"Oh! Monsieur," I responded, weeping, "you would deprive an unfortunate of her fondest hope were you to wither¹ in her heart this religion which is her whole comfort. Firmly attached to its teachings, absolutely convinced that all the blows leveled against it are nothing but libertinage's effects and the passions', am I to sacrifice, to blasphemies², to sophistries³ horrible to me, my heart's sweetest sustenance⁴ ?"

 

I added a thousand other arguments to this one, they merely caused the Count to laugh, and his captious⁵ principles, nourished by a more male eloquence⁶, supported by readings and studies I, happily, had never performed, daily attacked my own principles, without shaking them. Madame de Bressac, that woman filled with piety⁷ and virtue⁸, was not unaware⁹ her nephew justified¹⁰ his wild behavior with every one of the day's paradoxes¹¹; she too often shuddered¹² upon hearing them; and as she condescended¹³ to attribute somewhat more good sense to me than to her other women, she would sometimes take me aside and speak of her chagrin¹⁴.

 

Meanwhile, her nephew, champing at the bit, had reached the point where he no longer bothered to hide his malign¹⁵ intentions; not only had he surrounded his aunt with all of that dangerous canaille which served his pleasures, but he had even carried boldness so far as to declare to her, in my presence, that were she to take it into her head to frustrate¹⁶ his appetite, he would convince her of their charm by practicing them before her very eyes.

 

I trembled; I beheld¹⁷ this conduct with horror. I strove to rationalize my reactions by attributing their origin to personal motives¹⁸, for I wished to stifle¹⁹ the unhappy passion which burned in my soul; but is love an illness to be cured? All I endeavored to oppose to it merely fanned its flames, and the perfidious²⁰ Count never appeared more lovable to me than when I had assembled before me everything which ought to have induced me to hate him.

 

I had remained four years in this household unrelentingly persecuted²¹ by the same sorrows, forever consoled by the same sweetnesses, when this abominable²² man, finally believing himself sure of me, dared disclose his infamous²³ schemes. We were in the country at the time, I alone attended upon the Marquise, her first maid-in-waiting had obtained leave to remain in Paris through the summer to look after some of her husband's business. One evening shortly after I had retired²⁴, and as I was taking some air upon the balcony of my room, being unable to bring myself to go to bed because of the extreme heat, I suddenly heard the Count knock; he wished to have a word or two with me. Alas²⁵! the moments that cruel author of my ills accorded me of his presence were too precious for me to dare refuse him one; he enters, carefully closes the door and flings himself into an armchair.

 

"Listen to me, Therese," and there is a note of embarrassment²⁶ in his voice, "I have things of the greatest importance to say to you; swear to me you will never reveal any of them."

 

"Monsieur," I reply, "do you think me capable of abusing your confidence?"

 

"You have no idea what you would be risking - were you to prove to me I had made a mistake in trusting you!"

 

"The most frightful²⁷ of all my woes²⁸ should be to lose your trust, I have no need of greater menaces...."

 

"Ah then, Therese, I have condemned²⁹ my aunt to die . . . and it is your hand I must employ."

 

"My hand!" I cried, recoiling³⁰ in fright, "have you been able, Monsieur, to conceive such projects?... no, dispose of my life if you must, but imagine not you will ever obtain from me the horror you propose."

 

"Hear me, Therese," says the Count, reasoning with me calmly, "I indeed foresaw your distaste for the idea but, as you have wit and verve, I flattered myself with the belief I could vanquish³¹ your feelings... could prove to you that this crime, which seems to you of such enormity, is, at bottom, a very banal³² affair.

 

"Two misdeeds present themselves, Therese, to your not very philosophic³³ scrutiny³⁴: the destruction of a creature bearing a resemblance to us, and the evil with which this destruction is augmented³⁵ when the said creature is one of our near kinsmen³⁶. With regard to the crime of destroying one's fellow, be persuaded, dear girl, it is purely³⁷ hallucinatory; man has not been accorded the power to destroy; he has at best the capacity to alter forms, but lacks that required to annihilate³⁸ them: well, every form is of equal worth in Nature's view; nothing is lost in the immense melting pot where variations are wrought³⁹: all the material masses which fall into it spring incessantly⁴⁰ forth⁴¹ in other shapes, and whatsoever⁴² be our interventions⁴³ in this process, not one of them, needless to say, outrages⁴⁴ her, not one is capable of offending her.#p#分页标题#e#

 

