"Fear, cowardice, superstition! What do they know about it who talk of
something else beyond? It is for the ignorant, common people that a
future life has been invented, but who really believes in it? What
watcher in the cemetery has seen Death leave his tomb and hold
consultation with a priest? In olden times there were fantoms; they are
interdicted by the police in civilized cities and no cries are now heard
issuing from the earth except from those buried in haste. Who has
silenced death if it has ever spoken? Because funeral processions are no
longer permitted to encumber our streets, does the celestial spirit
languish? To die, that is the final purpose, the end. God has established
it, man discusses it; but over every door is written: 'Do what thou wilt,
thou shalt die.' What will be said if I kill Brigitte? Neither of us will
hear. In to-morrow's journal would appear the intelligence that Octave de
T----- had killed his mistress, and the day after no one would speak of
it. Who would follow us to the grave? No one who, upon returning to his
home, could not enjoy a hearty dinner; and when we were extended side by
side in our narrow bed, the world could walk over our graves without
disturbing us. Is it not true, my well-beloved, is it not true that it
would be well with us? It is a soft bed, that bed of earth; no suffering
can reach us there; the occupants of the neighboring tombs will not
gossip about us; our bones will embrace in peace and without pride, for
death is solace, and that which binds does not also separate.
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