CHAPTER XIII
He began again, as on the other evening, to clean house and establish amethodical disorder. He slipped a cushion under the false disarray ofthe armchair, then he made roaring fires to have the rooms good and warmwhen she came.
But he was without impatience. That silent promise which he hadobtained, that Mme. Chantelouve would not leave him panting this night,moderated him. Now that his uncertainty was at an end, he no longervibrated with the almost painful acuity which hitherto her malignantdelays had provoked. He soothed himself by poking the fire. His mind wasstill full of her, but plethoric, content. When his thoughts stirred atall it was, at the very most, to revolve the question, "How shall I goabout it, when the time comes, so as not to be ridiculous?" Thisquestion, which had so harassed him the other night, left him troubledbut inert. He did not try to solve it, but decided to leave everythingto chance, since the best planned strategy was almost always abortive.
Then he revolted against himself, accused himself of stagnation, andwalked up and down to shake himself out of a torpor which might havebeen attributed to the hot fire. Well, well, was it because he had hadto wait so long that his desires had left him, or at least quitbothering him--no, they had not, why, he was yearning now for the momentwhen he might crush that woman! He thought he had the explanation of hislack of enthusiasm in the stage fright inseparable from any beginning."It will not be really exquisite tonight until after the newness wearsoff and the grotesque with it. After I know her I shall be able toconsort with her again without feeling solicitous about her andconscious of myself. I wish we were on that happy basis now."
The cat, sitting on the table, cocked up its ears, gazed at the doorwith its black eyes, and fled. The bell rang and Durtal went to let herin.
Her costume pleased him. He took off her furs. Her skirt was of a plumcolour so dark that it was almost black, the material thick and supple,outlining her figure, squeezing her arms, making an hourglass of herwaist, accentuating the curve of her hips and the bulge of her corset.
"You are charming," he said, kissing her wrists, and he was pleased tofind that his lips had accelerated her pulse. She did not speak, couldhardly breathe. She was agitated and very pale.
He sat down facing her. She looked at him with her mysterious, halfsleepy eyes. He felt that he was falling in love all over again. Heforgot his reasonings and his fears, and took acute pleasure inpenetrating the mystery of these eyes and studying the vague smile ofthis dolorous mouth.
He enlaced her fingers in his, and for the first time, in a low voice,he called her Hyacinthe.
She listened, her breast heaving, her hands in a fever. Then in asupplicating voice, "I implore you," she said, "let us have none ofthat. Only desire is good. Oh, I am rational, I mean what I say. Ithought it all out on the way here. I left him very sad tonight. If youknew how I feel--I went to church today and was afraid and hid myselfwhen I saw my confessor--"
These plaints he had heard before, and he said to himself, "You may singwhatever tune you want to, but you shall dance tonight." Aloud heanswered in monosyllables as he continued to take possession of her.
He rose, thinking she would do the same, or that if she remained seatedhe could better reach her lips by bending over her.
"Your lips, your lips--the kiss you gave me last night--" he murmured,as his face came close to hers. She put up her lips and stood, and theyembraced, but as his hands went seeking she recoiled.
"Think how ridiculous it all is," she said in a low voice, "to undress,put on night clothes--and that silly scene, getting into bed!"
He avoided declaring, but attempted, by an embrace which bent her overbackward, to make her understand that she could spare herself thoseembarrassments. Tacitly, in his own turn, feeling her body stiffen underhis fingers, he understood that she absolutely would not give herself inthe room here, in front of the fire.
"Oh well," she said, disengaging herself, "if you will have it!"
He made way to allow her to go into the other room, and seeing that shedesired to be alone he drew the portiere.
Sitting before the fire he reflected. Perhaps he ought to have pulleddown the bed covers, and not left her the task, but without doubt theaction would have been too direct, too obvious a hint. Ah! and thatwater heater! He took it and, keeping away from the bedroom door, wentto the bathroom, placed the heater on the toilet table, and then,swiftly, he set out the rice powder box, the perfumes, the combs, and,returning into his study, he listened.
She was making as little noise as possible, walking on tiptoe as if inthe presence of the dead. She blew out the candles, doubtless wishing nomore light than the rosy glow of the hearth.
He felt positively annihilated. The irritating impression of the lipsand eyes of Hyacinthe was far from him now. She was nothing but a woman,like any other, undressing in a man's room. Memories of similar scenesoverwhelmed him. He remembered girls who like her had crept about on thecarpet so as not to be heard, and who had stopped short, ashamed, for awhole second, if they bumped against the water pitcher. And then, whatgood was this going to do him? Now that she was yielding he no longerdesired her! Disillusion had come even before possession, not waiting,as usual, till afterward. He was distressed to the point of tears.
