Every nation gives itself the
lie in the course of its daily life, and not one feels the ridicule of
its position. A man must be a Japanese to perceive the burlesque
contradictions of the Christian civilization. He must be a native of the
moon to understand the stupidity of man and his state of constant
delusion. The philosopher himself falls under the law of irony, for
after having mentally stripped himself of all prejudice--having, that is
to say, wholly laid aside his own personality, he finds himself slipping
back perforce into the rags he had taken off, obliged to eat and drink,
to be hungry, cold, thirsty, and to behave like all other mortals, after
having for a moment behaved like no other. This is the point where the
comic poets are lying in wait for him; the animal needs revenge
themselves for his flight into the Empyrean, and mock him by their cry:
_Thou art dust, thou art nothing, than art man_!
November 26, 1876.--I have just finished a novel of Cherbuliez, "Le
fiance de Mademoiselle de St. Maur." It is a jeweled mosaic of precious
stones, sparkling with a thousand lights. But the heart gets little from
it. The Mephistophelian type of novel leaves one sad. This subtle,
refined world is strangely near to corruption; these artificial women
have an air of the Lower Empire.
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