“I have lived an evil life, sir; this is the reason. I was born of Protestant parents in the Mountain of Wartburg, that same one where Luther, more than three centuries ago, taught his evil doctrine. I spent my youth in piety, and led a noble and austere life. But from my fourteenth year I could not look at a woman without being assailed by terrible desire. I curbed it, after fierce struggles which left me in the morning with a forehead bathed in sweat and trembling face. I thought I could remain pure by living without love, mad that I was, and blind to my own interests. To remain pure I would have killed myself with my own hand before committing any sin. Those who have not experienced nightly combats between religious duty and the frantic desires of the body have not known sorrow. I struggled thus for a shadow, and now I know that I struggled against God. And later I got married, sir, but married only in the eyes of the world. The woman and I had sworn only to unite our souls. That was how, little by little, I was damned for my fault of lying every day to the law of life; and afterwards there was not time for me to follow the path I had missed in my youth. Ah! cursed be virgins! for the love they have repulsed during their brief existence will justly be their punishment in their future state.” He seized me by the arm. “Listen! The sun is sinking. Now is the time. Every evening I come here, and sweetly the Goddess sings. She calls me from afar; she attracts me. I come just as at the day of my death, at the day of my fall into the Venushoehle. Ah! do not say a word. She is about to speak to us.” I do not know whether it was these last few words, the man’s expression, or the grasp of his hand which persuaded me that he was speaking truly--but tremors ran through me and I listened. I expected, not as an accident, but with the absolute exactness of prevision, the event predicted by the madman. I can only compare my state of mind to that of a traveller who, after seeing the lightning, and knowing how far the storm is, waits for the thunder. The time which separated me from the prodigy decreased first by a quarter, then a half, then three-quarters, and at the precise moment which I had anticipated as the end of my waiting, _a breath of perfumes carried up to us the languishing echo of a ... Voice_! * * * * * Here ends the Book of Seven Stories by Pierre Louÿs. _Explicit Laus Veneris._ _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London and Bungay._ * * * * * Transcriber’s note: Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Other variations in spelling and punctuation remain unchanged.