Clarimonde

by Théophile Gautier

lived upon amagnificent scale; there was something of Cleopatra in her nature. Asfor me, I had the retinue of a prince's son, and I was regarded with asmuch reverential respect as though I had been of the family of one ofthe twelve Apostles or the four Evangelists of the Most Serene Republic.I would not have turned aside to allow even the Doge to pass, and I donot believe that since Satan fell from heaven, any creature was everprouder or more insolent than I. I went to the Ridotto, and played witha luck which seemed absolutely infernal. I received the best of allsociety--the sons of ruined families, women of the theatre, shrewdknaves, parasites, hectoring swashbucklers. But notwithstanding thedissipation of such a life, I always remained faithful to Clarimonde.I loved her wildly. She would have excited satiety itself, and chainedinconstancy. To have Clarimonde was to have twenty mistresses; ay,to possess all women: so mobile, so varied of aspect, so fresh in newcharms was she all in herself--a very chameleon of a woman, in sooth.She made you commit with her the infidelity you would have committedwith another, by donning to perfection the character, the attraction,the style of beauty of the woman who appeared to please you. Shereturned my love a hundred-fold, and it was in vain that the youngpatricians and even the Ancients of the Council of Ten made her the mostmagnificent proposals. A Foscari even went so far as to offer to espouseher. She rejected all his overtures. Of gold she had enough. She wishedno longer for anything but love--a love youthful, pure, evoked byherself, and which should be a first and last passion. I would have beenperfectly happy but for a cursed nightmare which recurred every night,and in which I believed myself to be a poor village cure, practisingmortification and penance for my excesses during the day. Reassured bymy constant association with her, I never thought further of the strangemanner in which I had become acquainted with Clarimonde. But the wordsof the Abbe Serapion concerning her recurred often to my memory, andnever ceased to cause me uneasiness.

  For some time the health of Clarimonde had not been so good as usual;her complexion grew paler day by day. The physicians who were summonedcould not comprehend the nature of her malady and knew not how to treatit. They all prescribed some insignificant remedies, and never calleda second time. Her paleness, nevertheless, visibly increased, and shebecame colder and colder, until she seemed almost as white and dead asupon that memorable night in the unknown castle. I grieved with anguishunspeakable to behold her thus slowly perishing; and she, touched by myagony, smiled upon me sweetly and sadly with the fateful smile of thosewho feel that they must die.

  One morning I was seated at her bedside, and breakfasting from a littletable placed close at hand, so that I might not be obliged to leave herfor a single instant. In the act of cutting some fruit I accidentallyinflicted rather a deep gash on my finger. The blood immediately gushedforth in a little purple jet, and a few drops spurted upon Clarimonde.Her eyes flashed, her face suddenly assumed an expression of savage andferocious joy such as I had never before observed in her. She leaped outof her bed with animal agility--the agility, as it were, of an ape or acat--and sprang upon my wound, which she commenced to suck with an airof unutterable pleasure. She swallowed the blood in little mouthfuls,slowly and carefully, like a connoisseur tasting a wine from Xeres orSyracuse. Gradually her eyelids half closed, and the pupils of her greeneyes became oblong instead of round. From time to time she paused inorder to kiss my hand, then she would recommence to press her lips tothe lips of the wound in order to coax forth a few more ruddy drops.When she found that the blood would no longer come, she arose with eyesliquid and brilliant, rosier than a May dawn; her face full and fresh,her hand warm and moist--in fine, more beautiful than ever, and in themost perfect health.

  'I shall not die! I shall not die!' she cried, clinging to my neck, halfmad with joy. 'I can love thee yet for a long time. My life is thine,and all that is of me comes from thee. A few drops of thy rich and nobleblood, more precious and more potent than all the elixirs of the earth,have given me back life.'

