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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confession of a Child of the Century, by 
+Alfred de Musset
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Confession of a Child of the Century
+
+Author: Alfred de Musset
+
+Posting Date: November 5, 2011 [EBook #9869]
+Release Date: February, 2006
+First Posted: October 25, 2003
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONFESSION OF CHILD OF CENTURY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Dagny, and by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                         THE CONFESSION OF
+
+                      A CHILD OF THE CENTURY
+
+                                BY
+
+                         ALFRED DE MUSSET
+
+
+                          Translated by
+
+                          Kendall Warren
+
+
+
+                              PART I
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE life must be lived before the history of a life can be written, hence
+it is not my life that I am writing.
+
+Having been attacked in early youth by an abominable moral malady, I
+relate what has happened to me during three years. If I were the only
+victim of this disease, I would say nothing, but as there are many others
+who suffer from the same evil, I write for them, although I am not sure
+that they will pay any attention to it; in case my warning is unheeded, I
+shall still have derived this benefit from my words in having cured
+myself, and, like the fox caught in a trap, I shall have devoured my
+captive foot.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+DURING the wars of the Empire, while the husbands and brothers were in
+Germany, the anxious mothers brought forth an ardent, pale, nervous
+generation. Conceived between two battles, educated amidst the noises of
+war, thousands of children looked about them with a somber eye while
+testing their puny muscles. From time to time their blood-stained fathers
+would appear, raise them on their gold-laced bosoms, then place them on
+the ground and remount their horses.
+
+The life of Europe was centered in one man; all were trying to fill their
+lungs with the air which he had breathed. Every year France presented
+that man with three hundred thousand of her youth; it was the tax paid to
+Caesar, and, without that troop behind him, he could not follow his
+fortune. It was the escort he needed that he might traverse the world,
+and then perish in a little valley in a deserted island, under the
+weeping willow.
+
+Never had there been so many sleepless nights as in the time of that man;
+never had there been seen, hanging over the ramparts of the cities, such
+a nation of desolate mothers; never was there such a silence about those
+who spoke of death. And yet there was never such joy, such life, such
+fanfares of war, in all hearts. Never was there such pure sunlight as
+that which dried all this blood. God made the sun for this man, they
+said, and they called it the Sun of Austerlitz. But he made this sunlight
+himself with his ever-thundering cannons which dispelled all clouds but
+those which succeed the day of battle.
+
+It was this air of the spotless sky, where shone so much glory, where
+glistened so many swords, that the youth of the time breathed. They well
+knew that they were destined to the hecatomb; but they regarded Murat as
+invulnerable, and the emperor had been seen to cross a bridge where so
+many bullets whistled that they wondered if he could die. And even if one
+must die, what did it matter? Death itself was so beautiful, so noble, so
+illustrious, in his battle-scarred purple! It borrowed the color of hope,
+it reaped so many ripening harvests that it became young, and there was
+no more old age. All the cradles of France, as all its tombs, were armed
+with shield and buckler; there were no more old men, there were corpses
+or demi-gods.
+
+Nevertheless, the immortal emperor stood one day on a hill watching seven
+nations engaged in mutual slaughter; as he did not know whether he would
+be master of all the world or only half, Azrael passed along, touched him
+with the tip of his wing, and pushed him into the Ocean. At the noise of
+his fall, the dying powers sat up in their beds of pain; and stealthily
+advancing with furtive tread, all the royal spiders made the partition of
+Europe, and the purple of Caesar became the frock of Harlequin.
+
+Just as the traveler, sure of his way, hastens night and day through rain
+and sunlight, regardless of vigils or of dangers; but when he has reached
+his home and seated himself before the fire, he is seized upon by a
+feeling of extreme lassitude and can hardly drag himself to his bed: thus
+France, the widow of Caesar, suddenly felt her wound. She fell through
+sheer exhaustion, and lapsed into a sleep so profound that her old kings,
+believing her dead, wrapped about her a white shroud. The old army, its
+hair whitened in service, returned exhausted with fatigue, and the
+hearths of deserted castles sadly flickered into life.
+
+Then the men of the Empire, who had been through so much, who had lived
+in such carnage, kissed their emaciated wives and spoke of their first
+love; they looked into the fountains of their natal prairies and found
+themselves so old, so mutilated, that they bethought themselves of their
+sons, in order that they might close their eyes in peace. They asked
+where they were; the children came from the schools, and seeing neither
+sabers, nor cuirasses, neither infantry nor cavalry, they asked in turn
+where were their fathers. They were told that the war was ended, that
+Caesar was dead, and that the portraits of Wellington and of Blucher were
+suspended in the antechambers of the consulates and the embassies, with
+these two words beneath: _Salvatoribus mundi_.
+
+Then there seated itself on a world in ruins an anxious youth. All the
+children were drops of burning blood which had inundated the earth; they
+were born in the bosom of war, for war. For fifteen years they had
+dreamed of the snows of Moscow and of the sun of the pyramids. They had
+not gone beyond their native towns; but they were told that through each
+gate of these towns lay the road to a capital of Europe. They had in
+their heads all the world; they beheld the earth, the sky, the streets
+and the highways; all these were empty, and the bells of parish churches
+resounded faintly in the distance.
+
+Pale fantoms shrouded in black robes, slowly traversed the country;
+others knocked at the doors of houses, and when admitted, drew from their
+pockets large well-worn documents with which they drove out the tenants.
+From every direction came men still trembling with the fear which had
+seized them when they fled twenty years before. All began to urge their
+claims, disputing loudly and crying for help; it was strange that a
+single death should attract so many crows.
+
+The king of France was on his throne, looking here and there to see if he
+could perchance find a bee in the royal tapestry. Some held out their
+hats, and he gave them money; others showed him a crucifix, and he kissed
+it; others contented themselves with pronouncing in his ear great names
+of powerful families, and he replied to these by inviting them into his
+_grand' salle_, where the echoes were more sonorous; still others showed
+him their old cloaks, when they had carefully effaced the bees, and to
+these he gave new apparel.
+
+The children saw all this, thinking that the spirit of Caesar would soon
+land at Cannes and breathe upon this larva; but the silence was unbroken
+and they saw floating in the sky only the paleness of the lily. When
+these children spoke of glory, they were answered: "Become priests;" when
+they spoke of hope, of love, of power, of life: "Become priests."
+
+And yet there mounted the rostrum a man who held in his hand a contract
+between the king and the people; he began by saying that glory was a
+beautiful thing, and ambition and war as well; but there was something
+still more beautiful, and it was called liberty.
+
+The children raised their heads and remembered that their grandfathers
+had spoken thus. They remembered having seen in certain obscure corners
+of the paternal home mysterious marble busts with long hair and a Latin
+inscription; they remembered seeing their grandsires shake their heads
+and speak of a stream of blood more terrible than that of the emperor.
+There was something in that word liberty that made their hearts beat with
+the memory of a terrible past and the hope of a glorious future.
+
+They trembled at the word; but returning to their homes they encountered
+on the street three panniers which were being borne to Clamart; there
+were, within, three young men who had pronounced that word liberty too
+distinctly.
+
+A strange smile hovered on their lips at that sad sight; but other
+speakers, mounted on the rostrum, began to publicly estimate what
+ambition had cost and how very dear was glory; they pointed out the
+horror of war and called the hecatombs butcheries. And they spoke so
+often and so long that all human illusions, like the trees in autumn,
+fell leaf by leaf about them, and those who listened passed their hands
+over their foreheads as though awakened from a feverish dream.
+
+Some said: "The emperor has fallen because the people wished no more of
+him;" others added: "The people wished the king; no, liberty; no, reason;
+no, religion; no, the English constitution; no, absolutism;" and the last
+one said: "No, none of these things, but repose."
+
+Three elements entered into the life which offered itself to these
+children: behind them a past forever destroyed, moving uneasily on its
+ruins with all the fossils of centuries of absolutism; before them the
+aurora of an immense horizon, the first gleams of the future; and between
+these two worlds--something like the Ocean which separates the old world
+from Young America, something vague and floating, a troubled sea filled
+with wreckage, traversed from time to time by some distant sail or some
+ship breathing out a heavy vapor; the present, in a word, which separates
+the past from the future, which is neither the one nor the other, which
+resemble both, and where one can not know whether, at each step, one is
+treading on a seed or a piece of refuse.
+
+It was in this chaos that choice must be made; this was the aspect
+presented to children full of spirit and of audacity, sons of the Empire
+and grandsons of the Revolution.
+
+As for the past, they would none of it, they had no faith in it; the
+future, they loved it, but how? As Pygmalion loved Galatea: it was for
+them a lover in marble and they waited for the breath of life to animate
+that breast, for the blood to color those veins.
+
+There remained then, the present, the spirit of the time, angel of the
+dawn who is neither night nor day; they found him seated on a lime sack
+filled with bones, clad in the mantle of egoism, and shivering in
+terrible cold. The anguish of death entered into the soul at the sight of
+that specter, half mummy and half fetus; they approached it as the
+traveler who is shown at Strasburg the daughter of an old count of
+Sarvenden, embalmed in her bride's dress: that childish skeleton makes
+one shudder, for her slender and livid hand wears the wedding-ring and
+her head falls into dust in the midst of orange blossoms.
+
+As upon the approach of a tempest there passes through the forests a
+terrible sound which makes all the trees shudder, to which profound
+silence succeeds, thus had Napoleon, in passing, shaken the world; kings
+felt their crowns vacillate in the storm and, raising their hands to
+steady them, they found only their hair, bristling with terror. The pope
+had traveled three hundred leagues to bless him in the name of God and to
+crown him with the diadem; but Napoleon had taken it from his hands. Thus
+everything trembled in that dismal forest of old Europe; then silence
+succeeded.
+
+It is said that when you meet a mad dog if you keep quietly on your way
+without turning, the dog will merely follow you a short distance growling
+and showing his teeth; but if you allow yourself to be frightened into a
+movement of terror, if you but make a sudden step, he will leap at your
+throat and devour you; when the first bite has been taken there is no
+escaping him.
+
+In European history it has often happened that a sovereign has made that
+movement of terror and his people have devoured him; but if one had done
+it, all had not done it at the same time, that is to say, one king had
+disappeared, but not all royal majesty. Before the sword of Napoleon
+majesty made this movement, this gesture which loses everything, and not
+only majesty, but religion, nobility, all power both human and divine.
+
+Napoleon dead, human and divine power were re-established, but belief in
+them no longer existed. A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what
+is possible, for the mind always goes farther. It is one thing to say:
+"That may be" and another thing to say: "That has been;" it is the first
+bite of the dog.
+
+The deposition of Napoleon was the last flicker of the lamp of despotism;
+it destroyed and it parodied kings as Voltaire the Holy Scripture. And
+after him was heard a great noise: it was the stone of St. Helena which
+had just fallen on the ancient world. Immediately there appeared in the
+heavens the cold star of reason, and its rays, like those of the goddess
+of the night, shedding light without heat, enveloped the world in a livid
+shroud.
+
+There had been those who hated the nobles, who cried out against priests,
+who conspired against kings; abuses and prejudices had been attacked; but
+all that was not so great a novelty as to see a smiling people. If a
+noble or a priest or a sovereign passed, the peasants who had made war
+possible began to shake their heads and say: "Ah! when we saw this man at
+such a time and place he wore a different face." And when the throne and
+altar were mentioned, they replied: "They are made of four planks of
+wood; we have nailed them together and torn them apart." And when some
+one said: "People, you have recovered from the errors which led you
+astray; you have recalled your kings and your priests," they replied: "We
+have nothing to do with those prattlers." And when some one said:
+"People, forget the past, work and obey," they arose from their seats and
+a dull rumbling could be heard. It was the rusty and notched saber in the
+corner of the cottage chimney. Then they hastened to add: "Then keep
+quiet, at least; if no one harms you, do not seek to harm." Alas! they
+were content with that.
+
+But youth was not content. It is certain that there are in man two occult
+powers engaged in a death struggle: the one, clear-sighted and cold, is
+concerned with reality, calculation, weight, and judges the past; the
+other is thirsty for the future and eager for the unknown. When passion
+sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning him of his danger; but
+when man listens to the voice of reason, when he stops at her request and
+says: "What a fool I am; where am I going?" passion calls to him: "And
+must I die?"
+
+A feeling of extreme uneasiness began to ferment in all young hearts.
+Condemned to inaction by the powers which governed the world, delivered
+to vulgar pedants of every kind, to idleness and to ennui, the youth saw
+the foaming billows which they had prepared to meet, subside. All these
+gladiators, glistening with oil, felt in the bottom of their souls an
+insupportable wretchedness. The richest became libertines; those of
+moderate fortune followed some profession and resigned themselves to the
+sword or to the robe. The poorest gave themselves up with cold enthusiasm
+to great thoughts, plunged into the frightful sea of aimless effort. As
+human weakness seeks association and as men are herds by nature, politics
+became mingled with it. There were struggles with the _garde du corps_ on
+the steps of the legislative assembly; at the theater, Talma wore a
+peruke which made him resemble Caesar; every one flocked to the burial of
+a liberal deputy.
+
+But of the members of the two parties there was not one who, upon
+returning home, did not bitterly realize the emptiness of his life and
+the feebleness of his hands.
+
+While life outside was so colorless and so mean, the interior life of
+society assumed a somber aspect of silence; hypocrisy ruled in all
+departments of conduct; English ideas of devotion, gaiety even, had
+disappeared. Perhaps Providence was already preparing new ways, perhaps
+the herald angel of future society was already sowing in the hearts of
+women the seeds of human independence. But it is certain that a strange
+thing suddenly happened: in all the salons of Paris the men passed to one
+side and the women to the other; and thus, the one clad in white like a
+bride and the other in black like an orphan began to take measurements
+with the eye.
+
+Let us not be deceived: that vestment of black which the men of our time
+wear is a terrible symbol; before coming to this, the armor must have
+fallen piece by piece and the embroidery flower by flower. Human reason
+has overthrown all illusions; but it bears in itself sorrow, in order
+that it may be consoled.
+
+The customs of students and artists, those customs so free, so beautiful,
+so full of youth, began to experience the universal change. Men in taking
+leave of women whispered the word which wounds to the death: contempt.
+They plunged into the dissipation of wine and courtesans. Students and
+artists did the same; love was treated as glory and religion: it was an
+old illusion. The grisette, that class so dreamy, so romantic, so tender,
+and so sweet in love, abandoned herself to the counting-house and to the
+shop. She was poor and no one loved her; she wanted dresses and hats and
+she sold herself. O, misery! the young man who ought to love her, whom
+she loved, who used to take her to the woods of Verrieres and
+Romainville, to the dances on the lawn, to the suppers under the trees;
+he who used to talk with her as she sat near the lamp in the rear of the
+shop on the long winter evenings; he who shared her crust of bread
+moistened with the sweat of her brow, and her love at once sublime and
+poor; he, that same man, after having abandoned her, finds her after a
+night of orgie, pale and leaden, forever lost, with hunger on her lips
+and prostitution in her heart.
+
+About this time two poets, whose genius was second only to that of
+Napoleon, consecrated their lives to the work of collecting all the
+elements of anguish and of grief scattered over the universe. Goethe, the
+patriarch of a new literature, after having painted in "Werther" the
+passion which leads to suicide, traced in his "Faust" the most somber
+human character which has ever represented evil and unhappiness. His
+writings began to pass from Germany into France. From his studio,
+surrounded by pictures and statues, rich, happy and at ease, he watched
+with a paternal smile, his gloomy creations marching in dismal procession
+across the frontiers of France. Byron replied to him by a cry of grief
+which made Greece tremble, and suspended "Manfred" over the abyss as if
+nothingness had been the answer of the hideous enigma, with which he
+enveloped him.
+
+Pardon me! O, great poets! who are now but ashes and who sleep in peace!
+Pardon me; you are demi-gods and I am only a child who suffers. But while
+writing all this I can not help cursing you. Why did you not sing of the
+perfume of flowers, of the voices of nature, of hope and of love, of the
+vine and the sun, of the azure heavens and of beauty. You must have
+understood life, you must have suffered, and the world was crumbling to
+pieces about you, you wept on its ruins and you despaired; and your
+mistresses were false; your friends calumniated, your compatriots
+misunderstood; and your heart was empty; death was in your eyes, and you
+were the very Colossi of grief. But tell me, you noble Goethe, was there
+no more consoling voice in the religious murmur of your old German
+forests? You, for whom beautiful poesy was the sister of science, could
+you with their aid find in immortal nature no healing plant for the heart
+of their favorite? You, who were a pantheist, and antique poet of Greece,
+a lover of sacred forms, could you not put a little honey in the
+beautiful vases you made; you, who had only to smile and allow the bees
+to come to your lips? And thou, thou Byron, hadst thou not near Ravenna,
+under thy orange trees of Italy, under thy beautiful Venetian sky, near
+thy dear Adriatic, hadst thou not thy well beloved? O, God! I who speak
+to you and who am only a feeble child, I have perhaps known sorrows that
+you have never suffered, and yet I believe and I hope, and yet I bless
+God.
+
+When English and German ideas passed thus over our heads there ensued
+disgust and mournful silence, followed by a terrible convulsion. For to
+formulate general ideas is to change saltpeter into powder, and the
+Homeric brain of the great Goethe had sucked up, as an alembic, all the
+juice of the forbidden fruit. Those who did not read him did not believe
+it, knew nothing of it. Poor creatures! The explosion carried them away
+like grains of dust into the abyss of universal doubt.
+
+It was a degeneration of all things of heaven and of earth that might be
+termed disenchantment, or if you preferred, despair; as if humanity in
+lethargy had been pronounced dead by those who held its place. Like a
+soldier who was asked: "In what do you believe?" and who replied: "In
+myself." Thus the youth of France, hearing that question, replied: "In
+nothing."
+
+Then they formed into two camps: on one side the exalted spirits,
+sufferers, all the expansive souls who had need of the infinite, bowed
+their heads and wept; they wrapt themselves in unhealthy dreams and there
+could be seen nothing but broken reeds on an ocean of bitterness. On the
+other side the men of the flesh remained standing, inflexible in the
+midst of positive joys, and cared for nothing except to count the money
+they had acquired. It was only a sob and a burst of laughter, the one
+coming from the soul, the other from the body.
+
+This is what the soul said:
+
+"Alas! Alas! religion has departed; the clouds of heaven fall in rain; we
+have no longer either hope or expectation, not even two little pieces of
+black wood in the shape of a cross before which to clasp our hands. The
+star of the future is loath to rise; it can not get above the horizon; it
+is enveloped in clouds, and like the sun in winter its disk is the color
+of blood, as in '93. There is no more love, no more glory. What heavy
+darkness over all the earth! And we shall be dead when the day breaks."
+
+This is what the body said:
+
+"Man is here below to satisfy his senses, he has more or less of white or
+yellow metal to which he owes more or less esteem. To eat, to drink and
+to sleep, that is life. As for the bonds which exist between men,
+friendship consists in loaning money; but one rarely has a friend whom he
+loves enough for that. Kinship determines inheritance; love is an
+exercise of the body; the only intellectual joy is vanity."
+
+Like the Asiatic plague exhaled from the vapors of the Ganges, frightful
+despair stalked over the earth. Already Chateaubriand, prince of poesy,
+wrapping the horrible idol in his pilgrim's mantle, had placed it on a
+marble altar in the midst of perfumes and holy incense. Already the
+children were tightening their idle hands and drinking in their bitter
+cup the poisoned brewage of doubt. Already things were drifting toward
+the abyss, when the jackals suddenly emerged from the earth. A cadaverous
+and infected literature which had no form but that of ugliness, began to
+sprinkle with fetid blood all the monsters of nature.
+
+Who will dare to recount what was passing in the colleges? Men doubted
+everything: the young men denied everything. The poets sung of despair;
+the youth came from the schools with serene brow, their faces glowing
+with health and blasphemy in their mouths. Moreover, the French
+character, being by nature gay and open, readily assimilated English and
+German ideas; but hearts too light to struggle and to suffer withered
+like crushed flowers. Thus the principle of death descended slowly and
+without shock from the head to the bowels. Instead of having the
+enthusiasm of evil we had only the negation of the good; instead of
+despair, insensibility. Children of fifteen seated listlessly under
+flowering shrubs, conversed for pastime on subjects which would have made
+shudder with terror the motionless groves of Versailles. The Communion of
+Christ, the host, those wafers that stand as the eternal symbol of divine
+love, were used to seal letters; the children spit upon the bread of God.
+
+Happy they who escaped those times! Happy they who passed over the abyss
+while looking up to Heaven. There are such, doubtless, and they will pity
+us.
+
+It is unfortunately true that there is in blasphemy a certain discharge
+of power which solaces the burdened heart. When an atheist, drawing his
+watch, gave God a quarter of an hour in which to strike him dead, it is
+certain that it was a quarter of an hour of wrath and of atrocious joy.
+It was the paroxysm of despair, a nameless appeal to all celestial
+powers; it was a poor wretched creature squirming under the foot that was
+crushing him; it was a loud cry of pain. And who knows? In the eyes of
+Him who sees all things, it was perhaps a prayer.
+
+Thus these youth found employment for their idle powers in a fondness of
+despair. To scoff at glory, at religion, at love, at all the world, is a
+great consolation for those who do not know what to do; they mock at
+themselves and in doing so prove the correctness of their view. And then
+it is pleasant to believe oneself unhappy when one is only idle and
+tired. Debauchery, moreover, the first conclusion of the principle of
+death, is a terrible millstone for grinding the energies.
+
+The rich said: "There is nothing real but riches, all else is a dream;
+let us enjoy and then let us die." Those of moderate fortune said: "There
+is nothing real but oblivion, all else is a dream; let us forget and let
+us die." And the poor said: "There is nothing real but unhappiness, all
+else is a dream; let us blaspheme and die."
+
+This is too black? It is exaggerated? What do you think of it? Am I a
+misanthrope? Allow me to make a reflection.
+
+In reading the history of the fall of the Roman Empire, it is impossible
+to overlook the evil that the Chustions, so admirable in the desert, did
+the state when they were in power. "When I think," said Montesquieu, "of
+the profound ignorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laity, I
+am obliged to compare them to the Scythians of whom Herodotus speaks, who
+put out the eyes of their slaves in order that nothing might distract
+their attention from their work. . . . No affair of state, no peace, no
+truce, no negotiation, no marriage could be transacted by any one but the
+clergy. The evils of this system were beyond belief."
+
+Montesquieu might have added: Christianity destroyed the emperors but it
+saved the people. It opened to the barbarians the palaces of
+Constantinople, but it opened the doors of cottages to the ministering
+angels of Christ. It had much to do with the great ones of earth. And
+what is more interesting than the death-rattle of an empire corrupt to
+the very marrow of its bones, than the somber galvanism under the
+influence of which the skeleton of tyranny danced upon the tombs of
+Heliogabalus and Caracalla! What a beautiful thing that mummy of Rome,
+embalmed in the perfumes of Nero and swathed in the shroud of Tiberius!
+It had to do, messieurs the politicians, with finding the poor and giving
+them life and peace; it had to do with allowing the worms and tumors to
+destroy the monuments of shame, while drawing from the ribs of this mummy
+a virgin as beautiful as the mother of the Redeemer, hope, the friend of
+the oppressed.
+
+That is what Christianity did; and now, after many years, what have they
+who destroyed it done? They saw that the poor allowed themselves to be
+oppressed by the rich, the feeble by the strong, because of that saying:
+"The rich and the strong will oppress me on earth; but when they wish to
+enter paradise, I shall be at the door and I will accuse them before the
+tribunal of God." And so, alas! they were patient.
+
+The antagonists of Christ therefore said to the poor: "You wait patiently
+for the day of justice: there is no justice; you wait for the life
+eternal to achieve your vengeance: there is no life eternal; you gather
+up your tears and those of your family, the cries of children and the
+sobs of women, to place them at the feet of God at the hour of death:
+there is no God."
+
+Then it is certain that the poor man dried his tears, that he told his
+wife to check her sobs, his children to come with him, and that he stood
+upon the earth with the power of a bull. He said to the rich: "Thou who
+oppressest me, thou art only man;" and to the priest: "Thou who hast
+consoled me, thou hast lied." That was just what the antagonists of
+Christ desired. Perhaps they thought this was the way to achieve man's
+happiness, sending him out to the conquest of liberty.
+
+But, if the poor man, once satisfied that the priests deceive him, that
+the rich rob him, that all men have rights, that all good is of this
+world, and that misery is impiety; the poor man, believing in himself and
+in his two arms, says to himself some fine day: "War on the rich! for me,
+happiness here in this life, since there is no other! for me, the earth,
+since heaven is empty! for me and for all, since all are equal." Oh!
+reasoners sublime who have led him to this, what will you say to him if
+he is conquered?
+
+Doubtless you are philanthropists, doubtless you are right about the
+future, and the day will come when you will be blessed; but thus far, we
+have not blessed you. When the oppressor said: "This world for me!" the
+oppressed replied: "Heaven for me!" Now what can he say?
+
+All the evils of the present come from two causes: the people who have
+passed through 1793 and 1814, nurse wounds in their hearts. That which
+was is no more; what will be, is not yet. Do not seek elsewhere the cause
+of our malady.
+
+Here is a man whose house falls in ruins; he has torn it down in order to
+build another. The rubbish encumbers the spot, and he waits for fresh
+materials for his new home. At the moment he has prepared to cut the
+stone and mix the cement, while standing, pick in hand, with sleeves
+rolled up, he is informed that there is no more stone, and is advised to
+whiten the old material and make the best possible use of that. What can
+you expect this man to do who is unwilling to build his nest out of
+ruins? The quarry is deep, the tools too weak to hew out the stones.
+"Wait!" they say to him, "we will draw out the stones one by one; hope,
+work, advance, withdraw." What do they not tell him? And in the meantime
+he has lost his old house, and has not yet built the new; he does not
+know where to protect himself from the rain, or how to prepare his
+evening meal, nor where to work, nor where to sleep, nor where to die;
+and his children are newly born.
+
+I am much deceived if we do not resemble that man. O, people of the
+future! when on a warm summer day you bend over your plows in the green
+fields of your native land; when you see, in the pure sunlight under a
+spotless sky, the earth, your fruitful mother, smiling in her matutinal
+robe on the workman, her well-beloved child; when drying on your brow the
+holy baptism of sweat, you cast your eye over the vast horizon, when
+there will not be one blade higher than another in the human harvest, but
+only violets and marguerites in the midst of ripening sheafs. Oh! free
+men! when you thank God that you were born for that harvest, think of
+those who are no more, tell yourself that we have dearly purchased the
+repose which you enjoy; pity us more than all your fathers, for we have
+suffered the evil which entitled them to pity and we have lost that which
+consoled them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+I MUST explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age.
+
+I attended a great supper, after a masquerade. About me my friends richly
+costumed, on all sides young men and women, all sparkling with beauty and
+joy; on the right and on the left exquisite dishes, flagons, splendor,
+flowers; above my head a fine orchestra, and before me my mistress, a
+superb creature, whom I idolized.
+
+I was then nineteen; I had experienced no great misfortune, I had
+suffered from no disease; my character was at once haughty and frank, my
+heart full of the hopes of youth. The fumes of wine fermented in my head;
+it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that one sees and
+hears, speaks to one of the adored. All nature appeared then a beautiful
+stone with a thousand facets on which was engraven the mysterious name.
+One would willingly embrace all who smile, and one feels that he is
+brother of all who live. My mistress had granted me a rendezvous for the
+night and I was gently raising my glass to my lips while my eyes were
+fixed on her.
+
+As I turned to take a napkin, my fork fell. I stooped to pick it up, and
+not finding it at first I raised the table-cloth to see where it had
+rolled. I then saw under the table my mistress's foot; it rested on that
+of a young man seated beside her; from time to time they exchanged a
+gentle pressure.
+
+Perfectly calm, I asked for another fork and continued my supper. My
+mistress and her neighbor were also, on their side, very quiet, talking
+but little and never looking at each other. The young man had his elbows
+on the table and was chatting with another woman who was showing him her
+necklace and bracelets. My mistress sat motionless, her eyes fixed and
+filled with languor. I watched both of them during the entire supper and
+I saw nothing either in their gestures or in their faces that could
+betray them. Finally, at dessert, I dropped my napkin, and stooping down
+saw that they were still in the same position.
+
+I had promised to take my mistress to her home that night. She was a
+widow and therefore quite at liberty, living alone with an old relative
+who served as chaperon. As I was crossing the hall she called to me:
+
+"Come, Octave!" she said; "here I am, let us go."
+
+I laughed and passed out without replying. After walking a short distance
+I sat down on a stone projecting from a wall. I do not know what my
+thoughts were; I sat as though stupefied by the infidelity of that woman
+of whom I had never been jealous, whom I had never had cause to suspect.
+What I had seen left no room for doubt, I was stunned as though by a blow
+from a club. The only thing I remember doing as I sat there, was looking
+mechanically up at the sky, and, seeing a star spin across the heavens, I
+saluted that fugitive gleam in which poets see a blasted world and
+gravely took off my hat to it.
+
+I returned to my home very quietly, experiencing nothing, as though
+deprived of sensation and reflection. I undressed and retired; hardly had
+my head touched the pillow when the spirit of vengeance seized me with
+such force that I suddenly sat bolt upright against the wall as though
+all my muscles were made of wood. I jumped from my bed with a cry of
+pain; I could walk only on my heels, the nerves in my toes were so
+irritated. I passed an hour in this way, completely foolish and stiff as
+a skeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced.
+
+The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimate
+friends. I went to his house the next day in company with a young lawyer
+named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repaired to the
+woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversary or even
+approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult or strike him,
+a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognized the code.
+But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companion of my
+childhood and we had lived in the closest intimacy for many years. He
+understood perfectly my love for my mistress and had several times
+intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, and that he
+would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me even if he loved the same
+woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and I had perhaps never
+pressed the hand of any human creature more cordially than his.
+
+My glance was eager and curious as I scrutinized this man whom I had
+heard speak of love as an antique hero and whom I had caught caressing my
+mistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; I
+measured him with a haggard eye to see how he was made. He whom I had
+known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived in the most
+perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allow me a
+comparison.
+
+There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stone
+statue comes to sup with a debauchee, sent thither by divine justice. The
+debauchee puts a good face on the matter and forces himself to affect
+indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when he has extended
+it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls in convulsions.
+
+Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend or mistress,
+and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can only describe the
+effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of that marble hand.
+It is the actual impression of marble, it is as though a man of stone had
+kissed me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked more than once at
+my door; more than once we have supped together.
+
+When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facing
+each other and slowly advancing. My adversary fired the first shot,
+wounding me in the right arm. I immediately seized my pistol in the other
+hand; but my strength failed, I could not raise it; I fell on one knee.
+
+Then I saw my enemy running up to me with an expression of great anxiety
+on his face, and very pale. My seconds hastened to my side, seeing that I
+was wounded; but he pushed them aside and seized my wounded arm. His
+teeth were set and I could see that he was suffering intense anguish. His
+agony was the most frightful that man can experience.
+
+"Go!" he cried, "go dress your wound at the house of--"
+
+He choked, and so did I.
+
+I was placed in a cab where I found a physician. My wound was not
+dangerous, the bone being untouched, but I was in such a state of
+excitation that it was impossible to properly dress my wound. As they
+were about to drive from the field I saw a trembling hand at the door of
+my cab; it was my adversary. I shook my head in reply; I was in such a
+rage that I could not pardon him, although I felt that his repentance was
+sincere.
+
+By the time I reached home I had lost much blood and felt relieved, for
+feebleness saved me from the force of anger which was doing me more harm
+than my wound. I willingly retired to my bed and called for a glass of
+water, which I quickly swallowed with relish.
+
+But I was soon attacked by fever. It was then I began to shed tears. I
+could understand that my mistress had ceased to love me, but not that she
+could deceive me. I could not comprehend why a woman who was forced to it
+by neither duty nor interest could lie to one man when she loved another.
+Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that could be
+possible.
+
+"If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her I could easily
+understand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longer
+loves me, why deceive me?"
+
+I did not understand how any one could lie for love; I was but a child
+then, but I confess that I do not understand it yet. Every time I have
+loved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her I
+confessed it to her with the same sincerity, having always thought that
+in matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was no
+crime but falsehood.
+
+To all this Desgenais replied:
+
+"She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again."
+
+I solemnly promised. He advised me, moreover, not to write to her, not
+even to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply. I promised all
+that with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exact
+such a promise.
+
+Nevertheless the first thing I did when I was able to leave my room was
+to visit my mistress. I found her alone, seated in the corner of the room
+with an expression of sorrow on her face and an appearance of general
+disorder in her surroundings. I overwhelmed her with violent reproaches;
+I was intoxicated with despair. In a paroxysm of grief I fell on the bed
+and gave free course to my tears.
+
+"Ah! faithless one! wretch!" I cried between my sobs, "you knew that it
+would kill me. Did the prospect please you? What have I done to you?"
+
+She threw her arms around my neck, saying that she had been seduced, that
+my rival had intoxicated her at that fatal supper, but that she had never
+been his; that she had abandoned herself in a moment of forgetfulness;
+that she had committed a fault but not a crime; but that if I would not
+pardon her, she, too, would die. All that sincere repentance has of
+tears, all that sorrow has of eloquence, she exhausted to console me;
+pale and distressed, her dress deranged and her hair falling over her
+shoulders she kneeled in the middle of her chamber; never have I seen
+anything so beautiful and I shuddered with horror as my senses revolted
+at the sight.
+
+I went away crushed, scarcely able to direct my tottering steps. I wished
+never to see her again; but in a quarter of an hour I returned. I do not
+know what desperate resolve I had formed; I experienced a dull desire to
+possess her once more, to drain the cup of tears and bitterness to the
+dregs and then to die with her. In short, I abhorred her and I idolized
+her; I felt that her love was my ruin, but that to live without her was
+impossible. I mounted the stairs like a flash; I spoke to none of the
+servants, but, familiar with the house, opened the door of her chamber.
+
+I found her seated calmly before her toilet-table, covered with jewels;
+she held in her hand a piece of crepe which she passed gently over her
+cheeks. I thought I was dreaming; it did not seem possible that this was
+the woman I had left, just fifteen minutes before, overwhelmed with
+grief, abased to the floor; I was as motionless as a statue. She, hearing
+the door open, turned her head and smiled:
+
+"Is it you?" she said.
+
+She was going to the ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognized
+me, she compressed her lips and frowned.
+
+I started to leave the room. I looked at her bare neck, lithe and
+perfumed, on which rested her knotted hair confined by a jeweled comb;
+that neck, the seat of vital force, was blacker than Hades; two shining
+tresses had fallen there and some light silvern hairs balanced above it.
+Her shoulders and neck, whiter than milk, displayed a heavy growth of
+down. There was in that knotted head of hair something indescribably
+immodest which seemed to mock me when I thought of the disorder in which
+I had seen her a moment before. I suddenly stepped up to her and struck
+that neck with the back of my hand. My mistress gave vent to a cry of
+terror, and fell on her hands, while I hastened from the room.
+
+When I reached my room I was again attacked by fever and was obliged to
+take to my bed. My wound had reopened and I suffered great pain.
+Desgenais came to see me and I told him what had happened. He listened in
+silence, then paced up and down the room as though undecided as to his
+course. Finally he stopped before my bed and burst out laughing.
+
+"Is she your first mistress?" he asked.
+
+"No!" I replied, "she is my last."
+
+Toward midnight, while sleeping restlessly, I seemed to hear in my dreams
+a profound sigh. I opened my eyes and saw my mistress standing near my
+bed with arms crossed, looking like a specter. I could not restrain a cry
+of fright, believing it to be an apparition conjured up by my diseased
+brain. I leaped from my bed and fled to the farther end of the room; but
+she followed me.
+
+"It is I!" said she; putting her arms around me she drew me to her.
+
+"What do you want of me?" I cried. "Leave me! I fear I shall kill you!"
+
+"Very well, kill me!" she said. "I have deceived you, I have lied to you,
+I am an infamous wretch and I am miserable; but I love you, and I can not
+live without you."
+
+I looked at her; how beautiful she was! Her body was quivering; her eyes
+languid with love and moist with voluptuousness; her bosom was bare, her
+lips burning. I raised her in my arms.
+
+"Very well," I said, "but before God who sees us, by the soul of my
+father, I swear that I will kill you and that I will die with you."
+
+I took a knife from the table and placed it under the pillow.
+
+"Come, Octave," she said, smiling and kissing me, "do not be foolish.
+Come, my dear, all these horrors have unsettled your mind; you are
+feverish. Give me that knife."
+
+I saw that she wished to take it.
+
+"Listen to me," I then said; "I do not know what comedy you are playing,
+but as for me I am in earnest. I have loved you as only a man can love
+and to my sorrow I love you still. You have just told me that you love
+me, and I hope it is true; but, by all that is sacred, if I am your lover
+to-night, no one shall take my place to-morrow. Before God, before God,"
+I repeated, "I would not take you back as my mistress, for I hate you as
+much as I love you. Before God, if you consent to stay here to-night I
+will kill you in the morning."
+
+When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw her cloak
+over her shoulders and fled from the room.
+
+When I told Desgenais about it he said:
+
+"Why did you do that? You must be very much disgusted, for she is a
+beautiful woman."
+
+"Are you joking?" I asked. "Do you think such a woman could be my
+mistress? Do you think I would ever consent to share her with another? Do
+you know that she confesses that another possesses her and do you expect
+me, loving her as I do, to share my love? If that is the way you love, I
+pity you."
+
+Desgenais replied that he was not so particular.
+
+"My dear Octave," he added, "you are very young. You want many things,
+beautiful things, which do not exist. You believe in a singular sort of
+love; perhaps you are capable of it; I believe you are, but I do not envy
+you. You will have other mistresses, my friend, and you will live to
+regret what happened last night. If that woman came to you it is certain
+that she loved you; perhaps she does not love you at this moment, indeed
+she may be in the arms of another; but she loved you last night in that
+room; and what should you care for the rest? You will regret it, believe
+me, for she will not come again. A woman pardons everything except such a
+slight. Her love for you must have been something terrible when she came
+to you knowing and confessing herself guilty, risking rebuff and contempt
+at your hands. Believe me, you will regret it, for I am satisfied that
+you will soon be cured."
+
+There was such an air of simple conviction about my friend's words, such
+a despairing certainty based on experience, that I shuddered as I
+listened. While he was speaking I felt a strong desire to go to my
+mistress, or to write to her to come to me. I was so weak that I could
+not leave my bed and that saved me from the shame of finding her waiting
+for my rival or perhaps in his company. But I could write to her; in
+spite of myself I doubted whether she would come if I should write.
+
+When Desgenais left me I became so desperate that I resolved to put an
+end to my trouble. After a terrible struggle horror got the better of
+love. I wrote my mistress that I would never see her again and begged her
+not to try to see me unless she wished to be exposed to the shame of
+being refused admittance. I called a servant and ordered him to deliver
+the letter at once. He had hardly closed the door when I called him back.
+He did not hear me; I did not dare call again; covering my face with my
+hands I yielded to an overwhelming sense of despair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE following morning the first question that occurred to my mind was:
+"What shall I do?"
+
+I had no occupation. I had studied medicine and law without being able to
+decide on either of the two professions; I had worked for a banker for
+six months and my services were so unsatisfactory that I was obliged to
+resign to avoid being discharged. My studies had been varied but
+superficial; my memory was active but not retentive.
+
+My only treasure after love, was independence. In my childhood I had
+devoted myself to a morose cult, and had, so to speak, consecrated my
+heart to it. One day my father, solicitous about my future, spoke to me
+of several careers between which he allowed me to choose. I was leaning
+on the window-sill, looking at a solitary poplar-tree that was swaying in
+the breeze down in the garden. I thought over all the various occupations
+and wondered which one I should choose. I turned them all over, one after
+another, in my mind, and then not feeling inclined to any of them I
+allowed my thoughts to wander. Suddenly it seemed to me that I felt the
+earth move and that a secret invisible force was slowly dragging me into
+space and becoming tangible to my senses; I saw it mount into the sky; I
+seemed to be on a ship; the poplar near my window resembled a mast; I
+arose, stretched out my arms, and cried:
+
+"It is little enough to be a passenger for one day on this ship floating
+through space; it is little enough to be a man, a black point on that
+ship; I will be a man but not any particular kind of man."
+
+Such was the first vow that, at the age of fourteen, I pronounced in the
+face of nature, and since then I have tried to do nothing except in
+obedience to my father, never being able to overcome my repugnance.
+
+I was therefore free, not through indolence but by choice; loving,
+moreover, all that God had made and very little that man had made. Of
+life I knew nothing but love, of the world only my mistress, and I did
+not care to know anything more. So falling in love upon leaving college I
+sincerely believed that it was for life and every other thought
+disappeared.
+
+My life was sedentary. I was accustomed to pass the day with my mistress;
+my greatest pleasure was to lead her through the fields on beautiful
+summer days, the sight of nature in her splendor having ever been for me
+the most powerful incentive to love. In winter, as she enjoyed society,
+we attended numerous balls and masquerades, and because I thought of no
+one but her I fondly imagined her equally true to me.
+
+To give you an idea of my state of mind I can not do better than compare
+it to one of those rooms such as we see in these days where are collected
+and confounded all the furniture of all times and all countries. Our age
+has no form of its own. We have impressed the seal of our time on neither
+our houses nor our gardens nor anything that is ours. On the street may
+be seen men who have their beards cut as in the time of Henry III, others
+who are clean shaven, others who have their hair arranged as in the time
+of Raphael, others as in the time of Christ. So the homes of the rich are
+cabinets of curiosities: the antique, the Gothic, the taste of the
+Renaissance, that of Louis XIII, all pell-mell. In short, we have every
+century except our own--a thing which has never been seen at any other
+epoch: eclecticism is our taste; we take everything we find, this for
+beauty, that for utility, this other for antiquity, such another for its
+ugliness even, so that we live surrounded by debris as though the end of
+the world were at hand.
+
+Such was the state of my mind; I had read much; moreover I had learned to
+paint. I knew by heart a great many things, but nothing in order, so that
+my head was like a sponge, swollen but empty. I fell in love with all the
+poets one after another; but being of an impressionable nature the last
+comer always disgusted me with the rest. I had made of myself a great
+warehouse of ruins, so that having no more thirst after drinking of the
+novel and the unknown, I became a ruin myself.
+
+Nevertheless, about that ruin there was still something of youth: it was
+the hope of my heart which was still childlike.
+
+That hope, which nothing had withered or corrupted and that love had
+exalted to excess, had now received a mortal wound. The perfidy of my
+mistress had struck deep, and when I thought of it, I felt in my soul a
+swooning away, a convulsive flutter as of a wounded bird in agony.
+
+Society which works so much evil is like that serpent of the Indies whose
+dwelling is the leaf of a plant which cures its sting; it presents, in
+nearly every case, the remedy by the side of the suffering it has caused.
+For example, the man whose life is one of routine, who has his business
+cares to claim his attention upon rising, visits at such an hour, loves
+at another, can lose his mistress and suffer no evil effects. His
+occupations and his thoughts are like impassive soldiers ranged in line
+of battle; a single shot strikes one down, his neighbors fill up the gap
+and the line is intact.
+
+I had not that resource since I was alone: nature, the kind mother,
+seemed, on the contrary, more vast and more empty than ever. If I had
+been able to forget my mistress I would have been saved. How many there
+are who can be cured with even less than that. Such men are incapable of
+loving a faithless woman and their conduct, under the circumstances, is
+admirable in its firmness. But is it thus that one loves at nineteen
+when, knowing nothing of the world, desiring everything, the young man
+feels within him the germ of all the passions? On the right, on the left,
+below, on the horizon, everywhere some voice which calls him. All is
+desire, all is reverie. There is no reality which holds him when the
+heart is young; there is no oak so gnarled that it may not give birth to
+a dryad; and if one had a hundred arms one need not fear to open them;
+one has but to clasp his mistress and all is well.
+
+As for me I did not understand what else there was to do besides love,
+and when any one spoke to me of another occupation I did not reply. My
+passion for my mistress had something fierce about it, as all my life had
+been severely monachal. I wish to cite a single example. She gave me her
+portrait in miniature in a medallion; I wore it over my heart, a practise
+much affected by men; but one day while idly rummaging about a shop
+filled with curiosities I found an iron "discipline whip," such as was
+used by the mediaeval flagellants; at the end of this whip was a metal
+plate bristling with sharp iron points; I had the medallion riveted to
+this plate and then returned it to its place over my heart. The sharp
+points pierced my bosom with every movement and caused such a strange
+voluptuous anguish that I sometimes pressed it down with my hand in order
+to intensify the sensation. I knew very well that I was committing folly;
+love is responsible for many others.
+
+When that woman deceived me I removed the cruel medallion. I can not tell
+with what sadness I detached that iron girdle and what a sigh escaped me
+when it was gone.
+
+"Ah! poor wounds!" I said, "you will soon heal, but what balm is there
+for that other deeper wound?"
+
+I had reason to hate that woman, she was, so to speak, mingled with the
+blood of my veins; I cursed her but I dreamed of her. What could I do
+with a dream? By what effort of the will could I drown memory of flesh
+and blood? Macbeth having killed Duncan saw that the ocean would not wash
+his hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds. I said to
+Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow."
+
+My life had been wrapped up in that woman; to doubt her was to doubt all;
+to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all. I no longer went
+out; the world seemed to be peopled with monsters, with horned deer and
+crocodiles. To all that was said to distract my mind I replied:
+
+"Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing
+of the kind."
+
+I sat in my window and said:
+
+"She will come, I am sure of it, she is coming, she is turning the corner
+at this moment, I can feel her approach. She can no more live without me
+than I without her. What shall I say? How shall I receive her?"
+
+Then the thought of her perfidy recurred to me.
+
+"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!"
+
+Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her.
+
+"What is she doing?" I asked myself. "She loves another? Then I will love
+another also. Whom shall I love?"
+
+While casting about I heard a far distant voice crying:
+
+"Thou, love another? Two beings who love, who embrace, and who are not
+thou and I! Is such a thing possible? Are you a fool?"
+
+"Coward!" said Desgenais, "when will you forget that woman? Is she such a
+great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself."
+
+"No," I replied, "it is not such a great loss. Have I not done what I
+ought? Have I not driven her away from here? What have you to say to
+that? The rest concerns me; the bull wounded in the arena is at liberty
+to go to sleep in a corner with the sword of the matador in his shoulder,
+and die in peace. What can I do, tell me? What do you mean by first
+comer? You will show me a cloudless sky, trees and houses, men who talk,
+drink, sing, women who dance and horses that gallop. All that is not
+life, it is the noise of life. Go, go, leave me in peace."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHEN Desgenais saw that my despondency was incurable, that I would
+neither listen to any advice nor leave my room, he took the matter
+seriously. I saw him enter one evening with an expression of gravity on
+his face; he spoke of my mistress and continued in his tone of sadness,
+saying all manner of evil of women. While he was speaking I was leaning
+on my elbow, and, rising in my bed, I listened attentively.
+
+It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind
+resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the
+splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All
+nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their
+heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of
+cities are deserted. I was suffering from my wound. But a short time
+before I had a mistress and a friend. The mistress had deceived me and
+the friend had stretched me on a bed of pain. I could not clearly
+distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was under
+the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to find
+myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a dream,
+ridiculous and childish, the falseness of which had just been disclosed.
+Desgenais was seated near the lamp at my side; he was firm and serious,
+although a smile hovered about his lips. He was a man of heart, but as
+dry as a pumice-stone. An early experience had made him bald before his
+time; he knew life and had suffered; but his grief was a cuirass; he was
+a materialist and he waited for death.
+
+"Octave," he said, "after what has happened to you I see that you believe
+in love such as the poets and romancers have represented; in a word, you
+believe in what is said here below and not in what is done. That is
+because you do not reason soundly and it may lead you into great
+misfortune.
+
+"The poets represent love as the sculptors design beauty, as the
+musicians create melody; that is to say, endowed with an exquisite
+nervous organization, they gather up with discerning ardor the purest
+elements of life, the most beautiful lines of matter, and the most
+harmonious voices of nature. There was, it is said, at Athens a great
+number of beautiful girls; Praxiteles designed them all, one after
+another; then from all these diverse types of beauty, each one of which
+had its defects, he formed a single faultless beauty and created Venus.
+The first man who created a musical instrument and who gave to that art
+its rules and its laws, had for a long time listened to the murmuring of
+reeds and the singing of birds. Thus the poets who understand life, after
+having known much of love, more or less transitory, after having felt
+that sublime exaltation which passion can for the moment inspire,
+deducting from human nature all elements which degrade it, created the
+mysterious names which through the ages are passed from lip to lip:
+Daphne and Chloe, Hero and Leander, Pyramus and Thisbe.
+
+"To try to find in real life such love as this, eternal and absolute, is
+the same thing as to seek on the public squares such a woman as Venus or
+to expect nightingales to sing the symphonies of Beethoven.
+
+"Perfection does not exist; to comprehend it is the triumph of human
+intelligence; to desire to possess it, the most dangerous of follies.
+Open your window, Octave; do you not see the infinite? You try to form
+some idea of a thing that has no limits, you who were born yesterday and
+who will die to-morrow? This spectacle of immensity in every country in
+the world, produces the wildest illusions. Religions are born of it; it
+was to possess the infinite that Cato cut his throat, that the Christians
+delivered themselves to lions, the Huguenots to the Catholics; all the
+people of the earth have stretched out their hands to that immensity and
+have longed to plunge into it. The fool wishes to possess heaven; the
+sage admires it, kneels before it, but does not desire it.
+
+"Perfection, my friend, is no more made for us than infinity. We must
+seek for nothing in it, demand nothing of it, neither love nor beauty,
+happiness nor virtue; but we must love it if we would be virtuous, if we
+would attain the greatest happiness of which man is capable.
+
+"Let us suppose you have in your study a picture by Raphael that you
+consider perfect; let us suppose that upon a close examination you
+discover in one of the figures a gross defect of design, a limb
+distorted, or a muscle that belies nature, such as has been discovered,
+they say, in one of the arms of an antique gladiator; you would
+experience a feeling of displeasure, but you would not throw that picture
+in the fire; you would merely say that it is not perfect but that it has
+qualities that are worthy of admiration.
+
+"There are women whose natural singleness of heart and sincerity are such
+that they could not have two lovers at the same time. You believed your
+mistress such a one; that is best, I admit. You have discovered that she
+has deceived you; does that oblige you to despise and to abuse her, to
+believe her deserving of your hatred?
+
+"Even if your mistress had never deceived you, even if at this moment she
+loved none other than you, think, Octave, how far her love would still be
+from perfection, how human it would be, how small, how restrained by the
+hypocrisies and conventionalities of the world; remember that another man
+possessed her before you, that many others will possess her after you.
+
+"Reflect: what drives you at this moment to despair is the idea of
+perfection in your mistress, the idea that has been shattered. But when
+you understand that the first idea itself was human, small and
+restricted, you will see that it is little more than a round in the
+rotten ladder of human imperfection.
+
+"I think you will readily admit that your mistress has had other admirers
+and that she will have still others in the future; you will doubtless
+reply that it matters little, so long as she loved you. But I ask you,
+since she has had others, what difference does it make whether it was
+yesterday or two years ago? Since she loves but one at a time what does
+it matter whether it is during an interval of two years or the course of
+a single night? Are you a man, Octave? Do you see the leaves falling from
+the trees, the sun rising and setting? Do you hear the ticking of the
+clock of time with each pulsation of your heart? Is there, then, such a
+difference between the love of a year and the love of an hour? I
+challenge you to answer that, you fool, as you sit there looking out at
+the infinite through a window not larger than your hand.
+
+"You consider that woman faithful who loves you two years; you must have
+an almanac that will indicate just how long it takes for an honest man's
+kisses to dry on a woman's lips. You make a distinction between the woman
+who sells herself for money and the one who gives herself for pleasure,
+between the one who gives herself through pride and the one who gives
+herself through devotion. Among women who are for sale, some cost more
+than others; among those who are sought for pleasure some inspire more
+confidence than others; and among those who are worthy of devotion there
+are some who receive a third of a man's heart, others a quarter, others a
+half, depending upon her education, her manner, her name, her birth, her
+beauty, her temperament, according to the occasion, according to what is
+said, according to the time, according to what you have had to drink for
+dinner.
+
+"You love women, Octave, because you are young, ardent, because your
+features are regular and your hair dark and glossy, but you do not, for
+all that, understand woman.
+
+"Nature, having all, desires the reproduction of beings; everywhere, from
+the summit of the mountain to the bottom of the sea, life is opposed to
+death. God, to conserve the work of his hands, has established this law
+that the greatest pleasure of all loving beings shall be the act of
+generation.
+
+"Oh! my friend, when you feel bursting on your lips the vow of eternal
+love, do not be afraid to yield, but do not confound wine with
+intoxication; do not think the cup divine because the draft is of
+celestial flavor; do not be astonished to find it broken and empty in the
+evening. It is but woman, it is a fragile vase, made of earth by a
+potter.
+
+"Thank God for giving you a glimpse of heaven, but do not imagine
+yourself a bird because you can flap your wings. The birds themselves can
+not escape the clouds; there is a sphere where air fails them and the
+lark rising with its song into the morning fog, sometimes falls back dead
+in the field.
+
+"Take love as a sober man takes wine; do not become a drunkard. If your
+mistress is sincere and faithful, love her for that; but if she is not,
+if she is merely young and beautiful, love her for that; if she is
+agreeable and spirituelle, love her for that; if she is none of these
+things but merely loves you, love her for that. Love does not come to us
+every day.
+
+"Do not tear your hair and stab yourself because you have a rival. You
+say that your mistress deceives you for another; it is your pride that
+suffers; but change the words, say that it is for you that she deceives
+him, and behold you are happy.
+
+"Do not make a rule of conduct and do not say that you wish to be loved
+exclusively, for in saying that, as you are a man and inconstant
+yourself, you are forced to add tacitly: 'As far as possible.'
+
+"Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is. The
+Spaniards first, among women, love faithfully; their heart is sincere and
+violent, but they wear a dagger just above it. Italian women are
+lascivious. The English are exalted and melancholy, cold and unnatural.
+The German women are tender and sweet, but colorless and monotonous. The
+French are spirituelle, elegant, and voluptuous, but they lie like
+demons.
+
+"Above all, do not accuse women of being what they are; we have made them
+thus, undoing the work of nature.
+
+"Nature, who thinks of everything, made the virgin for love; but with her
+first child her bosom loses its form, her beauty its freshness. Woman is
+made for motherhood. Man would perhaps abandon her, disgusted by the loss
+of beauty; but his child clings to him and weeps. Behold the family, the
+human law; everything that departs from this law is monstrous.
+
+"Civilization thwarts the ends of nature. In our cities, according to our
+customs, the virgin destined by nature for the open air, made to bask in
+the sunlight, to admire the nude wrestlers, as in Lacedemonia, to choose,
+and to love, is shut up in close confinement and bolted in; yet she hides
+romance under her cross; pale and idle she fades away and loses in the
+silence of the nights that beauty that stifles her and which has need of
+the open air. Then she is suddenly taken from this solitude, knowing
+nothing, loving nothing, desiring everything; an old woman instructs her,
+a mysterious word is whispered in her ear, and she is thrown into the
+arms of a stranger. There you have marriage--that is to say, the
+civilized family. A child is born. This poor creature has lost her beauty
+and she has never loved. The child is brought to her with the words: 'You
+are a mother.' She replies: 'I am not a mother; take that child to some
+woman who can nurse it. I can not.' Her husband tells her that she is
+right, that her child would be disgusted with her. She receives careful
+attention and is soon cured of the disease of maternity. A month later
+she may be seen at the Tuileries, at the ball, at the opera: her child is
+at Chaillot, at Auxerre; her husband with another woman. Then young men
+speak to her of love, of devotion, of sympathy, of all that is in the
+heart. She takes one, draws him to her bosom; he dishonors her and
+returns to the Bourse. She cries all night, but discovers that tears make
+her eyes red. She takes a consoler, for the loss of whom another consoles
+her; thus up to the age of thirty or more. Then, blase and corrupted,
+with no human sentiment, not even disgust, she meets a fine youth with
+raven locks, ardent eye and hopeful heart; she recalls her own youth, she
+remembers what she has suffered, and telling him the story of her life,
+she teaches him to shun love.
+
+"That is woman as we have made her; such are your mistresses. But you say
+they are women and there is something good in them!
+
+"But if your character is formed, if you are truly a man, sure of
+yourself and confident of your strength, you may taste of life without
+fear and without reserve; you may be sad or joyous, deceived or
+respected; but be sure you are loved, for what matters the rest?
+
+"If you are mediocre and ordinary, I advise you to consider your course
+very carefully before deciding, but do not expect too much of your
+mistress.
+
+"If you are weak, dependent upon others, inclined to allow yourself to be
+dominated by opinion, to take root wherever you see a little soil, make
+for yourself a shield that will resist everything, for if you yield to
+your weaker nature you will not grow, you will dry up like a dead plant,
+and you will bear neither fruit nor flowers. The sap of your life will
+dissipate into the formation of a useless bark; all your actions will be
+as colorless as the leaves of the willow; you will have no tears to water
+you, but those from your own eyes, to nourish you, no heart but your own.
+
+"But if you are of exalted nature, believing in dreams and wishing to
+realize them, I say to you plainly. Love does not exist.
+
+"For to love is to give body and soul, or, better, it is to make a single
+being of two; it is to walk in the sunlight, in the open air through the
+boundless prairies with a body having four arms, two heads and two
+hearts. Love is faith, it is the religion of earthly happiness, it is a
+luminous triangle suspended in the temple of the world. To love is to
+walk freely through that temple and to have at your side a being capable
+of understanding why a thought, a word, a flower makes you pause and
+raise your eyes to that celestial triangle. To exercise the noble
+faculties of man is a great good, and that is why genius is glorious; but
+to double those faculties, to place a heart and an intelligence upon a
+heart and an intelligence--that is supreme happiness. God has nothing
+better for man; that is why love is better than genius. But tell me, is
+that the love of our women? No, no, it must be admitted. Love, for them,
+is another thing; it is to go out veiled, to write in secret, to make
+trembling advances, to heave chaste sighs under a starched and unnatural
+robe, then to draw bolts and throw it aside, to humiliate a rival, to
+deceive a husband, to render a lover desolate; to love, for our women, is
+to play at lying, as children play at hide and seek, the hideous
+debauchee of a heart, worse than all the lubricity of the Romans, or the
+Saturnalia of Priapus; bastard parody of vice itself as well as of
+virtue; loathsome comedy where all is whispering and oblique glances,
+where all is small, elegant and deformed like the porcelain monsters
+brought from China; lamentable derision of all that is beautiful and
+ugly, divine and infernal; a shadow without a body, a skeleton of all
+that God has made."
+
+Thus spoke Desgenais; and the shadows of night began to fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE next morning I rode through the Bois de Boulogne; the day was dark
+and threatening. At the Porte Maillot I dropped the reins on the back of
+my horse and abandoned myself to reverie, revolving in my mind the words
+spoken by Desgenais the evening before.
+
+Suddenly I heard my name called. Turning my head I spied one of my
+mistress's most intimate friends in an open carriage. She called to me to
+stop, and, holding out her hand with a friendly air, invited me to dine
+with her if I had no other engagement.
+
+This woman, Madame Levasseur by name, was small, stout, and decidedly
+blonde; I had never liked her and my attitude toward her had always been
+one of studied politeness. But I could not resist a desire to accept her
+invitation; I pressed her hand and thanked her; I was sure we would talk
+of my mistress.
+
+She sent a servant to lead my horse and I entered her carriage; she was
+alone and we at once took the road to Paris. Rain began to fall, and the
+carriage curtains were drawn; thus shut up together we rode on in
+silence. I looked at her with inexpressible sadness; she was not only the
+friend of my faithless one but her confidante. She had often formed one
+of our party when I called on my mistress in the evening! With what
+impatience had I endured her presence. How often I counted the minutes
+that must elapse before she would leave! That was probably the cause of
+my aversion for her. I knew that she approved of our love; she even went
+so far as to defend me in our quarrels. In spite of the services she had
+rendered me, I considered her ugly and tiresome. Alas! now I found her
+beautiful! I looked at her hands, her clothes; every gesture went
+straight to my heart; all the past was associated with her. She noticed
+the change in manner and understood that I was oppressed by sad memories
+of the past. Thus we rode on our way, I looking at her; she smiling at
+me. When we reached Paris she took my hand:
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"Well?" I replied, sobbing, "tell her if you wish." Tears rushed from my
+eyes.
+
+After dinner we sat before the fire.
+
+"But tell me," she said, "is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?"
+
+"Alas! madame," I replied, "there is nothing irrevocable except the grief
+that is killing me. My condition can be expressed in a few words: I can
+not love her, I can not love another, and I can not cease loving."
+
+At these words she moved uneasily in her chair and I could see an
+expression of compassion on her face. For some time she seemed to be
+reflecting, as though pondering over my fate and seeking some remedy for
+my sorrow. Her eyes were closed and she appeared lost in reverie. She
+extended her hand and I took it in mine.
+
+"And I, too," she murmured, "that is just my experience." She stopped,
+overcome by emotion.
+
+Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity. I held Madame
+Levasseur's hand as she began to speak of my mistress, saying all she
+could think of in her favor. My sadness increased. What could I reply?
+Finally she came to speak of herself.
+
+Not long since, she said, a man who loved her had abandoned her. She had
+made great sacrifices for him; her fortune was compromised as well as her
+honor and her name. Her husband, whom she knew to be vindictive, had made
+threats. Her tears flowed as she continued, and I began to forget my own
+sorrow in my sympathy for her. She had been married against her will; she
+struggled a long time; but she regretted nothing except that she had not
+been able to inspire a more sincere affection. I believe she even accused
+herself because she had not been able to hold her lover's heart, and
+because she had been guilty of apparent indifference.
+
+When she had unburdened her heart she became silent.
+
+"Madame," I said, "it was not chance that brought about our meeting in
+the Bois de Boulogne. I believe that human sorrows are but wandering
+sisters and that some good angel unites the trembling hands that are
+stretched out for aid. Do not repent having told me your sorrow. The
+secret you have confided to me is only a tear which has fallen from your
+eye, but has rested on my heart. Permit me to come again and let us
+suffer together."
+
+Such lively sympathy took possession of me that without reflection I
+kissed her; it did not occur to my mind that it could offend her and she
+did not appear even to notice it.
