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La Morte Amoureuse ..........................................................................................................................................1

Theophile Gautier....................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. A STRANGE STORY......................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. ROOT IMPERISHABLE .................................................................................................4

CHAPTER III SEAGREEN EYES.......................................................................................................6

CHAPTER IV A VICTIM .....................................................................................................................10

CHAPTER V. SERAPION'S MATTOCK............................................................................................13

BROTHER, you ask me if I have ever loved. Yes. My story is a strange and terrible one; and though I am

sixtysix years of age, I scarcely dare even now to disturb the ashes of that memory. To you I can refuse

nothing; but I should not relate such a tale to any less experienced mind. So strange were the circumstances

of my story, that I can scarcely believe myself to have ever actually been a party to them. For more than three

years I remained the victim of a most singular and diabolical illusion. Poor country priest though I was, I led

every night in a dream— would to God it had been all a dream!— a most worldly life, a damning 1 life, a life

of a Sardanapalus. One single look too freely cast upon a woman wellnigh caused me to lose my soul; but

finally by the grace of God and the assistance of my patron saint, I succeeded in casting out the evil spirit that

possessed me. My daily life was long interwoven with a nocturnal life of a totally different character. By day

I was a priest of the Lord, occupied with prayer and sacred things; by night, from the instant that I closed my

eyes I became a young nobleman, a fine connoisseur in women, dogs, and horses; gambling, drinking, and

blaspheming; and when I awoke at early daybreak, it seemed to me, on the other hand, that I had been

sleeping, and had only dreamed that I was a priest. Of this somnambulistic life there now remains to me only

the recollection of certain scenes and words which I cannot banish from my memory; but although I never

actually left the walls of my presbytery, one would think to hear me speak that I were a man who, weary of

all worldly pleasures, had become a religious, seeking to end a tempestuous life in the service of God, rather

than an humble seminarist who has grown old in this obscure curacy, situated in the depths of the woods and

Yes, I have loved as none in the world ever loved—with an insensate and furious passion—so violent that I

am astonished it did not cause my heart to burst asunder. Ah, what nights—what nights!

From my earliest childhood I had felt a vocation to the priesthood, so that all my studies were directed with

that idea in view. Up to the age of twentyfour my life had been only a prolonged novitiate. Having

completed my course of theology, I successively received all the minor orders, and my superiors judged me

worthy, despite my youth, to pass the last awful degree. My ordination was fixed for Easter week.

I had never gone into the world. My world was confined by the walls of the college and the seminary. I knew

in a vague sort of a way that there was something called Woman, but I never permitted my thoughts to dwell

on such a subject, and I lived in a state of perfect innocence. Twice a year only I saw my infirm and aged

mother, and in those visits were comprised my sole relations with the outer world.

I regretted nothing; I felt not the least hesitation at taking the last irrevocable step; I was filled with joy and

impatience. Never did a betrothed lover count the slow hours with more feverish ardor; I slept only to dream

that I was saying mass; I believed there could be nothing in the world more delightful than to be a priest; I

would have refused to be a king or a poet in preference. My ambition could conceive of no loftier aim.

I tell you this in order to show you that what happened to me could not have happened in the natural order of

things, and to enable you to understand that I was the victim of an inexplicable fascination.

At last the great day came. I walked to the church with a step so light that I fancied myself sustained in air, or

that I had wings upon my shoulders. I believed myself an angel, and wondered at the somber and thoughtful

faces of my companions, for there were several of us. I had passed all the night in prayer, and was in a

condition wellnigh bordering on ecstasy. The bishop, a venerable old man, seemed to me God the Father

You well know the details of that ceremony—the benediction, the communion under both forms, the

anointing of the palms of the hands with the Oil of Catechumens, and then the holy sacrifice offered in

Ah, truly spake Job when he declared that the imprudent man is one who hath not made a covenant with his

eyes! I accidentally lifted my head, which until then I had kept down, and beheld before me, so close that it

seemed that I could have touched her—although she was actually a considerable distance from me and on the

further side of the sanctuary railing—a young woman of extraordinary beauty, and attired with royal

magnificence. It seemed as though scales had suddenly fallen from my eyes. I felt like a blind man who

unexpectedly recovers his sight. The bishop, so radiantly glorious but an instant before, suddenly vanished

away, the tapers paled upon their golden candlesticks like stars in the dawn, and a vast darkness seemed to fill

the whole church. The charming creature appeared in bright relief against the background of that darkness,

like some angelic revelation. She seemed herself radiant, and radiating light rather than receiving it.

I lowered my eyelids, firmly resolved not to again open them, that I might not be influenced by external

objects, for distraction had gradually taken possession of me until I hardly knew what I was doing.

In another minute, nevertheless, I reopened my eyes, for through my eyelashes I still beheld her, all sparkling

with prismatic colors, and surrounded with such a purple penumbra as one beholds in gazing at the sun.

Oh, how beautiful she was! The greatest painters, who followed ideal beauty into heaven itself, and thence

brought back to earth the true portrait of the Madonna, never in their delineations even approached that

wildly beautiful reality which I saw before me. Neither the verses of the poet nor the palette of the artist could

convey any conception of her. She was rather tall, with a form and bearing of a goddess. Her hair, of a soft

blonde hue, was parted in the midst and flowed back over her temples in two rivers of rippling gold; she

seemed a diademed queen. Her forehead, bluishwhite in its transparency, extended its calm breadth above

the arches of her eyebrows, which by a strange singularity were almost black, and admirably relieved the

effect of seagreen eyes of unsustainable vivacity and brilliancy. What eyes! With a single flash they could

have decided a man's destiny. They had a life, a limpidity, an ardor, a humid light which I have never seen in

human eyes; .they shot forth rays like arrows, which I could distinctly see enter my heart. I know not if the

fire which illumined them came from heaven or from hell, but assuredly it came from one or the other. That

woman was either an angel or a demon, perhaps both. Assuredly she never sprang from the flank of Eve, our

common mother. Teeth of the most lustrous pearl gleamed in her ruddy smile, and at every inflection of her

lips little dimples appeared in the satiny rose of her adorable cheeks. There was a delicacy and pride in the

regal outline of her nostrils bespeaking noble blood. Agate gleams played over the smooth lustrous skin of

her halfbare shoulders, and strings of great blonde pearls— almost equal to her neck in beauty of

color—descended upon her bosom. From time to time she elevated her head with .the undulating grace of a

startled serpent or peacock, thereby imparting a quivering motion to the high lace ruff which surrounded it

She wore a robe of orangered velvet, and from her wide erminelined sleeves there peeped forth patrician

hands of infinite delicacy, and so ideally transparent that, like the fingers of Aurora, they permitted the light

All these details I can recollect at this moment as plainly as though they were of yesterday, for

notwithstanding I was greatly troubled at the time, nothing escaped me; the faintest touch of shading, the

little dark speck at the point of the chin, the imperceptible down at the corners of the lips, the velvety floss

upon the brow, the quivering shadows of the eyelashes upon the cheeks—I could notice everything with

And gazing, I felt opening within me gates that had until then remained closed; vents long obstructed became

all clear, permitting glimpses of unfamiliar perspectives within; life suddenly made itself visible to me under

a totally novel aspect. I felt as though I had just been born into a new world and a new order of things. A

frightful anguish commenced to torture my heart as with redhot pincers. Every successive minute seemed to

me at once but a second and yet a century. Meanwhile the ceremony was proceeding, and I shortly found

myself transported far from that world of which my newly born desires were furiously besieging the entrance.

