Man had made his own
hell upon earth, and there was no need of further condemnation. He was
on leave, at Paris, when he came across Clerambault's articles which
showed him that there was something better for him to do than to set
himself up as a judge of his companions in misery; that it would be
far nobler to try to deliver them while taking his share of the common
burden.
The young disciple was disposed to go farther than his master.
Clerambault, who was naturally affectionate and rather weak, found his
joy in communion with other men, and suffered even when divided in
spirit from their errors. He was a confirmed self-doubter. He was
prone to look in the eyes of the crowd for agreement with his ideas.
He exhausted himself in futile efforts to reconcile his inward beliefs
with the aspirations and the social struggles of his time. Froment,
who had the soul of a chieftain in a helpless body, dauntlessly
maintained that for him who bears the torch of a lofty ideal it is an
absolute duty to hold it high over the heads of his comrades; that
it would be wrong to confuse it in the other illuminations. The
commonplace of democracies that Voltaire had less wit than Mr.
Everybody is nonsense.... "_Democritus ait; Unus mihi pro populo
est_.... To me an individual is as good as a thousand.
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