Words that are as feeble as the dying breath! Words of a sensual brute
who is astonished that he should live for an hour, and who mistakes the
rays of the eternal lamp for the spark which is struck from the flint.
O love! thou principle of life! precious flame over which all nature,
like a careful vestal, incessantly watches in the temple of God! Center
of all, by whom all exists! The spirit of destruction would itself die,
blowing at thy flame! I am not astonished that thy name should be
blasphemed, for they do not know who thou art, they who think they have
seen thy face because they have opened their eyes; and when thou findest
thy true prophets, united on earth with a kiss, thou closest their eyes
lest they look upon the face of perfect joy.
But your first delights, languishing smiles, first stammering utterance
of love, you who can be seen, who are you? Are you less in God's sight
than all the rest, beautiful cherubim who soar in the alcove, and who
bring to this world man awakened from the dream divine! Ah! dear children
of pleasure, how your mother loves you! It is you, curious prattlers, who
behold the first mysteries, touches, trembling yet chaste, glances that
are already insatiable, who begin to trace on the heart, as a tentative
sketch, the ineffaceable image of cherished beauty! O royalty! O
conquest! It is you who make lovers. And thou, true diadem, thou,
serenity of happiness! First glance bent on life, first return of
happiness to the many little things of life which are seen only through
the medium of joy, first steps made by nature in the direction of the
well-beloved! Who will paint you? What human word will ever express thy
slightest caress?
He who, in the freshness of his youth, has taken leave of an adored
woman; he who has walked through the streets without hearing the voices
of those who speak to him; he who has sat in a lonely spot, laughing and
weeping without knowing why; he who has placed his hands to his face in
order to breathe the perfume that still clings to them; he who has
suddenly forgotten what he had been doing on earth; he who has spoken to
the trees along the route and to the birds in their flight; finally, he
who in the midst of men has acted the madman, and then has fallen on his
knees and thanked God for it; he will die without complaint: he has known
the joy of love.
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