1 The desire to go to a castle for a party and to spend the night seized us.In France, many castles are converted into hotels: a green lawn is lost in a large green ugliness; a path, trees, and birds are placed between a dense network of roads.I was driving, staring in the rearview mirror at the car behind me.The left-turn light flashed, and the whole car poured out in waves of impatience.The driver was waiting for his chance to overtake my car like a bird of prey watching a sparrow. My wife, Vera, said to me: "In France, every fifty minutes someone dies on the road. Look at these crazy people driving around us. It's the same people who see an old woman being mugged in the street. , showing extreme caution. And when they have the steering wheel in their hands, why aren't they scared?"

How should I answer?Perhaps it can be explained this way: the rider leaning over the motorcycle concentrates only on the second in which he is leaping; out of time; in other words, he is in a state of ecstasy; in this state he forgets his age, his wife, his children, and his troubles, so that in the rush of the wind he has no Fear, because the source of fear is in the future, and those who are free from the future don't care about anything. Speed ​​is an intoxicating way that the technological revolution has dedicated to humanity.In contrast to the motorcyclist, the runner is always in his body and must constantly think of his calluses and gasps; he runs feeling his weight, his age, more conscious of himself and his life than ever time.When man is endowed with the pleasure of speed by the machine, everything changes: since then, his body is out of the game, and he devotes himself to a non-physical, non-material speed, pure speed, speed In itself, and the exciting sense of speed.

A singular combination: the inhumanity of technology and the feverish flames of excitement.I think of a grim-faced but warm-hearted American woman thirty years ago, presumably an authority on personality or something, who taught me a lesson in sexual liberation (only cold theory), repeated most in her speeches The word "orgasm" came next, and I counted it: forty-three.The worship of "orgasm" is actually produced by the projection of Puritan-style utilitarianism on sexual life; efficiency is better than leisure, and sexual intercourse is reduced to an obstacle that must be overcome at the fastest speed to reach an explosive state of excitement. It is love and the only true purpose of the universe.

Why is the slow fun gone?Where did the wandering people before go?Those wandering heroes sung in the ballads, wandering among the mills and windmills, sleeping under the constellations, where have they gone?Did they disappear with the country roads, with the prairies and glades, with nature?A Czech proverb defines their gentle leisure as a metaphor: the leisurely man is looking at God's window.The man who gazes at God's window is not bored, he is happy.In our world, idleness has been distorted into doing nothing, but the two are quite different: the idler is depressed, bored, and constantly looking for the motivation he lacks.

I looked in the rearview mirror: it was still the car that couldn't get ahead due to the oncoming traffic.There was a woman sitting next to the driver; why didn't he joke with her?Why didn't he put his palm on her knee?And he just cursed that the car in front wasn't going fast enough; the woman didn't think to touch his hand, and she was driving with him in her head, cursing me too. I think of another journey from Paris to a country castle, which happened more than two hundred years ago, when a young knight accompanied Mrs. T on the way home.This was the first time that the two were so close, and the indescribable erotic atmosphere surrounding them was created by a slow rhythm: two bodies, swaying with the sway of the carriage, touched each other, at first inadvertently. , after which it is intentional.And so the story unfolds.

2 The following is the content of the novella written by Vivant Denon: A young nobleman in his twenties is in the theater one night (the author does not mention his name or title, but I guess it is a knight).In the next box, he sees a lady (only the first letter of her name is given in the novel: Madame T); she is a friend of the knight's mistress (a countess). Mrs. T invited him to take her home after the play.The knight was amazed at her so explicit behavior, but also embarrassed, because he knew Madame T.'s lover (a certain Marquis, whose name we do not know, and we entered a world of secrets; no name).The rider, lost in the mist, found himself at last sitting side by side with the beautiful lady in the carriage.After a gentle and pleasant journey, the carriage stopped on the steps of a castle in the country, and Madame T.'s husband greeted them sullenly.The three had dinner together in a silent and eerie atmosphere, after which her husband got up and left, leaving the two of them alone.

This is when the night began, like a trilogy of nights, like a three-stage itinerary: first, they walked in the garden; later, they made love in the gazebo; At dawn, they parted.The knight could not find his room in the labyrinth of corridors, so he returned to the garden, where he was surprised to meet the Marquis, Madame T's lover.The Marquis has just arrived at the castle, greets him cheerfully, and tells him the reason for this mysterious invitation: Madame T. must find a shield to dispel her husband's suspicions about her Marquis lover.The ruse worked, and he gleefully taunted the knight with the absurd task of having a fake lover.The latter, after the spring night, wearily boarded the carriage generously provided by the Marquis and returned to Paris.

