course　in　the　depths　of　some　counting…house　or　study；　life　is　poured
  out　in　a　boiling　torrent。
  〃Excess　is；　in　short；　for　the　body　what　the　mystic's　ecstasy　is　for
  the　soul。　Intoxication　steeps　you　in　fantastic　imaginings　every　whit
  as　strange　as　those　of　ecstatics。　You　know　hours　as　full　of　rapture　as
  a　young　girl's　dreams；　you　travel　without　fatigue；　you　chat　pleasantly
  with　your　friends；　words　come　to　you　with　a　whole　life　in　each；　and
  fresh　pleasures　without　regrets；　poems　are　set　forth　for　you　in　a　few
  brief　phrases。　The　coarse　animal　satisfaction；　in　which　science　has
  tried　to　find　a　soul；　is　followed　by　the　enchanted　drowsiness　that　men
  sigh　for　under　the　burden　of　consciousness。　Is　it　not　because　they　all
  feel　the　need　of　absolute　repose？　Because　Excess　is　a　sort　of　toll
  that　genius　pays　to　pain？
  〃Look　at　all　great　men；　nature　made　them　pleasure…loving　or　base；
  every　one。　Some　mocking　or　jealous　power　corrupted　them　in　either　soul
  or　body；　so　as　to　make　all　their　powers　futile；　and　their　efforts　of
  no　avail。
  〃All　men　and　all　things　appear　before　you　in　the　guise　you　choose；　in
  those　hours　when　wine　has　sway。　You　are　lord　of　all　creation；　you
  transform　it　at　your　pleasure。　And　throughout　this　unceasing　delirium；
  Play　may　pour；　at　your　will；　its　molten　lead　into　your　veins。
  〃Some　day　you　will　fall　into　the　monster's　power。　Then　you　will　have；
  as　I　had；　a　frenzied　awakening；　with　impotence　sitting　by　your　pillow。
  Are　you　an　old　soldier？　Phthisis　attacks　you。　A　diplomatist？　An
  aneurism　hangs　death　in　your　heart　by　a　thread。　It　will　perhaps　be
  consumption　that　will　cry　out　to　me；　'Let　us　be　going！'　as　to　Raphael
  of　Urbino；　in　old　time；　killed　by　an　excess　of　love。
  〃In　this　way　I　have　existed。　I　was　launched　into　the　world　too　early
  or　too　late。　My　energy　would　have　been　dangerous　there；　no　doubt；　if　I
  had　not　have　squandered　it　in　such　ways　as　these。　Was　not　the　world
  rid　of　an　Alexander；　by　the　cup　of　Hercules；　at　the　close　of　a
  drinking　bout？
  〃There　are　some；　the　sport　of　Destiny；　who　must　either　have　heaven　or
  hell；　the　hospice　of　St。　Bernard　or　riotous　excess。　Only　just　now　I
  lacked　the　heart　to　moralize　about　those　two；〃　and　he　pointed　to
  Euphrasia　and　Aquilina。　〃They　are　types　of　my　own　personal　history；
  images　of　my　life！　I　could　scarcely　reproach　them；　they　stood　before
  me　like　judges。
  〃In　the　midst　of　this　drama　that　I　was　enacting；　and　while　my
  distracting　disorder　was　at　its　height；　two　crises　supervened；　each
  brought　me　keen　and　abundant　pangs。　The　first　came　a　few　days　after　I
  had　flung　myself；　like　Sardanapalus；　on　my　pyre。　I　met　Foedora　under
  the　peristyle　of　the　Bouffons。　We　both　were　waiting　for　our　carriages。
  〃　'Ah！　so　you　are　living　yet？'
  〃That　was　the　meaning　of　her　smile；　and　probably　of　the　spiteful　words
  she　murmured　in　the　ear　of　her　cicisbeo；　telling　him　my　history　no
  doubt；　rating　mine　as　a　common　love　affair。　She　was　deceived；　yet　she
  was　applauding　her　perspicacity。　Oh；　that　I　should　be　dying　for　her；
  must　still　adore　her；　always　see　her　through　my　potations；　see　her
