La confession d'un enfant du siècle. English

by Alfred de Musset

  CHAPTER III. THE BEGINNING OF THE CONFESSIONS

  I have to explain how I was first taken with the malady of the age.

  I was at table, at a great supper, after a masquerade. About me weremy friends, richly costumed, on all sides young men and women, allsparkling with beauty and joy; on the right and on the left exquisitedishes, flagons, splendor, flowers; above my head was an obstreperousorchestra, and before me my loved one, whom I idolized.

  I was then nineteen; I had passed through no great misfortune, I hadsuffered 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 myhead; it was one of those moments of intoxication when all that onesees and hears speaks to one of the well-beloved. All nature appeareda beautiful stone with a thousand facets, on which was engraven themysterious name. One would willingly embrace all who smile, and feelthat he is brother of all who live. My mistress had granted me arendezvous, and I was gently raising my glass to my lips while my eyeswere 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 hadrolled. I then saw under the table my mistress's foot; it touched thatof a young man seated beside her; from time to time they exchanged agentle pressure.

  Perfectly calm, I asked for another fork and continued my supper. Mymistress and her neighbor, on their side, were very quiet, talking butlittle and never looking at each other. The young man had his elbows onthe table and was chatting with another woman, who was showing him hernecklace and bracelets. My mistress sat motionless, her eyes fixed andswimming with languor. I watched both of them during the entire supper,and I saw nothing either in their gestures or in their faces that couldbetray them. Finally, at dessert, I dropped my napkin, and stooping downsaw that they were still in the same position.

  I had promised to escort my mistress to her home that night. She was awidow and therefore free, living alone with an old relative who servedas chaperon. As I was crossing the hall she called to me:

  "Come, Octave!" she said, "let us go; here I am."

  I laughed, and passed out without replying. After walking a shortdistance I sat down on a stone projecting from a wall. I do not knowwhat my thoughts were; I sat as if stupefied by the unfaithfulness ofone of whom I had never been jealous, whom I had never had cause tosuspect. What I had seen left no room for doubt; I was felled as if by astroke from a club. The only thing I remember doing as I sat there, waslooking mechanically up at the sky, and, seeing a star shoot across theheavens, I saluted that fugitive gleam, in which poets see a worn-outworld, and gravely took off my hat to it.

  I returned to my home very quietly, experiencing nothing, as if deprivedof all sensation and reflection. I undressed and retired; hardly had myhead touched the pillow when the spirit of vengeance seized me with suchforce that I suddenly sat bolt upright against the wall as if all mymuscles were made of wood. I then 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 beside myself, and stiff as askeleton. It was the first burst of passion I had ever experienced.

  The man I had surprised with my mistress was one of my most intimatefriends. I went to his house the next day, in company with a younglawyer named Desgenais; we took pistols, another witness, and repairedto the woods of Vincennes. On the way I avoided speaking to my adversaryor even approaching him; thus I resisted the temptation to insult orstrike him, a useless form of violence at a time when the law recognizedthe code. But I could not remove my eyes from him. He was the companionof my childhood, and we had lived in the closest intimacy for manyyears. He understood perfectly my love for my mistress, and had severaltimes intimated that bonds of this kind were sacred to a friend, andthat he would be incapable of an attempt to supplant me, even if heloved the same woman. In short, I had perfect confidence in him and Ihad perhaps never pressed the hand of any human creature more cordiallythan his.

  Eagerly and curiously I scrutinized this man whom I had heard speakof love like an antique hero and whom yet I had caught caressing mymistress. It was the first time in my life I had seen a monster; Imeasured him with a haggard eye to see what manner of man was this. Hewhom I had known since he was ten years old, with whom I had lived inthe most perfect friendship, it seemed to me I had never seen him. Allowme a comparison.

  There is a Spanish play, familiar to all the world, in which a stonestatue comes to sup with a profligate, sent thither by divine justice.The profligate puts a good face on the matter and forces himself toaffect indifference; but the statue asks for his hand, and when hehas extended it he feels himself seized by a mortal chill and falls inconvulsions.

  Whenever I have loved and confided in any one, either friend ormistress, and suddenly discover that I have been deceived, I can onlydescribe the effect produced on me by comparing it to the clasp of thatmarble hand. It is the actual impression of marble, it is as if a man ofstone had embraced me. Alas! this horrible apparition has knocked morethan once at my door; more than once we have supped together.

  When the arrangements were all made we placed ourselves in line, facingeach other and slowly advancing. My adversary fired the first shot,wounding me in the right arm. I immediately seized my pistol in theother hand; but my strength failed, I could not raise it; I fell on oneknee.

  Then I saw my enemy running up to me with an expression of great anxietyon his face, and very pale. Seeing that I was wounded, my secondshastened to my side, but he pushed them aside and seized my woundedarm. His teeth were set, and I could see that he was suffering intenseanguish. His agony was as frightful as man can experience.

  "Go!" he cried; "go, stanch 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 notdangerous, the bone being untouched, but I was in such a state ofexcitation that it was impossible properly to dress my wound. As theywere about to drive from the field I saw a trembling hand at the door ofmy cab; it was that of my adversary. I shook my head in reply; I wasin such a rage that I could not pardon him, although I felt that hisrepentance was sincere.

  By the time I reached home I had lost much blood and felt relieved, forfeebleness saved me from the anger which was doing me more harm than mywound. I willingly retired to my bed and called for a glass of water,which I gulped down with relish.

  But I was soon attacked by fever. It was then I began to shed tears. Icould understand that my mistress had ceased to love me, but not thatshe could deceive me. I could not comprehend why a woman, who was forcedto it by neither duty nor interest, could lie to one man when she lovedanother. Twenty times a day I asked my friend Desgenais how that couldbe possible.

