Part 27

Deadly embraces, tiger-bites, the hug of a boa-constrictor, an elephant's foot placed upon a breast that is crushed and flattened beneath it, the poisoned tail of the scorpion, the milky juice of the Euphorbia, the curved kris of the Javanese, blades that gleam at night and extinguish their gleam in blood--I call upon you now, it is you who shall replace for me the leafless roses, the moist kisses and the warm embrace of love!

I love nothing, as I have said, but alas! I am afraid of loving something.--It would be a hundred thousand times better to hate than to have such a love!--I have found the type of beauty that I have so long dreamed of.--I have found the body of my phantom; I have seen it, it has spoken to me, I have touched its hand, it exists; it is not a chimera. I knew that I could not be mistaken and that my presentiments never lied.--Yes, Silvio, lam living beside the dream of my life;--my chamber is here, its chamber is there; I can see from here the curtain trembling at its window, and the light of its lamp. Its shadow has just passed across the curtain: in an hour we shall sup together.

Those lovely Turkish eyelashes, that clear, profound gaze, that warm hue of pale amber, that long glossy black hair, that nose, of proud and delicate shape, those joints and extremities, supple and slender after the manner of Palmegiani, the graceful curves and the pure oval contour that give such an air of aristocratic refinement to a face--all that I longed for and would have been overjoyed to find distributed among five or six persons, I have found united in a single person!

The thing that I adore most fervently among all earthly things is a lovely hand.--If you could see the hand of my dream! such perfection! such dazzling whiteness! such soft skin! such penetrating moisture! the ends of the fingers so admirably tapered! the half-moon of the nails so clearly marked! such polish and such brilliant color! you would say they were the inner petals of a rose;--Anne of Austria's hands, so vaunted and famous, were no more than the hands of a turkey-keeper or scullery-maid compared with these.--And then what grace, what art in the slightest movements of the hand! how gracefully the little finger bends and stays a little apart from its tall brothers!--The thought of that hand drives me mad and makes my lips quiver and burn.--I close my eyes to avoid looking at it; but with its delicate fingers it seizes my eyelashes and raises the lids, causing countless visions of ivory and snow to pass before me.

Ah! doubtless it is Satan's claw gloved in that satin skin; it is some mocking demon making sport of me; there is witchcraft in it.--It is too monstrously impossible.

That hand--I propose to go to Italy, to see the pictures of the great masters, to study, compare, draw, become a painter in short, in order to be able to reproduce it as it is, as I see it, as I feel it; it will perhaps serve the purpose of ridding me of this sort of obsession.

I longed for beauty; I did not know what I asked for.--It is like trying to look at the sun without eyelids, it is like trying to handle flames.--I suffer horribly.--To be unable to assimilate this perfection, to be unable to pass into it and to cause it to pass into me, to have no means of reproducing it and of making it feel!--When I see anything beautiful, I want to touch it with my whole self, everywhere and at the same time. I want to sing of it and paint it, to carve it and write of it, to be loved by it as I love it; I want what cannot be and never can be.

Your letter made me ill--very ill--forgive me for saying it.--All the pure, tranquil happiness that you enjoy, the walks in the reddening woods,--the long conversations, so affectionate and tender, that end with a chaste kiss on the forehead; the serene, isolated life; the days that pass so quickly that night seems to come before its time, make the constant internal agitation in which I live seem even more tempestuous.--So you are to be married in two months; all the obstacles are removed, you are sure now of belonging to each other forever. Your present felicity is augmented by all the happiness in store for you. You are happy and you are certain of being happier soon.--What a destiny is yours!--Your beloved is beautiful, but what you have loved in her is not the mortal, palpable beauty, material beauty, but the invisible, immortal beauty, the beauty that does not grow old, the beauty of the soul.--She is full of charm and innocence; she loves you as such souls know how to love.--You never looked to see if the golden shade of her hair resembled the golden hair painted by Rubens or Giorgione; but it pleased you because it was her hair. I will wager, happy lover that you are, that you have no idea whether your mistress is of the Grecian or Asiatic type, English or Italian.--O Silvio! how rare are the hearts that are content with pure and simple love and desire neither a hermitage in the forest nor a garden on an island in Lago Maggiore.

