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But ha! what am I saying? my thoughts have carried me beyond the
humility of my real hopes. Believe me, believe in the submission,
the patience, the mute adoration which I only ask you not to wound
uselessly. I know, Beatrix, that you cannot love me without the
loss of your self-esteem; therefore I ask for no return. Camille
once said there was some hidden fatality in names, /a propos/ of
hers. That fatality I felt for myself on the jetty of Guerande,
when I read on the shores of the ocean your name. Yes, you will
pass through my life as Beatrice passed through that of Dante. My
heart will be a pedestal for that white statue, cold, distant,
jealous, and oppressive.
It is forbidden to you to love me; I know that. You will suffer a
thousand deaths, you will be betrayed, humiliated, unhappy; but
you have in you a devil's pride, which binds you to that column
you have once embraced,--you are like Samson, you will perish by
holding to it. But this I have not divined; my love is too blind
for that; Camille has told it to me.


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