deeply detested them, but me he liked, and upon parting handed me a million.
"It's a trifle," said he, "only a million, but you will forgive me, I have such expenses, such expenses."
Taking me aside, he explained in a whisper:
"I am about to start to Italy. I want to banish the Pope and to introduce new moneys into the country—these. Then, on Sunday, I will declare myself a Saint. The Italians will rejoice; they are always happy when given a new Saint."
Have I not lived upon this million?
It is strange for me to reflect upon the fact that my books—my companions and friends—have remained in their cases and silently guard that which I considered the wisdom of the earth, its hope and happiness. I am aware, gentlemen experts, that whether or not I am insane, from your viewpoint I am a good-for-nothing and a scamp—you should see this good-for-nothing when he enters his library!
