the magic skin-第41章

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my　early　days。　Without　meaning　it；　I　made　some　friends；　either　through

quarrels　or　owing　to　the　easy　confidence　established　among　those　who

are　going　to　the　bad　together；　nothing；　possibly；　makes　us　cling　to

one　another　so　tightly　as　our　evil　propensities。



〃I　made　several　ventures　in　literature；　which　were　flatteringly

received。　Great　men　who　followed　the　profession　of　letters；　having

nothing　to　fear　from　me；　belauded　me；　not　so　much　on　account　of　my

merits　as　to　cast　a　slur　on　those　of　their　rivals。



〃I　became　a　'free…liver；'　to　make　use　of　the　picturesque　expression

appropriated　by　the　language　of　excess。　I　made　it　a　point　of　honor　not

to　be　long　about　dying；　and　that　my　zeal　and　prowess　should　eclipse

those　displayed　by　all　others　in　the　jolliest　company。　I　was　always

spruce　and　carefully　dressed。　I　had　some　reputation　for　cleverness。

There　was　no　sign　about　me　of　the　fearful　way　of　living　which　makes　a

man　into　a　mere　disgusting　apparatus；　a　funnel；　a　pampered　beast。



〃Very　soon　Debauch　rose　before　me　in　all　the　majesty　of　its　horror；

and　I　grasped　all　that　it　meant。　Those　prudent；　steady…going

characters　who　are　laying　down　wine　in　bottles　for　their　heirs；　can

barely　conceive；　it　is　true；　of　so　wide　a　theory　of　life；　nor

appreciate　its　normal　condition；　but　when　will　you　instill　poetry　into

the　provincial　intellect？　Opium　and　tea；　with　all　their　delights；　are

merely　drugs　to　folk　of　that　calibre。



〃Is　not　the　imperfect　sybarite　to　be　met　with　even　in　Paris　itself；

that　intellectual　metropolis？　Unfit　to　endure　the　fatigues　of

pleasure；　this　sort　of　person；　after　a　drinking　bout；　is　very　much

like　those　worthy　bourgeois　who　fall　foul　of　music　after　hearing　a　new

opera　by　Rossini。　Does　he　not　renounce　these　courses　in　the　same　frame

of　mind　that　leads　an　abstemious　man　to　forswear　Ruffec　pates；　because

the　first　one；　forsooth；　gave　him　the　indigestion？



〃Debauch　is　as　surely　an　art　as　poetry；　and　is　not　for　craven　spirits。

To　penetrate　its　mysteries　and　appreciate　its　charms；　conscientious

application　is　required；　and　as　with　every　path　of　knowledge；　the　way

is　thorny　and　forbidding　at　the　outset。　The　great　pleasures　of

humanity　are　hedged　about　with　formidable　obstacles；　not　its　single

enjoyments；　but　enjoyment　as　a　system；　a　system　which　establishes

seldom　experienced　sensations　and　makes　them　habitual；　which

concentrates　and　multiplies　them　for　us；　creating　a　dramatic　life

within　our　life；　and　imperatively　demanding　a　prompt　and　enormous

expenditure　of　vitality。　　War；　Power；　Art；　like　Debauch；　are　all　forms

of　demoralization；　equally　remote　from　the　faculties　of　humanity；

equally　profound；　and　all　are　alike　difficult　of　access。　But　when　man

has　once　stormed　the　heights　of　these　grand　mysteries；　does　he　not

walk　in　another　world？　Are　not　generals；　ministers；　and　artists

carried；　more　or　less；　towards　destruction　by　the　need　of　violent

distractions　in　an　existence　so　remote　from　ordinary　life　as　theirs？



〃War；　after　all；　is　the　Excess　of　bloodshed；　as　the　Excess　of　self…

interest　produces　Politics。　Excesses　of　every　sort　are　brothers。　These

social　enormities　possess　the　attraction　of　the　abyss；　they　draw

towards　themselves　as　St。　Helena　beckoned　Napoleon；　we　are　fascinated；

our　heads　swim；　we　wish　to　sound　their　depths　though　we　cannot　account

for　the　wish。　Perhaps　the　thought　of　Infinity　dwells　in　these

precipices；　perhaps　they　contain　some　colossal　flattery　for　the　soul

of　man；　for　is　he　not；　then；　wholly　absorbed　in　himself？



〃The　wearied　artist　needs　a　complete　contrast　to　his　paradise　of

imaginings　and　of　studious　hours；　he　either　craves；　like　God；　the

seventh　day　of　rest；　or　with　Satan；　the　pleasures　of　hell；　so　that　his

senses　may　have　free　play　in　opposition　to　the　employment　of　his

faculties。　Byron　could　never　have　taken　for　his　relaxation　to　the

independent　gentleman's　delights　of　boston　and　gossip；　for　he　was　a

