The other day I met a fisherwoman on the strand. She was black, dirty, foul-smelling, like a heap of putrified sea wrack. I made advances to her with silly gestures. And suddenly I fled, for I felt a diabolic temptation to rush upon her and throw her down amid the pebbles and small pools of water. I roamed and tramped across the country with dilated nostrils, taking in, like a harrier, the odor of sex. … One night, with burning throat, driven mad by abominable visions, I found my way into the crooked alleys of the village and rapped at the door of a loose woman. And I went into this den. But as soon as I felt the unknown contact I uttered a cry of rage; I wanted to leave; she held me back.
“Let me go!” I shouted.
“Why are you going away?”
“Let me go!”
“Stay here. I’ll love you. I often followed you on the beach. I often roamed about the house where you are staying. I wanted you. Stay here!”
“Let me go, I tell you! You don’t know how disgusting you are to me!”
And when she hung on my neck, I struck her. She groaned.
“Ah! My God! He is mad!”
Mad! Yes, I am mad! I have looked at myself in the mirror and I am afraid of my own image. My distended eyes shine from the midst of their orbits which are hollow; my bones protrude from under the yellow skin; my mouth is pale, trembling, hanging like the mouths of lascivious old men. My gestures are erratic, and my fingers, constantly agitated by nervous shocks, crack, seeking a prey in the air.
Mad! Yes, I am mad! Whenever Mother Le Gannec is moving about me, when I hear her slippers dragging on the floor, when her dress brushes against me, criminal notions come and take possession of me; they pursue me and I cry:
“Go away, Mother Le Gannec, go away.”
Mad! Yes, I am mad! Often at night I stand for hours at the door of her room, my hand upon the knob, ready to plunge into the darkness of the room. I don’t know what is holding me back. Fear, no doubt, for I say to myself: “She will struggle, cry, call for help and I shall be compelled to kill her!” Once, alarmed by the noise, she got up, barelegged; she was dumbfounded for a moment, upon beholding me.
“What is the matter! It’s you, friend Mintié? What are you doing here? Are you ill?”
I stammered some incoherent words and went upstairs to my room.
Ah! Let them drive me out, beat me, with forks, stakes, scythes. Is it possible that men will not come in here in a moment, rush upon me, gag and drag me into the eternal night of the dungeon?
I must go away! I must find Juliette again! I must vent this accursed madness upon her!
When dawn came I went downstairs and said to Mother Le Gannec: “I must leave! Let me have some money. I shall pay it back to you later. Let me have some money. I must leave!”
XI
Juliette had chosen a room for me on the second floor of a furnished house in the Faubourg Saint Honoré near the Rue de Balzac. The furniture of the room was rickety, the tapestry worn, the drawers creaked when opened, the pungent odor of decaying wood and accumulated dust filled the window curtains and bedstead hangings; but by placing knickknacks here and there, she succeeded in imparting an air of intimacy to this banal, cold place, where so many unknown lives had been spent without a trace being left behind. Juliette reserved to herself the task of arranging my things in the hanging-press which she filled with bunches of fragrant flowers.
“You see, my dear, here are your socks, and there are your nightshirts. I put your neckties in the drawer; your handkerchiefs are there. I hope your little wifie has put everything in order. And every day I’ll bring you a sweet-smelling flower. Now don’t be sad. Tell yourself that I love you, that I love no one but you, that I shall come often. Oh, I have forgotten a few things! Well, I’ll send them to you with Celestine, together with my pictures in the beautiful red plush frames. Don’t feel lonesome, my poor, little thing! You know, if I am not here at half-past twelve tonight don’t wait for me. Go to bed. Sleep well. Promise me?”
And casting a last glance about the room, she left. Indeed, Juliette came every day, while going to the Bois and on her way home before dinner. She never remained more than two minutes at a time. Excited, impelled by a feverish desire to be outside, she would stay long enough to embrace me and to open the drawers to see whether my things were in order.
“Well I am going. Don’t be sad. I see you have been crying. That is not nice at all! Why cause me aggravation?”
“Juliette! Will I see you tonight? Oh! please,
