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.