date the boys of my house and my pupils. It was not
done by an effort, nor did I brace myself to the situation: fear simply
did not come near to me.

Once again I found myself confronted, not so long ago, with an
incredibly painful and distressing interview. That indeed did oppress
me with almost intolerable dread beforehand. I was to go to a certain
house in London, and there was just a chance that the interview might
not take place after all. As I drove there, I suddenly found myself
wondering whether the interview could REALLY be going to take
place--how often had I rehearsed it beforehand with anguish--and then
as suddenly became aware that I should in some strange way be
disappointed if it did not take place. I wanted on the whole to go
through with it, and to see what it would be like. A deep-seated
curiosity came to my aid. It did take place, and it was very bad--worse
than I could have imagined; but it was not terrible!

These are just four instances which come into my mind. I should be glad
to feel that the courage which undoubtedly came had been the creation
of my will; but it was not so. In three cases, the events came
unexpectedly; but in the fourth case I had long anticipated the moment
with extreme dread. Yet in that last case the fear suddenly slipped
away, without the smallest effort on my part; and in all four cases
some strange gusto of experience, some sense of heightened life and
adventure, rose in the mind like a fountain--so that even in the
crevasse I said to myself, not excitedly but serenely, "So this is what
it feels like to await death!"

It was this particular experience which gave me an inkling into that
which in so many tragic histories seems incredible--that men often do
pass to death, by scaffold and by stake, at the last moment, in
serenity and even in joy. I do not doubt for a moment that it is the
immortal principle in man, the sense of deathlessness, which comes to
his aid. It is the instinct which, in spite of all knowledge and
experience, says suddenly, in a moment like that, "Well, what then?"
That instinct is a far truer thing than any expectation or imagination.
It sees things, in supreme moments, in a true proportion. It asserts
that when the rope jerks, or the flames leap up, or the benumbing blow
falls, there is something there which cannot possibly be injured, and
which indeed is rather freed from the body of our humiliation. It is
but an incident, after all, in a much lon