Note 43 — Chapter XXXIII

Here is a specimen: “If my complaints have moved with compassion the most insensible of hearts, when my sun failed to shine in the alleys dedicated to love, where will be those who do not share my tears in a prison into which the sun’s rays can never enter, and in which my lot is so much the harder in that I am forbidden to make known to her my cruel martyrdom? In this perplexity, I felicitate myself on having a master who makes me suffer only in body; and murmur against the marvels of that sun whose absence is killing the soul, and brings about such a metamorphosis that I am no longer myself save in the persistence of adoring it; and my eyes, which survive for that alone, are justly punished for their too great presumption by the shedding of more tears than ever love caused to flow.”