with delight when he meets his comrade, his arms can embrace tenderly, his eyes can shed tears of pity; he learns to be sorry for offending others through his shame at causing annoyance.  If the eager warmth of his blood makes him quick, hasty, and passionate, a moment later you see all his natural kindness of heart in the eagerness of his repentance; he weeps, he groans over the wound he has given; he would atone for the blood he has shed with his own; his anger dies away, his pride abases itself before the consciousness of his wrong-doing.  Is he the injured party, in the height of his fury an excuse, a word, disarms him; he forgives the wrongs of others as whole-heartedly as he repairs his own.  Adolescence is not the age of hatred or vengeance; it is the age of pity, mercy, and generosity.  Yes, I maintain, and I am not afraid of the testimony of experience, a youth of good birth, one who has preserved his innocence up to the age of twenty, is at that age the best, the most generous, the most loving, and the most lovable of men.  You never heard such a thing; I can well believe that philosophers such as you, brought up among the corruption of the public schools, are unaware of it.

Man’s weakness makes him sociable.  Our common sufferings draw our hearts to our fellow-creatures; we should have no duties to mankind if we were not men.  Every affection is a sign of insufficiency; if each of us had no need of others, we should hardly think of associating with them.  So our frail happiness has its roots in our weakness.  A really happy man is a hermit; God only enjoys absolute happiness; but which of us has any idea what that means?  If any imperfect creature were self-sufficing, what would he have to enjoy?  To our thinking he would be wretched and alone.  I do not understand how one who has need of nothing could love anything, nor do I understand how he who loves nothing can be happy.

Hence it follows that we are drawn towards our fellow-creatures less by our feeling for their joys than for their sorrows; for in them we discern more plainly a nature like our own, and a pledge of their affection for us.  If our common needs create a bond of interest our common sufferings create a bond of affection.  The sight of a happy man arouses in others envy rather than love, we are ready to accuse him of usurping a right which is not his, of seeking happiness for himself alone, and our selfishness suffers an additional pang in the thought that this man has no need of us.  But who does not pity the wretch when he beholds his sufferings? who would not deliver him from his woes if a wish could do it?  Imagination puts us more readily in the place of the miserable man than of the happy man; we feel that the one condition touches us more nearly than the other.  Pity is sweet, because, when we put ourselves in the place of one who suffers, we are aware, nevertheless, of the pleasure of not suffering like him.  Envy is bitter, because the sight of a happy man, far from putting the envious in his place, inspires him with regret that he is not there.  The one seems to exempt us from the pains he suffers, the other seems to deprive us of the good things he enjoys.