original short stories-6-第13部分

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longed　to　see　it　again。　　I　felt　again　the　imperious　desire　to　take　it　in
my　hands；　to　touch　it；　to　even　feel　uncomfortable　at　the　cold；　slippery；
irritating；　bewildering　contact。

〃I　lived　thus　for　a　month　or　two；　I　forget　how　long。　　It　obsessed　me；
haunted　me。　　I　was　happy　and　tormented　by　turns；　as　when　one　falls　in
love；　and　after　the　first　vows　have　been　exchanged。

〃I　shut　myself　in　the　room　with　it　to　feel　it　on　my　skin；　to　bury　my　lips
in　it；　to　kiss　it。　　I　wound　it　round　my　face；　covered　my　eyes　with　the
golden　flood　so　as　to　see　the　day　gleam　through　its　gold。

〃I　loved　it！　　Yes；　I　loved　it。　　I　could　not　be　without　it　nor　pass　an
hour　without　looking　at　it。

〃And　I　waitedI　waitedfor　what？　　I　do　not　know　　For　her！

〃One　night　I　woke　up　suddenly；　feeling　as　though　I　were　not　alone　in　my
room。

〃I　was　alone；　nevertheless；　but　I　could　not　go　to　sleep　again；　and；　as　I
was　tossing　about　feverishly；　I　got　up　to　look　at　the　golden　tress。　　It
seemed　softer　than　usual；　more　life…like。　　Do　the　dead　come　back？　　I
almost　lost　consciousness　as　I　kissed　it。　　I　took　it　back　with　me　to　bed
and　pressed　it　to　my　lips　as　if　it　were　my　sweetheart。

〃Do　the　dead　come　back？　　She　came　back。　　Yes；　I　saw　her；　I　held　her　in　my
arms；　just　as　she　was　in　life；　tall；　fair　and　round。　　She　came　back　every
eveningthe　dead　woman；　the　beautiful；　adorable；　mysterious　unknown。

〃My　happiness　was　so　great　that　I　could　not　conceal　it。　　No　lover　ever
tasted　such　intense；　terrible　enjoyment。　　I　loved　her　so　well　that　I
could　not　be　separated　from　her。　　I　took　her　with　me　always　and
everywhere。　　I　walked　about　the　town　with　her　as　if　she　were　my　wife；　and
took　her　to　the　theatre；　always　to　a　private　box。　　But　they　saw　herthey
guessedthey　arrested　me。　　They　put　me　in　prison　like　a　criminal。　　They
took　her。　　Oh；　misery！〃

Here　the　manuscript　stopped。　　And　as　I　suddenly　raised　my　astonished　eyes
to　the　doctor　a　terrific　cry；　a　howl　of　impotent　rage　and　of　exasperated
longing　resounded　through　the　asylum。

〃Listen；〃　said　the　doctor。　　〃We　have　to　douse　the　obscene　madman　with
water　five　times　a　day。　　Sergeant　Bertrand　was　the　only　one　who　was　in
love　with　the　dead。〃

Filled　with　astonishment；　horror　and　pity；　I　stammered　out：

〃Butthat　tressdid　it　really　exist？〃

The　doctor　rose；　opened　a　cabinet　full　of　phials　and　instruments　and
tossed　over　a　long　tress　of　fair　hair　which　flew　toward　me　like　a　golden
bird。

I　shivered　at　feeling　its　soft；　light　touch　on　my　hands。　　And　I　sat
there；　my　heart　beating　with　disgust　and　desire；　disgust　as　at　the
contact　of　anything　accessory　to　a　crime　and　desire　as　at　the　temptation
of　some　infamous　and　mysterious　thing。

The　doctor　said　as　he　shrugged　his　shoulders：

〃The　mind　of　man　is　capable　of　anything。〃






ON　THE　RIVER

I　rented　a　little　country　house　last　summer　on　the　banks　of　the　Seine；
several　leagues　from　Paris；　and　went　out　there　to　sleep　every　evening。
After　a　few　days　I　made　the　acquaintance　of　one　of　my　neighbors；　a　man
between　thirty　and　forty；　who　certainly　was　the　most　curious　specimen　I
ever　met。　　He　was　an　old　boating　man；　and　crazy　about　boating。　　He　was
always　beside　the　water；　on　the　water；　or　in　the　water。　　He　must　have
been　born　in　a　boat；　and　he　will　certainly　die　in　a　boat　at　the　last。

