You ask me why I consented to a marriage with such a man? I
do not know the answer myself. Perhaps my vanity was satiated by his obvious
admiration of my musicality or my youthful beauty. The many afternoons he spent
in my mother’s parlor offering such effusive praises of my concertos and arpeggios
told me he had a remarkably fine taste in music, a commonality we shared. Maybe
it was an inner thirst to explore the rest of the world, which his rank and
wealth would allow. My naiveté and ignorance would have been done away with by
his knowledge and experience of the world. Another possibility could be that
the allurements of materialism, the jewels, fine clothing, and castle by the
ocean, were too much to be resisted. No, I did not love him, and I gradually
found myself repelled by his coarse and disgusting manners. But I was also
interested by the mystery of his stoic composure. When
my eyes were opened to his true nature, I realized that all my reasons for
entering marriage with him were idealistic and insubstantial.
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