Julie introduced me to M. de Bonald as the young man whose verses he
had read; he was surprised at my youth, and addressed me with
indulgence. He conversed with Julie with the paternal familiarity of a
man whose genius had rendered him illustrious; he had all the serenity
of age, and sought in the company of a young and lovely woman merely a
passing ray of beauty to enchant his eyes, and the charm of her society
during the calm and conversational hours at the close of day. His voice
was deep, as though it came from the heart, and his conversation flowed
with the graceful, yet serious, ease of a mind which seeks to unbend in
repose. Honesty was stamped on his brow, and spoke in the accents of
his voice. As the conversation seemed likely to be prolonged, and the
clock was on the point of striking twelve, I thought it right to take
my leave first, so as to create no suspicion of too great familiarity
in the mind of a friend and visitor of older standing than myself in
the house. Silence and one single look were the only reward I received
for my long and ardent expectation and my weary journey; but I bore
away with me her image and the certainty of seeing her every day,--that
was enough; it was too much. I wandered a long while on the quays,
baring my breast to the night air, and inhaling it with my lips, to
allay the fever of happiness which possessed me. On my return home, I
found that V---- had been asleep many hours; as for me, it was
daylight, and I had heard the cries of the venders in the streets of
Paris before I closed my eyes.
* * * * *
My days were filled with one single thought, which I treasured up in my
heart, and would not even allow my countenance to reveal, as a precious
perfume of which one would fear to let a particle evaporate by exposing
the vase that contains it to the outward air. I used to rise with the
first rays of light, which always penetrated tardily into the dark
alcove of the little ante-room where my friend gave me shelter like a
mendicant of love. I always began the day by a long letter to Julie,
which was but a calmer continuation of the conversation of the day
before; in it I poured forth all the thoughts that had suggested
themselves since I had left her. Love feels delightful remorse at its
tender omissions; accuses, reproaches itself, and feels no rest till
they have been repaired. They are gems fallen from the heart or the
lips of the loved one, which cause the lover's thoughts to travel back
over the past, to gather them up, and to increase the treasure of his
feelings. Julie, when she awoke, received my letter, which made it
appear to her as though the conversation of the preceding evening had
not been interrupted, but had been kept up in whispered tones during
her sleep. I always received her answer before noon.
My heart being thus appeased, after the agitation of the night, my next
thought was to calm the impatience for the evening's interview, which
began to take possession of me. I strove not to divert my heart from
its one thought, but to interest my eyes and mind, and had laid down as
a law to myself to spend several hours in reading and study, to occupy
the interval between the time when I left Julie till we met again. I
wished to improve myself not for others, but for her,--in order that he
whom she loved should not disgrace her preference; and that those
superior men who composed her society, and who sometimes saw me in her
drawing-room standing at a corner of the fireplace, like a statue of
contemplation, should discover in me, if by chance they spoke to me, a
soul, an intelligence, a hope, or a promise, beneath my timid and
silent appearance. Then I had vague dreams of shining exploits, of a
stirring destiny, which Julie would watch from afar, and rejoice to see
me struggling with men, rising in strength, in greatness, and in power;
I thought she might one day glory secretly in having appreciated me
before the crowd, and in having loved me before posterity.