“Not to love or to die: that is the choice God has given me. What have I done to deserve punishment?”
And fragments of sacred verses occurred to her that she had heard quoted in her childhood. She had not thought of them for seven years. But they returned, one after the other, with an implacable precision, to apply to her life and predict her penalty.
She murmured:
“It is written:
I remember thy love when thou wast young.
For of old thou hast broken thy yoke.
And burst thy bonds;
And thou hast said: I will no longer serve.
But upon every high hill,
And under every green tree,
Thou hast wandered, playing the harlot. [[1]]
“It is written:
I will follow after my lovers,
Who give me my bread and my wine,
And my wool and my flax,
And my oil and my wine. [[2]]
“It is written:
How canst thou say: I am not polluted?
See thy way in the valley,
Know what thou hast done,
O thou dromedary traversing her ways,
O thou wild ass,
Panting and ever lustful,
Who could prevent thee from satisfying thy desire? [[3]]
“It is written: