"Why not?" THE SOLDIER. THE LEPER. "I am afraid of polluting them, in which case I dare not give them away." THE SOLDIER. "For whom do you mean them?" THE LEPER. "The people from the hospital who bring me food are not afraid to make bouquets of them. Sometimes, too, the children from the town come to my garden-gate. As soon as I see them coming I go up into the tower for fear of frightening them or doing them harm, and I watch them running about and picking the flowers. When they go away they look up to where I am, calling out laughingly, Good morning, leper,' and at the sound of their voices my heart is glad within me." THE SOLDIER. "I see you have vines and fruit trees of various sorts, as well as flowers." THE LEPER. "These trees are still young. I planted them myself, and this vine also, which I trained to climb over this old wall, along which is my favourite walk. Make use of these stones, they form a ladder of which I was the architect; keep close by the wall." THE SOLDIER. "What a charming little nest! How well it suits the medita tations of a recluse !" THE LEPER. "I love it well. From hence I look down upon all the country round I can watch the labourers at work, and can see all that passes in the hayfields, whilst no one can see me." THE SOLDIER. "I am surprised to see how quiet and retired this place is although in a tower, it has all the appearance of being in a desert." THE LEPER. "Solitude is found only amidst forests and rocks; but the miser. able are alone everywhere." THE SOLDIER. "What course of events brought you here? Is this your native land?" THE LEPER. "I was born by the sea side in the principality of Incille, and I have only lived here for the last fifteen years. As for my story, it is one long unvaried calamity." THE SOLDIER. "Have you always lived alone?" THE LEPER. I "I lost my parents in my infancy, and have, indeed, no recollection of them; the only sister left to me died two years ago. never had a friend." Unhappy man!" THE SOLDIER. THE LEPER. "Such are God's decrees.' THE SOLDIER. "Pray, what is your name?" THE LEPER. "Alas! My name is a terrible onc,- -men call me The Leper. No one knows my family name, or even that bestowed on me by the church on the day of my birth; I am the leper,' and this is the only title I have to the kindness of men. May they remain for ever in ignorance of my identity !" THE SOLDIER. "Did the sister you lost live with you?" THE LEPER. "She lived five years with me in this place. She was as unfortunate as myself, but she shared my griefs, and I endeavoured to soften hers." THE SOLDIER. "How do you occupy yourself in this profound solitude?" THE LEPER. "The details of my life would only sound monotonous in the ears of a man of the world, who finds his happiness in the activity of social life." THE SOLDIER. "Ah! you know little of that world. It has never made me happy. I am often alone from choice, and there is perhaps more analogy than you fancy between our notions of things. Yet I must own that an unbroken solitude would terrify me; I can hardly imagine it." THE LEPER. "He who loves his cell finds peace therein. "The Imitation of Jesus Christ" teaches us this. I am beginning to feel the truth of these consoling words. Work softens the effect of solitude, and I am a proof of the truth of the doctrine that man is never completely wretched when fully employed. As long as the fine weather lasts I find sufficient occupation in tilling my garden and cultivating my flowers; when winter comes I weave baskets and mats, I make my own clothes, I prepare my daily food from the provisions they bring me in from the hospital, and when my work is done the vacant hours are filled by prayer. In fact, the year rolls on, and when it has passed away it seems to me to have been a very short one." THE SOLDIER. "I should have thought it would have appeared like a century to you." THE LEPER. "Griefs and vexations make hours seem long, but years are always flying with the same rapidity. And then, too, the unhappy possess in the depths of their misery a source of enjoyment to which many men are strangers, and which, I doubt not, will appear very singular to you. I mean, that of simply living and breathing. I spend whole days during the summer motionless on this wall, enjoying the air and the beauty of nature. All my ideas seem then vague and undecided, and my eyes wander over the surrounding rocks, and rest on the country which lies beyond. The evervarying aspects of the scenery about me are so imprinted on my memory, that they make, as it were, a part of myself, and each different view becomes a friend whom I greet each day with delight." THE SOLDIER. "I, too, have felt somewhat of this. When grief has weighed me down, and I have sought vainly in the heart of man the sympathy I craved for, the face of nature comforts me. Then do I find I can love the rocks and trees, and everything, in creation becomes a friend given me by God himself." THE LEPER. "What you say encourages me to try and explain to you my innermost feelings. I too, have a real affection for the objects which are the companions of my life. Every night before I go to rest I take farewell of the glaciers of Ruitforts, of the dark woods of St. Bernard, and of the fantastic mountain tops which tower above the valley of Rhème. Although the power of God is as visible in the creation of an ant-hill, as in that of the whole universe, the grandeur of the mountains is much more imposing to the senses. I never behold those enormous masses, covered with their eternal snows, without experiencing a sentiment of