blasphemy.

Garneret gave his views on women. He had a judicial mind, had
Garneret, and could account for everything in the relations of
the sexes; _but_ he could not tell Jean why one face glimpsed
among a thousand gives joy and grief more than life itself seemed
able to contain. Still, he tried to explain the problem, for he
was of an eminently ratiocinative temper.

"The thing is quite simple," he declared. "There are a dozen
violins for sale at a dealer's. I pass that way, common scraper
of catgut that I am, I tune them and try them, and play over
on each of them in turn, with false notes galore, some catchy
tune--_Au clair de la lune_ or _J'ai du bon tabac dans ma
tabatiere_--stuff fit to kill the old cow. Then Paganini
comes along; with one sweep of the bow he explores the deepest
depths of the vibrating instruments. The first is flat, the second
sharp, the third almost dumb, the fourth is hoarse, five others
have neither power nor truth of tone; but lo! the twelfth gives
forth under the master's hand a mighty music of sweet, deep-voiced
harmonies. It is a Stradivarius; Paganini knows it, takes it home
with him, guards it as the apple of his eye; from an instrument
that for me would never have been more than a resonant wooden box
he draws chords that make men weep, and love, and fall into a
very ecstasy; he directs in his will that they bury this violin
with him in his coffin. Well, Paganini is the lover, the instrument
with its strings and tuning-pegs is the woman. The instrument
must be beautifully made and come from the workshop of a right
skilful maker; more than that, it must fall into the hands of
an accomplished player. But, my poor lad, granting your actress
is a divine instrument of amorous music, I don't believe you
capable of drawing from it one single note of passion's fugue....
Just consider. I don't spend my nights supping with ladies of
the theatre; but we all know what an actress is. It is an animal
generally agreeable to see and hear, always badly brought up,
spoilt first by poverty and afterwards by luxury. Very busy into
the bargain, which makes her as unromantic as anybody can well
be. Something like a _concierge_ turned princess, and combining
the petty spite of the porter's lodge with the caprices of the
boudoir and the fagged nerves of the student.

"You can hardly expect to dazzle T---- with the munificence and
tastefulness of your presents. Your father gives you a hundred
sous a week