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- Теодор Драйзер
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- Стр. 331/332
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"
Not
another
one
,
as
I
hope
to
keep
you
.
You
will
share
everything
I
have
...
"
For
answer
--
How
strange
are
realities
as
opposed
to
illusion
!
In
Retrospect
The
world
is
dosed
with
too
much
religion
.
Life
is
to
be
learned
from
life
,
and
the
professional
moralist
is
at
best
but
a
manufacturer
of
shoddy
wares
.
At
the
ultimate
remove
,
God
or
the
life
force
,
if
anything
,
is
an
equation
,
and
at
its
nearest
expression
for
man
--
the
contract
social
--
it
is
that
also
.
Its
method
of
expression
appears
to
be
that
of
generating
the
individual
,
in
all
his
glittering
variety
and
scope
,
and
through
him
progressing
to
the
mass
with
its
problems
.
In
the
end
a
balance
is
invariably
struck
wherein
the
mass
subdues
the
individual
or
the
individual
the
mass
--
for
the
time
being
.
For
,
behold
,
the
sea
is
ever
dancing
or
raging
.
In
the
mean
time
there
have
sprung
up
social
words
and
phrases
expressing
a
need
of
balance
--
of
equation
.
These
are
right
,
justice
,
truth
,
morality
,
an
honest
mind
,
a
pure
heart
--
all
words
meaning
:
a
balance
must
be
struck
.
The
strong
must
not
be
too
strong
;
the
weak
not
too
weak
.
But
without
variation
how
could
the
balance
be
maintained
?
Nirvana
!
Nirvana
!
The
ultimate
,
still
,
equation
.
Rushing
like
a
great
comet
to
the
zenith
,
his
path
a
blazing
trail
,
Cowperwood
did
for
the
hour
illuminate
the
terrors
and
wonders
of
individuality
.
But
for
him
also
the
eternal
equation
--
the
pathos
of
the
discovery
that
even
giants
are
but
pygmies
,
and
that
an
ultimate
balance
must
be
struck
.
Of
the
strange
,
tortured
,
terrified
reflection
of
those
who
,
caught
in
his
wake
,
were
swept
from
the
normal
and
the
commonplace
,
what
shall
we
say
?
Legislators
by
the
hundred
,
who
were
hounded
from
politics
into
their
graves
;
a
half-hundred
aldermen
of
various
councils
who
were
driven
grumbling
or
whining
into
the
limbo
of
the
dull
,
the
useless
,
the
commonplace
.
A
splendid
governor
dreaming
of
an
ideal
on
the
one
hand
,
succumbing
to
material
necessity
on
the
other
,
traducing
the
spirit
that
aided
him
the
while
he
tortured
himself
with
his
own
doubts
.
A
second
governor
,
more
amenable
,
was
to
be
greeted
by
the
hisses
of
the
populace
,
to
retire
brooding
and
discomfited
,
and
finally
to
take
his
own
life
.
Schryhart
and
Hand
,
venomous
men
both
,
unable
to
discover
whether
they
had
really
triumphed
,
were
to
die
eventually
,
puzzled
.
A
mayor
whose
greatest
hour
was
in
thwarting
one
who
contemned
him
,
lived
to
say
:
"
It
is
a
great
mystery
.
He
was
a
strange
man
.
"
A
great
city
struggled
for
a
score
of
years
to
untangle
that
which
was
all
but
beyond
the
power
of
solution
--
a
true
Gordian
knot
.
And
this
giant
himself
,
rushing
on
to
new
struggles
and
new
difficulties
in
an
older
land
,
forever
suffering
the
goad
of
a
restless
heart
--
for
him
was
no
ultimate
peace
,
no
real
understanding
,
but
only
hunger
and
thirst
and
wonder
.
Wealth
,
wealth
,
wealth
!
A
new
grasp
of
a
new
great
problem
and
its
eventual
solution
.
Anew
the
old
urgent
thirst
for
life
,
and
only
its
partial
quenchment
.
In
Dresden
a
palace
for
one
woman
,
in
Rome
a
second
for
another
.
In
London
a
third
for
his
beloved
Berenice
,
the
lure
of
beauty
ever
in
his
eye
.
The
lives
of
two
women
wrecked
,
a
score
of
victims
despoiled
;
Berenice
herself
weary
,
yet
brilliant
,
turning
to
others
for
recompense
for
her
lost
youth
.
And
he
resigned
,
and
yet
not
--
loving
,
understanding
,
doubting
,
caught
at
last
by
the
drug
of
a
personality
which
he
could
not
gainsay
.
