But the light and fire were no sooner withdrawn than his spirits
fell. A little later he lay at full length on the sofa, as though
in a grave. He felt as though he could never get up from it again.
What was his life now? For there is a dream in every life which is
its soul, and when the dream is gone the life appears a corpse.
This, then, was the fulfilment of his forebodings. Hither the
ravens had followed the wild beast which dwelt in him. It would on
longer play and amuse him, but strike its claws into him in
earnest, overthrow him, and lap his fresh-spilt blood.
But it was none the less certain that if he left her she would be
ruined, she and her child. Then no one would consider him as an
honourable man, least of all himself.
During his last sojourn in France, when he could not settle down
to a great work which was constantly dawning before him, he had
thought to himself--You have taken life too lightly. Nothing great
ever comes to him who does so.
Now, perhaps, when he did his duty here; took upon himself the
burden of his fault towards her, himself, and others--and bore it
like a man; then perhaps he would be able to utilise all his
powers.
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