My testament,

Granted that, thus rhymed, it will not be bad, Let us understand. What I exalt in it Is not the rhyme: it is poor;

It is the meaning… To the Devil with the jargon! The spirit of the thing, ah, may it not slip away; Let him understand it who can: it is the Spirit that lives. That is how I understand the term, then. I who am not yet but soon shall be, – At least that is what I hope, – and there appear, Not as a fool in his wilderness, But as a poor humble Being, repentant, Hoping in the Father then to be understood, And counting on reaching the kingdom of the elect, More by His goodness in the face of my faults! Let us explain ourselves further, for I always err; It is the goodness of God that I always invoke here; Resuming my belief, Therefore before hearing my sentence That may condemn or justify me, I wish to set right as best I can, The accounts I assumed, putting myself at risk. Some I shall confess as the law requires I carry them in my heart. Let us see how to do it To arrange everything in the best way. This is not a business matter between us, let us understand! My Spirit, as soon as it departs from the body, Will claim from you a tender prayer That may then serve as a passport To him whom death Delivers his dust to the ground.

Thus, my burial Must be thought of, promptly And, without any constraint, Let it be a very modest interment.

Moreover, in this world I was always shocked Before the tombs at seeing such luxury accumulated, When to the mass of clay they then deliver The little of which we were formed. Why occupy ourselves with so blind a glory? How many lost through excess of vanity! The prayer sent to God attains His clemency; We believe it; I too have hope in it. But why ask more only for a few?

And for that why so much paraphernalia? Why does one who is unhappy and dies in misery Not have the concurrence of the prayer that succors? Why, then, display such costly luxury Which engenders envy in him who was thus deluded? Is it to deceive man about a blissful heaven? If it is to deceive him, anathema to the lie! But if it is to attract the graces of the Lord, Pray, rather, then for those who without love Think to find Him in riches, Having suffered so much, they yearn for such largesse That costs you not a penny!

Even seeing me a fool, perceive well: My poor Spirit on departing, Wishes only in prayer to be led to God With the heart, The only one, believe me, that He then heeds. Carry me without expense, without pomp, without lantern; And quite contrary to custom, With your eyes well radiant!

Instead of marked tears Sustain airs of joy!

No doubt or melancholy.

In faith in God be constant!

My children, do not think it is out of economy That my speech thus guides me!

Little was my whole being Concerned with money, Judge me after death!

For I want, in its support, That scale balanced;

And that luxury which is abundance Used to gild the body’s ill, Does better for the sad to repair their harms. Of that shroud, in short, only to the dead is it wholesome If its adornments are removed.

By one same hand we are all reaped. It is the door of Heaven, not that of the Louvre Which good Saint Peter, if he sees me Repentant, orders to be opened.

A wooden cross, in silent eloquence, Makes of the offense to the Lord not vengeance, but clemency. So may my soul rise in simplicity and honesty, And may that lost gold extinguish the atrocious nakedness Of the child and the old man, my brothers in this life, In death my equals, perhaps far more so in Heaven, Those who pray with a faithful soul, For those whom the veil of good enfolds! Before concluding, I shall give you a counsel That may, here, have its place:

Make of charity the most faithful mirror; And never bind yourselves to the judgment of fools. Of the deceitful luxury that pride so displays Always be wary. Nothing equals the sweet cooing Of a heart lived in good.

In weakness always uphold the oppressed; May your soul answer the cry of affliction; And may an echo there find itself repeating the deed. May, children, your hand not cease to serve, With the gold that I may share with you; Gather treasures for the great journey From which, the Being being virtuous, one returns no more! Always sow the good on this your pilgrimage, Conquering virtues and, from the Lord, the lights; You will always find brothers amid their crosses, And may God grant you in His high goodness, To have for your law only Love and Charity!… [Anonymous.]