“I had had some mistresses without ever having my heart torn by desire or my soul bruised by love after the possession. It is good to live thus. It is better to love, but it is terrible. Still those who love like everybody else should find happiness, less than mine, perhaps, for love has come to me in an unbelievable manner.
“Being rich, I collected ancient furniture and antiques. Often I thought of the unknown hands which had touched these things, of the eyes that had admired them, and the hearts that had loved them for one does love such things! I often remained for hours and hours looking at a little watch of the last century. It was so dainty, so pretty with its enamel and gold embossing. And it still went, as on the day when some woman had bought it, delighted in the possession of so fine a jewel. It had not ceased to palpitate, to live its mechanical life, but had ever continued its regular ticktack, although a century had passed. Who then had first carried it upon her breast, in the warmth of the dress—the heart of the watch beating against the heart of the woman? What hand had held it at the ends of its warm fingers, then wiped the enamelled shepherds, tarnished a little by the moisture of the skin? What eyes had looked upon this flowered dial awaiting the hour, the dear hour, the divine hour?
“How I should have liked to see her, to know her, the woman who had chosen this rare and exquisite object. But she is dead! I am possessed by a desire for women of former times; from a distance I love all those who loved long ago. The story of past tenderness fills my heart with regrets. Oh! the beauty, the smiles, the caresses of youth, the hopes! Should not these things be eternal!
“How I have wept, during whole nights, over the women of old, so beautiful, so tender, so sweet, whose arms opened to love, and who are now dead! The kiss is immortal! It goes from lip to lip, from century to century, from age to age! Men take it and give it and die.
“The past attracts me, the present frightens me, because the future is death. I regret all that which is gone, I weep for those who have lived; I wish to stop the hour, to arrest time. But it goes, it goes on, it passes away, and it takes me, from second to second, a little of me for the annihilation of tomorrow. And I shall never live again.
“Farewell, women of yesterday, I love you.
“And yet I have nothing to complain of. I have found her whom I awaited, and I have tasted through her of inconceivable pleasure.
“I was roaming around Paris on a sunny morning, with joyous foot and happy soul, looking in the shops with the vague interest of a stroller. All at once I saw in an antique shop an Italian piece of furniture of the xvii century. It was very beautiful, very rare. I decided it must be by a Venetian artist, named Vitelli, who belonged to that epoch. Then I passed on.
“Why did the remembrance of this piece of furniture follow me with so much force that I retraced my steps? I stopped again before the shop to look at it, and felt that it tempted me.
“What a singular thing is temptation! One looks at an object, and, little by little, it seduces you, troubles you, takes possession of you like the face of a woman. Its charm enters into you, a strange charm which comes from its form, its colour, and its physiognomy. Already one loves it, wishes it, desires it. A need of possession seizes you, a pleasant need at first, because timid, but increasing, becoming violent and irresistible. And the dealers seem to suspect, from the look of the eye, this secret, increasing desire. I bought that piece of furniture and had it carried to my house immediately. I placed it in my room.
“Oh! I pity those who do not know this honeymoon of the collector with the object which he has just acquired. He caresses it with his eye and hand as if it were flesh; he returns every moment to it, thinks of it continually, wherever he goes and whatever he may be doing. The thought of it follows him into the street, into the world, everywhere. And when he re-enters his house, before even removing his gloves or his hat, he goes to look at it with the tenderness of a lover.
“Truly, for eight days I adored that piece of furniture. I kept opening its doors and drawers; I handled it with delight and experienced all the intimate joys of possession.
“One evening, in feeling the thickness of a panel, I perceived that there might be a hiding-place there. My heart began to beat and I passed the night in searching out the secret, without being able to discover it.
“I came upon it the next day by forcing a piece of metal into a crevice in the panelling. A shelf slipped, and I saw, exposed upon a lining of black velvet, a marvellous head of woman’s hair!
“Yes, a head of hair, an enormous twist of blond hair, almost red, which had been cut off near the skin and tied together with a golden cord.
“I stood there stupefied, trembling and disturbed! An almost insensible perfume, so old that it seemed like the soul of an odour, arose from this mysterious drawer and this most surprising relic.
“I took it gently, almost religiously,
