The Confession of a Child of the CenturyMusset, Alfred de
General
The Confession of a Child of the Century
Musset, Alfred de
French fiction; Historical fiction
Most of the dancers were girls from the theaters. As soon as we entered I
plunged into the giddy whirl of the waltz. That delightful exercise has
always been dear to me; I know of nothing more beautiful, more worthy of
a beautiful woman and a young man; all dances compared with the waltz are
but insipid conventions or pretexts for insignificant converse. It is
truly to possess a woman, in a certain sense, to hold her for a half hour
in your arms, and to draw her on in the dance, palpitating in spite of
herself, in such a way that it can not be positively asserted whether she
is being protected or seduced. Some deliver themselves up to the pleasure
with such modest voluptuousness, with such sweet and pure abandon that
one does not know whether he experiences desire or fear, and whether, if
pressed to the heart they would faint or break in pieces like the rose.
Germany, where that dance was invented, is surely the land of love.
I held in my arms a superb danseuse from an Italian theater who had come
to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a bacchante, with a
dress of panther's skin. Never have I seen anything so languishing as
that creature. She was tall and slender, and while dancing with extreme
rapidity, had the appearance of allowing herself to be led; to see her
one would think that she would tire her partner, but such was not the
case, for she moved as though by enchantment.
On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which intoxicated
me. She yielded to my encircling arms as does the Indian liana, with a
gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed surrounded with a
perfumed veil of silk. At each turn there could be heard a light tinkling
from her metal girdle; she moved so gracefully that I thought I beheld a
beautiful star, and her smile was that of a fairy about to vanish from
human sight. The tender and voluptuous music of the dance seemed to come
from her lips, while her head, covered with a wilderness of black
tresses, bent backward as though her neck was too slender to support its
weight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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