Bildungsromans; France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Villages -- France -- Fiction
accomplished within the heart of her who did not love him, those
barriers which he has charged without success will fall to no advantage.
If I had come to Gilberte to tell her of my future indifference and the
means of preventing it, she would have assumed from my action that my
love for her, the need that I had of her, were even greater than I had
supposed, and her distaste for the sight of me would thereby have been
increased. And incidentally it is quite true that it was that love for
her which helped me, by means of the incongruous states of mind which it
successively produced in me, to foresee, more clearly than she herself
could, the end of that love. And yet some such warning I might perhaps
have addressed, by letter or with my own lips, to Gilberte, after a long
enough interval, which would render her, it is true, less indispensable
to me, but would also have proved to her that she was not so
indispensable. Unfortunately certain persons--of good or evil
intent--spoke of me to her in a fashion which must have led her to think
that they were doing so at my request. Whenever I thus learned that
Cottard, my own mother, even M. de Norpois had by a few ill-chosen words
rendered useless all the sacrifice that I had just been making, wasted
all the advantage of my reserve by giving me, wrongly, the appearance of
having emerged from it, I was doubly angry. In the first place I could
no longer reckon from any date but the present my laborious and fruitful
abstention which these tiresome people had, unknown to me, interrupted
and so brought to nothing. And not only that; I should have less
pleasure in seeing Gilberte, who would think of me now no longer as
containing myself in dignified resignation, but as plotting in the dark
for an interview which she had scorned to grant me. I cursed all the
idle chatter of people who so often, without any intention of hurting us
or of doing us a service, for no reason, for talking's sake, often
because we ourselves have not been able to refrain from talking in their
presence, and because they are indiscreet (as we ourselves are), do us,
at a crucial moment, so much harm. It is true that in the grim operation
performed for the eradication of our love they are far from playing a
part equal to that played by two persons who are in the habit, from
excess of good nature in one and of malice in the other, of undoing
everything at the moment when everything is on the point of being
settled. But against these two persons we bear no such grudge as against
the inopportune Cottards of this world, for the latter of them is the
person whom we love and the former is ourself.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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