"Since you give me permission to speak as a friend, madame, allow me to say that we must not be too fierce in our attacks on society. Ask yourself what we exact from society. Fêtes, excitement, smiles, homage, flowers, and gilded salons. With all these, the greatest possible latitude in regard to morals, and all the liberty we desire. Now, if society gives us all these, and you must admit that it does, has it not done its entire duty? Then why this constant complaining and railing at the poor world, when all we can reproach it with is its prodigality?"
"But you know very well that they are all false. Those smiles, that homage, those attentions, are all lies, you know it! If you receive at home, when the last visitor leaves, you say, 'Well, that is over!' If you go to a brilliant reception, as soon as your foot touches the sill of your own home you say again, 'Well, that is over!'"
"Thank Heaven, madame," I answered, pretending not to understand her, for she appeared surprised at my sudden conversion to mundane pleasures, "I assure you I am never so miserable as to be glad that a fête is over. If I ever say, 'Well, it is over!' on my return, it is because I am fatigued with enjoyment, of which, as I said, the world is only too prodigal. As to what you call its deceit and falsehood, it is perfectly right in not being willing to exchange its graceful and pleasing exterior for one that would be horribly disagreeable. Besides, it does not really lie, it but speaks its own language, a language that we perfectly understand. Society is not selfish and exacting, but you are. Why should you wish to insist upon its changing its charming manners, and adopting your romantic ideas of friendship, of endless love, which would make it stupid, and which it does not care for? Trust yourself to it, enter gaily into its giddy whirl, and it will lighten your burdens, and make your life bright and joyful.
"If it lies about you to-day, what matter? To-morrow's falsehood will obliterate the story of to-day. Do you fancy it even believes its own stories? Does it not worship you? Is it not always at your feet? Why should you attach more importance to its words than it expects you to? 'Please and be pleased' is the world's motto. A very convenient one, and easy to follow. What more can you want?"
Madame de Pënâfiel sat staring at me in amazement, remembering, no doubt, the many serious conversations we had on this subject, and, surprised at the sudden levity I affected, she said:
"But when calm reflection succeeds to the bewildering pleasures of society, and we analyse these delights, how vain and unsatisfying they are. What are we then to do?"
"I am quite in despair, madame, at not being able to answer that question. I enjoy these pleasures that you apparently despise, and hope to enjoy them for a long time yet, and more than any one, for it is in the lightness and the ease with which the world's fetters are broken that their charm consists. 'Pardon the outrageous stupidity of the comparison,' as Lord Falmouth says, but if ever the used-up expression, 'a chain of flowers,' was justified, it was in applying it to the obligations of society, which are as bright, as gay, as frail, and as easy to wear. But it is what the world calls love that charms me most, madame. It is the story of the phoenix who is constantly reincarnated, always more golden, more empurpled, and beautiful than before. Is not everything about this love charming, even its ashes, poor remains of love-letters that give out a perfume even as they are consumed? Is anything more delightful than the fact that in this adorable world love follows the divine law of metempsychosis? For, if to-day it dies of old age, after a month's duration, to-morrow it is born again more exquisite than ever, under another form, or for another form."
Madame de Pënâfiel could not yet understand why I should affect such gaiety, when she had just made me the confidant of her sorrows. I could see by her expression that my heedless and unkind words made a painful impression. At first she supposed I was joking, but, as I continued my speech with such an impertinent air of conviction, she knew not what to think, and, looking me in the face, she said, in a voice that was almost a reproach:
"Then you are perfectly happy!"
"Perfectly, madame, mundane life never appeared to me under the form of a more radiant and seductive vision."