"There are women whose natural singleness of heart and sincerity are such
that they could not have two lovers at the same time. You believed your
mistress such a one; that is best, I admit. You have discovered that she
has deceived you; does that oblige you to despise and to abuse her, to
believe her deserving of your hatred?
"Even if your mistress had never deceived you, even if at this moment she
loved none other than you, think, Octave, how far her love would still be
from perfection, how human it would be, how small, how restrained by the
hypocrisies and conventionalities of the world; remember that another man
possessed her before you, that many others will possess her after you.
"Reflect: what drives you at this moment to despair is the idea of
perfection in your mistress, the idea that has been shattered. But when
you understand that the first idea itself was human, small and
restricted, you will see that it is little more than a round in the
rotten ladder of human imperfection.
"I think you will readily admit that your mistress has had other admirers
and that she will have still others in the future; you will doubtless
reply that it matters little, so long as she loved you. But I ask you,
since she has had others, what difference does it make whether it was
yesterday or two years ago? Since she loves but one at a time what does
it matter whether it is during an interval of two years or the course of
a single night? Are you a man, Octave? Do you see the leaves falling from
the trees, the sun rising and setting? Do you hear the ticking of the
clock of time with each pulsation of your heart? Is there, then, such a
difference between the love of a year and the love of an hour? I
challenge you to answer that, you fool, as you sit there looking out at
the infinite through a window not larger than your hand.
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