now some of poictesme—but not all they of poictesme, because the pious deny this portion of the tale, and speak of an ascension,—some narrate that after the appalling eucharist which young jurgen witnessed upon upper morven, the redeemer of poictesme rode on a far and troubling journey with grandfather death, until the two had passed the sunset, and had come to the dark stream of lethe.
"now we must ford these shadowy waters," said grandfather death, "in part because your destiny is on the other side, and in part because by the contact of these waters all your memories will be washed away from you. and that is requisite to your destiny."
"but what is my destiny?"
"it is that of all loving creatures, count manuel. if you have been yourself you cannot reasonably be punished, but if you have been somebody else you will find that this is not permitted."
"that is a dark saying, only too well suited to this doubtful place, and i do not understand you."
"no," replied grandfather death, "but that does not matter."
then the black horse and the white horse entered the water: and they passed over, and the swine of eubouleus were waiting for them, but these were not yet untethered.
so in the moment which remained dom manuel looked backward and downward, and he saw that grandfather death had spoken truly. for all the memories of manuel's life had been washed away from him, so that these memories were left adrift and submerged in the shadowy waters of lethe. drowned there was the wise countenance of helmas, and the face of st. ferdinand with a tarnished halo about it, and the puzzled features of horvendile; and glowing birds and glistening images and the shimmering designs of miramon thronged there confusedly, and among them went with moving jaws a head of sleek white clay. the golden loveliness of alianora, and the dark splendor of freydis and, derisively, the immortal young smile of sesphra, showed each for a moment, and was gone. then niafer's eyes displayed their mildly wondering disapproval for the last time, and the small faces of children that in the end were hers and not manuel's passed with her: and the shine of armor, and a tossing heave of jaunty banners, and gleaming castle turrets, and all the brilliancies and colors that manuel had known and loved anywhere, save only the clear red and white of suskind's face, seemed to be passing incoherently through the still waters, like bright broken wreckage which an undercurrent was sweeping away.
and manuel sighed, almost as if in relief. "so this," he said, "this is the preposterous end of him who was everywhere esteemed the most lucky and the least scrupulous rogue of his day!"
"yes, yes," replied grandfather death, as slowly he untethered one by one the swine of eubouleus. "yes, it is indeed the end, since all your life is passing away there, to be beheld by your old eyes alone, for the last time. thus i see nothing there but ordinary water, and i wonder what it is you find in that dark pool to keep you staring so."
"i do not very certainly know," said manuel, "but, a little more and more mistily now, i seem to see drowned there all the loves and the desires and the adventures i had when i wore another body than this dilapidated gray body i now wear. and yet it is a deceiving water, for there, where it should reflect the remnants of the old fellow that is i, it shows, instead, the face of a young boy who is used to following after his own thinking and his own desires."
"certainly it is queer you should be saying that; for that, as everybody knows, was the favorite by-word of your namesake the famous count manuel who is so newly dead in poictesme yonder.... but what is that thing?"
manuel raised from looking at the water just the handsome and florid young face which manuel had seen reflected in the water. as his memories vanished, the tall boy incuriously wondered who might be the snub-nosed stranger that was waiting there with the miller's pigs, and was pointing, as if in mild surprise, toward the two stones overgrown with moss and supporting a cross of old worm-eaten wood. for the stranger pointed at the unfinished, unsatisfying image which stood beside the pool of haranton, wherein, they say, strange dreams engender....
"what is that thing?" the stranger was asking, yet again....
"it is the figure of a man," said manuel, "which i have modeled and remodeled, and cannot get exactly to my liking. so it is necessary that i keep laboring at it, until the figure is to my thinking and my desire." thus it was in the old days.
the end
