- end_line
- 12197
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.924Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 12126
- text
- combustibles. If they have put powder-casks in me--let them look to it!
let them look to it! Ah! now I catch glimpses, and seem to half-see,
somehow, that the uttermost ideal of moral perfection in man is wide of
the mark. The demigods trample on trash, and Virtue and Vice are trash!
Isabel, I will write such things--I will gospelize the world anew, and
show them deeper secrets than the Apocalypse!--I will write it, I will
write it!"
"Pierre, I am a poor girl, born in the midst of a mystery, bred in
mystery, and still surviving to mystery. So mysterious myself, the air
and the earth are unutterable to me; no word have I to express them. But
these are the circumambient mysteries; thy words, thy thoughts, open
other wonder-worlds to me, whither by myself I might fear to go. But
trust to me, Pierre. With thee, with thee, I would boldly swim a
starless sea, and be buoy to thee, there, when thou the strong swimmer
shouldst faint. Thou, Pierre, speakest of Virtue and Vice; life-secluded
Isabel knows neither the one nor the other, but by hearsay. What are
they, in their real selves, Pierre? Tell me first what is
Virtue:--begin!"
"If on that point the gods are dumb, shall a pigmy speak? Ask the air!"
"Then Virtue is nothing."
"Not that!"
"Then Vice?"
"Look: a nothing is the substance, it casts one shadow one way, and
another the other way; and these two shadows cast from one nothing;
these, seems to me, are Virtue and Vice."
"Then why torment thyself so, dearest Pierre?"
"It is the law."
"What?"
"That a nothing should torment a nothing; for I am a nothing. It is all
a dream--we dream that we dreamed we dream."
"Pierre, when thou just hovered on the verge, thou wert a riddle to me;
but now, that thou art deep down in the gulf of the soul,--now, when
thou wouldst be lunatic to wise men, perhaps--now doth poor ignorant
Isabel begin to comprehend thee. Thy feeling hath long been mine,
Pierre. Long loneliness and anguish have opened miracles to me. Yes, it
is all a dream!"
Swiftly he caught her in his arms:--"From nothing proceeds nothing,
Isabel! How can one sin in a dream?"
"First what is sin, Pierre?"
"Another name for the other name, Isabel."
"For Virtue, Pierre?"
"No, for Vice."
"Let us sit down again, my brother."
"I am Pierre."
"Let us sit down again, Pierre; sit close; thy arm!"
And so, on the third night, when the twilight was gone, and no lamp was
lit, within the lofty window of that beggarly room, sat Pierre and
Isabel hushed.
- title
- Chunk 4