CHAPTER VIII. THE SEARCH FOR HEALING
Yet I was unwilling to yield.
Before taking life on its pleasant side--a side which to me seemedrather sinister--I resolved to test everything. I remained thus for sometime, a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by terrible dreams.
The great obstacle to my cure was my youth. Wherever I happened to be,whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight ofa woman made me tremble.
It had been my fate--a fate as rare as happy--to give to love myunsullied youth. But the result of this was that all my senses unitedin idealizing love; there was the cause of my unhappiness. For not beingable to think of anything but women, I could not help turning over in myhead, day and night, all the ideas of debauchery, of false love and offeminine treason, with which my mind was filled. For me to possess awoman was to love her; I thought of nothing but women, but I believed nomore in the possibility of true love.
All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage. At times I wastempted to imitate the monks and starve my body in order to conquer mysenses; at times I felt like rushing out into the street to throw myselfat the feet of the first woman I met and vow to her eternal love.
God is my witness that I did all in my power to cure myself. Preoccupiedfrom the first with the idea that the society of men was the hauntof vice and hypocrisy, where all were like my mistress, I resolved toseparate myself from them and live in complete isolation. I resumed myneglected studies, and plunged into history, poetry, and anatomy. Therehappened to be on the fourth floor of the same house an old and learnedGerman. I determined to learn his language; the German was poor andfriendless, and willingly accepted the task of instructing me. Myperpetual state of distraction worried him. How many times he waitedin patient astonishment while I, seated near him with a smoking lampbetween us, sat with my arms crossed on my book, lost in revery,oblivious of his presence and of his pity.
"My dear sir," said I to him one day, "all this is useless, but you arethe best of men. What a task you have undertaken! You must leave me tomy fate; we can do nothing, neither you nor I."
I do not know that he understood my meaning, but he grasped my hand andthere was no more talk of German.
I soon realized that solitude, instead of curing me, was doing me harm,and so I completely changed my system. I went into the country, andgalloped through the woods with the huntsmen; I would ride until I wasout of breath, trying to cure myself with fatigue, and when, after aday of sweat in the fields, I reached my bed in the evening smelling ofpowder and the stable, I would bury my head in the pillow, roll aboutunder the covers and cry: "Phantom, phantom! are you not satiated? Willyou not leave me for one single night?"
But why these vain efforts? Solitude sent me to nature, and nature tolove. Standing in the street of Mental Observation, I saw myself paleand wan, surrounded by corpses, and, drying my hands on my bloodyapron, stifled by the odor of putrefaction, I turned my head in spiteof myself, and saw floating before my eyes green harvests, balmy fields,and the pensive harmony of the evening. "No," said I, "science can notconsole me; rather will I plunge into this sea of irresponsive natureand die there myself by drowning. I will not war against my youth; Iwill live where there is life, or at least die in the sunlight." I beganto mingle with the throngs at Sevres and Chaville, and stretch myselfon flowery swards in secluded groves. Alas! all the forests and fieldscried to me:
"What do you seek here? We are young, poor child! We wear the colors ofhope."
Then I returned to the city; I lost myself in its obscure streets; Ilooked up at the lights in its windows, into those mysterious familynests; I watched the passing carriages; I saw man jostling against man.Oh, what solitude! How sad the smoke on those roofs! What sorrow inthose tortuous streets where all are hurrying hither and thither,working and sweating, where thousands of strangers rub against yourelbows; a sewer where society is of bodies only, while soulsare solitary and alone, where all who hold out a hand to you areprostitutes! "Become corrupt, corrupt, and you will cease to suffer!"This has been the cry of all cities unto man; it is written withcharcoal on the walls, on the streets with mud, on men's faces withextravasated blood.
At times, when seated in the corner of some salon I watched the women asthey danced, some rosy, some blue, and others white, their arms bare andtheir hair gathered gracefully about their shapely heads, looking likecherubim drunk with light, floating in spheres of harmony and beauty, Iwould think: "Ah, what a garden, what flowers to gather, to breathe!Ah! Marguerites, Marguerites! What will your last petal say to him whoplucks it? A little, a little, but not all. That is the moral of theworld, that is the end of your smiles. It is over this terrible abyssthat you are walking in your spangled gauze; it is on this hideousreality you run like gazelles on the tips of your little toes!"
"But why take things so seriously?" said Desgenais. "That is somethingthat is never seen. You complain because bottles become empty? There aremany casks in the vaults, and many vaults in the hills. Give me a daintyfish-hook gilded with sweet words, a drop of honey for bait, and quick!catch in the stream of oblivion a pretty consoler, as fresh and slipperyas an eel; you will still have the hook when the fish shall have glidedfrom your hands. Youth must pass away, and if I were you I would carryoff the queen of Portugal rather than study anatomy."
Such was the advice of Desgenais. I made my way home with swollen heart,my face concealed under my cloak. I kneeled at the side of my bed and mypoor heart dissolved in tears. What vows! what prayers! Galileo struckthe earth, crying: "Nevertheless it moves!" Thus I struck my heart.