# Scenes from a Courtesan's Life/The End of Evil Ways/Section 11

While beauties, ministers, and magistrates were conspiring to save Lucien, this was what he was doing at the Conciergerie. As he passed the gate the poet told the keeper that Monsieur Camusot had granted him leave to write, and he begged to have pens, ink, and paper. At a whispered word to the Governor from Camusot's usher a warder was instructed to take them to him at once. During the short time that it took for the warder to fetch these things and carry them up to Lucien, the hapless young man, to whom the idea of facing Jacques Collin had become intolerable, sank into one of those fatal moods in which the idea of suicide—to which he had yielded before now, but without succeeding in carrying it out—rises to the pitch of mania. According to certain mad-doctors, suicide is in some temperaments the closing phase of mental aberration; and since his arrest Lucien had been possessed by that single idea. Esther's letter, read and reread many times, increased the vehemence of his desire to die by reminding him of the catastrophe of Romeo dying to be with Juliet.
This is what he wrote:—
"This is my Last Will and Testament.
 "AT THE CONCIERGERIE, May 15th, 1830.
 "I, the undersigned, give and bequeath to the children of my  sister, Madame Eve Chardon, wife of David Sechard, formerly a  printer at Angouleme, and of Monsieur David Sechard, all the  property, real and personal, of which I may be possessed at the  time of my decease, due deduction being made for the payments and  legacies, which I desire my executor to provide for.
 "And I earnestly beg Monsieur de Serizy to undertake the charge of  being the executor of this my will.
 "First, to Monsieur l'Abbe Carlos Herrera I direct the payment of  the sum of three hundred thousand francs. Secondly, to Monsieur le  Baron de Nucingen the sum of fourteen hundred thousand francs,  less seven hundred and fifty thousand if the sum stolen from  Mademoiselle Esther should be recovered.
 "As universal legatee to Mademoiselle Esther Gobseck, I give and  bequeath the sum of seven hundred and sixty thousand francs to the  Board of Asylums of Paris for the foundation of a refuge  especially dedicated to the use of public prostitutes who may wish  to forsake their life of vice and ruin.
 "I also bequeath to the Asylums of Paris the sum of money  necessary for the purchase of a certificate for dividends to the  amount of thirty thousand francs per annum in five per cents, the  annual income to be devoted every six months to the release of  prisoners for debts not exceeding two thousand francs. The Board  of Asylums to select the most respectable of such persons  imprisoned for debt.
 "I beg Monsieur de Serizy to devote the sum of forty thousand  francs to erecting a monument to Mademoiselle Esther in the  Eastern cemetery, and I desire to be buried by her side. The tomb  is to be like an antique tomb—square, our two effigies lying  thereon, in white marble, the heads on pillows, the hands folded  and raised to heaven. There is to be no inscription whatever.
 "I beg Monsieur de Serizy to give to Monsieur de Rastignac a gold  toilet-set that is in my room as a remembrance.
 "And as a remembrance, I beg my executor to accept my library of  books as a gift from me.
 "LUCIEN CHARDON DE RUBEMPRE."
This Will was enclosed in a letter addressed to Monsieur le Comte de Granville, Public Prosecutor in the Supreme Court at Paris, as follows:
"MONSIEUR LE COMTE,—
 "I place my Will in your hands. When you open this letter I shall  be no more. In my desire to be free, I made such cowardly replies  to Monsieur Camusot's insidious questions, that, in spite of my  innocence, I may find myself entangled in a disgraceful trial.  Even if I were acquitted, a blameless life would henceforth be  impossible to me in view of the opinions of the world.
 "I beg you to transmit the enclosed letter to the Abbe Carlos  Herrera without opening it, and deliver to Monsieur Camusot the  formal retraction I also enclose.
 "I suppose no one will dare to break the seal of a packet  addressed to you. In this belief I bid you adieu, offering you my  best respects for the last time, and begging you to believe that  in writing to you I am giving you a token of my gratitude for all  the kindness you have shown to your deceased humble servant,
 "LUCIEN DE R."
 "To the Abbe Carlos Herrera.
 "MY DEAR ABBE,—I have had only benefits from you, and I have  betrayed you. This involuntary ingratitude is killing me, and when  you read these lines I shall have ceased to exist. You are not  here now to save me.
 "You had given me full liberty, if I should find it advantageous,  to destroy you by flinging you on the ground like a cigar-end; but  I have ruined you by a blunder. To escape from a difficulty,  deluded by a clever question from the examining judge, your son by  adoption and grace went over to the side of those who aim at  killing you at any cost, and insist on proving an identity, which  I know to be impossible, between you and a French villain. All is  said.