devout wonder; but amidst the huge panorama which surrounds me there are some spots specially dear to me; amongst the number is the hermitage you see up there on the top of the mountain of Charvensod. It stands alone in the woods; close by is a piece of waste land, and on it fall the last rays of the setting sun. Although I never was there, it gives me the most intense delight to contemplate it. When, towards the close of the day, I am resting in my garden, I turn my eyes towards that solitary hermitage, my imagination finds peace. After a fashion it is my own, for sometimes I seem to have an indistinct recollection of happier days, and a dreamy fancy comes over me, that perhaps, long, long ago, I may have inhabited that spot. Above all, I delight in gazing on those distant mountains, which seem in the dim horizon to mingle with the sky. Distance has the same effect on my mind as the thought of the future life; it rouses hope in me, and once more my down-trodden heart cherishes the belief that there is a land afar off, where some day I shall taste that happiness for which I long; a happiness the possibility of which a secret instinct assures me of." THE SOLDIER. "With so ardent a soul as yours, you must have gone through many a struggle before you could resign yourself to your fate, without abandoning yourself to despair." THE LEPER. "If I allowed you to think of me as of one always resigned to his fate, I should deceive you. I have never attained that perfect self-abnegation displayed by some anchorites. 1 have not yet My life is accomplished the sacrifice of all human affections. passed in constant strife, and even the powerful aids of religion are not always sufficient to repress the outbursts of my unruly imagination. I often seem embarked against my will on a perfect sea of chimerical desires, all tending towards that world of which I can form no true conception, but of which an imaginary picture is ever at hand to torment me." THE SOLDIER. "If you could but read my soul and accept my idea of the world, all your wishes, all your regrets, would vanish at once." THE LEPER. "Books have failed to impress upon me the perversity of men and the miseries inseperable from humanity. My heart refuses to believe them. I am continually picturing to myself groups of faithful friends, or of well-mated married couples, whose happiness is perfected by youth, by health, and by fortune. I see them wandering about together amongst greener, fresher trees than any which shade me, whilst their sun shines with a warmth mine never possesses, and their fate seems a great deal more enviable in proportion to the wretchedness of my own. When Spring comes, aud the wind from Piedmont whistles through our valley, I feel its lifegiving warmth penetrate through my whole frame, and, in spite of myself, I begin to tremble. I feel within me an inexplicable longing for, and a confused belief in some great joy, which I am capable of entering into, but which is denied to me. Then I fly from my cell, and wander about, that I may breathe more freely. Though I am burning to meet them, I hide myself from men, and I climb the hill, whence, concealed amongst the bushes like a wild beast, I look down on the town of Aosta. From afar I gaze with longing eyes at the fortunate inhabitants, and with bitter groans I beg them to give me back my share of joy. Dare I confess to you that sometimes, in my agony, I have thrown my arms round the trees of the forest, and have asked God to animate one of them with a soul, that it might be my friend. But in vain, the trees are silent; from their cold forms comes no response to my wild embrace, for they have nought in common with my palpitating, unsatisfied heart. At length, overcome by fatigue and weary of life, I drag myself back to my retreat; there I take my griefs to God, and through prayer, some portion of calm descends into my soul." THE SOLDIER. "Alas! unhappy man, you suffer in mind and body at the same time." THE LEPER. "The sufferings of the body are not the hardest to bear." "Every month they increase and diminish, according to the course of the moon; when it is new my illness is at height. It then abates and becomes more endurable and different in character; my skin gets dry and white, and I hardly feel my plague—indeed, it would be always bearable if it were not for the horrible sleeplessness it causes me.' THE SOLDIER. "What! does even sleep abandon you?" THE LEPER. Ah, sir, that want of sleep, that want of sleep! You cannot imagine how long and how miserable the night is to a poor wretch who never closes his eyes, and whose mind is fixed on a terrible present and a hopeless future. No, no one can understand it. My restlessness increases as the night advances, and when the day is nearly come, my agitation is so great that I know not what will become of me. My thoughts are all confused, and I am a prey to the most extraordinary feelings, which never possess me save at these sad times. Sometimes I seem dragged by an irresistible power into a bottomless gulf; at others black spots dance before my eyes. I try to examine them, but they suddenly cross each other with the rapidity of lightning; they get bigger and bigger as they approach me, and in another moment they are mountains, crushing me beneath their weight. At other time I see clouds coming out of the earth all round me, piled up one upon another; they swell like waves and threaten to swallow me up, and when I try, by rising, to get free from these visions I find myself kept down by invisible bonds which deprive me of all power of moving. |