us that they merely are dupes, were it not for the fact that they
have in themselves an approval words cannot describe, and a reward so
intangible that we should in vain endeavour to portray its least
evanescent delights. Is that all, some may ask, is that all we may
hope in return for this mighty effort of ours, for our constant denial
and pain, for our sacrifice of instincts, of pleasures, that seemed so
legitimate, necessary even, and would certainly have added to our
happiness had there not been within us the desire for Justice--a desire
arising we know not whence, belonging, perhaps, to our nature, and yet
in apparent conflict with the vaster nature whereof we all form part?
Yes, it is open to you, if you choose, to regard as a very poor thing
this unsubstantial justice: since its only reward is a vague
satisfaction, and that this satisfaction even grows hateful, and
destroys itself, the moment its presence becomes too perceptibly felt.
Bear in mind, however, that all things that happen in our moral being
must be equally lightly held, if regarded from the point of view whence
you deliver this judgment. Love is a paltry affair, the moment of
possession once over that alone is real and ensures the perpetuity of
the race; and yet we find that as man grows more civilised, the act of
possession assumes ever less value in his eyes if there go not with it,
if there do not precede, accompany, and follow it, the insignificant
emotion built up of our thoughts and our feelings, of our sweetest and
tenderest hours and years. Beauty, too, is a trivial matter: a
beautiful spectacle, a beautiful face, or body, or gesture: a melodious
voice, or noble statue--sunrise at sea, flowers in a garden, stars
shining over the forest, the river by moonlight--or a lofty thought, an
exquisite poem, an heroic sacrifice hidden in a profound and pitiful
soul. We may admire these things for an instant; they may bring us a
sense of completeness no other joy can convey; but at the same time
there will steal over us a tinge of strange sorrow, unrest; nor will
they give happiness to us, as men use the word, should other events
have contrived to make us unhappy. They produce nothing the eye can
measure, or weigh; nothing that others can see, or will envy; and yet,
were a magician suddenly to appear, capable of depriving one of us of
this sense of beauty that may chance to be in him, possessed of the
power of extinguishing it for ever, with no trac