THERESE RAQUIN
CHAPTER XXIII
Little by little, Laurent became furiously mad, and resolved to drive Camille
from his bed. He had first of all slept with his clothes on, then he had avoided
touching Therese. In rage and despair, he wanted, at last, to take his wife in
his arms, and crush the spectre of his victim rather than leave her to it. This
was a superb revolt of brutality.
The hope that the kisses of Therese would cure him of his insomnia, had alone
brought him into the room of the young woman. When he had found himself there,
in the position of master, he had become a prey to such atrocious attacks, that
it had not even occurred to him to attempt the cure. And he had remained
overwhelmed for three weeks, without remembering that he had done everything to
obtain Therese, and now that she was in his possession, he could not touch her
without increased suffering.
His excessive anguish drew him from this state of dejection. In the first
moment of stupor, amid the strange discouragement of the wedding-night, he had
forgotten the reasons that had urged him to marry. But his repeated bad dreams
had aroused in him a feeling of sullen irritation, which triumphed over his
cowardice, and restored his memory. He remembered he had married in order to
drive away nightmare, by pressing his wife closely to his breast. Then, one
night, he abruptly took Therese in his arms, and, at the risk of passing over
the corpse of the drowned man, drew her violently to him.
The young woman, who was also driven to extremes, would have cast herself
into the fire had she thought that flames would have purified her flesh, and
delivered her from her woe. She returned Laurent his advances, determined to be
either consumed by the caresses of this man, or to find relief in them.
And they clasped one another in a hideous embrace. Pain and horror took the
place of love. When their limbs touched, it was like falling on live coal. They
uttered a cry, pressing still closer together, so as not to leave room for the
drowned man. But they still felt the shreds of Camille, which were ignobly
squeezed between them, freezing their skins in parts, whilst in others they were
burning hot.
Their kisses were frightfully cruel. Therese sought the bite that Camille had
given in the stiff, swollen neck of Laurent, and passionately pressed her lips
to it. There was the raw sore; this wound once healed, and the murderers would
sleep in peace. The young woman understood this, and she endeavoured to
cauterise the bad place with the fire of her caresses. But she scorched her
lips, and Laurent thrust her violently away, giving a dismal groan. It seemed to
him that she was pressing a red-hot iron to his neck. Therese, half mad, came
back. She wanted to kiss the scar again. She experienced a keenly voluptuous
sensation in placing her mouth on this piece of skin wherein Camille had buried
his teeth.
At one moment she thought of biting her husband in the same place, of tearing
away a large piece of flesh, of making a fresh and deeper wound, that would
remove the trace of the old one. And she said to herself that she would no more
turn pale when she saw the marks of her own teeth. But Laurent shielded his neck
from her kisses. The smarting pain he experienced was too acute, and each time
his wife presented her lips, he pushed her back. They struggled in this manner
with a rattling in their throats, writhing in the horror of their caresses.
They distinctly felt that they only increased their suffering. They might
well strain one another in these terrible clasps, they cried out with pain, they
burnt and bruised each other, but were unable to calm their frightfully excited
nerves. Each strain rendered their disgust more intense. While exchanging these
ghastly embraces, they were a prey to the most terrible hallucinations,
imagining that the drowned man was dragging them by the heels, and violently
jerking the bedstead.
For a moment they let one another go, feeling repugnance and invincible
nervous agitation. Then they determined not to be conquered. They clasped each
other again in a fresh embrace, and once more were obliged to separate, for it
seemed as if red-hot bradawls were entering their limbs. At several intervals
they attempted in this way to overcome their disgust, by tiring, by wearing out
their nerves. And each time their nerves became irritated and strained, causing
them such exasperation, that they would perhaps have died of enervation had they
remained in the arms of one another. This battle against their own bodies
excited them to madness, and they obstinately sought to gain the victory.
Finally, a more acute crisis exhausted them. They received a shock of such
incredible violence that they thought they were about to have a fit.
Cast back one on each side of the bed, burning and bruised, they began to
sob. And amidst their tears, they seemed to hear the triumphant laughter of the
drowned man, who again slid, chuckling, under the sheet. They had been unable to
drive him from the bed and were vanquished. Camille gently stretched himself
between them, whilst Laurent deplored his want of power to thrust him away, and
Therese trembled lest the corpse should have the idea of taking advantage of the
victory to press her, in his turn, in his arms, in the quality of legitimate
master.
They had made a supreme effort. In face of their defeat, they understood
that, in future, they dared not exchange the smallest kiss. What they had
attempted, in order to drive away their terror, had plunged them into greater
fright. And, as they felt the chill of the corpse, which was now to separate
them for ever, they shed bitter tears, asking themselves, with anguish, what
would become of them.