Calvary

are an insult to your torn coat, to your arms trembling with fatigue, to your whole wretched body emaciated by daily hardships! In the days of revolution you thought you could avenge yourself upon society which kept you down by killing soldiers and priests, humble and suffering human beings like yourself? And you never thought of erecting scaffolds for these infamous creatures, for these ferocious beasts who steal from you your bread, your sun. Look! Society which is so cruel to you, which tries to make ever heavier the chains that hold you riveted to eternal misery, that society offers them protection and riches; the drops of your blood it transforms into gold with which to cover the flabby bosoms of these despicable creatures. It is in order that they may live in palaces that you are spending your strength, that you are dying from hunger or that they break your head on the barricades. Look! When you beg for bread on the streets the police beat you with clubs, you poor wretch! But see how they make way for their coachmen and horses! Look! What a juicy grape-gathering they have! Ah! these vintage tubs of blood! And how on earth can the pure wheat grow tall and nourishing in the soil where these creatures rot!”

Suddenly I saw Juliette. I saw her for a second, in profile. She wore a pink hat, looked fresh, was smiling; she seemed happy. Answering greetings with a slow motion of her head, Juliette did not see me.⁠ ⁠… She passed on.

She is going to my house! She has come back to her senses. She is going to my house!

I was sure of it. An empty carriage passed by. I went in. Juliette had disappeared.

“If I could only get there at the same time she does. For I know she is going to my house! Hurry up, driver, hurry up!”

There is no carriage in front of the door of the furnished house. Juliette is already gone. I rushed down to the caretaker.

“Was there someone here a minute ago asking about me? Was it a lady? Mme. Juliette Roux?”

“Why no, Monsieur Mintié.”

“Well, is there a letter for me?”

“Nothing, Monsieur Mintié.”

I was thinking:

“She’ll be here in a minute!”

I waited. No one came! I continued waiting. Nobody came! Time passed. And still no one came!

“The contemptible creature! And she was still smiling! And she looked gay! And she knew that I was going to kill myself at six o’clock!”

I ran to the Rue de Balzac. Celestine assured me that Madame had just gone out.

“Listen, Celestine, you are a nice girl. I like you very much. Do you know where she is? Go and find her and tell her that I want to see her.”

“But I don’t know where Madame is.”

“Yes, you do, Celestine. I implore you. Please go! I suffer so!”

“Upon my word of honor! Monsieur, I don’t know where she is.”

I insisted:

“Perhaps she is at her lover’s? At the restaurant. Oh, tell me where she is!⁠ ⁠…”

“But I don’t know!”

I was getting impatient.

“Celestine, I have been trying to be nice to you. Don’t make me lose my temper⁠ ⁠… because.⁠ ⁠…”

Celestine crossed her arms, shook her head and in the drawling voice of a blackguard:

“Because what? Oh, I am getting tired of you, you miserable wretch, you! And if you don’t betake yourself from here in a hurry, I am going to call the police, do you hear?”

And pushing me rudely toward the door she added:

“Yes, I mean it! These sluts here are worse than dogs!”

I had sense enough not to start a quarrel with Celestine and, burning with shame, I went down the stairway.

It was midnight when I returned to the Rue de Balzac. I had gone through several restaurants, my eyes seeking Juliette in the mirrors, through curtain openings. I had gone into a few theatres. At the Hippodrome where she used to go on subscription days I had made a search of the stalls. This large place, with its dazzling lights, above all, this orchestra which played a slow and languid air⁠—all this had unstrung my nerves and made me cry! I had approached groups of men, thinking that they might be talking about Juliette and that I might perhaps learn something. And every time I saw a man dressed in evening clothes, I had said to myself:

“Perhaps that’s her lover!”

What was I doing here? It seemed it was my fate to run after her everywhere, always, to live on the sidewalk, at the door of evil places and wait for Juliette! Exhausted with fatigue, a buzzing sensation in my head, unable to find a trace of Juliette, I had found myself on the street again. And I was waiting! For what? Really, I did not know. I was waiting for everything and nothing at the same time. I was there either to bring myself as a voluntary offering once more or to commit some crime. I was hoping that Juliette would come home alone. Then I thought I would go up to her and move her to pity with my words. I was also afraid I might see her in the company of a man. Then I would perhaps kill her. But I was not premeditating anything. I had simply come here, that’s all! To surprise her all the better, I hid myself in the shadow of the door of the house next to her own.

From there I could observe everything without being seen, if it were necessary not to show myself. I did not have to wait very long. A hackney coach coming from Faubourg Saint Honoré, passed into the Rue de Balzac, crossed the street diagonally to the side where I was standing and, grazing the sidewalk, stopped in front of Juliette’s house! I held my breath. My whole body trembled, shaken by convulsions. Juliette came out first. I recognized her at once. She ran across the sidewalk and I heard her pull the handle of the door bell. Then a man came out; it