Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - II. Quartier Latin
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and I, helpless, on the other, I used to take little
notice of Him. Life was everything to me then,
I knew that my mission was at an end when His
had begun, and I only used to turn my face away
from my sinister colleague in resentment at my
defeat. But as I became more familiar with
Him, I began to watch Him with increasing
attention, and the more I saw of Him, the more I
wanted to know Him, to understand Him. I
began to realize that He had his share in the work,
as well as I had mine, His mission to fulfil just as
I had mine, that we were comrades after all, that
when the wrestling over a life was over and He
had won, it was far better to look each other
fearlessly in the face and be friends. Later on, there
even came a time when I thought He was my only
friend, when I longed for Him and almost loved
Him, though He never seemed to take any notice
of me. What could He not teach me if I only
could learn to read His sombre face! What gaps
in my scanty knowledge of human suffering could
He not fill, He who alone had read the last missing
chapter in my medical handbooks, where
everything is explained, the solution offered to every
riddle, the answer given to every question!
But how could He be so cruel, He who could be
so gentle? How could He take away so much of
youth and life with one hand, when He could give
so much peace and happiness with the other?
Why was the grip of His hand round the throat of
one of His victims so slow and the blow He dealt
to another so swift? Why did He struggle so
long with the life of the little child, while He
suffered the life of the old to ebb away in merciful
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