ds straight to the tomb. Most
often, indeed, it is only the name that they give unto death, when its
hand is not visible yet. It is death that looms in the future, the
shadow of death upon life. "None can escape his destiny" we often
exclaim when we hear of death lying in wait for the traveller at the
bend of the road. But were the traveller to encounter happiness
instead, we would never ascribe this to destiny; if we did, we should
have in our mind a far different goddess. And yet, are not joys to be
met with on the highways of life that are greater than any misfortune,
more momentous even than death? May a happiness not be encountered that
the eye cannot see? and is it not of the nature of happiness to be less
manifest than misfortune, to become ever less apparent to the eye as it
reaches loftier heights? But to this we refuse to pay heed. The whole
village, the town, will flock to the spot where some wretched adventure
takes place; but there are none will pause for an instant and let their
eyes rest on a kiss, or a vision of beauty that gladdens the soul, a
ray of love that illumines the heart. And yet may the kiss be
productive of joy no less great than the pain that follows a wound. We
are unjust; we never associate destiny with happiness; and if we do not
regard it as being inseparable from death, it is only to connect it
with disaster even greater than death itself.

49. Were I to refer to the destiny of OEdipus, Joan of Arc, Agamemnon,
you would give not a thought to their lives, but only behold the last
moments of all, the pathway of death. You would stoutly maintain that
their destiny was of the saddest, for that their end was sad. You
forget, however, that death can never be happy; but nevertheless it is
thus we are given to judging of life. It is as though death swallowed
all; and should accident suddenly end thirty years Lot unclouded joy,
the thirty years would be hidden away from our eyes by the gloom of one
sorrowful hour.

50. It is wrong to think of destiny only in connection with death and
disaster. When shall we cease to believe that death, and not life, is
important; that misfortune is greater than happiness? Why, when we try
to sum up a man's destiny, keep our eyes fixed only on the tears that
he shed, and never on the smiles of his joy? Where have we learned that
death fixes the value of life, and not life that of death? We deplore
the destiny of Socrates, Duncart, Antigone, and many others whose