CAMILLE. I used to believe in the immortality of the soul. When I saw the misery of the world, I said to myself that life would be too absurd if virtue were not rewarded elsewhere. But now I am happy, so sublimely happy that I truly believe I have received my reward on earth. So you see, I have lost my proof of immortality. HÉRAULT. Never try to find it again. CAMILLE. How simple it is to be happy! There are so few who know how to be! HÉRAULT. The simpler a thing is, the oftener it eludes us. It is said that men wish to be happy. A great mistake! They wish to be unhappy; they insist on it. Pharaohs and Sesostris, kings with hawks' heads and tigers' claws; butchers of the Inquisition, conquerors of Bastilles; wars that sow murder and rapine--that is what they want. The obscurity of the mysteries is necessary to belief; the absurdity of suffering, to love. But reason, tolerance, love, happiness--bah! Give them that, and you insult them! CAMILLE. You are bitter. You must do good to men in spite of themselves. HÉRAULT. That is what everybody is doing nowadays, and the result is nothing to boast of. CAMILLE. Poor Republic! What have they done to You? Oh, flowering fields, rejuvenated earth, clear air, and bright light of the heavens, clear-eyed Reason has sent packing the sorry superstitions and the ancient Gothic saints from fair France. Young men and women dancing in the meadows, heroic armies, fraternal feeling, impregnable wall against which the armies of Europe in vain break their lances; joy of beauty, noble Panathenaics, white-armed maidens, dressed in thin flowing draperies; liberty to live, pleasure that throbs from sheer joy of living. Fair Republic of Aspasia and the charming Alcibiades--what has become of you? What are you now? You wear a red cap, a dirty shirt; you have a hoarse voice, the fixed ideas of a maniac, the pedantic manner of a schoolmaster! HÉRAULT. You are an Athenian among barbarians.--Ovid among the Scythians. You will never reform them. CAMILLE. I shall at least try. HÉRAULT. You are wasting your time--perhaps your life. CAMILLE. What have I to fear? HÉRAULT. Beware of Robespierre. CAMILLE. I have known him since we were children: a friend may say anything. HÉRAULT. A disagreeable truth is more easily forgiven by an enemy than a friend. LUCILE. Stop! He must be a great man and save the _Patrie._ Whoever doesn't agree with me, will have none of my chocolate. HÉRAULT [_smiling_]. I'll not say another word. [LUCILE _goes out._] PHILIPPEAUX. So you have decided to go ahead, Desmoulins? CAMILLE. Yes. PHILIPPEAUX. No truce, then! Press on, drive your quill without mercy. The worst danger lies in this skirmishing warfare you are carrying on. You are satisfied merely to goad them with your arrows; that only gives them more power against you. Aim at the heart, if you can, and complete the work at a stroke.