged, love, eternal and +fatal love, is none the less a celestial law as powerful and as +incomprehensible as that which suspends the sun in the heavens. + +What is this mysterious bond, stronger and more durable than iron, that +can neither be seen nor touched? What is there in meeting a woman, in +looking at her, in speaking one word to her, and then never forgetting +her? Why this one rather than that one? Invoke the aid of reason, of +habit, of the senses, the head, the heart, and explain it if you can. +You will find nothing but two bodies, one here, the other there, and +between them, what? Air, space, immensity. O blind fools! who fondly +imagine yourselves men, and who reason of love! Have you talked with it? +No, you have felt it. You have exchanged a glance with a passing +stranger, and suddenly there flies out from you something that can not be +defined, that has no name known to man. You have taken root in the +ground like the seed concealed in the turf which feels the life within +it, and which is on its way to maturity. + +We were alone, the window was open, the murmur of a little fountain came +to us from the garden. O God! would that I could count, drop by drop, +all the water that fell while we were sitting there, while she was +talking and I was answering. It was there that I became intoxicated with +her to the point of madness. + +It is said that there is nothing so rapid as a feeling of antipathy, but +I believe that the road to love is more swiftly traversed. How priceless +the slightest words! What signifies the conversation, when you listen +for the heart to answer? What sweetness in the glance of a woman who +begins to attract you! At first it seems as though everything that +passes between you is timid and tentative, but soon there is born a +strange joy, an echo answers you; you know a dual life. What a touch! +What a strange attraction! And when love is sure of itself and knows +response in the object beloved, what serenity in the soul! Words die on +the lips, for each one knows what the other is about to say before +utterance has shaped the thought. Souls expand, lips are silent. Oh! +what silence! What forgetfulness of all! + +Although my love began the first day and had since grown to ardor, the +respect I felt for Madame Pierson sealed my lips. If she had been less +frank in permitting me to become her friend, perhaps I should have been +more bold, for she had made such a strong impression on me, that I never +quitted her without transports of love. But there was something in the +frankness and the confidence she placed in me that checked me; moreover, +it was in my father's name that I had been treated as a friend. That +consideration rendered me still more respectful, and I resolved to prove +worthy of that name. + +To talk of love, they say, is to make love. We rarely spoke of it. +Every time I happened to touch the subject Madame Pierson led the +conversation to some other topic. I did not discern her motive, but it +was not prudery; it seemed to me that at such times her face took on +a stern aspect, and a wave of feeling, even of suffering, passed over it. +As I had never questioned her about her past life and was unwilling to do +so, I respected her obvious wishes. + +Sunday there was dancing in the village; she was almost always there. +On those occasions her toilet, although quite simple, was more elegant +than usual; there was a flower in her hair, a bright ribbon, or some such +bagatelle; but there was something youthful and fresh about her. The +dance, which she loved for itself as an amusing exercise, seemed to +inspire her with a frolicsome gayety. Once launched on the floor it +seemed to me she allowed herself more liberty than usual, that there was +an unusual familiarity. I did not dance, being still in mourning, but I +managed to keep near her, and seeing her in such good humor, I was often +tempted to confess my love. + +But for some strange reason, whenever I thought of it, I was seized with +an irresistible feeling of fear; the idea of an avowal was enough to +render me serious in the midst of gayety. I conceived the idea of +writing to her, but burned the letters before they were half finished. + +That evening I dined with her, and looked about me at the many evidences +of a tranquil life; I thought of the quiet life that I was leading, of my +happiness since I had known her, and said to myself: "Why ask for more? +Does not this suffice? Who knows, perhaps God has nothing more for you? +If I should tell her that I love her, what would happen? Perhaps she +would forbid me the pleasure of seeing her. Would I, in speaking the +words, make her happier than she is to-day? Would I be happier myself?" + +I was leaning on the piano, and as I indulged in these reflections +sadness took possession of me. Night was coming on and she lighted a +candle; while returning to her seat she noticed a tear in my eye. + +"What is the matter?" she asked. + +I turned aside my head. + +I sought an excuse, but could find none; I was afraid to meet her glance. +I arose and stepped to the window. The air was balmy, the moon was +rising beyond those lindens where I had first met her. I fell into a +profound revery; I even forgot that she was present and, extending my +arms toward heaven, a sob welled up from my heart. + +She arose and stood behind me. + +"What is it?" she again asked. + +I replied that the sight of that valley stretching out beneath us had +recalled my father's death; I took leave of her and went out. + +Why I decided to silence my love I can not say. Nevertheless, instead of +returning home, I began to wander about the woods like a fool. Whenever +I found a bench I sat down only to rise precipitately. Toward midnight I +approached Madame Pierson's house; she was at the window. Seeing her +there I began to tremble and tried to retrace my steps, but I was +fascinated; I advanced gently and sadly and sat down beneath her window. + +I do not know whether she recognized me; I had been there some time when +I heard her sweet, fresh voice singing the refrain of a romance, and at +the same instant a flower fell on my shoulder. It was a rose she had +worn that evening on her bosom; I picked it up and pressed it to my lips. + +"Who is there at this hour? Is it you?" + +She called me by name. The gate leading into the garden was open; I +arose without replying and entered it, I stopped before a plot of grass +in the centre of the garden; I was walking like a somnambulist, without +knowing what I was doing. + +Suddenly I saw her at the door opening into the garden; she seemed to be +undecided and looked attentively at the rays of the moon. She made a few +steps toward me and I advanced to meet her. I could not speak, I fell on +my knees before her and seized her hand. + +"Listen to me," she said; "I know all; but if it has come to that, +Octave, you must go away. You come here every day and you are always +welcome, are you not? Is not that enough.? What more can I do for you? +My friendship you have won; I wish you had been able to keep yours a +little longer." + +When Madame Pierson had spoken these words she waited in silence as +though expecting a reply. As I remained overwhelmed with sadness, she +gently withdrew her hand, stepped back, waited a moment longer and then +reentered the house. + +I remained kneeling on the grass. I had been expecting what she said; +my resolution was soon taken, and I decided to go away. I arose, my +heart bleeding but firm. I looked at the house, at her window; I opened +the garden-gate and placed my lips on the lock as I passed out. + +When I reached home I told Larive to make what preparations were +necessary, as I would set out in the morning. The poor fellow was +astonished, but I made him a sign to obey and ask no questions. He +brought a large trunk and busied himself with preparations for departure. + +It was five o'clock in the morning and day was be ginning to break when I +asked myself where I was going. At that thought, which had not occurred +to me before, I experienced a profound feeling of discouragement. I cast +my eyes over the country, scanning the horizon. A sense of weakness took +possession of me; I was exhausted with fatigue. I sat down in a chair +and my ideas became confused; I bore my hand to my forehead and found it +bathed in sweat. A violent fever made my limbs tremble; I could hardly +reach my, bed with Larive's assistance. My thoughts were so confused +that I had no recollection of what had happened. The day passed; toward +evening I heard the sound of instruments. It was the Sunday dance, and I +asked Larive to go and see if Madame Pierson was there. He did not find +her; I sent him to her house. The blinds were closed, and a servant +informed him that Madame Pierson and her aunt had gone to spend some days +with a relative who lived at N------, a small town some distance north. +He handed me a letter that had been given him. It was couched in the +following terms: + + "I have known you three months, and for one month have noticed that + you feel for me what at your age is called love. I thought I + detected on your part a resolution to conceal this from me and + conquer yourself. I already esteemed you, this enhanced my respect. + I do not reproach you for the past, nor for the weakness of your + will. + + "What you take for love is nothing more than desire. I am well + aware that many women seek to arouse it; it would be better if they + did not feel the necessity of pleasing those who approach them. + Such a feeling is a dangerous thing, and I have done wrong in + entertaining it with you. + + "I am some years older than you, and ask you not to try to see me + again. It would be vain for you to try to forget the weakness of a + moment; what has passed between us can neither be repeated nor + forgotten. + + "I do not take leave of you without sorrow; I expect to be absent + some time; if, when I return, I find that you have gone away, I + shall appreciate your action as the final evidence of your + friendship and esteem. + "BRIGITTE PIERSON." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +AN INTERVIEW + +The fever kept me in bed a week. When I was able to write I assured +Madame Pierson that she should be obeyed, and that I would go away. +I wrote in good faith, without any intention to deceive, but I was very +far from keeping my promise. Before I had gone ten leagues I ordered the +driver to stop, and stepped out of the carriage. I began to walk along +the road. I could not resist the temptation to look back at the village +which was still visible in the distance. Finally, after a period of +frightful irresolution, I felt that it was impossible for me to continue +on my route, and rather than get into the carriage again, I would have +died on the spot. I told the driver to turn around, and, instead of +going to Paris as I had intended, I made straight for N------, whither +Madame Pierson had gone. + +I arrived at ten in the night. As soon as I reached the inn I had a boy +direct me to the house of her relatives, and, without reflecting what I +was doing, at once made my way to the spot. A servant opened the door. +I asked if Madame Pierson was there, and directed him to tell her that +some one wished to speak to her on the part of M. Desprez. That was the +name of our village cure. + +While the servant was executing my order I remained alone in a sombre +little court; as it was raining, I entered the hall and stood at the foot +of the stairway, which was not lighted. Madame Pierson soon arrived, +preceding the servant; she descended rapidly, and did not see me in the +darkness; I stepped up to her and touched her arm. She recoiled with +terror and cried out: + +"What do you wish of me?" + +Her voice trembled so painfully and, when the servant appeared with a +light, her face was so pale, that I did not know what to think. Was it +possible that my unexpected appearance could disturb her in such a +manner? That reflection occurred to me, but I decided that it was merely +a feeling of fright natural to a woman who is suddenly touched. + +Nevertheless, she repeated her question in a firmer tone. + +"You must permit me to see you once more," I replied. "I will go away, +I will leave the country. You shall be obeyed, I swear it, and that +beyond your real desire, for I will sell my father's house and go abroad; +but that is only on condition that I am permitted to see you once more; +otherwise I remain; you need fear nothing from me, but I am resolved on +that." + +She frowned and cast her eyes about her in a strange manner; then she +replied, almost graciously: + +"Come to-morrow during the day and I will see you." Then she left me. + +The next day at noon I presented myself. I was introduced into a room +with old hangings and antique furniture. I found her alone, seated on a +sofa. I sat down before her. + +"Madame," I began, "I come neither to speak of what I suffer, nor to deny +that I love you. You have written me that what has passed between us can +not be forgotten, and that is true; but you say that on that account we +can not meet on the same footing as heretofore, and you are mistaken. +I love you, but I have not offended you; nothing is changed in our +relations since you do not love me. If I am permitted to see you, +responsibility rests with me, and as far as your responsibility is +concerned, my love for you should be sufficient guarantee." + +She tried to interrupt me. + +"Kindly allow me to finish what I have to say. No one knows better than +I that in spite of the respect I feel for you, and in spite of all the +protestations by which I might bind myself, love is the stronger. +I repeat I do not intend to deny what is in my heart; but you do not +learn of that love to-day for the first time, and I ask you what has +prevented me from declaring it up to the present time? The fear of +losing you; I was afraid I would not be permitted to see you, and that is +what has happened. Make a condition that the first word I shall speak, +the first thought or gesture that shall seem to be inconsistent with the +most profound respect, shall be the signal for the closing of your door; +as I have been silent in the past, I will be silent in the future, You +think that I have loved you for a month, when in fact I have loved you +from the first day I met you. When you discovered it, you did not refuse +to see me on that account. If you had at that time enough esteem for me +to believe me incapable of offending you, why have you lost that esteem? + +"That is what I have come to ask you. What have I done? I have bent my +knee, but I have not said a word. What have I told you? What you +already knew. I have been weak because I have suffered. It is true, +Madame, that I am twenty years of age and what I have seen of life has +only disgusted me (I could use a stronger word); it is true that there is +not at this