Orient is the land of barbarians. Stop, wretched man! It is the country of the sages, the hot country where one lets life flow by, where angles are rounded.
“We are the barbarians, we men of the West who call ourselves civilized; we are hateful barbarians who live a painful life, like brutes.
“Look at our cities built of stone and our furniture made of hard and knotty wood. We mount, panting, a high, narrow stairway, to go into stuffy apartments into which the cold wind comes whistling, only to escape immediately again through a chimney which creates deadly currents of air that are strong enough to turn a windmill. Our chairs are hard, our walls cold and covered with ugly paper; everywhere we are wounded by angles—angles on our tables, on our mantels, on our doors and on our beds. We live standing up or sitting in our chairs, but we never lie down except to sleep, which is ridiculous, for in sleeping you are not conscious of the happiness there is in being stretched out flat.
“And then to think of our intellectual life! It is filled with incessant struggle and strife. Worry hovers over us and preoccupations pester us; we no longer have time to seek and pursue the two or three good things within our reach.
“It is war to the finish. And our character, even more than our furniture, is full of angles—angles everywhere.
“We are hardly out of bed when we hasten to our work, in rain or snow. We fight against rivals, competition, hostility. Every man is an enemy whom we must fear and overcome and with whom we must resort to ruse. Even love has with us its aspects of victory and defeat: that also is a struggle.”
He reflected for some moments and then continued:
“I know the house that I am going to buy. It is square, with a flat roof and wooden trimmings, in the Oriental fashion. From the terrace you can see the sea, where white sails like pointed wings are passing, and Greek or Turkish vessels. There are hardly any openings on the outside walls. A large garden, where the air is heavy under the shadow of palms, is in the center of this abode. A jet of water rises from under the trees and falls in spray into a large marble basin, the bottom of which is covered with golden sand. I shall bathe there at any hour of the day, between two pipes, two dreams, two kisses.
“I will not have any servant, any hideous maid with greasy apron, who kicks up the dirty bottom of her skirt with her worn shoes. Oh, that kick of the heel which shows the yellow ankle! It fills my heart with disgust, and yet I cannot avoid it. Those wretches all do it.
“I shall no longer hear the tramping of shoes on the floor, the loud slamming of doors, the crash of breaking dishes.
“I will have beautiful black slaves, draped in white veils, who run barefoot over heavy carpets.
“My walls shall be soft and rounded, like a woman’s breasts; and my divans, ranged in a circle around each apartment, shall be heaped with cushions of all shapes, so that I may lie down in all possible postures.
“Then, when I am tired of this delicious repose, tired of enjoying immobility and my eternal dream, tired of the calm pleasure of well-being, I shall have a swift black or white horse brought to my door.
“And I shall ride away on it, drinking in the air which stings and intoxicates, the air that whistles when one is galloping furiously.
“And I shall fly like an arrow over this coloured earth, which intoxicates the eye with the effect of the flavour of wine.
“In the calm of the evening I shall ride madly toward the wide horizon, which is tinged rose-colour by the setting sun. Everything is rosy down there in the twilight, the scorched mountains, the sand, the clothing of the Arabs, the white coat of the horses.
“Pink flamingoes rise out of the marshes under the pink sky, and I shall shout deliriously, bathed in the illimitable rosiness of the world.
“I shall no longer see men dressed in black, sitting on uncomfortable chairs and drinking absinthe while talking of business, or walking along the pavements in the midst of the deafening noise of cabs in the street.
“I shall know nothing of the state of the Bourse, the fluctuations of stocks and shares, all the useless stupidities in which we waste our short, miserable and treacherous existence. Why all this trouble, all this suffering, all these struggles? I shall rest, sheltered from the wind, in my bright, sumptuous home.
“And I shall have four or five wives in luxurious apartments—five wives who have come from the five continents of the world and who will bring to me a taste of feminine beauty as it flowers in all races.” Again he stopped, and then he said softly:
“Leave me.”
I went, and I never saw him again.
Two months later he sent me these three words only: “I am happy.”
His letter smelled of incense and other sweet perfumes.
The Child
After swearing for a long time that he would never marry, Jacques Bourdillère suddenly changed his mind. It happened one summer at the seaside, quite unexpectedly.
One morning, as he was stretched on the sand, watching the women come out of the water, a little foot caught his attention, because of its slimness and delicacy. As he raised his eyes higher, the entire person seemed attractive. Of this entire person he had, however, seen only the ankles and the head emerging from a white flannel bathrobe, fastened with care. He was called sensual and dissipated, and it was by grace of form alone that he was first captured. Afterwards he was held by the charm and sweet spirit of the young girl, who was simple and good and fresh, like her cheeks and her lips.
When he was introduced to the family, they liked him and
