"I had loved her madly!"
"Why does one love? Why does one love? How queer it is to see only one being in the world, to have only one thought in one's mind, only one desire in the heart, and only one name on the lips--a name which comes up continually, rising, like the water in a spring, from the depths of the soul to the lips, a name which one repeats over and over again, which one whispers ceaselessly, everywhere, like a prayer.
"I am going to tell you our story, for love only has one,which is always the same. I met her and loved her; that isall. And for a whole year I have lived on her tenderness, on her caresses, in her arms, in her dresses, on her words, so completely wrapped up, bound, and absorbed in everything which came from her, that I no longer cared whether it was day or night, or whether I was dead or alive, on this old earth of ours.
"And then she died. How? I do not know; I no longer know anything. But one evening she came home wet, for it was raining heavily, and the next day she coughed, and she coughed for about a week, and took to her bed. What happened I do not remember now, but doctors came, wrote, and went away. Medicines were brought, and some women made her drink them. Her hands were hot, her forehead was burning, and her eyes bright and sad. When I spoke to her, she answered me, but I do not remember what we said. I have forgotten everything, everything, everything! She died, and I very
well remember her slight, feeble sigh. The nurse aid: 'Ah!'and I understood, I understood!
"I knew nothing more, nothing. I saw a priest, who said:'Your mistress?' and it seemed to me as if he were insulting her.As shewas dead, nobody had the right to say that any longer,and I turned him out. Another came who was very kind and tender,and I shed tears when he spoke to me about her.
"They consulted me about the funeral, but I do not remember aything that they said, though I recollected the coffin,
and the sound of the hammer when they nailed her down in it.
Oh! God, God!
"She was buried! Buried! She! In that hole! Some people
came--female friends. I made my escape and ran away. I ran,
and then walked through the streets, went home, and the next
day started on a journey.
* * * * * * *
"Yesterday I returned to Paris, and when I saw my room
again--our room, our bed, our furniture, everything that
remains of the life of a human being after death--I was
seized by such a violent attack of fresh grief, that I felt
like opening the window and throwing myself out into the
street. I could not remain any longer among these things,
between these walls which had inclosed and sheltered her,
which retained a thousand atoms of her, of her skin and of
her breath, in their imperceptible crevices. I took up my
hat to make my escape, and just as I reached the door, I
passed the large glass in the hall, which she had put there
so that she might look at herself every day from head to
foot as she went out, to see if her toilette looked well,
and was correct and pretty, from her little boots to her
"I stopped short in front of that looking-glass in which she
had so often been reflected--so often, so often, that it
must have retained her reflection. I was standing there.
trembling, with my eyes fixed on the glass--on that flat,
profound, empty glass--which had contained her entirely, and
had possessed her as much as I, as my passionate looks had.
I felt as if I loved that glass. I touched it; it was cold.
Oh! the recollection! sorrowful mirror, burning mirror,
horrible mirror, to make men suffer such torments! Happy is
the man whose heart forgets everything that it has
contained, everything that has passed before it, everything
that has looked at itself in it, or has been reflected in
its affection, in its love! How I suffer!
"I went out without knowing it, without wishing it, and
toward the cemetery. I found her simple grave, a white
marble cross, with these few words:
" 'She loved, was loved, and died.'
"She is there, below, decayed! How horrible! I sobbed with
my forehead on the ground, and I stopped there for a long
time, a long time. Then I saw that it was getting dark, and
a strange, mad wish, the wish of a despairing lover, seized
me. I wished to pass the night, the last night, in weeping
on her grave. But I should be seen and driven out. How was I
to manage? I was cunning, and got up and began to roam about
in that city of the dead. I walked and walked. How small
this city is, in comparison with the other, the city in
which we live. And yet, how much more numerous the dead are
than the living. We want high houses, wide streets, and much
room for the four generations who see the daylight at the
same time, drink water from the spring, and wine from the
vines, and eat bread from the plains.
"And for all the generations of the dead, for all that
ladder of humanity that has descended down to us, there is
scarcely anything, scarcely anything! The earth takes them
back, and oblivion effaces them. Adieu!
