Raphael; Or, Pages of the Book of Life at TwentyLamartine, Alphonse de
General
Raphael; Or, Pages of the Book of Life at Twenty
Lamartine, Alphonse de
Platonic love -- Fiction
"My husband often looked sadly at me, and seemed alarmed at my pale
face and languid voice. He would have desired, at any cost, to give air
and motion to my heart. He continually tried to induce me to mingle in
diversions which might dispel my melancholy, and would use gentle force
to oblige me to appear at balls and theatres, in the hope that the
natural pride which my youth and beauty might have given me would have
made me share in the pleasure of those around me. The next morning, as
soon as I was awake, he would come into my room and make me relate the
impression I had produced, the admiration I had attracted, and even
speak of the hearts that I had seemed to touch. 'And you,' would he
say, in a tone of gentle interrogation, 'do you share none of these
feelings that you inspire? Is your young heart at twenty as old as
mine? Oh, that I could see you single out from among all these admirers
one superior being, who might one day, by his love, render your
happiness complete, and when I am gone, continue my affection for you
under a younger and more tender form!' 'Your affection suffices me,' I
would answer; 'I feel no pain; I desire nothing; I am happy!' 'Yes,' he
would rejoin, 'you are happy, but you are growing old at twenty! Oh,
remember that it is your task to close my eyes! Live and love! oh, do
but live, that I may not survive you!
"He called in one doctor after another; they wearied me with questions,
and all agreed in saying that I was threatened with spasm of the heart.
The fainting fits, incident to the disease, had begun to show
themselves. I required, it was said, to break through the usual routine
of my life, to relinquish for some time my sedentary habits, and seek a
complete change of air and scene, in order to give me that stimulus and
energy that my tropical nature required, and which it had lost in the
cold and misty atmosphere of Paris. My husband did not hesitate one
moment between the hope of prolonging my life and the happiness of
keeping me near him. As he could not, by reason of his age and
occupations, accompany me, he confided me to the care of friends who
were travelling in Switzerland and Italy, with two daughters of my own
age. I travelled with that family two years; I have seen mountains and
seas that reminded me of those of my native land; I have breathed the
balmy and stimulating air of the waves and glaciers; but nothing has
restored to me the youth that has withered in my heart, although it
sometimes appears to bloom on my face, so as to deceive even me. The
doctors of Geneva have sent me here, as the last resource of their art;
they have advised me to prolong my stay as long as one ray of sun
lingers in the autumnal sky; then I shall rejoin my husband. Alas, that
I could have shown him his daughter, once more young, and radiant with
health and hope! But I feel that I shall return only to sadden his
latter days, and perhaps to expire in his arms! Well," she rejoined in
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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