is the road that leads from the
satisfied brain to the heart at rest, and only such joys will nourish
there as are proof against winter's storms. Happiness is a plant that
thrives far more readily in moral than in intellectual life.
Consciousness--the consciousness of happiness, above all--will not
choose the intellect as a hiding-place for the treasure it holds most
dear. At times it would almost seem as if all that is loftiest in
intellect, fraught with most comfort, is transformed into consciousness
only when passed through an act of virtue. It suffices not to discover
new truths in the world of thought or of fact. For ourselves, a truth
only lives from the moment it modifies, purifies, sweetens something we
have in our soul. To be conscious of moral improvement is of the
essence of consciousness. Some beings there are, of vigorous intellect,
whose intellect never is used to discover a fault, or foster a feeling
of charity. And this happens often with women. In cases where a man and
a woman have equal intellectual power, the woman will always devote far
less of this power to acquiring moral self-knowledge. And truly the
intellect that aims not at consciousness is but beating its wings in
the void. Loss and corruption needs must ensue if the force of our
brain be not at once gathered up in the purest vase of our heart. Nor
can such an intellect ever know happiness; nay, it seems to invite
misfortune. For intellect may be of the loftiest, mightiest, and yet
perhaps never draw near unto joy; but in the soul that is gentle, and
pure, and good, sorrow cannot for ever abide. And even though the
boundary line between intellect and consciousness be not always as
clearly defined as here we seem to assume, even though a beautiful
thought in itself may be often a goodly action--yet, none the less will
a beautiful thought, that springs not from noble deed, or wherefrom
noble deed shall not spring, add but little unto our felicity; whereas
a good deed, though it father no thought, will ever fall like soft
bountiful rain on our knowledge of happiness.

54. "How final must his farewell to happiness have been," exclaims
Renan, speaking of the renouncement of Marcus Aurelius--"how final must
his farewell to happiness have been, for him to be capable of such
excess! None will ever know how great was the suffering of that poor,
stricken heart, or the bitterness the waxen brow concealed, calm
always, and even smiling. It is true that th