- end_line
- 2970
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:48:52.918Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2907
- text
- VI.
This letter, inscribed in a feminine, but irregular hand, and in some
places almost illegible, plainly attesting the state of the mind which
had dictated it;--stained, too, here and there, with spots of tears,
which chemically acted upon by the ink, assumed a strange and reddish
hue--as if blood and not tears had dropped upon the sheet;--and so
completely torn in two by Pierre's own hand, that it indeed seemed the
fit scroll of a torn, as well as bleeding heart;--this amazing letter,
deprived Pierre for the time of all lucid and definite thought or
feeling. He hung half-lifeless in his chair; his hand, clutching the
letter, was pressed against his heart, as if some assassin had stabbed
him and fled; and Pierre was now holding the dagger in the wound, to
stanch the outgushing of the blood.
Ay, Pierre, now indeed art thou hurt with a wound, never to be
completely healed but in heaven; for thee, the before undistrusted moral
beauty of the world is forever fled; for thee, thy sacred father is no
more a saint; all brightness hath gone from thy hills, and all peace
from thy plains; and now, now, for the first time, Pierre, Truth rolls a
black billow through thy soul! Ah, miserable thou, to whom Truth, in her
first tides, bears nothing but wrecks!
The perceptible forms of things; the shapes of thoughts; the pulses of
life, but slowly came back to Pierre. And as the mariner, shipwrecked
and cast on the beach, has much ado to escape the recoil of the wave
that hurled him there; so Pierre long struggled, and struggled, to
escape the recoil of that anguish, which had dashed him out of itself,
upon the beach of his swoon.
But man was not made to succumb to the villain Woe. Youth is not young
and a wrestler in vain. Pierre staggeringly rose to his feet; his wide
eyes fixed, and his whole form in a tremble.
"Myself am left, at least," he slowly and half-chokingly murmured. "With
myself I front thee! Unhand me all fears, and unlock me all spells!
Henceforth I will know nothing but Truth; glad Truth, or sad Truth; I
will know what is, and do what my deepest angel dictates.--The
letter!--Isabel,--sister,--brother,--me, _me_--my sacred father!--This
is some accursed dream!--nay, but this paper thing is forged,--a base
and malicious forgery, I swear;--Well didst thou hide thy face from me,
thou vile lanterned messenger, that didst accost me on the threshold of
Joy, with this lying warrant of Woe! Doth Truth come in the dark, and
steal on us, and rob us so, and then depart, deaf to all pursuing
invocations? If this night, which now wraps my soul, be genuine as that
which now wraps this half of the world; then Fate, I have a choice
quarrel with thee. Thou art a palterer and a cheat; thou hast lured me
on through gay gardens to a gulf. Oh! falsely guided in the days of my
Joy, am I now truly led in this night of my grief?--I will be a raver,
and none shall stay me! I will lift my hand in fury, for am I not
struck? I will be bitter in my breath, for is not this cup of gall? Thou
Black Knight, that with visor down, thus confrontest me, and mockest at
me; Lo! I strike through thy helm, and will see thy face, be it
Gorgon!--Let me go, ye fond affections; all piety leave me;--I will be
impious, for piety hath juggled me, and taught me to revere, where I
should spurn. From all idols, I tear all veils; henceforth I will see
the hidden things; and live right out in my own hidden life!--Now I feel
that nothing but Truth can move me so. This letter is not a forgery. Oh!
Isabel, thou art my sister; and I will love thee, and protect thee, ay,
and own thee through all. Ah! forgive me, ye heavens, for my ignorant
ravings, and accept this my vow.--Here I swear myself Isabel's. Oh! thou
poor castaway girl, that in loneliness and anguish must have long
breathed that same air, which I have only inhaled for delight; thou who
must even now be weeping, and weeping, cast into an ocean of uncertainty
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