The frightened cat glided under the curtain, ran from one room to theother, and finally came back to his master and jumped onto his knees.Caressing him, Durtal said to himself, "Decidedly, she was right whenshe refused. It will be grotesque, atrocious. I was wrong to insist, butno, it's her fault, too. She must have wanted to do this or she wouldn'thave come. What a fool to think she could aggravate passion by delay.She is fearfully clumsy. A moment ago when I was embracing her andreally was aroused, it would perhaps have been delicious, but now! Andwhat do I look like? A young bridegroom waiting--or a green country boy.Oh God, how stupid! Well," he said, straining his ears and hearing nosound from the other room, "she's in bed. I must go in.
"I suppose it took her all this time to unharness herself from hercorset. She was a fool to wear one," he concluded, when, drawing thecurtain, he stepped into the other room.
Mme. Chantelouve was buried under the thick coverlet, her mouthhalf-open and her eyes closed; but he saw that she was peering at himthrough the fringe of her blonde eyelashes. He sat down on the edge ofthe bed. She huddled up, drawing the cover over her chin.
"Cold, dear?"
"No," and she opened wide her eyes, which flashed sparks.
He undressed, casting a rapid glance at Hyacinthe's face. It was hiddenin the darkness, but was sometimes revealed by a flare of the red hotfire, as a stick, half consumed and smouldering, would suddenly burstinto flame. Swiftly he slipped between the covers. He clasped a corpse;a body so cold that it froze him, but the woman's lips were burning asshe silently gnawed his features. He lay stupified in the grip of thisbody wound around his own, supple as the ... and hard! He could notmove; he could not speak for the shower of kisses traveling over hisface. Finally, he succeeded in disengaging himself, and, with his freearm he sought her; then suddenly, while she devoured his lips he felt anervous inhibition, and, naturally, without profit, he withdrew.
"I detest you!" she exclaimed.
"Why?"
"I detest you!"
He wanted to cry out, "And I you!" He was exasperated, and would havegiven all he owned to get her to dress and go home.
The fire was burning low, unflickering. Appeased, now, he sat up andlooked into the darkness. He would have liked to get up and find anothernightshirt, because the one he had on was tearing and getting in hisway. But Hyacinthe was lying on top of it--then he reflected that thebed was deranged and the thought affected him, because he liked to besnug in winter, and knowing himself incapable of respreading the covers,he foresaw a cold night.
Once more, he was enlaced; the gripe of the woman's on his own wasrenewed; rational, this time, he attended to her and crushed her withmighty caresses. In a changed voice, lower, more guttural, she utteredignoble things and silly cri
es which gave him pain--"My dear!--oh,hon!--oh I can't stand it!"--aroused nevertheless, he took this bodywhich creaked as it writhed, and he experienced the extraordinarysensation of a spasmodic burning within a swaddle of ice-packs.
He finally jumped over her, out of bed, and lighted the candles. On thedresser the cat sat motionless, considering Durtal and Mme. Chantelouvealternately. Durtal saw an inexpressible mockery in those black eyesand, irritated, chased the beast away.
He put some more wood on the fire, dressed, and started to leave theroom. Hyacinthe called him gently, in her usual voice. He approached thebed. She threw her arms around his neck and hung there, kissing himhungrily. Then sinking back and putting her arms under the cover, shesaid, "The deed is done. Now will you love me any better?"
He did not have the heart to answer. Ah yes, his disillusion wascomplete. The satiety following justified his lack of appetitepreceding. She revolted him, horrified him. Was it possible to have sodesired a woman, only to come to--that? He had idealized her in histransports, he had dreamed in her eyes--he knew not what! He had wishedto exalt himself with her, to rise higher than the delirious raveningsof the senses, to soar out of the world into joys supernal andunexplored. And his dream had been shattered. He remained fettered toearth. Was there no means of escaping out of one's self, out of earthlylimitations, and attaining an upper ether where the soul, ravished,would glory in its giddy flight?
Ah, the lesson was hard and decisive. For having one time hoped so much,what regrets, what a tumble! Decidedly, Reality does not pardon him whodespises her; she avenges herself by shattering the dream and tramplingit and casting the fragments into a cesspool.
"Don't be vexed, dear, because it is taking me so long," said Mme.Chantelouve behind the curtain.
He thought crudely, "I wish you would get to hell out of here," andaloud he asked politely if she had need of his services.