In this novella, entitled "No Day to Come," first published in 1777, the author's name is replaced by six enigmatic capital letters (since we are in a world of secrets): M. D． G． O． D． R, we can read: "Monsieur Denon, a common nobleman in the king's service"; the book was published in this anonymous way in sporadic copies, reprinted in 1779, and the following year under another author's The name is published.The new edition circulated between 1802 and 1812, still without the author's real name; after being forgotten for half a century, it was finally reprinted in 1866, and the author's name has since been named Mimon.Denon, and gained more and more attention in this century.Today, this book is regarded as one of the literary works that best represent the art and spirit of the eighteenth century.

3 In common language today, hedonisme refers to an amoral liking for a lewd or wicked life.This is of course incorrect: Epicurus, the first theorist who proposed "the greatness of pleasure", has a very paradoxical definition of a happy life: he who does not suffer is enjoying himself.Therefore, the most fundamental concept of hedonism actually comes from pain: if we know how to avoid pain, we will be happy; and pleasure often brings more misfortune than happiness, so Epicurus only recommends prudent and moderate enjoyment of life.The origin of the theory of Epicurus is actually more than a very sad idea: in this miserable world, people have to regard happiness as the only value that can be grasped, although it may be insignificant and only one can feel it: drink A sip of cool water, looking up at the sky (looking at God's window), or a caress.

Trivial or not, happiness belongs only to those who feel it, and a philosopher might justifiably condemn the selfish nature of hedonism.I think, however, that the fatal weakness of hedonism is not selfishness, but its hopelessly idealistic nature (oh, how I wish I was wrong!): in fact, I doubt that ideal hedonism can ever be achieved, and I Worrying that what it advocates is not compatible with human nature. Eighteenth-century art liberated pleasure from the mists of morality, giving rise to a style known as debauchery, expressed in the paintings of Frag O-nard and Watteau, Also appears between the title pages of Sade, Crebillon fils or Duclos.For this reason a young friend of mine, Vincent, loved that century so much that, if he could, he would have worn the Marquis de Sade as a coat of arms on his collar.I sang with him, but I emphasized (though no one would care) that the real greatness of the art of that century lay not in any great advocacy of hedonism, but in its dissection.This is why I consider Dangerous Liaisons by Choderlos de La-clos to be one of the greatest novels of all time.

