You've got
to get some sleep tonight. Only ten months left now; and then we shall
have Lucifer turning up at the cross-roads once more. Poor Merle--she's
beginning to grow grey. And the poor little children--dreaming of father
beating them, maybe, they cry out so often in their sleep. Off now,
trundle away. Now over with that load; and back for another.
"You, that once looked down on the soulless toil for bread, you have
sunk now to something far more miserable. You are dragging at a load
of sheer stupidity. You are a galley-slave, with calamity for your
task-master. As you move the chains rattle. And that is your day."
He straightens himself up, wipes the sweat from his forehead, and begins
heaving up stones into his barrow again.
How long must it last, this life in manacles? Do you remember Job?
Job? Aye, doubtless Jehovah was sitting at some jovial feast when he
conceived that fantasy of a drunken brain, to let Satan loose upon a
happy man. Job? His seven sons and daughters, and his cattle, and his
calves were restored unto him, but we read nothing of any compensation
made him for the jest itself. He was made to play court fool, with his
boils and his tortures and his misery, and the gods had their bit
of sport gratis. Job had his actual outlay in cattle and offspring
refunded, and that was all. Ha-ha!
Prometheus! Is it you after all that are the friend of man among the
gods? Have you indeed the power to free us all some day? When will you
come, then, to raise the great revolt?
Come, come--up with the barrow again--you see it is full.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233