Capitolo 7
who will keep in mind them of. But here on the open hill-top we know register
and healthier delights. Those feverish joys don't allure us.
Decadents of Or of the city, we have seen Your fictitious idylls Your tinsel,
Arcadias. We have gotten tired of their suffocating atmosphere, theirs dazzling
jet, their tired ways, their pompous suits; we avoid the hollow ones
cheeks, the lack-shiny eyes, the melancholy souls of Your it painted
goddesses. We don't love the fetid air, often and warm with human creature
breath, and exhaling with smoke of tobacco of Your modern Parnassus,--
a Parnassus which steeples were reared and they moulded from the hands of the
stage-carpenter! Your dalliance studied with Your venal muses is
few to our taste. Your rooms are too much suffocating with carbon dioxide
gasoline; for us, we breathe oxygen.
And the oxygen of the hill-tops is purer, keener, rarer more
ethereal. It is rich in ozone. Ozone is now, standing to common oxygen
it as the regular metal to the dull one and of lead statement
surface. Dawning and never renascent, it has the electric attraction;
it jumps to the embrace of the atom it selects, but only under the
the influence of the powerful affinities; and what hooks once, it
clasps for never. That is the pure air on which we drink in the
heights heather-dressed--not the poisonous air of the crowded casino,
neither also the near air of the bourgeois parlour. It thrills and
it reinvigorates us. As we smile, us who live here, when some inhabitant in the
fogs and smoke of the valley confuse our delicate atmosphere,
fragrant of honey and playing again the manifold murmur of bees, with
that suffocating miasma of the hell of gambling and the cafe that dances!
Has trust in me, the dear friend the air of heath is far other that You
desire. You can wander on here long you redden him crests, hand dams
available with those You the love, without fear of damage to You or
Your comrade. Any Flower of Ninon here, but fresh cheeks as the
fishing-flower where the sun has kissed him: any casual fruition of
prostitutions without loves, without joy but life-long glut of Your really