This sublimeness combines with their abjection to overwhelm
them and raise them up. Whether they will or not,
the inextinguishable does not become extinguished. Illusion
is untamable. Nothing is more invincible than
dreams, and man is almost made up of dreams. Nature
will not agree to be insolvable. One must contemplate,
aspire, love. If need be marble will set the example. The
statue becomes a woman rather than the woman a statue.

The sewer is a sanctuary in spite of itself. It is
unhealthy, there is vitiated air in it, but the irresistible
phenomenon is none the less accomplished; all the holy
generosities bloom livid in this cave. Cynicism and the
secret despair of pity are driven back by ecstasy, the
magnificences of kindness shine through infamy; this orphan
creature feels herself to be wife, sister, mother; and this
fraternity which has no family, and this maternity which
has no children, and this adoration which has no altar, she
casts into the outer darkness. Some one marries her.
Who? The man in the gloom. She sees on her finger the
ring made of the mysterious gold of dreams. And she
sobs. Torrents of tears well from her eyes. Sombre delights!

And at the same time, let us repeat it, she suffers
unheard-of tortures. She does not belong to him to whom
she has given herself. Everybody takes her away again.
The brutal public hand holds the wretched creature and
will not let her go. She fain would flee. Flee whither?
From whom? From you, herself, above all from him whom
she loves, the funereal ideal man. She cannot.