poet；　and　so　must　needs　pit　Greece　against　Mahmoud。



〃In　war；　is　not　man　an　angel　of　extirpation；　a　sort　of　executioner　on

a　gigantic　scale？　Must　not　the　spell　be　strong　indeed　that　makes　us

undergo　such　horrid　sufferings　so　hostile　to　our　weak　frames；

sufferings　that　encircle　every　strong　passion　with　a　hedge　of　thorns？

The　tobacco　smoker　is　seized　with　convulsions；　and　goes　through　a　kind

of　agony　consequent　upon　his　excesses；　but　has　he　not　borne　a　part　in

delightful　festivals　in　realms　unknown？　Has　Europe　ever　ceased　from

wars？　She　has　never　given　herself　time　to　wipe　the　stains　from　her

feet　that　are　steeped　in　blood　to　the　ankle。　Mankind　at　large　is

carried　away　by　fits　of　intoxication；　as　nature　has　its　accessions　of

love。



〃For　men　in　private　life；　for　a　vegetating　Mirabeau　dreaming　of　storms

in　a　time　of　calm；　Excess　comprises　all　things；　it　perpetually

embraces　the　whole　sum　of　life；　it　is　something　better　stillit　is　a

duel　with　an　antagonist　of　unknown　power；　a　monster；　terrible　at　first

sight；　that　must　be　seized　by　the　horns；　a　labor　that　cannot　be

imagined。



〃Suppose　that　nature　has　endowed　you　with　a　feeble　stomach　or　one　of

limited　capacity；　you　acquire　a　mastery　over　it　and　improve　it；　you

learn　to　carry　your　liquor；　you　grow　accustomed　to　being　drunk；　you

pass　whole　nights　without　sleep；　at　last　you　acquire　the　constitution

of　a　colonel　of　cuirassiers；　and　in　this　way　you　create　yourself

afresh；　as　if　to　fly　in　the　face　of　Providence。



〃A　man　transformed　after　this　sort　is　like　a　neophyte　who　has　at　last

become　a　veteran；　has　accustomed　his　mind　to　shot　and　shell　and　his

legs　to　lengthy　marches。　When　the　monster's　hold　on　him　is　still

uncertain；　and　it　is　not　yet　known　which　will　have　the　better　of　it；

they　roll　over　and　over；　alternately　victor　and　vanquished；　in　a　world

where　everything　is　wonderful；　where　every　ache　of　the　soul　is　laid　to

sleep；　where　only　the　shadows　of　ideas　are　revived。



〃This　furious　struggle　has　already　become　a　necessity　for　us。　The

prodigal　has　struck　a　bargain　for　all　the　enjoyments　with　which　life

teems　abundantly；　at　the　price　of　his　own　death；　like　the　mythical

persons　in　legends　who　sold　themselves　to　the　devil　for　the　power　of

doing　evil。　For　them；　instead　of　flowing　quietly　on　in　its　monotonous

course　in　the　depths　of　some　counting…house　or　study；　life　is　poured

out　in　a　boiling　torrent。



〃Excess　is；　in　short；　for　the　body　what　the　mystic's　ecstasy　is　for

the　soul。　Intoxication　steeps　you　in　fantastic　imaginings　every　whit

as　strange　as　those　of　ecstatics。　You　know　hours　as　full　of　rapture　as

a　young　girl's　dreams；　you　travel　without　fatigue；　you　chat　pleasantly

with　your　friends；　words　come　to　you　with　a　whole　life　in　each；　and

fresh　pleasures　without　regrets；　poems　are　set　forth　for　you　in　a　few

brief　phrases。　The　coarse　animal　satisfaction；　in　which　science　has

tried　to　find　a　soul；　is　followed　by　the　enchanted　drowsiness　that　men

sigh　for　under　the　burden　of　consciousness。　Is　it　not　because　they　all

feel　the　need　of　absolute　repose？　Because　Excess　is　a　sort　of　toll

that　genius　pays　to　pain？



〃Look　at　all　great　men；　nature　made　them　pleasure…loving　or　base；

every　one。　Some　mocking　or　jealous　power　corrupted　them　in　either　soul

or　body；　so　as　to　make　all　their　powers　futile；　and　their　efforts　of

no　avail。



〃All　men　and　all　things　appear　before　you　in　the　guise　you　choose；　in

those　hours　when　wine　has　sway。　You　are　lord　of　all　creation；　you

transform　it　at　your　pleasure。　And　throughout　this　unceasing　delirium；

Play　may　pour；　at　your　will；　its　molten　lead　into　your　veins。



〃Some　day　you　will　fall　into　the　monster's　power。　Then　you　will　have；

as　I　had；　a　frenzied　awakening；　with　impotence　sitting　by　your　pillow。

Are　you　an　old　soldier？　Phthisis　attacks　you。　A　diplomatist？　An

aneurism　hangs　death　in　your　heart　by　a　thread。　It　will　perhaps　be

consumption　that　will　cry　out　to　me；　'Let　us　be　going！'　as　to　Raphael

of　Urbino；　in　old　time；　killed　by　an　excess　of　lo