CHAPTER V. A TORTURED SOUL
It was Mercanson who had repeated in the village and in the chateau myconversation with him about Dalens and the suspicions that, in spite ofmyself, I had allowed him clearly to see. Every one knows how bad newstravels in the provinces, flying from mouth to mouth and growing as itflies; that is what had happened in this case.
Brigitte and I found ourselves face to face with each other in anew position. However feebly she may have tried to flee, she hadnevertheless made the attempt. It was on account of my prayers thatshe remained; there was an obligation implied. I was under oath notto grieve her either by my jealousy or my levity; every thoughtless ormocking word that escaped me was a sin, every sorrowful glance from herwas a reproach acknowledged and merited.
Her simple good-nature gave a charm even to solitude; she could seeme now at all hours without resorting to any precaution. Perhaps sheconsented to this arrangement in order to prove to me that she valuedher love more highly than her reputation; she seemed to regret havingshown that she cared for the representations of malice. At any rate,instead of making any attempt to disarm criticism or thwart curiosity,we lived the freest kind of life, more regardless of public opinion thanever.
For some time I kept my word, and not a cloud troubled our life. Thesewere happy days, but it is not of these that I would speak.
It was said everywhere about the country that Brigitte was livingpublicly with a libertine from Paris; that her lover ill-treated her,that they spent their time quarrelling, and that she would come to a badend. As they had praised Brigitte for her conduct in the past, so theyblamed her now. There was nothing in her past life, even, that wasnot picked to pieces and misrepresented. Her lonely tramps over themountains, when engaged in works of charity, suddenly became the subjectof quibbles and of raillery. They spoke of her as of a woman who hadlost all human respect and who deserved the frightful misfortunes shewas drawing down on her head.
I had told Brigitte that it was best to let them talk and pay noattention to them; but the truth is, it became insupportable to me. Isometimes tried to catch a word that could be construed as an insultand to demand an explanation. I listened to whispered conversations ina salon where I was visiting, but could hear nothing; in order to do usbetter justice they waited until I had gone. I returned to Brigitte andtold her that all these stories were mere nonsense; that it was foolishto notice them; that they could talk about us as much as they pleasedand we would care nothing about it.
Was I not terribly mistaken? If Brigitte was imprudent, was it not myplace to be cautious and ward off danger? On the contrary, I took, so tospeak, the part of the world against her.
I began by indifference; I was soon to grow malignant.
"It is true," I said, "that they speak evil of your nocturnalexcursions. Are you sure that they are wrong? Has nothing happenedin those romantic grottoes and by-paths in the forest? Have you neveraccepted the arm of an unknown as you accepted mine? Was it merelycharity that served as your divinity in that beautiful temple of verdurethat you visited so bravely?"
Brigitte's glance when I adopted this tone I shall never forget; Ishuddered at it myself. "But, bah!" I thought, "she would do the samething that my other mistress did--she would point me out as a ridiculousfool, and I should pay for it all in the eyes of the public."
Between the man who doubts and the man who denies there is only a step.All philosophy is akin to atheism. Having told Brigitte that I suspectedher past conduct, I began to regard it with real suspicion.
I came to imagine that Brigitte was deceiving me, she who never left meat any hour of the day; I sometimes planned long absences in order totest her, as I supposed; but in truth it was only to give myself someexcuse for suspicion and mockery. And then I took pleasure in observingthat I had outgrown my foolish jealousy, which was the same as sayingthat I no longer esteemed her highly enough to be jealous of her.
At first I kept such thoughts to myself, but soon found pleasure inrevealing them to Brigitte. We had gone out for a walk:
"That dress is pretty," I said, "such and such a girl, belonging to oneof my friends, has one like it."
We were now seated at table.
"Come, my dear, my former mistress used to sing for me at dessert; youpromised, you know, to imitate her."
She sat down at the piano.
"Ah! pardon me, but will you play that waltz that was so popular lastwinter? That will remind me of happy times."
Reader, this lasted six months: for six long months Brigitte,scandalized, exposed to the insults of the world, had to endure from meall the wrongs that a wrathful and cruel libertine can inflict on woman.
After these distressing scenes, in which my own spirit exhausted itselfin suffering and in painful contemplation of the past; after recoveringfrom that frenzy, a strange access of love, an extreme exaltation, ledme to treat my mistress like an idol, or a divinity. A quarter of anhour after insulting her I was on my knees before her; when I was notaccusing her of some crime, I was begging her pardon; when I was notmocking, I was weeping. Then, seized by a delirium of joy, I almost lostmy reason in the violence of my transports; I did not know what to do,what to say, what to think, in order to repair the evil I had done. Itook Brigitte in my arms, and made her repeat a hundred times that sheloved me and that she pardoned me. I threatened to expiate my evil deedsby blowing out my brains if I ever ill-treated her again. These periodsof exaltation sometimes lasted several hours, during which time Iexhausted myself in foolish expressions of love and esteem. Then morningcame; day appeared; I fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and I awakenedwith a smile on my lips, mocking at everything, believing in nothing.
