ivations and misery, and that so the irritation increases against the
luckier few.

"Admitting even this to be the case--and it is not so--is it not better
to have an intelligent, enlightened enemy, to whose heart and reason you
may address yourself, than a stupid, ferocious, implacable foe? But no;
enmities disappear as the mind becomes enlightened, and the horizon
of compassion extends itself. We thus learn to understand moral
afflictions. We discover that the rich also have to suffer intense
pains, and that brotherhood in misfortune is already a link of sympathy.
Alas! they also have to mourn bitterly for idolized children, beloved
mistresses, reverend mothers; with them, also, especially amongst the
women, there are, in the height of luxury and grandeur, many broken
hearts, many suffering souls, many tears shed in secret. Let them not be
alarmed. By becoming their equals in intelligence, the people will learn
to pity the rich, if good and unhappy--and to pity them still more if
rejoicing in wickedness.

"What happiness! what a joyful day! I am giddy with delight. Oh, truly,
man is good, humane, charitable. Oh, yes! the Creator has implanted
within him every generous instinct--and, unless he be a monstrous
exception, he never does evil willingly. Here is what I saw just now. I
will not wait for the evening to write it down, for my heart would, as
it were, have time to cool. I had gone to carry home some work that was
wanted in a hurry. I was passing the Place du Temple. A few steps from
me I saw a child, about twelve years old at most, with bare head, and
feet, in spite of the severe weather, dressed in a shabby, ragged smock
frock and trousers, leading by the bridle a large cart-horse, with his
harness still on. From time to time the horse stopped short, and refused
to advance. The child, who had no whip, tugged in vain at the bridle.
The horse remained motionless. Then the poor little fellow cried out:
'O dear, O dear!' and began to weep bitterly, looking round him as if
to implore the assistance of the passers-by. His dear little face was
impressed with so heart piercing a sorrow, that, without reflecting, I
made an attempt at which I can now only smile, I must have presented so
grotesque a figure. I am horribly afraid of horses, and I am still more
afraid of exposing myself to public gaze. Nevertheless, I took courage,
and, having an umbrella in my hand, I approached the horse, and with the
impetuosity of an ant