That pale light seemed rather a twilight gloom contrived for
voluptuous pleasure, than a substitute for the yellow-flickering
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 for ever, 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. She
was covered with a linen wrapping 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 half-faded 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
winding-sheet. 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 mental 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 for ever. 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 cheek 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 kiss for a moment
recalled. We shall soon meet again.' 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 the bosom of the beautiful dead. When I came to myself again I was lying on the bed in my little room at
the presbytery, and the old dog of the former curé 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.