It represents the individual not only the species
but that which preceded it and that which will follow it; and it
has neither beginning nor end: that is why nothing touches it,
nothing moves it which does not concern that which it represents.
When a misfortune or a joy befall us, it knows their value
instantly, knows if they are going to open or to dose the wells
of life. It is the one thing that is never wrong. In vain does
reason demonstrate to it, by irresistible arguments, that it is
hopelessly at fault: silent under its immovable mask, whose
expression we have not yet been able to react it pursues its way.
It treats us as insignificant children, void of understanding,
never answers our objections, refuses what we ask and lavishes
upon us that which we refuse. If we go to the right, it
reconducts us to the left. If we cultivate this or that faculty
which we think that we possess or which we would like to possess,
it hides it under some other which we did not expect and did not
wish for. It saves us from a danger by imparting to our limbs
unforeseen and unerring movements and actions which they had
never made before and which are contrary to those which they had
been taught to make: it knows that the hour has not yet come when
it will be useless to defend ourselves. It chooses our love in
spite of the revolt of our intelligence or of our poor, ephemeral
heart.
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