The
merging, the clutching, the mingling of love was become madly abhorrent
to him.
But it seemed to him, woman was always so horrible and clutching, she
had such a lust for possession, a greed of self-importance in love. She
wanted to have, to own, to control, to be dominant. Everything must be
referred back to her, to Woman, the Great Mother of everything, out of
whom proceeded everything and to whom everything must finally be
rendered up.
It filled him with almost insane fury, this calm assumption of the
Magna Mater, that all was hers, because she had borne it. Man was hers
because she had borne him. A Mater Dolorosa, she had borne him, a Magna
Mater, she now claimed him again, soul and body, sex, meaning, and all.
He had a horror of the Magna Mater, she was detestable.
She was on a very high horse again, was woman, the Great Mother. Did he
not know it in Hermione. Hermione, the humble, the subservient, what
was she all the while but the Mater Dolorosa, in her subservience,
claiming with horrible, insidious arrogance and female tyranny, her own
again, claiming back the man she had borne in suffering.
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