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Published by Nader Haddad

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Published by: Nader Haddad on May 30, 2013
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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B󰁹 G󰁥󰁯󰁲󰁧󰁥 E󰁬󰁩󰁯󰁴
o my dear Husband, George Henry Lewes, in this nineteenth year o our blessed union.
F󰁲󰁥󰁥 󰁥B󰁯󰁯󰁫󰁳 󰁡󰁴 P󰁬󰁡󰁮󰁥󰁴 󰁥B󰁯󰁯󰁫.󰁣󰁯󰁭
ho that cares much to know the history o man, and how the mysterious mixture behaves under the vary-ing experiments o ime, has not dwelt, at least briefly, on the lie o Saint Teresa, has not smiled with some gen-tleness at the thought o the little girl walking orth one morning hand-in-hand with her still smaller brother, to go and seek martyrdom in the country o the Moors? Out they toddled rom rugged Avila, wide-eyed and helpless-look-ing as two awns, but with human hearts, already beating to a national idea; until domestic reality met them in the shape o uncles, and turned them back rom their great re-solve. Tat child-pilgrimage was a fit beginning. Teresa’s passionate, ideal nature demanded an epic lie: what were many-volumed romances o chivalry and the social con-quests o a brilliant girl to her? Her flame quickly burned up that light uel; and, ed rom within, soared afer some illimitable satisaction, some object which would never jus-tiy weariness, which would reconcile sel-despair with the rapturous consciousness o lie beyond sel. She ound her epos in the reorm o a religious order.Tat Spanish woman who lived three hundred years ago, was certainly not the last o her kind. Many Teresas have been born who ound or themselves no epic lie where-in there was a constant unolding o ar-resonant action;