hour on earth, either in the society of men or in solitude, +a place, however small and insignificant, that I care to occupy. + +"The space enclosed within the four walls of your garden is the only spot +in the world where I live; you are the only human being who has made me +love God. I had renounced everything before I knew you; why deprive me +of the only ray of light that Providence has spared me? If it is on +account of fear, what have I done to inspire it? If it is on account of +dislike, in what respect am I culpable? If it is on account of pity and +because I suffer, you are mistaken in supposing that I can cure myself; +it might have been done, perhaps, two months ago; but I preferred to see +you and to suffer, and I do not repent, whatever may come of it. The +only misfortune that can reach me is to lose you. Put me to the proof. +If I ever feel that there is too much suffering for me in our bargain I +will go away; and you may be sure of it, since you send me away to-day, +and I am ready to go. What risk do you run in giving me a month or two +of the only happiness I shall ever know?" + +I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, and then sat down +again. Then a moment of silence ensued. + +"Rest assured," she said, "it is not so." + +I thought she was searching for words that would not appear too severe, +and that she was anxious to avoid hurting me. + +"One word," I said, rising, "one word, nothing more. I know who you are +and if there is any compassion for me in your heart, I thank you; speak +but one word, this moment decides my life." + +She shook her head; I saw that she was hesitating. + +"You think I can be cured?" I cried. "May God grant you that solace if +you send me away--" + +I looked out of the window at the horizon, and felt in my soul such a +frightful sensation of loneliness at the idea of going away that my blood +froze in my veins. She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixed on her, +awaiting her reply; all my life was hanging in suspense upon her lips. + +"Very well," she said, "listen to me. This move of yours in coming to +see me was an act of great imprudence; however, it is not necessary to +assume that you have come here to see me; accept a commission that I will +give you for a friend of my family. If you find that it is a little far, +let it be the occasion of an absence which shall last as long as you +choose, but which must not be too short. Although you said a moment +ago," she added with a smile, "that a short trip would calm you. You +will stop in the Vosges and you will go as far as Strasburg. Then in a +month, or, better, in two months, you will return and report to me; I +will see you again and give you further instructions." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE RUGGED PATH OF LOVE + +That evening I received from Madame Pierson a letter addressed to M. R. +D., at Strasburg. Three weeks later my mission had been accomplished and +I returned. During my absence I had thought of nothing but her, and I +despaired of ever forgetting her. Nevertheless I determined to restrain +my feelings in her presence; I had suffered too cruelly at the prospect +of losing her to run any further risks. My esteem for her rendered it +impossible for me to suspect her sincerity, and I did not see, in her +plan of getting me to leave the country, anything that resembled +hypocrisy. In a word, I was firmly convinced that at the first word of +love her door would be closed to me. Upon my return I found her thin and +changed. Her habitual smile seemed to languish on her discolored lips. +She told me that she had been suffering. We did not speak of the past. +She did not appear to wish to recall it, and I had no desire to refer to +it. We resumed our old relations of neighbors; yet there was something +of constraint between us, a sort of conventional familiarity. It was as +if we had agreed: "It was thus before, let it still be thus." She +granted me her confidence, a concession that was not without its charms +for me; but our conversation was colder, for the reason that our eyes +expressed as much as our tongues. In all that we said there was more to +be surmised than was actually spoken. We no longer endeavored to fathom +each other's minds; there was not the same interest attaching to each +word, to each sentiment; that curious analysis that characterized our +past intercourse; she treated me with kindness, but I distrusted even +that kindness; I walked with her in the garden, but no longer accompanied +her outside of the premises; we no longer wandered through the woods and +valleys; she opened the piano when we were alone; the sound of her voice +no longer awakened in my heart those transports of joy which are like +sobs that are inspired by hope. When I took leave of her, she gave me +her hand, but I was conscious of the fact that it was lifeless; there was +much effort in our familiar ease, many reflections in our lightest +remarks, much sadness at the bottom of it all. We felt that there was a +third party between us: it was my love for her. My actions never +betrayed it, but it appeared in my face. I lost my cheerfulness, my +energy, and the color of health that once shone in my cheeks. At the end +of one month I no longer resembled my old self. And yet in all our +conversations I insisted on my disgust with the world, on my aversion to +returning to it. I tried to make Madame Pierson feel that she had no +reason to reproach herself for allowing me to see her; I depicted my past +life in the most sombre colors, and gave her to understand that if she +should refuse to allow me to see her, she would condemn me to a +loneliness worse than death. I told her that I held society in +abhorrence and the story of my life, as I recited it, proved my +sincerity. So I affected a cheerfulness that I was far from feeling, +in order to show her that in permitting me to see her, she had saved me +from the most frightful misfortune; I thanked her almost every time I +went to see her, that I might return in the evening or the following +morning. "All my dreams of happiness," said I, "all my hopes, all my +ambitions, are enclosed in the little corner of the earth where you +dwell; outside of the air that you breathe there is no life for me." + +She saw that I was suffering and could not help pitying me. My courage +was pathetic, and her every word and gesture shed a sort of tender light +over my devotion. She saw the struggle that was going on in me; my +obedience flattered her pride, while my pallor awakened her charitable +instinct. At times she appeared to be irritated, almost coquettish; +she would say in a tone that was almost rebellious: "I shall not be here +to-morrow, do not come on such and such a day." Then, as I was going +away sad, but resigned, she sweetened the cup of bitterness by adding: " +I am not sure of it, come whenever you please;" or her adieu was more +friendly than usual, her glance more tender. + +"Rest assured that Providence has led me to you," I said. "If I had not +met you, I might have relapsed into the irregular life I was leading +before I knew you. + +"God has sent you as an angel of light to draw me from the abyss. He has +confided a sacred mission to you; who knows, if I should lose you, +whither the sorrow that consumes me might lead me, because of the sad +experience I have been through, the terrible combat between my youth and +my ennui?" + +That thought, sincere enough on my part, had great weight with a woman of +lofty devotion whose soul was as pious as it was ardent. It was probably +the only consideration that induced Madame Pierson to permit me to see +her. + +I was preparing to visit her one day when some one knocked at my door, +and I saw Mercanson enter, that priest I had met in the garden on the +occasion of my first visit. He began to make excuses that were as +tiresome as himself for presuming to call on me without having made my +acquaintance; I told him that I knew him very well as the nephew of our +cure, and asked what I could do for him. + +He turned uneasily from one side to the other with an air of constraint, +searching for phrases and fingering everything on the table before him as +if at a loss what to say. Finally he informed me that Madame Pierson was +ill and that she had sent word to me by him that she would not be able to +see me that day. + +"Is she ill? Why, I left her late yesterday afternoon, and she was very +well at that time!" + +He bowed. + +"But," I continued, "if she is ill why send word to me by a third person? +She does not live so far away that a useless call would harm me." + +The same response from Mercanson. I could not understand what this +peculiar manner signified, much less why she had entrusted her mission to +him. + +"Very well," I said, "I shall see her to-morrow and she will explain what +this means." + +His hesitation continued. + +"Madame Pierson has also told me--that I should inform you--in fact, I am +requested to--" + +"Well, what is it?" I cried, impatiently. + +"Sir, you are becoming violent! I think Madame Pierson is seriously ill; +she will not be able to see you this week." + +Another bow, and he retired. + +It was clear that his visit concealed some mystery: either Madame Pierson +did not wish to see me, and I could not explain why; or Mercanson had +interfered on his own responsibility. + +I waited until the following day and then presented myself at her door; +the servant who met me said that her mistress was indeed very ill and +could not see me; she refused to accept the money I offered her, and +would not answer my questions. + +As I was passing through the village on my return, I saw Mercanson; +he was surrounded by a number of schoolchildren, his uncle's pupils. +I stopped him in the midst of his harangue and asked if I could have a +word with him. + +He followed me aside; but now it was my turn to hesitate, for I was at a +loss how to proceed to draw his secret from him. + +"Sir," I finally said, "will you kindly inform me if what you told me +yesterday was the truth, or was there some motive behind it? Moreover, +as there is not a physician in the neighborhood who can be called in, +in case of necessity, it is important that I should know whether her +condition is serious." + +He protested that Madame Pierson was ill, but that he knew nothing more, +except that she had sent for him and asked him to notify me as he had +done. While talking we had walked down the road some distance and had +now reached a deserted spot. Seeing that neither strategy nor entreaty +would serve my purpose, I suddenly turned and seized him by the arms. + +"What does this mean, Monsieur? You intend to resort to violence?" he +cried. + +"No, but I intend to make you tell me what you know." + +"Monsieur, I am afraid of no one, and I have told you what you ought to +know." + +"You have told me what you think I ought to know, but not what you know. +Madame Pierson is not sick; I am sure of it." + +"How do you know?" + +"The servant told me so. Why has she closed her door against me, and why +did she send you to tell me of it?" + +Mercanson saw a peasant passing. + +"Pierre!" he cried, calling him by name, "wait a moment, I wish to speak +with you." + +The peasant approached; that was all he wanted, thinking I would not dare +use violence in the presence of a third person. I released him, but so +roughly that he staggered back and fell against a tree. He clenched his +fist and turned away without a word. + +For three weeks I suffered terribly. Three times a day I called at +Madame Pierson's and each time was refused admittance. I received one +letter from her; she said that my assiduity was causing talk in the +village, and begged me to call less frequently. Not a word about +Mercanson or her illness. + +This precaution on her part was so unnatural, and contrasted so strongly +with her former proud indifference in matters of this kind, that at first +I could hardly believe it. Not knowing what else to say, I replied that +there was no desire in my heart but obedience to her wishes. But in +spite of me, the words I used did not conceal the bitterness I felt. + +I purposely delayed going to see her even when permitted to do so, and no +longer sent to inquire about her condition, as I wished to have her know +that I did not believe in her illness. I did not know why she kept me at +a distance; but I was so miserably unhappy that, at times, I thought +seriously of putting an end to a life that had become insupportable. +I was accustomed to spend entire days in the woods, and one day I +happened to encounter her there. + +I hardly had the courage to ask for an explanation; she did not reply +frankly, and I did not recur to the subject; I could only count the days +I was obliged to pass without seeing her, and live in the hope of a +visit. All the time I was sorely tempted to throw myself at her feet, +and tell her of my despair. I knew that she would not be insensible to +it, and that she would at least express her pity; but her severity and +the abrupt manner of her departure recalled me to my senses; I trembled +lest I should lose her, and I would rather die than expose myself to that +danger. + +Thus denied the solace of confessing my sorrow, my health began to give +way. My feet lagged on the way to her house; I felt that I was +exhausting the source of tears, and each visit cost me added sorrow; +I was torn with the thought that I ought not to see her. + +On her part there was neither the same tone nor the same ease as of old; +she spoke of going away on a tour; she pretended to confess to me her +longing to get away, leaving me more dead than alive after her cruel +words. If surprised by a natural impulse of sympathy, she immediately +checked herself and relapsed into her accustomed coldness. Upon one +occasion I could not restrain my tears. I saw her turn pale. As I was +going, she said to me at the door: + +"To-morrow I am going to Sainte-Luce (a neighboring village), and it is +too far to go on foot. Be here with your horse early in the morning, +if you have nothing to do, and go with me." + +I was on hand promptly, as may readily be imagined. I had slept over +that word with transports of joy; but, upon leaving my house, I +experienced a feeling of deep dejection. In restoring me to the +privilege I had formerly enjoyed of accompanying her on her missions +about the country, she had clearly been guilty of a cruel caprice if she +did not love me. She knew how I was suffering; why abuse my courage +unless she had changed her mind? + +This reflection had a strange influence on me. When she mounted her +horse my heart beat violently as I took her foot; I do not know whether +it was from desire or anger. "If she is touched," I said to myself, "why +this reserve? If she is a coquette, why so much liberty?" + +Such are men. At my first word she saw that a change had taken place