Under Sentence of Death; Or, a Criminal's Last HoursHugo, Victor
General
Under Sentence of Death; Or, a Criminal's Last Hours
Hugo, Victor
French fiction -- Translations into English
=UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH;=
OR,
_A CRIMINAL’S LAST HOURS._
TOGETHER WITH
TOLD UNDER CANVAS,
AND
CLAUDE GUEUX.
BY
VICTOR HUGO,
_Author of “Les Misérables,” “By the King’s Command,”_
_“The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” etc._
TRANSLATED BY SIR GILBERT CAMPBELL, BART.
LONDON:
CROOME & CO.,
12, ST. BRIDE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS, E.C.
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PAGE
UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH; OR, A CRIMINAL’S
LAST HOURS 9
TOLD UNDER CANVAS:—BUG-JARGAL 99
CLAUDE GUEUX 309
_UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH._
UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
SENTENCED to death!
For five whole weeks have I lived with this one thought, always alone
with it, always frozen by its ghastly presence, always crushed beneath
its overwhelming weight.
At first, years ago, as it seemed, not mere weeks as it really was, I
was a man like any other. Every day, every hour, every minute was ruled
by its own idea. My intellect, young and fresh, lost itself in a world
of fantasy. I amused myself in mapping out a life without order, and
without end, weaving into a thousand fantastic patterns the coarse and
slender tissue of my existence. There were lovely girls, cardinals’
copes, victories won, theatres full of life and light, and then again
the young girls, and walks in the twilight under the spreading boughs of
the chestnut trees. My imagination always pictured scenes of pleasure.
My thoughts were free, and therefore I was free also.
But now I am a prisoner. My body is in irons in a dungeon, and my soul
is fettered by an idea—one horrible, murderous, and implacable idea. I
have but one thought, one certainty, one deep-rooted conviction, and
that is that I am under sentence of death!
Do what I may, that one terrible thought is ever with me, like a spectre
by my side, lonely and jealous, driving away every effort that I may
make to liberate myself from its presence, face to face with me, and
clutching me with its icy hand when I endeavour to turn aside my head,
or to close my eyes upon its horrifying existence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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