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diff --git a/40492-0.txt b/40492-0.txt index a79af4a..e54f811 100644 --- a/40492-0.txt +++ b/40492-0.txt @@ -1,4 +1,4 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40492 *** +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40492 *** SYLVIE: @@ -1988,5 +1988,4 @@ myself a poet; criticism must dispel it. End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40492 *** diff --git a/40492-8.txt b/40492-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6a60bf3..0000000 --- a/40492-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2378 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - -Author: Gérard de Nerval - -Commentator: Andrew Lang - -Translator: Lucie Page - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40492] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - - - - -SYLVIE: - -SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS - -TRANSLATED FROM - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL - -BY - -LUCIE PAGE - -Portland, Maine - -THOMAS B. MOSHER - -1896 - - * * * * * - - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL. - - - Of all that were thy prisons--ah, untamed, - Ah, light and sacred soul!--none holds thee now; - No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou - Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, - Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, - Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough - The Sybil doth to singing men allow, - Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed. - - And they would smile and wonder, seeing where - Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, - Dreamily murmuring a ballad air, - Caught from the Valois peasants, dost thou find - A new life gladder than the old times were, - A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind? - - ANDREW LANG. - - - * * * * * - - -CONTENTS - - SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE.--ANDREW LANG - GÉRARD DE NERVAL - - SYLVIE: - - I A WASTED NIGHT - II ADRIENNE - III RESOLVE - IV A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA - V THE VILLAGE - VI OTHYS - VII CHAÂLIS - VIII THE BALL AT LOISY - IX HERMENONVILLE - X BIG CURLY-HEAD - XI RETURN - XII FATHER DODU - XIII AURÉLIE - XIV THE LAST LEAF - - APPENDIX - - - - -_SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE._ - -_IN MEMORY OF GÉRARD DE NERVAL._ - - _Two loves there were, and one was born_ - _Between the sunset and the rain;_ - _Her singing voice went through the corn,_ - _Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,_ - _On grass the fallen blossoms stain;_ - _And suns may set and moons may wane,_ - _But this love comes no more again._ - - _There were two loves, and one made white_ - _Thy singing lips and golden hair;_ - _Born of the city's mire and light,_ - _The shame and splendour of the night,_ - _She trapped and fled thee unaware;_ - _Not through the lamplight and the rain_ - _Shalt thou behold this love again._ - - _Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,_ - _Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;_ - _There comes no voice from mere or rill,_ - _Her dance is over, fallen still_ - _The ballad burdens that she knew:_ - _And thou must wait for her in vain,_ - _Till years bring back thy youth again._ - - - _That other love, afield, afar_ - _Fled the light love, with lighter feet._ - _Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,_ - _And flit in dreams from star to star,_ - _That dead love thou shalt never meet,_ - _Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain_ - _Thy soul shall find her soul again._ - - ANDREW LANG. - - - -Gérard DE NERVAL - - Il a toujours cherché dans le monde - ce que le monde ne pouvait plus lui - donner. - - LUDOVIC HALÉVY. - - He has been a sick man all his life. - He was always a seeker after something - in the world that is there in no - satisfying measure, or not at all. - - WALTER PATER. - - - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL. - - -I. - - -Of Gérard de Nerval, whose true name was Gérard Labrunie, it has been -finely said: "His was the most beautiful of all the lost souls of the -French Romance."(*) Born in 1808, he came to his death by suicide one -dark winter night towards the end of January. - -The story of this life and its tragic finale was well known at the time -to all men of letters,--Théophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Arsène -Houssaye,--friends who never forgot the young poet even after he went -the way that madness lies. For it was insanity,--a nostalgia of the soul -always imminent--that led him into the squalid _Rue de la -Vieille-Lanterne_, in which long forgotten corner of old Paris his dead -body was found one bleak belated dawn. And this was forty years ago. - -In later days Maxime du Camp and Ludovic Halévy have retold with great -feeling the history of Gérard, his early triumphs, his love for Jenny -Colon,--the Aurélie of these _Souvenirs du Valois_,--and how at last -life's scurrile play was ended. - -(*) See _A Century of French Verse_, translated and edited by -William John Robertson (4to, London, 1895). - - -II. - - -One of Mr. Andrew Lang's most genuine appreciations occurs in an epistle -addressed to Miss Girton, Cambridge; where, for the benefit of that -mythical young person, he translates a few passages out of _Sylvie_, and -favours us with a specimen of Gérard's verse. - -"I translated these fragments," he tells her, "long ago in one of the -first things I ever tried to write. The passages are as touching and -fresh, the originals, I mean, as when first I read them, and one hears -the voice of Sylvie singing: - - _'A Dammartin, l'y a trois belles filles,_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour.'_ - -So Sylvie married a confectioner, and, like Marion in the 'Ballad of -Forty Years,' 'Adrienne's dead' in a convent. That is all the story, all -the idyl." - -And just before this he has said of Gérard: "What he will live by, is -his story of Sylvie; it is one of the little masterpieces of the world. -It has a Greek perfection. One reads it, and however old one is, youth -comes back, and April, and a thousand pleasant sounds of birds in -hedges, of wind in the boughs, of brooks trotting merrily under the -rustic bridges. And this fresh nature is peopled by girls eternally -young, natural, gay, or pensive, standing with eager feet on the -threshold of their life, innocent, expectant, with the old ballads of -old France upon their lips. For the story is full of these artless, -lisping numbers of the popular French muse, the ancient ballads that -Gérard collected and put into the mouth of Sylvie, the pretty -peasant-girl." - -One more quotation from Mr. Lang, and we are done. Sylvie and Gérard -have met, and they go on a visit to her aunt, who, while she prepares -dinner, sends Gérard for her niece, who had "gone to ransack the peasant -treasures in the garret." "Two portraits were hanging there--one, that -of a young man of the good old times, smiling with red lips and brown -eyes, a pastel in an oval frame. Another medallion held the portrait of -his wife, gay, _piquante_, in a bodice with ribbons fluttering, and with -a bird perched on her finger. It was the old aunt in her youth, and -further search discovered her ancient festal-gown, of stiff brocade, -Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour; patches were found in a box of -tarnished gold, a fan, a necklace of amber." - -This is the charming moment chosen by M. Andhré des Gachons as the -subject of his _aquarelle_, reproduced in colour as frontispiece to the -present edition. - - -III. - - -In thus bringing out a fresh version of _Sylvie_, not to include the all -too few illusive lyrics "done into English" by Mr. Lang, his exquisite -sonnet on Gérard, and the lovely lines upon "Sylvie et Aurélie," were a -deplorable omission. The sonnet exists in an earlier form; preferably, -the later version is here given. - -Of De Nerval's prose little has yet found its way to us. His poetry is -fully as inaccessible. Things of such iridescent hue are possibly beyond -the art of translation. They are written in an unknown tongue; say, -rather, in the language of Dreamland, "vaporous, unaccountable";--a -world of crepuscular dawns, as of light irradiated from submerged sea -caverns,--"the mermaid's haunt" beheld of him alone. - - -IV. - - -With what _adieux_ shall we now take leave of our little pearl of a -story? And of him who gave us this exquisite creation of heart and brain -what words remain to say? - -Thou, Sylvie, art an unfading flower of virginal, soft Spring, and -faint, elusive skies. For _thee_ Earth's old sweet nights have shed -their tenderest dews, and in thy lovely Valois land thou canst not fade -or die. - -Thy lover, child, fared forth beneath an alien star. For _him_ there was -no true country, here;--no return to thy happy-hearted love: the desert -sands long since effaced the valley track. Only the far distant -lying,--the abyss that calls and is never dumb, urged his onward steps. -And these things, and this divine homesickness led him, pale nympholept, -beyond Earth's human shores. Thither to thee, rapt Soul, shall all -bright dreams of day, all lonely visions of the night, converge at -last. - - - - -SYLVIE: - -(SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS.) - - -_AN OLD TUNE._ - -_GÉRARD DE NERVAL._ - - _There is an air for which I would disown_ - _Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,--_ - _A sweet, sad air that languishes and sighs,_ - _And keeps its secret charm for me alone._ - - _Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,_ - _Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;_ - _The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold_ - _A green land golden in the dying day._ - - _An old red castle, strong with stony towers,_ - _The windows gay with many coloured glass;_ - _Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,_ - _That bathe the castle basement as they pass._ - - _In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,_ - _A lady looks forth from her window high;_ - _It may be that I knew and found her fair,_ - _In some forgotten life, long time gone by._ - - (ANDREW LANG.) - - - - -SYLVIE - -(RECOLLECTIONS OF VALOIS.) - - - - -I. - -A WASTED NIGHT. - - -I passed out of a theatre where I was wont to appear nightly, in the -proscenium boxes, in the attitude of suitor. Sometimes it was full, -sometimes nearly empty; it mattered little to me, whether a handful of -listless spectators occupied the pit, while antiquated costumes formed a -doubtful setting for the boxes, or whether I made one of an audience -swayed by emotion, crowned at every tier with flower-decked robes, -flashing gems and radiant faces. The spectacle of the house left me -indifferent, that of the stage could not fix my attention until at the -second or third scene of a dull masterpiece of the period, a familiar -vision illumined the vacancy, and by a word and a breath, gave life to -the shadowy forms around me. - -I felt that my life was linked with hers; her smile filled me with -immeasurable bliss; the tones of her voice, so sweet and sonorous, -thrilled me with love and joy. My ardent fancy endowed her with every -perfection until she seemed to respond to all my raptures--beautiful as -day in the blaze of the footlights, pale as night when their glare was -lowered and rays from the chandelier above revealed her, lighting up the -gloom with the radiance of her beauty, like those divine Hours with -starry brows, which stand out against the dark background of the -frescoes of Herculaneum. - -For a whole year I had not sought to know what she might be, in the -world outside, fearing to dim the magic mirror which reflected to me her -image. Some idle gossip, it is true, touching the woman, rather than the -actress, had reached my ears, but I heeded it less than any floating -rumours concerning the Princess of Elis or the Queen of Trebizonde, for -I was on my guard. An uncle of mine whose manner of life during the -period preceding the close of the eighteenth century, had given him -occasion to know them well, had warned me that actresses were not women, -since nature had forgotten to give them hearts. He referred, no doubt, -to those of his own day, but he related so many stories of his illusions -and disappointments, and displayed so many portraits upon ivory, -charming medallions which he afterwards used to adorn his snuff-boxes, -so many yellow love-letters and faded tokens, each with its peculiar -history, that I had come to think ill of them as a class, without -considering the march of time. - -We were living then in a strange period, such as often follows a -revolution, or the decline of a great reign. The heroic gallantry of the -Fronde, the drawing-room vice of the Regency, the scepticism and mad -orgies of the Directory, were no more. It was a time of mingled -activity, indecision and idleness, bright utopian dreams, philosophic or -religious aspirations, vague ardour, dim instincts of rebirth, weariness -of past discords, uncertain hopes,--an age somewhat like that of -Peregrinus and Apuleius. The material man yearned for the roses which -should regenerate him, from the hands of the fair Isis; the goddess -appeared to us by night, in her eternal youth and purity, inspiring in -us remorse for the hours wasted by day; and yet, ambition suited not our -years, while the greedy strife, the mad chase in pursuit of honour and -position, held us aloof from every possible sphere of activity. Our only -refuge was the ivory tower of the poets whither we climbed higher and -higher to escape the crowd. Upon the heights to which our masters guided -us, we breathed at last the pure air of solitude, we quaffed oblivion in -the golden cup of fable, we were drunk with poetry and love. Love, alas! -of airy forms, of rose and azure tints, of metaphysical phantoms. Seen -nearer, the real woman repelled our ingenuous youth which required her -to appear as a queen or a goddess, and above all, inapproachable. - -Some of our number held these platonic paradoxes in light esteem, and -athwart our mystic reveries brandished at times the torch of the deities -of the underworld, that names through the darkness for an instant with -its train of sparks. Thus it chanced that on quitting the theatre with -the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanished dream, I turned with -pleasure to a club where a party of us used to sup, and where all -depression yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant -wits, whose stormy gaiety at times rose to sublimity. Periods of renewal -or decadence always produce such natures, and our discussions often -became so animated that timid ones in the company would glance from the -window to see if the Huns, the Turkomans or the Cossacks were not coming -to put an end to these disputations of sophists and rhetoricians. "Let -us drink, let us love, this is wisdom!" was the code of the younger -members. One of them said to me: "I have noticed for some time that I -always meet you in the same theatre. For which one do you go?" Which! -why, it seemed impossible to go there for another! However, I confessed -the name. "Well," said my friend kindly, "yonder is the happy man who -has just accompanied her home, and who, in accordance with the rules of -our club, will not perhaps seek her again till night is over." - -With slight emotion I turned toward the person designated, and perceived -a young man, well dressed, with a pale, restless face, good manners, and -eyes full of gentle melancholy. He flung a gold piece on the card-table -and lost it with indifference. "What is it to me?" said I, "he or -another?" There must be someone, and he seemed worthy of her choice. -"And you?" "I? I chase a phantom, that is all." - -On my way out, I passed through the reading-room and glanced carelessly -at a newspaper, to learn, I believe, the state of the stock market. In -the wreck of my fortunes, there chanced to be a large investment in -foreign securities, and it was reported that, although long disowned, -they were about to be acknowledged;--and, indeed, this had just -happened in consequence of a change in the ministry. The bonds were -quoted high, so I was rich again. - -A single thought was occasioned by this sudden change of fortune, that -the woman whom I had loved so long, was mine, if I wished. My ideal was -within my grasp, or was it only one more disappointment, a mocking -misprint? No, for the other papers gave the same figures, while the sum -which I had gained rose before me like the golden statue of Moloch. - -"What," thought I, "would that young man say, if I were to take his -place by the woman whom he has left alone?" - -I shrunk from the thought, and my pride revolted. Not thus, not at my -age, dare I slay love with gold! I will not play the tempter! Besides, -such an idea belongs to the past. Who can tell me that this woman may be -bought? My eyes glanced idly over the journal in my hand, and I noticed -two lines: "_Provincial Bouquet Festival_. To-morrow the archers of -Senlis will present the bouquet to the archers of Loisy." These simple -words aroused in me an entirely new train of thought, stirring -long-forgotten memories of provincial days, faint echoes of the artless -joys of youth. - -The horn and the drum were resounding afar in hamlet and forest; the -young maidens were twining garlands as they sang, and binding nosegays -with ribbon. A heavy wagon, drawn by oxen, received their offerings as -it passed, and we, the children of that region, formed the escort with -our bows and arrows, assuming the proud title of knights,--we did not -know that we were only preserving, from age to age, an ancient feast of -the Druids that had survived later religions and monarchies. - - - - -II. - -ADRIENNE. - - -I sought my bed, but not to sleep, and, lost in a half-conscious revery, -all my youth passed before me. How often, in the border-land of dreams, -while yet the mind repels their encroaching fancies, we are enabled to -review in a few moments, the important events of a lifetime! - -I saw a castle of the time of Henry IV., with its slate-covered turrets, -its reddish front, jutting corners of yellow stone, and a stretch of -green bordered by elms and lime-trees, through whose foliage, the -setting sun shot its last fiery rays. Young girls were dancing in a ring -on the lawn, singing quaint old tunes caught from their mothers, in a -French whose native purity bespoke the old country of Valois, where for -more than a thousand years had throbbed the heart of France. I was the -only boy in the circle where I had led my young companion, Sylvie, a -little maid from the neighboring hamlet, so fresh and animated, with -her black eyes, regular features and slightly sun-burned skin. I loved -but her, I had eyes but for her--till then! I had scarcely noticed in -our round, a tall, beautiful blonde, called Adrienne, when suddenly, in -following the figures of the dance, she was left alone with me, in the -centre of the ring; we were of the same height, and they bade me kiss -her, while the dance and song went whirling on, more merrily than -before. When I kissed her, I could not forbear pressing her hand; her -golden curls touched my cheek, and from that moment, a new feeling -possessed me. - -The fair girl must sing a song to reclaim her place in the dance, and we -seated ourselves about her. In a sweet, penetrating voice, somewhat -husky, as is common in that country of mists and fogs, she sang one of -those old ballads full of love and sorrow, which always carry the story -of an imprisoned princess, shut in a tower by her father, as a -punishment for loving. At the end of every stanza, the melody died away -in those quavering trills which enable young voices to simulate so well -the tremulous notes of old women. - -While she sang, the shadows of the great trees lengthened and the light -of the young moon fell full upon her, as she stood apart from the rapt -circle. The lawn was covered with rising clouds of mist that trailed its -white wreaths over every blade of grass. We thought ourselves in -Paradise. The song ended and no one dared break the stillness--at last I -rose and ran to the gardens where some laurels were growing in large -porcelain vases painted in monochrome. I plucked two branches which were -twined into a crown, bound with ribbon, and I placed it upon Adrienne's -brow, where its glossy leaves gleamed above her fair locks in the pale -moonlight. She looked liked Dante's Beatrice, smiling at the poet as he -strayed on the confines of the Blest Abodes. - -Adrienne rose and, drawing up her slender figure, bowed to us gracefully -and ran back to the castle; they said she was the child of a race allied -to the ancient kings of France, that the blood of the Valois princes -flowed in her veins. Upon this festal day, she had been permitted to -join in our sports, but we were not to see her again, for on the morrow -she would return to the convent of which she was an inmate. - -When I rejoined Sylvie, I found her weeping because of the crown I had -given to the fair singer. I offered to make another for her, but she -would not consent, saying she did not merit it. I vainly tried to -vindicate myself, but she refused to speak as we went the homeward way. - -Paris soon recalled me to resume my studies, and I bore with me the -two-fold memory of a tender friendship sadly broken, and of a love -uncertain and impossible, the source of painful musings which my college -philosophy was powerless to dispel. - -Adrienne's face alone haunted me, a vision of glory and beauty, -sweetening and sharing the hours of arduous study. - -In the vacation of the following year, I learned that this lovely girl, -who had but flitted past me, was destined by her family to a religious -life. - - - - -III. - -RESOLVE. - - -These memories, recalled in my dreamy revery, explained everything. This -hopeless passion for an actress, which took possession of me nightly -from the hour when the curtain rose until I fell asleep, was born of my -remembrance of Adrienne, the pale moon-flower, as she glided over the -green, a rose-tinted vision enveloped in a cloud of misty whiteness. The -likeness of a face long years forgotten was now distinctly outlined; it -was a pencil-sketch, which time had blurred, developed into a painting, -like the first drafts of the old masters which delight us in a gallery, -the completed masterpiece being found elsewhere. - -To fall in love with a nun in the guise of an actress!... suppose they -were one and the same!--it is enough to drive one mad, a fatal mystery, -drawing me on like a will o' the wisp flitting over the rushes of a -stagnant pool. Let us keep a firm foothold on reality. - -Sylvie, too, whom I loved so dearly, why had I forgotten her for three -long years? She was a charming girl, the prettiest maiden in Loisy; -surely she still lives, pure and good. I can see her window, with the -creeper twining around the rose-bush, and the cage of linnets hanging on -the left; I can hear the click of her bobbins and her favourite song: - - _La belle était assise_ - _Près du ruisseau coulant...._ - - The maiden was sitting - Beside the swift stream. - -She is still waiting for me. Who would wed her, so poor? The men of her -native village are sturdy peasants with rough hands and gaunt, tanned -faces. I, the "little Parisian," had won her heart in my frequent visits -near Loisy, to my poor uncle, now dead. For the past three years I have -been squandering like a lord the modest inheritance left by him, which -might have sufficed for a lifetime, and Sylvie, I know, would have -helped me save it. Chance returns me a portion, it is not too late. - -What is she doing now? She must be asleep.... No, she is not asleep; -to-day is the Feast of the Bow, the only one in the year when the dance -goes on all night.... She is there. What time is it? I had no watch. - -Amongst a profusion of ornaments, which it was then the fashion to -collect, in order to restore the local colour of an old-time interior, -there gleamed with freshly polished lustre, one of those tortoise-shell -clocks of the Renaissance, whose gilded dome, surmounted by a figure of -Time, was supported by caryatides in the style of the Medici, resting in -their turn upon rearing steeds. The historic Diana, leaning upon her -stag, was in bas-relief under the face, where, upon an inlaid -background, enameled figures marked the hours. The works, no doubt -excellent, had not been put in motion for two centuries. It was not to -tell the hour that I bought this time-piece in Touraine. - -I went down to the porter's lodge to find that his clock marked one in -the morning. "In four hours I can be at Loisy," thought I. - -Five or six cabs were still standing on the Place du Palais Royal, -awaiting the gamblers and clubmen. "To Loisy," I said to the nearest -driver. "Where is it?" "Near Senlis, eight leagues distant." "I will -take you to the posting station," said the cabman, more alert than I. - -How dreary the Flanders road is by night! It gains beauty only as it -approaches the belt of the forest. Two monotonous rows of trees, taking -on the semblance of distorted figures, rise ever before the eye; in the -distance, patches of verdure and cultivated land, bounded on the left -by the blue hills of Montmorency, Ecouen and Luzarches. Here is Gonesse, -an ordinary little town, full of memories of the League and the Fronde. - -Beyond Louvres is a road lined with apple-trees, whose white blossoms I -have often seen unfolding in the night, like stars of the earth--it is -the shortest way to the village. While the carriage climbs the slope, -let me recall old memories of the days when I came here so often. - - - - -IV. - -A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA. - - -Several years had passed, and only a childish memory was left me of that -meeting with Adrienne in front of the castle. I was again at Loisy on -the annual feast, and again I mingled with the knights of the bow, -taking my place in the same company as of old. The festival had been -arranged by young people belonging to the old families, who still own -the solitary castles, despoiled rather by time than revolution, hidden -here and there in the forest. From Chantilly, Compiègne and Senlis, -joyous companies hastened to join the rustic train of archers. After the -long parade through hamlet and village, after mass in the church, -contests of skill and awarding of prizes, the victors were invited to a -feast prepared upon an island in the centre of one of the tiny lakes, -fed by the Nonette and the Thève. Boats, gay with flags, conveyed us to -this island, chosen on account of an old temple with pillars, destined -to serve as a banquet hall. Here, as in Hermenonville, the country side -is sown with these frail structures, designed by philosophical -millionaires, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the close of -the eighteenth century. Probably this temple was originally dedicated to -Urania. Three pillars had fallen, bearing with them a portion of the -architrave, but the space within had been cleared, and garlands hung -between the columns, quite rejuvenated this modern ruin, belonging -rather to the paganism of Boufflers and Chaulieu than of Horace. The -sail on the lake was perhaps designed to recall Watteau's "Voyage to -Cythera," the illusion being marred only by our modern dress. The -immense bouquet was borne from its wagon and placed in a boat, -accompanied by the usual escort of young girls dressed in white, and -this graceful pageant, the survival of an ancient custom, was mirrored -in the still waters that flowed around the island, gleaming in the red -sunlight with its hawthorn thickets and colonnades. - -All the boats soon arrived, and the basket of flowers borne in state, -adorned the centre of the table, around which we took our places, the -most fortunate beside a young girl; to win this favour it was enough to -know her relatives, which explains why I found myself by Sylvie, whose -brother had already joined me in the march, and reproached me for -neglecting to visit them. I excused myself by the plea that my studies -kept me in Paris, and averred that I had come with that intention. - -"No," said Sylvie, "I am sure he has forgotten me. We are only village -folk, and a Parisian is far above us." I tried to stop her mouth with a -kiss, but she still pouted, and her brother had to intercede before she -would offer me her cheek with an indifferent air. I took no pleasure in -this salute, a favour accorded to plenty of others, for in that -patriarchal country where a greeting is bestowed upon every passing -stranger, a kiss means only an exchange of courtesies between honest -people. - -To crown the enjoyment of the day, a surprise had been contrived, and, -at the close of the repast, a wild swan, hitherto imprisoned beneath the -flowers, soared into the air, bearing aloft on his powerful wings, a -tangle of wreaths and garlands, which were scattered in every direction. -While he darted joyously toward the last bright gleams of the sun, we -tried to seize the falling chaplets, to crown our fair neighbours. I was -so fortunate as to secure one of the finest, and Sylvie smilingly -granted me a kiss more tender than the last, by which I perceived that I -had now redeemed the memory of a former occasion. She had grown so -beautiful that my present admiration was without reserve, and I no -longer recognised in her the little village maid, whom I had slighted -for one more skilled in the graces of the world. Sylvie had gained in -every respect; her black eyes, seductive from childhood, had become -irresistibly fascinating, and there was something Athenian in her -arching brows, together with the sudden smile lighting up her quiet, -regular features. I admired this classic profile contrasting with the -mere prettiness of her companions. Her taper fingers, round, white arms -and slender waist changed her completely, and I could not refrain from -telling her of the transformation, hoping thus to hide my long -unfaithfulness. Everything favoured me, the delightful influences of the -feast, her brother's regard, the evening hour, and even the spot chosen -by a tasteful fancy to celebrate the stately rites of ancient gallantry. -We escaped from the dance as soon as possible, to compare recollections -of our childhood and to gaze, side by side, with dreamy pleasure, upon -the sunset sky reflected in the calm waters. Sylvie's brother had to -tear us from the contemplation of this peaceful scene by the unwelcome -summons that it was time to start for the distant village where she -dwelt. - - - - -V. - -THE VILLAGE. - - -They lived at Loisy, in the old keeper's lodge, whither I accompanied -them, and then turned back toward Montagny, where I was staying with my -uncle. Leaving the highway to cross a little wood that divides Loisy -from Saint S----, I plunged into a deep track skirting the forest of -Hermenonville. I thought it would lead me to the walls of a convent, -which I had to follow for a quarter of a league. The moon, from time to -time, concealed by clouds, shed a dim light upon the grey rocks, and the -heath which lay thick upon the ground as I advanced. Right and left -stretched a pathless forest, and before me rose the Druid altars -guarding the memory of the sons of Armen, slain by the Romans. From -these ancient piles I discerned the distant lakelets glistening like -mirrors in the misty plain, but I could not distinguish the one where -the feast was held. - -The air was so balmy, that I determined to lie down upon the heath and -wait for the dawn. When I awoke, I recognized, one by one, the -neighbouring landmarks. On the left stretched the long line of the -convent of Saint S----, then, on the opposite side of the valley, La -Butte aux Gens d'Armes, with the shattered ruins of the ancient -Carlovingian palace. Close by, beyond the tree-tops, the crumbling walls -of the lofty Abbey of Thiers, stood out against the horizon. Further on, -the manor of Pontarmé, surrounded as in olden times, by a moat, began to -reflect the first fires of dawn, while on the south appeared the tall -keep of La Tournelle and the four towers of Bertrand Fosse, on the -slopes of Montméliant. - -The night had passed pleasantly, and I was thinking only of Sylvie, but -the sight of the convent suggested the idea that it might be the one -where Adrienne lived. The sound of the morning bell was still ringing in -my ears and had probably awakened me. The thought came to me, for a -moment, that by climbing to the top of the cliff, I might take a peep -over the walls, but on reflection, I dismissed it as profane. The sun -with its rising beams, put to flight this idle memory, leaving only the -rosy features of Sylvie. "I will go and awaken her," I said to myself, -and again I started in the direction of Loisy. - -Ah, here at the end of the forest track, is the village, twenty cottages -whose walls are festooned with creepers and climbing roses. A group of -women, with red kerchiefs on their heads, are spinning in the early -light, in front of a farmhouse, but Sylvie is not among them. She is -almost a young lady, now she makes dainty lace, but her family remain -simple villagers. I ran up to her room without exciting surprise, to -find that she had been up for a long time, and was busily plying her -bobbins, which clicked cheerfully against the square green cushion on -her knees. "So, it is you, lazybones," she said with her divine smile; -"I am sure you are just out of bed." - -I told her how I had lost my way in the woods and had passed the night -in the open air, and for a moment she seemed inclined to pity me. - -"If you are not too tired, I will take you for another ramble. We will -go to see my grand-aunt at Othys." - -Before I had time to reply, she ran joyously to smooth her hair before -the mirror, and put on her rustic straw hat, her eyes sparkling with -innocent gaiety. - -Our way, at first, lay along the banks of the Thève, through meadows -sprinkled with daisies and buttercups; then we skirted the woods of -Saint Lawrence, sometimes crossing streams and thickets to shorten the -road. Blackbirds were whistling in the trees, and tomtits, startled at -our approach, flew joyously from the bushes. - -Now and then we spied beneath our feet the periwinkles which Rousseau -loved, putting forth their blue crowns amid long sprays of twin leaves, -a network of tendrils which arrested the light steps of my companion. -Indifferent to the memory of the philosopher of Geneva, she sought here -and there for fragrant strawberries, while I talked of the New Heloise, -and repeated passages from it, which I knew by heart. - -"Is it pretty?" she asked. - -"It is sublime." - -"Is it better than Auguste Lafontaine?" - -"It is more tender." - -"Well, then," said she, "I must read it. I will tell my brother to bring -it to me the next time he goes to Senlis." - -I went on reciting portions of the Heloise, while Sylvie picked -strawberries. - - - - -VI. - -OTHYS. - - -When we had left the forest, we found great tufts of purple foxglove, -and Sylvie gathered an armful, saying it was for her aunt who loved to -have flowers in her room. - -Only a stretch of level country now lay between us and Othys. The -village church-spire pointed heavenward against the blue hills that -extend from Montméliant to Dammartin. The Thève again rippled over the -stones, narrowing towards its source, where it forms a tiny lake which -slumbers in the meadows, fringed with gladiolus and iris. We soon -reached the first houses where Sylvie's aunt lived in a little cottage -of rough stone, adorned with a trellis of hop-vine and Virginia creeper. -Her only support came from a few acres of land which the village folk -cultivated for her, now her husband was dead. The coming of her niece -set the house astir. - -"Good morning, aunt; here are your children!" cried Sylvie; "and we are -very hungry." She kissed her aunt tenderly, gave her the flowers, and -then turned to present me, saying, "He is my sweetheart." - -I, in turn, kissed the good aunt, who exclaimed, "He is a fine lad! why, -he has light hair!" "He has very pretty hair," said Sylvie. "That does -not last," returned her aunt; "but you have time enough before you, and -you are dark, so you are well matched." - -"You must give him some breakfast," said Sylvie, and she went peeping -into cupboards and pantry, finding milk, brown bread and sugar which she -hastily set upon the table, together with the plates and dishes of -crockery adorned with staring flowers and birds of brilliant plumage. A -large bowl of Creil china, filled with strawberries swimming in milk, -formed the centrepiece, and after she had raided the garden for cherries -and goose-berries, she arranged two vases of flowers, placing one at -each end of the white cloth. Just then, her aunt made a sensible speech: -"All this is only for dessert. Now, you must let me set to work." She -took down the frying-pan and threw a fagot upon the hearth. "No, no; I -shall not let you touch it," she said decidedly to Sylvie, who was -trying to help her. "Spoiling your pretty fingers that make finer lace -than Chantilly! You gave me some, and I know what lace is." - -"Oh, yes, aunt, and if you have some left, I can use it for a pattern." - -"Well, go look upstairs; there may be some in my chest of drawers." - -"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie. - -"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one -always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after -having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her -belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph. - -I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room -above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the -purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait -of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy -lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore -the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Condé; his somewhat martial -bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from -the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, -destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to -the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the -keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and -winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant -frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good -old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It -reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, -their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love -appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires. - -"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!" - -"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer -which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the -heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she -said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, -ever young," thought I. - -Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her -feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender -figure. - -"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills -displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the -corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little -the vanished charms of her aunt. - -"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" -She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some -powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the -drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of -light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans -slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an -amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white -slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them -on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings." - -A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with -green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of -the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said -Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was -just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of -bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the -staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired -herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread -out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of -the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, -arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she -exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was -the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside -her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after -the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the -stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the -old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal -board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended -the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these -couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of -Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer -morn. - - - - -VII - -CHAÂLIS. - - -It is four o'clock in the morning; the road winds through a hollow and -comes out on high ground; the carriage passes Orry, then La Chapelle. On -the left is a road that skirts the forest of Hallate. Sylvie's brother -took me through there one evening in his covered cart, to attend some -local gathering on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew, I believe. Through the -woods, along unfrequented ways, the little horse sped as if hastening to -a witches' sabbath. We struck the highway again at Mont-l'Évêque, and a -few moments later pulled up at the keeper's lodge of the old abbey of -Chaâlis--Chaâlis, another memory! - -This ancient retreat of the emperors offers nothing worthy of -admiration, save its ruined cloisters with their Byzantine arcades, the -last of which are still mirrored in the lake--crumbling fragments of the -abodes of piety, formerly attached to this demesne, known in olden -times as "Charlemagne's farms." In this quiet spot, far from the stir of -highways and cities, religion has retained distinctive traces of the -prolonged sojourn of the Cardinals of the House of Este during the time -of the Medici; a shade of poetic gallantry still lingers about its -ceremonial, a perfume of the Renaissance breathing beneath the -delicately moulded arches of the chapels decorated by Italian artists. -The faces of saints and angels outlined in rose tints upon a vaulted -roof of pale blue produce an effect of pagan allegory, which recalls the -sentimentality of Petrarch and the weird mysticism of Francesco Colonna. -Sylvie's brother and I were intruders in the festivities of the evening. -A person of noble birth, at that time proprietor of the demesne, had -invited the neighbouring families to witness a kind of allegorical -spectacle in which some of the inmates of the convent close by were to -take part. It was not intended to recall the tragedies of Saint Cyr, but -went back to the first lyric contests, introduced into France by the -Valois princes. What I saw enacted resembled an ancient mystery. The -costumes, consisting of long robes, presented no variety save in colour, -blue, hyacinth or gold. The scene lay between angels on the ruins of the -world. Each voice chanted one of the glories of the now extinct globe, -and the Angel of Death set forth the causes of its destruction. A spirit -rose from the abyss, holding a flaming sword, and convoked the others to -glorify the power of Christ, the conqueror of bell. This spirit was -Adrienne, transfigured by her costume as she was already by her -vocation. The nimbus of gilded cardboard encircling her angelic head -seemed to us a circle of light; her voice had gained in power and -compass, and an infinite variety of Italian trills relieved with their -bird-like warbling the stately severity of the recitative. - -In recalling these details, I come to the point of asking myself, "Are -they real or have I dreamed them?" Sylvie's brother was not quite sober -that evening. We spent a few minutes in the keeper's house, where I was -much impressed by a cygnet displayed above the door, and within there -were tall chests of carved walnut, a large clock in its case and some -archery prizes, bows and arrows, above a red and green target. A -droll-looking dwarf in a Chinese cap, holding a bottle in one hand and a -ring in the other, seemed to warn the marksmen to take good aim. I think -the dwarf was cut out of sheet-iron. Did I really see Adrienne as surely -as I marked these details? I am, however, certain that it was the son of -the keeper who conducted us to the hall where the representation took -place; we were seated near the door behind a numerous company who seemed -deeply moved. It was the feast of Saint Bartholomew--a day strangely -linked with memories of the Medici, whose arms, impaled with those of -the House of Este, adorned these old walls. Is it an obsession, the way -these memories haunt me? Fortunately the carriage stops here on the road -to Plessis; I leave the world of dreams and find myself with only a -fifteen-minutes walk to reach Loisy by forest paths. - - - - -VIII - -THE BALL AT LOISY. - - -I entered the ball of Loisy at that sad yet pleasing hour when the -lights flicker and grow dim at the approach of dawn. A faint bluish -tinge crept over the tops of the lime-trees, sunk in shadow below. The -rustic flute no longer contended so gayly with the trills of the -nightingale. The dancers all looked pale, and among the dishevelled -groups I distinguished with difficulty any familiar faces. Finally, I -recognized a tall girl, Sylvie's friend Lise. - -"We have not seen you for a long time, Parisian," said she. - -"Yes; a long time." - -"And you come so late?" - -"By coach." - -"And you traveled slowly!" - -"I came to see Sylvie; is she still here?" - -"She will stay till morning; she loves to dance." - -In a moment I was beside her; she looked tired, but her black eyes -sparkled with the same Athenian smile as of old. A young man stood near -her, but she refused by a gesture to join the next country-dance, and he -bowed to her and withdrew. - -It began to grow light, and we left the ball hand in hand. The flowers -hung lifeless and faded in Sylvie's loosened tresses, and the nosegay at -her bosom dropped its petals on the crumpled lace made by her skilful -hands. I offered to walk home with her; it was broad