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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
tired。 But man is so made that he can only find relaxation from one kind of
labour by taking up another。 The flowers and insects will give me that
relaxation； with God's will； after my long researches in philology and
diplomatics。 How full of meaning is that old myth of Antaeus！ I have
touched the Earth and I am a new man； and now at seventy years of age；
new feelings of curiosity take birth in my mind； even as young shoots
sometimes spring up from the hollow trunk of an aged oak！〃
June 4。
I like to look out of my window at the Seine and its quays on those
soft grey mornings which give such an infinite tenderness of tint to
everything。 I have seen that azure sky which flings so luminous a calm
over the Bay of Naples。 But our Parisian sky is more animated； more
kindly； more spiritual。 It smiles； threatens； caressestakes an aspect of
melancholy or a look of merriment like a human gaze。 At this moment it is
pouring down a very gentle light on the men and beasts of the city as they
accomplish their daily tasks。 Over there； on the opposite bank； the
stevedores of the Port Saint…Nicholas are unloading a cargo of cow's horns；
while two men standing on a gangway are tossing sugar…loaves from one
to the other； and thence to somebody in the hold of a steamer。 On the north
quay； the cab…horses； standing in a line under the shade of the plane…trees
each with its head in a nose…bag； are quietly munching their oats； while the
rubicund drivers are drinking at the counter of the wine…seller opposite；
but all the while keeping a sharp lookout for early customers。
The dealers in second…hand books put their boxes on the parapet。
These good retailers of Mind； who are always in the open air； with blouses
loose to the breeze； have become so weatherbeaten by the wind； the rain；
the frost； the snow； the fog； and the great sun； that they end by looking
very much like the old statues of cathedrals。 They are all friends of mine；
and I scarcely ever pass by their boxes without picking out of one of them
some old book which I had always been in need of up to that very moment；
without any suspicion of the fact on my part。
Then on my return home I have to endure the outcries of my
housekeeper； who accuses me of bursting all my pockets and filling the
house with waste paper to attract the rats。 Therese is wise about that； and it
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
is because she is wise that I do not listen to her； for in spite of my tranquil
mien； I have always preferred the folly of the passions to the wisdom of
indifference。 But just because my own passions are not of that sort which
burst out with violence to devastate and kill； the common mind is not
aware of their existence。 Nevertheless； I am greatly moved by them at
times； and it has more than once been my fate to lose my sleep for the sake
of a few pages written by some forgotten monk or printed by some humble
apprentice of Peter Schaeffer。 And if these fierce enthusiasms are slowly
being quenched in me； it is only because I am being slowly quenched
myself。 Our passions are ourselves。 My old books are Me。 I am just as old
and thumb…worn as they are。
A light breeze sweeps away； along with the dust of the pavements； the
winged seeds of the plane trees； and the fragments of hay dropped from
the mouths of the horses。 The dust is nothing remarkable in itself； but as I
watch it flying； I remember a moment in my childhood when I watched
just such a swirl of dust； and my old Parisian soul is much affected by that
sudden recollection。 All that I see from my windowthat horizon which
extends to the left as far as the hills of Chaillot； and enables me to
distinguish the Arc de Triomphe like a die of stone； the Seine； river of
glory； and its bridges； the ash…trees of the terrace of the Tuileries； the
Louvre of the Renaissance； cut and graven like goldsmithwork； and on my
right； towards the Pont…Neuf （pons Lutetiae Novus dictus； as it is named
on old engravings）； all the old and venerable part of Paris； with its towers
and spires：all that is my life； it is myself； and I should be nothing but for
all those things which are thus reflected in me through my thousand
varying shades of thought； inspiring me and animating me。 That is why I
love Paris with an immense love。
And nevertheless I am weary； and I know that there can be no rest for
me in the heart of this great city which thinks so much； which has taught
me to think； and which for ever urges me to think more。 And how avoid
being exited among all these books which incessantly tempt my curiosity
without ever satisfying it？ At one moment it is a date I have to look for； at
another it is the name of a place I have to make sure of； or some quaint
term of which it is important to determine the exact meaning。 Words？
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The Crime of Sylvestre Bonnard
why； yes！ words。 As a philologist； I am their sovereign； they aer my
subjects； and； like a good king； I devote my whole life to them。 But shall I
not be able to abdicate some day？ I have an idea that there is somewhere
or other； quite far from here； a certain little cottage where I could enjoy the
quiet I so much need； while awaiting that day in which a greater quiet
that which can be never brokenshall come to wrap me all about。 I dream
of a bench before the threshold； and of fields spreading away out of sight。
But I must have a fresh smiling young face beside me； to reflect and
concentrate all that freshness of nature。 I could then imagine myself a
grandfather； and all the long void of my life would be filled。。。。
I am not a violent man； and yet I become easily vexed； and all my
works have caused me quite as much pain as pleasure。 And I do not know
how it is that I still keep thinking about that very conceited and very
inconsiderated impertinence which my young friend of the Luxembourg
took the liberty to utter about me some three months ago。 I do not call him
〃friend〃 in irony； for I love studious youth with all it temerities and
imaginative eccentricities。 Still； my young friend certainly went beyond all
bounds。 Master Ambroise Pare； who was the first to attempt the ligature of
arteries； and who； having commenced his profession at a time when
surgery was only performed by quack barbers； nevertheless succeeded in
lifting the science to the high place it now occupies； was assailed in his old
age by all the young sawbones' apprentices。 Being grossly abused during a
discussion by some young addlehead who might have been the best son in
the world； but who certainly lacked all sense of respect； the old master
answered him in his treatise De la Mumie； de la Licorne； des Venins et de
la Peste。 〃I pray him；〃 said the great man〃I pray him； that if he desire to
make any contradictions to my reply； he abandon all animosities； and treat
the good old man with gentleness。〃 This answer seems admirab