The Master tells us, ''Tis not experience, the mother of all arts and sciences, which deceives men, but imagination, which promises them what experience cannot give. Experience is not to blame, but our own vain and senseless lusts. Experience would have us aim at the possible, and not strive ignorantly for what we can never obtain; lest we become the prey of despair.'
When we were alone Cesare repeated these words, and cried as in disgust:—
'Hypocrisy and lies!'
'How has he lied?' asked I.
'Not to aim at the impossible! not to follow the unattainable! Well, it may be some one will believe his words, but 'twill not be I nor you! I have penetrated to his inmost soul.'
'And what see you there, Cesare?'
'All his life through, he has done nothing but aim at the impossible, nothing but follow the unattainable! What else is he about in this machine to turn men into birds, in that other to set them in water like fish? And the chimerical monsters he finds in the spots on walls and in the outline of the clouds; and the mystic charm of divine faces seen in angelic visions—whence does he derive all this? From experience? from his diagram of noses, and his ladle for measuring out paint? Why does he deceive himself? Why lie? His mechanical studies are for the performance of a miracle; for raising himself into heaven by flight, for using natural forces to do that which is against Nature. He stretches out towards God or devil, he cares not which, provided 'tis something unexampled, beyond possibility. The less is his faith, the greater is his quenchless curiosity.'
These words of Cesare's have filled my soul with anxiety. For several days I have thought them over: I would fain forget them, but I cannot.
To-day, however, the Master, as if in answer to my doubts, has said to me:—
'A little knowledge puffs up; great knowledge makes humble. Blasted ears raise proud heads; those full of grain bow down.'