Part 7 (1/2)

I found nothing suggestive of pleasure but in its place the word, ”Prost.i.tution;” and it has always appeared ineffaceable, not graven in that metal that takes the sun's light, but in the palest of all, that of the cold light whose colors seem tinted by the somber hues of night, silver.

The first time I saw the people--it was a frightful morning of Ash Wednesday, near Courtille. A cold fine rain had been falling since the evening before; the streets were covered with pools of water. Masked carriages filed hither and thither, crowding between hedges of hideous men and women standing on the sidewalks. That sinister wall of spectators had tiger eyes, red with wine, gleaming with hatred. The carriage wheels splashed mud over this wall, but it did not move. I was standing on the front seat of an open carriage; from time to time a man in rags would step out from the wall, hurl a torrent of abuse at us, then cover us with a cloud of flour. Mud would soon follow; yet we kept on our way toward the Isle of Love and the pretty wood of Romainville consecrated by so many sweet kisses. One of my friends fell from his seat into the mud, narrowly escaping death on the paving. The people threw themselves on him to overpower him and we were obliged to hasten to his a.s.sistance. One of the trumpeters who preceded us on horseback was struck on the shoulder by a paving stone; the flour had given out. I had never heard of anything like that.

I began to understand the time and comprehend the spirit of the age.

CHAPTER III

DESGENAIS had planned a reunion of young people at his country house. The best wines, a splendid table, gaming, dancing, hunting, nothing was lacking. Desgenais was rich and generous. He combined antique hospitality with modern custom. Moreover one could always find in his house the best books; his conversation was that of a man of learning and culture. He was a problem.

I took with me a taciturn humor that nothing could overcome; he respected it scrupulously. I did not reply to his questions and he dropped the subject; he was satisfied that I had forgotten my mistress. Nevertheless, I went to the chase and appeared at the table and was as convivial as the best; he asked no more.

One of the most unfortunate proclivities of inexperienced youth is to judge of the world from first impressions; but it must be confessed that there is a race of men who are very unfortunate; it is that race which says to youth: ”You are right in believing in evil, and we know what it is.” I have heard, for example, a curious thing spoken of, a medium between good and evil, a certain arrangement between heartless women and men worthy of them; they call love the pa.s.sing sentiment. They speak of it as of an engine constructed by a wagon builder or a building contractor. They said to me: ”This and that are agreed upon, such and such phrases are spoken and certain others are repeated in reply; letters are written in a prescribed manner, the knees adjusted in a certain att.i.tude.” All that was regulated as a parade; these fine fellows had gray hair.

That made me laugh. Unfortunately for me I can not tell a woman whom I despise that I love her, even when I know that it is only a convention and that she will not be deceived by it. I have never bent my knee to the ground when my heart did not go with it. So that cla.s.s of women known as easy is unknown to me, or if I allow myself to be taken with them, it is without knowing it, and through simplicity.

I can understand that one's soul can be put aside but not that it should be handled. That there is some pride in this, I confess, but I do not intend either to boast or to lower myself. Above all things I hate those women who laugh at love and I permit them to reciprocate the sentiment; there will never be any dispute between us.

Such women are beneath the courtesans, for courtesans may lie as well as they; but courtesans are capable of love and those women are not. I remember a woman who loved me and who said to a man many times richer than I with whom she was living: ”I am weary of you, I am going to my lover.” That woman is worth more than many others who are not despised by society.

I pa.s.sed the entire season with Desgenais, and learned that my mistress had left France; that news left in my heart a feeling of languor which I could not overcome.

At the sight of that world which surrounded me, so new to me, I experienced at first a kind of bizarre curiosity, at once sad and profound, that caused me to look at things as does a restless horse. An incident occurred which made a deep impression on me.

Desgenais had with him a very beautiful mistress who loved him much. One evening as I was walking with him I told him that I considered her such as she was, that is to say, admirable, as much on account of her attachment for him as because of her beauty. In short, I praised her highly and with warmth, giving him to understand that he ought to be happy.

He made no reply. It was his manner, for he was the driest of men. That night when all had retired and I had been in bed some fifteen minutes I heard a knock at my door. I supposed it was some one of my friends who could not sleep and invited him to enter.

There appeared before my astonished eyes a woman, very pale, carrying a bouquet in her hands to which was attached a piece of paper bearing these words: ”To Octave, from his friend Desgenais.”

I had no sooner read these words when a flash of light came to me. I understood the meaning of this action of Desgenais in making me this Turk's gift. It was intended for a lesson in love. That woman loved him, I had praised her and he wished to tell me that I ought not to love her, whether I refused her or accepted her.

That made me think. The poor woman was weeping and did not dare dry her tears for fear I would see them. What threat had he used to make her come? I did not know. I said to her:

”You may return and fear nothing.”

She replied that if she should return Desgenais would send her back to Paris.

”Yes,” I replied, ”you are beautiful and I am susceptible to temptation; but you weep, and your tears not being shed for me, I care nothing for the rest. Go, therefore, and I will see to it that you are not sent back to Paris.”

One of my peculiarities is that meditation, which with the great number is a firm and constant quality of the mind, is in my case an instinct independent of the will and it seizes me like an access of pa.s.sion. It comes to me at intervals in its own good time, in spite of me and in almost any place. But when it comes I can do nothing against it. It takes me whither it pleases by whatever route seems good to it.

When the woman had left, I sat up.

”My friend,” I said to myself, ”behold what has been sent you. If Desgenais had not seen fit to send you his mistress he would not have been mistaken, perhaps, in supposing that you might fall in love with her.

”Have you well considered it? A sublime and divine mystery is accomplished. Such a being costs nature the most vigilant maternal care; yet man who would cure you, can think of nothing better than to offer you lips which belong to him in order to teach you how to cease to love.

”How was it accomplished? Others than you have doubtless admired her, but they ran no risk. She might employ all the seduction she pleased; you alone were in danger.