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THE EGO AND HIS OWN

Yet what could they show further than that O'Con-

nell was working for another end than the ostensible
one ? But, whether he may aim at making money or
at liberating the people, it still remains certain, in one
case as in the other, that he is striving for an end, and
that his end; selfishness here as there, only that his
national self-interest would be beneficial to others too,
and so would be for the common interest.

Now, do you suppose unselfishness is unreal and

nowhere extant ? On the contrary, nothing is more
ordinary ! One may even call it an article of fashion
in the civilized world, which is considered so indispen-
sable that, if it costs too much in solid material, peo-
ple at least adorn themselves with its tinsel counterfeit
and feign it. Where does unselfishness begin ?
Right where an end ceases to be our end and our
property, which we, as owners, can dispose of at pleas-
ure; where it becomes a fixed end or a--fixed idea;
where it begins to inspire, enthuse, fanaticize us; in
short, where it passes into our stubbornness and be-
comes our--master. One is not unselfish so long as
he retains the end in his power; one becomes so only
at that " Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise," the
fundamental maxim of all the possessed; one becomes
so in the case of a sacred end, through the correspond-
ing sacred zeal.--

I am not unselfish so long as the end remains my

own, and I, instead of giving myself up to be the
blind means of its fulfilment, leave it always an open
question. My zeal need not on that account be
slacker than the most fanatical, but at the same time I
remain toward it frostily cold, unbelieving, and its

MEN OF THE OLD TIME AND THE NEW 79

most irreconcilable enemy; I remain its judge, because
I am its owner.

Unselfishness grows rank as far as possessedness

reaches, as much on possessions of the devil as on those
of a good spirit: there vice, folly, etc.; here humility,
devotion, etc.

Where could one look without meeting victims of

self-renunciation ? There sits a girl opposite me, who
perhaps has been making bloody sacrifices to her soul
for ten years already. Over the buxom form droops a
deathly-tired head, and pale cheeks betray the slow
bleeding away of her youth. Poor child, how often
the passions may have beaten at your heart, and the
rich powers of youth have demanded their right !
When your head rolled in the soft pillow, how
awakening nature quivered through your limbs, the
blood swelled your veins, and fiery fancies poured the
gleam of voluptuousness into your eyes ! Then ap-
peared the ghost of the soul and its eternal bliss.
You were terrified, your hands folded themselves, your
tormented eye turned its look upward, you--prayed.
The storms of nature were hushed, a calm glided over
the ocean of your appetites. Slowly the weary eyelids
sank over the life extinguished under them, the ten-
sion crept out unperceived from the rounded limbs,
the boisterous waves dried up in the heart, the folded
hands themselves rested a powerless weight on the un-
resisting bosom, one last faint " Oh dear ! " moaned it-
self away, and--the soul was at rest. You fell asleep,
to awake in the morning to a new combat and a new
--prayer. Now the habit of renunciation cools the
heat of your desire, and the roses of your youth are