Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - Part II - III
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THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL 178
unfortunates who are mothers on the streets ! But she
detested children ; in her eyes motherhood was degrading.
Unnatural and perverse woman that she was, she debased
the maternal instinct to a vulgar pleasure. Her race was
doomed to extinction because she was a degenerate, in the
process of dissolution ; but she concealed this dissolution
under high-sounding phrases, proclaimed that it was our
dut}’ to live for higher ends, for the good of humanity
at large.
I loathed her now, I tried to forget her. I paced the
room, up and down, up and down, before the roAvs of
book-shelves, unable to rid myself of the accursed night-
mare which haunted me. I had no desire for her, or for
her company, for she inspired me with disgust ; and yet
a deep compassion, an almost paternal tenderness made
me feel responsible for her future. I knew that if I left
her to her own devices, she would go under, and end
either as the mistress of her late husband, or the mistress
of all the world.
I was powerless to lift her up, powerless to struggle out
of the morass into which we had fallen. I resigned myself
to remain tied to her, even if I had to witness and share
in her downward course. She was dragging me down
with her—life had become a burden to me, I had lost
all enthusiasm for my work. The instinct of self-preserva-
tion, hope, were dead. I wanted nothing, desired nothing.
I had developed into a complete misanthrope ; I frequently
turned away from the door of my restaurant and, for-
going dinner, returned home, threw myself on my sofa
and buried myself under my rugs. There I lay, like a
wild beast that has received its death wound, rigid, with
an empty brain, unable to think or sleep, waiting for the
end.
One day, however, I was sitting in a back room of my
restaurant, a private room ^here lovers meet and shabby
coats hide themselves, both afraid of the daylight. All
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