PARTISAN REVIEW
believe
in
the death of a person, even in the simple eclipse, the simple
decay of his reason. Our sense of the soul's continuity is very strong.
What! this spirit which, a moment ago, controlled life by its views,
controlled death, inspired in us so much respect, there it is, controlled
by life, by death, weaker than our own spirit which, however much
it may desire, can no longer bow before what has so quickly become lit–
tle more than a nonentity! It is with madness as with the impairment
of faculties in the old, as with death. What? The man who yesterday
wrote the letter quoted above, so noble, so intelligent, this man
today....? And also, for the smallest details are important here, the
man who was attached so wisely to the small things of life, who
answered a letter so elegantly, who met an overture so correctly, who
respected the opinion of others, who desired to appear to them, if
not influential, at least amiable, who conducted his game on the
social exchequer with such finesse and integrity! ... I say that
all
this is very important, and
if
I have quoted the whole first part of
the second letter which, to tell the truth, may seem interesting to no
one but myself, it is because that practical good sense seems still
more remote from what has happened than the beautiful and pro–
found sadness of the last lines. Often, in a ravaged spirit, it is the
main branches, the crown, which survive the longest, after disease
has already cleared away all the lower branches. Here, the spiritual
plant is intact. And just now, as I was copying these letters, I would
have liked to be able to communicate the extreme delicacy, and more,
the incredible preciseness of the hand which had written so clearly
and neatly.
"What have you done to me! What have you done to me!"
If
we think of it, perhaps there is no truly loving mother who would
not be able, on her last day and often long before, to reproach her
son with these words. At bottom, we make old, we kill all those who
love us, by the anxiety we cause them, by that kind of uneasy ten–
derness we inspire and ceaselessly put in a state of alarm.
If
we can
see in a beloved body the slow work of destruction side by side with
the painful fondness which rouses it, see the faded eyes, the hair long
rebelliously black at last vanquished like the rest and growing white,
the arteries hardened, the kidneys choked up, the heart strained,
courage gone before life, the walk slackened and heavy, the spirit
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