They say that it is nothing,--that one does not suffer; that it is an easy death. Ah! then, what do they call this agony of six weeks,--this summing-up in one day? What, then, is the anguish of this irreparable day, which is passing so slowly and yet so fast? What is this ladder of tortures which terminates in the scaffold? Are they not the same convulsions whether life is taken away drop by drop, or intellect extinguished thought by thought? THIRTY-EIGHTH PAPER. It is singular that my mind so often reverts to the King. Whatever I do, there is a voice within me which says,-- “There is, in this same town, at this same hour, and not far from hence, in another Palace, a man who also has guards to all his gates; a man alone, like thee, in the crowd,--with this difference, that he is as high as thou art low. His entire life is glory, grandeur, delight. All around him is love, respect, veneration; the loudest voices become low in speaking to him, and the proudest heads are bent. At this moment he is holding a Council of Ministers, where all coincide with his opinions; or else he thinks of the Chase to-morrow, or the Ball for this evening, feeling certain that the Fête will come, and leaving to others the trouble of his pleasures. Well, this man is of flesh and blood like thee! And in order that at this instant the scaffold should fall, and thou be restored to life, liberty, fortune, family, it would only be requisite for him to write his name at the foot of a piece of paper; or even that his carriage should meet thy fatal cart! And he is good, too, and perhaps would be glad to do it; and yet it will not be done! THIRTY-NINTH PAPER. Well then, let me have courage with death,--let me handle this horrid idea, let me face it boldly. I will ask what it is, know what it demands, turn it in every sense, fathom the enigma, and look before-hand into the tomb. * * * * * I have speculated upon Death and Eternity until my mind seems bewildered by its own horrible fantasies. My ideas wander. Oh, for a Priest,--a Priest who could instruct me! I must have a Priest, and a crucifix to embrace. Alas! here is the same Priest again! FORTIETH PAPER. After a time, I begged of him to let me sleep. I threw myself on the bed. I had a fulness of blood in my head which made me sleep,--my last sleep on earth. I had a horrible dream, from which I awoke in terror, shuddering and in agony. The Chaplain was seated at the foot of my bed, reading prayers. “Have I slept long?” I inquired of him. “My son,” said he, “you have slept an hour. They have brought your child, who is waiting in the next room; I would not allow them to awaken you.” “Oh,” cried I, “my darling child! Let them bring in my idolized child!” FORTY-FIRST PAPER.