I loved Marcelle without mourning her.
If she died, then it was my fault.
If l had nightmares,
If l sometimes locked myself up in a cellar
For hours at a time precisely because
I was thinking about Marcelle, I would
Nevertheless still be prepared to start all over again,
For instance by ducking her hair, head down,
In a toilet bowl. But since she is dead,
I have nothing left but certain catastrophes
That bring me to her at times when I least expect it.
Otherwise, I cannot possibly perceive the least
Kinship now between the dead girl and myself,
Which makes most of my days inevitably dreary.
I will merely report here that Marcelle hanged
Herself after a dreadful incident.
She recognized the huge bridal wardrobe,
And her teeth started chattering: she instantly
Realized upon looking at me that
I was the man she called the Cardinal,
And when she began shrieking, there was no other way
For me to stop that desperate howling than to leave the room.
By the time Simone and I returned she was hanging inside the wardrobe