the most immutable facts, that seemed to be graven for
ever on the stone and bronze of the past, will assume an entirely
different aspect, will return to life and leap into movement, bringing
us vaster and more courageous counsels, dragging memory aloft with them
in their ascent; and what was once a mass of ruin, mouldering in the
darkness, becomes a populous city whereon the sun shines again.

7

We have an arbitrary fashion of establishing a certain number of events
behind us. We relegate them to the horizon of our memory; and having
set them there, we tell ourselves that they form part of a world in
which the united efforts of all mankind could not wipe away a tear, or
cause a flower to lift its head. And yet, while admitting that these
events have passed beyond our control, we still, with the most curious
inconsistency, believe that they have full control over us; whereas the
truth is that they can only act upon us to the extent in which we have
renounced our right to act upon them. The past asserts itself only in
those whose moral growth has ceased; then, and not till then, does it
become redoubtable. From that moment we have indeed the irreparable
behind us, and the weight of what we have done lies heavy upon our
shoulders. But so long as the life of our mind and character flows
uninterruptedly on, so long will the past remain in suspense above us;
and, as the glance may be that we send towards it, will it, complaisant
as the clouds Hamlet showed to Polonius, adopt the shape of the hope or
fear, the peace or disquiet, that we are perfecting within us.

8

No sooner has our moral activity weakened than accomplished events rush
forward and assail us; and woe to him who opens the door, and permits
them to take possession of his hearth! Each one will vie with the
other in overwhelming him with the gifts best calculated to shatter his
courage. It matters not whether our past has been happy and noble, or
lugubrious and criminal, there shall still be great danger in allowing
it to enter, not as an invited guest, but like a parasite settling upon
us. The result will be either sterile regret or impotent remorse; and
remorse and regrets of this kind are equally disastrous. In order to
draw from the past what is precious within it--and most of our wealth
is there--we must go to it at the hour when we are strongest, most
conscious of mastery; enter its domain, and there make choice of what
we require, discar