And now you are writing The Captive. You do not go into the dungeon in the
body, because you need all your strength; but in the spirit you have gone
into the dungeon, and the door has clanged, and it is black night--the
world is gone forever. And there you sit, while the years roll by, and
you front the naked fact. Six feet square of stone and an iron chain are
your portion--that is circumstance; and the will--_you_ are the will. And
you grip it--you close with it--all your days you toil with it; you shape
it into systems, make it live and laugh and sing. And while you do that
there is in your heart a thing that is joy and pain and terror mingled in
one passion.

* * * * *

Yes, sometimes I shrink from it; but I will do it--meaning what those words
mean. I will fight that fight, I will live that life--to the last gasp; and
it shall go forth into the world a living thing, a new well-spring of life.

It shall be--I don't know what you call the thing, but when you have hauled
your load halfway up the hill you put a block in the way to keep it from
sliding back. That same thing has to be done to society.

Man will never get behind the Declaration of Independence again, nor behind
the writings of Voltaire again. We let Catholicism run around loose now,
but that is because Voltaire cut its claws and pulled out all its teeth.

* * * * *

April 16th.

I was thinking to-day, that The Captive would be an interesting document