The characters in the novel are only interested in the pleasure of conquering the opposite sex.But gradually, readers understand that what they are after is not happiness itself, but conquest.It's not pleasure that triggers their twitching, but the desire to win.What appears at first to be a frolicsome and obscene game, insensibly and inevitably turns into a fight to the death.But what does strife have to do with hedonism?Epicurus once wrote: "A wise man does nothing to do with fighting." The epistle style employed in Dangerous Liaisons is not merely a writing technique that can be replaced by other means.The genre itself is eloquent and unabashedly telling us what the characters go through, they exist to be narrated.It was disseminated, exposed, made public, and put into writing.In a world where there is nothing to hide, the easiest and most deadly weapon is leaking.The protagonist of the novel, Valmont, sent a letter of resignation to the woman he seduced, causing her to die in depression; however, this letter was dictated word by word by his close friend, the Marchioness of Merlteuil, and asked him to write it. down.Afterwards, in order to retaliate, Mrs. Meldor showed a secret letter written by Valmont to her rival in love, which triggered a duel and Valmont died.After his death, the private letter between Mrs. Meldor and Mrs. Meldor was exposed, and the Marquise ended her life in the contempt, siege and exile of the world. There is nothing in this novel that is the secret of only two people; everyone is in a huge shell, and every word uttered echoes abundantly, multiplely and uninterruptedly.When I was young, adults told me to put my ears on shells, and I would hear the ancient whispers of the ocean.In the same way, in Lacroix's novels, every word uttered echoes and rings in the ears forever.Was it so in the eighteenth century?Is this a happy paradise?Or people have been living in this big shell full of echoes without knowing it?But in any case, a world that rings like a big shell does not conform to the principle that Epicurus taught his disciples: "You should live in secret!" The gentleman at the reception is very polite, more polite than the general hotel reception staff.He remembered that we had been here two years ago and told us that it had changed a lot.A conference hall has been set up in the hotel for various seminars, and a beautiful swimming pool has also been built.Eager to see the swimming pool, we walked through the bright hall with its many French windows opening onto the garden.At the end of the hall, down a wide staircase, leads to a large swimming pool with tiles and a transparent ceiling.Vera reminded: "The last time I came here, it was a small garden full of roses." After putting our luggage in the room, we went to the garden.The green grass stretches towards the river, which is the Seine.It was so beautiful, we were so intoxicated that we wanted to take a nice walk.After walking for a few minutes, a road appeared, the car roared too low and we had to turn back. The dinner was sumptuous, and everyone was dressed formally, as if they wanted to pay tribute to the past, and the restaurant was full of nostalgia for the past.Next to us sat a parent and two young children.One of the children sang loudly.A waiter leaned over the table with a tray.The mother stared at him, hoping to elicit admiration from him for the child.The child was very proud of the attention everyone paid to him, and even stood on a chair and sang at a higher volume.There was a happy smile on his father's face. Good Bordeaux wine, duck, desserts—the restaurant's specialties—we talk and forget our worries.After dinner, I went back to my room, turned on the TV, and saw many children again.This time, they were black and dying.When we went to the castle, the media reported every day for several weeks that children starved to death in a certain African country due to civil war and famine.I have forgotten the name of that country (it was at least two or three years ago, how can I remember so many names!).Those children were skinny and weak, and they didn't even have the strength to wave away the flies crawling all over their faces. Vera asked me, "Are there old people starving to death in that country?" No, no, the most interesting thing about that famine, unlike millions of other famines that have happened across the planet, is that only children suffered.Even if we watch the TV news every day to confirm this unprecedented situation, we don't see a single adult suffering on the screen. Therefore, quite naturally, against this cruelty of the elderly, not adults but children spontaneously launched a famous campaign: "European Children for Children of Misomalia".That's right, Somalia!This loud slogan reminds me of that forgotten country name!what!What a pity that everything at that time has been forgotten by the world!I bought a lot of rice, tens of thousands of bags of rice.Touched by the global solidarity of their children, parents donated generously, as did agencies; rice collected in schools, transported to port, loaded onto ships bound for Africa, all privileged to witness The glorious epic of rice relief. Immediately after these dying children, the screen is filled with little girls of six and eight, who dress like grown-ups and behave like fancy old ladies, oh, so charming, so touching, so funny, The toddler behaves like a grown-up, the little girl and boy kiss mouth to mouth, after which a man appears on screen with a baby in his arms and explains the best way to wash a baby's freshly soiled clothes, a woman Leaning over, her cherry lips parted slightly, and she inserted her sexy tongue into the thick mouth of the man holding the child. "Let's sleep." Vera said and turned off the TV. 4 French children are running to help African students, which reminds me of the face of the intellectual Berck.Those were his days of glory, and as glory often does, his glory was brought about by a failure: let us recall: in the eighties of this century, the world was overwhelmed by an infectious disease called AIDS Assault, a sexually transmitted disease that initially