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take from him his success was impossible. They would have had to deprive
him of his face. Take from him his love. Impossible. Dea could not see
him. The blindness of Dea was divinely incurable. What harm did his
deformity do Gwynplaine? None. What advantage did it give him? Every
advantage. He was beloved, notwithstanding its horror, and perhaps for
that very cause. Infirmity and deformity had by instinct been drawn
towards and coupled with each other. To be beloved, is not that
everything? Gwynplaine thought of his disfigurement only with gratitude.
He was blessed in the stigma. With joy he felt that it was irremediable
and eternal. What a blessing that it was so! While there were highways
and fairgrounds, and journeys to take, the people below and the sky
above, they would be sure to live, Dea would want nothing, and they
should have love. Gwynplaine would not have changed faces with Apollo.
To be a monster was his form of happiness.
Thus, as we said before, destiny had given him all, even to overflowing.
He who had been rejected had been preferred.
He was so happy that he felt compassion for the men around him. He
pitied the rest of the world. It was, besides, his instinct to look
about him, because no one is always consistent, and a man's nature is
not always theoretic; he was delighted to live within an enclosure, but
from time to time he lifted his head above the wall. Then he retreated
again with more joy into his loneliness with Dea, having drawn his
comparisons. What did he see around him?
What were those living creatures of which his wandering life showed him
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