_December, 1842._
You must know that I have been very ill since we met. I have had all the
cats in the world in my throat, all the fires of hell in my chest, and I
have spent several days in bed, meditating on the things of this world.
I seemed to be on the slope of a mountain, whose summit I had barely
crossed, with infinite fatigue and little pleasure. This declivity was
very steep, and tiresome to descend, and it would have been convenient
to come to an opening before reaching the base. The only source of
consolation that I have been able to discover along this descent is a
little sunshine afar off, a few months spent in Italy, in Spain, or in
Greece, in oblivion of the entire world, the present, and, above all,
the future.
All this was not enlivening, but some one had brought me four volumes of
Dr. Strauss’ _Life of Jesus_. In Germany this is called an _exegesis_;
it is a Greek word which they have discovered, and it signifies
discussion or interpretation carried to an extremely fine point; but it
is highly amusing. I have noticed that a subject proves entertaining in
proportion as it is devoid of a profitable conclusion. Do you not agree
with me, _Señora caprichosa_?