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

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СКАЧАТЬ 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

       Table of Contents

      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 СКАЧАТЬ