He lay almost lifeless on the
dusty field. Fifteen paces distant, Amedee of Kerbourg, aide-de-camp, I
have forgotten of whom, wounded in the breast by a bullet, falls to the
ground vomiting blood. Salsdorf sees that if that young man is not cared
for he will die of apoplexy; summoning all his powers, he painfully drags
himself to the side of the wounded man, bleeds him and saves his life.
Salsdorf himself died four days later from the effects of amputation."
When I read these words, I threw down my book, and melted into tears.
I do not regret those tears for they were such as I could shed only when
my heart was right; I do not speak merely of Salsdorf, and do not care
for that particular instance. I am sure, however, that I did not suspect
any one that day. Poor dreamer! Ought I to remember that I have been
other than I am? What good will it do me as I stretch out my arms in
anguish to heaven and wait for the shell that will deliver me forever.
Alas! that was only a gleam that flashed across the night of my life.
Like those dervish fanatics who find ecstasy in vertigo when thought,
turning on itself, exhausted by the stress of introspection, tired of
vain effort, recoils in fright; thus it would seem that man must be a
void and that by dint of delving within himself, he reaches the last turn
of a spiral. There, as on the summits of mountains and at the bottom of
mines, air fails and God forbids man to go farther.
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