Nevertheless I answered "Yes" when I wished to say "No," though all within me protested against the

violence done to my soul by my tongue. Some occult power seemed to force the words from my throat

against my will. Thus it is, perhaps, that so many young girls walk to the altar firmly resolved to refuse in a

startling manner the husband imposed upon them, and that yet not one ever fulfils her intention. Thus it is,

doubtless, that so many poor novices take the veil, though they have resolved to tear it into shreds at the

moment when called upon to utter the vows. One dares not thus cause so great a scandal to all present, nor

deceive the expectation of so many people. All those eyes, all those wills seem to weigh down upon you like

a cope of lead; and, moreover, measures have been so well taken, everything has been so thoroughly arranged

beforehand and after a fashion so evidently irrevocable, that the will yields to the weight of circumstances

As the ceremony proceeded the features of the fair unknown changed their expression. Her look had at first

been one of caressing tenderness; it changed to an air of disdain and of mortification, as though at not having

With an effort of will sufficient to have uprooted a mountain, I strove to cry out that I would not be a priest,

but I could not speak; my tongue seemed nailed to my palate, and I found it impossible to express my will by

the least syllable of negation. Though fully awake, I felt like one under the influence of a nightmare, who

She seemed conscious of the martyrdom I was undergoing, and, as though to encourage me, she gave me a

look replete with divinest promise. Her eyes were a poem; their every glance was a song.

"If thou wilt be mine, I shall make thee happier than God Himself in His paradise. The angels themselves will

be jealous of thee. Tear off that funeral shroud in which thou art about to wrap thyself. I am Beauty, I am

Youth, I am Life. Come to me! Together we shall be Love. Can Jehovah offer thee aught. in exchange? Our

"Fling forth the wine of .that chalice, and thou art free. I will conduct thee to the Unknown Isles. Thou shalt

sleep in my bosom upon a bed of massy gold under a silver pavilion, for I love thee and would take thee away

from thy God, before whom so many noble hearts pour forth floods of love which never reach even the steps

These words seemed to float to my ears in a rhythm of infinite sweetness, for her look was actually sonorous,

and the utterances of her eyes were reechoed in the depths of my heart as though living lips had breathed

them into my life. I felt myself willing to .renounce God, and yet my tongue mechanically fulfilled all the

formalities of the ceremony. The fair one gave me another look, so beseeching, so despairing the keen blades

seemed to pierce my heart, and I felt my bosom transfixed by more swords than those of Our Lady of

Never was deeper anguish painted on human face than upon hers. The maiden who beholds her affianced

lover suddenly fall dead at her side, the mother bending over the empty cradle of her child, Eve seated at the

threshold of the gate of Paradise, the miser who finds a stone substituted for his stolen treasure, the poet who

accidentally permits the only manuscript of his finest work to fall into the fire, could not wear a look so

despairing, so inconsolable. All the blood had abandoned her charming face, leaving it whiter than marble;

her beautiful arms hung lifelessly on either side of her body as though their muscles had suddenly relaxed,

and she sought the support of a pillar, for her yielding limbs almost betrayed her. As for myself, I staggered

toward the door of the church, livid as death, my forehead bathed with a sweat bloodier than that of Calvary;

I felt as though I were being strangled; the vault seemed to have flattened down upon my shoulders, and it

As I was about to cross the threshhold a hand suddenly caught mine—a woman's hand! I had never till then

touched the hand of any woman. It was cold as a serpent's skin, and yet its impress remained upon my wrist,

burnt there as though branded by a glowing iron. It was she. "Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What hast thou

The aged bishop passed by. He cast a severe and scrutinizing look upon me. My face presented the wildest

aspect imaginable; I blushed and turned pale alternately; dazzling lights flashed before my eyes. A

companion took pity on me. He seized my arm and led me out. I could not possibly have found my way back

to the seminary unassisted. At the corner of a street, while the young priest's attention was momentarily

turned in another direction, a negro page, fantastically garbed, approached me, and without pausing on his

way slipped into my hand a little pocketbook with goldembroidered corners, at the same time giving me a

sign to hide it. I concealed it in my sleeve, and there kept it until I found myself alone in my cell. Then I

opened the clasp. There were only two leaves within, bearing the words, "Clarimonde. At the Concini

Palace." So little acquainted was I at that time with the things of this world that I had never heard of

Clarimonde, celebrated as she was, and I had no idea as to where die Concini Palace was situated. I hazarded

a thousand conjectures, each more extravagant than the last; but, in truth, I cared little whether she were a

My love, although the growth of a single hour, had taken imperishable root. I did not even dream of

attempting to tear it up, so fully was I convinced such a thing would be impossible. That woman had

completely taken possession of me. One look from her had sufficed to change my very nature. She had

breathed her will into my life, and I no longer lived in myself, but in her and for her. I gave myself up to a

thousand extravagancies. I kissed the place upon my hand which she had touched, and I repeated her name

over and over again for hours in succession. I only needed to close my eyes in order to see her distinctly as

though she were actually present; and I reiterated to myself the words she had uttered in my ear at the church

porch: "Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What hast thou done?" I comprehended at last the full horror of my

situation, and the funereal and awful restraints of the state into which I had just entered became clearly

revealed to me. To be a priest!—that is, to be chaste, to never love, to observe no distinction of sex or age, to

turn from the sight of all beauty, to put out one's own eyes, to hide forever crouching in the chill shadows of

some church or cloister, to visit none but the dying, to watch by unknown corpses, and ever bear about with

one the black soutane as a garb of mourning for one's self, so that your very dress might serve as a pall for

And I felt life rising within me like a subterranean lake, expanding and overflowing; my blood leaped fiercely

through my arteries; my longrestrained youth suddenly burst into active being, like the aloe which blooms

but once in a hundred years, and then bursts into blossom with a clap of thunder.

What could I do in order to see Clarimonde once more? I had no pretext to offer for desiring to leave the

seminary, not knowing any person in the city. I would not even be able to remain there but a short time, and

was only waiting my assignment to the curacy which I must thereafter occupy. I tried to remove the bars of

the window; but it was at a fearful height from the ground, and I found that as I had no ladder it would be

useless to think of escaping thus. And, furthermore, I could descend thence only by night in any event, and

afterward how should I be able to find my way through the inextricable labyrinth of streets? All these

difficulties, which to many would have appeared altogether insignificant, were gigantic to me, a poor

seminarist who had fallen in love only the day before for the first time, without experience, without money,

"Ah!" cried I to myself in my blindness, "were I not a priest I could have seen her every day; I might have

been her lover, her spouse. Instead of being wrapped in this dismal shroud of mine I would have had

garments of silk and velvet, golden chains, a sword, and fair plumes like other handsome young cavaliers. My

hair, instead of being dishonored by the tonsure, would flow down upon my neck in waving curls; I would

have a fine waxed mustache; I would be a gallant." But one hour passed before an altar, a few hastily

articulated words, had forever cut me off from the number of the living, and I had myself sealed down the

