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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 love。
〃In this way I have existed。 I was launched into the world too early
or too late。 My energy would have been dangerous there； no doubt； if I
had not have squandered it in such ways as these。 Was not the world
rid of an Alexander； by the cup of Hercules； at the close of a
drinking bout？
〃There are some； the sport of Destiny； who must either have heaven or
hell； the hospice of St。 Bernard or riotous excess。 Only just now I
lacked the heart to moralize about those two；〃 and he pointed to
Euphrasia and Aquilina。 〃They are types of my own personal history；
images of my life！ I could scarcely reproach them； they stood before
me like judges。
〃In the midst of this drama that I was enacting； and while my
distracting disorder was at its height； two crises supervened； each
brought me keen and abundant pangs。 The first came a few days after I
had flung myself； like Sardanapalus； on my pyre。 I met Foedora under
the peristyle of the Bouffons。 We both were waiting for our carriages。
〃 'Ah！ so you are living yet？'
〃That was the meaning of her smile； and probably of the spiteful words
she murmured in the ear of her cicisbeo； telling him my history no
doubt； rating mine as a common love affair。 She was deceived； yet she
was applauding her perspicacity。 Oh； that I should be dying for her；
must still adore her； always see her through my potations； see her
still when I was overcome with wine； or in the arms of courtesans； and
know that I was a target for her scornful jests！ Oh； that I should be
unable to tear the love of her out of my breast and to fling it at her
feet！
〃Well； I quickly exhausted my funds； but owing to those three years of
discipline； I enjoyed the most robust health； and on the day that I
found myself without a penny I felt remarkably well。 In order to carry
on the process of dying； I signed bills at short dates； and the day
came when they must be met。 Painful excitements！ but how they quicken
the pulses of youth！ I was not prematurely aged； I was young yet； and
full of vigor and life。
〃At my first debt all my virtues came to life； slowly and despairingly
they seemed to pace towards me； but I could compound with themthey
were like aged aunts that begin with a scolding and end by bestowing
tears and money upon you。
〃Imagination was less yielding； I saw my name bandied about through
every city in Europe。 'One's name is oneself' says Eusebe Salverte。
After these excursions I returned to the room I had never quitted；
like a doppelganger in a German tale； and came to myself with a start。
〃I used to see with indifference a banker's messenger going on his
errands through the streets of Paris； like a commercial Nemesis；
wearing his master's liverya gray coat and a silver badge； but now I
hated the species in advance。 One of them came one morning to ask me
to meet some eleven bills that I had scrawled my name upon。 My
signature was worth three thousand francs！ Taking me altogether； I
myself was not worth that amount。 Sheriff's deputies rose up before
me； turning their callous faces upon my despair； as the hangman
regards the criminal to whom he says； 'It has just struck half…past
three。' I was in the power of their clerks； they could scribble my
name； drag it through the mire； and jeer at it。 I was a defaulter。 Has
a debtor any right to himself？ Could not other men call me to account
for my way of living？ Why had I eaten puddings a la chipolata？ Why had
I iced my wine？ Why had I slept； or walked； or thought； or amused
myself when I had not paid them？
〃At any moment； in the middle of a poem； during some train of thought；
or while I was gaily breakfasting in the pleasant company of my
friends； I might look to see a gentleman enter in a coat of chestnut…
brown； with a shabby hat in his hand。 This gentleman's appearance
would signify my debt； the bill I had drawn； the spectre would compel
me to leave the table to speak to him； blight my spirits； despoil me
of my cheerfulness； of my mistress； of all I possessed； down to my
very bedstead。
〃Remorse itself is more easily endured。 Remorse does not drive us into
the street nor into the prison of Sainte…Pelagie； it does not force us
into the detestable sink of vice。 Remorse only brings us to the
scaffold； where the executioner invests us with a certain dignity； as
we pay the extreme penalty； everybody believes in our innocence； but
people will not credit a penniless prodigal with a single virtue。
〃My debts had other incarnations。 There is the kind that goes about on
two feet； in a green cloth coat； and blue spectacles； carrying
umbrellas of various hues； you come face to face with him at the
corner of some street； in the midst of your mirth。 These have the
detestable prerogative of saying； 'M。 de Valentin owes me something；
and does not pay。 I have a hold on him。 He had better not show me any
offensive airs！' You must bow to your creditors； and moreover bow
politely。 'When are you going to pay me？' say they。 And you must lie；
and beg money of another man； and cringe to a fool seated on his
strong…box； and receive sour looks in return from these horse…leeches；
a blow would be less hateful； you must put up with their crass
ignorance and calculating morality。 A debt is a feat of the
imaginative that they cannot appreciate。 A borrower is often carried
away and over…mastered by generous impulses； nothing great； nothing
magnanimous can move or dominate those who live for money； and
recognize nothing but money。 I myself held money in abhorrence。
〃Or a bill may undergo a final transformation into some meritorious
old man with a family dependent upon him。 My creditor might be a
living picture for Greuze； a paralytic with his children round him； a
soldier's widow； holding out beseeching hands to me。 Terrible
creditors are these with whom we are forced to sympathize； and when
their claims are satisfied we owe them a further debt of assistance。
〃The night before the bills fell due； I lay down with the false calm
of those who sleep before their approaching execution； or with a duel
in prospect； rocked as they are by delusive hopes。 But when I woke；
when I was cool and collected； when I found myself imprisoned in a
banker's portfolio； and floundering in statements covered with red ink
then my debts sprang up everywhere； like grasshoppers； before my
eyes。 There were my debts； my clock； my armchairs； my debts were
inlaid in the very furniture which I liked best to use。 These gentle
inanimate slaves were to fall prey to the harpies of the Chatelet；
were to be carried off by the broker's men； and brutally thrown on the
market。 Ah； my property was a part of myself！
〃The sound of the door…bell rang through my heart； while it seemed to
strike at me； where kings should be struck atin the head。 Mine was a
martyrdom； without heaven for its reward。 For a magnanimous nature；
debt is a hell； and a hell； moreover； with sheriff's officers and
brokers in it。 An undischarged debt is something mean and sordid； it
is a beginning of knavery； it is something worse； it is a lie； it
prepares the way for crime； and brings together the planks for the
scaffold。 My bills were protested。 Three days afterwards I met them；
and this is how it happened。
〃A speculator came； offering to buy the island in the Loire belonging
to me； where my mother lay buried。 I closed with him。 When I went to
his solicitor to sign the deeds； I felt a cavern…like chill in the
dark office that made me shudder； it was the same cold dampnes