Rock Island daily Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1886-1893, 1890-01-04
WHY HE MARRIED.

You cannot understand it, my friendl And
l can easily conceive that you cannot. You
think that l am going madl Perhaps may
be, little, but not for the reasons that you
suppose.
Yes, / am about to marry.
And yet my ideas and convictions have not
changed l consider the legal union an alb
surdity. l am convinced that eight mar
riages in ten are failures. Less than ever do
feel myself capable of faithfully loving one
woman-I shall always love all the others
too well.
would have a thousand lips, a thousand
arms. that might embrace at once an army
of the charming creatures.
And yet l am about to marry
L may add that l have but a slight ac-
quaintance with my wife of tomorrow
know that she is not displeasiug to me, and
that is sufficient for my purpose.
She is petite, blonde and plump. But next
week shall long for a woman who is tall.
dark and thin.
She is not rich. She does not belong to a
| family rank. She is one of those girls to be
found by the gross in the middle classes, good
girls to marry, with neither virtues nor
faults.
People say of her: Miss So-and-So is very
pretty" They will say of her tomorrow:
''She is extremely pretty, that Mrs. BlankY''
Why, then, do marry, you askl
scarcely dare avow to you the strange
and incredible reason which impels me to this
senseless act
/ marry that l may not be alone
know not how to say it, how to make my
self understood. You would pity me and de-
spise me, so deplorable is my state of mind
do not want to be alone at night. want
to feel human being near me, beside me-a
being which can speak, say something, no
matter what.
Some one whom can waken from slumber
and question abruptly-any foolish question
only to hear a voice, to feel that nv rooms
are inhabited, to feel a consciousness on the
alert, reason at work, to see on suddenly
| lighting my candle, a human form at my
acknowledgements is hard to ac-
knowledge it-bccause, alone, 1 am afraid.
OH you do not yet comprehend me-
am not afraid of danger. If a burglar
entered my room, would kill him without a
tremor. / am not afraid of ghosts. do not
believe in the supernatural. am not afraid
of the dead. believe in the total annihila-
ton of every being which disappears
Well, / am afraid of myself! | am afraid
| of fear, afraid of my warning intellect, afraid
| of this horrible sensation of incomprehensible
terror. Laugh, if you will 1t is frightful,
incurable. ! am afraid of the walls. Of the
| furniture, Of the familiar objects which be-
| come instinct for me with sort Of animal
life. ] am afraid, above all, of the horrible
agitation OF my thoughts, of my senses, which
! escape me in confusion, scattered by nv an
| guish, mysterious and indefinable.
L experience, first, a vague inquietude
which penetrates TO my very soul and causes
shudder to run through me Hook around
me. Nothingl And l desire that there
should be something WHAT Something
comprehensiblel For 1 am afraid solely be-
cause l cannot comprehend my fear
speak. l am afraid Of my voice. walk
| am afraid of the unknown behind the door
behind the curtains, in the closet. under the
bed. And vet know that there is nothing
turn suddenly, afraid of what is behind
me-though there is nothing there, and
know it. / grow agitated, l feel my terror
increase, and lock myself in my chamber
and plungeinto bed and hide under the cover
erings, and, covering there, rolled up like g
ball, / close my eyes in desperation, and re
main thus for an endless time, knowing that
my candle, left burning on my night table
Is 1t not frightful to be thusi
Formerly, Experienced nothing of all that
| entered calmly. l went and came in my
rooms, with nothing to disturb the serenity
Of my mind. If any one had told me ther
what a malady of fear-incredible, foolish
and terrible-would one day possess me,
should have laughed heartily. opened tn,
doors in the dark with assurance. undressed
slowly, without pushing the bolts, and never
arose In the middle of the night to make sure
that the doors and windows were securely
| fastened
| 1t began last year in a singular manner. II
was on damp autumn night.
1t was dreary everywhere. The wet side
walks glistened. A moist warmth, Of the sort
which freezes you with sudden chills-an op
pressive warmth of fine, impalpable rain en-
velopsd the street and seemed to lessen and
obscure the flame Of the gas. walked slow
| lY, repeating to myself as went: Il shall
find no one to talk to-"
For blocks and blocks searched the cafes
The tired looking men sitting at the table,
appeared too hstless to finish their repasts
wandered about thus for some time, and
toward midnight started homeward. / was
calm but very tired.
Ny concierge, who retires before IL o'clock
opened the door Tor me at once, contrary tx
his usual habit. l thought: Doubtless an
other lodger has just gone up.n
On going out always double lock my door
found it simply latched, a fact which STRUCK
me. / supposed letters had been sent UP
during the evening. Ientered The fire wa
still burning and family llumined the apart
ment. took a candle, intending to light il
at the fire, when, turning my eyes in that
| direction, saw some one sitting in the arm
chair, with feet to the fire and back toward
| me-
was not afraid. Oh, no, not the least in
the world. Probably it was one of my friends
| who had called to see me- The concierge, in
formed by me on my going out, had told him
/ would return, and given him a pass key
And instantly the circumstances of my re
turn recurred to my mind-the cord pulled
without delay the door on the latch.
My friend had fallen asleep while waiting
| for me.
/ saw him distinctly; an arm hanging
| down on the right, his feet crossed one ovel
the other, his head leaning over n little tc
| the left side of the chair-unmistakable evi
dence of slumber.
"Who is itf' asked myself
1t was impossible to see clearly in the din
light ] reached out my hand to touch him
| on the shoulderf / encountered ths
wood of the chairl There was no longer any
| 0na flaora The