A poet has said that life is the dream of a shadow: he would better havecompared it to a night of fever! What alternate fits of restlessness andsleep! what discomfort! what sudden starts! what ever-returning thirst!
what a chaos of mournful and confused fancies! We can neither sleep norwake; we seek in vain for repose, and we stop short on the brink ofaction. Two thirds of human existence are wasted in hesitation, and thelast third in repenting.
When I say human existence, I mean my own! We are so made that each ofus regards himself as the mirror of the community: what passes in ourminds infallibly seems to us a history of the universe. Every man islike the drunkard who reports an earthquake, because he feels himselfstaggering.
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 availsitself of, without heeding the workman? I will tell you, my unseenfriend, for whom these lines are written; my unknown brother, on whom thesolitary call in sorrow; my imaginary confidant, to whom all monologuesare addressed and who is but the shadow of our own conscience.
A great event has happened in my life! A crossroad has suddenly openedin the middle of the monotonous way along which I was travelling quietly,and without thinking of it. Two roads present themselves, and I mustchoose between them. One is only the continuation of that I havefollowed till now; the other is wider, and exhibits wondrous prospects.
On the first there is nothing to fear, but also little to hope; on theother are great dangers and great fortune. Briefly, the question is,whether I shall give up the humble office in which I thought to die, forone of those bold speculations in which chance alone is banker! Eversince yesterday I have consulted with myself; I have compared the two andI 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 mywallflower begins to blow again.
We are near that sweet season of fresh green, of which the poets of thesixteenth century sang with so much feeling:
Now the gladsome month of May.
All things newly doth array;Fairest lady, let me too.
In thy love my life renew.
The chirping of the sparrows calls me: they claim the crumbs I scatter tothem every morning. I open my window, and the prospect of roofs opensout before me in all its splendor.
He who has lived only on a first floor has no idea of the picturesquevariety of such a view. He has never contemplated these tile-coloredheights which intersect each other; he has not followed with his eyesthese gutter-valleys, where the fresh verdure of the attic gardens waves,the deep shadows which evening spreads over the slated slopes, and thesparkling of windows which the setting sun has kindled to a blaze offire. He has not studied the flora of these Alps of civilization,carpeted by lichens and mosses; he is not acquainted with the myriadinhabitants that people them, from the microscopic insect to the domesticcat--that reynard of the roofs who is always on the prowl, or in ambush;he has not witnessed the thousand aspects of a clear or a cloudy sky; northe thousand effects of light, that make these upper regions a theatrewith ever-changing scenes! How many times have my days of leisure passedaway in contemplating this wonderful sight; in discovering its darker orbrighter episodes; in seeking, in short, in this unknown world for theimpressions of travel that wealthy tourists look for lower!
Nine oclock.--But why, then, have not my winged neighbors picked up thecrumbs I have scattered for them before my window? I see them fly away,come back, perch upon the ledges of the windows, and chirp at the sightof the feast they are usually so ready to devour! It is not my presencethat frightens them; I have accustomed them to eat out of my hand. Then,why this fearful suspense? In vain I look around: the roof is clear, thewindows near are closed. I crumble the bread that remains from mybreakfast to attract them by an ampler feast. Their chirpings increase,they bend down their heads, the boldest approach upon the wing, butwithout daring to alight.
Come, come, my sparrows are the victims of one of the foolish panicswhich make the funds fall at the Bourse! It is plain that birds are notmore reasonable than men!
With this reflection I was about to shut my window, when suddenly Iperceived, in a spot of sunshine on my right, the shadow of two pricked-up ears; then a paw advanced, then the head of a tabby-cat showed itselfat the corner of the gutter. The cunning fellow was lying there in wait,hoping the crumbs would bring him some game.
And I had accused my guests of cowardice! I was so sure that no dangercould menace them! I thought I had looked well everywhere! I had onlyforgotten the corner behind me!
In life, as on the roofs, how many misfortunes come from having forgottena single corner!
Ten oclock.--I cannot leave my window; the rain and the cold have keptit shut so long that I must reconnoitre all the environs to be able totake possession of them again. My eyes search in succession all thepoints of the jumbled and confused prospect, passing on or stoppingaccording to what they light upon.
Ah! see the windows upon which they formerly loved to rest; they arethose of two unknown neighbors, whose different habits they have longremarked.
