“Yes. I do not mean the genuine article, but all men are slaves more or less, if they don’t follow my mode of life. Slaves to gain, slaves to art, slaves to conventionality, slaves to everything; and what do they gain by such slavery? Nothing but what I do—a tomb—annihilation.”
“Well, you are a slave to your passions.”
“You mean I obey my impulses. Well, I do; but it is a very pleasant kind of slavery.”
“And you believe in that horrible theory of annihilation?”
“Well, I don’t know what I believe. I trouble myself in no-wise about the hereafter. I am alive, I am strong, I am happy. The sun is bright, the winds are inspiriting,—I draw delight from mountain and plain,—so why should I trouble myself about what I know nothing? The present is just enough for me. Let the future take care of itself.”
“A selfish philosophy.”
“A very enjoyable one. Come with me to the East, and you will adopt my creed. Are you happy here?”
“No.”
“I can see that. You are melancholy at times, you are devoured with spleen, you find the life you lead too dreary for your soul. If you let me be your physician, I will cure you.”
“And how?”