  still　when　I　was　overcome　with　wine；　or　in　the　arms　of　courtesans；　and
  know　that　I　was　a　target　for　her　scornful　jests！　Oh；　that　I　should　be
  unable　to　tear　the　love　of　her　out　of　my　breast　and　to　fling　it　at　her
  feet！
  〃Well；　I　quickly　exhausted　my　funds；　but　owing　to　those　three　years　of
  discipline；　I　enjoyed　the　most　robust　health；　and　on　the　day　that　I
  found　myself　without　a　penny　I　felt　remarkably　well。　In　order　to　carry
  on　the　process　of　dying；　I　signed　bills　at　short　dates；　and　the　day
  came　when　they　must　be　met。　Painful　excitements！　but　how　they　quicken
  the　pulses　of　youth！　I　was　not　prematurely　aged；　I　was　young　yet；　and
  full　of　vigor　and　life。
  〃At　my　first　debt　all　my　virtues　came　to　life；　slowly　and　despairingly
  they　seemed　to　pace　towards　me；　but　I　could　compound　with　themthey
  were　like　aged　aunts　that　begin　with　a　scolding　and　end　by　bestowing
  tears　and　money　upon　you。
  〃Imagination　was　less　yielding；　I　saw　my　name　bandied　about　through
  every　city　in　Europe。　'One's　name　is　oneself'　says　Eusebe　Salverte。
  After　these　excursions　I　returned　to　the　room　I　had　never　quitted；
  like　a　doppelganger　in　a　German　tale；　and　came　to　myself　with　a　start。
  〃I　used　to　see　with　indifference　a　banker's　messenger　going　on　his
  errands　through　the　streets　of　Paris；　like　a　commercial　Nemesis；
  wearing　his　master's　liverya　gray　coat　and　a　silver　badge；　but　now　I
  hated　the　species　in　advance。　One　of　them　came　one　morning　to　ask　me
  to　meet　some　eleven　bills　that　I　had　scrawled　my　name　upon。　My
  signature　was　worth　three　thousand　francs！　Taking　me　altogether；　I
  myself　was　not　worth　that　amount。　Sheriff's　deputies　rose　up　before
  me；　turning　their　callous　faces　upon　my　despair；　as　the　hangman
  regards　the　criminal　to　whom　he　says；　'It　has　just　struck　half…past
  three。'　I　was　in　the　power　of　their　clerks；　they　could　scribble　my
  name；　drag　it　through　the　mire；　and　jeer　at　it。　I　was　a　defaulter。　Has
  a　debtor　any　right　to　himself？　Could　not　other　men　call　me　to　account
  for　my　way　of　living？　Why　had　I　eaten　puddings　a　la　chipolata？　Why　had
  I　iced　my　wine？　Why　had　I　slept；　or　walked；　or　thought；　or　amused
  myself　when　I　had　not　paid　them？
  〃At　any　moment；　in　the　middle　of　a　poem；　during　some　train　of　thought；
  or　while　I　was　gaily　breakfasting　in　the　pleasant　company　of　my
  friends；　I　might　look　to　see　a　gentleman　enter　in　a　coat　of　chestnut…
  brown；　with　a　shabby　hat　in　his　hand。　This　gentleman's　appearance
  would　signify　my　debt；　the　bill　I　had　drawn；　the　spectre　would　compel
  me　to　leave　the　table　to　speak　to　him；　blight　my　spirits；　despoil　me
  of　my　cheerfulness；　of　my　mistress；　of　all　I　possessed；　down　to　my
  very　bedstead。
  〃Remorse　itself　is　more　easily　endured。　Remorse　does　not　drive　us　into
  the　street　nor　into　the　prison　of　Sainte…Pelagie；　it　does　not　force　us
  into　the　detestable　sink　of　vice。　Remorse　only　brings　us　to　the
  scaffold；　where　the　executioner　invests　us　with　a　certain　dignity；　as
  we　pay　the　extreme　penalty；　everybody　believes　in　our　innocence；　but
  people　will　not　credit　a　penniless　prodigal　with　a　single　virtue。