  "If I were her husband," I said, "or if I supported her, I could easilyunderstand how she might be tempted to deceive me; but if she no longerloves 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 haveloved a woman I have told her of it, and when I ceased to love her Ihave confessed it with the same sincerity, having always thought thatin matters of this kind the will was not concerned and that there was nocrime 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, noteven to reproach her, and if she wrote to me not to reply. I promisedall, with some surprise that he should consider it necessary to exactsuch a pledge.

  Nevertheless, the first thing I did when I was able to leave my roomwas to visit my mistress. I found her alone, seated in the corner ofher room, with an expression of sorrow on her face and an appearanceof general disorder in her surroundings. I overwhelmed her with violentreproaches; I was intoxicated with despair. In a paroxysm of grief Ifell on the bed and gave free course to my tears.

>   "Ah! faithless one! wretch!" I cried between my sobs, "you knew that itwould 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 tempted,that my rival had intoxicated her at that fatal supper, but that shehad never been his; that she had abandoned herself in a moment offorgetfulness; that she had committed a fault but not a crime; butthat if I would not pardon her, she, too, would die. All that sincererepentance has of tears, all that sorrow has of eloquence, she exhaustedin order to console me; pale and distraught, her dress deranged, herhair falling over her shoulders, she kneeled in the middle of herchamber; never have I seen anything so beautiful, and I shuddered withhorror as my senses revolted at the sight.

  I went away crushed, scarcely able to direct my tottering steps. Iwished 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 afull desire to know her mine once more, to drain the cup of tears andbitterness to the dregs, and then to die with her. In short I abhorredher, yet I idolized her; I felt that her love was ruin, but that to livewithout her was impossible. I mounted the stairs like a flash; I spoketo none of the servants, but, familiar with the house, opened the doorof her chamber.

  I found her seated calmly before her toilette-table, covered withjewels; she held in her hand a piece of red crepe which she passedgently over her cheeks. I thought I was dreaming; it did not seempossible that this was the woman I had left, just fifteen minutesbefore, overwhelmed with grief, abased to the floor; I was as motionlessas a statue. She, hearing the door open, turned her head and smiled:

  "Is it you?" she said.

  She was going to a ball and was expecting my rival. As she recognizedme, she compressed her lips and frowned.

  I started to leave the room. I looked at her bare neck, lithe andperfumed, on which rested her knotted hair confined by a jewelled comb;that neck, the seat of vital force, was blacker than hell; two shiningtresses had fallen there and some light silvern hairs balanced above it.Her shoulders and neck, whiter than milk, displayed a heavy growthof down. There was in that knotted mass of hair something maddeninglylovely, which seemed to mock me when I thought of the sorrowful abandonin which I had seen her a moment before. I suddenly stepped up to herand struck that neck with the back of my hand. My mistress gave vent toa 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 obligedto 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 listenedin silence, then paced up and down the room as if undecided as to hisnext course. Finally he stopped before my bed and burst out laughing.

  "Is she your first love?" he asked.

  "No!" I replied, "she is my last."

  Toward midnight, while sleeping restlessly, I seemed to hear in mydreams a profound sigh. I opened my eyes and saw my mistress standingnear my bed with arms crossed, looking like a spectre. I could notrestrain a cry of fright, believing it to be an apparition conjured upby my diseased brain. I leaped from my bed and fled to the farther endof 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 toyou, I am an infamous wretch and I am miserable; but I love you, and Ican not live without you."

  I looked at her; how beautiful she was! Her body was quivering; hereyes were languid with love and moist with voluptuousness; her bosom wasbare, her lips were burning. I raised her in my arms.

  "Very well," I said, "but before God who sees us, by the soul of myfather, 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 arefeverish. 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 man can love,and to my sorrow I love you still. You have just told me that you loveme, and I hope it is true; but, by all that is sacred, if I am yourlover to-night, no one shall take my place tomorrow. Before God, beforeGod," I repeated, "I would not take you back as my mistress, for I hateyou as much as I love you. Before God, if you wish to stay here to-nightI will kill you in the morning."

  When I had spoken these words I fell into a delirium. She threw hercloak 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 abeautiful woman."

  "Are you joking?" I asked. "Do you think such a woman could be mymistress? Do you think I would ever consent to share her with another?Do you know that she confesses that another attracts her, and do youexpect me, loving her as I do, to share my love? If that is the way youlove, 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 sortof love; perhaps you are capable of it; I believe you are, but I do notenvy you. You will have other mistresses, my friend, and you will liveto regret what happened last night. If that woman came to you it iscertain that she loved you; perhaps she does not love you at thismoment--indeed, she may be in the arms of another; but she loved youlast night in that room; and what should you care for the rest? Youwill regret it, believe me, for she will not come again. A womanpardons everything except such a slight. Her love for you must have beensomething terrible when she came to you knowing and confessing herselfguilty, risking rebuff and contempt at your hands. Believe me, you willregret 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 asI listened. While he was speaking I felt a strong desire to go to mymistress, or to write to her to come to me. I was so weak that I couldnot leave my bed, and that saved me from the shame of finding herwaiting for my rival or perhaps in his company. But I could write toher; in spite of myself I doubted whether she would come if I shouldwrite.

  When Desgenais left me I became so desperate that I resolved to put anend to my trouble. After a terrible struggle, horror got the better oflove. I wrote my mistress that I would never see her again, and beggedher not to try to see me unless she wished to be exposed to the shame ofbeing refused admittance. I called a servant and ordered him to deliverthe letter at once. He had hardly closed the door when I called himback. He did not hear me; I did not dare call again; covering my facewith my hands, I yielded to an overwhelming sense of despair.