One　evening　as　we　were　walking　along　the　banks　of　the　Seine　I　asked　him
to　tell　me　some　stories　about　his　life　on　the　water。　　The　good　man　at
once　became　animated；　his　whole　expression　changed；　he　became　eloquent；
almost　poetical。　　There　was　in　his　heart　one　great　passion；　an　absorbing；
irresistible　passion…the　river。

Ah；　he　said　to　me；　how　many　memories　I　have；　connected　with　that　river
that　you　see　flowing　beside　us！　　You　people　who　live　in　streets　know
nothing　about　the　river。　　But　listen　to　a　fisherman　as　he　mentions　the
word。　　To　him　it　is　a　mysterious　thing；　profound；　unknown；　a　land　of
mirages　and　phantasmagoria；　where　one　sees　by　night　things　that　do　not
exist；　hears　sounds　that　one　does　not　recognize；　trembles　without　knowing
why；　as　in　passing　through　a　cemeteryand　it　is；　in　fact；　the　most
sinister　of　cemeteries；　one　in　which　one　has　no　tomb。

The　land　seems　limited　to　the　river　boatman；　and　on　dark　nights；　when
there　is　no　moon；　the　river　seems　limitless。　　A　sailor　has　not　the　same
feeling　for　the　sea。　　It　is　often　remorseless　and　cruel；　it　is　true；　but
it　shrieks；　it　roars；　it　is　honest；　the　great　sea；　while　the　river　is
silent　and　perfidious。　　It　does　not　speak；　it　flows　along　without　a
sound；　and　this　eternal　motion　of　flowing　water　is　more　terrible　to　me
than　the　high　waves　of　the　ocean。

Dreamers　maintain　that　the　sea　hides　in　its　bosom　vast　tracts　of　blue
where　those　who　are　drowned　roam　among　the　big　fishes；　amid　strange
forests　and　crystal　grottoes。　　The　river　has　only　black　depths　where　one
rots　in　the　slime。　　It　is　beautiful；　however；　when　it　sparkles　in　the
light　of　the　rising　sun　and　gently　laps　its　banks　covered　with　whispering
reeds。

The　poet　says；　speaking　of　the　ocean；
　　　　　O　waves；　what　mournful　tragedies　ye　know
　　　　　Deep　waves；　the　dread　of　kneeling　mothers'　hearts！
　　　　　Ye　tell　them　to　each　other　as　ye　roll
　　　　　On　flowing　tide；　and　this　it　is　that　gives
　　　　　The　sad　despairing　tones　unto　your　voice
　　　　　As　on　ye　roll　at　eve　by　mounting　tide。〃

Well；　I　think　that　the　stories　whispered　by　the　slender　reeds；　with　their
little　soft　voices；　must　be　more　sinister　than　the　lugubrious　tragedies
told　by　the　roaring　of　the　waves。

But　as　you　have　asked　for　some　of　my　recollections；　I　will　tell　you　of　a
singular　adventure　that　happened　to　me　ten　years　ago。

I　was　living；　as　I　am　now；　in　Mother　Lafon's　house；　and　one　of　my　closest
friends；　Louis　Bernet　who　has　now　given　up　boating；　his　low　shoes　and　his
bare　neck；　to　go　into　the　Supreme　Court；　was　living　in　the　village　of　C。；
two　leagues　further　down　the　river。　　We　dined　together　every　day；
sometimes　at　his　house；　sometimes　at　mine。

One　evening　as　I　was　coming　home　along　and　was　pretty　tired；　rowing　with
difficulty　my　big　boat；　a　twelve…footer；　which　I　always　took　out　at
night；　I　stopped　a　few　moments　to　draw　breath　near　the　reed…covered　point
yonder；　about　two　hundred　metres　from　the　railway　bridge。

It　was　a　magnificent　night；　the　moon　shone　brightly；　the　river　gleamed；
the　air　was　calm　and　soft。　　This　peacefulness　tempted　me。　　I　thought　to
myself　that　it　would　be　pleasant　to　smoke　a　pipe　in　this　spot。　　I　took　up
my　anchor　and　cast　it　into　the　river。

The　boat　floated　downstream　with　the　current；　to　the　end　of　the　chain；
and　then　stopped；　and　I　seated　myself　in　the　stern　on　my　sheepskin　and
made　myself　as　comfortable　as　possible。　　There　was　not　a　sound　to　be
heard；　except　that　I　occasionally　thought　I　could　perceive　an　almost
imperceptible　lapping　of　the　water　against　the　bank；　and　I　noticed　taller
groups　of　reeds　which　assumed　strange　shapes　and　seemed；　at　times；　to
move。

