“The most profound silence reigned in the inn; you could only hear at wide intervals the dull noise caused by the hoof of some horse striking the stone-floor in the stable or the sound of a drop of water falling upon the ashes through the shaft of the chimney. The candle, reaching the end of the wick, went out in smoke.
“The densest darkness fell like a curtain between us. You cannot conceive the effect which the sudden disappearance of the light had upon me. It seemed to me as if all were ended, and I were never more to see clearly in my life. For a moment I wished to get up; but what could I have done? It was only two o'clock in the morning, all the lights were out, and I could not wander about like a phantom in a strange house. I was obliged to remain where I was and wait for daylight.
“There I was on my back, with both hands crossed, striving to think of something, and always coming back to this: that a man was lying near me. At one moment I went so far as to wish that he would awake and perceive that I was a woman. No doubt the wine that I had drunk, though sparingly, had something to do with this extraordinary idea, but I could not help recurring to it. I was on the point of stretching out my hand towards him, to wake him up, but a fold in the bedclothes which checked my arm prevented me from going through with it. Time was thus given me for reflection, and while I was freeing my arm, my senses, which I had altogether lost, came back to me, not entirely, perhaps, but sufficiently to restrain me.
“How curious it would have been, if I, scornful beauty as I was, I who wished to be acquainted with ten years of a man's life before giving him my hand to kiss, had surrendered myself on a pallet in an inn to the first comer! and upon my word such a thing might have happened.
“Can a sudden effervescence, a boiling of the blood, so completely subdue the most superb resolves? Does the voice of the body speak in higher tones than the voice of the mind? Whenever my pride sends too many puffs heavenwards, I bring the recollection of that night before its eyes to recall it to earth. I am beginning to be of man's opinion: what a poor thing is woman's virtue! on what, good heavens, does it depend!
“Ah! it is vain to seek to spread one's wings, they are laden with too much clay; the body is an anchor which holds back the soul to earth: fruitlessly does she open her sails to the wind of the loftiest ideas, the vessel remains motionless, as though all the remoras of the ocean were clinging to the keel. Nature takes pleasure In such sarcasms at our expense. When she sees a thought standing on its pride as on a lofty column, and nearly touching heaven with its head, she whispers to the red fluid to quicken its pace and crowd at the gates of the arteries; she commands the temples to sing and the ears to tingle, and, behold, giddiness seizes the proud idea. All images are blended and confused, the earth seems to undulate like the deck of a bark in a storm, the heavens turn round, and the stars dance a saraband; the lips which used to utter only austere maxims are wrinkled and put forward as though for kisses; the arms so firm to repel grow soft, and become more supple and entwining than scarfs. Add to this contact with an epidermis and a breath across your hair, and all is lost.
“Often even less is sufficient. A fragrance of foliage coming to you from the fields through your half-opened window, the sight of two birds billing each other, an opening daisy, an old love-song which returns to you in your own despite and which you repeat without understanding its meaning, a warm wind which troubles and intoxicates you, the softness of your bed or divan- one of these circumstances is sufficient; even the solitude of your room makes you think that it would be comfortable for two, and that no more charming nest could be found for a brood of pleasures. The drawn curtains, the twilight, the silence, all bring back to you the fatal idea which brushes you with its dove-like wings and coos so sweetly about you. The tissues which touch you seem to caress you, and cling with amorous folds along your body. Then the young girl opens her arms to the first wooer with whom she finds herself alone: the philosopher leaves his page unfinished, and, with his head in his mantle, runs in all haste to assuage his passion.
“I certainly did not love the man who was causing me such strange perturbations. He had no other charm than that he was not a woman, and, in the condition in which I found myself, this was enough! A man! that mysterious thing which is concealed from us with so much care, that strange animal, of whose history we know so little, that demon or god who alone can realize all the dreams of vague voluptuousness wherewith the spring-time flatters our sleep, the sole thought that we have from fifteen years of age!
