Alas, I have studied philosophy, medicine and law, and what is worse still, theology, with ardor and application. Here am I, poor fool, and no wiser than before. They call me doctor, and even master, and for ten years I have dragged and led my disciples by the nose, up and down, right and left, and I see that, at bottom, we can know nothing! This burns my heart. I must confess that I am wiser than all those doctors, all those masters, scribes and priests; I doubt nothing, and I know thoroughly all that can be known here below; and yet I am a fool, and I am an honest man, and however constantly I may row, I cannot tear from myself the beard and the hair that leave me null and poor! He who would call me master will pay well for the privilege, if he can only approach my person. I know too much, and I can do nothing; what is cruel to me drives me to despair. Raised to be a demigod, what remains to me of genius? I possessed the gold and the glory of the days of my youth. What matters it to wander through the world, gathering knowledge from all men? O death! Have I nothing better to do? Were I as rich in strength as Antaeus, I might hazard my course above the world, and set a crown upon my brow, and eternal light would be my conquest. But what am I? Ah, whither shall I fly? I never learned the science of life! How miserable are all men! You, my soft city gown, so long as you cover me, I shall be no more than a worm of the dust. Here am I, doctor of sciences, here I stand before you, poor fool, and I am as wise as when I was a child! What will it matter, if I dare say it, that father and mother raised me upon their knees, that brothers and sisters were dear to me? Far from these gloomy cloister walls, in which one is buried alive, native home of flies, of frogs and of worms! Be it as master or as slave, my heart would always long to flee you, while loving this world that still burns your heart. O sweet fairies of heaven, that you were sent! O spirits, how great you are! If you live, spirit, draw near to me, you in whom I think and act, you who are the soul of my soul, you who spread forth like a deep sea. Two souls, alas, dwell within my breast; one would fain part from the other; the one, in the empire of coarse passions, clings to the world with tenacious organs; the other rises with violence to escape toward the field of noble ancestors. O spirits of the air, who float between heaven and earth, pure rays of a loftier intelligence, turn toward me your golden faces! Here is the chamber where I aspire, here is the refuge where I yearn! If you live, spirit, draw near to me, you in whom I think and act, you who are the soul of my soul, you who spread forth like a deep sea! You draw near to me, spirits of the world; what do you want of me? When you ponder my life, what do you seek? Why approach me, me upon whom sorrow presses like the waters of a torrent, and who knows existence only as a lament? Human life! it lies buried in a night that your golden ray illumines in vain! Man, whom we call reasonable, and who is but the buffoon of a goat and a swine, suddenly reveals to you his perfect circle, and believes himself close to the pole of truth! I thank you, O spirits of the sun! Tear at last the veil that covers so many mysteries! Yes, tear the veil! How beautiful is the morning! How gentle the sun! How lofty and wide my breast, if the sun rises for me! But behold, it sinks, and all my being droops... The day pursues me, the night wounds me, and I cannot sleep, for life calls to me... No! let us leave this pendulum of life, this line of human greatness! I depart, I aspire, I strain toward another sphere; I need a purer world; I need, I need the deep fire that burns and illumines at once! No! leave me, beneficent spirits! I cannot follow you so high; leave me in my mortal sphere!