+
+Our conversation continued in this tone of great friendship. She told me
+her sorrows, I told her mine, and between those two experiences which
+touched each other, I felt arise a sweetness, as of a celestial accord
+born of two voices in anguish. All this time I had seen nothing but her
+face. Suddenly I noticed that her dress was in disorder. It appeared
+singular to me that, seeing my embarrassment, she did not rearrange it,
+and I turned my head to give her an opportunity. She did nothing. Finally
+meeting her eyes and seeing that she was perfectly aware of the state she
+was in, I felt as though I had been struck by a thunderbolt, for I
+clearly understood that I was the plaything of her monstrous effrontery,
+that grief itself was for her but a means of seducing the senses. I took
+my hat without a word, bowed profoundly and left the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+UPON returning to my apartments I found a large box in the center of the
+room. One of my aunts had died and I was one of the heirs to her fortune,
+which was not large. The box contained, among other things, a number of
+musty old books. Not knowing what to do and being affected with ennui, I
+began to read one of them. They were for the most part romances of the
+time of Louis XV; my pious aunt had probably inherited them herself and
+never read them, for they were, so to speak, catechisms of vice.
+
+I was singularly disposed to reflect on everything that came to my
+notice, to give everything a mental and moral significance; I treated
+events as pearls in a necklace which I tried to string together.
+
+It struck me that there was something significant about the arrival of
+these books at this time. I devoured them with a bitterness and a sadness
+born of despair. "Yes, you are right," I said to myself, "you alone
+possess the secret of life, you alone dare to say that nothing is true
+and real but debauchery, hypocrisy and corruption. Be my friends, throw
+on the wound in my soul your corrosive poisons, teach me to believe in
+you."
+
+While buried in these shadows I allowed my favorite poets and text-books
+to accumulate dust. I even ground them under my feet in excess of wrath.
+"You wretched dreamers," I said to them; "you who teach me only
+suffering, miserable shufflers of words, charlatans if you knew the
+truth, fools if you speak in good faith, liars in either case, who make
+fairy tales of the human heart, I will burn every one of you!"
+
+Then tears came to my aid and I perceived that there was nothing real but
+my grief. "Very well," I cried, in my delirium, "tell me, good and bad
+genii, counsellors for good or evil, tell me what to do! Choose an
+arbiter and let him speak."
+
+I seized an old Bible which lay on my table and read the first passage
+that caught my eye.
+
+"Reply to me, thou book of God," I said, "what word have you for me?" My
+eye fell on this passage in Ecclesiastes, chapter ix:
+
+
+  I pondered all these things in my heart, and I sought diligently
+  for wisdom. There are just and wise men and their works are in the
+  hands of God; nevertheless man does not know whether he is worthy
+  of love or hatred.
+
+  And the future is unknown, for there is one event to the righteous
+  and to the wicked; to the good, and to the clean, and to the
+  unclean; to him that sacrificeth and him that sacrificeth not. The
+  righteous is treated as the sinner and the perjurer as him who
+  speaks the truth.
+
+  There is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, and
+  there is one event to all. Therefore the hearts of the children of
+  men are full of evil and madness while they live, and after that
+  they go to the dead.
+
+
+When I read these words I was astounded; I did not know that there was
+such a sentiment in the Bible. "And thou, too, as all others, thou book
+of hope!"
+
+What do the astronomers think when they predict at a given hour and place
+the passage of a comet, that most eccentric of celestial travelers? What
+do the naturalists think when they reveal the myriad forms of life
+concealed in a drop of water? Do they think they have invented what they
+see and that their microscopes and lenses make the law of nature? What
+did the first lawgiver think when, seeking for the corner-stone in the
+social edifice, angered doubtless by some idle importunity, he struck the
+tables of brass and felt in his bowels the yearning for a law of
+retaliation? Did he then invent justice? And the first who plucked the
+fruit planted by his neighbor and who fled cowering under his mantle, did
+he invent shame? And he who, having overtaken that same thief who had
+robbed him of the product of his toil, forgave him his sin, and instead
+of raising his hand to smite him, said, "Sit thou down and eat thy fill";
+when after having thus returned good for evil he raised his eyes toward
+Heaven and felt his heart quivering, tears welling from his eyes, and his
+knees bending to the earth, did he invent virtue? Oh! Heaven! here is a
+woman who speaks of love and who deceives me, here is a man who speaks of
+friendship, and who counsels me to seek consolation in debauchery; here
+is another woman who weeps and would console me with the flesh; here is a
+Bible that speaks of God and says: "Perhaps; there is one event to the
+righteous and to the wicked."
+
+I ran to the open window: "Is it true that you are empty?" I cried,
+looking up at the pale expanse of sky which spread above me. "Reply,
+reply! Before I die grant that I may clasp in these arms of mine
+something more than a dream!"
+
+Profound silence reigned. As I stood with arms outstretched, eyes lost in
+space, a swallow uttered a plaintive cry; in spite of myself I followed
+it with my eyes; while the swallow disappeared from sight like a flash, a
+little girl passed, singing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+YET I was not willing to yield. Before taking life on its pleasant side
+after having seen its evil side so dearly, I resolved to test everything.
+I remained thus for some time a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by
+terrible dreams.
+
+The great obstacle to my cure was my youth. Wherever I happened to be,
+whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight of
+a woman made me tremble.
+
+I had been so fortunate as to give to love my virginity. But the result
+of this was that all my senses were united in the idea of love; there was
+the cause of my unhappiness. For not being able to think of anything but
+women, I could not help turning over in my head, day and night, all the
+ideas of debauchery, of false love and of feminine treason with which my
+mind was filled. To possess a woman was for me to love her; for I thought
+of nothing but women and I did not believe in the possibility of true
+love.
+
+All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage, and at times I was
+tempted to imitate the monks and murder myself in order to conquer my
+senses; at times I felt like going out into the street and throwing
+myself at the feet of the first woman I met and vowing eternal love.
+
+God is my witness that I did all in my power to cure myself. Preoccupied
+from the first with the idea that the society of men was the haunt of
+vice and hypocrisy, where all were like my mistress, I resolved to
+separate myself from them and live in complete isolation. I resumed my
+neglected studies, I plunged into history, poetry, and anatomy. There
+happened to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old German who
+was well versed in lore. I determined to learn his tongue; the German was
+poor and friendless and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. My
+perpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times seated near
+him with a smoking lamp between us, he waited in patient astonishment
+while I sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in reverie, oblivious
+of his presence and of his pity.
+
+"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you are
+the best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me to my
+fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I."
+
+I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and
+there was no more talk of German.
+
+I soon realized that solitude instead of curing me was doing me harm, and
+so completely changed my system. I went to the country and galloped
+through the woods with the huntsmen; I rode until I was out of breath, I
+tried to break myself with fatigue, and when after a day of sweat in the
+fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling of powder and the
+stable, I buried my head in the pillow, I rolled about under the covers
+and I cried: "Fantom, fantom! are you not tired? Will you leave me for
+one night?"
+
+But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature to
+love. When I stood in the street of Observation I saw myself surrounded
+by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloody apron, stifled by the odor
+of putrefaction, I turned my head in spite of myself, and I saw floating
+before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields and the pensive harmony of
+the evening. "No," I said, "science can not console me; I can not plunge
+into dead nature, I would die there myself and float about like a livid
+corpse amidst the debris of shattered hopes. I would not cure myself of
+my youth; I will live where there is life, or I will at least die in the
+sun." I began to mingle with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville; I lay
+down in the midst of a flowery dale, in a secluded part of Chaville.
+Alas! all these forests and prairies cried to me:
+
+"What do you seek here? We are green, poor child, we wear the colors of
+hope."
+
+Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; I
+looked up at the lights in all its windows, all those mysterious family
+nests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man.
+Oh! what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in those
+tortuous streets where all are hurrying hither and thither, working and
+sweating, where thousands of strangers rub against your elbows; a cloaca
+where there is only society of bodies, while souls are solitary and
+alone, where all who hold out a hand to you are prostitutes! "Become
+corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!" This has been the cry of
+all cities to man; it is written with charcoal on city walls, on its
+streets with mud, on its faces with extravasated blood.
+
+And at times, when seated in the corner of some salon I watched the women
+as they danced, some rosy, some blue, and others white, their arms bare
+and hair clustered gracefully about their shapely heads, looking like
+cherubim drunk with light, floating in their spheres of harmony and
+beauty, I would think: "Ah, what a garden, what flowers to gather, to
+breathe! Ah! Marguerites, Marguerites! What will your last petal say to
+him who plucks it? A little, a little, but not all. That is the moral of
+the world, that is the end of your smiles. It is over this terrible abyss
+that you are walking in your flower-strewn gauze; it is on this hideous
+truth you run like gazelles on the tips of your little toes!"
+
+"But why take things so seriously?" said Desgenais. "That is something
+that is never seen. You complain because bottles become empty? There are
+many casks in the vaults, and many vaults in the hills. Make me a good
+fish-hook gilded with sweet words, with a drop of honey for bait, and
+quick! catch for me in the stream of oblivion a pretty consoler, as fresh
+and slippery as an eel; you will still have the hook when the fish shall
+have glided from your hands. Youth must pass away, and if I were you I
+would carry off the queen of Portugal rather than study anatomy."
+
+Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart,
+my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and my
+poor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struck
+the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+SUDDENLY, in the midst of greatest despair youth and chance led me to
+commit an act that decided my fate.
+
+I had written my mistress saying that I never wished to see her again; I
+kept my word, but I passed the nights under her window, seated on a bench
+before her door. I could see the lights in her room, I could hear the
+sound of her piano, at times I saw something that looked like a shadow
+through the partially drawn curtains.
+
+One night, as I was seated on the bench, plunged in frightful melancholy,
+I saw a belated workman staggering along the street. He muttered a few
+words in a dazed manner and then began to sing. He was so much under the
+influence of liquor that he walked at times on one side of the gutter and
+then on the other. Finally he fell on a bench facing another house
+opposite me. There he lay still, supported on his elbows, and slept
+profoundly.
+
+The street was deserted, a dry wind swept the dust here and there; the
+moon shone through a rift in the clouds and lighted the spot where the
+man slept. So I found myself tete-a-tete with this man who, not
+suspecting my presence, was sleeping on that stone bench as peacefully as
+though in his own bed.
+
+He served to divert my grief; I arose to leave him in full possession,
+then returned and resumed my seat. I could not leave that door at which I
+would not have knocked for an empire. Finally, after walking up and down
+for a few times I stopped before the sleeper.
+
+"What sleep!" I said. "Surely this man does not dream. His clothes are in
+tatters, his cheeks are wrinkled, his hands hardened with toil; he is
+some unfortunate who does not have bread every day. A thousand gnawing
+cares, a thousand mortal sorrows await his return to consciousness;
+nevertheless, this evening he had a piece of money in his pocket, he
+entered a tavern where he purchased oblivion; he has earned enough in a
+week to enjoy a night of slumber and he has perhaps purchased it at the
+expense of his children's supper. Now his mistress can betray him, his
+friend can glide like a thief into his hut; I could shake him by the
+shoulder and tell him that he is being murdered, that his house is on
+fire; he would turn over and continue to sleep.
+
+"And I, I do not sleep," I continued pacing up and down the street, "I do
+not sleep, I who have enough in my pocket at this moment to purchase
+sleep for a year; I am so proud and so foolish that I dare not enter a
+tavern, and I do not understand that if all unfortunates enter there, it
+is in order that they may come out happy. Oh! God! the juice of a grape
+crushed under the foot suffices to dissipate the deepest sorrow and to
+break all the invisible threads that the fates weave about our pathway.
+We weep like women, we suffer like martyrs; in our despair it seems that
+the world is crumbling under our feet and we sit down in our tears as did
+Adam at Eden's gate. And in order to cure our wound we have but to make a
+movement of the hand and moisten our throats. How pitiable our grief
+since it can be thus assuaged. We are surprised that Providence does not
+send angels to grant our prayers; it need not take the trouble, for it
+has seen our woes, it knows our desires, our pride and bitterness, the
+ocean of evil that surrounds us, and is content to hang a small black
+fruit along our paths. Since that man sleeps so soundly on his bench why
+do not I sleep on mine? My rival is doubtless passing the night with my
+mistress; he will leave her at daybreak; she will accompany him to the
+door and they will see me asleep on my bench. Their kisses will not
+awaken me, and they will shake me by the shoulder; I will turn over on
+the other side and sleep on."
+
+Thus, inspired by a fierce joy, I set out in quest of a tavern. As it was
+past midnight some were closed; that put me in a fury. "What!" I cried,
+"even that consolation is refused me!" I ran hither and thither knocking
+at the doors of taverns crying: "Wine! Wine!"
+
+At last I found one open; I called for a bottle and without caring
+whether it was good or bad I gulped it down; a second followed and then a
+third. I dosed myself as with medicine, and I forced the wine down as
+though it had been prescribed by a physician to save my life.
+
+The heavy fumes of the liquor, which was doubtless adulterated, mounted
+to my head. As I had gulped it down at a breath, drunkenness seized me
+promptly; I felt that I was becoming muddled, then I experienced a lucid
+moment, then confusion followed. Then consciousness left me, I leaned my
+elbows on the table and said adieu to myself.
+
+But I had a confused idea that I was not alone in the tavern. At the
+other end of the room stood a hideous group with haggard faces and harsh
+voices. Their dress indicated that they belonged to the poorer class but
+were not bourgeois; in short they belonged to that ambiguous class, the
+vilest of all, which has neither fortune nor occupation, which never
+works except at some criminal plot, which is neither poor nor rich and
+combines the vices of one class with the misery of the other.
+
+They were disputing over a dirty pack of cards; among them I saw a girl
+who appeared to be very young and very pretty, decently clad, and
+resembling her companions in no way, except in the harshness of her
+voice, which was rough and broken as though it had performed the office
+of public crier. She looked at me closely as though astonished to see me
+in such a place, for I was elegantly attired. Little by little she
+approached my table, and seeing that all the bottles were empty, smiled.
+I saw that she had fine teeth of brilliant whiteness; I took her hand and
+begged her to be seated; she consented with good grace and asked what we
+should have for supper.
+
+I looked at her without saying a word, while my eyes began to fill with
+tears; she observed my emotion and inquired the cause. I could not reply.
+She understood that I had some secret sorrow and forebore any attempt to
+learn the cause; drawing her handkerchief she dried my tears from time to
+time as we dined.
+
+There was something about that girl that was at once repulsive and sweet,
+a singular impudence mingled with pity, that I could not understand. If
+she had taken my hand in the street she would have inspired a feeling of
+horror in me, but it seemed so strange that a creature I had never seen
+should come to me, and without a word, proceed to order supper and dry my
+tears with her handkerchief that I was rendered speechless, revolted and
+yet charmed. What I had done had been done so quickly that I seemed to
+have obeyed some impulse of despair. Perhaps I was a fool or the victim
+of some supernal caprice.
+
+"Who are you?" I suddenly cried out; "what do you want of me? How do you
+know who I am? Who told you to dry my tears? Is this your vocation and do
+you think I desire you? I would not touch you with the tip of my finger.
+What are you doing here? Reply at once. Is it money you want? What price
+do you put on your pity?"
+
+I arose and tried to go out, but my feet refused to support me. At the
+same time my eyes failed me, a mortal weakness took possession of me and
+I fell over a chair.
+
+"You are not well," she said, taking me by the arm, "you have drunk, like
+the child that you are, without knowing what you were doing. Sit down in
+this chair and wait until a cab passes. You will tell me where you live
+and I will order the driver to take you home to your mother, since," she
+added, "you really find me ugly."
+
+As she spoke I raised my eyes. Perhaps my drunkenness deceived me, or
+perhaps I had not seen her face clearly before, but suddenly I detected
+in that unfortunate a fatal resemblance to my mistress. I shuddered at
+the sight. There is a certain shudder that affects the hair; some say it
+is death passing over the head, but it was not death that passed over
+mine.
+
+It was the malady of the age, or rather that girl was it herself; and it
+was she who, with her pale, half-mocking features, came and seated
+herself before me near the door of the tavern.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE instant I noticed her resemblance to my mistress a frightful idea
+occurred to me; it took irresistible possession of my muddled mind and I
+put it into execution at once.
+
+I took that girl home with me, I arranged my room just as I was
+accustomed to do when my mistress was with me. I was dominated by a
+certain recollection of past joys.
+
+Having arranged my room to my satisfaction I gave myself up to the
+intoxication of despair. I probed my heart to the bottom in order to
+sound its depths. A Tyrolean song that my mistress used to sing began to
+run through my head:
+
+  Altra volta gieri biele,
+  Blanch 'e rossa com' un flore;
+  Ma ora no. Non son piu biele,
+  Consumatis dal' amore.*
+
+  * Once I was beautiful, white and rosy as a flower; but now I am
+    not. I am no longer beautiful, consumed by the fire of love.
+
+I listened to the echo of that song as it reverberated through my heart.
+I said: "Behold the happiness of man; behold my little Paradise; behold
+my queen Mab, a girl from the streets. My mistress is no better. Behold
+what is found at the bottom of the glass when the nectar of the gods has
+been drained; behold the corpse of love."
+
+The unfortunate creature heard me singing and began to sing herself. I
+turned pale; for that harsh and rasping voice, coming from the lips of
+one who resembled my mistress, seemed to be a symbol of my experience. It
+sounded like a gurgle in the throat of debauchery. It seemed to me that
+my mistress, having been unfaithful, must have such a voice. I was
+reminded of Faust who, dancing at Brocken with a young sorceress, saw a
+red mouse come from her throat.
+
+"Stop!" I cried. I arose and approached her.
+
+Let me ask you, O, you men of the time, who are bent upon pleasure, who
+attend the balls and the opera and who upon retiring this night will seek
+slumber with the aid of some threadbare blasphemy of old Voltaire, some
+sensible badinage of Paul Louis Courier, some essay on economics, you who
+dally with the cold substance of that monstrous water-lily that Reason
+has planted in the hearts of our cities; I beg of you, if by some chance
+this obscure book falls into your hands, do not smile with noble disdain,
+do not shrug your shoulders; do not be too sure that I complain of an
+imaginary evil; do not be too sure that human reason is the most
+beautiful of faculties, that there is nothing real here below but
+quotations on the Bourse, gambling in the salon, wine on the table, a
+healthy body, indifference toward others, and the orgies, which come with
+the night.
+
+For some day, across your stagnant life, a gust of wind will blow. Those
+beautiful trees that you water with the stream of oblivion, Providence
+will destroy; you will be reduced to despair, messieurs the impassive,
+there will be tears in your eyes. I will not say that your mistresses
+will deceive you; that would not grieve you so much as the loss of your
+horse; but I do tell you that you will lose on the Bourse; your moneyed
+tranquillity, your golden happiness are in the care of a banker who may
+fail; in short I tell you, all frozen as you are, you are capable of
+loving something; some fiber of your being will be torn and you will give
+vent to a cry that will resemble a moan of pain. Some day, wandering
+about the muddy streets, when daily material joys shall have failed, you
+will find yourself seated disconsolately on a deserted bench at midnight.
+
+O! men of marble, sublime egoists, inimitable reasoners who have never
+given way to despair or made a mistake in arithmetic, if this ever
+happens to you, at the hour of your ruin you will remember Abelard when
+he lost Heloise. For he loved her more than you love your horses, your
+money or your mistresses; for he lost in losing her more than your prince
+Satan would lose in falling again from the battlements of Heaven; for he
+loved her with a certain love of which the gazettes do not speak, the
+shadow of which your wives and your daughters do not perceive in our
+theaters and in our books; for he passed half of his life kissing her
+white forehead, teaching her to sing the psalms of David and the
+canticles of Saul; for he did not love her on earth alone; and God
+consoled him.
+
+Believe me, when in your distress you think of Abelard you will not look
+with the same eye upon the sweet blasphemy of Voltaire and the badinage
+of Courier; you will feel that the human reason can cure illusions but
+not sorrows; that God has use for Reason but He has not made her the
+sister of Charity. You will find that when the heart of man said: "I
+believe in nothing, for I see nothing," it did not speak the last word on
+the subject. You will look about you for something like hope, you will
+shake the doors of churches to see if they still swing, but you will find
+them walled up; you will think of becoming Trappists, and destiny will
+mock at you and for reply give you a bottle of wine and a courtesan.
+
+And if you drink the wine, if you take the courtesan, you will have
+learned how such things come about.
+
+
+
+                             PART II
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AWAKENING the next morning I experienced a feeling of such deep disgust
+with myself, I felt so degraded in my own eyes that a horrible temptation
+assailed me. I leaped from bed and ordered the creature to leave my room
+as quickly as possible. Then I sat down and looked gloomily about the
+room, my eyes resting mechanically on a brace of pistols that decorated
+the walls.
+
+When the suffering mind advances its hands, so to speak, toward
+annihilation, when our soul forms a violent resolution, there seems to be
+an independent physical horror in the act of touching the cold steel of
+some deadly weapon; the fingers stiffen in anguish, the arm grows cold
+and hard. Nature recoils as the condemned walks to death. I can not
+express what I experienced while waiting for that girl to go, unless it
+was as though my pistol had said to me "Think what you are about to do."
+
+Since then I have often wondered what would have happened to me if the
+girl had departed immediately. Doubtless the first flush of shame would
+have subsided; sadness is not despair, and God has joined them in order
+that one should not leave us alone with the other. Once relieved of the
+presence of that woman, my heart would have become calm. There would
+remain only repentance, for the angel of pardon has forbidden man to
+kill. But I was doubtless cured for life; debauchery was once for all
+driven from my door and I would never again know the feeling of disgust
+with which its first visit had inspired me.
+
+But it happened otherwise. The struggle which was going on within, the
+poignant reflections which overwhelmed me, the disgust, the fear, the
+wrath, even (for I experienced all these emotions at the same time), all
+these fatal powers nailed me to my chair, and, while I was thus a prey to
+the most dangerous delirium, the creature, standing before my mirror,
+thought of nothing but how best to arrange her dress and fix her hair,
+smiling the while. This lasted more than a quarter of an hour, during
+which I had almost forgotten her. Finally, some slight noise attracted my
+attention to her, and turning about with impatience I ordered her to
+leave the room in such a tone that she at once opened the door and threw
+me a kiss before going out.
+
+At the same moment some one rang the bell of the outer door. I arose
+hastily and had only time to open the closet door and motion the creature
+into it when Desgenais entered the room with two friends.
+
+The great currents that are found in the middle of the ocean resemble
+certain events in life. Fatality, Chance, Providence, what matters the
+name? Those who quarrel over the word, admit the fact. Such are not those
+who, speaking of Napoleon or Caesar, say: "He was a man of Providence."
+They apparently believe that heroes merit the attention which Heaven
+shows them and that the color of purple attracts gods as well as bulls.
+
+What decides the course of these little events, what objects and
+circumstances, in appearance the least important, lead to changes in
+fortune, there is not, to my mind, a deeper abyss for the thought. There
+is something in our ordinary actions that resembles the little blunted
+arrows we shoot at targets; little by little we make of our successive
+results an abstract and regular entity that we call our prudence or our
+will. Then a gust of wind passes, and behold the smallest of these
+arrows, the very lightest and most futile, is carried beyond our vision,
+beyond the horizon, to the dwelling-place of God himself.
+
+What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then! What becomes of those
+fantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence? Force itself, that
+mistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vain
+do we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to ward off
+with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns aside the
+point, and all the impetus of our effort, deflected into space, serves
+only to precipitate our fall.
+
+Thus at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I had
+committed, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when a
+great horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustain
+a dangerous intervention.
+
+Desgenais was in good humor; stretching out on my sofa he began to chaff
+me about the appearance of my face which looked, he said, as though I had
+not slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I
+begged him to spare me.
+
+He appeared to pay no attention to me, but warned by my tone he soon
+broached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that my
+mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three, that is to say she
+had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy having
+discovered her inconstancy made a great ado and all Paris knew it. At
+first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais' words as I was not
+listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three times in
+detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My first impulse was to
+laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of women; but it was
+no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?" was all I could
+say.
+
+Desgenais' friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had been
+surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene that all Paris
+knew by heart ensued. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or remain
+exposed to the most bitter taunts.
+
+It was easy for me to see that in all, the ridicule expended on the
+subject of this woman, on my unreasonable passion for her, was
+premeditated. To say that she deserved severest censure, that she had
+perhaps committed worse sins than those with which she was charged, that
+was to make me feel that I had been merely one of her dupes.
+
+All that did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of
+curing me of my love and was prepared to treat my disease heroically. A
+long friendship founded on mutual services gave him rights, and as his
+motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.
+
+Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame
+increase, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious that he
+could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent, a course that
+irritated me still more.
+
+In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room.
+Although the recital of that story was insupportable, I wanted to hear it
+again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but in vain.
+Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself to be a most
+virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room he looked at me
+calmly as though I was a caged fox.
+
+I can not express my feeling. A woman who had so long been the idol of my
+heart and who, since I had lost her, had caused me such deep affliction,
+the only one I had ever loved, she for whom I would weep till death,
+become suddenly a shameless wretch, the subject of coarse jests, of
+universal censure and scandal! It seemed to me that I felt on my shoulder
+the impression of a heated iron and that I was marked with a burning
+stigma.
+
+The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From time
+to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance.
+Desgenais did not leave me, he knew very well what he was doing, he knew
+that I might go to any length in my present desperate condition.
+
+When he found that he had brought me to the desired point he did not
+hesitate to deal the finishing stroke.
+
+"Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. My
+dear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certain night
+when the moon was shining brightly; while the two lovers were quarreling
+over their fair one and talking of cutting her throat as she sat before
+the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seen to pass up and
+down before the house, a shadow that resembled you so closely that it was
+decided that it must be you."
+
+"Who says that," I asked, "who has seen me in the street?"
+
+"Your mistress herself; she has told every one about it who cared to
+listen, just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you
+love her still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you
+can think of; but you should know that she talks about you publicly."
+
+I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise the
+truth my face betrayed me. Amour propre, the shame of confessing my
+weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort. "It is
+very true that I was in the street," I thought, "but if I had known that
+my mistress was as bad as she was, I would not have been there."
+
+Finally I persuaded myself that I had not been seen distinctly; I
+attempted to deny it. A deep blush suffused my face and I felt the
+futility of my feint. Desgenais smiled.
+
+"Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far."
+
+"But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know--"
+
+Desgenais compressed his lips as though to say:
+
+"You knew enough."
+
+I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so
+hot that I could not continue.
+
+"I, in the street bathed in tears, in despair; and during that time that
+encounter within! What! that very night! Mocked by her! Surely Desgenais
+you are dreaming. Is it true? Can it be possible? What do you know about
+it?"
+
+Thus talking at random, I lost my head, and an irresistible feeling of
+wrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted.
+
+"My friend," said Desgenais, "do not take the thing so seriously. The
+solitary life you have been leading for the last two months has made you
+ill, I see you have need of distraction. Come to supper with me this
+evening, and to-morrow morning we will go to the country."
+
+The tone in which he said this hurt me more than anything else; in vain I
+tried to control myself. "Yes," I thought, "deceived by that woman,
+poisoned by horrible suggestions, having no refuge either in work or in
+fatigue, having for my only safeguard against despair and ruin, a sacred
+but frightful grief. O God! it is that grief, that sacred relic of my
+sorrow that has just crumbled in my hands! It is no longer my love, it is
+my despair that is insulted. Mockery! She mocks at me as I weep!" That
+appeared incredible to me. All the memories of the past clustered about
+my heart when I thought of it. I seemed to see, one after the other, the
+specters of our nights of love; they hung over a bottomless eternal
+abyss, black as chaos, and from the bottom of that abyss there burst
+forth a shriek of laughter, sweet but mocking, that said: "Behold your
+reward!"
+
+If I had been told that the world mocked at me I would have replied: "So
+much the worse for it," and I would not be angry; but at the same time I
+was told that my mistress was a shameless wretch. Thus, on one side, the
+ridicule was public, vouched for, stated by two witnesses who, before
+telling what they knew, must have felt that the world was against me;
+and, on the other hand, what reply could I make? How could I escape? What
+could I do when the center of my life, my heart itself, was ruined,
+killed, annihilated. What could I say when that woman for whom I had
+braved all, ridicule as well as blame, for whom I had borne a mountain of
+misery, when that woman whom I loved and who loved another, of whom I
+demanded no love, of whom I desired nothing but permission to weep at her
+door, no favor but that of vowing my youth to her memory and writing her
+name, her name alone, on the tomb of my hopes! Ah! when I thought of it,
+I felt the hand of death heavy upon me; that woman mocked me, it was she
+who first pointed her finger at me, singling me out to the idle crowd
+which surrounded her; it was she, it was those lips so many times pressed
+to mine, it was that body, that soul of my life, my flesh and my blood,
+it was from that source the injury came; yes, the last of all, the most
+cowardly and the most bitter, the pitiless laugh that spits in the face
+of grief.
+
+The more I thought of it the more enraged I became. Did I say enraged? I
+do not know what passion controlled me. What I do know is that an
+inordinate desire for vengeance took possession of me. How could I
+revenge myself on a woman? I would have paid any price for a weapon that
+could be used against her. But I had none, not even the one she had
+employed; I could not pay her in her own coin.
+
+Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet.
+I had forgotten her.
+
+"Listen to me!" I cried, rising. "I have loved, I have loved like a fool.
+I deserve all the ridicule you have subjected me to. But, by Heaven! I
+will show you something that will prove to you that I am not such a fool
+as you think."
+
+With these words I pulled aside the curtain and exposed the interior of
+the closet. The girl was trying to conceal herself in a corner.
+
+"Go in, if you choose," I said to Desgenais; "you who call me a fool for
+loving a woman, see how your teaching has affected me. Do you think I
+passed last night under the windows of -----? But that is not all," I
+added, "that is not all I have to say. You give a supper to-night, and
+to-morrow go to the country; I am with you, and shall not leave you from
+now on. We shall not separate, but pass the entire day together. Are you
+with me? Agreed! I have tried to make of my heart the mausoleum of my
+love, but I will bury my love in another tomb."
+
+With these words I sat down, marveling how indignation can solace grief
+and restore happiness. Whoever is astonished to learn that from that day
+I completely changed my course of life does not know the heart of man,
+and he does not understand that a young man of twenty may hesitate before
+taking a step, but does not retreat when he has once taken it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE apprenticeship to debauchery resembles vertigo, for one feels at
+first a sort of terror mingled with sensuous delight as though peering
+down from some dizzy height. While shameful secret dissipation ruins the
+noblest of men, in frank and open irregularities there is some palliation
+even for the most depraved. He who goes at nightfall, muffled in his
+cloak, to sully his life incognito, and to clandestinely shake off the
+hypocrisy of the day, resembles an Italian who strikes his enemy from
+behind, not daring to provoke him to open quarrel. There are
+assassinations in the dark corners of the city under shelter of the
+night. He who goes his way without concealment says: "Every one does it
+and conceals it; I do it and do not conceal it." Thus speaks pride, and
+once that cuirass has been buckled on, it glitters with the refulgent
+light of day.
+
+It is said that Damocles saw a sword suspended over his head. Thus
+libertines seem to have something over their heads which says "Go on, but
+I hold the thread." Those masked carriages that are seen during carnival
+are the faithful images of their life. A dilapidated open wagon, flaming
+torches lighting up painted faces; such laugh and sing. Among them you
+see what appears to be women; they are in fact the remains of women, with
+human semblance. They are caressed and insulted; no one knows who they
+are or what their names. All that floats and staggers under the flaming
+torch in an intoxication that thinks of nothing, and over which, it is
+said, a god watches.
+
+But if the first impression is astonishment, the second is horror, and
+the third pity. There is displayed there so much force, or rather such an
+abuse of force, that it often happens that the noblest characters and the
+strongest constitutions are ruined. It appears hardy and dangerous to
+these; they would make prodigies of themselves; they bind themselves to
+debauchery as did Mazeppa to his horse; they gallop, they make Centaurs
+of themselves, and they see neither the bloody trail that the shreds of
+their flesh leave, nor the eyes of the wolves that gleam in hungry
+pursuit, nor the desert, nor the vultures.
+
+Launched into that life by the circumstances that I have recounted, I
+must now describe what I saw there.
+
+The first time I had a close view of one of those famous gatherings
+called theatrical masked balls I heard the debauchery of the Regency
+spoken of, and the time when a queen of France was disguised as a flower
+merchant. I found there flower merchants disguised as camp-followers. I
+expected to find libertinism there, but in fact I found none at all. It
+is only the scum of libertinism, some blows and drunken women lying in
+deathlike stupor on broken bottles.
+
+The first time I saw debauchery at table I heard of the suppers of
+Heliogabalus and of the philosophy of Greece which made the pleasure of
+the senses a kind of religion of nature. I expected to find oblivion or
+something like joy; I found there the worst thing in the world, ennui
+trying to live, and an Englishman who said: "I do this or that, therefore
+I amuse myself. I have spent so many pieces of gold, therefore I
+experience so much pleasure." And they wear out their life on that
+grindstone.
+
+The first time I saw courtesans I heard of Aspasia who sat on the knees
+of Alcibiades while discussing philosophy with Socrates. I expected to
+find something bold and insolent, but gay, free, and vivacious, something
+of the sparkle of champagne; I found a yawning mouth, a fixed eye and
+hooked hands.
+
+The first time I saw titled courtesans I read Boccaccio and Andallo;
+tasting of everything, I read Shakespeare. I had dreamed of those
+beautiful triflers; of those cherubim of hell. A thousand times I had
+drawn those heads so poetically foolish, so enterprising in audacity,
+heads of harebrained mistresses who spoil a romance with a glance and who
+walk through life by waves and by shocks like the undulating sirens; I
+thought of the fairies of the modern tales who are always drunk with love
+if not with wine. I found, instead, writers of letters, arrangers of
+precise hours who practise lying as an art and cloak their baseness under
+hypocrisy, whose only thought is to give themselves and forget.
+
+The first time I looked on the gaming table I heard of floods of gold, of
+fortunes made in the quarter of an hour, and of a lord of the court of
+Henry IV who won on one card a hundred thousand _louis_. I found a narrow
+room where workmen who had but one shirt, rented a suit for the evening
+for twenty _sous_, police stationed at the door and starving wretches
+staking a crust of bread against a pistol-shot.
+
+The first time I saw an assembly, public or other, open to one of those
+thirty thousand women who are permitted to sell themselves in Paris, I
+heard of the saturnalia of all times, of every imaginable orgy, from
+Babylon to Rome, from the temple of Priapus to the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_, and
+I have always seen written on the sill of that door the word, "Pleasure."
+I found nothing suggestive of pleasure but in its place the word,
+"Prostitution;" and it has always appeared ineffaceable, not graven in
+that metal that takes the sun's light, but in the palest of all, that of
+the cold light whose colors seem tinted by the somber hues of night,
+silver.
+
+The first time I saw the people--it was a frightful morning of Ash
+Wednesday, near Courtille. A cold fine rain had been falling since the
+evening before; the streets were covered with pools of water. Masked
+carriages filed hither and thither, crowding between hedges of hideous
+men and women standing on the sidewalks. That sinister wall of spectators
+had tiger eyes, red with wine, gleaming with hatred. The carriage wheels
+splashed mud over this wall, but it did not move. I was standing on the
+front seat of an open carriage; from time to time a man in rags would
+step out from the wall, hurl a torrent of abuse at us, then cover us with
+a cloud of flour. Mud would soon follow; yet we kept on our way toward
+the Isle of Love and the pretty wood of Romainville consecrated by so
+many sweet kisses. One of my friends fell from his seat into the mud,
+narrowly escaping death on the paving. The people threw themselves on him
+to overpower him and we were obliged to hasten to his assistance. One of
+the trumpeters who preceded us on horseback was struck on the shoulder by
+a paving stone; the flour had given out. I had never heard of anything
+like that.
+
+I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+DESGENAIS had planned a reunion of young people at his country house. The
+best wines, a splendid table, gaming, dancing, hunting, nothing was
+lacking. Desgenais was rich and generous. He combined antique hospitality
+with modern custom. Moreover one could always find in his house the best
+books; his conversation was that of a man of learning and culture. He was
+a problem.
+
+I took with me a taciturn humor that nothing could overcome; he respected
+it scrupulously. I did not reply to his questions and he dropped the
+subject; he was satisfied that I had forgotten my mistress. Nevertheless,
+I went to the chase and appeared at the table and was as convivial as the
+best; he asked no more.
+
+One of the most unfortunate proclivities of inexperienced youth is to
+judge of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that
+there is a race of men who are very unfortunate; it is that race which
+says to youth: "You are right in believing in evil, and we know what it
+is." I have heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium
+between good and evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and
+men worthy of them; they call love the passing sentiment. They speak of
+it as of an engine constructed by a wagon builder or a building
+contractor. They said to me: "This and that are agreed upon, such and
+such phrases are spoken and certain others are repeated in reply; letters
+are written in a prescribed manner, the knees adjusted in a certain
+attitude." All that was regulated as a parade; these fine fellows had
+gray hair.
+
+That made me laugh. Unfortunately for me I can not tell a woman whom I
+despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention
+and that she will not be deceived by it. I have never bent my knee to the
+ground when my heart did not go with it. So that class of women known as
+easy is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with them, it is
+without knowing it, and through simplicity.
+
+I can understand that one's soul can be put aside but not that it should
+be handled. That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I do not
+intend either to boast or to lower myself. Above all things I hate those
+women who laugh at love and I permit them to reciprocate the sentiment;
+there will never be any dispute between us.
+
+Such women are beneath the courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as
+they; but courtesans are capable of love and those women are not. I
+remember a woman who loved me and who said to a man many times richer
+than I with whom she was living: "I am weary of you, I am going to my
+lover." That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised by
+society.
+
+I passed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress
+had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I
+could not overcome.
+
+At the sight of that world which surrounded me, so new to me, I
+experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and
+profound, that caused me to look at things as does a restless horse. An
+incident occurred which made a deep impression on me.
+
+Desgenais had with him a very beautiful mistress who loved him much. One
+evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her such
+as she was, that is to say, admirable, as much on account of her
+attachment for him as because of her beauty. In short, I praised her
+highly and with warmth, giving him to understand that he ought to be
+happy.
+
+He made no reply. It was his manner, for he was the driest of men. That
+night when all had retired and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes I
+heard a knock at my door. I supposed it was some one of my friends who
+could not sleep and invited him to enter.
+
+There appeared before my astonished eyes a woman, very pale, carrying a
+bouquet in her hands to which was attached a piece of paper bearing these
+words: "To Octave, from his friend Desgenais."
+
+I had no sooner read these words when a flash of light came to me. I
+understood the meaning of this action of Desgenais in making me this
+Turk's gift. It was intended for a lesson in love. That woman loved him,
+I had praised her and he wished to tell me that I ought not to love her,
+whether I refused her or accepted her.
+
+That made me think. The poor woman was weeping and did not dare dry her
+tears for fear I would see them. What threat had he used to make her
+come? I did not know. I said to her:
+
+"You may return and fear nothing."
+
+She replied that if she should return Desgenais would send her back to
+Paris.
+
+"Yes," I replied, "you are beautiful and I am susceptible to temptation;
+but you weep, and your tears not being shed for me, I care nothing for
+the rest. Go, therefore, and I will see to it that you are not sent back
+to Paris."
+
+One of my peculiarities is that meditation, which with the great number
+is a firm and constant quality of the mind, is in my case an instinct
+independent of the will and it seizes me like an access of passion. It
+comes to me at intervals in its own good time, in spite of me and in
+almost any place. But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes
+me whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it.
+
+When the woman had left, I sat up.
+
+"My friend," I said to myself, "behold what has been sent you. If
+Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have
+been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with
+her.
+
+"Have you well considered it? A sublime and divine mystery is
+accomplished. Such a being costs nature the most vigilant maternal care;
+yet man who would cure you, can think of nothing better than to offer you
+lips which belong to him in order to teach you how to cease to love.
+
+"How was it accomplished? Others than you have doubtless admired her, but
+they ran no risk. She might employ all the seduction she pleased; you
+alone were in danger.
+
+"It must be that Desgenais has a heart, since he lives. In what respect
+does he differ from you? He is a man who believes in nothing, fears
+nothing, who knows no care or ennui, perhaps, and yet it is clear that a
+scratch on the finger would fill him with terror, for if his body
+abandons him, what becomes of him? He lives only in the body. What sort
+of creature is that who treats his soul as the flagellants treat their
+bodies? Can one live without a head?
+
+"Think of it. Here is a man who possesses the most beautiful woman in the
+world; he is young and ardent; he finds her beautiful and tells her so;
+she replies that she loves him. Some one touches him on the shoulder and
+says to him 'She is unfaithful.' Nothing more, he is sure of himself. If
+some one had said: 'She is a poisoner,' he would, perhaps, have continued
+to love her, he would not have given her a kiss less; but she is
+unfaithful and it is no more a question of love with him than of the star
+of Saturn.
+
+"What is there in that word? A word that is merited, positive, withering,
+it is agreed. But why? It is still but a word. Can you kill a body with a
+word?
+
+"And if you love that body? Some one pours a glass of wine and says to
+you: 'Do not love that, for you can get four for six francs.' And if you
+become intoxicated?
+
+"But that Desgenais loves his mistress, since he keeps her; he must,
+therefore, have a peculiar fashion of loving? No, he has not; his fashion
+of loving is not love, and he cares no more for the woman who merits
+affection than for her who is unworthy. He loves no one, simply and
+truly.
+
+"What has led him to that? Was he born thus? To love is as natural as to
+eat and to drink. He is not a man. Is he a dwarf or a giant? What! always
+that impassive body? Upon what does he feed, what brew does he drink?
+Behold him at thirty as old as the senile Mithridates; the poisons of
+vipers are his familiar friends.
+
+"There is the great secret, my child, the key to which you must seize. By
+whatever process of reasoning debauchery may be defended, it will be
+proven that it is natural at a given day, hour or evening, but not
+to-morrow nor every day. There is not a people on earth which has not
+considered woman either the companion and consolation of man or the
+sacred instrument of life, and has not under these two forms honored her.
+And yet here is an armed warrior who leaps into the abyss that God has
+dug with his own hands between man and brute; as well might he deny the
+fact. What mute Titian is this who dares repress under the kisses of the
+body the love of the thought, and place on human lips the stigma of the
+brute, the seal of eternal silence?
+
+"There is a word that should be studied. There breathes under the wind of
+those dismal forests that are called secrets of the body, one of those
+mysteries that the angels of destruction whisper in the ear of night as
+it descends upon the earth. That man is better or worse than God has made
+him. His bowels are like those of sterile women, where nature has not
+completed her work, or there is distilled in the shadow some venomous
+poison.
+
+"Ah! yes, neither occupation nor study have been able to cure you, my
+friend. To forget and to learn, that is your device. You finger the
+leaves of dead books; you are too young for ruins. Look about you, the
+pale herd of men surrounds you. The eyes of the sphinx glitter in the
+midst of divine hieroglyphics; decipher the book of life! Courage,
+scholar, launch out on the Styx, the invulnerable flood, and let the
+waves of sorrow waft you to death or to God."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+"ALL there was of good in that, supposing there was some good in it, was
+that false pleasures were the seeds of sorrow and of bitterness which
+fatigued me to the point of exhaustion." Such are the simple words spoken
+with reference to his youth by that man who was the most a man of any who
+have lived, Saint Augustine. Of those who have done as I, few would say
+those words, all have them in their hearts; I have found no others in
+mine.
+
+Returning to Paris in the month of December I passed the winter attending
+pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving Desgenais, who was
+delighted with me; I was not with him. The more I went about, the more
+unhappy I became. It seemed to me after a short enough time, that the
+world, which had at first appeared so strange, would tie me up, so to
+speak, at every step; where I had expected to see a specter, I
+discovered, upon closer inspection, a shadow.
+
+Desgenais asked what was the matter with me.
+
+"And you?" I asked. "What is the matter with you? You have lost some
+relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?"
+
+At times he seemed to understand me and did not question me. We sat down
+before a table and drank until we lost our heads; in the middle of the
+night we took horses and rode ten or twelve leagues into the country;
+returning we went to the bath, then to table, then to gambling, then to
+bed; and when I reached mine, I fell on my knees and wept. That was my
+evening prayer.
+
+Strange to say, I took pride in passing for what I was not, I boasted of
+being worse than I really was, and experienced a sort of melancholy
+pleasure in doing so. When I had actually done what I claimed, I felt
+nothing but ennui, but when I invented an account of some folly, some
+story of debauchery or recital of an orgy with which I had nothing to do,
+it seemed to me that my heart was better satisfied, although I know not
+why.
+
+Whenever I joined a party of pleasure-seekers and we visited some spot
+made sacred by tender associations I became stupid, went off by myself,
+looked gloomily at the trees and bushes as though I would like to crush
+them under my feet. Upon my return I would remain silent for hours.
+
+The baleful idea that truth is nudity beset me on every occasion.
+
+"The world," I said to myself, "is accustomed to call his disguise
+virtue, his chaplet religion, his flowing mantle convenience. Honor and
+Morality are his chamber-maids; he drinks in his wine the tears of the
+poor in spirit who believe in him; while the sun is high in the heavens
+he walks about with downcast eye; he goes to church, to the ball, to the
+assembly, and when evening has come he removes his mantle and there
+appears a naked bacchante with hoofs of a goat."
+
+But such thoughts aroused a feeling of horror, for I felt that if the
+body was under the clothing, the skeleton was under the body. "Is it
+possible that that is all?" I asked in spite of myself. Then I returned
+to the city, I saw a little girl take her mother's arm and I became like
+a child.
+
+Although I had followed my friends into all manner of dissipation, I had
+no desire to resume my place in the world of society. The sight of women
+caused me intolerable pain; I could not touch a woman's hand without
+trembling. I had decided never to love again.
+
+Nevertheless I returned from the ball one evening so sick at heart that I
+feared that it was love. I happened to have beside me at supper the most
+charming and the most distinguished woman whom it had ever been my good
+fortune to meet. When I closed my eyes to sleep I saw her image before
+me. I thought I was lost, and I at once resolved that I would avoid
+meeting her again. A sort of fever seized me and I lay on my bed for
+fifteen days, repeating over and over the lightest words I had exchanged
+with her.
+
+As there is no spot on earth where one is so well known by his neighbors
+as at Paris, it was not long before people of my acquaintance who had
+seen me with Desgenais began to accuse me of being a great libertine. In
+that I admired the discernment of the world: in proportion as I had
+passed for inexperienced and sensitive at the time of my rupture with my
+mistress, I was now considered insensible and hardened. Some one had just
+told me that it was clear I had never loved that woman, that I had
+doubtless merely played at love, thereby paying me a compliment which I
+really did not deserve; but the most of it was that I was so swollen with
+vanity that I was charmed with that view.
+
+My desire was to pass for blase, even while I was filled with desires and
+my exalted imagination was carrying me beyond all limits. I began to say
+that I could not make any headway with the women; my head was filled with
+chimeras which I preferred to realities. In short, my unique pleasure
+consisted in altering the nature of facts. If a thought were but
+extraordinary, if it shocked common sense, I became its ardent champion
+at the risk of advocating the most dangerous sentiments.
+
+My greatest fault was imitation of everything that struck me, not by its
+beauty but by its strangeness, and not wishing to confess myself an
+imitator I resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original.
+According to my idea nothing was good or even tolerable; nothing was
+worth the trouble of turning the head, and yet when I had become warmed
+up in a discussion it seemed as if there was no expression in the French
+language violent enough to sustain my cause; but my warmth would subside
+as soon as my opponents ranged themselves on my side.
+
+It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the
+life I was leading I was unwilling to change it:
+
+    Simigliante a quella 'nferma
+  Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume,
+  Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.--DANTE.
+
+Thus I tortured my mind to give it change and I fell into all these
+vagaries in order to get out of myself.
+
+But while my vanity was thus occupied, my heart was suffering, so that
+there was always within me a man who laughed and a man who wept. It was a
+perpetual counter-stroke between my head and my heart. My own mockeries
+frequently caused me great pain and my deepest sorrows aroused a desire
+to burst into laughter.
+
+One day a man boasted of being proof against superstitious fears, in
+fact, fear of every kind; his friends put a human skeleton in his bed and
+then concealed themselves in an adjoining room to wait for his return.
+They did not hear any noise, but in the morning they found him dressed
+and sitting on the bed playing with the bones; he had lost his reason.
+
+There would be in me something that resembled that man but for the fact
+that my favorite bones were those of a well-beloved skeleton; they were
+the debris of my love, all that remained of the past.
+
+But it must not be supposed that there were no good moments in all this
+disorder. Among Desgenais's companions were several young men of
+distinction, a number of artists. We sometimes passed together delightful
+evenings under pretext of being libertines. One of them was infatuated
+with a beautiful singer who charmed us with her fresh and melancholy
+voice. How many times we sat listening while supper was served and
+waiting! How many times, when the flagons had been emptied, one of us
+held a volume of Lamartine and read in a voice choked by emotion! Every
+other thought disappeared. The hours passed by unheeded. What strange
+libertines we were! We did not speak a word and there were tears in our
+eyes.
+
+Desgenais especially, habitually the coldest and driest of men, was
+inexplicable on such occasions; he delivered himself of such
+extraordinary sentiments that he might have been considered a poet in
+delirium. But after these effusions he would be seized with furious joy.
+He would break everything within reach when warmed by wine; the genius of
+destruction stalked forth armed to the teeth. I have seen him pick up a
+chair and hurl it through a closed window.
+
+I could not help making a study of that singular man. He appeared to me
+the marked type of a class which ought to exist somewhere but which was
+unknown to me. One could never tell whether his outbursts were the
+despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child.
+
+During the fete, in particular, he was in such a state of nervous
+excitation that he acted like a schoolboy. He persuaded me to go out on
+foot with him one day, muffled in grotesque costumes, with masks and
+instruments of music. We promenaded gravely all night, in the midst of a
+most frightful din of horrible sounds. We found a driver asleep on his
+box and unhitched his horses; then pretending we had just come from the
+ball, set up a great cry. The coachman started up, cracked his whip and
+his horses started off on a trot, leaving him seated on the box. The same
+evening we passed through the Champs Elysees; Desgenais, seeing another
+carriage passing, stopped it after the manner of a highwayman; he
+intimidated the coachman by threats and forced him to climb down and lie
+flat on his stomach. He then opened the carriage door and found within a
+young man and lady motionless with fright. Whispering to me to imitate
+him, we began to enter one door and go out the other, so that in the
+obscurity the poor young people thought they saw a procession of bandits
+going through their carriage.
+
+As I understand it, the men who say that the world gives experience ought
+to be astonished if they are believed. The world is merely a number of
+whirlpools, each one whirling independent of the others; they float about
+in groups like flocks of birds. There is no resemblance between the
+different quarters of the same city, and the denizen of the Chausee
+d'Antin has as much to learn at Marais as at Lisbon. It is true that
+these whirlpools are traversed, and have been since the beginning of the
+world, by seven personages who are always the same: the first is called
+hope; the second, conscience; the third, opinion; the fourth, desire; the
+fifth, sorrow; the sixth, pride; and the seventh, man.
+
+We were, therefore, my companions and I, a flock of birds, and we
+remained together until springtime, sometimes singing, sometimes flying.
+
+"But," the reader objects, "where are the women in all this? I see
+nothing of debauchery here."
+
+O! creatures who bear the name of women and who have passed like dreams
+through a life that was itself a dream, what shall I say of you? Where
+there is no shadow of hope can there be memory? Where shall I seek for
+memory's meed? What is there more dumb in human memory? What is there
+more completely forgotten than you?
+
+If I must speak of women I will mention two; here is one of them:
+
+I ask what would be expected of a poor sewing-girl, young and pretty,
+about eighteen, with a romantic affair on her hands that is purely a
+question of love; with little knowledge of life and no idea of morals;
+eternally sewing near a window before which processions were not allowed
+to pass, by order of the police, but near which a dozen women prowled who
+were licensed and recognized by these same police; what could you expect
+of her, when, after having tired her hands and eyes all day long on a
+dress or a hat, she leans out of that window as night falls? That dress
+she has sewed, that hat she has trimmed with her poor and honest hands in
+order to earn a supper for the household, she sees passing along the
+street on the head or on the body of a public woman. Thirty times a day a
+hired carriage stops before the door and there steps out a prostitute,
+numbered as is the hack in which she rides, who stands before a glass and
+primps, taking off and putting on the results of many days' work on the
+part of the poor girl who watches her. She sees that woman draw from her
+pocket six pieces of gold, she who has but one a week; she looks at her
+feet and her head, she examines her dress, and eyes her as she steps into
+her carriage; and then, what could you expect? When night has fallen,
+after a day when work has been scarce, when her mother is sick, she opens
+her door, stretches out her hand and stops a passer-by.
+
+Such was the story of a girl I have known. She could play the piano, knew
+something of accounts, a little designing, even a little history and
+grammar, and thus a little of everything. How many times have I regarded
+with poignant compassion that sad sketch made by nature and mutilated by
+society! How many times have I followed in the darkness the pale and
+vacillating gleam of a spark flickering in abortive life! How many times
+have I tried to revive the fire that smoldered under those ashes! Alas!
+her long hair was the color of ashes and we called her Cendrillon.
+
+I was not rich enough to help her; Desgenais, at my request, interested
+himself in the poor creature; he made her learn over again all of which
+she had a slight knowledge. But she could make no appreciable progress.
+When her teacher left her she would fold her arms and for hours look
+silently across the public square. What days! What misery! One day I
+threatened that if she did not work she should have no money; she
+silently resumed her task and I learned that she stole out of the house a
+few minutes later. Where did she go? God knows. Before she left I asked
+her to embroider a purse for me. I still have that sad relic, it hangs in
+my room a monument of the ruin that is wrought here below.
+
+But here is another case:
+
+It was about ten in the evening when, after a riotous day, we repaired to
+Desgenais, who had left us some hours before to make his preparations.
+The orchestra was ready and the room filled when we arrived.
+
+Most of the dancers were girls from the theaters. As soon as we entered I
+plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That delightful exercise has
+always been dear to me; I know of nothing more beautiful, more worthy of
+a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances compared with the waltz are
+but insipid conventions or pretexts for insignificant converse. It is
+truly to possess a woman, in a certain sense, to hold her for a half hour
+in your arms, and to draw her on in the dance, palpitating in spite of
+herself, in such a way that it can not be positively asserted whether she
+is being protected or seduced. Some deliver themselves up to the pleasure
+with such modest voluptuousness, with such sweet and pure abandon that
+one does not know whether he experiences desire or fear, and whether, if
+pressed to the heart they would faint or break in pieces like the rose.
+Germany, where that dance was invented, is surely the land of love.
+
+I held in my arms a superb danseuse from an Italian theater who had come
+to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a bacchante, with a
+dress of panther's skin. Never have I seen anything so languishing as
+that creature. She was tall and slender, and while dancing with extreme
+rapidity, had the appearance of allowing herself to be led; to see her
+one would think that she would tire her partner, but such was not the
+case, for she moved as though by enchantment.
+
+On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which intoxicated
+me. She yielded to my encircling arms as does the Indian liana, with a
+gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed surrounded with a
+perfumed veil of silk. At each turn there could be heard a light tinkling
+from her metal girdle; she moved so gracefully that I thought I beheld a
+beautiful star, and her smile was that of a fairy about to vanish from
+human sight. The tender and voluptuous music of the dance seemed to come
+from her lips, while her head, covered with a wilderness of black
+tresses, bent backward as though her neck was too slender to support its
+weight.
+
+When the waltz was over I threw myself on a chair; my heart beat wildly.
+"O, Heaven!" I murmured, "how can it be possible! O, superb monster! O,
+beautiful reptile! How you writhe, how you coil in and out, sweet adder,
+with supple and spotted skin! Thy cousin the serpent has taught thee to
+coil about the tree of life, holding between thy lips the apple of
+temptation. O, Melusina! Melusina! The hearts of men are thine. You know
+it well, enchantress, with your soft languor that seems to suspect
+nothing! You know very well that you ruin, that you destroy, you know
+that he who touches you will suffer; you know that he dies who basks in
+your smile, who breathes the perfume of your flowers and comes under the
+magic influence of your charms; that is why you abandon yourself so
+freely, that is why your smile is so sweet, your flowers so fresh; that
+is why you so gently place your arms on our shoulders. O, Heaven! what is
+your will with us?"
+
+Professor Halle has said a terrible thing: "Woman is the nervous part of
+humanity, man the muscular." Humboldt himself, that serious thinker, has
+said that an invisible atmosphere surrounds the human nerves. I do not
+quote the dreamers who watch the flight of Spallanzani's bat, and who
+think they have found a sixth sense in nature. Such as nature is, her
+mysteries are terrible enough, her powers mighty enough, that nature
+which creates us, mocks at us, and kills us, without deepening the
+shadows that surround us. But where is the man who has lived who will
+deny woman's power over us, if he has ever taken leave of a beautiful
+dancer with trembling hands. If he has ever felt that indefinable
+enervating magnetism which, in the midst of the dance, under the
+influence of the sound of music, and the warmth that makes all else seem
+cold, that comes from a young woman, that electrifies her and leaps from
+her to him as the perfume of aloes from the swinging censer? I was struck
+with stupor. I was familiar with a certain sensation similar to
+drunkenness, which characterizes love; I knew that it was the aureole
+which crowned the well-beloved. But that she should excite such
+heart-throbs, that she should evoke such fantoms with nothing but her
+beauty, her flowers, her motley costume, and a certain trick of turning
+she had learned from some merry-andrew; and that without a word, without
+a thought, without even appearing to know it! What was chaos if it
+required seven days to transform it?
+
+It was not love, however, that I felt, and I do not know how to describe
+it unless I call it thirst. For the first time I felt vibrating in my
+body a cord that was not attuned to my heart. The sight of that beautiful
+animal had aroused a responsive roar from another animal in my bowels. I
+felt sure I would never tell that woman that I loved her or that she
+pleased me or even that she was beautiful; there was nothing on my lips
+but a desire to kiss her, and say to her: "Make a girdle of those
+listless arms and lean that head on my breast; place that sweet smile on
+my lips." My body loved hers, I was under the influence of beauty as of
+wine.
+
+Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there.
+
+"Who is that woman?" I asked.
+
+"What woman? Of whom do you speak?" I took his arm and led him into the
+hall. The Italian saw us coming and smiled. I stopped and stepped back.
+
+"Ah!" said Desgenais, "you have danced with Marco?"
+
+"Who is Marco?" I asked.
+
+"Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please
+you?"
+
+"No," I replied, "I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; I
+have no further interest in her."
+
+Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed
+him.
+
+"You are very prompt," he said, "Marco is no ordinary woman. She was
+almost the wife of M. de -----, ambassador to Milan. One of his friends
+brought her here. Yet," he added, "you may rest assured I shall speak to
+her. We shall not allow you to die so long as there is any hope for you
+or any resource left untried. It is possible that she will remain to
+supper."
+
+He left me, and I was alarmed to see him approach her. But they were soon
+lost in the crowd.
+
+"Is it possible," I murmured, "have I come to this? O, heavens! is this
+what I am going to love? But after all," I thought, "my senses have
+spoken, but not my heart."
+
+Thus I tried to calm myself. A few minutes later Desgenais tapped me on
+the shoulder.
+
+"We shall go to supper at once," said he. "You will give your arm to
+Marco; she knows that she has pleased you and it is all arranged."
+
+"Listen," I said; "I hardly know what I experienced. It seems to me I see
+limping Vulcan covering Venus with kisses while his beard smokes with the
+fumes of the forge. He fixes his affrighted eyes on the dazzling skin of
+his prey. His happiness in the possession of his prize causes him to
+laugh for joy, and at the same time shudder with happiness, and then he
+remembers his father, Jupiter, who is seated up on high among the gods."
+
+Desgenais looked at me but made no reply; taking me by the arm he led me
+away.
+
+"I am tired," he said, "and I am sad; this noise wearies me. Let us go to
+supper, that will refresh us."
+
+The supper was splendid, but I could not touch it.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" asked Marco.
+
+But I sat like a statue, making no reply and looking at her from head to
+foot with amazement.
+
+She began to laugh, and Desgenais, who could see us from his table,
+joined her. Before her was a large crystal glass, cut in the shape of a
+chalice, which reflected the glittering lights on its thousand sparkling
+facets, shining like the prism and revealing the seven colors of the
+rainbow. She listlessly extended her arm and filled it to the brim with
+Cyprian and a sweetened Oriental wine which I afterward found so bitter
+on the deserted Lido.
+
+"Here," she said, presenting it to me, "_per voi, bambino mio_."
+
+"For you and for me," I said, presenting her my glass in turn.
+
+She moistened her lips while I emptied my glass, unable to conceal the
+sadness she seemed to read in my eyes.
+
+"Is it not good?" she asked.
+
+"No," I replied.
+
+"Perhaps your head aches?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Or you are tired?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah! then it is the ennui of love?"
+
+With these words she became serious, for in spite of herself, in speaking
+of love, her Italian heart beat the faster.
+
+A scene of folly ensued. Heads were becoming heated, cheeks were assuming
+that purple hue with which wine colors the face as though to prevent
+shame from appearing there; a confused murmur like to that of a rising
+sea could be heard all over the room, here and there eyes would become
+inflamed, then fixed and empty; I know not what wind stirred above this
+drunkenness. A woman rose, as in a tranquil sea the first wave that feels
+the tempest's breath, and rises to announce it; she makes a sign with her
+hand to command silence, empties her glass at a gulp, and with the same
+movement undoes her hair, which falls in shining tresses over her
+shoulders; she opens her mouth as though to start a drinking song; her
+eyes were half closed. She breathed with an effort; twice a harsh sound
+came from her throat; a mortal pallor overspread her features and she
+dropped into her chair.
+
+Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to
+distinguish anything, either laughter, songs or cries.
+
+"What do you think of it?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"Nothing," I replied. "I have stopped my ears and am looking at it."
+
+In the midst of that bacchanal the beautiful Marco remained mute,
+drinking nothing and leaning quietly on her bare arm. She seemed neither
+astonished nor affected by it.
+
+"Do you not wish to do as they?" I asked. "You have just offered me
+Cyprian wine; why do you not drink some yourself?"
+
+With these words I poured out a large glass full to the brim. She raised
+it to her lips, and then placed it on the table and resumed her listless
+attitude.
+
+The more I studied that Marco, the more singular she appeared; she took
+pleasure in nothing and did not seem to be annoyed by anything. It
+appeared as difficult to anger her as to please her; she did what was
+asked of her, but no more. I thought of the genius of eternal repose, and
+I imagined that if that pale statue should become somnambulant it would
+resemble Marco.
+
+"Are you good or bad?" I asked. "Are you sad or gay? Are you loved? Do
+you wish to be loved? Are you fond of money, of pleasure, of what?
+Horses, the country, balls? What pleases you? Of what are you dreaming?"
+
+To all these questions the same smile on her part, a smile that expressed
+neither joy nor sorrow, but which seemed to say, "What does it matter?"
+and nothing more.
+
+I held my lips to hers; she gave me a listless kiss and then passed her
+handkerchief over her mouth.
+
+"Marco," I said, "woe to him who loves you."
+
+She turned her dark eyes on me, then turned them upward, and raising her
+finger with that Italian gesture which can not be imitated, she
+pronounced that characteristic feminine word of her country:
+
+"_Forse_!"
