III
Prometheus went to see Damocles; and then he went very often. He did not talk to him every time; but in any case the waiter gave him the news. One day he brought Cocles with him.
The waiter received them.
—Well, how is he? asked Prometheus.
—Bad. Very bad, replied the waiter. For three days the miserable man has not been able to take any food. His bank-note torments him; he looks for it everywhere; he thinks he may have eaten it;—he takes a purgative and thinks to find it in his stool. When his reason returns and he remembers his adventure, he is again in despair. He has a grudge against you, Cocles, because he thinks you have so complicated his debt that he no longer knows where he is. Most of the time he is delirious. At night there are three of us to watch him, but he keeps leaping upon his bed, which prevents us sleeping.
—Can we see him? said Cocles.
—Yes, but you will find him changed. He is devoured by anxiety. He has become thin, thin, thin. Will you recognize him?—And will he recognize you?
They entered on the tips of their toes.
THE LAST DAYS OF DAMOCLES
Damocles’ bedroom smelt horribly of medicines. Low and very narrow, it was lighted gloomily by two night-lights. In an alcove, covered with innumerable blankets, one could see Damocles tossing about. He spoke all the time, although there was no one near him. His voice was hoarse and thick. Full of horror Prometheus and Cocles looked at each other; he did not hear them approach and continued his moaning as if he were alone.
—And from that day, he was saying, it seemed to me, both that my life began to have another meaning and that I could no longer live! That hated bank-note I believed I owed it to every one and I dared not give it to any one—without depriving all the others. I only dreamed of getting rid of it—but how?—The Savings Bank! but this increased my trouble; my debt was augmented by the interest on the money; and, on the other hand, the idea of letting it stagnate was intolerable to me; so I thought it best to circulate the sum; I carried it always upon me; regularly every week I changed the note into silver, and then the silver into another note. Nothing is lost or gained in this exchange. It is circular insanity.—And to this was added another torture: that it was through a blow given to another that I received this note!
One day, you know well, I met you in a restaurant....
—He is speaking of you, said the waiter.
—The eagle of Prometheus broke the window of the restaurant and put out Cocles’ eye.... Saved!!—Gratuitously, fortuitously, providentially! I will slip my bank-note into the interstices of these events. No more debt! Saved! Ah! gentlemen! what an error.... It was from that day that I became a dying man. How can I explain this to you? Will you ever understand my anguish? I am still in debt for this note, and now it is no longer in my possession! I tried like a coward to get rid of my debt, but I have not acquitted it. In my nightmares I awake covered with perspiration. Kneeling down, I cry aloud: Lord! Lord! to whom do I owe this? I know nothing of it, but I owe—owing is like duty. Duty, gentlemen, is a horrible thing; look at me, I am dying of it.
And now I am more tormented than ever because I have passed this debt on to you, Cocles.... Cocles! it does not belong to you that eye, as the money it was bought with did not belong to me. And what hast thou that thou didst not receive? says the Bible ... received from whom? whom?? Whom??... My distress is intolerable.
The wretched man spoke in short, sharp jerks; his voice grew inarticulate, choked as it was by gasps, sobs and tears. Anxiously Prometheus and Cocles listened; they took each other’s hand and trembled. Damocles said, seeming to see them:
Debt is a terrible duty, gentlemen ... but how much more terrible is the remorse of having wished to evade a duty.... As if the debt could cease to exist because it was transferred to another.... But your eye burns you, Cocles!—Cocles!! I am certain it burns you, your glass eye; tear it out!—If it does not burn you, it ought to burn you, for it is not yours—your eye ... and if it is not yours it must be your brother’s ... whose is it? whose? Whose??
The miserable man wept; he became delirious and lost strength; now and again fixing his eyes on Prometheus and Cocles he seemed to recognize them, crying:
—But understand me for pity’s sake! The pity I claim from you is not simply a compress on my forehead, a bowl of fresh water, a soothing drink; it is to understand me. Help me to understand myself, for pity’s sake! This which has come to me from I know not where, to whom do I owe it? to whom?? to Whom??—And, in order to cease one day from owing it one day, believing, I made with this a present to others! To others!!—to Cocles—the gift of an eye!! but it is not yours, that eye, Cocles! Cocles!! give it back. Give it back, but to whom? to whom? to Whom??
Not wishing to hear more, Cocles and Prometheus went away.