e those amongst you who have
but two shirts--one on his back, and the other at the pawnbroker's. I
know that to be true. Albuquerque pawned his moustache, and St. Denis
his glory. The Jews advanced money on the glory. Great examples. To have
debts is to have something. I revere your beggardom."

Ursus cut short his speech, interrupting it in a deep bass voice by the
shout,--

"Triple ass!"

And he answered in his politest accent,--

"I admit it. I am a learned man. I do my best to apologize for it. I
scientifically despise science. Ignorance is a reality on which we feed;
science is a reality on which we starve. In general one is obliged to
choose between two things--to be learned and grow thin, or to browse and
be an ass. O gentlemen, browse! Science is not worth a mouthful of
anything nice. I had rather eat a sirloin of beef than know what they
call the psoas muscle. I have but one merit--a dry eye. Such as you see
me, I have never wept. It must be owned that I have never been
satisfied--never satisfied--not even with myself. I despise myself; but
I submit this to the members of the opposition here present--if Ursus is
only a learned man, Gwynplaine is an artist."

He groaned again,--

"Grumphll!"

And resumed,--

"Grumphll again! it is an objection. All the same, I pass it over. Near
Gwynplaine, gentlemen and ladies, is another artist, a valued and
distinguished personage who accompanies us--his lordship Homo, formerly
a wild dog, now a civilized wolf, and a faithful subject of her
Majesty's. Homo is a mine of deep and superior talent. Be attentive and
watch. You are going to set Homo play as well as Gwynplaine, and you
must do honour to art. That is an attribute of great nations. Are you
men of the woods? I admit the fact. In that case, _sylvae sunt consule
digna_. Two artists are well worth one consul. All right! Some one has
flung a cabbage stalk at me, but did not hit me. That will not stop my
speaking; on the contrary, a danger evaded makes folks garrulous.
_Garrula pericula_, says Juvenal. My hearers! there are amongst you
drunken men and drunken women. Very well. The men are unwholesome. The
women are hideous. You have all sorts of excellent reasons for stowing
yourselves away here on the benches of the pothouse--want of work,
idleness, the spare time between two robberies, porter, ale, stout,
malt, brandy, gin, and the attraction of one sex for the other. What
could be better? A wit prone to irony