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Page 97
We, however, must spend an hour with Manetho in his narrow and
prison-like retreat. There is less day and more night between these
high-shouldered walls than elsewhere; for though the sun is scarce
below the horizon, cobwebs seem to pervade the air, making the evening
gray before its time. Yonder seated figure is the nucleus of the
gloom. The room were less dark and oppressive, but for him!
Does he mean to spend the night here? He sits at ease, as one who,
having labored the day long hard and honestly, finds repose at sundown
grateful. Such calm of mind and body argues inward peace--or
paralysis!
But Manetho has food for meditation, for his work is still
incomplete. Ah, it has been but a sour and anxious work after all!
when it is finished, let death come, since Death-in-life will be the
sole alternative. Yet will death bring rest to your weariness, think
you? Would not Death's eyes look kindlier on you, if you had used more
worthily Death's brother,--Life? What would you give, Manetho, to see
all that you have done undone? if to undo it were possible!
One picture is ever before you,--you see it wherever you look, and
whether your eyes be shut or open,--two loving souls, standing hand in
hand before you to be married. How happy they look! how nobly
confident is their affection! with what clear freedom their eyes sound
one another's depths! Neither cares to have a thought or feeling
unshared by the other.--What have you done, Manetho?--shall the deed
stand? O dark and distorted soul! the minutes are slipping fast away,
and you are slipping with them to a black eternity. Will you stir hand
nor foot to save yourself, to break your fall? not raise your voice,
for once to speak the truth? Even yet the truth may save!--
The night of your life will this be, Manetho. Will you dream of those
whose few hours of bliss will stamp Forever on the seal of your
damnation? Think,--through what interminable �ons the weight of their
just curse will pile itself higher and heavier on your miserable
soul! Fain would you doubt the truth of immortality: but the power of
unbelief is gone; devil-like, you believe and tremble. And where is
the reward which should recompense you for this large outlay? Does the
honey of your long-awaited triumph offend your lips like gall?--Then
woe for him whose morning dreams of vengeance become realities in the
evening!--
How stands it between you and Gnulemah, Manetho? She has never loved
you ardently, perhaps; but how will you face her hatred? It is late to
be asking such questions,--but has not her temperate affection been
your most precious possession? have you not yearned and labored for
it? have you not loved her with more than a father's tenderness? Under
mask of planning her ruin, have not all the softer and better impulses
of your nature found exercise and sustenance? Conceiving a devil, have
you brought forth an angel, and unawares tasted angelic joy?--If this
be true, Manetho, your guilty purpose towards her is not excused, but
how much more awful becomes the contemplation of her fate! Rouse up!
sluggard, rush forth! you may save her yet. Up! would you risk the
salvation of three souls to glut a meaningless spite? You have been
fighting shadows with a shadow. Up!--it is the last appeal.--
You stir,--get stiffly to your feet,--put hand to forehead,--stare
around. The twilight has deepened apace; only by glancing upwards can
you distinguish a definite light. You are uncertain and lethargic in
your movements, as though the dawning in you of a worthy resolution
had impaired the evil principle of your vitality. You are as a man
nourished on poison, who suddenly tastes an antidote,--and finds it
fatal!
You halt towards the door and put forth a hand to open it. You will
save Gnulemah; her innocence will save her from the knowledge of her
loss. As for Balder,--his suffering will satisfy a reasonable enemy.
No wife, no fortune, the cup dashed from his lips just as the aroma
was ravishing his nostrils!--O, enough! Open the door, therefore, and
go forth.
In your magnanimity you feel for the key, but it is not in its
accustomed place. Try your pockets; still in vain! Startled, you turn
to the table, and feel carefully over it from end to end. You raise
the heavy chair like a feather, and shake it bottom downwards. Nothing
falls. You are down on your knees groping affrighted amongst the dust
and rubbish of the floor. The key is lost! You spring up,--briskly
enough now,--and stand with your long fingers working against one
another, trying to think. That key,--where had you it last?--
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