Manon Lescaut | Page 6

I was preparing to return to my father,
who had promised to send me soon to the Academy.
"My only regret on quitting Amiens arose from parting with a friend,
some years older than myself, to whom I had always been tenderly
attached. We had been brought up together; but from the straitened
circumstances of his family, he was intended to take orders, and was to
remain after me at Amiens to complete the requisite studies for his
sacred calling. He had a thousand good qualities. You will recognise in
him the very best during the course of my history, and above all, a zeal
and fervour of friendship which surpass the most illustrious examples
of antiquity. If I had at that time followed his advice, I should have
always continued a discreet and happy man. If I had even taken counsel
from his reproaches, when on the brink of that gulf into which my
passions afterwards plunged me, I should have been spared the

melancholy wreck of both fortune and reputation. But he was doomed
to see his friendly admonitions disregarded; nay, even at times repaid
by contempt from an ungrateful wretch, who often dared to treat his
fraternal conduct as offensive and officious.
"I had fixed the day for my departure from Amiens. Alas! that I had not
fixed it one day sooner! I should then have carried to my father's house
my innocence untarnished.
"The very evening before my expected departure, as I was walking with
my friend, whose name was Tiberge, we saw the Arras diligence arrive,
and sauntered after it to the inn, at which these coaches stop. We had
no other motive than curiosity. Some worn men alighted, and
immediately retired into the inn. One remained behind: she was very
young, and stood by herself in the court, while a man of advanced age,
who appeared to have charge of her, was busy in getting her luggage
from the vehicle. She struck me as being so extremely beautiful, that I,
who had never before thought of the difference between the sexes, or
looked on woman with the slightest attention--I, whose conduct had
been hitherto the theme of universal admiration, felt myself, on the
instant, deprived of my reason and self-control. I had been always
excessively timid, and easily disconcerted; but now, instead of meeting
with any impediment from this weakness, I advanced without the
slightest reserve towards her, who had thus become, in a moment, the
mistress of my heart.
"Although younger than myself, she received my civilities without
embarrassment. I asked the cause of her journey to Amiens, and
whether she had any acquaintances in the town. She ingenuously told
me that she had been sent there by her parents, to commence her
novitiate for taking the veil. Love had so quickened my perception,
even in the short moment it had been enthroned, that I saw in this
announcement a death-blow to my hopes. I spoke to her in a way that
made her at once understand what was passing in my mind; for she had
more experience than myself. It was against her consent that she was
consigned to a convent, doubtless to repress that inclination for
pleasure which had already become too manifest, and which caused, in
the sequel, all her misfortunes and mine. I combated the cruel intention
of her parents with all the arguments that my new-born passion and
schoolboy eloquence could suggest. She affected neither austerity nor

reserve. She told me, after a moment's silence, that she foresaw too
clearly, what her unhappy fate must be; but that it was, apparently, the
will of Heaven, since there were no means left her to avert it. The
sweetness of her look, the air of sorrow with which she pronounced
these words, or rather perhaps the controlling destiny which led me on
to ruin, allowed me not an instant to weigh my answer. I assured her
that if she would place reliance on my honour, and on the tender
interest with which she had already inspired me, I would sacrifice my
life to deliver her from the tyranny of her parents, and to render her
happy. I have since been a thousand times astonished in reflecting upon
it, to think how I could have expressed myself with so much boldness
and facility; but love could never have become a divinity, if he had not
often worked miracles.
"I made many other pressing and tender speeches; and my unknown
fair one was perfectly aware that mine was not the age for deceit. She
confessed to me that if I could see but a reasonable hope of being able
to effect her enfranchisement, she should deem herself indebted for my
kindness in more than life itself could pay. I repeated that I was ready