 "Between a man of your calibre and me—me of whom you tried to  make a greater man than I am capable of being—no foolish  sentiment can come at the moment of final parting. You hoped to  make me powerful and famous, and you have thrown me into the gulf  of suicide, that is all. I have long heard the broad pinions of  that vertigo beating over my head.
 "As you have sometimes said, there is the posterity of Cain and  the posterity of Abel. In the great human drama Cain is in  opposition. You are descended from Adam through that line, in  which the devil still fans the fire of which the first spark was  flung on Eve. Among the demons of that pedigree, from time to time  we see one of stupendous power, summing up every form of human  energy, and resembling the fevered beasts of the desert, whose  vitality demands the vast spaces they find there. Such men are as  dangerous as lions would be in the heart of Normandy; they must  have their prey, and they devour common men and crop the money of  fools. Their sport is so dangerous that at last they kill the  humble dog whom they have taken for a companion and made an idol  of.
 "When it is God's will, these mysterious beings may be a Moses, an  Attila, Charlemagne, Mahomet, or Napoleon; but when He leaves a  generation of these stupendous tools to rust at the bottom of the  ocean, they are no more than a Pugatschef, a Fouche, a Louvel, or  the Abbe Carlos Herrera. Gifted with immense power over tenderer  souls, they entrap them and mangle them. It is grand, it is fine  —in its way. It is the poisonous plant with gorgeous coloring that  fascinates children in the woods. It is the poetry of evil. Men  like you ought to dwell in caves and never come out of them. You  have made me live that vast life, and I have had all my share of  existence; so I may very well take my head out of the Gordian knot  of your policy and slip it into the running knot of my cravat.
 "To repair the mischief I have done, I am forwarding to the public  prosecutor a retraction of my deposition. You will know how to  take advantage of this document.
 "In virtue of a will formally drawn up, restitution will be made,  Monsieur l'Abbe, of the moneys belonging to your Order which you  so imprudently devoted to my use, as a result of your paternal  affection for me.
 "And so, farewell. Farewell, colossal image of Evil and  Corruption; farewell—to you who, if started on the right road,  might have been greater than Ximenes, greater than Richelieu! You  have kept your promises. I find myself once more just as I was on  the banks of the Charente, after enjoying, by your help, the  enchantments of a dream. But, unfortunately, it is not now in the  waters of my native place that I shall drown the errors of a boy;  but in the Seine, and my hole is a cell in the Conciergerie.
 "Do not regret me: my contempt for you is as great as my  admiration.
 "LUCIEN."
 "Recantation.
 "I, the undersigned, hereby declare that I retract, without  reservation, all that I deposed at my examination to-day before  Monsieur Camusot.
 "The Abbe Carlos Herrera always called himself my spiritual  father, and I was misled by the word father used in another sense  by the judge, no doubt under a misapprehension.
 "I am aware that, for political ends, and to quash certain secrets  concerning the Cabinets of Spain and of the Tuileries, some  obscure diplomatic agents tried to show that the Abbe Carlos  Herrera was a forger named Jacques Collin; but the Abbe Carlos  Herrera never told me anything about the matter excepting that he  was doing his best to obtain evidence of the death or of the  continued existence of Jacques Collin.
 "LUCIEN DE RUBEMPRE.
 "AT THE CONCIERGERIE, May 15th, 1830."
The fever for suicide had given Lucien immense clearness of mind, and the swiftness of hand familiar to authors in the fever of composition. The impetus was so strong within him that these four documents were all written within half an hour; he folded them in a wrapper, fastened with wafers, on which he impressed with the strength of delirium the coat-of-arms engraved on a seal-ring he wore, and he then laid the packet very conspicuously in the middle of the floor.
Certainly it would have been impossible to conduct himself with greater dignity, in the false position to which all this infamy had led him; he was rescuing his memory from opprobrium, and repairing the injury done to his accomplice, so far as the wit of a man of the world could nullify the result of the poet's trustfulness.
If Lucien had been taken back to one of the lower cells, he would have been wrecked on the impossibility of carrying out his intentions, for those boxes of masonry have no furniture but a sort of camp-bed and a pail for necessary uses. There is not a nail, not a chair, not even a stool. The camp-bed is so firmly fixed that it is impossible to move it without an amount of labor that the warder would not fail to detect, for the iron-barred peephole is always open. Indeed, if a prisoner under suspicion gives reason for uneasiness, he is watched by a gendarme or a constable.
