equences of
which there is no escape; a sordid nature swallows down the disgrace and
survives it, the wise man drinks the hemlock and dies. Suppose that the
remainder of life is to be one constant struggle with the gout which
racks our bones, or with a gnawing and disfiguring cancer, the wise man
dismisses quacks, and at the proper moment bids a last farewell to the
friends whom he only saddens by his presence. Or another perhaps has
fallen alive into the hands of the tyrant against whom he fought. What
shall he do? The oath of allegiance is tendered to him; he must either
subscribe or stretch out his neck to the executioner; the fool takes the
latter course, the coward subscribes, the wise man strikes a last blow
for liberty--in his own heart. 'You who are free,' the Stoic was wont to
say, 'know then how to preserve your freedom! Find freedom from your
own passions by sacrificing them to duty, freedom from the tyranny of
mankind by pointing to the sword or the poison which will put you beyond
their reach, freedom from the bondage of fate by determining the point
beyond which you will endure it no longer, freedom from physical fear by
learning how to subdue the gross instinct which causes so many wretches
to cling to life.'

"After I had unearthed this reasoning from among a heap of ancient
philosophical writings, I sought to reconcile it with Christian
teachings. God has bestowed free-will upon us in order to require of
us an account hereafter before the Throne of Judgment. 'I will plead
my cause there!' I said to myself. But such thoughts as these led me to
think of a life after death, and my old shaken beliefs rose up before
me. Human life grows solemn when all eternity hangs upon the slightest
of our decisions. When the full meaning of this thought is realized, the
soul becomes conscious of something vast and mysterious within itself,
by which it is drawn towards the Infinite; the aspect of all things
alters strangely. From this point of view life is something infinitely
great and infinitely little. The consciousness of my sins had never made
me think of heaven so long as hope remained to me on earth, so long as I
could find a relief for my woes in work and in the society of other men.
I had meant to make the happiness of a woman's life, to love, to be the
head of a family, and in this way my need of expiation would have been
satisfied to the full. This design had been thwarted, but yet another
way had remained to m