As there is no appearance of daylight, what is to be done during the
night? It occurred to me that I would arise and examine, by my lamp, the
walls of my cell. They are covered with writings, with drawings,
fantastic figures, and names which mix with and efface each other. It
would appear that each prisoner had wished to leave behind him some
trace here at least. Pencil, chalk, charcoal,--black, white, grey
letters; sometimes deep carvings upon the stone. If my mind were at
ease, I could take an interest in this strange book, which is developed
page by page, to my eyes, on each stone of this dungeon. I should like
to recompose these fragments of thought; to trace a character for each
name; to give sense and life to these mutilated inscriptions,--these
dismembered phrases.
Above where I sleep there are two flaming hearts, pierced with an arrow;
and beneath is written “Amour pour la vie.” Poor wretch! it was not a
long engagement.
Beyond this, a three-sided cocked hat, with a small figure coarsely done
beneath, and the words, “Vive l’Empereur!”
On the opposite wall is the name of “Papavoine.” The capital _P_ is
worked in arabesques and embellished with care.
A verse of a popular drinking-song.
A Cap of Liberty, cut rather deeply into the stone, with the words
beneath of “Bories, La Republique!”
Poor young man! he was one of the four subaltern officers of La
Rochelle. How horrible is the idea of their (fancied) political
necessity, to give the frightful reality of the guillotine for an
opinion, a reverie, an abstraction!--And I! _I_ have complained of its
severity!--I who have really committed crime--
Ah, what have I seen! I can go no farther in my research! I have just
discovered, drawn with chalk in the corner of the wall, that dreadful
image, the representation of that scaffold, which even at this moment is
perhaps being put up for my execution! The lamp had nearly fallen out of
my trembling hands!