derive as much satisfaction as if their conceptions were the most genuine and real things in the world. As for me, I cannot refrain from laughing at the human race, enamoured of life, just as the people in the south of Europe laugh at husbands enamoured of faithless wives. I consider men show very little courage in thus allowing themselves to be deceived and deluded like fools; they are not only content to bear the greatest sufferings, but also are willing to be as it were puppets of Nature and Destiny. I here refer to the deceptions of the intellect, not the imagination. Whether these sentiments of mine are the result of illness, I do not know; but I do know that, well or ill, I despise men's cowardice, I reject every childish consolation and illusive comfort, and am courageous enough to bear the deprivation of every hope, to look steadily on the desert of life, to hide no part of our unhappiness, and to accept all the consequences of a philosophy, sorrowful but true. This philosophy, if of no other use, gives the courageous man the proud satisfaction of being able to rend asunder the cloak that conceals the hidden and mysterious cruelty of human destiny. This I said to myself, almost as though I were the inventor of this bitter philosophy, which I saw rejected by every one as a new and unheard-of thing. But, on reflection, I found that it dated from the time of Solomon, Homer, and the most ancient poets and philosophers, who abound with fables and sayings which express the unhappiness of human life. One says that "man is the most miserable of the animals." Another that, "it were better not to be born, or, being born, to die in the cradle." Again, "whom the gods love, die young;" besides numberless other similar sayings. And I also remembered that from then even until now, all poets, philosophers, and writers, great and small, have in one way or another echoed and confirmed the same doctrines. Then I began to think again, and spent a long time in a state of wonder, contempt, and laughter. At length I turned to study the matter more deeply, and came to the conclusion that man's unhappiness is one of the innate errors of the mind, and that the refutation of this idea, through the demonstration of the happiness of life, is one of the greatest discoveries of the nineteenth century. Now, therefore, I am at peace, and confess I was wrong to hold the views I previously held. _Friend_. Then have you changed your opinion? _Tristano_. Of course. Do you imagine I should oppose the discoveries of the nineteenth century? _Friend_. Do you believe all the century believes? _Tristano_. Certainly. Why not? _Friend_. You believe then in the infinite perfectibility of the human race, do you not? _Tristano_. Undoubtedly. _Friend_. Do you also believe that the human race actually progresses daily?