day, but the sky -was cloudy. The Thève murmured on our left, leaving at every curve a -little pool of still water where yellow and white pond-lilies blossomed, -and lake star-worts, like Easter daisies, spread their delicate -broidery. The plain was covered with hay-ricks whose fragrance seemed -wafted to my brain, affecting me as the fresh scent of the woods and -hawthorn thickets had done in the past. This time neither of us thought -of crossing the meadows. - -"Sylvie," said I, "you no longer love me." - -She sighed. "My friend," she continued, "you must console yourself, -since things do not happen as we wish in this world. You once mentioned -the New Heloise; I read it, and shuddered when I found these words, at -the beginning: 'Any young girl who reads this book is lost.' However, I -kept on, trusting in my discretion. Do you remember the day we put on -the wedding clothes, at my aunt's house? The engravings in the book also -represented lovers dressed in olden costumes, so that to me you were -Saint-Preux and I was Julie. Ah! why did you not come back then? But -they said you were in Italy. You must have seen there far prettier girls -than I!" - -"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your -profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, -the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite -masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the -rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here." - -"And in Paris?" she asked. - -"In Paris--" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered -the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us -stop here, will you?" - -I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my -irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my -days. - -"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever." - -She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation -was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother -rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic -festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had -stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was -concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer -on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the -presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward -deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so -late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival. - -"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," -she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was -not offended. - - - - -IX. - -HERMENONVILLE. - - -Not feeling inclined to sleep, I walked to Montagny to revisit my -uncle's house. Sadness fell upon me at the first glimpse of its yellow -front and green shutters. Everything looked as before, but I was obliged -to go to the farmer's to obtain the key. The shutters once open, I -surveyed with emotion the old furniture, polished from time to time, to -preserve its lustre, the tall cupboard of walnut, two Flemish paintings -said to be the work of an ancient artist, our ancestor, some large -prints after Boucher, and a whole series of framed engravings -representing scenes from "Emile" and the "New Heloise" by Moreau; on the -table was the dog, now stuffed and mounted, that I remembered alive, as -the companion of my forest rambles, perhaps the last "Carlin," for it -had belonged to that breed now extinct. - -"As for the parrot," said the farmer, "he is still alive, and I took him -home with me." - -The garden offered a magnificent picture of the growth of wild -vegetation, and there in a corner was the plot I had tended as a child. -A shudder came over me as I entered the study, which still contained the -little library of choice books, familiar friends of him who was no more, -and where upon his desk lay antique relics, vases and Roman medals found -in the garden,--a local collection, the source of much pleasure to him. - -"Let us go to see the parrot," I said to the farmer. The parrot -clamoured for his breakfast, as in his best days, and gave me a knowing -look from his round eye peering out from the wrinkled skin, like the -wise glances of the old. - -Full of sad thoughts awakened by my return to this cherished spot, I -felt that I must again see Sylvie, the only living tie which bound me to -that region, and once more I took the road to Loisy. It was the middle -of the day, and I found them all asleep, worn out by the night of -merry-making. It occurred to me that it might divert my thoughts to -stroll to Hermenonville, a league distant, by the forest road. It was -fine summer weather, and on setting out I was delighted by the freshness -and verdure of the path which seemed like the avenue of a park. The -green branches of the great oaks were relieved by the white trunks and -rustling leaves of the birches. The birds were silent, and I heard no -sound but the woodpecker tapping the trees to find a hollow for her -nest. At one time I was in danger of losing my way, the characters being -wholly effaced on the guide-posts which served to distinguish the roads. -Passing the Desert on the left, I came to the dancing-ring where I found -the benches of the old men still in place. All the associations of -ancient philosophy, revived by the former owner of the demesne, crowded -upon me, at the sight of this picturesque realisation of "Anacharsis" -and "Emile." - -When I caught sight of the waters of the lake sparkling through the -branches of willows and hazels, I recognised a spot which I had often -visited with my uncle. Here stands to this day, sheltered by a group of -pines, the Temple of Philosophy which its founder had not the good -fortune to complete. It is built in the form of the temple of the -Tiburtine Sibyl, and displays with pride the names of all the great -thinkers from Montaigne and Descartes to Rousseau. This unfinished -structure is now but a ruin around which the ivy twines its graceful -tendrils, while brambles force their way between its disjointed steps. -When but a child, I witnessed the celebrations here, where young girls, -dressed in white, came to receive prizes for scholarship and good -conduct. Where are the roses that girdled the hillside? Hidden by brier -and eglantine, they are fast losing all traces of cultivation. As for -the laurels, have they been cut down, according to the old song of the -maidens who no longer care to roam the forest? No! these shrubs from -sweet Italy have withered beneath our unfriendly skies. Happily, the -privet of Virgil still thrives as if to emphasize the words of the -Master, inscribed above the door, _Rerum cognoscere causas._ Yes! like -so many others, this temple crumbles, and man, weary or thoughtless, -passes it by, while indifferent nature reclaims the soil for which art -contended, but the thirst for knowledge is eternal, the mainspring of -all power and activity. - -Here are the poplars of the island and the empty tomb of Rousseau. O -Sage! thou gavest us the milk of the strong and we were too weak to -receive it! We have forgotten thy lessons which our fathers knew, and we -have lost the meaning of thy words, the last faint echoes of ancient -wisdom! Still, let us not despair, and like thee, in thy last moments, -let us turn our eyes to the sun! - -I revisited the castle, the quiet waters about it, the cascade which -complains among the rocks, the causeway that unites the two parts of -the village with the four dove-cotes that mark the corners, and the -green that stretches beyond like a prairie, above which rise wooded -slopes; the tower of Gabrielle is reflected from afar in the waters of -an artificial lake studded with ephemeral blossoms; the scum is -seething, the insects hum. It is best to escape the noxious vapours and -seek the rocks and sand of the desert and the waste lands where the pink -heath blooms beside green ferns. How sad and lonely it all seems! In -by-gone days, Sylvie's enchanting smile, her merry pranks and glad cries -enlivened every spot! She was then a wild little creature with bare feet -and sun-burned skin, in spite of the straw hat whose long strings -floated loosely amid her dark locks. We used to go to the Swiss farm to -drink milk, and they said: "How pretty your sweetheart is, little -Parisian!" Ah! no peasant lad could have danced with her in those days! -She would have none but me for her partner, at the yearly Feast of the -Bow. - - - - -X. - -BIG CURLY-HEAD - - -I went back to Loisy and they were all awake. Sylvie was dressed like a -young lady, almost in the fashion of the city. She led me up to her room -with all her old simplicity. Her bright eyes smiled as charmingly as -ever, but the decided arch of her brows made her at times look serious. -The room was simply decorated, but the furniture was modern: a mirror in -a gilt frame had replaced the old-fashioned looking-glass where an -idyllic shepherd was depicted offering a nest to a blue and pink -shepherdess; the four-post bed, modestly hung with flowered chintz, was -succeeded by a little walnut couch with net curtains; canaries occupied -the cage at the window where once there were linnets. I was impatient to -leave this room, where nothing spoke to me of the past. "Shall you make -lace to-day?" I asked Sylvie. "Oh, I do not make lace now; there is no -demand for it here, and even at Chantilly the factory is closed." "What -is your work then?" She brought forward, from the corner of the room, an -iron tool which resembled a long pair of pincers. - -"What is that?" - -"It is called the machine and is used to hold the leather in place while -the gloves are sewed." - -"Then you are a glove-maker, Sylvie?" - -"Yes, we work here for Dammartin; it pays well now, but I shall not work -to-day; let us go wherever you like." I glanced towards Othys, but she -shook her head, and I understood that the old aunt was no more. Sylvie -called a little boy and bade him saddle an ass. "I am still tired from -yesterday," she said, "but the ride will do me good; let us go to -Chaâlis." - -We set out through the forest, followed by the boy armed with a branch. -Sylvie soon wished to stop, and I kissed her as I led her to a seat. Our -conversation could no longer be very intimate. I had to talk of my life -in Paris, my travels.... "How can anyone go so far?" she demanded. "It -seems strange to me, when I look at you." - -"Oh! of course," - -"Well, admit that you were not so pretty in the old days." - -"I cannot tell." - -"Do you remember when we were children and you the tallest?" - -"And you the wisest?" - -"Oh! Sylvie!" - -"They put us on an ass, one in each pannier." - -"And we said thee and thou to each other? Do you remember how you taught -me to catch crawfish under the bridges over the Nonette and the Thève?" - -"Do you remember your foster-brother who pulled you out of the water one -day?" - -"Big Curly-head? It was he who told me to go in." - -I made haste to change the subject, because this recollection had -brought vividly to mind the time when I used to go into the country, -wearing a little English coat which made the peasants laugh. Sylvie was -the only one who liked it, but I did not venture to remind her of such a -juvenile opinion. For some reason, my mind turned to the old aunt's -wedding clothes in which we had arrayed ourselves, and I asked what had -become of them. - -"Oh! poor aunt," cried Sylvie; "she lent me her gown to wear to the -carnival at Dammartin, two years ago, and the next year she died, dear, -old aunt!" She sighed and the tears came, so I could not inquire how it -chanced that she went to a masquerade, but I perceived that, thanks to -her skill, Sylvie was no longer a peasant girl. Her parents had not -risen above their former station, and she lived with them, scattering -plenty around her like an industrious fairy. - - - - -XI. - -RETURN. - - -The outlook widened when we left the forest and we found ourselves near -the lake of Chaâlis. The galleries of the cloister, the chapel with its -pointed arches, the feudal tower and the little castle which had -sheltered the loves of Henry IV. and Gabrielle, were bathed in the -crimson glow of evening against the dark background of the forest. - -"Like one of Walter Scott's landscapes, is it not?" said Sylvie. "And -who has told you of Walter Scott?" I inquired. "You must have read much -in the past three years! As for me, I try to forget books, and what -delights me, is to revisit with you this old abbey where, as little -children, we played hide and seek among the ruins. Do you remember, -Sylvie, how afraid you were when the keeper told us the story of the Red -Monks?" - -"Oh, do not speak of it!" - -"Well then, sing me the song of the fair maid under the white -rose-bush, who was stolen from her father's garden." - -"Nobody sings that now." - -"Is it possible that you have become a musician?" - -"Perhaps." - -"Sylvie, Sylvie, I am positive that you sing airs from operas!" - -"Why should you complain?" - -"Because I loved the old songs and you have forgotten them." - -Sylvie warbled a few notes of a grand air from a modern opera.... She -_phrased!_ - -We turned away from the lakeside and approached the green bordered with -lime-trees and elms, where we had so often danced. I had the conceit to -describe the old Carlovingian walls and to decipher the armorial -bearings of the House of Este. - -"And you! How much more you have read than I, and how learned you have -become!" said Sylvie. I was vexed by her tone of reproach, as I had all -the way been seeking a favourable opportunity to resume the tender -confidences of the morning, but what could I say, accompanied by a -donkey and a very wide-awake lad who pressed nearer and nearer for the -pleasure of hearing a Parisian talk? Then I displayed my lack of tact, -by relating the vision of Chaâlis which I recalled so vividly. I led -Sylvie into the very hall of the castle where I had heard Adrienne sing. -"Oh, let me hear you!" I besought her; "let your loved voice ring out -beneath these arches and put to flight the spirit that torments me, be -it angel or demon!" She repeated the words and sang after me: - - "_Anges, descendez promptement_ - _au fond du purgatoire...._" - - Angels descend without delay - To dread abyss of purgatory. - -"It is very sad!" she cried. - -"It is sublime! An air from Porpora, I think, with words translated in -the present century." - -"I do not know," she replied. - -We came home through the valley, following the Charlepont road which the -peasants, without regard to etymology, persistently called Châllepont. -The way was deserted, and Sylvie, weary of riding, leaned upon my arm, -while I tried to speak of what was in my heart, but, I know not why, -could find only trivial words or stilted phrases from some romance that -Sylvie might have read. I stopped suddenly then, in true classic style, -and she was occasionally amazed by these disjointed rhapsodies. Having -reached the walls of Saint S---- we had to look well to our steps, on -account of the numerous stream-lets winding through the damp marshes. - -"What has become of the nun?" I asked suddenly. - -"You give me no peace with your nun! Ah, well! it is a sad story!" Not a -word more would Sylvie say. - -Do women really feel that certain words come from the lips rather than -the heart? It does not seem probable, to see how readily they are -deceived, and what an inexplicable choice they usually make--there are -men who play the comedy of love so well! I never could accustom myself -to it, although I know some women lend themselves wittingly to the -deception. A love that dates from childhood is, however, sacred, and -Sylvie, whom I had seen grow up, was like a sister to me; I could not -betray her. Suddenly, a new thought came to me. "At this very hour, I -might be at the theatre. What is Aurélie (that was the name of the -actress) playing to-night? No doubt the part of the Princess in the new -play. How touching she is in the third act! And in the love scene of the -second with that wrinkled actor who plays the lover!" - -"Lost in thought?" said Sylvie; and she began to sing: - - _"A Dammartin l'y a trots belles filles:_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour...."_ - - _At Dammartin there are three fair maids,_ - _And one of them is fairer than day._ - -"Little tease!" I cried, "you know you remember the old songs." - -"If you would come here oftener, I would try to remember more of them," -she said; "but we must think of realities; you have your affairs at -Paris, I have my work here; let us go in early, for I must rise with the -sun to-morrow." - - - - -XII. - -FATHER DODU. - - -I was about to reply, to fall at her feet and offer her my uncle's house -which I could purchase, as the little estate had not been apportioned -among the numerous heirs, but just then we reached Loisy, where supper -awaited us and the onion-soup was diffusing its patriarchal odour. -Neighbours had been invited to celebrate the day after the feast, and I -recognised at a glance Father Dodu, an old wood-cutter who used to amuse -or frighten us, in the evenings by his stories. Shepherd, carrier, -gamekeeper, fisherman and even poacher, by turns, Father Dodu made -clocks and turnspits in his leisure moments. For a long time he acted as -guide to the English tourists at Hermenonville, and while he recounted -the last moments of the philosopher, would lead them to Rousseau's -favourite spots for meditation. He was the little boy employed to -classify the herbs and gather the hemlock twigs from which the sage -pressed the juice into his cup of coffee. The landlord of the Golden -Cross contested this point and a lasting feud resulted. Father Dodu had -once borne the reproach of possessing some very innocent secrets, such -as how to cure cows by saying a rhyme backwards and making the sign of -the cross with the left foot, but he had renounced these -superstitions--thanks, he declared, to his conversations with Jean -Jacques. - -"That you, little Parisian?" said Father Dodu; "have you come to carry -off our pretty girls?" - -"I, Father Dodu?" - -"You take them into the woods when the wolf is away!" - -"Father Dodu, you are the wolf." - -"I was as long as I could find sheep, but at present I meet only goats, -and they know how to take care of themselves! As for you, why, you are -all rascals in Paris. Jean Jacques was right when he said, 'Man grows -corrupt in the poisonous air of cities.'" - -"Father Dodu, you know very well that men become corrupt everywhere." - -"Father Dodu began to roar out a drinking song, and it was impossible to -stop him at a questionable couplet that everyone knew by heart. Sylvie -would not sing, in spite of our entreaties, on the plea that it was no -longer customary to sing at table. I bad already noticed the lover of -the ball, seated at her left, and his round face and tumbled hair seemed -familiar. He rose and stood behind me, saying, "Have you forgotten me, -Parisian?" A good woman who came back to dessert after serving us, -whispered in my ear: "Do you not recognize your foster-brother?" Without -this warning, I should have made myself ridiculous. "Ah, it is _Big -Curly-head_!" I cried; "the very same who pulled me out of the water." -Sylvie burst out laughing at the recollection. - -"Without considering," said the youth em-bracing me, "that you had a -fine silver watch and on the way home you were more concerned about it -than yourself, because it had stopped. You said, 'the _creature is -drowned_ does not go tick-tack; what will Uncle say?'" "A watch is a -creature," said Father Dodu; "that is what they tell children in Paris!" - -Sylvie was sleepy, and I fancied there was no hope for me. She went -upstairs, and as I kissed her, said: "Come again to-morrow." Father Dodu -remained at table with Sylvain and my foster-brother, and we talked a -long time over a bottle of Louvres ratafia. - -"All men are equal," said Father Dodu between glasses; "I drink with a -pastry-cook as readily as with a prince." - -"Where is the pastry-cook?" I asked. - -"By your side! There you see a young man who is ambitious to get on in -life." - -My foster-brother appeared embarrassed and I understood the situation. -Fate had reserved for me a foster-brother in the very country made -famous by Rousseau, who opposed putting children out to nurse! I learned -from Father Dodu that there was much talk of a marriage between Sylvie -and Big Curly-head, who wished to open a pastry-shop at Dammartin. I -asked no more. Next morning the coach from Nanteuil-le-Haudouin took me -back to Paris. - - - - -XIII - -AURÉLIE. - - -To Paris, a journey of five hours! I was impatient for evening, and -eight o'clock found me in my accustomed seat Aurélie infused her own -spirit and grace into the lines of the play, the work of a contemporary -author evidently inspired by Schiller. In the garden scene she was -sublime. During the fourth act, when she did not appear, I went out to -purchase a bouquet of Madame Prevost, slipping into it a tender effusion -signed _An Unknown_, "There," thought I, "is something definite for the -future," but on the morrow I was on my way to Germany. - -Why did I go there? In the hope of com-posing my disordered fancy. If I -were to write a book, I could never gain credence for the story of a -heart torn by these two conflicting loves. I had lost Sylvie through my -own fault, but to see her for a day, sufficed to restore my soul. A -glance from her had arrested me on the verge of the abyss, and -henceforth I enshrined her as a smiling goddess in the Temple of Wisdom. -I felt more than ever reluctant to present myself before Aurélie among -the throng of vulgar suitors who shone in the light of her favour for an -instant only to fall blinded. - -"Some day," said I, "we shall see whether this woman has a heart." - -One morning I learned from a newspaper that Aurélie was ill, and I wrote -to her from the mountains of Salzburg, a letter so filled with German -mysticism that I could hardly hope for a reply, indeed I expected none. -I left it to chance or ... the _unknown._ - -Months passed, and in the leisure intervals of travel I undertook to -embody in poetic action the life-long devotion of the painter Colonna to -the fair Laura who was constrained by her relatives to take the veil. -Something in the subject lent itself to my habitual train of thought, -and as soon as the last verse of the drama was written, I hastened back -to France. - -Can I avoid repeating in my own history, that of many others? I passed -through all the ordeals of the theatre. I "ate the drum and drank the -cymbal," according to the apparently meaningless phrase of the initiates -at Eleusis, which probably signifies that upon occasion we must stand -ready to pass the bounds of reason and absurdity; for me it meant to -win and possess my ideal. - -Aurélie accepted the leading part in the play which I brought back from -Germany. I shall never forget the day she allowed me to read it to her. -The love scenes had been arranged expressly for her, and I am positive -that I rendered them with feeling. In the conversation that followed I -revealed myself as the "Unknown" of the two letters. She said: "You are -mad, but come again; I have never found anyone who knew how to love me." - -Oh, woman! you seek for love ... but what of me? - -In the days which followed I wrote probably the most eloquent and -touching letters that she ever received. Her answers were full of good -sense. Once she was moved, sent for me and confessed that it was hard -for her to break an attachment of long standing. "If you love me for -myself alone, then you will understand that I can belong to but one." - -Two months later, I received an effusive letter which brought me to her -feet--in the meantime, someone volunteered an important piece of -information. The handsome young man whom I had met one night at the club -had just enlisted in the Turkish cavalry. - -Races were held at Chantilly the next season, and the theatre troupe to -which Aurélie belonged gave a performance. Once in the country, the -company was for three days subject to the orders of the director. I had -made friends with this worthy man, formerly the Dorante of the comedies -of Marivaux and for a long time successful in lovers' parts. His latest -triumph was achieved in the play imitated from Schiller, when my -opera-glass had discovered all his wrinkles. He had fire, however, and -being thin, produced a good effect in the provinces. I accompanied the -troupe in the quality of poet, and persuaded the manager to give -performances at Senlis and Dammartin. He inclined to Compiègne at first, -but Aurélie was of my opinion. Next day, while arrangements with the -local authorities were in progress, I ordered horses and we set out on -the road to Commelle to breakfast at the castle of Queen Blanche. -Aurélie, on horseback, with her blonde hair floating in the wind, rode -through the forest like some queen of olden times, and the peasants were -dazzled by her appearance. Madame de _F_-----was the only woman they had -ever seen so imposing and so graceful. After breakfast we rode down to -the villages like Swiss hamlets where the waters of the Nonette turn the -busy saw-mills. These scenes, which my remembrance cherished, interested -Aurélie, but did not move her to delay. I had planned to conduct her to -the castle near Orry, where I had first seen Adrienne on the green. She -manifested no emotion. Then I told her all; I revealed the hidden spring -of that love which haunted my dreams by night and was realized in her. -She listened with attention and said: "You do not love me! You expect me -to say 'the actress and the nun are the same'; you are merely arranging -a drama and the issue of the plot is lacking. Go! I no longer believe in -you." - -Her words were an illumination. The unnatural enthusiasm which had -possessed me for so long, my dreams, my tears, my despair and my -tenderness,--could they mean aught but love? What then is love? - -Aurélie played that night at Senlis, and I thought she displayed a -weakness for the director, the wrinkled "young lover" of the stage. His -character was exemplary, and he had already shown her much kindness. - -One day, Aurélie said to me: "There is the man who loves me!" - - - - -XIV. - -THE LAST LEAF. - - -Such are the fancies that charm and beguile us in the morning of life! I -have tried to set them down here, in a disconnected fashion, but many -hearts will understand me. One by one our illusions fall like husks, and -the kernel thus laid bare is experience. Its taste is bitter, but it -yields an acrid flavour that invigorates,--to use an old-fashioned -simile. Rousseau says that the aspect of nature is a universal -consolation. Sometimes I seek again my groves of Clarens lost in the fog -to the north of Paris, but now, all is changed! Hermenonville, the spot -where the ancient idyl blossomed again, transplanted by Gessner, thy -star has set, the star that glowed for me with two-fold lustre. Blue and -rose by turns, like the changeful Aldebaran, it was formed by Adrienne -and Sylvie, the two halves of my love. One was the sublime ideal, the -other, the sweet reality. What are thy groves and lakes and thy desert -to me now? Othys, Montagny, Loiseaux, poor neighbouring hamlets, and -Chaâlis now to be restored, you guard for me no treasures of the past. -Occasionally, I feel a desire to return to those scenes of lonely -musing, where I sadly mark the fleeting traces of a period when -affectation invaded nature; sometimes I smile as I read upon the granite -rocks certain lines from Boucher, which I once thought sublime, or -virtuous maxims inscribed above a fountain or a grotto dedicated to Pan. -The swans disdain the stagnant waters of the little lakes excavated at -such an expense. The time is no more when the hunt of Condé swept by -with its proud riders, and the forest-echoes rang with answering horns! -There is to-day no direct route to Hermenonville, and sometimes I go by -Creil and Senlis, sometimes by Dammartin. - -It is impossible to reach Dammartin before night, so I lodge at the -Image of Saint John. They usually give me a neat room hung with old -tapestry, with a glass between the windows. This room shows a return to -the fashion for bric-à-brac which I renounced long ago. I sleep -comfortably under the eider-down covering used there. In the morning, -when I throw open the casement wreathed with vines and roses, I gaze -with rapture upon a wide green landscape stretching away to the -horizon, where a line of poplars stand like sentinels. Here and there -the villages nestle guarded by their protecting church-spires. First -Othys, then Eve and Ver; Hermenonville would be visible beyond the wood, -if it had a belfry, but in that philosophic spot the church has been -neglected. Having filled my lungs with the pure air of these uplands, I -go down stairs in good humour and start for the pastry-cook's. "Helloa, -big Curly-head!" "Helloa, little Parisian!" We greet each other with sly -punches in the ribs as we did in childhood, then I climb a certain stair -where two children welcome my coming. Sylvie's Athenian smile lights up -her classic features, and I say to myself: "Here, perhaps, is the -happiness I have missed, and yet...." - -Sometimes I call her Lotty, and she sees in me some resemblance to -Werther without the pistols, which are out of fashion now. While Big -Curly-head is busy with the breakfast, we take the children for a walk -through the avenues of limes that border the ruins of the old brick -towers of the castle. While the little ones practise with their bows and -arrows, we read some poem or a few pages from one of those old books all -too short, and long forgotten by the world. - -I forgot to say that when Aurélie's troupe gave a performance at -Dammartin, I took Sylvie to the play and asked her if she did not think -the actress resembled someone she knew. - -"Whom, pray?" - -"Do you remember Adrienne?" - -She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!" - -Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she -died at the convent of Saint S---- about 1832." - - - - -APPENDIX. - -'_EL DESDICHADO._' - -_Gérard DE NERVAL._ - -_I am that dark, that disinherited._ -_That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,_ - _The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;_ -_A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!_ -_Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,_ - _Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,_ - _Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,_ -_The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain._ - -_Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been_ -_Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen_ - _Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,_ -_And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,_ -_And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,_ - _Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!_ - -(ANDREW LANG.) - - -TO ALEXANDER DUMAS. - - When it was currently reported that Gérard de Nerval had become - insane, Alexander Dumas, who was then publishing that amusing - journal _Le Mousquetaire,_ endeavored to explain and interpret the - poet's peculiar form of mental alienation. Gérard, who presently - came to himself, as was his wont, took note of the study, and in - return dedicated to Dumas his _Filles du Feu_, thus acknowledging - the obligation conferred by the great novelist in inditing the - epitaph of the poet's "lost wits." - - This dedication, now done into English for the first time, is - interesting and important, as embodying the author's own - interpretation of his singular mental constitution. He confesses - that he is unable to compose without incarnating himself in his - creations so thoroughly as to lose his own identity. In - illustration, he throws into the text the tragic history of a - mythical hero. It is easy to trace in this story of a nameless - prince, unable to prove his lofty origin, involved in a network of - misfortunes through the crafty machinations of the arch plotter La - Rancune (malice) and abandoned by his mistress, the beautiful - guiding Star of his destiny, allegorical allusions to the poet, the - heir of genius and of glory, unable to prove or justify his noble - birthright, his highest impulses misunderstood and trampled upon by - a heartless and vulgar world. - - LUCIE PAGE. - -I dedicate this book to you, my dear Master, as I dedicated _Lorely_ to -Jules Janin. I was indebted to him for the same service that I owe to -you. A few years ago, it was reported that I was dead, and he wrote my -biography. A few days ago, I was thought to have lost my reason, and you -honoured me by devoting some of your most graceful lines to the epitaph -of my intelligence. Such an inheritance of glory has fallen to me before -my time. How shall I venture, yet living, to deck my forehead with these -shining crowns? It becomes me to assume an air of modesty and beg the -public to accept, with suitable deductions, the eulogy bestowed upon my -ashes, or rather upon the lost wits contained in the bottle which, like -Astolpho, I have been to seek in the moon, and which, I trust, I have -now restored to their normal place in the seat of thought. - -Being, therefore, no longer mounted upon the hippogriff, and having, in -the popular conception, recovered what is vulgarly termed reason,--let -us proceed to the exercise of that faculty. - -Here is a fragment of what you wrote concerning me, the tenth of last -December: - -"As you can readily perceive, he possesses a subtle and highly -cultivated intellect, in which is manifested from time to time a -singular phenomenon which, fortunately, let us hope, has no serious -import to himself or his friends. At intervals, when preoccupied by -literary toil, imagination goaded to frenzy masters reason and drives it -from the brain; then, like an opium-smoker of Cairo, or a hashish-eater -of Algiers, Gérard finds again the talismans that evoke spirits. Now he -is King Solomon waiting for the Queen of Sheba; then by turns Sultan of -the Crimea, Count of Abyssinia, Duke of Egypt, or Baron of Smyrna. Next -day, he declares himself mad and relates the whole series of events from -which his madness sprung, with such a joyous abandon, such an ingenious -fertility of resource that one is ready to part with his wits in order -to follow such a fascinating guide through the desert of dreams and -hallucinations, sprinkled with oases fresher and greener than any which -dot the route from Alexandria to Ammon. Finally, melancholy becomes his -muse of inspiration, and now, restrain your tears if you can, for never -did Werther, René, or Antony pour forth sobs and complaints more tender -and pathetic!" - -I shall now endeavour to explain to you, my dear Dumas, the phenomenon -which you mention above. There are, as you well know, certain writers -who cannot invent without identifying themselves with the creations of -their imagination. You remember with what conviction our old friend -Nodier related how he had the misfortune to be guillotined in the -Revolution. The narrative was so convincing that we wondered -instinctively how he had contrived to fasten his head on again. - -Understand, therefore, that the ardour of production may conduce to a -like result, that the author incarnates himself, as it were, in the hero -of his imagination so completely that he loses himself and burns with -the imaginary flames of this hero's love and ambition! This was -precisely the effect produced upon me in narrating the history of a -personage who figured under the title of Brisacier, about the time of -Louis XV, I believe. Where did I read the fatal biography of this -adventurer? I have found again that of the Abbé of Bucquoy, but I cannot -recall the slightest historical proof of the existence of this -illustrious unknown. What for you, dear Master, would have been but a -pastime,--you, who have with clever artifices so bewildered our minds -concerning the old chronicles, that posterity will never be able to -disentangle truth from fiction, and is certain to credit your invention -with all the characters from history that figure in your romances--this -became for me a veritable obsession. To invent, is in reality only to -recollect, says a certain moralist. Finding no proofs of the material -existence of my hero, I suddenly came to believe in the transmigration -of souls, not less firmly than Pythagoras or Peter Leroux. Even the -eighteenth century, in which I believed myself to have lived, was full -of these illusions. Do you remember that courtier who recalled -distinctly that he was once a sofa? Whereupon Schahabaham exclaimed with -enthusiasm, "What, you were once a sofa! why, that is delightful!--Tell -me, were you embroidered?" - -As for me, I was embroidered at every seam. From the moment when I first -grasped the continuity of all my previous existences, I figured as -readily in one character as another, prince, king, mage, genie, or even -god; could I unite my memories in one masterpiece, it would represent -the Dream of Scipio, the Vision of Tasso or the Divine Comedy of Dante. -Renouncing, henceforth, all pretensions to inspiration or illumination, -I can offer only what you so justly call impracticable theories, an -impossible book, whose first chapter, subjoined below, seems but to -furnish the context of the Comic Romance of Scarron.... Read and judge -for yourself: - - -A TRAGIC ROMANCE. - -Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and -alas! still trusting in that beautiful _star_ of comedy, which, for one -brief instant, deigned to call me her _destiny_ The Star and its -Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet -Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two -characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven -pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other -new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that -gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and -equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some -miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant -lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince -in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better -treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an -enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by -the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to -hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son -of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and -well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old -intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch -set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of -my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But -in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a -puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small -clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord -were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he -insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a _contraband -prince_, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, -fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has -abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This -precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with -the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself -the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to -witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon -the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall -upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have -here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at -sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but -as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience. - -Do you remember how I used to play Achilles, when in passing through -some third or fourth-rate town, the whim would seize us to re-establish -the neglected cult of the old French tragedians? Was I not noble and -puissant in the gilded helmet with streaming locks of purple blackness, -the glittering armor and azure cloak? What a spectacle to see a father -as weak and cowardly as Agamemnon contend with the priest Calchas for -the honour of immolating such a victim as poor, weeping Iphigenia! I -rushed like a thunderbolt into the midst of the forced and cruel action; -I restored hope to the mothers and reawakened courage in the daughters, -always sacrificed from a sense of duty, to stay the anger of a god, -allay the vengeance of a nation, or advance the interests of a family. -For it is easy to recognize here the eternal type of human marriage. The -father will forevermore deliver up his daughter through ambition, and -the mother will sell her through cupidity; but the lover is not always -the worthy Achilles, so gallant and terrible, albeit a trifle too -rhetorical for a man of war! - -As for me, I often rebelled against declaiming long tirades in defense -of a course so evidently just, in the face of an audience so easily -convinced that I was in the right. I was tempted to stab the whole -idiotic court of the king of kings, with its sleepy rows of -super-numeraries, and so put an end to the piece. The public would have -been delighted, but on second thoughts would have found the play too -short, considering that time sufficient to witness the sufferings of a -princess, a lover and a queen, was its rightful due; a period long -enough to see them weep, rage and pour forth a torrent of poetic -invective against the established authority of priest and king. That was -well worth five acts and two hours of close attention, and the audience -would not content itself with less. It desires the humiliation of this -proud race seated upon the throne of Greece, before whom Achilles -himself dares to thunder but in words; it must sound all the depths of -misery hidden beneath this royal purple whose majesty seems so -irresistible. The tears which fall from the most glorious eyes in the -world upon the swelling bosom of Iphigenia, excite the crowd no less -than her beauty, her grace and the splendour of her royal robes. Listen -to the sweet voice that pleads for life with the touching reminder that, -as yet, she stands but upon its threshold. Who does not favour her -lover? Who could wish to see her slain? Great gods, what heart so hard! -None, surely!... On the contrary, the whole audience has already -decided that she must die for the general good rather than live for one -individual. Achilles seems to all too grand, too superb! Shall Iphigenia -be borne away by this Thessalian vulture, as, not long ago, the daughter -of Leda was stolen by a shepherd prince from the voluptuous shores of -Asia? This is the question of paramount importance to the Greeks and to -the audience as well, which takes our measure when we act the part of -hero. I felt myself as much an object of hatred to the men as of -admiration to the women when I thus played the part of victorious lover, -because it was no indifferent actress, taught to listlessly drone those -immortal verses, that I was defending, but a true Greek maiden, a pearl -of grace, purity and love, worthy, indeed, to be rescued by all human -efforts from the hands of the jealous gods. Not Iphigenia alone, she was -Junia, Berenice, all the heroines rendered illustrious by the fair blue -eyes of Mlle. de Champmeslé, or the charming graces of the noble maidens -of Saint Cyr. Poor Aurélie! My comrade and my sister, wilt thou never -regret those hours of triumph and rapture? Didst thou not love me for an -instant, cold star, when I fought and wept and suffered for thee? The -audience questioned nightly: "Who, pray, is this actress, so far beyond -all that we have ever applauded? Are we not mistaken? Is she really as -young, as dazzling, and as pure as she seems?" The young women envied, -criticised or admired sadly. As for me, I needed to see her constantly, -so as not to feel overpowered by her beauty and to be able to meet her -eyes whenever the exigencies of the plot demanded.... - -This is why Achilles was my triumph, although I was often embarrassed in -other parts. What a pity that I could not change the situations to suit -me, and sacrifice even the thoughts of genius to my love and respect! -The character of a timid and captive lover like Britannicus or Bajazet, -did not please me. The purple of the young Caesar attracted me more; but -what a misfortune to declaim in conclusion only cold and perfidious -speeches! What! Was this young Nero, the idol of Rome, the handsome -athlete, the dancer, the poet whose only wish was to please the -populace? Is this what history and the conceptions of our poets have -left of him? Ah! give me his fury to interpret; his power I would fear -to accept. Nero! I have comprehended thee, not alas! according to -Racine, but according to my own heart, torn with agony whenever I have -ventured to impersonate thee! Yes, thou wast a god, thou who wouldst -have burned Rome. Thou wast right, perhaps, since Rome had insulted -thee!... - -A hiss, a miserable hiss, in her presence, and because of her! A hiss of -scorn which she attributes to herself--through my mistake, be it -understood! Alas! my friends, for an instant, I felt an impulse to show -myself truly great, immortal, upon the stage of your theatre. Instead of -replying to the insult by another, which brought upon me the assault -from which I still suffer, instead of provoking a vulgar audience to -rush upon the scene and cowardly beat and belabour me, I held for a -moment a sublime purpose, worthy of Caesar himself, a purpose which none -could hesitate to pronounce in harmony with the dramatic conceptions of -the great Racine himself! I thought to set fire to the theatre, and -while the audience perished in the flames, bear away Aurélie in my arms, -her disheveled tresses streaming over her disordered dress. O remorse -that fills my feverish nights and days of agony! What! I might have done -this and I refrained! What! Do ye still insult me, ye, who owe your -lives to pity, rather than any fear on my part? I might have burned them -all! Judge for yourselves: the theatre of P---- has but one exit; ours -opened upon a little street in the rear, but the green-room, where you -were all assembled, is on the other side of the stage. In order to set -fire to the curtain, I had only to snatch down one of the lamps; I ran -no risk of detection, for the manager could not see me and I was alone -listening to the insipid dialogue between Britannicus and Junia, waiting -for my cue to reappear; all through that scene I was struggling with -myself, and when I entered upon the stage I was turning and twisting in -my fingers a glove that I had picked up; I expected to avenge myself -more nobly than Caesar himself of an insult that I had felt with all the -heart of a Caesar.... Ah, well! the cowards dared not begin again; my -glance confounded them, and I was on the point of pardoning the -audience, if not Junia herself, when she dared.... Immortal gods!... -Hold, let me speak my mind! ... Yes, since that night, it is my delusion -to imagine myself a Roman, an emperor; I have identified myself with my -part, and the tunic of Nero clings to my burning limbs as that of the -centaur to the dying Hercules. Let us jest no more with sacred things, -not even those of an age and nation long since past, lest perchance some -tongue of flame yet quiver in the ashes of the gods of Rome!... - -Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of -measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal -chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The -audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; -those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to -my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, -well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, -who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my -conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved -for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... -However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another -for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far -removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome -without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, -Britannicus. - -Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou -hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we -two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, -strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the -choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my -dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit -thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the -prize lost only for me. - -The letter which I have just received from La Caverne reassures me fully -on that point. She advises me to renounce an art for which I have no -capacity and which is incompatible with my necessities. The jest, in -sooth, is bitter, for never did I stand in greater need, if not of my -art, at least of its swift returns. This is just the point that you do -not understand. You consider that you have acquitted yourself of all -obligations toward me in recommending me to the authorities of Soissons -as a distinguished personage, whom his family cannot abandon, but whose -violent illness has forced you to leave him behind in your journey. Your -tool, La Rancune, presented himself at the town hall and the inn with -all the airs of a Spanish grandee forced by unpleasant circumstances to -spend a couple of nights in such a disagreeable place; the rest of you -obliged to leave P---- the day after my disaster, had, as I conceive, no -reason to allow yourselves to pass merely for disreputable players: it -is quite enough to wear that mask in places where no other course is -possible. As for me, what can I say, how shall I extricate myself from -the infernal network of conspiracy in which I find myself caught and -held through the machinations of La Rancune? The famous couplet from -Corneille's "Menteur" assuredly aided him in his invention for the wit -of such a rascal as he never reached such a pitch. Think for a -moment.... But what can I tell you that you do not know already and have -not devised together to ruin me? Have not the white fingers of the -ingrate who is the cause of all my misfortunes, tangled inextricably all -the silken threads that she could weave about her poor victim?... What a -master-plot! Ah, well! I am a captive and I confess it; I yield and -implore mercy. You can take me back without fear now, and if the rapid -post-chaises that bore you swiftly over the Flanders' route, three -months ago, have already given place to the humble equipages of our -first adventures, deign at least to receive me in the quality of monster -or phenomenon, fit to draw the crowd, and I promise to acquit myself of -these duties in a manner calculated to appease the most exacting amateur -of the province.... Answer immediately and I will send a trusty -messenger to bring me the letter from the post, as I fear the curiosity -of mine host.... - - BRISACIER. - - -How dispose now of this hero deserted by his mistress and his -companions? Is he, in truth, only a strolling player, rightly punished -for insulting the public, for indulging in his mad jealousy and alleging -ridiculous claims? How can he prove that he is the legitimate son of the -Khan of the Crimea, according to the crafty recital of La Rancune? How, -from the depths of misery where he is plunged, can he rise to the -highest destiny? These are points which would, doubtless, trouble you -but little, but which have thrown my mind into a strange disorder. Once -persuaded that I was writing my own history, I was touched by this love -for a fugitive star which deserted me in the dark night of my destiny; I -have wept and shuddered over these visions. Then a ray divine illumined -my _inferno_; surrounded by dim and monstrous shapes of horror against -which I struggled blindly, I seized at last the magic clue, the thread -of Ariadne, and since then all my visions have become celestial. One -day, I shall write the history of this "Descent to Hades," and you will -see that it has not been entirely devoid of reason, if it has always -been wanting in fact. And, since you have been so rash as to cite one of -my sonnets composed in this state of supernatural trance, as the Germans -call it, you must hear the rest. You will find them among my poems. They -are little more obscure than the metaphysics of Hegel or the Visions of -Swedenborg, and would lose their charm with any attempt at explanation, -were that possible;--probably my last illusion will be that of thinking -myself a poet; criticism must dispel it. - -1854. