The French Lieutenant’s Woman


They’ll fire me for immorality. They’ll think I’m a whore. You are.

May I accompany you? Since we walk in the same direction. I prefer to walk alone.

– May I introduce myself?

– I know who you are.

– Ah. Then…

– Kindly allow me to go on my way alone.

– My dear Miss Woodruff…

– I am weak. How should I not know it?

I have sinned. You cannot imagine my suffering. My only happiness is when I sleep. When I wake, the nightmare begins. This is…

Why am I born what I am? I beg of you. You are my only hope.

When we know more of the living, it will be time to pursue the dead.

A German doctor called Hartmann has divided melancholia into various types. One he calls “natural”, by which he means that one is born with a… a sad temperament.

Another he calls “occasional”… By which he means springing from an occasion.

And the third class he calls “obscure melancholia”… By which he really means, poor man, he doesn’t know what the devil caused it.

– But she had an occasion, did she not?

– Oh, come now.

She belongs to the third class: Obscure melancholia.

She was working as a seamstress, living by herself… Well, hardly living. Weeping without reason, unable to sleep, unable to talk. Melancholia as plain as the pox.

I could see there was only one cure. To get her away from this place. But no, she wouldn’t have it. She goes to a house that she knows is a living misery… To a mistress that sees no difference between a servant and a slave.

– And she will not be moved.

– But it’s… incomprehensible.

Not at all. Hartmann has something very interesting to say… about one of his patients. “It was as if her torture had become her delight.”

And she has confided the true state of her mind to no one?

– She has not.

– But if she did?

I mean, if she could bring herself… to speak? She would be cured. But she does not want to be cured. But, after he had gone… My loneliness was so deep… I felt I would drown in it. I am not in full command of my emotions. What is worse, I have fallen in love with being a victim of fate. Now that I know there was truly a day upon which you loved me… I can bear anything. You have given me the strength to live.

You told me you loved me. You showed me your love.

Answer me!

There was madness in me… at that time. A bitterness, an envy. I forced myself on you, knowing that you had other obligations. It was unworthy!

I saw after you had gone that I had to destroy what had begun between us! Are you saying that you never loved me?

– I could not say that.

– But you <i>must</i> say that!

You must say “I am totally evil.”

“I used him as an instrument.”

“I do not care that in all this time, he hasn’t seen a woman to compare with me, that his life has been

a desert without me, that he sacrificed everything for me.”

You ruined my life and took pleasure in doing so!

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