III
SUMMONING THE GENIE
The passion of Lear when on the heath he
bares his head to the storm mounted in his veins.
Leaning far out of the window of his garret to
confront the rage of heaven, with the unbridled
insolence of his youth he called upon the elements
to wreak themselves upon him. Let them stab his
eyes with tears, let them curdle the breath upon
his lips. Nature had charged his being with that
dynamic force which makes the world vibrate, only
to withhold the master-key without whose aid his
quality could not announce itself. All—all was
furnished in the armory of the spirit. He asked
no more than one brief occasion, and clad in his
demonic power he would shake the pillars of society
with that passion which was preying now
upon his flesh and blood.
Such occasions were not denied to those who did not comprehend their use. How often with scornful eyes was he to watch in the courts of justice mediocrity, primed with privilege and favor, misconducting itself amid the purlieus of the law. Every week he was affronted with the spectacle of this hydra-headed monster toying with the life and liberty of the subject. At the worst it was no more than another "miscarriage of justice;" some other unseemly wretch offered upon the altars of incompetence.
