*Some of the instances here are purely imaginary. I invented them so
that I might more deeply penetrate into the heart of these things.


I enter a great square of stirring shadow. Here close beside a red and
black candle a man is driving nails into a shoe. Two children stretch
their hands toward the hearth. A blackbird sleeps in its wicker cage.
Water is boiling in the smoky earthenware pot from which rises a
disagreeable soupy smell which mingles with that of tanner's bark and
leather. A crouching dog gazes fixedly into the coals.

There is such an air of gentle peace about these souls and these
obscure things that I do not ask whether they have any reason for
being other than this very peace, nor whether I read a special charm
into their humility.

The God of the poor watches over them, the simple God in whom I
believe. It is He who makes an ear of grain grow from a seed; it is
He who separates water from earth, earth from air, air from fire, fire
from night; it is He who blows the breath of life into the body; it
is He who fashions the leaves one by one. We do not know how this is
done, but we have faith in it as in the work of a perfect workman.

I contemplate without desiring to understand, and thus God reveals
Himself to me. In the house of this cobbler my eyes open as simply
as those of his dog. Then _I see_, I see in truth that which few can
see--the essence of things, as, for example, the devotion of the
smoky flame without which the hammer of the workman could not be a
bread-winner.