m to disentangle himself, and he persisted more and
more. Suppose a child carelessly pulls off the wing of an insect; it
is only a piece of nervous awkwardness, but the insect is done for,
and the child ashamed and irritated, tears the poor creature to pieces
to relieve his own feelings.

The pleasure with which he listened to Clerambault's _mea culpa_ may
be imagined; but the effect was surprising. Mignon, already ill at
ease, turned on Clerambault, whose self-accusations seemed to point
at him, and treated him like an enemy. In the sequel no one was more
violent than Mignon against this living remorse.

* * * * *

There were some politicians who would have understood Clerambault
better, for they knew as much as he did and perhaps more; but it did
not keep them awake at night. They had been used to mental
trickery ever since they cut their first teeth, and were expert at
_combinazione_; they had the illusion of serving their party, cheaply
gained by a few compromises here and there!... To think and walk
straightforwardly was the one thing impossible to these flabby
shufflers, who backed, or advanced in spirals, who dragged their
banner in the mud, by way of assuring its triumph, and who, to reach
the Capitol, would have crawled up the steps on their stomachs.

* * * * *

Here and there some clear-sighted spirits were hidden, but they were
easier to guess at than to see; they were melancholy glow-worms who
had put out their lanterns in their fright, so that not a gleam was
visible. They certainly had no faith in the war, but neither did they
believe in anything against it;--fatalists, pessimists all.

It was clear to Clerambault that when personal energy is lacking,
the highest qualities of head and heart only increase the public
servitude. The stoicism which submits to the laws of the universe
prevents us from resisting those which are cruel, instead of saying to
destiny: "No, thus far, and no farther!" ... If it pushes on you
will see the stoic stand politely aside, as he murmurs: "Please come
in!"--Cultivated heroism, the taste for the superhuman, even the
inhuman, chokes the soul with its sacrifices, and the more absurd they
are, the more sublime they appear--Christians of today, more generous
than their Master, render all to Caesar; a cause seems sacred to them
from the moment that they are asked to immolate themselves to it. To
the ignominy of wa