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Updated: June 9, 2025
Deprived of the succor that General Dupont was to have brought, the defenders of Madrid did not consider the concentration of troops sufficiently considerable to protect the Castiles against the ever-rising flood of the national insurrection. "The emperor could hold his own here," said Savary, "but what is possible to him is not so to the others."
At each successive stage the Creating Power is the Self-consciousness of the Spirit, as realized at that stage, still reaching forward for yet further Enjoyment of Life, and so always keeping on repeating the one Creative Process at an ever-rising level; and since these are the sole working conditions, the progress is one which logically admits of no finality.
The lustre of his well-deserved and world-wide renown, the consistency and ever-rising merit of his professional conduct, contrast painfully with the shadows of reprobation, the swerving, and the declension, which begin to attend a life heretofore conformed, in the general, to healthy normal standards of right and wrong, but now allowed to violate, not merely ideal Christian rectitude, but the simple, natural dictates of upright dealing between man and man.
And, finally, as regards the liberty of the individual citizen, to make it a reality instead of a sham, by universal education and by an ever-rising standard of humane conditions both in the factory and the home. We have now to review briefly the discussions which went on during these years in respect to the political relations of the different states of the Empire.
The two courtiers stared at him with looks of amazement, and durst not answer him. "Well!" asked the king, with ever-rising wrath, "will you at length tell me by what right you intrude into my garden with an armed host specially at the same hour that I am here with my consort?
And now, was he not, so to say, submerged beneath the ever-rising tide of want, aware that he would never, never be able to give enough even should he dispose of millions, and that he could only prolong the agony of the poor, who, even should they eat today, would starve again on the morrow? Thus he was powerless.
Sunshine through a landing window illumined the dust floating thickly about the staircase and heated the familiar blend of lodging-house smells the closeness of small rooms that are never cleansed, the dry rot of wall-paper, plaster, and old wood, the fustiness of clogged carpets trodden thin, the ever-rising vapours from a sluttish kitchen.
Gradually, my memory came back, and to my weak faculties some passages of my former life were presented, not collectedly it is true, nor in any order, but scattered, isolated scenes. While such thoughts flew past, my ever-rising question to myself was, "Where am I now?"
One read of the scarcity of men on the streets, of the lack of cabs, of shuttered shops, of women and girls performing the ordinary tasks of men, of the ever-rising tide of convalescent wounded, etc. But no written words are able to convey the whole meaning of things: one must see with one's own eyes, must feel subconsciously the many details that go to make truth.
And now, was he not, so to say, submerged beneath the ever-rising tide of want, aware that he would never, never be able to give enough even should he dispose of millions, and that he could only prolong the agony of the poor, who, even should they eat today, would starve again on the morrow? Thus he was powerless.
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