The eyes of the sphinx glitter in the
midst of divine hieroglyphics; decipher the book of life! Courage,
scholar, launch out on the Styx, the invulnerable flood, and let the
waves of sorrow waft you to death or to God."
CHAPTER IV
"ALL there was of good in that, supposing there was some good in it, was
that false pleasures were the seeds of sorrow and of bitterness which
fatigued me to the point of exhaustion." Such are the simple words spoken
with reference to his youth by that man who was the most a man of any who
have lived, Saint Augustine. Of those who have done as I, few would say
those words, all have them in their hearts; I have found no others in
mine.
Returning to Paris in the month of December I passed the winter attending
pleasure parties, masquerades, suppers, rarely leaving Desgenais, who was
delighted with me; I was not with him. The more I went about, the more
unhappy I became. It seemed to me after a short enough time, that the
world, which had at first appeared so strange, would tie me up, so to
speak, at every step; where I had expected to see a specter, I
discovered, upon closer inspection, a shadow.
Desgenais asked what was the matter with me.
"And you?" I asked. "What is the matter with you? You have lost some
relative? Or do you suffer from some wound?"
At times he seemed to understand me and did not question me. We sat down
before a table and drank until we lost our heads; in the middle of the
night we took horses and rode ten or twelve leagues into the country;
returning we went to the bath, then to table, then to gambling, then to
bed; and when I reached mine, I fell on my knees and wept.
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