Home > Authors Index > Alfred de Musset > Confession of a Child of The Century > This page
The Confession of a Child of The Century, a novel by Alfred de Musset |
||
Part 3 - Chapter 9 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ PART III CHAPTER IX IF I were a jeweler, and had in my stock a pearl necklace that I wished to give a friend, it seems to me I would take great pleasure in placing it about her neck with my own hands; but if I were that friend, I would rather die than snatch the necklace from the jeweler's hand. I have seen many men hasten to give themselves to the woman they love, but I have always done the contrary, not through calculation, but through natural instinct. The woman who loves a little and resists does not love enough, and she who loves enough and resists knows that she is not sincerely loved. Madame Pierson gave evidence of more confidence in me, confessing that she loved me when she had never shown it in her actions. The respect I felt for her inspired me with such joy that her face looked to me like a blossomed flower. At times, she would abandon herself to an impulse of sudden gaiety and then suddenly check herself, treating me like a child, and then looking at me with eyes filled with tears; indulging in a thousand pleasantries, as a pretext for a more familiar word or caress, then quitting me to go aside and abandon herself to reverie. Is there a more beautiful sight? When she returned she would find me waiting for her in some spot where I had remained watching her. "Oh! my friend!" I said. "Heaven itself rejoices to see how you are loved." Yet I could neither conceal the violence of my desires, nor the pain I endured struggling against them. One evening, I told her that I had just learned of the loss of an important case, which would involve a considerable change in my affairs. "How is it," she asked, "that you make this announcement and smile at the same time?" "There is a certain maxim of a Persian poet," I replied, "'He who is loved by a beautiful woman is sheltered from every blow.'" Madame Pierson made no reply; all that evening she was even more cheerful than usual. When we played cards with her aunt and I lost, she was merciless in her scorn, saying that I knew nothing of the game, and betting against me with so much success that she won all I had in my purse. When the old lady retired, she stepped out on the balcony and I followed her in silence. The night was beautiful; the moon was setting and the stars shone brightly in a field of deep azure. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees; the air was warm and laden with the perfume of spring. She was leaning on her elbow, her eyes in the heavens; I leaned over her and watched her as she dreamed. Then I raised my own eyes; a voluptuous melancholy seized us both. We breathed together, the warm perfume wafted to us from the garden; we followed, in its lingering course, the pale light of the moon which glinted through the chestnut-trees. I thought of a certain day when I had looked up at the broad expanse of heaven with despair; I trembled at the recollection of that hour; life was so rich now! I felt a hymn of praise rising up in my heart. I surrounded the form of my dear beloved with my arm; she gently turned her head; her eyes were bathed in tears. Her body yielded, as does the rose, her open lips fell on mine, and the universe was forgotten. _ |
||