Once
in the desert, when men were dying round him of fever and dysentery, he
had been obliged, exhausted and ill, scarce able to drag himself from his
bed, to resort to an opiate to allay his own sufferings, that he might
minister to others. He remembered how, in the atmosphere it had
created--an intoxication, a soothing exhilaration and pervasive
thrill--he had saved so many of his followers. Since then the temptation
had come upon him often when trouble weighed or difficulties surrounded
him--accompanied always by recurrence of fever--to resort to the
insidious medicine. Though he had fought the temptation with every inch
of his strength, he could too well understand those who sought for
"surcease of pain".
"Seeking for surcease of pain,
Pilgrim to Lethe I came;
Drank not, for pride was too keen,
Stung by the sound of a name!"
As the plough of action had gone deep into his life and laid bare his
nature to the light, there had been exposed things which struggled for
life and power in him, with the fiery strength which only evil has.
Pages:
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366