We hesitate to turn against our
breasts a little piece of steel, or blow out our brains with a little
instrument no larger than our hand; it seems to us that chaos would
return again; we have written and revised the laws both human and divine
and we are afraid of our catechisms; we suffer thirty years without
murmuring and imagine that we are struggling; finally suffering becomes
the stronger, we send a pinch of powder into the sanctuary of
intelligence, and a flower pierces the soil above our grave."
As I finished these words I directed the knife I held in my hand against
Brigitte's bosom. I was no longer master of myself, and in my delirious
condition I know not what might have happened; I threw back the
bedclothing to uncover the heart, when I discovered on her white bosom a
little ebony crucifix.
I recoiled, seized with sudden fear; my hand relaxed, my weapon fell to
the floor. It was Brigitte's aunt who had given her that little crucifix
on her death-bed. I did not remember ever having seen it before;
doubtless, at the moment of setting out she had suspended it about her
neck as a preserving charm against the dangers of the journey. Suddenly I
joined my, hands and knelt on the floor.
"O, Lord my God," I said in trembling tones, "Lord, my God, thou art
there!"
Let those who do not believe in Christ read this page; I no longer
disbelieved in him. Neither as a child, nor at school, nor as a man, have
I frequented churches; my religion, if I had any, had neither rite nor
symbol, and I believed in a God without form, without a cult, and without
revelation.
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