Hameau de Villetaneuse,

“’February 13th, 1682.

“’I am about to escape, by death, from the disgrace of the galleys, to which the implacable enemies of my family have caused me to be condemned as a relapsed heretic.

“’Moreover, life is too bitter for me since the death of my son, the victim of a mysterious crime.

“’At nineteen years of age—­poor henry!—­and his murderers unknown—­no, not unknown—­if I may trust my presentiments.

“’To preserve my fortune for my son, I had feigned to abjure the Protestant faith.  As long as that beloved boy lived, I scrupulously kept up Catholic appearances.  The imposture revolted me, but the interest of my son was concerned.

“’When they killed him, this deceit became insupportable to me.  I was watched, accused, and condemned as relapsed.  My property has been confiscated, and I am sentenced to the galleys.

“’Tis a terrible time we live in!  Misery and servitude! sanguinary despotism and religious intolerance!  Oh, it is sweet to abandon life! sweet to rest and see no more such evils and such sorrows!

“’In a few hours, I shall enjoy that rest.  I shall die.  Let me think of those who will survive—­or rather, of those who will live perhaps in better times.

“’Out of all my fortune, there remains to me a sum of fifty thousand crowns, deposited in a friend’s hands.

“’I have no longer a son; but I have numerous relations, exiled in various parts of Europe.  This sum of fifty thousand crowns, divided between them, would profit each of them very little.  I have disposed of it differently.

“’In this I have followed the wise counsels of a man, whom I venerate as the image of God on earth, for his intelligence, wisdom, and goodness are almost divine.

“’Twice in the course of my life have I seen this man, under very fatal circumstances—­twice have I owed him safety, once of the soul, once of the body.

“’Alas! he might perhaps have saved my poor child, but he came too late—­too late.

“’Before he left me, he wished to divert me from the intention of dying—­for he knew all.  But his voice was powerless.  My grief, my regret, my discouragement, were too much for him.

“’It is strange! when he was convinced of my resolution to finish my days by violence, some words of terrible bitterness escaped him, making me believe that he envied me—­my fate—­my death!

“’Is he perhaps condemned to live?

“’Yes; he has, no doubt, condemned himself to be useful to humanity, and yet life is heavy on him, for I heard him repeat one day, with an expression of despair and weariness that I have never forgotten:  “Life! life! who will deliver me from it?”

“’Is life then so very burdensome to him?

“’He is gone.  His last words have made me look for my departure with serenity.  Thanks to him, my death shall not be without fruit.