Everything is made to tell, honest
laughter takes the place of the gloom which in company saddens the
prettiest faces. In short, where the rout ends pleasure begins.
The Rout, a cold display of luxury, a review of self-conceits in full
dress, is one of those English inventions which tend to /mechanize/
other nations. England seems bent on seeing the whole world as dull as
itself, and dull in the same way. So this second party is, in some
French houses, a happy protest on the part of the old spirit of our
light-hearted people. Only, unfortunately, so few houses protest; and
the reason is a simple one. If we no longer have many suppers
nowadays, it is because never, under any rule, have there been fewer
men placed, established, and successful than under the reign of Louis
Philippe, when the Revolution began again, lawfully. Everybody is on
the march some whither, or trotting at the heels of Fortune. Time has
become the costliest commodity, so no one can afford the lavish
extravagance of going home to-morrow morning and getting up late.
Hence, there is no second soiree now but at the houses of women rich
enough to entertain, and since July 1830 such women may be counted in
Paris.
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