In the private rooms for which prisoners pay, and in that whither Lucien had been conveyed by the judge's courtesy to a young man belonging to the upper ranks of society, the movable bed, table, and chair might serve to carry out his purpose of suicide, though they hardly made it easy. Lucien wore a long blue silk necktie, and on his way back from examination he was already meditating on the means by which Pichegru, more or less voluntarily, ended his days. Still, to hang himself, a man must find a purchase, and have a sufficient space between it and the ground for his feet to find no support. Now the window of his room, looking out on the prison-yard, had no handle to the fastening; and the bars, being fixed outside, were divided from his reach by the thickness of the wall, and could not be used for a support.
This, then, was the plan hit upon by Lucien to put himself out of the world. The boarding of the lower part of the opening, which prevented his seeing out into the yard, also hindered the warders outside from seeing what was done in the room; but while the lower portion of the window was replaced by two thick planks, the upper part of both halves still was filled with small panes, held in place by the cross pieces in which they were set. By standing on his table Lucien could reach the glazed part of the window, and take or break out two panes, so as to have a firm point of attachment in the angle of the lower bar. Round this he would tie his cravat, turn round once to tighten it round his neck after securing it firmly, and kick the table from under his feet.
He drew the table up under the window without making any noise, took off his coat and waistcoat, and got on the table unhesitatingly to break a pane above and one below the iron cross-bar. Standing on the table, he could look out across the yard on a magical view, which he then beheld for the first time. The Governor of the prison, in deference to Monsieur Camusot's request that he should deal as leniently as possible with Lucien, had led him, as we have seen, through the dark passages of the Conciergerie, entered from the dark vault opposite the Tour d'Argent, thus avoiding the exhibition of a young man of fashion to the crowd of prisoners airing themselves in the yard. It will be for the reader to judge whether the aspect of the promenade was not such as to appeal deeply to a poet's soul.
The yard of the Conciergerie ends at the quai between the Tour d'Argent and the Tour Bonbec; thus the distance between them exactly shows from the outside the width of the plot of ground. The corridor called the Galerie de Saint-Louis, which extends from the Galerie Marchande to the Courts of Appeals and the Tour Bonbec—in which, it is said, Saint-Louis' room still exists—may enable the curious to estimate the depths of the yard, as it is of the same length. Thus the dark cells and the private rooms are under the Galerie Marchande. And Queen Marie Antoinette, whose dungeon was under the present cells, was conducted to the presence of the Revolutionary Tribunal, which held its sittings in the place where the Court of Appeals now performs its solemn functions, up a horrible flight of steps, now never used, in the very thickness of the wall on which the Galerie Marchande is built.
One side of the prison-yard—that on which the Hall of Saint-Louis forms the first floor—displays a long row of Gothic columns, between which the architects of I know not what period have built up two floors of cells to accommodate as many prisoners as possible, by choking the capitals, the arches, and the vaults of this magnificent cloister with plaster, barred loopholes, and partitions. Under the room known as the Cabinet de Saint-Louis, in the Tour Bonbec, there is a spiral stair leading to these dens. This degradation of one of the immemorial buildings of France is hideous to behold.
From the height at which Lucien was standing he saw this cloister, and the details of the building that joins the two towers, in sharp perspective; before him were the pointed caps of the towers. He stood amazed; his suicide was postponed to his admiration. The phenomena of hallucination are in these days so fully recognized by the medical faculty that this mirage of the senses, this strange illusion of the mind is beyond dispute. A man under the stress of a feeling which by its intensity has become a monomania, often finds himself in the frame of mind to which opium, hasheesh, or the protoxyde of azote might have brought him. Spectres appear, phantoms and dreams take shape, things of the past live again as they once were. What was but an image of the brain becomes a moving or a living object. Science is now beginning to believe that under the action of a paroxysm of passion the blood rushes to the brain, and that such congestion has the terrible effects of a dream in a waking state, so averse are we to regard thought as a physical and generative force. (See Louis Lambert.)
Lucien saw the building in all its pristine beauty; the columns were new, slender and bright; Saint-Louis' Palace rose before him as it had once appeared; he admired its Babylonian proportions and Oriental fancy. He took this exquisite vision as a poetic farewell from civilized creation. While making his arrangements to die, he wondered how this marvel of architecture could exist in Paris so utterly unknown. He was two Luciens—one Lucien the poet, wandering through the Middle Ages under the vaults and the turrets of Saint-Louis, the other Lucien ready for suicide.