They
seemed nothing more now than the purely subjective, impotent, illusory
creatures of my temperament. They were in no way connected now with
nature, with the world of real things, which from now onwards lost all its
charm and significance, and meant no more to my life than a purely
conventional framework, just as the action of a novel is framed in the
railway carriage, on a seat of which a traveller is reading it to pass the
time.
And it is perhaps from another impression which I received at
Mont-jouvain, some years later, an impression which at that time was
without meaning, that there arose, long afterwards, my idea of that cruel
side of human passion called 'sadism.' We shall see, in due course, that
for quite another reason the memory of this impression was to play an
important part in my life. It was during a spell of very hot weather; my
parents, who had been obliged to go away for the whole day, had told me
that I might stay out as late as I pleased; and having gone as far as the
Montjouvain pond, where I enjoyed seeing again the reflection of the tiled
roof of the hut, I had lain down in the shade and gone to sleep among the
bushes on the steep slope that rose up behind the house, just where I had
waited for my parents, years before, one day when they had gone to call on
M.
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