  〃My　debts　had　other　incarnations。　There　is　the　kind　that　goes　about　on
  two　feet；　in　a　green　cloth　coat；　and　blue　spectacles；　carrying
  umbrellas　of　various　hues；　you　come　face　to　face　with　him　at　the
  corner　of　some　street；　in　the　midst　of　your　mirth。　These　have　the
  detestable　prerogative　of　saying；　'M。　de　Valentin　owes　me　something；
  and　does　not　pay。　I　have　a　hold　on　him。　He　had　better　not　show　me　any
  offensive　airs！'　You　must　bow　to　your　creditors；　and　moreover　bow
  politely。　'When　are　you　going　to　pay　me？'　say　they。　And　you　must　lie；
  and　beg　money　of　another　man；　and　cringe　to　a　fool　seated　on　his
  strong…box；　and　receive　sour　looks　in　return　from　these　horse…leeches；
  a　blow　would　be　less　hateful；　you　must　put　up　with　their　crass
  ignorance　and　calculating　morality。　A　debt　is　a　feat　of　the
  imaginative　that　they　cannot　appreciate。　A　borrower　is　often　carried
  away　and　over…mastered　by　generous　impulses；　nothing　great；　nothing
  magnanimous　can　move　or　dominate　those　who　live　for　money；　and
  recognize　nothing　but　money。　I　myself　held　money　in　abhorrence。
  〃Or　a　bill　may　undergo　a　final　transformation　into　some　meritorious
  old　man　with　a　family　dependent　upon　him。　My　creditor　might　be　a
  living　picture　for　Greuze；　a　paralytic　with　his　children　round　him；　a
  soldier's　widow；　holding　out　beseeching　hands　to　me。　Terrible
  creditors　are　these　with　whom　we　are　forced　to　sympathize；　and　when
  their　claims　are　satisfied　we　owe　them　a　further　debt　of　assistance。
  〃The　night　before　the　bills　fell　due；　I　lay　down　with　the　false　calm
  of　those　who　sleep　before　their　approaching　execution；　or　with　a　duel
  in　prospect；　rocked　as　they　are　by　delusive　hopes。　But　when　I　woke；
  when　I　was　cool　and　collected；　when　I　found　myself　imprisoned　in　a
  banker's　portfolio；　and　floundering　in　statements　covered　with　red　ink
  then　my　debts　sprang　up　everywhere；　like　grasshoppers；　before　my
  eyes。　There　were　my　debts；　my　clock；　my　armchairs；　my　debts　were
  inlaid　in　the　very　furniture　which　I　liked　best　to　use。　These　gentle
  inanimate　slaves　were　to　fall　prey　to　the　harpies　of　the　Chatelet；
  were　to　be　carried　off　by　the　broker's　men；　and　brutally　thrown　on　the
  market。　Ah；　my　property　was　a　part　of　myself！
  〃The　sound　of　the　door…bell　rang　through　my　heart；　while　it　seemed　to
  strike　at　me；　where　kings　should　be　struck　atin　the　head。　Mine　was　a
  martyrdom；　without　heaven　for　its　reward。　For　a　magnanimous　nature；
  debt　is　a　hell；　and　a　hell；　moreover；　with　sheriff's　officers　and
  brokers　in　it。　An　undischarged　debt　is　something　mean　and　sordid；　it
  is　a　beginning　of　knavery；　it　is　something　worse；　it　is　a　lie；　it
  prepares　the　way　for　crime；　and　brings　together　the　planks　for　the
  scaffold。　My　bills　were　protested。　Three　days　afterwards　I　met　them；
  and　this　is　how　it　happened。
  〃A　speculator　came；　offering　to　buy　the　island　in　the　Loire　belonging
  to　me；　where　my　mother　lay　buried。　I　closed　with　him。　When　I　went　to
  his　solicitor　to　sign　the　deeds；　I　felt　a　cavern…like　chill　in　the
  dark　office　that　made　me　shudder；　it　was　the　same　cold　dampnes