The woman who can
satisfy both these devouring appetites is as rare in her sex as a great
general, a great writer, a great artist, a great inventor in a nation.
A man of superior intellect or an idiot--a Hulot or a Crevel--equally
crave for the ideal and for enjoyment; all alike go in search of the
mysterious compound, so rare that at last it is usually found to be a
work in two volumes. This craving is a depraved impulse due to
society.
Marriage, no doubt, must be accepted as a tie; it is life, with its
duties and its stern sacrifices on both parts equally. Libertines, who
seek for hidden treasure, are as guilty as other evil-doers who are
more hardly dealt with than they. These reflections are not a mere
veneer of moralizing; they show the reason of many unexplained
misfortunes. But, indeed, this drama points its own moral--or morals,
for they are of many kinds.
The Baron presently went to call on the Marshal Prince de Wissembourg,
whose powerful patronage was now his only chance. Having dwelt under
his protection for five-and-thirty years, he was a visitor at all
hours, and would be admitted to his rooms as soon as he was up.
"Ah! How are you, my dear Hector?" said the great and worthy leader.
"What is the matter? You look anxious. And yet the session is ended.
One more over! I speak of that now as I used to speak of a campaign.
And indeed I believe the newspapers nowadays speak of the sessions as
parliamentary campaigns.
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