encircled by a wall, I had seen the place where slept those of my
ancestors who had been excluded from the cemeteries because they had
died in the Protestant faith.

How could I be anything but faithful with such a past? And it is certain
that had the Inquisition been revived in my childhood, I would have
suffered martyrdom joyfully, like one filled to overflowing with the
spirit of God.

My faith was a faith that kept watch upon the theological errors of the
time, and I did not know the resignation felt by my ancestors; in spite
of my distaste for reading I often plunged into books of religious
controversy; I knew by heart the many passages from the Fathers and the
decisions of the first councils; I could have discussed the dogmas of
the church like a doctor of divinity, and I considered my arguments
against the papacy very shrewd.

But notwithstanding my fervor a distaste for all of these religious
things would often take possession of me; sometimes at church especially
where the gray light fell upon me and chilled me I felt it most. The
awful tediousness of some of the Sunday sermons; the emptiness of the
prayers, written in advance and spoken with conventional unctuous voice,
and gestures to suit; and the apathy of the people who, dressed out in
their best, came to listen,--how early I divined its hollowness,--and
how deep was my disappointment, and how cruel the disillusionment--oh!
the disheartening formalism of it all! The very appearance of the church
disconcerted me: it was a new cityfied one, meant to be pretty without,
however, meaning to be too much so; I especially recall certain little
efforts at wall decoration which I held in the greatest abomination,
and shuddered when I looked at. It was that disgust in little which