The ideal of humanity is something
different and higher.
But the animal in us must be satisfied first, and we must first banish
from among us all suffering which is superfluous and has its origin in
social arrangements, before we can return to spiritual goods.
September 7, 1851. (_Aix_).--It is ten o'clock at night. A strange and
mystic moonlight, with a fresh breeze and a sky crossed by a few
wandering clouds, makes our terrace delightful. These pale and gentle
rays shed from the zenith a subdued and penetrating peace; it is like
the calm joy or the pensive smile of experience, combined with a certain
stoic strength. The stars shine, the leaves tremble in the silver light.
Not a sound in all the landscape; great gulfs of shadow under the green
alleys and at the corners of the steps. Everything is secret, solemn,
mysterious.
O night hours, hours of silence and solitude! with you are grace and
melancholy; you sadden and you console. You speak to us of all that has
passed away, and of all that must still die, but you say to us,
"courage!" and you promise us rest.
November 9, 1851. (Sunday).--At the church of St. Gervais, a second
sermon from Adolphe Monod, less grandiose perhaps but almost more
original, and to me more edifying than that of last Sunday.
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