Look at these people who rush around the city making social calls. They worry themselves and everyone else. They've gone completely mad with this habit. They visit every powerful person's house daily. They never pass an open door without going in. They carry their fake friendly greetings from house to house, no matter how different these families are. But after all this effort, how few people can they actually see in such a huge city? The city is full of people with completely different interests. How many will be too lazy, too self-indulgent, or too rude to let them in? How many will pretend to be in a hurry and rush past them after keeping them waiting forever? How many will avoid coming to the front entrance because it's crowded with other visitors, and will sneak out the back door instead? As if lying to your visitor isn't ruder than just saying no! How many are half-asleep and stupid from yesterday's drinking? These hosts can barely manage to return the greeting of some poor man who has ruined his own sleep to wait on theirs. Even after servants whisper the visitor's name a thousand times, the best they can manage is an insulting yawn through half-open lips.
Those who gad about in a round of calls, who worry themselves and others, after they have indulged their madness to the full, and crossed every patron's threshold daily, leaving no open door unentered, after they have hawked about their interested greetings in houses of the most various character,—after all, how few people are they able to see out of so vast a city, divided among so many different ruling passions: how many will be moved by sloth, self-indulgence, or rudeness to deny them admittance: how many, after they have long plagued them, will run past them with feigned hurry? how many will avoid coming out through their entrance-hall with its crowds of clients, and will escape by some concealed backdoor? as though it were not ruder to deceive their visitor than to deny him admittance!—how many, half asleep and stupid with yesterday's debauch, can hardly be brought to return the greeting of the wretched man who has broken his own rest in order to wait on that of another, even after his name has been whispered to them for the thousandth time, save by a most offensive yawn of his half-opened lips.