i am young � full of life and strength � the world loves me � wants me and i � i will not die � no i will not � not yet not yet � i am not ready stop � stop you do not know what you are doing � stop you are driving me mad with your horrible singing and he shrieked aloud mad i tell you � mad for one moment he saw some of the dark figures beg n to move towards him he clutched at them � fought with them � tore at their garments � he would have killed them all he thought if the moonlight had not come in between him and them and shut him up in a cold silver circle of ice from which he could not escape � yet he went on struggling and talking and shrieking sometimes as he fancied with swords and and trying to find his way through strange storms of mingled fire and snow � till all at once some strong invisible force down upon him lifted him up and carried him away � and he remembered no more away in paris a vast of people were assembled round an open grave in la chaise wherein the plain coffin of the had just been lowered the day was misty and cold and the sun shone through the wreaths of thin that hung over the city occasionally gleaming on the pale fine face of the famous who standing at the edge of the grave spoke his over the dead to this to this he cried oh people of paris we all must come i our our hopes our dreams our grand our loves and joys end here so far as this world is concerned he whom we have just laid in the earth was skilled in many ways of learning � gifted with eloquence great in quick with the tongue as with the pen he was a man whom perchance all france would have called famous had it not been for me i am the blot on my father s name i i am the sin for which he has made the last people of paris for years he lived and worked among you � outwardly smiling witty of speech and popular with you all � but inwardly a misery to himself in his own conscience because he knew his life was not what he professed it to be he knew that he did not believe what he asked you to accept as true he knew that he had guilt upon his soul � he knew that all the sins which none of you could guess at god saw for there is a god not the god of the priests but the god of the universe and of man s natural and spiritual instinct he from whom nothing escapes � he who where every drop of dew shall fall � he whose vision the flight of every small bird in the air and the building of its nest and the manner of its end � he is the god whom none can deceive those who dream they can play false with him are mistaken this dead man my father living among you for years was contented for years to s em like you � � for you all ihe master christian have something which you think you can cover up from the searching eye of fate and many of you pretend to be what you are not � while many more wear the aspect of men over the souls of beasts my father who rests here to day at our feet was a priest of the roman church in that capacity he should have been clothed with human yet removed from common yet reckless of his order heedless of his vows he priest as he was turned and betrayed an innocent woman he destroyed her name � skilled her honour � broke her heart of all classes from kings to do this kind of thing every day and deem it but a small fault of character nevertheless it is a crime � and for a crime there is always punishment for everything that is false � for everything that is mean � for everything that is contemptible and cowardly punishment comes � if not soon then late in this case vengeance was � for the sinner in time took his vengeance on himself he confessed his sin before you all that was brave how many of you here to day would have such courage how many of you would throw off your of virtue and admit your vices � or having admitted them try to them but this is what my father did and for this he should be honoured he told you all fully and frankly that his professions of faith were false and vain and conventional and that he had seemed to you what he was not now the of a sin is one thing � but the frankly confession of that sin is another some of you will say � who am i that i should judge my father why truly i am nothing � and should have been nothing but the of my mother s life and broken hearted misery for that i lived � for that i was ready to die what a trivial object of existence it must seem to you nowadays � to a mother s name much better to fight a for some paltry yes � but i am not so constituted from my childhood i worked for two things � vengeance and ambition i put ambition second for i would have sacrificed it all to the passion but when i sought to fulfil my vengeance the man on whom i would have taken it himself changed it into respect pity admiration affection � and i loved what i had so long hated so even i bent on cruelty 