Gladiator Philip Wylie (learn to read books .TXT) đ
- Author: Philip Wylie
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The words had been wrung from Hugo. Perspiration trickled down his face. He bit his lips to check himself. The older man was grave. âAll your emotions, your reflections, your yearnings and passions, comeâ âto that. And yetâ ââ
âLook at me in another light,â Hugo went on. âIâve tried to give you an inkling of it. You were the first who saw what I could doâ âglimpsed a fraction of it, ratherâ âand into whose face did not come fear, loathing, even hate. Try to live with a sense of that. I can remember almost back to the cradle that same thing. First it was envy and jealousy. Then, as I grew stronger, it was fear, alarm, and the thing that comes from fearâ âhatred. That is another and perhaps a greater obstacle. If I found something to do, the whole universe would be against me. These little people! Can you imagine what it is to be me and to look at people? A crowd at a ball game? A parade? Can you?â
âGreat God,â the scientist breathed.
âWhen I see them for what they are, and when they exert the tremendous bulk of their united detestation and denial against me, when I feel rage rising inside myselfâ âcan you conceiveâ â?â
âThatâs enough. I donât want to try to think. Not of that. Iâ ââ
âShall I walk to my grave afraid that I shall let go of myself, searching everywhere for something to absorb my energy? Shall I?â
âNo.â
The professor spoke with a firm concentration. Hugo arrested himself. âThen what?â
âDid it ever dawn on you that you had missed your purpose entirely?â
The words were like cold water to Hugo. He pulled himself together with a physical effort and replied: âYou meanâ âthat I have not guessed it so far?â
âPrecisely.â
âIt never occurred to me. Not that I had missed it entirely.â
âYou have.â
âThen, for the love of God, what is it?â
Hardin smiled a gentle, wise smile. âEasy there. Iâll tell you. And listen well, Hugo, because tonight I feel inspired. The reason you have missed it is simple. Youâve tried to do everything single-handedâ ââ
âOn the contrary. Every kind of assistance I have enlisted has failed me utterly.â
âExcept one kind.â
âScience?â
âNo. Your own kind, Hugo.â
The words did not convey their meaning for several seconds. Then Hugo gasped. âYou meanâ âother men like me?â
âExactly. Other men like you. Not one or two. Scores, hundreds. And women. All picked with the utmost care. Eugenic offspring. Cultivated and reared in secret by a society for the purpose. Not necessarily your children, but the children of the best parents. Perfect bodies, intellectual minds, your strength. Donât you see it, Hugo? You are not the reformer of the old world. You are the beginning of the new. We begin with a thousand of you. Living by yourselves and multiplying, you produce your own arts and industries and ideals. The new Titans! Thenâ âslowlyâ âyou dominate the world. Conquer and stamp out all these things to which you and I and all men of intelligence object. In the endâ âyou are alone and supreme.â
Hugo groaned. âTo make a thousand men live my lifeâ ââ
âBut they will not. Suppose you had been proud of your strength. Suppose you had not been compelled to keep it a secret. Suppose you could have found glorious uses for it from childhoodâ ââ
âIn the mountains,â Hugo whispered, his eyes bemused, âwhere the sun is warm and the days longâ âthese children growing. Even here, in this placeâ ââ
âSo I thought. Donât you see, Hugo?â
âYes, I see. At last, thank God, I do see!â
For a long time their thoughts ran wild. When they cooled, it was to formulate plans. A child taken here. Another there. A city in the jungleâ âthe jungle had harboured races before: not only these Mayas, but the Incas, Khmers, and others. A modern city for dwellings, and these tremendous ruins would be the blocks for the nursery. They would teach them art and architectureâ âand science. Engineering, medicineâ âtheir own, undiscovered medicineâ âthe new Titans, the sons of dawnâ âso ran their inspired imaginations.
When the night was far advanced and the camp was wrapped in slumber, they made a truce with this divine fire. They shook each otherâs hands.
âGood night, Hugo. And tomorrow weâll go over the notes.â
âIâll bring them.â
âTill evening, then.â
Hugo lay on his bed, more ecstatic than he had ever been in his life. By and by he slept. Then, as if the ghosts of Uctotol had risen, his mind was troubled by a host, a pageant of dreams. He turned in his sleep, rending his blankets. He moaned and mumbled. When he woke, he understood that his soul had undergone another of its diametric inversions. The mad fancies of the night before had died and memory could not rekindle them. Little dreads had goaded away their brightness. Conscience was bickering inside him. Humanity was content; it would hate his new race. And the new race, being itself human, might grow top-heavy with power. If his theory about the great builders of the past was true, then perhaps this incubus would explain why the past was no more. If his Titans disagreed and made war on each otherâ âsurely that would end the earth. He quailed.
Overcome by a desire to think more about this giantsâ scheme, he avoided Hardin. In the siesta hour he went back to his tent and procured the books wherein his
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