“I tried to think of what I could do to run away from myself.  Every occupation struck me as being worse even than inaction.  Then I bethought me of putting my papers in order.

“For a long time I have been thinking of clearing out my drawers; for, for the last thirty years, I have been throwing my letters and bills pell-mell into the same desk, and this confusion has often caused me considerable trouble.  But I feel such moral and physical laziness at the sole idea of putting anything in order that I have never had the courage to begin this tedious business.

“I therefore opened my desk, intending to choose among my old papers and destroy the majority of them.

“At first I was bewildered by this array of documents, yellowed by age, then I chose one.

“Oh! if you cherish life, never disturb the burial place of old letters!

“And if, perchance, you should, take the contents by the handful, close your eyes that you may not read a word, so that you may not recognize some forgotten handwriting which may plunge you suddenly into a sea of memories; carry these papers to the fire; and when they are in ashes, crush them to an invisible powder, or otherwise you are lost—­just as I have been lost for an hour.

“The first letters which I read did not interest me greatly.  They were recent, and came from living men whom I still meet quite often, and whose presence does not move me to any great extent.  But all at once one envelope made me start.  My name was traced on it in a large, bold handwriting; and suddenly tears came to my eyes.  That letter was from my dearest friend, the companion of my youth, the confidant of my hopes; and he appeared before me so clearly, with his pleasant smile and his hand outstretched, that a cold shiver ran down my back.  Yes, yes, the dead come back, for I saw him!  Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe:  it gives back life to those who no longer exist.

“With trembling hand and dimmed eyes I reread everything that he told me, and in my poor sobbing heart I felt a wound so painful that I began to groan as a man whose bones are slowly being crushed.

“Then I travelled over my whole life, just as one travels along a river.  I recognized people, so long forgotten that I no longer knew their names.  Their faces alone lived in me.  In my mother’s letters I saw again the old servants, the shape of our house and the little insignificant odds and ends which cling to our minds.

“Yes, I suddenly saw again all my mother’s old gowns, the different styles which she adopted and the several ways in which she dressed her hair.  She haunted me especially in a silk dress, trimmed with old lace; and I remembered something she said one day when she was wearing this dress.  She said:  ’Robert, my child, if you do not stand up straight you will be round-shouldered all your life.’