In  the  centre  there  stands  a  charming  Gothic

43


44  XKe  Inferno

t'hapel.  Somewhat  farther  on  one  sees  high
walls  with  numerous  little  barred  windows,
which  remind  one  of  a  convent.  Still  farther
away  are  old,  half-hidden  houses  crowned  by  a
forest  of  chimneys,  and  in  the  extreme  distance
one  sees  the  tower  of  Notre-Dame  des  Champs
surmounted  by  a  cross  and  weathercock.  In  my
room  there  hangs  a  faded  likeness  of  St.  Vincent
de  Paul,  and  a  picture  of  St.  Peter  looks  down
on  my  bed.  St.  Peter,  the  opener  of  the  gates
of  heaven.  What  an  ironical  situation  for  me,
who  some  years  ago  threw  ridicule  on  the  Apostle
in  a  fantastic  drama!

Quite  contented  with  my  room,  I  sleep  well
the  first  night.  I  edify  myself  by  reading  the
book  of  Job,  and  arrive  at  an  ever  clearer  con-
viction that  the  Eternal  has  handed  me  over  to
Satan  to  be  tried.  This  thought  comforts  me
again,  and  suffering  seems  to  me  a  mark  of
confidence  on  the  part  of  the  Almighty.
Now  things  begin  to  happen  which  cannot  be
explained  without  the  co-operation  of  the  un-
known powers.  From  this  point  I  use  the
entries  in  my  journal,  which  have  gradually
become  very  numerous,  giving  them  in  a  con-
densed form.
