Madame Chrysantheme

Madame Chrysantheme, by
Pierre Loti

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Title: Madame Chrysantheme
Author: Pierre Loti
Release Date: March 12, 2005 [EBook #15335]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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MADAME CHRYSANTHEME

By PIERRE LOTI
TRANSLATED BY LAURA ENSOR
THE MODERN LIBRARY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Manufactured in the United States of America Bound for THE
MODERN LIBRARY by H. Wolff

TO MADAME LA DUCHESSE DE RICHELIEU.
Madame La Duchesse,
Allow me to crave your acceptance of the following work, as a
respectful tribute of my attachment.
I felt some hesitation in offering it, for its main incident cannot be
deemed altogether proper; but I have striven that in its expression at
least, it should not sin against good taste, and I trust that my
endeavours have been successful.
It is the diary of a summer of my life, in which I have changed nothing,
not even the dates, thinking as I do, that in our efforts to arrange
matters we often only succeed in disarranging them. Although the most
important rôle may appear to devolve on Madame Chrysantheme, it is
very certain that the three principal personages are myself, Japan, and
the effect produced on me by that country.
Do you remember a certain photograph--rather ridiculous I must
admit--representing that big fellow Yves, a Japanese girl and myself,
grouped closely together as we were placed side by side by a Nagasaki
artist? You smiled when I assured you that the carefully combed little
creature placed between us two, had been one of our neighbours.
Kindly welcome my book with the same indulgent smile, without

seeking therein a meaning either good or bad, in the same spirit that
you would receive some quaint bit of pottery, some grotesquely carved
ivory idol, or some preposterous trifle brought back for you from this
singular fatherland of all preposterousness.
Believe me with the deepest respect, Madame la Duchesse,
Your affectionate
PIERRE LOTI.

INTRODUCTION
At sea, about two o'clock in the morning, on a clear night, under a
star-lit sky.
Yves stood near me on the bridge, and we were talking of the country,
so utterly unknown to us both, to which the chances of our destiny were
now wafting us. As we were to cast anchor the following day, we
enjoyed the state of expectation, and formed a thousand plans.
"As for me," I said, "I shall at once marry."
"Ah!" returned Yves, with the indifferent air of a man whom nothing
can surprise.
"Yes--I shall choose a little yellow-skinned woman with black hair and
cat's eyes. She must be pretty. Not much bigger than a doll. You shall
have a room in our house. A little paper house, in the midst of green
gardens, prettily shaded. We shall live among flowers, everything
around us shall blossom, and each morning our dwelling shall be filled
with nosegays, nosegays such as you have never dreamt of."
Yves now began to take an interest in these plans for my future
household; indeed, he would have listened with as much confidence, if
I had manifested the intention of taking temporary vows in some
monastery of this new country, or of marrying some island queen and

shutting myself up with her in a house built of jade, in the middle of an
enchanted lake.
In reality I had quite made up my mind to carry out the scheme I had
unfolded to him. Yes, actually, led on by ennui and solitude, I had
gradually arrived at dreaming of and looking forward to this absurd
marriage. And then, above all, to live for awhile on land, in some shady
nook, amid trees and flowers. How tempting it sounded after the long
months we had been wasting at the Pescadores (hot and arid islands,
devoid of freshness, woods, or streamlets, full of faint odors of China
and of death).
We had made great way in latitude, since our vessel had quitted that
Chinese furnace, and the constellations in the sky had undergone a
series of rapid changes; the Southern Cross had disappeared at the same
time as the other austral stars; and the Great Bear rising on the horizon,
was almost on as high a level as it is in the French sky. The fresh
evening breeze soothed and revived us, bringing back to us the memory
of our summer night watches on