The　river　was　perfectly　calm；　but　I　felt　myself　affected　by　the　unusual
silence　that　surrounded　me。　　All　the　creatures；　frogs　and　toads；　those
nocturnal　singers　of　the　marsh；　were　silent。

Suddenly　a　frog　croaked　to　my　right；　and　close　beside　me。　　I　shuddered。
It　ceased；　and　I　heard　nothing　more；　and　resolved　to　smoke；　to　soothe　my
mind。　　But；　although　I　was　a　noted　colorer　of　pipes；　I　could　not　smoke；
at　the　second　draw　I　was　nauseated；　and　gave　up　trying。　　I　began　to　sing。
The　sound　of　my　voice　was　distressing　to　me。　　So　I　lay　still；　but
presently　the　slight　motion　of　the　boat　disturbed　me。　　It　seemed　to　me　as
if　she　were　making　huge　lurches；　from　bank　to　bank　of　the　river；　touching
each　bank　alternately。　　Then　I　felt　as　though　an　invisible　force；　or
being；　were　drawing　her　to　the　surface　of　the　water　and　lifting　her　out；
to　let　her　fall　again。　　I　was　tossed　about　as　in　a　tempest。　　I　heard
noises　around　me。　　I　sprang　to　my　feet　with　a　single　bound。　　The　water
was　glistening；　all　was　calm。

I　saw　that　my　nerves　were　somewhat　shaky；　and　I　resolved　to　leave　the
spot。　　I　pulled　the　anchor　chain；　the　boat　began　to　move；　then　I　felt　a
resistance。　　I　pulled　harder；　the　anchor　did　not　come　up；　it　had　caught
on　something　at　the　bottom　of　the　river　and　I　could　not　raise　it。　　I
began　pulling　again；　but　all　in　vain。　　Then；　with　my　oars；　I　turned　the
boat　with　its　head　up　stream　to　change　the　position　of　the　anchor。　　It
was　no　use；　it　was　still　caught。　　I　flew　into　a　rage　and　shook　the　chain
furiously。　　Nothing　budged。　　I　sat　down；　disheartened；　and　began　to
reflect　on　my　situation。　　I　could　not　dream　of　breaking　this　chain；　or
detaching　it　from　the　boat；　for　it　was　massive　and　was　riveted　at　the
bows　to　a　piece　of　wood　as　thick　as　my　arm。　　However；　as　the　weather　was
so　fine　I　thought　that　it　probably　would　not　be　long　before　some
fisherman　came　to　my　aid。　　My　ill…luck　had　quieted　me。　　I　sat　down　and
was　able；　at　length；　to　smoke　my　pipe。　　I　had　a　bottle　of　rum；　I　drank
two　or　three　glasses；　and　was　able　to　laugh　at　the　situation。　　It　was
very　warm；　so　that；　if　need　be；　I　could　sleep　out　under　the　stars　without
any　great　harm。

All　at　once　there　was　a　little　knock　at　the　side　of　the　boat。　　I　gave　a
start；　and　a　cold　sweat　broke　out　all　over　me。　　The　noise　was；　doubtless；
caused　by　some　piece　of　wood　borne　along　by　the　current；　but　that　was
enough；　and　I　again　became　a　prey　to　a　strange　nervous　agitation。　　I
seized　the　chain　and　tensed　my　muscles　in　a　desperate　effort。　　The　anchor
held　firm。　　I　sat　down　again；　exhausted。

The　river　had　slowly　become　enveloped　in　a　thick　white　fog　which　lay
close　to　the　water；　so　that　when　I　stood　up　I　could　see　neither　the
river；　nor　my　feet；　nor　my　boat；　but　could　perceive　only　the　tops　of　the
reeds；　and　farther　off　in　the　distance　the　plain；　lying　white　in　the
moonlight；　with　big　black　patches　rising　up　from　it　towards　the　sky；
which　were　formed　by　groups　of　Italian　poplars。　　I　was　as　if　buried　to
the　waist　in　a　cloud　of　cotton　of　singular　whiteness；　and　all　sorts　of
strange　fancies　came　into　my　mind。　　I　thought　that　someone　was　trying　to
climb　into　my　boat　which　I　could　no　longer　distinguish；　and　that　the
river；　hidden　by　the　thick　fog；　was　full　of　strange　creatures　which　we