This courtier baseness appeared to me so villainous,
that I could not entirely conceal how I was affected with displeasure.
Madame de Mirepoix saw it, and, looking at me attentively, said,
"Do you feel any desire to become pathetical in the country we
live in? I warn you that it will be at your own expense. We must
learn to content ourselves here with appearances, and examine
nothing thoroughly."
"'There is then no reality?" said I to her.
"Yes," she answered me, "but only two things, power and money:
the rest is 'leather and prunella' (
): no person
has time to love sincerely; it is hatred only that takes deep root
and never dies. To hope to give birth to a real passion, an
Orestean and Pyladean friendship, is a dream from which you must
be awakened."
'Then you do not love me?"
"You ask me a very awkward question, my darling, I can tell you.
I do love you, and very much, too: I have proved it by ranging
myself on your side, and by declaring, with the utmost frankness,
that I would rather see you in the situation in which you are,
than any other woman of the court. But there is a long space
between this and heroical friendship: I should deceive you if I
were to affirm the contrary, and there would be no common sense
in giving faith to my words. Every one has too much business,
too much intrigue, too many quarrels on hand, to have any leisure
to think of others: every one lives for himself alone.
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