If I had the courage to tear myself away from here, I would go and pass a month with you; perhaps I should become purified in the air that you breathe, perhaps the shade of your avenues would bring a little coolness to my burning brow; but no, it is a paradise in which I must not set foot.--Hardly ought I to be allowed to gaze from afar, over the wall, at the two fair angels who are walking there, hand in hand, eyes fixed upon eyes. The devil can enter Eden only in the shape of a serpent, and, dear Adam, for all the happiness on earth, I would not be the serpent of your Eve.

What frightful upheaval has taken place in my soul of late! who has transformed my blood and changed it to venom? O monstrous thought, that puttest forth thy pale green twigs and umbels of hemlock in the glacial shadow of my heart, what poisoned wind deposited there the seed from which thou didst spring? This, then, was what was in store for me, this is the end of all the roads that I so desperately attempted!--O fate, how thou dost mock at me!--All those upward flights of the eagle toward the sun, those pure flames aspiring to reach the sky, that divine melancholy, that profound, restrained passion, that worship of beauty, that refined and curious fancy, that unquenchable and ever-rising flood from the interior fountain, that ecstasy borne upon wings always spread, that reverie blooming brighter than the hawthorn in May--all the poesy of my youth, all those beautiful and rare gifts were destined to serve no other purpose than to place me beneath the lowest of mankind.

I longed to love.--I went about like a madman, calling and invoking love;--I writhed in frenzy because of my feeling of helplessness; I set my blood on fire, I dragged my body about in the gutters of debauchery;--I strained to my arid heart until I almost stifled her, a woman, young and beautiful, who loved me.--I ran after the passion that avoided me. I prostituted myself, and I acted like a virgin who should venture into an evil place, hoping to find a lover among those whom depravity led thither, instead of waiting patiently, in dignified, silent retirement, until the angel whom God has set aside for me should appear in a radiant penumbra, a heavenly flower in her hand. All these years that I have wasted in puerile agitation, in running hither and thither, in seeking to force nature and time, I should have passed in silence and meditation, in trying to make myself worthy to be loved;--that would have been wisely done;--but I had scales over my eyes and I marched straight to the precipice. I already have one foot suspended over the void, and I believe that I shall soon lift the other. It is useless for me to resist, I feel that I must roll to the bottom of this new abyss that has opened within me.

Yes, it was thus that I imagined love. I feel now what I had dreamed.--Yes, there are the delightful yet terrible sleepless nights when the roses were thistles and the thistles roses; there are the sweet misery and the miserable joy, the ineffable trouble that encompasses you in a golden cloud and makes objects waver before your eyes as drunkenness does, the ringing in the ears in which you always hear the last syllable of the loved one's name, the pallor, the flushes, the sudden shivering, the burning and freezing perspiration;--all those are there; the poets do not lie.

When I am about to enter the salon where we usually meet, my heart beats so violently that you can see it through my clothes and I am obliged to hold it back with both hands for fear it will escape me.--If I see my dream at the end of a path and in the park, the distance vanishes at once and I have no idea what becomes of the road: it must be that the devil takes me or that I have wings.--Nothing can distract my thoughts: if I read, her image comes between the book and my eyes;--I mount my horse, I gallop over the country, and it always seems to me that I feel its long hair mingling with mine in the wind, hear its hurried respiration, and feel its warm breath upon my cheek. The image possesses me and follows me everywhere, and I never see it more clearly than when it is not before my eyes.

You pitied me for not being in love--pity me now because I am in love; and above all because I love what I love. What a misfortune, what a crushing blow upon my already blasted life!--what an insensate, guilty, hateful passion has taken possession of me!--It is a shameful thing for which I shall never cease to blush. It is the most deplorable of all my aberrations, I cannot imagine it, I cannot understand it, everything within me is in confusion and bewilderment; I have no idea who I am nor who others are, I doubt whether I am a man or a woman, I have a horror of myself, I feel strange, inexplicable impulses, and there are moments when it seems to me that my reason is going, and when the idea of my existence abandons me altogether. For a long time I have been unable to believe in anything; I have listened to myself and watched myself closely. I have tried to disentangle the skein that has become entangled in my soul. At last, through all the veils in which it was enveloped, I have discovered the ghastly truth--Silvio, I love--Oh! no, I can never tell you--I love a man!