France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
"Go away?" I rejoined. "I should go away? But I don't want to! An
adhesive force like glue which is getting thicker every day holds
me fast to her carpets, a chain growing heavier every day holds me
riveted to her walls. I can't leave her! Look, at this very moment I
am dreaming of committing all sorts of mad, heroic acts. To cleanse
myself of all this baseness, I am ready to throw myself in front of
the fire-spitting muzzles of a hundred cannons. I feel myself strong
enough to crush whole formidable armies single handed. When I walk on
the street I look for runaway horses, fires or any other dangerous
adventure where I can sacrifice my life. There is not a perilous or
superhuman deed that I have not the courage to perform. But, that! I
can not do!
"At first I offered myself the most ridiculous excuses, I gave myself
the most illogical reasons for not leaving her. I said to myself that
if I left her, Juliette would sink to even lower depths; that my love
for her had in some manner been her last vestige of decency which I
should finally succeed in restoring by saving her from the mire in
which she wallowed. Truly I had been repaid by the luxury of pity and
self sacrifice. But I was lying! I simply can't leave her! I can't
because I love her, because the more depraved she is the more I love
her. Because I want her, do you hear, Lirat? And if you only knew what
it means to me, this love, what frenzies, what shame, what tortures?
If you only knew to what depths of Hell passion can sink, you would be
horrified! At night when she is asleep, I prowl about in her dressing
room, opening drawers, digging among the cinders of the fire place,
putting together pieces of torn letters, smelling the linens which she
has just removed, devoting myself to the vilest spying, to the most
shameful searching! It was not enough for me to know; I had to see as
well! I have no longer a mind, a heart, or anything. I am just the
embodiment of disordered, raving, famished sex, which demands its share
of living flesh, like the fallow-deer that howl in their frenzy on
rutting nights."
I was exhausted ... the words came out of my throat with a hissing
sound ... still I continued.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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