[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
white down covers the great slopes of the cheeks, two hairs pro-
sleeves of my coat: I cannot describe how much it disgusts me. I
trude from the nostrils: it is a geological embossed map. And, in
yawn. I light the lamp on the table: perhaps its light will be able
spite of everything, this lunar world is familiar to me. I cannot
to combat the light of day. But no: the lamp makes nothing more
say I recognize the details. But the whole thing gives me an im-
than a pitiful pond around its base. I turn it out; I get up. There is a
pression of something seen before which stupefies me: I slip
white hole in the wall, a mirror. It is a trap. I know I am going to
quietly off to sleep.
let myself be caught in it. I have. The grey thing appears in the
I would like to take hold of myself: an acute, vivid sensation
mirror. I go over and look at it, I can no longer get away.
would deliver me. I plaster my left hand against my cheek, I pull
It is the reflection of my face. Often in these lost days I
the skin; I grimace at myself. An entire half of my face yields, the
study it. I can understand nothing of this face. The faces of others
left half of the mouth twists and swells, uncovering a tooth, the
have some sense, some direction. Not mine. I cannot even decide
eye opens on a white globe, on pink, bleeding flesh. That is not
whether it is handsome or ugly. I think it is ugly because I have
what I was looking for: nothing strong, nothing new; soft, flaccid,
been told so. But it doesn't strike me. At heart, I am even
stale! I go to sleep with my eyes open, already the face is growing
shocked that anyone can attribute qualities of this kind to it, as if
larger, growing in the mirror, an immense, light halo gliding in the
you called a clod of earth or a block of stone beautiful or ugly.
light. . . .
Still, there is one thing which is pleasing to see, above the
I lose my balance and that wakes me. I find myself straddling
flabby cheeks, above the forehead; it is the beautiful red flame
a chair, still dazed. Do other men have as much difficulty in
which crowns my head, it is my hair. That is pleasant to see.
Anyhow, it is a definite colour: I am glad I have red hair. There it appraising their face? It seems that I see my own as I feel my
is in the mirror, it makes itself seen, it shines. I am still lucky: if body, through a dumb, organic sense. But the others? Rollebon,
my forehead was surmounted by one of those neutral heads of hair for example, was he also put to sleep by looking in the mirror at
which are neither chestnut nor blond, my face would be lost in
what Mme de Genlis calls "his small, wrinkled countenance, clean
vagueness, it would make me dizzy.
and sharp, all pitted with smallpox, in which there was a strange
My glance slowly and wearily travels over my forehead, my
malice which caught the eye, no matter what effort he made to
cheeks: it finds nothing firm, it is stranded. Obviously there are a
dissemble it? He took," she adds, "great care with his coiffure and
nose, two eyes and a mouth, but none of it makes sense, there is
I never saw him without his wig. But his cheeks were blue,
not even a human expression. Yet Anny and Velines thought I
verging on black, owing to his heavy beard which he shaved
looked so alive: perhaps I am too used to my face. When I was
himself, not being at all expert. It was his custom to wash his
16 face with white lead, in the manner of
17
Grimm. M. de Dangeville said that with all this white and all this
I wanted to vomit. And since that time, the Nausea has not left me,
blue he looked like a Roquefort cheese".
it holds me.
It seems to me he must have been quite pleasing. But, after all,
I paid, Madeleine took away my saucer. My glass crushes a
this is not the way he appeared to Mme de Charrieres. I believe
puddle of yellow beer against the marble table top, a bubble
she found him rather worn. Perhaps it is impossible to understand
floating in it. The bottom of my seat is broken and in order not to
one's own face. Or perhaps it is because I am a single man? People
slide, I am compelled to press my heels firmly against the ground;
who live in society have learned how to see themselves in mirrors
it is cold. On the right, they are playing cards on a woollen cloth.
as they appear to their friends. I have no friends. Is that why my
I did not see them when I came in: I simply felt there was a warm
flesh is so naked? You might say yes you might say, nature
packet, half on the seat, half on the table in the back, with pairs
without humanity.
of waving arms. Afterwards, Madeleine brought them cards, the
I have no taste for work any longer, I can do nothing more
cloth and chips in a wooden bowl. There are three or five of them,
except wait for night.
I don't know, I haven't the courage to look at them. I have a
broken spring: I can move my eyes but not my head. The head
5.30:
is all pliable and elastic, as though it had been simply set on my
Things are bad! Things are very bad: I have it, the filth, the
neck; if I turn it, it will fall off. All the same, I hear a short breath
Nausea. And this time it is new: it caught me in a cafe. Until now
and from time to time, out of the corner of my eye I see a reddish
cafes were my only refuge because they were full of people and
flash covered with hair. It is a hand.
well lighted: now there won't even be that any more; when I am
When the patronne goes shopping her cousin replaces
run to earth in my room, I shan't know where to go.
her at the bar. His name is Adolphe. I began looking at him as I
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]