One is a poor work-woman, who rises before sunrise, and whose profile isshadowed upon her little muslin window-curtain far into the evening; theother is a young songstress, whose vocal flourishes sometimes reach myattic by snatches. When their windows are open, that of the work-womandiscovers a humble but decent abode; the other, an elegantly furnishedroom. But to-day a crowd of tradespeople throng the latter: they takedown the silk hangings and carry off the furniture, and I now rememberthat the young singer passed under my window this morning with her veildown, and walking with the hasty step of one who suffers some inwardtrouble. Ah! I guess it all. Her means are exhausted in elegantfancies, or have been taken away by some unexpected misfortune, and nowshe has fallen from luxury to indigence. While the work-woman managesnot only to keep her little room, but also to furnish it with decentcomfort by her steady toil, that of the singer is become the property ofbrokers. The one sparkled for a moment on the wave of prosperity; theother sails slowly but safely along the coast of a humble and laboriousindustry.
Alas! is there not here a lesson for us all? Is it really in hazardousexperiments, at the end of which we shall meet with wealth or ruin, thatthe wise man should employ his years of strength and freedom? Ought heto consider life as a regular employment which brings its daily wages,or as a game in which the future is determined by a few throws? Why seekthe risk of extreme chances? For what end hasten to riches by dangerousroads? Is it really certain that happiness is the prize of brilliantsuccesses, rather than of a wisely accepted poverty? Ah! if men but knewin what a small dwelling joy can live, and how little it costs to furnishit!
Twelve oclock.--I have been walking up and down my attic for a longtime, with my arms folded and my eyes on the ground! My doubts increase,like shadows encroaching more and more on some bright space; my fearsmultiply; and the uncertainty becomes every moment more painful to me!
It is necessary for me to decide to-day, and before the evening! I holdthe dice of my future fate in my hands, and I dare not throw them.
Three oclock.--The sky has become cloudy, and a cold wind begins to blowfrom the west; all the windows which were opened to the sunshine of abeautiful day are shut again. Only on the opposite side of the street,the lodger on the last story has not yet left his balcony.
One knows him to be a soldier by his regular walk, his gray moustaches,and the ribbon that decorates his buttonhole. Indeed, one might haveguessed as much from the care he takes of the little garden which is theornament of his balcony in mid-air; for there are two things especiallyloved by all old soldiers--flowers and children. They have been so long,obliged to look upon the earth as a field of battle, and so long cut offfrom the peaceful pleasures of a quiet lot, that they seem to begin lifeat an age when others end it. The tastes of their early years, whichwere arrested by the stern duties of war, suddenly break out again withtheir white hairs, and are like the savings of youth which they spendagain in old age. Besides, they have been condemned to be destroyers forso long that perhaps they feel a secret pleasure in creating, and seeinglife spring up again: the beauty of weakness has a grace and anattraction the more for those who have been the agents of unbendingforce; and the watch ing over the frail germs of life has all the charmsof novelty for these old workmen of death.
Therefore the cold wind has not driven my neighbor from his balcony.
He is digging up the earth in his green boxes, and carefully sowing theseeds of the scarlet nasturtium, convolvulus, and sweet-pea. Henceforthhe will come every day to watch for their first sprouting, to protect theyoung shoots from weeds or insects, to arrange the strings for thetendrils to climb on, and carefully to regulate their supply of water andheat!
How much labor to bring in the desired harvest! For that, how many timesshall I see him brave cold or heat, wind or sun, as he does to-day! Butthen, in the hot summer days, when the blinding dust whirls in cloudsthrough our streets, when the eye, dazzled by the glare of white stucco,knows not where to rest, and the glowing roofs reflect their heat upon usto burning, the old soldier will sit in his arbor and perceive nothingbut green leaves and flowers around him, and the breeze will come cooland fresh to him through these perfumed shades. His assiduous care willbe rewarded at last.
We must sow the seeds, and tend the growth, if we would enjoy the flower.
Four oclock.--The clouds that have been gathering in the horizon for along time are become darker; it thunders loudly, and the rain pours down!
Those who are caught in it fly in every direction, some laughing and somecrying.
I always find particular amusement in these helter-skelters, caused by asudden storm. It seems as if each one, when thus taken by surprise,loses the factitious character that the world or habit has given him,and appears in his true colors.
