that, unchecked by natural divisions, men’s hearts were simultaneously possessed by one grand impulse towards beauty. This embroidery of life contributed in large measure to the sentiment of the brotherhood of man which then declared itself, and which appeared so singular; to-day we do not truly realise its importance, because, thanks to the mechanical lessening of distances, all men have become neighbours (and unpleasant neighbours at that): a varnish of uniformity has spread itself over everything; milkmaids and princesses often read the same books, wear almost the same hats, marry at the same age and with the same ideas. But in those days it was an absolutely new thing, when national diversities and individual liberties were so strongly accentuated, to create a harmony of ideas and a fellowship in love, of which the women were the natural harbingers. Enter the palace of Margaret of Austria at Brussels, and, if you do not find yourself back in Rome or Florence, yet you will at once perceive that the remarkable mind of a princess has there gathered together all that gives charm to life: a vast library, well supplied with romances, history and poetry; furniture of priceless value, stately busts, brilliant mirrors, portraits of all the princes and princesses of the time, and by their side the portraits of notorious fools: a medley of life and ideas; various pedigrees of the house of Austria, a trophy of Indian feathers of brilliant colours, fierce shaggy heads of wolves, broad fans, glistening armour, crystals, priceless caskets, medallions, majestic chandeliers, articles in jasper and adamant; on the walls, admirable Flemish tapestries spangled with gold or silver; on the floor, warm, thick-piled carpets; here and there valuable pictures in profusion. The visitor’s curiosity, solicited on all sides, knows not at first where to stop to admire. And these various objects, individual as they are, become animate and dwell together in a sort of high, grand, collective existence: the one mind which discovered their affinities seems to permeate them, sets them vibrating in unison, and thus penetrates the soul of the visitor. Through this great science of intellectually adorning the material conditions of life a first result was obtained: men loved life. Sadness concealed itself, joy kept the whole world dancing to its merry pipe. It was impossible to be anything but gay and amiable. If it chanced that someone was to be buried, it was with full orchestral accompaniment, amid the twinklings of a thousand tapers, and with a ceremony quite lyrical. If perchance a man desired a melancholy funeral, he would do well to say so in his will and prescribe the number of candles; but most often men set their hearts on dying gallantly, and did not dream of depriving their friends of an honourable entertainment or of economising on behalf of their heirs. CHAPTER IV THE EMBROIDERY OF LIFE