Our depredations⁴⁵ revive her power; they stimulate⁴⁶ her energy, but not one attenuates⁴⁷ her; she is neither impeded⁴⁸ nor thwarted⁴⁹ by any.... Why! what difference does it make to her creative hand if this mass of flesh today wearing the conformation of a bipedal individual is reproduced tomorrow in the guise⁵⁰ of a handful of centipedes? Dare one say that the construction of this two-legged animal costs her any more than that of an earthworm, and that she should take a greater interest in the one than in the other? If then the degree of attachment⁵¹, or rather of indifference⁵², is the same, what can it be. to her if, by one man's sword, another man is transspeciated into a fly or a blade of grass? When they will have convinced me of the sublimity⁵³ of our species, when they will have demonstrated to me that it is really so important to Nature, that her laws are necessarily violated by this transmutation, then I will be able to believe that murder is a crime; but when the most thoughtful and sober study has proven to me that everything that vegetates⁵⁴ upon this globe is of equal value in her eyes, I shall never concede that the alteration⁵⁵ of one of these creatures into a thousand others can in any sense upset her intentions or sort ill with her desires. I say to myself: all men, all animals, all plants growing, feeding, destroying and reproducing themselves by the same means, never undergoing a real death, but a simple variation in what modifies them; all, I say, appearing today in one form and several years or hours later in another, all may, at the will of the being who wishes to move them, change a thousand thousand times in a single day, without one of Nature's directives being affected⁵⁶ for one instant what do I say? without this transmuter⁵⁷ having done anything but good, since, by dismantling⁵⁸ the individuals whose basic components⁵⁹ again become necessary to Nature, he does naught⁶⁰ by this action, improperly⁶¹ qualified⁶² as criminal, but render her the creative energy of which she is necessarily deprived by him who, through brutish indifference, dares not undertake any shuffling⁶³, as it were, of the deck.... O Therese, it is man's pride alone erects⁶⁴ murder as a crime.

 

This vain creature, imagining himself the most sublime⁶⁵ of the globe's inhabitants, its most essential, takes his departure from this false principle in order to affirm that the deed which results in his undoing⁶⁶ can be nothing but an infamy⁶⁷; but his vanity, his lunacy alter the laws of Nature not one jot⁶⁸; no person exists who in the depths of his heart does not feel the most vehement⁶⁹ desire to be rid of those by whom he is hampered⁷⁰, troubled, or whose death may be of some advantage to him; and do you suppose,Therese, that the difference between this desire and its effect is very great? Now, if these impressions come to us from Nature, can it be presumed they irritate her? Would she inspire in us what would cause her downfall? Ah, be at ease, dear girl, we experience nothing that does not serve her; all the impulses she puts in us are the agents of her decrees; man's passions are but the means she employs to attain⁷¹ her ends.

 

If she stands in need of more individuals, she inspires lust⁷² in us and behold⁷³! there are creations; when destructions become necessary to her, she inserts vengeance⁷⁴, avarice⁷⁵, lechery⁷⁶, ambition into our hearts and lo! you have murders; but she has not ceased to labor⁷⁷ in her own behalf, and whatever we do, there can be no question of it, we are the unthinking instruments of her caprices.

 

"Ah, no, Therese, no! Nature does not leave in our hands the possibility of committing crimes which would conflict with her economy; has it ever been known to happen that the weakest were able to offend the mightiest⁷⁸? What are we in comparison to her? Can she, when she created us, have placed in us what would be capable of hurting her? Can that idiotic⁷⁹ supposition consort⁸⁰ with the sublime and sure manner in which we see her attain her ends? Ah! were murder not one of the human actions which best fulfilled her intentions, would she permit the doing of murder? May to imitate then be to injure her? Can she be incensed⁸¹ to see man do to his brethren what she herself does to him every day? Since it is proven that she cannot reproduce without destructions, is it not to act in harmony with her wishes to multiply them unceasingly?

 

The man who moves in this direction, who plunges⁸³ ahead with all possible zeal⁸⁴, will incontestably be the one who serves her best, since it will be he who most cooperates with the schemes she manifests constantly. The primary and most beautiful of Nature's qualities is motion, which agitates⁸⁵ her at all times, but this motion is simply a perpetual consequence of crimes, she conserves⁸⁶ it by means of crimes only; the person who most nearly resembles her, and therefore the most perfect being, necessarily will be the one whose most active agitation⁸⁷ will become the cause of many crimes; whereas, I repeat, the inactive or indolent person, that is to say, the virtuous⁸⁸ person, must be in her eyes - how may there be any doubt of it? the least perfect since he tends only to apathy⁸⁹, to lethargy, to that inactivity which would immediately plunge⁸² everything back into chaos⁹⁰ were his star to be in the ascendant. Equilibrium⁹¹ must be preserved; it can only be preserved by crimes; therefore, crimes serve Nature; if they serve her, if she demands them, if she desires them, can they offend her? And who else can be offended if she is not?#p#分页标题#e#

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