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BOOK II.
KNOWLEDGE.
Chagrin and anguish stung me to the heart. I cursed the returning day which called me back to an existence whose truth and significance were now involved in doubt. I awoke in the night from unquiet dreams. I sought anxiously for a ray of light that might lead me out of these mazes of uncertainty. I sought, but only became more deeply entangled in the labyrinth.
Once, at the hour of midnight, a wondrous shape appeared before me, and addressed me,—
“Poor mortal,” I heard it say, “thou heapest error upon error, and fanciest thyself wise. Thou tremblest before the phantoms which thou hast thyself toiled to create. Dare to become truly wise. I bring thee no new revelation. What I can teach thee thou already knowest, and thou hast but to recall it to thy remembrance. I cannot deceive thee; for thou, thyself, wilt acknowledge me to be in the right; and shouldst thou still be deceived, thou wilt be deceived by thyself. Take courage;—listen to me, and answer my questions.”
I took courage. “He appeals to my own understanding. I will make the venture. He cannot force his own thoughts into my mind; the conclusion to
