ure who loves--your money. From her you will seek
consolation for your grief, and she will remark that you are very sad
and ask if your loss was considerable; the tears from your eyes will
concern her deeply, for they may be the cause of allowing her dress to
grow old or the rings to drop from her fingers. Do not name him who won
your money that night, for she may meet him on the morrow, and may make
sweet eyes at him that would destroy your remaining happiness.

"'That is what is to be expected of human frailty; have you the strength
to endure it? Are you a man? Beware of disgust, it is an incurable evil;
death is more to be desired than a living distaste for life. Have you a
heart? Beware of love, for it is worse than disease for a debauchee,
and it is ridiculous. Debauchees pay their mistresses, and the woman who
sells herself has no right but that of contempt for the purchaser. Are
you passionate? Take care of your face. It is shameful for a soldier to
throw down his arms and for a debauchee to appear to hold to anything;
his glory consists in touching nothing except with hands of marble that
have been bathed in oil in order that nothing may stick to them.

"'Are you hot-headed? If you desire to live, learn how to kill, for wine
is a wrangler. Have you a conscience? Take care of your slumber, for a
debauchee who repents too late is like a ship that leaks: it can neither
return to land nor continue on its course; the winds can with difficulty
move it, the ocean yawns for it, it careens and disappears. If you have
a body, look out for suffering; if you have a soul, despair awaits you.

"'O unhappy one! beware of men; while they walk along the same path with
you, you will see a vast plain strewn with garlands where a happy throng
of dancers trip the gladsome farandole standing in a circle, each a link
in an endless chain. It is but a mirage; those who look down know
that they are dancing on a silken thread stretched over an abyss that
swallows up all who fall and shows not even a ripple on its surface.
What foot is sure? Nature herself seems to deny you her divine
consolation; trees and flowers are yours no more; you have broken your
mother's laws, you are no longer one of her foster children; the birds
of the field become silent when you appear.

"'You are alone! Beware of God! You are face to face with Him, standing
like a cold statue upon the pedestal of will. The rain from heaven no
longer refreshes you, it under