I wept with joy as I read them; I
am not then left alone to suffer? I am not solitary?--You do believe;
then, my dear Sir, tell me that you still have faith in these things.
They really exist, and cannot be destroyed? I must tell you how much
good it does me to know that; for I had begun to doubt. You must
forgive me, but I am old and alone and very weary.... God bless you,
Sir! I can die in peace, now that, thanks to you, I know that I have
not been deceived."
Instantly it was as if a window had been opened to the air;
Clerambault's lungs were filled, his heart beat strongly again, life
seemed to be renewed, and to flow once more in a full channel. How
deep is the need we have of love from one another!... A hand stretched
out in the hour of my agony makes me feel that I am not a branch torn
from the tree, but a living part of it; we save each other. I give my
strength, which would be nothing if it were not taken. Truth alone is
like a spark struck from a stone; dry, harsh, ephemeral. Will it die
out? No, for it has kindled another soul, and a new star has risen on
the horizon.
The new star was seen but for a few moments, then a cloud covered it,
and it vanished forever.
Clerambault wrote the same day to his unknown friend, telling him
effusively of all his trials and dangerous opinions, but no answer
came.
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