Là-bas

by J.-K. Huysmans

  CHAPTER X

  The day was long and hard to kill. Waking at dawn, full of thoughts ofMme. Chantelouve, he could not stay in one place, and kept inventingexcuses for going out. He had no cakes, bonbons, and exotic liqueurs,and one must not be without all the little essentials when expecting avisit from a woman. He went by the longest route to the avenue del'Opera to buy fine essences of cedar and of that alkermes which makesthe person tasting it think he is in an Oriental pharmaceuticlaboratory. "The idea is," he said, "not so much to treat Hyacinthe asto astound her by giving her a sip of an unknown elixir."

  He came back laden with packages, then went out again, and in the streetwas assailed by an immense ennui. After an interminable tour of thequays he finally tumbled into a beer hall. He fell on a bench and openeda newspaper.

  What was he thinking as he sat, not reading but just looking at thepolice news? Nothing, not even of her. From having revolved the samematter over and over again and again his mind had reached a deadlock andrefused to function. Durtal merely found himself very tired, verydrowsy, as one in a warm bath after a night of travel.

  "I must go home pretty soon," he said when he could collect himself alittle, "for Pere Rateau certainly has not cleaned house in the thoroughfashion which I commanded, and of course I don't want the furniture tobe covered with dust. Six o'clock. Suppose I dine, after a fashion, insome not too unreliable place."

  He remembered a nearby restaurant where he had eaten before without agreat deal of dread. He chewed his way laboriously through an extremelydead fish, then through a piece of meat, flabby and cold; then he founda very few lentils, stiff with insecticide, beneath a great deal ofsauce; finally he savoured some ancient prunes, whose juice smelt ofmould and was at the same time aquatic and sepulchral.

  Back in his apartment, he lighted fires in his bedroom and in his study,then he inspected everything. He was not mistaken. The concierge hadupset the place with the same brutality, the same haste, as customarily.However, he must have tried to wash the windows, because the glass wasstreaked with finger marks.

  Durtal effaced the imprints with a damp cloth, smoothed out the folds inthe carpet, drew the curtains, and put the bookcases in order afterdusting them with a napkin. Everywhere he found grains of tobacco,trodden cigarette ashes, pencil sharpenings, pen points eaten with rust.He also found cocoons of cat fur and crumpled bits of rough draftmanuscript which had been whirled into all corners by the furioussweeping.

  He finally could not help asking himself why he had so long toleratedthe fuzzy filth which obscured and incrusted his household. While hedusted, his indignation against Rateau increased mightily. "Look atthat," he said, perceiving his wax candles grown as yellow as tallowones. He changed them. "That's better." He arranged his desk intostudied disarray. Notebooks, and books with paper-cutters in them forbook-marks, he laid in careful disorder. "Symbol of work," he said,smiling, as he placed an old folio, open, on a chair. Then he passedinto his bedroom. With a wet sponge he freshened up the marble of thedresser, then he smoothed the bed cover, straightened his photographsand engravings, and went into the bathroom. Here he paused,disheartened. In a bamboo rack over the wash-bowl there was a chaos ofphials. Resolutely he grabbed the perfume bottles, scoured the bottomsand necks with emery, rubbed the labels with gum elastic and breadcrumbs, then he soaped the tub, dipped the combs and brushes in anammoniac solution, got his vapourizer to working and sprayed the roomwith Persian lilac, washed the linoleum, and scoured the seat and thepipes. Seized with a mania for cleanliness, he polished, scrubbed,scraped, moistened, and dried, with great sweeping strokes of the arm.He was no longer vexed at the concierge; he was even sorry the oldvillain had not left him more to do.

  Then he shaved, touched up his moustache, and proceeded to make anelaborate toilet, asking himself, as he dressed, whether he had betterwear button shoes or slippers. He decided that shoes were less familiarand more dignified but resolved to wear a flowing tie and a blouse,thinking that this artistic negligee would please a woman.

  "All ready," he said, after a last stroke of the brush. He made the turnof the other rooms, poked the fires, and fed the cat, which was runningabout in alarm, sniffing all the cleaned objects and doubtless thinkingthat those he rubbed against every day without paying any attention tothem had been replaced by new ones.

  "Oh, the 'little essentials' I am forgetting!" Durtal put the teakettleon the hob and placed cups, teapot, sugar bowl, cakes, bonbons, and tinyliqueur glasses on an old lacquered "waiter" so as to have everything onhand when it was time to serve.

  "Now I'm through. I've given the place a thorough cleaning. Let hercome," he said to himself, realigning some books whose backs stuck outfurther than the others on the shelves. "Everything in good shape.Except the chimney of the lamp. Where it bulges, there are caramelspecks and blobs of soot, but I can't get the thing out; I don't want toburn my fingers; and anyway, with the shade lowered a bit she won'tnotice.

  "Well, how shall I proceed when she does come?" he asked himself,sinking into an armchair. "She enters. Good. I take her hands. I kissthem. Then I bring her into this room. I have her sit down beside thefire, in this chair. I station myself, facing her, on this stool.Advancing a little, touching her knees, I can seize her. I make her bendover. I am supporting her whole weight. I bring her lips to mine and Iam saved!

