“Come, my little dears,” she cried, “put these into your pockets against to-morrow.”

Then, turning to me: 

“To-day I am ruining myself,” added she; “but we must all have our Carnival.”

I came away without saying a word:  I was too much affected.

At last I have discovered what true pleasure is.  After beholding the egotism of sensuality and of intellect, I have found the happy self-sacrifice of goodness.  Pierre, M. Antoine, and Mother Denis had all kept their Carnival; but for the first two, it was only a feast for the senses or the mind; while for the third, it was a feast for the heart.

CHAPTER III

WHAT WE MAY LEARN BY LOOKING OUT OF WINDOW

March 3d

A poet has said that life is the dream of a shadow:  he would better have compared it to a night of fever!  What alternate fits of restlessness and sleep! what discomfort! what sudden starts! what ever-returning thirst! what a chaos of mournful and confused fancies!  We can neither sleep nor wake; we seek in vain for repose, and we stop short on the brink of action.  Two thirds of human existence are wasted in hesitation, and the last third in repenting.

When I say human existence, I mean my own!  We are so made that each of us regards himself as the mirror of the community:  what passes in our minds infallibly seems to us a history of the universe.  Every man is like the drunkard who reports an earthquake, because he feels himself staggering.

And why am I uncertain and restless—­I, a poor day-laborer in the world—­who fill an obscure station in a corner of it, and whose work it avails itself of, without heeding the workman?  I will tell you, my unseen friend, for whom these lines are written; my unknown brother, on whom the solitary call in sorrow; my imaginary confidant, to whom all monologues are addressed and who is but the shadow of our own conscience.

A great event has happened in my life!  A crossroad has suddenly opened in the middle of the monotonous way along which I was travelling quietly, and without thinking of it.  Two roads present themselves, and I must choose between them.  One is only the continuation of that I have followed till now; the other is wider, and exhibits wondrous prospects.  On the first there is nothing to fear, but also little to hope; on the other are great dangers and great fortune.  Briefly, the question is, whether I shall give up the humble office in which I thought to die, for one of those bold speculations in which chance alone is banker!  Ever since yesterday I have consulted with myself; I have compared the two and I remain undecided.

Where shall I find light—­who will advise me?

Sunday, 4th.—­See the sun coming out from the thick fogs of winter!  Spring announces its approach; a soft breeze skims over the roofs, and my wallflower begins to blow again.