Three short works - The Dance of Death, the Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, a Simple Soul. by Gustave Flaubert
page 9 of 100 (09%)
page 9 of 100 (09%)
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burning Christians, I luxuriate voluptuously in baths perfumed
with roses; I race in chariots; yield to deep despair; or boast aloud in pride. At times I have believed that I embodied the whole world, and all that I have seen took place, in verity, within my being. Sometimes I weary, lose my reason, and indulge in such mad follies that the most worthless of my minions ridicule me while they pity me. No creature cares for me; nowhere am I loved,--neither in heaven, of which I am a son, nor yet in hell, where I am lord, nor upon earth, where men deem me a god. Naught do I see but paroxysms of rage, rivers of blood, or maddened frenzy. Ne'er shall my eyelids close in slumber, never my spirit find repose, whilst thou, at least, canst rest thy head upon the cool, green freshness of the grave. Yea, I must ever dwell amid the glare of palaces, must listen to the curses of the starving, or inhale the stench of crimes that cry aloud to heaven. God, whom I hate, has punished me indeed! But my soul is greater even than His wrath; in one deep sigh I could the whole world draw into my breast, where it would burn eternally, even as I. When, Lord, shall thy great trumpet sound? Then a great harmony shall hover over sea and hill. Ah! would that I could suffer with humanity; their cries and sobs should drown the sound of mine! [_Innumerable skeletons, riding in chariots, advance at a rapid |
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