"At the end of the cemetery, I suddenly perceived that I was
in its oldest part, where those who had been dead a long
time are mingling with the soil, where the crosses
themselves are decayed, where possibly newcomers will be put
to-morrow. It is full of untended roses, of strong and dark
cypress-trees, a sad and beautiful garden, nourished on
"I was alone, perfectly alone. So I crouched in a green tree
and hid myself there completely amid the thick and somber
branches. I waited, clinging to the stem, like a shipwrecked
man does to a plank.
"When it was quite dark, I left my refuge and began to walk
softly, slowly, inaudibly, through that ground full of dead
people. I wandered about for a long time, but could not find
her tomb again. I went on with extended arms, knocking
against the tombs with my hands, my feet, my knees, my
chest, even with my head, without being able to find her. I
groped about like a blind man finding his way, I felt the
stones, the crosses, the iron railings, the metal wreaths,
and the wreaths of faded flowers! I read the names with my
fingers, by passing them over the letters. What a night!
What a night! I could not find her again!
"There was no moon. What a night! I was frightened, horribly
frightened in these narrow paths, between two rows of
graves. Graves! graves! graves! nothing but graves! On my
right, on my left, in front of me, around me, everywhere
there were graves! I sat down on one of them, for I could
not walk any longer, my knees were so weak. I could hear my
heart beat! And I heard something else as well. What? A
confused, nameless noise. Was the noise in my head, in the
impenetrable night, or beneath the mysterious earth, the
earth sown with human corpses? I looked all around me, but I
cannot say how long I remained there; I was paralyzed with
terror, cold with fright, ready to shout out, ready to die.
"Suddenly, it seemed to me that the slab of marble on which
I was sitting, was moving. Certainly it was moving, as if it
were being raised. With a bound, I sprang on to the
neighboring tomb, and I saw, yes, I distinctly saw the stone
which I had just quitted rise upright. Then the dead person
appeared, a naked skeleton, pushing the stone back with its
bent back. I saw it quite clearly, although the night was so
dark. On the cross I could read:
" 'Here lies Jacques Olivant, who died at the age of fifty-one. He loved his family, was kind and honorable, and died in the grace of the Lord.'
"The dead man also read what was inscribed on his tombstone;
then he picked up a stone off the path, a little, pointed
stone and began to scrape the letters carefully. He slowly
effaced them, and with the hollows of his eyes he looked at
the places where they had been engraved. Then with the tip
of the bone that had been his forefinger, he wrote in
luminous letters, like those lines which boys trace on walls
with the tip of a lucifer match:
" 'Here reposes Jacques Olivant, who died at the age of fifty-one. He hastened his father's death by his unkindness, as he wished to inherit his fortune, he tortured his wife, tormented his children, deceived his neighbors, robbed everyone he could, and died wretched.'
"When he had finished writing, the dead man stood
motionless, looking at his work. On turning round I saw that
all the graves were open, that all the dead bodies had
emerged from them, and that all had effaced the lies
inscribed on the gravestones by their relations,
substituting the truth instead. And I saw that all had been
the tormentors of their neighbors--malicious, dishonest,
hypocrites, liars, rogues, calumniators, envious; that they
had stolen, deceived, performed every disgraceful, every
abominable action, these good fathers, these faithful wives,
these devoted sons, these chaste daughters, these honest
tradesmen, these men and women who were called
irreproachable. They were all writing at the same time, on
the threshold of their eternal abode, the truth, the
terrible and the holy truth of which everybody was ignorant,
or pretended to be ignorant, while they were alive.
"I thought that SHE also must have written something on her
tombstone, and now running without any fear among the
half-open coffins, among the corpses and skeletons, I went
toward her, sure that I should find her immediately. I
recognized her at once, without seeing her face, which was
covered by the winding-sheet, and on the marble cross, where
shortly before I had read:
" 'She loved, was loved, and died.'
I now saw:
" 'Having gone out in the rain one day, in order to deceive her lover, she caught cold and died.'
* * * * * * *
"It appears that they found me at daybreak, lying on the grave unconscious."