“A man! The confused notion of pleasure floated through my dulled head. The little that I knew of it kindled my desire still more. A burning curiosity urged me to clear up once for all the doubts which perplexed me, and were for ever recurrin g to my mind. Hie solution oft the problem was over the leaf: it was only necessary to turn it, the book was beside me. A handsome cavalier, a narrow bed, a dark night! — a young girl with a few glasses of champagne in her head! what a suspicious combination! Well! the result of it all was but a very virtuous nothingness.
“On the wall, upon which I kept my eyes fixed, I began, in the diminishing darkness, to distinguish the position of the window; the panes became less opaque, and the grey light of dawn, glancing behind them, restored their transparency; the sky brightened by degrees: it was day. You cannot imagine the pleasure given me by that pale ray of light on the green dye of the Aumale serge which surrounded the glorious battlefield whereon my virtue had triumphed over my desires! It seemed to me as though it were my crown of victory.
“As to my companion, he had fallen out on to the floor.
“I got up, adjusted my dress as quickly as possible, and ran to the window; I opened it, and the morning breeze did me good. I placed myself before the looking-glass in order to comb my hair, and was astonished at the paleness of my countenance, which I had believed to be purple.
“The others came in to see whether we were still asleep, and pushed their friend with their, feet, who did not appear much surprised at finding himself where he was.
“The horses were saddled, and we set out again.
“But this is enough for to-day. My pen will not write any more, and I do not want to mend it; another time I will tell you the rest of my adventures; meanwhile, love me as I love you, well-named Graciosa, and do not, from what I have just told you, form too bad an opinion of my virtue.”
XI
“Many things are tiresome. It is tiresome to pay back the money you have borrowed and become accustomed to look on as your own; it is tiresome to fondle to-day the woman you loved yesterday; it is tiresome to go to a house at the dinner-hour and find that the owners left for the country a month ago; it is tiresome to write a novel, and more tiresome to read one; it is tiresome to have a pimple on your nose and cracked lips on the day that you visit the idol of your heart; it is tiresome to wear facetious boots which smile on the pavement from every seam, and above all, to harbor a vacuum behind the cobwebs in your pocket; it is tiresome to be a door-porter; it is tiresome to be an emperor; it is tiresome to be yourself, and even to be some one else; it is tiresome to go on foot because it hurts your corns, on horseback because it skins the antithesis of the front, in a coach because a big man infallibly makes a pillow of your shoulder, on the packet because you are seasick and vomit your entire self; it is tiresome to have winter because you shiver, and summer because you perspire; but the most tiresome thing on earth, in hell, or in heaven is assuredly a tragedy, unless it be a drama or a comedy.
“It really makes my heart ache. What could be more silly and stupid? Are not the great tyrants with voices like bulls, who stride across the stage from one wing to the other, making their hairy arms go like the wings of a windmill, and imprisoned in flesh-colored stockings, but sorry counterfeits of Bluebeard or Bogey! Their rodomontades might make any one who could keep awake burst out laughing.
“Women who are unfortunate in love are no less ridiculous. It is diverting to see them advance, clad in black or white, with their hair weeping on their shoulders, sleeves weeping on their hands, and their bodies ready to leap from the corset like a fruit-stone pressed between the fingers; looking as if they were dragging the floor by the sole of their satin slippers, and, in their great impulses of passion, spurning their trains backward with a little kick from their heel. The dialogue, composed exclusively of Oh! and Ah! which they cluck as they display their feathers, is truly agreeable food and easy of digestion. Their princes are also very charming; they are only somewhat dark and melancholy, which does not, however, prevent them from being the best companions in the world or elsewhere.
“As to comedy which is to correct manners, and which fortunately acquits itself badly enough of its task, the sermons of fathers and iterations of uncles are, to my mind, as wearisome on the stage as in real life. I am not of opinion that the number of fools should be doubled by the representation of them; there are quite enough of them