I went to the window. The sky was beautifully blue; the trees had donned their spring robes; nature seemed to

be making parade of an ironical joy. The Place was filled with people, some going, others coming; young

beaux and young beauties were sauntering in couples toward the groves and gardens; merry youths passed by,

cheerily trolling refrains of drinking songs—it was all a picture of vivacity, life, animation, gayety, which

formed a bitter contrast with my mourning and my solitude. On the steps of the gate sat a young mother

playing with her child. She kissed its little rosy mouth still impearled with drops of milk, and performed, in

order to amuse it, a thousand divine little puerilities such as only mothers know how to invent. The father

standing at a little distance smiled gently upon the charming group, and with folded arms seemed to hug his

joy to his heart. I could not endure that spectacle. I closed the window with violence, and flung myself on my

bed, my heart filled with frightful hate and jealousy, and gnawed my fingers and my bedcovers like a tiger

I know not how long I remained in this condition, but at last, while writhing on the bed in a fit of spasmodic

fury, I suddenly perceived the Abbe Serapion, who was standing erect in the centre of the room, watching me

attentively. Filled with shame of myself, I let my head fall upon my breast and covered my face with my

"Romuald, my friend, something very extraordinary is transpiring within you," observed Serapion, after a few

moments' silence; "your conduct is altogether inexplicable. You—always so quiet, so pious, so gentle—you

to rage in your cell like a wild beast! Take heed, brother—do not listen to the suggestions of the devil. The

Evil Spirit, furious that you have consecrated yourself forever to the Lord, is prowling around you like a

ravening wolf and making a last effort to obtain possession of you. Instead of allowing yourself to be

conquered, my dear Romuald, make to yourself a cuirass of prayers, a buckler of mortifications, and combat

the enemy like a valiant man; you will then assuredly overcome him. Virtue must be proved by temptation,

and gold comes forth purer from the hands of the assayer. Fear not. Never allow yourself to become

discouraged. The most watchful and steadfast souls are at moments liable to such temptation. Pray, fast,

The words of the Abbe Serapion restored me to myself, and I became a little more calm. "I came," he

continued, ".to tell you that you have been appointed to the curacy of C——. The priest who had charge of it

has just died, and Monseigneur the Bishop has ordered me to have you installed there at once. Be ready,

therefore, to start tomorrow." I responded with an inclination of the head, and the Abbe retired. I opened my

missal and commenced reading some prayers, but 'the letters became confused and blurred under my eyes,

the thread of the ideas entangled itself hopelessly in my brain, and the volume at last fell from my hands

To leave tomorrow without having been able to see her again, to add yet another barrier to the many already

interposed between us, to lose forever all hope of being able to meet her, except, indeed, through a miracle!

Even to write her, alas! would be impossible, for by whom could I despatch my letter? With my sacred

character of priest, to whom could I dare unbosom myself, in whom could I confide? I became a prey to the

Then suddenly recurred to me the words of the Abbe Serapion regarding the artifices of the devil; and the

strange character of the adventure, the supernatural beauty of Clarimonde, the phosphoric light of her eyes,

the burning imprint of her hand, the agony into which she had thrown me, the sudden change wrought within

me when all my piety vanished in a single instant—these and other things clearly testified to the work of the

Evil One, and perhaps that satiny hand was but the glove which concealed his claws. Filled with terror at

these fancies, I again picked up the missal which had slipped from my knees and fallen upon the floor, and

NEXT morning Serapion came to take me away. Two mules freighted with our miserable valises awaited us

As we passed along the streets of the city, I gazed attentively at all the windows and balconies in the hope of

seeing Clarimonde, but it was yet early in the morning, and the city had hardly opened its eyes. Mine sought

to penetrate the blinds and windowcurtains of all the palaces before which we were passing. Serapion

doubtless attributed this curiosity to my admiration of the architecture, for he slackened the pace of his

animal in order to give me time to look around me. At last we passed the city gates and commenced to mount

the hill beyond. When we arrived at its summit I turned to .take a last look at the place where Clarimonde

dwelt. The shadow of a great cloud hung, over all the city; the contrasting colors of its blue and red roofs

were lost in the uniform halftint, through which here and there floated upward, like white flakes of foam,

the smoke of freshly kindled fires. By a singular optical effect one edifice, which surpassed in height all the

neighboring buildings that were still dimly veiled by the vapors, towered up, fair and lustrous with the gilding

of a solitary beam of sunlight— although actually more than a league away it seemed quite near. The smallest

details of its architecture were plainly distinguishable—the turrets, the platforms, the windowcasements,

"What is 'that palace I see over (there, all lighted up by the sun?" I asked Serapion. He shaded his eyes with

his hand, and having looked in the direction indicated, replied: "It is the ancient palace which the Prince

At that instant, I know not yet whether it was a reality or an illusion, I fancied I saw gliding along the terrace

a shapely white figure, which gleamed for a moment in passing and as quickly vanished. It was Clarimonde.

Oh, did she know that at that very hour, all feverish and restless—from the height of the rugged road which

separated me from her and which, alas! I could never more descend—I was directing my eyes upon the

palace where she dwelt, and which a mocking beam of sunlight seemed to bring nigh to me, as though

inviting me to enter therein as its lord? Undoubtedly she must have known it, for her soul was too

sympathetically united with mine not to have felt its least emotional thrill, and that subtle sympathy it must

have been which prompted her to climb— although clad only in her nightdress— to the summit of the

The shadow gained the palace, and the scene became to the eye only a motionless ocean of roofs and gables,

amid which one mountainous undulation was distinctly visible. Serapion urged his mule forward, my own at

once followed at the same gait, and a sharp angle in the road at last hid the city of S—— forever from my

eyes, as I was destined never to return thither. At the close of a weary threedays' journey through dismal

country fields, we caught sight of the cock upon the steeple of the church which I was to take charge of,

peeping above the trees, and after having followed some winding roads fringed with thatched cottages and

little gardens, we found ourselves in front of the facade, which certainly possessed few features of

magnificence. A porch ornamented with some mouldings, and two or three pillars rudely hewn from

sandstone; a tiled roof with counterforts of the same sandstone as the pillars—that was all. To the left lay the

cemetery overgrown with high weeds, and having a great iron cross rising up in its centre; to the right stood

the presbytery, under the shadow of the church. It was a house of the most extreme simplicity and frigid

cleanliness. We entered the enclosure. A few chickens were picking up some oats scattered upon the ground;

accustomed, seemingly, to the black habit of ecclesiastics, they showed no fear of our presence and scarcely

troubled themselves to get out of our way. A hoarse, wheezy barking fell upon our ears, and we saw an aged

It was my predecessor's dog. He had dull bleared eyes, grizzled hair, and every mark of the greatest age to

which a dog can possibly attain. I patted him gently, and he proceeded at once to march along beside me with

an air of satisfaction unspeakable. A very old woman, who had been the housekeeper of the former cure, also

came to meet us, and after having invited me into a little back parlor, asked whether I intended to retain her.

I replied that I would take care of her, and the dog, and the chickens, and all the furniture her master had

bequeathed her at his death. At this she became fairly transported with joy, and the Abbe Serapion at once

As soon as my installation was over, the Abbe Serapion returned to the seminary. I was, therefore, left alone,

with no one but myself to look to for aid or counsel. The thought of Clarimonde again began to haunt me, and

in spite of all my endeavors to banish it, I always found it present in my meditations. One evening while

promenading in my little garden along the walks bordered with boxplants, I fancied that I saw through the

elmtrees the figure of a woman, who followed my every movement, and that I beheld two seagreen eyes

gleaming through the foliage; but it was only an illusion, and on going round to the other side of the garden, I

could find nothing except a footprint on the sanded walk—a footprint so small that it seemed to have been

made by the foot of a child. The garden was enclosed by very high walls. I searched every nook and corner of

it, but could discover no one there. I have never succeeded in fully accounting for this circumstance, which,

after all, was nothing compared with the strange things which happened to me afterward.

