Short Fiction by Xavier de Maistre (digital e reader txt) 📕

had been some time musing upon my sad lot, when, down yonder, near those two birch trees, at the end of the hedgerow, I saw appear a young newly-married couple. They came along the path across the meadow, and passed close to me. That sweet tranquillity which the conscious possession of happiness inspires, was depicted upon their beautiful countenances. They walked slowly, hand in hand. Suddenly I saw them stop. The young woman rested her head the shoulder ofher husband, who embraced her in a transport of joy. A choking sensation oppressed me. Shall I confess it? Jealousy stole for the first time into my heart. Never before had the image of happiness presented itself to me with such force. I followed them with my eyes to the end of the meadow, and the trees were just hiding them from view, when shouts of merriment fell upon my ear. Their relations had come to meet them; and soon they were surrounded by women and children and aged men. I heard a confused murmur of joy arise. I saw between the trees the gay colours of holiday clothes, and the whole group seemed to move in an atmosphere of happiness. The sight was intolerable. Hell torments entered my soul. I turned away my eyes, and rushed into my cell. “O God! how lonely, how gloomy, how terrible, it seemed to me! Am I never to know any dwelling but this?” I said. Must I drag on here my wretched existence, while I await the tardy end of my days? The Almighty has showered happiness upon every living creature, while I⁠—I alone! helpless, friend less, companionless.⁠ ⁠… O frightful destiny!

Full of these sad thoughts, I forgot the existence of any source of consolation; I forgot my own self. “Why,” I asked, “was light bestowed upon me? Why is nature unjust and harsh to me alone? Like a disinherited son, I have under my eyes the rich patrimony of the human family⁠—but Heaven grudges me my share. No, no,” at length I exclaimed, in the violence of my rage, “earth has no happiness for thee! Die, wretched creature! Long enough has the earth been defiled by thy presence; would that it might open and bury thee alive, and leave no trace of thy hateful existence!” My unreasoning fury increased, and with it the desire to destroy myself, which took possession of me and arrested all my thoughts. At last I determined upon setting fire to my dwelling, and burning myself with what ever could recall my memory. Goaded by madness, I rushed into the fields, and wandered for some time in the dark round about my habitation. Involuntary moans rose from my crushed heart, and horrified me as they disturbed the silence of the night. I re-entered, my fury undiminished, into my dwelling, crying out; “Woe on thee, Leper! Woe on thee!” And, as if everything was to contribute to my undoing, I heard the echo from the midst of the ruins of Bramafan Castle answer clearly, “Woe on thee!” I stopped, horror struck, at the door of the tower, and the echo from the mountain repeated, in feebler accents, “Woe on thee!”

I took a lamp, and determined to set my house on fire. I went into the lowest room, taking with me vine-cuttings and dry branches. This was my sister’s room, which I had not entered since her death. Her armchair was just where it stood when I lifted her from it for the last time. A shudder passed over me as my eyes fell upon her veil and other articles of clothing that lay scattered about the room. Her last words came back to my mind:⁠—“I will not forsake you when I die; remember that I shall be with you in your sufferings.” Resting the lamp on the table, I saw the string of the cross she used to wear round her neck, and which she had herself placed between two leaves of her bible. At this sight I drew back, overcome by religious awe. The depth of the abyss into which I had been on the point of hurling myself presented itself to my opened eyes. I approached, tremblingly, the sacred book. “This,” said I, “is surely the aid she promised me!” And as I drew the cross from the book, I found there a sealed paper which my dear sister had left there for me. My tears, which grief had hitherto restrained, streamed in torrents from my eyes; and all my dark projects vanished. Long did I press that precious letter to my breast before I was able to read it; and, falling on my knees to ask the divine blessing, I opened it, and read, as I sobbed, these words, which will always remain engraven on my heart: “Dear brother, I shall soon leave you, but I will never forsake you. From heaven, whither I hope to go, I will watch over you, and will pray God to give you courage to bear life with resignation, until it shall please Him to reunite us in another world, where I shall be able to show you my affection, where nothing can sever us. I leave you the little cross I have worn all my life. It has often consoled me in grief, and was the sole witness of my tears. Whenever you look at it, remember that it was my last prayer that you should live and die a good Christian.” Beloved letter! Never will I part from it. I shall carry it with me to my grave; and it will open to me those heavenly gates which my crime might have closed against me forever. When I had finished reading it, I felt my strength fail me, exhausted by all I had gone through. A cloud seemed to spread over my sight, and for some time I became unconscious of my sufferings, and even of my existence. When I came to myself, the night was far advanced. As my