It’s hell: eternal suffering! The flames rise! I burn, as you’d expect. Demon, do your worst!

I once got a glimpse of conversion to goodness and happiness, of salvation. Can I describe what I saw, here in this hymn-deaf hell? There were millions of enchanting creatures, harmonious spiritual song, peace and power, noble ambitions: what else can I say?

Noble ambitions!

Yet, I’m still here, still alive. So what if damnation is eternal! Any man who would destroy himself is damned, isn’t he? I believe I’m in hell, therefore I am. Catechism in action. I’m the slave of my baptism. O parents, you guaranteed my suffering and you guaranteed your own. Poor innocent! —Hell has no purchase on pagans. —Still alive! Later, the delights of damnation deepen. Crime, quick: so I can fall into the void, as human law assures.

Shut up! Just shut up! It’s all just shame and blame, look: Satan himself says that fire is vulgar, that anger is pathetic, absurd. —Enough … ! Enough of errors whispered my way, of magics, fake perfumes, childish music! —And to think I already possess the truth, that I can discern justice: my judgment is sound and sure, I’m prepared for perfection … Pride. —The skin on my scalp dries to dust. Pity! I’m afraid, O Lord! I thirst; such thirst! Ah: Childhood, grass, rain, the stony lake, moonlight when the clock strikes twelve … the hour when the devil waits at the belfry. Mary! Holy Virgin! —The shame of my stupidity.

Up above, are there no honest souls who wish me well …? Come … There’s a pillow pressed to my lips, they can’t hear me, these ghosts. And no one ever thinks of anyone else. Better they steer clear. Surely I smell like I’m burning.

Hallucinations come, are without number. As before: I have no faith in history, no memory of principles. But I’ll shut up about all this: poets and visionaries would be jealous. I’m a thousand times richer, and I’ll be miserly as the sea. Look—life’s clock just stopped. I’m no longer of this earth. —Theology is serious business: hell is absolutely down below—and heaven on high. —Ecstasy, nightmare, sleep in a nest of flame.

Nature’s attentions only bring mischief … Satan and Ferdinand run through wild wheat … Jesus walks on crimson thorns that do not bend beneath him … Jesus once walked on troubled waters. The lamp showed him standing before us, white, with brown hair, by an emerald wave …

I will unveil every mystery: whether religious or natural, death, birth, the future, the past, cosmogony, the void. I have mastered phantasmagoria.

Listen …!

I possess every talent! —No one is here, and yet someone is: I won’t squander my treasure. Shall I offer you African chants? Houri dances? Shall I disappear? Make my plunge in search of the ring? Shall I? I’ll forge gold, and cures.

Then put your faith in me; faith relieves; directs; cures. Everyone, come—even the littlest children—let me console you, let the heart spread wide—the miraculous heart!—Poor mankind, a race of laborers! I don’t ask for prayers; your faith is my reward.

—And think of me. It’s worth the loss of the world. I’m lucky to see my suffering ended.