I knew not from
what this arose, till I felt a shower, the most violent perhaps that
ever was precipitated on the earth, make its way even through the
trap-door, and drench me in five minutes to the skin. I retreated from
the spot, but not before I had received it in every pore of my body. You, Sir, who live in happy Ireland, blessed by God with an exemption
from those vicissitudes of the atmosphere, can have no idea of their
violence in continental countries. This rain was followed by peals of
thunder, that made me fear God was pursuing me into the abysses where I
had shrunk to escape from his vengeance, and drew from my companion
blasphemies more loud than thunder, as he felt himself drenched by the
shower, that now, flooding the vault, rose almost to our ancles. At last
he proposed our retiring to a place which he said he was acquainted
with, and which would shelter us. He added, that it was but a few steps
from where we stood, and that we could easily find our way back. I did
not dare to oppose him, and followed to a dark recess, only
distinguished from the rest of the vault by the remains of what had once
been a door. It was now light, and I could distinguish objects plainly. By the deep hollows framed for the shooting of the bolt, and the size of
the iron hinges that still remained, though covered with rust, I saw it
must have been of no common strength, and probably intended to secure
the entrance to a dungeon,--there was no longer a door, yet I shuddered
to enter it. As we did so, both of us, exhausted in body and mind, sunk
on the hard floor. We did not say a word to each other, an inclination
to sleep irresistibly overcame us; and whether that sleep was to be my
last or not, I felt a profound indifference. Yet I was now on the verge
of liberty, and though drenched, famishing, and comfortless, was, in any
rational estimate, an object much more enviable than in the
heart-withering safety of my cell. Alas! it is too true that our souls
always contract themselves on the approach of a blessing, and seem as if
their powers, exhausted in the effort to obtain it, had no longer energy
to embrace the object. Thus we are always compelled to substitute the
pleasure of the pursuit for that of the attainment,--to reverse the
means for the end, or confound them, in order to extract any enjoyment
from either, and at last fruition becomes only another name for
lassitude. These reflections certainly did not occur to me, when, worn
out with toil, terror, and famine, I fell on the stone floor in a sleep
that was not sleep,--it seemed the suspension both of my mortal and
immortal nature. I ceased from animal and intellectual life at once. There are cases, Sir, where the thinking power appears to accompany us
to the very verge of slumber, where we sleep full of delightful
thoughts, and sleep only to review them in our dreams: But there are
also cases when we feel that our sleep is a “sleep for ever,”--when we
resign the hope of immortality for the hope of a profound repose,--when
we demand from the harassings of fate, “Rest, rest,” and no more,--when
the soul and body faint together, and all we ask of God or man is to let
us sleep. “In such a state I fell to the ground; and, at that moment, would have
bartered all my hopes of liberation for twelve hours profound repose, as
Esau sold his birth-right for a small but indispensible refreshment. I
was not to enjoy even this repose long. My companion was sleeping too. Sleeping! great God! what was his sleep?--that in whose neighbourhood no
one could close an eye, or, worse, an ear. He talked as loudly and
incessantly as if he had been employed in all the active offices of
life. I heard involuntarily the secret of his dreams. I knew he had
murdered his father, but I did not know that the vision of parricide
haunted him in his broken visions. My sleep was first broken by sounds
as horrible as any I ever had heard at my bed-side in the convent. I
heard sounds that disturbed me, but I was not yet fully awake. They
increased, they redoubled,--the terrors of my habitual associations
awoke me. I imagined the Superior and the whole community pursuing us
with lighted torches. I felt the blaze of the lights in contact with my
very eye-balls. I shrieked. I said, “Spare my sight, do not blind me, do
not drive me mad, and I will confess all.” A deep voice near me
muttered, “Confess.” I started up fully awake,--it was only the voice of
my sleeping companion. I stood on my feet, I viewed him as he lay. He
heaved and wallowed on his bed of stone, as if it had been down. He
seemed to have a frame of adamant. The jagged points of stone, the
hardness of the floor, the ruts and rudenesses of his inhospitable bed,
produced no effect on him. He could have slept, but his dreams were from
within. I have heard, I have read, of the horrors attending the dying
beds of the guilty. They often told us of such in the convent. One monk
in particular, who was a priest, was fond of dwelling on a death-bed
scene he had witnessed, and of describing its horrors. He related that
he had urged a person, who was sitting calmly in his chair, though
evidently dying, to intrust him with his confession. The dying person
answered, “I will, when those leave the room.” The monk, conceiving that
this referred to the relatives and friends, motioned them to retire. They did so, and again the monk renewed his demands on the conscience of
the penitent. The room was now empty. The monk renewed his adjuration to
the dying man to disclose the secrets of his conscience. The answer was
the same,--“I will, when those are gone.”--“_Those!_”--“Yes, those whom
you cannot see, and cannot banish,--send them away, and I will tell you
the truth.”--“Tell it now, then; there are none here but you and
me.”--“There are,” answered the dying man. “There are none that I can
see,” said the monk, gazing round the room. “But there are those that I
do see,” replied the dying wretch, “and that see me; that are watching,
waiting for me, the moment the breath is out of my body. I see them, I
feel them,--stand on my right side.” The monk changed his position. “Now
they are on the left.” The monk shifted again. “Now they are on my
right.” The monk commanded the children and relatives of the dying
wretch to enter the room, and surround the bed. They obeyed the command. “Now they are every where,” exclaimed the sufferer, and expired(6). (6) Fact,--me ipso teste. “This terrible story came freshly to my recollection, accompanied by
many others. I had heard much of the terrors that surrounded the dying
bed of the guilty, but, from what I was compelled to hear, I almost
believe them to be less than the terrors of a guilty sleep. I have said
my companion began at first with low mutterings, but among them I could
distinguish sounds that reminded me too soon of all I wished to forget,
at least while we were together. He murmured, “An old man?--yes,--well,
the less blood in him.