IV
Three years ago I had not the grey hairs that you now see, and was thirty-seven years of age, though I felt but twenty-two. I do not know precisely when my youth passed from me, and it is hard for me to realize that it has reached its end. People have told you that I was one of the gadabouts of passion. That is false. I respected Love and I never degraded her. Scarcely ever have I caressed a woman whom I did not passionately love. If I were to name or number these loves to you you would be surprised for they were but a few. I easily remember that I have never loved a blonde. I have always ignored those pale objects of worship. What is furthermore true, is that, for me, love has not been a mere pleasure or pastime. It has been my very life. If I were to take out of my life all the thoug