  "--Or rather lost. For then the bother begins. I can't bear to think ofgetting her into the bedroom. Undressing and going to bed! That part isappalling unless you know each other very well. And when you are justbecoming acquainted! The nice way is to have a cosy little supper fortwo. The wine has an ungodly kick to it. She immediately passes out, andwhen she comes to she is lying in bed under a shower of kisses. As wecan't do it that way we shall have to avoid mutual embarrassment bymaking a show of passion. If I speed up the tempo and pretend to be in afrenzy perhaps we shall not have time to think about the miserabledetails. So I must possess her here, in this very spot, and she mustthink I have lost my head when she succumbs.

  "It's hard to arrange in this room, because there isn't any divan. Thebest way would be to throw her down on the carpet. She can put her handsover her eyes, as they always do. I shall take good care to turn downthe lamp before she rises.

  "Well, I had better prepare a cushion for her head." He found one andslid it under the chair. "And I had better not wear suspenders, for theyoften cause ridiculous delays." He took them off and put on a belt. "Butthen there is that damned question of the skirts! I admire the novelistswho can get a virgin unharnessed from her corsets and deflowered in thewinking of an eye--as if it were possible! How annoying to have to fightone's way through all those starched entanglements! I do hope Mme.Chantelouve will be considerate and avoid those ridiculous difficultiesas much as possible--for her own sake."

  He consulted his watch. "Half-past eight. I mustn't expect her fornearly an hour, because, like all women, she will come late. What kindof an excuse will she make to Chantelouve, to get away tonight? Well,that is none of my business. Hmmm. This water heater beside the firelooks like the invitation to the toilet, but no, the tea things handybanish any gross idea."

  And if Hyacinthe did not come?

  "She will come," he said to himself, suddenly moved. "What motive wouldshe have for staying away? She knows that she cannot inflame me morethan I am inflamed." Then, jumping from phase to phase of the same oldquestion, "This will turn out badly, of course," he decided. "Once I amsatisfied, disenchantment is inevitable. Oh, well, so much the better,for with this romance going on I cannot work."

  "Miserable me! relapsing--only in mind, alas!--to the age of twenty. Iam waiting for a woman. I who have scorned the doings of lovers foryears and years. I look at my watch every five minutes, and I listen, inspite of myself, thinking it is her step I hear on the stair.

  "No, there is no getting around it. The little blue flower, theperennial of the soul, is difficult to extirpate, and it keeps growingup again. It does not show itself for twenty years, and then all of asudden
, you know not why nor how, it sprouts, and then forth comes aburst of blossoms. My God! I am getting foolish."

  He jumped from his chair. There was a gentle ring. "Not nine o'clockyet. It isn't she," he murmured, opening the door.

  He squeezed her hands and thanked her for being so punctual.

  She said she was not feeling well. "I came only because I didn't want tokeep you waiting in vain."

  His heart sank.

  "I have a fearful headache," she said, passing her gloved hands over herforehead.

  He took her furs and motioned her to the armchair. Prepared to followhis plan of attack, he sat down on the stool, but she refused thearmchair and took a seat beside the table. Rising, he bent over her andcaught hold of her fingers.

  "Your hand is burning," she said.

  "Yes, a bit of fever, because I get so little sleep. If you knew howmuch I have thought about you! Now I have you here, all to myself," andhe spoke of that persistent odour of cinnamon, faint, distant, expiringamid the less definite odours which her gloves exhaled, "well," and hesniffed her fingers, "you will leave some of yourself here when you goaway."

  She rose, sighing. "I see you have a cat. What is his name?"

  "Mouche."

  She called to the cat, which fled precipitately.

  "Mouche! Mouche!" Durtal called, but Mouche took refuge under the bedand refused to come out. "You see he is rather bashful. He has neverseen a woman."

  "Oh, would you try to make me think you have never received a womanhere?"

  He swore that he never had, that she was the first....

  "And you were not really anxious that this--first--should come?"

  He blushed. "Why do you say that?"

  She made a vague gesture. "I want to tease you," she said, sitting downin the armchair. "To tell you the truth, I do not know why I like to askyou such presumptuous questions."

  He had sat down in front of her. So now, at last, the scene was set ashe wished and he must begin the attack. His knee touched hers.

  "You know," he said, "that you cannot presume here. You have claimson--"

  "No, I haven't and I want none."

  "Why?"

  "Because.... Listen," and her voice became grave and firm. "The more Ireflect, the more inclined I am to ask you, for heaven's sake, not todestroy our dream. And then.... Do you want me to be frank, so frankthat I shall doubtless seem a monster of selfishness? Well, personally,I do not wish to spoil the--the--what shall I say?--the extremehappiness our relation gives me. I know I explain badly and confusedly,but this is the way it is: I possess you when and how I please, just as,for a long time, I have possessed Byron, Baudelaire, Gerard de Nerval,those I love--"

  "You mean ...?"

  "That I have only to desire them, to desire you, before I go tosleep...."

