Are you hot-headed? If you desire to
live, learn how to kill, for wine is a wrangler. Have you a conscience?
Take care of your slumber, for a debauchee who repents too late is like a
ship that leaks: it can neither return to land nor continue on its
course; the winds can with difficulty move it, the ocean yawns for it, it
careens and disappears. If you have a body, look out for suffering; if
you have a soul, despair awaits you. O, unhappy one! beware of men; while
they walk along the same path with you, you will seem to see a vast plain
strewn with garlands where a happy throng of dancers trip the gladsome
_furandole_ standing in a circle, each a link in an endless chain; it is
but a mirage; those who look down know that they are dancing on a silken
thread stretched over an abyss that swallows up all who fall and shows
not even a ripple on its surface. What foot is sure? Nature herself seems
to deny you her divine consolation; trees and flowers are yours no more;
you have broken your mother's laws, you are no longer one of her
foster-children, the birds of the field become silent when you appear.
You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing
like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no
longer refreshes you, it undermines and weakens you. The passing wind no
longer gives you the kiss of life, the benediction on all that lives and
breathes; it buffets you and makes you stagger.
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