of the night, shedding light without heat, enveloped the world in a livid
shroud.

There had been those who hated the nobles, who cried out against priests,
who conspired against kings; abuses and prejudices had been attacked; but
all that was not so great a novelty as to see a smiling people. If a
noble or a priest or a sovereign passed, the peasants who had made war
possible began to shake their heads and say: "Ah! when we saw this man in
such a time and place he wore a different face." And when the throne and
altar were mentioned, they replied: "They are made of four planks of
wood; we have nailed them together and torn them apart." And when some
one said: "People, you have recovered from the errors which led you
astray; you have recalled your kings and your priests," they replied:
"We have nothing to do with those prattlers." And when some one said
"People, forget the past, work and obey," they arose from their seats and
a dull jangling could be heard. It was the rusty and notched sabre in
the corner of the cottage chimney. Then they hastened to add: "Then keep
quiet, at least; if no one harms you, do not seek to harm." Alas! they
were content with that.

But youth was not content. It is certain that there are in man two
occult powers engaged in a death-struggle: the one, clear-sighted and
cold, is concerned with reality, calculation, weight, and judges the
past; the other is athirst for the future and eager for the unknown.
When passion sways man, reason follows him weeping and warning, him of
his danger; but when man listens to the voice of reason, when he stops at
her request and says: "What a fool I am; where am I going?" passion
calls to him: "Ah, must I die?"

A feeling of extreme uneasiness began to ferment in all young hearts.