hides from view. Needs must the sage, like his neighbour, be
startled from sleep by the shouts of the truculent envoy, by the blows
at the door that cause the whole house to tremble. He, too, must go
down and parley. But yet, as he listens, his eyes are not fixed on this
bringer of evil tidings; his glance will at times be lifted over the
messenger's shoulder, will scan the dust on the horizon in search of
the mighty idea that perhaps may be near at hand. And indeed, when our
thoughts rest on fate, at such times as happiness enfolds us, we feel
that no great misfortune can be suddenly burst upon us. The proportions
will change, it is true, when the blow falls; but it is equally true
that before the misfortune can wholly destroy the abiding courage
within us, it first must triumph in our heart over all we adore, over
all we admire, and love. And what alien power can expel from our soul a
feeling and thought that we hurl not our selves from its throne?
Physical suffering apart, not a single sorrow exists that can touch us
except through our thoughts; and whence do our thoughts derive the
weapons wherewith they attack or defend us? We suffer but little from
suffering itself; but from the manner wherein we accept it overwhelming
sorrow may spring. "His unhappiness was caused by himself," said a
thinker of one whose eyes never looked over the brutal messenger's
shoulder--"his unhappiness was caused by himself; for all misery is
inward, and caused by ourselves. We are wrong in believing that it
comes from without. For indeed we create it within us, out of our very
substance."

40. It is only in the manner of our facing the event that its active
force consists. Assemble ten men who, like Paulus Aemilius, have lost
both their sons at the moment when life seemed sweetest, then will the
misfortune appear to vary in every one. Misfortune enters within us,
but must of necessity yield obedience to all our commands. Even as the
order may be that it finds inscribed on the threshold, so will it sow,
or destroy, or reap. If my neighbour, a commonplace man, were to lose
his two sons at the moment when fate had granted his dearest desires,
then would darkness steal over all, unrelieved by a glimmer of light;
and misfortune itself, contemptuous of its too facile success, would
leave naught behind but a handful of colourless cinders. Nor is it
necessary for me to see my neighbour again to be aware that his sorrow
will have brought to him pe