For a whole year I lived thus, filling all the duties of my calling with the most scrupulous exactitude, praying

and fasting, exhorting and lending ghostly aid to the sick, and bestowing alms even to the extent of frequently

But I felt a great aridness within me, and the sources of grace seemed closed against me. I never found 'that

happiness which should spring from the fulfillment of a holy mission: my thoughts were far away, and the

words of Clarimonde were ever upon my lips like an involuntary refrain. Oh, brother, meditate well on this!

Through having but once lifted my eyes to look upon a woman, through one fault apparently so venial, I have

for years remained a victim to the most miserable agonies, and the happiness of my life has been destroyed

I will not longer dwell upon those defeats, or on those inward victories invariably followed by yet more

terrible falls, but will at once proceed to the facts of my story. One night my doorbell was long and violently

rung. The aged housekeeper arose and opened to the stranger, and the figure of a man, whose complexion

was deeply bronzed, and who was richly clad in a foreign costume, with a poniard at his girdle, appeared

under the rays of Barbara's lantern. Her first impulse was one of terror, but the stranger reassured her, and

stated that he desired to see me at once on matters relating to my holy calling. Barbara invited him upstairs,

where I was on the point of retiring. The stranger told me that his mistress, a very noble lady, was lying at the

point of death, and desired to see a priest. I replied that I was prepared to follow him, took with me the sacred

articles necessary for extreme unction, and descended in all haste. Two horses black as the night itself stood

without the gate, pawing the ground with impatience, and veiling their chests with long streams of smoky

vapor exhaled from their nostrils. He held the stirrup and aided me to mount upon one; then, merely laying

his hand upon the pummel of the saddle, he vaulted on the other, pressed the animal's sides with Ms knees,

and loosened rein. The horse bounded forward with the velocity of an arrow. Mine, of which the stranger held

the bridle, also started off at a swift gallop, keeping up with his companion. We devoured the road. The

ground flowed backward beneath us in a long streaked line of pale gray, and the black silhouettes of the trees

seemed fleeing by us on either side like an army in rout. We passed through a forest so profoundly gloomy

that I felt my flesh creep in the chill darkness with superstitious fear. The showers of bright sparks which

flew from the stony road under the irons both feet of our horses remained glowing in our wake like a fiery

trail; and had any one at that hour of the night beheld us both— my guide and myself—he must have taken us

for two spectres riding upon nightmares. Witchfires ever and anon flitted across the road before us, and the

nightbirds shrieked fearsomely in the depth of the woods beyond, where we beheld at intervals glow the

phosphorescent eyes of wildcats. The manes of the horses became more and more dishevelled, the sweat

streamed over their flanks, and their breath came through their nostrils hard and fast. But when he found them

slacking pace, the guide reanimated them by uttering a strange, guttural, unearthly cry, and the gallop

recommenced with fury. At last the whirlwind race ceased; a huge black mass pierced through with many

bright points of light suddenly rose before us, the hoofs of our horses echoed louder

upon a great vaulted archway which darkly yawned between two enormous towers. Some great excitement

evidently reigned in the castle. Servants with torches were crossing the courtyard in every direction, and

above, lights were ascending and descending from landing to landing. I obtained a confused glimpse of vast

masses of architecture—columns, arcades, flights of steps, stairways—a royal voluptuousness and elfin

magnificence of construction worthy of fairyland. A negro page—the same who had before brought me the

tablet from Clarimonde, and whom I instantly recognized—approached to aid me in dismounting, and the

majordomo, attired in black velvet with a gold chain about his neck, advanced to meet me, supporting

himself upon an ivory cane. Large tears were falling from his eyes and streaming over his cheeks and white

beard. "Too late!" he cried, sorrowfully shaking his venerable head. "Too late, sir priest! But if you have not

He took my arm and conducted me to the death chamber. I wept not less bitterly than he, for I had learned

that the dead one was none other than that Clarimonde whom I had so deeply and so wildly loved. A

priedieu stood at the foot of the bed,; a bluish flame flickering in a bonze patera filled all the room with a

wan, deceptive light, here and there bringing out in the darkness at intervals some projection of furniture or

cornice. In a chiselled urn upon the table there was a faded white rose, whose leaves—excepting one that still

held—had all fallen, like odorous tears, to the foot of the vase. A broken black mask, a fan, and disguises of

every variety, which were lying on the armchairs, bore witness that death had entered suddenly and

unannounced into that sumptuous dwelling. Without daring to cast my eyes upon the bed, I knelt down and

commenced to repeat the Psalms for the Dead, with exceeding fervor, thanking God that he had placed the

tomb between me and the memory of this woman, so that I might thereafter be able to utter her name in my

prayers as a name forever sanctified by death. But my fervor gradually weakened, and I fell insensibly into a

reverie. That chamber bore no semblance to a chamber of death. In lieu of the fetid and cadaverous odors

which I had been accustomed to breathe during such funereal vigils, a languorous vapor of Oriental

perfume— I know not what amorous odor of woman—softly floated through the tepid air. That pale light

seemed rather a twilight gloom contrived for voluptuous pleasure than a substitute for the yellowflickering

watch tapers which shine by the .side of corpses. I thought upon the strange destiny which enabled me to

meet Clarimonde again at the very moment when she was lost to me forever, and a sigh of regretful anguish

escaped from my breast. Then it seemed to me that some one behind me had also sighed, and I turned round

to look. It was only an echo. But in that moment my eyes fell upon the bed of death which they had till then

avoided. The red damask curtains, decorated with large flowers worked in embroidery, and looped up with

gold bullion, permitted me to behold the fair dead, lying at full length, with hands joined upon her bosom.

ping of dazzling whiteness, which formed a strong contrast with the gloomy purple of the hangings, and was

of so fine a texture that it concealed nothing of her body's charming form, and allowed the eye to follow those

beautiful outlines— undulating like the neck of a swan— which even death had not robbed of their supple

grace. She seemed an alabaster statue executed by some skilful sculptor to place upon the tomb of a queen, or

rather, perhaps, like a slumbering maiden over whom the silent snow had woven a spotless veil.

I could no longer maintain my constrained attitude of prayer. The air of the alcove intoxicated me, that febrile

perfume of halffaded roses penetrated my very brain, and I commenced to pace restlessly up and down the

chamber, pausing at each turn before the bier to contemplate the graceful corpse lying beneath the

transparency of its shroud. Wild fancies came thronging to my brain. I thought to myself that she might not,

perhaps, be really dead; that she might only have feigned death for the purpose of bringing me to her castle,

and then declaring her love. At one time I even thought I saw her foot move under the whiteness of the

coverings, and slightly disarrange the long, straight folds of the windingsheet.

