XVIII
In Which Doctor Heraclius Recognises with Amazement the Author of the Manuscript
One night, being unable to sleep, the doctor got up between one and two in the morning to reread a passage that he thought he had not quite understood. He put on his slippers and opened the door of his room as softly as possible so as not to disturb all the “human-animals” who were expiating their sins under his roof. Whatever had been the previous circumstances of these lucky creatures, they had certainly never before enjoyed such perfect peace and happiness, for such was the kindness of heart of the good man that in his hospitable house they found food, lodging and everything else. Without making a sound, the Doctor reached his study door and went in. Now Heraclius was without doubt a courageous man. He was not afraid of spectres or ghosts; but however fearless a man may be, there exist certain terrors which, like cannon balls, will pierce the most indomitable courage. The Doctor stood transfixed, livid, horror-stricken, his eyes haggard and his hair on end, his teeth chattering and his whole body quivering from head to foot in a dreadful way, before the incomprensible sight which confronted him.
His lamp was alight on his table, and before the fire, with his back turned to the door by which he himself had entered, he saw … Doctor Heraclius Gloss, studiously perusing his manuscript. There was no possible doubt. It was certainly himself. Over his shoulders was his own long silk dressing-gown embroidered with large red flowers, and on his head was his Greek cap made of black velvet traced in gold. The Doctor realised that if this other self of his were to turn round, if the two Heraclius’ were to see each other face to face, he, who was shaking in his skin at that very moment, would fall shrivelled before this reproduction of himself. Then another nervous spasm caused his hands to twitch, and the candlestick which he was carrying fell to the floor with a crash that made him jump in terror. His other self turned sharply round and the petrified Doctor recognised—his monkey. For some seconds his thoughts whirled in his mind like dead leaves swept before a hurricane, and then he was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of joy more violent than he had ever before experienced, for he realised that this author whom he had longed for as the Jews longed for the Messiah, was before him. It was his monkey. Nearly mad with happiness, he dashed forward, seized the venerable being in his arms and embraced him more passionately than ever an adored mistress was clasped by her lover. Then he settled himself on the other side of the fireplace and remained there gazing at his companion until daylight came.