s.

My greatest fault was imitation of everything that struck me, not by
its beauty but by its strangeness, and not wishing to confess myself
an imitator I resorted to exaggeration in order to appear original.
According to my idea, nothing was good or even tolerable; nothing was
worth the trouble of turning the head, and yet when I had become warmed
up in a discussion it seemed as if there was no expression in the French
language strong enough to sustain my cause; but my warmth would subside
as soon as my opponents ranged themselves on my side.

It was a natural consequence of my conduct. Although disgusted with the
life I was leading I was unwilling to change it:

Simigliante a quells 'nferma
Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume,
Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma.--DANTE.

Thus I tortured my mind to give it change, and I fell into all these
vagaries in order to get away from myself.

But while my vanity was thus occupied, my heart was suffering, so that
ever within me were a man who laughed and a man who wept. It was a
perpetual struggle between my head and my heart. My own mockeries
frequently caused me great pain and my deepest sorrows aroused a desire
to burst into laughter.

One day a man boasted of being proof against superstitious fears, in
fact, fear of every kind. His friends put a human skeleton in his bed
and then concealed themselves in an adjoining room to wait for his
return. They did not hear any noise, but in the morning they found him
dressed and sitting on the bed playing with the bones; he had lost his
reason.

I might be that man but for the fact that my favorite bones are those of
a well-beloved skeleton; they are the debris of my first love, all that
remains of the past.

But it must not be supposed that there were no joyous moments in all
this maddened whirl. Among Desgenais's companions were several young
men of distinction and a number of artists. We sometimes passed together
delightful evenings imagining ourselves libertines. One of them was
infatuated with a beautiful singer, who charmed us with her fresh and
expressive voice. How many times we sat listening to her while supper
was waiting! How many times, when the flagons had been emptied, one
of us held a volume of Lamartine and read aloud in a voice choked by
emotion! Every other thought disappeared. The hours passed by unheeded.
What strange "libertines" we were! We did not speak a word and there
were