My beautiful young girl did not completely resemble this, although she had the same slenderness and boyish suppleness of figure,
which I loved, and something of the spiritualization of the face, as if her soul lay therein.
I never spoke a single word to Beatrice. Yet at that time she exercised the deepest influence over me.
Her picture fastened itself on my mind; in my imagination she opened a sanctuary for me, she caused me to pray in a temple.
From one day to another I remained absent from the drinking bouts and the nightly excursions.
Once more I could bear being alone, I read gladly, I liked to go for walks again.
I was much scoffed at for my sudden conversion. But I had now something to love and to worship,
I had again an ideal, life was once more full of suggestion, of gaily colored secret nuances,
that made me insensible to the jeers of my companions.
I again felt at home with myself, although I was now the servant and slave of a picture which I revered.
I cannot think of that time without a certain emotion.
With earnest striving, I again endeavored to build a “bright world” out of the ruins of that period of my life which had broken up around me,
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