spread especially among homosexuals.Against extremists who see the epidemic as a just punishment from the gods and shun patients like the plague, tolerant people show kindness to AIDS patients and try to prove that there is no danger in associating with them.So MP Duberques and scholar Baker had lunch with some AIDS patients in a famous restaurant in Paris; The camera is invited.As soon as the cameras appeared in front of the restaurant, he got up, approached a patient, pulled him out of a chair, and kissed his mouth, still stuffed with chocolate mousse.Baker was caught off guard.He knew immediately that Duberg's great kiss would be immortalized once it was photographed; he stood up and wondered whether he, too, should kiss an AIDS patient.At the first stage of thinking, he ruled out this intention because he was not entirely sure that contact with the patient's mouth would not be contagious; at the next stage, he decided to overcome his doubts and decided that the picture of him kissing was worth the risk; But in the third stage, a thought prevents him from rushing to the positive mouth: if he also kisses a patient, it will not make him equal to Dubegue, on the contrary, he will be reduced to an imitator, The position of follower, even servant, eager to imitate will add to the splendor of the former's glory.So he just stood there giggling.But those few seconds of hesitation cost him dearly.Because of the presence of the cameras, on the TV news, the whole of France saw the three stages of embarrassment on his face and laughed endlessly.The child who collected sacks of rice for Somalia relieved him immediately.He took every opportunity to deliver that beautiful sentence to the public: "Only children live in the truth!" Then he went to Africa and had a photo taken next to a dying black girl covered in flies.This photo is famous all over the world, far more than the one where Duberg kisses an AIDS patient, because a dying child is worth more than a dying adult, an obvious fact that Duberg did not understand at the time.However, he didn't feel defeated. A few days later he appeared on TV. Being a devout Christian, he knew that Baker was an atheist. This gave him an idea. He carried a candle with him. bowed their heads; when meeting with reporters, he drew a candle from his pocket and lit it, with malicious intentions to reveal that Baker was concerned with an irrelevant country, he spoke of the poor children of our own country, our towns, our suburbs , and invited his compatriots to a solidarity march through Paris; he invited Baker by name (with subdued glee) to stand with him at the front of the procession.Baker had to make a choice: join the parade, holding candles like a Duberg choir kid, or run away and take the blame.It was a trap from which he had to escape by an act both bold and unexpected: he decided to fly immediately to an Asian country whose people were revolting, and shouted a clear request that he go to support the oppressed; Unfortunately, geography had always been his weakness, and for him the world was divided into France and all the dark non-French provinces which he always could not distinguish; The airport here was cold and the traffic was inconvenient. After staying there for eight days, he waited for a plane to take him back to Paris, who was hungry and cold. "Beck is a martyr to the dancers," commented Pontevin. The concept of a dancer is only known to Peng Defan's small circle of friends.This is his great invention, and we should be sorry that he did not describe it in any book, nor did he mention it at an international conference.But he doesn't care about fame.His friends listened attentively and happily to him. 5 All politicians today, according to Peng Defan, are more or less dancers, and all dancers are also involved in politics, but this does not make us confuse the two.The difference between a dancer and ordinary politicians is that what he pursues is not power but glory; shine. In order to occupy the stage, other people must be pushed off the stage.This must have a special fighting technique.The combat that the dancer employs is what Peng Defan calls moral judo; he challenges the world: who can show more moral sentiments (braver, more righteous, more dedicated, more authentic) than him?He takes every opportunity to put his opponents on a moral level below him. If a dancer has the opportunity to join the political game, he will blatantly reject all secret negotiations (which are always the scene of the real political game), and expose it as lying, dishonest, false, and dirty; Will make his claims publicly, sing and dance from a pulpit, and call others to follow his actions by name. He emphasizes: he is not deliberate (so that people have time to think and discuss contrary claims) but openly; it is best He was caught off guard: "Would you immediately (like me) donate March's salary to children in Somalia?" People who were caught off guard had only two possibilities: refuse, be accused of being the enemy of children, or No just say "yes" in extreme embarrassment and let the camera viciously render like poor Baker and the AIDS patient at the end of their lunch. "Why are you silent, Dr. H, when human rights are being trampled on in your country?" Someone asked this question when Dr. H was operating on a patient and could not answer; Ashamed of his silence, he went on and on about what people wanted to hear, and even more than they wanted to hear; at which point the provocative dancer (which is also a trick of moral judo, especially terrible) let go: "Finally, although it's a bit late..." There are situations (such as in authoritarian regimes) where it is dangerous to speak out; with the dancer it is less dangerous than with the average person, because he moves in the spotlight, is visible everywhere, and the attention of the world protects him. and he had nameless admirers who followed his radiant but unthinking calling, who signed petitions, attended banned rallies, and marched in the streets who would be treated mercilessly.And the dancer will never blame himself for causing their misfortune because of his feelings. He