First Part Chapter 7

For a whole fortnight now, my dear, I have been living the life of
society; one evening at the Italiens, another at the Grand Opera, and
always a ball afterwards. Ah! society is a witching world. The music
of the Opera enchants me; and whilst my soul is plunged in divine
pleasure, I am the centre of admiration and the focus of all the
opera-glasses. But a single glance will make the boldest youth drop
his eyes.

I have seen some charming young men there; all the same, I don't care
for any of them; not one has roused in me the emotion which I feel
when I listen to Garcia in his splendid duet with Pellegrini in
Otello. Heavens! how jealous Rossini must have been to express
jealousy so well! What a cry in "Il mio cor si divide!" I'm speaking
Greek to you, for you never heard Garcia, but then you know how
jealous I am!

What a wretched dramatist Shakespeare is! Othello is in love with
glory; he wins battles, he gives orders, he struts about and is all
over the place while Desdemona sits at home; and Desdemona, who sees
herself neglected for the silly fuss of public life, is quite meek all
the time. Such a sheep deserves to be slaughtered. Let the man whom I
deign to love beware how he thinks of anything but loving me!

For my part, I like those long trials of the old-fashioned chivalry.
That lout of a young lord, who took offence because his sovereign-lady
sent him down among the lions to fetch her glove, was, in my opinion,
very impertinent, and a fool too. Doubtless the lady had in reserve
for him some exquisite flower of love, which he lost, as he well
deserved--the puppy!