"I am not pretending to be unfeeling. But here is something that
surprises me: the value which we set upon the lives of those who are not
of the slightest interest to us. We seem as though we believe that life
is in itself something precious. Yet nature teaches us plainly enough
that nothing is more worthless and contemptible. In former days people
were less besmeared with sentimentalism. Each of us held his own life to
be infinitely precious, but he did not profess any respect whatever for
the life of others. We were nearer to nature in those days. We were
created to devour one another. But our debilitated, enervated,
hypocritical race wallows in a sly cannibalism. While we are gulping one
another down we declare that life is sacred, and we no longer dare to
confess that life is murder."

"That life is murder," echoed Chevalier dreamily, without grasping the
meaning of the words.

Then he poured forth a string of nebulous ideas:

"Murder and bloodshed, that may be! But amusing bloodshed, and comical
murder. Life is a burlesque catastrophe, a terrible comedy, the mask of
carnival over blood-stained cheeks. That is what life means to the
artist; the artist on the stage, and the artist in action."

Nanteuil uneasily sought a meaning in these confused phrases.

The actor continued excitedly:

"Life is yet another thing: it is the flower and the knife, it is to see
red one day and blue the next, it is hatred and love, ravishing,
delightful hatred, cruel love."