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I am a Saint-Theresa who has not been suffered to live on ecstasy in the depths of a convent, with the Holy Infant, and a spotless winged angel to come and go as she wished. "'You saw me happy among my beloved flowers. I did not tell you all: I saw love budding under your affected madness, and I concealed from you my thoughts, my poetry; I did not admit you to my kingdom of beauty.
At the farther end of the chapel, is a fresco painting by Pécheux representing the baptism of Jesus-Christ. In the next chapel, which is dedicated to Saint-Theresa, we see Sainte-Geneviève, the patroness of Paris. In her left hand she holds a book, and in her right a lighted taper. Satan tries to blow it out with a pair of bellows, while, behind the saint, an angel is ready to light it again.
The Duc d'Herouville took up Butscha's argument and reproduced it with much intelligence, saying finally that the ecstasies of Saint-Theresa were far superior to the creations of Lord Byron. "Oh, Monsieur le duc," exclaimed Modeste, "hers was a purely personal poetry, whereas the genius of Lord Byron and Moliere benefit the world."
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