My Library

cushion of crimson velvet within the splendid open-sided monument on the mountain. In the midst of this lesser crowd, energetically striving to reach the ascending path, was one man who seemed to be endowed with far more strength and resolution—not of body, but of purpose— than those immediately around him. Bravely he urged his way toward the mountain’s top, and, after almost incredible efforts, succeeded. Exultingly he approached the temple, by his side were hundreds more; he outran them, entered, reached forth to seize the ball and sceptre—it seemed that the courageous man must certainly succeed—his fingers touched the prize, a smile of triumph illumined his countenance, and then suddenly went out in the blight of death, for he fell to the earth from a deadly blow, dealt by one treacherous hand from behind, while others seized and hurled him down the steep abyss upon which the temple abutted, and he was first dashed to pieces and then trampled out of existence by the iron heels of advancing thousands—men who saw but pitied not, rather rejoicing that one rival less was in existence. “ ‘Is it possible,’ cried I, internally, ‘that such hell-broth of vindictiveness boils in human veins?’ “ ‘Alas, thou seest!’ replied Ettelavar, by my side. ‘Learn a lesson,’ said he, ‘from what you have seen. Fame is a folly, not worth the having when obtained. ‘Felicitas’ is ever ahead, never