And then I asked myself: "Is this indeed Clarimonde? What proof have I that it is she? Might not that black

page have passed into the service of some other lady? Surely, I must be going mad to torture and afflict

myself thus!" But my heart answered with a fierce throbbing: "It is she; it is she indeed!" I approached the

bed again, and fixed my eyes with redoubled attention upon the object of my incertitude. Ah, must I confess

it? That exquisite perfection of bodily form, although purified and made sacred by the shadow of death,

affected me more voluptuously than it should have done, and that repose so closely resembled slumber that

one might well have mistaken it for such. I forgot that I had come there to perform a funeral ceremony; I

fancied myself a young bridegroom entering the chamber of the bride, who all modestly hides her fair face,

and through coyness seeks to keep herself wholly veiled. Heartbroken with grief, yet wild with hope,

shuddering at once with fear and pleasure, I bent over her and grasped the corner of the sheet. I lifted it back,

holding my breath all the while through fear of waking her. My arteries throbbed with such violence that I

felt them hiss through my temples, and the sweat poured from my forehead in streams, as though I had lifted

a mighty slab of marble. There, indeed, lay Clarimonde, even as I had seen her at the church on the day of my

ordination. She was not less charming than then. With her, death seemed but a last coquetry. The pallor of her

cheeks, the less brilliant carnation of her lips, her long eyelashes lowered and relieving their dark fringe

against that white skin, lent her an unspeakably seductive aspect of melancholy chastity and metal suffering;

her long loose hair, still intertwined with some little blue flowers, made a shining pillow for her head, and

veiled the nudity of her shoulders with its thick ringlets; her beautiful hands, purer, more diaphanous than the

Host, were crossed on her bosom in an attitude of pious rest and silent prayer, which served to counteract all

that might have proven otherwise too alluring—even after death—in the exquisite roundness and ivory polish

of her bare arms from which the pearl bracelets had not yet been removed. I remained long in mute

contemplation, and the more I gazed, the less could I persuade myself that life had really abandoned that

beautiful body forever. I do not know whether it was an illusion or a reflection of the lamplight, but it seemed

to me that the blood was again commencing to circulate under that lifeless pallor, although she remained all

motionless. I laid my hand lightly on her arm; it was cold, but not colder than her hand on the day when it

touched mine at the portals of the church. I resumed my position, bending my face above her, and bathing her

cheeks with the warm dew of my tears. Ah, what bitter feelings of despair and helplessness, what agonies

unutterable did I endure in that long watch! Vainly did I wish that I could have gathered all my life into one

mass that I might give it all to her, and breathe into her chill remains the flame which devoured me. The night

advanced, and feeling the moment of eternal separation approach, I could not deny myself the last sad sweet

pleasure of imprinting a kiss upon the dead lips of her who had been my only love. . . . Oh, miracle! A faint

breath mingled itself with my breath, and the mouth of Clarimonde responded to the passionate pressure of

mine. Her eyes unclosed, and lighted up with something of their former brilliancy; she uttered a long sigh,

and uncrossing her arms, passed them around my neck with a look of ineffable delight. "Ah, it is thou,

Romuald!" she murmured in a voice languishingly sweet as the last vibrations of a harp. "What ailed thee,

dearest? I waited so long for thee that I am dead; but we are now betrothed; I can see thee and visit thee.

Adieu, Romuald, adieu! I love thee. That is all I wished to tell thee, and I give thee back the life which thy

Her head fell back, but her arms yet encircled me, as though to retain me still. A furious whirlwind suddenly

burst in the window, and entered the chamber. The last remaining leaf of the white rose for a moment

palpitated at the extremity of the stalk like a butterfly's wing, then it detached itself and flew forth through the

open casement, bearing with it the soul of Clarimonde. The lamp was extinguished, and I fell insensible upon

WHEN I came to myself again I was lying on the bed in my little room at tie presbytery, and the old dog of

the former cure was licking my hand which had been hanging down outside of the covers. Barbara, all

trembling with age and anxiety, was busying herself about the room, opening and shutting drawers, and

emptying powders into glasses. On seeing me open my eyes, the old woman uttered a cry of joy, the dog

yelped and wagged his tail, but I was still so weak that I could not speak a single word or make the slightest

motion. Afterward I learned that I had lain thus for three days, giving no evidence of life beyond the faintest

respiration. Those three days do not reckon in my life, nor could I ever imagine whither my spirit had

departed during those three days; I have no recollection of aught relating to them. Barbara told me that the

same copperycomplexioned man who came to seek me on the night of my departure from the presbytery,

had brought me back the next morning in a close litter, and departed immediately afterward. When I became

able to collect my scattered thoughts, I reviewed within my mind all the circumstances of that fateful night.

At first I thought I had been the victim of some magical illusion, but ere long the recollection of other

circumstances, real and palpable in themselves, came to forbid that supposition. I could not believe that I had

been dreaming, since Barbara as well as myself had seen the strange man with his two black horses, and

described with exactness every detail of his figure and apparel. Nevertheless it appeared that none knew of

any castle in the neighborhood answering to the description of that in which I had again found Clarimonde.

One morning I found the Abbe Serapion in my room. Barbara had advised him that I was ill, and he had come

with all speed to see me. Although this haste on 'his part testified to an affectionate interest in me, yet his visit

did not cause me the pleasure which it should have done. The Abbe Serapion had something penetrating and

inquisitorial in his gaze which made me feel very ill at ease. His presence filled me with embarrassment and a

sense of guilt. At the first glance he divined my interior trouble, and I hated him for his clairvoyance. While

he inquired after my health in hypocritically honeyed accents, he constantly kept his two great yellow

lioneyes fixed upon me, and plunged his look into my soul like a sounding lead. Then he asked me how I

directed my parish, if I was happy in it, how I passed the leisure hours allowed me in the intervals of pastoral

duty, whether I had become acquainted with many of the inhabitants of the place, what was my favorite

reading, and a thousand other such questions. I answered these inquiries as briefly as possible, and he,

without ever waiting for my answers, passed rapidly from one subject of query to another. That conversation

had evidently no connection with what he actually wished to say. At last, without any premonition, but as

though repeating a piece of news which he had recalled on the instant, and feared might otherwise be

forgotten subsequently, he suddenly said, in a clear vibrant voice, which rang in my ears like the trumpets of

"The great courtesan Clarimonde died a few days ago, at the close of an orgie which lasted eight days and

eight nights. It was something infernally splendid. The abominations of the banquets of Belshazzar and

Cleopatra were reenacted there. Good God, what age are we living in? The guests were served by swarthy

slaves who spoke an unknown tongue, and who seemed to me to be veritable demons. The livery of the very

least among them would have served for the galadress of an emperor. There have always been very strange

stories told of this Clarimonde, and all her lovers came to a violent or miserable end.

They used to say that she was a ghoul, a female vampire; but I believe she was none other than Beelzebub

He ceased to speak and commenced to regard me more attentively than ever, as though to observe the effect

of his words on me. I could not refrain from starting when I heard him utter the name of Clarimonde, and this

news of her death, in addition to the pain it caused me by reason of its coincidence with the nocturnal scenes I

had witnessed, filled me with an agony and terror which my face betrayed, despite my utmost endeavors to

appear composed. Serapion fixed an anxious and severe look upon me, and then observed: "My son, I must

warn you that you are standing with foot raised upon the brink of an abyss; take heed lest you fall therein.

