You are too much of an artist ever
to be a good politician; you have been fooled by men of not one-half
your value. Think about being fooled again--but elsewhere."
"Marie cannot prevent my loving her," said Nathan; "she shall be my
Beatrice."
"Beatrice, my good Raoul, was a little girl twelve years of age when
Dante last saw her; otherwise, she would not have been Beatrice. To
make a divinity, it won't do to see her one day wrapped in a mantle,
and the next with a low dress, and the third on the boulevard,
cheapening toys for her last baby. When a man has Florine, who is in
turn duchess, bourgeoise, Negress, marquise, colonel, Swiss peasant,
virgin of the sun in Peru (only way she can play the part), I don't
see why he should go rambling after fashionable women."
Du Tillet, to use a Bourse term, _executed_ Nathan, who, for lack of
money, gave up his place on the newspaper; and the celebrated man
received but five votes in the electoral college where the banker was
elected.
When, after a long and happy journey in Italy, the Comtesse de
Vandenesse returned to Paris late in the following winter, all her
husband's predictions about Nathan were justified. He had taken
Blondet's advice and negotiated with the government, which employed
his pen. His personal affairs were in such disorder that one day, on
the Champs-Elysees, Marie saw her former adorer on foot, in shabby
clothes, giving his arm to Florine.
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