The story is told that I was born in the arms of deafness! In the first years of my childhood, I could not hear what was said to me. When, with the greatest difficulty, they had taught me to speak, it was not until after I had read on a sheet of paper what someone had written that I could in turn communicate the thread of my ideas.
One day, woeful day, I had grown in beauty and innocence. Everyone admired the intelligence and goodness of the divine youth. Many a conscience blushed inwardly when it contemplated those clear features in which his soul was enshrined. No one approached him without veneration, for they had noticed in his eyes the look of an angel. But no, I knew only too well that the happy roses of youth would not flower perpetually, wreathed in capricious garlands, on his modest and noble brow, which all mothers used to kiss with frenzied devotion.
It was beginning to seem to me that the universe, with its starry vault of impassable and tormentingly mysterious globes, was not perhaps the most imposing thing I had dreamt of. And so, one day, tired of trudging along the steep path on this earthly journey, trudging along like a drunkard through the dark catacombs of life, I slowly raised my splenetic eyes, ringed with bluish circles, towards the concavity of the firmament and I, who was so young, dared to penetrate the mysteries of heaven!
Not finding what I was seeking, I lifted my eyes higher, and higher still, until I saw a throne made of human excrement and gold, on which was sitting - with idiotic pride, his body draped in a shroud of unwashed hospital linen - he who calls himself the Creator!
