LIGHTNING
Human works! it's an explosion that lightens my abyss from time to time.
"Nothing is vanity! To science, foward!" cries the modern Ecclesiastes, that is, everybody. And yet the corpses of the wicked and lazy fall on the hearts of others.... Ah! Quick, quick a little; there, beyond the night, future, eternal recompense...Shall we flee them? ...
-What can I do? I know work; and science is too slow. How prayer gallops and how light scolds I see well. It's too simple, and it is too hot; that happens to me. I have my duty, I will be proud in the way of the many, setting it aside.
My life is worn. Let's go! Let's pretend, laze about-what a pity! And we'll live in amusing ourselves, in dreaming monstrous loves and fantastic universes, in complaining and fighting about the appearances of the world, acrobat, mendicant, artist, bandit, - priest! On my hospital bed, the odour of incense hits me very strongly; guardian of sacred aromas, confessor, martyr... I recognize my dirt childhood education. And more!... Get on, my twenty years, if others will be twenty years...
No! No! now I revolt against that death! The work seems too light for my pride; my treachery to the world would be a torture too short. At the last moment, I'll attack to the left, right...
So, - oh ! - dear poor soul, eternity won't be lost for us!
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