. . . These cigars
are excellent. Give your friend some tea. Do you know, Paul, I live a
brute's life? It should be time to choose oneself a destiny, to employ
one's powers on something which makes life worth living. Life is a
singular comedy. I am frightened, I laugh at the inconsequence of our
social order. The Government cuts off the heads of poor devils who may
have killed a man and licenses creatures who despatch, medically
speaking, a dozen young folks in a season. Morality is powerless
against a dozen vices which destroy society and which nothing can
punish.--Another cup!--Upon my word of honor! man is a jester dancing
upon a precipice. They talk to us about the immorality of the
_Liaisons Dangereuses_, and any other book you like with a vulgar
reputation; but there exists a book, horrible, filthy, fearful,
corrupting, which is always open and will never be shut, the great
book of the world; not to mention another book, a thousand times more
dangerous, which is composed of all that men whisper into each other's
ears, or women murmur behind their fans, of an evening in society."
"Henri, there is certainly something extraordinary the matter with
you; that is obvious in spite of your active discretion."
"Yes! . . . Come, I must kill the time until this evening. Let's to
the tables. . . . Perhaps I shall have the good luck to lose."
De Marsay rose, took a handful of banknotes and folded them into his
cigar-case, dressed himself, and took advantage of Paul's carriage to
repair to the Salon des Etrangers, where until dinner he consumed the
time in those exciting alternations of loss and gain which are the
last resource of powerful organizations when they are compelled to
exercise themselves in the void.
Pages:
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456