in +me. I did not speak to her, but kept to the other side of the road. +When we reached the valley she appeared at ease, and only turned her head +from time to time to see if I was following her; but when we came to the +forest and our horses' hoofs resounded against the rocks that lined the +road, I saw that she was trembling. She stopped as though to wait for +me, as I was some distance in the rear; when I had overtaken her she set +out at a gallop. We soon reached the foot of the mountain and were +compelled to slacken our pace. I then made my way to her side; our heads +were bowed; the time had come, I took her hand. + +"Brigitte," I said, "are you weary of my complaints? Since I have been +reinstated in your favor, since I have been allowed to see you every day +and every evening, I have asked myself if I have been importunate. +During the last two months, while strength and hope have been failing me, +have I said a word of that fatal love which is consuming me? Raise your +head and answer me. Do you not see that I suffer and that my nights are +given to weeping? Have you not met in the forest an unfortunate wretch +sitting in solitary dejection with his hands pressed to his forehead? +Have you not seen tears on these bushes? Look at me, look at these +mountains; do you realize that I love you? They know it, they are my +witnesses; these rocks and these trees know my secret. Why lead me +before them? Am I not wretched enough? Do I fail in courage? Have I +obeyed you? To what tests, what tortures am I subjected, and for what +crime? If you do not love me, what are you doing here?" + +"Let us return," she said, "let us retrace our steps." + +I seized her horse's bridle. + +"No," I replied, "for I have spoken. If we return, I lose you, I realize +it; I know in advance what you will say. You have been pleased to try my +patience, you have set my sorrow at defiance, perhaps that you might have +the right to drive me from your presence; you have become tired of that +sorrowful lover who suffered without complaint and who drank with +resignation the bitter chalice of your disdain! You knew that, alone +with you in the presence of these trees, in the midst of this solitude +where my love had its birth, I could not be silent! You wish to be +offended. Very well, Madame, I lose you! I have wept and I have +suffered, I have too long nourished in my heart a pitiless love that +devours me. You have been cruel!" + +As she was about to leap from her saddle, I seized her in my arms and +pressed my lips to hers. She turned pale, her eyes closed, her bridle +slipped from her hand and she fell to the ground. + +"God be praised!" I cried, "she loves me!" She had returned my kiss. + +I leaped to the ground and hastened to her side. She was extended on the +ground. I raised her, she opened her eyes, and shuddered with terror; +she pushed my arm aside, and burst into tears. + +I stood near the roadside; I looked at her as she leaned against a tree, +as beautiful as the day, her long hair falling over her shoulders, her +hands twitching and trembling, her cheeks suffused with crimson, whereon +shone pearly tears. + +"Do not come near me!" she cried, "not a step!" + +"Oh, my love!" I said, "fear nothing; if I have offended you, you know +how to punish me. I was angry and I gave way to my grief; treat me as +you choose; you may go away now, you may send me away! I know that you +love me, Brigitte, and you are safer here than a king in his palace." + +As I spoke these words, Madame Pierson fixed her humid eyes on mine; I +saw the happiness of my life come to me in the flash of those orbs. I +crossed the road and knelt before her. How little he loves who can +recall the words he uses when he confesses that love! + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE VENUSBERG AGAIN + +If I were a jeweler and had in stock a pearl necklace that I wished to +give a friend, it seems to me I should take great pleasure in placing it +about her neck with my own hands; but were I that friend, I would rather +die than snatch the necklace from the jeweler's hand. I have seen many +men hasten to give themselves to the woman they love, but I have always +done the contrary, not through calculation, but through natural instinct. +The woman who loves a little and resists does not love enough, and she +who loves enough and resists knows that she is not sincerely loved. + +Madame Pierson gave evidence of more confidence in me, confessing that +she loved me when she had never shown it in her actions. The respect I +felt for her inspired me with such joy that her face looked to me like a +budding rose. At times she would abandon herself to an impulse of sudden +gayety, then she would suddenly check herself; treating me like a child, +and then look at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a thousand +pleasantries as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress, she would +suddenly leave me, go aside and abandon herself to revery. Was ever a +more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for +her in the same spot where I had remained watching her. + +"Oh! my friend!" I said, "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are +loved." + +Yet I could conceal neither the violence of my desires nor the pain I +endured struggling against them. One evening I told her that I had just +learned of the loss of an important case, which would involve a +considerable change in my affairs. + +"How is it," she asked, "that you make this announcement and smile at the +same time?" + +"There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet," I replied: "'He who is +loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.'" + +Madame Pierson made no reply; all that evening she was even more cheerful +than usual. When we played cards with her aunt and I lost she was +merciless in her scorn, saying that I knew nothing of the game, and she +bet against me with so much success that she won all I had in my purse. +When the old lady retired, she stepped out on the balcony and I followed +her in silence. + +The night was beautiful; the moon was setting and the stars shone +brightly in a field of deep azure. Not a breath of wind stirred the +trees; the air was warm and freighted with the perfume of spring. + +She was leaning on her elbow, her eyes in the heavens; I leaned over her +and watched her as she dreamed. Then I raised my own eyes; a voluptuous +melancholy seized us both. We breathed together the warm perfume wafted +to us from the garden; we followed, in its lingering course, the pale +light of the moon which glinted through the chestnut-trees. I thought of +a certain day when I had looked up at the broad expanse of heaven with +despair; I trembled at the recollection of that hour; life was so rich +now! I felt a hymn of praise welling up in my heart. Around the form of +my dear mistress I slipped my arm; she gently turned her head; her eyes +were bathed in tears. Her body yielded as does the rose, her open lips +fell on mine, and the universe was forgotten. + +Eternal angel of happy nights, who shall interpret thy silence? +Mysterious vintage that flows from lips that meet as from a stainless +chalice! Intoxication of the senses! O, supremest joy! Yes, like God, +thou art immortal! Sublime exaltation of the creature, universal +communion of beings, thrice sacred pleasure, what have they sung who have +celebrated thy praise? They have called thee transitory, O thou who dost +create! And they have said that thy passing beams have illumined their +fugitive life. Words that are as feeble as the dying breath! Words of a +sensual brute who is astonished that he should live for an hour, and who +mistakes the rays of the eternal lamp for the spark which is struck from +the flint! + +O love! thou principle of life! Precious flame over which all nature, +like a careful vestal, incessantly watches in the temple of God! Centre +of all, by whom all exists, the spirit of destruction would itself die, +blowing at thy flame! I am not astonished that thy name should be +blasphemed, for they do not know who thou art, they who think they have +seen thy face because they have opened their eyes; and when thou findest +thy true prophets, united on earth with a kiss, thou closest their eyes +lest they look upon the face of perfect joy. + +But you, O rapturous delights, languishing smiles, and first caressing, +stammering utterance of love, you who can be seen, who are you? Are you +less in God's sight than all the rest, beautiful cherubim who soar in the +alcove and who bring to this world man awakened from the dream divine! +Ah! dear children of pleasure, how your mother loves you! It is you, +curious prattlers, who behold the first mysteries, touches, trembling yet +chaste, glances that are already insatiable, who begin to trace on the +heart, as a tentative sketch, the ineffaceable image of cherished beauty! +O royalty! O conquest! It is you who make lovers. And thou, true +diadem, serenity of happiness! The first true concept of man's life, and +first return of happiness in the many little things of life which are +seen only through the medium of joy, first steps made by nature in the +direction of the well-beloved! Who will paint you? What human word will +ever express thy slightest caress? + +He who, in the freshness of youth, has taken leave of an adored mistress; +he who has walked through the streets without hearing the voices of those +who speak to him; he who has sat in a lonely spot, laughing and weeping +without knowing why; he who has placed his hands to his face in order to +breathe the perfume that still clings to them; he who has suddenly +forgotten what he had been doing on earth; he who has spoken to the trees +along the route and to the birds in their flight; finally, he who, in the +midst of men, has acted the madman, and then has fallen on his knees and +thanked God for it; let him die without complaint: he has known the joy +of love. + + + + +PART IV + +CHAPTER I + +THE THORNS OF LOVE + +I have now to recount what happened to my love, and the change that took +place in me. What reason can I give for it? None, except as I repeat +the story and as I say: "It is the truth." For two days, neither more +nor less, I was Madame Pierson's lover. One fine night I set out and +traversed the road that led to her house. I was feeling so well in body +and soul that I leaped for joy and extended my arms to heaven. I found +her at the top of the stairway leaning on the railing, a lighted candle +beside her. She was waiting for me, and when she saw me ran to meet me. + +She showed me how she had changed her coiffure which had displeased me, +and told me how she had passed the day arranging her hair to suit my +taste; how she had taken down a villainous black picture-frame that had +offended my eye; how she had renewed the flowers; she recounted all she +had done since she had known me, how she had seen me suffer and how she +had suffered herself; how she had thought of leaving the country, of +fleeing from her love; how she had employed every precaution against me; +how she had sought advice from her aunt, from Mercanson and from the +cure; how she had vowed to herself that she would die rather than yield, +and how all that had been dissipated by a single word of mine, a glance, +an incident; and with every confession a kiss. + +She said that whatever I saw in her room that pleased my taste, whatever +bagatelle on her table attracted my attention, she would give me; that +whatever she did in the future, in the morning, in the evening, at any +hour, I should regulate as I pleased; that the judgments of the world did +not concern her; that if she had appeared to care for them, it was only +to send me away; but that she wished to be happy and close her ears, that +she was thirty years of age and had not long to be loved by me. "And you +will love me a long time? Are those fine words, with which you have +beguiled me, true?" And then loving reproaches because I had been late +in coming to her; that she had put on her slippers in order that I might +see her foot, but that she was no longer beautiful; that she could wish +she were; that she had been at fifteen. She went here and there, silly +with love, rosy with joy; and she did not know what to imagine, what to +say or do, in order to give herself and all that she had. + +I was lying on the sofa; I felt, at every word she spoke, a bad hour of +my past life slipping away from me. I watched the star of love rising in +my sky, and it seemed to me I was like a tree filled with sap that shakes +off its dry leaves in order to attire itself in new foliage. She sat +down at the piano and told me she was going to play an air by Stradella. +More than all else I love sacred music, and that morceau which she had +sung for me a number of times gave me great pleasure. + +"Yes," she said when she had finished, "but you are very much mistaken, +the air is mine, and I have made you believe it was Stradella's." + +"It is yours?" + +"Yes, and I told you it was by Stradella in order to see what you would +say of it. I never play my own music when I happen to compose any; but I +wanted to try it with you, and you see it has succeeded since you were +deceived." + +What a monstrous machine is man! What could be more innocent? A bright +child might have adopted that ruse to surprise his teacher. She laughed +heartily the while, but I felt a strange coldness as if a dark cloud had +settled on me; my countenance changed: + +"What is the matter?" she asked. "Are you ill?" + +"It is nothing; play that air again." + +While she was playing I walked up and down the room; I passed my hand +over my forehead as if to brush away the fog; I stamped my foot, shrugged +my shoulders at my own madness; finally I sat down on a cushion which had +fallen to the floor; she came to me. The more I struggled with the +spirit of darkness which had seized me, the thicker the night that +gathered around my head. + +"Verily," I said, "you lie so well? What! that air is yours? Is it +possible you can lie so fluently?" + +She looked at me with an air of astonishment. