seemed to
steal over him; his voice became deep and melancholy, and the first
syllables which he uttered showed this Proteus recalled to himself, and
tamed by two words. "Hapless existence!" he exclaimed; then pausing,
seemed to muse, and after a while continued, "'tis but too true;
comedian or tragedian, all for me is an affair of acting and costume; so
it has been hitherto, and such it is likely to continue. How fatiguing
and how petty it is to pose--always to pose, in profile for this party,
in full face for that, according to their notions! To guess at the
imaginings of drivelers, and seem to be what they think one ought to be.
To study how to place them between hope and fear--dazzle them with the
prestige of names and distances, of dates and bulletins--be the master
of all, and not know what to do with them; and after all this to be as
weary as I am--'tis too bad! The moment I sit down"--he crossed his
legs, and leaned back in his chair--"ennui seizes me. To be obliged to
hunt for three days in yonder forest would throw me into a mortal
languor. Activity is to me a necessity; I must keep moving myself, and
make others move, but I'll be hanged if I know whither. You see, then, I
disclose my inmost thoughts to you. Plans I have, enough and to spare,
for the lives of a score of emperors. I make one every morning, and
another every evening; my imagination wearies not; but before some three
or four of my plans could be carried out, I should be used up body and
mind: our little lamp of life burns not long before it begins to
flicker. And now, to speak with entire frankness, am I sure that the
world would be happier even if all my plans were put in execution? It
would certainly be a somewhat finer thing than it is, for a magnificent
uniformity would reign throughout it. I am not a philosopher; and in the
affair of common sense, I am bound to own that the Florentine secretary
was a master to us all. I am no proficient in theories: with me
reflection precedes decision, and execution instantly follows: the
shortness of life forbids us to stand still. When I shall have passed
away, there will be comments enough on my actions to exalt me if I
succeed, to disparage me if I fail. Paradoxes are already rife--they are
never wanting in France--but I shall still them to silence while I live;
and when I am gone--no matter. My object is to succeed; for that I have
some capacity. My Iliad I compose in action; every day adds an
episode."