genius to choose the right form of behaviour. And genius is
lacking in us for the reason that so little genius at all
exists. It belongs only to the French--though a few other
Europeans have elaborated their forms so well as to be able to
figure with extreme dignity, and yet be wholly undignified
persons. That is why, with us, the mode is so all-important. The
Frenchman may receive an insult-- a real, a venomous insult: yet,
he will not so much as frown. But a tweaking of the nose he
cannot bear, for the reason that such an act is an infringement
of the accepted, of the time-hallowed order of decorum. That is
why our good ladies are so fond of Frenchmen--the Frenchman's
manners, they say, are perfect! But in my opinion there is no
such thing as a Frenchman's manners. The Frenchman is only a
bird--the coq gaulois. At the same time, as I am not a woman, I
do not properly understand the question. Cocks may be excellent
birds. If I am wrong you must stop me. You ought to stop and
correct me more often when I am speaking to you, for I am too
apt to say everything that is in my head.

"You see, I have lost my manners. I agree that I have none, nor yet
any dignity. I will tell you why. I set no store upon such things.
Everything in me has undergone a cheek. You know the reason. I have not a
single human thought in my head. For a long while I have been
ignorant of what is going on in the world--here or in Russia. I
have been to Dresden, yet am completely in the dark as to what
Dresden is like. You know the cause of my obsession. I have no
hope now, and am a mere cipher in your eyes; wherefore, I tell
you outright that wherever I go I see only you--all the rest is a
matter of indifference.