"She was so mysterious, so enticing," he resumed to himself. "Her eyes,remote, deep as space, and reflecting cemeteries and festivals at thesame time. And she has shown herself up for all she is, within an hour.I have seen a new Hyacinthe, talking like a silly little milliner inheat. All the nastinesses of women unite in her to exasperate me."
After a thoughtful silence he concluded, "I must be young indeed to havelost my head the way I did."
As if echoing his thought, Mme. Chantelouve, coming out through theportiere, laughed nervously and said, "A woman of my age doing a madthing like that!" She looked at him, and though he forced a smile sheunderstood.
"You will sleep tonight," she said, sadly, alluding to Durtal's formercomplaints of sleeplessness on her account.
He begged her to sit down and warm herself, but she said she was notcold.
"Why, in spite of the warmth of the room you were cold as ice!"
"Oh, I am always that way. Winter and summer my flesh is chilly."
He thought that in August this frigid body might be agreeable, but now!
He offered her some bonbons, which she refused, then she said she wouldtake a sip of the alkermes, which he poured into a tiny silver goblet.She took just a drop, and amicably they discussed the taste of thispreparation, in which she recognized an aroma of clove, tempered byflower of cinnamon moistened with distillate of rose water.
Then he became silent.
"My poor dear," she said, "how I should love him if he were moreconfiding and not always on his guard."
He asked her to explain herself.
"Why, I mean that you can't forget yourself and simply let yourself beloved. Alas, you were reasoning all the time--"
"I was not!"
She kissed him tenderly. "You see I love you, anyway." And he wassurprised to see how sad and moved she looked, and he observed a sort offrightened gratitude in her eyes.
"She is easily satisfied," he said to himself.
"What are you thinking about?"
"You!"
She sighed. Then, "What time is it?"
"Half past ten."
"I must go. He is waiting for me. No, don't say anything--"
She passed her hands over her cheeks. He seized her gently by the waistand kissed her, holding her thus enlaced until they were at the door.
"You will come again soon, won't you?"
"Yes.... Yes."
He returned to the fireside.
"Oof! it's done," he thought, in a whirl of confused emotions. Hisvanity was satisfied, his selfesteem was no longer bleeding, he hadattained his ends and possessed this woman. Moreover, her spell over himhad lost its force. He was regaining his entire liberty of mind, but whocould tell what trouble this liaison had yet in store for him? Then, inspite of everything, he softened.
After all, what could he reproach her with? She loved as well as shecould. She was, indeed, ardent and plaintive. Even this dualism of amistress who was a low cocotte in bed and a fine lady when dressed--orno, too intelligent to be called a fine lady--was a delectable pimento.Her carnal appetites were excessive and bizarre. What, then, was thematter with him?
And at last he quite justly accused himself. It was his own fault ifeverything was spoiled. He lacked appetite. He was not really tormentedexcept by a cerebral erethism. He was used up in body, filed away insoul, inept at love, weary of tendernesses even before he received themand disgusted when he had. His heart was dead and could not be revived.And his mania for thinking, thinking! previsualizing an incident sovividly that actual enactment was an anticlimax--but probably would notbe if his mind would leave him alone and not be always jeering at hisefforts. For a man in his state of spiritual impoverishment all, saveart, was but a recreation more or less boring, a diversion more or lessvain. "Ah, poor woman, I am afraid she is going to get pretty sick ofme. If only she would consent to come no more! But no, she doesn'tdeserve to be treated in that fashion," and, seized by pity, he swore tohimself that the next time she visited him he would caress her and tryto persuade her that the disillusion which he had so ill concealed didnot exist.
He tried to spread up the bed, get the tousled blankets together, andplump the pillows, then he lay down.
He put out his lamp. In the darkness his distress increased. With deathin his heart he said to himself, "Yes, I was right in declaring that theonly women you can continue to love are those you lose.
"To learn, three years later, when the woman is inaccessible, chaste andmarried, dead, perhaps, or out of France--to learn that she loved you,though you had not dared believe it while she was near you, ah, that'sthe dream! These real and intangible loves, these loves made up ofmelancholy and distant regrets, are the only ones that count. Becausethere is no flesh in them, no earthly leaven.
"To love at a distance and without hope; never to possess; to dreamchastely of pale charms and impossible kisses extinguished on the waxenbrow of death: ah, that is something like it. A delicious straying awayfrom the world, and never the return. As only the unreal is not ignobleand empty, existence must be admitted to be abominable. Yes, imaginationis the only good thing which heaven vouchsafes to the skeptic andpessimist, alarmed by the eternal abjectness of life."
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