Short Fiction by Xavier de Maistre (digital e reader txt) ๐
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Xavier de Maistre lived mostly as a military man, fighting in France and Russia around the turn of the 19th century. In 1790 a duel he participated in led him to be put under arrest in Turin; during his confinement in a tiny chamber, he wrote his most famous work, โA Journey Round My Room.โ
โJourneyโ is a short story written as a parody of the grand travelogues popular at the time. He frames his six weeksโ confinement as a long journey across the unknown land of his room, visiting the furniture, the paintings on the wall, and even venturing to the north side. De Maistre didnโt hold the work in very high regard, but after his brother had it published in 1794 it became a fast success, eventually calling for a sequel (โA Night Journey Round My Roomโ), and warranting allusions in fiction by writers like D. H. Lawrence, Wilkie Collins, W. Somerset Maugham, and Jorge Luis Borges.
The rest of his literary corpus is modest, and consists entirely of short works. โThe Leper of the City of Aostaโ is a philosophical dialogue on the struggles of a leper whose days are seemingly filled with unending sorrow; โThe Prisoners of the Caucasusโ is the fictional narrative of a captured general and his faithful servant, set against a rich background of Cossack factions in the Caucasus of Imperial Russia reminiscent of Tolstoyโs Hadji Murรกd; and โThe Young Siberianโ is the true story of Prascovia Lopouloff, a poor Russian girl who sets out on a journey to secure an imperial pardon for her exiled father.
De Maistre never set out to have a literary career, but his carefully-considered output made him famous across the continent.
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- Author: Xavier de Maistre
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The Officer
How mournful the days must have seemed to you that followed the death of this dear sister!
The Leper
For a long time a sort of stupor took from me the sense of the full extent of my misfortune. When at length I came to myself and I was able to understand my position, I nearly lost my reason. This epoch of my life will always be doubly sad to me; it reminds me of my deepest sorrow, and of the crime which nearly resulted from it.
The Officer
A crime! I cannot think you could be capable of one.
The Leper
Nevertheless, it is but too true. And when I relate to you this episode of my history, I know too well I shall lose much of your esteem. But I do not wish to paint myself as better than I am; and while you condemn me, you will perhaps pity me. In some of my fits of melancholy, the idea had already presented itself of voluntarily escaping from this life; but the fear of God had made me drive the thought away. A circumstance, however, arose which, simple as it was in itself and in all appearance not at all calculated to trouble me, nearly wrought my ruin. I had just had a fresh vexation. Some years before, a little dog had made its home with us; my sister had been fond of him, and I assure you that after her death the poor animal was quite a comfort to me.
To his ugliness no doubt we owed his choice of our dwelling as a place of refuge. He had been driven off by everybody else; but he was a treasure in the home of the Leper. In recognition of the favour God had bestowed upon us in giving us this friend, my sister called him Miracle; and his name, which contrasted with his ugliness, and his constant drollery, often diverted our thoughts from our troubles. Notwithstanding the care I took of him, he sometimes got away; but I never thought this could be a source of harm to anyone. Some of the townspeople, however, took fright, thinking he might carry among them the germs of my disorder; so they determined to complain to the governor, who ordered my dog to be killed at once. Soldiers, accompanied by some of the inhabitants, came here forthwith to execute this cruel order. They put a cord round his neck in my presence, and dragged him away. When he was at the garden-gate I could not help looking at him once more. I saw him turn his eyes towards me, as if to ask for the help which I was unable to give. They intended to drown him in the Doire; but the rabble, who were waiting for him outside, stoned him to death. I heard his cries, and went into my tower more dead than alive. My trembling knees sank under me; and I threw myself upon my bed in a state no words can describe. My distress prevented my seeing in that just but harsh order aught but an atrocious and useless barbarity; and although I am now ashamed of the feelings that then possessed me, I cannot even yet think of it coolly. I spent the whole day in the greatest agitation. The only living being left me had been torn from me; and this fresh blow opened all the wounds of my heart.
Such was my condition when, on the same day, towards sunset, I sat down here, on the very stone upon which you are now sitting. I
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