The blame should be upon himself. There was
nothing in all this revolt except his own selfishness and wounded
vanity. He had transgressed by allowing his thoughts to be entangled in
earthly affection, and this misery and wickedness followed inevitably.
The fault was in him entirely; it was his own grievous fault. The
familiar words of the office of confession made him beat his breast,
and fall in prayer before the crucifix which seemed to waver in the
flickering candlelight. He repeated petition after petition. He would
not allow himself to think. It was his to obey, not to question. He
would regain his old tranquillity, his old docility. He would submit
passively. It was his own fault, his most grievous fault.
The ten o'clock bell rang, calling for the extinguishing of lights. He
sprang from his knees, blew out the candle, threw off his clothes in
the dark, and hurried into his hard and narrow bed. He was resolved not
to think. He said the offices of the day; he repeated psalms; and at
last, in desperate attempt to control his mind and to induce sleep, he
began to multiply large numbers. All the time he was resolutely saying
to himself: "It is my fault; my most grievous fault!" And all the time
some inner self, unsubdued, was persistently replying: "It is not! It
is not! I am right!"
XXI
THIS "WOULD" CHANGES
Hamlet, iv.
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