"But we will take her … and unsalted porridge," replied the peasant-man, her husband.
Rothschild is a long way behind that peasant-man!
July, 1878.
THE OLD MAN
The dark, distressing days have come….
One's own maladies, the ailments of those dear to him, cold and the gloom of old age. Everything which thou hast loved, to which thou hast surrendered thyself irrevocably, collapses and falls into ruins. The road has taken a turn down hill.
But what is to be done? Grieve? Lament? Thou wilt help neither thyself nor others in that way….
On the withered, bent tree the foliage is smaller, more scanty—but the verdure is the same as ever.
Do thou also shrivel up, retire into thyself, into thy memories, and there, deep, very deep within, at the very bottom of thy concentrated soul, thy previous life, accessible to thee alone, will shine forth before thee with its fragrant, still fresh verdure, and the caress and strength of the springtime!
But have a care … do not look ahead, poor old man!