"—What can I do monsieur priest? If they're neither in paradise not purgatory, there is no half way house, they are….
"—Holy Cross of Jesus, son of David! No, no, no, can it be?… Could it be that the great St. Peter himself lied to me?… I never heard the cock crow. Oh, we are lost! How can I possibly go to heaven if my flock aren't there?
"—Listen, my poor monsieur Martin, as you want to be sure about all this, no matter what, and to see for yourself what you have to do to turn things round, take that footpath, and run along it, if you know how to run…. You will come across a large gate on the left. There, it will all be made clear to you. And by God himself!
"And the angel closed the door."
* * * * *
"It was a long pathway covered in red-hot embers. I staggered as if I had been drinking; I stumbled at every single step; I was covered in sweat, a drop on every single hair of my body, and I was gasping for something to drink…. But, thanks to the sandals St. Peter lent me, I didn't burn my feet.
"After stumbling and limping along for some time, I saw a door on the left…. No, it was more a gate, an enormous, yawning gate, like a huge oven door. What a fantastic sight, my children! No one asked my name, even there at the reception area. I went through the cavernous door in batches, my brothers, just like you sinners as you go to the cabaret on Sunday night.
"I was sweating profusely, and yet frozen to the spot, I was trembling fearfully. My hair stood on end. I smelt burning, roasting flesh, something like the smell that spread around Cucugnan when Eli, the marshal, burned the hoof of an old ass while shoeing it. I couldn't breathe in that foetid, burning air; I heard a frightful clamour. There was moaning, howling, cursing.
"—You there! Are you coming in, or are you staying outside? scorned a horned devil, prodding me with his fork.
"—Me? I'm not going in. I am a friend of Almighty God.