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - -***** This file should be named 40492-8.txt or 40492-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40492/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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diff --git a/40492.txt b/40492.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cf6e994..0000000 --- a/40492.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2378 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gerard de Nerval - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - -Author: Gerard de Nerval - -Commentator: Andrew Lang - -Translator: Lucie Page - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40492] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - - - - -SYLVIE: - -SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS - -TRANSLATED FROM - -GERARD DE NERVAL - -BY - -LUCIE PAGE - -Portland, Maine - -THOMAS B. MOSHER - -1896 - - * * * * * - - -GERARD DE NERVAL. - - - Of all that were thy prisons--ah, untamed, - Ah, light and sacred soul!--none holds thee now; - No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou - Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, - Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, - Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough - The Sybil doth to singing men allow, - Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed. - - And they would smile and wonder, seeing where - Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, - Dreamily murmuring a ballad air, - Caught from the Valois peasants, dost thou find - A new life gladder than the old times were, - A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind? - - ANDREW LANG. - - - * * * * * - - -CONTENTS - - SYLVIE ET AURELIE.--ANDREW LANG - GERARD DE NERVAL - - SYLVIE: - - I A WASTED NIGHT - II ADRIENNE - III RESOLVE - IV A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA - V THE VILLAGE - VI OTHYS - VII CHAALIS - VIII THE BALL AT LOISY - IX HERMENONVILLE - X BIG CURLY-HEAD - XI RETURN - XII FATHER DODU - XIII AURELIE - XIV THE LAST LEAF - - APPENDIX - - - - -_SYLVIE ET AURELIE._ - -_IN MEMORY OF GERARD DE NERVAL._ - - _Two loves there were, and one was born_ - _Between the sunset and the rain;_ - _Her singing voice went through the corn,_ - _Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,_ - _On grass the fallen blossoms stain;_ - _And suns may set and moons may wane,_ - _But this love comes no more again._ - - _There were two loves, and one made white_ - _Thy singing lips and golden hair;_ - _Born of the city's mire and light,_ - _The shame and splendour of the night,_ - _She trapped and fled thee unaware;_ - _Not through the lamplight and the rain_ - _Shalt thou behold this love again._ - - _Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,_ - _Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;_ - _There comes no voice from mere or rill,_ - _Her dance is over, fallen still_ - _The ballad burdens that she knew:_ - _And thou must wait for her in vain,_ - _Till years bring back thy youth again._ - - - _That other love, afield, afar_ - _Fled the light love, with lighter feet._ - _Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,_ - _And flit in dreams from star to star,_ - _That dead love thou shalt never meet,_ - _Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain_ - _Thy soul shall find her soul again._ - - ANDREW LANG. - - - -Gerard DE NERVAL - - Il a toujours cherche dans le monde - ce que le monde ne pouvait plus lui - donner. - - LUDOVIC HALEVY. - - He has been a sick man all his life. - He was always a seeker after something - in the world that is there in no - satisfying measure, or not at all. - - WALTER PATER. - - - -GERARD DE NERVAL. - - -I. - - -Of Gerard de Nerval, whose true name was Gerard Labrunie, it has been -finely said: "His was the most beautiful of all the lost souls of the -French Romance."(*) Born in 1808, he came to his death by suicide one -dark winter night towards the end of January. - -The story of this life and its tragic finale was well known at the time -to all men of letters,--Theophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Arsene -Houssaye,--friends who never forgot the young poet even after he went -the way that madness lies. For it was insanity,--a nostalgia of the soul -always imminent--that led him into the squalid _Rue de la -Vieille-Lanterne_, in which long forgotten corner of old Paris his dead -body was found one bleak belated dawn. And this was forty years ago. - -In later days Maxime du Camp and Ludovic Halevy have retold with great -feeling the history of Gerard, his early triumphs, his love for Jenny -Colon,--the Aurelie of these _Souvenirs du Valois_,--and how at last -life's scurrile play was ended. - -(*) See _A Century of French Verse_, translated and edited by -William John Robertson (4to, London, 1895). - - -II. - - -One of Mr. Andrew Lang's most genuine appreciations occurs in an epistle -addressed to Miss Girton, Cambridge; where, for the benefit of that -mythical young person, he translates a few passages out of _Sylvie_, and -favours us with a specimen of Gerard's verse. - -"I translated these fragments," he tells her, "long ago in one of the -first things I ever tried to write. The passages are as touching and -fresh, the originals, I mean, as when first I read them, and one hears -the voice of Sylvie singing: - - _'A Dammartin, l'y a trois belles filles,_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour.'_ - -So Sylvie married a confectioner, and, like Marion in the 'Ballad of -Forty Years,' 'Adrienne's dead' in a convent. That is all the story, all -the idyl." - -And just before this he has said of Gerard: "What he will live by, is -his story of Sylvie; it is one of the little masterpieces of the world. -It has a Greek perfection. One reads it, and however old one is, youth -comes back, and April, and a thousand pleasant sounds of birds in -hedges, of wind in the boughs, of brooks trotting merrily under the -rustic bridges. And this fresh nature is peopled by girls eternally -young, natural, gay, or pensive, standing with eager feet on the -threshold of their life, innocent, expectant, with the old ballads of -old France upon their lips. For the story is full of these artless, -lisping numbers of the popular French muse, the ancient ballads that -Gerard collected and put into the mouth of Sylvie, the pretty -peasant-girl." - -One more quotation from Mr. Lang, and we are done. Sylvie and Gerard -have met, and they go on a visit to her aunt, who, while she prepares -dinner, sends Gerard for her niece, who had "gone to ransack the peasant -treasures in the garret." "Two portraits were hanging there--one, that -of a young man of the good old times, smiling with red lips and brown -eyes, a pastel in an oval frame. Another medallion held the portrait of -his wife, gay, _piquante_, in a bodice with ribbons fluttering, and with -a bird perched on her finger. It was the old aunt in her youth, and -further search discovered her ancient festal-gown, of stiff brocade, -Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour; patches were found in a box of -tarnished gold, a fan, a necklace of amber." - -This is the charming moment chosen by M. Andhre des Gachons as the -subject of his _aquarelle_, reproduced in colour as frontispiece to the -present edition. - - -III. - - -In thus bringing out a fresh version of _Sylvie_, not to include the all -too few illusive lyrics "done into English" by Mr. Lang, his exquisite -sonnet on Gerard, and the lovely lines upon "Sylvie et Aurelie," were a -deplorable omission. The sonnet exists in an earlier form; preferably, -the later version is here given. - -Of De Nerval's prose little has yet found its way to us. His poetry is -fully as inaccessible. Things of such iridescent hue are possibly beyond -the art of translation. They are written in an unknown tongue; say, -rather, in the language of Dreamland, "vaporous, unaccountable";--a -world of crepuscular dawns, as of light irradiated from submerged sea -caverns,--"the mermaid's haunt" beheld of him alone. - - -IV. - - -With what _adieux_ shall we now take leave of our little pearl of a -story? And of him who gave us this exquisite creation of heart and brain -what words remain to say? - -Thou, Sylvie, art an unfading flower of virginal, soft Spring, and -faint, elusive skies. For _thee_ Earth's old sweet nights have shed -their tenderest dews, and in thy lovely Valois land thou canst not fade -or die. - -Thy lover, child, fared forth beneath an alien star. For _him_ there was -no true country, here;--no return to thy happy-hearted love: the desert -sands long since effaced the valley track. Only the far distant -lying,--the abyss that calls and is never dumb, urged his onward steps. -And these things, and this divine homesickness led him, pale nympholept, -beyond Earth's human shores. Thither to thee, rapt Soul, shall all -bright dreams of day, all lonely visions of the night, converge at -last. - - - - -SYLVIE: - -(SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS.) - - -_AN OLD TUNE._ - -_GERARD DE NERVAL._ - - _There is an air for which I would disown_ - _Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,--_ - _A sweet, sad air that languishes and sighs,_ - _And keeps its secret charm for me alone._ - - _Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,_ - _Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;_ - _The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold_ - _A green land golden in the dying day._ - - _An old red castle, strong with stony towers,_ - _The windows gay with many coloured glass;_ - _Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,_ - _That bathe the castle basement as they pass._ - - _In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,_ - _A lady looks forth from her window high;_ - _It may be that I knew and found her fair,_ - _In some forgotten life, long time gone by._ - - (ANDREW LANG.) - - - - -SYLVIE - -(RECOLLECTIONS OF VALOIS.) - - - - -I. - -A WASTED NIGHT. - - -I passed out of a theatre where I was wont to appear nightly, in the -proscenium boxes, in the attitude of suitor. Sometimes it was full, -sometimes nearly empty; it mattered little to me, whether a handful of -listless spectators occupied the pit, while antiquated costumes formed a -doubtful setting for the boxes, or whether I made one of an audience -swayed by emotion, crowned at every tier with flower-decked robes, -flashing gems and radiant faces. The spectacle of the house left me -indifferent, that of the stage could not fix my attention until at the -second or third scene of a dull masterpiece of the period, a familiar -vision illumined the vacancy, and by a word and a breath, gave life to -the shadowy forms around me. - -I felt that my life was linked with hers; her smile filled me with -immeasurable bliss; the tones of her voice, so sweet and sonorous, -thrilled me with love and joy. My ardent fancy endowed her with every -perfection until she seemed to respond to all my raptures--beautiful as -day in the blaze of the footlights, pale as night when their glare was -lowered and rays from the chandelier above revealed her, lighting up the -gloom with the radiance of her beauty, like those divine Hours with -starry brows, which stand out against the dark background of the -frescoes of Herculaneum. - -For a whole year I had not sought to know what she might be, in the -world outside, fearing to dim the magic mirror which reflected to me her -image. Some idle gossip, it is true, touching the woman, rather than the -actress, had reached my ears, but I heeded it less than any floating -rumours concerning the Princess of Elis or the Queen of Trebizonde, for -I was on my guard. An uncle of mine whose manner of life during the -period preceding the close of the eighteenth century, had given him -occasion to know them well, had warned me that actresses were not women, -since nature had forgotten to give them hearts. He referred, no doubt, -to those of his own day, but he related so many stories of his illusions -and disappointments, and displayed so many portraits upon ivory, -charming medallions which he afterwards used to adorn his snuff-boxes, -so many yellow love-letters and faded tokens, each with its peculiar -history, that I had come to think ill of them as a class, without -considering the march of time. - -We were living then in a strange period, such as often follows a -revolution, or the decline of a great reign. The heroic gallantry of the -Fronde, the drawing-room vice of the Regency, the scepticism and mad -orgies of the Directory, were no more. It was a time of mingled -activity, indecision and idleness, bright utopian dreams, philosophic or -religious aspirations, vague ardour, dim instincts of rebirth, weariness -of past discords, uncertain hopes,--an age somewhat like that of -Peregrinus and Apuleius. The material man yearned for the roses which -should regenerate him, from the hands of the fair Isis; the goddess -appeared to us by night, in her eternal youth and purity, inspiring in -us remorse for the hours wasted by day; and yet, ambition suited not our -years, while the greedy strife, the mad chase in pursuit of honour and -position, held us aloof from every possible sphere of activity. Our only -refuge was the ivory tower of the poets whither we climbed higher and -higher to escape the crowd. Upon the heights to which our masters guided -us, we breathed at last the pure air of solitude, we quaffed oblivion in -the golden cup of fable, we were drunk with poetry and love. Love, alas! -of airy forms, of rose and azure tints, of metaphysical phantoms. Seen -nearer, the real woman repelled our ingenuous youth which required her -to appear as a queen or a goddess, and above all, inapproachable. - -Some of our number held these platonic paradoxes in light esteem, and -athwart our mystic reveries brandished at times the torch of the deities -of the underworld, that names through the darkness for an instant with -its train of sparks. Thus it chanced that on quitting the theatre with -the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanished dream, I turned with -pleasure to a club where a party of us used to sup, and where all -depression yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant -wits, whose stormy gaiety at times rose to sublimity. Periods of renewal -or decadence always produce such natures, and our discussions often -became so animated that timid ones in the company would glance from the -window to see if the Huns, the Turkomans or the Cossacks were not coming -to put an end to these disputations of sophists and rhetoricians. "Let -us drink, let us love, this is wisdom!" was the code of the younger -members. One of them said to me: "I have noticed for some time that I -always meet you in the same theatre. For which one do you go?" Which! -why, it seemed impossible to go there for another! However, I confessed -the name. "Well," said my friend kindly, "yonder is the happy man who -has just accompanied her home, and who, in accordance with the rules of -our club, will not perhaps seek her again till night is over." - -With slight emotion I turned toward the person designated, and perceived -a young man, well dressed, with a pale, restless face, good manners, and -eyes full of gentle melancholy. He flung a gold piece on the card-table -and lost it with indifference. "What is it to me?" said I, "he or -another?" There must be someone, and he seemed worthy of her choice. -"And you?" "I? I chase a phantom, that is all." - -On my way out, I passed through the reading-room and glanced carelessly -at a newspaper, to learn, I believe, the state of the stock market. In -the wreck of my fortunes, there chanced to be a large investment in -foreign securities, and it was reported that, although long disowned, -they were about to be acknowledged;--and, indeed, this had just -happened in consequence of a change in the ministry. The bonds were -quoted high, so I was rich again. - -A single thought was occasioned by this sudden change of fortune, that -the woman whom I had loved so long, was mine, if I wished. My ideal was -within my grasp, or was it only one more disappointment, a mocking -misprint? No, for the other papers gave the same figures, while the sum -which I had gained rose before me like the golden statue of Moloch. - -"What," thought I, "would that young man say, if I were to take his -place by the woman whom he has left alone?" - -I shrunk from the thought, and my pride revolted. Not thus, not at my -age, dare I slay love with gold! I will not play the tempter! Besides, -such an idea belongs to the past. Who can tell me that this woman may be -bought? My eyes glanced idly over the journal in my hand, and I noticed -two lines: "_Provincial Bouquet Festival_. To-morrow the archers of -Senlis will present the bouquet to the archers of Loisy." These simple -words aroused in me an entirely new train of thought, stirring -long-forgotten memories of provincial days, faint echoes of the artless -joys of youth. - -The horn and the drum were resounding afar in hamlet and forest; the -young maidens were twining garlands as they sang, and binding nosegays -with ribbon. A heavy wagon, drawn by oxen, received their offerings as -it passed, and we, the children of that region, formed the escort with -our bows and arrows, assuming the proud title of knights,--we did not -know that we were only preserving, from age to age, an ancient feast of -the Druids that had survived later religions and monarchies. - - - - -II. - -ADRIENNE. - - -I sought my bed, but not to sleep, and, lost in a half-conscious revery, -all my youth passed before me. How often, in the border-land of dreams, -while yet the mind repels their encroaching fancies, we are enabled to -review in a few moments, the important events of a lifetime! - -I saw a castle of the time of Henry IV., with its slate-covered turrets, -its reddish front, jutting corners of yellow stone, and a stretch of -green bordered by elms and lime-trees, through whose foliage, the -setting sun shot its last fiery rays. Young girls were dancing in a ring -on the lawn, singing quaint old tunes caught from their mothers, in a -French whose native purity bespoke the old country of Valois, where for -more than a thousand years had throbbed the heart of France. I was the -only boy in the circle where I had led my young companion, Sylvie, a -little maid from the neighboring hamlet, so fresh and animated, with -her black eyes, regular features and slightly sun-burned skin. I loved -but her, I had eyes but for her--till then! I had scarcely noticed in -our round, a tall, beautiful blonde, called Adrienne, when suddenly, in -following the figures of the dance, she was left alone with me, in the -centre of the ring; we were of the same height, and they bade me kiss -her, while the dance and song went whirling on, more merrily than -before. When I kissed her, I could not forbear pressing her hand; her -golden curls touched my cheek, and from that moment, a new feeling -possessed me. - -The fair girl must sing a song to reclaim her place in the dance, and we -seated ourselves about her. In a sweet, penetrating voice, somewhat -husky, as is common in that country of mists and fogs, she sang one of -those old ballads full of love and sorrow, which always carry the story -of an imprisoned princess, shut in a tower by her father, as a -punishment for loving. At the end of every stanza, the melody died away -in those quavering trills which enable young voices to simulate so well -the tremulous notes of old women. - -While she sang, the shadows of the great trees lengthened and the light -of the young moon fell full upon her, as she stood apart from the rapt -circle. The lawn was covered with rising clouds of mist that trailed its -white wreaths over every blade of grass. We thought ourselves in -Paradise. The song ended and no one dared break the stillness--at last I -rose and ran to the gardens where some laurels were growing in large -porcelain vases painted in monochrome. I plucked two branches which were -twined into a crown, bound with ribbon, and I placed it upon Adrienne's -brow, where its glossy leaves gleamed above her fair locks in the pale -moonlight. She looked liked Dante's Beatrice, smiling at the poet as he -strayed on the confines of the Blest Abodes. - -Adrienne rose and, drawing up her slender figure, bowed to us gracefully -and ran back to the castle; they said she was the child of a race allied -to the ancient kings of France, that the blood of the Valois princes -flowed in her veins. Upon this festal day, she had been permitted to -join in our sports, but we were not to see her again, for on the morrow -she would return to the convent of which she was an inmate. - -When I rejoined Sylvie, I found her weeping because of the crown I had -given to the fair singer. I offered to make another for her, but she -would not consent, saying she did not merit it. I vainly tried to -vindicate myself, but she refused to speak as we went the homeward way. - -Paris soon recalled me to resume my studies, and I bore with me the -two-fold memory of a tender friendship sadly broken, and of a love -uncertain and impossible, the source of painful musings which my college -philosophy was powerless to dispel. - -Adrienne's face alone haunted me, a vision of glory and beauty, -sweetening and sharing the hours of arduous study. - -In the vacation of the following year, I learned that this lovely girl, -who had but flitted past me, was destined by her family to a religious -life. - - - - -III. - -RESOLVE. - - -These memories, recalled in my dreamy revery, explained everything. This -hopeless passion for an actress, which took possession of me nightly -from the hour when the curtain rose until I fell asleep, was born of my -remembrance of Adrienne, the pale moon-flower, as she glided over the -green, a rose-tinted vision enveloped in a cloud of misty whiteness. The -likeness of a face long years forgotten was now distinctly outlined; it -was a pencil-sketch, which time had blurred, developed into a painting, -like the first drafts of the old masters which delight us in a gallery, -the completed masterpiece being found elsewhere. - -To fall in love with a nun in the guise of an actress!... suppose they -were one and the same!--it is enough to drive one mad, a fatal mystery, -drawing me on like a will o' the wisp flitting over the rushes of a -stagnant pool. Let us keep a firm foothold on reality. - -Sylvie, too, whom I loved so dearly, why had I forgotten her for three -long years? She was a charming girl, the prettiest maiden in Loisy; -surely she still lives, pure and good. I can see her window, with the -creeper twining around the rose-bush, and the cage of linnets hanging on -the left; I can hear the click of her bobbins and her favourite song: - - _La belle etait assise_ - _Pres du ruisseau coulant...._ - - The maiden was sitting - Beside the swift stream. - -She is still waiting for me. Who would wed her, so poor? The men of her -native village are sturdy peasants with rough hands and gaunt, tanned -faces. I, the "little Parisian," had won her heart in my frequent visits -near Loisy, to my poor uncle, now dead. For the past three years I have -been squandering like a lord the modest inheritance left by him, which -might have sufficed for a lifetime, and Sylvie, I know, would have -helped me save it. Chance returns me a portion, it is not too late. - -What is she doing now? She must be asleep.... No, she is not asleep; -to-day is the Feast of the Bow, the only one in the year when the dance -goes on all night.... She is there. What time is it? I had no watch. - -Amongst a profusion of ornaments, which it was then the fashion to -collect, in order to restore the local colour of an old-time interior, -there gleamed with freshly polished lustre, one of those tortoise-shell -clocks of the Renaissance, whose gilded dome, surmounted by a figure of -Time, was supported by caryatides in the style of the Medici, resting in -their turn upon rearing steeds. The historic Diana, leaning upon her -stag, was in bas-relief under the face, where, upon an inlaid -background, enameled figures marked the hours. The works, no doubt -excellent, had not been put in motion for two centuries. It was not to -tell the hour that I bought this time-piece in Touraine. - -I went down to the porter's lodge to find that his clock marked one in -the morning. "In four hours I can be at Loisy," thought I. - -Five or six cabs were still standing on the Place du Palais Royal, -awaiting the gamblers and clubmen. "To Loisy," I said to the nearest -driver. "Where is it?" "Near Senlis, eight leagues distant." "I will -take you to the posting station," said the cabman, more alert than I. - -How dreary the Flanders road is by night! It gains beauty only as it -approaches the belt of the forest. Two monotonous rows of trees, taking -on the semblance of distorted figures, rise ever before the eye; in the -distance, patches of verdure and cultivated land, bounded on the left -by the blue hills of Montmorency, Ecouen and Luzarches. Here is Gonesse, -an ordinary little town, full of memories of the League and the Fronde. - -Beyond Louvres is a road lined with apple-trees, whose white blossoms I -have often seen unfolding in the night, like stars of the earth--it is -the shortest way to the village. While the carriage climbs the slope, -let me recall old memories of the days when I came here so often. - - - - -IV. - -A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA. - - -Several years had passed, and only a childish memory was left me of that -meeting with Adrienne in front of the castle. I was again at Loisy on -the annual feast, and again I mingled with the knights of the bow, -taking my place in the same company as of old. The festival had been -arranged by young people belonging to the old families, who still own -the solitary castles, despoiled rather by time than revolution, hidden -here and there in the forest. From Chantilly, Compiegne and Senlis, -joyous companies hastened to join the rustic train of archers. After the -long parade through hamlet and village, after mass in the church, -contests of skill and awarding of prizes, the victors were invited to a -feast prepared upon an island in the centre of one of the tiny lakes, -fed by the Nonette and the Theve. Boats, gay with flags, conveyed us to -this island, chosen on account of an old temple with pillars, destined -to serve as a banquet hall. Here, as in Hermenonville, the country side -is sown with these frail structures, designed by philosophical -millionaires, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the close of -the eighteenth century. Probably this temple was originally dedicated to -Urania. Three pillars had fallen, bearing with them a portion of the -architrave, but the space within had been cleared, and garlands hung -between the columns, quite rejuvenated this modern ruin, belonging -rather to the paganism of Boufflers and Chaulieu than of Horace. The -sail on the lake was perhaps designed to recall Watteau's "Voyage to -Cythera," the illusion being marred only by our modern dress. The -immense bouquet was borne from its wagon and placed in a boat, -accompanied by the usual escort of young girls dressed in white, and -this graceful pageant, the survival of an ancient custom, was mirrored -in the still waters that flowed around the island, gleaming in the red -sunlight with its hawthorn thickets and colonnades. - -All the boats soon arrived, and the basket of flowers borne in state, -adorned the centre of the table, around which we took our places, the -most fortunate beside a young girl; to win this favour it was enough to -know her relatives, which explains why I found myself by Sylvie, whose -brother had already joined me in the march, and reproached me for -neglecting to visit them. I excused myself by the plea that my studies -kept me in Paris, and averred that I had come with that intention. - -"No," said Sylvie, "I am sure he has forgotten me. We are only village -folk, and a Parisian is far above us." I tried to stop her mouth with a -kiss, but she still pouted, and her brother had to intercede before she -would offer me her cheek with an indifferent air. I took no pleasure in -this salute, a favour accorded to plenty of others, for in that -patriarchal country where a greeting is bestowed upon every passing -stranger, a kiss means only an exchange of courtesies between honest -people. - -To crown the enjoyment of the day, a surprise had been contrived, and, -at the close of the repast, a wild swan, hitherto imprisoned beneath the -flowers, soared into the air, bearing aloft on his powerful wings, a -tangle of wreaths and garlands, which were scattered in every direction. -While he darted joyously toward the last bright gleams of the sun, we -tried to seize the falling chaplets, to crown our fair neighbours. I was -so fortunate as to secure one of the finest, and Sylvie smilingly -granted me a kiss more tender than the last, by which I perceived that I -had now redeemed the memory of a former occasion. She had grown so -beautiful that my present admiration was without reserve, and I no -longer recognised in her the little village maid, whom I had slighted -for one more skilled in the graces of the world. Sylvie had gained in -every respect; her black eyes, seductive from childhood, had become -irresistibly fascinating, and there was something Athenian in her -arching brows, together with the sudden smile lighting up her quiet, -regular features. I admired this classic profile contrasting with the -mere prettiness of her companions. Her taper fingers, round, white arms -and slender waist changed her completely, and I could not refrain from -telling her of the transformation, hoping thus to hide my long -unfaithfulness. Everything favoured me, the delightful influences of the -feast, her brother's regard, the evening hour, and even the spot chosen -by a tasteful fancy to celebrate the stately rites of ancient gallantry. -We escaped from the dance as soon as possible, to compare recollections -of our childhood and to gaze, side by side, with dreamy pleasure, upon -the sunset sky reflected in the calm waters. Sylvie's brother had to -tear us from the contemplation of this peaceful scene by the unwelcome -summons that it was time to start for the distant village where she -dwelt. - - - - -V. - -THE VILLAGE. - - -They lived at Loisy, in the old keeper's lodge, whither I accompanied -them, and then turned back toward Montagny, where I was staying with my -uncle. Leaving the highway to cross a little wood that divides Loisy -from Saint S----, I plunged into a deep track skirting the forest of -Hermenonville. I thought it would lead me to the walls of a convent, -which I had to follow for a quarter of a league. The moon, from time to -time, concealed by clouds, shed a dim light upon the grey rocks, and the -heath which lay thick upon the ground as I advanced. Right and left -stretched a pathless forest, and before me rose the Druid altars -guarding the memory of the sons of Armen, slain by the Romans. From -these ancient piles I discerned the distant lakelets glistening like -mirrors in the misty plain, but I could not distinguish the one where -the feast was held. - -The air was so balmy, that I determined to lie down upon the heath and -wait for the dawn. When I awoke, I recognized, one by one, the -neighbouring landmarks. On the left stretched the long line of the -convent of Saint S----, then, on the opposite side of the valley, La -Butte aux Gens d'Armes, with the shattered ruins of the ancient -Carlovingian palace. Close by, beyond the tree-tops, the crumbling walls -of the lofty Abbey of Thiers, stood out against the horizon. Further on, -the manor of Pontarme, surrounded as in olden times, by a moat, began to -reflect the first fires of dawn, while on the south appeared the tall -keep of La Tournelle and the four towers of Bertrand Fosse, on the -slopes of Montmeliant. - -The night had passed pleasantly, and I was thinking only of Sylvie, but -the sight of the convent suggested the idea that it might be the one -where Adrienne lived. The sound of the morning bell was still ringing in -my ears and had probably awakened me. The thought came to me, for a -moment, that by climbing to the top of the cliff, I might take a peep -over the walls, but on reflection, I dismissed it as profane. The sun -with its rising beams, put to flight this idle memory, leaving only the -rosy features of Sylvie. "I will go and awaken her," I said to myself, -and again I started in the direction of Loisy. - -Ah, here at the end of the forest track, is the village, twenty cottages -whose walls are festooned with creepers and climbing roses. A group of -women, with red kerchiefs on their heads, are spinning in the early -light, in front of a farmhouse, but Sylvie is not among them. She is -almost a young lady, now she makes dainty lace, but her family remain -simple villagers. I ran up to her room without exciting surprise, to -find that she had been up for a long time, and was busily plying her -bobbins, which clicked cheerfully against the square green cushion on -her knees. "So, it is you, lazybones," she said with her divine smile; -"I am sure you are just out of bed." - -I told her how I had lost my way in the woods and had passed the night -in the open air, and for a moment she seemed inclined to pity me. - -"If you are not too tired, I will take you for another ramble. We will -go to see my grand-aunt at Othys." - -Before I had time to reply, she ran joyously to smooth her hair before -the mirror, and put on her rustic straw hat, her eyes sparkling with -innocent gaiety. - -Our way, at first, lay along the banks of the Theve, through meadows -sprinkled with daisies and buttercups; then we skirted the woods of -Saint Lawrence, sometimes crossing streams and thickets to shorten the -road. Blackbirds were whistling in the trees, and tomtits, startled at -our approach, flew joyously from the bushes. - -Now and then we spied beneath our feet the periwinkles which Rousseau -loved, putting forth their blue crowns amid long sprays of twin leaves, -a network of tendrils which arrested the light steps of my companion. -Indifferent to the memory of the philosopher of Geneva, she sought here -and there for fragrant strawberries, while I talked of the New Heloise, -and repeated passages from it, which I knew by heart. - -"Is it pretty?" she asked. - -"It is sublime." - -"Is it better than Auguste Lafontaine?" - -"It is more tender." - -"Well, then," said she, "I must read it. I will tell my brother to bring -it to me the next time he goes to Senlis." - -I went on reciting portions of the Heloise, while Sylvie picked -strawberries. - - - - -VI. - -OTHYS. - - -When we had left the forest, we found great tufts of purple foxglove, -and Sylvie gathered an armful, saying it was for her aunt who loved to -have flowers in her room. - -Only a stretch of level country now lay between us and Othys. The -village church-spire pointed heavenward against the blue hills that -extend from Montmeliant to Dammartin. The Theve again rippled over the -stones, narrowing towards its source, where it forms a tiny lake which -slumbers in the meadows, fringed with gladiolus and iris. We soon -reached the first houses where Sylvie's aunt lived in a little cottage -of rough stone, adorned with a trellis of hop-vine and Virginia creeper. -Her only support came from a few acres of land which the village folk -cultivated for her, now her husband was dead. The coming of her niece -set the house astir. - -"Good morning, aunt; here are your children!" cried Sylvie; "and we are -very hungry." She kissed her aunt tenderly, gave her the flowers, and -then turned to present me, saying, "He is my sweetheart." - -I, in turn, kissed the good aunt, who exclaimed, "He is a fine lad! why, -he has light hair!" "He has very pretty hair," said Sylvie. "That does -not last," returned her aunt; "but you have time enough before you, and -you are dark, so you are well matched." - -"You must give him some breakfast," said Sylvie, and she went peeping -into cupboards and pantry, finding milk, brown bread and sugar which she -hastily set upon the table, together with the plates and dishes of -crockery adorned with staring flowers and birds of brilliant plumage. A -large bowl of Creil china, filled with strawberries swimming in milk, -formed the centrepiece, and after she had raided the garden for cherries -and goose-berries, she arranged two vases of flowers, placing one at -each end of the white cloth. Just then, her aunt made a sensible speech: -"All this is only for dessert. Now, you must let me set to work." She -took down the frying-pan and threw a fagot upon the hearth. "No, no; I -shall not let you touch it," she said decidedly to Sylvie, who was -trying to help her. "Spoiling your pretty fingers that make finer lace -than Chantilly! You gave me some, and I know what lace is." - -"Oh, yes, aunt, and if you have some left, I can use it for a pattern." - -"Well, go look upstairs; there may be some in my chest of drawers." - -"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie. - -"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one -always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after -having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her -belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph. - -I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room -above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the -purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait -of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy -lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore -the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Conde; his somewhat martial -bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from -the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, -destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to -the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the -keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and -winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant -frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good -old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It -reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, -their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love -appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires. - -"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!" - -"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer -which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the -heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she -said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, -ever young," thought I. - -Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her -feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender -figure. - -"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills -displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the -corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little -the vanished charms of her aunt. - -"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" -She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some -powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the -drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of -light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans -slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an -amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white -slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them -on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings." - -A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with -green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of -the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said -Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was -just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of -bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the -staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired -herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread -out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of -the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, -arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she -exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was -the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside -her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after -the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the -stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the -old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal -board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended -the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these -couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of -Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer -morn. - - - - -VII - -CHAALIS. - - -It is four o'clock in the morning; the road winds through a hollow and -comes out on high ground; the carriage passes Orry, then La Chapelle. On -the left is a road that skirts the forest of Hallate. Sylvie's brother -took me through there one evening in his covered cart, to attend some -local gathering on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew, I believe. Through the -woods, along unfrequented ways, the little horse sped as if hastening to -a witches' sabbath. We struck the highway again at Mont-l'Eveque, and a -few moments later pulled up at the keeper's lodge of the old abbey of -Chaalis--Chaalis, another memory! - -This ancient retreat of the emperors offers nothing worthy of -admiration, save its ruined cloisters with their Byzantine arcades, the -last of which are still mirrored in the lake--crumbling fragments of the -abodes of piety, formerly attached to this demesne, known in olden -times as "Charlemagne's farms." In this quiet spot, far from the stir of -highways and cities, religion has retained distinctive traces of the -prolonged sojourn of the Cardinals of the House of Este during the time -of the Medici; a shade of poetic gallantry still lingers about its -ceremonial, a perfume of the Renaissance breathing beneath the -delicately moulded arches of the chapels decorated by Italian artists. -The faces of saints and angels outlined in rose tints upon a vaulted -roof of pale blue produce an effect of pagan allegory, which recalls the -sentimentality of Petrarch and the weird mysticism of Francesco Colonna. -Sylvie's brother and I were intruders in the festivities of the evening. -A person of noble birth, at that time proprietor of the demesne, had -invited the neighbouring families to witness a kind of allegorical -spectacle in which some of the inmates of the convent close by were to -take part. It was not intended to recall the tragedies of Saint Cyr, but -went back to the first lyric contests, introduced into France by the -Valois princes. What I saw enacted resembled an ancient mystery. The -costumes, consisting of long robes, presented no variety save in colour, -blue, hyacinth or gold. The scene lay between angels on the ruins of the -world. Each voice chanted one of the glories of the now extinct globe, -and the Angel of Death set forth the causes of its destruction. A spirit -rose from the abyss, holding a flaming sword, and convoked the others to -glorify the power of Christ, the conqueror of bell. This spirit was -Adrienne, transfigured by her costume as she was already by her -vocation. The nimbus of gilded cardboard encircling her angelic head -seemed to us a circle of light; her voice had gained in power and -compass, and an infinite variety of Italian trills relieved with their -bird-like warbling the stately severity of the recitative. - -In recalling these details, I come to the point of asking myself, "Are -they real or have I dreamed them?" Sylvie's brother was not quite sober -that evening. We spent a few minutes in the keeper's house, where I was -much impressed by a cygnet displayed above the door, and within there -were tall chests of carved walnut, a large clock in its case and some -archery prizes, bows and arrows, above a red and green target. A -droll-looking dwarf in a Chinese cap, holding a bottle in one hand and a -ring in the other, seemed to warn the marksmen to take good aim. I think -the dwarf was cut out of sheet-iron. Did I really see Adrienne as surely -as I marked these details? I am, however, certain that it was the son of -the keeper who conducted us to the hall where the representation took -place; we were seated near the door behind a numerous company who seemed -deeply moved. It was the feast of Saint Bartholomew--a day strangely -linked with memories of the Medici, whose arms, impaled with those of -the House of Este, adorned these old walls. Is it an obsession, the way -these memories haunt me? Fortunately the carriage stops here on the road -to Plessis; I leave the world of dreams and find myself with only a -fifteen-minutes walk to reach Loisy by forest paths. - - - - -VIII - -THE BALL AT LOISY. - - -I entered the ball of Loisy at that sad yet pleasing hour when the -lights flicker and grow dim at the approach of dawn. A faint bluish -tinge crept over the tops of the lime-trees, sunk in shadow below. The -rustic flute no longer contended so gayly with the trills of the -nightingale. The dancers all looked pale, and among the dishevelled -groups I distinguished with difficulty any familiar faces. Finally, I -recognized a tall girl, Sylvie's friend Lise. - -"We have not seen you for a long time, Parisian," said she. - -"Yes; a long time." - -"And you come so late?" - -"By coach." - -"And you traveled slowly!" - -"I came to see Sylvie; is she still here?" - -"She will stay till morning; she loves to dance." - -In a moment I was beside her; she looked tired, but her black eyes -sparkled with the same Athenian smile as of old. A young man stood near -her, but she refused by a gesture to join the next country-dance, and he -bowed to her and withdrew. - -It began to grow light, and we left the ball hand in hand. The flowers -hung lifeless and faded in Sylvie's loosened tresses, and the nosegay at -her bosom dropped its petals on the crumpled lace made by her skilful -hands. I offered to walk home with her; it was broad day, but the sky -was cloudy. The Theve murmured on our left, leaving at every curve a -little pool of still water where yellow and white pond-lilies blossomed, -and lake star-worts, like Easter daisies, spread their delicate -broidery. The plain was covered with hay-ricks whose fragrance seemed -wafted to my brain, affecting me as the fresh scent of the woods and -hawthorn thickets had done in the past. This time neither of us thought -of crossing the meadows. - -"Sylvie," said I, "you no longer love me." - -She sighed. "My friend," she continued, "you must console yourself, -since things do not happen as we wish in this world. You once mentioned -the New Heloise; I read it, and shuddered when I found these words, at -the beginning: 'Any young girl who reads this book is lost.' However, I -kept on, trusting in my discretion. Do you remember the day we put on -the wedding clothes, at my aunt's house? The engravings in the book also -represented lovers dressed in olden costumes, so that to me you were -Saint-Preux and I was Julie. Ah! why did you not come back then? But -they said you were in Italy. You must have seen there far prettier girls -than I!" - -"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your -profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, -the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite -masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the -rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here." - -"And in Paris?" she asked. - -"In Paris--" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered -the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us -stop here, will you?" - -I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my -irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my -days. - -"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever." - -She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation -was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother -rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic -festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had -stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was -concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer -on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the -presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward -deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so -late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival. - -"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," -she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was -not offended. - - - - -IX. - -HERMENONVILLE. - - -Not feeling inclined to sleep, I walked to Montagny to revisit my -uncle's house. Sadness fell upon me at the first glimpse of its yellow -front and green shutters. Everything looked as before, but I was obliged -to go to the farmer's to obtain the key. The shutters once open, I -surveyed with emotion the old furniture, polished from time to time, to -preserve its lustre, the tall cupboard of walnut, two Flemish paintings -said to be the work of an ancient artist, our ancestor, some large -prints after Boucher, and a whole series of framed engravings -representing scenes from "Emile" and the "New Heloise" by Moreau; on the -table was the dog, now stuffed and mounted, that I remembered alive, as -the companion of my forest rambles, perhaps the last "Carlin," for it -had belonged to that breed now extinct. - -"As for the parrot," said the farmer, "he is still alive, and I took him -home with me." - -The garden offered a magnificent picture of the growth of wild -vegetation, and there in a corner was the plot I had tended as a child. -A shudder came over me as I entered the study, which still contained the -little library of choice books, familiar friends of him who was no more, -and where upon his desk lay antique relics, vases and Roman medals found -in the garden,--a local collection, the source of much pleasure to him. - -"Let us go to see the parrot," I said to the farmer. The parrot -clamoured for his breakfast, as in his best days, and gave me a knowing -look from his round eye peering out from the wrinkled skin, like the -wise glances of the old. - -Full of sad thoughts awakened by my return to this cherished spot, I -felt that I must again see Sylvie, the only living tie which bound me to -that region, and once more I took the road to Loisy. It was the middle -of the day, and I found them all asleep, worn out by the night of -merry-making. It occurred to me that it might divert my thoughts to -stroll to Hermenonville, a league distant, by the forest road. It was -fine summer weather, and on setting out I was delighted by the freshness -and verdure of the path which seemed like the avenue of a park. The -green branches of the great oaks were relieved by the white trunks and -rustling leaves of the birches. The birds were silent, and I heard no -sound but the woodpecker tapping the trees to find a hollow for her -nest. At one time I was in danger of losing my way, the characters being -wholly effaced on the guide-posts which served to distinguish the roads. -Passing the Desert on the left, I came to the dancing-ring where I found -the benches of the old men still in place. All the associations of -ancient philosophy, revived by the former owner of the demesne, crowded -upon me, at the sight of this picturesque realisation of "Anacharsis" -and "Emile." - -When I caught sight of the waters of the lake sparkling through the -branches of willows and hazels, I recognised a spot which I had often -visited with my uncle. Here stands to this day, sheltered by a group of -pines, the Temple of Philosophy which its founder had not the good -fortune to complete. It is built in the form of the temple of the -Tiburtine Sibyl, and displays with pride the names of all the great -thinkers from Montaigne and Descartes to Rousseau. This unfinished -structure is now but a ruin around which the ivy twines its graceful -tendrils, while brambles force their way between its disjointed steps. -When but a child, I witnessed the celebrations here, where young girls, -dressed in white, came to receive prizes for scholarship and good -conduct. Where are the roses that girdled the hillside? Hidden by brier -and eglantine, they are fast losing all traces of cultivation. As for -the laurels, have they been cut down, according to the old song of the -maidens who no longer care to roam the forest? No! these shrubs from -sweet Italy have withered beneath our unfriendly skies. Happily, the -privet of Virgil still thrives as if to emphasize the words of the -Master, inscribed above the door, _Rerum cognoscere causas._ Yes! like -so many others, this temple crumbles, and man, weary or thoughtless, -passes it by, while indifferent nature reclaims the soil for which art -contended, but the thirst for knowledge is eternal, the mainspring of -all power and activity. - -Here are the poplars of the island and the empty tomb of Rousseau. O -Sage! thou gavest us the milk of the strong and we were too weak to -receive it! We have forgotten thy lessons which our fathers knew, and we -have lost the meaning of thy words, the last faint echoes of ancient -wisdom! Still, let us not despair, and like thee, in thy last moments, -let us turn our eyes to the sun! - -I revisited the castle, the quiet waters about it, the cascade which -complains among the rocks, the causeway that unites the two parts of -the village with the four dove-cotes that mark the corners, and the -green that stretches beyond like a prairie, above which rise wooded -slopes; the tower of Gabrielle is reflected from afar in the waters of -an artificial lake studded with ephemeral blossoms; the scum is -seething, the insects hum. It is best to escape the noxious vapours and -seek the rocks and sand of the desert and the waste lands where the pink -heath blooms beside green ferns. How sad and lonely it all seems! In -by-gone days, Sylvie's enchanting smile, her merry pranks and glad cries -enlivened every spot! She was then a wild little creature with bare feet -and sun-burned skin, in spite of the straw hat whose long strings -floated loosely amid her dark locks. We used to go to the Swiss farm to -drink milk, and they said: "How pretty your sweetheart is, little -Parisian!" Ah! no peasant lad could have danced with her in those days! -She would have none but me for her partner, at the yearly Feast of the -Bow. - - - - -X. - -BIG CURLY-HEAD - - -I went back to Loisy and they were all awake. Sylvie was dressed like a -young lady, almost in the fashion of the city. She led me up to her room -with all her old simplicity. Her bright eyes smiled as charmingly as -ever, but the decided arch of her brows made her at times look serious. -The room was simply decorated, but the furniture was modern: a mirror in -a gilt frame had replaced the old-fashioned looking-glass where an -idyllic shepherd was depicted offering a nest to a blue and pink -shepherdess; the four-post bed, modestly hung with flowered chintz, was -succeeded by a little walnut couch with net curtains; canaries occupied -the cage at the window where once there were linnets. I was impatient to -leave this room, where nothing spoke to me of the past. "Shall you make -lace to-day?" I asked Sylvie. "Oh, I do not make lace now; there is no -demand for it here, and even at Chantilly the factory is closed." "What -is your work then?" She brought forward, from the corner of the room, an -iron tool which resembled a long pair of pincers. - -"What is that?" - -"It is called the machine and is used to hold the leather in place while -the gloves are sewed." - -"Then you are a glove-maker, Sylvie?" - -"Yes, we work here for Dammartin; it pays well now, but I shall not work -to-day; let us go wherever you like." I glanced towards Othys, but she -shook her head, and I understood that the old aunt was no more. Sylvie -called a little boy and bade him saddle an ass. "I am still tired from -yesterday," she said, "but the ride will do me good; let us go to -Chaalis." - -We set out through the forest, followed by the boy armed with a branch. -Sylvie soon wished to stop, and I kissed her as I led her to a seat. Our -conversation could no longer be very intimate. I had to talk of my life -in Paris, my travels.... "How can anyone go so far?" she demanded. "It -seems strange to me, when I look at you." - -"Oh! of course," - -"Well, admit that you were not so pretty in the old days." - -"I cannot tell." - -"Do you remember when we were children and you the tallest?" - -"And you the wisest?" - -"Oh! Sylvie!" - -"They put us on an ass, one in each pannier." - -"And we said thee and thou to each other? Do you remember how you taught -me to catch crawfish under the bridges over the Nonette and the Theve?" - -"Do you remember your foster-brother who pulled you out of the water one -day?" - -"Big Curly-head? It was he who told me to go in." - -I made haste to change the subject, because this recollection had -brought vividly to mind the time when I used to go into the country, -wearing a little English coat which made the peasants laugh. Sylvie was -the only one who liked it, but I did not venture to remind her of such a -juvenile opinion. For some reason, my mind turned to the old aunt's -wedding clothes in which we had arrayed ourselves, and I asked what had -become of them. - -"Oh! poor aunt," cried Sylvie; "she lent me her gown to wear to the -carnival at Dammartin, two years ago, and the next year she died, dear, -old aunt!" She sighed and the tears came, so I could not inquire how it -chanced that she went to a masquerade, but I perceived that, thanks to -her skill, Sylvie was no longer a peasant girl. Her parents had not -risen above their former station, and she lived with them, scattering -plenty around her like an industrious fairy. - - - - -XI. - -RETURN. - - -The outlook widened when we left the forest and we found ourselves near -the lake of Chaalis. The galleries of the cloister, the chapel with its -pointed arches, the feudal tower and the little castle which had -sheltered the loves of Henry IV. and Gabrielle, were bathed in the -crimson glow of evening against the dark background of the forest. - -"Like one of Walter Scott's landscapes, is it not?" said Sylvie. "And -who has told you of Walter Scott?" I inquired. "You must have read much -in the past three years! As for me, I try to forget books, and what -delights me, is to revisit with you this old abbey where, as little -children, we played hide and seek among the ruins. Do you remember, -Sylvie, how afraid you were when the keeper told us the story of the Red -Monks?" - -"Oh, do not speak of it!" - -"Well then, sing me the song of the fair maid under the white -rose-bush, who was stolen from her father's garden." - -"Nobody sings that now." - -"Is it possible that you have become a musician?" - -"Perhaps." - -"Sylvie, Sylvie, I am positive that you sing airs from operas!" - -"Why should you complain?" - -"Because I loved the old songs and you have forgotten them." - -Sylvie warbled a few notes of a grand air from a modern opera.... She -_phrased!_ - -We turned away from the lakeside and approached the green bordered with -lime-trees and elms, where we had so often danced. I had the conceit to -describe the old Carlovingian walls and to decipher the armorial -bearings of the House of Este. - -"And you! How much more you have read than I, and how learned you have -become!" said Sylvie. I was vexed by her tone of reproach, as I had all -the way been seeking a favourable opportunity to resume the tender -confidences of the morning, but what could I say, accompanied by a -donkey and a very wide-awake lad who pressed nearer and nearer for the -pleasure of hearing a Parisian talk? Then I displayed my lack of tact, -by relating the vision of Chaalis which I recalled so vividly. I led -Sylvie into the very hall of the castle where I had heard Adrienne sing. -"Oh, let me hear you!" I besought her; "let your loved voice ring out -beneath these arches and put to flight the spirit that torments me, be -it angel or demon!" She repeated the words and sang after me: - - "_Anges, descendez promptement_ - _au fond du purgatoire...._" - - Angels descend without delay - To dread abyss of purgatory. - -"It is very sad!" she cried. - -"It is sublime! An air from Porpora, I think, with words translated in -the present century." - -"I do not know," she replied. - -We came home through the valley, following the Charlepont road which the -peasants, without regard to etymology, persistently called Challepont. -The way was deserted, and Sylvie, weary of riding, leaned upon my arm, -while I tried to speak of what was in my heart, but, I know not why, -could find only trivial words or stilted phrases from some romance that -Sylvie might have read. I stopped suddenly then, in true classic style, -and she was occasionally amazed by these disjointed rhapsodies. Having -reached the walls of Saint S---- we had to look well to our steps, on -account of the numerous stream-lets winding through the damp marshes. - -"What has become of the nun?" I asked suddenly. - -"You give me no peace with your nun! Ah, well! it is a sad story!" Not a -word more would Sylvie say. - -Do women really feel that certain words come from the lips rather than -the heart? It does not seem probable, to see how readily they are -deceived, and what an inexplicable choice they usually make--there are -men who play the comedy of love so well! I never could accustom myself -to it, although I know some women lend themselves wittingly to the -deception. A love that dates from childhood is, however, sacred, and -Sylvie, whom I had seen grow up, was like a sister to me; I could not -betray her. Suddenly, a new thought came to me. "At this very hour, I -might be at the theatre. What is Aurelie (that was the name of the -actress) playing to-night? No doubt the part of the Princess in the new -play. How touching she is in the third act! And in the love scene of the -second with that wrinkled actor who plays the lover!" - -"Lost in thought?" said Sylvie; and she began to sing: - - _"A Dammartin l'y a trots belles filles:_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour...."_ - - _At Dammartin there are three fair maids,_ - _And one of them is fairer than day._ - -"Little tease!" I cried, "you know you remember the old songs." - -"If you would come here oftener, I would try to remember more of them," -she said; "but we must think of realities; you have your affairs at -Paris, I have my work here; let us go in early, for I must rise with the -sun to-morrow." - - - - -XII. - -FATHER DODU. - - -I was about to reply, to fall at her feet and offer her my uncle's house -which I could purchase, as the little estate had not been apportioned -among the numerous heirs, but just then we reached Loisy, where supper -awaited us and the onion-soup was diffusing its patriarchal odour. -Neighbours had been invited to celebrate the day after the feast, and I -recognised at a glance Father Dodu, an old wood-cutter who used to amuse -or frighten us, in the evenings by his stories. Shepherd, carrier, -gamekeeper, fisherman and even poacher, by turns, Father Dodu made -clocks and turnspits in his leisure moments. For a long time he acted as -guide to the English tourists at Hermenonville, and while he recounted -the last moments of the philosopher, would lead them to Rousseau's -favourite spots for meditation. He was the little boy employed to -classify the herbs and gather the hemlock twigs from which the sage -pressed the juice into his cup of coffee. The landlord of the Golden -Cross contested this point and a lasting feud resulted. Father Dodu had -once borne the reproach of possessing some very innocent secrets, such -as how to cure cows by saying a rhyme backwards and making the sign of -the cross with the left foot, but he had renounced these -superstitions--thanks, he declared, to his conversations with Jean -Jacques. - -"That you, little Parisian?" said Father Dodu; "have you come to carry -off our pretty girls?" - -"I, Father Dodu?" - -"You take them into the woods when the wolf is away!" - -"Father Dodu, you are the wolf." - -"I was as long as I could find sheep, but at present I meet only goats, -and they know how to take care of themselves! As for you, why, you are -all rascals in Paris. Jean Jacques was right when he said, 'Man grows -corrupt in the poisonous air of cities.'" - -"Father Dodu, you know very well that men become corrupt everywhere." - -"Father Dodu began to roar out a drinking song, and it was impossible to -stop him at a questionable couplet that everyone knew by heart. Sylvie -would not sing, in spite of our entreaties, on the plea that it was no -longer customary to sing at table. I bad already noticed the lover of -the ball, seated at her left, and his round face and tumbled hair seemed -familiar. He rose and stood behind me, saying, "Have you forgotten me, -Parisian?" A good woman who came back to dessert after serving us, -whispered in my ear: "Do you not recognize your foster-brother?" Without -this warning, I should have made myself ridiculous. "Ah, it is _Big -Curly-head_!" I cried; "the very same who pulled me out of the water." -Sylvie burst out laughing at the recollection. - -"Without considering," said the youth em-bracing me, "that you had a -fine silver watch and on the way home you were more concerned about it -than yourself, because it had stopped. You said, 'the _creature is -drowned_ does not go tick-tack; what will Uncle say?'" "A watch is a -creature," said Father Dodu; "that is what they tell children in Paris!" - -Sylvie was sleepy, and I fancied there was no hope for me. She went -upstairs, and as I kissed her, said: "Come again to-morrow." Father Dodu -remained at table with Sylvain and my foster-brother, and we talked a -long time over a bottle of Louvres ratafia. - -"All men are equal," said Father Dodu between glasses; "I drink with a -pastry-cook as readily as with a prince." - -"Where is the pastry-cook?" I asked. - -"By your side! There you see a young man who is ambitious to get on in -life." - -My foster-brother appeared embarrassed and I understood the situation. -Fate had reserved for me a foster-brother in the very country made -famous by Rousseau, who opposed putting children out to nurse! I learned -from Father Dodu that there was much talk of a marriage between Sylvie -and Big Curly-head, who wished to open a pastry-shop at Dammartin. I -asked no more. Next morning the coach from Nanteuil-le-Haudouin took me -back to Paris. - - - - -XIII - -AURELIE. - - -To Paris, a journey of five hours! I was impatient for evening, and -eight o'clock found me in my accustomed seat Aurelie infused her own -spirit and grace into the lines of the play, the work of a contemporary -author evidently inspired by Schiller. In the garden scene she was -sublime. During the fourth act, when she did not appear, I went out to -purchase a bouquet of Madame Prevost, slipping into it a tender effusion -signed _An Unknown_, "There," thought I, "is something definite for the -future," but on the morrow I was on my way to Germany. - -Why did I go there? In the hope of com-posing my disordered fancy. If I -were to write a book, I could never gain credence for the story of a -heart torn by these two conflicting loves. I had lost Sylvie through my -own fault, but to see her for a day, sufficed to restore my soul. A -glance from her had arrested me on the verge of the abyss, and -henceforth I enshrined her as a smiling goddess in the Temple of Wisdom. -I felt more than ever reluctant to present myself before Aurelie among -the throng of vulgar suitors who shone in the light of her favour for an -instant only to fall blinded. - -"Some day," said I, "we shall see whether this woman has a heart." - -One morning I learned from a newspaper that Aurelie was ill, and I wrote -to her from the mountains of Salzburg, a letter so filled with German -mysticism that I could hardly hope for a reply, indeed I expected none. -I left it to chance or ... the _unknown._ - -Months passed, and in the leisure intervals of travel I undertook to -embody in poetic action the life-long devotion of the painter Colonna to -the fair Laura who was constrained by her relatives to take the veil. -Something in the subject lent itself to my habitual train of thought, -and as soon as the last verse of the drama was written, I hastened back -to France. - -Can I avoid repeating in my own history, that of many others? I passed -through all the ordeals of the theatre. I "ate the drum and drank the -cymbal," according to the apparently meaningless phrase of the initiates -at Eleusis, which probably signifies that upon occasion we must stand -ready to pass the bounds of reason and absurdity; for me it meant to -win and possess my ideal. - -Aurelie accepted the leading part in the play which I brought back from -Germany. I shall never forget the day she allowed me to read it to her. -The love scenes had been arranged expressly for her, and I am positive -that I rendered them with feeling. In the conversation that followed I -revealed myself as the "Unknown" of the two letters. She said: "You are -mad, but come again; I have never found anyone who knew how to love me." - -Oh, woman! you seek for love ... but what of me? - -In the days which followed I wrote probably the most eloquent and -touching letters that she ever received. Her answers were full of good -sense. Once she was moved, sent for me and confessed that it was hard -for her to break an attachment of long standing. "If you love me for -myself alone, then you will understand that I can belong to but one." - -Two months later, I received an effusive letter which brought me to her -feet--in the meantime, someone volunteered an important piece of -information. The handsome young man whom I had met one night at the club -had just enlisted in the Turkish cavalry. - -Races were held at Chantilly the next season, and the theatre troupe to -which Aurelie belonged gave a performance. Once in the country, the -company was for three days subject to the orders of the director. I had -made friends with this worthy man, formerly the Dorante of the comedies -of Marivaux and for a long time successful in lovers' parts. His latest -triumph was achieved in the play imitated from Schiller, when my -opera-glass had discovered all his wrinkles. He had fire, however, and -being thin, produced a good effect in the provinces. I accompanied the -troupe in the quality of poet, and persuaded the manager to give -performances at Senlis and Dammartin. He inclined to Compiegne at first, -but Aurelie was of my opinion. Next day, while arrangements with the -local authorities were in progress, I ordered horses and we set out on -the road to Commelle to breakfast at the castle of Queen Blanche. -Aurelie, on horseback, with her blonde hair floating in the wind, rode -through the forest like some queen of olden times, and the peasants were -dazzled by her appearance. Madame de _F_-----was the only woman they had -ever seen so imposing and so graceful. After breakfast we rode down to -the villages like Swiss hamlets where the waters of the Nonette turn the -busy saw-mills. These scenes, which my remembrance cherished, interested -Aurelie, but did not move her to delay. I had planned to conduct her to -the castle near Orry, where I had first seen Adrienne on the green. She -manifested no emotion. Then I told her all; I revealed the hidden spring -of that love which haunted my dreams by night and was realized in her. -She listened with attention and said: "You do not love me! You expect me -to say 'the actress and the nun are the same'; you are merely arranging -a drama and the issue of the plot is lacking. Go! I no longer believe in -you." - -Her words were an illumination. The unnatural enthusiasm which had -possessed me for so long, my dreams, my tears, my despair and my -tenderness,--could they mean aught but love? What then is love? - -Aurelie played that night at Senlis, and I thought she displayed a -weakness for the director, the wrinkled "young lover" of the stage. His -character was exemplary, and he had already shown her much kindness. - -One day, Aurelie said to me: "There is the man who loves me!" - - - - -XIV. - -THE LAST LEAF. - - -Such are the fancies that charm and beguile us in the morning of life! I -have tried to set them down here, in a disconnected fashion, but many -hearts will understand me. One by one our illusions fall like husks, and -the kernel thus laid bare is experience. Its taste is bitter, but it -yields an acrid flavour that invigorates,--to use an old-fashioned -simile. Rousseau says that the aspect of nature is a universal -consolation. Sometimes I seek again my groves of Clarens lost in the fog -to the north of Paris, but now, all is changed! Hermenonville, the spot -where the ancient idyl blossomed again, transplanted by Gessner, thy -star has set, the star that glowed for me with two-fold lustre. Blue and -rose by turns, like the changeful Aldebaran, it was formed by Adrienne -and Sylvie, the two halves of my love. One was the sublime ideal, the -other, the sweet reality. What are thy groves and lakes and thy desert -to me now? Othys, Montagny, Loiseaux, poor neighbouring hamlets, and -Chaalis now to be restored, you guard for me no treasures of the past. -Occasionally, I feel a desire to return to those scenes of lonely -musing, where I sadly mark the fleeting traces of a period when -affectation invaded nature; sometimes I smile as I read upon the granite -rocks certain lines from Boucher, which I once thought sublime, or -virtuous maxims inscribed above a fountain or a grotto dedicated to Pan. -The swans disdain the stagnant waters of the little lakes excavated at -such an expense. The time is no more when the hunt of Conde swept by -with its proud riders, and the forest-echoes rang with answering horns! -There is to-day no direct route to Hermenonville, and sometimes I go by -Creil and Senlis, sometimes by Dammartin. - -It is impossible to reach Dammartin before night, so I lodge at the -Image of Saint John. They usually give me a neat room hung with old -tapestry, with a glass between the windows. This room shows a return to -the fashion for bric-a-brac which I renounced long ago. I sleep -comfortably under the eider-down covering used there. In the morning, -when I throw open the casement wreathed with vines and roses, I gaze -with rapture upon a wide green landscape stretching away to the -horizon, where a line of poplars stand like sentinels. Here and there -the villages nestle guarded by their protecting church-spires. First -Othys, then Eve and Ver; Hermenonville would be visible beyond the wood, -if it had a belfry, but in that philosophic spot the church has been -neglected. Having filled my lungs with the pure air of these uplands, I -go down stairs in good humour and start for the pastry-cook's. "Helloa, -big Curly-head!" "Helloa, little Parisian!" We greet each other with sly -punches in the ribs as we did in childhood, then I climb a certain stair -where two children welcome my coming. Sylvie's Athenian smile lights up -her classic features, and I say to myself: "Here, perhaps, is the -happiness I have missed, and yet...." - -Sometimes I call her Lotty, and she sees in me some resemblance to -Werther without the pistols, which are out of fashion now. While Big -Curly-head is busy with the breakfast, we take the children for a walk -through the avenues of limes that border the ruins of the old brick -towers of the castle. While the little ones practise with their bows and -arrows, we read some poem or a few pages from one of those old books all -too short, and long forgotten by the world. - -I forgot to say that when Aurelie's troupe gave a performance at -Dammartin, I took Sylvie to the play and asked her if she did not think -the actress resembled someone she knew. - -"Whom, pray?" - -"Do you remember Adrienne?" - -She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!" - -Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she -died at the convent of Saint S---- about 1832." - - - - -APPENDIX. - -'_EL DESDICHADO._' - -_Gerard DE NERVAL._ - -_I am that dark, that disinherited._ -_That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,_ - _The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;_ -_A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!_ -_Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,_ - _Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,_ - _Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,_ -_The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain._ - -_Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been_ -_Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen_ - _Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,_ -_And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,_ -_And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,_ - _Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!_ - -(ANDREW LANG.) - - -TO ALEXANDER DUMAS. - - When it was currently reported that Gerard de Nerval had become - insane, Alexander Dumas, who was then publishing that amusing - journal _Le Mousquetaire,_ endeavored to explain and interpret the - poet's peculiar form of mental alienation. Gerard, who presently - came to himself, as was his wont, took note of the study, and in - return dedicated to Dumas his _Filles du Feu_, thus acknowledging - the obligation conferred by the great novelist in inditing the - epitaph of the poet's "lost wits." - - This dedication, now done into English for the first time, is - interesting and important, as embodying the author's own - interpretation of his singular mental constitution. He confesses - that he is unable to compose without incarnating himself in his - creations so thoroughly as to lose his own identity. In - illustration, he throws into the text the tragic history of a - mythical hero. It is easy to trace in this story of a nameless - prince, unable to prove his lofty origin, involved in a network of - misfortunes through the crafty machinations of the arch plotter La - Rancune (malice) and abandoned by his mistress, the beautiful - guiding Star of his destiny, allegorical allusions to the poet, the - heir of genius and of glory, unable to prove or justify his noble - birthright, his highest impulses misunderstood and trampled upon by - a heartless and vulgar world. - - LUCIE PAGE. - -I dedicate this book to you, my dear Master, as I dedicated _Lorely_ to -Jules Janin. I was indebted to him for the same service that I owe to -you. A few years ago, it was reported that I was dead, and he wrote my -biography. A few days ago, I was thought to have lost my reason, and you -honoured me by devoting some of your most graceful lines to the epitaph -of my intelligence. Such an inheritance of glory has fallen to me before -my time. How shall I venture, yet living, to deck my forehead with these -shining crowns? It becomes me to assume an air of modesty and beg the -public to accept, with suitable deductions, the eulogy bestowed upon my -ashes, or rather upon the lost wits contained in the bottle which, like -Astolpho, I have been to seek in the moon, and which, I trust, I have -now restored to their normal place in the seat of thought. - -Being, therefore, no longer mounted upon the hippogriff, and having, in -the popular conception, recovered what is vulgarly termed reason,--let -us proceed to the exercise of that faculty. - -Here is a fragment of what you wrote concerning me, the tenth of last -December: - -"As you can readily perceive, he possesses a subtle and highly -cultivated intellect, in which is manifested from time to time a -singular phenomenon which, fortunately, let us hope, has no serious -import to himself or his friends. At intervals, when preoccupied by -literary toil, imagination goaded to frenzy masters reason and drives it -from the brain; then, like an opium-smoker of Cairo, or a hashish-eater -of Algiers, Gerard finds again the talismans that evoke spirits. Now he -is King Solomon waiting for the Queen of Sheba; then by turns Sultan of -the Crimea, Count of Abyssinia, Duke of Egypt, or Baron of Smyrna. Next -day, he declares himself mad and relates the whole series of events from -which his madness sprung, with such a joyous abandon, such an ingenious -fertility of resource that one is ready to part with his wits in order -to follow such a fascinating guide through the desert of dreams and -hallucinations, sprinkled with oases fresher and greener than any which -dot the route from Alexandria to Ammon. Finally, melancholy becomes his -muse of inspiration, and now, restrain your tears if you can, for never -did Werther, Rene, or Antony pour forth sobs and complaints more tender -and pathetic!" - -I shall now endeavour to explain to you, my dear Dumas, the phenomenon -which you mention above. There are, as you well know, certain writers -who cannot invent without identifying themselves with the creations of -their imagination. You remember with what conviction our old friend -Nodier related how he had the misfortune to be guillotined in the -Revolution. The narrative was so convincing that we wondered -instinctively how he had contrived to fasten his head on again. - -Understand, therefore, that the ardour of production may conduce to a -like result, that the author incarnates himself, as it were, in the hero -of his imagination so completely that he loses himself and burns with -the imaginary flames of this hero's love and ambition! This was -precisely the effect produced upon me in narrating the history of a -personage who figured under the title of Brisacier, about the time of -Louis XV, I believe. Where did I read the fatal biography of this -adventurer? I have found again that of the Abbe of Bucquoy, but I cannot -recall the slightest historical proof of the existence of this -illustrious unknown. What for you, dear Master, would have been but a -pastime,--you, who have with clever artifices so bewildered our minds -concerning the old chronicles, that posterity will never be able to -disentangle truth from fiction, and is certain to credit your invention -with all the characters from history that figure in your romances--this -became for me a veritable obsession. To invent, is in reality only to -recollect, says a certain moralist. Finding no proofs of the material -existence of my hero, I suddenly came to believe in the transmigration -of souls, not less firmly than Pythagoras or Peter Leroux. Even the -eighteenth century, in which I believed myself to have lived, was full -of these illusions. Do you remember that courtier who recalled -distinctly that he was once a sofa? Whereupon Schahabaham exclaimed with -enthusiasm, "What, you were once a sofa! why, that is delightful!