"And now, will you, in your turn, ask me 'What is this woman?' Do I
know myself? And besides, what difference does it make? What does her
past and the mystery of her origin matter to me; what does it matter
whether she is the true descendant of the god of the sea and the
sublime Lagides or the bastard of a Polish drunkard and a harlot of
the Marbeuf quarter?
"At the time when I was foolish enough to be jealous of Morhange,
these questions might have made some difference to the ridiculous
self-esteem that civilized people mix up with passion. But I have held
Antinea's body in my arms. I no longer wish to know any other, nor if
the fields are in blossom, nor what will become of the human
spirit....
"I do not wish to know. Or, rather, it is because I have too exact a
vision of that future, that I pretend to destroy myself in the only
destiny that is worth while: a nature unfathomed and virgin, a
mysterious love.
"A nature unfathomed and virgin. I must explain myself. One winter
day, in a large city all streaked with the soot that falls from black
chimneys of factories and of those horrible houses in the suburbs, I
attended a funeral.
"We followed the hearse in the mud. The church was new, damp and poor.
Aside from two or three people, relatives struck down by a dull
sorrow, everyone had just one idea: to find some pretext to get away.
Those who went as far as the cemetery were those who did not find an
excuse. I see the gray walls and the cypresses, those trees of sun and
shade, so beautiful in the country of southern France against the low
purple hills. I see the horrible undertaker's men in greasy jackets
and shiny top hats. I see.... No, I'll stop; it's too horrible.
"Near the wall, in a remote plot, a grave had been dug in frightful
yellow pebbly clay. It was there that they left the dead man whose
name I no longer remember.
"While they were lowering the casket, I looked at my hands, those
hands which in that strangely lighted country had pressed the hands of
Antinea. A great pity for my body seized me, a great fear of what
threatened it in these cities of mud. 'So,' I said to myself, 'it may
be that this body, this dear body, will come to such an end! No, no,
my body, precious above all other treasures, I swear to you that I
will spare you that ignominy; you shall not rot under a registered
number in the filth of a suburban cemetery. Your brothers in love, the
fifty knights of orichalch, await you, mute and grave, in the red
marble hall. I shall take you back to them.' "A mysterious love. Shame to him who retails the secrets of his loves. The Sahara lays its impassable barrier about Antinea; that is
why the most unreasonable requirements of this woman are, in reality,
more modest and chaste than your marriage will be, with its vulgar
public show, the bans, the invitations, the announcements telling an
evil-minded and joking people that after such and such an hour, on
such and such a day, you will have the right to violate your little
tupenny virgin.