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unfinished fragments, as if everything that one says you knew already,
recalled it, and could supply the omissions. Well, he, with his music,
was the cause of all.
"At the trial the affair was so represented that everything seemed
attributable to jealousy. It is false,--that is, not quite false, but
there was something else. The verdict was rendered that I was a deceived
husband, that I had killed in defence of my sullied honor (that is the
way they put it in their language), and thus I was acquitted. I tried to
explain the affair from my own point of view, but they concluded that I
simply wanted to rehabilitate the memory of my wife. Her relations with
the musician, whatever they may have been, are now of no importance
to me or to her. The important part is what I have told you. The whole
tragedy was due to the fact that this man came into our house at a time
when an immense abyss had already been dug between us, that frightful
tension of mutual hatred, in which the slightest motive sufficed to
precipitate the crisis. Our quarrels in the last days were something
terrible, and the more astonishing because they were followed by a
brutal passion extremely strained. If it had not been he, some other
would have come. If the pretext had not been jealousy, I should have
discovered another. I insist upon this point,--that all husbands
who live the married life that I lived must either resort to outside
debauchery, or separate from their wives, or kill themselves, or kill
their wives as I did. If there is any one in my case to whom this does
not happen, he is a very rare exception, for, before ending as I ended,
I was several times on the point of suicide, and my wife made several
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