  "And?"

  "And you would be inferior to my chimera, to the Durtal I adore, whosecaresses make my nights delirious!"

  He looked at her in stupefaction. She had that dolent, troubled look inher eyes. She even seemed not to see him, but to be looking into space.He hesitated.... In a sudden flash of thought he saw the scenes ofincubacy of which Gevingey had spoken. "We shall untangle all thislater," he thought within himself, "meanwhile--" He took her gently bythe arms, drew her to him and abruptly kissed her mouth.

  She rebounded as if she had had an electric shock. She struggled torise. He strained her to him and embraced her furiously, then with astrange gurgling cry she threw her head back and caught his leg betweenboth of hers.

  He emitted a howl of rage, for he felt her haunches move. He understoodnow--or thought he understood! She wanted a miserly pleasure, a sort ofsolitary vice....

  He pushed her away. She remained there, quite pale, choking, her eyesclosed, her hands outstretched like those of a frightened child. ThenDurtal's wrath vanished. With a little cry he came up to her and caughther again, but she struggled, crying, "No! I beseech you, let me go."

  He held her crushed against his body and attempted to make her yield.

  "I implore you, let me go."

  Her accent was so despairing that he relinquished her. Then he debatedwith himself whether to throw her brutally on the floor and violate her.But her bewildered eyes frightened him.

  She was panting and her arms hung limp at her sides as she leaned, verypale, against the bookcase.

  "Ah!" he said, marching up and down, knocking into the furniture, "Imust really love you, if in spite of your supplications and refusals--"

  She joined her hands to keep him away.

  "Good God!" he said, exasperated, "what are you made of?"

  She came to herself, and, offended, she said to him, "Monsieur, I toosuffer. Spare me," and pell-mell she spoke of her husband, of herconfessor, and became so incoherent that Durtal was frightened. She wassilent, then in a singing voice she said, "Tell me, you will come to myhouse tomorrow night, won't you?"

  "But I suffer too!"

  She seemed not to hear him. In her smoky eyes, far, far back, thereseemed to be a twinkle of feeble light. She murmured, in the cadence ofa canticle, "Tell me, dear, you will come tomorrow night, won't you?"

  "Yes," he said at last.

  Then she readjusted herself and without saying a word quitted the room.In silence he accompanied her to the entrance. She opened the door,turned around, took his hand and very lightly brushed it with her lips.

  He stood there stupidly, not knowing what to make of her behaviour.

  "What does she mean?" he exclaimed, returning to the room, putting thefurniture back in place and smoothing the disordered carpet. "Heavens, Iwish I could as easily restore order to my brain. Let me think, if Ican. What is she after? Because, of course, she has something in view.She does not want our relation to culminate in the act itself. Does shereally fear disillusion, as she claims? Is she really thinking howgrotesque the amorous somersaults are? Or is she, as I believe, amelancholy and terrible player-around-the-edges, thinking only ofherself? Well, her obscene selfishness is one of those complicated sinsthat have to be shriven by the very highest confessor. She's a plainteaser!

  "I don't know. Incubacy enters into this. She admits--so placidly!--thatin dream she cohabits at will with dead or living beings. Is sheSatanizing, and is this some of the work of Canon Docre? He's a friendof hers.

  "So many riddles impossible to solve. What is the meaning of thisunexpected invitation for tomorrow night? Does she wish to yield nowhereexcept in her own home? Does she feel more at ease there, or does shethink the propinquity of her husband will render the sin more piquant?Does she loathe Chantelouve, and is this a meditated vengeance, or doesshe count on the fear of danger to spur our senses?

  "After all, I think it is probably a final coquetry, an appetizer beforethe repast. And women are so funny anyway! She probably thinks thesedelays and subterfuges are necessary to differentiate her from acocotte. Or perhaps there is a physical necessity for stalling me offanother day."

  He sought other reasons but could find none.

  "Deep down in my heart," he said, vexed in spite of himself by thisrebuff, "I know I have been an imbecile. I ought to have acted the caveman and paid no attention to her supplications and lies. I ought to havetaken violent possession of her lips and breast. Then it would befinished, whereas now I must begin at the beginning again, and God damnher! I have other things to do.

  "Who knows whether she isn't laughing at me this very moment? Perhapsshe wanted me to be more violent and bold--but no, her soul-sick voicewas not feigned, her poor eyes did not simulate bewilderment, and thenwhat would she have meant by that _respectful_ kiss--for there was animpalpable shade of respect and gratitude in that kiss which she plantedon my hand!"

  She was too much for him. "Meanwhile, in this hurly-burly I haveforgotten my refreshments. Suppose I take off my shoes, now that I amalone, for my feet are swollen from parading up and down the room.Suppose I do better yet and go to bed, for I am incapable of working orreading," and he drew back the covers.

&nb
sp; "Decidedly, nothing happens the way one foresees it, yet my plan ofattack wasn't badly thought out," he said, crawling in. With a sigh heblew out the lamp, and the cat, reassured, passed over him, lighter thana breath, and curled up without a sound.