by some idle importunity, he struck the tables of brass and felt in his bowels the yearning for a law of retaliation?  Did he, then, invent justice?  And the first who plucked the fruit planted by his neighbor and who fled cowering under his mantle, did he invent shame?  And he who, having overtaken that same thief who had robbed him of the product of his toil, forgave him his sin, and, instead of raising his hand to smite him, said, “Sit thou down and eat thy fill;” when, after thus returning good for evil, he raised his eyes toward Heaven and felt his heart quivering, tears welling from his eyes, and his knees bending to the earth, did he invent virtue?  Oh, Heaven! here is a woman who speaks of love and who deceives me; here is a man who speaks of friendship and counsels me to seek consolation in debauchery; here is another woman who weeps and would console me with the flesh; here is a Bible that speaks of God and says:  “Perhaps; but nothing is of any real importance.”

I ran to the open window:  “Is it true that you are empty?” I cried, looking up at the pale expanse of sky which spread above me.  “Reply, reply!  Before I die, grant that I may clasp in these arms of mine something more than a dream!”

Profound silence reigned.  As I stood with arms outstretched, eyes lost in space, a swallow uttered a plaintive cry; in spite of myself I followed it with my eyes; while the swallow disappeared from sight like a flash, a little girl passed singing.

CHAPTER VIII

THE SEARCH FOR HEALING

Yet I was unwilling to yield.

Before taking life on its pleasant side—­a side which to me seemed rather sinister—­I resolved to test everything.  I remained thus for some time, a prey to countless sorrows, tormented by terrible dreams.

The great obstacle to my cure was my youth.  Wherever I happened to be, whatever my occupation, I could think of nothing but women; the sight of a woman made me tremble.

It had been my fate—­a fate as rare as happy—­to give to love my unsullied youth.  But the result of this was that all my senses united in idealizing love; there was the cause of my unhappiness.  For not being able to think of anything but women, I could not help turning over in my head, day and night, all the ideas of debauchery, of false love and of feminine treason, with which my mind was filled.  For me to possess a woman was to love her; I thought of nothing but women, but I believed no more in the possibility of true love.

All this suffering inspired me with a sort of rage.  At times I was tempted to imitate the monks and starve my body in order to conquer my senses; at times I felt like rushing out into the street to throw myself at the feet of the first woman I met and vow to her eternal love.