materialists, of atheists, or even
Protestants. These all occupied a radically different base, and their
eyes were turned toward a different horizon. But that a man could face
Truth, and voluntarily scrimp his vision to a miserable corner of her
robe,--could embrace a principle coldly, with the mere touch of a
distant finger,--could pause to balance motives, and haggle over the
price of devotion,--this was as incomprehensible to me as repugnant.
My own sentiments were equally incomprehensible to the society by
which I was surrounded, and the opposition which I constantly
encountered served not a little to rivet my convictions, and fan my
enthusiasm to passion.

My father died almost immediately after launching me on my medical
career,--and my darling mother, two years later. In my unutterable
loneliness, I lost all heart for my studies, and breaking away from
ecole and hospitals, wandered in Italy, seeking to quench a quenchless
grief. There I married an Italian girl, whose hair and eyes reminded
me of my mother, but who expended on the dream of Italian unity such
enthusiasm as my mother had lavished for the temporal power of the
Pope. I think I was unconsciously attracted by this very difference.
Valeria's opposition to the Pope was so serious and whole-souled, that
it seemed to invest his cause with new dignity, and in argument with
her I acquired increased respect for my own theories and for myself as
capable of sustaining them. Moreover, at the very moment that our
intellects were most at variance, we were each conscious of a subtle
sympathy of nature; we were animated by the same feeling, though
working in different directions. Her antagonism, therefore, never
irritated me, but,--when the more profound union had once been
established,--fascinated me by a peculiar charm, and led me, by a
healthful transition, back to the ruder antagonisms of practical life.
For, deprived of the support of my mother's lofty confidence, and in
the weakness following excessive sorrow, I had begun to secretly
despair of an ideal, which seemed buried in her all-devouring grave.
At the same time I clung to it the more intensely, precisely because
it seemed unattainable,--from a sort of morbid craving for whatever
had become as unattainable as my mother's presence. I loathed action,
even for the realization of my dreams, and over-concentrated thought
threatened to degenerate into a sickly reverie that should presently
exhaust the forces o