| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Scenes from a Courtesan's Life by Honore de Balzac: to-morrow to see Lucien in private in his cell; your husband may be
present if he chooses, so long as he is not discovered. The King looks
for high courage in his magistrates in the difficult position in which
he will presently find himself; I will bring your husband forward, and
recommend him as a man devoted to the King even at the risk of his
head. Our friend Camusot will be made first a councillor, and then the
President of Court somewhere or other.--Good-bye.--I am under orders,
you will excuse me, I know?
"You will not only oblige the public prosecutor, who cannot give an
opinion in this affair; you will save the life of a dying woman,
Madame de Serizy. So you will not lack support.
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Letters of Two Brides by Honore de Balzac: the dream of his youth, had no brains. Oh! my dear, I am worse than a
ballet-dancer! If you knew what joy that slighting remark gave me! I
have pointed out to Felipe that she does not speak French correctly.
She says /esemple/ for /exemple/, /sain/ for /cinq/, /cheu/ for /je/.
She is beautiful of course, but quite without charm or the slightest
scintilla of wit. When a compliment is paid her, she looks at you as
though she didn't know what to do with such a strange thing. Felipe,
being what he is, could not have lived two months with Marie after his
marriage. Don Fernand, the Duc de Soria, suits her very well. He has
generous instincts, but it's easy to see he has been a spoilt child. I
am tempted to be naughty and make you laugh; but I won't draw the long
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Passionate Pilgrim by William Shakespeare: And daff'd me to a cabin hang'd with care,
To descant on the doubts of my decay.
'Farewell,' quoth she, 'and come again tomorrow:
Fare well I could not, for I supp'd with sorrow.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she smile,
In scorn or friendship, nill I construe whether:
'T may be, she joy'd to jest at my exile,
'T may be, again to make me wander thither:
'Wander,' a word for shadows like myself,
As take the pain, but cannot pluck the pelf.
XV.
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