flesh。　　And　I　thought　with　contempt；　and　with　a　certain
  satisfaction；　of　the　far　cities　of　the　plain　I　had　known；　all
  unheeding；　in　their　pomp　and　lust；　of　the　last　day　so　near　at　hand。
  Well；　they　would　see　soon　enough；　but　too　late　for　them。　　And　I
  should　see。　　But　I　was　ready。　　And　to　their　cries　and　lamentations
  would　I　arise；　reborn　and　glorious；　and　take　my　well…earned　and
  rightful　place　in　the　City　of　God。
  At　times；　between　dreams　and　visions　in　which　I　was　verily　and
  before　my　time　in　the　City　of　God；　I　conned　over　in　my　mind　old
  discussions　and　controversies。　　Yes；　Novatus　was　right　in　his
  contention　that　penitent　apostates　should　never　again　be　received
  into　the　churches。　　Also；　there　was　no　doubt　that　Sabellianism　was
  conceived　of　the　devil。　　So　was　Constantine；　the　arch…fiend；　the
  devil's　right　hand。
  Continually　I　returned　to　contemplation　of　the　nature　of　the　unity
  of　God；　and　went　over　and　over　the　contentions　of　Noetus；　the
  Syrian。　　Better；　however；　did　I　like　the　contentions　of　my　beloved
  teacher；　Arius。　　Truly；　if　human　reason　could　determine　anything　at
  all；　there　must　have　been　a　time；　in　the　very　nature　of　sonship；
  when　the　Son　did　not　exist。　　In　the　nature　of　sonship　there　must
  have　been　a　time　when　the　Son　commenced　to　exist。　　A　father　must　be
  older　than　his　son。　　To　hold　otherwise　were　a　blasphemy　and　a
  belittlement　of　God。
  And　I　remembered　back　to　my　young　days　when　I　had　sat　at　the　feet　of
  Arius；　who　had　been　a　presbyter　of　the　city　of　Alexandria；　and　who
  had　been　robbed　of　the　bishopric　by　the　blasphemous　and　heretical
  Alexander。　　Alexander　the　Sabellianite；　that　is　what　he　was；　and　his
  feet　had　fast　hold　of　hell。
  Yes；　I　had　been　to　the　Council　of　Nicea；　and　seen　it　avoid　the
  issue。　　And　I　remembered　when　the　Emperor　Constantine　had　banished
  Arius　for　his　uprightness。　　And　I　remembered　when　Constantine
  repented　for　reasons　of　state　and　policy　and　commanded　Alexander
  the　other　Alexander；　thrice　cursed；　Bishop　of　Constantinopleto
  receive　Arius　into　communion　on　the　morrow。　　And　that　very　night　did
  not　Arius　die　in　the　street？　　They　said　it　was　a　violent　sickness
  visited　upon　him　in　answer　to　Alexander's　prayer　to　God。　　But　I
  said；　and　so　said　all　we　Arians；　that　the　violent　sickness　was　due
  to　a　poison；　and　that　the　poison　was　due　to　Alexander　himself；
  Bishop　of　Constantinople　and　devil's　poisoner。
  And　here　I　ground　my　body　back　and　forth　on　the　sharp　stones；　and
  muttered　aloud；　drunk　with　conviction：
  〃Let　the　Jews　and　Pagans　mock。　　Let　them　triumph；　for　their　time　is
  short。　　And　for　them　there　will　be　no　time　after　time。〃
  I　talked　to　myself　aloud　a　great　deal　on　that　rocky　shelf
  overlooking　the　river。　　I　was　feverish；　and　on　occasion　I　drank
  sparingly　of　water　from　a　stinking　goatskin。　　This　goatskin　I　kept
  hanging　in　the　sun　that　the　stench　of　the　skin　might　increase　and
  that　there　might　be　no　refreshment　of　coolness　in　the　water。　　Food
