Perhaps you take your stand upon the more elevated ground of

"sentiment?" Well, this is precisely the pyschological point of view

that I am about to discuss, madam. Yes, if it were only in order to

inquire whether the human soul freed from all constraint, is capable of

infinite expansion, like a liberated gas. To mix positive and

materialist science with etherialised sensualism, such is my object. A

simple passion, we all know what that is; but to adore four women at a

time--while so many honest folk are well content to love one only--this

seems to me a praiseworthy aspiration, fit to inspire the soul of a poet

who prides himself upon his gallantry, no less than the brain of a

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philosopher in search of the vital elixir and the sources of sensation.

Such a study would, assuredly, be arduous and severe, and would at any

rate not be without glory, as you will admit, if it should happen to

terminate logically in the triumph of the sublime Christian love over

pagan or Mahometan polygamy.

Again, madam, in reprimanding me for my poor little harem, do you mean

to preach against King David, or the seven hundred wives of Solomon?

Without going back to the biblical legends of these venerable

sovereigns, have you not read the classics? In what respect, may I ask,

is the poem of Don Juan more moral than my subject? And did good old

Lafontaine drop any of his artless probity, when he dipped his pen into

the Boccaccian inkpot? The morality of a given book, madam, depends

entirely upon the morality of its author, who respects himself first by

respecting his public, and who will not lead the latter into bad

company, not wishing to corrupt it with bad sentiments.

It gives me pleasure to draw the picture of those ideal amours which

every warm-blooded youth of twenty has at one time or other cherished in

his thoughts; to substitute virginal charms and graces for vice and

harlotry--and after the manner of those charming heathen poets who have

so often filled our dreams with their fancies, to mingle the anacreontic

with the idyllic. Open any of your moral stories, madam, and I'll wager

my harem you will find that the interest in them is always kept up by

adultery, in thought or in deed, which has been erected into a social

institution! The same Minotaur has served for us since the time of

Menelaus. Adultery, adultery, always adultery! it is as inevitable as it

is monotonous!

Do you prefer the novel of the day, on the lives and habits of

courtesans? revelations of the boudoir, where all is impure, venal, and

degrading? No, madam, I won't proceed any farther, out of respect alike

for you and for my pen.




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