+
+And then dessert was served. Some of the party had departed, some were
+smoking, others gambling, and a few still at table; some of the women
+danced, others slept. The orchestra returned; the candles paled and
+others were lighted. I recalled a supper of Petronius where the lights
+went out around the drunken masters, and the slaves entered and stole the
+silver. All the while songs were being sung in various parts of the room,
+and three Englishmen, three of those gloomy figures for whom the
+continent is a hospital, kept up a most sinister ballad that must have
+been born of the fogs of their marshes.
+
+"Come," said I to Marco, "let us go."
+
+She arose and took my arm.
+
+"To-morrow!" cried Desgenais to me, as we left the hall.
+
+When approaching Marco's house, my heart beat violently and I could not
+speak. I could not understand such a woman; she seemed to experience
+neither desire nor disgust, and could think of nothing but the fact that
+my hand was trembling and hers motionless.
+
+Her room was, like her, somber and voluptuous; it was dimly lighted by an
+alabaster lamp.
+
+The chairs and sofa were as soft as beds, and there was everywhere
+suggestion of down and silk. Upon entering I was struck with the strong
+odor of Turkish pastilles, not such as are sold here on the streets, but
+those of Constantinople, which are more nervous and more dangerous. She
+rang and a maid appeared. She entered an alcove without a word, and a few
+minutes later I saw her leaning on her elbow in her habitual attitude of
+nonchalance.
+
+I stood looking at her. Strange to say, the more I admired her, the more
+beautiful I found her, the more rapidly I felt my desires subside. I do
+not know whether it was some magnetic influence or her silence and
+listlessness. I lay down on a sofa opposite the alcove and the coldness
+of death settled on my soul.
+
+The pulsation of the blood in the arteries is a sort of clock, the
+ticking of which can be heard only at night. Man, abandoned by exterior
+objects, falls back upon himself; he hears himself live. In spite of my
+fatigue I could not close my eyes; those of Marco were fixed on me; we
+looked at each other in silence, gently, so to speak.
+
+"What are you doing there?" she asked.
+
+She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint. I turned my head and
+saw that first gleams of morning light were shining through the window.
+
+I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of
+the room. The sky was clear.
+
+I motioned to her to wait. Considerations of prudence had led her to
+choose an apartment some distance from the center of the city; perhaps
+she had other quarters, for she sometimes received a number of visitors.
+Her lover's friends sometimes visited her, and this room was doubtless
+only a _petite maison_; it overlooked the Luxembourg, the garden of which
+extended as far as my eye could reach.
+
+As a cork held under water seems restless under the hand which holds it,
+and slips through the fingers to rise to the surface, thus there stirred
+in me a sentiment that I could neither overcome nor escape. The garden of
+the Luxembourg made my heart leap and banished every other thought. How
+many times had I stretched out on one of those little mounds, a sort
+sylvan school, while I read in the cool shade some book filled with
+foolish poetry! For such, alas! were the debauches of my childhood. I saw
+many souvenirs of the past among those leafless trees and faded lawns.
+There, when ten years of age, I had walked with my brother and my tutor,
+throwing bits of bread to some of the poor benumbed birds; there, seated
+under a tree, I had watched a group of little girls as they danced; I
+felt my heart beat in unison with the refrain of their childish song;
+there, returning from school, I had followed a thousand times the same
+path, lost in contemplation of some verse of Virgil and kicking the
+pebbles at my feet. "Oh! my childhood! You are there!" I cried. "O,
+Heaven! now I am here."
+
+I turned around. Marco was asleep, the lamp had gone out, the light of
+day had changed the aspect of the room; the hangings, which had at first
+appeared blue, were now a faded yellow, and Marco, the beautiful statue,
+was livid as death.
+
+I shuddered in spite of myself; I looked at the alcove, then at the
+garden; my head became drowsy and fell on my breast. I sat down before an
+open secretary near one of the windows. A piece of paper caught my eye;
+it was an open letter, and I looked at it mechanically. I read it several
+times before I thought what I was doing. Suddenly a gleam of intelligence
+came to me, although I could not understand everything. I picked up the
+paper and read what follows, written in an unskilled hand and filled with
+errors in spelling:
+
+
+"She died yesterday. She began to fail at twelve, the night before. She
+called me and said: 'Louison, I am going to join my companion; go to the
+closet and take down the cloth that hangs on a nail; it is the mate of
+the other.' I fell on my knees and wept, but she took my hand and said:
+'Do not weep, do not weep!' And she heaved such a sigh--"
+
+
+The rest was torn. I can not describe the impression, that sad letter
+made on me; I turned it over and saw on the other side Marco's address
+and the date, that of the evening previous.
+
+"Is she dead? Who is dead?" I cried, going to the alcove. "Dead! Who?"
+
+Marco opened her eyes. She saw me with the letter in my hand.
+
+"It is my mother," she said, "who is dead. You are not coming?"
+
+As she spoke she extended her hand.
+
+"Silence!" I said; "sleep and leave me to myself."
+
+She turned over and went to sleep. I looked at her for some time to
+assure myself that she would not hear me, and then quietly left the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ONE evening I was seated by the fire with Desgenais. The window was open;
+it was one of the early days in March, a harbinger of spring. It had been
+raining and a sweet odor came from the garden.
+
+"What shall we do this spring?" I asked. "I do not care to travel."
+
+"I shall do what I did last year," replied Desgenais. "I shall go to the
+country when the time comes."
+
+"What!" I replied. "Do you do the same thing every year? Are you going to
+begin life over again this year?"
+
+"What would you expect me to do?"
+
+"What would I expect you to do?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "That is
+just like you. Ah! Desgenais, how all this wearies me! Do you never tire
+of this sort of life?"
+
+"No," he replied.
+
+I was standing before an engraving of the Madeleine. Involuntarily I
+joined my hands.
+
+"What are you doing?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"If I were an artist," I replied, "and wished to represent Melancholy, I
+would not paint a dreamy girl with a book in her hands."
+
+"What is the matter with you this evening?" he asked, smiling.
+
+"No, in truth," I continued, "that Madeleine, in tears, has the spark of
+hope in her bosom; that pale and sickly hand on which she supports her
+head, is still sweet with the perfume with which she anointed the feet of
+her Lord. You do not understand that in that desert there are thinking
+people who pray. This is not Melancholy."
+
+"It is a woman who reads," he replied dryly.
+
+"And a happy woman," I continued, "and a happy book."
+
+Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had taken
+possession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. I
+hesitated, but did not reply.
+
+"My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate to
+confide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!"
+
+"I know it," I replied, "I know I have a friend; that is not my trouble."
+
+He urged me to explain.
+
+"But what will it avail," I asked, "since neither of us can help matters?
+Do you want the bottom of my heart or merely a word and an excuse?"
+
+"Be frank!" he said.
+
+"Very well," I replied, "you have seen fit to give me advice in the past
+and now I ask you to listen to me as I have listened to you. You ask what
+is in my heart and I am about to tell you.
+
+"Take the first comer and say to him: 'Here are people who pass their
+lives drinking, riding, laughing, gambling, enjoying all kinds of
+pleasures; no barrier restrains them, their law is their pleasure, women
+are their playthings; they are rich. They have no cares, not one. All
+their days are days of feasting.' What do you think of it? Unless that
+man happened to be a severe bigot he would probably reply that that was
+the greatest happiness that could be imagined.
+
+"Then take that man into the thick of the action, place him at a table
+with a woman on either side, a glass in his hand, a handful of gold every
+morning and say to him: 'This is your life. While you sleep near your
+mistress, your horses neigh in the stables; while you drive your horses
+along the boulevards, your wines are ripening in your vaults; while you
+pass away the night drinking, the bankers are increasing your wealth. You
+have but to express a wish and your desires are gratified. You are the
+happiest of men. But take care lest some night of carousal you drink too
+much and destroy the capacity of your body for enjoyment. That would be a
+serious misfortune, for all the ills that afflict human flesh can be
+cured, except that. You ride some night through the woods with joyous
+companions; your horse falls and you are thrown into a ditch filled with
+mud, and it may be that your companions, in the midst of their happy
+fanfares, will not hear your cry of anguish; it may be that the sound of
+their trumpets will die away in the distance while you drag your broken
+limbs through the deserted forest. Some night you will lose at the gaming
+table; Fortune has its bad days. When you return to your home and are
+seated before the fire, do not strike your forehead with your hands, and
+do not allow sorrow to moisten your cheeks with tears, do not bitterly
+cast your eyes about here and there as though seeking for a friend; do
+not, under any circumstances, think of those who, under some thatched
+roof, enjoy a tranquil life and who sleep holding each other by the hand;
+for before you, on your luxurious bed, will sit a pale creature who
+loves--your money. You will seek from her consolation for your grief, and
+she will remark that you are very sad and ask if your loss was
+considerable; the tears from your eyes will concern her deeply, for they
+may be the cause of allowing her dress to grow old or the rings to drop
+from her fingers. Do not name him who won your money that night for she
+may meet him on the morrow, and she may make sweet eyes at him that would
+destroy your remaining happiness. That is what is to be expected of human
+frailty; have you the strength to endure it? Are you a man? Beware of
+disgust, it is an incurable evil; death is more to be desired than a
+living distaste for life. Have you a heart? Beware of love, for it is
+worse than disease for a debauchee and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay
+their mistresses, and the woman who sells herself has no right but that
+of contempt for the purchaser. Are you passionate? Take care of your
+face. It is shameful for a soldier to throw down his arms and for a
+debauchee to appear to hold to anything; his glory consists in touching
+nothing except with hands of marble that have been bathed in oil in order
+that nothing may stick to them. Are you hot-headed? If you desire to
+live, learn how to kill, for wine is a wrangler. Have you a conscience?
+Take care of your slumber, for a debauchee who repents too late is like a
+ship that leaks: it can neither return to land nor continue on its
+course; the winds can with difficulty move it, the ocean yawns for it, it
+careens and disappears. If you have a body, look out for suffering; if
+you have a soul, despair awaits you. O, unhappy one! beware of men; while
+they walk along the same path with you, you will seem to see a vast plain
+strewn with garlands where a happy throng of dancers trip the gladsome
+_furandole_ standing in a circle, each a link in an endless chain; it is
+but a mirage; those who look down know that they are dancing on a silken
+thread stretched over an abyss that swallows up all who fall and shows
+not even a ripple on its surface. What foot is sure? Nature herself seems
+to deny you her divine consolation; trees and flowers are yours no more;
+you have broken your mother's laws, you are no longer one of her
+foster-children, the birds of the field become silent when you appear.
+You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing
+like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no
+longer refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind no
+longer gives you the kiss of life, the benediction on all that lives and
+breathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger. Every woman who kisses
+you, takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; you
+exhaust yourself on fantoms; wherever falls a drop of our sweat, there
+springs up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! You
+are the enemy of all, who love; blot yourself from the face of the earth,
+do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do not
+fecundate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, do
+not deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight!'"
+
+When I had spoken these words, I fell back in my chair and a flood of
+tears streamed from my eyes.
+
+"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Did you
+not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?"
+
+But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud and
+a long tear trickled down his cheek.
+
+A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered that
+it was this hour and this day, one year ago, that my mistress deceived
+me.
+
+"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know what it
+means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour and one that will count
+in my life."
+
+I was beside myself and scarcely knew what I was saying. But that instant
+a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led me aside,
+whispering in my ear:
+
+"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has just
+been seized with an attack of apoplexy and the physicians despair of his
+life."
+
+
+
+                             PART III
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+MY father lived in the country, some miles from Paris. When I arrived, I
+found a physician at the door 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 every one 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 already covered the face. But when my eyes
+fell on that face, 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 open 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
+
+A SMALL wooden railing was placed around 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 I 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 of
+either the past or 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 grief I had experienced in the past; there was a sort of languor
+in every action, a sense of fatigue with all of 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 effect, 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 have ever known. He was
+the same height and wore the clothes my father had left him, having no
+livery.
+
+He was 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 sat, stood near the
+fire; his table and his books, 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 the 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 the 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 that 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 my father. 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 having read 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 life 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
+
+ONE evening, as I was walking under a row of linden-trees on the
+outskirts of 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, running at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she
+caressed it softly, and looked about as though searching for some
+favorite herb to feed 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 a sign as though 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 house 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 mark of death on her
+face.
+
+Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was
+bowed down 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 came 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 very inferior.
+
+"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "do you not 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 when, in the
+midst of all that, I saw 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, and that there was
+something superhuman about this woman who, surrounded by such horrors,
+did not for an instant, lose her faith in God.
+
+What 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: "Do you not 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 would
+have been guilty of sacrilege, I would 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 well," 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 naive contentment of a happy and benevolent heart painted
+in such beauty on so sweet a face. Fatigue and pallor seemed to be gone,
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+WE walked along without a word; the wind was lowering; 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 freakishness 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 distracted 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 left, 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
+gaily. 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 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, which, 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 will enjoy supper the more on that account."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+I WENT to call upon her the next 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 somewhat religious, 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 produced 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 looked as
+though 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 gaiety, 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 gaiety.
+
+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.
+
+When 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 meantime, 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 displeased
+me and which is, in fact, unpleasant; it impresses one 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 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 Vergniand," said he, "was afflicted with that mania of
+sitting on the ground and playing with animals."
+
+"It is a mania," I replied, very innocently. "If there were none others,
+the world would get along 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 drown out the
+memory of the priest's voice with her gentle tones. She merely bowed, and
+he retired.
+
+When he had gone our gaiety 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 she 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, it is
+all the same."
+
+I loved. During the three months we had taken many long walks; I was
+initiated into the mysteries of her modest charity; we passed through
+dark streets, she on her little horse, I on foot, a small stick in my
+hand; thus, half conversing, half dreaming, we knocked at the doors of
+cottages. 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
+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, or 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 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 blade of
+grass which feels the motion of life, and which is on its way to the
+harvest.
+
+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 responding. 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. Of what avail
+are words spoken with the lips when hearts listen and respond? 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, and echo answers the
+voice of love; the thrill of a dual life is felt. What a touch! What a
+strange attraction! And when love is sure of itself and recognizes
+fraternity 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 excess, 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 would 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 her
+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 always 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 gaiety. 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 gaiety. I conceived the idea of writing
+to her, but burned the letters before 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
+reverie; 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 and then jumped up 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 bore 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
+center 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."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+WHEN Madame Pierson had spoken these words, she waited some time as
+though expecting a reply. As I remained overwhelmed with grief, she
+gently withdrew her hand, stepped back, waited a moment longer and then
+reentered the house.
+
+I remained kneeling on the grass. I had been expecting what she said; my
+resolution was soon taken, and I decided to go away. I arose, my heart
+bleeding but firm. I looked at the house, at her window; I opened the
+garden gate and placed my lips on the lock as I passed out.
+
+When I reached home, I told Larive to make what preparations were
+necessary as I would set out in the morning. The poor fellow was
+astonished, but I made him a sign to obey and ask no questions. He
+brought a large trunk and busied himself with preparations for departure.
+
+It was five o'clock in the morning and day was beginning to break, when I
+asked myself where I was going. At that thought, which had not occurred
+to me before, I experienced a profound feeling of discouragement. I cast
+my eyes over the country, scanning the horizon. A sense of weakness took
+possession of me; I was exhausted with fatigue. I sat down in a chair and
+my ideas became confused; I bore my hand to my forehead and found it
+bathed in sweat. A violent fever made my limbs tremble; I could hardly
+reach my bed with Larive's assistance. My thoughts were so confused that
+I had no recollection of what had happened. The day passed; toward
+evening I heard the sound of instruments. It was the Sunday dance and I
+asked Larive to go and see if Madame Pierson was there. He did not find
+her; I sent him to her house. The blinds were closed, and a servant
+informed him that Madame Pierson and her aunt had gone to spend some days
+with a relative who lived at N-----, a small town some distance north. He
+handed me a letter that had been given him. It was conceived 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; but that vanity is a
+dangerous thing since 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; but
+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 will
+appreciate your action as the final evidence of your friendship and
+esteem.
+
+     "BRIGITTE PIERSON."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE fever confined me to my bed a week. When I was able to write I
+assured Madame Pierson that she would 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 I 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 somber
+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 approached.
+
+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 between 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 pity, 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 losing 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 will
+ever know?"
+
+I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, 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 that I was going away, that
+my blood froze in my veins. She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixed
+on her, awaiting her reply; all of 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 VIII
+
+THAT evening I received a letter from Madame Pierson, addressed to M. R.
+D., at Strasburg. Three weeks later my mission had been accomplished and
+I returned.
+
+While absent, 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 for 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 though we had said: "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 mind;
+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 somber 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, 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 go to see 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 another with an air of constraint,
+searching for phrases and fingering everything on the table before him as
+though 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 party?
+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 school children, 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 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, sir? You intend to resort to violence?" he cried.
+
+"No, but I intend to make you tell me what you know."
+
+"Sir, 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 party. I let go of 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 was each time 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 strongly 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 confession of 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 St. 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
+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
+on 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 color, brilliant
+with purple and with pearls.
+
+"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 IX
+
+IF I were a jeweler, and had in my stock a pearl necklace that I wished
+to give a friend, it seems to me I would take great pleasure in placing
+it about her neck with my own hands; but if I were 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
+blossomed flower. At times, she would abandon herself to an impulse of
+sudden gaiety and then suddenly check herself, treating me like a child,
+and then looking at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a
+thousand pleasantries, as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress,
+then quitting me to go aside and abandon herself to reverie. Is there a
+more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for her
+in some spot where I had remained watching her.
+
+"Oh! my friend!" I said. "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are
+loved."
+
+Yet I could neither conceal 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
+betting 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 laden 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 rising up in my heart. I surrounded the form
+of my dear beloved with 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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+ETERNAL angel of happy nights, who will utter thy silence? A kiss!
+mysterious vintage that flows from the lips as from a stainless chalice!
+Intoxication of the senses! O voluptuous pleasure! 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! Center
+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 your first delights, languishing smiles, first 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, thou,
+serenity of happiness! First glance bent on life, first return of
+happiness to 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 his youth, has taken leave of an adored
+woman; 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; he will die without complaint: he has known
+the joy of love.
+
+
+
+                              PART IV
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+I MUST now recite 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 was,
+at fifteen. She went here and there, silly with love, crimson 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. I love more than all else, sacred music, and that morceau
+which she sang 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 though a 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 though 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 though 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 center 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 though 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 specter? 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
+that 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, all
+those that I had unconsciously surmised during my sad experience,
+finally, 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
+growing numb with time, seized me by the throat and cried out that they
+were there.
+
+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 there was
+neither wounded pride nor anger; there was 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 that 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 a 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 piquet 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 M. de Dalens, during vacation."
+
+"Who is this M. 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 M. 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 M. 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 visits, 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 dared not 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 know 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 that Dalens has been
+her lover, he probably is still; there are certain liaisons that have
+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 that 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 enables
+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 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 habitually bent over, 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 though the stench of her dishes 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 it 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 though 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 leave 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; she
+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 M. 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 though to say: "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 arose 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 for 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, if base suggestion, to-day planted in a heart whose fibers were
+still trembling with pain and prompt to assimilate all that resembles
+sorrow, has 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 child who stands before you has seen! If you knew how he had 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
+
+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 sangfroid; all that the debauchee
+loves, he takes violent possession of; 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 that between an ardent thirst and a profound satiety a feeling of
+tranquil vanity leads him to his death.
+
+Although I was no longer a debauchee 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, that demi-metal, drawn from the blue vein where it lies
+sleeping, attracts to itself a ray of light when placed near a piece of
+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 though incapable of motion, I
+dismissed all 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, do you not, when the bad rouses himself, forget to humor the
+good?"
+
+The patience with which Brigitte opposed those vagaries only served to
+excite my sinister gaiety. Strange that man who suffers wishes to make
+her, whom he loves, suffer! To lose control of oneself, is that not the
+worst of evils? Is there anything more cruel for a woman than to hear a
+man turn to derision all there is 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 though 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 though for a
+ball, 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 fantoms
+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 thin 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 go to see 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 by the name of 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, where she visited two or three
+times a year; she pretended to keep up with the fashions; my dear
+Brigitte assisted her as best she could, while smiling with pity. Her
+husband was employed by the government; he, once a year, 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.
+
+Every time 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 that woman 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 occasions, 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 that 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 do it only to pass away the
+time."
+
+"Ah! my friend, my friend," said Brigitte, "it is too bad that you must
+seek pastimes."
+
+Some days later, I proposed that we go to the prefecture to see Madame
+Daniel dance; she unwillingly consented. While she was arranging her
+toilet, 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, scarcely 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 that 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 will 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
+would 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
+
+OUR quarrel had been 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 gaiety, an
+affected cheerfulness that mockingly outraged whatever I held most dear.
+Thus, the inexorable specters 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 that repelled my youth and aroused within me bitter
+regrets for the liberty I had lost.
+
+When we were passing through the forest by the beautiful light of the
+moon, we both experienced a profound melancholy. Brigitte looked at me in
+pity. We sat down on a rock near a wild gorge; we passed two entire hours
+there; her half-veiled eyes plunged into my soul athwart the 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."
+
+In order to reach that rock, one must 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 melange of feminine delicacy and childlike temerity, 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 turned, came to me, and kissed me. This was going; on
+the return, she leaned on my arm; then more songs; there were
+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.
+
+One night, we struck out through the woods, leaving the road which led to
+the rock. Brigitte was tramping along so stoutly, her little velvet cap
+on her light hair made her look so much like a resolute gamin, that I
+forgot that 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 a woman, half-joyous and half-plaintive, coming 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 that
+playfully, like the children that we were. At a cross-road, 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 design 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. O 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 gaiety,
+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 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 an 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 having 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 met me in the garden and spoke 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
+with whom his new friend had made him acquainted; he wrote that he had
+set out for Germany and that we would 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 should 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
+cherish 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 that, 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 though I would sink under it, when my pride
+rebels, when my heart is breaking, when all my life--"
+
+She could not finish; her tears choked her. O 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.
+
+"O 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 which
+still passes before my eyes wreathed in spotless white.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+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. O 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 some time since, and she knew it some time before speaking to
+me. Who knows but what 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 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 there came out of it 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 if I ought not to leave her, if 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, you make sport of
+suffering; you find it amusing to occupy your leisure moments, to commit
+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, who has just
+buried the only being who was left to protect 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 you assassin! You 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
+the witness of our happy days. I took it up and examined it.
+
+"I leave you!" I said to it; "I lose you! O little dress, would you go
+away without me?"
+
+"No, I can not abandon Brigitte; under the 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
+protection! 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 shall 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 fantom, all the evil that remained in my
+heart, that henceforth she would not be offended, by either my pride or
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ONE day, I saw a little chamber she called her oratory; there was no
+furniture except a priedieu 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 to 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 if
+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? What good are these remains? Brigitte la
+Rose is no more, nor the flowers that baptized her."
+
+She went out; I heard her sob, 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 on
+our hearts.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+IT was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateaux 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 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 must 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 quarreling and that all of it 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 I might consider an insult and
+demand an explanation. I listened to whispered conversations in a salon
+where I was a visitor, 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 my other mistress did, she would point me out as a ridiculous fool,
+and I would 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 related to atheism. After 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 went 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 seated at table.
+
+"Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; it is
+understood that you are to imitate her."
+
+She sat 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, that 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 could inflict on
+woman.
+
+Coming from these frightful scenes, in which my own spirit exhausted
+itself in suffering and painful contemplation of the past; recovering
+from that frenzy, a strange access of love, an extreme exaltation, led me
+to treat my mistress like an idol, like a divinity. A quarter of an hour
+after having insulted 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 I was 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
+another man in me than the one she saw. When I asked her pardon she
+shrugged her shoulders as though to say: "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 somber 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 began to abuse her she would leave me
+without a word and lock herself in her room. Thank God, I have never
+raised my hand against her; in my most violent moments I would rather die
+than touch her.
+
+One evening the rain was beating against the windows; we were alone, the
+curtains closed.
+
+"I am in happy humor this evening," I said to Brigitte, "and yet the
+beastly 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 until it is time 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 theaters; I saw the lascivious dances,
+the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all of my youth bounded in my
+heart.
+
+"Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for us
+alone, 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 wanted to dress my hair herself; we painted and powdered
+ourselves freely; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that
+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
+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 though 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 that 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 forbid that her death
+should be charged to me. "Pray for him," such 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, "tell me adieu. 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 will 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 neck and a sob on my
+breast.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+                               PART V
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HAVING decided on a long tour, we went first to Paris; the necessary
+preparations required time and we took a furnished apartment for one
+month.
+
+The decision to leave France had changed everything: joy, hope,
+confidence, all returned; no more sorrow, no more grief over approaching
+separation. It was now nothing but dreams of happiness and vows of
+eternal love; I wished, once for all, to make my dear mistress forget all
+the suffering I had caused her. How had I been able to resist such proofs
+of tender affection and courageous resignation? Not only did Brigitte
+pardon me, but she was willing to make a still greater sacrifice and
+leave everything for me. As I felt myself unworthy of the devotion she
+exhibited, I wished to requite her by my love; at last, my good angel had
+triumphed, and admiration and love resumed their sway in my heart.
+
+Brigitte and I examined a map to determine where we should go to bury
+ourselves from the world; we had not yet decided and we found pleasure in
+that very uncertainty; while glancing over the map, we said:
+
+"Where shall we go? What shall we do? Where shall we begin life anew?"
+
+How shall I tell how deeply I repented my cruelty when I looked upon her
+smiling face, a face that laughed at the future, although still pale from
+the sorrows of the past! Happy projects of future joy, you are, perhaps,
+the only true happiness known to man!
+
+For eight days we spent our time making purchases and preparing for our
+departure; then a young man presented himself at our apartments: he
+brought letters to Brigitte. After their interview, I found her sad and
+distraught; but I could not guess the cause, unless the letters were from
+N-----, that village where I had confessed my love and where Brigitte's
+only relatives lived.
+
+Nevertheless, our preparations progressed rapidly and I became impatient
+to get away; at the same time, I was so happy that I could hardly rest.
+When I arose in the morning, and the sun was shining through our windows,
+I experienced such transports of joy that I was almost intoxicated with
+happiness. So anxious was I to prove the sincerity of my love for
+Brigitte, that I hardly dared kiss the hem of her dress. Her lightest
+words made me tremble as though her voice was strange to me; I alternated
+between tears and laughter, and I never spoke of the past except with
+horror and disgust.
+
+Our room was full of our goods scattered about in disorder, albums,
+pictures, books, and the dear map we loved so much. We were going and
+coming about the room; every few moments I would stop and kneel before
+Brigitte, who would call me an idler, saying that she had to do all the
+work, and that I was good for nothing; and all sorts of projects flitted
+through our minds. Sicily was far away, but the winters are so delightful
+there! Genoa is very pretty with its painted houses, its green gardens
+and the Apennines in the background! But what noise! What crowds! Out of
+every three men on the street, one is a monk and another a soldier.
+Florence is sad, it is the Middle Ages living in the midst of modern
+life. How can any one endure those grilled windows and that horrible
+brown color with which all the houses are soiled? What could we do at
+Rome? We are not traveling in order to forget ourselves, much less for
+the sake of instruction. To the Rhine? But the season is over, and
+although we do not care for the world of fashion, still it is sad to
+visit its haunts when it has fled them. But Spain? Too many restrictions
+there; one has to travel like an army on the march and may expect
+everything except repose. Let us go to Switzerland! Too many people go
+there, and most of them are deceived as to the nature of its attractions;
+but it is there, are unfolded the three most beautiful colors on God's
+earth: the azure of the sky, the verdure of the plains, and the whiteness
+of the snows on the summits of glaciers.
+
+"Let us go, let us go," cried Brigitte, "let us fly away like two birds.
+Let us pretend, my dear Octave, that we just met each other yesterday.
+You met me at a ball, I pleased you and I love you; you tell me that some
+leagues distant, in a certain little town you loved a certain Madame
+Pierson; what passed between you and her I do not know. You will not tell
+me the story of your love for another! And I will whisper to you that not
+long since, I loved a terrible fellow who made me very unhappy; you will
+reprove me and close my mouth, and we will agree never to speak of such
+things."
+
+When Brigitte spoke thus, I experienced a feeling that resembled avarice;
+I caught her in my arms and cried:
+
+"O God! I know not whether it is with joy or with fear that I tremble. I
+am about to carry off my treasure. Die, my youth, die all memories of the
+past, die, all cares and regrets! O my good, brave mistress! You have
+made a man out of a child. If I lose you now, I will never love again.
+Perhaps, before I knew you, another woman might have cured me; but now
+you, alone, of all the world, have power to destroy me or to save me, for
+I bear on my heart the wound of all the evil I have done you. I have been
+an ingrate, blind and cruel. God be praised! You love me still. If you
+ever return to that home under whose lindens, where I first met you, look
+carefully about that deserted house; you will find a fantom there, for
+the man who left it, and went away with you, is not the man who entered
+it."
+
+"Is it true?" said Brigitte, and her head, all radiant with love, was
+raised to heaven; "is it true that I am yours? Yes, far from this odious
+world in which you have grown old before your time--yes, my child, you
+are going to love. I will have you, such as you are, and wherever we go
+you will forget the day when you will no longer love me. My mission will
+have been accomplished, and I shall always be thankful for it."
+
+Finally, we decided to go to Geneva and then choose some resting-place in
+the Alps. Brigitte was enthusiastic about the lake; I thought I could
+already breathe the air which floats over its surface and the odor of the
+verdure-clad valley; already Lausanne, Vevay, Oberland and beyond the
+summits of Monte Rosa and the immense plain of Lombardy; already,
+oblivion, repose, flight, all the delights of happy solitude, invited us;
+already, when in the evening with joined hands, we looked at one another
+in silence, we felt rising within us that sentiment of strange grandeur
+which takes possession of the heart on the eve of a long journey,
+mysterious and indescribable vertigo, which has in it something of the
+terrors of exile and the hopes of a pilgrimage. Are there not in the
+human mind wings that flutter and sonorous chords that vibrate? How shall
+I describe it? Is there not a world of meaning in the simple words: "All
+is ready, we are about to go"?
+
+Suddenly, Brigitte became languid; she bowed her head and was silent.
+When I asked her if she was in pain, she said no, in a voice that was
+scarcely audible; when I spoke of our departure, she arose, cold and
+resigned, and continued her preparations; when I swore to her that she
+was going to be happy and that I would consecrate my life to her, she
+shut herself up in her room and wept; when I kissed her, she turned pale
+and averted her eyes as my lips approached hers; when I told her that
+nothing had yet been done, that it was not too late to renounce our
+plans, she frowned severely; when I begged her to open her heart to me
+and I told her I would die rather than cause her one regret, she threw
+her arms about my neck, then stopped and repulsed me as though
+involuntarily. Finally, I entered her room holding in my hand a ticket on
+which our places were marked for the carriage to Besancon. I approached
+her and placed it in her lap; she stretched out her hand, screamed and
+fell unconscious at my feet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+ALL my efforts to divine the cause of so unexpected a change were as vain
+as the questions I had first asked. Brigitte was ill and obstinately
+remained silent. After an entire day passed in supplication and
+conjecture, I went out without knowing where I was going. Passing the
+Opera, I entered it from force of habit.
+
+I could pay no attention to what was going on in the theater. I was so
+overwhelmed with grief, so stupefied, that I did not live, so to speak,
+except in myself, and exterior objects made no impression on my senses.
+All my powers were centered on a single thought, and the more I turned it
+over in my head, the less clearly could I distinguish its meaning. What
+obstacle was this that had so suddenly come between us and the
+realization of our fondest hopes? If it was merely some ordinary event,
+or even an actual misfortune, such as an accident or loss of some friend,
+why that obstinate silence? After all that Brigitte had done, when our
+dreams seemed about to be realized, what could be the nature of a secret
+that destroyed our happiness and could not be confided to me? What! she
+conceals it from me! And yet I could not find it in my heart to suspect
+her. The appearance of suspicion revolted me and filled me with horror.
+On the other hand, how could I conceive of inconstancy or of caprice in
+that woman such as I knew her? I was lost in the abyss of doubt and I
+could not discover a gleam of light, the smallest point on which to base
+conjecture.
+
+In front of me in the gallery, sat a young man whose face was not unknown
+to me. As often happens when one is preoccupied, I looked at him without
+thinking of him as a personal identity or trying to fit a name on him.
+Suddenly, I recognized him: it was he, who had brought letters to
+Brigitte from N-----. I arose and started to accost him without thinking
+what I was doing. He occupied a place that I could not reach without
+disturbing a large number of spectators and I was forced to await the
+entr'acte.
+
+My first thought was that if any one could enlighten me it was this young
+man. He had had several interviews with Madame Pierson the last few days,
+and I recalled the fact that she was always much depressed after his
+visits. He had seen her the morning of the day she was taken ill. The
+letters he brought Brigitte had not been shown me; it was possible that
+he knew the reason why our departure was delayed. Perhaps he did not know
+all the circumstances, but he could, doubtless, enlighten me as to the
+contents of those letters, and there was no reason why I should hesitate
+about questioning him. When the curtain fell, I followed him to the
+foyer; I do not know that he saw me coming, but he hastened away and
+entered a box. I determined to wait until he should come out, and stood
+looking at the box for fifteen minutes. At last, he appeared. I bowed and
+approached him. He hesitated a moment, then turned and disappeared down a
+stairway.
+
+My desire to speak to him had been too evident to admit of any other
+explanation than deliberate intention to avoid me on his part. He surely
+knew my face, and whether he knew it or not, a man who sees another
+approaching him, ought, at least, to wait for him. We were the only ones
+in the corridor at the time and there could be no doubt he did not wish
+to speak to me. I did not dream of such impertinent treatment from a man,
+whom I had cordially received at my apartments; why should he insult me?
+He could have no other excuse than a desire to avoid an awkward
+interview, during which questions might be asked, which he did not care
+to answer. But why? This second mystery troubled me almost as much as the
+first. Although I tried to drive the thought from my head, that young
+man's action in avoiding me seemed to have some connection with
+Brigitte's obstinate silence.
+
+Uncertainty is of all torments, the most difficult to endure, and during
+my life I have exposed myself to many dangers because I could not wait
+patiently. When I returned to my apartments, I found Brigitte reading
+those same fateful letters from N-----. I told her that I could not
+remain longer in suspense, and that I wished to be relieved from it at
+any cost; that I desired to know the cause of the sudden, change which
+had taken place in her, and that if she refused to speak I would look
+upon her silence as a positive refusal to go abroad with me and an order
+for me to leave her forever.
+
+She reluctantly handed me the letters she was reading. Her relatives had
+written her that her departure had disgraced them, that every one knew
+the circumstances, and that they felt it their duty to warn her of the
+consequences; that she was living openly as my mistress, and that,
+although she was a widow and free to do as she chose, she ought to think
+of the name she bore; that neither they nor her old friends would ever
+see her again if she persisted in her course; finally, by all sorts of
+threats and entreaties, they urged her to return.
+
+The tone of that letter angered me, and at first I took it as an insult.
+
+"And that young man who brings you these remonstrances," I cried,
+"doubtless has orders to deliver them personally, and does not fail to do
+his own part to the best of his ability. Am I not right?"
+
+Brigitte's dejection made me reflect and calm my wrath.
+
+"You will do as you wish, and achieve my ruin," she said. "My fate rests
+with you, you have been for a long time my master. Avenge as you please
+the last effort my old friends have made to recall me to reason, to the
+world that I formerly respected, to the honor that I have lost. I have
+not a word to say, and if you wish to dictate my reply, I will obey you."
+
+"I care to know nothing," I replied, "but your intentions; it is for me
+to comply with your wishes, and I assure you I am ready to do it. Tell
+me, do you desire to remain, to go away, or shall I go alone?"
+
+"Why that question?" asked Brigitte; "have I said that I had changed my
+mind? I am unwell and can not travel in my present condition, but when I
+recover we will go to Geneva as we have planned."
+
+We separated at these words, and the coldness with which she had
+expressed her resolution saddened me more than a refusal. It was not the
+first time our liaison had been threatened by her relatives; but up to
+this time, whatever letters Brigitte, had received she had never taken so
+much to heart. How could I bring myself to believe that Brigitte had been
+so affected by protests which, in less happy moments, had had no effect
+on her? Could it be merely the weakness of a woman who recoils from an
+act of final significance? I will do as you please, she had said. No, it
+does not please me to demand patience, and rather than look at that
+sorrowful face even a week longer, unless she speaks, I will set out
+alone.
+
+Fool that I was! Had I the strength to do it? I did not close my eyes
+that night, and the next morning I resolved to call on that young man I
+had seen at the Opera. I do not know whether it was wrath or curiosity
+that impelled me to this course, nor did I know just what I desired to
+learn of him; but I reflected that he could not avoid me this time, and
+that was all I wanted.
+
+As I did not know his address, I asked Brigitte for it, pretending that I
+felt under obligations to call on him after all the visits he had made
+us; I had not said a word about my experience at the Opera. Brigitte's
+eyes betrayed signs of tears. When I entered her room she held out her
+hand, and said:
+
+"What do you wish?"
+
+Her voice was sad but tender. We exchanged a few kind words and I set out
+less unhappy.
+
+The name of the young man I was going to see was Smith; he was living
+near by. When I knocked at his door, I experienced a strange sensation of
+uneasiness; I was dazed, as though by a sudden flash of light. His first
+gesture froze my blood. He was in bed, and with the same accent Brigitte
+had employed, with a face as pale and haggard as hers, he held out his
+hand and said:
+
+"What do you wish?"
+
+Say what you please, there are things in a man's life which the reason
+can not explain. I sat still, as though awakened from a dream, and began
+to repeat his questions. Why, in fact, had I come to see him? How could I
+tell him what had brought me there? Even if he had anything to tell me,
+how did I know he would speak? He had brought letters from N-----, and
+knew those who had written them. But it cost me an effort to question
+him, and I feared he would suspect what was in my mind. Our first words
+were polite and insignificant. I thanked him for his kindness in bringing
+letters to Madame Pierson; I told him that upon leaving France we would
+ask him to do the same favor for us; and then we were silent, surprised
+to find ourselves vis-a-vis.
+
+I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor;
+everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical
+instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but
+everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble.
+
+As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On
+the mantel, I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at
+it, and he said it was his mother.
+
+I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him
+since childhood. Before I came to the country, she used to see him
+occasionally at N-----, but at the time of her last visit there he was
+away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some
+particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest
+employment that enabled him to support his sister and mother.
+
+His treatment of these two women deserved the highest praise; he deprived
+himself of everything for them, but, although he possessed musical
+talents that would have enabled him to make a fortune, the immediate
+needs of those dependent on him, and an extreme reserve, had always led
+him to prefer an assured income to the uncertain chances of success in
+larger ventures. In a word, he belonged to that small class who live
+quietly, and who are worth more to the world than those who do not
+appreciate them. I had learned of certain traits in his character which
+will serve to paint the man: he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl
+in the neighborhood, and, after a year of devotion to her, secured her
+parents' consent to their union. She was as poor as he. The contract was
+ready to be signed, the preparations for the wedding complete, when his
+mother said:
+
+"And your sister? Who will marry her?"
+
+That simple remark made him understand that if he married, he would spend
+all his money in the household expenses and his sister would have no
+dowry. He broke off the engagement, bravely renouncing his happy
+prospects; he then came to Paris.
+
+When I heard that story, I wanted to see the hero. That simple,
+unassuming act of devotion seemed to me more admirable than all the
+glories of war.
+
+The more I examined that young man, the less I felt inclined to broach
+the subject nearest my heart. The idea which had first occurred to me
+that he would harm me in Brigitte's eyes, vanished at once. Gradually, my
+thoughts took another course; I looked at him attentively, and it seemed
+to me that he was also examining me with curiosity.
+
+We were both twenty-one years of age, but what a difference between us!
+He was accustomed to an existence regulated by the graduated tick of the
+clock; never having seen anything of life, except that part of it which
+lies between an obscure room on the fourth floor and a dingy government
+office; sending his mother all his savings--that farthing of human joy
+which the hand of toil clasps so greedily; having no thought except for
+the happiness of others, and that since his childhood, since he had been
+a babe in arms! And I, during that precious time, so swift, so
+inexorable, during that time, that with him was bathed in sweat, what had
+I done? Was I a man? Which of us had lived?
+
+What I have said in a page, can be comprehended in a glance. He spoke to
+me of our journey and the countries we were going to visit.
+
+"When do you go?" he asked.
+
+"I do not know; Madame Pierson is unwell and has been confined to her bed
+for three days."
+
+"For three days!" he repeated in surprise.
+
+"Yes; why are you astonished?"
+
+He arose and threw himself on me, his arms extended, his eyes fixed. He
+was trembling violently.
+
+"Are you ill?" I asked, taking him by the hand. He pressed his hand to
+his head and burst into tears. When he had recovered sufficiently to
+speak, he said:
+
+"Pardon me; be good enough to leave me. I fear I am not well; when I have
+sufficiently recovered, I will return your visit."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+BRIGITTE was better. She had informed me that she wished to go away as
+soon as she was well enough to travel. But I insisted that she ought to
+rest at least fifteen days before undertaking a long journey.
+
+Whenever I attempted to persuade her to speak frankly, she assured me
+that the letter was the only cause of her melancholy and begged me to say
+nothing more about it. Then I tried in vain to guess what was passing in
+her heart. We went to the theater every night in order to avoid
+embarrassing tete-a-tetes. There, we sometimes pressed each other's hands
+at some fine bit of acting or beautiful strain of music, or exchanged,
+perhaps, a friendly glance, but going and returning we were mute,
+absorbed in our thoughts.
+
+Smith came almost every day. Although his presence in the house had been
+the cause of all my sorrow, and although my visit to him had left
+singular suspicions in my mind, still his apparent good faith and his
+simplicity reassured me. I had spoken to him of the letters he had
+brought, and he did not appear offended, but saddened. He was ignorant of
+the contents and his friendship for Brigitte led him to censure them
+severely. He would have refused to carry them, he said, if he knew what
+they contained. On account of Brigitte's tone of reserve in his presence,
+I did not think he was in her confidence. I therefore welcomed him with
+pleasure, although there was always a sort of awkward embarrassment in
+our meeting. He was asked to act as intermediary between Brigitte and her
+relatives after our departure. When we three were together, he noticed a
+certain coldness and restraint which he endeavored to banish by cheerful
+good humor. If he spoke of our liaison, it was with respect and as a man
+who looks upon love as a sacred bond; in fact, he was a kind friend, and
+he inspired me with full confidence.
+
+But despite all that, despite all his efforts, he was sad, and I could
+not obliterate strange thoughts that came to my mind. The tears I had
+seen that young man shed, his illness coming on at the same time as
+Brigitte's, I know not what melancholy sympathy I thought I discovered
+between them, troubled and disquieted me. Not over a month ago, I would
+have become violently jealous; but now, of what could I suspect Brigitte?
+Whatever the secret she was concealing from me, was she not going away
+with me? Even if it were possible that Smith could be in some secret of
+which I knew nothing, what could be the nature of that mystery? What was
+there to be censured in their sadness and in their friendship? She had
+known him as a child; she met him again, after long years, just as she
+was about to leave France; she chanced to be in an unfortunate situation,
+and fate decreed that he should be the instrument of adding to her
+sorrow. Was it not natural that they should exchange sorrowful glances,
+that the sight of this young man should awaken memories and regrets?
+Could he, on the other hand, see her start off on a long journey,
+proscribed and almost abandoned, without grave apprehensions? I felt that
+this must be the explanation and that it was my duty to assure them that
+I was capable of protecting the one from all dangers, and of requiting
+the other for the services he had rendered. And yet, a deadly sense of
+coldness oppressed me and I could not determine what course to pursue.
+
+When Smith left us in the evening, we either kept silence or talked of
+him. I do not know what fatal attraction led me to ask about him
+continually. She, however, told me just what I have told the reader; his
+life had never been other than it was at this time, poor, obscure and
+honest. I made her repeat the story of his life a number of times,
+without knowing why I took such an interest in it.
+
+There was in my heart a secret cause of sorrow which I would not confess.
+If that young man had arrived at the time of our greatest happiness, had
+he brought an insignificant letter to Brigitte, had he pressed her hand
+while assisting her into the carriage, would I have paid the least
+attention to it? Had he recognized me at the opera or had he not, had he
+shed tears for some unknown reason, what would it matter so long as I was
+happy? But, while unable to divine the cause of Brigitte's sorrow, I saw
+that my past conduct, whatever she might say of it, had something to do
+with her present state. If I had been what I ought to have been for the
+last six months that we had lived together, nothing in the world, I was
+persuaded, could have troubled our love. Smith was only an ordinary man,
+but he was good and devoted, his simple and modest qualities resembled
+the large, pure lines which the eye seized at the first glance; one
+became acquainted with him in a quarter of an hour, and he inspired
+confidence if not admiration. I could not help thinking that if he were
+Brigitte's lover, she would cheerfully go with him to the ends of the
+earth.
+
+I had deferred our departure purposely, but now I began to regret it.
+Brigitte, too, at times urged me to hasten the day.
+
+"Why do we wait?" she asked. "Here I am recovered and everything is
+ready."
+
+Why did we wait, indeed? I do not know. Seated near the fire, my eyes
+wandered from Smith to my mistress. I saw that they were both pale,
+serious, silent. I did not know why they were thus, and I could not help
+repeating that there was but one cause, but one secret to learn; but that
+was not one of those vague, sickly suspicions, such as had formerly
+tormented me, but an instinct, persistent and fatal. What strange
+creatures we! It pleased me to leave them alone before the fire and to go
+out on the quay to dream, leaning on the parapet and looking at the
+water. When they spoke of their life at N-----, and when Brigitte, almost
+cheerful, assumed a motherly air to recall some incident of their
+childhood days, it seemed to me that I suffered, and yet took pleasure in
+it. I asked questions; I spoke to Smith of his mother, of his plans and
+his prospects. I gave him an opportunity to show himself in a favorable
+light and forced his modesty to reveal his merit.
+
+"You love your sister very much, do you not?" I asked. "When do you
+expect her to marry?"
+
+He blushed and replied that his expenses were rather heavy but that it
+would probably be within two years, perhaps sooner, if his health would
+permit him to do some extra work which would bring in enough to provide
+her dowry; that there was a family in the country, whose eldest son was
+her friend; that they were almost agreed on it, and that fortune would
+one day come, like rest, without thinking of it; that he had set aside
+for his sister, a part of the money left by their father; that their
+mother was opposed to it but that he would insist on it; that a young man
+may live from hand to mouth, but that the fate of a young girl is fixed
+on the day of her marriage. Thus, little by little, he expressed what was
+in his heart, and I watched Brigitte listening to him. Then, when he
+arose to leave us, I accompanied him to the door and stood there;
+pensively listening to the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.
+
+Upon examining our trunks, we found that there were still a few things
+needed before we could start; Smith was asked to purchase them. He was
+remarkably active and enjoyed attending to matters of this kind. When I
+returned to my apartments, I found him on the floor, strapping a trunk.
+Brigitte was at the piano we had rented by the week during our stay. She
+was playing one of those old airs, into which she put so much expression
+and which were so dear to us. I stopped in the hall; every note reached
+my ear distinctly; never had she sung so sadly, so divinely.
+
+Smith was listening with pleasure; he was on his knees holding the buckle
+of the strap in his hands. He fastened it, then looked about the room at
+the other goods he had packed and covered with a linen cloth. Satisfied
+with his work, he still remained kneeling in the same spot; Brigitte, her
+hands on the keys, was looking out at the horizon. For the second time, I
+saw tears fall from the young man's eyes; I was ready to shed tears
+myself, and not knowing what was passing in me, I held out my hand to
+him.
+
+"Were you there?" asked Brigitte. She trembled and seemed surprised.
+
+"Yes, I was there," I replied. "Sing, my dear, I beg of you. Let me hear
+your sweet voice."
+
+She continued her song without a word; she noticed my emotion as well as
+Smith's; her voice faltered. With the last notes, she arose and came to
+me and kissed me.
+
+On another occasion, I had bought an album containing views of
+Switzerland. We were looking at them, all three of us, and when Brigitte
+found a site that pleased her, she would stop to examine it. There was
+one view that seemed to please her more than all the others; it was a
+certain spot in the canton of Vaud, some distance from Brigues; some
+trees with cows grazing in the shade; in the distance, a village
+consisting of some dozen houses, scattered here and there. In the
+foreground, a young girl with a large straw hat, seated under a tree, and
+a farmer's boy standing before her, apparently pointing out, with his
+iron-tipped stick, the route over which he had come; he was directing her
+attention to a winding path that led to the mountain. Above them were the
+Alps, and the picture was crowned by three snow-capped summits. Nothing
+could be more simple or more beautiful than this landscape. The valley
+resembled a lake of verdure and the eye followed its contour with
+delight.
+
+"Shall we go there?" I asked Brigitte. I took a pencil and traced some
+figures on the picture.
+
+"What are you doing?" she asked.
+
+"I am trying to see if I can not change that face slightly and make it
+resemble yours. The pretty hat would become you and can I not, if I am
+skilful, give that fine mountaineer some resemblance to me?"
+
+The whim seemed to please her and she set about rubbing out the two
+faces. When I had painted her portrait, she wished to try mine. The faces
+were very small, hence not very difficult; it was agreed that the
+likenesses were striking. While we were laughing at it, the door opened
+and I was called away by the servant.
+
+When I returned, Smith was leaning on the table and looking at the
+picture with interest. He was absorbed in a profound reverie and was not
+aware of my presence; I sat down near the fire and it was not until I
+spoke to Brigitte that he raised his head. He looked at us a moment, then
+hastily took his leave and, as he approached the door, I saw him strike
+his forehead with his hand.
+
+When I discovered these signs of grief, I said to myself: "What does it
+mean?" Then I clasped my hands to plead with--whom? I do not know;
+perhaps my good angel, perhaps my evil destiny.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MY heart yearned to set out and yet I delayed; some secret influence
+rooted me to the spot.
+
+When Smith came, I knew no repose from the time he entered the room. How
+is it that we frequently seem to enjoy unhappiness?
+
+One day a word, a flush, a glance, made me shudder; another day, another
+glance, another word, threw me into uncertainty. Why are they both so
+sad? Why am I as motionless as a statue where I had formerly been
+violent? Every evening I sat on my bed and said to myself: "Let me see;
+let me think that over." Then I sprang to my feet crying: "Impossible!"
+The next day, I did the same thing.
+
+In Smith's presence, Brigitte treated me with more tenderness than when
+we were alone. It happened one evening that some hard words escaped us;
+when she heard his voice in the hall, she came and sat on my knees. As
+for him, it seemed to me he was always making an effort to control
+himself. His gestures were carefully regulated; he spoke slowly and
+prudently, so that his occasional moments of forgetfulness seemed all the
+more striking.
+
+Was it curiosity that tormented me? I remember that one day I saw a man
+drowning near Pont Royale. It was midsummer and we were rowing on the
+river; some thirty boats were crowded together under the bridge when,
+suddenly, one of the occupants of a boat near mine threw up his hands and
+fell overboard. We immediately began diving for him, but in vain; some
+hours later the body was found under a raft.
+
+I shall never forget my experience as I was diving for that man. I opened
+my eyes under the water and searched painfully here and there in the dark
+corners about the pier; then I returned to the surface for breath, then
+resumed my horrible search. I was filled with hope and terror; the
+thought that I might feel myself seized by convulsive arms, allured me
+and, at the same time, thrilled me with horror; when I was exhausted with
+fatigue, I climbed back into my boat.
+
+Unless a man is brutalized by debauchery, eager curiosity is one of his
+marked traits. I have already remarked that I felt it on the occasion of
+my first visit to Desgenais. I will explain my meaning.
+
+The truth, that skeleton of appearances, ordains that every man,
+whatsoever he be, shall come, in his day and hour, to touch the bones
+that lie forever at the bottom of some chance experience. It is called
+knowing the world, and experience is purchased at that price. It happens
+that some recoil in terror before that test, others, feeble and
+affrighted, vacillate like shadows. Some, the best perhaps, die at once.
+The large number forget, and thus, all float on to death.
+
+But there are some men, who, at the fell stroke of misfortune, neither
+die nor forget; when it comes their turn to touch misfortune, otherwise
+called truth, they approach it with a firm step and outstretched hand,
+and horrible to say! they mistake love for the livid corpse they have
+found at the bottom of the river. They seize it, feel it, clasp it in
+their arms; behold them, drunk with the desire to know; they no longer
+look with interest upon things, except to see them pass; they do nothing
+except doubt and test; they ransack the world as though they were God's
+spies; they sharpen their thoughts into arrows, and they give birth to a
+monster.
+
+The debauchees, more than all others, are exposed to that fury, and the
+reason is very simple: ordinary life is the limpid surface; the
+debauchees, the rapid current turning over and over, and, at times,
+touching the bottom. Coming from a ball, for instance, where they have
+danced with a modest girl, they seek the company of bad characters, and
+spend the night in riotous feasting. The last words they addressed to a
+beautiful and virtuous woman are still on their lips; they repeat them
+and burst into laughter. Shall I say it? Do they not raise, for some
+pieces of silver, the vesture of chastity, that robe so full of mystery,
+that seems to respect the being it embellishes and surrounds without
+touching? What idea can they have of the world? They are like comedians
+in the greenroom. Who, more than they, is skilled in that research at the
+bottom of things, in that groping, profound and impious? See how they
+speak of everything; always in terms the most barren, the most crude and
+abject; such words appear true to them; all the rest is only parade,
+convention, prejudice. Let them tell a story, let them recount some
+experience, they will always use the same dirty and material expression,
+always the letter, always death! They do not say "That woman loved me;"
+they say: "I have possessed that woman;" they do not say: "I love;" they
+say: "I desire;" they never say: "If God wills;" they say: "If I will." I
+do not know what they think of themselves and such monologues as these.
+
+Hence, of a necessity, either idleness or curiosity; for while they
+strive to find what there is of evil, they do not understand that others
+still believe in the good. Therefore, they are either so nonchalant that
+they stop their ears, or the noise of the rest of the world suddenly
+startles them from sleep. The father allows his son to go where so many
+others go, where Cato himself went; he says that youth is but a stage.
+But when he returns, the youth looks upon his sister; and sees what has
+taken place in him during an hour passed in the society of brutal
+reality! He says to himself: "My sister is not like that creature I have
+just left!" And from that day he is disturbed and uneasy.
+
+Sinful curiosity is a vile malady born of all impure contact. It is the
+prowling instinct of fantoms who raise the lids of tombs; it is an
+inexplicable torture with which God punishes those who have sinned; they
+wish to believe that all sin as they have done, and would be disappointed
+perhaps to find that it was not so. But they inquire, they search, they
+dispute; they hang their heads on one side, as does an architect who
+adjusts a pillar, and thus strive to find what they desire to know. Given
+proof of evil, they laugh at it; doubtful of evil, they swear that it
+exists; the good, they refuse to recognize. "Who knows?" Behold the grand
+formula, the first words that Satan spoke when he saw heaven closing
+against him. Alas! how many evils are those words responsible for! How
+many disasters and deaths, how many strokes of terrible scythes in the
+ripening harvest of humanity! How many hearts, how many families where
+there is naught but ruin, since that word was first heard! "Who knows!
+Who knows!" Loathsome words! Rather than pronounce them, one should do as
+the sheep who graze about the slaughter-house and know it not. That is
+better than to be a strong spirit and read La Rochefoucauld.
+
+What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given?
+My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did I
+delay? What would have been the result if I had started at once on our
+trip? Nothing but a moment of apprehension that would have been forgotten
+after traveling three days. When with me, she had no thought but of me;
+why should I care to solve the mystery that did not threaten my
+happiness?
+
+She would have consented and that would have been the end of it. A kiss
+on her lips and all would be well; instead of that, see what I did.
+
+One evening when Smith had dined with us, I retired at an early hour and
+left them together. As I closed my door, I heard Brigitte order some tea.
+In the morning I happened to approach her table, and, sitting beside the
+teapot, I saw but one cup. No one had been in that room before me that
+morning, so the servant could not have carried away anything that had
+been used the night before. I searched everywhere for a second cup but
+could find none.
+
+"Did Smith stay late?" I asked of Brigitte.
+
+"He left about midnight."
+
+"Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?"
+
+"I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep."
+
+I continued my search and my hands trembled. In what burlesque comedy is
+there a jealous lover, so stupid as to inquire what has become of a cup?
+Why seek to discover whether Smith and Madame Pierson had drunk from the
+same cup? What a brilliant idea, that!
+
+Nevertheless, I found the cup and I burst into laughter and threw it on
+the floor with such violence that it broke into a thousand pieces. I
+ground the pieces under my feet.
+
+Brigitte looked at me without saying a word. During the two succeeding
+days, she treated me with a coldness that had something of contempt in
+it, and I saw that she treated Smith with more deference and kindness
+than usual. She called him, Henry, and smiled on him sweetly.
+
+"I feel that the air would do me good," she said after dinner; "shall we
+go to the Opera, Octave? I would enjoy walking that far."
+
+"No, I will stay here; go without me." She took Smith's arm and went out.
+I remained alone all the evening; I had paper before me and I was trying
+to collect my thoughts in order to write, but in vain.
+
+As a lonely lover draws from his bosom a letter from his mistress, and
+loses himself in delightful reverie, thus I shut myself up in solitude
+and yielded to the sweet allurement of doubt. Before me, were the two
+empty seats which Brigitte and Smith had just occupied; I scrutinized
+them eagerly as though they could tell me something. I revolved in my
+mind all the things I had heard and seen; from time to time, I went to
+the door and cast my eyes over our trunks which had been piled against
+the wall for a month; I opened them and examined the contents so
+carefully packed away by those delicate little hands; I listened to the
+sound of passing carriages; the slightest noise made me tremble. I spread
+out on the table our map of Europe, and there in the very presence of all
+my hopes, in that room where I had conceived and had so nearly realized
+them, I abandoned myself to the most frightful presentiments.
+
+But strange as it may seem, I felt neither anger nor jealousy, but a
+terrible sense of sorrow and foreboding. I did not suspect, and yet, I
+doubted. The mind of man is so strangely formed that, with what he sees,
+and in spite of what he sees, he can conjure up a hundred objects of woe.
+In truth, his brain resembles the dungeons of the Inquisition whose walls
+are covered with so many instruments of torture, that one is dazed and
+asks whether these horrible contrivances he sees before him are pincers
+or playthings. Tell me, I say, what difference is there in saying to my
+mistress: "All women deceive," or, "You deceive me?"
+
+What passed through my mind was perhaps as subtle as the finest
+sophistry; it was a sort of dialogue between the mind and the conscience.
+"If I should lose Brigitte?" I said to the mind.--"She departs with you,"
+said the conscience.--"If she deceives me?"--"How can she deceive you?
+Has she not made out her will asking for prayers for you?"--"If Smith
+loves her?"--"Fool! What does it matter so long as you know that she
+loves you?"--"If she loves me, why is she sad?"--"That is her secret,
+respect it."--"If I take her away with me, will she be happy?"--"Love her
+and she will be."--"Why, when that man looks at her, does she seem to
+fear to meet his glance?"--"Because she is a woman and he is
+young."--"Why does that young man turn pale when she looks at
+him?"--"Because he is a man and she is beautiful."--"Why, when I went to
+see him, did he throw himself into my arms, and why did he weep and beat
+his head with his hands?"--"Do not seek to know of what you must remain
+ignorant."--"Why can I not know these things?"--"Because you are
+miserable and weak, and all mystery is of God."--"But why is it that I
+suffer? Why is it that my soul recoils in terror?"--"Think of your father
+and do good."--"But why am I unable to do as he did? Why does evil
+attract me to itself?"--"Get down on your knees and confess; if you
+believe in evil it is because your ways have been evil."--"If my ways
+were evil, was it my fault? Why did the good betray me?"--"Because you
+are in the shadow, would you deny the existence of light? If there are
+traitors, why are you one of them?"--"Because I am afraid of becoming the
+dupe."--"Why do you spend your nights in watching? Why are you alone
+now?"--"Because I think, I doubt and I fear."--"When will you offer your
+prayer?"--"When I believe. Why have they lied to me?"--"Why do you lie,
+coward! at this very moment? Why not die if you can not suffer?"
+
+Thus, spoke and groaned within me two voices, voices that were defiant
+and terrible; and then, a third voice cried out: "Alas! Alas! my
+innocence! Alas! Alas! the days that were!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHAT a powerful lever is the human thought! It is our defense and our
+safeguard, the most beautiful present that God has made us. It is ours
+and it obeys us; we may shoot it forth into space, and, once outside of
+this feeble head, it is gone, we can no longer control it.
+
+While I was deferring the time of our departure from day to day, I was
+gradually losing strength, and, although I did not perceive it, my vital
+forces were slowly wasting away. When I sat at table, I experienced a
+violent distaste for food; at night two pale faces, that of Brigitte and
+of Smith, pursued me through frightful dreams. When they went to the
+theater in the evening, I refused to go with them; then, I went alone and
+concealed myself in the parquet and watched them. I pretended that I had
+some business to attend to in a neighboring room and I sat there an hour
+and listened to them. The idea occurred to me to seek a quarrel with
+Smith and force him to fight with me; I turned my back on him while he
+was talking; then he came to me with a look of surprise on his face,
+holding out his hand. When I was alone in the night and every one slept,
+I felt a strong desire to go to Brigitte's desk and take from it, her
+papers. On one occasion, I was obliged to go out of the house in order to
+resist the temptation. One day I felt like arming myself with a knife and
+threatening to kill them if they did not tell me why they were so sad;
+another day I turned all this fury against myself. With what shame do I
+write it! And if any one should ask me why I acted thus, I could not
+reply.
+
+To see, to doubt, to search, to torture myself and make myself miserable,
+to pass entire days with my ear to the keyhole and the night in a flood
+of tears, to repeat over and over that I would die of sorrow, to feel
+isolation and feebleness uprooting hope in my heart, to imagine that I
+was spying when I was only listening to the feverish beating of my own
+pulse; to con over stupid phrases, such as: "Life is a dream, there is
+nothing stable here below;" to curse and blaspheme God through misery and
+through caprice: that was my joy, the precious occupation for which I
+renounced love, the air of heaven, and liberty!
+
+Eternal God, liberty! Yes, there were certain moments when, in spite of
+all, I still thought of it. In the midst of my madness, eccentricity, and
+stupidity, there were within me certain impulses that at times brought me
+to myself. It was a breath of air which struck my face as I came from my
+dungeon; it was a page of a book I read when, in my bitter days, I
+happened to read something besides those modern sycophants called
+pamphleteers, and who, out of regard for the public health, ought to be
+prevented from indulging in their crude philosophizing. Since I have
+referred to these good moments, let me mention one of them, they were so
+rare. One evening, I was reading the "Memoirs of Constant"; I came to the
+following lines:
+
+"Salsdorf, a Saxon surgeon attached to Prince Christian, had his leg
+broken by a shell in the battle of Wagram. He lay almost lifeless on the
+dusty field. Fifteen paces distant, Amedee of Kerbourg, aide-de-camp, I
+have forgotten of whom, wounded in the breast by a bullet, falls to the
+ground vomiting blood. Salsdorf sees that if that young man is not cared
+for he will die of apoplexy; summoning all his powers, he painfully drags
+himself to the side of the wounded man, bleeds him and saves his life.
