Clive seems to have
been an instrument in the hands of Destiny. When an obscure young man,
he twice tried to commit suicide, and both times the pistol missed
fire. A born gambler, he judged that he was reserved for something
great. He was: he conquered India. Then, after his life-work was
fully accomplished, his third attempt at suicide was successful.
After describing the dramatic incident at card-play, which he gave
to the old buck as the only time in his life when he felt afraid,
his companion remarked that it was enough to scare anybody to face a
loaded pistol. But here comes the paradox. Clive was intensely angry
because his friend failed to see the point. "Why, I wasn't afraid he
would shoot, I was afraid he wouldn't." Suppose the general had said
contemptuously that young Clive was not worth the powder and ball it
would take to kill him--suppose he had sent him away wholly safe and
wholly disgraced. Then Clive would have instantly killed himself.
Either the general was not clever enough to play this trump, or the
clear unwinking eyes of his victim convicted him of sin.
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