I
I will not speak of public morals, for there are none, but this reminds
me of an anecdote:
* * * * *
When, on the heights of the Caucasus, Prometheus found that chains,
clamps, strait-waistcoats, parapets, and other scruples, had on the
whole a numbing effect on him, for a change he turned to the left,
stretched his right arm and, between the fourth and fifth hours of
an autumn afternoon, walked down the boulevard which leads from
the Madeleine to the Opéra. Different Parisian celebrities passed
continually before his eyes. Where are they going? Prometheus asked
himself, and settling himself in a café with a book he asked: “Waiter,
where are they going?”