But, long live statistics! Long live the sciences, economical, moral, and political; the pocket encyclopÊdias; the manuals of everything; and all the other fine creations of our age! And may the nineteenth century live for ever! For though poor in results, it is yet very rich and great in promise, which' is well known to be the best of signs. Let us therefore console ourselves that for sixty-six[1] more years this admirable century will have the talking to itself, and will be able to utter its own opinions. _Friend_. You speak, it seems, somewhat ironically. But you ought at least to remember that this is a century of transition. _Tristano_. What do you infer from that? All centuries have been, and will be, more or less transitional; because human society is never stationary, and will never at any time attain to a fixed condition. It follows therefore that this fine word is either no excuse for the nineteenth century, or is one common to all the centuries. It remains to be seen whether the transition now in progress is from good to better, or from bad to worse. But perhaps you mean to say that the present age is especially transitional, inasmuch as it is a rapid passage from one state of civilisation to another, absolutely different. In which case I would ask your permission to laugh at this rapidity. Every transition requires a certain amount of time, and when too rapidly accomplished, invariably relapses, and the progress has to recommence from the very beginning. Thus it has always been. For nature does not advance by leaps; and when forced, no durable result is obtained. In short, precipitous transitions are only apparent transitions, and do not represent genuine progress. _Friend_. I advise you not to talk in this fashion with every one, because if you do you will gain many enemies. _Tristano_. What does it matter? Henceforth, neither enemies nor friends can do me much harm. _Friend_. Very probably you will be despised as one incapable of comprehending the spirit of modern philosophy, and who cares little for the progress of civilisation and the sciences. _Tristano_. I should be very sorry for that; but what can I do? If I am despised, I will endeavour to console myself. _Friend_. But have you, or have you not, changed your opinions? And what is to be done about your book? _Tristano_. It would be best to burn it. If it be not burnt, it may be preserved as a book full of poetic dreams, inventions, and melancholy caprices; or better, as an expression of the unhappiness of the writer. Because, I will tell you in confidence, my dear friend, that I believe you and every one else to be happy. As for myself, however, with your permission, and that of the century, I am very unhappy, and all the journals of both worlds cannot persuade me to the contrary. _Friend_. I do not know the cause of this unhappiness of which you speak. But a man is the best judge of his own happiness or unhappiness, and his opinion cannot be wrong.