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20 THE CONFESSION OF A FOOL
shock. She was dressed in a white piqué dress, richly
embroidered, the masterpiece of a Russian serf ; her chain,
brooches and bangles of alabaster seemed to throw a soft
light over her, like lamplight falling through an opalescent
globe. The broad green leaves threw death-like hues on
her pale face, with its shining coal-black eyes.
I was shaken, utterly confused, as if I were gazing at
a vision. The instinct of worship, latent in my heart,
awoke, and with it the desire to proclaim my adoration.
The void which had once been filled by religion ached no
longer ; the yearning to adore had reappeared under a new
form. God was deposed, but His place was taken by
woman, woman who was both virgin and mother ; when
I looked at the little girl by her side, I could not under-
stand how that birth had been possible, for the relation-
ship between her and her husband seemed to put all sexual
intercourse out of the question ; their union appeared
essentially spiritual. Henceforth this woman represented
to me a soul incarnate, a soul pure and unapproachable,
clothed with one of those radiant bodies which, according
to the Scriptures, clothe the souls of the dead. I wor-
shipped her—I could not help worshipping her. I wor-
shipped her just as she was, as she appeared to me at that
moment, as mother and wife ; wife of a particular hus-
band, mother of a particular child. Without her husband
my longing to worship could not have been satisfied, for,
I said to myself, she would then be a widow, and should
I still worship her as such ? Perhaps if she were mine
—
my wife ? . . . No ! the thought was unthinkable. And,
moreover, married to me, she would no longer be the
wife of this particular man, the mother of this particular
child, the mistress of this particular house. Such as she
was I adored her, I would not have her otherwise.
Was it because of the melancholy recollections which
the house always awakened in me, or was it because of
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