midnight
Or , again , more often still , before his dinner he waits on a client , copies the page of a newspaper , or carries to the doorkeeper some goods that have been delayed . Every other day , at six , he is faithful to his post . A permanent bass for the chorus , he betakes himself to the opera , prepared to become a soldier or an arab , prisoner , savage , peasant , spirit , camel 's leg or lion , a devil or a genie , a slave or a eunuch , black or white ; always ready to feign joy or sorrow , pity or astonishment , to utter cries that never vary , to hold his tongue , to hunt , or fight for Rome or Egypt , but always at heart -- a huckster still . At midnight he returns -- a man , the good husband , the tender father ; he slips into the conjugal bed , his imagination still afire with the illusive forms of the operatic nymphs , and so turns to the profit of conjugal love the world 's depravities , the voluptuous curves of Taglioni 's leg . And finally , if he sleeps , he sleeps apace , and hurries through his slumber as he does his life . This man sums up all things -- history , literature , politics , government , religion , military science . Is he not a living encyclopaedia , a grotesque Atlas ; ceaselessly in motion , like Paris itself , and knowing not repose ?