and dragged him away. I could not help looking at him once more as he was going out of the gate; his eyes were turned towards me, as if to beg the assistance which it was not in my power to give. They wished to drown him in the Doire, but the crowd waiting on the outside stoned him to death. I heard his cries, and took refuge in my tower more dead than alive; my trembling knees refused to support me; I threw myself on my bed in a state impossible to describe. My grief made me regard the just though severe order only as a cruelty as atrocious as it was needless, and, though I am now ashamed of the feeling that then excited me, I cannot yet think of it with coolness. I passed the whole day in the greatest agitation. I had been deprived of the only living thing I had, and this new blow reopened all the wounds of my heart.
“Such was my condition when, that same day, towards sunset, I came here, and seated myself on the very rock where you are now sitting. I had been meditating awhile on my sad lot, when I saw a newly-married couple appear yonder, near the two birches at the end of the hedge. They came along the foot-path through the meadow, and passed by me. The sweet peace that an assured happiness confers was imprinted on their handsome faces. They were walking slowly arm-in-arm. All at once they stopped; the young woman leaned her head upon her husband’s breast, who clasped her in his arms with joy. Shall I confess it? Envy for the first time penetrated my heart. Such a picture of happiness had never struck me before. I followed them with my eyes to the end of the meadow. They were nearly hidden by the trees when I heard a joyful cry. It came from the united families who were coming to meet
them. Old men, women, and children surrounded them. I heard a confused murmur of joy. I saw among the trees the bright colors of their dresses, and the whole group seemed enveloped in a cloud of happiness. I could not endure the sight: the torments of hell seized hold of my heart. I turned away my eyes, and fled to my cell. O God! how frightfully lonely and gloomy it seemed. ‘It is here, then,’ I said to myself—‘I am to live for ever here. After dragging out a wretched existence, I must await the long-delayed end of my life! The Almighty has diffused happiness, and in torrents, among all living creatures, and I—I alone!—am without support, without friends, without a companion.—What a terrible destiny!’
“Full of these sad thoughts, I forgot there is one Being who is the Comforter. I was beside myself. ‘Why,’ I said to myself, ‘was I permitted to behold the light? Why has Nature been so cruel a step-mother to me?’ Like a disinherited child, I saw before me the rich patrimony of the human race, of my share of which heaven had defrauded me. ‘No, no,’ I cried in my fury, ‘there is no happiness for thee on earth. Cease, then, to live, poor wretch! Thou hast disgraced the earth long enough with thy presence: would it might swallow thee up and leave no trace of thy miserable existence!’ My fury continuing to increase, a mad desire to destroy myself took possession of my mind. I resolved at last to set fire to my dwelling, and allow myself to be burned up in it with everything else that might recall my memory. Excited and enraged, I went forth into the fields. I wandered for some time in the darkness around my dwelling. I gave vent to my overburdened heart in involuntary shrieks, and frightened myself
in the silence of the night. I reentered full of rage, crying: ‘Woe to thee, Leper! Woe to thee!’ And, as if everything conspired for my destruction, I heard the echo from the ruins of the Château de Bramafan repeating distinctly: ‘Woe to thee!’ I stopped, seized with horror, at the door of the tower, and a faint echo from the mountains repeated a long time after, ‘Woe to thee!’
“I took a lamp, and, resolved to set fire to my dwelling, went into the lowest room, carrying with me some twigs and dry branches. It was the room my sister occupied, and I had not entered it since her death. Her arm-chair was in the same spot where I moved it for the last time. I shivered with fear at the sight of her veil and some of her clothing scattered around. The last words she uttered before her departure came back to my mind: ‘I shall not forsake you when I die: remember, I shall always be with you in your sufferings.’ Placing the lamp on the table, I perceived the cord which held the cross she wore on her neck. She had placed it herself within her Bible. I drew back, filled with awe at the sight. The depths of the abyss into which I was about to plunge were at once revealed to my unsealed eyes. Trembling, I approached the sacred volume. ‘Here, here,’ I cried, ‘is the aid she promised me!’ Drawing the cross from the book, I found a sealed note which my dear sister had left for me. My tears, which grief had not hitherto allowed me to shed, now escaped in torrents: all my detestable projects vanished at once. I pressed the precious letter to my heart a long time before I could read it: then, falling on my knees to implore the divine mercy, I sobbingly read the words that will be for ever
graven on my heart: ‘Brother, I shall soon leave you, but not forsake you. From heaven, which I hope to enter, I will watch over you, praying God to give you the courage to endure life with resignation till it pleases him to reunite us in another world. Then I shall be able to show you how much I loved you. Nothing will prevent me any longer from approaching you: nothing can separate us. I leave you the little cross I have worn all my life. It has often consoled me in my sorrows and been the only witness of my tears. Remember, when you look upon it, that my last prayer was that you might live and die a good Christian.’
“Cherished letter! it shall never leave me. I will carry it with me to the grave. It will open to me the gates of heaven which my crime would have closed for ever. When I had finished reading it, I felt faint, exhausted by all I had undergone. My sight grew dim, and, for some time, I lost both the remembrance of my misfortunes and the consciousness of existence. When I came to myself, the night was far advanced. In proportion to the clearness of my mind, I experienced a feeling of profound peace. All that had taken place the evening before seemed like a dream. My first impulse was to raise my eyes heavenward in thanksgiving for having been preserved from the greatest of misfortunes. The heavens had never appeared so serene and glorious: one star before my window outshone the rest. I gazed at it a long time with inexpressible delight, thanking God for granting me the pleasure of beholding it, and felt interiorly consoled at the thought that some of its rays were permitted to cheer the gloomy home of the Leper.
“I went up to my cell in a calmer frame. I spent the remainder of the
night in reading the Book of Job, and the sublimity of his thoughts at length entirely dispelled the gloomy ideas that had beset me. I never experienced such fearful moments during my sister’s life. To feel her near me made me at once calmer, and the very thought of the affection she had for me afforded me consolation, and inspired me with courage.