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +Unspeakable anxiety was depicted on her face. Surely she could not +believe me fool enough to reproach her for such a harmless bit of +pleasantry; she did not see anything serious in that sadness which I +felt; but the more trifling the cause, the greater the surprise. At +first she thought I, too, must be joking; but when she saw me growing +paler every moment as if about to faint, she stood with open lips and +bent body, looking like a statue. + +"God of Heaven!" she cried, "is it possible?" + +You smile, perhaps, reader, at this page; I who write it still shudder as +I think of it. Misfortunes have their symptoms as well as diseases, and +there is nothing so terrible at sea as a little black point on the +horizon. + +However, my dear Brigitte drew a little round table into the centre of +the room and brought out some supper. She had prepared it herself, and I +did not drink a drop that was not first borne to her lips. The blue +light of day, piercing through the curtains, illumined her charming face +and tender eyes; she was tired and allowed her head to fall on my +shoulder with a thousand terms of endearment. + +I could not struggle against such charming abandon, and my heart expanded +with joy; I believed I had rid myself of the bad dream that had just +tormented me, and I begged her pardon for giving way to a sudden impulse +which I myself did not understand. + +"My friend," I said, from the bottom of my heart, "I am very sorry that I +unjustly reproached you for a piece of innocent badinage; but if you love +me, never lie to me, even in the smallest matter, for a lie is an +abomination to me and I can not endure it." + +I told her I would remain until she was asleep. I saw her close her +beautiful eyes and heard her murmur something in her sleep as I bent over +and kissed her adieu. Then I went away with a tranquil heart, promising +myself that I would henceforth enjoy my happiness and allow nothing to +disturb it. + +But the next day Brigitte said to me, as if quite by chance: + +"I have a large book in which I have written my thoughts, everything that +has occurred to my mind, and I want you to see what I said of you the +first day I met you." + +We read together what concerned me, to which we added a hundred foolish +comments, after which I began to turn the leaves in a mechanical way. A +phrase written in capital letters caught my eye on one of the pages I was +turning; I distinctly saw some words that were insignificant enough, and +I was about to read the rest when Brigitte stopped me and said: + +"Do not read that." + +I threw the book on the table. + +"Why, certainly not," I said, "I did not think what I was doing." + +"Do you still take things seriously?" she asked, smiling, doubtless +seeing my malady coming on again; "take the book, I want you to read it." + +The book lay on the table within easy reach and I did not take my eyes +from it. I seemed to hear a voice whispering in my ear, and I thought I +saw, grimacing before me, with his glacial smile and dry face, Desgenais. +"What are you doing here, Desgenais?" I asked as if I really saw him. +He looked as he did that evening, when he leaned over my table and +unfolded to me his catechism of vice. + +I kept my eyes on the book and I felt vaguely stirring in my memory some +forgotten words of the past. The spirit of doubt hanging over my head +had injected into my veins a drop of poison; the vapor mounted to my head +and I staggered like a drunken man. What secret was Brigitte concealing +from me? I knew very well that I had only to bend over and open the +book; but at what place? How could I recognize the leaf on which my eye +had chanced to fall? + +My pride, moreover, would not permit me to take the book; was it indeed +pride? "O God!" I said to myself with a frightful sense of sadness, +"is the past a spectre? and can it come out of its tomb? Ah! wretch +that I am, can I never love?" + +All my ideas of contempt for women, all the phrases of mocking fatuity +which I had repeated as a schoolboy his lesson, suddenly came to my mind; +and strange to say, while formerly I did not believe in making a parade +of them, now it seemed that they were real, or at least that they had +been. + +I had known Madame Pierson four months, but I knew nothing of her past +life and had never questioned her about it. I had yielded to my love for +her with confidence and without reservation. I found a sort of pleasure +in taking her just as she was, for just what she seemed, while suspicion +and jealousy are so foreign to my nature that I was more surprised at +feeling them toward Brigitte than she was in discovering them in me. +Never in my first love nor in the affairs of daily life have I been +distrustful, but on the contrary bold and frank, suspecting nothing. +I had to see my mistress betray me before my eyes before I would believe +that she could deceive me. Desgenais himself, while preaching to me +after his manner, joked me about the ease with which I could be duped. +The story of my life was an incontestable proof that I was credulous +rather than suspicious; and when the words in that book suddenly struck +me, it seemed to me I felt a new being within me, a sort of unknown self; +my reason revolted against the feeling, and I did not dare ask whither +all this was leading me. + +But the suffering I had endured, the memory of the perfidy that I had +witnessed, the frightful cure I had imposed on myself, the opinions of my +friends, the corrupt life I had led, the sad truths I had learned, as +well as those that I had unconsciously surmised during my sad experience, +ending in debauchery, contempt of love, abuse of everything, that is what +I had in my heart although I did not suspect it; and at the moment when +life and hope were again being born within me, all these furies that were +being atrophied by time seized me by the throat and cried that they were +yet alive. + +I bent over and opened the book, then immediately closed it and threw it +on the table. Brigitte was looking at me; in her beautiful eyes was +neither wounded pride nor anger; nothing but tender solicitude, as if I +were ill. + +"Do you think I have secrets?" she asked, embracing me. + +"No," I replied, "I know nothing except that you are beautiful and that I +would die loving you." + +When I returned home to dinner I said to Larive: + +"Who is Madame Pierson?" + +He looked at me in astonishment. + +"You have lived here many years," I continued; "you ought to know better +than I. What do they say of her here? What do they think of her in the +village? What kind of life did she lead before I knew her? Whom did she +receive as her friends?" + +"In faith, sir, I have never seen her do otherwise than she does every +day, that is to say, walk in the valley, play picquet with her aunt, and +visit the poor. The peasants call her Brigitte la Rose; I have never +heard a word against her except that she goes through the woods alone at +all hours of the day and night; but that is when engaged in charitable +work. She is the ministering angel in the valley. As for those she +receives, there are only the cure and Monsieur de Dalens during +vacation." + +"Who is this Monsieur de Dalens?" + +"He owns the chateau at the foot of the mountain on the other side; he +only comes here for the chase." + +"Is he young?" + +"Yes." + +"Is he related to Madame Pierson?" + +"No, he was a friend of her husband." + +"Has her husband been dead long?" + +"Five years on All-Saints' day. He was a worthy man." + +"And has this Monsieur de Dalens paid court?" + +"To the widow? In faith--to tell the truth--" he stopped, embarrassed. + +"Well, will you answer me?" + +"Some say so and some do not--I know nothing and have seen nothing." + +"And you just told me that they do not talk about her in the country?" + +"That is all they have said, and I supposed you knew that." + +"In a word, yes or no?" + +"Yes, sir, I think so, at least." + +I arose from the table and walked down the road; Mercanson was there. +I expected he would try to avoid me; on the contrary he approached me. + +"Sir," he said, "you exhibited signs of anger which it does not become a +man of my character to resent. I wish to express my regret that I was +charged to communicate a message which appeared so unwelcome." + +I returned his compliment, supposing he would leave me at once; but he +walked along at my side. + +"Dalens! Dalens!" I repeated between my teeth, "who will tell me about +Dalens?" For Larive had told me nothing except what a valet might learn. +From whom had he learned it? From some servant or peasant. I must have +some witness who had seen Dalens with Madame Pierson and who knew all +about their relations. I could not get that Dalens out of my head, and +not being able to talk to any one else, I asked Mercanson about him. + +If Mercanson was not a bad man, he was either a fool or very shrewd, I +have never known which. It is certain that he had reason to hate me and +that he treated me as meanly as possible. Madame Pierson, who had the +greatest friendship for the cure, had almost come to think equally well +of the nephew. He was proud of it, and consequently jealous. It is not +love alone that inspires jealousy; a favor, a kind word, a smile from a +beautiful mouth, may arouse some people to jealous rage. + +Mercanson appeared to be astonished. I was somewhat astonished myself; +but who knows his own mind? + +At his first words I saw that the priest understood what I wanted to know +and had decided not to satisfy me. + +"How does it happen that you have known Madame Pierson so long and so +intimately (I think so, at least) and have not met Monsieur de Dalens? +But, doubtless, you have some reason unknown to me for inquiring about +him to-day. All I can say is that as far as I know, he is an honest man, +kind and charitable; he was, like you, very intimate with Madame Pierson; +he is fond of hunting and entertains handsomely. He and Madame Pierson +were accustomed to devote much of their time to music. He punctually +attended to his works of charity and, when--in the country, accompanied +that lady on her rounds, just as you do. His family enjoys an excellent +reputation at Paris; I used to find him with Madame Pierson whenever I +called; his manners were excellent. As for the rest, I speak truly and +frankly, as becomes me when it concerns persons of his merit. I believe +that he only comes here for the chase; he was a friend of her husband; he +is said to be rich and very generous; but I know nothing about it except +that--" + +With what tortured phrases was this dull tormentor teasing me. I was +ashamed to listen to him, yet not daring to ask a single question or +interrupt his vile insinuations. I was alone on the promenade; the +poisoned arrow of suspicion had entered my heart. I did not know whether +I felt more of anger or of sorrow. The confidence with which I had +abandoned myself to my love for Brigitte had been so sweet and so natural +that I could not bring myself to believe that so much happiness had been +built upon an illusion. That sentiment of credulity which had attracted +me to her seemed a proof that she was worthy. Was it possible that these +four months of happiness were but a dream? + +But after all, I thought, that woman has yielded too easily. Was there +not deception in that pretended anxiety to have me leave the country? +Is she not just like all the rest? Yes, that is the way they all do; +they attempt to escape in order to experience the happiness of being +pursued: it is the feminine instinct. Was it not she who confessed her +love by her own act, at the very moment I had decided that she would +never be mine? Did she not accept my arm the first day I met her? If +Dalens has been her lover, he probably is still; there is a certain sort +of liaison that has neither beginning nor end; when chance ordains a +meeting, it is resumed; when parted, it is forgotten. + +If that man comes here this summer, she will probably see him without +breaking with me. Who is this aunt, what mysterious life is this that +has charity for its cloak, this liberty that cares nothing for opinion? +May they not be adventurers, these two women with their little house, +their prudence, and their caution, which enable them to impose on people +so easily? Assuredly, for all I know, I have fallen into an affair of +gallantry when I thought I was engaged in a romance. But what can I do? +There is no one here who can help me except the priest, who does not care +to tell me what he knows, and his uncle, who will say still less. Who +will save me? How can I learn the truth? + +Thus spoke jealousy; thus, forgetting so many tears and all that I had +suffered, I had come at the end of two days to a point where I was +tormenting myself with the idea that Brigitte had yielded too easily. +Thus, like all who doubt, I brushed aside sentiment and reason to dispute +with facts, to attach myself to the letter and dissect my love. + +While absorbed in these reflections I was slowly approaching Madame +Pierson's. + +I found the gate open, and as I entered the garden I saw a light in the +kitchen. I thought of questioning the servant, I stepped to the window. + +A feeling of horror rooted me to the spot. The servant was an old woman, +thin and wrinkled and bent, a common deformity in people who have worked +in the fields. I found her shaking a cooking. utensil over a filthy +sink. A dirty candle fluttered in her trembling hand; about her were +pots, kettles, and dishes, the remains of dinner that a dog sniffed at, +from time to time, as though ashamed; a warm, nauseating odor emanated +from the reeking walls. When the old woman caught sight of me, she +smiled in a confidential way; she had seen me take leave of her mistress. + +I shuddered as I thought what I had come to seek in a spot so well suited +to my ignoble purpose. I fled from that old woman as from jealousy +personified, and as if the stench of her cooking had come from my heart. + +Brigitte was at the window watering her well-beloved flowers; a child of +one of her neighbors was lying in a cradle at her side, and she was +gently rocking the cradle with her disengaged hand; the child's mouth was +full of bonbons, and in gurgling eloquence it was addressing an +incomprehensible apostrophe to its nurse. I sat down near her and kissed +the child on its fat cheeks, as if to imbibe some of its innocence. +Brigitte accorded me a timid greeting; she could see her troubled image +in my eyes. For my part I avoided her glance; the more I admired her +beauty and her air of candor, the more I was convinced that such a woman +was either an angel or a monster of perfidy; I forced myself to recall +each one of Mercanson's words, and I confronted, so to speak, the man's +insinuations with her presence and her face. "She is very beautiful," I +said to myself, "and very dangerous if she knows how, to deceive; but I +will fathom her and I will sound her heart; and she shall know who I am." + +"My dear," I said after a long silence, "I have just given a piece of +advice to a friend who consulted me. He is an honest young man, and he +writes me that a woman he loves has another lover. He asks me what he +ought to do." + +"What reply did you make?" + +"Two questions: Is she pretty? Do you love her? If you love her, forget +her; if she is pretty and you do not love her, keep her for your +pleasure; there will always be time to quit her, if it is merely a matter +of beauty, and one is worth as much as another." + +Hearing me speak thus, Brigitte put down the child she was holding and +sat down at the other end of the room. There was no