from mine, but it must be in my own way, and not at the bidding of
others. Must they be able to say to me, Crawl--and behold me,
forced to crawl? That is the worm's way, and it is mine; we both of
us follow it--the worm and I--when they leave us alone, but we turn
when they tread on our tails. They have trodden on my tail, and I
mean to turn. And then you have no idea of the creature we are
talking about. Imagine a sour and melancholy person, eaten up by
vapours, wrapped twice or thrice round in his dressing-gown,
discontented with himself, and discontented with every one else;
out of whom you hardly wring a smile, if you put your body and soul
out of joint in a hundred different ways; who examines with a cold
considering eye the droll grimaces of my face, and those of my
mind, which are droller still. I may torment myself to attain the
highest sublime of the lunatic asylum, nothing comes of it. Will he
laugh, or will he not? That is what I am obliged to keep saying to
myself in the midst of my contortions; and you may judge how
damaging this uncertainty is to one's talent. My hypochondriac,
with his head buried in a night-cap that covers his eyes, has the
air of an immovable pagod, with a string tied to its chin, and
going down under his chair. You wait for the string to be pulled,
and it is not pulled; or if by chance the jaws open, it is only to
articulate some word that shows he has not seen you, and that all
your drolleries have been thrown away. This word is the answer to
some question which you put to him four days before; the word
spoken, the mastoid muscle contracts, and the jaw sticks.

[Then he set himself to imitate his man. He placed himself on a
chair, his head fixed, his hat coming over his eyebrows, his eyes
half-shut, his arms hanging down, moving his jaw up and down like
an automaton:] Gloomy, obscure, oracular as destiny itself--such is
our patron.

At the other side of the room is a prude who plays at importance,
to whom one could bring one's self to say that she is pretty,
because she is pretty, though she has a blemish or two upon her
face. _Item_, she is more spiteful, more conceited, and more silly
than a goose. _Item_, she insists on having wit. _Item_, you have
to persuade her that you believe she has more of it than an