Paris Spleen: little poems in prose

XXIX: Generous Gambler

59 xxix Generous Gambler Yesterday, in the crowd on the boulevard, I felt myself jostled by a mysterious Being whom I had always wanted to meet and whom I recognized immediately, although I had never seen him before. He must have had, with regard to me, a like desire, for in passing he gave a significant wink, to which I quickly responded. I followed him attentively and soon descended after him into a dazzling subterranean domain glittering with more luxury than the best Paris houses can boast. It struck me as odd that I had often gone past this amazing haunt without ever noticing the entrance. A densely exquisite atmosphere hovered here, almost instantly clearing the mind of life’s prosy horrors. Here one breathed in a dark beatitude, such as the lotus eaters must have experienced when, disembarking on an enchanted island lit by the glow of an eternal afternoon, they felt born within them—to the soporific strains of melodious cascades—the desire never to return home, to wife, to child, nor ever again to ride the tall waves of the sea. Strange faces of men and women, bearing a fatal beauty, familiar already, it seemed, from times and countries impossible to recall exactly, struck me with fraternal sympathy rather than with the fear presence of the unknown ordinarily fosters. If I had to define in some way how they looked, I would say that I never saw eyes glowing so powerfully with a horror of ennui and an immortal desire to feel themselves alive. My host and I by the time we were sitting down had become good and longtime friends. We ate, we drank excessively all sorts of extraordinary wines and, no less extraordinary, it seemed to me I got no more drunk than he. Meanwhile, gaming—that superhuman pleasure —now and then cut into our frequent libations, and I should note that I had staked, and (in two-out-of-three) lost, my soul, with 60 nonchalance, with heroic indifference. The soul is a thing so impalpable , often so useless, occasionally annoying, that its loss cost me just a little less emotional disturbance than if I had, on a walk, lost my calling cards. We puffed for quite a time on some cigars whose incomparable savor and smell rendered a soul nostalgic for unknown lands and luck and, drunk with all these delights, in a burst of familiarity (that seemed not to displease him) I made free, brandishing a full glass, to cry, “To your immortal health, Old Goat!” We talked, also, about the universe, its creation and future destruction ; about our century’s grand idea, that is to say, of progress and perfectibility; and, in general, about all the forms of human infatuation . On that subject, His Highness had no lack of witty and irrefutable sallies and expressed himself with a suave diction and easy banter such as I never heard from any of the most eminent human authorities . He explained to me the absurdity of various philosophies now in possession of the human brain and deigned even to impart confidentially some fundamental principles, the authorship and benefits of which I would prefer not to share with anyone. He by no means complained of his bad reputation all over the world, assured me that he himself was the one most determined to destroy superstition, and claimed that only once was he ever in doubt of his own power—the time a preacher, more subtle than most, declared from the pulpit: “Never, my brethren, forget, when you hear enlightenment vaunted, that the neatest trick of the devil is to persuade you that he does not exist.” The memory of that celebrated orator led us naturally to the subject of academies, and my strange tablemate insisted to me that he was not averse, quite often, to inspiring the pen, the words and the conscience of pedagogues, and that he almost always attended in person, albeit invisible, all meetings of the Academy. Moved by his kindness, I asked him for news of God, and if he had seen Him lately. He replied, his nonchalance tinged with a certain sadness : “We greet one another when we meet, but in the manner of two 61 old gentlemen whose innate politeness cannot entirely extinguish the memory of old resentments.” It is unlikely that His Highness had ever given so extended an audience to a simple mortal, and I...