CHAPTER V. SATIETY
One evening I was seated before the fire with Desgenais. The window wasopen; it was one of the early days in March, a harbinger of spring.
It had been raining, and a light odor came from the garden.
"What shall we do this spring?" I asked. "I do not care to travel."
"I shall do what I did last year," replied Desgenais. "I shall go to thecountry when the time comes."
"What!" I replied. "Do you do the same thing every year? Are you goingto begin life over again this year?"
"What would you expect me to do?"
"What would I expect you to do?" I cried, jumping to my feet. "That isjust like you. Ah! Desgenais, how all this wearies me! Do you never tireof this sort of life?"
"No," he replied.
I was standing before an engraving of the Magdalen in the desert.Involuntarily I joined my hands.
"What are you doing?" asked Desgenais.
"If I were an artist," I replied, "and wished to represent melancholy, Iwould not paint a dreamy girl with a book in her hands."
"What is the matter with you this evening?" he asked, smiling.
"No, in truth," I continued, "that Magdalen in tears has a spark of hopein her bosom; that pale and sickly hand on which she supports her head,is still sweet with the perfume with which she anointed the feet ofher Lord. You do not understand that in that desert there are thinkingpeople who pray. This is not melancholy."
"It is a woman who reads," he replied dryly.
"And a happy woman," I continued, "with a happy book."
Desgenais understood me; he saw that a profound sadness had takenpossession of me. He asked if I had some secret cause of sorrow. Ihesitated, but did not reply.
"My dear Octave," he said, "if you have any trouble, do not hesitate toconfide in me. Speak freely and you will find that I am your friend!"
"I know it," I replied, "I know I have a friend; that is not mytrouble."
He urged me to explain.
"But what will it avail," I asked, "since neither of us can helpmatters? Do you want the fulness of my heart or merely a word and anexcuse?"
"Be frank!" he said.
"Very well," I replied, "you have seen fit to give me advice in the pastand now I ask you to listen to me as I have listened to you. You askwhat is in my heart, and I am about to tell you.
"Take the first comer and say to, him: 'Here are people who pass theirlives drinking, riding, laughing, gambling, enjoying all kinds ofpleasures; no barrier restrains them, their law is their pleasure, womenare their playthings; they are rich. They have no cares, not one. Alltheir days are days of feasting.' What do you think of it? Unless thatman happened to be a severe bigot, he would probably reply that it wasthe greatest happiness that could be imagined.
"'Then take that man into the centre of the whirl, place him at a tablewith a woman on either side, a glass in his hand, a handful of goldevery morning and say to him: 'This is your life. While you sleep nearyour mistress, your horses neigh in the stables; while you drive yourhorses along the boulevards, your wines are ripening in your vaults;while you pass away the night drinking, the bankers are increasing yourwealth. You have but to express a wish and your desires are gratified.You are the happiest of men. But take care lest some night of carousalyou drink too much and destroy the capacity of your body for enjoyment.That would be a serious misfortune, for all the ills that afflict humanflesh can be cured, except that. You ride some night through the woodswith joyous companions; your horse falls and you are thrown into a ditchfilled with mud, and it may be that your companions, in the midst oftheir happy shoutings will not hear your cry of anguish; it may be thatthe sound of their trumpets will die away in the distance while you dragyour broken limbs through the deserted forest.
"'Some night you will lose at the gaming-table; fortune has its baddays. When you return home and are seated before the fire, do not strikeyour forehead with your hands, and allow sorrow to moisten your cheekswith tears; do not anxiously cast your eyes about here and there as ifsearching for a friend; do not, under any circumstances, think of thosewho, under some thatched roof, enjoy a tranquil life and who sleepholding each other by the hand; for before you on your luxurious bedreclines a pale creature who loves--your money. From her you will seekconsolation for your grief, and she will remark that you are very sadand ask if your loss was considerable; the tears from your eyes willconcern her deeply, for they may be the cause of allowing her dress togrow old or the rings to drop from her fingers. Do not name him who wonyour money that night, for she may meet him on the morrow, and may makesweet eyes at him that would destroy your remaining happiness.
"'That is what is to be expected of human frailty; have you the strengthto endure it? Are you a man? Beware of disgust, it is an incurable evil;death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life. Have you aheart? Beware of love, for it is worse than disease for a debauchee,and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay their mistresses, and the woman whosells herself has no right but that of contempt for the purchaser. Areyou passionate? Take care of your face. It is shameful for a soldier tothrow down his arms and for a debauchee to appear to hold to anything;his glory consists in touching nothing except with hands of marble thathave been bathed in oil in order that nothing may stick to them.
"'Are you hot-headed? If you desire to live, learn how to kill, for wineis a wrangler. Have you a conscience? Take care of your slumber, for adebauchee who repents too late is like a ship that leaks: it can neitherreturn to land nor continue on its course; the winds can with difficultymove it, the ocean yawns for it, it careens and disappears. If you havea body, look out for suffering; if you have a soul, despair awaits you.
"'O unhappy one! beware of men; while they walk along the same path withyou, you will see a vast plain strewn with garlands where a happy throngof dancers trip the gladsome farandole standing in a circle, each a linkin an endless chain. It is but a mirage; those who look down knowthat they are dancing on a silken thread stretched over an abyss thatswallows up all who fall and shows not even a ripple on its surface.What foot is sure? Nature herself seems to deny you her divineconsolation; trees and flowers are yours no more; you have broken yourmother's laws, you are no longer one of her foster children; the birdsof the field become silent when you appear.
"'You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standinglike a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven nolonger refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind nolonger gives you the kiss of life, its benediction on all that lives andbreathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger. Every woman who kissesyou takes from you a spark of life and gives you none in return; youexhaust yourself on phantoms; wherever falls a drop of your sweat theresprings up one of those sinister weeds that grow in graveyards. Die! Youare the enemy of all who love; blot yourself from the face of theearth, do not wait for old age; do not leave a child behind you, do notperpetuate a drop of your corrupted blood; vanish as does the smoke, donot deprive a single blade of living grass of a ray of sunlight.'"
When I had spoken these words I fell back in my chair, and a flood oftears streamed from my eyes.
"Ah! Desgenais," I cried, sobbing, "this is not what you told me. Didyou not know it? And if you did, why did you not tell me of it?"
But Desgenais sat still with folded hands; he was as pale as a shroud,and a tear trickled slowly down his cheek.
A moment of silence ensued. The clock struck; I suddenly remembered thatit was on this hour and this day one year ago that my mistress deceivedme.
"Do you hear that clock?" I cried, "do you hear it? I do not know whatit means at this moment, but it is a terrible hour, and one that willcount in my life."
I was beside myself, and scarcely knew what I was saying. But at thatinstant a servant rushed into the room; he took my hand and led measide, whispering in my ear:
"Sir, I have come to inform you that your father is dying; he has justbeen seized with an attack of apoplexy
and the physicians despair of hislife."
BOOK 2.
PART III