light in the room; +the moon, which was shining on the spot where she had been standing, +threw a shadow over the sofa on which she was now seated. The words I +had uttered were so heartless, so cruel, that I was dazed myself, and my +heart was filled with bitterness. The child in its cradle began to cry. +Then all three of us were silent while a cloud passed over the moon. + +A servant entered the room with a light and carried the child away. I +arose, Brigitte also; but she suddenly placed her hand on her heart and +fell to the floor. + +I hastened to her side; she had not lost consciousness and begged me not +to call any one. She explained that she was subject to violent +palpitation of the heart and had been troubled by fainting spells from +her youth; that there was no danger and no remedy. I kneeled beside her; +she sweetly opened her arms; I raised her head and placed it on my +shoulder. + +"Ah! my friend," she said, "I pity you." + +"Listen to me," I whispered in her ear, "I am a wretched fool, but I can +keep nothing on my heart. Who is this Monsieur de Dalens who lives on +the mountain and comes to see you?" + +She appeared astonished to hear me mention that name. + +"Dalens?" she replied. "He was my husband's friend." + +She looked at me as if to inquire: "Why do you ask?" It seemed to me +that her face wore a grieved expression. I bit my lips. "If she wants +to deceive me," I thought, "I was foolish to question her." + +Brigitte rose with difficulty; she took her fan and began to walk up and +down the room. + +She was breathing hard; I had wounded her. She was absorbed in thought +and we exchanged two or three glances that were almost cold. She stepped +to her desk, opened it, drew out a package of letters tied together with +a ribbon, and threw it at my feet without a word. + +But I was looking neither at her nor her letters; I had just thrown a +stone into the abyss and was listening to the echoes. For the first time +offended pride was depicted on Brigitte's face. There was no longer +either anxiety or pity in her eyes, and, just as I had come to feel +myself other than I had ever been, so I saw in her a woman I did not +know. + +"Read that," she said, finally. I stepped up to her and took her hand. + +"Read that, read that!" she repeated in freezing tones. + +I took the letters. At that moment I felt so persuaded of her innocence +that I was seized with remorse. + +"You remind me," she said, "that I owe you the story of my life; sit down +and you shall learn it. You will open these drawers, and you will read +all that I have written and all that has been written to me." + +She sat down and motioned me to a chair. I saw that she found it +difficult to speak. She was pale as death, her voice constrained, her +throat swollen. + +"Brigitte! Brigitte!" I cried, "in the name of heaven, do not speak! +God is my witness I was not born such as you see me; during my life I +have been neither suspicious nor distrustful. I have been undone, my +heart has been seared by the treachery of others. A frightful experience +has led me to the very brink of the precipice, and for a year I have seen +nothing but evil here below. God is my witness that, up to this day, I +did not believe myself capable of playing the ignoble role I have +assumed, the meanest role of all, that of a jealous lover. God is my +witness that I love you and that you are the only one in the world who +can cure me of the past. + +"I have had to do, up to this time, with women who deceived me, or who +were unworthy of love. I have led the life of a libertine; I bear on my +heart certain marks that will never be effaced. Is it my fault if +calumny, and base suggestion, to-day planted in a heart whose fibres were +still trembling with pain and ready to assimilate all that resembles +sorrow, have driven me to despair? I have just heard the name of a man I +have never met, of whose existence I was ignorant; I have been given to +understand that there has been between you and him a certain intimacy, +which proves nothing. I do not intend to question you; I have suffered +from it, I have confessed to you, and I have done you an irreparable +wrong. But rather than consent to what you propose, I will throw it all +in the fire. Ah! my friend, do not degrade me; do not attempt to justify +yourself, do not punish me for suffering. How could I, in the bottom of +my heart, suspect you of deceiving me?. No, you are beautiful and you +are true; a single glance;: of yours, Brigitte, tells me more than words +could utter;; and I am content. If you knew what horrors, what monstrous +deceit, the man who stands before you has seen! If you knew how he has +been treated, how they have mocked at all that is good, how they have +taken pains to teach him all that leads to doubt, to jealousy, to +despair! + +"Alas! alas! my dear mistress, if you knew whom you love! Do not +reproach me, but rather pity me; I must forget that other beings than you +exist. Who can know through what frightful trials, through what pitiless +suffering I have passed! I did not expect this, I did not anticipate +this moment. Since you have become mine, I realize what I have done; +I have felt, in kissing you, that my lips were not, like yours, +unsullied. In the name of heaven, help me live! God made me a better +man than the one you see before you." + +Brigitte held out her hands and caressed me tenderly. She begged me to +tell her all that had led to this sad scene. I spoke of what I had +learned from Larive, but did not dare confess that I had interviewed +Mercanson. She insisted that I listen to her explanation. M. de Dalens +had loved her; but he was a man of frivolous disposition, dissipated and +inconstant; she had given him to understand that, not wishing to remarry, +she could only request that he drop the role of suitor, and he had +yielded to her wishes with good grace; but his visits had become more +rare since that time, until now they had ceased altogether. She drew +from the bundle a certain letter which she showed me, the date of which +was recent; I could not help blushing as I found in it the confirmation +of all she had said; she assured me that she pardoned me, and exacted a +promise that in the future I would promptly tell her of any cause I might +have to suspect her. Our treaty was sealed with a kiss, and when I left +her we had both forgotten that M. de Dalens ever existed. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +UNCERTAINTY + +A kind of stagnant inertia, tempered with bitter joy, is characteristic +of debauchery. It is the sequence of a life of caprice, where nothing is +regulated according to the needs of the body, but everything according to +the fantasy of the mind, and one must be always ready to obey the behests +of the other. Youth and will can resist excess; but nature silently +avenges herself, and the day when she decides to repair her forces, the +will struggles to retard her work and abuses her anew. + +Finding about him then all the objects that were able to tempt him the +evening before, the man who is incapable of enjoying them looks down at +them with a smile of disgust. At the same time the objects which excite +his desire are never attained with sang-froid; all that the debauches +loves, he seizes; his life is a fever; his organs, in order to search the +depths of joy, are forced to avail themselves of the stimulant of +fermented liquors and sleepless nights; in the days of ennui and of +idleness he feels more keenly than other men the disparity between his +impotence and his temptations, and, in order to resist the latter, pride +must come to his aid and make him believe that he disdains them. It is +thus he spits on all the feasts and pleasures of his life, and so, +between an ardent thirst and a profound satiety, a feeling of tranquil +vanity leads him to his death. + +Although I was no longer a debauches, it came to pass that my body +suddenly remembered that it had been. It is easy to understand why I had +not felt the effects of it sooner. While mourning my father's death +every other thought was crowded from my mind. Then a passionate love +succeeded; while I was alone, ennui had nothing to struggle for. Sad or +gay, fair or foul, what matters it to him who is alone? + +As zinc, rarely found unmixed, drawn from the vein where it lies +sleeping, attracts to itself a ray of light when placed near green +leather, thus Brigitte's kisses gradually awakened in my heart what had +been buried there. At her side I perceived what I really was. + +There were days when I felt such a strange sensation in the mornings that +it is impossible for me to define it. I awakened without a motive, +feeling like a man who has spent the night in eating and drinking to the +point of exhaustion. All external sensations caused me insupportable +fatigue, all well-known objects of daily life repelled and annoyed me; +if I spoke it was in ridicule of what others thought or of what I thought +myself. Then, extended on the bed, as if incapable of any motion, +I dismissed any thought of undertaking whatever had been agreed upon the +evening before; I recalled all the tender and loving things I had said to +my mistress during my better moments, and was not satisfied until I had +spoiled and poisoned those memories of happy days. "Can you not forget +all that?" Brigitte would sadly inquire, "if there are two different men +in you, can you not, when the bad rouses himself, forget the good?" + +The patience with which Brigitte opposed these vagaries only served to +excite my sinister gayety. Strange that the man who suffers wishes to +make her whom he loves suffer! To lose control of one's self, is that +not the worst of evils? Is there anything more cruel for a woman than to +hear a man turn to derision all that is sacred and mysterious? Yet she +did not flee from me; she remained at my side, while in my savage humor I +insulted love and allowed insane ravings to escape from lips that were +still moist with her kisses. + +On such days, contrary to my usual inclination, I liked to talk of Paris +and speak of my life of debauchery as the most commendable thing in the +world. "You are nothing but a saint," I would laughingly observe; "you +do not understand what I say. There is nothing like those careless ones +who make love without believing in it." Was that not the same as saying +that I did not believe in it? + +"Very well," Brigitte replied, "teach me how to please you always. I am +perhaps as pretty as those mistresses whom you mourn; if I have not their +skill to divert you, I beg that you will instruct me. Act as if you did +not love me, and let me love you without saying anything about it. If I +am devoted to religion, I am also devoted to love. What can I do to make +you believe it?" + +Then she would stand before the mirror arraying herself as if for a +soiree, affecting a coquetry that she was far from feeling, trying to +adopt my tone, laughing and skipping about the room. "Am I to your +taste?" she would ask. "Which one of your mistresses do I resemble? Am +I beautiful, enough to make you forget that any one can believe in love? +Have I a sufficiently careless air to suit you?" Then, in the midst of +that factitious joy, she would turn her back and I could see her shudder +until the flowers she had placed in her hair trembled. I threw myself at +her feet. + +"Stop!" I cried, "you resemble only too closely that which you try to +imitate, that which my mouth has been so vile as to conjure up before +you. Lay aside those flowers and that dress. Let us wash away such +mimicry with a sincere tear; do not remind me that I am but a prodigal +son; I remember the past too well." + +But even this repentance was cruel, as it proved to her that the phantoms +in my heart were full of reality. In yielding to an impulse of horror I +merely gave her to understand that her resignation and her desire to +please me only served to call up an impure image. + +And it was true; I reached her side transported with joy, swearing that I +would regret my past life; on my knees I protested my respect for her; +then a gesture, a word, a trick of turning as she approached me, recalled +to my mind the fact that such and such a woman had made that gesture, had +used that word, had that same trick of turning. + +Poor devoted soul! What didst thou suffer in seeing me turn pale before +thee, in seeing my arms fall as though lifeless at my side! When the +kiss died on my lips, and the full glance of love, that pure ray of God's +light, fled from my eyes like an arrow turned by the wind! Ah! +Brigitte! what diamonds trickled from thine eyes! What treasures of +charity didst thou exhaust with patient hand! How pitiful thy love! + +For a long time good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularly; +I showed myself alternately cruel and scornful, tender and devoted, +insensible and haughty, repentant and submissive. The face of Desgenais, +which had at first appeared to me as though to warn me whither I was +drifting, was now constantly before me. On my days of doubt and +coldness, I conversed, so to speak, with him; often when I had offended +Brigitte by some cruel mockery I said to myself "If he were in my place +he would do as I do!" + +And then at other times, when putting on my hat to visit Brigitte, I +would look in my glass and say: "What is there so terrible about it, +anyway? I have, after all, a pretty mistress; she has given herself to +a libertine, let her take me for what I am." I reached her side with a +smile on my lips, I sank into a chair with an air of deliberate +insolence; then I saw Brigitte approach, her large eyes filled with +tenderness and anxiety; I seized her little hands in mine and lost myself +in an infinite dream. + +How name a thing that is nameless? Was I good or bad? Was I distrustful +or a fool? It is useless to reflect on it; it happened thus. + +One of our neighbors was a young woman whose name was Madame Daniel. She +possessed some beauty, and still more coquetry; she was poor, but tried +to pass for rich; she would come to see us after dinner and always played +a heavy game against us, although her losses embarrassed her; she sang, +but had no voice. In the solitude of that unknown village, where an +unkind fate had buried her, she was consumed with an uncontrollable +passion for pleasure. She talked of nothing but Paris, which she visited +two or three times a year. She pretended to keep up with the fashions, +and my dear Brigitte assisted her as best she could, while smiling with +pity. Her husband was employed by the government; once a year he would +take her to the house of the chief of his department, where, attired in +her best, the little woman danced to her heart's content. She would +return with shining eyes and tired body; she would come to us to tell of +her prowess, and her success in assaulting the masculine heart. The rest +of