The Confession of a Child of the Century - Complete

recious gift that God has made us. It is ours and it obeys us; we may launch it forth int

led myself in the parquet, and watched them. I pretended that I had some business to attend to in a neighboring room and sat there an hour and listened to them. The idea occurred to me to seek a quarrel with Smith and force him to fight with me; I turned my back on him while he was talking; then he came to me with a look of surprise on his face, holding out his hand. When I was alone in the night and every one slept, I felt

w, to feel isolation and feebleness uprooting hope in my heart, to imagine that I was spying when I was only listening to the feverish beating of my own pulse; to con over stupid phrases, such as: "Life is a

reath of air which struck my face as I came from my dungeon; it was a page of a book I read when, in my bitter days, I happened to read something besides those modern sycophants called pamphleteers, who, out of regard for the public health,

rg, aide-de-camp (I have forgotten to whom), wounded in the breast by a bullet, fell to the ground vomiting blood. Salsdorf saw that if that young man was not cared for he would die of suffusion

s I threw down my book

instance. I am sure, however, that I did not suspect any one that day. Poor dreamer! Ought I to remember that I have been other than I am? What good will it do me

unto himself he reaches the last turn of a spiral. There, as on the summits of mountains and at the bottom of mines, air fails, and God forbids man to go farther. Then, struck with a mortal chill, the heart, as if impaired by oblivion, seeks to

ncertainty, I resolved to resort to

lness, and without a word about my plans, I turned the conversation to our journey. I would renounce all idea of going away, I said, if I thought Brigitte did not care to go; I was so well satisfied with Paris that I asked nothing better than to remain as long as s

disappointed. However, she insisted but feebly; but, after a few words, I pretended to yi

Let him come along with us; the carriage is large and we offer him a place in it. A young man should see the world, and there is nothing so irksome for a man of his age as confinement in an office and restriction to a narrow circle. Is it not true

t he regretted being obliged to deny himself the pleasure of accompanying us. Nevertheless I continued to press him, and, ordering another bottle of wine, I repeated my in

g to the theatre; I can not take part myself, but I can listen. We will mak

bowl of punch were brought and the flame of burning rum soon cheered us with varied lights. The piano was abandoned for the

postilion's whip as the horses entered the court. Brigitte was seated near me; I took her by the hand and asked her if she was ready to depart. She looked at me with surprise, doubtless wonderin

d Brigitte; "do you wis

ince we have agreed that

At this ve

e not go at once? I believe it is better to go now and put off nothing until tomorrow. You are in the humor to travel to-night and I hasten to profit

n may appear to her, it was due to her own expressed desire. She could not deny her own words, nor find any pretext for further delay. Her decision was made promptly; she asked a few questions as

aid; "shall we go?

ts. She asked for the key to her secretary which she said she had lost.

ted in extreme agitation; "let us g

ued her search and then c

ed neither troubled nor surprised; but two drops of sweat trickled down his forehead, and I heard an

, my friend

is some secret here," thought I, "when shall I learn it, if not now? It must be on

ill you not? You will not forget my relatives and will do what you can for me?" He rep

you have received, there is not much hope. But it will not be my fau

before him; I wished to leave them together a moment for the last time and, as soon as I ha

see you agai

and. He bent over it, pressed it to his lips and I had barely

nd sat down near the fire. "Listen to me," I said, without daring to look at her; "I have been so culpable in my treatment of you that I ought to wait and suffer without a word of complaint. The change which has ta

let us go!"

ask whence it comes; I should submit without a murmur. But if I lose you

on me lik

r love," she said,

ve, my grief is but a dream. Come with me to the en

d recoiled. She made a vain effort to force a smile on her

ve some papers he

pread out on the table. They were bills of purchases she had made and some of them were still unpaid. While examining them she began to ta

the sight of that factitious joy; there was in that grief which crazed her something more sad than tears and more bitter than reproaches. I would have preferred to have her cold and indifferent rather than thus excited; it seem

you concealing from me? If you love me, what hor

offended. "What makes

at you are suffering martyrdom. Behold my arms are ready to receive you; lean your

t us go!" she

e there is between us a lie or a mask. I like unh

had not been deceived by her words and

delude ourselve

u are condemned to it, do you? Am I a tyrant, an absolute master? Am I an executioner who drags you to punishme

replied; "I beg of

e of the source of your tears, may I not at least see them flow? Have you not enough confidence in me to believe tha

your own unhappiness as well as mine if you press

God! What is it you are concealing from me? What is the use of playing with words when your thoughts are as clear as that glass before which you stand? Shoul

are mistaken; I love you, Octa

ds that I fell down on my knees before her.

love me, Brigitte? My de

e what you will. I will follow you, let us go awa

nd in hers, and k

e," she murmure

I repeated to

paper that Brigitte was examining. She picke

t all?"

that i

shed merely to make a trial, but circumstances bid fair to force me t

to myself. "It must b

in those words that I do not understand? Explain

sofa and wrung h

e cried, "you will ne

t until I have solved the mystery that has been torturing me for more than a month. Speak, or I will leave you. I may be a fool who destroys his own happiness; I may be demanding something that is not for me to possess; it may be t

will no

e me as a cause some letters that are not worth the trouble of reading, do you imagine that I am to be put off with the first pretext that comes to hand because you do not choose to seek another? Is your face made of plaster, th

imagine I a

e all feminine hypocrisy; you hope that I will accuse you, so that you can reply that such a woman as you does not stoop to justify herself. How skilfully the most guilty and treacherous of your sex contrive to use proud disdain as a shield! Your great weapon is silence;

ed Brigitte; "you

ggled, I have suffered, I have eaten my own heart long enough. It is time for day