During these terrible hours, Brigitte appeared to forget that therewas a man in me other than the one she saw. When I asked her pardon sheshrugged her shoulders as if to answer: "Do you not know that I pardonyou?" She would not complain as long as a spark of love remained inmy heart; she assured me that all was good and sweet coming from me,insults as well as tears.
And yet as time passed my evil grew worse, my moments of malignity andirony became more sombre and intractable. A real physical fever attendedmy outbursts of passion; I awakened trembling in every limb and coveredwith cold sweat. Brigitte, too, although she did not complain of it,began to fail in health. When I started to abuse her she would leave mewithout a word and lock herself in her room. Thank God, I never raisedmy hand against her; in my most violent moments I would rather have diedthan touched her.
One evening the rain was driving against the windows; we were alone, thecurtains were closed.
"I am in happy humor this evening," I said to Brigitte, "and yet thehorrible weather saddens me. Let us seek some diversion in spite of thestorm."
I arose and lighted all the candles I could find. The room was small andthe illumination brilliant. At the same time a bright fire threw out astifling heat:
"Come," I said, "what shall we do while waiting for supper?"
I happened to remember that it was carnival time in Paris I seemed tosee the carriages filled with masks crossing the boulevards. I heard theshouts of the crowds before the theatres; I saw the lascivious dances,the gay costumes, the wine and the folly; all my youth bounded in myheart.
"Let us disguise ourselves," I said to Brigitte. "It will be for ourown amusement, but what does that matter? If you have no costumes we canmake them, and pass away the time agreeably."
We searched in the closet for dresses, cloaks, and artificial flowers;Brigitte, as usual, was patient and cheerful. We both arranged a sort oftravesty; she wished to dress my hair herself; we painted and powderedourselves freely; all that we lacked was found in an old chest that hadbelonged, I believe, to the aunt. In an hour we could not recognize eachother. The evening passed in singing, in a thousand follies; toward oneo'clock in the morning it was time for supper.
We had ransacked all the closets; there was one near me that remainedopen. While sitting down at the table, I perceived on a shelf the bookof which I hav
e already spoken, the one in which Brigitte was accustomedto write.
"Is it not a collection of your thoughts?" I asked, stretching out myhand and taking the book down. "If I may, allow me to look at it."
I opened the book, although Brigitte made a gesture as if to prevent me;on the first page I read these words:
"This is my last will and testament."
Everything was written in a firm hand; I found first a faithful recitalof all that Brigitte had suffered on my account since she had been mymistress. She announced her firm determination to endure everything,so long as I loved her, and to die when I left her. Her daily life wasrecorded there; what she had lost, what she had hoped, the isolation sheexperienced even in my presence, the barrier that was growing up betweenus; the cruelties I subjected her to in return for her love and herresignation. All this was written down without a complaint; on thecontrary she undertook to justify me. Then followed personal details,the disposition of her effects. She would end her life by poison, shewrote. She would die by her own hand and expressly forbade that herdeath should be charged to me. "Pray for him!" were her last words.
I found in the closet on the same shelf a little box that I remembered Ihad seen before, filled with a fine bluish powder resembling salt.
"What is this?" I asked of Brigitte, raising the box to my lips. Shegave vent to a scream of terror and threw herself upon me.
"Brigitte," I said, "bid me farewell. I shall carry this box away withme; you will forget me, and you will live if you wish to save me frombecoming a murderer. I shall set out this very night; you will agreewith me that God demands it. Give me a last kiss."
I bent over her and kissed her forehead.
"Not yet!" she cried, in anguish. But I repulsed her and left the room.
Three hours later I was ready to set out, and the horses were at thedoor. It was still raining when I entered the carriage. At the momentthe carriage was starting, I felt two arms about my body and a sob whichspent itself on my lips.
It was Brigitte. I did all I could to persuade her to remain; I orderedthe driver to stop; I even told her that I would return to her when timeshould have effaced the memory of the wrongs I had done her. I forcedmyself to prove to her that yesterday was the same as to-day, to-dayas yesterday; I repeated that I could only render her unhappy, that toattach herself to me was but to make an assassin of me. I resorted toprayers, to vows, to threats even; her only reply was: "You are goingaway; take me, let us take leave of the country, let us take leaveof the past. We can not live here; let us go elsewhere, wherever youplease; let us go and die together in some remote corner of the world.We must be happy, I by you, you by me."
I kissed her with such passion that I feared my heart would burst.
"Drive on!" I cried to the coachman. We threw ourselves into eachother's arms, and the horses set out at a gallop.
BOOK 3.
PART V