'A different thing, sir,' replied the soldier. 'Professional
etiquette. And I trust without unchristian feeling.'
Presently after the Colonel fell into a deep sleep and his
companions looked upon each other, smiling.
'An odd fish,' said Gotthold.
'And a strange guardian,' said the Prince. 'Yet what he said was
true.'
'Rightly looked upon,' mused Gotthold, 'it is ourselves that we
cannot forgive, when we refuse forgiveness to our friend. Some
strand of our own misdoing is involved in every quarrel.'
'Are there not offences that disgrace the pardoner?' asked Otto.
'Are there not bounds of self-respect?'
'Otto,' said Gotthold, 'does any man respect himself? To this poor
waif of a soldier of fortune we may seem respectable gentlemen; but
to ourselves, what are we unless a pasteboard portico and a
deliquium of deadly weaknesses within?'
'I? yes,' said Otto; 'but you, Gotthold - you, with your
interminable industry, your keen mind, your books - serving mankind,
scorning pleasures and temptations! You do not know how I envy
you.'
'Otto,' said the Doctor, 'in one word, and a bitter one to say: I am
a secret tippler. Yes, I drink too much. The habit has robbed
these very books, to which you praise my devotion, of the merits
that they should have had. It has spoiled my temper. When I spoke
to you the other day, how much of my warmth was in the cause of
virtue? how much was the fever of last night's wine? Ay, as my poor
fellow-sot there said, and as I vaingloriously denied, we are all
miserable sinners, put here for a moment, knowing the good, choosing
the evil, standing naked and ashamed in the eye of God.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234