knows that a noble cause is more important than those people's lives. Vincent retorted Peng Defan: "It is well known that you hate Baker, and we follow you. However, even if he is a jerk, he has supported some causes that we also think are just, or you can also say that supporting them is Out of his vanity. Then I ask you: If you were to intervene in a public conflict, to draw public attention to a heinous deed, to help a persecuted person, how could you not be or be like a dancer in our time? who?" To this, the unpredictable Peng Defan replied: "If you think I want to attack the dancers, you are wrong. I defend them. People who hate or want to belittle dancers always encounter an insurmountable obstacle: their honesty; because Constantly presenting himself in front of the public, the dancer must be impeccable; he does not make a contract with the devil like Faust, but with an angel: he wants to live his life as a work of art, and the angel will help him complete it; Because, don't forget, dance is an art! The real essence of a dancer is to regard his own life as the material of a work of art; he does not preach morality, but dances it! He wants to use his own life Beauty moves and dazzles the world! He loves his life as a sculptor loves the statue he is shaping." 6 I wonder why Peng Defan didn't make such an interesting idea public.He doesn't really have much to do, the historian with a Doctor of Letters is bored in his office at the National Library.Doesn't he care that others don't understand his theory?And it was more than that: he hated it deeply.The person who puts his ideas into the world may actually be convincing others of his truth and influencing others, becoming the type of person who wants to change the world.change the world!What a terrible intention for Peng Defan!It's not that the world is admirable, but that all change inevitably leads to worse.Besides, from a more selfish point of view, sooner or later, all ideas that are made public will turn back against themselves, and the joy of having them will be confiscated.Because Peng Defan is a great follower of the Epicurean school: he creates and deduces his ideas only for his own pleasure.He doesn't despise human nature, which is an inexhaustible source of his cheerful, mischievous musings, but he doesn't want to be at all too closely associated with it.He gathered with a group of friends in the "cafe gascon", and this small sample of humanity was enough for him. Among this group of friends, Fan Sheng is the most innocent and touching one.I like him very much, and I only blame him (with a little jealousy, it's true) for his youthful, and in my opinion, excessive, adoration of Peng Defan.But even this friendship has something touching.When they talked about his passion, philosophy.Politics, books, Fan Sheng felt so happy to be alone with him; his mind was full of strange and provocative ideas, and Peng Defan, in the midst of lively discussions, corrected his disciples, enlightened him, and encouraged him.But as long as a third party intervenes, Fan Sheng will become unhappy, because Peng Defan immediately changes his appearance: he speaks louder and loves to be funny, which Fan Sheng thinks is too funny. For example: The two of them were in a coffee shop, and Fan Sheng asked, "What do you think about what happened in Somalia?" Peng Defan patiently gave him a speech about Africa.Fan Sheng made a rebuttal, and they discussed and maybe joked, but it was not to show off, but to let each other relax in the extremely serious discussion. Machu arrives accompanied by a beautiful strange woman.Fan Sheng wanted to continue the discussion just now: "Peng Defan, don't you think you made a mistake when talking about..." After that, he launched a brilliant debate to refute the former theory. Peng Defan was silent for a long time.He is the best at it.He knew that only shy people fear the silence, rushing out a few vague words that make them even more ridiculous when they can only answer questions.Peng Defan knew how to shut up wisely, even the whole galaxy was captured by his silence, and couldn't help but wait for his answer.He looked at Fan Sheng silently, who somehow lowered his head shyly, then he looked at the lady, and then turned his eyes to Fan Sheng again, his eyes full of false concern: "In front of the lady, you are so embarrassing to such an outstanding person." The attitude held by supernatural thoughts confirms the decline of your sexual ability." Matthew's usual smirk appeared on his face, and the beautiful woman looked at Fan Sheng with haughty and mocking eyes, and Fan Sheng blushed; he felt hurt: a friend, who was listening to him a minute ago, only In order to please a woman, he can be pushed into a difficult situation in an instant. Afterwards other friends came and they sat and chatted; Matthew told anecdotes and GOUjrd added a few sarcastic comments here and there to show his knowledge; the girls fought back a laugh.Peng Defan remained silent; he waited; and when his silence matured, he said, "My girlfriend always asks me to behave rougher." God, he said it with such force.Even the people at the next table fell silent and listened, the laughter trembling in the air, waiting impatiently.What's so funny about his girlfriend asking him to act rough?Everything is the magic of his voice, Fan Sheng couldn't help being jealous, his speaking voice compared with Peng Defan's is like a broken flute compared to a violin.Peng Defan spoke softly and never opened his throat, yet his voice filled the room, overwhelming all other noises. He continued: "Being rough...but I can't! I'm not rough! I'm too subtle!" Laughter kept vibrating in the air, in order to enjoy the vibration, Peng Defan was silent for a while. Then he said: "A young typist sometimes comes to my house. One day, while she was typing, I made up my mind, grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up and dragged her to the bed. Halfway through I let go Hand laughed: Oh! Mistake, you didn't want me to be rough. Oh, I'm so sorry, miss!" Everyone in the cafe laughed, even Fan Sheng fell in love with his idol again.