La confession d'un enfant du siècle. English

by Alfred de Musset

  CHAPTER I. AT THE CROSSWAYS

  Upon awaking the following morning I experienced a feeling of such deepdisgust with myself, and felt so degraded in my own eyes that a horribletemptation assailed me. Then I sat down and looked gloomily about theroom, my eyes resting mechanically on a brace of pistols that decoratedthe walls.

  When the suffering mind stretches its hands, so to speak, towardannihilation, when the soul forms some violent resolution, there seemsto be an independent physical horror in the act of touching the coldsteel of some deadly weapon; the fingers stiffen in anguish, the armgrows cold and hard. Nature recoils as the condemned walks to death. Ican not express what I experienced, unless it was as if my pistol hadsaid to me: "Think what you are about to do."

  Since then I have often wondered what would have happened to me if thegirl had departed immediately. Doubtless the first flush of shame wouldhave subsided; sadness is not despair, and God has joined them in orderthat the one should not leave us alone with the other. Once relieved ofthe presence of that woman, my heart would have become calm. There wouldremain only repentance, for the angel of pardon has forbidden man tokill. But I was doubtless cured for life; debauchery was once for alldriven from my door, and I would never again know the feeling of disgustwith which its first visit had inspired me.

  But it happened otherwise. The struggle which was going on within, thepoignant reflections which overwhelmed me, the disgust, the fear, thewrath, even (for I experienced all these emotions at the same time), allthese fatal powers nailed me to my chair; and, while I was thus a preyto dangerous delirium, the creature, standing before my mirror, thoughtof nothing but how best to arrange her dress and fix her hair, smilingthe while. This lasted more than a quarter of an hour, during whichI had almost forgotten her. Finally some slight noise attracted myattention to her, and turning about with impatience I ordered her toleave the room in such a tone that she at once opened the door and threwme a kiss before going out.

  At the same moment some one rang the bell of the outer door. I aroseprecipitately, and had only time to open the closet door and motion thecreature into it, when Desgenais entered the room with two friends.

  The great currents that are found in the middle of the ocean resemblecertain events in life. Fatality, Chance, Providence, what matters thename? Those who quarrel over the word admit the fact. Such are not thosewho, speaking of Napoleon or Caesar, say:

  "He was a man of Providence." They apparently believe that heroes meritthe attention which Heaven shows them, and that the color of purpleattracts gods as well as bulls.

  As to what rules the course of these little events, or what objects andcircumstances, in appearance the least important, lead to changes infortune, there is not, to my mind, a deeper cause and opportunity forthought. For something in our ordinary actions resembles the littleblunted arrows we shoot at targets; little by little we make of oursuccessive deeds an abstract and regular entity that we call ourprudence or our will. Then comes a gust of wind, and lo! the smallest ofthese arrows, the very lightest and most ineffective, is wafted beyondour vision, beyond the very horizon to the dwelling-place of Godhimself.

  What a strange feeling of unrest seizes us then! What becomes of thosephantoms of tranquil pride, the will and prudence? Force itself, thatmistress of the world, that sword of man in the combat of life, in vaindo we brandish it over our heads in wrath, in vain do we seek to wardoff with it a blow which threatens us; an invisible power turns asidethe point, and all the impetus of effort, deflected into space, servesonly to precipitate our fall.

  Thus, at the moment I was hoping to cleanse myself from the sin I hadcommitted, perhaps to inflict the penalty, at the very instant when agreat horror had taken possession of me, I learned that I had to sustaina dangerous test.

  Desgenais was in good humor; stretching himself out on my sofa he beganto chaff me about my appearance, which indicated, he said, that I hadnot slept well. As I was little disposed to indulge in pleasantry Ibegged him to spare me.

  He appeared to pay no attention to me, but, warned by my tone, soonbroached the subject that had brought him to me. He informed me that mymistress had not only two lovers at a time, but three; that is to say,she had treated my rival as badly as she had treated me; the poor boy,having discovered her inconstancy, made a great ado and all Paris knewit. At first I did not catch the meaning of Desgenais's words, as Iwas not listening attentively; but when he had repeated his story threetimes in detail I was so stupefied that I could not reply. My firstimpulse was to laugh, for I saw that I had loved the most unworthy ofwomen; but it was no less true that I loved her still. "Is it possible?"was all I could say.

  Desgenais's friends confirmed all he had said. My mistress had beensurprised in her own house between two lovers, and a scene ensued thatall Paris knew by heart. She was disgraced, obliged to leave Paris orremain exposed to the most bitter taunts.

  It was easy for me to see that in all this ridicule a great part wasdirected at me, not only on account of my duel in connection with thiswoman, but from my whole conduct in regard to her. To say that shedeserved severest censure, that she had perhaps committed far worse sinsthan those she was charged with, was but to make me feel that I had beenone of her dupes.

  All this did not please me; but Desgenais had undertaken the task ofcuring me of my love, and was prepared to treat my disease heroically.A long friendship, founded on mutual services, gave him certain rights,and as his motive appeared praiseworthy I allowed him to have his way.

  Not only did he not spare me, but when he saw my trouble and my shameincrease, he pressed me the harder. My impatience was so obvious thathe could not continue, so he stopped and remained silent--a course thatirritated me still more.

  In my turn I began to ask questions; I paced to and fro in my room.Although the recital of the story was well-nigh insupportable, I wishedto hear it again. I tried to assume a smiling face and tranquil air, butin vain. Desgenais suddenly became silent after having shown himselfto be a most virulent gossip. While I was pacing up and down my room helooked at me calmly, as if I were a caged fox.