+Salsdorf himself died four days later from the effects of amputation."
+
+When I read these words, I threw down my book, and melted into tears.
+
+I do not regret those tears for they were such as I could shed only when
+my heart was right; I do not speak merely of Salsdorf, and do not care
+for that particular instance. I am sure, however, that I did not suspect
+any one that day. Poor dreamer! Ought I to remember that I have been
+other than I am? What good will it do me as I stretch out my arms in
+anguish to heaven and wait for the shell that will deliver me forever.
+Alas! that was only a gleam that flashed across the night of my life.
+
+Like those dervish fanatics who find ecstasy in vertigo when thought,
+turning on itself, exhausted by the stress of introspection, tired of
+vain effort, recoils in fright; thus it would seem that man must be a
+void and that by dint of delving within himself, he reaches the last turn
+of a spiral. There, as on the summits of mountains and at the bottom of
+mines, air fails and God forbids man to go farther. Then, struck with a
+mortal chill, the heart, as though impaired by oblivion, seeks to escape
+into a new birth; it demands life of that which environs it, it eagerly
+drinks in the air; but it finds round about only its own chimeras which
+have just animated its failing powers and which, self-created, surround
+it like pitiless specters.
+
+This can not last long. Tired of uncertainty, I resolved to resort to a
+test that would discover the truth.
+
+I ordered post horses for ten in the evening. We had hired a calash and I
+gave direction that all should be ready at the hour indicated. At the
+same time I asked that nothing be said to Madame Pierson. Smith came to
+dinner; at the table I affected unusual cheerfulness, and without a word
+about my plans, I turned the conversation to our journey. I would
+renounce all idea of going away, I said, if I thought Brigitte did not
+care to go; I was so well satisfied with Paris that I asked nothing
+better than to remain as long as she pleased. I made much of all the
+pleasures of the city; I spoke of the balls, the theaters, of the many
+opportunities for diversion on every hand. In short, since we were happy,
+I did not see why we should make a change; and I did not think of going
+away at present.
+
+I was expecting her to insist that we carry out our plan of going to
+Geneva, and was not disappointed. However, she insisted but feebly; but,
+after a few words, I pretended to yield, and then changing the subject, I
+spoke of other things, as though it was all settled.
+
+"And why will not Smith go with us?" I asked. "It is very true that he
+has duties here, but can he not obtain leave of absence? Moreover, will
+not the talents he possesses and which he is unwilling to use assure him
+an honorable living anywhere? Let him come along with us; the carriage is
+large and we offer him a place in it. A young man should see the world
+and there is nothing so irksome for a man of his age as confinement in an
+office and restriction to a narrow circle. Is it not true?" I asked,
+turning to Brigitte. "Come, my dear, let your credit obtain from him what
+he might refuse me; urge him to give us six weeks of his time. We will
+travel together and, after a tour of Switzerland, he will return to his
+duties with new life."
+
+Brigitte joined her entreaties to mine, although she knew it was only a
+joke on my part. Smith could not leave Paris without danger of losing his
+position and replied that he regretted being obliged to deny himself the
+pleasure of accompanying us. Nevertheless, I continued to press him, and,
+ordering another bottle of wine, I repeated my invitation. After dinner,
+I went out to assure myself that my orders were carried out; then I
+returned in high spirits, and seating myself at the piano, I proposed
+some music.
+
+"Let us pass the evening here," I said; "believe me it is better than
+going to the theater; I can not take part myself, but I can listen. We
+will make Smith play, if he tires of our company, and the time will pass
+pleasantly."
+
+Brigitte consented with good grace and began playing for us; Smith
+accompanied her on the violoncello. The materials for a bowl of punch
+were brought and the flame of burning rum soon cheered us with its light.
+The piano was abandoned for the table; then we had cards; everything
+passed off as I wished and we succeeded in diverting ourselves to my
+heart's content.
+
+I had my eyes fixed on the clock and waited impatiently for the hands to
+mark the hour of ten. I was tormented with anxiety, but allowed them to
+see nothing. Finally, the hour arrived; I heard the postilion's whip as
+the horses entered the court. Brigitte was seated near me; I took her by
+the hand and asked her if she was ready to depart. She looked at me with
+surprise, doubtless wondering if I was not joking. I told her that, at
+dinner, she had appeared so anxious to go that I had felt justified in
+sending for the horses and that I went out for that purpose when I left
+the table.
+
+"Are you serious?" asked Brigitte; "do you wish to set out to-night?"
+
+"Why not," I replied, "since we have agreed that we ought to leave Paris?"
+
+"What! now? At this very moment?"
+
+"Certainly; have we not been ready for a month? You see there is nothing
+to do but load our trunks on the calash; as we have decided to go, ought
+we not go at once? I believe it is better to go now and put off nothing
+until to-morrow. You are in the humor to travel to-night and I hasten to
+profit by it. Why wait longer and continue to put it off? I can not
+endure this life. You wish to go, do you not? Very well, let us go and be
+done with it."
+
+Profound silence ensued. Brigitte stepped to the window and satisfied
+herself that the calash was there. Moreover, the tone in which I spoke
+would admit of no doubt, and, however hasty my action may have appeared
+to her, it was due to her own expressed desire. She could not deny her
+own words, nor find any pretext for further delay. Her decision was made
+promptly; she asked a few questions, as though to assure herself that all
+the preparations had been made; seeing that nothing had been omitted, she
+began to search here and there. She found her hat and shawl, then
+continued her search.
+
+"I am ready," she said; "shall we go? We are really going?"
+
+She took a light, went to my room, to her own, opened lockers and
+closets. She asked for the key to her secretary which she said she had
+lost. Where could that key be? She had it in her possession not an hour
+ago.
+
+"Come, come! I am ready," she repeated in extreme agitation; "let us go,
+Octave, let us set out at once."
+
+While speaking, she continued her search and then came and sat down near
+us.
+
+I was seated on the sofa watching Smith, who stood before me. He had not
+changed countenance and seemed neither troubled nor surprised; but two
+drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I heard an ivory counter
+crackle between his fingers, the pieces falling to the floor. He held out
+both hands to us.
+
+"Bon voyage, my friends!" he said.
+
+Again silence; I was still watching him, waiting for him to add a word.
+"If there is some secret here," thought I, "when shall I learn it, if not
+now? It must be on the lips of both of them. Let it but come out into the
+light and I will seize it."
+
+"My dear Octave," said Brigitte, "where are we to stop? You will write to
+us, Henry, will you not? You will not forget my relatives and will do
+what you can for me?" He replied, in a voice that trembled slightly, that
+he would do all in his power to serve her.
+
+"I can answer for nothing," he said, "and, judging from the letters you
+have received, there is not much hope. But it will not be my fault if I
+do not soon send you good news. Count on me, I am devoted to you."
+
+After a few more kind words, he made ready to take his departure. I arose
+and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment
+for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a
+perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole.
+
+"When shall I see you again?" he asked.
+
+"Never," replied Brigitte; "adieu, Henry." She held out her hand. He bent
+over it, pressed it to his lips and I had barely time to slip into a
+corner as he passed out without seeing me.
+
+Alone with Brigitte, my heart sank within me. She was waiting for me, her
+shawl on her arm, and emotion plainly marked on her face. She had found
+the key she had been looking for and her desk was open. I returned and
+sat down near the fire. "Listen to me," I said without daring to look at
+her; "I have been so culpable in my treatment of you that I ought to wait
+and suffer without a word of complaint. The change which has taken place
+in you has thrown me into such despair that I have not been able to
+refrain from asking you the cause; but to-day I ask nothing more. Does it
+cost you an effort to depart? Tell me, and if so, I am resigned."
+
+"Let us go, let us go!" she replied.
+
+"As you please, but be frank; whatever blow I may receive, I ought not to
+ask whence it comes; I should submit without a murmur. But if I lose you,
+do not speak to me of hope, for God knows I will not survive the loss."
+
+She turned on me like a flash.
+
+"Speak to me of your love," she said, "not of your grief."
+
+"Very well, I love you more than life. Beside my love, my grief is but a
+dream. Come with me to the end of the world, I will die or I will live
+with you."
+
+With these words, I advanced toward her; she turned pale and recoiled.
+She made a vain effort to force a smile on her contracted lips, and
+sitting down before her desk she said:
+
+"One moment; I have some papers here I want to burn."
+
+She showed me the letters from N-----, tore them up and threw them into
+the fire; she then took out other papers which she reread and then spread
+out on the table. They were bills of purchases she had made and some of
+them were still unpaid. While examining them, she began to talk rapidly,
+while her cheeks burned as though with fever. Then she asked my pardon
+for her obstinate silence and her conduct since our arrival. She gave
+evidence of more tenderness, more confidence than ever. She clapped her
+hands gleefully at the prospect of a happy journey; in short, she was all
+love, or at least apparently all love. I can not tell how I suffered at
+the sight of that factitious joy; there was, in that grief which crazed
+her, something more sad than tears and more bitter than reproaches. I
+would have preferred to have her cold and indifferent rather than thus
+excited; it seemed to me a parody of our happiest moments. There were the
+same words, the same woman, the same caresses; and that which, fifteen
+days before, would have intoxicated me with love and happiness, repeated
+thus, filled me with horror.
+
+"Brigitte," I suddenly inquired, "what secret are you concealing from me?
+If you love me, what horrible comedy is this you are playing before me?"
+
+"I!" said she almost offended. "What makes you think I am playing?"
+
+"What makes me think so? Tell me, my dear, that you have death in your
+soul and that you are suffering martyrdom. Behold my arms are ready to
+receive you; lean your head on me and weep. Then I will take you away,
+perhaps; but in truth, not thus."
+
+"Let us go, let us go!" she again repeated.
+
+"No, on my soul! No, not at present; no, not while there is between us a
+lie or a mask. I like unhappiness better than such cheerfulness as
+yours."
+
+She was silent, astonished to see that I had not been deceived by her
+words and manner and that I saw through them both.
+
+"Why should we delude ourselves?" I continued. "Have I fallen so low in
+your esteem that you can dissimulate before me? That unfortunate journey,
+you think you are condemned to it, do you? Am I a tyrant, an absolute
+master? Am I an executioner who drags you to punishment? How much do you
+fear my wrath when you come before me with such mimicry? What terror
+impels you to lie thus?"
+
+"You are wrong," she replied; "I beg of you, not a word more."
+
+"Why so little sincerity? If I am not your confidant, may I not, at
+least, be your friend? If I am denied all knowledge of the source of your
+tears, may I not, at least, see them flow? Have you not enough confidence
+in me to believe that I will respect your sorrow? What have I done that I
+should be ignorant of it? Might not the remedy lay right there?"
+
+"No," she replied, "you are wrong; you will achieve your own unhappiness
+as well as mine if you press me farther. Is it not enough that we are
+going away?
+
+"And do you expect me to drag you away against your will? Is it not
+evident that you have consented reluctantly, and that you already begin
+to repent? Great God! What is it you are concealing from me? What is the
+use playing with words when your thoughts are as clear as that glass
+before which you stand? Would I not be the meanest of men to accept at
+your hands what is yielded with so much regret? And yet how can I refuse
+it? What can I do if you refuse to speak?"
+
+"No, I do not oppose you, you are mistaken; I love you, Octave; cease
+tormenting me thus."
+
+She threw so much tenderness into these words that I fell down on my
+knees before her. Who could resist her glance and her voice?
+
+"My God!" I cried, "you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love
+me?"
+
+"Yes, I love you; yes, I belong to you; do with me what you will. I will
+follow you, let us go away together; come, Octave, the carriage is
+waiting."
+
+She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead.
+
+"Yes, it must be," she murmured, "it must be."
+
+"It _must_ be," I repeated to myself. I arose. On the table, there
+remained only one piece of paper that Brigitte was examining. She picked
+it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor.
+
+"Is that all?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, that is all."
+
+When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished
+merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry
+my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.
+
+"It must be!" I said to myself. "It must be!" I repeated aloud.
+
+"What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I
+do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love
+me?"
+
+She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.
+
+"Ah! Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love!"
+
+"Yes, I think you are right, but, before God, I know how to suffer. You
+must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I to
+lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not
+leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing
+me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool who
+destroys his own happiness, I may be demanding something that is not for
+me to possess, it may be that an explanation will separate us and raise
+before me an insurmountable barrier, that it will render our tour, on
+which I have set my heart, impossible; whatever it may cost you and me,
+you shall speak or I will renounce everything."
+
+"No, I will not speak."
+
+"You will speak! Do you fondly imagine I am the dupe of your lies? When I
+see you change between morning and evening until you differ more from
+your natural self than does night from day, do you think I am deceived?
+When you give me, as a cause, some letters that are not worth the trouble
+of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext
+that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your
+face made of plaster that it is difficult to see what is passing in your
+heart? What is your opinion of me? I do not deceive myself as much as you
+suppose, and take care lest, in default of words, your silence discloses
+what you so obstinately conceal."
+
+"What do you imagine I am concealing?"
+
+What do I imagine? You ask me that! Is it to brave me you ask such a
+question? Do you think to make me desperate and thus get rid of me? Yes,
+I admit it, offended pride is capable of driving me to extremes. If I
+should explain myself freely, you would have at your service all feminine
+hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can reply that
+such a woman as you does not stoop to justify herself. How skilfully the
+most guilty and treacherous of your sex contrive to use proud disdain as
+a shield! Your great weapon is silence; I did not learn that yesterday.
+You wish to be insulted and you hold your tongue until it comes to that;
+come, come, struggle against my heart; where yours beats, you will find
+it; but do not struggle against my head, it is harder than iron, and it
+has served me as long as yours!"
+
+"Poor boy!" murmured Brigitte; "you do not want to go?"
+
+"No, I shall not go except with my mistress and you are not that now. I
+have struggled, I have suffered, I have eaten my own heart long enough.
+It is time for day to break, I have loved long enough in the night. Yes
+or no, will you answer me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"As you please; I will wait."
+
+I sat down on the other side of the room determined not to rise until I
+had learned what I wished to know. She appeared to be reflecting and
+walked back and forth before me.
+
+I followed her with an eager eye, while her silence gradually increased
+my anger. I was unwilling to have her perceive it and was undecided what
+to do. I opened the window.
+
+"You may drive off," I called to those below, "and I will see that you
+are paid. I shall not start to-night."
+
+"Poor boy!" repeated Brigitte. I quietly closed the window and sat down
+as though I had not heard her; but I was so furious with rage that I
+could hardly restrain myself. That cold silence, that negative force,
+exasperated me to the last point. Had I been really deceived and
+convinced of the guilt of the woman I loved, I could not have suffered
+more. As I had condemned myself to remain in Paris, I reflected that I
+must compel Brigitte to speak at any price. In vain, I tried to think of
+some means of forcing her to enlighten me; for such power, I would have
+given all I possessed. What could I do or say? She sat there calm and
+unruffled looking at me with sadness. I heard the sound of the horses'
+hoofs on the pavement as the carriage drew out of the court. I had merely
+to turn my hand to call them back, but it seemed to me that there was
+something irrevocable about their departure. I slipped the bolt on the
+door; something whispered in my ear: "You are face to face with the woman
+who must give you life or death."
+
+While thus buried in thought, I tried to invent some expedient that would
+lead to the truth, I recalled one of Diderot's romances in which a woman,
+jealous of her lover, resorted to a novel plan, for the purpose of
+clearing away her doubts. She told him that she no longer loved him and
+that she wished to leave him. The Marquis des Arcis, the name of the
+lover, falls into the trap, and confesses that he, himself, has tired of
+the liaison. That piece of strategy, which I had read at too early an
+age, had struck me as being very skilful and the recollection of it at
+this moment made me smile. "Who knows?" said I to myself, "if I should
+try this with Brigitte, she might be deceived and tell me her secret."
+
+My anger had become furious when the idea of resorting to such trickery
+occurred to me. Was it so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of
+herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be very weak if I could not
+gain my point. I turned over on the sofa with an air of indifference.
+
+"Very well, my dear," said I gaily, "this is not a time for confidences
+then?"
+
+She looked at me in astonishment.
+
+"And yet," I continued, "we must some day come to the truth. Now I
+believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you confiding,
+and there is nothing like an understanding between friends."
+
+Doubtless, my face betrayed me as I spoke these words; Brigitte did not
+appear to understand and kept on walking up and down.
+
+"Do you know," I resumed, "that we have been together now six months. The
+life we are leading together is not one to be laughed at. You are young,
+I also; if this kind of life should become distasteful to you, are you
+the woman to tell me of it? In truth, if it were so, I would confess it
+to you frankly. And why not? Is it a crime to love? If not, it is not a
+crime to love less or to cease to love at all. Would it be astonishing
+if, at our age, we should feel the need of change?"
+
+She stopped me.
+
+"At our age!" said she. "Are you addressing me? What comedy are you now
+playing yourself?"
+
+Blood mounted to my face. I seized her hand. "Sit down here," I said,
+"and listen to me."
+
+"What is the use? It is not you who speak."
+
+I felt ashamed of my own strategy and abandoned it.
+
+"Listen to me," I repeated, "and come, I beg of you, sit down near me. If
+you wish to remain silent yourself, at least hear what I have to say."
+
+"I am listening, what have you to say to me?"
+
+"If some one should say to me: 'You are a coward!' I, who am twenty-two
+years of age and have fought on the field of honor, would throw the taunt
+back in the teeth of my accuser. Have I not within me the consciousness
+of what I am? It would be necessary for me to meet my accuser on the
+field, and play my life against his; why? In order to prove that I am not
+a coward; otherwise, the world would believe it. That single word demands
+that reply every time it is spoken, and it matters not by whom."
+
+"It is true; what is your meaning?"
+
+"Women do not fight; but as society is constituted there is no being, of
+whatever sex, who ought to submit to the indignity involved in an
+aspersion on all his or her past life, be that life regulated as by a
+pendulum. Reflect; who escapes that law? There are some, I admit; but
+what happens? If it is a man, dishonor; if it is a woman, what?
+Forgiveness. Every one who lives ought to give some evidence of life,
+some proof of existence. There is, then, for woman as well as for man, a
+time when an attack must be resented. If she is brave, she rises,
+announces that she is present, and sits down again. A stroke of the sword
+is not for her. She must not only avenge herself, but she must make her
+own weapons. Some one suspects her; who? An outsider? She may hold him in
+contempt. Her lover whom she loves? If so, it is her life that is in
+question, and she may not despise him."
+
+"Her only recourse is silence."
+
+"You are wrong, the lover who suspects her casts an aspersion on her
+entire life, I know it; her plea is her tears, her past life, her
+devotion and her patience. What will happen if she remains silent? Her
+lover will lose her by her own act and time will justify her. Is not that
+your thought?"
+
+"Perhaps; silence before all."
+
+"Perhaps, you say? Assuredly I will lose you if you do not speak; my
+resolution is made: I am going away alone."
+
+"But, Octave--"
+
+"But," I cried, "time will justify you! Let us put an end to it; yes or
+no?"
+
+"Yes, I hope so."
+
+"You hope so! Will you answer me definitely? This is, doubtless, the last
+time you will have the opportunity. You tell me that you love me, and I
+believe it. I suspect you; is it your intention to allow me to go away
+and rely on time to justify you?"
+
+"Of what do you suspect me?"
+
+"I do not choose to say, for I see that it would be useless. But, after
+all, misery for misery, at your leisure; I am as well pleased. You
+deceive me, you love another; that is your secret and mine."
+
+"Who is it?" she asked.
+
+"Smith."
+
+She placed her hand on her lips and turned aside. I could say no more; we
+were both pensive, our eyes fixed on the floor.
+
+"Listen to me," she began with an effort. "I have suffered much, I call
+to heaven to bear me witness that I would give my life for you. So long
+as the faintest gleam of hope remains, I am ready to suffer anything;
+but, although I may rouse your anger in saying to you that I am a woman,
+I am, nevertheless, a woman, my friend. We can not go beyond the limits
+of human endurance. Beyond a certain point I will not answer for the
+consequences. All I can do at this moment is to get down on my knees
+before you and beseech you not to go away."
+
+She knelt down as she spoke. I arose.
+
+"Fool that I am!" I muttered bitterly, "fool to try to get the truth from
+a woman! He who undertakes such a task will earn naught but derision and
+will deserve it! Truth! Only he who sorts with chamber-maids knows it,
+only he who steals to their pillow and listens to the unconscious
+utterance of a dream, hears it. He alone knows it, who makes a woman of
+himself and initiates himself into the secrets of her cult of
+inconstancy! But the man who asks for it openly, he who opens a loyal
+hand to receive that frightful alms, he will never obtain it! They are on
+guard with him; for reply, he receives a shrug of the shoulders, and, if
+he rouses himself in his impatience, they rise in righteous indignation
+like an outraged vestal, while there falls from their lips the great
+feminine oracle that suspicion destroys love, and they refuse to pardon
+an accusation which they are unable to meet. Ah! just God! How weary I
+am! When will all this cease?"
+
+"Whenever you please," said she coldly, "I am as tired of it as you."
+
+"At this very moment; I leave you forever, and may time justify you!
+Time! Time! O what a cold lover! remember this adieu. Time! and thy
+beauty, and thy love, and thy happiness, where will they be? Is it thus,
+without regret, you allow me to go? Ah! the day when the jealous lover
+will know that he has been unjust, the day when he shall see proofs, he
+will understand what a heart he has wounded, is it not so? He will bewail
+his shame, he will know neither joy nor sleep; he will live only in the
+memory of the time when he might have been happy. But, on that day, his
+proud mistress will turn pale as she sees herself avenged; she will say
+to herself: 'If I had only done it sooner!' And believe me, if she loves
+him, pride will not console her."
+
+I tried to be calm but I was no longer master of myself, and I began to
+pace the floor as she had done. There are certain glances that resemble
+the clashing of drawn swords; such glances, Brigitte and I exchanged at
+that moment. I looked at her as the prisoner looks at the door of his
+dungeon. In order to break the seal on her lips and force her to speak, I
+would give my life and hers.
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you wish me to tell you?"
+
+"What you have in your heart. Are you cruel enough to make me repeat it?"
+
+"And you, you," she cried, "are you not a hundred times more cruel? Ah!
+fool, as you say, who would know the truth! Fool that I would be if I
+expected you to believe it! You would know my secret, and my secret is
+that I love you. Fool that I am! you will seek another. That pallor of
+which you are the cause, you accuse it, you question it. Like a fool, I
+have tried to suffer in silence, to consecrate to you my resignation; I
+have tried to conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have
+counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of
+crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from
+all who have loved me, leaning for sole support on a heart that doubts
+me. Fool that I am! I thought that truth had a glance, an accent, that
+could not be mistaken, that would be respected! Ah! when I think of it,
+tears choke me. Why, if it must ever be thus, induce me to take a step
+that will forever destroy my peace? My head is confused, I do not know
+where I am!"
+
+She leaned on me weeping.
+
+"Fool! Fool!" she repeated, in a heart-rending voice.
+
+"And what is it you ask?" she continued. "What can I do to meet those
+suspicions that are ever born anew, that alter with your moods? I must
+justify myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying, for despairing?
+And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that cheerfulness offends
+you. I sacrifice everything to follow you and you have not gone a league
+before you look back. Always, everywhere, whatever I may do, insults and
+angers! Ah! dear child, if you knew what a mortal chill comes over me,
+what suffering I endure in seeing my simplest words thus taken up and
+hurled back at me with suspicion and sarcasm! By that course, you deprive
+yourself of the only happiness there is in the world--perfect love. You
+kill all delicate and lofty sentiment in the hearts of those who love
+you; soon you will believe in nothing except the material and the gross;
+of love, there will remain for you only that which is visible and can be
+touched with the finger. You are young, Octave, and you have still a long
+life before you; you will have other mistresses. Yes, as you say, pride
+is a little thing and it is not to it I look for consolation; but God
+wills that one of your tears shall one day pay me for those which I now
+shed for you!"
+
+She arose.
+
+"Must it be said? Must you know that for six months I have not sought
+repose without repeating to myself that it was all in vain, that you
+would never be cured; that I have never risen in the morning without
+saying that another effort must be made; that after every word you have
+spoken I have felt that I ought to leave you, and that you have not given
+me a caress that I would rather die than endure; that, day by day, minute
+by minute, hesitating between hope and fear, I have vainly tried to
+conquer either my love or my grief; that, when I opened my heart to you,
+you pierced it with a mocking glance, and that, when I closed it, it
+seemed to me I felt within it a treasure that none but you could
+dispense? Shall I speak of all the frailty and all the mysteries which
+seem puerile to those who do not respect them? Shall I tell you that when
+you left me in anger I shut myself up to read your first letters; that
+there is a favorite waltz that I never played in vain when I felt too
+keenly the suffering caused by your presence? Ah! wretch that I am! How
+dearly all these unnumbered tears, all these follies so sweet to the
+feeble, are purchased! Weep now; not even this punishment, this sorrow,
+will avail you."
+
+I tried to interrupt her.
+
+"Allow me to continue," she said, "the time has come when I must speak.
+Let us see, why do you doubt me? For six months, in thought, in body, and
+in soul, I have belonged to no one but you. Of what do you dare suspect
+me? Do you wish to set out for Switzerland? I am ready, as you see. Do
+you think you have a rival? Send him a letter that I will sign and you
+will direct. What are we doing? Where are we going? Let us decide. Are we
+not always together? Very well, then why would you leave me? I can not be
+near you and separated from you at the same moment. It is necessary to
+have confidence in those we love. Love is either good or bad: if good, we
+must believe in it; if evil, we must cure ourselves of it. All this, you
+see, is a game we are playing; but our hearts and our lives are the
+stakes, and it is horrible! Do you wish to die? That would, perhaps, be
+better. Who am I that you should doubt me?"
+
+She stopped before the glass.
+
+"Who am I?" she repeated, "who am I? Think of it. Look at this face of
+mine."
+
+"Doubt thee!" she cried, addressing her own image; "poor, pale face, thou
+art suspected! poor thin cheeks, poor tired eyes, thou and thy tears are
+in disgrace. Very well, put an end to thy suffering; let those kisses
+that have wasted thee, close thy lids! Descend into the cold earth, poor
+trembling body that can no longer support its own weight. When thou art
+there, perchance thou wilt be believed, if doubt believes in death. O
+sorrowful specter! On the banks of what stream wilt thou wander and
+groan? What fires devour thee? Thou dreamest of a long journey and thou
+hast one foot in the grave! Die! God is thy witness that thou hast tried
+to love. Ah! what wealth of love has been awakened in thy heart! Ah! what
+dreams thou hast had, what poisons thou hast drunk! What evil hast thou
+committed that there should be placed in thy breast a fever that
+consumes? What fury animates that blind creature who pushes thee into the
+grave with his foot, while his lips speak to thee of love? What will
+become of thee if thou livest! Is it not time? Is it not enough? What
+proof canst thou give that will satisfy when thou, poor living proof, art
+not believed? To what torture canst thou submit that thou hast not
+already endured? By what torments, what sacrifices, wilt thou appease
+insatiable love? Thou wilt be only an object of ridicule, a thing to
+excite laughter; thou wilt vainly seek a deserted street to avoid the
+finger of scorn. Thou wilt lose all shame and even that appearance of
+virtue which has been so dear to thee; and the man, for whom thou hast
+disgraced thyself, will be the first to punish thee. He will reproach
+thee for living for him alone, for braving the world for him, and while
+thy own friends are whispering about thee, he will listen to assure
+himself that no word of pity is spoken; he will accuse thee of deceiving
+him if another hand even then presses thine, and if, in the desert of thy
+life, thou findest some one who can spare thee a word of pity in passing.
+O God! dost thou remember a day when a wreath of roses was placed on my
+head? Was it this brow on which that crown rested? Ah! the hand that hung
+it on the wall of the oratory has now fallen, like it, to dust! O my
+valley! O my old aunt, who now sleeps in peace! O my lindens, my little
+white goat, my dear peasants who loved me so much! You remember when I
+was happy, proud, and respected? Who threw in my path that stranger who
+took me away from all this? Who gave him the right to enter my life? Ah!
+wretch! why didst thou turn the first day he followed you? Why didst thou
+receive him as a brother? Why didst thou open thy door, and why didst
+thou hold out thy hand? Octave, Octave, why have you loved me if all is
+to end thus!"
+
+She was about to faint as I led her to a chair where she sank down and
+her head fell on my shoulder. The terrible effort she had made in
+speaking to me so bitterly had broken her down. Instead of an outraged
+woman, I found now only a suffering child. Her eyes closed and she was
+motionless.
+
+When she regained consciousness, she complained of extreme languor, and
+begged to be left alone that she might rest. She could hardly walk; I
+carried her gently to her room and placed her on the bed. There was no
+mark of suffering on her face: she was resting from her sorrow as from
+great fatigue and seemed not even to remember it. Her feeble and delicate
+body yielded without a struggle; the strain had been too great. She held
+my hand in hers; I kissed her; our lips met in loving union, and after
+the cruel scene through which she had passed, she slept smiling on my
+heart as on the first day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BRIGITTE slept. Silent, motionless, I sat near her. As a farmer, when the
+storm has passed, counts the sheaves that remain in his devastated field,
+thus I began to estimate the evil I had done.
+
+The more I thought of it, the more irreparable I felt it to be. Certain
+sorrows, by their very excess, warn us of their limits, and the more
+shame and remorse I experienced, the more I felt that, after such a
+scene, nothing remained for us to do but to say adieu. Whatever courage
+Brigitte had shown, she had drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of her sad
+love: unless I wished to see her die, I must give her repose. She had
+often addressed cruel reproaches to me and had, perhaps, on certain other
+occasions shown more anger than in this scene; but what she had said this
+time was not dictated by offended pride; it was the truth, which, hidden
+closely in her heart, had broken it in escaping. Our present relations,
+and the fact that I had refused to go away with her, destroyed all hope;
+she desired to pardon me but she had not the power. This slumber even,
+this deathlike sleep of one who could suffer no more, was conclusive
+evidence; this sudden silence, the tenderness she had shown in the final
+moments, that pale face, and that kiss, confirmed me in the belief that
+all was over, and that I had broken, forever, whatever bond had united
+us. As surely as she slept now, as soon as I gave her cause for further
+suffering, she would sleep in eternal rest. The clock struck and I felt
+that the last hour had carried away my life with hers.
+
+Unwilling to call any one, I lighted Brigitte's lamp; I watched its
+feeble flame and my thoughts seemed to flicker in the darkness like its
+uncertain rays.
+
+Whatever I had said or done, the idea of losing Brigitte had never
+occurred to me up to this time. A hundred times I wished to leave her,
+but who has loved, and is ready to say just what is in his heart? That
+was in times of despair or of anger. So long as I knew that she loved me,
+I was sure of loving her; stern necessity had just arisen between us for
+the first time. I experienced a dull languor and could distinguish
+nothing clearly. What my mind understood, my soul recoiled from
+accepting. "Come," I said to myself, "I have desired it, and I have done
+it; there is not the slightest hope that we can live together; I am
+unwilling to kill this woman, so I have no alternative but to leave her.
+It is all over; I shall go away to-morrow."
+
+And all the while I was thinking neither of my responsibility, nor of the
+past, nor future; I thought neither of Smith nor his connection with the
+affair; I could not say who had led me there, or what I had done during
+the last hour. I looked at the walls of the room and thought that all I
+had to do was to wait until to-morrow and decide what carriage I would
+take.
+
+I remained for a long time in this strange calm. Just as the man who
+receives a thrust from a poignard feels, at first only the cold steel;
+when he has gone some distance on his way he becomes weak, his eyes start
+from their sockets and he asks what has happened. But drop by drop the
+blood flows, the ground under his feet becomes red; death comes; the man,
+at his approach, shudders with horror and falls as though struck by a
+thunderbolt. Thus, apparently calm, I awaited the coming of misfortune; I
+repeated in a low voice what Brigitte had said, and I placed near her all
+that I supposed she would need for the night; I looked at her, and then
+went to the window and pressed my forehead against the pane, peering out
+at a somber and lowering sky; then I returned to the bedside. That I was
+going away to-morrow was the only thought in my mind and, little by
+little, the word "depart" became intelligible to me. "Ah! God!" I
+suddenly cried, "my poor mistress, I am going to lose you and I have not
+known how to love you!"
+
+I trembled at these words as though it had been another who had
+pronounced them; they resounded through all my being as resounds the
+string of the harp that has been plucked to the point of breaking. In an
+instant two years of suffering traversed my heart, and after them, as
+their consequence and as their last expression, the present seized me.
+How shall I describe such woe? By a single word, perhaps, for those who
+have loved. I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she
+had pronounced my name.
+
+I arose, and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. I
+held out my arms as though to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is
+it possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one
+but you. What! you are going away? And forever? What! you, my life, my
+adored mistress, you flee from me; I shall never see you again? Never!
+never!" I said aloud; and, addressing myself to the sleeping Brigitte as
+though she could hear me, I added: "Never, never; do not think of it; I
+will never consent to it. And why so much pride? Are there no means of
+atoning for the offense I have committed? I beg of you let us seek some
+expiation. Have you not pardoned me a thousand times? But you love me,
+you will not be able to go, for courage will fail you. What shall we do?"
+
+A horrible madness seized me; I began to run here and there in search of
+some instrument of death. At last I fell on my knees and beat my head
+against the bed. Brigitte stirred and I remained quiet, fearing I would
+waken her.
+
+"Let her sleep until to-morrow," I said to myself; "you have all night to
+watch her."
+
+I resumed my place; I was so frightened at the idea of waking Brigitte,
+that I scarcely dared breathe. Gradually I became more calm and less
+bitter tears began to course gently down my cheeks. Tenderness succeeded
+fury. I leaned over Brigitte and looked at her as though, for the last
+time, my good angel was urging me to grave on my soul the lines of that
+dear face!
+
+How pale she was! Her large eyes, surrounded by a bluish circle, were
+moist with tears; her form, once so lithe, was bent as though under a
+burden; her cheek, wasted and leaden, rested on a hand that was spare and
+feeble; her brow seemed to bear the marks of that crown of thorns which
+is the diadem of resignation. I thought of the cottage. How young she was
+six months ago! How cheerful, how free, how careless! What had I done
+with all that? It seemed to me that a strange voice repeated an old
+romance that I had long since forgotten:
+
+  Altra volta gieri biele,
+  Blanch' e rossa com' un flore,
+  Ma ora no. Non son piu biele
+  Consumatis dal' amore.
+
+My sorrow was too great; I sprang to my feet and once more began to walk
+the floor. "Yes," I continued, "look at her; think of those who are
+consumed by a grief that is not shared with another. The evils you
+endure, others have suffered, and nothing is singular or peculiar to you.
+Think of those who have no mother, no relatives, no friends; of those who
+seek and do not find, of those who love in vain, of those who die and are
+forgotten. Before thee, there on that bed, lies a being that nature,
+perchance, formed for thee. From the highest circles of intelligence to
+the deepest and most impenetrable mysteries of matter and of form, that
+soul and that body are thy brothers; for six months thy mouth has not
+spoken, thy heart has not throbbed, without a responsive word and
+heart-beat from her; and that woman whom God has sent thee as He sends
+the rose to the field, is about to glide from thy heart. While rejoicing
+in each other's presence, and the angels of eternal love were singing
+before you, you were farther apart than two exiles at either end of the
+earth. Look at her, but be silent. Thou hast still one night to see her,
+if thy sobs do not awaken her."
+
+Little by little, my thoughts mounted and became more somber until I
+recoiled in terror.
+
+"To do evil! Such was the role imposed upon me by Providence! I, to do
+evil! I, to whom my conscience, even in the midst of my wildest follies,
+said that I was good! I, whom a pitiless destiny was dragging swiftly
+toward the abyss and whom a secret horror unceasingly warned of the awful
+fate to come! I, who, if I had shed blood with these hands, could yet
+repeat that my heart was not guilty; that I was deceived, that it was not
+I who did it, but my destiny, my evil genius, some unknown being who
+dwelt within me, but who was not born there! I, do evil! For six months I
+had been engaged in that task, not a day had passed that I had not worked
+at that impious occupation, and I had at that moment the proof before my
+eyes. The man who had loved Brigitte, who had offended her, then insulted
+her, then abandoned her, only to take her back again, trembling with
+fear, beset with suspicion, finally thrown on that bed of sorrow, where
+she now lay extended, was I!"
+
+I beat my breast, and, although looking at her, I could not believe it. I
+touched her as though to assure myself that it was not a dream. My face,
+as I saw it in the glass, regarded me with astonishment. Who was that
+creature who appeared before me bearing my features? Who was that
+pitiless man who blasphemed with my mouth and tortured with my hands? Was
+it he whom my mother called Octave? Was it he who, at fifteen, leaning
+over the crystal waters of a fountain, had a heart not less pure than
+they? I closed my eyes and thought of my childhood days. As a ray of
+light pierces a cloud, a gleam from the past pierced my heart.
+
+"No," I mused, "I did not do that. These things are but an absurd dream."
+
+I recalled the time when I was ignorant of life, when I was taking my
+first steps in experience. I remembered an old beggar who used to sit on
+a stone bench before the farm gate, to whom I was sometimes sent with the
+remains of our morning meal. Holding out his feeble, wrinkled hands he
+would bless me as he smiled upon me. I felt the morning wind blowing on
+my brow and a freshness as of the rose descending from heaven into my
+soul. Then I opened my eyes and, by the light of the lamp, saw the
+reality before me.
+
+"And you do not believe yourself guilty?" I demanded with horror. "O
+novice of yesterday, how corrupt to-day! Because you weep, you fondly
+imagine yourself innocent? What you consider the evidence of your
+conscience is only remorse; and what murderer does not experience it? If
+your virtue cries out, is it not because it feels the approach of death?
+O wretch! those far off voices that you hear groaning in your heart, do
+you think they are sobs? They are, perhaps, only the cry of the sea-mew,
+that funereal bird of the tempest, whose presence portends shipwreck. Who
+has ever told the story of the childhood of those who have died stained
+with human blood? They, also, have been good in their day; they sometimes
+bury their faces in their hands and think of those happy days. You do
+evil, and you repent? Nero did the same when he killed his mother. Who
+has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt?
+
+"And even if it were true that a part of your soul is not devoted to evil
+forever, what will you do with the other part that is not yours? You will
+touch with your left hand the wounds that you inflict with your right;
+you will make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes; you
+will strike, and, like Brutus, you will engrave on your sword the prattle
+of Plato! Into the heart of the being who opens her arms to you, you will
+plunge that blood-stained but repentant arm; you will follow to the
+cemetery the victim of your passion, and you will plant on her grave the
+sterile flower of your pity; you will say to those who see you: 'What
+would you expect? I have learned how to kill, and observe that I already
+weep; learn that God made me better than you see me.' You will speak of
+your youth and you will persuade yourself that Heaven ought to pardon
+you, that your misfortunes are involuntary and you will implore sleepless
+nights to grant you a little repose.
+
+"But who knows? You are still young. The more you trust in your heart,
+the farther astray you will be lead by your pride. To-day you stand
+before the first ruin you are going to leave on your route. If Brigitte
+dies to-morrow you will weep on her tomb; where will you go when you
+leave her? You will go away for three months perhaps, and you will travel
+in Italy; you will wrap your cloak about you, like a splenetic
+Englishman, and you will say some beautiful morning, sitting in your inn
+with your glasses before you, that it is time to forget in order to live
+again. You who weep too late, take care lest you weep more than one day.
+Who knows? When the present, which makes you shudder, shall have become
+the past, an old story, a confused memory, may it not happen some night
+of debauchery that you will overturn your chair and recount, with a smile
+on your lips, what you witnessed with tears in your eyes? It is thus that
+one drinks away shame. You have begun by being good, you will become
+weak, and you will become a monster.
+
+"My poor friend," said I, from the bottom of my heart, "I have a word of
+advice for you, and it is this: I believe that you must die. While there
+is still some virtue left, profit by it in order that you may not become
+altogether bad; while a woman you love lies there dying on that bed, and
+while you have a horror of yourself, strike the decisive blow; she still
+lives; that is enough; do not attend her funeral obsequies for fear that
+on the morrow you will not be consoled; turn the poignard against your
+own heart while that heart yet loves the God who made it. Is it your
+youth that makes you pause? And would you spare those youthful locks?
+Never allow them to whiten if they are not white to-night.
+
+"And then what would you do in the world? If you go away, where will you
+go? What can you hope for if you remain? Ah! in looking at that woman you
+seem to have a treasure buried in your heart. It is not merely that you
+lose her, it is less what has been than what might have been. When the
+hands of the clock indicated such and such an hour, you might have been
+happy. If you suffer, why do you not open your heart? If you love, why do
+you not say so? Why do you die of hunger clasping a priceless treasure in
+your hands? You have closed the door, you miser; you debate with yourself
+behind locks and bolts. Shake them, for it was your hand that forged
+them. O fool! who have desired, and have possessed your desire, you have
+not thought of God! You play with happiness as a child plays with a
+rattle, and you do not reflect how rare and fragile a thing you hold in
+your hands; you treat it with disdain, you smile at it and you continue
+to amuse yourself with it, forgetting how many prayers it has cost your
+good angel to preserve for you that shadow of daylight! Ah! if there is
+in heaven one who watches over you, what is he doing at this moment? He
+is seated before an organ; his wings are half folded, his hands extended
+over the ivory keys; he begins an eternal hymn; the hymn of love and
+immortal rest, but his wings droop, his head falls over the keys; the
+angel of death has touched him on the shoulder, he disappears into
+immensity!
+
+"And you, at the age of twenty-two when a noble and exalted passion, when
+the strength of youth might perhaps have made something of you! When
+after so many sorrows and bitter disappointments, a youth so dissipated,
+you saw a better time shining in the future; when your life, consecrated
+to the object of your adoration, gave promise of new strength, at that
+moment the abyss yawns before you! You no longer experience vague
+desires, but real regrets; your heart is no longer hungry, it is broken!
+And you hesitate? What do you expect? Since she no longer cares for your
+life, it counts for nothing! Since she abandons you, abandon yourself!
+Let those who have loved you in your youth weep for you! They are not
+many. If you would live, you must not only forget love but you must deny
+that it exists; not only deny what there has been of good in you, but
+kill all that may be good in the future; for what will you do if you
+remember? Life for you would be one ceaseless regret. No, no, you must
+choose between your soul and your body; you must kill one or the other.
+The memory of the good drives you to the evil; make a corpse of yourself
+unless you wish to become your own specter. O child, child! die while you
+can! May tears be shed over thy grave!"
+
+I threw myself on the foot of the bed in such a frightful state of
+despair, that my reason fled and I no longer knew where I was or what I
+was doing. Brigitte sighed.
+
+My senses stirred within me. Was it grief or despair? I do not know.
+Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to me.
+
+"What!" I muttered, "leave that for another! Die, descend into the
+ground, while that bosom heaves with the air of heaven? Just God! another
+hand than mine on that fine, transparent skin! Another mouth on those
+lips, another love in that heart! Brigitte happy, loving, adored, and I
+in a corner of the cemetery, crumbling into dust in a ditch! How long
+will it take her to forget me if I cease to exist to-morrow? How many
+tears will she shed? None, perhaps! Not a friend who speaks to her but
+will say that my death was a good thing. Who will not hasten to console
+her, who will not urge her to forget me! If she weeps, they will seek to
+distract her attention from her loss; if memory haunts her, they will
+take her away; if her love for me survives me, they will seek to cure her
+as though she had been poisoned; and she herself, who will perhaps at
+first say that she desires to follow me, will a month later turn aside to
+avoid the weeping-willow planted over my grave! How could it be
+otherwise? Who as beautiful as she wastes life in idle regrets? If she
+should think of dying of grief that beautiful bosom would urge her to
+live, and her glass would persuade her; and the day when her exhausted
+tears give place to the first smile, who will not congratulate her on her
+recovery? When, after eight days of silence, she consents to hear my name
+pronounced in her presence, then she will speak of it herself as though
+to say: 'Console me;' then little by little she will no longer refuse to
+think of the past but will speak of it, and she will open her window some
+beautiful spring morning when the birds are singing in the garden; she
+will become pensive and say: 'I have loved!' Who will be there at her
+side? Who will dare to tell her that she must continue to love? Ah! then
+I will be no more! You will listen to him, faithless one! You will blush
+as does the budding rose and the blood of youth will mount to your face.
+While saying that your heart is sealed, you will allow it to escape
+through that fresh aureole of beauty, each ray of which allures a kiss.
+How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more! And why
+should that astonish you? You are a woman; that body, that spotless
+bosom, you know what they are worth; when you conceal them under your
+dress you do not believe, as do the virgins, that all are alike, and you
+know the price of your modesty. How can the woman who has been praised
+resolve to be praised no more? Does she think she is living when she
+remains in the shadow and there is silence round about her beauty? Her
+beauty itself is the admiring glance of her lover. No, no, there can be
+no doubt of it; who has loved, can not live without love; who has seen
+death, clings to life. Brigitte loves me and will perhaps die of love; I
+will kill myself and another will have her."
+
+"Another, another!" I repeated, bending over her until my head touched
+her shoulder. "Is she not a widow? Has she not already seen death? Have
+not these little hands prepared the dead for burial? Her tears for the
+second will not flow as long as those shed for the first. Ah! God forgive
+me! While she sleeps why should I not kill her? If I should awaken her
+now and tell her that her hour had come and that we were going to die
+with a last kiss, she would consent. What does it matter? Is it certain
+that all does not end with that?"
+
+I found a knife on the table and I picked it up.
+
+"Fear, cowardice, superstition! What do they know about it who talk of
+something else beyond? It is for the ignorant, common people that a
+future life has been invented, but who really believes in it? What
+watcher in the cemetery has seen Death leave his tomb and hold
+consultation with a priest? In olden times there were fantoms; they are
+interdicted by the police in civilized cities and no cries are now heard
+issuing from the earth except from those buried in haste. Who has
+silenced death if it has ever spoken? Because funeral processions are no
+longer permitted to encumber our streets, does the celestial spirit
+languish? To die, that is the final purpose, the end. God has established
+it, man discusses it; but over every door is written: 'Do what thou wilt,
+thou shalt die.' What will be said if I kill Brigitte? Neither of us will
+hear. In to-morrow's journal would appear the intelligence that Octave de
+T----- had killed his mistress, and the day after no one would speak of
+it. Who would follow us to the grave? No one who, upon returning to his
+home, could not enjoy a hearty dinner; and when we were extended side by
+side in our narrow bed, the world could walk over our graves without
+disturbing us. Is it not true, my well-beloved, is it not true that it
+would be well with us? It is a soft bed, that bed of earth; no suffering
+can reach us there; the occupants of the neighboring tombs will not
+gossip about us; our bones will embrace in peace and without pride, for
+death is solace, and that which binds does not also separate. Why should
+annihilation frighten thee, poor body, destined to corruption? Every hour
+that strikes drags thee on to thy doom, every step breaks the round on
+which thou hast just rested; thou art nourished by the dead; the air of
+heaven weighs upon and crushes thee, the earth on which thou treadest
+attacks thee by the soles of thy feet. Down with thee! Why art thou
+affrighted? Dost thou tremble at a word? Merely say: 'We will not live.'
+Is not life a burden that we long to lay down? Why hesitate when it is
+merely a question of a little sooner or a little later? Matter is
+indestructible, and the physicists, we are told, grind to infinity the
+smallest speck of dust without being able to annihilate it. If matter is
+the property of chance, what harm can it do to change its form since it
+can not cease to be matter? Why should God care what form I have received
+and with what livery I invest my grief? Suffering lives in my brain; it
+belongs to me, I kill it; but my bones do not belong to me and I return
+them to Him who lent them to me: may some poet make a cup of my skull
+from which to drink his new wine What reproach can I incur and what harm
+can that reproach do me? What stern judge will tell me that I have done
+wrong? What does he know about it? Was he such as I? If every creature
+has his task to perform and if it is a crime to shirk it, what culprits
+are the babes who die on the nurse's breast! Why should they be spared?
+Who will be instructed by the lessons which are taught after death? Must
+heaven be a desert in order that man may be punished for having lived? Is
+it not enough to have lived? I do not know who asked that question,
+unless it was Voltaire on his death-bed; it is a cry of despair worthy of
+a helpless old atheist. But to what purpose? Why so many struggles? Who
+is there above us who delights in so much agony? Who amuses himself and
+whiles away an idle hour watching this spectacle of creation, always
+renewed and always dying, seeing the work of man's hands rising, the
+grass growing; looking upon the planting of the seed and the fall of the
+thunderbolt; beholding man walking about upon his earth until he meets
+the beckoning finger of death; counting tears and watching them dry upon
+the cheek of pain; noting the pure profile of love and the wrinkled face
+of age; seeing hands stretched up to him in supplication, bodies
+prostrate before him, and not a blade of wheat more in the harvest! Who
+is it then who has made so much for the pleasure of knowing that it all
+amounts to nothing! The earth is dying; Herschell says it is of cold; who
+holds in his hand the drop of condensed vapor and watches it as it dries
+up, as an angler watches a grain of sand in his hand? That mighty law of
+attraction that suspends the world in space, torments it and consumes it
+in endless desire; every planet carries its load of misery and groans on
+its axle; they call to each other across the abyss and each wonders which
+will stop first. God controls them; they accomplish assiduously and
+eternally their appointed and useless task; they whirl about, they
+suffer, they burn, they become extinct and they light up with new flame;
+they descend and they reascend, they follow and yet they avoid each
+other, they interlace like rings; they carry on their surface thousands
+of beings who are ceaselessly renewed; the beings move about, cross each
+other's paths, clasp each other for an hour, and then fall and others
+rise in their place; where life fails, life hastens to the spot; where
+air is wanting, air rushes; no disorder, everything is regulated, marked
+out, written down in lines of gold and parables of fire, everything keeps
+step with the celestial music along the pitiless paths of life; and all
+for nothing! And we, poor nameless dreams, pale and sorrowful
+apparitions, helpless ephemera, we who are animated by the breath of a
+second, in order that death may exist, we exhaust ourselves with fatigue
+in order to prove that we are living for a purpose, and that something
+indefinable is stirring within us. We hesitate to turn against our
+breasts a little piece of steel, or blow out our brains with a little
+instrument no larger than our hand; it seems to us that chaos would
+return again; we have written and revised the laws both human and divine
+and we are afraid of our catechisms; we suffer thirty years without
+murmuring and imagine that we are struggling; finally suffering becomes
+the stronger, we send a pinch of powder into the sanctuary of
+intelligence, and a flower pierces the soil above our grave."
+
+As I finished these words I directed the knife I held in my hand against
+Brigitte's bosom. I was no longer master of myself, and in my delirious
+condition I know not what might have happened; I threw back the
+bedclothing to uncover the heart, when I discovered on her white bosom a
+little ebony crucifix.
+
+I recoiled, seized with sudden fear; my hand relaxed, my weapon fell to
+the floor. It was Brigitte's aunt who had given her that little crucifix
+on her death-bed. I did not remember ever having seen it before;
+doubtless, at the moment of setting out she had suspended it about her
+neck as a preserving charm against the dangers of the journey. Suddenly I
+joined my, hands and knelt on the floor.
+
+"O, Lord my God," I said in trembling tones, "Lord, my God, thou art
+there!"
+
+Let those who do not believe in Christ read this page; I no longer
+disbelieved in him. Neither as a child, nor at school, nor as a man, have
+I frequented churches; my religion, if I had any, had neither rite nor
+symbol, and I believed in a God without form, without a cult, and without
+revelation. Poisoned, from youth, by all the writings of the last
+century, I had sucked, at an early hour, the sterile milk of impiety.
+Human pride, that God of the egoist, closed my mouth against prayer,
+while my affrighted soul took refuge in the hope of nothingness. I was as
+though drunken or insensate when I saw that effigy of Christ on
+Brigitte's bosom; while not believing in him myself I recoiled, knowing
+that she believed in him. It was not vain terror that arrested my hand.
+Who saw me? I was alone and it was night. Was it prejudice? What
+prevented me from hurling out of my sight that little piece of black
+wood? I could have thrown it into the fire, but it was my weapon I threw
+there. Ah! what an experience that was, and still is, for my soul! What
+miserable wretches are men who mock at that which can save a human being!
+What matters the name, the form, the belief? Is not all that is good
+sacred? How dare any one touch God?
+
+As at a glance from the sun the snows descend the mountains and the
+glaciers that threatened heaven melt into streams in the valley, so there
+descended into my heart a stream that overflowed its banks. Repentance is
+a pure incense; it exhaled from all my suffering. Although I had almost
+committed a crime when my hand was arrested, I felt that my heart was
+innocent. In an instant calm, self-possession, reason returned; I again
+approached the bed; I leaned over my idol and kissed the crucifix.
+
+"Sleep in peace," I said to her, "God watches over you! While your lips
+were parting in a smile, you were in greater danger than you have ever
+known before. But the hand that threatened you will harm no one; I swear
+by the faith you profess, I will not kill either you or myself! I am a
+fool, a madman, a child who thinks himself a man. God be praised! You are
+young and beautiful. You live and you will forget me. You will recover
+from the evil I have done you, if you can forgive me. Sleep in peace
+until day, Brigitte, and then decide our fate; whatever sentence you
+pronounce, I will submit without complaint. And thou, Lord, who hast
+saved me, grant me pardon. I was born in an impious century, and I have
+many crimes to expiate. Thou Son of God, whom men forget, I have not been
+taught to love Thee. I have never worshiped in Thy temples, but I thank
+heaven that where I find Thee, I tremble and bow in reverence. I have at
+least kissed with my lips a heart that is full of Thee. Protect that
+heart so long as life lasts; dwell within it, Thou Holy One; a poor
+unfortunate has been brave enough to defy death at the sight of Thy
+suffering and Thy death; though impious, Thou hast saved him from evil;
+if he had believed, Thou wouldst have consoled him. Pardon those who have
+made him incredulous since Thou hast made him repentant; pardon those who
+blaspheme! When they were in despair they did not see Thee! Human joys
+are a mockery; they are scornful and pitiless; O Lord! the happy of this
+world think they have no need of Thee! Pardon them. Although their pride
+may outrage Thee, they will be, sooner or later, baptized in tears; grant
+that they may cease to believe in any other shelter from the tempest,
+than Thy love, and spare them the severe lessons of unhappiness. Our
+wisdom and skepticism are in our hands but children's toys; forgive us
+for dreaming that we can defy Thee, Thou who smilest at Golgotha. The
+worst result of all our vain misery is that it tempts us to forget Thee.
+But Thou knowest that it is all but a shadow, which a glance from Thee
+can dissipate. Hast not Thou Thyself been a man? It was sorrow that made
+Thee God; sorrow is an instrument of torture by which Thou hast mounted
+to the very throne of God, Thy Father, and it is sorrow that leads us to
+Thee as it led Thee to Thy Father; we come to Thee with our crown of
+thorns and kneel before Thy mercy-seat; we touch Thy bleeding feet with
+our bloodstained hands, and Thou hast suffered martyrdom for being loved
+by the unfortunate."
+
+The first rays of dawn began to appear: man and nature were rousing
+themselves from sleep and the air was filled with the confusion of
+distant sounds. Weak and exhausted I was about to leave Brigitte, and
+seek a little repose. As I was passing out of the room, a dress thrown on
+a chair slipped to the floor near me, and in its folds I spied a piece of
+paper. I picked it up; it was a letter, and I recognized Brigitte's hand.
+The envelope was not sealed. I opened it and read as follows:
+
+
+                    23 December, 18--
+
+"When you receive this letter I shall be far away from you, and shall
+perhaps never see you again. My destiny is bound up with that of a man
+for whom I have sacrificed everything; he can not live without me and I
+am going to try to die for him. I love you; adieu, and pity us."
+
+
+I turned the letter over when I had read it, and saw that it was
+addressed to "M. Henri Smith, N-----, _poste restante_."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+ON the morrow, a clear December day, a young man and a woman who rested
+on his arm, passed through the garden of the Palais-Royal. They entered a
+jeweler's store where they chose two similar rings which they smilingly
+exchanged. After a short walk they took breakfast at the
+Freres-Provencaux, in one of those little rooms which are, all things
+considered, one of the most beautiful spots in the world. There, when the
+garcon had left them, they sat near the windows, hand in hand. The young
+man was in traveling dress; to see the joy which shone on his face, one
+would have taken him for a young husband showing his young wife the
+beauties and pleasures of Parisian life. His happiness was calm and
+subdued, as true happiness always is. The experienced would have
+recognized in him the youth who merges into manhood. From time to time he
+looked up at the sky, then at his companion, and tears glittered in his
+eyes, but he heeded them not, and smiled as he wept. The woman was pale
+and thoughtful, her eyes were fixed on the man. On her face were traces
+of sorrow which she could not conceal, although evidently touched by the
+exalted joy of her companion. When he smiled, she smiled too, but never
+alone; when he spoke, she replied and she ate what he served her; but
+there was about her a silence which was only broken at his instance. In
+her languor could be clearly distinguished that gentleness of soul, that
+lethargy of the weaker of two beings who love, one of whom exists only in
+the other and responds to him as does the echo. The young man was
+conscious of it and seemed proud of it and grateful for it; but it could
+be seen even by his pride that his happiness was new to him. When the
+woman became sad and her eyes fell, he cheered her with his glance; but
+he could not always succeed, and seemed troubled himself. That mingling
+of strength and weakness, of joy and sorrow, of anxiety and serenity
+could not have been understood by an indifferent spectator; at times they
+appeared the most happy of living creatures, and the next moment the most
+unhappy; but although ignorant of their secret, one would have felt that
+they were suffering together, and, whatever their mysterious trouble, it
+could be seen that they had placed on their sorrow a seal more powerful
+than love itself--friendship. While their hands were clasped their
+glances were chaste; although they were alone, they spoke in low tones.
+As though overcome by their feelings they sat face to face, although
+their lips did not touch. They looked at each other tenderly and
+solemnly. When the clock struck one, the woman heaved a sigh and said:
+
+"Octave, are you sure of yourself?"
+
+"Yes, my friend, I am resolved. I will suffer much, a long time, perhaps
+forever; but we will cure ourselves, you with time, I with God."
+
+"Octave, Octave," repeated the woman, "are you sure you are not deceiving
+yourself?"
+
+"I do not believe we can forget each other; but I believe that we can
+forgive and that is what I desire even at the price of separation."
+
+"Why could we not meet again? Why not some day--you are so young!"
+
+Then she added with a smile: "We could see each other without danger."
+
+"No, my friend, for you must know that I could never see you again
+without loving you. May he to whom I bequeath you be worthy of you! Smith
+is brave, good and honest, but however much you may love him, you see
+very well that you still love me, for if I should decide to remain, or to
+take you away with me, you would consent."
+
+"It is true," replied the woman.
+
+"True! true!" repeated the young man, looking into her eyes with all his
+soul. "Is it true that if I wished it you would go with me?"
+
+Then he continued softly: "That is the reason I must never see you again.
+There are certain loves in life that overturn the head, the senses, the
+mind, the heart; there is among them all but one that does not disturb,
+that penetrates, and that dies only with the being in which it has taken
+root."
+
+"But you will write to me?"
+
+"Yes, at first, for what I have to suffer is so keen that the absence of
+the habitual object of my love would kill me. When I was unknown to you,
+I gradually approached closer and closer to you until--but let us not go
+into the past. Little by little my letters will become less frequent
+until they cease altogether. I will thus descend the hill that I have
+been climbing for the past year. When one stands before a fresh grave,
+over which are engraved two cherished names, one experiences a mysterious
+sense of grief, which causes tears to trickle down one's cheeks; it is
+thus that I wish to remember having once lived."
+
+At these words the woman threw herself on the couch and burst into tears.
+The young man wept with her, but he did not move and seemed anxious to
+appear unconscious of her emotion. When her tears ceased to flow, he
+approached her, took her hand in his and kissed it.
+
+"Believe me," said he, "to be loved by you, whatever the name of the
+place I occupy in your heart, will give me strength and courage. Rest
+assured, Brigitte, no one will ever understand you better than I; another
+will love you more worthily, no one will love you more truly. Another
+will be considerate of those feelings that I offend, he will surround you
+with his love; you will have a better lover, you will not have a better
+brother. Give me your hand and let the world laugh at a word that it does
+not understand: Let us be friends; and adieu forever. Before we became
+such intimate friends there was something within that told us that we
+were destined to mingle our lives. Let that part of us which is still
+joined in God's sight never know that we have parted upon earth; let not
+the paltry chance of a moment undo the union of our eternal happiness!"
+
+He held the woman's hand; she arose, tears streaming from her eyes, and,
+stepping up to the mirror with a strange smile on her face, she cut from
+her head a long tress of hair; then she looked at herself, thus
+disfigured and deprived of a part of her beautiful crown, and gave it to
+her lover.
+
+The clock struck again; it was time to go; when they passed out they
+seemed as joyful as when they entered.
+
+"What a glorious sun," said the young man.
+
+"And a beautiful day," said Brigitte, "the memory of which shall never
+fade."
+
+They hastened away and disappeared in the crowd. A moment later a
+carriage passed over a little hill beyond Fontainebleau. The young man
+was the only occupant; he looked for the last time upon his native town
+as it disappeared in the distance and thanked God that, of the three
+beings who had suffered through his fault, there remained but one of them
+still unhappy.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confession of a Child of the
+Century, by Alfred de Musset
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confession of a Child of The Century
+by Alfred de Musset
+
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+Title: The Confession of a Child of The Century
+
+Author: Alfred de Musset
+
+Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9869]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 25, 2003]
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHILD OF THE CENTURY ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Dagny, and by David Widger
+
+
+
+
+                         THE CONFESSION OF
+
+                      A CHILD OF THE CENTURY
+
+                                BY
+
+                         ALFRED DE MUSSET
+
+
+                          Translated by
+
+                          Kendall Warren
+
+
+
+                              PART I
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE life must be lived before the history of a life can be written, hence
+it is not my life that I am writing.
+
+Having been attacked in early youth by an abominable moral malady, I
+relate what has happened to me during three years. If I were the only
+victim of this disease, I would say nothing, but as there are many others
+who suffer from the same evil, I write for them, although I am not sure
+that they will pay any attention to it; in case my warning is unheeded, I
+shall still have derived this benefit from my words in having cured
+myself, and, like the fox caught in a trap, I shall have devoured my
+captive foot.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+DURING the wars of the Empire, while the husbands and brothers were in
+Germany, the anxious mothers brought forth an ardent, pale, nervous
+generation. Conceived between two battles, educated amidst the noises of
+war, thousands of children looked about them with a somber eye while
+testing their puny muscles. From time to time their blood-stained fathers
+would appear, raise them on their gold-laced bosoms, then place them on
+the ground and remount their horses.