the time she read novels, never taking the trouble to look after her +household affairs, which were not always in the best condition. + +Whenever I saw her, I laughed at her, finding nothing so ridiculous as +the high life she thought she was leading. I would interrupt her +description of a ball to inquire about her husband and her father-in-law, +both of whom she detested, the one because he was her husband, and the +other because he was only a peasant; in short, we were always disputing +on some subject. + +In my evil moments I thought of paying court to her just for the sake of +annoying Brigitte. + +"You see," I said, "how perfectly Madame Daniel understands life! In her +present sprightly humor could one desire a more charming mistress?" + +I then paid her the most extravagant compliments; her senseless chatting +I described as unrestraint tempered by finesse, her pretentious +exaggerations as a natural desire to please; was it her fault that she +was poor? At least she thought of nothing but pleasure and confessed it +freely; she did not preach sermons herself, nor did she listen to them +from others; I went so far as to tell Brigitte that she ought to adopt +her as a model, and that she was just the kind of woman to please me. + +Poor Madame Daniel discovered signs of melancholy in Brigitte's eyes. +She was a strange creature, as good and sincere--when you could get +finery out of her head--as she was stupid when absorbed in such frivolous +affairs. On occasion she could be both good and stupid. One fine day, +when they were walking together, she threw herself into Brigitte's arms, +and told her that she had noticed I was beginning to pay court to her, +and that I had made certain proposals to her, the meaning of which was +not doubtful; but she knew that I was another's lover, and as for her, +whatever might happen, she would die rather than destroy the happiness of +a friend. Brigitte thanked her, and Madame Daniel, having set her +conscience at ease, considered it no sin to render me desolate by +languishing glances. + +In the evening, when she had gone, Brigitte, in a severe tone, told me +what had happened; she begged me to spare her such affronts in the +future. + +"Not that I attach any importance to such pleasantries," she said, "but +if you have any love for me, it seems to me it is useless to inform a +third party that there are times when you have not." + +"Is it possible," I replied with a smile, "that it is important? You see +very well that I was only joking, and that I did it only to pass away the +time." + +"Ah! my friend, my friend," said Brigitte, "it is a pity that you must +seek pastimes." + +A few days later I proposed that we go to the prefecture to see Madame +Daniel dance; she unwillingly consented. While she was arranging her +toilette, I sat near the window and reproached her for losing her former +cheerfulness. + +"What is the matter with you?" I asked. (I knew as well as she.) "Why +that morose air that never leaves you? In truth, you make our life quite +sad. I have known you when you were more joyous, more free and more +open; I am not flattered by the thought that I am responsible for the +change. But you have a cloistral disposition; you were born to live in a +convent." + +It was Sunday; as we were driving down the road Brigitte ordered the +carriage to stop in order to say good-evening to some friends, fresh and +vigorous country girls, who were going to dance at Tilleuls. When they +had gone on, Brigitte followed them with, longing eyes; her little rustic +dance was very dear to her; she dried her eyes with her handkerchief. + +We found Madame Daniel at the prefecture in high feather. I danced with +her so often that it excited comment; I paid her a thousand compliments +and she replied as best she could. + +Brigitte was near us, and her eyes never left us. I can hardly describe +what I felt; it was both pleasure and pain. I clearly saw that she was +jealous; but instead of being moved by it I did all I could to increase +her suffering. + +On the return I expected to hear her reproaches; she made none, but +remained silent for three days. When I came to see her she would greet +me kindly; then we would sit down facing each other, both of us +preoccupied, hardly exchanging a word. The third day she spoke, +overwhelmed me with bitter reproaches, told me that my conduct was +unreasonable, that she could not account for it except on the supposition +that I had ceased to love her; but she could not endure this life and +would resort to anything rather than submit to my caprices and coldness. +Her eyes were full of tears, and I was about to ask her pardon when some +words escaped her that were so bitter that my pride revolted. I replied +in the same tone, and our quarrel became violent. + +I told her that it was absurd to suppose that I could not inspire enough +confidence in my mistress to escape the necessity of explaining my every +action; that Madame Daniel was only a pretext; that she very well knew I +did not think of that woman seriously; that her pretended jealousy was +nothing but the expression of her desire for despotic power, and that, +moreover, if she had tired of this life, it was easy enough to put an end +to it. + +"Very well," she replied; "it is true that I do not recognize you as the +same man I first knew; you doubtless performed a little comedy to +persuade me that you loved me; you are tired of your role and can think +of nothing but abuse. You suspect me of deceiving you upon the first +word, and I am under no obligation to submit to your insults. You are no +longer the man I loved." + +"I know what your sufferings are," I replied. "I can not make a step +without exciting your alarm. Soon I shall not be permitted to address a +word to any one but you. You pretend that you have been abused in order +that you may be justified in offering insult; you accuse me of tyranny in +order that I may become your slave. Since I trouble your repose, I leave +you in peace; you will never see me again." + +We parted in anger, and I passed an entire day without seeing her. The +next night, toward midnight, I was seized by a feeling of melancholy that +I could not resist. I shed a torrent of tears; I overwhelmed myself with +reproaches that I richly deserved. I told myself that I was nothing but +a fool, and a cowardly fool at that, to make the noblest, the best of +creatures, suffer in this way. I ran to her to throw myself at her feet. + +Entering the garden, I saw that her room was lighted and a flash of +suspicion crossed my mind. "She does not expect me at this hour," I said +to myself; "who knows what she may be doing. I left her in tears +yesterday; I may find her ready to sing to-day and caring no more for me +than if I never existed. I must enter gently, in order to surprise her." + +I advanced on tiptoe, and the door being open, I could see Brigitte +without being seen. + +She was seated at her table and was writing in that same book that had +aroused my suspicions. She held in her left hand a little box of white +wood which she looked at from time to time and trembled. There was +something sinister in the quiet that reigned in the room. Her secretary +was open and several bundles of papers were carefully ranged in order. + +I made some noise at the door. She rose, went to the secretary, closed +it, then came to me with a smile: + +"Octave," she said, "we are two children. If you had not come here, I +should have gone to you. Pardon me, I was wrong. Madame Daniel comes to +dinner to-morrow; make me repent, if you choose, of what you call my +despotism. If you but love me I am happy; let us forget what is past and +let us not spoil our happiness." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +EXPLANATIONS + +But quarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliation; it +was attended, on Brigitte's part, by a mystery which frightened me at +first and then planted in my soul the seeds of constant dread. + +There developed in me, in spite of my struggles, the two elements of +misfortune which the past had bequeathed me: at times furious jealousy +attended by reproaches and insults; at other times a cruel gayety, an +affected cheerfulness, that mockingly outraged whatever I held most dear. +Thus the inexorable spectres of the past pursued me without respite; thus +Brigitte, seeing herself treated alternately as a faithless mistress and +a shameless woman, fell into a condition of melancholy that clouded our +entire life; and worst of all, that sadness even, the cause of which I +knew, was not the most burdensome of our sorrows. I was young and I +loved pleasure; that daily association with a woman older than I, who +suffered and languished, that face, more and more serious, which was +always before me, all this repelled my youth and aroused within me bitter +regrets for the liberty I had lost. + +One night we were passing through the forest in the beautiful light of +the moon, and both experienced a profound melancholy. Brigitte looked at +me in pity. We sat down on a rock near a wild gorge and passed two +entire hours there; her half-veiled eyes plunged into my soul, crossing a +glance from mine; then wandered to nature, to the heavens and the valley. + +"Ah! my dear child," she said, "how I pity you! You do not love me." + +To reach that rock we had to travel two leagues; two more in returning +makes four. Brigitte was afraid of neither fatigue nor darkness. We set +out at eleven at night, expecting to reach home some time in the morning. +When we went on long tramps she always dressed in a blue blouse and the +apparel of a man, saying that skirts were not made for bushes. She +walked before me in the sand with a firm step and such a charming +mingling of feminine delicacy and childlike innocence, that I stopped +every few moments to look at her. It seemed that, once started, she had +to accomplish a difficult but sacred task; she walked in front like a +soldier, her arms swinging, her voice ringing through the woods in song; +suddenly she would turn, come to me and kiss me. This was on the outward +journey; on the return she leaned on my arm; then more songs, +confidences, tender avowals in low tones, although we were alone, two +leagues from anywhere. I do not recall a single word spoken on the +return that was not of love or friendship. + +Another night we struck out through the woods, leaving the road which led +to the rock. Brigitte was tramping along so stoutly and her little +velvet cap on her light hair made her look so much like a resolute youth, +that I forgot she was a woman when there were no obstacles in our path. +More than once she was obliged to call me to her aid when I, without +thinking of her, had pushed on ahead. I can not describe the effect +produced on me in the clear night air, in the midst of the forest, by +that voice of hers, half-joyous and half-plaintive, coming, as it were, +from that little schoolboy body wedged in between roots and trunks of +trees, unable to advance. I took her in my arms. + +"Come, Madame," I cried, laughing, "you are a pretty little mountaineer, +but you are blistering your white hands, and in spite of your hobnailed +shoes, your stick and your martial air, I see that you must be carried." + +We arrived at the rock breathless; about my body was strapped a leather +belt to which was attached a wicker bottle. When we were seated on the +rock, my dear Brigitte asked for the bottle; I had lost it, as well as a +tinder-box which served another purpose: that was to read the +inscriptions on the guide-posts when we went astray, which occurred +frequently. At such times I would climb the posts, and read the half- +effaced inscription by the light of the tinder-box; all this in play, +like the children that we were. At a crossroad we would have to examine +not one guide-post but five or six until the right one was found. But +this time we had lost our baggage on the way. + +"Very well," said Brigitte, "we will pass the night here, as I am rather +tired. This rock will make a hard bed, but we can cover it with dry +leaves. Let us sit down and make the best of it." + +The night was superb; the moon was rising behind us; I looked at it over +my left shoulder. Brigitte was watching the lines of the wooded hills as +they began to outline themselves against the background of sky. As the +light flooded the copse and threw its halo over sleeping nature, +Brigitte's song became more gentle and more melancholy. Then she bent +over, and, throwing her arms around my neck, said: + +"Do not think that I do not understand your heart or that I would +reproach you for what you make me suffer. It is not your fault, my +friend, if you have not the power to forget your past life; you have +loved me in good faith and I shall never regret, although I should die +for it, the day I gave myself to you. You thought you were entering upon +a new life, and that with me you would forget the women who had deceived +you. Alas! Octave, I used to smile at that precocious experience which +you said you had been through, and of which I heard you boast like a +child who knows nothing of life. I thought I had but to will it, and all +that there was that was good in your heart would come to your lips with +my first kiss. You, too, believed it, but we were both mistaken. + +"Oh, my child! You have in your heart a plague that can not be cured; +that woman who deceived you, how you must have loved her! Yes, more than +you love me, alas! much more, since with all my poor love I can not +efface her image; she must have deceived you most cruelly, since it is in +vain that I am faithful! + +"And the others, those wretches who then poisoned your youth! The +pleasures they sold must have been terrible since you ask me to imitate +them! You remember them with me! Alas! my dear child, that is too +cruel. I like you better when you are unjust and furious, when you +reproach me for imaginary crimes and avenge on me the wrong done you by +others, than when you are under the influence of that frightful gayety, +when you assume that air of hideous mockery, when that mask of scorn +affronts my eyes. + +"Tell me, Octave, why that? Why those moments when you speak of love +with contempt and rail at the most sacred mysteries of love? What +frightful power over your irritable nerves has that life you have led, +that such insults should mount to your lips in spite of you? Yes, in +spite of you; for your heart is noble, you blush at your own blasphemy; +you love me too much, not to suffer when you see me suffer. Ah! I know +you now. The first time I saw you thus, I was seized with a feeling of +terror of which I can give you no idea. I thought you were only a roue, +that you had deliberately deceived me by feigning a love you did not +feel, and that I saw you such as you really were. O my friend! I +thought it was time to die; what a night I passed! You do