CHAPTER XXV: SUNT LACRIMAE RERUM+.
+ [172] It was become a habit with Marius--one of his modernisms--developed by his assistance at the Emperor's "conversations with himself," to keep a register of the movements of his own private thoughts and humours; not continuously indeed, yet sometimes for lengthy intervals, during which it was no idle self-indulgence, but a necessity of his intellectual life, to "confess himself," with an intimacy, seemingly rare among the ancients; ancient writers, at all events, having been jealous, for the most part, of affording us so much as a glimpse of that interior self, which in many cases would have actually doubled the interest of their objective informations.
"If a particular tutelary or genius," writes Marius,--"according to old belief, walks through life beside each one of us, mine is very certainly a capricious creature.

He fills one with wayward, unaccountable, yet quite irresistible humours, [173] and seems always to be in collusion with some outward circumstance, often trivial enough in itself--the condition of the weather, forsooth!--the people one meets by chance--the things one happens to overhear them say, veritable enodioi symboloi,+ or omens by the wayside, as the old Greeks fancied--to push on the unreasonable prepossessions of the moment into weighty motives.

It was doubtless a quite explicable, physical fatigue that presented me to myself, on awaking this morning, so lack-lustre and trite.

But I must needs take my petulance, contrasting it with my accustomed morning hopefulness, as a sign of the ageing of appetite, of a decay in the very capacity of enjoyment.

We need some imaginative stimulus, some not impossible ideal such as may shape vague hope, and transform it into effective desire, to carry us year after year, without disgust, through the routine-work which is so large a part of life.