I had no power to lift my eyes to his
face: I was dubious of his purpose; this purpose might aim at my
life.
Alas! nothing but subjection to danger and exposure to temptation
can show us what we are. By this test was I now tried, and found
to be cowardly and rash. Men can deliberately untie the thread of
life, and of this I had deemed myself capable. It was now that I
stood upon the brink of fate, that the knife of the sacrificer was
aimed at my heart, I shuddered, and betook myself to any means of
escape, however monstrous.
Can I bear to think--can I endure to relate the outrage which my
heart meditated? Where were my means of safety? Resistance was
vain. Not even the energy of despair could set me on a level with
that strength which his terrific prompter had bestowed upon
Wieland. Terror enables us to perform incredible feats; but terror
was not then the state of my mind: where then were my hopes of
rescue?
Methinks it is too much. I stand aside, as it were, from myself; I
estimate my own deservings; a hatred, immortal and inexorable, is
my due. I listen to my own pleas, and find them empty and false:
yes, I acknowledge that my guilt surpasses that of mankind; I
confess that the curses of a world and the frowns of a Deity are
inadequate to my demerits.
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