+
+The life of Europe was centered in one man; all were trying to fill their
+lungs with the air which he had breathed. Every year France presented
+that man with three hundred thousand of her youth; it was the tax paid to
+Caesar, and, without that troop behind him, he could not follow his
+fortune. It was the escort he needed that he might traverse the world,
+and then perish in a little valley in a deserted island, under the
+weeping willow.
+
+Never had there been so many sleepless nights as in the time of that man;
+never had there been seen, hanging over the ramparts of the cities, such
+a nation of desolate mothers; never was there such a silence about those
+who spoke of death. And yet there was never such joy, such life, such
+fanfares of war, in all hearts. Never was there such pure sunlight as
+that which dried all this blood. God made the sun for this man, they
+said, and they called it the Sun of Austerlitz. But he made this sunlight
+himself with his ever-thundering cannons which dispelled all clouds but
+those which succeed the day of battle.
+
+It was this air of the spotless sky, where shone so much glory, where
+glistened so many swords, that the youth of the time breathed. They well
+knew that they were destined to the hecatomb; but they regarded Murat as
+invulnerable, and the emperor had been seen to cross a bridge where so
+many bullets whistled that they wondered if he could die. And even if one
+must die, what did it matter? Death itself was so beautiful, so noble, so
+illustrious, in his battle-scarred purple! It borrowed the color of hope,
+it reaped so many ripening harvests that it became young, and there was
+no more old age. All the cradles of France, as all its tombs, were armed
+with shield and buckler; there were no more old men, there were corpses
+or demi-gods.
+
+Nevertheless, the immortal emperor stood one day on a hill watching seven
+nations engaged in mutual slaughter; as he did not know whether he would
+be master of all the world or only half, Azrael passed along, touched him
+with the tip of his wing, and pushed him into the Ocean. At the noise of
+his fall, the dying powers sat up in their beds of pain; and stealthily
+advancing with furtive tread, all the royal spiders made the partition of
+Europe, and the purple of Caesar became the frock of Harlequin.
+
+Just as the traveler, sure of his way, hastens night and day through rain
+and sunlight, regardless of vigils or of dangers; but when he has reached
+his home and seated himself before the fire, he is seized upon by a
+feeling of extreme lassitude and can hardly drag himself to his bed: thus
+France, the widow of Caesar, suddenly felt her wound. She fell through
+sheer exhaustion, and lapsed into a sleep so profound that her old kings,
+believing her dead, wrapped about her a white shroud. The old army, its
+hair whitened in service, returned exhausted with fatigue, and the
+hearths of deserted castles sadly flickered into life.
+
+Then the men of the Empire, who had been through so much, who had lived
+in such carnage, kissed their emaciated wives and spoke of their first
+love; they looked into the fountains of their natal prairies and found
+themselves so old, so mutilated, that they bethought themselves of their
+sons, in order that they might close their eyes in peace. They asked
+where they were; the children came from the schools, and seeing neither
+sabers, nor cuirasses, neither infantry nor cavalry, they asked in turn
+where were their fathers. They were told that the war was ended, that
+Caesar was dead, and that the portraits of Wellington and of Blucher were
+suspended in the antechambers of the consulates and the embassies, with
+these two words beneath: _Salvatoribus mundi_.
+
+Then there seated itself on a world in ruins an anxious youth. All the
+children were drops of burning blood which had inundated the earth; they
+were born in the bosom of war, for war. For fifteen years they had
+dreamed of the snows of Moscow and of the sun of the pyramids. They had
+not gone beyond their native towns; but they were told that through each
+gate of these towns lay the road to a capital of Europe. They had in
+their heads all the world; they beheld the earth, the sky, the streets
+and the highways; all these were empty, and the bells of parish churches
+resounded faintly in the distance.
+
+Pale fantoms shrouded in black robes, slowly traversed the country;
+others knocked at the doors of houses, and when admitted, drew from their
+pockets large well-worn documents with which they drove out the tenants.
+From every direction came men still trembling with the fear which had
+seized them when they fled twenty years before. All began to urge their
+claims, disputing loudly and crying for help; it was strange that a
+single death should attract so many crows.
+
+The king of France was on his throne, looking here and there to see if he
+could perchance find a bee in the royal tapestry. Some held out their
+hats, and he gave them money; others showed him a crucifix, and he kissed
+it; others contented themselves with pronouncing in his ear great names
+of powerful families, and he replied to these by inviting them into his
+_grand' salle_, where the echoes were more sonorous; still others showed
+him their old cloaks, when they had carefully effaced the bees, and to
+these he gave new apparel.
+
+The children saw all this, thinking that the spirit of Caesar would soon
+land at Cannes and breathe upon this larva; but the silence was unbroken
+and they saw floating in the sky only the paleness of the lily. When
+these children spoke of glory, they were answered: "Become priests;" when
+they spoke of hope, of love, of power, of life: "Become priests."
+
+And yet there mounted the rostrum a man who held in his hand a contract
+between the king and the people; he began by saying that glory was a
+beautiful thing, and ambition and war as well; but there was something
+still more beautiful, and it was called liberty.
+
+The children raised their heads and remembered that their grandfathers
+had spoken thus. They remembered having seen in certain obscure corners
+of the paternal home mysterious marble busts with long hair and a Latin
+inscription; they remembered seeing their grandsires shake their heads
+and speak of a stream of blood more terrible than that of the emperor.
+There was something in that word liberty that made their hearts beat with
+the memory of a terrible past and the hope of a glorious future.
+
+They trembled at the word; but returning to their homes they encountered
+on the street three panniers which were being borne to Clamart; there
+were, within, three young men who had pronounced that word liberty too
+distinctly.
+
+A strange smile hovered on their lips at that sad sight; but other
+speakers, mounted on the rostrum, began to publicly estimate what
+ambition had cost and how very dear was glory; they pointed out the
+horror of war and called the hecatombs butcheries. And they spoke so
+often and so long that all human illusions, like the trees in autumn,
+fell leaf by leaf about them, and those who listened passed their hands
+over their foreheads as though awakened from a feverish dream.
+
+Some said: "The emperor has fallen because the people wished no more of
+him;" others added: "The people wished the king; no, liberty; no, reason;
+no, religion; no, the English constitution; no, absolutism;" and the last
+one said: "No, none of these things, but repose."
+
+Three elements entered into the life which offered itself to these
+children: behind them a past forever destroyed, moving uneasily on its
+ruins with all the fossils of centuries of absolutism; before them the
+aurora of an immense horizon, the first gleams of the future; and between
+these two worlds--something like the Ocean which separates the old world
+from Young America, something vague and floating, a troubled sea filled
+with wreckage, traversed from time to time by some distant sail or some
+ship breathing out a heavy vapor; the present, in a word, which separates
+the past from the future, which is neither the one nor the other, which
+resemble both, and where one can not know whether, at each step, one is
+treading on a seed or a piece of refuse.
+
+It was in this chaos that choice must be made; this was the aspect
+presented to children full of spirit and of audacity, sons of the Empire
+and grandsons of the Revolution.
+
+As for the past, they would none of it, they had no faith in it; the
+future, they loved it, but how? As Pygmalion loved Galatea: it was for
+them a lover in marble and they waited for the breath of life to animate
+that breast, for the blood to color those veins.
+
+There remained then, the present, the spirit of the time, angel of the
+dawn who is neither night nor day; they found him seated on a lime sack
+filled with bones, clad in the mantle of egoism, and shivering in
+terrible cold. The anguish of death entered into the soul at the sight of
+that specter, half mummy and half fetus; they approached it as the
+traveler who is shown at Strasburg the daughter of an old count of
+Sarvenden, embalmed in her bride's dress: that childish skeleton makes
+one shudder, for her slender and livid hand wears the wedding-ring and
+her head falls into dust in the midst of orange blossoms.
+
+As upon the approach of a tempest there passes through the forests a
+terrible sound which makes all the trees shudder, to which profound
+silence succeeds, thus had Napoleon, in passing, shaken the world; kings
+felt their crowns vacillate in the storm and, raising their hands to
+steady them, they found only their hair, bristling with terror. The pope
+had traveled three hundred leagues to bless him in the name of God and to
+crown him with the diadem; but Napoleon had taken it from his hands. Thus
+everything trembled in that dismal forest of old Europe; then silence
+succeeded.
+
+It is said that when you meet a mad dog if you keep quietly on your way
+without turning, the dog will merely follow you a short distance growling
+and showing his teeth; but if you allow yourself to be frightened into a
+movement of terror, if you but make a sudden step, he will leap at your
+throat and devour you; when the first bite has been taken there is no
+escaping him.
+
+In European history it has often happened that a sovereign has made that
+movement of terror and his people have devoured him; but if one had done
+it, all had not done it at the same time, that is to say, one king had
+disappeared, but not all royal majesty. Before the sword of Napoleon
+majesty made this movement, this gesture which loses everything, and not
+only majesty, but religion, nobility, all power both human and divine.
+
+Napoleon dead, human and divine power were re-established, but belief in
+them no longer existed. A terrible danger lurks in the knowledge of what
+is possible, for the mind always goes farther. It is one thing to say:
+"That may be" and another thing to say: "That has been;" it is the first
+bite of the dog.
+
+The deposition of Napoleon was the last flicker of the lamp of despotism;
+it destroyed and it parodied kings as Voltaire the Holy Scripture. And
+after him was heard a great noise: it was the stone of St. Helena which
+had just fallen on the ancient world. Immediately there appeared in the
+heavens the cold star of reason, and its rays, like those of the goddess
+of the night, shedding light without heat, enveloped the world in a livid
+shroud.
+
+There had been those who hated the nobles, who cried out against priests,
+who conspired against kings; abuses and prejudices had been attacked; but
+all that was not so great a novelty as to see a smiling people. If a
+noble or a priest or a sovereign passed, the peasants who had made war
+possible began to shake their heads and say: "Ah! when we saw this man at
+such a time and place he wore a different face." And when the throne and
+altar were mentioned, they replied: "They are made of four planks of
+wood; we have nailed them together and torn them apart." And when some
+one said: "People, you have recovered from the errors which led you
+astray; you have recalled your kings and your priests," they replied: "We
+have nothing to do with those prattlers." And when some one said:
+"People, forget the past, work and obey," they arose from their seats and
+a dull rumbling could be heard. It was the rusty and notched saber in the
+corner of the cottage chimney. Then they hastened to add: "Then keep
+quiet, at least; if no one harms you, do not seek to harm." Alas! they
+were content with that.
+
+But youth was not content. It is certain that there are in man two occult
+powers engaged in a death struggle: the one, clear-sighted and cold, is
+concerned with reality, calculation, weight, and judges the past; the
+other is thirsty for the future and eager for the unknown. When passion
+sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning him of his danger; but
+when man listens to the voice of reason, when he stops at her request and
+says: "What a fool I am; where am I going?" passion calls to him: "And
+must I die?"
+
+A feeling of extreme uneasiness began to ferment in all young hearts.
+Condemned to inaction by the powers which governed the world, delivered
+to vulgar pedants of every kind, to idleness and to ennui, the youth saw
+the foaming billows which they had prepared to meet, subside. All these
+gladiators, glistening with oil, felt in the bottom of their souls an
+insupportable wretchedness. The richest became libertines; those of
+moderate fortune followed some profession and resigned themselves to the
+sword or to the robe. The poorest gave themselves up with cold enthusiasm
+to great thoughts, plunged into the frightful sea of aimless effort. As
+human weakness seeks association and as men are herds by nature, politics
+became mingled with it. There were struggles with the _garde du corps_ on
+the steps of the legislative assembly; at the theater, Talma wore a
+peruke which made him resemble Caesar; every one flocked to the burial of
+a liberal deputy.
+
+But of the members of the two parties there was not one who, upon
+returning home, did not bitterly realize the emptiness of his life and
+the feebleness of his hands.
+
+While life outside was so colorless and so mean, the interior life of
+society assumed a somber aspect of silence; hypocrisy ruled in all
+departments of conduct; English ideas of devotion, gaiety even, had
+disappeared. Perhaps Providence was already preparing new ways, perhaps
+the herald angel of future society was already sowing in the hearts of
+women the seeds of human independence. But it is certain that a strange
+thing suddenly happened: in all the salons of Paris the men passed to one
+side and the women to the other; and thus, the one clad in white like a
+bride and the other in black like an orphan began to take measurements
+with the eye.
+
+Let us not be deceived: that vestment of black which the men of our time
+wear is a terrible symbol; before coming to this, the armor must have
+fallen piece by piece and the embroidery flower by flower. Human reason
+has overthrown all illusions; but it bears in itself sorrow, in order
+that it may be consoled.
+
+The customs of students and artists, those customs so free, so beautiful,
+so full of youth, began to experience the universal change. Men in taking
+leave of women whispered the word which wounds to the death: contempt.
+They plunged into the dissipation of wine and courtesans. Students and
+artists did the same; love was treated as glory and religion: it was an
+old illusion. The grisette, that class so dreamy, so romantic, so tender,
+and so sweet in love, abandoned herself to the counting-house and to the
+shop. She was poor and no one loved her; she wanted dresses and hats and
+she sold herself. O, misery! the young man who ought to love her, whom
+she loved, who used to take her to the woods of Verrieres and
+Romainville, to the dances on the lawn, to the suppers under the trees;
+he who used to talk with her as she sat near the lamp in the rear of the
+shop on the long winter evenings; he who shared her crust of bread
+moistened with the sweat of her brow, and her love at once sublime and
+poor; he, that same man, after having abandoned her, finds her after a
+night of orgie, pale and leaden, forever lost, with hunger on her lips
+and prostitution in her heart.
+
+About this time two poets, whose genius was second only to that of
+Napoleon, consecrated their lives to the work of collecting all the
+elements of anguish and of grief scattered over the universe. Goethe, the
+patriarch of a new literature, after having painted in "Werther" the
+passion which leads to suicide, traced in his "Faust" the most somber
+human character which has ever represented evil and unhappiness. His
+writings began to pass from Germany into France. From his studio,
+surrounded by pictures and statues, rich, happy and at ease, he watched
+with a paternal smile, his gloomy creations marching in dismal procession
+across the frontiers of France. Byron replied to him by a cry of grief
+which made Greece tremble, and suspended "Manfred" over the abyss as if
+nothingness had been the answer of the hideous enigma, with which he
+enveloped him.
+
+Pardon me! O, great poets! who are now but ashes and who sleep in peace!
+Pardon me; you are demi-gods and I am only a child who suffers. But while
+writing all this I can not help cursing you. Why did you not sing of the
+perfume of flowers, of the voices of nature, of hope and of love, of the
+vine and the sun, of the azure heavens and of beauty. You must have
+understood life, you must have suffered, and the world was crumbling to
+pieces about you, you wept on its ruins and you despaired; and your
+mistresses were false; your friends calumniated, your compatriots
+misunderstood; and your heart was empty; death was in your eyes, and you
+were the very Colossi of grief. But tell me, you noble Goethe, was there
+no more consoling voice in the religious murmur of your old German
+forests? You, for whom beautiful poesy was the sister of science, could
+you with their aid find in immortal nature no healing plant for the heart
+of their favorite? You, who were a pantheist, and antique poet of Greece,
+a lover of sacred forms, could you not put a little honey in the
+beautiful vases you made; you, who had only to smile and allow the bees
+to come to your lips? And thou, thou Byron, hadst thou not near Ravenna,
+under thy orange trees of Italy, under thy beautiful Venetian sky, near
+thy dear Adriatic, hadst thou not thy well beloved? O, God! I who speak
+to you and who am only a feeble child, I have perhaps known sorrows that
+you have never suffered, and yet I believe and I hope, and yet I bless
+God.
+
+When English and German ideas passed thus over our heads there ensued
+disgust and mournful silence, followed by a terrible convulsion. For to
+formulate general ideas is to change saltpeter into powder, and the
+Homeric brain of the great Goethe had sucked up, as an alembic, all the
+juice of the forbidden fruit. Those who did not read him did not believe
+it, knew nothing of it. Poor creatures! The explosion carried them away
+like grains of dust into the abyss of universal doubt.
+
+It was a degeneration of all things of heaven and of earth that might be
+termed disenchantment, or if you preferred, despair; as if humanity in
+lethargy had been pronounced dead by those who held its place. Like a
+soldier who was asked: "In what do you believe?" and who replied: "In
+myself." Thus the youth of France, hearing that question, replied: "In
+nothing."
+
+Then they formed into two camps: on one side the exalted spirits,
+sufferers, all the expansive souls who had need of the infinite, bowed
+their heads and wept; they wrapt themselves in unhealthy dreams and there
+could be seen nothing but broken reeds on an ocean of bitterness. On the
+other side the men of the flesh remained standing, inflexible in the
+midst of positive joys, and cared for nothing except to count the money
+they had acquired. It was only a sob and a burst of laughter, the one
+coming from the soul, the other from the body.
+
+This is what the soul said:
+
+"Alas! Alas! religion has departed; the clouds of heaven fall in rain; we
+have no longer either hope or expectation, not even two little pieces of
+black wood in the shape of a cross before which to clasp our hands. The
+star of the future is loath to rise; it can not get above the horizon; it
+is enveloped in clouds, and like the sun in winter its disk is the color
+of blood, as in '93. There is no more love, no more glory. What heavy
+darkness over all the earth! And we shall be dead when the day breaks."
+
+This is what the body said:
+
+"Man is here below to satisfy his senses, he has more or less of white or
+yellow metal to which he owes more or less esteem. To eat, to drink and
+to sleep, that is life. As for the bonds which exist between men,
+friendship consists in loaning money; but one rarely has a friend whom he
+loves enough for that. Kinship determines inheritance; love is an
+exercise of the body; the only intellectual joy is vanity."
+
+Like the Asiatic plague exhaled from the vapors of the Ganges, frightful
+despair stalked over the earth. Already Chateaubriand, prince of poesy,
+wrapping the horrible idol in his pilgrim's mantle, had placed it on a
+marble altar in the midst of perfumes and holy incense. Already the
+children were tightening their idle hands and drinking in their bitter
+cup the poisoned brewage of doubt. Already things were drifting toward
+the abyss, when the jackals suddenly emerged from the earth. A cadaverous
+and infected literature which had no form but that of ugliness, began to
+sprinkle with fetid blood all the monsters of nature.
+
+Who will dare to recount what was passing in the colleges? Men doubted
+everything: the young men denied everything. The poets sung of despair;
+the youth came from the schools with serene brow, their faces glowing
+with health and blasphemy in their mouths. Moreover, the French
+character, being by nature gay and open, readily assimilated English and
+German ideas; but hearts too light to struggle and to suffer withered
+like crushed flowers. Thus the principle of death descended slowly and
+without shock from the head to the bowels. Instead of having the
+enthusiasm of evil we had only the negation of the good; instead of
+despair, insensibility. Children of fifteen seated listlessly under
+flowering shrubs, conversed for pastime on subjects which would have made
+shudder with terror the motionless groves of Versailles. The Communion of
+Christ, the host, those wafers that stand as the eternal symbol of divine
+love, were used to seal letters; the children spit upon the bread of God.
+
+Happy they who escaped those times! Happy they who passed over the abyss
+while looking up to Heaven. There are such, doubtless, and they will pity
+us.
+
+It is unfortunately true that there is in blasphemy a certain discharge
+of power which solaces the burdened heart. When an atheist, drawing his
+watch, gave God a quarter of an hour in which to strike him dead, it is
+certain that it was a quarter of an hour of wrath and of atrocious joy.
+It was the paroxysm of despair, a nameless appeal to all celestial
+powers; it was a poor wretched creature squirming under the foot that was
+crushing him; it was a loud cry of pain. And who knows? In the eyes of
+Him who sees all things, it was perhaps a prayer.
+
+Thus these youth found employment for their idle powers in a fondness of
+despair. To scoff at glory, at religion, at love, at all the world, is a
+great consolation for those who do not know what to do; they mock at
+themselves and in doing so prove the correctness of their view. And then
+it is pleasant to believe oneself unhappy when one is only idle and
+tired. Debauchery, moreover, the first conclusion of the principle of
+death, is a terrible millstone for grinding the energies.
+
+The rich said: "There is nothing real but riches, all else is a dream;
+let us enjoy and then let us die." Those of moderate fortune said: "There
+is nothing real but oblivion, all else is a dream; let us forget and let
+us die." And the poor said: "There is nothing real but unhappiness, all
+else is a dream; let us blaspheme and die."
+
+This is too black? It is exaggerated? What do you think of it? Am I a
+misanthrope? Allow me to make a reflection.
+
+In reading the history of the fall of the Roman Empire, it is impossible
+to overlook the evil that the Chustions, so admirable in the desert, did
+the state when they were in power. "When I think," said Montesquieu, "of
+the profound ignorance into which the Greek clergy plunged the laity, I
+am obliged to compare them to the Scythians of whom Herodotus speaks, who
+put out the eyes of their slaves in order that nothing might distract
+their attention from their work. . . . No affair of state, no peace, no
+truce, no negotiation, no marriage could be transacted by any one but the
+clergy. The evils of this system were beyond belief."
+
+Montesquieu might have added: Christianity destroyed the emperors but it
+saved the people. It opened to the barbarians the palaces of
+Constantinople, but it opened the doors of cottages to the ministering
+angels of Christ. It had much to do with the great ones of earth. And
+what is more interesting than the death-rattle of an empire corrupt to
+the very marrow of its bones, than the somber galvanism under the
+influence of which the skeleton of tyranny danced upon the tombs of
+Heliogabalus and Caracalla! What a beautiful thing that mummy of Rome,
+embalmed in the perfumes of Nero and swathed in the shroud of Tiberius!
+It had to do, messieurs the politicians, with finding the poor and giving
+them life and peace; it had to do with allowing the worms and tumors to
+destroy the monuments of shame, while drawing from the ribs of this mummy
+a virgin as beautiful as the mother of the Redeemer, hope, the friend of
+the oppressed.
+
+That is what Christianity did; and now, after many years, what have they
+who destroyed it done? They saw that the poor allowed themselves to be
+oppressed by the rich, the feeble by the strong, because of that saying:
+"The rich and the strong will oppress me on earth; but when they wish to
+enter paradise, I shall be at the door and I will accuse them before the
+tribunal of God." And so, alas! they were patient.
+
+The antagonists of Christ therefore said to the poor: "You wait patiently
+for the day of justice: there is no justice; you wait for the life
+eternal to achieve your vengeance: there is no life eternal; you gather
+up your tears and those of your family, the cries of children and the
+sobs of women, to place them at the feet of God at the hour of death:
+there is no God."
+
+Then it is certain that the poor man dried his tears, that he told his
+wife to check her sobs, his children to come with him, and that he stood
+upon the earth with the power of a bull. He said to the rich: "Thou who
+oppressest me, thou art only man;" and to the priest: "Thou who hast
+consoled me, thou hast lied." That was just what the antagonists of
+Christ desired. Perhaps they thought this was the way to achieve man's
+happiness, sending him out to the conquest of liberty.
+
+But, if the poor man, once satisfied that the priests deceive him, that
+the rich rob him, that all men have rights, that all good is of this
+world, and that misery is impiety; the poor man, believing in himself and
+in his two arms, says to himself some fine day: "War on the rich! for me,
+happiness here in this life, since there is no other! for me, the earth,
+since heaven is empty! for me and for all, since all are equal." Oh!
+reasoners sublime who have led him to this, what will you say to him if
+he is conquered?
+
+Doubtless you are philanthropists, doubtless you are right about the
+future, and the day will come when you will be blessed; but thus far, we
+have not blessed you. When the oppressor said: "This world for me!" the
+oppressed replied: "Heaven for me!" Now what can he say?
+
+All the evils of the present come from two causes: the people who have
+passed through 1793 and 1814, nurse wounds in their hearts. That which
+was is no more; what will be, is not yet. Do not seek elsewhere the cause
+of our malady.
+
+Here is a man whose house falls in ruins; he has torn it down in order to
+build another. The rubbish encumbers the spot, and he waits for fresh
+materials for his new home. At the moment he has prepared to cut the
+stone and mix the cement, while standing, pick in hand, with sleeves
+rolled up, he is informed that there is no more stone, and is advised to
+whiten the old material and make the best possible use of that. What can
+you expect this man to do who is unwilling to build his nest out of
+ruins? The quarry is deep, the tools too weak to hew out the stones.
+"Wait!" they say to him, "we will draw out the stones one by one; hope,
+work, advance, withdraw." What do they not tell him? And in the meantime
+he has lost his old house, and has not yet built the new; he does not
+know where to protect himself from the rain, or how to prepare his
+evening meal, nor where to work, nor where to sleep, nor where to die;
+and his children are newly born.
+
+I am much deceived if we do not resemble that man. O, people of the
+future! when on a warm summer day you bend over your plows in the green
+fields of your native land; when you see, in the pure sunlight under a
+spotless sky, the earth, your fruitful mother, smiling in her matutinal
+robe on the workman, her well-beloved child; when drying on your brow the
+holy baptism of sweat, you cast your eye over the vast horizon, when
+there will not be one blade higher than another in the human harvest, but
+only violets and marguerites in the midst of ripening sheafs. Oh! free
+men! when you thank God that you were born for that harvest, think of
+those who are no more, tell yourself that we have dearly purchased the
+repose which you enjoy; pity us more than all your fathers, for we have
+suffered the evil which entitled them to pity and we have lost that which
+consoled them.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+I MUST explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age.
+
+I attended a great supper, after a masquerade. About me my friends richly
+costumed, on all sides young men and women, all sparkling with beauty and
+joy; on the right and on the left exquisite dishes, flagons, splendor,
+flowers; above my head a fine orchestra, and before me my mistress, a
+superb creature, whom I idolized.
+
+I was then nineteen; I had experienced no great misfortune, I had
+suffered from no disease; my character was at once haughty and frank, my
+heart full of the hopes of youth. The fumes of wine fermented in my head;
+it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that one sees and
+hears, speaks to one of the adored. All nature appeared then a beautiful
+stone with a thousand facets on which was engraven the mysterious name.
+One would willingly embrace all who smile, and one feels that he is
+brother of all who live. My mistress had granted me a rendezvous for the
+night and I was gently raising my glass to my lips while my eyes were
+fixed on her.
+
+As I turned to take a napkin, my fork fell. I stooped to pick it up, and
+not finding it at first I raised the table-cloth to see where it had
+rolled. I then saw under the table my mistress's foot; it rested on that
+of a young man seated beside her; from time to time they exchanged a
+gentle pressure.
+
+Perfectly calm, I asked for another fork and continued my supper. My
+mistress and her neighbor were also, on their side, very quiet, talking
+but little and never looking at each other. The young man had his elbows
+on the table and was chatting with another woman who was showing him her
+necklace and bracelets. My mistress sat motionless, her eyes fixed and
+filled with languor. I watched both of them during the entire supper and
+I saw nothing either in their gestures or in their faces that could
+betray them. Finally, at dessert, I dropped my napkin, and stooping down
+saw that they were still in the same position.
+
+I had promised to take my mistress to her home that night. She was a
+widow and therefore quite at liberty, living alone with an old relative
+who served as chaperon. As I was crossing the hall she called to me:
+
+"Come, Octave!" she said; "here I am, let us go."
+
+I laughed and passed out without replying. After walking a short distance
+I sat down on a stone projecting from a wall. I do not know what my
+thoughts were; I sat as though stupefied by the infidelity of that woman
+of whom I had never been jealous, whom I had never had cause to suspect.
+What I had seen left no room for doubt, I was stunned as though by a blow
+from a club. The only thing I remember doing as I sat there, was looking
+mechanically up at the sky, and, seeing a star spin across the heavens, I
+saluted that fugitive gleam in which poets see a blasted world and
+gravely took off my hat to it.
+
+I returned to my home very quietly, experiencing nothing, as though
+deprived of sensation and reflection. I undressed and retired; hardly had
+my head touched the pillow when the spirit of vengeance seized me with
+such force that I suddenly sat bolt upright against the wall as though
+all my muscles were made of wood. I jumped from my bed with a cry of
+pain; I could walk only on my heels, the nerves in my toes were so
+irritated. I passed an hour in this way, completely foolish and stiff as
+a skeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced.
+
+The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimate
+friends. I went to his house the next day in company with a young lawyer
+named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repaired to the
+woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversary or even
+approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult or strike him,
+a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognized the code.
+But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companion of my
+childhood and we had lived in the closest intimacy for many years. He
+understood perfectly my love for my mistress and had several times
+intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, and that he
+would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me even if he loved the same
+woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and I had perhaps never
+pressed the hand of any human creature more cordially than his.
+
+My glance was eager and curious as I scrutinized this man whom I had
+heard speak of love as an antique hero and whom I had caught caressing my
+mistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; I
+measured him with a haggard eye to see how he was made. He whom I had
+known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived in the most
+perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allow me a
+comparison.
+
+There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stone
+statue comes to sup with a debauchee, sent thither by divine justice. The
+debauchee puts a good face on the matter and forces himself to affect
+indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when he has extended
+it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls in convulsions.
+
+Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend or mistress,
+and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can only describe the
+effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of that marble hand.
+It is the actual impression of marble, it is as though a man of stone had
+kissed me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked more than once at
+my door; more than once we have supped together.
+
+When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facing
+each other and slowly advancing. My adversary fired the first shot,
+wounding me in the right arm. I immediately seized my pistol in the other
+hand; but my strength failed, I could not raise it; I fell on one knee.
+
+Then I saw my enemy running up to me with an expression of great anxiety
+on his face, and very pale. My seconds hastened to my side, seeing that I
+was wounded; but he pushed them aside and seized my wounded arm. His
+teeth were set and I could see that he was suffering intense anguish. His
+agony was the most frightful that man can experience.
+
+"Go!" he cried, "go dress your wound at the house of--"
+
+He choked, and so did I.
+
+I was placed in a cab where I found a physician. My wound was not
+dangerous, the bone being untouched, but I was in such a state of
+excitation that it was impossible to properly dress my wound. As they
+were about to drive from the field I saw a trembling hand at the door of
+my cab; it was my adversary. I shook my head in reply; I was in such a
+rage that I could not pardon him, although I felt that his repentance was
+sincere.
+
+By the time I reached home I had lost much blood and felt relieved, for
+feebleness saved me from the force of anger which was doing me more harm
+than my wound. I willingly retired to my bed and called for a glass of
+water, which I quickly swallowed with relish.
+
+But I was soon attacked by fever. It was then I began to shed tears. I
+could understand that my mistress had ceased to love me, but not that she
+could deceive me. I could not comprehend why a woman who was forced to it
+by neither duty nor interest could lie to one man when she loved another.
+Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that could be
+possible.
+
+"If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her I could easily
+understand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longer
+loves me, why deceive me?"
+
+I did not understand how any one could lie for love; I was but a child
+then, but I confess that I do not understand it yet. Every time I have
+loved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her I
+confessed it to her with the same sincerity, having always thought that
+in matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was no
+crime but falsehood.
+
+To all this Desgenais replied:
+
+"She is unworthy; promise me that you will never see her again."
+
+I solemnly promised. He advised me, moreover, not to write to her, not
+even to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply. I promised all
+that with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exact
+such a promise.
+
+Nevertheless the first thing I did when I was able to leave my room was
+to visit my mistress. I found her alone, seated in the corner of the room
+with an expression of sorrow on her face and an appearance of general
+disorder in her surroundings. I overwhelmed her with violent reproaches;
+I was intoxicated with despair. In a paroxysm of grief I fell on the bed
+and gave free course to my tears.
+
+"Ah! faithless one! wretch!" I cried between my sobs, "you knew that it
+would kill me. Did the prospect please you? What have I done to you?"
+
+She threw her arms around my neck, saying that she had been seduced, that
+my rival had intoxicated her at that fatal supper, but that she had never
+been his; that she had abandoned herself in a moment of forgetfulness;
+that she had committed a fault but not a crime; but that if I would not
+pardon her, she, too, would die. All that sincere repentance has of
+tears, all that sorrow has of eloquence, she exhausted to console me;
+pale and distressed, her dress deranged and her hair falling over her
+shoulders she kneeled in the middle of her chamber; never have I seen
+anything so beautiful and I shuddered with horror as my senses revolted
+at the sight.
+
+I went away crushed, scarcely able to direct my tottering steps. I wished
+never to see her again; but in a quarter of an hour I returned. I do not
+know what desperate resolve I had formed; I experienced a dull desire to
+possess her once more, to drain the cup of tears and bitterness to the
+dregs and then to die with her. In short, I abhorred her and I idolized
+her; I felt that her love was my ruin, but that to live without her was
+impossible. I mounted the stairs like a flash; I spoke to none of the
+servants, but, familiar with the house, opened the door of her chamber.
+
+I found her seated calmly before her toilet-table, covered with jewels;
+she held in her hand a piece of crepe which she passed gently over her
+cheeks. I thought I was dreaming; it did not seem possible that this was
+the woman I had left, just fifteen minutes before, overwhelmed with
+grief, abased to the floor; I was as motionless as a statue. She, hearing
+the door open, turned her head and smiled:
+
+"Is it you?" she said.
+
+She was going to the ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognized
+me, she compressed her lips and frowned.
+
+I started to leave the room. I looked at her bare neck, lithe and
+perfumed, on which rested her knotted hair confined by a jeweled comb;
+that neck, the seat of vital force, was blacker than Hades; two shining
+tresses had fallen there and some light silvern hairs balanced above it.
+Her shoulders and neck, whiter than milk, displayed a heavy growth of
+down. There was in that knotted head of hair something indescribably
+immodest which seemed to mock me when I thought of the disorder in which
+I had seen her a moment before. I suddenly stepped up to her and struck
+that neck with the back of my hand. My mistress gave vent to a cry of
+terror, and fell on her hands, while I hastened from the room.
+
+When I reached my room I was again attacked by fever and was obliged to
+take to my bed. My wound had reopened and I suffered great pain.
+Desgenais came to see me and I told him what had happened. He listened in
+silence, then paced up and down the room as though undecided as to his
+course. Finally he stopped before my bed and burst out laughing.
+
+"Is she your first mistress?" he asked.
+
+"No!" I replied, "she is my last."
+
+Toward midnight, while sleeping restlessly, I seemed to hear in my dreams
+a profound sigh. I opened my eyes and saw my mistress standing near my
+bed with arms crossed, looking like a specter. I could not restrain a cry
+of fright, believing it to be an apparition conjured up by my diseased
+brain. I leaped from my bed and fled to the farther end of the room; but
+she followed me.
+
+"It is I!" said she; putting her arms around me she drew me to her.
+
+"What do you want of me?" I cried. "Leave me! I fear I shall kill you!"
+
+"Very well, kill me!" she said. "I have deceived you, I have lied to you,
+I am an infamous wretch and I am miserable; but I love you, and I can not
+live without you."
+
+I looked at her; how beautiful she was! Her body was quivering; her eyes
+languid with love and moist with voluptuousness; her bosom was bare, her
+lips burning. I raised her in my arms.
+
+"Very well," I said, "but before God who sees us, by the soul of my
+father, I swear that I will kill you and that I will die with you."
+
+I took a knife from the table and placed it under the pillow.
+
+"Come, Octave," she said, smiling and kissing me, "do not be foolish.
+Come, my dear, all these horrors have unsettled your mind; you are
+feverish. Give me that knife."
+
+I saw that she wished to take it.
+
+"Listen to me," I then said; "I do not know what comedy you are playing,
+but as for me I am in earnest. I have loved you as only a man can love
+and to my sorrow I love you still. You have just told me that you love
+me, and I hope it is true; but, by all that is sacred, if I am your lover
+to-night, no one shall take my place to-morrow. Before God, before God,"
+I repeated, "I would not take you back as my mistress, for I hate you as
+much as I love you. Before God, if you consent to stay here to-night I
+will kill you in the morning."
+
+When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw her cloak
+over her shoulders and fled from the room.
+
+When I told Desgenais about it he said:
+
+"Why did you do that? You must be very much disgusted, for she is a
+beautiful woman."
+
+"Are you joking?" I asked. "Do you think such a woman could be my
+mistress? Do you think I would ever consent to share her with another? Do
+you know that she confesses that another possesses her and do you expect
+me, loving her as I do, to share my love? If that is the way you love, I
+pity you."
+
+Desgenais replied that he was not so particular.
+
+"My dear Octave," he added, "you are very young. You want many things,
+beautiful things, which do not exist. You believe in a singular sort of
+love; perhaps you are capable of it; I believe you are, but I do not envy
+you. You will have other mistresses, my friend, and you will live to
+regret what happened last night. If that woman came to you it is certain
+that she loved you; perhaps she does not love you at this moment, indeed
+she may be in the arms of another; but she loved you last night in that
+room; and what should you care for the rest? You will regret it, believe
+me, for she will not come again. A woman pardons everything except such a
+slight. Her love for you must have been something terrible when she came
+to you knowing and confessing herself guilty, risking rebuff and contempt
+at your hands. Believe me, you will regret it, for I am satisfied that
+you will soon be cured."
+
+There was such an air of simple conviction about my friend's words, such
+a despairing certainty based on experience, that I shuddered as I
+listened. While he was speaking I felt a strong desire to go to my
+mistress, or to write to her to come to me. I was so weak that I could
+not leave my bed and that saved me from the shame of finding her waiting
+for my rival or perhaps in his company. But I could write to her; in
+spite of myself I doubted whether she would come if I should write.
+
+When Desgenais left me I became so desperate that I resolved to put an
+end to my trouble. After a terrible struggle horror got the better of
+love. I wrote my mistress that I would never see her again and begged her
+not to try to see me unless she wished to be exposed to the shame of
+being refused admittance. I called a servant and ordered him to deliver
+the letter at once. He had hardly closed the door when I called him back.
+He did not hear me; I did not dare call again; covering my face with my
+hands I yielded to an overwhelming sense of despair.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE following morning the first question that occurred to my mind was:
+"What shall I do?"
+
+I had no occupation. I had studied medicine and law without being able to
+decide on either of the two professions; I had worked for a banker for
+six months and my services were so unsatisfactory that I was obliged to
+resign to avoid being discharged. My studies had been varied but
+superficial; my memory was active but not retentive.
+
+My only treasure after love, was independence. In my childhood I had
+devoted myself to a morose cult, and had, so to speak, consecrated my
+heart to it. One day my father, solicitous about my future, spoke to me
+of several careers between which he allowed me to choose. I was leaning
+on the window-sill, looking at a solitary poplar-tree that was swaying in
+the breeze down in the garden. I thought over all the various occupations
+and wondered which one I should choose. I turned them all over, one after
+another, in my mind, and then not feeling inclined to any of them I
+allowed my thoughts to wander. Suddenly it seemed to me that I felt the
+earth move and that a secret invisible force was slowly dragging me into
+space and becoming tangible to my senses; I saw it mount into the sky; I
+seemed to be on a ship; the poplar near my window resembled a mast; I
+arose, stretched out my arms, and cried:
+
+"It is little enough to be a passenger for one day on this ship floating
+through space; it is little enough to be a man, a black point on that
+ship; I will be a man but not any particular kind of man."
+
+Such was the first vow that, at the age of fourteen, I pronounced in the
+face of nature, and since then I have tried to do nothing except in
+obedience to my father, never being able to overcome my repugnance.
+
+I was therefore free, not through indolence but by choice; loving,
+moreover, all that God had made and very little that man had made. Of
+life I knew nothing but love, of the world only my mistress, and I did
+not care to know anything more. So falling in love upon leaving college I
+sincerely believed that it was for life and every other thought
+disappeared.
+
+My life was sedentary. I was accustomed to pass the day with my mistress;
+my greatest pleasure was to lead her through the fields on beautiful
+summer days, the sight of nature in her splendor having ever been for me
+the most powerful incentive to love. In winter, as she enjoyed society,
+we attended numerous balls and masquerades, and because I thought of no
+one but her I fondly imagined her equally true to me.
+
+To give you an idea of my state of mind I can not do better than compare
+it to one of those rooms such as we see in these days where are collected
+and confounded all the furniture of all times and all countries. Our age
+has no form of its own. We have impressed the seal of our time on neither
+our houses nor our gardens nor anything that is ours. On the street may
+be seen men who have their beards cut as in the time of Henry III, others
+who are clean shaven, others who have their hair arranged as in the time
+of Raphael, others as in the time of Christ. So the homes of the rich are
+cabinets of curiosities: the antique, the Gothic, the taste of the
+Renaissance, that of Louis XIII, all pell-mell. In short, we have every
+century except our own--a thing which has never been seen at any other
+epoch: eclecticism is our taste; we take everything we find, this for
+beauty, that for utility, this other for antiquity, such another for its
+ugliness even, so that we live surrounded by debris as though the end of
+the world were at hand.
+
+Such was the state of my mind; I had read much; moreover I had learned to
+paint. I knew by heart a great many things, but nothing in order, so that
+my head was like a sponge, swollen but empty. I fell in love with all the
+poets one after another; but being of an impressionable nature the last
+comer always disgusted me with the rest. I had made of myself a great
+warehouse of ruins, so that having no more thirst after drinking of the
+novel and the unknown, I became a ruin myself.
+
+Nevertheless, about that ruin there was still something of youth: it was
+the hope of my heart which was still childlike.
+
+That hope, which nothing had withered or corrupted and that love had
+exalted to excess, had now received a mortal wound. The perfidy of my
+mistress had struck deep, and when I thought of it, I felt in my soul a
+swooning away, a convulsive flutter as of a wounded bird in agony.
+
+Society which works so much evil is like that serpent of the Indies whose
+dwelling is the leaf of a plant which cures its sting; it presents, in
+nearly every case, the remedy by the side of the suffering it has caused.
+For example, the man whose life is one of routine, who has his business
+cares to claim his attention upon rising, visits at such an hour, loves
+at another, can lose his mistress and suffer no evil effects. His
+occupations and his thoughts are like impassive soldiers ranged in line
+of battle; a single shot strikes one down, his neighbors fill up the gap
+and the line is intact.
+
+I had not that resource since I was alone: nature, the kind mother,
+seemed, on the contrary, more vast and more empty than ever. If I had
+been able to forget my mistress I would have been saved. How many there
+are who can be cured with even less than that. Such men are incapable of
+loving a faithless woman and their conduct, under the circumstances, is
+admirable in its firmness. But is it thus that one loves at nineteen
+when, knowing nothing of the world, desiring everything, the young man
+feels within him the germ of all the passions? On the right, on the left,
+below, on the horizon, everywhere some voice which calls him. All is
+desire, all is reverie. There is no reality which holds him when the
+heart is young; there is no oak so gnarled that it may not give birth to
+a dryad; and if one had a hundred arms one need not fear to open them;
+one has but to clasp his mistress and all is well.
+
+As for me I did not understand what else there was to do besides love,
+and when any one spoke to me of another occupation I did not reply. My
+passion for my mistress had something fierce about it, as all my life had
+been severely monachal. I wish to cite a single example. She gave me her
+portrait in miniature in a medallion; I wore it over my heart, a practise
+much affected by men; but one day while idly rummaging about a shop
+filled with curiosities I found an iron "discipline whip," such as was
+used by the mediaeval flagellants; at the end of this whip was a metal
+plate bristling with sharp iron points; I had the medallion riveted to
+this plate and then returned it to its place over my heart. The sharp
+points pierced my bosom with every movement and caused such a strange
+voluptuous anguish that I sometimes pressed it down with my hand in order
+to intensify the sensation. I knew very well that I was committing folly;
+love is responsible for many others.
+
+When that woman deceived me I removed the cruel medallion. I can not tell
+with what sadness I detached that iron girdle and what a sigh escaped me
+when it was gone.
+
+"Ah! poor wounds!" I said, "you will soon heal, but what balm is there
+for that other deeper wound?"
+
+I had reason to hate that woman, she was, so to speak, mingled with the
+blood of my veins; I cursed her but I dreamed of her. What could I do
+with a dream? By what effort of the will could I drown memory of flesh
+and blood? Macbeth having killed Duncan saw that the ocean would not wash
+his hands clean again; it would not have washed away my wounds. I said to
+Desgenais: "When I sleep, her head is on my pillow."
+
+My life had been wrapped up in that woman; to doubt her was to doubt all;
+to deny her, to curse all; to lose her, to renounce all. I no longer went
+out; the world seemed to be peopled with monsters, with horned deer and
+crocodiles. To all that was said to distract my mind I replied:
+
+"Yes, that is all very well, but you may rest assured I shall do nothing
+of the kind."
+
+I sat in my window and said:
+
+"She will come, I am sure of it, she is coming, she is turning the corner
+at this moment, I can feel her approach. She can no more live without me
+than I without her. What shall I say? How shall I receive her?"
+
+Then the thought of her perfidy recurred to me.
+
+"Ah! let her come! I will kill her!"
+
+Since my last letter I had heard nothing of her.
+
+"What is she doing?" I asked myself. "She loves another? Then I will love
+another also. Whom shall I love?"
+
+While casting about I heard a far distant voice crying:
+
+"Thou, love another? Two beings who love, who embrace, and who are not
+thou and I! Is such a thing possible? Are you a fool?"
+
+"Coward!" said Desgenais, "when will you forget that woman? Is she such a
+great loss? Take the first comer and console yourself."
+
+"No," I replied, "it is not such a great loss. Have I not done what I
+ought? Have I not driven her away from here? What have you to say to
+that? The rest concerns me; the bull wounded in the arena is at liberty
+to go to sleep in a corner with the sword of the matador in his shoulder,
+and die in peace. What can I do, tell me? What do you mean by first
+comer? You will show me a cloudless sky, trees and houses, men who talk,
+drink, sing, women who dance and horses that gallop. All that is not
+life, it is the noise of life. Go, go, leave me in peace."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHEN Desgenais saw that my despondency was incurable, that I would
+neither listen to any advice nor leave my room, he took the matter
+seriously. I saw him enter one evening with an expression of gravity on
+his face; he spoke of my mistress and continued in his tone of sadness,
+saying all manner of evil of women. While he was speaking I was leaning
+on my elbow, and, rising in my bed, I listened attentively.
+
+It was one of those somber evenings when the sighing of the wind
+resembles the moans of a dying man; a storm was brewing, and between the
+splashes of rain on the windows there was the silence of death. All
+nature suffers in such moments; the trees writhe in pain and twist their
+heads; the birds of the fields cower under the bushes; the streets of
+cities are deserted. I was suffering from my wound. But a short time
+before I had a mistress and a friend. The mistress had deceived me and
+the friend had stretched me on a bed of pain. I could not clearly
+distinguish what was passing in my head; it seemed to me that I was under
+the influence of a horrible dream and that I had but to awake to find
+myself cured; at times it seemed that my entire life had been a dream,
+ridiculous and childish, the falseness of which had just been disclosed.
+Desgenais was seated near the lamp at my side; he was firm and serious,
+although a smile hovered about his lips. He was a man of heart, but as
+dry as a pumice-stone. An early experience had made him bald before his
+time; he knew life and had suffered; but his grief was a cuirass; he was
+a materialist and he waited for death.
+
+"Octave," he said, "after what has happened to you I see that you believe
+in love such as the poets and romancers have represented; in a word, you
+believe in what is said here below and not in what is done. That is
+because you do not reason soundly and it may lead you into great
+misfortune.
+
+"The poets represent love as the sculptors design beauty, as the
+musicians create melody; that is to say, endowed with an exquisite
+nervous organization, they gather up with discerning ardor the purest
+elements of life, the most beautiful lines of matter, and the most
+harmonious voices of nature. There was, it is said, at Athens a great
+number of beautiful girls; Praxiteles designed them all, one after
+another; then from all these diverse types of beauty, each one of which
+had its defects, he formed a single faultless beauty and created Venus.
+The first man who created a musical instrument and who gave to that art
+its rules and its laws, had for a long time listened to the murmuring of
+reeds and the singing of birds. Thus the poets who understand life, after
+having known much of love, more or less transitory, after having felt
+that sublime exaltation which passion can for the moment inspire,
+deducting from human nature all elements which degrade it, created the
+mysterious names which through the ages are passed from lip to lip:
+Daphne and Chloe, Hero and Leander, Pyramus and Thisbe.
+
+"To try to find in real life such love as this, eternal and absolute, is
+the same thing as to seek on the public squares such a woman as Venus or
+to expect nightingales to sing the symphonies of Beethoven.
+
+"Perfection does not exist; to comprehend it is the triumph of human
+intelligence; to desire to possess it, the most dangerous of follies.
+Open your window, Octave; do you not see the infinite? You try to form
+some idea of a thing that has no limits, you who were born yesterday and
+who will die to-morrow? This spectacle of immensity in every country in
+the world, produces the wildest illusions. Religions are born of it; it
+was to possess the infinite that Cato cut his throat, that the Christians
+delivered themselves to lions, the Huguenots to the Catholics; all the
+people of the earth have stretched out their hands to that immensity and
+have longed to plunge into it. The fool wishes to possess heaven; the
+sage admires it, kneels before it, but does not desire it.
+
+"Perfection, my friend, is no more made for us than infinity. We must
+seek for nothing in it, demand nothing of it, neither love nor beauty,
+happiness nor virtue; but we must love it if we would be virtuous, if we
+would attain the greatest happiness of which man is capable.
+
+"Let us suppose you have in your study a picture by Raphael that you
+consider perfect; let us suppose that upon a close examination you
+discover in one of the figures a gross defect of design, a limb
+distorted, or a muscle that belies nature, such as has been discovered,
+they say, in one of the arms of an antique gladiator; you would
+experience a feeling of displeasure, but you would not throw that picture
+in the fire; you would merely say that it is not perfect but that it has
+qualities that are worthy of admiration.
+
+"There are women whose natural singleness of heart and sincerity are such
+that they could not have two lovers at the same time. You believed your
+mistress such a one; that is best, I admit. You have discovered that she
+has deceived you; does that oblige you to despise and to abuse her, to
+believe her deserving of your hatred?
+
+"Even if your mistress had never deceived you, even if at this moment she
+loved none other than you, think, Octave, how far her love would still be
+from perfection, how human it would be, how small, how restrained by the
+hypocrisies and conventionalities of the world; remember that another man
+possessed her before you, that many others will possess her after you.
+
+"Reflect: what drives you at this moment to despair is the idea of
+perfection in your mistress, the idea that has been shattered. But when
+you understand that the first idea itself was human, small and
+restricted, you will see that it is little more than a round in the
+rotten ladder of human imperfection.
+
+"I think you will readily admit that your mistress has had other admirers
+and that she will have still others in the future; you will doubtless
+reply that it matters little, so long as she loved you. But I ask you,
+since she has had others, what difference does it make whether it was
+yesterday or two years ago? Since she loves but one at a time what does
+it matter whether it is during an interval of two years or the course of
+a single night? Are you a man, Octave? Do you see the leaves falling from
+the trees, the sun rising and setting? Do you hear the ticking of the
+clock of time with each pulsation of your heart? Is there, then, such a
+difference between the love of a year and the love of an hour? I
+challenge you to answer that, you fool, as you sit there looking out at
+the infinite through a window not larger than your hand.
+
+"You consider that woman faithful who loves you two years; you must have
+an almanac that will indicate just how long it takes for an honest man's
+kisses to dry on a woman's lips. You make a distinction between the woman
+who sells herself for money and the one who gives herself for pleasure,
+between the one who gives herself through pride and the one who gives
+herself through devotion. Among women who are for sale, some cost more
+than others; among those who are sought for pleasure some inspire more
+confidence than others; and among those who are worthy of devotion there
+are some who receive a third of a man's heart, others a quarter, others a
+half, depending upon her education, her manner, her name, her birth, her
+beauty, her temperament, according to the occasion, according to what is
+said, according to the time, according to what you have had to drink for
+dinner.
+
+"You love women, Octave, because you are young, ardent, because your
+features are regular and your hair dark and glossy, but you do not, for
+all that, understand woman.
+
+"Nature, having all, desires the reproduction of beings; everywhere, from
+the summit of the mountain to the bottom of the sea, life is opposed to
+death. God, to conserve the work of his hands, has established this law
+that the greatest pleasure of all loving beings shall be the act of
+generation.
+
+"Oh! my friend, when you feel bursting on your lips the vow of eternal
+love, do not be afraid to yield, but do not confound wine with
+intoxication; do not think the cup divine because the draft is of
+celestial flavor; do not be astonished to find it broken and empty in the
+evening. It is but woman, it is a fragile vase, made of earth by a
+potter.
+
+"Thank God for giving you a glimpse of heaven, but do not imagine
+yourself a bird because you can flap your wings. The birds themselves can
+not escape the clouds; there is a sphere where air fails them and the
+lark rising with its song into the morning fog, sometimes falls back dead
+in the field.
+
+"Take love as a sober man takes wine; do not become a drunkard. If your
+mistress is sincere and faithful, love her for that; but if she is not,
+if she is merely young and beautiful, love her for that; if she is
+agreeable and spirituelle, love her for that; if she is none of these
+things but merely loves you, love her for that. Love does not come to us
+every day.
+
+"Do not tear your hair and stab yourself because you have a rival. You
+say that your mistress deceives you for another; it is your pride that
+suffers; but change the words, say that it is for you that she deceives
+him, and behold you are happy.
+
+"Do not make a rule of conduct and do not say that you wish to be loved
+exclusively, for in saying that, as you are a man and inconstant
+yourself, you are forced to add tacitly: 'As far as possible.'
+
+"Take time as it comes, the wind as it blows, woman as she is. The
+Spaniards first, among women, love faithfully; their heart is sincere and
+violent, but they wear a dagger just above it. Italian women are
+lascivious. The English are exalted and melancholy, cold and unnatural.
+The German women are tender and sweet, but colorless and monotonous. The
+French are spirituelle, elegant, and voluptuous, but they lie like
+demons.
+
+"Above all, do not accuse women of being what they are; we have made them
+thus, undoing the work of nature.
+
+"Nature, who thinks of everything, made the virgin for love; but with her
+first child her bosom loses its form, her beauty its freshness. Woman is
+made for motherhood. Man would perhaps abandon her, disgusted by the loss
+of beauty; but his child clings to him and weeps. Behold the family, the
+human law; everything that departs from this law is monstrous.
+
+"Civilization thwarts the ends of nature. In our cities, according to our
+customs, the virgin destined by nature for the open air, made to bask in
+the sunlight, to admire the nude wrestlers, as in Lacedemonia, to choose,
+and to love, is shut up in close confinement and bolted in; yet she hides
+romance under her cross; pale and idle she fades away and loses in the
+silence of the nights that beauty that stifles her and which has need of
+the open air. Then she is suddenly taken from this solitude, knowing
+nothing, loving nothing, desiring everything; an old woman instructs her,
+a mysterious word is whispered in her ear, and she is thrown into the
+arms of a stranger. There you have marriage--that is to say, the
+civilized family. A child is born. This poor creature has lost her beauty
+and she has never loved. The child is brought to her with the words: 'You
+are a mother.' She replies: 'I am not a mother; take that child to some
+woman who can nurse it. I can not.' Her husband tells her that she is
+right, that her child would be disgusted with her. She receives careful
+attention and is soon cured of the disease of maternity. A month later
+she may be seen at the Tuileries, at the ball, at the opera: her child is
+at Chaillot, at Auxerre; her husband with another woman. Then young men
+speak to her of love, of devotion, of sympathy, of all that is in the
+heart. She takes one, draws him to her bosom; he dishonors her and
+returns to the Bourse. She cries all night, but discovers that tears make
+her eyes red. She takes a consoler, for the loss of whom another consoles
+her; thus up to the age of thirty or more. Then, blase and corrupted,
+with no human sentiment, not even disgust, she meets a fine youth with
+raven locks, ardent eye and hopeful heart; she recalls her own youth, she
+remembers what she has suffered, and telling him the story of her life,
+she teaches him to shun love.
+
+"That is woman as we have made her; such are your mistresses. But you say
+they are women and there is something good in them!
+
+"But if your character is formed, if you are truly a man, sure of
+yourself and confident of your strength, you may taste of life without
+fear and without reserve; you may be sad or joyous, deceived or
+respected; but be sure you are loved, for what matters the rest?
+
+"If you are mediocre and ordinary, I advise you to consider your course
+very carefully before deciding, but do not expect too much of your
+mistress.
+
+"If you are weak, dependent upon others, inclined to allow yourself to be
+dominated by opinion, to take root wherever you see a little soil, make
+for yourself a shield that will resist everything, for if you yield to
+your weaker nature you will not grow, you will dry up like a dead plant,
+and you will bear neither fruit nor flowers. The sap of your life will
+dissipate into the formation of a useless bark; all your actions will be
+as colorless as the leaves of the willow; you will have no tears to water
+you, but those from your own eyes, to nourish you, no heart but your own.
+
+"But if you are of exalted nature, believing in dreams and wishing to
+realize them, I say to you plainly. Love does not exist.
+
+"For to love is to give body and soul, or, better, it is to make a single
+being of two; it is to walk in the sunlight, in the open air through the
+boundless prairies with a body having four arms, two heads and two
+hearts. Love is faith, it is the religion of earthly happiness, it is a
+luminous triangle suspended in the temple of the world. To love is to
+walk freely through that temple and to have at your side a being capable
+of understanding why a thought, a word, a flower makes you pause and
+raise your eyes to that celestial triangle. To exercise the noble
+faculties of man is a great good, and that is why genius is glorious; but
+to double those faculties, to place a heart and an intelligence upon a
+heart and an intelligence--that is supreme happiness. God has nothing
+better for man; that is why love is better than genius. But tell me, is
+that the love of our women? No, no, it must be admitted. Love, for them,
+is another thing; it is to go out veiled, to write in secret, to make
+trembling advances, to heave chaste sighs under a starched and unnatural
+robe, then to draw bolts and throw it aside, to humiliate a rival, to
+deceive a husband, to render a lover desolate; to love, for our women, is
+to play at lying, as children play at hide and seek, the hideous
+debauchee of a heart, worse than all the lubricity of the Romans, or the
+Saturnalia of Priapus; bastard parody of vice itself as well as of
+virtue; loathsome comedy where all is whispering and oblique glances,
+where all is small, elegant and deformed like the porcelain monsters
+brought from China; lamentable derision of all that is beautiful and
+ugly, divine and infernal; a shadow without a body, a skeleton of all
+that God has made."
+
+Thus spoke Desgenais; and the shadows of night began to fall.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+THE next morning I rode through the Bois de Boulogne; the day was dark
+and threatening. At the Porte Maillot I dropped the reins on the back of
+my horse and abandoned myself to reverie, revolving in my mind the words
+spoken by Desgenais the evening before.
+
+Suddenly I heard my name called. Turning my head I spied one of my
+mistress's most intimate friends in an open carriage. She called to me to
+stop, and, holding out her hand with a friendly air, invited me to dine
+with her if I had no other engagement.
+
+This woman, Madame Levasseur by name, was small, stout, and decidedly
+blonde; I had never liked her and my attitude toward her had always been
+one of studied politeness. But I could not resist a desire to accept her
+invitation; I pressed her hand and thanked her; I was sure we would talk
+of my mistress.
+
+She sent a servant to lead my horse and I entered her carriage; she was
+alone and we at once took the road to Paris. Rain began to fall, and the
+carriage curtains were drawn; thus shut up together we rode on in
+silence. I looked at her with inexpressible sadness; she was not only the
+friend of my faithless one but her confidante. She had often formed one
+of our party when I called on my mistress in the evening! With what
+impatience had I endured her presence. How often I counted the minutes
+that must elapse before she would leave! That was probably the cause of
+my aversion for her. I knew that she approved of our love; she even went
+so far as to defend me in our quarrels. In spite of the services she had
+rendered me, I considered her ugly and tiresome. Alas! now I found her
+beautiful! I looked at her hands, her clothes; every gesture went
+straight to my heart; all the past was associated with her. She noticed
+the change in manner and understood that I was oppressed by sad memories
+of the past. Thus we rode on our way, I looking at her; she smiling at
+me. When we reached Paris she took my hand:
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"Well?" I replied, sobbing, "tell her if you wish." Tears rushed from my
+eyes.
+
+After dinner we sat before the fire.
+
+"But tell me," she said, "is it irrevocable? Can nothing be done?"
+
+"Alas! madame," I replied, "there is nothing irrevocable except the grief
+that is killing me. My condition can be expressed in a few words: I can
+not love her, I can not love another, and I can not cease loving."
+
+At these words she moved uneasily in her chair and I could see an
+expression of compassion on her face. For some time she seemed to be
+reflecting, as though pondering over my fate and seeking some remedy for
+my sorrow. Her eyes were closed and she appeared lost in reverie. She
+extended her hand and I took it in mine.
+
+"And I, too," she murmured, "that is just my experience." She stopped,
+overcome by emotion.
+
+Of all the sisters of love, the most beautiful is pity. I held Madame
+Levasseur's hand as she began to speak of my mistress, saying all she
+could think of in her favor. My sadness increased. What could I reply?
+Finally she came to speak of herself.
+
+Not long since, she said, a man who loved her had abandoned her. She had
+made great sacrifices for him; her fortune was compromised as well as her
+honor and her name. Her husband, whom she knew to be vindictive, had made
+threats. Her tears flowed as she continued, and I began to forget my own
+sorrow in my sympathy for her. She had been married against her will; she
+struggled a long time; but she regretted nothing except that she had not
+been able to inspire a more sincere affection. I believe she even accused
+herself because she had not been able to hold her lover's heart, and
+because she had been guilty of apparent indifference.
+
+When she had unburdened her heart she became silent.
+
+"Madame," I said, "it was not chance that brought about our meeting in
+the Bois de Boulogne. I believe that human sorrows are but wandering
+sisters and that some good angel unites the trembling hands that are
+stretched out for aid. Do not repent having told me your sorrow. The
+secret you have confided to me is only a tear which has fallen from your
+eye, but has rested on my heart. Permit me to come again and let us
+suffer together."
+
+Such lively sympathy took possession of me that without reflection I
+kissed her; it did not occur to my mind that it could offend her and she
+did not appear even to notice it.
+
+Our conversation continued in this tone of great friendship. She told me
+her sorrows, I told her mine, and between those two experiences which
+touched each other, I felt arise a sweetness, as of a celestial accord
+born of two voices in anguish. All this time I had seen nothing but her
+face. Suddenly I noticed that her dress was in disorder. It appeared
+singular to me that, seeing my embarrassment, she did not rearrange it,
+and I turned my head to give her an opportunity. She did nothing. Finally
+meeting her eyes and seeing that she was perfectly aware of the state she
+was in, I felt as though I had been struck by a thunderbolt, for I
+clearly understood that I was the plaything of her monstrous effrontery,
+that grief itself was for her but a means of seducing the senses. I took
+my hat without a word, bowed profoundly and left the room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+UPON returning to my apartments I found a large box in the center of the
+room. One of my aunts had died and I was one of the heirs to her fortune,
+which was not large. The box contained, among other things, a number of
+musty old books. Not knowing what to do and being affected with ennui, I
+began to read one of them. They were for the most part romances of the
+time of Louis XV; my pious aunt had probably inherited them herself and
+never read them, for they were, so to speak, catechisms of vice.
+
+I was singularly disposed to reflect on everything that came to my
+notice, to give everything a mental and moral significance; I treated
+events as pearls in a necklace which I tried to string together.
