Junius judiciously held his peace, but a grey-headed
old man who had heard the conversation went up to
the unlucky poet, and laying a hand upon his shoulder,
said:
’Junius! You uttered your own thought,
but not at the right moment; and he uttered not his
own thought, but at the right moment. Consequently,
he is all right; while for you is left the consolations
of a good conscience.’
But while his conscience, to the best of its powers—not
over successfully, to tell the truth—was
consoling Junius as he was shoved on one side—in
the distance, amid shouts of applause and rejoicing,
in the golden radiance of the all-conquering sun,
resplendent in purple, with his brow shaded with laurel,
among undulating clouds of lavish incense, with majestic
deliberation, like a tsar making a triumphal entry
into his kingdom, moved the proudly erect figure of
Julius ... and the long branches of palm rose and
fell before him, as though expressing in their soft
vibration, in their submissive obeisance, the ever-renewed
adoration which filled the hearts of his enchanted
fellow-citizens!
April 1878.
I was returning from hunting, and walking along an
avenue of the garden, my dog running in front of me.
Suddenly he took shorter steps, and began to steal
along as though tracking game.
I looked along the avenue, and saw a young sparrow,
with yellow about its beak and down on its head.
It had fallen out of the nest (the wind was violently
shaking the birch-trees in the avenue) and sat unable
to move, helplessly flapping its half-grown wings.
My dog was slowly approaching it, when, suddenly darting
down from a tree close by, an old dark-throated sparrow
fell like a stone right before his nose, and all ruffled
up, terrified, with despairing and pitiful cheeps,
it flung itself twice towards the open jaws of shining
teeth.
It sprang to save; it cast itself before its nestling
... but all its tiny body was shaking with terror;
its note was harsh and strange. Swooning with
fear, it offered itself up!
What a huge monster must the dog have seemed to it!
And yet it could not stay on its high branch out of
danger.... A force stronger than its will flung
it down.
My Tresor stood still, drew back.... Clearly
he too recognised this force.
I hastened to call off the disconcerted dog, and went
away, full of reverence.
Yes; do not laugh. I felt reverence for that
tiny heroic bird, for its impulse of love.
Love, I thought, is stronger than death or the fear
of death. Only by it, by love, life holds together
and advances.
April 1878.
A sumptuous, brilliantly lighted hall; a number of
ladies and gentlemen.
All the faces are animated, the talk is lively....
A noisy conversation is being carried on about a famous
singer. They call her divine, immortal....
O, how finely yesterday she rendered her last trill!