--Tell -me, were you embroidered?" - -As for me, I was embroidered at every seam. From the moment when I first -grasped the continuity of all my previous existences, I figured as -readily in one character as another, prince, king, mage, genie, or even -god; could I unite my memories in one masterpiece, it would represent -the Dream of Scipio, the Vision of Tasso or the Divine Comedy of Dante. -Renouncing, henceforth, all pretensions to inspiration or illumination, -I can offer only what you so justly call impracticable theories, an -impossible book, whose first chapter, subjoined below, seems but to -furnish the context of the Comic Romance of Scarron.... Read and judge -for yourself: - - -A TRAGIC ROMANCE. - -Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and -alas! still trusting in that beautiful _star_ of comedy, which, for one -brief instant, deigned to call me her _destiny_ The Star and its -Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet -Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two -characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven -pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other -new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that -gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and -equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some -miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant -lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince -in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better -treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an -enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by -the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to -hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son -of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and -well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old -intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch -set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of -my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But -in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a -puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small -clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord -were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he -insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a _contraband -prince_, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, -fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has -abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This -precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with -the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself -the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to -witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon -the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall -upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have -here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at -sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but -as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience. - -Do you remember how I used to play Achilles, when in passing through -some third or fourth-rate town, the whim would seize us to re-establish -the neglected cult of the old French tragedians? Was I not noble and -puissant in the gilded helmet with streaming locks of purple blackness, -the glittering armor and azure cloak? What a spectacle to see a father -as weak and cowardly as Agamemnon contend with the priest Calchas for -the honour of immolating such a victim as poor, weeping Iphigenia! I -rushed like a thunderbolt into the midst of the forced and cruel action; -I restored hope to the mothers and reawakened courage in the daughters, -always sacrificed from a sense of duty, to stay the anger of a god, -allay the vengeance of a nation, or advance the interests of a family. -For it is easy to recognize here the eternal type of human marriage. The -father will forevermore deliver up his daughter through ambition, and -the mother will sell her through cupidity; but the lover is not always -the worthy Achilles, so gallant and terrible, albeit a trifle too -rhetorical for a man of war! - -As for me, I often rebelled against declaiming long tirades in defense -of a course so evidently just, in the face of an audience so easily -convinced that I was in the right. I was tempted to stab the whole -idiotic court of the king of kings, with its sleepy rows of -super-numeraries, and so put an end to the piece. The public would have -been delighted, but on second thoughts would have found the play too -short, considering that time sufficient to witness the sufferings of a -princess, a lover and a queen, was its rightful due; a period long -enough to see them weep, rage and pour forth a torrent of poetic -invective against the established authority of priest and king. That was -well worth five acts and two hours of close attention, and the audience -would not content itself with less. It desires the humiliation of this -proud race seated upon the throne of Greece, before whom Achilles -himself dares to thunder but in words; it must sound all the depths of -misery hidden beneath this royal purple whose majesty seems so -irresistible. The tears which fall from the most glorious eyes in the -world upon the swelling bosom of Iphigenia, excite the crowd no less -than her beauty, her grace and the splendour of her royal robes. Listen -to the sweet voice that pleads for life with the touching reminder that, -as yet, she stands but upon its threshold. Who does not favour her -lover? Who could wish to see her slain? Great gods, what heart so hard! -None, surely!... On the contrary, the whole audience has already -decided that she must die for the general good rather than live for one -individual. Achilles seems to all too grand, too superb! Shall Iphigenia -be borne away by this Thessalian vulture, as, not long ago, the daughter -of Leda was stolen by a shepherd prince from the voluptuous shores of -Asia? This is the question of paramount importance to the Greeks and to -the audience as well, which takes our measure when we act the part of -hero. I felt myself as much an object of hatred to the men as of -admiration to the women when I thus played the part of victorious lover, -because it was no indifferent actress, taught to listlessly drone those -immortal verses, that I was defending, but a true Greek maiden, a pearl -of grace, purity and love, worthy, indeed, to be rescued by all human -efforts from the hands of the jealous gods. Not Iphigenia alone, she was -Junia, Berenice, all the heroines rendered illustrious by the fair blue -eyes of Mlle. de Champmesle, or the charming graces of the noble maidens -of Saint Cyr. Poor Aurelie! My comrade and my sister, wilt thou never -regret those hours of triumph and rapture? Didst thou not love me for an -instant, cold star, when I fought and wept and suffered for thee? The -audience questioned nightly: "Who, pray, is this actress, so far beyond -all that we have ever applauded? Are we not mistaken? Is she really as -young, as dazzling, and as pure as she seems?" The young women envied, -criticised or admired sadly. As for me, I needed to see her constantly, -so as not to feel overpowered by her beauty and to be able to meet her -eyes whenever the exigencies of the plot demanded.... - -This is why Achilles was my triumph, although I was often embarrassed in -other parts. What a pity that I could not change the situations to suit -me, and sacrifice even the thoughts of genius to my love and respect! -The character of a timid and captive lover like Britannicus or Bajazet, -did not please me. The purple of the young Caesar attracted me more; but -what a misfortune to declaim in conclusion only cold and perfidious -speeches! What! Was this young Nero, the idol of Rome, the handsome -athlete, the dancer, the poet whose only wish was to please the -populace? Is this what history and the conceptions of our poets have -left of him? Ah! give me his fury to interpret; his power I would fear -to accept. Nero! I have comprehended thee, not alas! according to -Racine, but according to my own heart, torn with agony whenever I have -ventured to impersonate thee! Yes, thou wast a god, thou who wouldst -have burned Rome. Thou wast right, perhaps, since Rome had insulted -thee!... - -A hiss, a miserable hiss, in her presence, and because of her! A hiss of -scorn which she attributes to herself--through my mistake, be it -understood! Alas! my friends, for an instant, I felt an impulse to show -myself truly great, immortal, upon the stage of your theatre. Instead of -replying to the insult by another, which brought upon me the assault -from which I still suffer, instead of provoking a vulgar audience to -rush upon the scene and cowardly beat and belabour me, I held for a -moment a sublime purpose, worthy of Caesar himself, a purpose which none -could hesitate to pronounce in harmony with the dramatic conceptions of -the great Racine himself! I thought to set fire to the theatre, and -while the audience perished in the flames, bear away Aurelie in my arms, -her disheveled tresses streaming over her disordered dress. O remorse -that fills my feverish nights and days of agony! What! I might have done -this and I refrained! What! Do ye still insult me, ye, who owe your -lives to pity, rather than any fear on my part? I might have burned them -all! Judge for yourselves: the theatre of P---- has but one exit; ours -opened upon a little street in the rear, but the green-room, where you -were all assembled, is on the other side of the stage. In order to set -fire to the curtain, I had only to snatch down one of the lamps; I ran -no risk of detection, for the manager could not see me and I was alone -listening to the insipid dialogue between Britannicus and Junia, waiting -for my cue to reappear; all through that scene I was struggling with -myself, and when I entered upon the stage I was turning and twisting in -my fingers a glove that I had picked up; I expected to avenge myself -more nobly than Caesar himself of an insult that I had felt with all the -heart of a Caesar.... Ah, well! the cowards dared not begin again; my -glance confounded them, and I was on the point of pardoning the -audience, if not Junia herself, when she dared.... Immortal gods!... -Hold, let me speak my mind! ... Yes, since that night, it is my delusion -to imagine myself a Roman, an emperor; I have identified myself with my -part, and the tunic of Nero clings to my burning limbs as that of the -centaur to the dying Hercules. Let us jest no more with sacred things, -not even those of an age and nation long since past, lest perchance some -tongue of flame yet quiver in the ashes of the gods of Rome!... - -Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of -measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal -chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The -audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; -those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to -my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, -well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, -who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my -conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved -for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... -However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another -for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far -removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome -without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, -Britannicus. - -Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou -hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we -two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, -strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the -choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my -dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit -thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the -prize lost only for me. - -The letter which I have just received from La Caverne reassures me fully -on that point. She advises me to renounce an art for which I have no -capacity and which is incompatible with my necessities. The jest, in -sooth, is bitter, for never did I stand in greater need, if not of my -art, at least of its swift returns. This is just the point that you do -not understand. You consider that you have acquitted yourself of all -obligations toward me in recommending me to the authorities of Soissons -as a distinguished personage, whom his family cannot abandon, but whose -violent illness has forced you to leave him behind in your journey. Your -tool, La Rancune, presented himself at the town hall and the inn with -all the airs of a Spanish grandee forced by unpleasant circumstances to -spend a couple of nights in such a disagreeable place; the rest of you -obliged to leave P---- the day after my disaster, had, as I conceive, no -reason to allow yourselves to pass merely for disreputable players: it -is quite enough to wear that mask in places where no other course is -possible. As for me, what can I say, how shall I extricate myself from -the infernal network of conspiracy in which I find myself caught and -held through the machinations of La Rancune? The famous couplet from -Corneille's "Menteur" assuredly aided him in his invention for the wit -of such a rascal as he never reached such a pitch. Think for a -moment.... But what can I tell you that you do not know already and have -not devised together to ruin me? Have not the white fingers of the -ingrate who is the cause of all my misfortunes, tangled inextricably all -the silken threads that she could weave about her poor victim?... What a -master-plot! Ah, well! I am a captive and I confess it; I yield and -implore mercy. You can take me back without fear now, and if the rapid -post-chaises that bore you swiftly over the Flanders' route, three -months ago, have already given place to the humble equipages of our -first adventures, deign at least to receive me in the quality of monster -or phenomenon, fit to draw the crowd, and I promise to acquit myself of -these duties in a manner calculated to appease the most exacting amateur -of the province.... Answer immediately and I will send a trusty -messenger to bring me the letter from the post, as I fear the curiosity -of mine host.... - - BRISACIER. - - -How dispose now of this hero deserted by his mistress and his -companions? Is he, in truth, only a strolling player, rightly punished -for insulting the public, for indulging in his mad jealousy and alleging -ridiculous claims? How can he prove that he is the legitimate son of the -Khan of the Crimea, according to the crafty recital of La Rancune? How, -from the depths of misery where he is plunged, can he rise to the -highest destiny? These are points which would, doubtless, trouble you -but little, but which have thrown my mind into a strange disorder. Once -persuaded that I was writing my own history, I was touched by this love -for a fugitive star which deserted me in the dark night of my destiny; I -have wept and shuddered over these visions. Then a ray divine illumined -my _inferno_; surrounded by dim and monstrous shapes of horror against -which I struggled blindly, I seized at last the magic clue, the thread -of Ariadne, and since then all my visions have become celestial. One -day, I shall write the history of this "Descent to Hades," and you will -see that it has not been entirely devoid of reason, if it has always -been wanting in fact. And, since you have been so rash as to cite one of -my sonnets composed in this state of supernatural trance, as the Germans -call it, you must hear the rest. You will find them among my poems. They -are little more obscure than the metaphysics of Hegel or the Visions of -Swedenborg, and would lose their charm with any attempt at explanation, -were that possible;--probably my last illusion will be that of thinking -myself a poet; criticism must dispel it. - -1854. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gerard de Nerval - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - -***** This file should be named 40492.txt or 40492.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40492/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/40492.zip b/40492.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f9ceeb4..0000000 --- a/40492.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/40492-8.txt b/old/40492-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6a60bf3..0000000 --- a/old/40492-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2378 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - -Author: Gérard de Nerval - -Commentator: Andrew Lang - -Translator: Lucie Page - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40492] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - - - - -SYLVIE: - -SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS - -TRANSLATED FROM - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL - -BY - -LUCIE PAGE - -Portland, Maine - -THOMAS B. MOSHER - -1896 - - * * * * * - - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL. - - - Of all that were thy prisons--ah, untamed, - Ah, light and sacred soul!--none holds thee now; - No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou - Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, - Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, - Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough - The Sybil doth to singing men allow, - Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed. - - And they would smile and wonder, seeing where - Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, - Dreamily murmuring a ballad air, - Caught from the Valois peasants, dost thou find - A new life gladder than the old times were, - A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind? - - ANDREW LANG. - - - * * * * * - - -CONTENTS - - SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE.--ANDREW LANG - GÉRARD DE NERVAL - - SYLVIE: - - I A WASTED NIGHT - II ADRIENNE - III RESOLVE - IV A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA - V THE VILLAGE - VI OTHYS - VII CHAÂLIS - VIII THE BALL AT LOISY - IX HERMENONVILLE - X BIG CURLY-HEAD - XI RETURN - XII FATHER DODU - XIII AURÉLIE - XIV THE LAST LEAF - - APPENDIX - - - - -_SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE._ - -_IN MEMORY OF GÉRARD DE NERVAL._ - - _Two loves there were, and one was born_ - _Between the sunset and the rain;_ - _Her singing voice went through the corn,_ - _Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,_ - _On grass the fallen blossoms stain;_ - _And suns may set and moons may wane,_ - _But this love comes no more again._ - - _There were two loves, and one made white_ - _Thy singing lips and golden hair;_ - _Born of the city's mire and light,_ - _The shame and splendour of the night,_ - _She trapped and fled thee unaware;_ - _Not through the lamplight and the rain_ - _Shalt thou behold this love again._ - - _Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,_ - _Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;_ - _There comes no voice from mere or rill,_ - _Her dance is over, fallen still_ - _The ballad burdens that she knew:_ - _And thou must wait for her in vain,_ - _Till years bring back thy youth again._ - - - _That other love, afield, afar_ - _Fled the light love, with lighter feet._ - _Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,_ - _And flit in dreams from star to star,_ - _That dead love thou shalt never meet,_ - _Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain_ - _Thy soul shall find her soul again._ - - ANDREW LANG. - - - -Gérard DE NERVAL - - Il a toujours cherché dans le monde - ce que le monde ne pouvait plus lui - donner. - - LUDOVIC HALÉVY. - - He has been a sick man all his life. - He was always a seeker after something - in the world that is there in no - satisfying measure, or not at all. - - WALTER PATER. - - - -GÉRARD DE NERVAL. - - -I. - - -Of Gérard de Nerval, whose true name was Gérard Labrunie, it has been -finely said: "His was the most beautiful of all the lost souls of the -French Romance."(*) Born in 1808, he came to his death by suicide one -dark winter night towards the end of January. - -The story of this life and its tragic finale was well known at the time -to all men of letters,--Théophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Arsène -Houssaye,--friends who never forgot the young poet even after he went -the way that madness lies. For it was insanity,--a nostalgia of the soul -always imminent--that led him into the squalid _Rue de la -Vieille-Lanterne_, in which long forgotten corner of old Paris his dead -body was found one bleak belated dawn. And this was forty years ago. - -In later days Maxime du Camp and Ludovic Halévy have retold with great -feeling the history of Gérard, his early triumphs, his love for Jenny -Colon,--the Aurélie of these _Souvenirs du Valois_,--and how at last -life's scurrile play was ended. - -(*) See _A Century of French Verse_, translated and edited by -William John Robertson (4to, London, 1895). - - -II. - - -One of Mr. Andrew Lang's most genuine appreciations occurs in an epistle -addressed to Miss Girton, Cambridge; where, for the benefit of that -mythical young person, he translates a few passages out of _Sylvie_, and -favours us with a specimen of Gérard's verse. - -"I translated these fragments," he tells her, "long ago in one of the -first things I ever tried to write. The passages are as touching and -fresh, the originals, I mean, as when first I read them, and one hears -the voice of Sylvie singing: - - _'A Dammartin, l'y a trois belles filles,_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour.'_ - -So Sylvie married a confectioner, and, like Marion in the 'Ballad of -Forty Years,' 'Adrienne's dead' in a convent. That is all the story, all -the idyl." - -And just before this he has said of Gérard: "What he will live by, is -his story of Sylvie; it is one of the little masterpieces of the world. -It has a Greek perfection. One reads it, and however old one is, youth -comes back, and April, and a thousand pleasant sounds of birds in -hedges, of wind in the boughs, of brooks trotting merrily under the -rustic bridges. And this fresh nature is peopled by girls eternally -young, natural, gay, or pensive, standing with eager feet on the -threshold of their life, innocent, expectant, with the old ballads of -old France upon their lips. For the story is full of these artless, -lisping numbers of the popular French muse, the ancient ballads that -Gérard collected and put into the mouth of Sylvie, the pretty -peasant-girl." - -One more quotation from Mr. Lang, and we are done. Sylvie and Gérard -have met, and they go on a visit to her aunt, who, while she prepares -dinner, sends Gérard for her niece, who had "gone to ransack the peasant -treasures in the garret." "Two portraits were hanging there--one, that -of a young man of the good old times, smiling with red lips and brown -eyes, a pastel in an oval frame. Another medallion held the portrait of -his wife, gay, _piquante_, in a bodice with ribbons fluttering, and with -a bird perched on her finger. It was the old aunt in her youth, and -further search discovered her ancient festal-gown, of stiff brocade, -Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour; patches were found in a box of -tarnished gold, a fan, a necklace of amber." - -This is the charming moment chosen by M. Andhré des Gachons as the -subject of his _aquarelle_, reproduced in colour as frontispiece to the -present edition. - - -III. - - -In thus bringing out a fresh version of _Sylvie_, not to include the all -too few illusive lyrics "done into English" by Mr. Lang, his exquisite -sonnet on Gérard, and the lovely lines upon "Sylvie et Aurélie," were a -deplorable omission. The sonnet exists in an earlier form; preferably, -the later version is here given. - -Of De Nerval's prose little has yet found its way to us. His poetry is -fully as inaccessible. Things of such iridescent hue are possibly beyond -the art of translation. They are written in an unknown tongue; say, -rather, in the language of Dreamland, "vaporous, unaccountable";--a -world of crepuscular dawns, as of light irradiated from submerged sea -caverns,--"the mermaid's haunt" beheld of him alone. - - -IV. - - -With what _adieux_ shall we now take leave of our little pearl of a -story? And of him who gave us this exquisite creation of heart and brain -what words remain to say? - -Thou, Sylvie, art an unfading flower of virginal, soft Spring, and -faint, elusive skies. For _thee_ Earth's old sweet nights have shed -their tenderest dews, and in thy lovely Valois land thou canst not fade -or die. - -Thy lover, child, fared forth beneath an alien star. For _him_ there was -no true country, here;--no return to thy happy-hearted love: the desert -sands long since effaced the valley track. Only the far distant -lying,--the abyss that calls and is never dumb, urged his onward steps. -And these things, and this divine homesickness led him, pale nympholept, -beyond Earth's human shores. Thither to thee, rapt Soul, shall all -bright dreams of day, all lonely visions of the night, converge at -last. - - - - -SYLVIE: - -(SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS.) - - -_AN OLD TUNE._ - -_GÉRARD DE NERVAL._ - - _There is an air for which I would disown_ - _Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,--_ - _A sweet, sad air that languishes and sighs,_ - _And keeps its secret charm for me alone._ - - _Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,_ - _Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;_ - _The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold_ - _A green land golden in the dying day._ - - _An old red castle, strong with stony towers,_ - _The windows gay with many coloured glass;_ - _Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,_ - _That bathe the castle basement as they pass._ - - _In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,_ - _A lady looks forth from her window high;_ - _It may be that I knew and found her fair,_ - _In some forgotten life, long time gone by._ - - (ANDREW LANG.) - - - - -SYLVIE - -(RECOLLECTIONS OF VALOIS.) - - - - -I. - -A WASTED NIGHT. - - -I passed out of a theatre where I was wont to appear nightly, in the -proscenium boxes, in the attitude of suitor. Sometimes it was full, -sometimes nearly empty; it mattered little to me, whether a handful of -listless spectators occupied the pit, while antiquated costumes formed a -doubtful setting for the boxes, or whether I made one of an audience -swayed by emotion, crowned at every tier with flower-decked robes, -flashing gems and radiant faces. The spectacle of the house left me -indifferent, that of the stage could not fix my attention until at the -second or third scene of a dull masterpiece of the period, a familiar -vision illumined the vacancy, and by a word and a breath, gave life to -the shadowy forms around me. - -I felt that my life was linked with hers; her smile filled me with -immeasurable bliss; the tones of her voice, so sweet and sonorous, -thrilled me with love and joy. My ardent fancy endowed her with every -perfection until she seemed to respond to all my raptures--beautiful as -day in the blaze of the footlights, pale as night when their glare was -lowered and rays from the chandelier above revealed her, lighting up the -gloom with the radiance of her beauty, like those divine Hours with -starry brows, which stand out against the dark background of the -frescoes of Herculaneum. - -For a whole year I had not sought to know what she might be, in the -world outside, fearing to dim the magic mirror which reflected to me her -image. Some idle gossip, it is true, touching the woman, rather than the -actress, had reached my ears, but I heeded it less than any floating -rumours concerning the Princess of Elis or the Queen of Trebizonde, for -I was on my guard. An uncle of mine whose manner of life during the -period preceding the close of the eighteenth century, had given him -occasion to know them well, had warned me that actresses were not women, -since nature had forgotten to give them hearts. He referred, no doubt, -to those of his own day, but he related so many stories of his illusions -and disappointments, and displayed so many portraits upon ivory, -charming medallions which he afterwards used to adorn his snuff-boxes, -so many yellow love-letters and faded tokens, each with its peculiar -history, that I had come to think ill of them as a class, without -considering the march of time. - -We were living then in a strange period, such as often follows a -revolution, or the decline of a great reign. The heroic gallantry of the -Fronde, the drawing-room vice of the Regency, the scepticism and mad -orgies of the Directory, were no more. It was a time of mingled -activity, indecision and idleness, bright utopian dreams, philosophic or -religious aspirations, vague ardour, dim instincts of rebirth, weariness -of past discords, uncertain hopes,--an age somewhat like that of -Peregrinus and Apuleius. The material man yearned for the roses which -should regenerate him, from the hands of the fair Isis; the goddess -appeared to us by night, in her eternal youth and purity, inspiring in -us remorse for the hours wasted by day; and yet, ambition suited not our -years, while the greedy strife, the mad chase in pursuit of honour and -position, held us aloof from every possible sphere of activity. Our only -refuge was the ivory tower of the poets whither we climbed higher and -higher to escape the crowd. Upon the heights to which our masters guided -us, we breathed at last the pure air of solitude, we quaffed oblivion in -the golden cup of fable, we were drunk with poetry and love. Love, alas! -of airy forms, of rose and azure tints, of metaphysical phantoms. Seen -nearer, the real woman repelled our ingenuous youth which required her -to appear as a queen or a goddess, and above all, inapproachable. - -Some of our number held these platonic paradoxes in light esteem, and -athwart our mystic reveries brandished at times the torch of the deities -of the underworld, that names through the darkness for an instant with -its train of sparks. Thus it chanced that on quitting the theatre with -the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanished dream, I turned with -pleasure to a club where a party of us used to sup, and where all -depression yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant -wits, whose stormy gaiety at times rose to sublimity. Periods of renewal -or decadence always produce such natures, and our discussions often -became so animated that timid ones in the company would glance from the -window to see if the Huns, the Turkomans or the Cossacks were not coming -to put an end to these disputations of sophists and rhetoricians. "Let -us drink, let us love, this is wisdom!" was the code of the younger -members. One of them said to me: "I have noticed for some time that I -always meet you in the same theatre. For which one do you go?" Which! -why, it seemed impossible to go there for another! However, I confessed -the name. "Well," said my friend kindly, "yonder is the happy man who -has just accompanied her home, and who, in accordance with the rules of -our club, will not perhaps seek her again till night is over." - -With slight emotion I turned toward the person designated, and perceived -a young man, well dressed, with a pale, restless face, good manners, and -eyes full of gentle melancholy. He flung a gold piece on the card-table -and lost it with indifference. "What is it to me?" said I, "he or -another?" There must be someone, and he seemed worthy of her choice. -"And you?" "I? I chase a phantom, that is all." - -On my way out, I passed through the reading-room and glanced carelessly -at a newspaper, to learn, I believe, the state of the stock market. In -the wreck of my fortunes, there chanced to be a large investment in -foreign securities, and it was reported that, although long disowned, -they were about to be acknowledged;--and, indeed, this had just -happened in consequence of a change in the ministry. The bonds were -quoted high, so I was rich again. - -A single thought was occasioned by this sudden change of fortune, that -the woman whom I had loved so long, was mine, if I wished. My ideal was -within my grasp, or was it only one more disappointment, a mocking -misprint? No, for the other papers gave the same figures, while the sum -which I had gained rose before me like the golden statue of Moloch. - -"What," thought I, "would that young man say, if I were to take his -place by the woman whom he has left alone?" - -I shrunk from the thought, and my pride revolted. Not thus, not at my -age, dare I slay love with gold! I will not play the tempter! Besides, -such an idea belongs to the past. Who can tell me that this woman may be -bought? My eyes glanced idly over the journal in my hand, and I noticed -two lines: "_Provincial Bouquet Festival_. To-morrow the archers of -Senlis will present the bouquet to the archers of Loisy." These simple -words aroused in me an entirely new train of thought, stirring -long-forgotten memories of provincial days, faint echoes of the artless -joys of youth. - -The horn and the drum were resounding afar in hamlet and forest; the -young maidens were twining garlands as they sang, and binding nosegays -with ribbon. A heavy wagon, drawn by oxen, received their offerings as -it passed, and we, the children of that region, formed the escort with -our bows and arrows, assuming the proud title of knights,--we did not -know that we were only preserving, from age to age, an ancient feast of -the Druids that had survived later religions and monarchies. - - - - -II. - -ADRIENNE. - - -I sought my bed, but not to sleep, and, lost in a half-conscious revery, -all my youth passed before me. How often, in the border-land of dreams, -while yet the mind repels their encroaching fancies, we are enabled to -review in a few moments, the important events of a lifetime! - -I saw a castle of the time of Henry IV., with its slate-covered turrets, -its reddish front, jutting corners of yellow stone, and a stretch of -green bordered by elms and lime-trees, through whose foliage, the -setting sun shot its last fiery rays. Young girls were dancing in a ring -on the lawn, singing quaint old tunes caught from their mothers, in a -French whose native purity bespoke the old country of Valois, where for -more than a thousand years had throbbed the heart of France. I was the -only boy in the circle where I had led my young companion, Sylvie, a -little maid from the neighboring hamlet, so fresh and animated, with -her black eyes, regular features and slightly sun-burned skin. I loved -but her, I had eyes but for her--till then! I had scarcely noticed in -our round, a tall, beautiful blonde, called Adrienne, when suddenly, in -following the figures of the dance, she was left alone with me, in the -centre of the ring; we were of the same height, and they bade me kiss -her, while the dance and song went whirling on, more merrily than -before. When I kissed her, I could not forbear pressing her hand; her -golden curls touched my cheek, and from that moment, a new feeling -possessed me. - -The fair girl must sing a song to reclaim her place in the dance, and we -seated ourselves about her. In a sweet, penetrating voice, somewhat -husky, as is common in that country of mists and fogs, she sang one of -those old ballads full of love and sorrow, which always carry the story -of an imprisoned princess, shut in a tower by her father, as a -punishment for loving. At the end of every stanza, the melody died away -in those quavering trills which enable young voices to simulate so well -the tremulous notes of old women. - -While she sang, the shadows of the great trees lengthened and the light -of the young moon fell full upon her, as she stood apart from the rapt -circle. The lawn was covered with rising clouds of mist that trailed its -white wreaths over every blade of grass. We thought ourselves in -Paradise. The song ended and no one dared break the stillness--at last I -rose and ran to the gardens where some laurels were growing in large -porcelain vases painted in monochrome. I plucked two branches which were -twined into a crown, bound with ribbon, and I placed it upon Adrienne's -brow, where its glossy leaves gleamed above her fair locks in the pale -moonlight. She looked liked Dante's Beatrice, smiling at the poet as he -strayed on the confines of the Blest Abodes. - -Adrienne rose and, drawing up her slender figure, bowed to us gracefully -and ran back to the castle; they said she was the child of a race allied -to the ancient kings of France, that the blood of the Valois princes -flowed in her veins. Upon this festal day, she had been permitted to -join in our sports, but we were not to see her again, for on the morrow -she would return to the convent of which she was an inmate. - -When I rejoined Sylvie, I found her weeping because of the crown I had -given to the fair singer. I offered to make another for her, but she -would not consent, saying she did not merit it. I vainly tried to -vindicate myself, but she refused to speak as we went the homeward way. - -Paris soon recalled me to resume my studies, and I bore with me the -two-fold memory of a tender friendship sadly broken, and of a love -uncertain and impossible, the source of painful musings which my college -philosophy was powerless to dispel. - -Adrienne's face alone haunted me, a vision of glory and beauty, -sweetening and sharing the hours of arduous study. - -In the vacation of the following year, I learned that this lovely girl, -who had but flitted past me, was destined by her family to a religious -life. - - - - -III. - -RESOLVE. - - -These memories, recalled in my dreamy revery, explained everything. This -hopeless passion for an actress, which took possession of me nightly -from the hour when the curtain rose until I fell asleep, was born of my -remembrance of Adrienne, the pale moon-flower, as she glided over the -green, a rose-tinted vision enveloped in a cloud of misty whiteness. The -likeness of a face long years forgotten was now distinctly outlined; it -was a pencil-sketch, which time had blurred, developed into a painting, -like the first drafts of the old masters which delight us in a gallery, -the completed masterpiece being found elsewhere. - -To fall in love with a nun in the guise of an actress!... suppose they -were one and the same!--it is enough to drive one mad, a fatal mystery, -drawing me on like a will o' the wisp flitting over the rushes of a -stagnant pool. Let us keep a firm foothold on reality. - -Sylvie, too, whom I loved so dearly, why had I forgotten her for three -long years? She was a charming girl, the prettiest maiden in Loisy; -surely she still lives, pure and good. I can see her window, with the -creeper twining around the rose-bush, and the cage of linnets hanging on -the left; I can hear the click of her bobbins and her favourite song: - - _La belle était assise_ - _Près du ruisseau coulant...._ - - The maiden was sitting - Beside the swift stream. - -She is still waiting for me. Who would wed her, so poor? The men of her -native village are sturdy peasants with rough hands and gaunt, tanned -faces. I, the "little Parisian," had won her heart in my frequent visits -near Loisy, to my poor uncle, now dead. For the past three years I have -been squandering like a lord the modest inheritance left by him, which -might have sufficed for a lifetime, and Sylvie, I know, would have -helped me save it. Chance returns me a portion, it is not too late. - -What is she doing now? She must be asleep.... No, she is not asleep; -to-day is the Feast of the Bow, the only one in the year when the dance -goes on all night.... She is there. What time is it? I had no watch. - -Amongst a profusion of ornaments, which it was then the fashion to -collect, in order to restore the local colour of an old-time interior, -there gleamed with freshly polished lustre, one of those tortoise-shell -clocks of the Renaissance, whose gilded dome, surmounted by a figure of -Time, was supported by caryatides in the style of the Medici, resting in -their turn upon rearing steeds. The historic Diana, leaning upon her -stag, was in bas-relief under the face, where, upon an inlaid -background, enameled figures marked the hours. The works, no doubt -excellent, had not been put in motion for two centuries. It was not to -tell the hour that I bought this time-piece in Touraine. - -I went down to the porter's lodge to find that his clock marked one in -the morning. "In four hours I can be at Loisy," thought I. - -Five or six cabs were still standing on the Place du Palais Royal, -awaiting the gamblers and clubmen. "To Loisy," I said to the nearest -driver. "Where is it?" "Near Senlis, eight leagues distant." "I will -take you to the posting station," said the cabman, more alert than I. - -How dreary the Flanders road is by night! It gains beauty only as it -approaches the belt of the forest. Two monotonous rows of trees, taking -on the semblance of distorted figures, rise ever before the eye; in the -distance, patches of verdure and cultivated land, bounded on the left -by the blue hills of Montmorency, Ecouen and Luzarches. Here is Gonesse, -an ordinary little town, full of memories of the League and the Fronde. - -Beyond Louvres is a road lined with apple-trees, whose white blossoms I -have often seen unfolding in the night, like stars of the earth--it is -the shortest way to the village. While the carriage climbs the slope, -let me recall old memories of the days when I came here so often. - - - - -IV. - -A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA. - - -Several years had passed, and only a childish memory was left me of that -meeting with Adrienne in front of the castle. I was again at Loisy on -the annual feast, and again I mingled with the knights of the bow, -taking my place in the same company as of old. The festival had been -arranged by young people belonging to the old families, who still own -the solitary castles, despoiled rather by time than revolution, hidden -here and there in the forest. From Chantilly, Compiègne and Senlis, -joyous companies hastened to join the rustic train of archers. After the -long parade through hamlet and village, after mass in the church, -contests of skill and awarding of prizes, the victors were invited to a -feast prepared upon an island in the centre of one of the tiny lakes, -fed by the Nonette and the Thève. Boats, gay with flags, conveyed us to -this island, chosen on account of an old temple with pillars, destined -to serve as a banquet hall. Here, as in Hermenonville, the country side -is sown with these frail structures, designed by philosophical -millionaires, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the close of -the eighteenth century. Probably this temple was originally dedicated to -Urania. Three pillars had fallen, bearing with them a portion of the -architrave, but the space within had been cleared, and garlands hung -between the columns, quite rejuvenated this modern ruin, belonging -rather to the paganism of Boufflers and Chaulieu than of Horace. The -sail on the lake was perhaps designed to recall Watteau's "Voyage to -Cythera," the illusion being marred only by our modern dress. The -immense bouquet was borne from its wagon and placed in a boat, -accompanied by the usual escort of young girls dressed in white, and -this graceful pageant, the survival of an ancient custom, was mirrored -in the still waters that flowed around the island, gleaming in the red -sunlight with its hawthorn thickets and colonnades. - -All the boats soon arrived, and the basket of flowers borne in state, -adorned the centre of the table, around which we took our places, the -most fortunate beside a young girl; to win this favour it was enough to -know her relatives, which explains why I found myself by Sylvie, whose -brother had already joined me in the march, and reproached me for -neglecting to visit them. I excused myself by the plea that my studies -kept me in Paris, and averred that I had come with that intention. - -"No," said Sylvie, "I am sure he has forgotten me. We are only village -folk, and a Parisian is far above us." I tried to stop her mouth with a -kiss, but she still pouted, and her brother had to intercede before she -would offer me her cheek with an indifferent air. I took no pleasure in -this salute, a favour accorded to plenty of others, for in that -patriarchal country where a greeting is bestowed upon every passing -stranger, a kiss means only an exchange of courtesies between honest -people. - -To crown the enjoyment of the day, a surprise had been contrived, and, -at the close of the repast, a wild swan, hitherto imprisoned beneath the -flowers, soared into the air, bearing aloft on his powerful wings, a -tangle of wreaths and garlands, which were scattered in every direction. -While he darted joyously toward the last bright gleams of the sun, we -tried to seize the falling chaplets, to crown our fair neighbours. I was -so fortunate as to secure one of the finest, and Sylvie smilingly -granted me a kiss more tender than the last, by which I perceived that I -had now redeemed the memory of a former occasion. She had grown so -beautiful that my present admiration was without reserve, and I no -longer recognised in her the little village maid, whom I had slighted -for one more skilled in the graces of the world. Sylvie had gained in -every respect; her black eyes, seductive from childhood, had become -irresistibly fascinating, and there was something Athenian in her -arching brows, together with the sudden smile lighting up her quiet, -regular features. I admired this classic profile contrasting with the -mere prettiness of her companions. Her taper fingers, round, white arms -and slender waist changed her completely, and I could not refrain from -telling her of the transformation, hoping thus to hide my long -unfaithfulness. Everything favoured me, the delightful influences of the -feast, her brother's regard, the evening hour, and even the spot chosen -by a tasteful fancy to celebrate the stately rites of ancient gallantry. -We escaped from the dance as soon as possible, to compare recollections -of our childhood and to gaze, side by side, with dreamy pleasure, upon -the sunset sky reflected in the calm waters. Sylvie's brother had to -tear us from the contemplation of this peaceful scene by the unwelcome -summons that it was time to start for the distant village where she -dwelt. - - - - -V. - -THE VILLAGE. - - -They lived at Loisy, in the old keeper's lodge, whither I accompanied -them, and then turned back toward Montagny, where I was staying with my -uncle. Leaving the highway to cross a little wood that divides Loisy -from Saint S----, I plunged into a deep track skirting the forest of -Hermenonville. I thought it would lead me to the walls of a convent, -which I had to follow for a quarter of a league. The moon, from time to -time, concealed by clouds, shed a dim light upon the grey rocks, and the -heath which lay thick upon the ground as I advanced. Right and left -stretched a pathless forest, and before me rose the Druid altars -guarding the memory of the sons of Armen, slain by the Romans. From -these ancient piles I discerned the distant lakelets glistening like -mirrors in the misty plain, but I could not distinguish the one where -the feast was held. - -The air was so balmy, that I determined to lie down upon the heath and -wait for the dawn. When I awoke, I recognized, one by one, the -neighbouring landmarks. On the left stretched the long line of the -convent of Saint S----, then, on the opposite side of the valley, La -Butte aux Gens d'Armes, with the shattered ruins of the ancient -Carlovingian palace. Close by, beyond the tree-tops, the crumbling walls -of the lofty Abbey of Thiers, stood out against the horizon. Further on, -the manor of Pontarmé, surrounded as in olden times, by a moat, began to -reflect the first fires of dawn, while on the south appeared the tall -keep of La Tournelle and the four towers of Bertrand Fosse, on the -slopes of Montméliant. - -The night had passed pleasantly, and I was thinking only of Sylvie, but -the sight of the convent suggested the idea that it might be the one -where Adrienne lived. The sound of the morning bell was still ringing in -my ears and had probably awakened me. The thought came to me, for a -moment, that by climbing to the top of the cliff, I might take a peep -over the walls, but on reflection, I dismissed it as profane. The sun -with its rising beams, put to flight this idle memory, leaving only the -rosy features of Sylvie. "I will go and awaken her," I said to myself, -and again I started in the direction of Loisy. - -Ah, here at the end of the forest track, is the village, twenty cottages -whose walls are festooned with creepers and climbing roses. A group of -women, with red kerchiefs on their heads, are spinning in the early -light, in front of a farmhouse, but Sylvie is not among them. She is -almost a young lady, now she makes dainty lace, but her family remain -simple villagers. I ran up to her room without exciting surprise, to -find that she had been up for a long time, and was busily plying her -bobbins, which clicked cheerfully against the square green cushion on -her knees. "So, it is you, lazybones," she said with her divine smile; -"I am sure you are just out of bed." - -I told her how I had lost my way in the woods and had passed the night -in the open air, and for a moment she seemed inclined to pity me. - -"If you are not too tired, I will take you for another ramble. We will -go to see my grand-aunt at Othys." - -Before I had time to reply, she ran joyously to smooth her hair before -the mirror, and put on her rustic straw hat, her eyes sparkling with -innocent gaiety. - -Our way, at first, lay along the banks of the Thève, through meadows -sprinkled with daisies and buttercups; then we skirted the woods of -Saint Lawrence, sometimes crossing streams and thickets to shorten the -road. Blackbirds were whistling in the trees, and tomtits, startled at -our approach, flew joyously from the bushes. - -Now and then we spied beneath our feet the periwinkles which Rousseau -loved, putting forth their blue crowns amid long sprays of twin leaves, -a network of tendrils which arrested the light steps of my companion. -Indifferent to the memory of the philosopher of Geneva, she sought here -and there for fragrant strawberries, while I talked