  I can not express my state of mind. That a woman who had so long beenthe idol of my heart, and who, since I had lost her, had caused me suchdeep affliction, the only one I had ever loved, for whom indeed Imight sorrow till death, should become suddenly a shameless wretch, thesubject of coarse jests, of universal censure and scandal! It seemed tome that I felt on my shoulder the brand of a glowing iron and that I wasmarked with a burning stigma.

  The more I reflected, the more the darkness thickened about me. Fromtime to time I turned my head and saw a cold smile or a curious glance.Desgenais did not leave me; he knew very well what he was doing, and sawthat I might go to any lengths in my present desperate condition.

  When he found that he had brought me to the desired point, he did nothesitate to deal the finishing stroke.

  "Does that story displease you?" he asked. "The best is yet to come. Mydear Octave, the scene I have described took place on a certainnight when the moon was shining brightly. While the two lovers werequarrelling over their fair one, and talking of cutting her throat asshe sat before the fire, down in the street a certain shadow was seento pass up and down before the house, a shadow that resembled you soclosely that it was decided it must be you."

  "Who says so?" I asked, "who saw me in the street?"

  "Your mistress herself; she told it to every one who cared to listen,just as cheerfully as we tell you her story. She claims that you loveher still, that you keep guard at her door, in short--everything you canthink of; but you ought to know that she talks about you publicly."

  I have never been able to lie, for whenever I have tried to disguise thetruth my face has betrayed me. 'Amour propre', the shame of confessingmy weakness before witnesses induced me, however, to make the effort."It is very true that I was in the street," I thought, "but had I knownthat my mistress was as bad as she is, I should not have been there."

  Finally I persuaded myself that
I had not been seen distinctly; Iattempted to deny it. A deep flush suffused my face and I felt thefutility of my feint. Desgenais smiled.

  "Take care," said he, "take care, do not go too far."

  "But," I protested, "how did I know it, how could I know--"

  Desgenais compressed his lips as if to say:

  "You knew enough."

  I stopped short, mumbling the remnant of my sentence. My blood became sohot that I could not continue.

  "I in the street bathed in tears, in despair, and during that timethat encounter within! What! that very night! Mocked by her! Surely,Desgenais, you are dreaming. Is it true? Can it be possible? What canyou know about it?"

  Thus talking at haphazard, I lost my head and an irresistible feeling ofwrath began to rise within me. Finally I sat down exhausted.

  "My friend," said Desgenais, "do not take the thing so seriously. Thesolitary life you have been leading for the last two months has madeyou ill; I see you have need of distraction. Come to supper with me thisevening, and tomorrow morning we will go to the country."

  The tone in which he said this hurt me more than anything else; in vainI tried to control myself. "Yes," I thought, "deceived by that woman,poisoned by horrible suggestions, having no refuge either in work or infatigue, having for my only safeguard against despair and ruin a sacredbut frightful grief. O God! it is that grief, that sacred relic of mysorrow, that has just crumbled in my hands! It is no longer, my love,it is my despair that is insulted. Mockery! She mocks at me as I weep!"That appeared incredible to me. All the memories of the past crowdedabout my heart when I thought of it. I seemed to see the spectres ofour nights of love; they hung over a bottomless, eternal abyss, blackas chaos, and from the bottom of that abyss arose a shriek of laughter,sweet but mocking, that said: "Behold your reward!"

  Had I been told that the world mocked at me I would have replied: "Somuch the worse for it," and I should not have been angry; but at thesame time I was told that my mistress was a shameless wretch. Thus, onone side, the ridicule was public, vouched for, stated by two witnesseswho, before telling what they knew, must have felt that the world wasagainst me; and, on the other hand, what reply could I make? How could Iescape? What could I do when the centre of my life, my heart itself, wasruined, killed, annihilated. What could I say when the woman for whom Ihad braved all, ridicule as well as blame, for whom I had borne a loadof misery, whom I loved, and who loved another, of whom I demanded nolove, of whom I desired nothing but permission to weep at her door, nofavor but that of vowing my youth to her memory and of writing her name,her name alone, on the tomb of my hopes!--Ah! when I thought of it, Ifelt the hand of death heavy upon me. That woman mocked me, it was shewho first pointed her finger at me, singling me out to the idle crowdwhich surrounded her; it was she, it was those lips erstwhile so manytimes pressed to mine, it was that body, that soul of my life, my fleshand my blood, it was from that source the injury came; yea, the lastpang of all, the most cowardly and the most bitter, the pitiless laughthat sneers in the face of grief.

  The more I thought of it the more enraged I became. Did I say enraged?I do not know what passion possessed me. What I do know is that aninordinate desire for vengeance entered into my soul. How could Irevenge myself on a woman? I would have paid any price for a weaponthat could be used against her. But I had none, not even the one she hademployed; I could not pay her in her own coin.

  Suddenly I noticed a shadow moving behind the curtain before the closet.I had forgotten my prisoner.

  "Listen to me!" I cried, rising, "I have loved, I have loved like afool. I deserve all the ridicule you have subjected me to. But, byHeaven! I will show you something that will prove to you that I am notsuch a fool as you think."

  With these words I pulled aside the curtain and exposed the interior ofthe closet. The girl was trying to conceal herself in a corner.

  "Go in, if you choose," I said to Desgenais; "you who call me a fool forloving a woman, see how your teaching has affected me. Do you think Ipassed last night under the windows of--? But that is not all," I added,"that is not all I have to say. You give a supper to-night and to-morrowgo to the country; I am with you, and shall not leave you from now on.We will not separate, but will pass the entire day together. Are youwith me? Agreed! I have tried to make of my heart the mausoleum of mylove, but I will bury my love in another tomb."

  With these words I sat down, marvelling how indignation can solace griefand restore happiness. Whoever is astonished to learn that, from thatday, I completely changed my course of life does not know the heart ofman, and does not understand that a young man of twenty may hesitatebefore taking a step, but does not retreat when he has once taken it.