University of Virginia Library

20.
CHAPTER XX.

"IN order that you may understand me, I
must tell you how this happened. We were liv-
ing along, and all seemed well. Suddenly we
began to talk of the children's education. I do
not remember what words either of us uttered,
but a discussion began, reproaches, leaps from
one subject to another. 'Yes, I know it. It has
been so for a long time.' . . . 'You said that.'
. . . 'No, I did not say that.' . . . 'Then I lie?'
etc.

"And I felt that the frightful crisis was ap-

proaching when I should desire to kill her or else
myself. I knew that it was approaching; I was
afraid of it as of fire; I wanted to restrain my-
self. But rage took possession of my whole be-
ing. My wife found herself in the same condi-
tion, perhaps worse. She knew that she inten-
tionally distorted each of my words, and each of
her words was saturated with venom. All that
was dear to me she disparaged and profaned.

The farther the quarrel went, the more furious
it became. I cried, 'Be silent,' or something like
that. She bounded out of the room and ran
toward the children. I tried to hold her back to
finish my insults. I grasped her by the arm, and
hurt her. She cried: 'Children, your father is
beating me.' I cried: 'Don't lie' She continued
to utter falsehoods for the simple purpose of ir-
ritating me further. 'Ah, it is not the first time,'
or something of that sort. The children rushed
toward her and tried to quiet her. I said: 'Don't
sham.' She said: 'You look upon everything
as a sham. You would kill a person and say he
was shamming. Now I understand you. That
is what you want to do.' 'Oh, if you were only
dead!' I cried.

"I remember how that terrible phrase fright-
ened me. Never had I thought that I could utter
words so brutal, so frightful, and I was stupefied
at what had just escaped my lips. I fled into my
private apartment. I sat down and began to
smoke. I heard her go into the hall and prepare
to go out. I asked her: 'Where are you going?

She did not answer. 'Well, may the devil take
you!' said I to myself, going back into my pri-
vate room, where I lay down again and began
smoking afresh. Thousands of plans of ven-
geance, of ways of getting rid of her, and how
to arrange this, and act as if nothing had hap-
pened,—all this passed through my head. I
thought of these things, and I smoked, and
smoked, and smoked. I thought of running
away, of making my escape, of going to Amer-
ica. I went so far as to dream how beautiful it
would be, after getting rid of her, to love an-
other woman, entirely different from her. I
should be rid of her if she should die or if I
should get a divorce, and I tried to think how
that could be managed. I saw that I was getting
confused, but, in order not to see that I was not
thinking rightly, I kept on smoking.

"And the life of the house went on as usual.

The children's teacher came and asked: 'Where
is Madame? When will she return?' The ser-
vants asked if they should serve the tea. I en-
tered the dining-room. The children, Lise, the
eldest girl, looked at me with fright, as if to
question me, and she did not come. The whole
evening passed, and still she did not come. Two
sentiments kept succeeding each other in my
soul,—hatred of her, since she tortured myself
and the children by her absence, but would final-
ly return just the same, and fear lest she might
return and make some attempt upon herself.

But where should I look for her? At her sis-
ter's? It seemed so stupid to go to ask where
one's wife is. Moreover, may God forbid, I
hoped, that she should be at her sister's! If she
wishes to torment any one, let her torment her-
self first. And suppose she were not at her
sister's. Suppose she were to do, or had already
done, something.

"Eleven o'clock, midnight, one o'clock. . . .

I did not sleep. I did not go to my chamber.

It is stupid to lie stretched out all alone, and to
wait. But in my study I did not rest. I tried to

busy myself, to write letters, to read. Impossi-
ble! I was alone, tortured, wicked, and I lis-
tened. Toward daylight I went to sleep. I
awoke. She had not returned. Everything in
the house went on as usual, and all looked at me
in astonishment, questioningly. The children's
eyes were full of reproach for me. And always
the same feeling of anxiety about her, and of
hatred because of this anxiety.

"Toward eleven o'clock in the morning came
her sister, her ambassadress. Then began the
usual phrases: 'She is in a terrible state. What
is the matter?' 'Why, nothing has happened.'

I spoke of her asperity of character, and I added
that I had done nothing, and that I would not
take the first step. If she wants a divorce, so
much the better! My sister-in-law would not
listen to this idea, and went away without having
gained anything. I was obstinate, and I said
boldly and determinedly, in talking to her, that I
would not take the first step. Immediately she
had gone I went into the other room, and saw
the children in a frightened and pitiful state, and
there I found myself already inclined to take this
first step. But I was bound by my word. Again

I walked up and down, always smoking. At
breakfast I drank brandy and wine, and I
reached the point which I unconsciously desired,
the point where I no longer saw the stupidity
and baseness of my situation.

"Toward three o'clock she came. I thought
that she was appeased, or admitted her defeat.

I began to tell her that I was provoked by her
reproaches. She answered me, with the same
severe and terribly downcast face, that she had
not come for explanations, but to take the chil-
dren, that we could not live together. I an-
swered that it was not my fault, that she had put
me beside myself. She looked at me with a
severe and solemn air, and said: 'Say no more.

You will repent it.' I said that I could not tol-
erate comedies. Then she cried out something
that I did not understand, and rushed toward
her room. The key turned in the lock, and she
shut herself up. I pushed at the door. There
was no response. Furious, I went away.

"A half hour later Lise came running all in
tears. 'What! Has anything happened? We
cannot hear Mamma!' We went toward my
wife's room. I pushed the door with all my

might. The bolt was scarcely drawn, and the
door opened. In a skirt, with high boots, my
wife lay awkwardly on the bed. On the table an
empty opium phial. We restored her to life.

Tears and then reconciliation! Not reconcilia-
tion; internally each kept the hatred for the
other, but it was absolutely necessary for the
moment to end the scene in some way, and life
began again as before. These scenes, and even
worse, came now once a week, now every month,
now every day. And invariably the same inci-
dents. Once I was absolutely resolved to fly, but
through some inconceivable weakness I re-
mained.

"Such were the circumstances in which we
were living when the
man
came. The man was
bad, it is true. But what! No worse than we
were.