of the New Heloise, -and repeated passages from it, which I knew by heart. - -"Is it pretty?" she asked. - -"It is sublime." - -"Is it better than Auguste Lafontaine?" - -"It is more tender." - -"Well, then," said she, "I must read it. I will tell my brother to bring -it to me the next time he goes to Senlis." - -I went on reciting portions of the Heloise, while Sylvie picked -strawberries. - - - - -VI. - -OTHYS. - - -When we had left the forest, we found great tufts of purple foxglove, -and Sylvie gathered an armful, saying it was for her aunt who loved to -have flowers in her room. - -Only a stretch of level country now lay between us and Othys. The -village church-spire pointed heavenward against the blue hills that -extend from Montméliant to Dammartin. The Thève again rippled over the -stones, narrowing towards its source, where it forms a tiny lake which -slumbers in the meadows, fringed with gladiolus and iris. We soon -reached the first houses where Sylvie's aunt lived in a little cottage -of rough stone, adorned with a trellis of hop-vine and Virginia creeper. -Her only support came from a few acres of land which the village folk -cultivated for her, now her husband was dead. The coming of her niece -set the house astir. - -"Good morning, aunt; here are your children!" cried Sylvie; "and we are -very hungry." She kissed her aunt tenderly, gave her the flowers, and -then turned to present me, saying, "He is my sweetheart." - -I, in turn, kissed the good aunt, who exclaimed, "He is a fine lad! why, -he has light hair!" "He has very pretty hair," said Sylvie. "That does -not last," returned her aunt; "but you have time enough before you, and -you are dark, so you are well matched." - -"You must give him some breakfast," said Sylvie, and she went peeping -into cupboards and pantry, finding milk, brown bread and sugar which she -hastily set upon the table, together with the plates and dishes of -crockery adorned with staring flowers and birds of brilliant plumage. A -large bowl of Creil china, filled with strawberries swimming in milk, -formed the centrepiece, and after she had raided the garden for cherries -and goose-berries, she arranged two vases of flowers, placing one at -each end of the white cloth. Just then, her aunt made a sensible speech: -"All this is only for dessert. Now, you must let me set to work." She -took down the frying-pan and threw a fagot upon the hearth. "No, no; I -shall not let you touch it," she said decidedly to Sylvie, who was -trying to help her. "Spoiling your pretty fingers that make finer lace -than Chantilly! You gave me some, and I know what lace is." - -"Oh, yes, aunt, and if you have some left, I can use it for a pattern." - -"Well, go look upstairs; there may be some in my chest of drawers." - -"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie. - -"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one -always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after -having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her -belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph. - -I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room -above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the -purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait -of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy -lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore -the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Condé; his somewhat martial -bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from -the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, -destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to -the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the -keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and -winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant -frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good -old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It -reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, -their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love -appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires. - -"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!" - -"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer -which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the -heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she -said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, -ever young," thought I. - -Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her -feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender -figure. - -"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills -displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the -corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little -the vanished charms of her aunt. - -"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" -She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some -powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the -drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of -light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans -slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an -amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white -slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them -on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings." - -A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with -green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of -the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said -Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was -just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of -bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the -staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired -herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread -out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of -the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, -arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she -exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was -the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside -her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after -the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the -stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the -old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal -board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended -the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these -couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of -Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer -morn. - - - - -VII - -CHAÂLIS. - - -It is four o'clock in the morning; the road winds through a hollow and -comes out on high ground; the carriage passes Orry, then La Chapelle. On -the left is a road that skirts the forest of Hallate. Sylvie's brother -took me through there one evening in his covered cart, to attend some -local gathering on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew, I believe. Through the -woods, along unfrequented ways, the little horse sped as if hastening to -a witches' sabbath. We struck the highway again at Mont-l'Évêque, and a -few moments later pulled up at the keeper's lodge of the old abbey of -Chaâlis--Chaâlis, another memory! - -This ancient retreat of the emperors offers nothing worthy of -admiration, save its ruined cloisters with their Byzantine arcades, the -last of which are still mirrored in the lake--crumbling fragments of the -abodes of piety, formerly attached to this demesne, known in olden -times as "Charlemagne's farms." In this quiet spot, far from the stir of -highways and cities, religion has retained distinctive traces of the -prolonged sojourn of the Cardinals of the House of Este during the time -of the Medici; a shade of poetic gallantry still lingers about its -ceremonial, a perfume of the Renaissance breathing beneath the -delicately moulded arches of the chapels decorated by Italian artists. -The faces of saints and angels outlined in rose tints upon a vaulted -roof of pale blue produce an effect of pagan allegory, which recalls the -sentimentality of Petrarch and the weird mysticism of Francesco Colonna. -Sylvie's brother and I were intruders in the festivities of the evening. -A person of noble birth, at that time proprietor of the demesne, had -invited the neighbouring families to witness a kind of allegorical -spectacle in which some of the inmates of the convent close by were to -take part. It was not intended to recall the tragedies of Saint Cyr, but -went back to the first lyric contests, introduced into France by the -Valois princes. What I saw enacted resembled an ancient mystery. The -costumes, consisting of long robes, presented no variety save in colour, -blue, hyacinth or gold. The scene lay between angels on the ruins of the -world. Each voice chanted one of the glories of the now extinct globe, -and the Angel of Death set forth the causes of its destruction. A spirit -rose from the abyss, holding a flaming sword, and convoked the others to -glorify the power of Christ, the conqueror of bell. This spirit was -Adrienne, transfigured by her costume as she was already by her -vocation. The nimbus of gilded cardboard encircling her angelic head -seemed to us a circle of light; her voice had gained in power and -compass, and an infinite variety of Italian trills relieved with their -bird-like warbling the stately severity of the recitative. - -In recalling these details, I come to the point of asking myself, "Are -they real or have I dreamed them?" Sylvie's brother was not quite sober -that evening. We spent a few minutes in the keeper's house, where I was -much impressed by a cygnet displayed above the door, and within there -were tall chests of carved walnut, a large clock in its case and some -archery prizes, bows and arrows, above a red and green target. A -droll-looking dwarf in a Chinese cap, holding a bottle in one hand and a -ring in the other, seemed to warn the marksmen to take good aim. I think -the dwarf was cut out of sheet-iron. Did I really see Adrienne as surely -as I marked these details? I am, however, certain that it was the son of -the keeper who conducted us to the hall where the representation took -place; we were seated near the door behind a numerous company who seemed -deeply moved. It was the feast of Saint Bartholomew--a day strangely -linked with memories of the Medici, whose arms, impaled with those of -the House of Este, adorned these old walls. Is it an obsession, the way -these memories haunt me? Fortunately the carriage stops here on the road -to Plessis; I leave the world of dreams and find myself with only a -fifteen-minutes walk to reach Loisy by forest paths. - - - - -VIII - -THE BALL AT LOISY. - - -I entered the ball of Loisy at that sad yet pleasing hour when the -lights flicker and grow dim at the approach of dawn. A faint bluish -tinge crept over the tops of the lime-trees, sunk in shadow below. The -rustic flute no longer contended so gayly with the trills of the -nightingale. The dancers all looked pale, and among the dishevelled -groups I distinguished with difficulty any familiar faces. Finally, I -recognized a tall girl, Sylvie's friend Lise. - -"We have not seen you for a long time, Parisian," said she. - -"Yes; a long time." - -"And you come so late?" - -"By coach." - -"And you traveled slowly!" - -"I came to see Sylvie; is she still here?" - -"She will stay till morning; she loves to dance." - -In a moment I was beside her; she looked tired, but her black eyes -sparkled with the same Athenian smile as of old. A young man stood near -her, but she refused by a gesture to join the next country-dance, and he -bowed to her and withdrew. - -It began to grow light, and we left the ball hand in hand. The flowers -hung lifeless and faded in Sylvie's loosened tresses, and the nosegay at -her bosom dropped its petals on the crumpled lace made by her skilful -hands. I offered to walk home with her; it was broad day, but the sky -was cloudy. The Thève murmured on our left, leaving at every curve a -little pool of still water where yellow and white pond-lilies blossomed, -and lake star-worts, like Easter daisies, spread their delicate -broidery. The plain was covered with hay-ricks whose fragrance seemed -wafted to my brain, affecting me as the fresh scent of the woods and -hawthorn thickets had done in the past. This time neither of us thought -of crossing the meadows. - -"Sylvie," said I, "you no longer love me." - -She sighed. "My friend," she continued, "you must console yourself, -since things do not happen as we wish in this world. You once mentioned -the New Heloise; I read it, and shuddered when I found these words, at -the beginning: 'Any young girl who reads this book is lost.' However, I -kept on, trusting in my discretion. Do you remember the day we put on -the wedding clothes, at my aunt's house? The engravings in the book also -represented lovers dressed in olden costumes, so that to me you were -Saint-Preux and I was Julie. Ah! why did you not come back then? But -they said you were in Italy. You must have seen there far prettier girls -than I!" - -"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your -profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, -the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite -masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the -rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here." - -"And in Paris?" she asked. - -"In Paris--" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered -the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us -stop here, will you?" - -I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my -irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my -days. - -"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever." - -She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation -was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother -rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic -festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had -stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was -concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer -on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the -presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward -deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so -late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival. - -"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," -she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was -not offended. - - - - -IX. - -HERMENONVILLE. - - -Not feeling inclined to sleep, I walked to Montagny to revisit my -uncle's house. Sadness fell upon me at the first glimpse of its yellow -front and green shutters. Everything looked as before, but I was obliged -to go to the farmer's to obtain the key. The shutters once open, I -surveyed with emotion the old furniture, polished from time to time, to -preserve its lustre, the tall cupboard of walnut, two Flemish paintings -said to be the work of an ancient artist, our ancestor, some large -prints after Boucher, and a whole series of framed engravings -representing scenes from "Emile" and the "New Heloise" by Moreau; on the -table was the dog, now stuffed and mounted, that I remembered alive, as -the companion of my forest rambles, perhaps the last "Carlin," for it -had belonged to that breed now extinct. - -"As for the parrot," said the farmer, "he is still alive, and I took him -home with me." - -The garden offered a magnificent picture of the growth of wild -vegetation, and there in a corner was the plot I had tended as a child. -A shudder came over me as I entered the study, which still contained the -little library of choice books, familiar friends of him who was no more, -and where upon his desk lay antique relics, vases and Roman medals found -in the garden,--a local collection, the source of much pleasure to him. - -"Let us go to see the parrot," I said to the farmer. The parrot -clamoured for his breakfast, as in his best days, and gave me a knowing -look from his round eye peering out from the wrinkled skin, like the -wise glances of the old. - -Full of sad thoughts awakened by my return to this cherished spot, I -felt that I must again see Sylvie, the only living tie which bound me to -that region, and once more I took the road to Loisy. It was the middle -of the day, and I found them all asleep, worn out by the night of -merry-making. It occurred to me that it might divert my thoughts to -stroll to Hermenonville, a league distant, by the forest road. It was -fine summer weather, and on setting out I was delighted by the freshness -and verdure of the path which seemed like the avenue of a park. The -green branches of the great oaks were relieved by the white trunks and -rustling leaves of the birches. The birds were silent, and I heard no -sound but the woodpecker tapping the trees to find a hollow for her -nest. At one time I was in danger of losing my way, the characters being -wholly effaced on the guide-posts which served to distinguish the roads. -Passing the Desert on the left, I came to the dancing-ring where I found -the benches of the old men still in place. All the associations of -ancient philosophy, revived by the former owner of the demesne, crowded -upon me, at the sight of this picturesque realisation of "Anacharsis" -and "Emile." - -When I caught sight of the waters of the lake sparkling through the -branches of willows and hazels, I recognised a spot which I had often -visited with my uncle. Here stands to this day, sheltered by a group of -pines, the Temple of Philosophy which its founder had not the good -fortune to complete. It is built in the form of the temple of the -Tiburtine Sibyl, and displays with pride the names of all the great -thinkers from Montaigne and Descartes to Rousseau. This unfinished -structure is now but a ruin around which the ivy twines its graceful -tendrils, while brambles force their way between its disjointed steps. -When but a child, I witnessed the celebrations here, where young girls, -dressed in white, came to receive prizes for scholarship and good -conduct. Where are the roses that girdled the hillside? Hidden by brier -and eglantine, they are fast losing all traces of cultivation. As for -the laurels, have they been cut down, according to the old song of the -maidens who no longer care to roam the forest? No! these shrubs from -sweet Italy have withered beneath our unfriendly skies. Happily, the -privet of Virgil still thrives as if to emphasize the words of the -Master, inscribed above the door, _Rerum cognoscere causas._ Yes! like -so many others, this temple crumbles, and man, weary or thoughtless, -passes it by, while indifferent nature reclaims the soil for which art -contended, but the thirst for knowledge is eternal, the mainspring of -all power and activity. - -Here are the poplars of the island and the empty tomb of Rousseau. O -Sage! thou gavest us the milk of the strong and we were too weak to -receive it! We have forgotten thy lessons which our fathers knew, and we -have lost the meaning of thy words, the last faint echoes of ancient -wisdom! Still, let us not despair, and like thee, in thy last moments, -let us turn our eyes to the sun! - -I revisited the castle, the quiet waters about it, the cascade which -complains among the rocks, the causeway that unites the two parts of -the village with the four dove-cotes that mark the corners, and the -green that stretches beyond like a prairie, above which rise wooded -slopes; the tower of Gabrielle is reflected from afar in the waters of -an artificial lake studded with ephemeral blossoms; the scum is -seething, the insects hum. It is best to escape the noxious vapours and -seek the rocks and sand of the desert and the waste lands where the pink -heath blooms beside green ferns. How sad and lonely it all seems! In -by-gone days, Sylvie's enchanting smile, her merry pranks and glad cries -enlivened every spot! She was then a wild little creature with bare feet -and sun-burned skin, in spite of the straw hat whose long strings -floated loosely amid her dark locks. We used to go to the Swiss farm to -drink milk, and they said: "How pretty your sweetheart is, little -Parisian!" Ah! no peasant lad could have danced with her in those days! -She would have none but me for her partner, at the yearly Feast of the -Bow. - - - - -X. - -BIG CURLY-HEAD - - -I went back to Loisy and they were all awake. Sylvie was dressed like a -young lady, almost in the fashion of the city. She led me up to her room -with all her old simplicity. Her bright eyes smiled as charmingly as -ever, but the decided arch of her brows made her at times look serious. -The room was simply decorated, but the furniture was modern: a mirror in -a gilt frame had replaced the old-fashioned looking-glass where an -idyllic shepherd was depicted offering a nest to a blue and pink -shepherdess; the four-post bed, modestly hung with flowered chintz, was -succeeded by a little walnut couch with net curtains; canaries occupied -the cage at the window where once there were linnets. I was impatient to -leave this room, where nothing spoke to me of the past. "Shall you make -lace to-day?" I asked Sylvie. "Oh, I do not make lace now; there is no -demand for it here, and even at Chantilly the factory is closed." "What -is your work then?" She brought forward, from the corner of the room, an -iron tool which resembled a long pair of pincers. - -"What is that?" - -"It is called the machine and is used to hold the leather in place while -the gloves are sewed." - -"Then you are a glove-maker, Sylvie?" - -"Yes, we work here for Dammartin; it pays well now, but I shall not work -to-day; let us go wherever you like." I glanced towards Othys, but she -shook her head, and I understood that the old aunt was no more. Sylvie -called a little boy and bade him saddle an ass. "I am still tired from -yesterday," she said, "but the ride will do me good; let us go to -Chaâlis." - -We set out through the forest, followed by the boy armed with a branch. -Sylvie soon wished to stop, and I kissed her as I led her to a seat. Our -conversation could no longer be very intimate. I had to talk of my life -in Paris, my travels.... "How can anyone go so far?" she demanded. "It -seems strange to me, when I look at you." - -"Oh! of course," - -"Well, admit that you were not so pretty in the old days." - -"I cannot tell." - -"Do you remember when we were children and you the tallest?" - -"And you the wisest?" - -"Oh! Sylvie!" - -"They put us on an ass, one in each pannier." - -"And we said thee and thou to each other? Do you remember how you taught -me to catch crawfish under the bridges over the Nonette and the Thève?" - -"Do you remember your foster-brother who pulled you out of the water one -day?" - -"Big Curly-head? It was he who told me to go in." - -I made haste to change the subject, because this recollection had -brought vividly to mind the time when I used to go into the country, -wearing a little English coat which made the peasants laugh. Sylvie was -the only one who liked it, but I did not venture to remind her of such a -juvenile opinion. For some reason, my mind turned to the old aunt's -wedding clothes in which we had arrayed ourselves, and I asked what had -become of them. - -"Oh! poor aunt," cried Sylvie; "she lent me her gown to wear to the -carnival at Dammartin, two years ago, and the next year she died, dear, -old aunt!" She sighed and the tears came, so I could not inquire how it -chanced that she went to a masquerade, but I perceived that, thanks to -her skill, Sylvie was no longer a peasant girl. Her parents had not -risen above their former station, and she lived with them, scattering -plenty around her like an industrious fairy. - - - - -XI. - -RETURN. - - -The outlook widened when we left the forest and we found ourselves near -the lake of Chaâlis. The galleries of the cloister, the chapel with its -pointed arches, the feudal tower and the little castle which had -sheltered the loves of Henry IV. and Gabrielle, were bathed in the -crimson glow of evening against the dark background of the forest. - -"Like one of Walter Scott's landscapes, is it not?" said Sylvie. "And -who has told you of Walter Scott?" I inquired. "You must have read much -in the past three years! As for me, I try to forget books, and what -delights me, is to revisit with you this old abbey where, as little -children, we played hide and seek among the ruins. Do you remember, -Sylvie, how afraid you were when the keeper told us the story of the Red -Monks?" - -"Oh, do not speak of it!" - -"Well then, sing me the song of the fair maid under the white -rose-bush, who was stolen from her father's garden." - -"Nobody sings that now." - -"Is it possible that you have become a musician?" - -"Perhaps." - -"Sylvie, Sylvie, I am positive that you sing airs from operas!" - -"Why should you complain?" - -"Because I loved the old songs and you have forgotten them." - -Sylvie warbled a few notes of a grand air from a modern opera.... She -_phrased!_ - -We turned away from the lakeside and approached the green bordered with -lime-trees and elms, where we had so often danced. I had the conceit to -describe the old Carlovingian walls and to decipher the armorial -bearings of the House of Este. - -"And you! How much more you have read than I, and how learned you have -become!" said Sylvie. I was vexed by her tone of reproach, as I had all -the way been seeking a favourable opportunity to resume the tender -confidences of the morning, but what could I say, accompanied by a -donkey and a very wide-awake lad who pressed nearer and nearer for the -pleasure of hearing a Parisian talk? Then I displayed my lack of tact, -by relating the vision of Chaâlis which I recalled so vividly. I led -Sylvie into the very hall of the castle where I had heard Adrienne sing. -"Oh, let me hear you!" I besought her; "let your loved voice ring out -beneath these arches and put to flight the spirit that torments me, be -it angel or demon!" She repeated the words and sang after me: - - "_Anges, descendez promptement_ - _au fond du purgatoire...._" - - Angels descend without delay - To dread abyss of purgatory. - -"It is very sad!" she cried. - -"It is sublime! An air from Porpora, I think, with words translated in -the present century." - -"I do not know," she replied. - -We came home through the valley, following the Charlepont road which the -peasants, without regard to etymology, persistently called Châllepont. -The way was deserted, and Sylvie, weary of riding, leaned upon my arm, -while I tried to speak of what was in my heart, but, I know not why, -could find only trivial words or stilted phrases from some romance that -Sylvie might have read. I stopped suddenly then, in true classic style, -and she was occasionally amazed by these disjointed rhapsodies. Having -reached the walls of Saint S---- we had to look well to our steps, on -account of the numerous stream-lets winding through the damp marshes. - -"What has become of the nun?" I asked suddenly. - -"You give me no peace with your nun! Ah, well! it is a sad story!" Not a -word more would Sylvie say. - -Do women really feel that certain words come from the lips rather than -the heart? It does not seem probable, to see how readily they are -deceived, and what an inexplicable choice they usually make--there are -men who play the comedy of love so well! I never could accustom myself -to it, although I know some women lend themselves wittingly to the -deception. A love that dates from childhood is, however, sacred, and -Sylvie, whom I had seen grow up, was like a sister to me; I could not -betray her. Suddenly, a new thought came to me. "At this very hour, I -might be at the theatre. What is Aurélie (that was the name of the -actress) playing to-night? No doubt the part of the Princess in the new -play. How touching she is in the third act! And in the love scene of the -second with that wrinkled actor who plays the lover!" - -"Lost in thought?" said Sylvie; and she began to sing: - - _"A Dammartin l'y a trots belles filles:_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour...."_ - - _At Dammartin there are three fair maids,_ - _And one of them is fairer than day._ - -"Little tease!" I cried, "you know you remember the old songs." - -"If you would come here oftener, I would try to remember more of them," -she said; "but we must think of realities; you have your affairs at -Paris, I have my work here; let us go in early, for I must rise with the -sun to-morrow." - - - - -XII. - -FATHER DODU. - - -I was about to reply, to fall at her feet and offer her my uncle's house -which I could purchase, as the little estate had not been apportioned -among the numerous heirs, but just then we reached Loisy, where supper -awaited us and the onion-soup was diffusing its patriarchal odour. -Neighbours had been invited to celebrate the day after the feast, and I -recognised at a glance Father Dodu, an old wood-cutter who used to amuse -or frighten us, in the evenings by his stories. Shepherd, carrier, -gamekeeper, fisherman and even poacher, by turns, Father Dodu made -clocks and turnspits in his leisure moments. For a long time he acted as -guide to the English tourists at Hermenonville, and while he recounted -the last moments of the philosopher, would lead them to Rousseau's -favourite spots for meditation. He was the little boy employed to -classify the herbs and gather the hemlock twigs from which the sage -pressed the juice into his cup of coffee. The landlord of the Golden -Cross contested this point and a lasting feud resulted. Father Dodu had -once borne the reproach of possessing some very innocent secrets, such -as how to cure cows by saying a rhyme backwards and making the sign of -the cross with the left foot, but he had renounced these -superstitions--thanks, he declared, to his conversations with Jean -Jacques. - -"That you, little Parisian?" said Father Dodu; "have you come to carry -off our pretty girls?" - -"I, Father Dodu?" - -"You take them into the woods when the wolf is away!" - -"Father Dodu, you are the wolf." - -"I was as long as I could find sheep, but at present I meet only goats, -and they know how to take care of themselves! As for you, why, you are -all rascals in Paris. Jean Jacques was right when he said, 'Man grows -corrupt in the poisonous air of cities.'" - -"Father Dodu, you know very well that men become corrupt everywhere." - -"Father Dodu began to roar out a drinking song, and it was impossible to -stop him at a questionable couplet that everyone knew by heart. Sylvie -would not sing, in spite of our entreaties, on the plea that it was no -longer customary to sing at table. I bad already noticed the lover of -the ball, seated at her left, and his round face and tumbled hair seemed -familiar. He rose and stood behind me, saying, "Have you forgotten me, -Parisian?" A good woman who came back to dessert after serving us, -whispered in my ear: "Do you not recognize your foster-brother?" Without -this warning, I should have made myself ridiculous. "Ah, it is _Big -Curly-head_!" I cried; "the very same who pulled me out of the water." -Sylvie burst out laughing at the recollection. - -"Without considering," said the youth em-bracing me, "that you had a -fine silver watch and on the way home you were more concerned about it -than yourself, because it had stopped. You said, 'the _creature is -drowned_ does not go tick-tack; what will Uncle say?'" "A watch is a -creature," said Father Dodu; "that is what they tell children in Paris!" - -Sylvie was sleepy, and I fancied there was no hope for me. She went -upstairs, and as I kissed her, said: "Come again to-morrow." Father Dodu -remained at table with Sylvain and my foster-brother, and we talked a -long time over a bottle of Louvres ratafia. - -"All men are equal," said Father Dodu between glasses; "I drink with a -pastry-cook as readily as with a prince." - -"Where is the pastry-cook?" I asked. - -"By your side! There you see a young man who is ambitious to get on in -life." - -My foster-brother appeared embarrassed and I understood the situation. -Fate had reserved for me a foster-brother in the very country made -famous by Rousseau, who opposed putting children out to nurse! I learned -from Father Dodu that there was much talk of a marriage between Sylvie -and Big Curly-head, who wished to open a pastry-shop at Dammartin. I -asked no more. Next morning the coach from Nanteuil-le-Haudouin took me -back to Paris. - - - - -XIII - -AURÉLIE. - - -To Paris, a journey of five hours! I was impatient for evening, and -eight o'clock found me in my accustomed seat Aurélie infused her own -spirit and grace into the lines of the play, the work of a contemporary -author evidently inspired by Schiller. In the garden scene she was -sublime. During the fourth act, when she did not appear, I went out to -purchase a bouquet of Madame Prevost, slipping into it a tender effusion -signed _An Unknown_, "There," thought I, "is something definite for the -future," but on the morrow I was on my way to Germany. - -Why did I go there? In the hope of com-posing my disordered fancy. If I -were to write a book, I could never gain credence for the story of a -heart torn by these two conflicting loves. I had lost Sylvie through my -own fault, but to see her for a day, sufficed to restore my soul. A -glance from her had arrested me on the verge of the abyss, and -henceforth I enshrined her as a smiling goddess in the Temple of Wisdom. -I felt more than ever reluctant to present myself before Aurélie among -the throng of vulgar suitors who shone in the light of her favour for an -instant only to fall blinded. - -"Some day," said I, "we shall see whether this woman has a heart." - -One morning I learned from a newspaper that Aurélie was ill, and I wrote -to her from the mountains of Salzburg, a letter so filled with German -mysticism that I could hardly hope for a reply, indeed I expected none. -I left it to chance or ... the _unknown._ - -Months passed, and in the leisure intervals of travel I undertook to -embody in poetic action the life-long devotion of the painter Colonna to -the fair Laura who was constrained by her relatives to take the veil. -Something in the subject lent itself to my habitual train of thought, -and as soon as the last verse of the drama was written, I hastened back -to France. - -Can I avoid repeating in my own history, that of many others? I passed -through all the ordeals of the theatre. I "ate the drum and drank the -cymbal," according to the apparently meaningless phrase of the initiates -at Eleusis, which probably signifies that upon occasion we must stand -ready to pass the bounds of reason and absurdity; for me it meant to -win and possess my ideal. - -Aurélie accepted the leading part in the play which I brought back from -Germany. I shall never forget the day she allowed me to read it to her. -The love scenes had been arranged expressly for her, and I am positive -that I rendered them with feeling. In the conversation that followed I -revealed myself as the "Unknown" of the two letters. She said: "You are -mad, but come again; I have never found anyone who knew how to love me." - -Oh, woman! you seek for love ... but what of me? - -In the days which followed I wrote probably the most eloquent and -touching letters that she ever received. Her answers were full of good -sense. Once she was moved, sent for me and confessed that it was hard -for her to break an attachment of long standing. "If you love me for -myself alone, then you will understand that I can belong to but one." - -Two months later, I received an effusive letter which brought me to her -feet--in the meantime, someone volunteered an important piece of -information. The handsome young man whom I had met one night at the club -had just enlisted in the Turkish cavalry. - -Races were held at Chantilly the next season, and the theatre troupe to -which Aurélie belonged gave a performance. Once in the country, the -company was for three days subject to the orders of the director. I had -made friends with this worthy man, formerly the Dorante of the comedies -of Marivaux and for a long time successful in lovers' parts. His latest -triumph was achieved in the play imitated from Schiller, when my -opera-glass had discovered all his wrinkles. He had fire, however, and -being thin, produced a good effect in the provinces. I accompanied the -troupe in the quality of poet, and persuaded the manager to give -performances at Senlis and Dammartin. He inclined to Compiègne at first, -but Aurélie was of my opinion. Next day, while arrangements with the -local authorities were in progress, I ordered horses and we set out on -the road to Commelle to breakfast at the castle of Queen Blanche. -Aurélie, on horseback, with her blonde hair floating in the wind, rode -through the forest like some queen of olden times, and the peasants were -dazzled by her appearance. Madame de _F_-----was the only woman they had -ever seen so imposing and so graceful. After breakfast we rode down to -the villages like Swiss hamlets where the waters of the Nonette turn the -busy saw-mills. These scenes, which my remembrance cherished, interested -Aurélie, but did not move her to delay. I had planned to conduct her to -the castle near Orry, where I had first seen Adrienne on the green. She -manifested no emotion. Then I told her all; I revealed the hidden spring -of that love which haunted my dreams by night and was realized in her. -She listened with attention and said: "You do not love me! You expect me -to say 'the actress and the nun are the same'; you are merely arranging -a drama and the issue of the plot is lacking. Go! I no longer believe in -you." - -Her words were an illumination. The unnatural enthusiasm which had -possessed me for so long, my dreams, my tears, my despair and my -tenderness,--could they mean aught but love? What then is love? - -Aurélie played that night at Senlis, and I thought she displayed a -weakness for the director, the wrinkled "young lover" of the stage. His -character was exemplary, and he had already shown her much kindness. - -One day, Aurélie said to me: "There is the man who loves me!" - - - - -XIV. - -THE LAST LEAF. - - -Such are the fancies that charm and beguile us in the morning of life! I -have tried to set them down here, in a disconnected fashion, but many -hearts will understand me. One by one our illusions fall like husks, and -the kernel thus laid bare is experience. Its taste is bitter, but it -yields an acrid flavour that invigorates,--to use an old-fashioned -simile. Rousseau says that the aspect of nature is a universal -consolation. Sometimes I seek again my groves of Clarens lost in the fog -to the north of Paris, but now, all is changed! Hermenonville, the spot -where the ancient idyl blossomed again, transplanted by Gessner, thy -star has set, the star that glowed for me with two-fold lustre. Blue and -rose by turns, like the changeful Aldebaran, it was formed by Adrienne -and Sylvie, the two halves of my love. One was the sublime ideal, the -other, the sweet reality. What are thy groves and lakes and thy desert -to me now? Othys, Montagny, Loiseaux, poor neighbouring hamlets, and -Chaâlis now to be restored, you guard for me no treasures of the past. -Occasionally, I feel a desire to return to those scenes of lonely -musing, where I sadly mark the fleeting traces of a period when -affectation invaded nature; sometimes I smile as I read upon the granite -rocks certain lines from Boucher, which I once thought sublime, or -virtuous maxims inscribed above a fountain or a grotto dedicated to Pan. -The swans disdain the stagnant waters of the little lakes excavated at -such an expense. The time is no more when the hunt of Condé swept by -with its proud riders, and the forest-echoes rang with answering horns! -There is to-day no direct route to Hermenonville, and sometimes I go by -Creil and Senlis, sometimes by Dammartin. - -It is impossible to reach Dammartin before night, so I lodge at the -Image of Saint John. They usually give me a neat room hung with old -tapestry, with a glass between the windows. This room shows a return to -the fashion for bric-à-brac which I renounced long ago. I sleep -comfortably under the eider-down covering used there. In the morning, -when I throw open the casement wreathed with vines and roses, I gaze -with rapture upon a wide green landscape stretching away to the -horizon, where a line of poplars stand like sentinels. Here and there -the villages nestle guarded by their protecting church-spires. First -Othys, then Eve and Ver; Hermenonville would be visible beyond the wood, -if it had a belfry, but in that philosophic spot the church has been -neglected. Having filled my lungs with the pure air of these uplands, I -go down stairs in good humour and start for the pastry-cook's. "Helloa, -big Curly-head!" "Helloa, little Parisian!" We greet each other with sly -punches in the ribs as we did in childhood, then I climb a certain stair -where two children welcome my coming. Sylvie's Athenian smile lights up -her classic features, and I say to myself: "Here, perhaps, is the -happiness I have missed, and yet...." - -Sometimes I call her Lotty, and she sees in me some resemblance to -Werther without the pistols, which are out of fashion now. While Big -Curly-head is busy with the breakfast, we take the children for a walk -through the avenues of limes that border the ruins of the old brick -towers of the castle. While the little ones practise with their bows and -arrows, we read some poem or a few pages from one of those old books all -too short, and long forgotten by the world. - -I forgot to say that when Aurélie's troupe gave a performance at -Dammartin, I took Sylvie to the play and asked her if she did not think -the actress resembled someone she knew. - -"Whom, pray?" - -"Do you remember Adrienne?" - -She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!" - -Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she -died at the convent of Saint S---- about 1832." - - - - -APPENDIX. - -'_EL DESDICHADO._' - -_Gérard DE NERVAL._ - -_I am that dark, that disinherited._ -_That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,_ - _The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;_ -_A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!_ -_Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,_ - _Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,_ - _Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,_ -_The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain._ - -_Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been_ -_Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen_ - _Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,_ -_And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,_ -_And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,_ - _Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!_ - -(ANDREW LANG.) - - -TO ALEXANDER DUMAS. - - When it was currently reported that Gérard de Nerval had become - insane, Alexander Dumas, who was then publishing that amusing - journal _Le Mousquetaire,_ endeavored to explain and interpret the - poet's peculiar form of mental alienation. Gérard, who presently - came to himself, as was his wont, took note of the study, and in - return dedicated to Dumas his _Filles du Feu_, thus acknowledging - the obligation conferred by the great novelist in inditing the - epitaph of the poet's "lost wits." - - This dedication, now done into English for the first time, is - interesting and important, as embodying the author's own - interpretation of his singular mental constitution. He confesses - that he is unable to compose without incarnating himself in his - creations so thoroughly as to lose his own identity. In - illustration, he throws into the text the tragic history of a - mythical hero. It is easy to trace in this story of a nameless - prince, unable to prove his lofty origin, involved in a network of - misfortunes through the crafty machinations of the arch plotter La - Rancune (malice) and abandoned by his mistress, the beautiful - guiding Star of his destiny, allegorical allusions to the poet, the - heir of genius and of glory, unable to prove or justify his noble - birthright, his highest impulses misunderstood and trampled upon by - a heartless and vulgar world. - - LUCIE PAGE. - -I dedicate this book to you, my dear Master, as I dedicated _Lorely_ to -Jules Janin. I was indebted to him for the same service that I owe to -you. A few years ago, it was reported that I was dead, and he wrote my -biography. A few days ago, I was thought to have lost my reason, and you -honoured me by devoting some of your most graceful lines to the epitaph -of my intelligence. Such an inheritance of glory has fallen to me before -my time. How shall I venture, yet living, to deck my forehead with these -shining crowns? It becomes me to assume an air of modesty and beg the -public to accept, with suitable deductions, the eulogy bestowed upon my -ashes, or rather upon the lost wits contained in the bottle which, like -Astolpho, I have been to seek in the moon, and which, I trust, I have -now restored to their normal place in the seat of thought. - -Being, therefore, no longer mounted upon the hippogriff, and having, in -the popular conception, recovered what is vulgarly termed reason,--let -us proceed to the exercise of that faculty. - -Here is a fragment of what you wrote concerning me, the tenth of last -December: - -"As you can readily perceive, he possesses a subtle and highly -cultivated intellect, in which is manifested from time to time a -singular phenomenon which, fortunately, let us hope, has no serious -import to himself or his friends. At intervals, when preoccupied by -literary toil, imagination goaded to frenzy masters reason and drives it -from the brain; then, like an opium-smoker of Cairo, or a hashish-eater -of Algiers, Gérard finds again the talismans that evoke spirits. Now he -is King Solomon waiting for the Queen of Sheba; then by turns Sultan of -the Crimea, Count of Abyssinia, Duke of Egypt, or Baron of Smyrna. Next -day, he declares himself mad and relates the whole series of events from -which his madness sprung, with such a joyous abandon, such an ingenious -fertility of resource that one is ready to part with his wits in order -to follow such a fascinating guide through the desert of dreams and -hallucinations, sprinkled with oases fresher and greener than any which -dot the route from Alexandria to Ammon. Finally, melancholy becomes his -muse of inspiration, and now, restrain your tears if you can, for never -did Werther, René, or Antony pour forth sobs and complaints more tender -and pathetic!" - -I shall now endeavour to explain to you, my dear Dumas, the phenomenon -which you mention above. There are, as you well know, certain writers -who cannot invent without identifying themselves with the creations of -their imagination. You remember with what conviction our old friend -Nodier related how he had the misfortune to be guillotined in the -Revolution. The narrative was so convincing that we wondered -instinctively how he had contrived to fasten his head on again. - -Understand, therefore, that the ardour of production may conduce to a -like result, that the author incarnates himself, as it were, in the hero -of his imagination so completely that he loses himself and burns with -the imaginary flames of this hero's love and ambition! This was -precisely the effect produced upon me in narrating the history of a -personage who figured under the title of Brisacier, about the time of -Louis XV, I believe. Where did I read the fatal biography of this -adventurer? I have found again that of the Abbé of Bucquoy, but I cannot -recall the slightest historical proof of the existence of this -illustrious unknown. What for you, dear Master, would have been but a -pastime,--you, who have with clever artifices so bewildered our minds -concerning the old chronicles, that posterity will never be able to -disentangle truth from fiction, and is certain to credit your invention -with all the characters from history that figure in your romances--this -became for me a veritable obsession. To invent, is in reality only to -recollect, says a certain moralist. Finding no proofs of the material -existence of my hero, I suddenly came to believe in the transmigration -of souls, not less firmly than Pythagoras or Peter Leroux. Even the -eighteenth century, in which I believed myself to have lived, was full -of these illusions. Do you remember that courtier who recalled -distinctly that he was once a sofa? Whereupon Schahabaham exclaimed with -enthusiasm, "What, you were once a sofa! why, that is delightful!