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The Confession of a Child of The Century, a novel by Alfred de Musset |
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Part 3 - Chapter 1 |
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_ PART III CHAPTER I MY father lived in the country, some miles from Paris. When I arrived, I found a physician at the door who said to me: "You are too late; your father expressed a desire to see you before he died." I entered and saw my father dead. "Sir," I said to the physician, "please have every one retire that I may be alone here; my father had something to say to me, and he will say it." In obedience to my order the servants left the room. I approached the bed and raised the shroud which already covered the face. But when my eyes fell on that face, I stooped to kiss it and lost consciousness. When I recovered, I heard some one say: "If he requests it, you must refuse him on some pretext or other." I understood that they wanted to get me away from the bed of death and so I feigned that I had heard nothing. When they saw that I was resting quietly, they left me. I waited until the house was quiet and then took a candle and made my way to my father's room. I found there a young priest seated near the bed. "Sir," I said, "to dispute with an orphan the last vigil at a father's side, is a bold enterprise. I do not know what your orders may be. You may remain in the adjoining room; if anything happens, I alone am responsible." He retired. A single candle on the table shone on the bed. I sat down in the chair the priest had just left and again uncovered those features I was to see for the last time. "What do you wish to say to me, father?" I asked. "What was your last thought concerning your child?" My father had a book in which he was accustomed to write from day to day the record of his life. That book lay on the table and I saw that it was open; I kneeled before it; on the open page were these words and no more: "Adieu, my son, I love you and I die." I did not shed a tear, not a sob came from my lips; my throat was swollen and my mouth sealed; I looked at my father without moving. He knew my life, and my irregularities had caused him much sorrow and anxiety. He did not refer to my future, to my youth and my follies. His advice had often saved me from some evil course, and had influenced my entire life, for his life had been one of singular virtue and kindness. I supposed that before dying he wished to see me, to try once more to turn me from the path of error; but death had come too swiftly; he felt that he could express all he had to say in one word and he wrote in his book that he loved me. _ |
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