“The gentle warmth of the sun revived my mother.
“She loved to listen to the murmur of the cascades, which seemed to sing as they fell into the basin of marble.
“One day, when she lamented more bitterly than ever the loss of her sight, she refused to go out.
“I prayed her; I wept; she was inflexible.
“Seated in the most solitary corner of our dwelling, her venerable head wrapped in her black mantle, she remained motionless.
“She no longer desired to eat; she wished to die.
“For one long, for one long night, she refused everything.
“In vain I said: ‘My mother, my mother, like you also I shall die.’
“She remained silent and gloomy.
“I took her hand, her hand already frozen. I tried to warm it with my breath: she wished to withdraw her hand.”