The Confession of a Child of the Century. Alfred de Musset

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

       Table of Contents

      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 СКАЧАТЬ