Satan's claws are long, and tombs are not always true to their trust. The tombstone of Clarimonde should be

sealed down with a triple seal, for, if report be true, it is not the first time she has died. May God watch over

And with these words the Abbe walked slowly to the door. I did not see him again at that time, for he left for

I became completely restored to health and resumed my accustomed duties. The memory of Clarimonde and

the words of the old Abbe were constantly in my mind; nevertheless no extraordinary event had occurred to

verify the funereal predictions of Serapion, and I had commenced to believe that his fears and my own terrors

were overexaggerated, when one night I had a strange dream. I had hardly fallen asleep when I heard my

bedcurtains drawn apart, as their rings slided back upon the curtain rod with a sharp sound. I rose up quickly

upon my elbow, and beheld .the shadow of a woman standing erect before me. I recognized Clarimonde

immediately. She bore in her hand a little lamp, shaped like those which are placed in tombs, and its light lent

her fingers a rosy transparency, which extended itself by lessening degrees even to the opaque and milky

whiteness of her bare arm. Her only garment was the linen windingsheet which had shrouded her when

lying upon the bed of death. She sought to gather its folds over her bosom as though ashamed of being so

scantily clad, but her little hand was not equal to the task. She was so white that the color of the drapery

blended with that of her flesh under the pallid rays of the lamp. Enveloped with this subtle tissue which

betrayed all the contours of her body, she seemed rather the marble statue of some fair antique bather than a

woman endowed with life. But dead or living, statue or woman, shadow or body, her beauty was still the

same, only that the green light pf her eyes was less brilliant, and her mouth, once so warmly crimson, was

only tinted with a faint tender rosyness, like that of her cheeks. The little blue flowers which I had noticed

entwined in her hair were withered and dry, and had lost nearly all their leaves, but this did not prevent her

from being charming—so charming that notwithstanding the strange character of the adventure, and the

unexplainable manner in which she had entered my room, I felt not even for a moment the least fear.

She placed the lamp on the table and seated herself at the foot of my bed; then bending toward me, she said,

in that voice at once silvery clear and yet velvety in its sweet softness, such as I never heard from any lips

"I have kept thee long in waiting, dear Romuald, and it must have seemed to thee that I had forgotten thee.

But I come from afar off, very far off, and from a land whence no other has ever yet returned. There is neither

sun nor moon in that land whence I come: all is but space and shadow; there is neither road nor pathway: no

earth for the foot, no air for the wing; and nevertheless behold me here, for Love is stronger than Death and

must conquer him in the end. Oh what sad faces and fearful things I have seen on my way hither! What

difficulty my soul, returned to earth through the power of will alone, has had in finding its body and

reinstating itself therein! What terrible efforts I had to make ere I could lift the ponderous slab with which

they had covered me! See, the palms of my poor hands are all bruised! Kiss them, sweet love, that they may

be healed!" She laid the cold palms of her hands upon my mouth, one after the other. I kissed them, indeed,

I confess to my shame that I had entirely forgotten the advice of the Abbe Serapion and the sacred office

wherewith I had been invested. I had fallen without resistance, and at the first assault. I had not even made

the least effort to repel the tempter. The fresh coolness of Clarimonde skin penetrated my own, and I felt

voluptuous tremors pass over my whole body. Poor child! in spite of all I saw afterward, I can hardly yet

believe she was a demon; at least she had no appearance of being such, and never did Satan so skilfully

conceal his claws and horns. She had drawn her feet up beneath her, and squatted down on the edge of the

couch in an attitude full of negligent coquetry. From time to time she passed her little hand through my hair

and twisted it into curls, as though trying how a new style of wearing it would become my face. I abandoned

myself to her hands with the most guilty pleasure, while she accompanied her gentle play with the prettiest

prattle. The most remarkable fact was that I felt no astonishment whatever at so extraordinary an adventure,

and as in dreams one finds no difficulty in accepting the most fantastic events as simple facts, so all these

"I loved thee long ere I saw thee, dear Romuald, and sought thee everywhere. Thou wast my dream, and I

first saw thee in the church at the fatal moment. I said at once, 'It is he!' I gave thee a look into which I threw

all the love I ever had, all the love I now have, all the love I shall ever have for thee—a look that would have

damned a cardinal or brought a king to his knees at my feet in view of all his court. Thou remainedst

"Ah, how jealous I am of that God whom thou didst love and still lovest more than me!

"Woe is me, unhappy one that I am! I can never have thy heart all to myself, I whom thou didst recall to life

with a kiss—dead Clarimonde, who for thy sake bursts asunder the gates of the tomb, and comes to

All her words were accompanied with the most impassioned caresses, which bewildered my sense and my

reason to such an extent, that I did not fear to utter a frightful blasphemy for the sake of consoling her, and to

Her eyes rekindled and shone like chrysoprases. "In truth?—in very truth?—as much as God!" she cried,

flinging her beautiful arms around me. "Since it is so, thou wilt come with me; thou wilt follow me

whithersoever I desire. Thou wilt cast away thy ugly black habit. Thou shalt be the proudest and most envied

of cavaliers; thou shalt be my lover! To be the acknowledged lover of Clarimonde, who has refused even a

Pope; that will be something to feel proud of! Ah, the fair, unspeakably happy existence, the beautiful golden

"Tomorrow, then, so let it be!" she answered. "In the meanwhile I shall have opportunity to change my

toilet, for this is a little too light and in nowise suited for a voyage. I must also forthwith notify all my friends

who believe me dead, and mourn for me as deeply as they are capable of doing The money, the dresses, the

carriagesall will be ready. I shall call for thee at this same hour. Adieu, dear heart!' And she lightly touched

my forehead with her lips. The lamp went out, the curtains closed again, and all became dark; a leaden,

I AWOKE later than usual, and the recollection of this singular adventure troubled me during the whole day.

I finally persuaded myself that it was a mere vapor of my 'heated imagination. Nevertheless its sensations had

been so vivid that it was difficult to persuade myself that they were not real, and it was not without some

presentiment of what was going to happen that I got into bed at last, after having prayed God to drive far

I soon fell into a deep sleep, and my dream was continued. The curtains again parted, and I beheld

Clarimonde, not as on the former occasion, pale in her pale windingsheet, with the violets of death upon her

cheeks, but gay, sprightly, jaunty, in a superb traveling dress of green velvet, trimmed with gold lace, and

looped up on either side to allow a glimpse of satin petticoat. Her blonde hair escaped in thick ringlets from

beneath a broad black felt hat, decorated with white feathers whimsically twisted into various shapes. In one

hand she held a little riding whip terminated by a golden whistle. She tapped me lightly with it, and

exclaimed: "Well, my fine sleeper, is this the way you make your preparations? I thought I would find you up

"Come, dress yourself, and let us go," she continued, pointing to a little package she had brought with her.

"The horses are becoming impatient of delay and champing their bits at the door. We ought to have been by

I dressed myself hurriedly, and she handed me the articles of apparel herself one by one, bursting into

laughter from time to time at my awkwardness, as she explained to me the use of a garment when I had made

a mistake. She hurriedly arranged my hair, and this done, held up before me a little pocket mirror of Venetian

crystal, rimmed with silver filigreework, and playfully asked: "How dost find thyself now? Wilt engage me

I was no longer the same person, and I could not even recognize myself. I resembled my former self no more

than a finished statue resembles a block of stone. My old face seemed but a coarse daub of the one reflected

in the mirror. I was handsome, and my vanity was sensibly tickled by the metamorphosis. That elegant

apparel, that richly embroidered vest had made of me a totally different personage, and I marvelled at the

power of transformation owned by a few yards of cloth cut after a certain pattern. The spirit of my costume

penetrated my very skin, and within ten minutes more I had become something of a coxcomb.

