omets, one would be tempted to think that Heaven itself finds actors
needed for its performance. At the moment when one expects it the least,
God placards a meteor on the wall of the firmament. Some queer star
turns up, underlined by an enormous tail. And that causes the death
of Caesar. Brutus deals him a blow with a knife, and God a blow with a
comet. Crac, and behold an aurora borealis, behold a revolution, behold
a great man; '93 in big letters, Napoleon on guard, the comet of 1811
at the head of the poster. Ah! what a beautiful blue theatre all studded
with unexpected flashes! Boum! Boum! extraordinary show! Raise your
eyes, boobies. Everything is in disorder, the star as well as the drama.
Good God, it is too much and not enough. These resources, gathered from
exception, seem magnificence and poverty. My friends, Providence has
come down to expedients. What does a revolution prove? That God is in a
quandry. He effects a coup d'etat because he, God, has not been able to
make both ends meet. In fact, this confirms me in my conjectures as
to Jehovah's fortune; and when I see so much distress in heaven and on
earth, from the bird who has not a grain of millet to myself without a
hundred thousand livres of income, when I see human destiny, which is
very badly worn, and even royal destiny, which is threadbare, witness
the Prince de Conde hung, when I see winter, which is nothing but a rent
in the zenith through which the wind blows, when I see so many rags even
in the perfectly new purple of the morning on the crests of hills, when
I see the drops of dew, those mock pearls, when I see the frost, that
paste, when I see humanity ripped apart and events patched up, and so
many spots on the sun and so many holes in the moon, when I see so
much misery everywhere, I suspect that God is not rich. The appearance
exists, it is true, but I feel that he is hard up. He gives a revolution
as a tradesman whose money-box is empty gives a ball. God must not be
judged from appearances. Beneath the gilding of heaven I perceive
a poverty-stricken universe. Creation is bankrupt. That is why I am
discontented. Here it is the 4th of June, it is almost night; ever since
this morning I have been waiting for daylight to come; it has not come,
and I bet that it won't come all day. This is the inexactness of an
ill-paid clerk. Yes, everything is badly arranged, nothing fits anything
else, this old world is all warped, I take my stand on the oppositi