Suddenly, however, he meets a young lady B, who strains a certain fibre in his being almost to snapping point. The tension of this strain is so powerful that, like the main spring of a watch, it presses its host to constant activity in a certain direction. The direction in this case is B’s person. Now choice falls out of the question altogether. It is no longer a matter of dwelling critically upon cricket, tennis, bridge or argument, and selecting that which seems for the moment the most alluring pastime. The tension in A’s being relaxes only at one sound, at one [p85] call. It is B B B --B recurring. When urged by his whilom tennis companions to join them, these friends now encounter, not hesitating freedom, but formidable resistance, immovable decision, determined refusal. When approached by his debating society, he declares that all his spare time is now taken up. He is in fact no longer free. Something strong in him has been roused. He cannot help himself. His actions are no longer voluntary. But who would long for freedom in such circumstances? Who longs for freedom when bondage is sweet? It may be taken for granted, then, that strength and greatness know nothing of freedom. The strong man is not free; the great man is not free;--nor for that matter, as history or the observation of our fellows can show, do they wish to be free. Only weakness is apparently free, or is conscious of desiring freedom; because, having no strong native impetus to drive it willy nilly in any given direction, it appears to be able to choose its own direction. Thus only weakness can even desire freedom. The obvious inference would be that as fast as the mass of mankind decline in strength and greatness, the louder would become the cry for freedom. Is this conclusion valid? It is only partially so; for there are cases when freedom is demanded not from weakness, but from strength. Let us abide by the examples we have chosen. Napoleon, driven by the iron necessity of his native strength, leaves Egypt to make [p86] himself master of France. But suppose that he had been conquered and kept as a harem servant in Egypt, or restrained in some other way from exerting his strength,--what then? It is conceivable, in that case, that he would have longed for the freedom which would have allowed him to fall into the bondage of his own overpowering impulses to rule and to direct the destiny of France. For the first time the idea of “freedom” begins to assume a definite shape. It begins to acquire the appearance of a genuine reality. Judging by Napoleon’s case, therefore, we may say of the desire for freedom, that although it never arises in normal conditions, it begins to make a definite appeal when it signifies a release from bondage that is incompatible and inharmonious with strong innate impulses, for a bondage that is compatible and harmonious with strong innate impulses.