selected writings-第52节

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government　gave　orders　that　the　matter　should　be　investigated　as

secretly　as　possible；　and　left　the　punishment　of　Father　Xto

the　spiritual　authorities；　which　was　a　matter　of　necessity；　at　a

time　when　priests　were　outside　of　the　jurisdiction　of　the　civil

authorities。　It　is　needless　to　say　that　Father　Xwas　very

comfortable　during　his　imprisonment　in　a　monastery；　in　a　part　of

the　country　which　abounded　with　game　and　trout。



The　only　valuable　result　of　the　amusing　ghost　story　was　that　it

brought　about　a　reconciliation　between　father　and　son；　the

former；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　felt　such　deep　respect　for　priests

and　their　ghosts　in　consequence　of　the　apparition；　that　a　short

time　after　his　wife　had　left　purgatory　for　the　last　time　in　order

to　talk　with　him；　he　turned　Protestant。







WAS　IT　A　DREAM？



〃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

lipsa　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　is　all。　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　said：

'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

she　was　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

anything　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

camefemale　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　againour

room；　our　bed；　our　furniture；　everything　that　remains　of　the　life

of　a　human　being　after　deathI　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　bonnet。



〃I　stopped　short　in　front　of　that　looking…glass　in　which　she　had

so　often　been　reflectedso　often；　so　often；　that　it　must　have

retained　her　reflection。　I　was　standing　there。　trembling；　with　my

eyes　fixed　on　the　glasson　that　flat；　profound；　empty

glasswhich　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　human　flesh。



〃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