_Louis_ [_in despair_]--I claim it by right of my anguish! O Father, if you knew my sufferings, you would shed tears of pity! The intolerable bodily pain I endure constitutes but half my troubles and my least suffering, I desire the places where I cannot be. Everywhere remorse pursues me; I avoid the living; I live among the dead. I spend dreadful days and nights more terrible. The darkness assumes visible shapes; silence disturbs me, and when I pray to my Savior I hear his voice say: "What would you with me, accursed?" When asleep, a demon sits on my chest: I drive him away, and a naked sword stabs me furiously; I rise aghast; human blood inundates my couch, and my hand, seized by a hand cold as death, is plunged in that blood and feels hideous moving debris.... _Francis_--Ah, wretched man! _Louis_--You shudder. Such are my days and nights; my sleep, my life. Yet, dying, I agonize to live, and fear to drink the last drop of that bitter cup. _Francis_--Come then. Forgive the wrongs others have done you, and thus abate your own tortures. A deed of mercy will buy you rest, and when you awake, some voice at least will bless your name. Come. Do not tarry. _Louis_--Wait! Wait! _Francis_--Will the Lord wait? _Louis_--To-morrow! _Francis_--But to-morrow, to-night, now, perhaps, death awaits you. _Louis_--I am well protected. _Francis_--The unloved are ill protected. [_Tries to drag the King along._] Come! Come! _Louis_ [_pushing him aside_]--Give me time, time to make up my mind. _Francis_--I leave you, murderer. I cannot forgive your crimes. _Louis_ [_terrified_]--What! do you condemn me? _Francis_--God may forgive all! When he still hesitates, how could I condemn? Take advantage of the delay he grants you; weep, pray, obtain from his mercy the softening of your heart towards those unfortunates. Forgive, and let the light of day shine for them once more. When you seized the attribute of Divine vengeance they denounced your name from the depth of their jails in their bitter anguish, and their shrieks and moans drowned your prayers. Now end those sufferings, and God shall hear your prayers. Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature.' DEMOSTHENES (384-322 B.C.) BY ROBERT SHARP [Illustration: DEMOSTHENES]