As for Bijou, he was like a mad thing, he pawed me, licked me and nibbled me as he does when he’s very happy. Suddenly he took hold of my nose with his teeth and I felt him hurt me. I gave a little cry and put the dog on the ground. He had given me a real bite in play. I was bleeding. Everybody was very distressed. They brought water, vinegar and bandages, and my husband wanted to look after me himself. It was nothing, however, two tiny holes like the pricks made by a needle. In five minutes the blood had stopped and I set off.
We had decided to travel in Normandy for about six weeks.
We reached Dieppe in the evening. When I say “evening” I mean midnight.
You know how I love the sea. I declared to my husband that I would not go to bed without having seen it. He seemed very amazed. I laughed and asked him:
“Are you sleepy?”
He answered:
“No, my dear, but surely you understand that I am longing to be alone with you.”
I was surprised.
“Alone with me? But we’ve been alone in the train all the way from Paris.”
He smiled.
“Yes … but … in the train, it’s not the same thing as being alone in our room.”
I would not give in:
“Well, we shall be alone on the seashore, and that’s that.”
That certainly did not please him. However, he said:
“Very well, since you wish it.”
It was a glorious night, one of those nights that fill the imaginative with vast dim ideas, felt rather than thought, a night to make one long to open one’s arms, spread one’s wings, embrace the whole sky—I don’t know. But it seems as if one might be just on the verge of understanding strange mysteries.
There is a Dream in the air, and Romance that pierces the heart, and happiness that does not belong to this earth, a sort of divine intoxication born of stars, and moon, and moving silvered water. Life holds no better moments. They make one’s life seem different, touched to beauty, delicately rare; they are like a revelation of what might be … or what will be.
My husband, however, seemed impatient to return. “Are you cold?” I asked him. “No. Then look at that little boat over there: it seems asleep on the water. We couldn’t find a lovelier place than this, could we? I would gladly stay here until daylight. Tell me, wouldn’t you like us to wait for the dawn?”
He thought that I was making fun of him, and he dragged me back to the hotel almost by force. If I had only known! Oh, the wretch!
When we were alone I felt ashamed, awkward, without knowing why, I assure you. At last I sent him away into the drawing room and I got into bed. Oh, my dear, how can I tell you? But here it is. He must have taken my utter innocence for malice, my utter simplicity for depravity, my trustful and artless freedom for deliberate coquetry, and he did not trouble himself to be as delicately discreet and kind as he ought to have been to make such mysteries explicable, understandable and acceptable to an unsuspecting and absolutely unprepared mind.
And, all at once, I thought that he had lost his head. Then I was overcome with fear and I asked him if he wanted to kill me. When you are terror-stricken, you don’t reason, you don’t think at all, you just go mad. In an instant, I imagined the most frightful things. I thought of the news items in the newspapers, of mysterious crimes, of all the stories whispered about young girls who have married wicked men. Did I know this man? I struggled, repulsed him, mad with fear. I even tore out a handful of his hair, and one side of his moustache; the effort freed me, and I leaped up, shouting “Help.” I ran to the door, drew back the bolts and rushed out on to the staircase, almost naked.
Other doors opened. Men in nightshirts appeared, with lights in their hands. I fell into the arms of one of them, and implored him to protect me. He threw himself on my husband.
I don’t know what happened after that. They fought and shouted; then they laughed; I’ve never heard such laughter. The whole house laughed, from cellar to attic. I heard loud bursts of merriment in the corridors, and in the bedrooms above. The scullions were laughing in the garrets, and the porter writhed on his mattress in the hall.
Think of it, in a hotel!
When it was all over, I was left alone again with my husband, who gave me some brief explanations, much as he might have explained a chemical experiment before trying it. He was by no means pleased. I wept until it grew light, and we went away as soon as the hotel doors were opened.
That’s not all.
Next day, we arrived at Pourville, which is still only the beginnings of a seaside town. My husband overwhelmed me with little attentions and kindnesses. After his first annoyance he seemed altogether delighted. Ashamed and miserable as I was over the previous day’s adventure, I made myself as agreeable as anyone could, and as docile. But you can’t imagine the horror, the disgust, the hatred almost, with which Henry inspired me since I had learned the monstrous secret that is so carefully hidden from young girls. I felt desperate, so sad I wanted to die, disgusted with everything, tormented by longing to return to my poor parents. The following day, we arrived at Étretat. All the visitors were in a state of great excitement: a young