--Tell -me, were you embroidered?" - -As for me, I was embroidered at every seam. From the moment when I first -grasped the continuity of all my previous existences, I figured as -readily in one character as another, prince, king, mage, genie, or even -god; could I unite my memories in one masterpiece, it would represent -the Dream of Scipio, the Vision of Tasso or the Divine Comedy of Dante. -Renouncing, henceforth, all pretensions to inspiration or illumination, -I can offer only what you so justly call impracticable theories, an -impossible book, whose first chapter, subjoined below, seems but to -furnish the context of the Comic Romance of Scarron.... Read and judge -for yourself: - - -A TRAGIC ROMANCE. - -Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and -alas! still trusting in that beautiful _star_ of comedy, which, for one -brief instant, deigned to call me her _destiny_ The Star and its -Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet -Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two -characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven -pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other -new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that -gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and -equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some -miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant -lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince -in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better -treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an -enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by -the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to -hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son -of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and -well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old -intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch -set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of -my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But -in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a -puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small -clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord -were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he -insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a _contraband -prince_, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, -fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has -abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This -precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with -the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself -the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to -witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon -the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall -upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have -here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at -sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but -as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience. - -Do you remember how I used to play Achilles, when in passing through -some third or fourth-rate town, the whim would seize us to re-establish -the neglected cult of the old French tragedians? Was I not noble and -puissant in the gilded helmet with streaming locks of purple blackness, -the glittering armor and azure cloak? What a spectacle to see a father -as weak and cowardly as Agamemnon contend with the priest Calchas for -the honour of immolating such a victim as poor, weeping Iphigenia! I -rushed like a thunderbolt into the midst of the forced and cruel action; -I restored hope to the mothers and reawakened courage in the daughters, -always sacrificed from a sense of duty, to stay the anger of a god, -allay the vengeance of a nation, or advance the interests of a family. -For it is easy to recognize here the eternal type of human marriage. The -father will forevermore deliver up his daughter through ambition, and -the mother will sell her through cupidity; but the lover is not always -the worthy Achilles, so gallant and terrible, albeit a trifle too -rhetorical for a man of war! - -As for me, I often rebelled against declaiming long tirades in defense -of a course so evidently just, in the face of an audience so easily -convinced that I was in the right. I was tempted to stab the whole -idiotic court of the king of kings, with its sleepy rows of -super-numeraries, and so put an end to the piece. The public would have -been delighted, but on second thoughts would have found the play too -short, considering that time sufficient to witness the sufferings of a -princess, a lover and a queen, was its rightful due; a period long -enough to see them weep, rage and pour forth a torrent of poetic -invective against the established authority of priest and king. That was -well worth five acts and two hours of close attention, and the audience -would not content itself with less. It desires the humiliation of this -proud race seated upon the throne of Greece, before whom Achilles -himself dares to thunder but in words; it must sound all the depths of -misery hidden beneath this royal purple whose majesty seems so -irresistible. The tears which fall from the most glorious eyes in the -world upon the swelling bosom of Iphigenia, excite the crowd no less -than her beauty, her grace and the splendour of her royal robes. Listen -to the sweet voice that pleads for life with the touching reminder that, -as yet, she stands but upon its threshold. Who does not favour her -lover? Who could wish to see her slain? Great gods, what heart so hard! -None, surely!... On the contrary, the whole audience has already -decided that she must die for the general good rather than live for one -individual. Achilles seems to all too grand, too superb! Shall Iphigenia -be borne away by this Thessalian vulture, as, not long ago, the daughter -of Leda was stolen by a shepherd prince from the voluptuous shores of -Asia? This is the question of paramount importance to the Greeks and to -the audience as well, which takes our measure when we act the part of -hero. I felt myself as much an object of hatred to the men as of -admiration to the women when I thus played the part of victorious lover, -because it was no indifferent actress, taught to listlessly drone those -immortal verses, that I was defending, but a true Greek maiden, a pearl -of grace, purity and love, worthy, indeed, to be rescued by all human -efforts from the hands of the jealous gods. Not Iphigenia alone, she was -Junia, Berenice, all the heroines rendered illustrious by the fair blue -eyes of Mlle. de Champmeslé, or the charming graces of the noble maidens -of Saint Cyr. Poor Aurélie! My comrade and my sister, wilt thou never -regret those hours of triumph and rapture? Didst thou not love me for an -instant, cold star, when I fought and wept and suffered for thee? The -audience questioned nightly: "Who, pray, is this actress, so far beyond -all that we have ever applauded? Are we not mistaken? Is she really as -young, as dazzling, and as pure as she seems?" The young women envied, -criticised or admired sadly. As for me, I needed to see her constantly, -so as not to feel overpowered by her beauty and to be able to meet her -eyes whenever the exigencies of the plot demanded.... - -This is why Achilles was my triumph, although I was often embarrassed in -other parts. What a pity that I could not change the situations to suit -me, and sacrifice even the thoughts of genius to my love and respect! -The character of a timid and captive lover like Britannicus or Bajazet, -did not please me. The purple of the young Caesar attracted me more; but -what a misfortune to declaim in conclusion only cold and perfidious -speeches! What! Was this young Nero, the idol of Rome, the handsome -athlete, the dancer, the poet whose only wish was to please the -populace? Is this what history and the conceptions of our poets have -left of him? Ah! give me his fury to interpret; his power I would fear -to accept. Nero! I have comprehended thee, not alas! according to -Racine, but according to my own heart, torn with agony whenever I have -ventured to impersonate thee! Yes, thou wast a god, thou who wouldst -have burned Rome. Thou wast right, perhaps, since Rome had insulted -thee!... - -A hiss, a miserable hiss, in her presence, and because of her! A hiss of -scorn which she attributes to herself--through my mistake, be it -understood! Alas! my friends, for an instant, I felt an impulse to show -myself truly great, immortal, upon the stage of your theatre. Instead of -replying to the insult by another, which brought upon me the assault -from which I still suffer, instead of provoking a vulgar audience to -rush upon the scene and cowardly beat and belabour me, I held for a -moment a sublime purpose, worthy of Caesar himself, a purpose which none -could hesitate to pronounce in harmony with the dramatic conceptions of -the great Racine himself! I thought to set fire to the theatre, and -while the audience perished in the flames, bear away Aurélie in my arms, -her disheveled tresses streaming over her disordered dress. O remorse -that fills my feverish nights and days of agony! What! I might have done -this and I refrained! What! Do ye still insult me, ye, who owe your -lives to pity, rather than any fear on my part? I might have burned them -all! Judge for yourselves: the theatre of P---- has but one exit; ours -opened upon a little street in the rear, but the green-room, where you -were all assembled, is on the other side of the stage. In order to set -fire to the curtain, I had only to snatch down one of the lamps; I ran -no risk of detection, for the manager could not see me and I was alone -listening to the insipid dialogue between Britannicus and Junia, waiting -for my cue to reappear; all through that scene I was struggling with -myself, and when I entered upon the stage I was turning and twisting in -my fingers a glove that I had picked up; I expected to avenge myself -more nobly than Caesar himself of an insult that I had felt with all the -heart of a Caesar.... Ah, well! the cowards dared not begin again; my -glance confounded them, and I was on the point of pardoning the -audience, if not Junia herself, when she dared.... Immortal gods!... -Hold, let me speak my mind! ... Yes, since that night, it is my delusion -to imagine myself a Roman, an emperor; I have identified myself with my -part, and the tunic of Nero clings to my burning limbs as that of the -centaur to the dying Hercules. Let us jest no more with sacred things, -not even those of an age and nation long since past, lest perchance some -tongue of flame yet quiver in the ashes of the gods of Rome!... - -Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of -measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal -chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The -audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; -those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to -my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, -well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, -who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my -conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved -for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... -However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another -for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far -removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome -without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, -Britannicus. - -Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou -hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we -two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, -strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the -choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my -dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit -thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the -prize lost only for me. - -The letter which I have just received from La Caverne reassures me fully -on that point. She advises me to renounce an art for which I have no -capacity and which is incompatible with my necessities. The jest, in -sooth, is bitter, for never did I stand in greater need, if not of my -art, at least of its swift returns. This is just the point that you do -not understand. You consider that you have acquitted yourself of all -obligations toward me in recommending me to the authorities of Soissons -as a distinguished personage, whom his family cannot abandon, but whose -violent illness has forced you to leave him behind in your journey. Your -tool, La Rancune, presented himself at the town hall and the inn with -all the airs of a Spanish grandee forced by unpleasant circumstances to -spend a couple of nights in such a disagreeable place; the rest of you -obliged to leave P---- the day after my disaster, had, as I conceive, no -reason to allow yourselves to pass merely for disreputable players: it -is quite enough to wear that mask in places where no other course is -possible. As for me, what can I say, how shall I extricate myself from -the infernal network of conspiracy in which I find myself caught and -held through the machinations of La Rancune? The famous couplet from -Corneille's "Menteur" assuredly aided him in his invention for the wit -of such a rascal as he never reached such a pitch. Think for a -moment.... But what can I tell you that you do not know already and have -not devised together to ruin me? Have not the white fingers of the -ingrate who is the cause of all my misfortunes, tangled inextricably all -the silken threads that she could weave about her poor victim?... What a -master-plot! Ah, well! I am a captive and I confess it; I yield and -implore mercy. You can take me back without fear now, and if the rapid -post-chaises that bore you swiftly over the Flanders' route, three -months ago, have already given place to the humble equipages of our -first adventures, deign at least to receive me in the quality of monster -or phenomenon, fit to draw the crowd, and I promise to acquit myself of -these duties in a manner calculated to appease the most exacting amateur -of the province.... Answer immediately and I will send a trusty -messenger to bring me the letter from the post, as I fear the curiosity -of mine host.... - - BRISACIER. - - -How dispose now of this hero deserted by his mistress and his -companions? Is he, in truth, only a strolling player, rightly punished -for insulting the public, for indulging in his mad jealousy and alleging -ridiculous claims? How can he prove that he is the legitimate son of the -Khan of the Crimea, according to the crafty recital of La Rancune? How, -from the depths of misery where he is plunged, can he rise to the -highest destiny? These are points which would, doubtless, trouble you -but little, but which have thrown my mind into a strange disorder. Once -persuaded that I was writing my own history, I was touched by this love -for a fugitive star which deserted me in the dark night of my destiny; I -have wept and shuddered over these visions. Then a ray divine illumined -my _inferno_; surrounded by dim and monstrous shapes of horror against -which I struggled blindly, I seized at last the magic clue, the thread -of Ariadne, and since then all my visions have become celestial. One -day, I shall write the history of this "Descent to Hades," and you will -see that it has not been entirely devoid of reason, if it has always -been wanting in fact. And, since you have been so rash as to cite one of -my sonnets composed in this state of supernatural trance, as the Germans -call it, you must hear the rest. You will find them among my poems. They -are little more obscure than the metaphysics of Hegel or the Visions of -Swedenborg, and would lose their charm with any attempt at explanation, -were that possible;--probably my last illusion will be that of thinking -myself a poet; criticism must dispel it. - -1854. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - -***** This file should be named 40492-8.txt or 40492-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40492/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - -Author: Gérard de Nerval - -Commentator: Andrew Lang - -Translator: Lucie Page - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40492] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<h1>SYLVIE:</h1> - -<h2>SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS</h2> - -<h4>TRANSLATED FROM</h4> - -<h2>GÉRARD DE NERVAL</h2> - -<h3>BY</h3> - -<h3>LUCIE PAGE</h3> - - -<h5>Portland, Maine</h5> - -<h5>THOMAS B. MOSHER</h5> - -<h5>1896</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 452px;"> -<img src="images/sylvie.jpg" width="452" height="913" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h5><i>GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</i></h5> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<i>Of all that were thy prisons--ah, untamed,</i><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Ah, light and sacred soul!--none holds thee now;</i></span><br /> -<i>No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou</i><br /> -<i>Art free and happy in the lands unnamed,</i><br /> -<i>Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed,</i><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough</i></span><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>The Sybil doth to singing men allow,</i></span><br /> -<i>Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed.</i><br /> -<br /> -<i>And they would smile and wonder, seeing where</i><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind,</i></span><br /> -<i>Dreamily murmuring a ballad air,</i><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Caught from the Valois peasants, dost thou find</i></span><br /> -<i>A new life gladder than the old times were,</i><br /> - <span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind?</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em; font-size: 0.8em;">ANDREW LANG.</span> -</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%; font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><a href="#SYLVIE_ET_AURELIE">SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE.—ANDREW LANG</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><a href="#GERARD_DE_NERVAL">GÉRARD DE NERVAL</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><a href="#SYLVIE">SYLVIE:</a></span><br /></p> -<div class="center" style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#I">I</a></td><td align="left">A WASTED NIGHT</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#II">II</a></td><td align="left">ADRIENNE</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#III">III</a></td><td align="left">RESOLVE</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#IV">IV</a></td><td align="left">A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#V">V</a></td><td align="left">THE VILLAGE</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VI">VI</a></td><td align="left">OTHYS</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VII">VII</a></td><td align="left">CHAÂLIS</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#VIII">VIII</a></td><td align="left">THE BALL AT LOISY</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#IX">IX</a></td><td align="left">HERMENONVILLE</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#X">X</a></td><td align="left">BIG CURLY-HEAD</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#XI">XI</a></td><td align="left">RETURN</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#XII">XII</a></td><td align="left">FATHER DODU</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#XIII">XIII</a></td><td align="left">AURÉLIE</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#XIV">XIV</a></td><td align="left">THE LAST LEAF</td></tr> -</table></div> -<p style="margin-left: 30%; font-size: 0.8em;"><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><a href="#APPENDIX">APPENDIX</a></span> -</p> - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><i><a id="SYLVIE_ET_AURELIE"></a>SYLVIE ET AURÉLIE.</i></h4> - -<h4><i>IN MEMORY OF GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</i></h4> - -<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Two loves there were, and one was born</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Between the sunset and the rain;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Her singing voice went through the corn,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>On grass the fallen blossoms stain;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>And suns may set and moons may wane,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>But this love comes no more again.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>There were two loves, and one made white</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Thy singing lips and golden hair;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Born of the city's mire and light,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>The shame and splendour of the night,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>She trapped and fled thee unaware;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Not through the lamplight and the rain</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Shalt thou behold this love again.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>There comes no voice from mere or rill,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Her dance is over, fallen still</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>The ballad burdens that she knew:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>And thou must wait for her in vain,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Till years bring back thy youth again.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>That other love, afield, afar</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Fled the light love, with lighter feet.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>And flit in dreams from star to star,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>That dead love thou shalt never meet,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Thy soul shall find her soul again.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 15em; font-size: 0.8em;">ANDREW LANG.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<h3><a name="GERARD_DE_NERVAL" id="GERARD_DE_NERVAL">GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</a></h3> - - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;"><br /><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">Il a toujours cherché dans le monde</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">ce que le monde ne pouvait plus lui</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">donner.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 12em; font-size: 0.8em;">LUDOVIC HALÉVY.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 50%;"><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">He has been a sick man all his life.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">He was always a seeker after something</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">in the world that is there in no</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">satisfying measure, or not at all.</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 13em; font-size: 0.8em;">WALTER PATER.</span><br /> -<br /> -</p> - - - -<h4>I.</h4> - - -<p>Of Gérard de Nerval, whose true name was Gérard Labrunie, it has been -finely said: "His was the most beautiful of all the lost souls of the -French Romance."(*) Born in 1808, he came to his death by suicide one -dark winter night towards the end of January.</p> - -<p>The story of this life and its tragic finale was well known at the time -to all men of letters,—Théophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Arsène -Houssaye,—friends who never forgot the young poet even after he went -the way that madness lies. For it was insanity,—a nostalgia of the soul -always imminent—that led him into the squalid <i>Rue de la -Vieille-Lanterne</i>, in which long forgotten corner of old Paris his dead -body was found one bleak belated dawn. And this was forty years ago.</p> - -<p>In later days Maxime du Camp and Ludovic Halévy have retold with great -feeling the history of Gérard, his early triumphs, his love for Jenny -Colon,—the Aurélie of these <i>Souvenirs du Valois</i>,—and how at last -life's scurrile play was ended.</p> - -<blockquote> -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">(*) See <i>A Century of French Verse</i>, translated and edited by -William John Robertson (4to, London, 1895).</p> -</blockquote> - - -<h4>II.</h4> - - -<p>One of Mr. Andrew Lang's most genuine appreciations occurs in an epistle -addressed to Miss Girton, Cambridge; where, for the benefit of that -mythical young person, he translates a few passages out of <i>Sylvie</i>, and -favours us with a specimen of Gérard's verse.</p> - -<p>"I translated these fragments," he tells her, "long ago in one of the -first things I ever tried to write. The passages are as touching and -fresh, the originals, I mean, as when first I read them, and one hears -the voice of Sylvie singing:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>'A Dammartin, l'y a trois belles filles,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour.'</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>So Sylvie married a confectioner, and, like Marion in the 'Ballad of -Forty Years,' 'Adrienne's dead' in a convent. That is all the story, all -the idyl."</p> - -<p>And just before this he has said of Gérard: "What he will live by, is -his story of Sylvie; it is one of the little masterpieces of the world. -It has a Greek perfection. One reads it, and however old one is, youth -comes back, and April, and a thousand pleasant sounds of birds in -hedges, of wind in the boughs, of brooks trotting merrily under the -rustic bridges. And this fresh nature is peopled by girls eternally -young, natural, gay, or pensive, standing with eager feet on the -threshold of their life, innocent, expectant, with the old ballads of -old France upon their lips. For the story is full of these artless, -lisping numbers of the popular French muse, the ancient ballads that -Gérard collected and put into the mouth of Sylvie, the pretty -peasant-girl."</p> - -<p>One more quotation from Mr. Lang, and we are done. Sylvie and Gérard -have met, and they go on a visit to her aunt, who, while she prepares -dinner, sends Gérard for her niece, who had "gone to ransack the peasant -treasures in the garret." "Two portraits were hanging there—one, that -of a young man of the good old times, smiling with red lips and brown -eyes, a pastel in an oval frame. Another medallion held the portrait of -his wife, gay, <i>piquante</i>, in a bodice with ribbons fluttering, and with -a bird perched on her finger. It was the old aunt in her youth, and -further search discovered her ancient festal-gown, of stiff brocade, -Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour; patches were found in a box of -tarnished gold, a fan, a necklace of amber."</p> - -<p>This is the charming moment chosen by M. Andhré des Gachons as the -subject of his <i>aquarelle</i>, reproduced in colour as frontispiece to the -present edition.</p> - - -<h4>III.</h4> - - -<p>In thus bringing out a fresh version of <i>Sylvie</i>, not to include the all -too few illusive lyrics "done into English" by Mr. Lang, his exquisite -sonnet on Gérard, and the lovely lines upon "Sylvie et Aurélie," were a -deplorable omission. The sonnet exists in an earlier form; preferably, -the later version is here given.</p> - -<p>Of De Nerval's prose little has yet found its way to us. His poetry is -fully as inaccessible. Things of such iridescent hue are possibly beyond -the art of translation. They are written in an unknown tongue; say, -rather, in the language of Dreamland, "vaporous, unaccountable";—a -world of crepuscular dawns, as of light irradiated from submerged sea -caverns,—"the mermaid's haunt" beheld of him alone.</p> - - -<h4>IV.</h4> - - -<p>With what <i>adieux</i> shall we now take leave of our little pearl of a -story? And of him who gave us this exquisite creation of heart and brain -what words remain to say?</p> - -<p>Thou, Sylvie, art an unfading flower of virginal, soft Spring, and -faint, elusive skies. For <i>thee</i> Earth's old sweet nights have shed -their tenderest dews, and in thy lovely Valois land thou canst not fade -or die.</p> - -<p>Thy lover, child, fared forth beneath an alien star. For <i>him</i> there was -no true country, here;—no return to thy happy-hearted love: the desert -sands long since effaced the valley track. Only the far distant -lying,—the abyss that calls and is never dumb, urged his onward steps. -And these things, and this divine homesickness led him, pale nympholept, -beyond Earth's human shores. Thither to thee, rapt Soul, shall all -bright dreams of day, all lonely visions of the night, converge at -last.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="SYLVIE" id="SYLVIE">SYLVIE:</a></h3> - -<h3>(SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS.)</h3> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4><i>AN OLD TUNE.</i></h4> - -<h4><i>GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</i></h4> - -<p style="margin-left: 25%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>There is an air for which I would disown</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>A sweet, sad air that languishes and sighs,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>And keeps its secret charm for me alone.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>A green land golden in the dying day.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>An old red castle, strong with stony towers,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>The windows gay with many coloured glass;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>That bathe the castle basement as they pass.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>A lady looks forth from her window high;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>It may be that I knew and found her fair,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>In some forgotten life, long time gone by.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 18em; font-size: 0.8em;">(ANDREW LANG.)</span><br /> -</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h3><a name="I" id="I">I.</a></h3> - -<h3>A WASTED NIGHT.</h3> - - -<p>I passed out of a theatre where I was wont to appear nightly, in the -proscenium boxes, in the attitude of suitor. Sometimes it was full, -sometimes nearly empty; it mattered little to me, whether a handful of -listless spectators occupied the pit, while antiquated costumes formed a -doubtful setting for the boxes, or whether I made one of an audience -swayed by emotion, crowned at every tier with flower-decked robes, -flashing gems and radiant faces. The spectacle of the house left me -indifferent, that of the stage could not fix my attention until at the -second or third scene of a dull masterpiece of the period, a familiar -vision illumined the vacancy, and by a word and a breath, gave life to -the shadowy forms around me.</p> - -<p>I felt that my life was linked with hers; her smile filled me with -immeasurable bliss; the tones of her voice, so sweet and sonorous, -thrilled me with love and joy. My ardent fancy endowed her with every -perfection until she seemed to respond to all my raptures—beautiful as -day in the blaze of the footlights, pale as night when their glare was -lowered and rays from the chandelier above revealed her, lighting up the -gloom with the radiance of her beauty, like those divine Hours with -starry brows, which stand out against the dark background of the -frescoes of Herculaneum.</p> - -<p>For a whole year I had not sought to know what she might be, in the -world outside, fearing to dim the magic mirror which reflected to me her -image. Some idle gossip, it is true, touching the woman, rather than the -actress, had reached my ears, but I heeded it less than any floating -rumours concerning the Princess of Elis or the Queen of Trebizonde, for -I was on my guard. An uncle of mine whose manner of life during the -period preceding the close of the eighteenth century, had given him -occasion to know them well, had warned me that actresses were not women, -since nature had forgotten to give them hearts. He referred, no doubt, -to those of his own day, but he related so many stories of his illusions -and disappointments, and displayed so many portraits upon ivory, -charming medallions which he afterwards used to adorn his snuff-boxes, -so many yellow love-letters and faded tokens, each with its peculiar -history, that I had come to think ill of them as a class, without -considering the march of time.</p> - -<p>We were living then in a strange period, such as often follows a -revolution, or the decline of a great reign. The heroic gallantry of the -Fronde, the drawing-room vice of the Regency, the scepticism and mad -orgies of the Directory, were no more. It was a time of mingled -activity, indecision and idleness, bright utopian dreams, philosophic or -religious aspirations, vague ardour, dim instincts of rebirth, weariness -of past discords, uncertain hopes,—an age somewhat like that of -Peregrinus and Apuleius. The material man yearned for the roses which -should regenerate him, from the hands of the fair Isis; the goddess -appeared to us by night, in her eternal youth and purity, inspiring in -us remorse for the hours wasted by day; and yet, ambition suited not our -years, while the greedy strife, the mad chase in pursuit of honour and -position, held us aloof from every possible sphere of activity. Our only -refuge was the ivory tower of the poets whither we climbed higher and -higher to escape the crowd. Upon the heights to which our masters guided -us, we breathed at last the pure air of solitude, we quaffed oblivion in -the golden cup of fable, we were drunk with poetry and love. Love, alas! -of airy forms, of rose and azure tints, of metaphysical phantoms. Seen -nearer, the real woman repelled our ingenuous youth which required her -to appear as a queen or a goddess, and above all, inapproachable.</p> - -<p>Some of our number held these platonic paradoxes in light esteem, and -athwart our mystic reveries brandished at times the torch of the deities -of the underworld, that names through the darkness for an instant with -its train of sparks. Thus it chanced that on quitting the theatre with -the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanished dream, I turned with -pleasure to a club where a party of us used to sup, and where all -depression yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant -wits, whose stormy gaiety at times rose to sublimity. Periods of renewal -or decadence always produce such natures, and our discussions often -became so animated that timid ones in the company would glance from the -window to see if the Huns, the Turkomans or the Cossacks were not coming -to put an end to these disputations of sophists and rhetoricians. "Let -us drink, let us love, this is wisdom!" was the code of the younger -members. One of them said to me: "I have noticed for some time that I -always meet you in the same theatre. For which one do you go?" Which! -why, it seemed impossible to go there for another! However, I confessed -the name. "Well," said my friend kindly, "yonder is the happy man who -has just accompanied her home, and who, in accordance with the rules of -our club, will not perhaps seek her again till night is over."</p> - -<p>With slight emotion I turned toward the person designated, and perceived -a young man, well dressed, with a pale, restless face, good manners, and -eyes full of gentle melancholy. He flung a gold piece on the card-table -and lost it with indifference. "What is it to me?" said I, "he or -another?" There must be someone, and he seemed worthy of her choice. -"And you?" "I? I chase a phantom, that is all."</p> - -<p>On my way out, I passed through the reading-room and glanced carelessly -at a newspaper, to learn, I believe, the state of the stock market. In -the wreck of my fortunes, there chanced to be a large investment in -foreign securities, and it was reported that, although long disowned, -they were about to be acknowledged;—and, indeed, this had just -happened in consequence of a change in the ministry. The bonds were -quoted high, so I was rich again.</p> - -<p>A single thought was occasioned by this sudden change of fortune, that -the woman whom I had loved so long, was mine, if I wished. My ideal was -within my grasp, or was it only one more disappointment, a mocking -misprint? No, for the other papers gave the same figures, while the sum -which I had gained rose before me like the golden statue of Moloch.</p> - -<p>"What," thought I, "would that young man say, if I were to take his -place by the woman whom he has left alone?"</p> - -<p>I shrunk from the thought, and my pride revolted. Not thus, not at my -age, dare I slay love with gold! I will not play the tempter! Besides, -such an idea belongs to the past. Who can tell me that this woman may be -bought? My eyes glanced idly over the journal in my hand, and I noticed -two lines: "<i>Provincial Bouquet Festival</i>. To-morrow the archers of -Senlis will present the bouquet to the archers of Loisy." These simple -words aroused in me an entirely new train of thought, stirring -long-forgotten memories of provincial days, faint echoes of the artless -joys of youth.</p> - -<p>The horn and the drum were resounding afar in hamlet and forest; the -young maidens were twining garlands as they sang, and binding nosegays -with ribbon. A heavy wagon, drawn by oxen, received their offerings as -it passed, and we, the children of that region, formed the escort with -our bows and arrows, assuming the proud title of knights,—we did not -know that we were only preserving, from age to age, an ancient feast of -the Druids that had survived later religions and monarchies.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="II" id="II">II.</a></h3> - -<h3>ADRIENNE.</h3> - - -<p>I sought my bed, but not to sleep, and, lost in a half-conscious revery, -all my youth passed before me. How often, in the border-land of dreams, -while yet the mind repels their encroaching fancies, we are enabled to -review in a few moments, the important events of a lifetime!</p> - -<p>I saw a castle of the time of Henry IV., with its slate-covered turrets, -its reddish front, jutting corners of yellow stone, and a stretch of -green bordered by elms and lime-trees, through whose foliage, the -setting sun shot its last fiery rays. Young girls were dancing in a ring -on the lawn, singing quaint old tunes caught from their mothers, in a -French whose native purity bespoke the old country of Valois, where for -more than a thousand years had throbbed the heart of France. I was the -only boy in the circle where I had led my young companion, Sylvie, a -little maid from the neighboring hamlet, so fresh and animated, with -her black eyes, regular features and slightly sun-burned skin. I loved -but her, I had eyes but for her—till then! I had scarcely noticed in -our round, a tall, beautiful blonde, called Adrienne, when suddenly, in -following the figures of the dance, she was left alone with me, in the -centre of the ring; we were of the same height, and they bade me kiss -her, while the dance and song went whirling on, more merrily than -before. When I kissed her, I could not forbear pressing her hand; her -golden curls touched my cheek, and from that moment, a new feeling -possessed me.</p> - -<p>The fair girl must sing a song to reclaim her place in the dance, and we -seated ourselves about her. In a sweet, penetrating voice, somewhat -husky, as is common in that country of mists and fogs, she sang one of -those old ballads full of love and sorrow, which always carry the story -of an imprisoned princess, shut in a tower by her father, as a -punishment for loving. At the end of every stanza, the melody died away -in those quavering trills which enable young voices to simulate so well -the tremulous notes of old women.</p> - -<p>While she sang, the shadows of the great trees lengthened and the light -of the young moon fell full upon her, as she stood apart from the rapt -circle. The lawn was covered with rising clouds of mist that trailed its -white wreaths over every blade of grass. We thought ourselves in -Paradise. The song ended and no one dared break the stillness—at last I -rose and ran to the gardens where some laurels were growing in large -porcelain vases painted in monochrome. I plucked two branches which were -twined into a crown, bound with ribbon, and I placed it upon Adrienne's -brow, where its glossy leaves gleamed above her fair locks in the pale -moonlight. She looked liked Dante's Beatrice, smiling at the poet as he -strayed on the confines of the Blest Abodes.</p> - -<p>Adrienne rose and, drawing up her slender figure, bowed to us gracefully -and ran back to the castle; they said she was the child of a race allied -to the ancient kings of France, that the blood of the Valois princes -flowed in her veins. Upon this festal day, she had been permitted to -join in our sports, but we were not to see her again, for on the morrow -she would return to the convent of which she was an inmate.</p> - -<p>When I rejoined Sylvie, I found her weeping because of the crown I had -given to the fair singer. I offered to make another for her, but she -would not consent, saying she did not merit it. I vainly tried to -vindicate myself, but she refused to speak as we went the homeward way.</p> - -<p>Paris soon recalled me to resume my studies, and I bore with me the -two-fold memory of a tender friendship sadly broken, and of a love -uncertain and impossible, the source of painful musings which my college -philosophy was powerless to dispel.</p> - -<p>Adrienne's face alone haunted me, a vision of glory and beauty, -sweetening and sharing the hours of arduous study.</p> - -<p>In the vacation of the following year, I learned that this lovely girl, -who had but flitted past me, was destined by her family to a religious -life.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="III" id="III">III.</a></h3> - -<h3>RESOLVE.</h3> - - -<p>These memories, recalled in my dreamy revery, explained everything. This -hopeless passion for an actress, which took possession of me nightly -from the hour when the curtain rose until I fell asleep, was born of my -remembrance of Adrienne, the pale moon-flower, as she glided over the -green, a rose-tinted vision enveloped in a cloud of misty whiteness. The -likeness of a face long years forgotten was now distinctly outlined; it -was a pencil-sketch, which time had blurred, developed into a painting, -like the first drafts of the old masters which delight us in a gallery, -the completed masterpiece being found elsewhere.</p> - -<p>To fall in love with a nun in the guise of an actress!... suppose they -were one and the same!—it is enough to drive one mad, a fatal mystery, -drawing me on like a will o' the wisp flitting over the rushes of a -stagnant pool. Let us keep a firm foothold on reality.</p> - -<p>Sylvie, too, whom I loved so dearly, why had I forgotten her for three -long years? She was a charming girl, the prettiest maiden in Loisy; -surely she still lives, pure and good. I can see her window, with the -creeper twining around the rose-bush, and the cage of linnets hanging on -the left; I can hear the click of her bobbins and her favourite song:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>La belle était assise</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>Près du ruisseau coulant....</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em; font-size: 0.8em">(The maiden was sitting</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em; font-size: 0.8em">Beside the swift stream.)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>She is still waiting for me. Who would wed her, so poor? The men of her -native village are sturdy peasants with rough hands and gaunt, tanned -faces. I, the "little Parisian," had won her heart in my frequent visits -near Loisy, to my poor uncle, now dead. For the past three years I have -been squandering like a lord the modest inheritance left by him, which -might have sufficed for a lifetime, and Sylvie, I know, would have -helped me save it. Chance returns me a portion, it is not too late.