From the moment when Marius took his place, and was the substitute, Cosette would not have regretted God himself.
She set her sweet little foot, shod in white satin, on Marius’ foot.
The armchair being occupied, M. Fauchelevent was obliterated; and nothing was lacking.
And, five minutes afterward, the whole table from one end to the other, was laughing with all the animation of forgetfulness.
At dessert, M. Gillenormand, rising to his feet, with a glass of champagne in his hand—only half full so that the palsy of his eighty years might not cause an overflow,—proposed the health of the married pair.
“You shall not escape two sermons,” he exclaimed.
“This morning you had one from the cure, this evening you shall have one from your grandfather.
Listen to me; I will give you a bit of advice: Adore each other.
I do not make a pack of gyrations, I go straight to the mark, be happy.
In all creation, only the turtledoves are wise.
Philosophers say:
‘Moderate your joys.’
I say:
‘Give rein to your joys.’
Be as much smitten with each other as fiends.
Be in a rage about it.
The philosophers talk stuff and nonsense.
I should like to stuff their philosophy down their gullets again.
Can there be too many perfumes, too many open rose-buds, too many nightingales singing, too many green leaves, too much aurora in life? can people love each other too much? can people please each other too much?
Take care, Estelle, thou art too pretty! Have a care, Nemorin, thou art too handsome!
Fine stupidity, in sooth!
Can people enchant each other too much, cajole each other too much, charm each other too much?
Can one be too much alive, too happy?
Moderate your joys.
Ah, indeed!
Down with the philosophers!
Wisdom consists in jubilation.
Make merry, let us make merry.
Are we happy because we are good, or are we good because we are happy?
Is the Sancy diamond called the Sancy because it belonged to Harley de Sancy, or because it weighs six hundred carats?
I know nothing about it, life is full of such problems; the important point is to possess the Sancy and happiness.
Let us be happy without quibbling and quirking.
Let us obey the sun blindly.
What is the sun?
It is love.
He who says love, says woman.
Ah! ah! behold omnipotence—women.
Ask that demagogue of a Marius if he is not the slave of that little tyrant of a Cosette.
And of his own free will, too, the coward!
Woman!
There is no Robespierre who keeps his place but woman reigns.
I am no longer Royalist except towards that royalty.
What is Adam?
The kingdom of Eve.
No ‘89 for Eve.
There has been the royal sceptre surmounted by a fleur-de-lys, there has been the imperial sceptre surmounted by a globe, there has been the sceptre of Charlemagne, which was of iron, there has been the sceptre of Louis the Great, which was of gold,—the revolution twisted them between its thumb and forefinger, ha’penny straws; it is done with, it is broken, it lies on the earth, there is no longer any sceptre, but make me a revolution against that little embroidered handkerchief, which smells of patchouli!
I should like to see you do it.
Try.
Why is it so solid?
Because it is a gewgaw.