I cannot describe the effect this letter had upon me. I had opened
it full of hope and ardour. Suddenly an icy hand seemed to chill
the life-blood of my heart. That sarcasm on my conscientiousness
hurt me extremely. I repented having formed any acquaintance with
such a man, I who so much detest the doctrine of the cynics, who
consider it so wholly unphilosophical, and the most injurious in its
tendency: I who despise all kind of arrogance as it deserves.

Having read the last word it contained, I took the letter in both my
hands, and tearing it directly down the middle, I held up a half in
each like an executioner, employed in exposing it to public scorn.



CHAPTER XXXVII.



I kept my eye fixed on the fragments, meditating for a moment upon
the inconstancy and fallacy of human things I had just before
eagerly desired to obtain, that which I now tore with disdain. I
had hoped to have found a companion in misfortune, and how I should
have valued his friendship! Now I gave him all kinds of hard names,
insolent, arrogant, atheist, and self-condemned.

I repeated the same operation, dividing the wretched members of the
guilty letter again and again, till happening to cast my eye on a
piece remaining in my hand, expressing some better sentiment, I
changed my intention, and collecting together the disjecta membra,