ingly wise people who thought that the stars of
heaven participated in our insignificant squabbles
for a slice of ground, or some other imaginary
rights. And what then? These lamps, lighted,
so they fancied, only to illuminate their battles
and triumphs, are burning with all their former
brilliance, whilst the wiseacres themselves, to-
gether with their hopes and passions, have long
been extinguished, like a little fire kindled at the
edge of a forest by a careless wayfarer! But, on the
other hand, what strength of will was lent them
by the conviction that the entire heavens, with
their innumerable habitants, were looking at them
with a sympathy, unalterable, though mute! . . .
And we, their miserable descendants, roaming
over the earth, without faith, without pride,
without enjoyment, and without terror -- except
that involuntary awe which makes the heart shrink
at the thought of the inevitable end -- we are no
longer capable of great sacrifices, either for the
good of mankind or even for our own happiness,
because we know the impossibility of such
happiness; and, just as our ancestors used to
fling themselves from one delusion to another,
we pass indifferently from doubt to doubt,
without possessing, as they did, either hope or
even that vague though, at the same time, keen
enjoyment which the soul encounters at every
struggle with mankind or with destiny.
These and many other similar thoughts passed
through my mind, but I did not follow them up,
because I do not like to dwell upon abstract
ideas -- for what do they lead to? In my early
youth I was a dreamer; I loved to hug to my
bosom the images -- now gloomy, now rainbow-
hued -- which my restless and eager imagination
drew for me. And what is there left to me of all
these? Only such weariness as might be felt after
a battle by night with a phantom -- only a con-
fused memory full of regrets. In that vain
contest I have exhausted the warmth of soul and
firmness of will indispensable to an active life. I
have entered upon that life after having already
lived through it in thought, and it has become
wearisome and nauseous to me, as the reading of
a bad imitation of a book is to one who has long
been familiar with the original.
The events of that evening produced a some-
what deep impression upon me and excited my
nerves. I do not know for certain whether I now
believe in predestination or not, but on that
evening I believed in it firmly. The proof was
startling, and I, notwithstanding that I had
laughed at our forefathers and their obliging
astrology, fell involuntarily into their way of