Monsieur De Camors | Page 2

DEATH"
Near eleven o'clock, one evening in the month of May, a man about
fifty years of age, well formed, and of noble carriage, stepped from a
coupe in the courtyard of a small hotel in the Rue Barbet-de-Jouy. He
ascended, with the walk of a master, the steps leading to the entrance,
to the hall where several servants awaited him. One of them followed
him into an elegant study on the first floor, which communicated with a
handsome bedroom, separated from it by a curtained arch. The valet
arranged the fire, raised the lamps in both rooms, and was about to
retire, when his master spoke:
"Has my son returned home?"
"No, Monsieur le Comte. Monsieur is not ill?"
"Ill! Why?"
"Because Monsieur le Comte is so pale."
"Ah! It is only a slight cold I have taken this evening on the banks of
the lake."
"Will Monsieur require anything?"
"Nothing," replied the Count briefly, and the servant retired. Left alone,
his master approached a cabinet curiously carved in the Italian style,
and took from it a long flat ebony box.
This contained two pistols. He loaded them with great care, adjusting
the caps by pressing them lightly to the nipple with his thumb. That
done, he lighted a cigar, and for half an hour the muffled beat of his
regular tread sounded on the carpet of the gallery. He finished his cigar,

paused a moment in deep thought, and then entered the adjoining room,
taking the pistols with him.
This room, like the other, was furnished in a style of severe elegance,
relieved by tasteful ornament. It showed some pictures by famous
masters, statues, bronzes, and rare carvings in ivory. The Count threw a
glance of singular interest round the interior of this chamber, which
was his own--on the familiar objects--on the sombre hangings--on the
bed, prepared for sleep. Then he turned toward a table, placed in a
recess of the window, laid the pistols upon it, and dropping his head in
his hands, meditated deeply many minutes. Suddenly he raised his head,
and wrote rapidly as follows:
"TO MY SON:
"Life wearies me, my son, and I shall relinquish it. The true superiority
of man over the inert or passive creatures that surround him, lies in his
power to free himself, at will, from those, pernicious servitudes which
are termed the laws of nature. Man, if he will it, need not grow old: the
lion must. Reflect, my son, upon this text, for all human power lies in
it.
"Science asserts and demonstrates it. Man, intelligent and free, is an
animal wholly unpremeditated upon this planet. Produced by
unexpected combinations and haphazard transformations, in the midst
of a general subordination of matter, he figures as a dissonance and a
revolt!
"Nature has engendered without having conceived him. The result is as
if a turkey-hen had unconsciously hatched the egg of an eagle. Terrified
at the monster, she has sought to control it, and has overloaded it with
instincts, commonly called duties, and police regulations known as
religion. Each one of these shackles broken, each one of these
servitudes overthrown, marks a step toward the thorough emancipation
of humanity.
"I must say to you, however, that I die in the faith of my century,
believing in matter uncreated, all-powerful, and eternal--the Nature of

the ancients. There have been in all ages philosophers who have had
conceptions of the truth. But ripe to-day, it has become the common
property of all who are strong enough to stand it--for, in sooth, this
latest religion of humanity is food fit only for the strong. It carries
sadness with it, for it isolates man; but it also involves grandeur,
making man absolutely free, or, as it were, a very god. It leaves him no
actual duties except to himself, and it opens a superb field to one of
brain and courage.
"The masses still remain, and must ever remain, submissive under the
yoke of old, dead religions, and under the tyranny of instincts. There
will still be seen very much the same condition of things as at present
in Paris; a society the brain of which is atheistic, and the heart religious.
And at bottom there will be no more belief in Christ than in Jupiter;
nevertheless, churches will continue to be built mechanically. There are
no longer even Deists; for the old chimera of a personal, moral
God-witness, sanction, and judge,--is virtually extinct; and yet hardly a
word is said, or a line written, or a gesture made, in public or private
life, which does not ever affirm that chimera. This may have its uses
perchance, but it is nevertheless despicable. Slip forth from the
common herd, my son, think for yourself, and write your own
catechism upon a virgin page.
"As for