  there　was；　lying　in　the　dirt　on　my　cave…floora　few　roots　and　a
  chunk　of　mouldy　barley…cake；　and　hungry　I　was；　although　I　did　not
  eat。
  All　I　did　that　blessed；　livelong　day　was　to　sweat　and　swelter　in　the
  sun；　mortify　my　lean　flesh　upon　the　rock；　gaze　out　of　the
  desolation；　resurrect　old　memories；　dream　dreams；　and　mutter　my
  convictions　aloud。
  And　when　the　sun　set；　in　the　swift　twilight　I　took　a　last　look　at
  the　world　so　soon　to　pass。　　About　the　feet　of　the　colossi　I　could
  make　out　the　creeping　forms　of　beasts　that　laired　in　the　once　proud
  works　of　men。　　And　to　the　snarls　of　the　beasts　I　crawled　into　my
  hole；　and；　muttering　and　dozing；　visioning　fevered　fancies　and
  praying　that　the　last　day　come　quickly；　I　ebbed　down　into　the
  darkness　of　sleep。
  Consciousness　came　back　to　me　in　solitary；　with　the　quartet　of
  torturers　about　me。
  〃Blasphemous　and　heretical　Warden　of　San　Quentin　whose　feet　have
  fast　hold　of　hell；〃　I　gibed；　after　I　had　drunk　deep　of　the　water
  they　held　to　my　lips。　　〃Let　the　jailers　and　the　trusties　triumph。
  Their　time　is　short；　and　for　them　there　is　no　time　after　time。〃
  〃He's　out　of　his　head；〃　Warden　Atherton　affirmed。
  〃He's　putting　it　over　on　you；〃　was　Doctor　Jackson's　surer　judgment。
  〃But　he　refuses　food；〃　Captain　Jamie　protested。
  〃Huh；　he　could　fast　forty　days　and　not　hurt　himself；〃　the　doctor
  answered。
  〃And　I　have；〃　I　said；　〃and　forty　nights　as　well。　　Do　me　the　favour
  to　tighten　the　jacket　and　then　get　out　of　here。〃
  The　head　trusty　tried　to　insert　his　forefinger　inside　the　lacing。
  〃You　couldn't　get　a　quarter　of　an　inch　of　slack　with　block　and
  tackle；〃　he　assured　them。
  〃Have　you　any　complaint　to　make；　Standing？〃　the　Warden　asked。
  〃Yes；〃　was　my　reply。　　〃On　two　counts。〃
  〃What　are　they？〃
  〃First；〃　I　said；　〃the　jacket　is　abominably　loose。　　Hutchins　is　an
  ass。　　He　could　get　a　foot　of　slack　if　he　wanted。〃
  〃What　is　the　other　count？〃　Warden　Atherton　asked。
  〃That　you　are　conceived　of　the　devil；　Warden。〃
  Captain　Jamie　and　Doctor　Jackson　tittered；　and　the　Warden；　with　a
  snort；　led　the　way　out　of　my　cell。
  Left　alone；　I　strove　to　go　into　the　dark　and　gain　back　to　the　wagon
  circle　at　Nephi。　　I　was　interested　to　know　the　outcome　of　that
  doomed　drifting　of　our　forty　great　wagons　across　a　desolate　and
  hostile　land；　and　I　was　not　at　all　interested　in　what　came　of　the
  mangy　hermit　with　his　rock…roweled　ribs　and　stinking　water…skin。
  And　I　gained　back；　neither　to　Nephi　nor　the　Nile；　but　to　…
  But　here　I　must　pause　in　the　narrative；　my　reader；　in　order　to
  explain　a　few　things　and　make　the　whole　matter　easier　to　your
  comprehension。　　This　is　necessary；　because　my　time　is　short　in　which
  to　complete　my　jacket…memoirs。　　In　a　little　while；　in　a　very　little
  while；　they　are　going　to　take　me　out　and　hang　me。　　Did　I　have　the
  full　time　of　a　thousand　lifetimes；　I　could　not　complete　the　last
  details　of　my　jacket　experiences。　　Wherefore　I　must　briefen　the
  narrative。
