But they
are gone, and even the perishable labors of their lives outlive
them. For many, many years I, once honored of emperors, dwelt in a
humble house and warmed in successive winters three generations of
little, cold, hungry children. When I warmed them they forgot that
they were hungry; they laughed and told tales, and slept at last
about my feet. Then I knew that humble as had become my lot it was
one that my master would have wished for me, and I was content.
Sometimes a tired woman would creep up to me, and smile because
she was near me, and point out my golden crown or my ruddy fruit
to a baby in her arms. That was better than to stand in a great
hall of a great city, cold and empty, even though wise men came to
gaze and throngs of fools gaped, passing with flattering words.
Where I go now I know not; but since I go from that humble house
where they loved me, I shall be sad and alone. They pass so soon--
those fleeting mortal lives! Only we endure--we, the things that
the human brain creates. We can but bless them a little as they
glide by: if we have done that, we have done what our masters
wished. So in us our masters, being dead, yet may speak and live."
Then the voice sank away in silence, and a strange golden light
that had shone on the great stove faded away; so also the light
died down in the silver candelabra.
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