The Confession of a Child of the Century — Volume 1Musset, Alfred de
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The Confession of a Child of the Century — Volume 1
Musset, Alfred de
France -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English; Historical fiction
Most of the dancers were girls from the theatres.
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 theatre who had come
to Paris for the carnival; she wore the costume of a Bacchante with a
robe 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 if by enchantment.
On her bosom rested an enormous bouquet, the perfume of which intoxicated
me. She yielded to my encircling arms as would an Indian vine, with
a gentleness so sweet and so sympathetic that I seemed enveloped 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 if her neck was too slender to support
its weight.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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