It was a vast weltering world,
and at last I had a sort of leadership against the Gang--you know
it was called the Gang--a sort of compromise of scoundrelly
projects and base ambitions and vast public emotional stupidities
and catch-words--the Gang that kept the world noisy and blind year
by year, and all the while that it was drifting, drifting towards
infinite disaster. But I can't expect you to understand the shades
and complications of the year--the year something or other ahead.
I had it all--down to the smallest details--in my dream. I suppose
I had been dreaming of it before I awoke, and the fading outline of
some queer new development I had imagined still hung about me as I
rubbed my eyes. It was some grubby affair that made me thank God
for the sunlight. I sat up on the couch and remained looking at
the woman and rejoicing--rejoicing that I had come away out of all
that tumult and folly and violence before it was too late. After
all, I thought, this is life--love and beauty, desire and delight,
are they not worth all those dismal struggles for vague, gigantic
ends? And I blamed myself for having ever sought to be a leader
when I might have given my days to love. But then, thought I, if
I had not spent my early days sternly and austerely, I might have
wasted myself upon vain and worthless women, and at the thought all
my being went out in love and tenderness to my dear mistress, my
dear lady, who had come at last and compelled me--compelled me by
her invincible charm for me--to lay that life aside.
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