See, for example, that big man with deliberate step, who suddenly forgetshis indifference, made to order, and runs like a schoolboy! He is athrifty city gentleman, who, with all his fashionable airs, is afraid tospoil his hat.
That pretty woman yonder, on the contrary, whose looks are so modest,and whose dress is so elaborate, slackens her pace with the increasingstorm. She seems to find pleasure in braving it, and does not think ofher velvet cloak spotted by the hail! She is evidently a lioness insheeps clothing.
Here, a young man, who was passing, stops to catch some of the hailstonesin his hand, and examines them. By his quick and business-like walk justnow, you would have taken him for a tax-gatherer on his rounds, when heis a young philosopher, studying the effects of electricity. And thoseschoolboys who leave their ranks to run after the sudden gusts of a Marchwhirlwind; those girls, just now so demure, but who now fly with burstsof laughter; those national guards, who quit the martial attitude oftheir days of duty to take refuge under a porch! The storm has causedall these transformations.
See, it increases! The hardiest are obliged to seek shelter. I seeevery one rushing toward the shop in front of my window, which a billannounces is to let. It is for the fourth time within a few months.
A year ago all the skill of the joiner and the art of the painter wereemployed in beautifying it, but their works are already destroyed by theleaving of so many tenants; the cornices of the front are disfigured bymud; the arabesques on the doorway are spoiled by bills posted upon themto announce the sale of the effects. The splendid shop has lost some ofits embellishments with each change of the tenant. See it now empty, andleft open to the passersby. How much does its fate resemble that of somany who, like it, only change their occupation to hasten the faster toruin!
I am struck by this last reflection: since the morning everything seemsto speak to me, and with the same warning tone. Everything says: "Takecare! be content with your happy, though humble lot; happiness can beretained only by constancy; do not forsake your old patrons for theprotection of those who are unknown!"
Are they the outward objects which speak thus, or does the warning comefrom within? Is it not I myself who give this language to all thatsurrounds me? The world is but an instrument, to which we give sound atwill. But what does it signify if it teaches us wisdom? The low voicethat speaks in our breasts is always a friendly voice, for it tells uswhat we are, that is to say, what is our capability. Bad conductresults, for the most part, from mistaking our calling. There are somany fools and knaves, because there are so few men who know themselves.
The question is not to discover what will suit us, but for what we aresuited!
What should I do among these many experienced financial speculators? Iam only a poor sparrow, born among the housetops, and should always fearthe enemy crouching in the dark corner; I am a prudent workman, andshould think of the business of my neighbors who so suddenly disappeared;I am a timid observer, and should call to mind the flowers so slowlyraised by the old soldier, or the shop brought to ruin by constant changeof masters. Away from me, ye banquets, over which hangs the sword ofDamocles! I am a country mouse. Give me my nuts and hollow tree, and Iask nothing besides--except security.
And why this insatiable craving for riches? Does a man drink more whenhe drinks from a large glass? Whence comes that universal dread ofmediocrity, the fruitful mother of peace and liberty? Ah! there is theevil which, above every other, it should be the aim of both public andprivate education to anticipate! If that were got rid of, what treasonswould be spared, what baseness avoided, what a chain of excess and crimewould be forever broken! We award the palm to charity, and to self-sacrifice; but, above all, let us award it to moderation, for it is thegreat social virtue. Even when it does not create the others, it standsinstead of them.
Six oclock.--I have written a letter of thanks to the promoters of thenew speculation, and have declined their offer! This decision hasrestored my peace of mind. I stopped singing, like the cobbler, as longas I entertained the hope of riches: it is gone, and happiness is comeback!
O beloved and gentle Poverty! pardon me for having for a moment wishedto fly from thee, as I would from Want. Stay here forever with thycharming sisters, Pity, Patience, Sobriety, and Solitude; be ye my queensand my instructors; teach me the stern duties of life; remove far from myabode the weakness of heart and giddiness of head which followprosperity. Holy Poverty! teach me to endure without complaining, toimpart without grudging, to seek the end of life higher than in pleasure,farther off than in power. Thou givest the body strength, thou makestthe mind more firm; and, thanks to thee, this life, to which the richattach themselves as to a rock, becomes a bark of which death may cut thecable without awakening all our fears. Continue to sustain me, O thouwhom Christ hath called Blessed!