In order to feel more at ease in my new attire, I took several turns up and down the room. Clarimonde

watched me with an air of maternal pleasure, and appeared well satisfied with her work. "Come, enough of

this child'splay! Let us start, Romuald, dear. We have far to go, and we may not get there in time." She took

my hand and led me forth. All the doors opened before her at a touch, and we passed by the dog without

At the gate we found Margheritone waiting, the same swarthy groom who had once before been my escort.

He held the bridles of three horses, all black like those which bore us to the castle—one for me, one for him,

one for Clarimonde. Those horses must have been Spanish genets born of mares fecundated by a zephyr, for

they were fleet as the wind itself, and the moon, which had just risen at our departure to light us on the way,

rolled over the sky like a wheel detached from her own chariot. We beheld her on the right leaping from tree

to tree, and putting herself out of breath in the effort to keep up with us. Soon we came upon a level plain

where, hard by a clump of trees, a carriage with four vigorous horses awaited us. We entered it, and the

postilions urged their animals into a mad gallop. I had one arm around Clarimonde's waist, and one of her

hands clasped in mine; her head leaned upon my shoulder, and I felt her bosom, half bare, lightly pressing

against my arm. I had never known such intense happiness. In that hour I had forgotten everything, and I no

more remembered having ever been a priest than I remembered what I had been doing in my mother's womb,

so great was the fascination which the evil spirit exerted upon me. From that night my nature seemed in some

sort to have become halved, and there were two men within me, neither of whom knew the other. At one

moment I believed myself a priest who dreamed nightly that he was a gentleman, at another that I was a

gentleman who dreamed he was a priest. I could no longer distinguish the dream from the reality, nor could I

discover where the reality began or where ended the dream. The exquisite young lord and libertine railed at

the priest, the priest loathed the dissolute habits of the young lord. Two spirals entangled and confounded the

one with the other, yet never touching, would afford a fair representation of this bucolic life which I lived.

Despite the strange character of my condition, I do not believe that I ever inclined, even for a moment, to

madness. I always retained with extreme vividness all the perceptions of my two lives. Only there was one

absurd fact which I could not explain to myself—namely, that the consciousness of the same individuality

existed in two men so opposite in character. It was an anomaly for which I could not account—whether I

believed myself to be the cure of the little village of C——, or II Signor Romualdo, the titled lover of

Clarimonde. Be that as it may, I lived, at least I believed that I lived, in Venice. I have never been able to

discover rightly how much of illusion and how much of reality there was in this fantastic adventure. We

dwelt in a great palace on the Canaleio, filled with frescoes and statues, and containing two Titians in the

noblest style of the great master, which were hung in Clarimonde's chamber. It was a palace well worthy of a

king. We had each our gondola, our barcarolli in family livery, our music hall, and our special poet.

Clarimonde always lived upon a magnificent scale; there was something of Cleopatra in her nature. As for

me, I had .the retinue of a prince's son, and I was regarded with as much reverential respect as though I had

been of the family of one of the twelve Apostles or the four Evangelists of the Most Serene Republic. I would

not have turned aside to allow even the Doge to pass, and I do not believe that since Satan fell from heaven,

any creature was ever prouder or more insolent than I. I went to the Ridotto, and played with a luck which

seemed absolutely infernal. I received the best of all society—the sons of ruined families, women of the

theatre, shrewd knaves, parasites, hectoring swashbucklers. But notwithstanding the dissipation of such a life,

I always remained faithful to Clarimonde. I loved her wildly. She would have excited satiety itself, and

chained inconstancy. To have Clarimonde was to have twenty mistresses; aye, to possess all women; so

mobile, so varied of aspect, so fresh in new charms was she all in herself— a very chameleon of a woman, in

sooth. She made you commit with her the infidelity you would have committed with another, by donning to

perfection the character, the attraction, the style of beauty of the woman who appeared to please you. She

returned my love a hundredfold, and it was in vain that the young patricians and even the Ancients of the

Council of Ten made her the most magnificent proposals. A Foscari even went so far as to offer to espouse

her. She rejected all his overtures. Of gold she had enough. She wished no longer for anything but love —a

love youthful, pure, evoked by herself, and which should be a first and last passion. I would have been

perfectly happy but for a cursed nightmare which recurred every night, and in which I believed myself to be a

poor village cure, practicing mortification and penance for my excesses during the day. Reassured by my

constant association with her, I never thought further of the strange manner in which I had become

acquainted with Clarimonde. But the words of the Abbe Serapion concerning her recurred often to my

For some time the health of Clarimonde had not been so good as usual; her complexion grew paler day by

day. The physicians who were summoned could not comprehend the nature of her malady and knew not how

to treat it. They all prescribed some insignificant remedies, and never called a second time. Her paleness,

nevertheless, visibly increased, and she became colder and colder, until she seemed almost as white and dead

as upon that memorable night in the unknown castle. I grieved with anguish unspeakable to behold her thus

slowly perishing; and she, touched by my agony, smiled upon me sweetly and sadly with the fateful smile of

One morning I was seated at her bedside, and breakfasting from a little table placed close at hand, so that I

might not be obliged to leave her for a single instant. In the act of cutting some fruit I accidentally inflicted

rather a deep gash on my finger. The blood immediately gushed forth in a little purple jet, and a few drops

spurted upon Clarimonde. Her eyes flashed, her face suddenly assumed an expression of savage and ferocious

joy such as I had never before observed in her. She leaped out of her bed with animal agility—the agility, as

it were, of an ape or a cat—and sprang upon my wound, which she commenced to suck with an air of

unutterable pleasure. She swallowed the blood in little mouthfuls, slowly and carefully, like a connoisseur

tasting a wine from Xeres or Syracuse. Gradually her eyelids half closed, and the pupils of her green eyes

became oblong instead of round. From time to time she paused in order to kiss my hand, then she would

recommence to press her lips to the lips of the wound in order to coax forth a few more ruddy drops. When

she found that the blood would no longer come, she arose with eyes liquid and brilliant, rosier than a May

dawn; her face full and fresh, her hand warm and moist—in fine, more beautiful than ever, and in the most

"I shall not die! I shall not die!" she cried, clinging to my neck, half mad with joy. "I can love thee yet for a

long time. My life is thine, and all that is of me comes from thee. A few drops of thy rich and noble blood,

more precious and more potent than all the elixirs of the earth, have given me back life."