  First　of　all；　Bergson　is　right。　　Life　cannot　be　explained　in
  intellectual　terms。　　As　Confucius　said　long　ago：　　〃When　we　are　so
  ignorant　of　life；　can　we　know　death？〃　　And　ignorant　of　life　we　truly
  are　when　we　cannot　explain　it　in　terms　of　the　understanding。　　We
  know　life　only　phenomenally；　as　a　savage　may　know　a　dynamo；　but　we
  know　nothing　of　life　noumenonally；　nothing　of　the　nature　of　the
  intrinsic　stuff　of　life。
  Secondly；　Marinetti　is　wrong　when　he　claims　that　matter　is　the　only
  mystery　and　the　only　reality。　　I　say　and　as　you；　my　reader；　realize；
  I　speak　with　authorityI　say　that　matter　is　the　only　illusion。
  Comte　called　the　world；　which　is　tantamount　to　matter；　the　great
  fetich；　and　I　agree　with　Comte。
  It　is　life　that　is　the　reality　and　the　mystery。　　Life　is　vastly
  different　from　mere　chemic　matter　fluxing　in　high　modes　of　notion。
  Life　persists。　　Life　is　the　thread　of　fire　that　persists　through　all
  the　modes　of　matter。　　I　know。　　I　am　life。　　I　have　lived　ten　thousand
  generations。　　I　have　lived　millions　of　years。　　I　have　possessed　many
  bodies。　　I；　the　possessor　of　these　many　bodies；　have　persisted。　　I
  am　life。　　I　am　the　unquenched　spark　ever　flashing　and　astonishing
  the　face　of　time；　ever　working　my　will　and　wreaking　my　passion　on
  the　cloddy　aggregates　of　matter；　called　bodies；　which　I　have
  transiently　inhabited。
  For　look　you。　　This　finger　of　mine；　so　quick　with　sensation；　so
  subtle　to　feel；　so　delicate　in　its　multifarious　dexterities；　so　firm
  and　strong　to　crook　and　bend　or　stiffen　by　means　of　cunning
  leveragesthis　finger　is　not　I。　　Cut　it　off。　　I　live。　　The　body　is
  mutilated。　　I　am　not　mutilated。　　The　spirit　that　is　I　is　whole。
  Very　well。　　Cut　off　all　my　fingers。　　I　am　I。　　The　spirit　is　entire。
  Cut　off　both　hands。　　Cut　off　both　arms　at　the　shoulder…sockets。　　Cut
  off　both　legs　at　the　hip…sockets。　　And　I；　the　unconquerable　and
  indestructible　I；　survive。　　Am　I　any　the　less　for　these　mutilations；
  for　these　subtractions　of　the　flesh？　　Certainly　not。　　Clip　my　hair。
  Shave　from　me　with　sharp　razors　my　lips；　my　nose；　my　earsay；　and
  tear　out　the　eyes　of　me　by　the　roots；　and　there；　mewed　in　that
  featureless　skull　that　is　attached　to　a　hacked　and　mangled　torso；
  there　in　that　cell　of　the　chemic　flesh；　will　still　be　I；
  unmutilated；　undiminished。
  Oh；　the　heart　still　beats。　　Very　well。　　Cut　out　the　heart；　or；
  better；　fling　the　flesh…remnant　into　a　machine　of　a　thousand　blades
  and　make　mincemeat　of　itand　I；　I；　don't　you　understand；　all　the
  spirit　and　the　mystery　and　the　vital　fire　and　life　of　me；　am　off　and
  away。　　I　have　not　perished。　　Only　the　body　has　perished；　and　the
  body　is　not　I。
  I　believe　Colonel　de　Rochas　was　correct　when　he　asserted　that　under
  the　compulsion　of　his　will　he　sent　the　girl　Josephine；　while　she　was
  in　hypnotic　trance；　back　through　the　eighteen　years　she　had　lived；
  back　through　the　silence　and　the　dark　ere　she　had　been　born；　back　to
  the　light　of　a　previous　livin