"On the whole, I am what people call a perfectly honorable man."
Luckily, he had never (oh! never), been obliged to doubt that excellent opinion which he had of himself, which he liked to express thus, in his moments of rhetorical expansion:
"My whole life gives me the right to shake hands with myself."
Perhaps a subtle psychologist would have found some flaws in this armor of integrity, which was sanctimoniously satisfied with itself. It was, for example, quite certain that our friend had no scruples in making profit out of the vices or misfortunes of his neighbors, provided that he was not in his own opinion, the person who was solely, or chiefly responsible for them. But, on the whole, it was only one manner of looking at it, nothing more, and there were plenty of materials for casuistic arguments in it. This kind of discussion is particularly unpleasant to such simple natures as that of his worthy fellow, who would have replied to the psychologist.
"Why go on a wild goose chase? As for me, I am perfectly sincere."
You must not, however, believe that this perfect sincerity prevented him from having elevated views. He prided himself on having a weakness for imagination and the unforeseen, and if he would have been offended at being called a dishonorable man, he would, perhaps have been still more hurt if anybody had attributed middle-class tastes to him.
Accordingly, in love affairs, he expressed a most virtuous horror of adultery, for if he had committed it, it would not have been able to bear that testimony to himself, which was so sweet to his conscience:
"Ah! As for me, I can declare that I never wronged anybody!"
While, on the other hand, he was not satisfied with pleasure which was paid for by the hour, and which debases the noblest desires of the heart, to the vulgar satisfaction of a physical requirement. What he required, so he used to say, while lifting his eyes up to heaven was:
"Something rather more ideal than that!"