Pierre and Jean by Guy de Maupassant (reading diary TXT) 📕

forced her into it, and kneeling down in front of her barred her in with his arms.

“You shall not quit this spot, mother. I love you and I will keep you! I will keep you always⁠—I love you and you are mine.”

She murmured in a dejected tone:

“No, my poor boy, it is impossible. You weep tonight, but tomorrow you would turn me out of the house. You, even you, could not forgive me.”

He replied: “I? I? How little you know me!” with such a burst of genuine affection that, with a cry, she seized his head by the hair with both hands, and dragging him violently to her kissed him distractedly all over his face.

Then she sat still, her cheek against his, feeling the warmth of his skin through his beard, and she whispered in his ear: “No, my little Jean, you would not forgive me tomorrow. You think so, but you deceive yourself. You have forgiven me this evening, and that forgiveness has saved my life; but you must never see me again.”

And he repeated, clasping her in his arms:

“Mother, do not say that.”

“Yes, my child, I must go away. I do not know where, nor how I shall set about it, nor what I shall do; but it must be done. I could never look at you, nor kiss you, do you understand?”

Then he in his turn spoke into her ear:

“My little mother, you are to stay, because I insist, because I want you. And you must pledge your word to obey me, now, at once.”

“No, my child.”

“Yes, mother, you must; do you hear? You must.”

“No, my child, it is impossible. It would be condemning us all to the tortures of hell. I know what that torment is; I have known it this month past. Your feelings are touched now, but when that is over, when you look on me as Pierre does, when you remember what I have told you⁠—oh, my Jean, think⁠—think⁠—I am your mother!”

“I will not let you leave me, mother. I have no one but you.”

“But think, my son, we can never see each other again without both of us blushing, without my feeling that I must die of shame, without my eyes falling before yours.”

“But it is not so, mother.”

“Yes, yes, yes, it is so! Oh, I have understood all your poor brother’s struggles, believe me! All⁠—from the very first day. Now, when I hear his step in the house my heart beats as if it would burst, when I hear his voice I am ready to faint. I still had you; now I have you no longer. Oh, my little Jean! Do you think I could live between you two?”

“Yes, I should love you so much that you would cease to think of it.”

“As if that were possible!”

“But it is possible.”

“How do you suppose that I could cease to think of it, with your brother and you on each hand? Would you cease to think of it, I ask you?”

“I? I swear I should.”

“Why you would think of it at every hour of the day.”

“No, I swear it. Besides, listen, if you go away I will enlist and get killed.”

This boyish threat quite overcame her; she clasped Jean in a passionate and tender embrace. He went on:

“I love you more than you think⁠—ah, much more, much more. Come, be reasonable. Try to stay for only one week. Will you promise me one week? You cannot refuse me that?”

She laid her two hands on Jean’s shoulders, and holding him at arm’s length she said:

“My child, let us try and be calm and not give way to emotions. First, listen to me. If I were ever to hear from your lips what I have heard for this month past from your brother, if I were once to see in your eyes what I read in his, if I could fancy from a word or a look that I was as odious to you as I am to him⁠—within one hour, mark me⁠—within one hour I should be gone forever.”

“Mother, I swear to you⁠—”

“Let me speak. For a month past I have suffered all that any creature can suffer. From the moment when I perceived that your brother, my other son, suspected me, that as the minutes went by, he guessed the truth, every moment of my life has been a martyrdom which no words could tell you.”

Her voice was so full of woe that the contagion of her misery brought the tears to Jean’s eyes.

He tried to kiss her, but she held him off.

“Leave me⁠—listen; I still have so much to say to make you understand. But you never can understand. You see, if I stayed⁠—I must⁠—no, no. I cannot.”

“Speak on, mother, speak.”

“Yes, indeed, for at least I shall not have deceived you. You want me to stay with you? For what⁠—for us to be able to see each other, speak to each other, meet at any hour of the day at home, for I no longer dare open a door for fear of finding your brother behind it. If we are to do that, you must not forgive me⁠—nothing is so wounding as forgiveness⁠—but you must owe me no grudge for what I have done. You must feel yourself strong enough, and so far unlike the rest of the world, as to be able to say to yourself that you are not Roland’s son without blushing for the fact or despising me. I have suffered enough⁠—I have suffered too much; I can bear no more, no indeed, no more! And it is not a thing of yesterday, mind you, but of long, long years. But you could never understand that; how should you! If you and I are to live together and kiss each other, my little Jean, you must believe that though I was your father’s mistress I was yet more truly his wife, his real wife; that, at the bottom of my heart, I cannot be ashamed of it; that I