+
+It struck me that there was something significant about the arrival of
+these books at this time. I devoured them with a bitterness and a sadness
+born of despair. "Yes, you are right," I said to myself, "you alone
+possess the secret of life, you alone dare to say that nothing is true
+and real but debauchery, hypocrisy and corruption. Be my friends, throw
+on the wound in my soul your corrosive poisons, teach me to believe in
+you."
+
+While buried in these shadows I allowed my favorite poets and text-books
+to accumulate dust. I even ground them under my feet in excess of wrath.
+"You wretched dreamers," I said to them; "you who teach me only
+suffering, miserable shufflers of words, charlatans if you knew the
+truth, fools if you speak in good faith, liars in either case, who make
+fairy tales of the human heart, I will burn every one of you!"
+
+Then tears came to my aid and I perceived that there was nothing real but
+my grief. "Very well," I cried, in my delirium, "tell me, good and bad
+genii, counsellors for good or evil, tell me what to do! Choose an
+arbiter and let him speak."
+
+I seized an old Bible which lay on my table and read the first passage
+that caught my eye.
+
+"Reply to me, thou book of God," I said, "what word have you for me?" My
+eye fell on this passage in Ecclesiastes, chapter ix:
+
+
+  I pondered all these things in my heart, and I sought diligently
+  for wisdom. There are just and wise men and their works are in the
+  hands of God; nevertheless man does not know whether he is worthy
+  of love or hatred.
+
+  And the future is unknown, for there is one event to the righteous
+  and to the wicked; to the good, and to the clean, and to the
+  unclean; to him that sacrificeth and him that sacrificeth not. The
+  righteous is treated as the sinner and the perjurer as him who
+  speaks the truth.
+
+  There is an evil among all things that are done under the sun, and
+  there is one event to all. Therefore the hearts of the children of
+  men are full of evil and madness while they live, and after that
+  they go to the dead.
+
+
+When I read these words I was astounded; I did not know that there was
+such a sentiment in the Bible. "And thou, too, as all others, thou book
+of hope!"
+
+What do the astronomers think when they predict at a given hour and place
+the passage of a comet, that most eccentric of celestial travelers? What
+do the naturalists think when they reveal the myriad forms of life
+concealed in a drop of water? Do they think they have invented what they
+see and that their microscopes and lenses make the law of nature? What
+did the first lawgiver think when, seeking for the corner-stone in the
+social edifice, angered doubtless by some idle importunity, he struck the
+tables of brass and felt in his bowels the yearning for a law of
+retaliation? Did he then invent justice? And the first who plucked the
+fruit planted by his neighbor and who fled cowering under his mantle, did
+he invent shame? And he who, having overtaken that same thief who had
+robbed him of the product of his toil, forgave him his sin, and instead
+of raising his hand to smite him, said, "Sit thou down and eat thy fill";
+when after having thus returned good for evil he raised his eyes toward
+Heaven and felt his heart quivering, tears welling from his eyes, and his
+knees bending to the earth, did he invent virtue? Oh! Heaven! here is a
+woman who speaks of love and who deceives me, here is a man who speaks of
+friendship, and who counsels me to seek consolation in debauchery; here
+is another woman who weeps and would console me with the flesh; here is a
+Bible that speaks of God and says: "Perhaps; there is one event to the
+righteous and to the wicked."
+
+I ran to the open window: "Is it true that you are empty?" I cried,
+looking up at the pale expanse of sky which spread above me. "Reply,
+reply! Before I die grant that I may clasp in these arms of mine
+something more than a dream!"
+
+Profound silence reigned. As I stood with arms outstretched, eyes lost in
+space, a swallow uttered a plaintive cry; in spite of myself I followed
+it with my eyes; while the swallow disappeared from sight like a flash, a
+little girl passed, singing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+YET I was not willing to yield. Before taking life on its pleasant side
+after having seen its evil side so dearly, I resolved to test everything.
+I remained thus for some time a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by
+terrible dreams.
+
+The great obstacle to my cure was my youth. Wherever I happened to be,
+whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight of
+a woman made me tremble.
+
+I had been so fortunate as to give to love my virginity. But the result
+of this was that all my senses were united in the idea of love; there was
+the cause of my unhappiness. For not being able to think of anything but
+women, I could not help turning over in my head, day and night, all the
+ideas of debauchery, of false love and of feminine treason with which my
+mind was filled. To possess a woman was for me to love her; for I thought
+of nothing but women and I did not believe in the possibility of true
+love.
+
+All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage, and at times I was
+tempted to imitate the monks and murder myself in order to conquer my
+senses; at times I felt like going out into the street and throwing
+myself at the feet of the first woman I met and vowing eternal love.
+
+God is my witness that I did all in my power to cure myself. Preoccupied
+from the first with the idea that the society of men was the haunt of
+vice and hypocrisy, where all were like my mistress, I resolved to
+separate myself from them and live in complete isolation. I resumed my
+neglected studies, I plunged into history, poetry, and anatomy. There
+happened to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old German who
+was well versed in lore. I determined to learn his tongue; the German was
+poor and friendless and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. My
+perpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times seated near
+him with a smoking lamp between us, he waited in patient astonishment
+while I sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in reverie, oblivious
+of his presence and of his pity.
+
+"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you are
+the best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me to my
+fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I."
+
+I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand and
+there was no more talk of German.
+
+I soon realized that solitude instead of curing me was doing me harm, and
+so completely changed my system. I went to the country and galloped
+through the woods with the huntsmen; I rode until I was out of breath, I
+tried to break myself with fatigue, and when after a day of sweat in the
+fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling of powder and the
+stable, I buried my head in the pillow, I rolled about under the covers
+and I cried: "Fantom, fantom! are you not tired? Will you leave me for
+one night?"
+
+But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature to
+love. When I stood in the street of Observation I saw myself surrounded
+by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloody apron, stifled by the odor
+of putrefaction, I turned my head in spite of myself, and I saw floating
+before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields and the pensive harmony of
+the evening. "No," I said, "science can not console me; I can not plunge
+into dead nature, I would die there myself and float about like a livid
+corpse amidst the debris of shattered hopes. I would not cure myself of
+my youth; I will live where there is life, or I will at least die in the
+sun." I began to mingle with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville; I lay
+down in the midst of a flowery dale, in a secluded part of Chaville.
+Alas! all these forests and prairies cried to me:
+
+"What do you seek here? We are green, poor child, we wear the colors of
+hope."
+
+Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; I
+looked up at the lights in all its windows, all those mysterious family
+nests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man.
+Oh! what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow in those
+tortuous streets where all are hurrying hither and thither, working and
+sweating, where thousands of strangers rub against your elbows; a cloaca
+where there is only society of bodies, while souls are solitary and
+alone, where all who hold out a hand to you are prostitutes! "Become
+corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!" This has been the cry of
+all cities to man; it is written with charcoal on city walls, on its
+streets with mud, on its faces with extravasated blood.
+
+And at times, when seated in the corner of some salon I watched the women
+as they danced, some rosy, some blue, and others white, their arms bare
+and hair clustered gracefully about their shapely heads, looking like
+cherubim drunk with light, floating in their spheres of harmony and
+beauty, I would think: "Ah, what a garden, what flowers to gather, to
+breathe! Ah! Marguerites, Marguerites! What will your last petal say to
+him who plucks it? A little, a little, but not all. That is the moral of
+the world, that is the end of your smiles. It is over this terrible abyss
+that you are walking in your flower-strewn gauze; it is on this hideous
+truth you run like gazelles on the tips of your little toes!"
+
+"But why take things so seriously?" said Desgenais. "That is something
+that is never seen. You complain because bottles become empty? There are
+many casks in the vaults, and many vaults in the hills. Make me a good
+fish-hook gilded with sweet words, with a drop of honey for bait, and
+quick! catch for me in the stream of oblivion a pretty consoler, as fresh
+and slippery as an eel; you will still have the hook when the fish shall
+have glided from your hands. Youth must pass away, and if I were you I
+would carry off the queen of Portugal rather than study anatomy."
+
+Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart,
+my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and my
+poor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struck
+the earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+SUDDENLY, in the midst of greatest despair youth and chance led me to
+commit an act that decided my fate.
+
+I had written my mistress saying that I never wished to see her again; I
+kept my word, but I passed the nights under her window, seated on a bench
+before her door. I could see the lights in her room, I could hear the
+sound of her piano, at times I saw something that looked like a shadow
+through the partially drawn curtains.
+
+One night, as I was seated on the bench, plunged in frightful melancholy,
+I saw a belated workman staggering along the street. He muttered a few
+words in a dazed manner and then began to sing. He was so much under the
+influence of liquor that he walked at times on one side of the gutter and
+then on the other. Finally he fell on a bench facing another house
+opposite me. There he lay still, supported on his elbows, and slept
+profoundly.
+
+The street was deserted, a dry wind swept the dust here and there; the
+moon shone through a rift in the clouds and lighted the spot where the
+man slept. So I found myself tete-a-tete with this man who, not
+suspecting my presence, was sleeping on that stone bench as peacefully as
+though in his own bed.
+
+He served to divert my grief; I arose to leave him in full possession,
+then returned and resumed my seat. I could not leave that door at which I
+would not have knocked for an empire. Finally, after walking up and down
+for a few times I stopped before the sleeper.
+
+"What sleep!" I said. "Surely this man does not dream. His clothes are in
+tatters, his cheeks are wrinkled, his hands hardened with toil; he is
+some unfortunate who does not have bread every day. A thousand gnawing
+cares, a thousand mortal sorrows await his return to consciousness;
+nevertheless, this evening he had a piece of money in his pocket, he
+entered a tavern where he purchased oblivion; he has earned enough in a
+week to enjoy a night of slumber and he has perhaps purchased it at the
+expense of his children's supper. Now his mistress can betray him, his
+friend can glide like a thief into his hut; I could shake him by the
+shoulder and tell him that he is being murdered, that his house is on
+fire; he would turn over and continue to sleep.
+
+"And I, I do not sleep," I continued pacing up and down the street, "I do
+not sleep, I who have enough in my pocket at this moment to purchase
+sleep for a year; I am so proud and so foolish that I dare not enter a
+tavern, and I do not understand that if all unfortunates enter there, it
+is in order that they may come out happy. Oh! God! the juice of a grape
+crushed under the foot suffices to dissipate the deepest sorrow and to
+break all the invisible threads that the fates weave about our pathway.
+We weep like women, we suffer like martyrs; in our despair it seems that
+the world is crumbling under our feet and we sit down in our tears as did
+Adam at Eden's gate. And in order to cure our wound we have but to make a
+movement of the hand and moisten our throats. How pitiable our grief
+since it can be thus assuaged. We are surprised that Providence does not
+send angels to grant our prayers; it need not take the trouble, for it
+has seen our woes, it knows our desires, our pride and bitterness, the
+ocean of evil that surrounds us, and is content to hang a small black
+fruit along our paths. Since that man sleeps so soundly on his bench why
+do not I sleep on mine? My rival is doubtless passing the night with my
+mistress; he will leave her at daybreak; she will accompany him to the
+door and they will see me asleep on my bench. Their kisses will not
+awaken me, and they will shake me by the shoulder; I will turn over on
+the other side and sleep on."
+
+Thus, inspired by a fierce joy, I set out in quest of a tavern. As it was
+past midnight some were closed; that put me in a fury. "What!" I cried,
+"even that consolation is refused me!" I ran hither and thither knocking
+at the doors of taverns crying: "Wine! Wine!"
+
+At last I found one open; I called for a bottle and without caring
+whether it was good or bad I gulped it down; a second followed and then a
+third. I dosed myself as with medicine, and I forced the wine down as
+though it had been prescribed by a physician to save my life.
+
+The heavy fumes of the liquor, which was doubtless adulterated, mounted
+to my head. As I had gulped it down at a breath, drunkenness seized me
+promptly; I felt that I was becoming muddled, then I experienced a lucid
+moment, then confusion followed. Then consciousness left me, I leaned my
+elbows on the table and said adieu to myself.
+
+But I had a confused idea that I was not alone in the tavern. At the
+other end of the room stood a hideous group with haggard faces and harsh
+voices. Their dress indicated that they belonged to the poorer class but
+were not bourgeois; in short they belonged to that ambiguous class, the
+vilest of all, which has neither fortune nor occupation, which never
+works except at some criminal plot, which is neither poor nor rich and
+combines the vices of one class with the misery of the other.
+
+They were disputing over a dirty pack of cards; among them I saw a girl
+who appeared to be very young and very pretty, decently clad, and
+resembling her companions in no way, except in the harshness of her
+voice, which was rough and broken as though it had performed the office
+of public crier. She looked at me closely as though astonished to see me
+in such a place, for I was elegantly attired. Little by little she
+approached my table, and seeing that all the bottles were empty, smiled.
+I saw that she had fine teeth of brilliant whiteness; I took her hand and
+begged her to be seated; she consented with good grace and asked what we
+should have for supper.
+
+I looked at her without saying a word, while my eyes began to fill with
+tears; she observed my emotion and inquired the cause. I could not reply.
+She understood that I had some secret sorrow and forebore any attempt to
+learn the cause; drawing her handkerchief she dried my tears from time to
+time as we dined.
+
+There was something about that girl that was at once repulsive and sweet,
+a singular impudence mingled with pity, that I could not understand. If
+she had taken my hand in the street she would have inspired a feeling of
+horror in me, but it seemed so strange that a creature I had never seen
+should come to me, and without a word, proceed to order supper and dry my
+tears with her handkerchief that I was rendered speechless, revolted and
+yet charmed. What I had done had been done so quickly that I seemed to
+have obeyed some impulse of despair. Perhaps I was a fool or the victim
+of some supernal caprice.
+
+"Who are you?" I suddenly cried out; "what do you want of me? How do you
+know who I am? Who told you to dry my tears? Is this your vocation and do
+you think I desire you? I would not touch you with the tip of my finger.
+What are you doing here? Reply at once. Is it money you want? What price
+do you put on your pity?"
+
+I arose and tried to go out, but my feet refused to support me. At the
+same time my eyes failed me, a mortal weakness took possession of me and
+I fell over a chair.
+
+"You are not well," she said, taking me by the arm, "you have drunk, like
+the child that you are, without knowing what you were doing. Sit down in
+this chair and wait until a cab passes. You will tell me where you live
+and I will order the driver to take you home to your mother, since," she
+added, "you really find me ugly."
+
+As she spoke I raised my eyes. Perhaps my drunkenness deceived me, or
+perhaps I had not seen her face clearly before, but suddenly I detected
+in that unfortunate a fatal resemblance to my mistress. I shuddered at
+the sight. There is a certain shudder that affects the hair; some say it
+is death passing over the head, but it was not death that passed over
+mine.
+
+It was the malady of the age, or rather that girl was it herself; and it
+was she who, with her pale, half-mocking features, came and seated
+herself before me near the door of the tavern.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE instant I noticed her resemblance to my mistress a frightful idea
+occurred to me; it took irresistible possession of my muddled mind and I
+put it into execution at once.
+
+I took that girl home with me, I arranged my room just as I was
+accustomed to do when my mistress was with me. I was dominated by a
+certain recollection of past joys.
+
+Having arranged my room to my satisfaction I gave myself up to the
+intoxication of despair. I probed my heart to the bottom in order to
+sound its depths. A Tyrolean song that my mistress used to sing began to
+run through my head:
+
+  Altra volta gieri biele,
+  Blanch 'e rossa com' un flore;
+  Ma ora no. Non son piu biele,
+  Consumatis dal' amore.*
+
+  * Once I was beautiful, white and rosy as a flower; but now I am
+    not. I am no longer beautiful, consumed by the fire of love.
+
+I listened to the echo of that song as it reverberated through my heart.
+I said: "Behold the happiness of man; behold my little Paradise; behold
+my queen Mab, a girl from the streets. My mistress is no better. Behold
+what is found at the bottom of the glass when the nectar of the gods has
+been drained; behold the corpse of love."
+
+The unfortunate creature heard me singing and began to sing herself. I
+turned pale; for that harsh and rasping voice, coming from the lips of
+one who resembled my mistress, seemed to be a symbol of my experience. It
+sounded like a gurgle in the throat of debauchery. It seemed to me that
+my mistress, having been unfaithful, must have such a voice. I was
+reminded of Faust who, dancing at Brocken with a young sorceress, saw a
+red mouse come from her throat.
+
+"Stop!" I cried. I arose and approached her.
+
+Let me ask you, O, you men of the time, who are bent upon pleasure, who
+attend the balls and the opera and who upon retiring this night will seek
+slumber with the aid of some threadbare blasphemy of old Voltaire, some
+sensible badinage of Paul Louis Courier, some essay on economics, you who
+dally with the cold substance of that monstrous water-lily that Reason
+has planted in the hearts of our cities; I beg of you, if by some chance
+this obscure book falls into your hands, do not smile with noble disdain,
+do not shrug your shoulders; do not be too sure that I complain of an
+imaginary evil; do not be too sure that human reason is the most
+beautiful of faculties, that there is nothing real here below but
+quotations on the Bourse, gambling in the salon, wine on the table, a
+healthy body, indifference toward others, and the orgies, which come with
+the night.
+
+For some day, across your stagnant life, a gust of wind will blow. Those
+beautiful trees that you water with the stream of oblivion, Providence
+will destroy; you will be reduced to despair, messieurs the impassive,
+there will be tears in your eyes. I will not say that your mistresses
+will deceive you; that would not grieve you so much as the loss of your
+horse; but I do tell you that you will lose on the Bourse; your moneyed
+tranquillity, your golden happiness are in the care of a banker who may
+fail; in short I tell you, all frozen as you are, you are capable of
+loving something; some fiber of your being will be torn and you will give
+vent to a cry that will resemble a moan of pain. Some day, wandering
+about the muddy streets, when daily material joys shall have failed, you
+will find yourself seated disconsolately on a deserted bench at midnight.
+
+O! men of marble, sublime egoists, inimitable reasoners who have never
+given way to despair or made a mistake in arithmetic, if this ever
+happens to you, at the hour of your ruin you will remember Abelard when
+he lost Heloise. For he loved her more than you love your horses, your
+money or your mistresses; for he lost in losing her more than your prince
+Satan would lose in falling again from the battlements of Heaven; for he
+loved her with a certain love of which the gazettes do not speak, the
+shadow of which your wives and your daughters do not perceive in our
+theaters and in our books; for he passed half of his life kissing her
+white forehead, teaching her to sing the psalms of David and the
+canticles of Saul; for he did not love her on earth alone; and God
+consoled him.
+
+Believe me, when in your distress you think of Abelard you will not look
+with the same eye upon the sweet blasphemy of Voltaire and the badinage
+of Courier; you will feel that the human reason can cure illusions but
+not sorrows; that God has use for Reason but He has not made her the
+sister of Charity. You will find that when the heart of man said: "I
+believe in nothing, for I see nothing," it did not speak the last word on
+the subject. You will look about you for something like hope, you will
+shake the doors of churches to see if they still swing, but you will find
+them walled up; you will think of becoming Trappists, and destiny will
+mock at you and for reply give you a bottle of wine and a courtesan.
+
+And if you drink the wine, if you take the courtesan, you will have
+learned how such things come about.
+
+
+
+                             PART II
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+AWAKENING the next morning I experienced a feeling of such deep disgust
+with myself, I felt so degraded in my own eyes that a horrible temptation
+assailed me. I leaped from bed and ordered the creature to leave my room
+as quickly as possible. Then I sat down and looked gloomily about the
+room, my eyes resting mechanically on a brace of pistols that decorated
+the walls.
+
+When the suffering mind advances its hands, so to speak, toward
+annihilation, when our soul forms a violent resolution, there seems to be
+an independent physical horror in the act of touching the cold steel of
+some deadly weapon; the fingers stiffen in anguish, the arm grows cold
+and hard. Nature recoils as the condemned walks to death. I can not
+express what I experienced while waiting for that girl to go, unless it
+was as though my pistol had said to me "Think what you are about to do."
+
+Since then I have often wondered what would have happened to me if the
+girl had departed immediately. Doubtless the first flush of shame would
+have subsided; sadness is not despair, and God has joined them in order
+that one should not leave us alone with the other. Once relieved of the
+presence of that woman, my heart would have become calm. There would
+remain only repentance, for the angel of pardon has forbidden man to
+kill. But I was doubtless cured for life; debauchery was once for all
+driven from my door and I would never again know the feeling of disgust
+with which its first visit had inspired me.
+
+But it happened otherwise. The struggle which was going on within, the
+poignant reflections which overwhelmed me, the disgust, the fear, the
+wrath, even (for I experienced all these emotions at the same time), all
+these fatal powers nailed me to my chair, and, while I was thus a prey to
+the most dangerous delirium, the creature, standing before my mirror,
+thought of nothing but how best to arrange her dress and fix her hair,
+smiling the while. This lasted more than a quarter of an hour, during
+which I had almost forgotten her. Finally, some slight noise attracted my
+attention to her, and turning about with impatience I ordered her to
+leave the room in such a tone that she at once opened the door and threw
+me a kiss before going out.
+
+At the same moment some one rang the bell of the outer door. I arose
+hastily and had only time to open the closet door and motion the creature
+into it when Desgenais entered the room with two friends.
+
+The great currents that are found in the middle of the ocean resemble
+certain events in life. Fatality, Chance, Providence, what matters the
+name? Those who quarrel over the word, admit the fact. Such are not those
+who, speaking of Napoleon or Caesar, say: "He was a man of Providence."
+They apparently believe that heroes merit the attention which Heaven
+shows them and that the color of purple attracts gods as well as bulls.
+
+What decides the course of these little events, what objects and
+circumstances, in appearance the least important, lead to changes in
+fortune, there is not, to my mind, a deeper abyss for the thought. There
+is something in our ordinary actions that resembles the little blunted
+arrows we shoot at targets; little by little we make of our successive
+results an abstract and regular entity that we call our prudence or our
+will. Then a gust of wind passes, and behold the smallest of these
+arrows, the very lightest and most futile, is carried beyond our vision,
+beyond the horizon, to the dwelling-place of God himself.
+
+What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then! What becomes of those
+fantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence? Force itself, that
+mistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vain
+do we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to ward off
+with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns aside the
+point, and all the impetus of our effort, deflected into space, serves
+only to precipitate our fall.
+
+Thus at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I had
+committed, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when a
+great horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustain
+a dangerous intervention.
+
+Desgenais was in good humor; stretching out on my sofa he began to chaff
+me about the appearance of my face which looked, he said, as though I had
+not slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry I
+begged him to spare me.
+
+He appeared to pay no attention to me, but warned by my tone he soon
+broached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that my
+mistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three, that is to say she
+had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy having
+discovered her inconstancy made a great ado and all Paris knew it. At
+first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais' words as I was not
+listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story three times in
+detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My first impulse was to
+laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy of women; but it was
+no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?" was all I could
+say.
+
+Desgenais' friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had been
+surprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene that all Paris
+knew by heart ensued. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris or remain
+exposed to the most bitter taunts.
+
+It was easy for me to see that in all, the ridicule expended on the
+subject of this woman, on my unreasonable passion for her, was
+premeditated. To say that she deserved severest censure, that she had
+perhaps committed worse sins than those with which she was charged, that
+was to make me feel that I had been merely one of her dupes.
+
+All that did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task of
+curing me of my love and was prepared to treat my disease heroically. A
+long friendship founded on mutual services gave him rights, and as his
+motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.
+
+Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shame
+increase, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious that he
+could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent, a course that
+irritated me still more.
+
+In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room.
+Although the recital of that story was insupportable, I wanted to hear it
+again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, but in vain.
+Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himself to be a most
+virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room he looked at me
+calmly as though I was a caged fox.
+
+I can not express my feeling. A woman who had so long been the idol of my
+heart and who, since I had lost her, had caused me such deep affliction,
+the only one I had ever loved, she for whom I would weep till death,
+become suddenly a shameless wretch, the subject of coarse jests, of
+universal censure and scandal! It seemed to me that I felt on my shoulder
+the impression of a heated iron and that I was marked with a burning
+stigma.
+
+The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. From time
+to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance.
+Desgenais did not leave me, he knew very well what he was doing, he knew
+that I might go to any length in my present desperate condition.
+
+When he found that he had brought me to the desired point he did not
+hesitate to deal the finishing stroke.
+
+"Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. My
+dear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certain night
+when the moon was shining brightly; while the two lovers were quarreling
+over their fair one and talking of cutting her throat as she sat before
+the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seen to pass up and
+down before the house, a shadow that resembled you so closely that it was
+decided that it must be you."
+
+"Who says that," I asked, "who has seen me in the street?"
+
+"Your mistress herself; she has told every one about it who cared to
+listen, just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you
+love her still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you
+can think of; but you should know that she talks about you publicly."
+
+I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise the
+truth my face betrayed me. Amour propre, the shame of confessing my
+weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort. "It is
+very true that I was in the street," I thought, "but if I had known that
+my mistress was as bad as she was, I would not have been there."
+
+Finally I persuaded myself that I had not been seen distinctly; I
+attempted to deny it. A deep blush suffused my face and I felt the
+futility of my feint. Desgenais smiled.
+
+"Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far."
+
+"But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know--"
+
+Desgenais compressed his lips as though to say:
+
+"You knew enough."
+
+I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became so
+hot that I could not continue.
+
+"I, in the street bathed in tears, in despair; and during that time that
+encounter within! What! that very night! Mocked by her! Surely Desgenais
+you are dreaming. Is it true? Can it be possible? What do you know about
+it?"
+
+Thus talking at random, I lost my head, and an irresistible feeling of
+wrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted.
+
+"My friend," said Desgenais, "do not take the thing so seriously. The
+solitary life you have been leading for the last two months has made you
+ill, I see you have need of distraction. Come to supper with me this
+evening, and to-morrow morning we will go to the country."
+
+The tone in which he said this hurt me more than anything else; in vain I
+tried to control myself. "Yes," I thought, "deceived by that woman,
+poisoned by horrible suggestions, having no refuge either in work or in
+fatigue, having for my only safeguard against despair and ruin, a sacred
+but frightful grief. O God! it is that grief, that sacred relic of my
+sorrow that has just crumbled in my hands! It is no longer my love, it is
+my despair that is insulted. Mockery! She mocks at me as I weep!" That
+appeared incredible to me. All the memories of the past clustered about
+my heart when I thought of it. I seemed to see, one after the other, the
+specters of our nights of love; they hung over a bottomless eternal
+abyss, black as chaos, and from the bottom of that abyss there burst
+forth a shriek of laughter, sweet but mocking, that said: "Behold your
+reward!"
+
+If I had been told that the world mocked at me I would have replied: "So
+much the worse for it," and I would not be angry; but at the same time I
+was told that my mistress was a shameless wretch. Thus, on one side, the
+ridicule was public, vouched for, stated by two witnesses who, before
+telling what they knew, must have felt that the world was against me;
+and, on the other hand, what reply could I make? How could I escape? What
+could I do when the center of my life, my heart itself, was ruined,
+killed, annihilated. What could I say when that woman for whom I had
+braved all, ridicule as well as blame, for whom I had borne a mountain of
+misery, when that woman whom I loved and who loved another, of whom I
+demanded no love, of whom I desired nothing but permission to weep at her
+door, no favor but that of vowing my youth to her memory and writing her
+name, her name alone, on the tomb of my hopes! Ah! when I thought of it,
+I felt the hand of death heavy upon me; that woman mocked me, it was she
+who first pointed her finger at me, singling me out to the idle crowd
+which surrounded her; it was she, it was those lips so many times pressed
+to mine, it was that body, that soul of my life, my flesh and my blood,
+it was from that source the injury came; yes, the last of all, the most
+cowardly and the most bitter, the pitiless laugh that spits in the face
+of grief.
+
+The more I thought of it the more enraged I became. Did I say enraged? I
+do not know what passion controlled me. What I do know is that an
+inordinate desire for vengeance took possession of me. How could I
+revenge myself on a woman? I would have paid any price for a weapon that
+could be used against her. But I had none, not even the one she had
+employed; I could not pay her in her own coin.
+
+Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet.
+I had forgotten her.
+
+"Listen to me!" I cried, rising. "I have loved, I have loved like a fool.
+I deserve all the ridicule you have subjected me to. But, by Heaven! I
+will show you something that will prove to you that I am not such a fool
+as you think."
+
+With these words I pulled aside the curtain and exposed the interior of
+the closet. The girl was trying to conceal herself in a corner.
+
+"Go in, if you choose," I said to Desgenais; "you who call me a fool for
+loving a woman, see how your teaching has affected me. Do you think I
+passed last night under the windows of -----? But that is not all," I
+added, "that is not all I have to say. You give a supper to-night, and
+to-morrow go to the country; I am with you, and shall not leave you from
+now on. We shall not separate, but pass the entire day together. Are you
+with me? Agreed! I have tried to make of my heart the mausoleum of my
+love, but I will bury my love in another tomb."
+
+With these words I sat down, marveling how indignation can solace grief
+and restore happiness. Whoever is astonished to learn that from that day
+I completely changed my course of life does not know the heart of man,
+and he does not understand that a young man of twenty may hesitate before
+taking a step, but does not retreat when he has once taken it.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE apprenticeship to debauchery resembles vertigo, for one feels at
+first a sort of terror mingled with sensuous delight as though peering
+down from some dizzy height. While shameful secret dissipation ruins the
+noblest of men, in frank and open irregularities there is some palliation
+even for the most depraved. He who goes at nightfall, muffled in his
+cloak, to sully his life incognito, and to clandestinely shake off the
+hypocrisy of the day, resembles an Italian who strikes his enemy from
+behind, not daring to provoke him to open quarrel. There are
+assassinations in the dark corners of the city under shelter of the
+night. He who goes his way without concealment says: "Every one does it
+and conceals it; I do it and do not conceal it." Thus speaks pride, and
+once that cuirass has been buckled on, it glitters with the refulgent
+light of day.
+
+It is said that Damocles saw a sword suspended over his head. Thus
+libertines seem to have something over their heads which says "Go on, but
+I hold the thread." Those masked carriages that are seen during carnival
+are the faithful images of their life. A dilapidated open wagon, flaming
+torches lighting up painted faces; such laugh and sing. Among them you
+see what appears to be women; they are in fact the remains of women, with
+human semblance. They are caressed and insulted; no one knows who they
+are or what their names. All that floats and staggers under the flaming
+torch in an intoxication that thinks of nothing, and over which, it is
+said, a god watches.
+
+But if the first impression is astonishment, the second is horror, and
+the third pity. There is displayed there so much force, or rather such an
+abuse of force, that it often happens that the noblest characters and the
+strongest constitutions are ruined. It appears hardy and dangerous to
+these; they would make prodigies of themselves; they bind themselves to
+debauchery as did Mazeppa to his horse; they gallop, they make Centaurs
+of themselves, and they see neither the bloody trail that the shreds of
+their flesh leave, nor the eyes of the wolves that gleam in hungry
+pursuit, nor the desert, nor the vultures.
+
+Launched into that life by the circumstances that I have recounted, I
+must now describe what I saw there.
+
+The first time I had a close view of one of those famous gatherings
+called theatrical masked balls I heard the debauchery of the Regency
+spoken of, and the time when a queen of France was disguised as a flower
+merchant. I found there flower merchants disguised as camp-followers. I
+expected to find libertinism there, but in fact I found none at all. It
+is only the scum of libertinism, some blows and drunken women lying in
+deathlike stupor on broken bottles.
+
+The first time I saw debauchery at table I heard of the suppers of
+Heliogabalus and of the philosophy of Greece which made the pleasure of
+the senses a kind of religion of nature. I expected to find oblivion or
+something like joy; I found there the worst thing in the world, ennui
+trying to live, and an Englishman who said: "I do this or that, therefore
+I amuse myself. I have spent so many pieces of gold, therefore I
+experience so much pleasure." And they wear out their life on that
+grindstone.
+
+The first time I saw courtesans I heard of Aspasia who sat on the knees
+of Alcibiades while discussing philosophy with Socrates. I expected to
+find something bold and insolent, but gay, free, and vivacious, something
+of the sparkle of champagne; I found a yawning mouth, a fixed eye and
+hooked hands.
+
+The first time I saw titled courtesans I read Boccaccio and Andallo;
+tasting of everything, I read Shakespeare. I had dreamed of those
+beautiful triflers; of those cherubim of hell. A thousand times I had
+drawn those heads so poetically foolish, so enterprising in audacity,
+heads of harebrained mistresses who spoil a romance with a glance and who
+walk through life by waves and by shocks like the undulating sirens; I
+thought of the fairies of the modern tales who are always drunk with love
+if not with wine. I found, instead, writers of letters, arrangers of
+precise hours who practise lying as an art and cloak their baseness under
+hypocrisy, whose only thought is to give themselves and forget.
+
+The first time I looked on the gaming table I heard of floods of gold, of
+fortunes made in the quarter of an hour, and of a lord of the court of
+Henry IV who won on one card a hundred thousand _louis_. I found a narrow
+room where workmen who had but one shirt, rented a suit for the evening
+for twenty _sous_, police stationed at the door and starving wretches
+staking a crust of bread against a pistol-shot.
+
+The first time I saw an assembly, public or other, open to one of those
+thirty thousand women who are permitted to sell themselves in Paris, I
+heard of the saturnalia of all times, of every imaginable orgy, from
+Babylon to Rome, from the temple of Priapus to the _Parc-aux-Cerfs_, and
+I have always seen written on the sill of that door the word, "Pleasure."
+I found nothing suggestive of pleasure but in its place the word,
+"Prostitution;" and it has always appeared ineffaceable, not graven in
+that metal that takes the sun's light, but in the palest of all, that of
+the cold light whose colors seem tinted by the somber hues of night,
+silver.
+
+The first time I saw the people--it was a frightful morning of Ash
+Wednesday, near Courtille. A cold fine rain had been falling since the
+evening before; the streets were covered with pools of water. Masked
+carriages filed hither and thither, crowding between hedges of hideous
+men and women standing on the sidewalks. That sinister wall of spectators
+had tiger eyes, red with wine, gleaming with hatred. The carriage wheels
+splashed mud over this wall, but it did not move. I was standing on the
+front seat of an open carriage; from time to time a man in rags would
+step out from the wall, hurl a torrent of abuse at us, then cover us with
+a cloud of flour. Mud would soon follow; yet we kept on our way toward
+the Isle of Love and the pretty wood of Romainville consecrated by so
+many sweet kisses. One of my friends fell from his seat into the mud,
+narrowly escaping death on the paving. The people threw themselves on him
+to overpower him and we were obliged to hasten to his assistance. One of
+the trumpeters who preceded us on horseback was struck on the shoulder by
+a paving stone; the flour had given out. I had never heard of anything
+like that.
+
+I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+DESGENAIS had planned a reunion of young people at his country house. The
+best wines, a splendid table, gaming, dancing, hunting, nothing was
+lacking. Desgenais was rich and generous. He combined antique hospitality
+with modern custom. Moreover one could always find in his house the best
+books; his conversation was that of a man of learning and culture. He was
+a problem.
+
+I took with me a taciturn humor that nothing could overcome; he respected
+it scrupulously. I did not reply to his questions and he dropped the
+subject; he was satisfied that I had forgotten my mistress. Nevertheless,
+I went to the chase and appeared at the table and was as convivial as the
+best; he asked no more.
+
+One of the most unfortunate proclivities of inexperienced youth is to
+judge of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that
+there is a race of men who are very unfortunate; it is that race which
+says to youth: "You are right in believing in evil, and we know what it
+is." I have heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium
+between good and evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and
+men worthy of them; they call love the passing sentiment. They speak of
+it as of an engine constructed by a wagon builder or a building
+contractor. They said to me: "This and that are agreed upon, such and
+such phrases are spoken and certain others are repeated in reply; letters
+are written in a prescribed manner, the knees adjusted in a certain
+attitude." All that was regulated as a parade; these fine fellows had
+gray hair.
+
+That made me laugh. Unfortunately for me I can not tell a woman whom I
+despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention
+and that she will not be deceived by it. I have never bent my knee to the
+ground when my heart did not go with it. So that class of women known as
+easy is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with them, it is
+without knowing it, and through simplicity.
+
+I can understand that one's soul can be put aside but not that it should
+be handled. That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I do not
+intend either to boast or to lower myself. Above all things I hate those
+women who laugh at love and I permit them to reciprocate the sentiment;
+there will never be any dispute between us.
+
+Such women are beneath the courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as
+they; but courtesans are capable of love and those women are not. I
+remember a woman who loved me and who said to a man many times richer
+than I with whom she was living: "I am weary of you, I am going to my
+lover." That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised by
+society.
+
+I passed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress
+had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I
+could not overcome.
+
+At the sight of that world which surrounded me, so new to me, I
+experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and
+profound, that caused me to look at things as does a restless horse. An
+incident occurred which made a deep impression on me.
+
+Desgenais had with him a very beautiful mistress who loved him much. One
+evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her such
+as she was, that is to say, admirable, as much on account of her
+attachment for him as because of her beauty. In short, I praised her
+highly and with warmth, giving him to understand that he ought to be
+happy.
+
+He made no reply. It was his manner, for he was the driest of men. That
+night when all had retired and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes I
+heard a knock at my door. I supposed it was some one of my friends who
+could not sleep and invited him to enter.
+
+There appeared before my astonished eyes a woman, very pale, carrying a
+bouquet in her hands to which was attached a piece of paper bearing these
+words: "To Octave, from his friend Desgenais."
+
+I had no sooner read these words when a flash of light came to me. I
+understood the meaning of this action of Desgenais in making me this
+Turk's gift. It was intended for a lesson in love. That woman loved him,
+I had praised her and he wished to tell me that I ought not to love her,
+whether I refused her or accepted her.
+
+That made me think. The poor woman was weeping and did not dare dry her
+tears for fear I would see them. What threat had he used to make her
+come? I did not know. I said to her:
+
+"You may return and fear nothing."
+
+She replied that if she should return Desgenais would send her back to
+Paris.
+
+"Yes," I replied, "you are beautiful and I am susceptible to temptation;
+but you weep, and your tears not being shed for me, I care nothing for
+the rest. Go, therefore, and I will see to it that you are not sent back
+to Paris."
+
+One of my peculiarities is that meditation, which with the great number
+is a firm and constant quality of the mind, is in my case an instinct
+independent of the will and it seizes me like an access of passion. It
+comes to me at intervals in its own good time, in spite of me and in
+almost any place. But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes
+me whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it.
+
+When the woman had left, I sat up.
+
+"My friend," I said to myself, "behold what has been sent you. If
+Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have
+been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with
+her.
+
+"Have you well considered it? A sublime and divine mystery is
+accomplished. Such a being costs nature the most vigilant maternal care;
+yet man who would cure you, can think of nothing better than to offer you
+lips which belong to him in order to teach you how to cease to love.
+
+"How was it accomplished? Others than you have doubtless admired her, but
+they ran no risk. She might employ all the seduction she pleased; you
+alone were in danger.
+
+"It must be that Desgenais has a heart, since he lives. In what respect
+does he differ from you? He is a man who believes in nothing, fears
+nothing, who knows no care or ennui, perhaps, and yet it is clear that a
+scratch on the finger would fill him with terror, for if his body
+abandons him, what becomes of him? He lives only in the body. What sort
+of creature is that who treats his soul as the flagellants treat their
+bodies? Can one live without a head?
+
+"Think of it. Here is a man who possesses the most beautiful woman in the
+world; he is young and ardent; he finds her beautiful and tells her so;
+she replies that she loves him. Some one touches him on the shoulder and
+says to him 'She is unfaithful.' Nothing more, he is sure of himself. If
+some one had said: 'She is a poisoner,' he would, perhaps, have continued
+to love her, he would not have given her a kiss less; but she is
+unfaithful and it is no more a question of love with him than of the star
+of Saturn.
+
+"What is there in that word? A word that is merited, positive, withering,
+it is agreed. But why? It is still but a word. Can you kill a body with a
+word?
+
+"And if you love that body? Some one pours a glass of wine and says to
+you: 'Do not love that, for you can get four for six francs.' And if you
+become intoxicated?
+
+"But that Desgenais loves his mistress, since he keeps her; he must,
+therefore, have a peculiar fashion of loving? No, he has not; his fashion
+of loving is not love, and he cares no more for the woman who merits
+affection than for her who is unworthy. He loves no one, simply and
+truly.
+
+"What has led him to that? Was he born thus? To love is as natural as to
+eat and to drink. He is not a man. Is he a dwarf or a giant? What! always
+that impassive body? Upon what does he feed, what brew does he drink?
+Behold him at thirty as old as the senile Mithridates; the poisons of
+vipers are his familiar friends.
+
+"There is the great secret, my child, the key to which you must seize. By
+whatever process of reasoning debauchery may be defended, it will be
+proven that it is natural at a given day, hour or evening, but not
+to-morrow nor every day. There is not a people on earth which has not
+considered woman either the companion and consolation of man or the
+sacred instrument of life, and has not under these two forms honored her.
+And yet here is an armed warrior who leaps into the abyss that God has
+dug with his own hands between man and brute; as well might he deny the
+fact. What mute Titian is this who dares repress under the kisses of the
+body the love of the thought, and place on human lips the stigma of the
+brute, the seal of eternal silence?
+
+"There is a word that should be studied. There breathes under the wind of
+those dismal forests that are called secrets of the body, one of those
+mysteries that the angels of destruction whisper in the ear of night as
+it descends upon the earth. That man is better or worse than God has made
+him. His bowels are like those of sterile women, where nature has not
+completed her work, or there is distilled in the shadow some venomous
+poison.
+
+"Ah! yes, neither occupation nor study have been able to cure you, my
+friend. To forget and to learn, that is your device. You finger the
+leaves of dead books; you are too young for ruins. Look about you, the
+pale herd of men surrounds you. The eyes of the sphinx glitter in the
+midst of divine hieroglyphics; decipher the book of life! Courage,
+scholar, launch out on the Styx, the invulnerable flood, and let the
+waves of sorrow waft you to death or to God."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+"ALL there was of good in that, supposing there was some good in it, was
+that false pleasures were the seeds of sorrow and of bitterness which
+fatigued me to the point of exhaustion." Such are the simple words spoken
+with reference to his youth by that man who was the most a man of any who
+have lived, Saint Augustine. Of those who have done as I, few would say
+those words, all have them in their hearts; I have found no others in
+mine.
+
+Returning to Paris in the month of December I passed the winter attending
+pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving Desgenais, who was
+delighted with me; I was not with him. The more I went about, the more
+unhappy I became. It seemed to me after a short enough time, that the
+world, which had at first appeared so strange, would tie me up, so to
+speak, at every step; where I had expected to see a specter, I
+discovered, upon closer inspection, a shadow.
+
+Desgenais asked what was the matter with me.
+
+"And you?" I asked. "What is the matter with you? You have lost some
+relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?"
+
+At times he seemed to understand me and did not question me. We sat down
+before a table and drank until we lost our heads; in the middle of the
+night we took horses and rode ten or twelve leagues into the country;
+returning we went to the bath, then to table, then to gambling, then to
+bed; and when I reached mine, I fell on my knees and wept. That was my
+evening prayer.
+
+Strange to say, I took pride in passing for what I was not, I boasted of
+being worse than I really was, and experienced a sort of melancholy
+pleasure in doing so. When I had actually done what I claimed, I felt
+nothing but ennui, but when I invented an account of some folly, some
+story of debauchery or recital of an orgy with which I had nothing to do,
+it seemed to me that my heart was better satisfied, although I know not
+why.
+
+Whenever I joined a party of pleasure-seekers and we visited some spot
+made sacred by tender associations I became stupid, went off by myself,
+looked gloomily at the trees and bushes as though I would like to crush
+them under my feet. Upon my return I would remain silent for hours.
+
+The baleful idea that truth is nudity beset me on every occasion.
+
+"The world," I said to myself, "is accustomed to call his disguise
+virtue, his chaplet religion, his flowing mantle convenience. Honor and
+Morality are his chamber-maids; he drinks in his wine the tears of the
+poor in spirit who believe in him; while the sun is high in the heavens
+he walks about with downcast eye; he goes to church, to the ball, to the
+assembly, and when evening has come he removes his mantle and there
+appears a naked bacchante with hoofs of a goat."
+
+But such thoughts aroused a feeling of horror, for I felt that if the
+body was under the clothing, the skeleton was under the body. "Is it
+possible that that is all?" I asked in spite of myself. Then I returned
+to the city, I saw a little girl take her mother's arm and I became like
+a child.
+
+Although I had followed my friends into all manner of dissipation, I had
+no desire to resume my place in the world of society. The sight of women
+caused me intolerable pain; I could not touch a woman's hand without
+trembling. I had decided never to love again.
+
+Nevertheless I returned from the ball one evening so sick at heart that I
+feared that it was love. I happened to have beside me at supper the most
+charming and the most distinguished woman whom it had ever been my good
+fortune to meet. When I closed my eyes to sleep I saw her image before
+me. I thought I was lost, and I at once resolved that I would avoid
+meeting her again. A sort of fever seized me and I lay on my bed for
+fifteen days, repeating over and over the lightest words I had exchanged
+with her.
+
+As there is no spot on earth where one is so well known by his neighbors
+as at Paris, it was not long before people of my acquaintance who had
+seen me with Desgenais began to accuse me of being a great libertine. In
+that I admired the discernment of the world: in proportion as I had
+passed for inexperienced and sensitive at the time of my rupture with my
+mistress, I was now considered insensible and hardened. Some one had just
+told me that it was clear I had never loved that woman, that I had
+doubtless merely played at love, thereby paying me a compliment which I
+really did not deserve; but the most of it was that I was so swollen with
+vanity that I was charmed with that view.
+
+My desire was to pass for blase, even while I was filled with desires and
+my exalted imagination was carrying me beyond all limits. I began to say
+that I could not make any headway with the women; my head was filled with
+chimeras which I preferred to realities. In short, my unique pleasure
+consisted in altering the nature of facts. If a thought were but
+extraordinary, if it shocked common sense, I became its ardent champion
+at the risk of advocating the most dangerous sentiments.
+
+My greatest fault was imitation of everything that struck me, not by its
+beauty but by its strangeness, and not wishing to confess myself an
+imitator I resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original.
+According to my idea nothing was good or even tolerable; nothing was
+worth the trouble of turning the head, and yet when I had become warmed
+up in a discussion it seemed as if there was no expression in the French
+language violent enough to sustain my cause; but my warmth would subside
+as soon as my opponents ranged themselves on my side.
+
+It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the
+life I was leading I was unwilling to change it:
+
+    Simigliante a quella 'nferma
+  Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume,
+  Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.--DANTE.
+
+Thus I tortured my mind to give it change and I fell into all these
+vagaries in order to get out of myself.
+
+But while my vanity was thus occupied, my heart was suffering, so that
+there was always within me a man who laughed and a man who wept. It was a
+perpetual counter-stroke between my head and my heart. My own mockeries
+frequently caused me great pain and my deepest sorrows aroused a desire
+to burst into laughter.
+
+One day a man boasted of being proof against superstitious fears, in
+fact, fear of every kind; his friends put a human skeleton in his bed and
+then concealed themselves in an adjoining room to wait for his return.
+They did not hear any noise, but in the morning they found him dressed
+and sitting on the bed playing with the bones; he had lost his reason.
+
+There would be in me something that resembled that man but for the fact
+that my favorite bones were those of a well-beloved skeleton; they were
+the debris of my love, all that remained of the past.
+
+But it must not be supposed that there were no good moments in all this
+disorder. Among Desgenais's companions were several young men of
+distinction, a number of artists. We sometimes passed together delightful
+evenings under pretext of being libertines. One of them was infatuated
+with a beautiful singer who charmed us with her fresh and melancholy
+voice. How many times we sat listening while supper was served and
+waiting! How many times, when the flagons had been emptied, one of us
+held a volume of Lamartine and read in a voice choked by emotion! Every
+other thought disappeared. The hours passed by unheeded. What strange
+libertines we were! We did not speak a word and there were tears in our
+eyes.
+
+Desgenais especially, habitually the coldest and driest of men, was
+inexplicable on such occasions; he delivered himself of such
+extraordinary sentiments that he might have been considered a poet in
+delirium. But after these effusions he would be seized with furious joy.
+He would break everything within reach when warmed by wine; the genius of
+destruction stalked forth armed to the teeth. I have seen him pick up a
+chair and hurl it through a closed window.
+
+I could not help making a study of that singular man. He appeared to me
+the marked type of a class which ought to exist somewhere but which was
+unknown to me. One could never tell whether his outbursts were the
+despair of a man sick of life, or the whim of a spoiled child.
+
+During the fete, in particular, he was in such a state of nervous
+excitation that he acted like a schoolboy. He persuaded me to go out on
+foot with him one day, muffled in grotesque costumes, with masks and
+instruments of music. We promenaded gravely all night, in the midst of a
+most frightful din of horrible sounds. We found a driver asleep on his
+box and unhitched his horses; then pretending we had just come from the
+ball, set up a great cry. The coachman started up, cracked his whip and
+his horses started off on a trot, leaving him seated on the box. The same
+evening we passed through the Champs Elysees; Desgenais, seeing another
+carriage passing, stopped it after the manner of a highwayman; he
+intimidated the coachman by threats and forced him to climb down and lie
+flat on his stomach. He then opened the carriage door and found within a
+young man and lady motionless with fright. Whispering to me to imitate
+him, we began to enter one door and go out the other, so that in the
+obscurity the poor young people thought they saw a procession of bandits
+going through their carriage.
+
+As I understand it, the men who say that the world gives experience ought
+to be astonished if they are believed. The world is merely a number of
+whirlpools, each one whirling independent of the others; they float about
+in groups like flocks of birds. There is no resemblance between the
+different quarters of the same city, and the denizen of the Chausee
+d'Antin has as much to learn at Marais as at Lisbon. It is true that
+these whirlpools are traversed, and have been since the beginning of the
+world, by seven personages who are always the same: the first is called
+hope; the second, conscience; the third, opinion; the fourth, desire; the
+fifth, sorrow; the sixth, pride; and the seventh, man.
+
+We were, therefore, my companions and I, a flock of birds, and we
+remained together until springtime, sometimes singing, sometimes flying.
+
+"But," the reader objects, "where are the women in all this? I see
+nothing of debauchery here."
+
+O! creatures who bear the name of women and who have passed like dreams
+through a life that was itself a dream, what shall I say of you? Where
+there is no shadow of hope can there be memory? Where shall I seek for
+memory's meed? What is there more dumb in human memory? What is there
+more completely forgotten than you?
+
+If I must speak of women I will mention two; here is one of them:
+
+I ask what would be expected of a poor sewing-girl, young and pretty,
+about eighteen, with a romantic affair on her hands that is purely a
+question of love; with little knowledge of life and no idea of morals;
+eternally sewing near a window before which processions were not allowed
+to pass, by order of the police, but near which a dozen women prowled who
+were licensed and recognized by these same police; what could you expect
+of her, when, after having tired her hands and eyes all day long on a
+dress or a hat, she leans out of that window as night falls? That dress
+she has sewed, that hat she has trimmed with her poor and honest hands in
+order to earn a supper for the household, she sees passing along the
+street on the head or on the body of a public woman. Thirty times a day a
+hired carriage stops before the door and there steps out a prostitute,
+numbered as is the hack in which she rides, who stands before a glass and
+primps, taking off and putting on the results of many days' work on the
+part of the poor girl who watches her. She sees that woman draw from her
+pocket six pieces of gold, she who has but one a week; she looks at her
+feet and her head, she examines her dress, and eyes her as she steps into
+her carriage; and then, what could you expect? When night has fallen,
+after a day when work has been scarce, when her mother is sick, she opens
+her door, stretches out her hand and stops a passer-by.
+
+Such was the story of a girl I have known. She could play the piano, knew
+something of accounts, a little designing, even a little history and
+grammar, and thus a little of everything. How many times have I regarded
+with poignant compassion that sad sketch made by nature and mutilated by
+society! How many times have I followed in the darkness the pale and
+vacillating gleam of a spark flickering in abortive life! How many times
+have I tried to revive the fire that smoldered under those ashes! Alas!
+her long hair was the color of ashes and we called her Cendrillon.
+
+I was not rich enough to help her; Desgenais, at my request, interested
+himself in the poor creature; he made her learn over again all of which
+she had a slight knowledge. But she could make no appreciable progress.
+When her teacher left her she would fold her arms and for hours look
+silently across the public square. What days! What misery! One day I
+threatened that if she did not work she should have no money; she
+silently resumed her task and I learned that she stole out of the house a
+few minutes later. Where did she go? God knows. Before she left I asked
+her to embroider a purse for me. I still have that sad relic, it hangs in
+my room a monument of the ruin that is wrought here below.
+
+But here is another case:
+
+It was about ten in the evening when, after a riotous day, we repaired to
+Desgenais, who had left us some hours before to make his preparations.
+The orchestra was ready and the room filled when we arrived.
+
+Most of the dancers were girls from the theaters. As soon as we entered I
+plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That delightful exercise has
+always been dear to me; I know of nothing more beautiful, more worthy of
+a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances compared with the waltz are
+but insipid conventions or pretexts for insignificant converse. It is
+truly to possess a woman, in a certain sense, to hold her for a half hour
+in your arms, and to draw her on in the dance, palpitating in spite of
+herself, in such a way that it can not be positively asserted whether she
+is being protected or seduced. Some deliver themselves up to the pleasure
+with such modest voluptuousness, with such sweet and pure abandon that
+one does not know whether he experiences desire or fear, and whether, if
+pressed to the heart they would faint or break in pieces like the rose.
+Germany, where that dance was invented, is surely the land of love.
+
+I held in my arms a superb danseuse from an Italian theater who had come
+to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a bacchante, with a
+dress of panther's skin. Never have I seen anything so languishing as
+that creature. She was tall and slender, and while dancing with extreme
+rapidity, had the appearance of allowing herself to be led; to see her
+one would think that she would tire her partner, but such was not the
+case, for she moved as though by enchantment.
+
+On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which intoxicated
+me. She yielded to my encircling arms as does the Indian liana, with a
+gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed surrounded with a
+perfumed veil of silk. At each turn there could be heard a light tinkling
+from her metal girdle; she moved so gracefully that I thought I beheld a
+beautiful star, and her smile was that of a fairy about to vanish from
+human sight. The tender and voluptuous music of the dance seemed to come
+from her lips, while her head, covered with a wilderness of black
+tresses, bent backward as though her neck was too slender to support its
+weight.
+
+When the waltz was over I threw myself on a chair; my heart beat wildly.
+"O, Heaven!" I murmured, "how can it be possible! O, superb monster! O,
+beautiful reptile! How you writhe, how you coil in and out, sweet adder,
+with supple and spotted skin! Thy cousin the serpent has taught thee to
+coil about the tree of life, holding between thy lips the apple of
+temptation. O, Melusina! Melusina! The hearts of men are thine. You know
+it well, enchantress, with your soft languor that seems to suspect
+nothing! You know very well that you ruin, that you destroy, you know
+that he who touches you will suffer; you know that he dies who basks in
+your smile, who breathes the perfume of your flowers and comes under the
+magic influence of your charms; that is why you abandon yourself so
+freely, that is why your smile is so sweet, your flowers so fresh; that
+is why you so gently place your arms on our shoulders. O, Heaven! what is
+your will with us?"
+
+Professor Halle has said a terrible thing: "Woman is the nervous part of
+humanity, man the muscular." Humboldt himself, that serious thinker, has
+said that an invisible atmosphere surrounds the human nerves. I do not
+quote the dreamers who watch the flight of Spallanzani's bat, and who
+think they have found a sixth sense in nature. Such as nature is, her
+mysteries are terrible enough, her powers mighty enough, that nature
+which creates us, mocks at us, and kills us, without deepening the
+shadows that surround us. But where is the man who has lived who will
+deny woman's power over us, if he has ever taken leave of a beautiful
+dancer with trembling hands. If he has ever felt that indefinable
+enervating magnetism which, in the midst of the dance, under the
+influence of the sound of music, and the warmth that makes all else seem
+cold, that comes from a young woman, that electrifies her and leaps from
+her to him as the perfume of aloes from the swinging censer? I was struck
+with stupor. I was familiar with a certain sensation similar to
+drunkenness, which characterizes love; I knew that it was the aureole
+which crowned the well-beloved. But that she should excite such
+heart-throbs, that she should evoke such fantoms with nothing but her
+beauty, her flowers, her motley costume, and a certain trick of turning
+she had learned from some merry-andrew; and that without a word, without
+a thought, without even appearing to know it! What was chaos if it
+required seven days to transform it?
+
+It was not love, however, that I felt, and I do not know how to describe
+it unless I call it thirst. For the first time I felt vibrating in my
+body a cord that was not attuned to my heart. The sight of that beautiful
+animal had aroused a responsive roar from another animal in my bowels. I
+felt sure I would never tell that woman that I loved her or that she
+pleased me or even that she was beautiful; there was nothing on my lips
+but a desire to kiss her, and say to her: "Make a girdle of those
+listless arms and lean that head on my breast; place that sweet smile on
+my lips." My body loved hers, I was under the influence of beauty as of
+wine.
+
+Desgenais passed and asked what I was doing there.
+
+"Who is that woman?" I asked.
+
+"What woman? Of whom do you speak?" I took his arm and led him into the
+hall. The Italian saw us coming and smiled. I stopped and stepped back.
+
+"Ah!" said Desgenais, "you have danced with Marco?"
+
+"Who is Marco?" I asked.
+
+"Why, that idle creature who is laughing over there. Does she please
+you?"
+
+"No," I replied, "I have waltzed with her and wanted to know her name; I
+have no further interest in her."
+
+Shame led me to speak thus, but when Desgenais turned away I followed
+him.
+
+"You are very prompt," he said, "Marco is no ordinary woman. She was
+almost the wife of M. de -----, ambassador to Milan. One of his friends
+brought her here. Yet," he added, "you may rest assured I shall speak to
+her. We shall not allow you to die so long as there is any hope for you
+or any resource left untried. It is possible that she will remain to
+supper."
+
+He left me, and I was alarmed to see him approach her. But they were soon
+lost in the crowd.
+
+"Is it possible," I murmured, "have I come to this? O, heavens! is this
+what I am going to love? But after all," I thought, "my senses have
+spoken, but not my heart."
+
+Thus I tried to calm myself. A few minutes later Desgenais tapped me on
+the shoulder.
+
+"We shall go to supper at once," said he. "You will give your arm to
+Marco; she knows that she has pleased you and it is all arranged."
+
+"Listen," I said; "I hardly know what I experienced. It seems to me I see
+limping Vulcan covering Venus with kisses while his beard smokes with the
+fumes of the forge. He fixes his affrighted eyes on the dazzling skin of
+his prey. His happiness in the possession of his prize causes him to
+laugh for joy, and at the same time shudder with happiness, and then he
+remembers his father, Jupiter, who is seated up on high among the gods."
+
+Desgenais looked at me but made no reply; taking me by the arm he led me
+away.
+
+"I am tired," he said, "and I am sad; this noise wearies me. Let us go to
+supper, that will refresh us."
+
+The supper was splendid, but I could not touch it.
+
+"What is the matter with you?" asked Marco.
+
+But I sat like a statue, making no reply and looking at her from head to
+foot with amazement.
+
+She began to laugh, and Desgenais, who could see us from his table,
+joined her. Before her was a large crystal glass, cut in the shape of a
+chalice, which reflected the glittering lights on its thousand sparkling
+facets, shining like the prism and revealing the seven colors of the
+rainbow. She listlessly extended her arm and filled it to the brim with
+Cyprian and a sweetened Oriental wine which I afterward found so bitter
+on the deserted Lido.
+
+"Here," she said, presenting it to me, "_per voi, bambino mio_."
+
+"For you and for me," I said, presenting her my glass in turn.
+
+She moistened her lips while I emptied my glass, unable to conceal the
+sadness she seemed to read in my eyes.
+
+"Is it not good?" she asked.
+
+"No," I replied.
+
+"Perhaps your head aches?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Or you are tired?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah! then it is the ennui of love?"
+
+With these words she became serious, for in spite of herself, in speaking
+of love, her Italian heart beat the faster.
+
+A scene of folly ensued. Heads were becoming heated, cheeks were assuming
+that purple hue with which wine colors the face as though to prevent
+shame from appearing there; a confused murmur like to that of a rising
+sea could be heard all over the room, here and there eyes would become
+inflamed, then fixed and empty; I know not what wind stirred above this
+drunkenness. A woman rose, as in a tranquil sea the first wave that feels
+the tempest's breath, and rises to announce it; she makes a sign with her
+hand to command silence, empties her glass at a gulp, and with the same
+movement undoes her hair, which falls in shining tresses over her
+shoulders; she opens her mouth as though to start a drinking song; her
+eyes were half closed. She breathed with an effort; twice a harsh sound
+came from her throat; a mortal pallor overspread her features and she
+dropped into her chair.
+
+Then came an uproar which lasted an hour. It was impossible to
+distinguish anything, either laughter, songs or cries.
+
+"What do you think of it?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"Nothing," I replied. "I have stopped my ears and am looking at it."
+
+In the midst of that bacchanal the beautiful Marco remained mute,
+drinking nothing and leaning quietly on her bare arm. She seemed neither
+astonished nor affected by it.
+
+"Do you not wish to do as they?" I asked. "You have just offered me
+Cyprian wine; why do you not drink some yourself?"
+
+With these words I poured out a large glass full to the brim. She raised
+it to her lips, and then placed it on the table and resumed her listless
+attitude.
+
+The more I studied that Marco, the more singular she appeared; she took
+pleasure in nothing and did not seem to be annoyed by anything. It
+appeared as difficult to anger her as to please her; she did what was
+asked of her, but no more. I thought of the genius of eternal repose, and
+I imagined that if that pale statue should become somnambulant it would
+resemble Marco.
+
+"Are you good or bad?" I asked. "Are you sad or gay? Are you loved? Do
+you wish to be loved? Are you fond of money, of pleasure, of what?
+Horses, the country, balls? What pleases you? Of what are you dreaming?"
+
+To all these questions the same smile on her part, a smile that expressed
+neither joy nor sorrow, but which seemed to say, "What does it matter?"
+and nothing more.
+
+I held my lips to hers; she gave me a listless kiss and then passed her
+handkerchief over her mouth.
+
+"Marco," I said, "woe to him who loves you."
+
+She turned her dark eyes on me, then turned them upward, and raising her
+finger with that Italian gesture which can not be imitated, she
+pronounced that characteristic feminine word of her country:
+
+"_Forse_!"
+
+And then dessert was served. Some of the party had departed, some were
+smoking, others gambling, and a few still at table; some of the women
+danced, others slept. The orchestra returned; the candles paled and
+others were lighted. I recalled a supper of Petronius where the lights
+went out around the drunken masters, and the slaves entered and stole the
+silver. All the while songs were being sung in various parts of the room,
+and three Englishmen, three of those gloomy figures for whom the
+continent is a hospital, kept up a most sinister ballad that must have
+been born of the fogs of their marshes.
