The Girl with the Golden Eyes

4The worker, the proletarian, the man who moves his feet, his hands, his tongue, his back, his single arm, his five fingers in order to live; well! that man, who first of all ought to economize the principle of his life, exceeds his strength, harnesses his wife to some machine, wears out his child and nails him to a cog. The manufacturer, the I-know-not-what secondary thread whose movement agitates this people who, with their dirty hands, turn and gild porcelain, sew coats and dresses, thin iron, diminish wood, weave steel, solidify hemp and thread, satin bronze, scallop crystal, imitate flowers, embroider wool, train horses, braid harnesses and braids, cut copper, paint carriages, round old elms, vaporize cotton, blow tulles, corrode diamond, polish metals, transform marble into sheets, lick pebbles, dress thought, color, whiten, and blacken everything; well! this sub-chief has come to promise this world of sweat and will, of study and patience, an excessive wage, whether in the name of the city's caprices or at the voice of the monster named Speculation. Then these quadrumana set themselves to staying awake, suffering, working, swearing, fasting, walking; all overtaxed themselves to earn that gold which fascinates them. Then, unconcerned about the future, avid for enjoyments, counting on their arms as the painter counts on his palette, they throw, great lords for a day, their money on Monday into the taverns, which form an enclosure of mud around the city; the belt of the most shameless of Venuses, incessantly folded and unfolded, where the periodic fortune of this people is lost as at gaming, a people as ferocious in pleasure as it is tranquil at work. For five days, then, no rest for this active part of Paris! It gives itself over to movements that make it warp, grow fat, grow thin, turn pale, burst forth in a thousand jets of creative will.