THE JOTJUNET OF LIFE. 15 



the forest — all give him pleasure, all whisper to him promises 

 of mjrstio happiness. 



You aniTe at youth; the hody is active and strong, the 

 heart noble and disinterested. . There, you violently break 

 the playthings of your childhood, and smile at the importance 

 you once attached to them, because you have found some 

 fresh play-things, with which you are as much in earnest as 

 you were with your tops and balls; now is the turn of friend- 

 ship, love, heroism, and devotedness, — you have aU these 

 within you, and you look for them in others. But these are 

 flowers that fade, and do not flourish at the same time 

 in every heart. With this one, they are only in bud; with 

 that, they have long since passed away. Tou ask aloud 

 the accomplishment of your desires, as you would ask holy 

 promises. There is not a flower or a tree that does not 

 appear to have betrayed you. 



But here we now are, arrived at old age ; we then have grey or 

 white hairs— or a wig. The beautiful flowers of which we were 

 speaking yield fruit but little expected,^ incredulity, egotism, 

 mistrust, avarice, irony, gluttony. You laugh at the play- 

 things of your youth, because you still meet with others to 

 which you attach yourself more seriously, places, medals, 

 ribbons of difiFerent orders, honours, and dignities. 



" It nothing boots that man, by doom, grows old, 

 He gains each stage, still ignorant and new; — 

 On our last winters, on our age extinct, 

 Wisdom bestows but pale and sickly light, 

 lake the fair moon's, whose mild and opal rays 

 Fall on night's hours, when nothing more is done." 



Days and years are darts which Death launches at us, it 

 reserves the most penetrating for old age; the early ones 

 have destroyed successively your faiths, your passions, your 

 virtues, your happiness. Now it pours in grape-shot! — ^it 

 has shot away your hair, and your teeth, it has wounded and 

 weakened your muscles, it has touched your memory, it aims 

 at the heart, it aims at life. Then everything becomes your 

 enemy: in youth, the beautiful nights of summer brought 

 you perfumes, remembrances, and delicious Teveries; they 

 yield you nothing now but coughs, rheumatism, and pleurisies. 



You hate those who are younger than yourself, because 

 they will inherit your money; they are already the heirs of 