not know my +life; you do not know that I who speak to you have had an experience as +terrible as yours. Alas! life is sweet only to those who do not know +life. + +"You are not, my dear Octave, the only man I have loved. There is hidden +in my heart a fatal story that I wish you to know. My father destined +me, when I was quite young, for the only son of an old friend. They were +neighbors and each owned a little domain of almost equal value. The two +families saw each other every day, and lived, so to speak, together. My +father died; my mother had been dead some time. I lived with the aunt +whom you know. A journey she was compelled to take forced her to confide +me to the care of my future father-in-law. He called me his daughter, +and it was so well known about the country that I was to marry his son +that we were allowed the greatest liberty together. + +"That young man, whose name you need not know, appeared to love me. What +had been friendship from infancy became love in time. He began to tell +me of the happiness that awaited us; he spoke of his impatience, I was +only one year younger than he; but he had made the acquaintance of a man +of dissipated habits who lived in the vicinity, a sort of adventurer, and +had listened to his evil suggestions. While I was yielding to his +caresses with the confidence of a child, he resolved to deceive his +father, and to abandon me after he had ruined me. + +"His father called us into his room one evening and, in the presence of +the family, set the day of our wedding. The very evening before that day +he had met me in the garden and had spoken to me of love with more force +than usual; he said that since the time was set, we were just the same as +married, and for that matter had been in the eyes of God, ever since our +birth. I have no other excuse to offer than my youth, my ignorance, +and my confidence in him. I gave myself to him before becoming his wife, +and eight days afterward he left his father's house. He fled with a +woman his new friend had introduced to him; he wrote that he had gone to +Germany and that we should never see him again. + +"That is, in a word, the story of my life; my husband knew it as you now +know it. I am proud, my child, and I have sworn that no man shall ever +make me again suffer what I suffered then. I saw you and forgot my oath, +but not my sorrow. You must treat me gently; if you are sick, I am also; +we must care for each other. You see, Octave, I, too, know what it is to +call up memories of the past. It inspires me at times with cruel terror; +I should have more courage than you, for perhaps I have suffered more. +It is my place to begin; my heart is not sure of itself, I am still very +feeble; my life in this village was so tranquil before you came! I had +promised myself that it should never change! All this makes me exacting. + +"Ah! well, it does not matter, I am yours. You have told me, in your +better moments, that Providence appointed me to watch over you as a +mother. Yes, when you make me suffer I do not look upon you as a lover, +but as a sick child, fretful and rebellious, that I must care for and +cure in order that I may always keep him and love him. May God give me +that power!" she added looking up to heaven. "May God who sees me, who +hears us, may the God of mothers and of lovers permit me to accomplish +that task! When I feel as if I should sink under it, when my pride +rebels, when my heart is breaking, when all my life--" + +She could not finish; her tears choked her. Oh, God! I saw her there on +her knees, her hands clasped on the rock; she swayed in the breeze as did +the bushes about us. Frail and sublime creature! she prayed for her +love. I raised her in my arms. + +"Oh! my only friend," I cried, "oh! my mistress, my mother, and my +sister! Pray also for me that I may be able to love you as you deserve. +Pray that I may have the courage to live; that my heart may be cleansed +in your tears; that it may become a holy offering before God and that we +may share it together." + +All was silent about us; above our heads spread the heavens resplendent +with stars. + +"Do you remember," I said, "do you remember the first day?" + +From that night we never returned to that spot. That rock was an altar +which has retained its purity; it is one of the visions of my life, and +it still passes before my eyes wreathed in spotless white. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BRIGITTE'S LOSS + +As I was crossing the public square one evening I saw two men standing +together; one of them said: + +"It appears to me that he has ill-treated her." + +"It is her fault," replied the other; "why choose such a man? He has +known only public women; she is paying the price of her folly." + +I advanced in the darkness to see who was speaking thus, and to hear more +if possible; but they passed on as soon as they spied me. + +I found Brigitte much disturbed; her aunt was seriously ill; she had time +for only a few words with me. I did not see her for an entire week; I +knew that she had summoned a physician from Paris; finally she sent for +me. + +"My aunt is dead," she said; "I lose the only one left me on earth, I am +now alone in the world, and I am going to leave the country." + +"Am I, then, nothing to you?" + +"Yes, my friend; you know that I love you, and I often believe that you +love me. But how can I count on you? I am your mistress, alas! but you +are not my lover. It is for you that Shakespeare has written these sad +words: 'Make thy doublet of changeable taffeta, for thy mind is a very +opal.' And I, Octave," she added, pointing to her mourning costume, "I am +reduced to a single color, and I shall not change it for a long time." + +"Leave the country if you choose; I will either kill myself or I will +follow you. Ah! Brigitte," I continued, throwing myself on my knees +before her, "you thought you were alone when your aunt died! That is the +most cruel punishment you could inflict on me; never have I so keenly +felt the misery of my love for you. You must retract those terrible +words; I deserve them, but they will kill me. Oh, God! can it be true +that I count for nothing in your life, or that I am an influence in your +life only because of the evil I have done you!" + +"I do not know," she said, "who is busying himself in our affairs; +certain insinuations, mixed with idle gossip, have been set afloat in the +village and in the neighboring country. Some say that I have been +ruined; others accuse me of imprudence and folly; others represent you as +a cruel and dangerous man. Some one has spied into our most secret +thoughts; things that I thought no one else knew, events in your life and +sad scenes to which they have led, are known to others; my poor aunt +spoke to me about it not long ago, and she knew it some time before +speaking to me. Who knows but that that has hastened her death? + +"When I meet my old friends in the street, they either treat me coldly, +or turn aside. Even my dear peasant girls, those good girls who love me +so much, shrug their shoulders when they see my place empty at the Sunday +afternoon balls. How has that come about? I do not know, nor do you, +I suppose; but I must go away, I can not endure it. And my aunt's death, +so sudden, so unexpected, above all, this solitude! this empty room! +Courage fails me; my friend, my friend, do not abandon me!" + +She wept; in an adjoining room I saw her household goods in disorder, +a trunk on the floor, everything indicating preparations for departure. +It was evident that, at the time of her aunt's death, Brigitte had tried +to go away without seeing me, but could not. She was so overwhelmed with +emotion that she could hardly speak; her condition was pitiful, and it +was I who had brought her to it. Not only was she unhappy, but she was +insulted in public, and the man who ought to be her support and her +consolation in such an hour was the cause of all her troubles. + +I felt the wrong I had done her so keenly that I was overcome with shame. +After so many promises, so much useless exaltation, so many plans and +hopes, what had I, in fact, accomplished in three months? I thought I +had a treasure in my heart, and out of it came nothing but malice, the +shadow of a dream, and the misfortune of a woman I adored. For the first +time I found myself really face to face with myself. Brigitte reproached +me for nothing; she had tried to go away and could not; she was ready to +suffer still. I suddenly asked myself whether I ought not to leave her, +whether it was not my duty to flee from her and rid her of the scourge of +my presence. + +I arose, and, passing into the next room, sat down on Brigitte's trunk. +There I leaned my head on my hand and sat motionless. I looked about me +at the confused piles of goods. Alas! I knew them all; my heart was not +so hardened that it could not be moved by the memories which they +awakened. I began to calculate all the harm I had done; I saw my dear +Brigitte walking under the lindens with her goat beside her. + +"O man!" I mused, "and by what right?--how dared you come to this house, +and lay hands on this woman? Who has ordained that she should suffer for +you? You array yourself in fine linen, and set out, sleek and happy, for +the home where your mistress languishes; you throw yourself upon the +cushions where she has just knelt in prayer, for you and for her, and you +gently stroke those delicate hands that still tremble. You think it no +evil to inflame a poor heart, and you perorate as warmly in your +deliriums of love as the wretched lawyer who comes with red eyes from a +suit he has lost. You play the infant prodigy in making sport of +suffering; you find it amusing to occupy your leisure moments in +committing murder by means of little pin pricks. + +"What will you say to the living God, when your work is finished? What +will become of the woman who loves you? Where will you fall while she +leans on you for support? With what face will you one day bury your pale +and wretched creature, just as she buried the last man who protected her? +Yes, yes, you will doubtless have to bury her, for your love kills and +consumes; you have devoted her to the Furies and it is she who appeases +them. If you follow that woman you will be the cause of her death. Take +care! her guardian angel hesitates; he has just knocked at the door of +this house, in order to frighten away a fatal and shameful passion! He +inspired Brigitte with the idea of flight; at this moment he may be +whispering in her ear his final warning. O assassin! O murderer! +Beware! it is a matter of life and death." + +Thus I communed with myself; then on the sofa I caught sight of a little +gingham dress, folded and ready to be packed in the trunk. It had been a +witness of our happy days. I took it up and examined it. + +"Must I leave you?" I said to it; "Must I lose you? O little dress, +would you go away without me?" + +No, I can not abandon Brigitte; in these circumstances it would be +cowardly. She has just lost her aunt, and is all alone; she is exposed +to the power of I know not what enemy. Can it be Mercanson? He may have +spoken of my conversation with him, and, seeing that I was jealous of +Dalens, may have guessed the rest. Assuredly he is the snake who has +been hissing about my well-beloved flower. I must punish him, and I must +repair the wrong I have done Brigitte. Fool that I am! I think of +leaving her, when I ought to consecrate my life to her, to the expiation +of my sins, to rendering her happy after the tears I have drawn from her +eyes-when I am her only support in the world, her only friend, her only +protector! when I ought to follow her to the end of the world, to shelter +her with my body, to console her for having loved me, for having given +herself to me! + +"Brigitte!" I cried, returning to her room, "wait an hour for me, and I +will return." + +"Where are you going?" she asked. + +"Wait for me," I replied, "do not set out without me. Remember the words +of Ruth: 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will +lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou +diest, will I die, and there will I be buried."' + +I left her precipitately, and rushed out to find Mercanson. I was told +that he had gone out, and I entered his house to wait for him. + +I sat in the corner of the room on a priest's chair before a dirty black +table. I was becoming impatient when I recalled my duel on account of my +first mistress. + +"I received a wound from a bullet and am still a fool," I said to myself. +"What have I come to do here? This priest will not fight; if I seek a +quarrel with him, he will say that his priestly robes forbid, and he will +continue his vile gossip when I have gone. Moreover, for what can I hold +him responsible? What is it that has disturbed Brigitte? They say that +her reputation has been sullied, that I ill-treat her, and that she ought +not to submit to it. What stupidity! That concerns no one; there is +nothing to do but allow them to talk; in such a case, to notice an insult +is to give it importance. + +"Is it possible to prevent provincials from talking about their +neighbors? Can any one prevent a gossip from maligning a woman who +loves? What measures can be taken to stop a public rumor? If they say +that I ill-treat her, it is for me--to prove the contrary by my conduct +with her, and not by violence. It would be as ridiculous to seek a +quarrel with Mercanson as to leave the country on account of gossip. +No, we must not leave the country; that would be a bad move; that would +be to say to all the world that there is truth in its idle rumors, and to +give excuse to the gossips. We must neither go away nor take any notice +of such things." + +I returned to Brigitte. A half hour had passed, and I had changed my +mind three times. I dissuaded her from her plans; I told her what I had +just done and why I had not carried out my first impulse. She listened +resignedly, yet she wished to go away; the house where her aunt had died +had become odious to her. Much effort and persuasion on my part were +required to get her to consent to remain; finally I accomplished it. +We repeated that we would despise the world, that we would yield nothing, +that we would not change our manner of life. I swore that my love should +console her for all her sorrows, and she pretended to hope for the best. +I told her that this circumstance had so enlightened me in the matter of +the wrongs I had done her, that my conduct would prove my repentance, +that I would drive from me as a phantom all the evil that remained in my +heart; that hence forth she should not be offended either by my pride or +by my caprices; and thus, sad and patient, her arms around my neck, she +yielded obedience to the pure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash +of reason. + +One day I saw a little chamber she called her oratory; there was no +furniture except a prie-dieu and a little altar with a cross and some +vases of flowers. As for the rest, the walls and curtains were as white +as snow. She shut herself up in that room at times, but rarely since I +had known her. + +I stepped to the door and saw Brigitte seated on the floor in the middle +of the room, surrounded by the flowers she was throwing here and there. +She held in her hand a little wreath that appeared to be made of dried +grass, and she was breaking it in pieces. + +"What are you doing?" I asked. + +She trembled and stood up. + +"It is nothing but a child's plaything," she said; "it is a rose wreath +that has faded here in the oratory; I have come here to change my +flowers, as I have not attended to them for some time." + +Her voice trembled, and she appeared to be about to faint. I recalled +that name of Brigitte la Rose that I had heard given her. I asked her +whether it was not her crown of roses that she had just broken thus. + +"No," she replied, turning pale. + +"Yes," I cried, "yes, on my life! Give me the pieces." + +I gathered them up and placed them on the altar, then I was silent, my +eyes fixed on the offering. + +"Was I not right," she asked, "if it was my crown, to take it from the +wall where it has hung so long? + +"Of what use are these remains? Brigitte la Rose is no more, nor the +flowers that baptized her." She went out. I heard her sobs, and the +door closed on me; I fell on my knees and wept bitterly. When I returned +to her room, I found her waiting for me; dinner was ready. I took my +place in silence, and not a word was said of what was in our hearts. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A TORTURED SOUL + +It was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateau my +conversation with him about Dalens and the suspicions that, in spite of +myself, I had allowed him clearly to see. Every one knows how bad news +travels in the provinces, flying from mouth to mouth and growing as it +flies; that is what had happened in this case. + +Brigitte and I found ourselves face to face with each other in a new +position. However feebly she may have tried to flee, she had +nevertheless made the attempt. It was on account of my prayers that +she remained; there was an obligation implied. I was under oath not +to grieve her either by my jealousy or my levity; every thoughtless or +mocking word that escaped me was a sin, every sorrowful glance from her +was a reproach acknowledged and merited. + +Her simple good-nature gave a charm even to solitude; she could see me +now at all hours without resorting to any precaution. Perhaps she +consented to this arrangement in order to prove to me that she valued her +love more highly than her reputation; she seemed to regret having shown +that she cared for the representations of malice. At any rate, instead +of making any attempt to disarm criticism or thwart curiosity, we lived +the freest kind of life, more regardless of public opinion than ever. + +For some time I kept my word, and not a cloud troubled our life. +These were happy days, but it is not of these that I would speak. + +It was said everywhere about the country that Brigitte was living +publicly with a libertine from Paris; that her lover ill-treated her, +that they spent their time quarrelling, and that she would come to a bad +end. As they had praised Brigitte for her conduct in the past, so they +blamed her now. There was nothing in her past life, even, that was not +picked to pieces and misrepresented. Her lonely tramps over the +mountains, when engaged in works of charity, suddenly became the subject +of quibbles and of raillery. They spoke of her as of a woman who had +lost all human respect and who deserved the frightful misfortunes she was +drawing down on her head. + +I had told Brigitte that it was best to let them talk and pay no +attention to them; but the truth is, it became insupportable to me. +I sometimes tried to catch a word that could be construed as an insult +and to demand an explanation. I listened to whispered conversations in +a salon where I was visiting, but could hear nothing; in order to do us +better justice they waited until I had gone. I returned to Brigitte and +told her that all these stories were mere nonsense; that it was foolish +to notice them; that they could talk about us as much as they pleased and +we would care nothing about it. + +Was I not terribly mistaken? If Brigitte was imprudent, was it not my +place to be cautious and ward off danger? On the contrary, I took, so +to speak, the part of the world against her. + +I began by indifference; I was soon to grow malignant. + +"It is true," I said, "that they speak evil of your nocturnal excursions. +Are you sure that they are wrong? Has nothing happened in those romantic +grottoes and by-paths in the forest? Have you never accepted the arm of +an unknown as you accepted mine? Was it merely charity that served as +your divinity in that beautiful temple of verdure that you visited so +bravely?" + +Brigitte's glance when I adopted this tone I shall never forget; +I shuddered at it myself. "But, bah!" I thought, "she would do the same +thing that my other mistress did--she would point me out as a ridiculous +fool, and I should pay for it all in the eyes of the public." + +Between the man who doubts and the man who denies there is only a step. +All philosophy is akin to atheism. Having told Brigitte that I suspected +her past conduct, I began to regard it with real suspicion. + +I came to imagine that Brigitte was deceiving me, she who never left me +at any hour of the day; I sometimes planned long absences in order to +test her, as I supposed; but in truth it was only to give myself some +excuse for suspicion and mockery. And then I took pleasure in observing +that I had outgrown my foolish jealousy, which was the same as saying +that I no longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of her. + +At first I kept such thoughts to myself, but soon found pleasure in +revealing them to Brigitte. We had gone out for a walk: + +"That dress is pretty," I said, "such and such a girl, belonging to one +of my friends, has one like it." + +We were now seated at table. + +"Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; you +promised, you know, to imitate her." + +She sat down at the piano. + +"Ah! pardon me, but will you play that waltz that was so popular last +winter? That will remind me of happy times." + +Reader, this lasted six months: for six long months Brigitte, +scandalized, exposed to the insults of the world, had to endure from me +all the wrongs that a wrathful and cruel libertine can inflict on woman. + +After these distressing scenes, in which my own spirit exhausted itself +in suffering and in painful contemplation of the past; after recovering +from that frenzy, a strange access of love, an extreme exaltation, led me +to treat my mistress like an idol, or a divinity. A quarter of an hour +after insulting her I was on my knees before her; when I was not accusing +her of some crime, I was begging her pardon; when I was not mocking, I +was weeping. Then, seized by a delirium of joy, I almost lost my reason +in the violence of my transports; I did not know what to do, what to say, +what to think, in order to repair the evil I had done. I took Brigitte +in my arms, and made her repeat a hundred times that she loved me and +that she pardoned me. I threatened to expiate my evil deeds by blowing +out my brains if I ever ill-treated her again. These periods of +exaltation sometimes lasted several hours, during which time I exhausted +myself in foolish expressions of love and esteem. Then morning came; day +appeared; I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and I awakened with a +smile on my lips, mocking at everything, believing in nothing. + +During these terrible hours, Brigitte appeared to forget that there was a +man in me other than the one she saw. When I asked her pardon she +shrugged her shoulders as if to answer: "Do you not know that I pardon +you?" She would not complain as long as a spark of love remained in my +heart; she assured me that all was good and sweet coming from me, insults +as well as tears. + +And yet as time passed my evil grew worse, my moments of malignity and +irony became more sombre and intractable. A real physical fever attended +my outbursts of passion; I awakened trembling in every limb and covered +with cold sweat. Brigitte, too, although she did not complain of it, +began to fail in health. When I started to abuse her she would leave me +without a word and lock herself in her room. Thank God, I never raised +my hand against her; in my most violent moments I would rather have died +than touched her. + +One evening the rain was driving against the windows; we were alone, the +curtains were closed. + +"I am in happy humor this evening," I said to Brigitte, "and yet the +horrible weather saddens me. Let us seek some diversion in spite of the +storm." + +I arose and lighted all the candles I could find. The room was small and +the illumination brilliant. At the same time a bright fire threw out a +stifling heat: + +"Come," I said, "what shall we do while waiting for supper?" + +I happened to remember that it was carnival time in Paris I seemed to see +the carriages filled with masks crossing the boulevards. I heard the +shouts of the crowds before the theatres; I saw the lascivious dances, +the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all my youth bounded in my +heart. + +"Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for our own +amusement, but what does that matter? If you have no costumes we can +make them, and pass away the time agreeably." + +We searched in the closet for dresses, cloaks, and artificial flowers; +Brigitte, as usual, was patient and cheerful. We both arranged a sort of +travesty; she wished to dress my hair herself; we painted and powdered +ourselves freely; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that had +belonged, I believe, to the aunt. In an hour we could not recognize each +other. The evening passed in singing, in a thousand follies; toward one +o'clock in the morning it was time for supper. + +We had ransacked all the closets; there was one near me that remained +open. While sitting down at the table, I perceived on a shelf the book +of which I have already spoken, the one in which Brigitte was accustomed +to write. + +"Is it not a collection of your thoughts?" I asked, stretching out my +hand and taking the book down. "If I may, allow me to look at it." + +I opened the book, although Brigitte made a gesture as if to prevent me; +on the first page I read these words: + +"This is my last will and testament." + +Everything was written in a firm hand; I found first a faithful recital +of all that Brigitte had suffered on my account since she had been my +mistress. She announced her firm determination to endure everything, +so long as I loved her, and to die when I left her. Her daily life was +recorded there; what she had lost, what she had hoped, the isolation she +experienced even in my presence, the barrier that was growing up between +us; the cruelties I subjected her to in return for her love and her +resignation. All this was written down without a complaint; on the +contrary she undertook to justify me. Then followed personal details, +the disposition of her effects. She would end her life by poison, she +wrote. She would die by her own hand and expressly forbade that her +death should be charged to me. "Pray for him!" were her last words. + +I found in the closet on the same shelf a little box that I remembered I +had seen before, filled with a fine bluish powder resembling salt. + +"What is this?" I asked of Brigitte, raising the box to my lips. She +gave vent to a scream of terror and threw herself upon me. + +"Brigitte," I said, "bid me farewell. I shall carry this box away with +me; you will forget me, and you will live if you wish to save me from +becoming a murderer. I shall set out this very night; you will agree +with me that God demands it. Give me a last kiss." + +I bent over her and kissed her forehead. + +"Not yet!" she cried, in anguish. But I repulsed her and left the room. + +Three hours later I was ready to set out, and the horses were at the +door. It was still raining when I entered the carriage. At the moment +the carriage was starting, I felt two arms about my body and a sob which +spent itself on my lips. + +It was Brigitte. I did all I could to persuade her to remain; I ordered +the driver to stop; I even told her that I would return to her when time +should have effaced the memory of the wrongs I had done her. I forced +myself to prove to her that yesterday was the same as to-day, to-day as +yesterday; I repeated that I could only render her unhappy, that to +attach herself to me was but to make an assassin of me. I resorted to +prayers, to vows, to threats even; her only reply was: "You are going +away; take me, let us take leave of the country, let us take leave of the +past. We can not live here; let us go elsewhere, wherever you please; +let us go and die together in some remote corner of the world. We must +be happy, I by you, you by me." + +I kissed her with such passion that I feared my heart would burst. + +"Drive on!" I cried to the coachman. We threw ourselves into each +other's arms, and the horses set out at a gallop. + + + + +ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + +Adieu, my son, I love you and I die +All philosophy is akin to atheism +And when love is sure of itself and knows response +Can any one prevent a gossip +Each one knows what the other is about to say +Good and bad days succeeded each other almost regularly +Great sorrows neither accuse nor blaspheme--they listen +Happiness of being pursued +He who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow +I neither love nor esteem sadness +It is a pity that you must seek pastimes +Man who suffers wishes to make her whom he loves suffer +No longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of her +Pure caprice that I myself mistook for a flash of reason +Quarrel had been, so to speak, less sad than our reconciliation +She pretended to hope for the best +Terrible words; I deserve them, but they will kill me +There are two different men in you +We have had a mass celebrated, and it cost us a large sum +What human word will ever express thy slightest caress +What you take for love is nothing more than desire + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Child of a Century, v2 +by Alfred de Musset + diff --git a/3940.zip b/3940.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a2f3cbf --- /dev/null +++ b/3940.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6dda43a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #3940 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3940) |