And the Duke told him also that he was diffident. Of course he was
diffident. Was it not one and the same thing? The very pride of
which he was accused was no more than a shrinking which comes from
the want of trust in oneself. He was a shy man. All his friends
and all his enemies knew that;--it was thus that he still
discoursed with himself;--a shy, self-conscious, timid, shrinking,
thin-skinned man! Of course he was diffident. Then why urge him
on to tasks for which he was by nature unfitted?
And yet there was much in his old friend's letter which moved him.
There were certain words which he kept on repeating to himself.
'He cannot be justified in even remembering that he has a self'.
It was a hard thing to say of any man, but yet a true thing of
such a man as his correspondent had described. His correspondent
had spoken of a man who should know himself to be capable of
serving the State. If a man were capable, and was sure within his
own bosom of his own capacity, it would be his duty. But what if
he were not so satisfied? What if he felt that any labours of his
would be vain, and all self-abnegation useless? His friend had
told him that on that matter he was bound to take the opinion of
others.
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