DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "The Cross of Berny; Or, Irene's Lovers" by Théophile Gautier, Joseph Méry, Jules Sandeau, Emile de Mme Girardin. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.

The tragedy of Irene's death, is a bloody play by Reza Taheri Bashar. This sad story tells step by step the events after General Bahram's love failure. The great spiteful general can not marriage with beautiful Irene, So, He cooperates with Ila, Irene's beautiful sister, in revenge against Irene and General Bahman. they conspire and kill treacherously. and this play, finally it shows the old mother's hard grudge and the deadly murders and the final downfall of an aristocratic family. You will cry blood with this play. Story: The play of Irene's death, is a description of the adventurous, full of love and hate of two brave and worthy generals named Bahman and Bahram on one side and sisters Ila and Irene and their mother on the other. Irene rejects the vengeful Bahram's love and marries Bahman. Secretly Bahram, she unites with Ila against them. General Bahman is chosen to command the Iranian army in the fierce war with China, and triumphantly advances to the capital of China.but, he is killed with the conspiracy and complicity of Bahram and Ila in spiteful and the events of the time. With this incident, step by step, a terrible hell appears, which swallows an aristocratic family in its fire. Who do we recommend to read this book? Those for whom original stories and good ideas and dialogues are important. Those who feel the value and importance of choice and authority with their flesh, skin and bones. Those who are interested in investigating the course of historical events and the deadly violence contained in it. Those who are tired of the old tragedies and want a powerful and different story. This historical story is a rare and truly different tragedy.

You are a great prophetess, my dear Valentino. Your predictions are verified. Thanks to my peculiar disposition, I am already in the most deplorably false position that a reasonable mind and romantic heart could ever have contrived. With you, naturally and instinctively, I have always been sincere; indeed it would be difficult to deceive one whom I have so often seen by a single glance read the startled conscience, and lead it from the ways of insolence and shame back into the paths of rectitude. It is to you I would confide all my troubles; your counsel may save me ere it be too late. You must not think me absurd in ascribing all my unhappiness to what is popularly regarded as "a piece of good luck." Governed by my weakness, or rather by my fatal judgment, I have plighted my troth!... Good Heavens! is it really true that I am engaged to Prince de Monbert? If you knew the prince you would laugh at my sadness, and at the melancholy tone in which I announce this intelligence. Monsieur de Monbert is the most witty and agreeable man in Paris; he is noble-hearted, generous and ...in fact fascinating!... and I love him! He alone pleases me; in his absence I weary of everything; in his presence I am satisfied and happy—the hours glide away uncounted; I have perfect faith in his good heart and sound judgment, and proudly recognise his incontestable superiority—yes, I admire, respect, and, I repeat it, love him!...Yet, the promise I have made to dedicate my life to him, frightens me, and for a month I have had but one thought—to postpone this marriage I wished for—to fly from this man whom I have chosen!...I question my heart, my experience, my imagination, for an answer to this inexplicable contradiction; and to interpret so many fears, find nothing but school-girl philosophy and poetic fancies, which you will excuse because you love me, and I know my imaginary sufferings will at least awaken pity in your sympathetic breast. Yes, my dear Valentine, I am more to be pitied now, than I was in the days of my distress and desolation. I, who so courageously braved the blows of adversity, feel weak and trembling under the weight of a too brilliant fortune. This happy destiny for which I alone am responsible, alarms me more than did the bitter lot that was forced upon me one year ago. The actual trials of poverty exhaust the field of thought and prevent us from nursing imaginary cares, for when we have undergone the torture of our own forebodings, struggled with the impetuosity and agony of a nature surrendered to itself, we are disposed to look almost with relief on tangible troubles, and to end by appreciating the cares of poverty as salutary distractions from the sickly anxieties of an unemployed mind.