The Confession of a Child of the Century by Alfred de Musset

Author:Alfred de Musset
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780141391861
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2013-04-02T04:30:00+00:00

Ten

If I were a jeweller and had in my safe a pearl necklace which I wanted to give as a present to a friend, I should take the greatest pleasure in putting it round that friend’s neck myself. But if I were that friend, I would die rather than snatch it from the hands of the jeweller.

I have noticed that most men are keen to give themselves to the woman who loves them. I have always done the opposite, not for any ulterior motive but because it was natural to me. A woman who is a little in love and resists does not love enough, while the woman who loves you enough and resists knows that she is more loving than loved.

After Madame Pierson admitted that she loved me, she trusted me more than she ever had before. My respect for her filled her with such tender happiness that her lovely face was like a flower in full bloom. Sometimes I observed her surrender to joyous high spirits and then suddenly stop pensively, putting on a show at times of treating me almost as she would a child and then watching me with eyes brimming with tears, devising all sorts of amusements so that she would have an excuse for some familiar comment or innocent touch of the hand, then leaving my side to sit by herself and lose herself in whatever thoughts entered her mind. Is there in all the world a more agreeable sight? When she came back to me, there I would be in some corner of the garden from where I had been watching her at a distance.

‘O my dear!’ I would say, ‘God Himself rejoices to see how much you are loved!’

But I could not disguise either the violence of my feelings or with what difficulty I fought against them. One evening, at her house, I said that I had heard that morning that I had lost a rather important court case which would mean a significant change in my material circumstances.

‘But how,’ she asked, ‘can you tell me this and laugh?’

‘I am reminded,’ I replied, ‘of a wise saying of some Persian poet who once wrote: “The man who is loved by a beautiful woman has nothing to fear from the blows of fate.” ’

Madame Pierson did not answer and that evening behaved even more giddily than usual. I was playing cards with her aunt and losing, and she took great pleasure in teasing me mercilessly, saying I didn’t know how to play the game and invariably betting against me, so that in the end she won all the money I had in my pocket. After the old lady had gone to bed, she stepped out on to the balcony and I followed her in silence.

It was the most wonderful night. The moon was setting and the stars were shining all the more brightly against a deep azure sky. No breath of wind ruffled the leaves; the air was warm and scented.

She was leaning on one elbow, looking up at the heavens.

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