The bread, eaten by men with tired jaws, their spirits dull in their cloistered mouths. People chew without flavor, without desire, without butter, without anything; these individuals prefer cake.
“But really, this can’t be right, tell me!”
Like mold, everything withers around you!
“Why do dreams fade away at the break of dawn?!”
Even the pale sun no longer awakens their hunger.
Alas, a man is found, dead! A pale face, his head covered in blood, what a vie en roses! The bread, never touched, was not far from the body.
“Oh, how ugly this man is!”
After a few moments, the crowd understands one thing: before his death, he was eating cake.
"At length I remembered the last resort of a great princess who, when told that the peasants had no bread, replied: 'Then let them eat brioches.'"
-- Jean-Jacques Rousseau
