“Perhaps thou wilt have comprehended that all which man does is mere child’s-play with which to pass the time; that his greatness and his miseries are relative; that his civilization, social organization and most serious interests, lack common-sense; that fashions, customs, hierarchies, are powder, smoke, vanity of vanities. But what do I say? vanity! less, even! They are playthings with which thou entertainest the leisure of life; the deliriums of fever; the hallucinations of a maniac. Children, the aged, nobles, plebeians, wise, ignorant, beautiful, deformed, kings, slaves, rich and poor, all are the same to me: handfuls of dust, which dust, my breath unmakes. And still thou clamorest for life! And still thou tellest me thou desirest to remain in the world; still thou lovest that perishable creation.”
“I love Elena,” replied Tito.
“Ah, yes,” continued Death; “life is love, life is desire. But the ideal of this love, and of this desire, should not be a thing of mortal clay. It is the deluded who mistake the near for the remote. Life is love; life is sentiment; but the great, the noble, that which reveals life, is the tear of sadness which courses down the cheek of the newly born and of the dying; the melancholy complaint of the human heart, which feels the desire of life and pain of existence; and the sweet hope of another life, or the pathetic remembrance of another world. The worry and unhappiness, the doubt and the anxiety of those great souls who are not satisfied with the vanities of the earth, are but presentiments of another world, of a higher mission than that of science and power; of something, in fact, more infinite than the temporal greatness of men and the transitory graces of women. We will confine ourselves, however, to thee and to thy history, which thou dost not know. We will enter into the mystery of thy anomalous existence, and explain the reasons of our friendship.
“Tito, thou hast said, that of all the supposed felicities which life offers, thou desirest one alone—the possession of one woman. I have therefore gained great victories in thy soul. Neither power nor riches, honor nor glory, nothing, tempts thy imagination. Thou art, then, a consummate philosopher, a perfect Christian, and to this point I have desired to lead thee. Now tell me, if this woman were dead, wouldst thou feel her loss?”
Tito rose, uttering a frightened cry.
“What! Elena?”
“Calm thyself,” continued Death, “thou wilt find Elena as thou leftst her. We speak in hypotheses—so answer me.”
“Before killing Elena, take my life! You have my answer.”
“Magnificent!” replied Death, “and tell me: if thou knewest that Elena was in heaven awaiting thee, wouldst thou not die tranquil, content, blessing God, and dedicating thy soul to Him?”