(Although, admittedly, I sometimes do that. Why live with questions when you don't have to?)
If you are an end-reader, come back to Part One and Part Two and Part Three to get the whole picture...
***
"Poor creature!" thought the banker, "he is
asleep and most likely dreaming of the millions. And I have only to take this
half-dead man, throw him on the bed, stifle him a little with the pillow, and
the most conscientious expert would find no sign of a violent death. But let us
first read what he has written here. . . ."
The banker took the page from the table and read as follows:
"To-morrow at twelve o'clock I regain my freedom and the
right to associate with other men, but before I leave this room and see the
sunshine, I think it necessary to say a few words to you.
With a clear conscience I tell you, as before God, who beholds
me, that I despise freedom and life and health, and all that in your books is
called the good things of the world.
"For fifteen years I have been intently studying earthly
life. It is true I have not seen the earth nor men, but in your books I have
drunk fragrant wine, I have sung songs, I have hunted stags and wild boars in the forests, have
loved women. . . .
Beauties as ethereal as clouds, created by
the magic of your poets and geniuses, have visited me at night, and have
whispered in my ears wonderful tales that have set my brain in a whirl.
In your books I have climbed to the peaks of Elburz and Mont Blanc, and from there I have
seen the sun rise and have watched it at evening flood the sky, the ocean, and
the mountain-tops with gold and crimson.
I have watched from there the lightning flashing over my head
and cleaving the storm-clouds. I have
seen green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, towns. I have heard the singing of
the sirens, and the strains of the shepherds' pipes; I have touched the wings
of comely devils who flew down to converse with me of God. . . .
In your books I have flung myself into the bottomless pit,
performed miracles, slain, burned towns, preached new religions, conquered
whole kingdoms. . . .
"Your books have given me wisdom. All that the unresting
thought of man has created in the ages is compressed into a small compass in my
brain. I know that I am wiser than all of you.
"And I despise your books, I despise wisdom and the
blessings of this world.
It is all worthless, fleeting, illusory, and deceptive, like a mirage. You may be proud, wise,
and fine, but death will wipe you off the face of the earth as though you were
no more than mice burrowing under the floor, and your posterity, your history,
your immortal geniuses will burn or freeze together with the earthly globe.
"You have lost your reason and taken the wrong path. You
have taken lies for truth, and hideousness for beauty.
You would marvel if, owing to strange events of some sorts,
frogs and lizards suddenly grew on apple and orange trees instead of fruit, or
if roses began to smell like a sweating horse; so I marvel at you who exchange
heaven for earth. I don't want to understand you.
"To prove to you in action how I despise all that you live
by, I renounce the two millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise and
which now I despise. To deprive myself of the right to the money I shall go out
from here five hours before the time fixed, and so break the compact. . .
."
When the banker had read this he laid the page on the table, kissed
the strange man on the head, and went out of the lodge, weeping.
At no other time, even when he had lost heavily on the Stock
Exchange, had he felt so great a contempt for himself. When he got home he lay
on his bed, but his tears and emotion kept him for hours from sleeping.
Next morning the watchmen ran in with pale faces, and told him
they had seen the man who lived in the lodge climb out of the window into the
garden, go to the gate, and disappear.
The banker went at once with the servants to the lodge and made
sure of the flight of his prisoner.
To avoid arousing unnecessary talk, he took from the table the
writing in which the millions were renounced, and when he got home locked it up
in the fireproof safe.
***
That's it! All done!
And I'm not sure how I feel about that ending...but these kind of endings, this ambiguousness that challenges the mind, can sometimes be more satisfying than the everything-happily-tied-neatly-in-a-bow ending.
What do you think?
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