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<title>the alchemist</title>
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<h6>Author</h6>
<h1>Paulo Coelho</h1>
<h6>Brazilian lyricist</h6>
<p id="paragraph">
“And this is for me,” said the alchemist, keeping one of the parts.
“Because I have to return to the desert, where there are tribal wars.”
He took the fourth part and handed it to the monk.
“This is for the boy. If he ever needs it.”
“But I’m going in search of my treasure,” the boy said. “I’m very
close to it now.”
“And I’m certain you’ll find it,” the alchemist said.
“Then why this?”
“Because you have already lost your savings twice. Once to the
thief, and once to the general. I’m an old, superstitious Arab, and I
believe in our proverbs. There’s one that says, ‘Everything that
happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens
twice will surely happen a third time.’” They mounted their horses.
“I WANT TO TELL YOU A STORY ABOUT DREAMS,” SAID THE alchemist.
The boy brought his horse closer.
“In ancient Rome, at the time of Emperor Tiberius, there lived a
good man who had two sons. One was in the military, and had been
sent to the most distant regions of the empire. The other son was a
poet, and delighted all of Rome with his beautiful verses.
“One night, the father had a dream. An angel appeared to him,
and told him that the words of one of his sons would be learned and
repeated throughout the world for all generations to come. The
father woke from his dream grateful and crying, because life was
generous, and had revealed to him something any father would be
proud to know.
“Shortly thereafter, the father died as he tried to save a child
who was about to be crushed by the wheels of a chariot. Since he
had lived his entire life in a manner that was correct and fair, he
went directly to heaven, where he met the angel that had appeared
in his dream.
“‘You were always a good man,’ the angel said to him. ‘You lived
your life in a loving way, and died with dignity. I can now grant you
any wish you desire.’
“‘Life was good to me,’ the man said. ‘When you appeared in my
dream, I felt that all my efforts had been rewarded, because my
son’s poems will be read by men for generations to come. I don’t
want anything for myself. But any father would be proud of the
fame achieved by one whom he had cared for as a child, and
educated as he grew up. Sometime in the distant future, I would like
to see my son’s words.’
“The angel touched the man’s shoulder, and they were both
projected far into the future. They were in an immense setting,
surrounded by thousands of people speaking a strange language.
“The man wept with happiness.
“‘I knew that my son’s poems were immortal,’ he said to the
angel through his tears. ‘Can you please tell me which of my son’s
poems these people are repeating?’
“The angel came closer to the man, and, with tenderness, led him
to a bench nearby, where they sat down.
“‘The verses of your son who was the poet were very popular in
Rome,’ the angel said. ‘Everyone loved them and enjoyed them. But
when the reign of Tiberius ended, his poems were forgotten. The
words you’re hearing now are those of your son in the military.’
“The man looked at the angel in surprise.
“‘Your son went to serve at a distant place, and became a
centurion. He was just and good. One afternoon, one of his servants
fell ill, and it appeared that he would die. Your son had heard of a
rabbi who was able to cure illnesses, and he rode out for days and
days in search of this man. Along the way, he learned that the man
he was seeking was the Son of God. He met others who had been
cured by him, and they instructed your son in the man’s teachings.
And so, despite the fact that he was a Roman centurion, he
converted to their faith. Shortly thereafter, he reached the place
where the man he was looking for was visiting.’
“‘He told the man that one of his servants was gravely ill, and the
rabbi made ready to go to his house with him. But the centurion was
a man of faith, and, looking into the eyes of the rabbi, he knew that
he was surely in the presence of the Son of God.’
“‘And this is what your son said,’ the angel told the man. ‘These
are the words he said to the rabbi at that point, and they have never
been forgotten: “My Lord, I am not worthy that you should come
under my roof. But only speak a word and my servant will be
healed.””’
The alchemist said, “No matter what he does, every person on
earth plays a central role in the history of the world. And normally
he doesn’t know it.”
The boy smiled. He had never imagined that questions about life
would be of such importance to a shepherd.
“Good-bye,” the alchemist said.
“Good-bye,” said the boy.
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<h5 class="pageNumber">Page 59</h5>
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