The Immoralist — Chapter 8

Chapter 9 of 14 · Review of The Immoralist

The road from Ravello to Sorrento is so beautiful that this morning I wished to see nothing more beautiful on earth. The hot harshness of the rock, the abundance of air, the scents, the clearness of it all — everything filled me with the adorable charm of being alive, and satisfied me to such a degree that nothing but a light joy seemed to dwell in me; memories or regrets, hope or desire, future and past fell silent; I knew nothing of life any more but what the instant brought and carried away. — Oh, physical joy! I cried out; sure rhythm of my muscles! health!

I had set out very early, going on ahead of Marceline, whose too tranquil joy would have tempered mine, as her step would have slowed my own. She was to rejoin me by carriage at Positano, where we were to lunch.

I was nearing Positano when a noise of wheels, forming a bass to some strange singing, made me suddenly turn round. At first I could see nothing, because of a bend in the road, which at that place skirts the cliff; then abruptly a carriage came into view, driven at a wild pace; it was Marceline's. The coachman was singing at the top of his voice, flinging out great gestures, standing upright on his seat, lashing the terrified horse ferociously. What a brute! He passed me — I had barely time to get out of the way — and did not stop when I called… I sprang after him: but the carriage was going too fast. I trembled at once to see Marceline leap suddenly out of it, and to see her stay in it; a plunge of the horse could hurl her into the sea… Suddenly the horse goes down. Marceline gets out, tries to run; but I am already beside her. The coachman, the moment he sees me, greets me with horrible oaths. I was furious with the man; at his first insult I sprang forward and brutally flung him down from his seat. I rolled on the ground with him, but did not lose the advantage; he seemed dazed by his fall, and was soon more dazed still by a blow of my fist that I landed full in his face when I saw that he meant to bite me. Yet I did not let go of him, bearing down with my knee on his chest and trying to master his arms. I looked at his hideous face, which my fist had just made uglier still; he spat, he slavered, he bled, he swore — ah, the horrible creature! Truly, to strangle him seemed legitimate — and perhaps I should have done it… at least I felt myself capable of it; and I fully believe that only the thought of the police stopped me.

I managed, not without difficulty, to bind the raving man securely. I threw him into the carriage like a sack.

Ah, what looks we exchanged afterwards, and what kisses. The danger had not been great; but I had had to show my strength, and to show it in order to protect her. It had seemed to me at once that I could give my life for her… and give the whole of it with joy… The horse had got up again. Leaving the body of the carriage to the drunkard, we both climbed onto the seat, and, driving as best we could, were able to reach Positano, and then Sorrento.

It was that night that I possessed Marceline.

Have you understood clearly, or must I tell you again that I was as one new to the things of love? Perhaps it was to its newness that our wedding night owed its grace… For it seems to me, as I remember it today, that this first night was the only one, so much did the waiting and the surprise of love add delights to pleasure — so fully does a single night suffice for the greatest love to utter itself, and so stubbornly does my memory insist on recalling that one night alone. It was a moment's laughter, in which our souls were mingled… But I believe there is a point of love, one only, which the soul afterwards — ah! — strives in vain to pass beyond; that the effort it makes to bring its happiness back to life wears that happiness away; that nothing so hinders happiness as the memory of happiness. Alas! I remember that night…

Our hotel lay outside the town, surrounded by gardens and orchards; a very wide balcony ran along beside our room; branches brushed against it. The dawn came in freely through our casement, which stood wide open. I raised myself softly, and leaned tenderly over Marceline. She was sleeping; she seemed to smile as she slept. It seemed to me that, being stronger, I felt her the more delicate, and that her grace was a fragility. Tumultuous thoughts came whirling through my head. I reflected that she had not lied when she said I was everything to her; then at once: "What am I doing, then, for her joy? Almost the whole day and every day I leave her; she expects everything from me, and I forsake her!… ah, poor, poor Marceline!…" Tears filled my eyes. In vain did I look to my past weakness for something like an excuse; what business had I now with constant care and with selfishness? was I not stronger than she at present?…

The smile had left her cheeks; the dawn, though it gilded every thing, showed her to me suddenly sad and pale; — and perhaps the approach of morning was disposing me to anguish: "Shall I one day, in my turn, have to care for you? to be anxious for you, Marceline?" I cried within myself. I shivered; and, chilled through with love, with pity, with tenderness, I laid gently between her closed eyes the tenderest, the most loving, and the most reverent of kisses.