This scene long haunted my memory, and inspired me with strange doubts in regard to Clarimonde; and the

same evening, when slumber had transported me to my presbytery, I beheld the Abbe Serapion, graver and

more anxious of aspect than ever. He gazed attentively at me, and sorrowfully exclaimed: "Not content with

losing your soul, you now desire also to lose your body. Wretched young man, into how terrible a plight have

you fallen'!" The tone in which he uttered these words powerfully affected me, but in spite of its vividness

even that impression was soon dissipated, and a thousand other cares erased it from my mind. At last one

evening, while looking into a mirror whose traitorous position she had not taken into account, I saw

Clarimonde in the act of emptying a powder into the cup of spiced wine which she had long been in the habit

of preparing after our repasts. I took the cup, feigned to carry it to my lips, and then placed it on the nearest

article of furniture as though intending to finish it at my leisure. Taking advantage of a moment when the fair

one's back was turned, I threw the contents under the table, after which I retired to my chamber and went to

bed, fully resolved .not to sleep, but to watch and discover what should come of all this mystery. I did not

have to wait long. Clarimonde entered in her nightdress, and having removed her apparel, crept into bed and

lay down beside me. When she felt assured that I was asleep, she bared my arm, and drawing a gold pin from

"One drop, only one drop! One ruby at the end of my needle! Since thou lovest me yet, I must not die! ... Ah,

poor love! His beautiful blood, so brightly purple, I must drink it. Sleep, my only treasure! Sleep, my god, my

child! I will do thee no harm; I will only take of thy life what I must to keep my own from being forever

extinguished. But that I love thee so much, I could well resolve to have other lovers whose veins I could

drain; but since I have known thee all other men have become hateful to me. ... Ah, the beautiful arm! How

round it is! How white it is! How shall I ever dare to prick this pretty blue vein!" And while thus murmuring

to 'herself she wept, and I felt her tears raining on my arm as she clasped it with her hands. At last she took

the resolve, slightly punctured me with her pin, and commenced to suck up the blood which oozed from the

place. Although she swallowed only a few drops, the fear of weakening me soon seized 'her, and she

carefully tied a little band around my arm, afterward rubbing the wound with an unguent which immediately

Further doubts were impossible. The Abbe Serapion was right. Notwithstanding this positive knowledge,

however, I could not cease to love Clarimonde, and I would gladly of my own accord have, given her all the

blood she required to sustain her factitious life. Moreover, I felt but little fear of her. The woman seemed to

plead with me for the vampire, and what I had already heard and seen sufficed to reassure me completely. In

those days I had plenteous veins, which would not have been so easily exhausted as at present; and I would

not have thought of bargaining for my blood, drop by drop. I would rather have opened myself the veins of

my arm and said to her: "Drink, and may my love infiltrate itself throughout thy body together with my

blood!" I carefully avoided ever making the least reference to the narcotic drink she had prepared for me, or

Yet my priestly scruples commenced to torment me more than ever, and I was at a loss to imagine what new

penance I could invent in order to mortify and subdue my flesh. Although these visions were involuntary, and

though I did not actually participate in anything relating to them, I could not dare to touch the body of Christ

with hands so impure and a mind defiled by such debauches whether real or imaginary. In .the effort to avoid

falling under the influence of these wearisome hallucinations, I strove to prevent myself from being

overcome by sleep. I held my eyelids open with my fingers, and stood for hours together leaning upright

against the wall, fighting sleep with all my might; but the dust of drowsiness invariably gathered upon my

eyes at last, and finding all resistance useless, I would have to let my arms fall in the extremity of despairing

weariness, and the current of slumber would again bear me away to the perfidious shores. Serapion addressed

me with the most vehement exhortations, severely reproaching me for my softness and want of fervor.

Finally, one day when I was more wretched than usual, he said to me: "There is but one way by which you

can obtain relief from this continual torment, and though it is an extreme measure it must be made use of;

violent diseases require violent remedies. I know where Clarimonde is buried. It is necessary that we shall

disinter her remains, and that you shall behold in how pitiable a state the object of your love is. Then you will

no longer be tempted to lose your soul for the sake of an unclean corpse devoured by worms, and ready to

crumble into dust. That will assuredly restore you to yourself." For my part, I was so tired of this double life

that I at once consented, desiring to ascertain beyond a doubt whether a priest or a gentleman had been the

victim of delusion. I had become fully resolved either to kill one of the two men within me for the benefit of

the other, or else to kill both, for so terrible an existence could not last long and be endured. The Abbe

Serapion provided himself with a mattock, a lever, and a lantern, and at midnight we wended our way to the

cemetery of ——, the location and place of which were perfectly familiar to him. After having directed the

rays of the dark lantern upon the inscriptions of several tombs, we came at last upon a great slab, half

concealed by huge weeds and devoured by mosses and parasitic plants, whereupon we deciphered the

"It is here without a doubt," muttered Serapion, and placing his lantern on the ground, he forced the point of

the lever under the edge of the stone and commenced to raise it. The stone yielded, and he proceeded to work

with the mattock. Darker and more silent than the night itself, I stood by and watched him do it, while he,

bending over his dismal toil, streamed with sweat, panted, and his hardcoming breath seemed to have the

harsh tone of a death rattle. It was a weird scene, and had any persons from without beheld us, they would

assuredly (have taken us rather for profane wretches and shroudstealers than for priests of

God. There was something grim and fierce in Serapion's zeal which lent him the air of a demon rather than of

an apostle or an angel, and his great aquiline face, with all its stern features brought out in strong relief by the

lanternlight, had something fearsome in it which enhanced the unpleasant fancy. I felt an icy sweat come

out upon my forehead in huge beads, and my hair stood up with a hideous fear. Within the depths of my own

heart I felt that the act of the austere Serapion was an abominable sacrilege; and I could have prayed that a

triangle of fire would issue from the entrails of the dark clouds, heavily rolling above us, to reduce him to

cinders. The owls which had been nestling in the cypresstrees, startled by the gleam of the lantern, flew

against it from time to time, striking their dusty wings against its panes, and uttering plaintive cries of

lamentation; wild foxes yelped in the far darkness, and a thousand sinister noises detached themselves from

the silence. At last Serapion's mattock struck the coffin itself, making its planks reecho with a deep sonorous

sound, with that terrible sound nothingness utters when stricken. He wrenched apart and tore up the lid, and I

beheld Clarimonde, pallid as a figure of marble, with hands joined; her white windingsheet made but one

fold from her head to her feet. A little crimson drop sparkled like a speck of dew at one corner of her

colorless mouth. Serapion, at this spectacle, burst into fury: "Ah, thou art here, demon! Impure courtesan!

Drinker of blood and gold!" And he flung holy water upon the corpse and the coffin, over which he traced the

sign of the cross withies sprinkler. Poor Clarimonde had no sooner been touched by the blessed spray than

her beautiful body crumbled into dust, and became only a shapeless and frightful mass of cinders and

"Behold your mistress, my Lord Romuald!" cried the inexorable priest, as he pointed to these sad remains.

"Will you be easily tempted after this to promenade on the Lido or at Fusina with your beauty?" I covered my

face with my hands, a vast ruin had taken place within me. I returned to my presbytery, and the noble Lord

Romuald, the lover of Clarimonde, separated himself from the poor priest with whom he had kept such

strange company so long. But once only, the following night, I saw Clarimonde. She said to me, as she had

said the first time at the portals of the church: "Unhappy man! Unhappy man! What hast thou done?

Wherefore have hearkened to that imbecile priest? Wert thou not happy? And what harm had I ever done thee

that thou shouldst violate my poor tomb, and lay bare the miseries of my nothingness? All communication

between our souls and our bodies is henceforth forever broken. Adieu! Thou wilt yet regret me!" She

Alas! she spoke truly indeed. I have regretted her more than once, and I regret her still. My soul's peace has

been very dearly bought. The love of God was not too much to replace such a love as hers. And this, brother,

is the story of my youth. Never gaze upon a woman, and walk abroad only with eyes ever fixed upon the

ground; for however chaste and watchful one may be, the error of a single moment is enough to make one