If I had
been able to forget my mistress I would have been saved. How many there
are who can be cured with even less than that. Such men are incapable of
loving a faithless woman and their conduct, under the circumstances, is
admirable in its firmness. But is it thus that one loves at nineteen
when, knowing nothing of the world, desiring everything, the young man
feels within him the germ of all the passions? On the right, on the left,
below, on the horizon, everywhere some voice which calls him. All is
desire, all is reverie. There is no reality which holds him when the
heart is young; there is no oak so gnarled that it may not give birth to
a dryad; and if one had a hundred arms one need not fear to open them;
one has but to clasp his mistress and all is well.
As for me I did not understand what else there was to do besides love,
and when any one spoke to me of another occupation I did not reply. My
passion for my mistress had something fierce about it, as all my life had
been severely monachal. I wish to cite a single example. She gave me her
portrait in miniature in a medallion; I wore it over my heart, a practise
much affected by men; but one day while idly rummaging about a shop
filled with curiosities I found an iron "discipline whip," such as was
used by the mediaeval flagellants; at the end of this whip was a metal
plate bristling with sharp iron points; I had the medallion riveted to
this plate and then returned it to its place over my heart.
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