Melancholy overshadowing of a soul's brightness! Thus it was that in

Gwynplaine, who had been a hero, and perhaps had not ceased to be one,

moral greatness gave way to material splendour. A lamentable transition!

Virtue broken down by a troop of passing demons. A surprise made on the

weak side of man's fortress. All the inferior circumstances called by

men superior, ambition, the purblind desires of instinct, passions,

covetousness, driven far from Gwynplaine by the wholesome restraints of

misfortune, took tumultuous possession of his generous heart. And from

what had this arisen? From the discovery of a parchment in a waif

drifted by the sea. Conscience may be violated by a chance attack.

Gwynplaine drank in great draughts of pride, and it dulled his soul.

Such is the poison of that fatal wine.

Giddiness invaded him. He more than consented to its approach. He

welcomed it. This was the effect of previous and long-continued thirst.

Are we an accomplice of the cup which deprives us of reason? He had

always vaguely desired this. His eyes had always turned towards the

great. To watch is to wish. The eaglet is not born in the eyrie for

nothing.

Now, however, at moments, it seemed to him the simplest thing in the

world that he should be a lord. A few hours only had passed, and yet the

past of yesterday seemed so far off! Gwynplaine had fallen into the

ambuscade of Better, who is the enemy of Good.

672

The Man Who Laughs