  This scene long haunted my memory, and inspired me with strangedoubts in regard to Clarimonde; and the same evening, when slumber hadtransported me to my presbytery, I beheld the Abbe Serapion, graverand more anxious of aspect than ever. He gazed attentively at me, andsorrowfully exclaimed: 'Not content with losing your soul, you nowdesire also to lose your body. Wretched young man, into how terriblea plight have you fallen!' The tone in which he uttered these wordspowerfully affected me, but in spite of its vividness even thatimpression was soon dissipated, and a thousand other cares erased itfrom my mind. At last one evening, while looking into a mirror whosetraitorous position she had not taken into account, I saw Clarimonde inthe act of emptying a powder into the cup of spiced wine which she hadlong been in the habit of preparing after our repasts. I took thecup, feigned to carry it to my lips, and then placed it on the nearestarticle of furniture as though intending to finish it at my leisure.Taking advantage of a moment when the fair one's back was turned, Ithrew the contents under the table, after which I retired to my chamberand went to bed, fully resolved not to sleep, but to watch and discoverwhat should come of all this mystery. I did not have to wait long,Clarimonde entered in her nightdress, and having removed her apparel,crept into bed and lay down beside me. When she felt assured that Iwas asleep, she bared my arm, and drawing a gold pin from her hair,commenced to murmur in a low voice:

  'One drop, only one drop! One ruby at the end of my needle.... Sincethou lovest me yet, I must not die!... Ah, poor love! His beautifulblood, so brightly purple, I must drink it. Sleep, my only treasure!Sleep, my god, my child! I will do thee no harm; I will only take of thylife what I must to keep my own from being for ever extinguished. Butthat I love thee so much, I could well resolve to have other loverswhose veins I could drain; but since I have known thee all other menhave become hateful to me.... Ah, the beautiful arm! How round it is!How white it is! How shall I ever dare to prick this pretty blue vein!'And while thus murmuring to herself she wept, and I felt her tearsraining on my arm as she clasped it with her hands. At last she took theresolve, slightly punctured me with her pin, and commenced to suck upthe blood which oozed from the place. Although she swallowed only a fewdrops, the fear of weakening me soon seized her, and she carefully tieda little band around my arm, afterward rubbing the wound with an unguentwhich immediately cicatrised it. Further doubts were impossible. TheAbbe Serapion was right. Notwithstanding this positive knowledge,however, I could not cease to love Clarimonde, and I would gladly ofmy own accord have given her all the blood she required to sustain herfactitious life. Moreover, I felt but little fear of her. The womanseemed to plead with me for the vampire, and what I had already heardand seen sufficed to reassure me completely. In those days I hadplenteous veins, which would not have been so easily exhausted as atpresent; and I would not have thought of bargaining for my blood, dropby drop. I would rather have opened myself the veins of my arm and saidto her: 'Drink, and may my love infiltrate itself throughout thy bodytogether with my blood!' I carefully avoided ever making the leastreference to the narcotic drink she had prepared for me, or to theincident of the pin, and we lived in the most perfect harmony.

  Yet my priestly scruples commenced to torment me more than ever, andI was at a loss to imagine what new penance I could invent in order tomortify and subdue my flesh. Although these visions were involuntary,and though I did not actually participate in anything relating to them,I could not dare to touch the body of Christ with hands so impure and amind defiled by such debauches whether real or imaginary. In the effortto avoid falling under the influence of these wearisome hallucinations,I strove to prevent myself from being overcome by sleep. I held myeyelids open with my fingers, and stood for hours together leaningupright against the wall, fighting sleep with all my might; but the dustof drowsiness invariably gathered upon my eyes at last, and finding allresistance useless, I would have to let my arms fall in the extremityof despairing weariness, and the current of slumber would again bearme away to the perfidious shores. Serapion addressed me with the mostvehement exhortations, severely
reproaching me for my softness and wantof fervour. Finally, one day when I was more wretched than usual, hesaid to me: 'There is but one way by which you can obtain relief fromthis continual torment, and though it is an extreme measure it must bemade use of; violent diseases require violent remedies. I know whereClarimonde is buried. It is necessary that we shall disinter herremains, and that you shall behold in how pitiable a state the object ofyour love is. Then you will no longer be tempted to lose your soul forthe sake of an unclean corpse devoured by worms, and ready to crumbleinto dust. That will assuredly restore you to yourself.' For my part, Iwas so tired of this double life that I at once consented, desiring toascertain beyond a doubt whether a priest or a gentleman had been thevictim of delusion. I had become fully resolved either to kill one ofthe two men within me for the benefit of the other, or else to killboth, for so terrible an