Fantasy fiction; Ghost stories; Horror tales; Paranormal fiction; Short stories; Storytelling -- Fiction
When I had learnt his tale, I told him mine, saying that I was a poor
_perruquier-barbier_ who had left his country for a while to complete
his art studies, and who, happening to fall in love with his employer's
daughter, had, through the jealousy and malice of a rival, who had
falsely accused him, found himself imprisoned in the Bastille, and
condemned to death. He was touched with my tale as I had been with his,
for our histories had something in common. We were both in love, in
prison, and condemned to death. We wept together, we embraced, we kissed
(Frenchmen always kiss); and though he was a gentleman of noble family,
and I only a lowly barber, yet, on the brink of the grave, all
distinctions are levelled, so we embraced, and called ourselves brothers
in adversity. How I prayed and longed that our lives might be spared,
that we might the longer enjoy each other's friendship, or that we might
quit this world in each other's company! But fate willed it otherwise.
On the morrow, he whom I had learnt to love as a brother was torn from
me and led to the scaffold. My life seemed now a blank. Whilst my friend
lived in his troubles, I forgot my own; now that he was no more I began
to realise all the horrors of my situation.
At length the eve of my execution arrived. I tried to give myself up
wholly to pious meditation, so throwing myself down in the corner of my
cell, I endeavoured to recall all my past life, to repent of my sins,
and pray for a speedy and peaceful end; but then the guillotine rose up
before me in all its terrors, and bodily fear would usurp the place of
holier thoughts. The nearer the hour drew, the more vividly everything
painted itself to my mind's eye. I must leave Pauline without a word of
farewell. The heartless turnkey, inured to scenes of death and misery,
would witness me depart to execution without a tear. Then the insolence
of the brutal guard, the gaping crowd, the scaffold, and surly
executioner, the cold steel close to my neck, one terrible shock and
then--then--eternity--a vast blank--an unexpected world--doubt,
suspense, _perhaps_, total annihilation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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