N

lease; I

o rise until I had learned what I wished to know. She appe

ally increased my anger. I was unwilling to have her perc

se below, "and I will see that you a

d more. As I had condemned myself to remain in Paris, I reflected that I must compel Brigitte to speak at any price. In vain I tried to think of some means of forcing her to enlighten me; for such power I would have given all I possessed. What could I do or say? She sat there calm and unruffled, looking at me with sadness. I heard the s

ts. She told him that she no longer loved him and that she wished to leave him. The Marquis des Arcis (the name of the lover) falls into the trap, and confesses that he himself has tired of the liaison. That piece of strategy, which I h

so difficult to make a woman speak in spite of herself? This woman was my mistress; I must be

I, gayly, "this is not a

at me in as

believe it would be well to begin at once; that will make you con

these words; Brigitte did not appear to u

is kind of life should become distasteful to you, are you the woman to tell me of it? In truth, if it were so, I would confess it to you frankly. And why not? I

toppe

ou addressing me? What comedy

eized her hand. "Sit down her

se? It is not

my own strategy

you, sit down near me. If you wish to remain sil

, what have you

my accuser. Have I not within me the consciousness of what I am? It would be necessary for me to meet my accuser on the field, and play my life against his; why? In

; what is y

? If it is a man, dishonor; if it is a woman, what? Forgiveness? Every one who loves ought to give some evidence of life, some proof of existence. There is, then, for woman as well as for man, a time when an attack must be resented. If she is brave, she rises, announces that she is present

recourse i

ea is in her tears, her past life, her devotion and her patience. What will happen if she remains s

silence be

ose you if you do not speak; my resol

, Oc

l justify you! Let us put

I ho

ill have the opportunity. You tell me that you love me, and I believe it. I suspec

do you su

after all, misery for misery, at your leisure; I am as well please

it?" s

mi

ed aside. I could say no more; we were b

, I am ready to suffer anything; but, although I may rouse your anger in saying to you that I am a woman, I am nevertheless a woman, my friend. We can not go beyond the limits of

wn as she sp

it. He alone knows it who makes a woman of himself, and initiates himself into the secrets of her cult of inconstancy! But man, who asks for it openly, he who opens a loyal hand to receive that frightful alms, he will never obtain it! They are on guard with him; for reply he receives a shrug of the shoulders, and,

said she, coldly; "I am

! the day when the jealous lover will know that he has been unjust, the day when he shall see proofs, he will understand what a heart he has wounded, is it not so? He will bewail his shame, he will know neither joy nor sleep; he will live only in the

s that resemble the clashing of drawn swords; such glances Brigitte and I exchanged at that moment. I looked at her as the prison

he asked. "What do yo

eart. Are you cruel enou

it. Like a fool, I have tried to suffer in silence, to consecrate to you my resignation; I have tried to conceal my tears; you have played the spy, and you have counted them as witnesses against me. Fool that I am! I have thought of crossing seas, of exiling myself from France with you, of dying far from all who have loved me, leaning

"Fool! Fool!" she repeated

fy myself, you say! For what? For loving, for dying, for despairing? And if I assume a forced cheerfulness, even that cheerfulness offends you. I

rfect love. You kill all delicate and lofty sentiment in the hearts of those who love you; soon you will believe in nothing except the material and the gross; of love there will remain for you only that which is visible and can be touched with the finger. You ar

ar

t, day by day, minute by minute, hesitating between hope and fear, I have vainly tried to conquer either my love or my grief; that, when I opened my heart to you, you pierced it with a mocking glance, and that, when I closed it, it seemed to me I felt within it a treasure that none but you could dispense? Shall I speak of all the frailty and all the mysteries which seem puerile to those who do not respe

to inter

have a rival? Send him a letter that I will sign and you will direct. What are we doing? Where are we going? Let us decide. Are we not always together? Very well then, why would you leave me? I can not be near you and separated from you at the same moment. It is necessary to have confidence in those

ed before

"who am I? Think of it.

; let those kisses that have wasted thee close thy lids! Descend into the cold earth, poor trembling body that can no longer support its own weight. When thou art there, perchance thou wilt be believe

t not enough? What proof canst thou give that will satisfy when thou, poor, living proof, art not believed? To what torture canst thou submit that thou hast not already endured? By what torments, what sacrifices, wilt thou appease insatiable love? Thou wilt be only an object of ridicule, a thing to excite laughter; thou wilt vainly seek a deserted street to avoid the finger of scorn. Thou wilt lose all shame and even that appearance of virtue which has been

, who now sleeps in peace! Oh, my lindens, my little white goat, my dear peasants who loved me so much! You remember when I was happy, proud, and respected? Who threw in my path that stranger who took me away from all this? Who gave him the right t

der. The terrible effort she had made in speaking to me so bitterly had broken her down. Instead

here was no mark of suffering on her face: she was resting from her sorrow as from great fatigue, and seemed not even to remember it. Her feeble and delicate body yielded without a struggle; the strai