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return about as when they left me。 He who lives little； changes little； and it
is scarcely living at all to use up one's days over old texts。
Yet I feel myself to…day a little more deeply impregnated than ever
before with that vague melancholy which life distils。 The economy of my
intelligence （I dare scarcely confess it to myself！） has remained disturbed
ever since that momentous hour in which the existence of the manuscript
of the Clerk Alexander was first revealed to me。
It is strange that I should have lost my rest simply on account of a few
old sheets of parchment； but it is unquestionably true。 The poor man who
has no desires possesses the greatest of riches； he possesses himself。 The
rich man who desires something is only a wretched slave。 I am just such a
slave。 The sweetest pleasures those of converse with some one of a
delicate and well…balanced mind； or dining out with a friendare
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
insufficient to enable me to forget the manuscript which I know that I want；
and have been wanting from the moment I knew of its existence。 I feel the
want of it by day and by night： I feel the want of it in all my joys and pains；
I feel the want of it while at work or asleep。
I recall my desires as a child。 How well I can now comprehend the
intense wishes of my early years！
I can see once more； with astonishing vividness； a certain doll which；
when I was eight years old； used to be displayed in the window of an ugly
little shop of the Rue de Seine。 I cannot tell how it happened that this doll
attracted me。 I was very proud of being a boy； I despised little girls； and I
longed impatiently for the day （which alas！ has come） when a strong beard
should bristle on my chin。 I played at being a soldier； and； under the
pretext of obtaining forage for my rocking…horse； I used to make sad
havoc among the plants my poor mother delighted to keep on her window…
sill。 Manly amusements those； I should say！ And； nevertheless； I was
consumed with longing for a doll。 Characters like Hercules have such
weaknesses occasionally。 Was the one I had fallen in love with at all
beautiful？ No。 I can see her now。 She had a splotch of vermilion on either
cheek； short soft arms； horrible wooden hands； and long sprawling legs。
Her flowered petticoat was fastened at the waist with two pins。 Even now I
cans see the balck heads of those two pins。 It was a decidedly vulgar doll
smelt of the faubourg。 I remember perfectly well that； child as I was then；
before I had put on my first pair of trousers； I was quite conscious in my
own way that this doll lacked grace and stylethat she was gross； that she
was course。 But I loved her in spite of that； I loved her just for that； I loved
her only； I wanted her。 My soldiers and my drums had become as nothing
in my eyes； I ceased to stick sprigs of heliotrope and veronica into the
mouth of my rocking…horse。 That doll was all the world to me。 I invented
ruses worthy of a savage to oblige Virginie； my nurse； to take me by the
little shop in the Rue de Seine。 I would press my nose against the window
until my nurse had to take my arm and drag me away。 〃Monsieur Sylvestre；
it is late； and your mamma will scold you。〃 Monsieur Sylvestre in those
days made very little of either scoldings or whippings。 But his nurse lifted
him up like a feather； and Monsieur Sylvestre yielded to force。 In after…
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
years； with age； he degenerated； and sometimes yielded to fear。 But at that
time he used to fear nothing。
I was unhappy。 An unreasoning but irresistible shame prevented me
from telling my mother about the object of my love。 Thence all my
sufferings。 For many days that doll； incessantly present in fancy； danced
before my eyes； stared at me fixedly； opened her arms to me； assuming in
my imagination a sort of life which made her appear at once mysterious
and weird； and thereby all the more charming and desirable。
Finally； one daya day I shall never forgetmy nurse took me to see
my uncle； Captain Victor； who had invited me to lunch。 I admired my
uncle a great deal； as much because he had fired the last French cartridge
at Waterloo； as because he used to prepare with his own hands； at my
mother's table； certain chapons…a…l'ail ＇Crust on which garlic has been
rubbed＇； which he afterwards put in the chicory salad。 I thought that was
very fine！ My Uncle Victor also inspired me with much respect by his
frogged coat； and still more by his way of turning the whole house upside
down from the moment he came into it。 Even now I cannot tell just how he
managed it； but I can affirm that whenever my Uncle Victor found himself
in any assembly of twenty persons； it was impossible to see or to hear
anybody but him。 My excellent father； I have reason to believe； never
shared my admiration for Uncle Victor； who used to sicken him with his
pipe； give him great thumps in the back by way of friendliness； and accuse
him of lacking energy。 My mother； though always showing a sister's
indulgence to the Captain； sometimes advised him to fold the brandy…
bottle a little less frequently。 But I had no part either in these repugnances
or these reproaches； and Uncle Victor inspired me with the purest
enthusiasm。 It was therefore with a feeling of pride that I entered into the
little lodging he occupied in the Rue Guenegaud。 The entire lunch； served
on a small table close to the fireplace； consisted of cold meats and
confectionery。
The Captain stuffed me with cakes and undiluted wine。 He told me of
numberless injustices to which he had been a victim。 He complained
particularly of the Bourbons； and as he neglected to tell me who the
Bourbons were； I got the ideaI can't tell howthat the Bourbons were
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
horse…dealers established at Waterloo。 The Captain； who never interrupted
his talk except for the purpose of pouring out wine； furthermore made
charges against a numbe