+
+"Come," said I to Marco, "let us go."
+
+She arose and took my arm.
+
+"To-morrow!" cried Desgenais to me, as we left the hall.
+
+When approaching Marco's house, my heart beat violently and I could not
+speak. I could not understand such a woman; she seemed to experience
+neither desire nor disgust, and could think of nothing but the fact that
+my hand was trembling and hers motionless.
+
+Her room was, like her, somber and voluptuous; it was dimly lighted by an
+alabaster lamp.
+
+The chairs and sofa were as soft as beds, and there was everywhere
+suggestion of down and silk. Upon entering I was struck with the strong
+odor of Turkish pastilles, not such as are sold here on the streets, but
+those of Constantinople, which are more nervous and more dangerous. She
+rang and a maid appeared. She entered an alcove without a word, and a few
+minutes later I saw her leaning on her elbow in her habitual attitude of
+nonchalance.
+
+I stood looking at her. Strange to say, the more I admired her, the more
+beautiful I found her, the more rapidly I felt my desires subside. I do
+not know whether it was some magnetic influence or her silence and
+listlessness. I lay down on a sofa opposite the alcove and the coldness
+of death settled on my soul.
+
+The pulsation of the blood in the arteries is a sort of clock, the
+ticking of which can be heard only at night. Man, abandoned by exterior
+objects, falls back upon himself; he hears himself live. In spite of my
+fatigue I could not close my eyes; those of Marco were fixed on me; we
+looked at each other in silence, gently, so to speak.
+
+"What are you doing there?" she asked.
+
+She heaved a gentle sigh that was almost a plaint. I turned my head and
+saw that first gleams of morning light were shining through the window.
+
+I arose and opened the window; a bright light penetrated every corner of
+the room. The sky was clear.
+
+I motioned to her to wait. Considerations of prudence had led her to
+choose an apartment some distance from the center of the city; perhaps
+she had other quarters, for she sometimes received a number of visitors.
+Her lover's friends sometimes visited her, and this room was doubtless
+only a _petite maison_; it overlooked the Luxembourg, the garden of which
+extended as far as my eye could reach.
+
+As a cork held under water seems restless under the hand which holds it,
+and slips through the fingers to rise to the surface, thus there stirred
+in me a sentiment that I could neither overcome nor escape. The garden of
+the Luxembourg made my heart leap and banished every other thought. How
+many times had I stretched out on one of those little mounds, a sort
+sylvan school, while I read in the cool shade some book filled with
+foolish poetry! For such, alas! were the debauches of my childhood. I saw
+many souvenirs of the past among those leafless trees and faded lawns.
+There, when ten years of age, I had walked with my brother and my tutor,
+throwing bits of bread to some of the poor benumbed birds; there, seated
+under a tree, I had watched a group of little girls as they danced; I
+felt my heart beat in unison with the refrain of their childish song;
+there, returning from school, I had followed a thousand times the same
+path, lost in contemplation of some verse of Virgil and kicking the
+pebbles at my feet. "Oh! my childhood! You are there!" I cried. "O,
+Heaven! now I am here."
+
+I turned around. Marco was asleep, the lamp had gone out, the light of
+day had changed the aspect of the room; the hangings, which had at first
+appeared blue, were now a faded yellow, and Marco, the beautiful statue,
+was livid as death.
+
+I shuddered in spite of myself; I looked at the alcove, then at the
+garden; my head became drowsy and fell on my breast. I sat down before an
+open secretary near one of the windows. A piece of paper caught my eye;
+it was an open letter, and I looked at it mechanically. I read it several
+times before I thought what I was doing. Suddenly a gleam of intelligence
+came to me, although I could not understand everything. I picked up the
+paper and read what follows, written in an unskilled hand and filled with
+errors in spelling:
+
+
+"She died yesterday. She began to fail at twelve, the night before. She
+called me and said: 'Louison, I am going to join my companion; go to the
+closet and take down the cloth that hangs on a nail; it is the mate of
+the other.' I fell on my knees and wept, but she took my hand and said:
+'Do not weep, do not weep!' And she heaved such a sigh--"
+
+
+The rest was torn. I can not describe the impression, that sad letter
+made on me; I turned it over and saw on the other side Marco's address
+and the date, that of the evening previous.
+
+"Is she dead? Who is dead?" I cried, going to the alcove. "Dead! Who?"
+
+Marco opened her eyes. She saw me with the letter in my hand.
+
+"It is my mother," she said, "who is dead. You are not coming?"
+
+As she spoke she extended her hand.
+
+"Silence!" I said; "sleep and leave me to myself."
+
+She turned over and went to sleep. I looked at her for some time to
+assure myself that she would not hear me, and then quietly left the
+house.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ONE evening I was seated by the fire with Desgenais. The window was open;
+it was one of the early days in March, a harbinger of spring. It had been
+raining and a sweet odor came from the garden.
+
+"What shall we do this spring?" I asked. "I do not care to travel."
+
+"I shall do what I did last year," replied Desgenais. "I shall go to the
+country when the time comes."
+
+"What!" I replied. "Do you do the same thing every year? Are you going to
+begin life over again this year?"
+
+"What would you expect me to do?"
+
+"What would I expect you to do?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "That is
+just like you. Ah! Desgenais, how all this wearies me! Do you never tire
+of this sort of life?"
+
+"No," he replied.
+
+I was standing before an engraving of the Madeleine. Involuntarily I
+joined my hands.
+
+"What are you doing?" asked Desgenais.
+
+"If I were an artist," I replied, "and wished to represent Melancholy, I
+would not paint a dreamy girl with a book in her hands."
+
+"What is the matter with you this evening?" he asked, smiling.
+
+"No, in truth," I continued, "that Madeleine, in tears, has the spark of
+hope in her bosom; that pale and sickly hand on which she supports her
+head, is still sweet with the perfume with which she anointed the feet of
+her Lord. You do not understand that in that desert there are thinking
+people who pray. This is not Melancholy."
+
+"It is a woman who reads," he replied dryly.
+
+"And a happy woman," I continued, "and a happy book."
+
+Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had taken
+possession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. I
+hesitated, but did not reply.
+
+"My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate to
+confide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!"
+
+"I know it," I replied, "I know I have a friend; that is not my trouble."
+
+He urged me to explain.
+
+"But what will it avail," I asked, "since neither of us can help matters?
+Do you want the bottom of my heart or merely a word and an excuse?"
+
+"Be frank!" he said.
+
+"Very well," I replied, "you have seen fit to give me advice in the past
+and now I ask you to listen to me as I have listened to you. You ask what
+is in my heart and I am about to tell you.
+
+"Take the first comer and say to him: 'Here are people who pass their
+lives drinking, riding, laughing, gambling, enjoying all kinds of
+pleasures; no barrier restrains them, their law is their pleasure, women
+are their playthings; they are rich. They have no cares, not one. All
+their days are days of feasting.' What do you think of it? Unless that
+man happened to be a severe bigot he would probably reply that that was
+the greatest happiness that could be imagined.
+
+"Then take that man into the thick of the action, place him at a table
+with a woman on either side, a glass in his hand, a handful of gold every
+morning and say to him: 'This is your life. While you sleep near your
+mistress, your horses neigh in the stables; while you drive your horses
+along the boulevards, your wines are ripening in your vaults; while you
+pass away the night drinking, the bankers are increasing your wealth. You
+have but to express a wish and your desires are gratified. You are the
+happiest of men. But take care lest some night of carousal you drink too
+much and destroy the capacity of your body for enjoyment. That would be a
+serious misfortune, for all the ills that afflict human flesh can be
+cured, except that. You ride some night through the woods with joyous
+companions; your horse falls and you are thrown into a ditch filled with
+mud, and it may be that your companions, in the midst of their happy
+fanfares, will not hear your cry of anguish; it may be that the sound of
+their trumpets will die away in the distance while you drag your broken
+limbs through the deserted forest. Some night you will lose at the gaming
+table; Fortune has its bad days. When you return to your home and are
+seated before the fire, do not strike your forehead with your hands, and
+do not allow sorrow to moisten your cheeks with tears, do not bitterly
+cast your eyes about here and there as though seeking for a friend; do
+not, under any circumstances, think of those who, under some thatched
+roof, enjoy a tranquil life and who sleep holding each other by the hand;
+for before you, on your luxurious bed, will sit a pale creature who
+loves--your money. You will seek from her consolation for your grief, and
+she will remark that you are very sad and ask if your loss was
+considerable; the tears from your eyes will concern her deeply, for they
+may be the cause of allowing her dress to grow old or the rings to drop
+from her fingers. Do not name him who won your money that night for she
+may meet him on the morrow, and she may make sweet eyes at him that would
+destroy your remaining happiness. That is what is to be expected of human
+frailty; have you the strength to endure it? Are you a man? Beware of
+disgust, it is an incurable evil; death is more to be desired than a
+living distaste for life. Have you a heart? Beware of love, for it is
+worse than disease for a debauchee and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay
+their mistresses, and the woman who sells herself has no right but that
+of contempt for the purchaser. Are you passionate? Take care of your
+face. It is shameful for a soldier to throw down his arms and for a
+debauchee to appear to hold to anything; his glory consists in touching
+nothing except with hands of marble that have been bathed in oil in order
+that nothing may stick to them. Are you hot-headed? If you desire to
+live, learn how to kill, for wine is a wrangler. Have you a conscience?
+Take care of your slumber, for a debauchee who repents too late is like a
+ship that leaks: it can neither return to land nor continue on its
+course; the winds can with difficulty move it, the ocean yawns for it, it
+careens and disappears. If you have a body, look out for suffering; if
+you have a soul, despair awaits you. O, unhappy one! beware of men; while
+they walk along the same path with you, you will seem to see a vast plain
+strewn with garlands where a happy throng of dancers trip the gladsome
+_furandole_ standing in a circle, each a link in an endless chain; it is
+but a mirage; those who look down know that they are dancing on a silken
+thread stretched over an abyss that swallows up all who fall and shows
+not even a ripple on its surface. What foot is sure? Nature herself seems
+to deny you her divine consolation; trees and flowers are yours no more;
+you have broken your mother's laws, you are no longer one of her
+foster-children, the birds of the field become silent when you appear.
+You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing
+like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no
+longer refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind no
+longer gives you the kiss of life, the benediction on all that lives and
+breathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger. Every woman who kisses
+you, takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; you
+exhaust yourself on fantoms; wherever falls a drop of our sweat, there
+springs up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! You
+are the enemy of all, who love; blot yourself from the face of the earth,
+do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do not
+fecundate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, do
+not deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight!'"
+
+When I had spoken these words, I fell back in my chair and a flood of
+tears streamed from my eyes.
+
+"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Did you
+not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?"
+
+But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud and
+a long tear trickled down his cheek.
+
+A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered that
+it was this hour and this day, one year ago, that my mistress deceived
+me.
+
+"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know what it
+means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour and one that will count
+in my life."
+
+I was beside myself and scarcely knew what I was saying. But that instant
+a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led me aside,
+whispering in my ear:
+
+"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has just
+been seized with an attack of apoplexy and the physicians despair of his
+life."
+
+
+
+                             PART III
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+MY father lived in the country, some miles from Paris. When I arrived, I
+found a physician at the door 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 every one 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 already covered the face. But when my eyes
+fell on that face, 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 open 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
+
+A SMALL wooden railing was placed around 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 I 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 of
+either the past or 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 grief I had experienced in the past; there was a sort of languor
+in every action, a sense of fatigue with all of 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 effect, 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 have ever known. He was
+the same height and wore the clothes my father had left him, having no
+livery.
+
+He was 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 sat, stood near the
+fire; his table and his books, 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 the 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 the 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 that 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 my father. 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 having read 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 life 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
+
+ONE evening, as I was walking under a row of linden-trees on the
+outskirts of 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, running at liberty through the grass, ran to her side; she
+caressed it softly, and looked about as though searching for some
+favorite herb to feed 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 a sign as though 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 house 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 mark of death on her
+face.
+
+Madame Pierson, who had followed me, sat down before the old man who was
+bowed down 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 came 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 very inferior.
+
+"That is Brigitte la Rose," said the child; "do you not 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 when, in the
+midst of all that, I saw 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, and that there was
+something superhuman about this woman who, surrounded by such horrors,
+did not for an instant, lose her faith in God.
+
+What 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: "Do you not 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 would
+have been guilty of sacrilege, I would 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 well," 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 naive contentment of a happy and benevolent heart painted
+in such beauty on so sweet a face. Fatigue and pallor seemed to be gone,
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+WE walked along without a word; the wind was lowering; 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 freakishness 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 distracted 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 left, 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
+gaily. 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 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, which, 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 will enjoy supper the more on that account."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+I WENT to call upon her the next 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 somewhat religious, 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 produced 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 looked as
+though 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 gaiety, 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 gaiety.
+
+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.
+
+When 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 meantime, 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 displeased
+me and which is, in fact, unpleasant; it impresses one 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 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 Vergniand," said he, "was afflicted with that mania of
+sitting on the ground and playing with animals."
+
+"It is a mania," I replied, very innocently. "If there were none others,
+the world would get along 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 drown out the
+memory of the priest's voice with her gentle tones. She merely bowed, and
+he retired.
+
+When he had gone our gaiety 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 she 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, it is
+all the same."
+
+I loved. During the three months we had taken many long walks; I was
+initiated into the mysteries of her modest charity; we passed through
+dark streets, she on her little horse, I on foot, a small stick in my
+hand; thus, half conversing, half dreaming, we knocked at the doors of
+cottages. 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
+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, or 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 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 blade of
+grass which feels the motion of life, and which is on its way to the
+harvest.
+
+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 responding. 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. Of what avail
+are words spoken with the lips when hearts listen and respond? 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, and echo answers the
+voice of love; the thrill of a dual life is felt. What a touch! What a
+strange attraction! And when love is sure of itself and recognizes
+fraternity 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 excess, 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 would 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 her
+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 always 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 gaiety. 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 gaiety. I conceived the idea of writing
+to her, but burned the letters before 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
+reverie; 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 and then jumped up 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 bore 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
+center 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."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+WHEN Madame Pierson had spoken these words, she waited some time as
+though expecting a reply. As I remained overwhelmed with grief, she
+gently withdrew her hand, stepped back, waited a moment longer and then
+reentered the house.
+
+I remained kneeling on the grass. I had been expecting what she said; my
+resolution was soon taken, and I decided to go away. I arose, my heart
+bleeding but firm. I looked at the house, at her window; I opened the
+garden gate and placed my lips on the lock as I passed out.
+
+When I reached home, I told Larive to make what preparations were
+necessary as I would set out in the morning. The poor fellow was
+astonished, but I made him a sign to obey and ask no questions. He
+brought a large trunk and busied himself with preparations for departure.
+
+It was five o'clock in the morning and day was beginning to break, when I
+asked myself where I was going. At that thought, which had not occurred
+to me before, I experienced a profound feeling of discouragement. I cast
+my eyes over the country, scanning the horizon. A sense of weakness took
+possession of me; I was exhausted with fatigue. I sat down in a chair and
+my ideas became confused; I bore my hand to my forehead and found it
+bathed in sweat. A violent fever made my limbs tremble; I could hardly
+reach my bed with Larive's assistance. My thoughts were so confused that
+I had no recollection of what had happened. The day passed; toward
+evening I heard the sound of instruments. It was the Sunday dance and I
+asked Larive to go and see if Madame Pierson was there. He did not find
+her; I sent him to her house. The blinds were closed, and a servant
+informed him that Madame Pierson and her aunt had gone to spend some days
+with a relative who lived at N-----, a small town some distance north. He
+handed me a letter that had been given him. It was conceived 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; but that vanity is a
+dangerous thing since 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; but
+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 will
+appreciate your action as the final evidence of your friendship and
+esteem.
+
+     "BRIGITTE PIERSON."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE fever confined me to my bed a week. When I was able to write I
+assured Madame Pierson that she would 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 I 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 somber
+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 approached.
+
+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 between 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 pity, 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 losing 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 will
+ever know?"
+
+I waited her reply. She suddenly rose from her seat, 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 that I was going away, that
+my blood froze in my veins. She saw me standing before her, my eyes fixed
+on her, awaiting her reply; all of 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 VIII
+
+THAT evening I received a letter from Madame Pierson, addressed to M. R.
+D., at Strasburg. Three weeks later my mission had been accomplished and
+I returned.
+
+While absent, 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 for 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 though we had said: "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 mind;
+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 somber 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, 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 go to see 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 another with an air of constraint,
+searching for phrases and fingering everything on the table before him as
+though 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 party?
+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 school children, 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 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, sir? You intend to resort to violence?" he cried.
+
+"No, but I intend to make you tell me what you know."
+
+"Sir, 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 party. I let go of 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 was each time 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 strongly 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 confession of 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 St. 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
+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
+on 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 color, brilliant
+with purple and with pearls.
+
+"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 IX
+
+IF I were a jeweler, and had in my stock a pearl necklace that I wished
+to give a friend, it seems to me I would take great pleasure in placing
+it about her neck with my own hands; but if I were 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
+blossomed flower. At times, she would abandon herself to an impulse of
+sudden gaiety and then suddenly check herself, treating me like a child,
+and then looking at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a
+thousand pleasantries, as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress,
+then quitting me to go aside and abandon herself to reverie. Is there a
+more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for her
+in some spot where I had remained watching her.
+
+"Oh! my friend!" I said. "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are
+loved."
+
+Yet I could neither conceal 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
+betting 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 laden 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 rising up in my heart. I surrounded the form
+of my dear beloved with 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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+ETERNAL angel of happy nights, who will utter thy silence? A kiss!
+mysterious vintage that flows from the lips as from a stainless chalice!
+Intoxication of the senses! O voluptuous pleasure! 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! Center
+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 your first delights, languishing smiles, first 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, thou,
+serenity of happiness! First glance bent on life, first return of
+happiness to 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 his youth, has taken leave of an adored
+woman; 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; he will die without complaint: he has known
+the joy of love.
+
+
+
+                              PART IV
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+I MUST now recite 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 was,
+at fifteen. She went here and there, silly with love, crimson 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. I love more than all else, sacred music, and that morceau
+which she sang 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 though a 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 though 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 though 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 center 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 though 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 specter? 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
+that 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, all
+those that I had unconsciously surmised during my sad experience,
+finally, 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
+growing numb with time, seized me by the throat and cried out that they
+were there.
+
+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 there was
+neither wounded pride nor anger; there was 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 that 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 a 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 piquet 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 M. de Dalens, during vacation."
+
+"Who is this M. 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 M. 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 M. 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 visits, 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 dared not 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 know 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 that Dalens has been
+her lover, he probably is still; there are certain liaisons that have
+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 that 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 enables
+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 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 habitually bent over, 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 though the stench of her dishes 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 it 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 though 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 leave 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; she
+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 M. 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 though to say: "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 arose 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 for 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, if base suggestion, to-day planted in a heart whose fibers were
+still trembling with pain and prompt to assimilate all that resembles
+sorrow, has 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 child who stands before you has seen! If you knew how he had 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
+
+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 sangfroid; all that the debauchee
+loves, he takes violent possession of; 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 that between an ardent thirst and a profound satiety a feeling of
+tranquil vanity leads him to his death.
+
+Although I was no longer a debauchee 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, that demi-metal, drawn from the blue vein where it lies
+sleeping, attracts to itself a ray of light when placed near a piece of
+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 though incapable of motion, I
+dismissed all 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, do you not, when the bad rouses himself, forget to humor the
+good?"
+
+The patience with which Brigitte opposed those vagaries only served to
+excite my sinister gaiety. Strange that man who suffers wishes to make
+her, whom he loves, suffer! To lose control of oneself, is that not the
+worst of evils? Is there anything more cruel for a woman than to hear a
+man turn to derision all there is 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 though 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 though for a
+ball, 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 fantoms
+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 thin 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 go to see 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 by the name of 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, where she visited two or three
+times a year; she pretended to keep up with the fashions; my dear
+Brigitte assisted her as best she could, while smiling with pity. Her
+husband was employed by the government; he, once a year, 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.
+
+Every time 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 that woman 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 occasions, 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 that 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 do it only to pass away the
+time."
+
+"Ah! my friend, my friend," said Brigitte, "it is too bad that you must
+seek pastimes."
+
+Some days later, I proposed that we go to the prefecture to see Madame
+Daniel dance; she unwillingly consented. While she was arranging her
+toilet, 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, scarcely 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 that 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 will 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
+would 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
+
+OUR quarrel had been 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 gaiety, an
+affected cheerfulness that mockingly outraged whatever I held most dear.
+Thus, the inexorable specters 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 that repelled my youth and aroused within me bitter
+regrets for the liberty I had lost.
+
+When we were passing through the forest by the beautiful light of the
+moon, we both experienced a profound melancholy. Brigitte looked at me in
+pity. We sat down on a rock near a wild gorge; we passed two entire hours
+there; her half-veiled eyes plunged into my soul athwart the 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."
+
+In order to reach that rock, one must 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 melange of feminine delicacy and childlike temerity, 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 turned, came to me, and kissed me. This was going; on
+the return, she leaned on my arm; then more songs; there were
+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.
+
+One night, we struck out through the woods, leaving the road which led to
+the rock. Brigitte was tramping along so stoutly, her little velvet cap
+on her light hair made her look so much like a resolute gamin, that I
+forgot that 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 a woman, half-joyous and half-plaintive, coming 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 that
+playfully, like the children that we were. At a cross-road, 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 design 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. O 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 gaiety,
+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 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 an 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 having 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 met me in the garden and spoke 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
+with whom his new friend had made him acquainted; he wrote that he had
+set out for Germany and that we would 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 should 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
+cherish 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 that, 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 though I would sink under it, when my pride
+rebels, when my heart is breaking, when all my life--"
+
+She could not finish; her tears choked her. O 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.
+
+"O 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 which
+still passes before my eyes wreathed in spotless white.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+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. O 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 some time since, and she knew it some time before speaking to
+me. Who knows but what 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 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 there came out of it 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 if I ought not to leave her, if 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, you make sport of
+suffering; you find it amusing to occupy your leisure moments, to commit
+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, who has just
+buried the only being who was left to protect 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 you assassin! You 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
+the witness of our happy days. I took it up and examined it.
+
+"I leave you!" I said to it; "I lose you! O little dress, would you go
+away without me?"
+
+"No, I can not abandon Brigitte; under the 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
+protection! 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 shall 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 fantom, all the evil that remained in my
+heart, that henceforth she would not be offended, by either my pride or
+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.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+ONE day, I saw a little chamber she called her oratory; there was no
+furniture except a priedieu 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 to 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 if
+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? What good are these remains? Brigitte la
+Rose is no more, nor the flowers that baptized her."
+
+She went out; I heard her sob, 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 on
+our hearts.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+IT was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateaux 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 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 must 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 quarreling and that all of it 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 I might consider an insult and
+demand an explanation. I listened to whispered conversations in a salon
+where I was a visitor, 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 my other mistress did, she would point me out as a ridiculous fool,
+and I would 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 related to atheism. After 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 went 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 seated at table.
+
+"Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; it is
+understood that you are to imitate her."
+
+She sat 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, that 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 could inflict on
+woman.
+
+Coming from these frightful scenes, in which my own spirit exhausted
+itself in suffering and painful contemplation of the past; recovering
+from that frenzy, a strange access of love, an extreme exaltation, led me
+to treat my mistress like an idol, like a divinity. A quarter of an hour
+after having insulted 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 I was 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
+another man in me than the one she saw. When I asked her pardon she
+shrugged her shoulders as though to say: "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 somber 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 began to abuse her she would leave me
+without a word and lock herself in her room. Thank God, I have never
+raised my hand against her; in my most violent moments I would rather die
+than touch her.
+
+One evening the rain was beating against the windows; we were alone, the
+curtains closed.
+
+"I am in happy humor this evening," I said to Brigitte, "and yet the
+beastly 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 until it is time 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 theaters; I saw the lascivious dances,
+the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all of my youth bounded in my
+heart.
+
+"Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for us
+alone, 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 wanted to dress my hair herself; we painted and powdered
+ourselves freely; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that
+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
+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 though 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 that 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 forbid that her death
+should be charged to me. "Pray for him," such 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, "tell me adieu. 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 will 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 neck and a sob on my
+breast.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+                               PART V
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+HAVING decided on a long tour, we went first to Paris; the necessary
+preparations required time and we took a furnished apartment for one
+month.
+
+The decision to leave France had changed everything: joy, hope,
+confidence, all returned; no more sorrow, no more grief over approaching
+separation. It was now nothing but dreams of happiness and vows of
+eternal love; I wished, once for all, to make my dear mistress forget all
+the suffering I had caused her. How had I been able to resist such proofs
+of tender affection and courageous resignation? Not only did Brigitte
+pardon me, but she was willing to make a still greater sacrifice and
+leave everything for me. As I felt myself unworthy of the devotion she
+exhibited, I wished to requite her by my love; at last, my good angel had
+triumphed, and admiration and love resumed their sway in my heart.
+
+Brigitte and I examined a map to determine where we should go to bury
+ourselves from the world; we had not yet decided and we found pleasure in
+that very uncertainty; while glancing over the map, we said:
+
+"Where shall we go? What shall we do? Where shall we begin life anew?"
+
+How shall I tell how deeply I repented my cruelty when I looked upon her
+smiling face, a face that laughed at the future, although still pale from
+the sorrows of the past! Happy projects of future joy, you are, perhaps,
+the only true happiness known to man!
+
+For eight days we spent our time making purchases and preparing for our
+departure; then a young man presented himself at our apartments: he
+brought letters to Brigitte. After their interview, I found her sad and
+distraught; but I could not guess the cause, unless the letters were from
+N-----, that village where I had confessed my love and where Brigitte's
+only relatives lived.
+
+Nevertheless, our preparations progressed rapidly and I became impatient
+to get away; at the same time, I was so happy that I could hardly rest.
+When I arose in the morning, and the sun was shining through our windows,
+I experienced such transports of joy that I was almost intoxicated with
+happiness. So anxious was I to prove the sincerity of my love for
+Brigitte, that I hardly dared kiss the hem of her dress. Her lightest
+words made me tremble as though her voice was strange to me; I alternated
+between tears and laughter, and I never spoke of the past except with
+horror and disgust.
+
+Our room was full of our goods scattered about in disorder, albums,
+pictures, books, and the dear map we loved so much. We were going and
+coming about the room; every few moments I would stop and kneel before
+Brigitte, who would call me an idler, saying that she had to do all the
+work, and that I was good for nothing; and all sorts of projects flitted
+through our minds. Sicily was far away, but the winters are so delightful
+there! Genoa is very pretty with its painted houses, its green gardens
+and the Apennines in the background! But what noise! What crowds! Out of
+every three men on the street, one is a monk and another a soldier.
+Florence is sad, it is the Middle Ages living in the midst of modern
+life. How can any one endure those grilled windows and that horrible
+brown color with which all the houses are soiled? What could we do at
+Rome? We are not traveling in order to forget ourselves, much less for
+the sake of instruction. To the Rhine? But the season is over, and
+although we do not care for the world of fashion, still it is sad to
+visit its haunts when it has fled them. But Spain? Too many restrictions
+there; one has to travel like an army on the march and may expect
+everything except repose. Let us go to Switzerland! Too many people go
+there, and most of them are deceived as to the nature of its attractions;
+but it is there, are unfolded the three most beautiful colors on God's
+earth: the azure of the sky, the verdure of the plains, and the whiteness
+of the snows on the summits of glaciers.
+
+"Let us go, let us go," cried Brigitte, "let us fly away like two birds.
+Let us pretend, my dear Octave, that we just met each other yesterday.
+You met me at a ball, I pleased you and I love you; you tell me that some
+leagues distant, in a certain little town you loved a certain Madame
+Pierson; what passed between you and her I do not know. You will not tell
+me the story of your love for another! And I will whisper to you that not
+long since, I loved a terrible fellow who made me very unhappy; you will
+reprove me and close my mouth, and we will agree never to speak of such
+things."
+
+When Brigitte spoke thus, I experienced a feeling that resembled avarice;
+I caught her in my arms and cried:
+
+"O God! I know not whether it is with joy or with fear that I tremble. I
+am about to carry off my treasure. Die, my youth, die all memories of the
+past, die, all cares and regrets! O my good, brave mistress! You have
+made a man out of a child. If I lose you now, I will never love again.
+Perhaps, before I knew you, another woman might have cured me; but now
+you, alone, of all the world, have power to destroy me or to save me, for
+I bear on my heart the wound of all the evil I have done you. I have been
+an ingrate, blind and cruel. God be praised! You love me still. If you
+ever return to that home under whose lindens, where I first met you, look
+carefully about that deserted house; you will find a fantom there, for
+the man who left it, and went away with you, is not the man who entered
+it."
+
+"Is it true?" said Brigitte, and her head, all radiant with love, was
+raised to heaven; "is it true that I am yours? Yes, far from this odious
+world in which you have grown old before your time--yes, my child, you
+are going to love. I will have you, such as you are, and wherever we go
+you will forget the day when you will no longer love me. My mission will
+have been accomplished, and I shall always be thankful for it."
+
+Finally, we decided to go to Geneva and then choose some resting-place in
+the Alps. Brigitte was enthusiastic about the lake; I thought I could
+already breathe the air which floats over its surface and the odor of the
+verdure-clad valley; already Lausanne, Vevay, Oberland and beyond the
+summits of Monte Rosa and the immense plain of Lombardy; already,
+oblivion, repose, flight, all the delights of happy solitude, invited us;
+already, when in the evening with joined hands, we looked at one another
+in silence, we felt rising within us that sentiment of strange grandeur
+which takes possession of the heart on the eve of a long journey,
+mysterious and indescribable vertigo, which has in it something of the
+terrors of exile and the hopes of a pilgrimage. Are there not in the
+human mind wings that flutter and sonorous chords that vibrate? How shall
+I describe it? Is there not a world of meaning in the simple words: "All
+is ready, we are about to go"?
+
+Suddenly, Brigitte became languid; she bowed her head and was silent.
+When I asked her if she was in pain, she said no, in a voice that was
+scarcely audible; when I spoke of our departure, she arose, cold and
+resigned, and continued her preparations; when I swore to her that she
+was going to be happy and that I would consecrate my life to her, she
+shut herself up in her room and wept; when I kissed her, she turned pale
+and averted her eyes as my lips approached hers; when I told her that
+nothing had yet been done, that it was not too late to renounce our
+plans, she frowned severely; when I begged her to open her heart to me
+and I told her I would die rather than cause her one regret, she threw
+her arms about my neck, then stopped and repulsed me as though
+involuntarily. Finally, I entered her room holding in my hand a ticket on
+which our places were marked for the carriage to Besancon. I approached
+her and placed it in her lap; she stretched out her hand, screamed and
+fell unconscious at my feet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+ALL my efforts to divine the cause of so unexpected a change were as vain
+as the questions I had first asked. Brigitte was ill and obstinately
+remained silent. After an entire day passed in supplication and
+conjecture, I went out without knowing where I was going. Passing the
+Opera, I entered it from force of habit.
+
+I could pay no attention to what was going on in the theater. I was so
+overwhelmed with grief, so stupefied, that I did not live, so to speak,
+except in myself, and exterior objects made no impression on my senses.
+All my powers were centered on a single thought, and the more I turned it
+over in my head, the less clearly could I distinguish its meaning. What
+obstacle was this that had so suddenly come between us and the
+realization of our fondest hopes? If it was merely some ordinary event,
+or even an actual misfortune, such as an accident or loss of some friend,
+why that obstinate silence? After all that Brigitte had done, when our
+dreams seemed about to be realized, what could be the nature of a secret
+that destroyed our happiness and could not be confided to me? What! she
+conceals it from me! And yet I could not find it in my heart to suspect
+her. The appearance of suspicion revolted me and filled me with horror.
+On the other hand, how could I conceive of inconstancy or of caprice in
+that woman such as I knew her? I was lost in the abyss of doubt and I
+could not discover a gleam of light, the smallest point on which to base
+conjecture.
+
+In front of me in the gallery, sat a young man whose face was not unknown
+to me. As often happens when one is preoccupied, I looked at him without
+thinking of him as a personal identity or trying to fit a name on him.
+Suddenly, I recognized him: it was he, who had brought letters to
+Brigitte from N-----. I arose and started to accost him without thinking
+what I was doing. He occupied a place that I could not reach without
+disturbing a large number of spectators and I was forced to await the
+entr'acte.
+
+My first thought was that if any one could enlighten me it was this young
+man. He had had several interviews with Madame Pierson the last few days,
+and I recalled the fact that she was always much depressed after his
+visits. He had seen her the morning of the day she was taken ill. The
+letters he brought Brigitte had not been shown me; it was possible that
+he knew the reason why our departure was delayed. Perhaps he did not know
+all the circumstances, but he could, doubtless, enlighten me as to the
+contents of those letters, and there was no reason why I should hesitate
+about questioning him. When the curtain fell, I followed him to the
+foyer; I do not know that he saw me coming, but he hastened away and
+entered a box. I determined to wait until he should come out, and stood
+looking at the box for fifteen minutes. At last, he appeared. I bowed and
+approached him. He hesitated a moment, then turned and disappeared down a
+stairway.
+
+My desire to speak to him had been too evident to admit of any other
+explanation than deliberate intention to avoid me on his part. He surely
+knew my face, and whether he knew it or not, a man who sees another
+approaching him, ought, at least, to wait for him. We were the only ones
+in the corridor at the time and there could be no doubt he did not wish
+to speak to me. I did not dream of such impertinent treatment from a man,
+whom I had cordially received at my apartments; why should he insult me?
+He could have no other excuse than a desire to avoid an awkward
+interview, during which questions might be asked, which he did not care
+to answer. But why? This second mystery troubled me almost as much as the
+first. Although I tried to drive the thought from my head, that young
+man's action in avoiding me seemed to have some connection with
+Brigitte's obstinate silence.
+
+Uncertainty is of all torments, the most difficult to endure, and during
+my life I have exposed myself to many dangers because I could not wait
+patiently. When I returned to my apartments, I found Brigitte reading
+those same fateful letters from N-----. I told her that I could not
+remain longer in suspense, and that I wished to be relieved from it at
+any cost; that I desired to know the cause of the sudden, change which
+had taken place in her, and that if she refused to speak I would look
+upon her silence as a positive refusal to go abroad with me and an order
+for me to leave her forever.
+
+She reluctantly handed me the letters she was reading. Her relatives had
+written her that her departure had disgraced them, that every one knew
+the circumstances, and that they felt it their duty to warn her of the
+consequences; that she was living openly as my mistress, and that,
+although she was a widow and free to do as she chose, she ought to think
+of the name she bore; that neither they nor her old friends would ever
+see her again if she persisted in her course; finally, by all sorts of
+threats and entreaties, they urged her to return.
+
+The tone of that letter angered me, and at first I took it as an insult.
+
+"And that young man who brings you these remonstrances," I cried,
+"doubtless has orders to deliver them personally, and does not fail to do
+his own part to the best of his ability. Am I not right?"
+
+Brigitte's dejection made me reflect and calm my wrath.
+
+"You will do as you wish, and achieve my ruin," she said. "My fate rests
+with you, you have been for a long time my master. Avenge as you please
+the last effort my old friends have made to recall me to reason, to the
+world that I formerly respected, to the honor that I have lost. I have
+not a word to say, and if you wish to dictate my reply, I will obey you."
+
+"I care to know nothing," I replied, "but your intentions; it is for me
+to comply with your wishes, and I assure you I am ready to do it. Tell
+me, do you desire to remain, to go away, or shall I go alone?"
+
+"Why that question?" asked Brigitte; "have I said that I had changed my
+mind? I am unwell and can not travel in my present condition, but when I
+recover we will go to Geneva as we have planned."
+
+We separated at these words, and the coldness with which she had
+expressed her resolution saddened me more than a refusal. It was not the
+first time our liaison had been threatened by her relatives; but up to
+this time, whatever letters Brigitte, had received she had never taken so
+much to heart. How could I bring myself to believe that Brigitte had been
+so affected by protests which, in less happy moments, had had no effect
+on her? Could it be merely the weakness of a woman who recoils from an
+act of final significance? I will do as you please, she had said. No, it
+does not please me to demand patience, and rather than look at that
+sorrowful face even a week longer, unless she speaks, I will set out
+alone.
+
+Fool that I was! Had I the strength to do it? I did not close my eyes
+that night, and the next morning I resolved to call on that young man I
+had seen at the Opera. I do not know whether it was wrath or curiosity
+that impelled me to this course, nor did I know just what I desired to
+learn of him; but I reflected that he could not avoid me this time, and
+that was all I wanted.
+
+As I did not know his address, I asked Brigitte for it, pretending that I
+felt under obligations to call on him after all the visits he had made
+us; I had not said a word about my experience at the Opera. Brigitte's
+eyes betrayed signs of tears. When I entered her room she held out her
+hand, and said:
+
+"What do you wish?"
+
+Her voice was sad but tender. We exchanged a few kind words and I set out
+less unhappy.
+
+The name of the young man I was going to see was Smith; he was living
+near by. When I knocked at his door, I experienced a strange sensation of
+uneasiness; I was dazed, as though by a sudden flash of light. His first
+gesture froze my blood. He was in bed, and with the same accent Brigitte
+had employed, with a face as pale and haggard as hers, he held out his
+hand and said:
+
+"What do you wish?"
+
+Say what you please, there are things in a man's life which the reason
+can not explain. I sat still, as though awakened from a dream, and began
+to repeat his questions. Why, in fact, had I come to see him? How could I
+tell him what had brought me there? Even if he had anything to tell me,
+how did I know he would speak? He had brought letters from N-----, and
+knew those who had written them. But it cost me an effort to question
+him, and I feared he would suspect what was in my mind. Our first words
+were polite and insignificant. I thanked him for his kindness in bringing
+letters to Madame Pierson; I told him that upon leaving France we would
+ask him to do the same favor for us; and then we were silent, surprised
+to find ourselves vis-a-vis.
+
+I looked about me in embarrassment. His room was on the fourth floor;
+everything indicated honest and industrious poverty. Some books, musical
+instruments, papers, a table and a few chairs, that was all, but
+everything was well cared for and presented an agreeable ensemble.
+
+As for him, his frank and animated face predisposed me in his favor. On
+the mantel, I observed a picture of an old lady. I stepped up to look at
+it, and he said it was his mother.
+
+I then recalled that Brigitte had often spoken of him; she had known him
+since childhood. Before I came to the country, she used to see him
+occasionally at N-----, but at the time of her last visit there he was
+away. It was, therefore, only by chance that I had learned some
+particulars of his life, which now came to mind. He had an honest
+employment that enabled him to support his sister and mother.
+
+His treatment of these two women deserved the highest praise; he deprived
+himself of everything for them, but, although he possessed musical
+talents that would have enabled him to make a fortune, the immediate
+needs of those dependent on him, and an extreme reserve, had always led
+him to prefer an assured income to the uncertain chances of success in
+larger ventures. In a word, he belonged to that small class who live
+quietly, and who are worth more to the world than those who do not
+appreciate them. I had learned of certain traits in his character which
+will serve to paint the man: he had fallen in love with a beautiful girl
+in the neighborhood, and, after a year of devotion to her, secured her
+parents' consent to their union. She was as poor as he. The contract was
+ready to be signed, the preparations for the wedding complete, when his
+mother said:
+
+"And your sister? Who will marry her?"
+
+That simple remark made him understand that if he married, he would spend
+all his money in the household expenses and his sister would have no
+dowry. He broke off the engagement, bravely renouncing his happy
+prospects; he then came to Paris.
+
+When I heard that story, I wanted to see the hero. That simple,
+unassuming act of devotion seemed to me more admirable than all the
+glories of war.
+
+The more I examined that young man, the less I felt inclined to broach
+the subject nearest my heart. The idea which had first occurred to me
+that he would harm me in Brigitte's eyes, vanished at once. Gradually, my
+thoughts took another course; I looked at him attentively, and it seemed
+to me that he was also examining me with curiosity.
+
+We were both twenty-one years of age, but what a difference between us!
+He was accustomed to an existence regulated by the graduated tick of the
+clock; never having seen anything of life, except that part of it which
+lies between an obscure room on the fourth floor and a dingy government
+office; sending his mother all his savings--that farthing of human joy
+which the hand of toil clasps so greedily; having no thought except for
+the happiness of others, and that since his childhood, since he had been
+a babe in arms! And I, during that precious time, so swift, so
+inexorable, during that time, that with him was bathed in sweat, what had
+I done? Was I a man? Which of us had lived?
+
+What I have said in a page, can be comprehended in a glance. He spoke to
+me of our journey and the countries we were going to visit.
+
+"When do you go?" he asked.
+
+"I do not know; Madame Pierson is unwell and has been confined to her bed
+for three days."
+
+"For three days!" he repeated in surprise.
+
+"Yes; why are you astonished?"
+
+He arose and threw himself on me, his arms extended, his eyes fixed. He
+was trembling violently.
+
+"Are you ill?" I asked, taking him by the hand. He pressed his hand to
+his head and burst into tears. When he had recovered sufficiently to
+speak, he said:
+
+"Pardon me; be good enough to leave me. I fear I am not well; when I have
+sufficiently recovered, I will return your visit."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+BRIGITTE was better. She had informed me that she wished to go away as
+soon as she was well enough to travel. But I insisted that she ought to
+rest at least fifteen days before undertaking a long journey.
+
+Whenever I attempted to persuade her to speak frankly, she assured me
+that the letter was the only cause of her melancholy and begged me to say
+nothing more about it. Then I tried in vain to guess what was passing in
+her heart. We went to the theater every night in order to avoid
+embarrassing tete-a-tetes. There, we sometimes pressed each other's hands
+at some fine bit of acting or beautiful strain of music, or exchanged,
+perhaps, a friendly glance, but going and returning we were mute,
+absorbed in our thoughts.
+
+Smith came almost every day. Although his presence in the house had been
+the cause of all my sorrow, and although my visit to him had left
+singular suspicions in my mind, still his apparent good faith and his
+simplicity reassured me. I had spoken to him of the letters he had
+brought, and he did not appear offended, but saddened. He was ignorant of
+the contents and his friendship for Brigitte led him to censure them
+severely. He would have refused to carry them, he said, if he knew what
+they contained. On account of Brigitte's tone of reserve in his presence,
+I did not think he was in her confidence. I therefore welcomed him with
+pleasure, although there was always a sort of awkward embarrassment in
+our meeting. He was asked to act as intermediary between Brigitte and her
+relatives after our departure. When we three were together, he noticed a
+certain coldness and restraint which he endeavored to banish by cheerful
+good humor. If he spoke of our liaison, it was with respect and as a man
+who looks upon love as a sacred bond; in fact, he was a kind friend, and
+he inspired me with full confidence.
+
+But despite all that, despite all his efforts, he was sad, and I could
+not obliterate strange thoughts that came to my mind. The tears I had
+seen that young man shed, his illness coming on at the same time as
+Brigitte's, I know not what melancholy sympathy I thought I discovered
+between them, troubled and disquieted me. Not over a month ago, I would
+have become violently jealous; but now, of what could I suspect Brigitte?
+Whatever the secret she was concealing from me, was she not going away
+with me? Even if it were possible that Smith could be in some secret of
+which I knew nothing, what could be the nature of that mystery? What was
+there to be censured in their sadness and in their friendship? She had
+known him as a child; she met him again, after long years, just as she
+was about to leave France; she chanced to be in an unfortunate situation,
+and fate decreed that he should be the instrument of adding to her
+sorrow. Was it not natural that they should exchange sorrowful glances,
+that the sight of this young man should awaken memories and regrets?
+Could he, on the other hand, see her start off on a long journey,
+proscribed and almost abandoned, without grave apprehensions? I felt that
+this must be the explanation and that it was my duty to assure them that
+I was capable of protecting the one from all dangers, and of requiting
+the other for the services he had rendered. And yet, a deadly sense of
+coldness oppressed me and I could not determine what course to pursue.
+
+When Smith left us in the evening, we either kept silence or talked of
+him. I do not know what fatal attraction led me to ask about him
+continually. She, however, told me just what I have told the reader; his
+life had never been other than it was at this time, poor, obscure and
+honest. I made her repeat the story of his life a number of times,
+without knowing why I took such an interest in it.
+
+There was in my heart a secret cause of sorrow which I would not confess.
+If that young man had arrived at the time of our greatest happiness, had
+he brought an insignificant letter to Brigitte, had he pressed her hand
+while assisting her into the carriage, would I have paid the least
+attention to it? Had he recognized me at the opera or had he not, had he
+shed tears for some unknown reason, what would it matter so long as I was
+happy? But, while unable to divine the cause of Brigitte's sorrow, I saw
+that my past conduct, whatever she might say of it, had something to do
+with her present state. If I had been what I ought to have been for the
+last six months that we had lived together, nothing in the world, I was
+persuaded, could have troubled our love. Smith was only an ordinary man,
+but he was good and devoted, his simple and modest qualities resembled
+the large, pure lines which the eye seized at the first glance; one
+became acquainted with him in a quarter of an hour, and he inspired
+confidence if not admiration. I could not help thinking that if he were
+Brigitte's lover, she would cheerfully go with him to the ends of the
+earth.
+
+I had deferred our departure purposely, but now I began to regret it.
+Brigitte, too, at times urged me to hasten the day.
+
+"Why do we wait?" she asked. "Here I am recovered and everything is
+ready."
+
+Why did we wait, indeed? I do not know. Seated near the fire, my eyes
+wandered from Smith to my mistress. I saw that they were both pale,
+serious, silent. I did not know why they were thus, and I could not help
+repeating that there was but one cause, but one secret to learn; but that
+was not one of those vague, sickly suspicions, such as had formerly
+tormented me, but an instinct, persistent and fatal. What strange
+creatures we! It pleased me to leave them alone before the fire and to go
+out on the quay to dream, leaning on the parapet and looking at the
+water. When they spoke of their life at N-----, and when Brigitte, almost
+cheerful, assumed a motherly air to recall some incident of their
+childhood days, it seemed to me that I suffered, and yet took pleasure in
+it. I asked questions; I spoke to Smith of his mother, of his plans and
+his prospects. I gave him an opportunity to show himself in a favorable
+light and forced his modesty to reveal his merit.
+
+"You love your sister very much, do you not?" I asked. "When do you
+expect her to marry?"
+
+He blushed and replied that his expenses were rather heavy but that it
+would probably be within two years, perhaps sooner, if his health would
+permit him to do some extra work which would bring in enough to provide
+her dowry; that there was a family in the country, whose eldest son was
+her friend; that they were almost agreed on it, and that fortune would
+one day come, like rest, without thinking of it; that he had set aside
+for his sister, a part of the money left by their father; that their
+mother was opposed to it but that he would insist on it; that a young man
+may live from hand to mouth, but that the fate of a young girl is fixed
+on the day of her marriage. Thus, little by little, he expressed what was
+in his heart, and I watched Brigitte listening to him. Then, when he
+arose to leave us, I accompanied him to the door and stood there;
+pensively listening to the sound of his footsteps on the stairs.
+
+Upon examining our trunks, we found that there were still a few things
+needed before we could start; Smith was asked to purchase them. He was
+remarkably active and enjoyed attending to matters of this kind. When I
+returned to my apartments, I found him on the floor, strapping a trunk.
+Brigitte was at the piano we had rented by the week during our stay. She
+was playing one of those old airs, into which she put so much expression
+and which were so dear to us. I stopped in the hall; every note reached
+my ear distinctly; never had she sung so sadly, so divinely.
+
+Smith was listening with pleasure; he was on his knees holding the buckle
+of the strap in his hands. He fastened it, then looked about the room at
+the other goods he had packed and covered with a linen cloth. Satisfied
+with his work, he still remained kneeling in the same spot; Brigitte, her
+hands on the keys, was looking out at the horizon. For the second time, I
+saw tears fall from the young man's eyes; I was ready to shed tears
+myself, and not knowing what was passing in me, I held out my hand to
+him.
+
+"Were you there?" asked Brigitte. She trembled and seemed surprised.
+
+"Yes, I was there," I replied. "Sing, my dear, I beg of you. Let me hear
+your sweet voice."
+
+She continued her song without a word; she noticed my emotion as well as
+Smith's; her voice faltered. With the last notes, she arose and came to
+me and kissed me.
+
+On another occasion, I had bought an album containing views of
+Switzerland. We were looking at them, all three of us, and when Brigitte
+found a site that pleased her, she would stop to examine it. There was
+one view that seemed to please her more than all the others; it was a
+certain spot in the canton of Vaud, some distance from Brigues; some
+trees with cows grazing in the shade; in the distance, a village
+consisting of some dozen houses, scattered here and there. In the
+foreground, a young girl with a large straw hat, seated under a tree, and
+a farmer's boy standing before her, apparently pointing out, with his
+iron-tipped stick, the route over which he had come; he was directing her
+attention to a winding path that led to the mountain. Above them were the
+Alps, and the picture was crowned by three snow-capped summits. Nothing
+could be more simple or more beautiful than this landscape. The valley
+resembled a lake of verdure and the eye followed its contour with
+delight.
+
+"Shall we go there?" I asked Brigitte. I took a pencil and traced some
+figures on the picture.
+
+"What are you doing?" she asked.
+
+"I am trying to see if I can not change that face slightly and make it
+resemble yours. The pretty hat would become you and can I not, if I am
+skilful, give that fine mountaineer some resemblance to me?"
+
+The whim seemed to please her and she set about rubbing out the two
+faces. When I had painted her portrait, she wished to try mine. The faces
+were very small, hence not very difficult; it was agreed that the
+likenesses were striking. While we were laughing at it, the door opened
+and I was called away by the servant.
+
+When I returned, Smith was leaning on the table and looking at the
+picture with interest. He was absorbed in a profound reverie and was not
+aware of my presence; I sat down near the fire and it was not until I
+spoke to Brigitte that he raised his head. He looked at us a moment, then
+hastily took his leave and, as he approached the door, I saw him strike
+his forehead with his hand.
+
+When I discovered these signs of grief, I said to myself: "What does it
+mean?" Then I clasped my hands to plead with--whom? I do not know;
+perhaps my good angel, perhaps my evil destiny.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+MY heart yearned to set out and yet I delayed; some secret influence
+rooted me to the spot.
+
+When Smith came, I knew no repose from the time he entered the room. How
+is it that we frequently seem to enjoy unhappiness?
+
+One day a word, a flush, a glance, made me shudder; another day, another
+glance, another word, threw me into uncertainty. Why are they both so
+sad? Why am I as motionless as a statue where I had formerly been
+violent? Every evening I sat on my bed and said to myself: "Let me see;
+let me think that over." Then I sprang to my feet crying: "Impossible!"
+The next day, I did the same thing.
+
+In Smith's presence, Brigitte treated me with more tenderness than when
+we were alone. It happened one evening that some hard words escaped us;
+when she heard his voice in the hall, she came and sat on my knees. As
+for him, it seemed to me he was always making an effort to control
+himself. His gestures were carefully regulated; he spoke slowly and
+prudently, so that his occasional moments of forgetfulness seemed all the
+more striking.
+
+Was it curiosity that tormented me? I remember that one day I saw a man
+drowning near Pont Royale. It was midsummer and we were rowing on the
+river; some thirty boats were crowded together under the bridge when,
+suddenly, one of the occupants of a boat near mine threw up his hands and
+fell overboard. We immediately began diving for him, but in vain; some
+hours later the body was found under a raft.
+
+I shall never forget my experience as I was diving for that man. I opened
+my eyes under the water and searched painfully here and there in the dark
+corners about the pier; then I returned to the surface for breath, then
+resumed my horrible search. I was filled with hope and terror; the
+thought that I might feel myself seized by convulsive arms, allured me
+and, at the same time, thrilled me with horror; when I was exhausted with
+fatigue, I climbed back into my boat.
+
+Unless a man is brutalized by debauchery, eager curiosity is one of his
+marked traits. I have already remarked that I felt it on the occasion of
+my first visit to Desgenais. I will explain my meaning.
+
+The truth, that skeleton of appearances, ordains that every man,
+whatsoever he be, shall come, in his day and hour, to touch the bones
+that lie forever at the bottom of some chance experience. It is called
+knowing the world, and experience is purchased at that price. It happens
+that some recoil in terror before that test, others, feeble and
+affrighted, vacillate like shadows. Some, the best perhaps, die at once.
+The large number forget, and thus, all float on to death.
+
+But there are some men, who, at the fell stroke of misfortune, neither
+die nor forget; when it comes their turn to touch misfortune, otherwise
+called truth, they approach it with a firm step and outstretched hand,
+and horrible to say! they mistake love for the livid corpse they have
+found at the bottom of the river. They seize it, feel it, clasp it in
+their arms; behold them, drunk with the desire to know; they no longer
+look with interest upon things, except to see them pass; they do nothing
+except doubt and test; they ransack the world as though they were God's
+spies; they sharpen their thoughts into arrows, and they give birth to a
+monster.
+
+The debauchees, more than all others, are exposed to that fury, and the
+reason is very simple: ordinary life is the limpid surface; the
+debauchees, the rapid current turning over and over, and, at times,
+touching the bottom. Coming from a ball, for instance, where they have
+danced with a modest girl, they seek the company of bad characters, and
+spend the night in riotous feasting. The last words they addressed to a
+beautiful and virtuous woman are still on their lips; they repeat them
+and burst into laughter. Shall I say it? Do they not raise, for some
+pieces of silver, the vesture of chastity, that robe so full of mystery,
+that seems to respect the being it embellishes and surrounds without
+touching? What idea can they have of the world? They are like comedians
+in the greenroom. Who, more than they, is skilled in that research at the
+bottom of things, in that groping, profound and impious? See how they
+speak of everything; always in terms the most barren, the most crude and
+abject; such words appear true to them; all the rest is only parade,
+convention, prejudice. Let them tell a story, let them recount some
+experience, they will always use the same dirty and material expression,
+always the letter, always death! They do not say "That woman loved me;"
+they say: "I have possessed that woman;" they do not say: "I love;" they
+say: "I desire;" they never say: "If God wills;" they say: "If I will." I
+do not know what they think of themselves and such monologues as these.
+
+Hence, of a necessity, either idleness or curiosity; for while they
+strive to find what there is of evil, they do not understand that others
+still believe in the good. Therefore, they are either so nonchalant that
+they stop their ears, or the noise of the rest of the world suddenly
+startles them from sleep. The father allows his son to go where so many
+others go, where Cato himself went; he says that youth is but a stage.
+But when he returns, the youth looks upon his sister; and sees what has
+taken place in him during an hour passed in the society of brutal
+reality! He says to himself: "My sister is not like that creature I have
+just left!" And from that day he is disturbed and uneasy.
+
+Sinful curiosity is a vile malady born of all impure contact. It is the
+prowling instinct of fantoms who raise the lids of tombs; it is an
+inexplicable torture with which God punishes those who have sinned; they
+wish to believe that all sin as they have done, and would be disappointed
+perhaps to find that it was not so. But they inquire, they search, they
+dispute; they hang their heads on one side, as does an architect who
+adjusts a pillar, and thus strive to find what they desire to know. Given
+proof of evil, they laugh at it; doubtful of evil, they swear that it
+exists; the good, they refuse to recognize. "Who knows?" Behold the grand
+formula, the first words that Satan spoke when he saw heaven closing
+against him. Alas! how many evils are those words responsible for! How
+many disasters and deaths, how many strokes of terrible scythes in the
+ripening harvest of humanity! How many hearts, how many families where
+there is naught but ruin, since that word was first heard! "Who knows!
+Who knows!" Loathsome words! Rather than pronounce them, one should do as
+the sheep who graze about the slaughter-house and know it not. That is
+better than to be a strong spirit and read La Rochefoucauld.
+
+What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given?
+My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did I
+delay? What would have been the result if I had started at once on our
+trip? Nothing but a moment of apprehension that would have been forgotten
+after traveling three days. When with me, she had no thought but of me;
+why should I care to solve the mystery that did not threaten my
+happiness?
+
+She would have consented and that would have been the end of it. A kiss
+on her lips and all would be well; instead of that, see what I did.
+
+One evening when Smith had dined with us, I retired at an early hour and
+left them together. As I closed my door, I heard Brigitte order some tea.
+In the morning I happened to approach her table, and, sitting beside the
+teapot, I saw but one cup. No one had been in that room before me that
+morning, so the servant could not have carried away anything that had
+been used the night before. I searched everywhere for a second cup but
+could find none.
+
+"Did Smith stay late?" I asked of Brigitte.
+
+"He left about midnight."
+
+"Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?"
+
+"I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep."
+
+I continued my search and my hands trembled. In what burlesque comedy is
+there a jealous lover, so stupid as to inquire what has become of a cup?
+Why seek to discover whether Smith and Madame Pierson had drunk from the
+same cup? What a brilliant idea, that!
+
+Nevertheless, I found the cup and I burst into laughter and threw it on
+the floor with such violence that it broke into a thousand pieces. I
+ground the pieces under my feet.
+
+Brigitte looked at me without saying a word. During the two succeeding
+days, she treated me with a coldness that had something of contempt in
+it, and I saw that she treated Smith with more deference and kindness
+than usual. She called him, Henry, and smiled on him sweetly.
+
+"I feel that the air would do me good," she said after dinner; "shall we
+go to the Opera, Octave? I would enjoy walking that far."
+
+"No, I will stay here; go without me." She took Smith's arm and went out.
+I remained alone all the evening; I had paper before me and I was trying
+to collect my thoughts in order to write, but in vain.
+
+As a lonely lover draws from his bosom a letter from his mistress, and
+loses himself in delightful reverie, thus I shut myself up in solitude
+and yielded to the sweet allurement of doubt. Before me, were the two
+empty seats which Brigitte and Smith had just occupied; I scrutinized
+them eagerly as though they could tell me something. I revolved in my
+mind all the things I had heard and seen; from time to time, I went to
+the door and cast my eyes over our trunks which had been piled against
+the wall for a month; I opened them and examined the contents so
+carefully packed away by those delicate little hands; I listened to the
+sound of passing carriages; the slightest noise made me tremble. I spread
+out on the table our map of Europe, and there in the very presence of all
+my hopes, in that room where I had conceived and had so nearly realized
+them, I abandoned myself to the most frightful presentiments.
+
+But strange as it may seem, I felt neither anger nor jealousy, but a
+terrible sense of sorrow and foreboding. I did not suspect, and yet, I
+doubted. The mind of man is so strangely formed that, with what he sees,
+and in spite of what he sees, he can conjure up a hundred objects of woe.
+In truth, his brain resembles the dungeons of the Inquisition whose walls
+are covered with so many instruments of torture, that one is dazed and
+asks whether these horrible contrivances he sees before him are pincers
+or playthings. Tell me, I say, what difference is there in saying to my
+mistress: "All women deceive," or, "You deceive me?"
+
+What passed through my mind was perhaps as subtle as the finest
+sophistry; it was a sort of dialogue between the mind and the conscience.
+"If I should lose Brigitte?" I said to the mind.--"She departs with you,"
+said the conscience.--"If she deceives me?"--"How can she deceive you?
+Has she not made out her will asking for prayers for you?"--"If Smith
+loves her?"--"Fool! What does it matter so long as you know that she
+loves you?"--"If she loves me, why is she sad?"--"That is her secret,
+respect it."--"If I take her away with me, will she be happy?"--"Love her
+and she will be."--"Why, when that man looks at her, does she seem to
+fear to meet his glance?"--"Because she is a woman and he is
+young."--"Why does that young man turn pale when she looks at
+him?"--"Because he is a man and she is beautiful."--"Why, when I went to
+see him, did he throw himself into my arms, and why did he weep and beat
+his head with his hands?"--"Do not seek to know of what you must remain
+ignorant."--"Why can I not know these things?"--"Because you are
+miserable and weak, and all mystery is of God."--"But why is it that I
+suffer? Why is it that my soul recoils in terror?"--"Think of your father
+and do good."--"But why am I unable to do as he did? Why does evil
+attract me to itself?"--"Get down on your knees and confess; if you
+believe in evil it is because your ways have been evil."--"If my ways
+were evil, was it my fault? Why did the good betray me?"--"Because you
+are in the shadow, would you deny the existence of light? If there are
+traitors, why are you one of them?"--"Because I am afraid of becoming the
+dupe."--"Why do you spend your nights in watching? Why are you alone
+now?"--"Because I think, I doubt and I fear."--"When will you offer your
+prayer?"--"When I believe. Why have they lied to me?"--"Why do you lie,
+coward! at this very moment? Why not die if you can not suffer?"
+
+Thus, spoke and groaned within me two voices, voices that were defiant
+and terrible; and then, a third voice cried out: "Alas! Alas! my
+innocence! Alas! Alas! the days that were!"
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+WHAT a powerful lever is the human thought! It is our defense and our
+safeguard, the most beautiful present that God has made us. It is ours
+and it obeys us; we may shoot it forth into space, and, once outside of
+this feeble head, it is gone, we can no longer control it.
+
+While I was deferring the time of our departure from day to day, I was
+gradually losing strength, and, although I did not perceive it, my vital
+forces were slowly wasting away. When I sat at table, I experienced a
+violent distaste for food; at night two pale faces, that of Brigitte and
+of Smith, pursued me through frightful dreams. When they went to the
+theater in the evening, I refused to go with them; then, I went alone and
+concealed myself in the parquet and watched them. I pretended that I had
+some business to attend to in a neighboring room and I sat there an hour
+and listened to them. The idea occurred to me to seek a quarrel with
+Smith and force him to fight with me; I turned my back on him while he
+was talking; then he came to me with a look of surprise on his face,
+holding out his hand. When I was alone in the night and every one slept,
+I felt a strong desire to go to Brigitte's desk and take from it, her
+papers. On one occasion, I was obliged to go out of the house in order to
+resist the temptation. One day I felt like arming myself with a knife and
+threatening to kill them if they did not tell me why they were so sad;
+another day I turned all this fury against myself. With what shame do I
+write it! And if any one should ask me why I acted thus, I could not
+reply.
+
+To see, to doubt, to search, to torture myself and make myself miserable,
+to pass entire days with my ear to the keyhole and the night in a flood
+of tears, to repeat over and over that I would die of sorrow, to feel
+isolation and feebleness uprooting hope in my heart, to imagine that I
+was spying when I was only listening to the feverish beating of my own
+pulse; to con over stupid phrases, such as: "Life is a dream, there is
+nothing stable here below;" to curse and blaspheme God through misery and
+through caprice: that was my joy, the precious occupation for which I
+renounced love, the air of heaven, and liberty!
