abominations of the honeymoon. They do not dare to undeceive their
neighbor. And I did the same.

"The felicities of the honeymoon do not exist. On the contrary, it is a
period of uneasiness, of shame, of pity, and, above all, of ennui,--of
ferocious ennui. It is something like the feeling of a youth when he is
beginning to smoke. He desires to vomit; he drivels, and swallows his
drivel, pretending to enjoy this little amusement. The vice of marriage
. . ."

"What! Vice?" I said. "But you are talking of one of the most natural
things."

"Natural!" said he. "Natural! No, I consider on the contrary that it
is against nature, and it is I, a perverted man, who have reached this
conviction. What would it be, then, if I had not known corruption? To
a young girl, to every unperverted young girl, it is an act extremely
unnatural, just as it is to children. My sister married, when very
young, a man twice her own age, and who was utterly corrupt. I remember
how astonished we were the night of her wedding, when, pale and covered
with tears, she fled from her husband, her whole body trembling, saying
that for nothing in the world would she tell what he wanted of her.

"You say natural? It is natural to eat; that is a pleasant, agreeable
function, which no one is ashamed to perform from the time of his birth.
No, it is not natural. A pure young girl wants one thing,--children.
Children, yes, not a lover." . . .

"But," said I, with astonishment, "how would the human race continue?"