from the darkness. But little by little his eyes
grew accustomed to his new abode. He wandered through room after room,
and rejoiced as profoundly at all that his torch left in darkness as at
all that it threw into light. At first he could have wished in his
heart that the doors had been somewhat less lofty, the staircases not
quite so ample, the galleries less lost in gloom; but as he went
straight before him, he felt all the beauty and grandeur of that which
was yet so unlike the home of his dream. He rejoiced to discover that
here bed and table were not the centre round which all revolved, as it
had been with him in his hut. He was glad that the palace had not been
built to conform with the humble habits his misery had forced upon him.
He even learned to admire the things that defeated his hopes, for they
enabled his eyes to see deeper. The sage is consoled and fortified by
everything that exists, for indeed it is of the essence of wisdom to
seek out all that exists, and to admit it within its circle.

84. Wisdom even admits the Rogrons; for she holds life of profounder
interest than even justice or virtue; and where her attention is
disputed by a virtue lost in abstraction, and by a humble, walled-in
life, she will incline to the humble life, and not to the magnificent
virtue that holds itself proudly aloof. It is of the nature of wisdom
to despise nothing; indeed, in this world there is perhaps only one
thing truly contemptible, and that thing is contempt itself. Thinkers
too often are apt to despise those who go through life without
thinking. Thought is doubtless of high value; our first endeavour
should be to think as often and as well as we can; but, for all that,
it is somewhat beside the mark to believe that the possession, or lack,
of a certain faculty for handling general ideas can interpose an actual
barrier between men. After all, the difference between the greatest
thinker and the smallest provincial burgher is often only the
difference between a truth that can sometimes express itself and a
truth that can never crystallise into form. The difference is
considerable--a gap, but not a chasm. The higher our thoughts ascend,
the vainer and the more arbitrary seems the distinction between him who
is thinking always and him who thinks not yet. The little burgher is
full of prejudice and of passions at which we smile; his ideas are
small and petty, and sometimes contemptible enough; and yet, place him
side by si