+
+Eternal God, liberty! Yes, there were certain moments when, in spite of
+all, I still thought of it. In the midst of my madness, eccentricity, and
+stupidity, there were within me certain impulses that at times brought me
+to myself. It was a breath of air which struck my face as I came from my
+dungeon; it was a page of a book I read when, in my bitter days, I
+happened to read something besides those modern sycophants called
+pamphleteers, and who, out of regard for the public health, ought to be
+prevented from indulging in their crude philosophizing. Since I have
+referred to these good moments, let me mention one of them, they were so
+rare. One evening, I was reading the "Memoirs of Constant"; I came to the
+following lines:
+
+"Salsdorf, a Saxon surgeon attached to Prince Christian, had his leg
+broken by a shell in the battle of Wagram. He lay almost lifeless on the
+dusty field. Fifteen paces distant, Amedee of Kerbourg, aide-de-camp, I
+have forgotten of whom, wounded in the breast by a bullet, falls to the
+ground vomiting blood. Salsdorf sees that if that young man is not cared
+for he will die of apoplexy; summoning all his powers, he painfully drags
+himself to the side of the wounded man, bleeds him and saves his life.
+Salsdorf himself died four days later from the effects of amputation."
+
+When I read these words, I threw down my book, and melted into tears.
+
+I do not regret those tears for they were such as I could shed only when
+my heart was right; I do not speak merely of Salsdorf, and do not care
+for that particular instance. I am sure, however, that I did not suspect
+any one that day. Poor dreamer! Ought I to remember that I have been
+other than I am? What good will it do me as I stretch out my arms in
+anguish to heaven and wait for the shell that will deliver me forever.
+Alas! that was only a gleam that flashed across the night of my life.
+
+Like those dervish fanatics who find ecstasy in vertigo when thought,
+turning on itself, exhausted by the stress of introspection, tired of
+vain effort, recoils in fright; thus it would seem that man must be a
+void and that by dint of delving within himself, he reaches the last turn
+of a spiral. There, as on the summits of mountains and at the bottom of
+mines, air fails and God forbids man to go farther. Then, struck with a
+mortal chill, the heart, as though impaired by oblivion, seeks to escape
+into a new birth; it demands life of that which environs it, it eagerly
+drinks in the air; but it finds round about only its own chimeras which
+have just animated its failing powers and which, self-created, surround
+it like pitiless specters.
+
+This can not last long. Tired of uncertainty, I resolved to resort to a
+test that would discover the truth.
+
+I ordered post horses for ten in the evening. We had hired a calash and I
+gave direction that all should be ready at the hour indicated. At the
+same time I asked that nothing be said to Madame Pierson. Smith came to
+dinner; at the table I affected unusual cheerfulness, and without a word
+about my plans, I turned the conversation to our journey. I would
+renounce all idea of going away, I said, if I thought Brigitte did not
+care to go; I was so well satisfied with Paris that I asked nothing
+better than to remain as long as she pleased. I made much of all the
+pleasures of the city; I spoke of the balls, the theaters, of the many
+opportunities for diversion on every hand. In short, since we were happy,
+I did not see why we should make a change; and I did not think of going
+away at present.
+
+I was expecting her to insist that we carry out our plan of going to
+Geneva, and was not disappointed. However, she insisted but feebly; but,
+after a few words, I pretended to yield, and then changing the subject, I
+spoke of other things, as though it was all settled.
+
+"And why will not Smith go with us?" I asked. "It is very true that he
+has duties here, but can he not obtain leave of absence? Moreover, will
+not the talents he possesses and which he is unwilling to use assure him
+an honorable living anywhere? Let him come along with us; the carriage is
+large and we offer him a place in it. A young man should see the world
+and there is nothing so irksome for a man of his age as confinement in an
+office and restriction to a narrow circle. Is it not true?" I asked,
+turning to Brigitte. "Come, my dear, let your credit obtain from him what
+he might refuse me; urge him to give us six weeks of his time. We will
+travel together and, after a tour of Switzerland, he will return to his
+duties with new life."
+
+Brigitte joined her entreaties to mine, although she knew it was only a
+joke on my part. Smith could not leave Paris without danger of losing his
+position and replied that he regretted being obliged to deny himself the
+pleasure of accompanying us. Nevertheless, I continued to press him, and,
+ordering another bottle of wine, I repeated my invitation. After dinner,
+I went out to assure myself that my orders were carried out; then I
+returned in high spirits, and seating myself at the piano, I proposed
+some music.
+
+"Let us pass the evening here," I said; "believe me it is better than
+going to the theater; I can not take part myself, but I can listen. We
+will make Smith play, if he tires of our company, and the time will pass
+pleasantly."
+
+Brigitte consented with good grace and began playing for us; Smith
+accompanied her on the violoncello. The materials for a bowl of punch
+were brought and the flame of burning rum soon cheered us with its light.
+The piano was abandoned for the table; then we had cards; everything
+passed off as I wished and we succeeded in diverting ourselves to my
+heart's content.
+
+I had my eyes fixed on the clock and waited impatiently for the hands to
+mark the hour of ten. I was tormented with anxiety, but allowed them to
+see nothing. Finally, the hour arrived; I heard the postilion's whip as
+the horses entered the court. Brigitte was seated near me; I took her by
+the hand and asked her if she was ready to depart. She looked at me with
+surprise, doubtless wondering if I was not joking. I told her that, at
+dinner, she had appeared so anxious to go that I had felt justified in
+sending for the horses and that I went out for that purpose when I left
+the table.
+
+"Are you serious?" asked Brigitte; "do you wish to set out to-night?"
+
+"Why not," I replied, "since we have agreed that we ought to leave Paris?"
+
+"What! now? At this very moment?"
+
+"Certainly; have we not been ready for a month? You see there is nothing
+to do but load our trunks on the calash; as we have decided to go, ought
+we not go at once? I believe it is better to go now and put off nothing
+until to-morrow. You are in the humor to travel to-night and I hasten to
+profit by it. Why wait longer and continue to put it off? I can not
+endure this life. You wish to go, do you not? Very well, let us go and be
+done with it."
+
+Profound silence ensued. Brigitte stepped to the window and satisfied
+herself that the calash was there. Moreover, the tone in which I spoke
+would admit of no doubt, and, however hasty my action may have appeared
+to her, it was due to her own expressed desire. She could not deny her
+own words, nor find any pretext for further delay. Her decision was made
+promptly; she asked a few questions, as though to assure herself that all
+the preparations had been made; seeing that nothing had been omitted, she
+began to search here and there. She found her hat and shawl, then
+continued her search.
+
+"I am ready," she said; "shall we go? We are really going?"
+
+She took a light, went to my room, to her own, opened lockers and
+closets. She asked for the key to her secretary which she said she had
+lost. Where could that key be? She had it in her possession not an hour
+ago.
+
+"Come, come! I am ready," she repeated in extreme agitation; "let us go,
+Octave, let us set out at once."
+
+While speaking, she continued her search and then came and sat down near
+us.
+
+I was seated on the sofa watching Smith, who stood before me. He had not
+changed countenance and seemed neither troubled nor surprised; but two
+drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I heard an ivory counter
+crackle between his fingers, the pieces falling to the floor. He held out
+both hands to us.
+
+"Bon voyage, my friends!" he said.
+
+Again silence; I was still watching him, waiting for him to add a word.
+"If there is some secret here," thought I, "when shall I learn it, if not
+now? It must be on the lips of both of them. Let it but come out into the
+light and I will seize it."
+
+"My dear Octave," said Brigitte, "where are we to stop? You will write to
+us, Henry, will you not? You will not forget my relatives and will do
+what you can for me?" He replied, in a voice that trembled slightly, that
+he would do all in his power to serve her.
+
+"I can answer for nothing," he said, "and, judging from the letters you
+have received, there is not much hope. But it will not be my fault if I
+do not soon send you good news. Count on me, I am devoted to you."
+
+After a few more kind words, he made ready to take his departure. I arose
+and left the room before him; I wished to leave them together a moment
+for the last time and, as soon as I had closed the door behind me, in a
+perfect rage of jealousy, I pressed my ear to the keyhole.
+
+"When shall I see you again?" he asked.
+
+"Never," replied Brigitte; "adieu, Henry." She held out her hand. He bent
+over it, pressed it to his lips and I had barely time to slip into a
+corner as he passed out without seeing me.
+
+Alone with Brigitte, my heart sank within me. She was waiting for me, her
+shawl on her arm, and emotion plainly marked on her face. She had found
+the key she had been looking for and her desk was open. I returned and
+sat down near the fire. "Listen to me," I said without daring to look at
+her; "I have been so culpable in my treatment of you that I ought to wait
+and suffer without a word of complaint. The change which has taken place
+in you has thrown me into such despair that I have not been able to
+refrain from asking you the cause; but to-day I ask nothing more. Does it
+cost you an effort to depart? Tell me, and if so, I am resigned."
+
+"Let us go, let us go!" she replied.
+
+"As you please, but be frank; whatever blow I may receive, I ought not to
+ask whence it comes; I should submit without a murmur. But if I lose you,
+do not speak to me of hope, for God knows I will not survive the loss."
+
+She turned on me like a flash.
+
+"Speak to me of your love," she said, "not of your grief."
+
+"Very well, I love you more than life. Beside my love, my grief is but a
+dream. Come with me to the end of the world, I will die or I will live
+with you."
+
+With these words, I advanced toward her; she turned pale and recoiled.
+She made a vain effort to force a smile on her contracted lips, and
+sitting down before her desk she said:
+
+"One moment; I have some papers here I want to burn."
+
+She showed me the letters from N-----, tore them up and threw them into
+the fire; she then took out other papers which she reread and then spread
+out on the table. They were bills of purchases she had made and some of
+them were still unpaid. While examining them, she began to talk rapidly,
+while her cheeks burned as though with fever. Then she asked my pardon
+for her obstinate silence and her conduct since our arrival. She gave
+evidence of more tenderness, more confidence than ever. She clapped her
+hands gleefully at the prospect of a happy journey; in short, she was all
+love, or at least apparently all love. I can not tell how I suffered at
+the sight of that factitious joy; there was, in that grief which crazed
+her, something more sad than tears and more bitter than reproaches. I
+would have preferred to have her cold and indifferent rather than thus
+excited; it seemed to me a parody of our happiest moments. There were the
+same words, the same woman, the same caresses; and that which, fifteen
+days before, would have intoxicated me with love and happiness, repeated
+thus, filled me with horror.
+
+"Brigitte," I suddenly inquired, "what secret are you concealing from me?
+If you love me, what horrible comedy is this you are playing before me?"
+
+"I!" said she almost offended. "What makes you think I am playing?"
+
+"What makes me think so? Tell me, my dear, that you have death in your
+soul and that you are suffering martyrdom. Behold my arms are ready to
+receive you; lean your head on me and weep. Then I will take you away,
+perhaps; but in truth, not thus."
+
+"Let us go, let us go!" she again repeated.
+
+"No, on my soul! No, not at present; no, not while there is between us a
+lie or a mask. I like unhappiness better than such cheerfulness as
+yours."
+
+She was silent, astonished to see that I had not been deceived by her
+words and manner and that I saw through them both.
+
+"Why should we delude ourselves?" I continued. "Have I fallen so low in
+your esteem that you can dissimulate before me? That unfortunate journey,
+you think you are condemned to it, do you? Am I a tyrant, an absolute
+master? Am I an executioner who drags you to punishment? How much do you
+fear my wrath when you come before me with such mimicry? What terror
+impels you to lie thus?"
+
+"You are wrong," she replied; "I beg of you, not a word more."
+
+"Why so little sincerity? If I am not your confidant, may I not, at
+least, be your friend? If I am denied all knowledge of the source of your
+tears, may I not, at least, see them flow? Have you not enough confidence
+in me to believe that I will respect your sorrow? What have I done that I
+should be ignorant of it? Might not the remedy lay right there?"
+
+"No," she replied, "you are wrong; you will achieve your own unhappiness
+as well as mine if you press me farther. Is it not enough that we are
+going away?
+
+"And do you expect me to drag you away against your will? Is it not
+evident that you have consented reluctantly, and that you already begin
+to repent? Great God! What is it you are concealing from me? What is the
+use playing with words when your thoughts are as clear as that glass
+before which you stand? Would I not be the meanest of men to accept at
+your hands what is yielded with so much regret? And yet how can I refuse
+it? What can I do if you refuse to speak?"
+
+"No, I do not oppose you, you are mistaken; I love you, Octave; cease
+tormenting me thus."
+
+She threw so much tenderness into these words that I fell down on my
+knees before her. Who could resist her glance and her voice?
+
+"My God!" I cried, "you love me, Brigitte? My dear mistress, you love
+me?"
+
+"Yes, I love you; yes, I belong to you; do with me what you will. I will
+follow you, let us go away together; come, Octave, the carriage is
+waiting."
+
+She pressed my hand in hers, and kissed my forehead.
+
+"Yes, it must be," she murmured, "it must be."
+
+"It _must_ be," I repeated to myself. I arose. On the table, there
+remained only one piece of paper that Brigitte was examining. She picked
+it up, then allowed it to drop to the floor.
+
+"Is that all?" I asked.
+
+"Yes, that is all."
+
+When I ordered the horses I had no idea that we would really go, I wished
+merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me to carry
+my plans farther than I at first intended. I opened the door.
+
+"It must be!" I said to myself. "It must be!" I repeated aloud.
+
+"What do you mean by that, Brigitte? What is there in those words that I
+do not understand? Explain yourself, or I will not go. Why must you love
+me?"
+
+She fell on the sofa and wrung her hands in grief.
+
+"Ah! Unhappy man!" she cried, "you will never know how to love!"
+
+"Yes, I think you are right, but, before God, I know how to suffer. You
+must love me, must you not? Very well, then you must answer me. Were I to
+lose you forever, were these walls to crumble over my head, I will not
+leave this spot until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing
+me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool who
+destroys his own happiness, I may be demanding something that is not for
+me to possess, it may be that an explanation will separate us and raise
+before me an insurmountable barrier, that it will render our tour, on
+which I have set my heart, impossible; whatever it may cost you and me,
+you shall speak or I will renounce everything."
+
+"No, I will not speak."
+
+"You will speak! Do you fondly imagine I am the dupe of your lies? When I
+see you change between morning and evening until you differ more from
+your natural self than does night from day, do you think I am deceived?
+When you give me, as a cause, some letters that are not worth the trouble
+of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext
+that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your
+face made of plaster that it is difficult to see what is passing in your
+heart? What is your opinion of me? I do not deceive myself as much as you
+suppose, and take care lest, in default of words, your silence discloses
+what you so obstinately conceal."
+
+"What do you imagine I am concealing?"
+
+What do I imagine? You ask me that! Is it to brave me you ask such a
+question? Do you think to make me desperate and thus get rid of me? Yes,
+I admit it, offended pride is capable of driving me to extremes. If I
+should explain myself freely, you would have at your service all feminine
+hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can reply that
+such a woman as you does not stoop to justify herself. How skilfully the
+most guilty and treacherous of your sex contrive to use proud disdain as
+a shield! Your great weapon is silence; I did not learn that yesterday.
+You wish to be insulted and you hold your tongue until it comes to that;
+come, come, struggle against my heart; where yours beats, you will find
+it; but do not struggle against my head, it is harder than iron, and it
+has served me as long as yours!"
+
+"Poor boy!" murmured Brigitte; "you do not want to go?"
+
+"No, I shall not go except with my mistress and you are not that now. I
+have struggled, I have suffered, I have eaten my own heart long enough.
+It is time for day to break, I have loved long enough in the night. Yes
+or no, will you answer me?"
+
+"No."
+
+"As you please; I will wait."
+
+I sat down on the other side of the room determined not to rise until I
+had learned what I wished to know. She appeared to be reflecting and
+walked back and forth before me.
+
+I followed her with an eager eye, while her silence gradually increased
+my anger. I was unwilling to have her perceive it and was undecided what
+to do. I opened the window.
+
+"You may drive off," I called to those below, "and I will see that you
+are paid. I shall not start to-night."
+
+"Poor boy!" repeated Brigitte. I quietly closed the window and sat down
+as though I had not heard her; but I was so furious with rage that I
+could hardly restrain myself. That cold silence, that negative force,
+exasperated me to the last point. Had I been really deceived and
+convinced of the guilt of the woman I loved, I could not have suffered
+more. As I had condemned myself to remain in Paris, I reflected that I
+must compel Brigitte to speak at any price. In vain, I tried to think of
+some means of forcing her to enlighten me; for such power, I would have
+given all I possessed. What could I do or say? She sat there calm and
+unruffled looking at me with sadness. I heard the sound of the horses'
+hoofs on the pavement as the carriage drew out of the court. I had merely
+to turn my hand to call them back, but it seemed to me that there was
+something irrevocable about their departure. I slipped the bolt on the
+door; something whispered in my ear: "You are face to face with the woman
+who must give you life or death."
+
+While thus buried in thought, I tried to invent some expedient that would
+lead to the truth, I recalled one of Diderot's romances in which a woman,
+jealous of her lover, resorted to a novel plan, for the purpose of
+clearing away her doubts. She told him that she no longer loved him and
+that she wished to leave him. The Marquis des Arcis, the name of the
+lover, falls into the trap, and confesses that he, himself, has tired of
+the liaison. That piece of strategy, which I had read at too early an
+age, had struck me as being very skilful and the recollection of it at
+this moment made me smile. "Who knows?" said I to myself, "if I should
+try this with Brigitte, she might be deceived and tell me her secret."
+
+My anger had become furious when the idea of resorting to such trickery
+occurred to me. Was it so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of
+herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be very weak if I could not
+gain my point. I turned over on the sofa with an air of indifference.
+
+"Very well, my dear," said I gaily, "this is not a time for confidences
+then?"
+
+She looked at me in astonishment.
+
+"And yet," I continued, "we must some day come to the truth. Now I
+believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you confiding,
+and there is nothing like an understanding between friends."
+
+Doubtless, my face betrayed me as I spoke these words; Brigitte did not
+appear to understand and kept on walking up and down.
+
+"Do you know," I resumed, "that we have been together now six months. The
+life we are leading together is not one to be laughed at. You are young,
+I also; if this kind of life should become distasteful to you, are you
+the woman to tell me of it? In truth, if it were so, I would confess it
+to you frankly. And why not? Is it a crime to love? If not, it is not a
+crime to love less or to cease to love at all. Would it be astonishing
+if, at our age, we should feel the need of change?"
+
+She stopped me.
+
+"At our age!" said she. "Are you addressing me? What comedy are you now
+playing yourself?"
+
+Blood mounted to my face. I seized her hand. "Sit down here," I said,
+"and listen to me."
+
+"What is the use? It is not you who speak."
+
+I felt ashamed of my own strategy and abandoned it.
+
+"Listen to me," I repeated, "and come, I beg of you, sit down near me. If
+you wish to remain silent yourself, at least hear what I have to say."
+
+"I am listening, what have you to say to me?"
+
+"If some one should say to me: 'You are a coward!' I, who am twenty-two
+years of age and have fought on the field of honor, would throw the taunt
+back in the teeth of my accuser. Have I not within me the consciousness
+of what I am? It would be necessary for me to meet my accuser on the
+field, and play my life against his; why? In order to prove that I am not
+a coward; otherwise, the world would believe it. That single word demands
+that reply every time it is spoken, and it matters not by whom."
+
+"It is true; what is your meaning?"
+
+"Women do not fight; but as society is constituted there is no being, of
+whatever sex, who ought to submit to the indignity involved in an
+aspersion on all his or her past life, be that life regulated as by a
+pendulum. Reflect; who escapes that law? There are some, I admit; but
+what happens? If it is a man, dishonor; if it is a woman, what?
+Forgiveness. Every one who lives ought to give some evidence of life,
+some proof of existence. There is, then, for woman as well as for man, a
+time when an attack must be resented. If she is brave, she rises,
+announces that she is present, and sits down again. A stroke of the sword
+is not for her. She must not only avenge herself, but she must make her
+own weapons. Some one suspects her; who? An outsider? She may hold him in
+contempt. Her lover whom she loves? If so, it is her life that is in
+question, and she may not despise him."
+
+"Her only recourse is silence."
+
+"You are wrong, the lover who suspects her casts an aspersion on her
+entire life, I know it; her plea is her tears, her past life, her
+devotion and her patience. What will happen if she remains silent? Her
+lover will lose her by her own act and time will justify her. Is not that
+your thought?"
+
+"Perhaps; silence before all."
+
+"Perhaps, you say? Assuredly I will lose you if you do not speak; my
+resolution is made: I am going away alone."
+
+"But, Octave--"
+
+"But," I cried, "time will justify you! Let us put an end to it; yes or
+no?"
+
+"Yes, I hope so."
+
+"You hope so! Will you answer me definitely? This is, doubtless, the last
+time you will have the opportunity. You tell me that you love me, and I
+believe it. I suspect you; is it your intention to allow me to go away
+and rely on time to justify you?"
+
+"Of what do you suspect me?"
+
+"I do not choose to say, for I see that it would be useless. But, after
+all, misery for misery, at your leisure; I am as well pleased. You
+deceive me, you love another; that is your secret and mine."
+
+"Who is it?" she asked.
+
+"Smith."
+
+She placed her hand on her lips and turned aside. I could say no more; we
+were both pensive, our eyes fixed on the floor.
+
+"Listen to me," she began with an effort. "I have suffered much, I call
+to heaven to bear me witness that I would give my life for you. So long
+as the faintest gleam of hope remains, I am ready to suffer anything;
+but, although I may rouse your anger in saying to you that I am a woman,
+I am, nevertheless, a woman, my friend. We can not go beyond the limits
+of human endurance. Beyond a certain point I will not answer for the
+consequences. All I can do at this moment is to get down on my knees
+before you and beseech you not to go away."
+
+She knelt down as she spoke. I arose.
+
+"Fool that I am!" I muttered bitterly, "fool to try to get the truth from
+a woman! He who undertakes such a task will earn naught but derision and
+will deserve it! Truth! Only he who sorts with chamber-maids knows it,
+only he who steals to their pillow and listens to the unconscious
+utterance of a dream, hears it. He alone knows it, who makes a woman of
+himself and initiates himself into the secrets of her cult of
+inconstancy! But the man who asks for it openly, he who opens a loyal
+hand to receive that frightful alms, he will never obtain it! They are on
+guard with him; for reply, he receives a shrug of the shoulders, and, if
+he rouses himself in his impatience, they rise in righteous indignation
+like an outraged vestal, while there falls from their lips the great
+feminine oracle that suspicion destroys love, and they refuse to pardon
+an accusation which they are unable to meet. Ah! just God! How weary I
+am! When will all this cease?"
+
+"Whenever you please," said she coldly, "I am as tired of it as you."
+
+"At this very moment; I leave you forever, and may time justify you!
+Time! Time! O what a cold lover! remember this adieu. Time! and thy
+beauty, and thy love, and thy happiness, where will they be? Is it thus,
+without regret, you allow me to go? Ah! the day when the jealous lover
+will know that he has been unjust, the day when he shall see proofs, he
+will understand what a heart he has wounded, is it not so? He will bewail
+his shame, he will know neither joy nor sleep; he will live only in the
+memory of the time when he might have been happy. But, on that day, his
+proud mistress will turn pale as she sees herself avenged; she will say
+to herself: 'If I had only done it sooner!' And believe me, if she loves
+him, pride will not console her."
+
+I tried to be calm but I was no longer master of myself, and I began to
+pace the floor as she had done. There are certain glances that resemble
+the clashing of drawn swords; such glances, Brigitte and I exchanged at
+that moment. I looked at her as the prisoner looks at the door of his
+dungeon. In order to break the seal on her lips and force her to speak, I
+would give my life and hers.
+
+"What do you mean?" she asked. "What do you wish me to tell you?"
+
+"What you have in your heart. Are you cruel enough to make me repeat it?"
+
+"And you, you," she cried, "are you not a hundred times more cruel? Ah!
+fool, as you say, who would know the truth! Fool that I would be if I
+expected you to believe it! You would know my secret, and my secret is
+that I love you. Fool that I am! you will seek another. That pallor of
+which you are the cause, you accuse it, you question it. Like a fool, I
+have tried to suffer in silence, to consecrate to you my resignation; I
+have tried to conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have
+counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of
+crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from
+all who have loved me, leaning for sole support on a heart that doubts
+me. Fool that I am! I thought that truth had a glance, an accent, that
+could not be mistaken, that would be respected! Ah! when I think of it,
+tears choke me. Why, if it must ever be thus, induce me to take a step
+that will forever destroy my peace? My head is confused, I do not know
+where I am!"
+
+She leaned on me weeping.
+
+"Fool! Fool!" she repeated, in a heart-rending voice.
+
+"And what is it you ask?" she continued. "What can I do to meet those
+suspicions that are ever born anew, that alter with your moods? I must
+justify myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying, for despairing?
+And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that cheerfulness offends
+you. I sacrifice everything to follow you and you have not gone a league
+before you look back. Always, everywhere, whatever I may do, insults and
+angers! Ah! dear child, if you knew what a mortal chill comes over me,
+what suffering I endure in seeing my simplest words thus taken up and
+hurled back at me with suspicion and sarcasm! By that course, you deprive
+yourself of the only happiness there is in the world--perfect love. You
+kill all delicate and lofty sentiment in the hearts of those who love
+you; soon you will believe in nothing except the material and the gross;
+of love, there will remain for you only that which is visible and can be
+touched with the finger. You are young, Octave, and you have still a long
+life before you; you will have other mistresses. Yes, as you say, pride
+is a little thing and it is not to it I look for consolation; but God
+wills that one of your tears shall one day pay me for those which I now
+shed for you!"
+
+She arose.
+
+"Must it be said? Must you know that for six months I have not sought
+repose without repeating to myself that it was all in vain, that you
+would never be cured; that I have never risen in the morning without
+saying that another effort must be made; that after every word you have
+spoken I have felt that I ought to leave you, and that you have not given
+me a caress that I would rather die than endure; that, day by day, minute
+by minute, hesitating between hope and fear, I have vainly tried to
+conquer either my love or my grief; that, when I opened my heart to you,
+you pierced it with a mocking glance, and that, when I closed it, it
+seemed to me I felt within it a treasure that none but you could
+dispense? Shall I speak of all the frailty and all the mysteries which
+seem puerile to those who do not respect them? Shall I tell you that when
+you left me in anger I shut myself up to read your first letters; that
+there is a favorite waltz that I never played in vain when I felt too
+keenly the suffering caused by your presence? Ah! wretch that I am! How
+dearly all these unnumbered tears, all these follies so sweet to the
+feeble, are purchased! Weep now; not even this punishment, this sorrow,
+will avail you."
+
+I tried to interrupt her.
+
+"Allow me to continue," she said, "the time has come when I must speak.
+Let us see, why do you doubt me? For six months, in thought, in body, and
+in soul, I have belonged to no one but you. Of what do you dare suspect
+me? Do you wish to set out for Switzerland? I am ready, as you see. Do
+you think you have a rival? Send him a letter that I will sign and you
+will direct. What are we doing? Where are we going? Let us decide. Are we
+not always together? Very well, then why would you leave me? I can not be
+near you and separated from you at the same moment. It is necessary to
+have confidence in those we love. Love is either good or bad: if good, we
+must believe in it; if evil, we must cure ourselves of it. All this, you
+see, is a game we are playing; but our hearts and our lives are the
+stakes, and it is horrible! Do you wish to die? That would, perhaps, be
+better. Who am I that you should doubt me?"
+
+She stopped before the glass.
+
+"Who am I?" she repeated, "who am I? Think of it. Look at this face of
+mine."
+
+"Doubt thee!" she cried, addressing her own image; "poor, pale face, thou
+art suspected! poor thin cheeks, poor tired eyes, thou and thy tears are
+in disgrace. Very well, put an end to thy suffering; let those kisses
+that have wasted thee, close thy lids! Descend into the cold earth, poor
+trembling body that can no longer support its own weight. When thou art
+there, perchance thou wilt be believed, if doubt believes in death. O
+sorrowful specter! On the banks of what stream wilt thou wander and
+groan? What fires devour thee? Thou dreamest of a long journey and thou
+hast one foot in the grave! Die! God is thy witness that thou hast tried
+to love. Ah! what wealth of love has been awakened in thy heart! Ah! what
+dreams thou hast had, what poisons thou hast drunk! What evil hast thou
+committed that there should be placed in thy breast a fever that
+consumes? What fury animates that blind creature who pushes thee into the
+grave with his foot, while his lips speak to thee of love? What will
+become of thee if thou livest! Is it not time? Is it not enough? What
+proof canst thou give that will satisfy when thou, poor living proof, art
+not believed? To what torture canst thou submit that thou hast not
+already endured? By what torments, what sacrifices, wilt thou appease
+insatiable love? Thou wilt be only an object of ridicule, a thing to
+excite laughter; thou wilt vainly seek a deserted street to avoid the
+finger of scorn. Thou wilt lose all shame and even that appearance of
+virtue which has been so dear to thee; and the man, for whom thou hast
+disgraced thyself, will be the first to punish thee. He will reproach
+thee for living for him alone, for braving the world for him, and while
+thy own friends are whispering about thee, he will listen to assure
+himself that no word of pity is spoken; he will accuse thee of deceiving
+him if another hand even then presses thine, and if, in the desert of thy
+life, thou findest some one who can spare thee a word of pity in passing.
+O God! dost thou remember a day when a wreath of roses was placed on my
+head? Was it this brow on which that crown rested? Ah! the hand that hung
+it on the wall of the oratory has now fallen, like it, to dust! O my
+valley! O my old aunt, who now sleeps in peace! O my lindens, my little
+white goat, my dear peasants who loved me so much! You remember when I
+was happy, proud, and respected? Who threw in my path that stranger who
+took me away from all this? Who gave him the right to enter my life? Ah!
+wretch! why didst thou turn the first day he followed you? Why didst thou
+receive him as a brother? Why didst thou open thy door, and why didst
+thou hold out thy hand? Octave, Octave, why have you loved me if all is
+to end thus!"
+
+She was about to faint as I led her to a chair where she sank down and
+her head fell on my shoulder. The terrible effort she had made in
+speaking to me so bitterly had broken her down. Instead of an outraged
+woman, I found now only a suffering child. Her eyes closed and she was
+motionless.
+
+When she regained consciousness, she complained of extreme languor, and
+begged to be left alone that she might rest. She could hardly walk; I
+carried her gently to her room and placed her on the bed. There was no
+mark of suffering on her face: she was resting from her sorrow as from
+great fatigue and seemed not even to remember it. Her feeble and delicate
+body yielded without a struggle; the strain had been too great. She held
+my hand in hers; I kissed her; our lips met in loving union, and after
+the cruel scene through which she had passed, she slept smiling on my
+heart as on the first day.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BRIGITTE slept. Silent, motionless, I sat near her. As a farmer, when the
+storm has passed, counts the sheaves that remain in his devastated field,
+thus I began to estimate the evil I had done.
+
+The more I thought of it, the more irreparable I felt it to be. Certain
+sorrows, by their very excess, warn us of their limits, and the more
+shame and remorse I experienced, the more I felt that, after such a
+scene, nothing remained for us to do but to say adieu. Whatever courage
+Brigitte had shown, she had drunk to the dregs the bitter cup of her sad
+love: unless I wished to see her die, I must give her repose. She had
+often addressed cruel reproaches to me and had, perhaps, on certain other
+occasions shown more anger than in this scene; but what she had said this
+time was not dictated by offended pride; it was the truth, which, hidden
+closely in her heart, had broken it in escaping. Our present relations,
+and the fact that I had refused to go away with her, destroyed all hope;
+she desired to pardon me but she had not the power. This slumber even,
+this deathlike sleep of one who could suffer no more, was conclusive
+evidence; this sudden silence, the tenderness she had shown in the final
+moments, that pale face, and that kiss, confirmed me in the belief that
+all was over, and that I had broken, forever, whatever bond had united
+us. As surely as she slept now, as soon as I gave her cause for further
+suffering, she would sleep in eternal rest. The clock struck and I felt
+that the last hour had carried away my life with hers.
+
+Unwilling to call any one, I lighted Brigitte's lamp; I watched its
+feeble flame and my thoughts seemed to flicker in the darkness like its
+uncertain rays.
+
+Whatever I had said or done, the idea of losing Brigitte had never
+occurred to me up to this time. A hundred times I wished to leave her,
+but who has loved, and is ready to say just what is in his heart? That
+was in times of despair or of anger. So long as I knew that she loved me,
+I was sure of loving her; stern necessity had just arisen between us for
+the first time. I experienced a dull languor and could distinguish
+nothing clearly. What my mind understood, my soul recoiled from
+accepting. "Come," I said to myself, "I have desired it, and I have done
+it; there is not the slightest hope that we can live together; I am
+unwilling to kill this woman, so I have no alternative but to leave her.
+It is all over; I shall go away to-morrow."
+
+And all the while I was thinking neither of my responsibility, nor of the
+past, nor future; I thought neither of Smith nor his connection with the
+affair; I could not say who had led me there, or what I had done during
+the last hour. I looked at the walls of the room and thought that all I
+had to do was to wait until to-morrow and decide what carriage I would
+take.
+
+I remained for a long time in this strange calm. Just as the man who
+receives a thrust from a poignard feels, at first only the cold steel;
+when he has gone some distance on his way he becomes weak, his eyes start
+from their sockets and he asks what has happened. But drop by drop the
+blood flows, the ground under his feet becomes red; death comes; the man,
+at his approach, shudders with horror and falls as though struck by a
+thunderbolt. Thus, apparently calm, I awaited the coming of misfortune; I
+repeated in a low voice what Brigitte had said, and I placed near her all
+that I supposed she would need for the night; I looked at her, and then
+went to the window and pressed my forehead against the pane, peering out
+at a somber and lowering sky; then I returned to the bedside. That I was
+going away to-morrow was the only thought in my mind and, little by
+little, the word "depart" became intelligible to me. "Ah! God!" I
+suddenly cried, "my poor mistress, I am going to lose you and I have not
+known how to love you!"
+
+I trembled at these words as though it had been another who had
+pronounced them; they resounded through all my being as resounds the
+string of the harp that has been plucked to the point of breaking. In an
+instant two years of suffering traversed my heart, and after them, as
+their consequence and as their last expression, the present seized me.
+How shall I describe such woe? By a single word, perhaps, for those who
+have loved. I had taken Brigitte's hand, and, in a dream, doubtless, she
+had pronounced my name.
+
+I arose, and went to my room; a torrent of tears flowed from my eyes. I
+held out my arms as though to seize the past which was escaping me. "Is
+it possible," I repeated, "that I am going to lose you? I can love no one
+but you. What! you are going away? And forever? What! you, my life, my
+adored mistress, you flee from me; I shall never see you again? Never!
+never!" I said aloud; and, addressing myself to the sleeping Brigitte as
+though she could hear me, I added: "Never, never; do not think of it; I
+will never consent to it. And why so much pride? Are there no means of
+atoning for the offense I have committed? I beg of you let us seek some
+expiation. Have you not pardoned me a thousand times? But you love me,
+you will not be able to go, for courage will fail you. What shall we do?"
+
+A horrible madness seized me; I began to run here and there in search of
+some instrument of death. At last I fell on my knees and beat my head
+against the bed. Brigitte stirred and I remained quiet, fearing I would
+waken her.
+
+"Let her sleep until to-morrow," I said to myself; "you have all night to
+watch her."
+
+I resumed my place; I was so frightened at the idea of waking Brigitte,
+that I scarcely dared breathe. Gradually I became more calm and less
+bitter tears began to course gently down my cheeks. Tenderness succeeded
+fury. I leaned over Brigitte and looked at her as though, for the last
+time, my good angel was urging me to grave on my soul the lines of that
+dear face!
+
+How pale she was! Her large eyes, surrounded by a bluish circle, were
+moist with tears; her form, once so lithe, was bent as though under a
+burden; her cheek, wasted and leaden, rested on a hand that was spare and
+feeble; her brow seemed to bear the marks of that crown of thorns which
+is the diadem of resignation. I thought of the cottage. How young she was
+six months ago! How cheerful, how free, how careless! What had I done
+with all that? It seemed to me that a strange voice repeated an old
+romance that I had long since forgotten:
+
+  Altra volta gieri biele,
+  Blanch' e rossa com' un flore,
+  Ma ora no. Non son piu biele
+  Consumatis dal' amore.
+
+My sorrow was too great; I sprang to my feet and once more began to walk
+the floor. "Yes," I continued, "look at her; think of those who are
+consumed by a grief that is not shared with another. The evils you
+endure, others have suffered, and nothing is singular or peculiar to you.
+Think of those who have no mother, no relatives, no friends; of those who
+seek and do not find, of those who love in vain, of those who die and are
+forgotten. Before thee, there on that bed, lies a being that nature,
+perchance, formed for thee. From the highest circles of intelligence to
+the deepest and most impenetrable mysteries of matter and of form, that
+soul and that body are thy brothers; for six months thy mouth has not
+spoken, thy heart has not throbbed, without a responsive word and
+heart-beat from her; and that woman whom God has sent thee as He sends
+the rose to the field, is about to glide from thy heart. While rejoicing
+in each other's presence, and the angels of eternal love were singing
+before you, you were farther apart than two exiles at either end of the
+earth. Look at her, but be silent. Thou hast still one night to see her,
+if thy sobs do not awaken her."
+
+Little by little, my thoughts mounted and became more somber until I
+recoiled in terror.
+
+"To do evil! Such was the role imposed upon me by Providence! I, to do
+evil! I, to whom my conscience, even in the midst of my wildest follies,
+said that I was good! I, whom a pitiless destiny was dragging swiftly
+toward the abyss and whom a secret horror unceasingly warned of the awful
+fate to come! I, who, if I had shed blood with these hands, could yet
+repeat that my heart was not guilty; that I was deceived, that it was not
+I who did it, but my destiny, my evil genius, some unknown being who
+dwelt within me, but who was not born there! I, do evil! For six months I
+had been engaged in that task, not a day had passed that I had not worked
+at that impious occupation, and I had at that moment the proof before my
+eyes. The man who had loved Brigitte, who had offended her, then insulted
+her, then abandoned her, only to take her back again, trembling with
+fear, beset with suspicion, finally thrown on that bed of sorrow, where
+she now lay extended, was I!"
+
+I beat my breast, and, although looking at her, I could not believe it. I
+touched her as though to assure myself that it was not a dream. My face,
+as I saw it in the glass, regarded me with astonishment. Who was that
+creature who appeared before me bearing my features? Who was that
+pitiless man who blasphemed with my mouth and tortured with my hands? Was
+it he whom my mother called Octave? Was it he who, at fifteen, leaning
+over the crystal waters of a fountain, had a heart not less pure than
+they? I closed my eyes and thought of my childhood days. As a ray of
+light pierces a cloud, a gleam from the past pierced my heart.
+
+"No," I mused, "I did not do that. These things are but an absurd dream."
+
+I recalled the time when I was ignorant of life, when I was taking my
+first steps in experience. I remembered an old beggar who used to sit on
+a stone bench before the farm gate, to whom I was sometimes sent with the
+remains of our morning meal. Holding out his feeble, wrinkled hands he
+would bless me as he smiled upon me. I felt the morning wind blowing on
+my brow and a freshness as of the rose descending from heaven into my
+soul. Then I opened my eyes and, by the light of the lamp, saw the
+reality before me.
+
+"And you do not believe yourself guilty?" I demanded with horror. "O
+novice of yesterday, how corrupt to-day! Because you weep, you fondly
+imagine yourself innocent? What you consider the evidence of your
+conscience is only remorse; and what murderer does not experience it? If
+your virtue cries out, is it not because it feels the approach of death?
+O wretch! those far off voices that you hear groaning in your heart, do
+you think they are sobs? They are, perhaps, only the cry of the sea-mew,
+that funereal bird of the tempest, whose presence portends shipwreck. Who
+has ever told the story of the childhood of those who have died stained
+with human blood? They, also, have been good in their day; they sometimes
+bury their faces in their hands and think of those happy days. You do
+evil, and you repent? Nero did the same when he killed his mother. Who
+has told you that tears can wash away the stains of guilt?
+
+"And even if it were true that a part of your soul is not devoted to evil
+forever, what will you do with the other part that is not yours? You will
+touch with your left hand the wounds that you inflict with your right;
+you will make a shroud of your virtue in which to bury your crimes; you
+will strike, and, like Brutus, you will engrave on your sword the prattle
+of Plato! Into the heart of the being who opens her arms to you, you will
+plunge that blood-stained but repentant arm; you will follow to the
+cemetery the victim of your passion, and you will plant on her grave the
+sterile flower of your pity; you will say to those who see you: 'What
+would you expect? I have learned how to kill, and observe that I already
+weep; learn that God made me better than you see me.' You will speak of
+your youth and you will persuade yourself that Heaven ought to pardon
+you, that your misfortunes are involuntary and you will implore sleepless
+nights to grant you a little repose.
+
+"But who knows? You are still young. The more you trust in your heart,
+the farther astray you will be lead by your pride. To-day you stand
+before the first ruin you are going to leave on your route. If Brigitte
+dies to-morrow you will weep on her tomb; where will you go when you
+leave her? You will go away for three months perhaps, and you will travel
+in Italy; you will wrap your cloak about you, like a splenetic
+Englishman, and you will say some beautiful morning, sitting in your inn
+with your glasses before you, that it is time to forget in order to live
+again. You who weep too late, take care lest you weep more than one day.
+Who knows? When the present, which makes you shudder, shall have become
+the past, an old story, a confused memory, may it not happen some night
+of debauchery that you will overturn your chair and recount, with a smile
+on your lips, what you witnessed with tears in your eyes? It is thus that
+one drinks away shame. You have begun by being good, you will become
+weak, and you will become a monster.
+
+"My poor friend," said I, from the bottom of my heart, "I have a word of
+advice for you, and it is this: I believe that you must die. While there
+is still some virtue left, profit by it in order that you may not become
+altogether bad; while a woman you love lies there dying on that bed, and
+while you have a horror of yourself, strike the decisive blow; she still
+lives; that is enough; do not attend her funeral obsequies for fear that
+on the morrow you will not be consoled; turn the poignard against your
+own heart while that heart yet loves the God who made it. Is it your
+youth that makes you pause? And would you spare those youthful locks?
+Never allow them to whiten if they are not white to-night.
+
+"And then what would you do in the world? If you go away, where will you
+go? What can you hope for if you remain? Ah! in looking at that woman you
+seem to have a treasure buried in your heart. It is not merely that you
+lose her, it is less what has been than what might have been. When the
+hands of the clock indicated such and such an hour, you might have been
+happy. If you suffer, why do you not open your heart? If you love, why do
+you not say so? Why do you die of hunger clasping a priceless treasure in
+your hands? You have closed the door, you miser; you debate with yourself
+behind locks and bolts. Shake them, for it was your hand that forged
+them. O fool! who have desired, and have possessed your desire, you have
+not thought of God! You play with happiness as a child plays with a
+rattle, and you do not reflect how rare and fragile a thing you hold in
+your hands; you treat it with disdain, you smile at it and you continue
+to amuse yourself with it, forgetting how many prayers it has cost your
+good angel to preserve for you that shadow of daylight! Ah! if there is
+in heaven one who watches over you, what is he doing at this moment? He
+is seated before an organ; his wings are half folded, his hands extended
+over the ivory keys; he begins an eternal hymn; the hymn of love and
+immortal rest, but his wings droop, his head falls over the keys; the
+angel of death has touched him on the shoulder, he disappears into
+immensity!
+
+"And you, at the age of twenty-two when a noble and exalted passion, when
+the strength of youth might perhaps have made something of you! When
+after so many sorrows and bitter disappointments, a youth so dissipated,
+you saw a better time shining in the future; when your life, consecrated
+to the object of your adoration, gave promise of new strength, at that
+moment the abyss yawns before you! You no longer experience vague
+desires, but real regrets; your heart is no longer hungry, it is broken!
+And you hesitate? What do you expect? Since she no longer cares for your
+life, it counts for nothing! Since she abandons you, abandon yourself!
+Let those who have loved you in your youth weep for you! They are not
+many. If you would live, you must not only forget love but you must deny
+that it exists; not only deny what there has been of good in you, but
+kill all that may be good in the future; for what will you do if you
+remember? Life for you would be one ceaseless regret. No, no, you must
+choose between your soul and your body; you must kill one or the other.
+The memory of the good drives you to the evil; make a corpse of yourself
+unless you wish to become your own specter. O child, child! die while you
+can! May tears be shed over thy grave!"
+
+I threw myself on the foot of the bed in such a frightful state of
+despair, that my reason fled and I no longer knew where I was or what I
+was doing. Brigitte sighed.
+
+My senses stirred within me. Was it grief or despair? I do not know.
+Suddenly a horrible idea occurred to me.
+
+"What!" I muttered, "leave that for another! Die, descend into the
+ground, while that bosom heaves with the air of heaven? Just God! another
+hand than mine on that fine, transparent skin! Another mouth on those
+lips, another love in that heart! Brigitte happy, loving, adored, and I
+in a corner of the cemetery, crumbling into dust in a ditch! How long
+will it take her to forget me if I cease to exist to-morrow? How many
+tears will she shed? None, perhaps! Not a friend who speaks to her but
+will say that my death was a good thing. Who will not hasten to console
+her, who will not urge her to forget me! If she weeps, they will seek to
+distract her attention from her loss; if memory haunts her, they will
+take her away; if her love for me survives me, they will seek to cure her
+as though she had been poisoned; and she herself, who will perhaps at
+first say that she desires to follow me, will a month later turn aside to
+avoid the weeping-willow planted over my grave! How could it be
+otherwise? Who as beautiful as she wastes life in idle regrets? If she
+should think of dying of grief that beautiful bosom would urge her to
+live, and her glass would persuade her; and the day when her exhausted
+tears give place to the first smile, who will not congratulate her on her
+recovery? When, after eight days of silence, she consents to hear my name
+pronounced in her presence, then she will speak of it herself as though
+to say: 'Console me;' then little by little she will no longer refuse to
+think of the past but will speak of it, and she will open her window some
+beautiful spring morning when the birds are singing in the garden; she
+will become pensive and say: 'I have loved!' Who will be there at her
+side? Who will dare to tell her that she must continue to love? Ah! then
+I will be no more! You will listen to him, faithless one! You will blush
+as does the budding rose and the blood of youth will mount to your face.
+While saying that your heart is sealed, you will allow it to escape
+through that fresh aureole of beauty, each ray of which allures a kiss.
+How much they desire to be loved who say they love no more! And why
+should that astonish you? You are a woman; that body, that spotless
+bosom, you know what they are worth; when you conceal them under your
+dress you do not believe, as do the virgins, that all are alike, and you
+know the price of your modesty. How can the woman who has been praised
+resolve to be praised no more? Does she think she is living when she
+remains in the shadow and there is silence round about her beauty? Her
+beauty itself is the admiring glance of her lover. No, no, there can be
+no doubt of it; who has loved, can not live without love; who has seen
+death, clings to life. Brigitte loves me and will perhaps die of love; I
+will kill myself and another will have her."
+
+"Another, another!" I repeated, bending over her until my head touched
+her shoulder. "Is she not a widow? Has she not already seen death? Have
+not these little hands prepared the dead for burial? Her tears for the
+second will not flow as long as those shed for the first. Ah! God forgive
+me! While she sleeps why should I not kill her? If I should awaken her
+now and tell her that her hour had come and that we were going to die
+with a last kiss, she would consent. What does it matter? Is it certain
+that all does not end with that?"
+
+I found a knife on the table and I picked it up.
+
+"Fear, cowardice, superstition! What do they know about it who talk of
+something else beyond? It is for the ignorant, common people that a
+future life has been invented, but who really believes in it? What
+watcher in the cemetery has seen Death leave his tomb and hold
+consultation with a priest? In olden times there were fantoms; they are
+interdicted by the police in civilized cities and no cries are now heard
+issuing from the earth except from those buried in haste. Who has
+silenced death if it has ever spoken? Because funeral processions are no
+longer permitted to encumber our streets, does the celestial spirit
+languish? To die, that is the final purpose, the end. God has established
+it, man discusses it; but over every door is written: 'Do what thou wilt,
+thou shalt die.' What will be said if I kill Brigitte? Neither of us will
+hear. In to-morrow's journal would appear the intelligence that Octave de
+T----- had killed his mistress, and the day after no one would speak of
+it. Who would follow us to the grave? No one who, upon returning to his
+home, could not enjoy a hearty dinner; and when we were extended side by
+side in our narrow bed, the world could walk over our graves without
+disturbing us. Is it not true, my well-beloved, is it not true that it
+would be well with us? It is a soft bed, that bed of earth; no suffering
+can reach us there; the occupants of the neighboring tombs will not
+gossip about us; our bones will embrace in peace and without pride, for
+death is solace, and that which binds does not also separate. Why should
+annihilation frighten thee, poor body, destined to corruption? Every hour
+that strikes drags thee on to thy doom, every step breaks the round on
+which thou hast just rested; thou art nourished by the dead; the air of
+heaven weighs upon and crushes thee, the earth on which thou treadest
+attacks thee by the soles of thy feet. Down with thee! Why art thou
+affrighted? Dost thou tremble at a word? Merely say: 'We will not live.'
+Is not life a burden that we long to lay down? Why hesitate when it is
+merely a question of a little sooner or a little later? Matter is
+indestructible, and the physicists, we are told, grind to infinity the
+smallest speck of dust without being able to annihilate it. If matter is
+the property of chance, what harm can it do to change its form since it
+can not cease to be matter? Why should God care what form I have received
+and with what livery I invest my grief? Suffering lives in my brain; it
+belongs to me, I kill it; but my bones do not belong to me and I return
+them to Him who lent them to me: may some poet make a cup of my skull
+from which to drink his new wine What reproach can I incur and what harm
+can that reproach do me? What stern judge will tell me that I have done
+wrong? What does he know about it? Was he such as I? If every creature
+has his task to perform and if it is a crime to shirk it, what culprits
+are the babes who die on the nurse's breast! Why should they be spared?
+Who will be instructed by the lessons which are taught after death? Must
+heaven be a desert in order that man may be punished for having lived? Is
+it not enough to have lived? I do not know who asked that question,
+unless it was Voltaire on his death-bed; it is a cry of despair worthy of
+a helpless old atheist. But to what purpose? Why so many struggles? Who
+is there above us who delights in so much agony? Who amuses himself and
+whiles away an idle hour watching this spectacle of creation, always
+renewed and always dying, seeing the work of man's hands rising, the
+grass growing; looking upon the planting of the seed and the fall of the
+thunderbolt; beholding man walking about upon his earth until he meets
+the beckoning finger of death; counting tears and watching them dry upon
+the cheek of pain; noting the pure profile of love and the wrinkled face
+of age; seeing hands stretched up to him in supplication, bodies
+prostrate before him, and not a blade of wheat more in the harvest! Who
+is it then who has made so much for the pleasure of knowing that it all
+amounts to nothing! The earth is dying; Herschell says it is of cold; who
+holds in his hand the drop of condensed vapor and watches it as it dries
+up, as an angler watches a grain of sand in his hand? That mighty law of
+attraction that suspends the world in space, torments it and consumes it
+in endless desire; every planet carries its load of misery and groans on
+its axle; they call to each other across the abyss and each wonders which
+will stop first. God controls them; they accomplish assiduously and
+eternally their appointed and useless task; they whirl about, they
+suffer, they burn, they become extinct and they light up with new flame;
+they descend and they reascend, they follow and yet they avoid each
+other, they interlace like rings; they carry on their surface thousands
+of beings who are ceaselessly renewed; the beings move about, cross each
+other's paths, clasp each other for an hour, and then fall and others
+rise in their place; where life fails, life hastens to the spot; where
+air is wanting, air rushes; no disorder, everything is regulated, marked
+out, written down in lines of gold and parables of fire, everything keeps
+step with the celestial music along the pitiless paths of life; and all
+for nothing! And we, poor nameless dreams, pale and sorrowful
+apparitions, helpless ephemera, we who are animated by the breath of a
+second, in order that death may exist, we exhaust ourselves with fatigue
+in order to prove that we are living for a purpose, and that something
+indefinable is stirring within us. We hesitate to turn against our
+breasts a little piece of steel, or blow out our brains with a little
+instrument no larger than our hand; it seems to us that chaos would
+return again; we have written and revised the laws both human and divine
+and we are afraid of our catechisms; we suffer thirty years without
+murmuring and imagine that we are struggling; finally suffering becomes
+the stronger, we send a pinch of powder into the sanctuary of
+intelligence, and a flower pierces the soil above our grave."
+
+As I finished these words I directed the knife I held in my hand against
+Brigitte's bosom. I was no longer master of myself, and in my delirious
+condition I know not what might have happened; I threw back the
+bedclothing to uncover the heart, when I discovered on her white bosom a
+little ebony crucifix.
+
+I recoiled, seized with sudden fear; my hand relaxed, my weapon fell to
+the floor. It was Brigitte's aunt who had given her that little crucifix
+on her death-bed. I did not remember ever having seen it before;
+doubtless, at the moment of setting out she had suspended it about her
+neck as a preserving charm against the dangers of the journey. Suddenly I
+joined my, hands and knelt on the floor.
+
+"O, Lord my God," I said in trembling tones, "Lord, my God, thou art
+there!"
+
+Let those who do not believe in Christ read this page; I no longer
+disbelieved in him. Neither as a child, nor at school, nor as a man, have
+I frequented churches; my religion, if I had any, had neither rite nor
+symbol, and I believed in a God without form, without a cult, and without
+revelation. Poisoned, from youth, by all the writings of the last
+century, I had sucked, at an early hour, the sterile milk of impiety.
+Human pride, that God of the egoist, closed my mouth against prayer,
+while my affrighted soul took refuge in the hope of nothingness. I was as
+though drunken or insensate when I saw that effigy of Christ on
+Brigitte's bosom; while not believing in him myself I recoiled, knowing
+that she believed in him. It was not vain terror that arrested my hand.
+Who saw me? I was alone and it was night. Was it prejudice? What
+prevented me from hurling out of my sight that little piece of black
+wood? I could have thrown it into the fire, but it was my weapon I threw
+there. Ah! what an experience that was, and still is, for my soul! What
+miserable wretches are men who mock at that which can save a human being!
+What matters the name, the form, the belief? Is not all that is good
+sacred? How dare any one touch God?
+
+As at a glance from the sun the snows descend the mountains and the
+glaciers that threatened heaven melt into streams in the valley, so there
+descended into my heart a stream that overflowed its banks. Repentance is
+a pure incense; it exhaled from all my suffering. Although I had almost
+committed a crime when my hand was arrested, I felt that my heart was
+innocent. In an instant calm, self-possession, reason returned; I again
+approached the bed; I leaned over my idol and kissed the crucifix.
+
+"Sleep in peace," I said to her, "God watches over you! While your lips
+were parting in a smile, you were in greater danger than you have ever
+known before. But the hand that threatened you will harm no one; I swear
+by the faith you profess, I will not kill either you or myself! I am a
+fool, a madman, a child who thinks himself a man. God be praised! You are
+young and beautiful. You live and you will forget me. You will recover
+from the evil I have done you, if you can forgive me. Sleep in peace
+until day, Brigitte, and then decide our fate; whatever sentence you
+pronounce, I will submit without complaint. And thou, Lord, who hast
+saved me, grant me pardon. I was born in an impious century, and I have
+many crimes to expiate. Thou Son of God, whom men forget, I have not been
+taught to love Thee. I have never worshiped in Thy temples, but I thank
+heaven that where I find Thee, I tremble and bow in reverence. I have at
+least kissed with my lips a heart that is full of Thee. Protect that
+heart so long as life lasts; dwell within it, Thou Holy One; a poor
+unfortunate has been brave enough to defy death at the sight of Thy
+suffering and Thy death; though impious, Thou hast saved him from evil;
+if he had believed, Thou wouldst have consoled him. Pardon those who have
+made him incredulous since Thou hast made him repentant; pardon those who
+blaspheme! When they were in despair they did not see Thee! Human joys
+are a mockery; they are scornful and pitiless; O Lord! the happy of this
+world think they have no need of Thee! Pardon them. Although their pride
+may outrage Thee, they will be, sooner or later, baptized in tears; grant
+that they may cease to believe in any other shelter from the tempest,
+than Thy love, and spare them the severe lessons of unhappiness. Our
+wisdom and skepticism are in our hands but children's toys; forgive us
+for dreaming that we can defy Thee, Thou who smilest at Golgotha. The
+worst result of all our vain misery is that it tempts us to forget Thee.
+But Thou knowest that it is all but a shadow, which a glance from Thee
+can dissipate. Hast not Thou Thyself been a man? It was sorrow that made
+Thee God; sorrow is an instrument of torture by which Thou hast mounted
+to the very throne of God, Thy Father, and it is sorrow that leads us to
+Thee as it led Thee to Thy Father; we come to Thee with our crown of
+thorns and kneel before Thy mercy-seat; we touch Thy bleeding feet with
+our bloodstained hands, and Thou hast suffered martyrdom for being loved
+by the unfortunate."
+
+The first rays of dawn began to appear: man and nature were rousing
+themselves from sleep and the air was filled with the confusion of
+distant sounds. Weak and exhausted I was about to leave Brigitte, and
+seek a little repose. As I was passing out of the room, a dress thrown on
+a chair slipped to the floor near me, and in its folds I spied a piece of
+paper. I picked it up; it was a letter, and I recognized Brigitte's hand.
+The envelope was not sealed. I opened it and read as follows:
+
+
+                    23 December, 18--
+
+"When you receive this letter I shall be far away from you, and shall
+perhaps never see you again. My destiny is bound up with that of a man
+for whom I have sacrificed everything; he can not live without me and I
+am going to try to die for him. I love you; adieu, and pity us."
+
+
+I turned the letter over when I had read it, and saw that it was
+addressed to "M. Henri Smith, N-----, _poste restante_."
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+ON the morrow, a clear December day, a young man and a woman who rested
+on his arm, passed through the garden of the Palais-Royal. They entered a
+jeweler's store where they chose two similar rings which they smilingly
+exchanged. After a short walk they took breakfast at the
+Freres-Provencaux, in one of those little rooms which are, all things
+considered, one of the most beautiful spots in the world. There, when the
+garcon had left them, they sat near the windows, hand in hand. The young
+man was in traveling dress; to see the joy which shone on his face, one
+would have taken him for a young husband showing his young wife the
+beauties and pleasures of Parisian life. His happiness was calm and
+subdued, as true happiness always is. The experienced would have
+recognized in him the youth who merges into manhood. From time to time he
+looked up at the sky, then at his companion, and tears glittered in his
+eyes, but he heeded them not, and smiled as he wept. The woman was pale
+and thoughtful, her eyes were fixed on the man. On her face were traces
+of sorrow which she could not conceal, although evidently touched by the
+exalted joy of her companion. When he smiled, she smiled too, but never
+alone; when he spoke, she replied and she ate what he served her; but
+there was about her a silence which was only broken at his instance. In
+her languor could be clearly distinguished that gentleness of soul, that
+lethargy of the weaker of two beings who love, one of whom exists only in
+the other and responds to him as does the echo. The young man was
+conscious of it and seemed proud of it and grateful for it; but it could
+be seen even by his pride that his happiness was new to him. When the
+woman became sad and her eyes fell, he cheered her with his glance; but
+he could not always succeed, and seemed troubled himself. That mingling
+of strength and weakness, of joy and sorrow, of anxiety and serenity
+could not have been understood by an indifferent spectator; at times they
+appeared the most happy of living creatures, and the next moment the most
+unhappy; but although ignorant of their secret, one would have felt that
+they were suffering together, and, whatever their mysterious trouble, it
+could be seen that they had placed on their sorrow a seal more powerful
+than love itself--friendship. While their hands were clasped their
+glances were chaste; although they were alone, they spoke in low tones.
+As though overcome by their feelings they sat face to face, although
+their lips did not touch. They looked at each other tenderly and
+solemnly. When the clock struck one, the woman heaved a sigh and said:
+
+"Octave, are you sure of yourself?"
+
+"Yes, my friend, I am resolved. I will suffer much, a long time, perhaps
+forever; but we will cure ourselves, you with time, I with God."
+
+"Octave, Octave," repeated the woman, "are you sure you are not deceiving
+yourself?"
+
+"I do not believe we can forget each other; but I believe that we can
+forgive and that is what I desire even at the price of separation."
+
+"Why could we not meet again? Why not some day--you are so young!"
+
+Then she added with a smile: "We could see each other without danger."
+
+"No, my friend, for you must know that I could never see you again
+without loving you. May he to whom I bequeath you be worthy of you! Smith
+is brave, good and honest, but however much you may love him, you see
+very well that you still love me, for if I should decide to remain, or to
+take you away with me, you would consent."
+
+"It is true," replied the woman.
+
+"True! true!" repeated the young man, looking into her eyes with all his
+soul. "Is it true that if I wished it you would go with me?"
+
+Then he continued softly: "That is the reason I must never see you again.
+There are certain loves in life that overturn the head, the senses, the
+mind, the heart; there is among them all but one that does not disturb,
+that penetrates, and that dies only with the being in which it has taken
+root."
+
+"But you will write to me?"
+
+"Yes, at first, for what I have to suffer is so keen that the absence of
+the habitual object of my love would kill me. When I was unknown to you,
+I gradually approached closer and closer to you until--but let us not go
+into the past. Little by little my letters will become less frequent
+until they cease altogether. I will thus descend the hill that I have
+been climbing for the past year. When one stands before a fresh grave,
+over which are engraved two cherished names, one experiences a mysterious
+sense of grief, which causes tears to trickle down one's cheeks; it is
+thus that I wish to remember having once lived."
+
+At these words the woman threw herself on the couch and burst into tears.
+The young man wept with her, but he did not move and seemed anxious to
+appear unconscious of her emotion. When her tears ceased to flow, he
+approached her, took her hand in his and kissed it.
+
+"Believe me," said he, "to be loved by you, whatever the name of the
+place I occupy in your heart, will give me strength and courage. Rest
+assured, Brigitte, no one will ever understand you better than I; another
+will love you more worthily, no one will love you more truly. Another
+will be considerate of those feelings that I offend, he will surround you
+with his love; you will have a better lover, you will not have a better
+brother. Give me your hand and let the world laugh at a word that it does
+not understand: Let us be friends; and adieu forever. Before we became
+such intimate friends there was something within that told us that we
+were destined to mingle our lives. Let that part of us which is still
+joined in God's sight never know that we have parted upon earth; let not
+the paltry chance of a moment undo the union of our eternal happiness!"
+
+He held the woman's hand; she arose, tears streaming from her eyes, and,
+stepping up to the mirror with a strange smile on her face, she cut from
+her head a long tress of hair; then she looked at herself, thus
+disfigured and deprived of a part of her beautiful crown, and gave it to
+her lover.
+
+The clock struck again; it was time to go; when they passed out they
+seemed as joyful as when they entered.
+
+"What a glorious sun," said the young man.
+
+"And a beautiful day," said Brigitte, "the memory of which shall never
+fade."
+
+They hastened away and disappeared in the crowd. A moment later a
+carriage passed over a little hill beyond Fontainebleau. The young man
+was the only occupant; he looked for the last time upon his native town
+as it disappeared in the distance and thanked God that, of the three
+beings who had suffered through his fault, there remained but one of them
+still unhappy.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confession of a Child of The
+Century, by Alfred de Musset
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