</p> - -<p>What is she doing now? She must be asleep.... No, she is not asleep; -to-day is the Feast of the Bow, the only one in the year when the dance -goes on all night.... She is there. What time is it? I had no watch.</p> - -<p>Amongst a profusion of ornaments, which it was then the fashion to -collect, in order to restore the local colour of an old-time interior, -there gleamed with freshly polished lustre, one of those tortoise-shell -clocks of the Renaissance, whose gilded dome, surmounted by a figure of -Time, was supported by caryatides in the style of the Medici, resting in -their turn upon rearing steeds. The historic Diana, leaning upon her -stag, was in bas-relief under the face, where, upon an inlaid -background, enameled figures marked the hours. The works, no doubt -excellent, had not been put in motion for two centuries. It was not to -tell the hour that I bought this time-piece in Touraine.</p> - -<p>I went down to the porter's lodge to find that his clock marked one in -the morning. "In four hours I can be at Loisy," thought I.</p> - -<p>Five or six cabs were still standing on the Place du Palais Royal, -awaiting the gamblers and clubmen. "To Loisy," I said to the nearest -driver. "Where is it?" "Near Senlis, eight leagues distant." "I will -take you to the posting station," said the cabman, more alert than I.</p> - -<p>How dreary the Flanders road is by night! It gains beauty only as it -approaches the belt of the forest. Two monotonous rows of trees, taking -on the semblance of distorted figures, rise ever before the eye; in the -distance, patches of verdure and cultivated land, bounded on the left -by the blue hills of Montmorency, Ecouen and Luzarches. Here is Gonesse, -an ordinary little town, full of memories of the League and the Fronde.</p> - -<p>Beyond Louvres is a road lined with apple-trees, whose white blossoms I -have often seen unfolding in the night, like stars of the earth—it is -the shortest way to the village. While the carriage climbs the slope, -let me recall old memories of the days when I came here so often.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="IV" id="IV">IV.</a></h3> - -<h3>A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA.</h3> - - -<p>Several years had passed, and only a childish memory was left me of that -meeting with Adrienne in front of the castle. I was again at Loisy on -the annual feast, and again I mingled with the knights of the bow, -taking my place in the same company as of old. The festival had been -arranged by young people belonging to the old families, who still own -the solitary castles, despoiled rather by time than revolution, hidden -here and there in the forest. From Chantilly, Compiègne and Senlis, -joyous companies hastened to join the rustic train of archers. After the -long parade through hamlet and village, after mass in the church, -contests of skill and awarding of prizes, the victors were invited to a -feast prepared upon an island in the centre of one of the tiny lakes, -fed by the Nonette and the Thève. Boats, gay with flags, conveyed us to -this island, chosen on account of an old temple with pillars, destined -to serve as a banquet hall. Here, as in Hermenonville, the country side -is sown with these frail structures, designed by philosophical -millionaires, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the close of -the eighteenth century. Probably this temple was originally dedicated to -Urania. Three pillars had fallen, bearing with them a portion of the -architrave, but the space within had been cleared, and garlands hung -between the columns, quite rejuvenated this modern ruin, belonging -rather to the paganism of Boufflers and Chaulieu than of Horace. The -sail on the lake was perhaps designed to recall Watteau's "Voyage to -Cythera," the illusion being marred only by our modern dress. The -immense bouquet was borne from its wagon and placed in a boat, -accompanied by the usual escort of young girls dressed in white, and -this graceful pageant, the survival of an ancient custom, was mirrored -in the still waters that flowed around the island, gleaming in the red -sunlight with its hawthorn thickets and colonnades.</p> - -<p>All the boats soon arrived, and the basket of flowers borne in state, -adorned the centre of the table, around which we took our places, the -most fortunate beside a young girl; to win this favour it was enough to -know her relatives, which explains why I found myself by Sylvie, whose -brother had already joined me in the march, and reproached me for -neglecting to visit them. I excused myself by the plea that my studies -kept me in Paris, and averred that I had come with that intention.</p> - -<p>"No," said Sylvie, "I am sure he has forgotten me. We are only village -folk, and a Parisian is far above us." I tried to stop her mouth with a -kiss, but she still pouted, and her brother had to intercede before she -would offer me her cheek with an indifferent air. I took no pleasure in -this salute, a favour accorded to plenty of others, for in that -patriarchal country where a greeting is bestowed upon every passing -stranger, a kiss means only an exchange of courtesies between honest -people.</p> - -<p>To crown the enjoyment of the day, a surprise had been contrived, and, -at the close of the repast, a wild swan, hitherto imprisoned beneath the -flowers, soared into the air, bearing aloft on his powerful wings, a -tangle of wreaths and garlands, which were scattered in every direction. -While he darted joyously toward the last bright gleams of the sun, we -tried to seize the falling chaplets, to crown our fair neighbours. I was -so fortunate as to secure one of the finest, and Sylvie smilingly -granted me a kiss more tender than the last, by which I perceived that I -had now redeemed the memory of a former occasion. She had grown so -beautiful that my present admiration was without reserve, and I no -longer recognised in her the little village maid, whom I had slighted -for one more skilled in the graces of the world. Sylvie had gained in -every respect; her black eyes, seductive from childhood, had become -irresistibly fascinating, and there was something Athenian in her -arching brows, together with the sudden smile lighting up her quiet, -regular features. I admired this classic profile contrasting with the -mere prettiness of her companions. Her taper fingers, round, white arms -and slender waist changed her completely, and I could not refrain from -telling her of the transformation, hoping thus to hide my long -unfaithfulness. Everything favoured me, the delightful influences of the -feast, her brother's regard, the evening hour, and even the spot chosen -by a tasteful fancy to celebrate the stately rites of ancient gallantry. -We escaped from the dance as soon as possible, to compare recollections -of our childhood and to gaze, side by side, with dreamy pleasure, upon -the sunset sky reflected in the calm waters. Sylvie's brother had to -tear us from the contemplation of this peaceful scene by the unwelcome -summons that it was time to start for the distant village where she -dwelt.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="V" id="V">V.</a></h3> - -<h3>THE VILLAGE.</h3> - - -<p>They lived at Loisy, in the old keeper's lodge, whither I accompanied -them, and then turned back toward Montagny, where I was staying with my -uncle. Leaving the highway to cross a little wood that divides Loisy -from Saint S——, I plunged into a deep track skirting the forest of -Hermenonville. I thought it would lead me to the walls of a convent, -which I had to follow for a quarter of a league. The moon, from time to -time, concealed by clouds, shed a dim light upon the grey rocks, and the -heath which lay thick upon the ground as I advanced. Right and left -stretched a pathless forest, and before me rose the Druid altars -guarding the memory of the sons of Armen, slain by the Romans. From -these ancient piles I discerned the distant lakelets glistening like -mirrors in the misty plain, but I could not distinguish the one where -the feast was held.</p> - -<p>The air was so balmy, that I determined to lie down upon the heath and -wait for the dawn. When I awoke, I recognized, one by one, the -neighbouring landmarks. On the left stretched the long line of the -convent of Saint S——, then, on the opposite side of the valley, La -Butte aux Gens d'Armes, with the shattered ruins of the ancient -Carlovingian palace. Close by, beyond the tree-tops, the crumbling walls -of the lofty Abbey of Thiers, stood out against the horizon. Further on, -the manor of Pontarmé, surrounded as in olden times, by a moat, began to -reflect the first fires of dawn, while on the south appeared the tall -keep of La Tournelle and the four towers of Bertrand Fosse, on the -slopes of Montméliant.</p> - -<p>The night had passed pleasantly, and I was thinking only of Sylvie, but -the sight of the convent suggested the idea that it might be the one -where Adrienne lived. The sound of the morning bell was still ringing in -my ears and had probably awakened me. The thought came to me, for a -moment, that by climbing to the top of the cliff, I might take a peep -over the walls, but on reflection, I dismissed it as profane. The sun -with its rising beams, put to flight this idle memory, leaving only the -rosy features of Sylvie. "I will go and awaken her," I said to myself, -and again I started in the direction of Loisy.</p> - -<p>Ah, here at the end of the forest track, is the village, twenty cottages -whose walls are festooned with creepers and climbing roses. A group of -women, with red kerchiefs on their heads, are spinning in the early -light, in front of a farmhouse, but Sylvie is not among them. She is -almost a young lady, now she makes dainty lace, but her family remain -simple villagers. I ran up to her room without exciting surprise, to -find that she had been up for a long time, and was busily plying her -bobbins, which clicked cheerfully against the square green cushion on -her knees. "So, it is you, lazybones," she said with her divine smile; -"I am sure you are just out of bed."</p> - -<p>I told her how I had lost my way in the woods and had passed the night -in the open air, and for a moment she seemed inclined to pity me.</p> - -<p>"If you are not too tired, I will take you for another ramble. We will -go to see my grand-aunt at Othys."</p> - -<p>Before I had time to reply, she ran joyously to smooth her hair before -the mirror, and put on her rustic straw hat, her eyes sparkling with -innocent gaiety.</p> - -<p>Our way, at first, lay along the banks of the Thève, through meadows -sprinkled with daisies and buttercups; then we skirted the woods of -Saint Lawrence, sometimes crossing streams and thickets to shorten the -road. Blackbirds were whistling in the trees, and tomtits, startled at -our approach, flew joyously from the bushes.</p> - -<p>Now and then we spied beneath our feet the periwinkles which Rousseau -loved, putting forth their blue crowns amid long sprays of twin leaves, -a network of tendrils which arrested the light steps of my companion. -Indifferent to the memory of the philosopher of Geneva, she sought here -and there for fragrant strawberries, while I talked of the New Heloise, -and repeated passages from it, which I knew by heart.</p> - -<p>"Is it pretty?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"It is sublime."</p> - -<p>"Is it better than Auguste Lafontaine?"</p> - -<p>"It is more tender."</p> - -<p>"Well, then," said she, "I must read it. I will tell my brother to bring -it to me the next time he goes to Senlis."</p> - -<p>I went on reciting portions of the Heloise, while Sylvie picked -strawberries.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="VI" id="VI">VI.</a></h3> - -<h3>OTHYS.</h3> - - -<p>When we had left the forest, we found great tufts of purple foxglove, -and Sylvie gathered an armful, saying it was for her aunt who loved to -have flowers in her room.</p> - -<p>Only a stretch of level country now lay between us and Othys. The -village church-spire pointed heavenward against the blue hills that -extend from Montméliant to Dammartin. The Thève again rippled over the -stones, narrowing towards its source, where it forms a tiny lake which -slumbers in the meadows, fringed with gladiolus and iris. We soon -reached the first houses where Sylvie's aunt lived in a little cottage -of rough stone, adorned with a trellis of hop-vine and Virginia creeper. -Her only support came from a few acres of land which the village folk -cultivated for her, now her husband was dead. The coming of her niece -set the house astir.</p> - -<p>"Good morning, aunt; here are your children!" cried Sylvie; "and we are -very hungry." She kissed her aunt tenderly, gave her the flowers, and -then turned to present me, saying, "He is my sweetheart."</p> - -<p>I, in turn, kissed the good aunt, who exclaimed, "He is a fine lad! why, -he has light hair!" "He has very pretty hair," said Sylvie. "That does -not last," returned her aunt; "but you have time enough before you, and -you are dark, so you are well matched."</p> - -<p>"You must give him some breakfast," said Sylvie, and she went peeping -into cupboards and pantry, finding milk, brown bread and sugar which she -hastily set upon the table, together with the plates and dishes of -crockery adorned with staring flowers and birds of brilliant plumage. A -large bowl of Creil china, filled with strawberries swimming in milk, -formed the centrepiece, and after she had raided the garden for cherries -and goose-berries, she arranged two vases of flowers, placing one at -each end of the white cloth. Just then, her aunt made a sensible speech: -"All this is only for dessert. Now, you must let me set to work." She -took down the frying-pan and threw a fagot upon the hearth. "No, no; I -shall not let you touch it," she said decidedly to Sylvie, who was -trying to help her. "Spoiling your pretty fingers that make finer lace -than Chantilly! You gave me some, and I know what lace is."</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, aunt, and if you have some left, I can use it for a pattern."</p> - -<p>"Well, go look upstairs; there may be some in my chest of drawers."</p> - -<p>"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one -always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after -having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her -belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph.</p> - -<p>I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room -above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the -purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait -of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy -lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore -the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Condé; his somewhat martial -bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from -the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, -destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to -the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the -keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and -winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant -frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good -old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It -reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, -their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love -appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires.</p> - -<p>"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!"</p> - -<p>"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer -which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the -heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she -said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, -ever young," thought I.</p> - -<p>Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her -feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender -figure.</p> - -<p>"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills -displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the -corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little -the vanished charms of her aunt.</p> - -<p>"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" -She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some -powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the -drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of -light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans -slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an -amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white -slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them -on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings."</p> - -<p>A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with -green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of -the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said -Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was -just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of -bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the -staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired -herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread -out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of -the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, -arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she -exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was -the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside -her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after -the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the -stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the -old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal -board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended -the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these -couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of -Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer -morn.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="VII" id="VII">VII</a></h3> - -<h3>CHAÂLIS.</h3> - - -<p>It is four o'clock in the morning; the road winds through a hollow and -comes out on high ground; the carriage passes Orry, then La Chapelle. On -the left is a road that skirts the forest of Hallate. Sylvie's brother -took me through there one evening in his covered cart, to attend some -local gathering on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew, I believe. Through the -woods, along unfrequented ways, the little horse sped as if hastening to -a witches' sabbath. We struck the highway again at Mont-l'Évêque, and a -few moments later pulled up at the keeper's lodge of the old abbey of -Chaâlis—Chaâlis, another memory!</p> - -<p>This ancient retreat of the emperors offers nothing worthy of -admiration, save its ruined cloisters with their Byzantine arcades, the -last of which are still mirrored in the lake—crumbling fragments of the -abodes of piety, formerly attached to this demesne, known in olden -times as "Charlemagne's farms." In this quiet spot, far from the stir of -highways and cities, religion has retained distinctive traces of the -prolonged sojourn of the Cardinals of the House of Este during the time -of the Medici; a shade of poetic gallantry still lingers about its -ceremonial, a perfume of the Renaissance breathing beneath the -delicately moulded arches of the chapels decorated by Italian artists. -The faces of saints and angels outlined in rose tints upon a vaulted -roof of pale blue produce an effect of pagan allegory, which recalls the -sentimentality of Petrarch and the weird mysticism of Francesco Colonna. -Sylvie's brother and I were intruders in the festivities of the evening. -A person of noble birth, at that time proprietor of the demesne, had -invited the neighbouring families to witness a kind of allegorical -spectacle in which some of the inmates of the convent close by were to -take part. It was not intended to recall the tragedies of Saint Cyr, but -went back to the first lyric contests, introduced into France by the -Valois princes. What I saw enacted resembled an ancient mystery. The -costumes, consisting of long robes, presented no variety save in colour, -blue, hyacinth or gold. The scene lay between angels on the ruins of the -world. Each voice chanted one of the glories of the now extinct globe, -and the Angel of Death set forth the causes of its destruction. A spirit -rose from the abyss, holding a flaming sword, and convoked the others to -glorify the power of Christ, the conqueror of bell. This spirit was -Adrienne, transfigured by her costume as she was already by her -vocation. The nimbus of gilded cardboard encircling her angelic head -seemed to us a circle of light; her voice had gained in power and -compass, and an infinite variety of Italian trills relieved with their -bird-like warbling the stately severity of the recitative.</p> - -<p>In recalling these details, I come to the point of asking myself, "Are -they real or have I dreamed them?" Sylvie's brother was not quite sober -that evening. We spent a few minutes in the keeper's house, where I was -much impressed by a cygnet displayed above the door, and within there -were tall chests of carved walnut, a large clock in its case and some -archery prizes, bows and arrows, above a red and green target. A -droll-looking dwarf in a Chinese cap, holding a bottle in one hand and a -ring in the other, seemed to warn the marksmen to take good aim. I think -the dwarf was cut out of sheet-iron. Did I really see Adrienne as surely -as I marked these details? I am, however, certain that it was the son of -the keeper who conducted us to the hall where the representation took -place; we were seated near the door behind a numerous company who seemed -deeply moved. It was the feast of Saint Bartholomew—a day strangely -linked with memories of the Medici, whose arms, impaled with those of -the House of Este, adorned these old walls. Is it an obsession, the way -these memories haunt me? Fortunately the carriage stops here on the road -to Plessis; I leave the world of dreams and find myself with only a -fifteen-minutes walk to reach Loisy by forest paths.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="VIII" id="VIII">VIII</a></h3> - -<h3>THE BALL AT LOISY.</h3> - - -<p>I entered the ball of Loisy at that sad yet pleasing hour when the -lights flicker and grow dim at the approach of dawn. A faint bluish -tinge crept over the tops of the lime-trees, sunk in shadow below. The -rustic flute no longer contended so gayly with the trills of the -nightingale. The dancers all looked pale, and among the dishevelled -groups I distinguished with difficulty any familiar faces. Finally, I -recognized a tall girl, Sylvie's friend Lise.</p> - -<p>"We have not seen you for a long time, Parisian," said she.</p> - -<p>"Yes; a long time."</p> - -<p>"And you come so late?"</p> - -<p>"By coach."</p> - -<p>"And you traveled slowly!"</p> - -<p>"I came to see Sylvie; is she still here?"</p> - -<p>"She will stay till morning; she loves to dance."</p> - -<p>In a moment I was beside her; she looked tired, but her black eyes -sparkled with the same Athenian smile as of old. A young man stood near -her, but she refused by a gesture to join the next country-dance, and he -bowed to her and withdrew.</p> - -<p>It began to grow light, and we left the ball hand in hand. The flowers -hung lifeless and faded in Sylvie's loosened tresses, and the nosegay at -her bosom dropped its petals on the crumpled lace made by her skilful -hands. I offered to walk home with her; it was broad day, but the sky -was cloudy. The Thève murmured on our left, leaving at every curve a -little pool of still water where yellow and white pond-lilies blossomed, -and lake star-worts, like Easter daisies, spread their delicate -broidery. The plain was covered with hay-ricks whose fragrance seemed -wafted to my brain, affecting me as the fresh scent of the woods and -hawthorn thickets had done in the past. This time neither of us thought -of crossing the meadows.</p> - -<p>"Sylvie," said I, "you no longer love me."</p> - -<p>She sighed. "My friend," she continued, "you must console yourself, -since things do not happen as we wish in this world. You once mentioned -the New Heloise; I read it, and shuddered when I found these words, at -the beginning: 'Any young girl who reads this book is lost.' However, I -kept on, trusting in my discretion. Do you remember the day we put on -the wedding clothes, at my aunt's house? The engravings in the book also -represented lovers dressed in olden costumes, so that to me you were -Saint-Preux and I was Julie. Ah! why did you not come back then? But -they said you were in Italy. You must have seen there far prettier girls -than I!"</p> - -<p>"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your -profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, -the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite -masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the -rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here."</p> - -<p>"And in Paris?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"In Paris—" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered -the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us -stop here, will you?"</p> - -<p>I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my -irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my -days.</p> - -<p>"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever."</p> - -<p>She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation -was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother -rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic -festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had -stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was -concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer -on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the -presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward -deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so -late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival.</p> - -<p>"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," -she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was -not offended.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="IX" id="IX">IX.</a></h3> - -<h3>HERMENONVILLE.</h3> - - -<p>Not feeling inclined to sleep, I walked to Montagny to revisit my -uncle's house. Sadness fell upon me at the first glimpse of its yellow -front and green shutters. Everything looked as before, but I was obliged -to go to the farmer's to obtain the key. The shutters once open, I -surveyed with emotion the old furniture, polished from time to time, to -preserve its lustre, the tall cupboard of walnut, two Flemish paintings -said to be the work of an ancient artist, our ancestor, some large -prints after Boucher, and a whole series of framed engravings -representing scenes from "Emile" and the "New Heloise" by Moreau; on the -table was the dog, now stuffed and mounted, that I remembered alive, as -the companion of my forest rambles, perhaps the last "Carlin," for it -had belonged to that breed now extinct.</p> - -<p>"As for the parrot," said the farmer, "he is still alive, and I took him -home with me."</p> - -<p>The garden offered a magnificent picture of the growth of wild -vegetation, and there in a corner was the plot I had tended as a child. -A shudder came over me as I entered the study, which still contained the -little library of choice books, familiar friends of him who was no more, -and where upon his desk lay antique relics, vases and Roman medals found -in the garden,—a local collection, the source of much pleasure to him.</p> - -<p>"Let us go to see the parrot," I said to the farmer. The parrot -clamoured for his breakfast, as in his best days, and gave me a knowing -look from his round eye peering out from the wrinkled skin, like the -wise glances of the old.</p> - -<p>Full of sad thoughts awakened by my return to this cherished spot, I -felt that I must again see Sylvie, the only living tie which bound me to -that region, and once more I took the road to Loisy. It was the middle -of the day, and I found them all asleep, worn out by the night of -merry-making. It occurred to me that it might divert my thoughts to -stroll to Hermenonville, a league distant, by the forest road. It was -fine summer weather, and on setting out I was delighted by the freshness -and verdure of the path which seemed like the avenue of a park. The -green branches of the great oaks were relieved by the white trunks and -rustling leaves of the birches. The birds were silent, and I heard no -sound but the woodpecker tapping the trees to find a hollow for her -nest. At one time I was in danger of losing my way, the characters being -wholly effaced on the guide-posts which served to distinguish the roads. -Passing the Desert on the left, I came to the dancing-ring where I found -the benches of the old men still in place. All the associations of -ancient philosophy, revived by the former owner of the demesne, crowded -upon me, at the sight of this picturesque realisation of "Anacharsis" -and "Emile."</p> - -<p>When I caught sight of the waters of the lake sparkling through the -branches of willows and hazels, I recognised a spot which I had often -visited with my uncle. Here stands to this day, sheltered by a group of -pines, the Temple of Philosophy which its founder had not the good -fortune to complete. It is built in the form of the temple of the -Tiburtine Sibyl, and displays with pride the names of all the great -thinkers from Montaigne and Descartes to Rousseau. This unfinished -structure is now but a ruin around which the ivy twines its graceful -tendrils, while brambles force their way between its disjointed steps. -When but a child, I witnessed the celebrations here, where young girls, -dressed in white, came to receive prizes for scholarship and good -conduct. Where are the roses that girdled the hillside? Hidden by brier -and eglantine, they are fast losing all traces of cultivation. As for -the laurels, have they been cut down, according to the old song of the -maidens who no longer care to roam the forest? No! these shrubs from -sweet Italy have withered beneath our unfriendly skies. Happily, the -privet of Virgil still thrives as if to emphasize the words of the -Master, inscribed above the door, <i>Rerum cognoscere causas.</i> Yes! like -so many others, this temple crumbles, and man, weary or thoughtless, -passes it by, while indifferent nature reclaims the soil for which art -contended, but the thirst for knowledge is eternal, the mainspring of -all power and activity.</p> - -<p>Here are the poplars of the island and the empty tomb of Rousseau. O -Sage! thou gavest us the milk of the strong and we were too weak to -receive it! We have forgotten thy lessons which our fathers knew, and we -have lost the meaning of thy words, the last faint echoes of ancient -wisdom! Still, let us not despair, and like thee, in thy last moments, -let us turn our eyes to the sun!</p> - -<p>I revisited the castle, the quiet waters about it, the cascade which -complains among the rocks, the causeway that unites the two parts of -the village with the four dove-cotes that mark the corners, and the -green that stretches beyond like a prairie, above which rise wooded -slopes; the tower of Gabrielle is reflected from afar in the waters of -an artificial lake studded with ephemeral blossoms; the scum is -seething, the insects hum. It is best to escape the noxious vapours and -seek the rocks and sand of the desert and the waste lands where the pink -heath blooms beside green ferns. How sad and lonely it all seems! In -by-gone days, Sylvie's enchanting smile, her merry pranks and glad cries -enlivened every spot! She was then a wild little creature with bare feet -and sun-burned skin, in spite of the straw hat whose long strings -floated loosely amid her dark locks. We used to go to the Swiss farm to -drink milk, and they said: "How pretty your sweetheart is, little -Parisian!" Ah! no peasant lad could have danced with her in those days! -She would have none but me for her partner, at the yearly Feast of the -Bow.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="X" id="X">X.</a></h3> - -<h3>BIG CURLY-HEAD</h3> - - -<p>I went back to Loisy and they were all awake. Sylvie was dressed like a -young lady, almost in the fashion of the city. She led me up to her room -with all her old simplicity. Her bright eyes smiled as charmingly as -ever, but the decided arch of her brows made her at times look serious. -The room was simply decorated, but the furniture was modern: a mirror in -a gilt frame had replaced the old-fashioned looking-glass where an -idyllic shepherd was depicted offering a nest to a blue and pink -shepherdess; the four-post bed, modestly hung with flowered chintz, was -succeeded by a little walnut couch with net curtains; canaries occupied -the cage at the window where once there were linnets. I was impatient to -leave this room, where nothing spoke to me of the past. "Shall you make -lace to-day?" I asked Sylvie. "Oh, I do not make lace now; there is no -demand for it here, and even at Chantilly the factory is closed." "What -is your work then?" She brought forward, from the corner of the room, an -iron tool which resembled a long pair of pincers.</p> - -<p>"What is that?"</p> - -<p>"It is called the machine and is used to hold the leather in place while -the gloves are sewed."</p> - -<p>"Then you are a glove-maker, Sylvie?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, we work here for Dammartin; it pays well now, but I shall not work -to-day; let us go wherever you like." I glanced towards Othys, but she -shook her head, and I understood that the old aunt was no more. Sylvie -called a little boy and bade him saddle an ass. "I am still tired from -yesterday," she said, "but the ride will do me good; let us go to -Chaâlis."</p> - -<p>We set out through the forest, followed by the boy armed with a branch. -Sylvie soon wished to stop, and I kissed her as I led her to a seat. Our -conversation could no longer be very intimate. I had to talk of my life -in Paris, my travels.... "How can anyone go so far?" she demanded. "It -seems strange to me, when I look at you."</p> - -<p>"Oh! of course,"</p> - -<p>"Well, admit that you were not so pretty in the old days."</p> - -<p>"I cannot tell."</p> - -<p>"Do you remember when we were children and you the tallest?"</p> - -<p>"And you the wisest?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! Sylvie!"</p> - -<p>"They put us on an ass, one in each pannier."</p> - -<p>"And we said thee and thou to each other? Do you remember how you taught -me to catch crawfish under the bridges over the Nonette and the Thève?"</p> - -<p>"Do you remember your foster-brother who pulled you out of the water one -day?"</p> - -<p>"Big Curly-head? It was he who told me to go in."</p> - -<p>I made haste to change the subject, because this recollection had -brought vividly to mind the time when I used to go into the country, -wearing a little English coat which made the peasants laugh. Sylvie was -the only one who liked it, but I did not venture to remind her of such a -juvenile opinion. For some reason, my mind turned to the old aunt's -wedding clothes in which we had arrayed ourselves, and I asked what had -become of them.</p> - -<p>"Oh! poor aunt," cried Sylvie; "she lent me her gown to wear to the -carnival at Dammartin, two years ago, and the next year she died, dear, -old aunt!" She sighed and the tears came, so I could not inquire how it -chanced that she went to a masquerade, but I perceived that, thanks to -her skill, Sylvie was no longer a peasant girl. Her parents had not -risen above their former station, and she lived with them, scattering -plenty around her like an industrious fairy.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="XI" id="XI">XI.</a></h3> - -<h3>RETURN.</h3> - - -<p>The outlook widened when we left the forest and we found ourselves near -the lake of Chaâlis. The galleries of the cloister, the chapel with its -pointed arches, the feudal tower and the little castle which had -sheltered the loves of Henry IV. and Gabrielle, were bathed in the -crimson glow of evening against the dark background of the forest.</p> - -<p>"Like one of Walter Scott's landscapes, is it not?" said Sylvie. "And -who has told you of Walter Scott?" I inquired. "You must have read much -in the past three years! As for me, I try to forget books, and what -delights me, is to revisit with you this old abbey where, as little -children, we played hide and seek among the ruins. Do you remember, -Sylvie, how afraid you were when the keeper told us the story of the Red -Monks?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, do not speak of it!"</p> - -<p>"Well then, sing me the song of the fair maid under the white -rose-bush, who was stolen from her father's garden."</p> - -<p>"Nobody sings that now."</p> - -<p>"Is it possible that you have become a musician?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps."</p> - -<p>"Sylvie, Sylvie, I am positive that you sing airs from operas!"</p> - -<p>"Why should you complain?"</p> - -<p>"Because I loved the old songs and you have forgotten them."</p> - -<p>Sylvie warbled a few notes of a grand air from a modern opera.... She -<i>phrased!</i></p> - -<p>We turned away from the lakeside and approached the green bordered with -lime-trees and elms, where we had so often danced. I had the conceit to -describe the old Carlovingian walls and to decipher the armorial -bearings of the House of Este.</p> - -<p>"And you! How much more you have read than I, and how learned you have -become!" said Sylvie. I was vexed by her tone of reproach, as I had all -the way been seeking a favourable opportunity to resume the tender -confidences of the morning, but what could I say, accompanied by a -donkey and a very wide-awake lad who pressed nearer and nearer for the -pleasure of hearing a Parisian talk? Then I displayed my lack of tact, -by relating the vision of Chaâlis which I recalled so vividly. I led -Sylvie into the very hall of the castle where I had heard Adrienne sing. -"Oh, let me hear you!" I besought her; "let your loved voice ring out -beneath these arches and put to flight the spirit that torments me, be -it angel or demon!" She repeated the words and sang after me:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"<i>Anges, descendez promptement</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>au fond du purgatoire....</i>"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">(Angels descend without delay</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">To dread abyss of purgatory.)</span><br /> -</p> -<p>"It is very sad!" she cried.</p> - -<p>"It is sublime! An air from Porpora, I think, with words translated in -the present century."</p> - -<p>"I do not know," she replied.</p> - -<p>We came home through the valley, following the Charlepont road which the -peasants, without regard to etymology, persistently called Châllepont. -The way was deserted, and Sylvie, weary of riding, leaned upon my arm, -while I tried to speak of what was in my heart, but, I know not why, -could find only trivial words or stilted phrases from some romance that -Sylvie might have read. I stopped suddenly then, in true classic style, -and she was occasionally amazed by these disjointed rhapsodies. Having -reached the walls of Saint S—— we had to look well to our steps, on -account of the numerous stream-lets winding through the damp marshes.</p> - -<p>"What has become of the nun?" I asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>"You give me no peace with your nun! Ah, well! it is a sad story!" Not a -word more would Sylvie say.</p> - -<p>Do women really feel that certain words come from the lips rather than -the heart? It does not seem probable, to see how readily they are -deceived, and what an inexplicable choice they usually make—there are -men who play the comedy of love so well! I never could accustom myself -to it, although I know some women lend themselves wittingly to the -deception. A love that dates from childhood is, however, sacred, and -Sylvie, whom I had seen grow up, was like a sister to me; I could not -betray her. Suddenly, a new thought came to me. "At this very hour, I -might be at the theatre. What is Aurélie (that was the name of the -actress) playing to-night? No doubt the part of the Princess in the new -play. How touching she is in the third act! And in the love scene of the -second with that wrinkled actor who plays the lover!"</p> - -<p>"Lost in thought?" said Sylvie; and she began to sing:</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>"A Dammartin l'y a trots belles filles:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;"><i>L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour...."</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;"> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">(<i>At Dammartin there are three fair maids,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;"><i>And one of them is fairer than day.</i>)</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Little tease!" I cried, "you know you remember the old songs."</p> - -<p>"If you would come here oftener, I would try to remember more of them," -she said; "but we must think of realities; you have your affairs at -Paris, I have my work here; let us go in early, for I must rise with the -sun to-morrow."</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="XII" id="XII">XII.</a></h3> - -<h3>FATHER DODU.</h3> - - -<p>I was about to reply, to fall at her feet and offer her my uncle's house -which I could purchase, as the little estate had not been apportioned -among the numerous heirs, but just then we reached Loisy, where supper -awaited us and the onion-soup was diffusing its patriarchal odour. -Neighbours had been invited to celebrate the day after the feast, and I -recognised at a glance Father Dodu, an old wood-cutter who used to amuse -or frighten us, in the evenings by his stories. Shepherd, carrier, -gamekeeper, fisherman and even poacher, by turns, Father Dodu made -clocks and turnspits in his leisure moments. For a long time he acted as -guide to the English tourists at Hermenonville, and while he recounted -the last moments of the philosopher, would lead them to Rousseau's -favourite spots for meditation. He was the little boy employed to -classify the herbs and gather the hemlock twigs from which the sage -pressed the juice into his cup of coffee. The landlord of the Golden -Cross contested this point and a lasting feud resulted. Father Dodu had -once borne the reproach of possessing some very innocent secrets, such -as how to cure cows by saying a rhyme backwards and making the sign of -the cross with the left foot, but he had renounced these -superstitions—thanks, he declared, to his conversations with Jean -Jacques.</p> - -<p>"That you, little Parisian?" said Father Dodu; "have you come to carry -off our pretty girls?"</p> - -<p>"I, Father Dodu?"</p> - -<p>"You take them into the woods when the wolf is away!"</p> - -<p>"Father Dodu, you are the wolf."</p> - -<p>"I was as long as I could find sheep, but at present I meet only goats, -and they know how to take care of themselves! As for you, why, you are -all rascals in Paris. Jean Jacques was right when he said, 'Man grows -corrupt in the poisonous air of cities.'"</p> - -<p>"Father Dodu, you know very well that men become corrupt everywhere."</p> - -<p>"Father Dodu began to roar out a drinking song, and it was impossible to -stop him at a questionable couplet that everyone knew by heart. Sylvie -would not sing, in spite of our entreaties, on the plea that it was no -longer customary to sing at table. I bad already noticed the lover of -the ball, seated at her left, and his round face and tumbled hair seemed -familiar. He rose and stood behind me, saying, "Have you forgotten me, -Parisian?" A good woman who came back to dessert after serving us, -whispered in my ear: "Do you not recognize your foster-brother?" Without -this warning, I should have made myself ridiculous. "Ah, it is <i>Big -Curly-head</i>!" I cried; "the very same who pulled me out of the water." -Sylvie burst out laughing at the recollection.</p> - -<p>"Without considering," said the youth em-bracing me, "that you had a -fine silver watch and on the way home you were more concerned about it -than yourself, because it had stopped. You said, 'the <i>creature is -drowned</i> does not go tick-tack; what will Uncle say?'" "A watch is a -creature," said Father Dodu; "that is what they tell children in Paris!"</p> - -<p>Sylvie was sleepy, and I fancied there was no hope for me. She went -upstairs, and as I kissed her, said: "Come again to-morrow." Father Dodu -remained at table with Sylvain and my foster-brother, and we talked a -long time over a bottle of Louvres ratafia.</p> - -<p>"All men are equal," said Father Dodu between glasses; "I drink with a -pastry-cook as readily as with a prince."</p> - -<p>"Where is the pastry-cook?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"By your side! There you see a young man who is ambitious to get on in -life."</p> - -<p>My foster-brother appeared embarrassed and I understood the situation. -Fate had reserved for me a foster-brother in the very country made -famous by Rousseau, who opposed putting children out to nurse! I learned -from Father Dodu that there was much talk of a marriage between Sylvie -and Big Curly-head, who wished to open a pastry-shop at Dammartin. I -asked no more. Next morning the coach from Nanteuil-le-Haudouin took me -back to Paris.</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="XIII" id="XIII">XIII</a></h3> - -<h3>AURÉLIE.</h3> - - -<p>To Paris, a journey of five hours! I was impatient for evening, and -eight o'clock found me in my accustomed seat Aurélie infused her own -spirit and grace into the lines of the play, the work of a contemporary -author evidently inspired by Schiller. In the garden scene she was -sublime. During the fourth act, when she did not appear, I went out to -purchase a bouquet of Madame Prevost, slipping into it a tender effusion -signed <i>An Unknown</i>, "There," thought I, "is something definite for the -future," but on the morrow I was on my way to Germany.</p> - -<p>Why did I go there? In the hope of com-posing my disordered fancy. If I -were to write a book, I could never gain credence for the story of a -heart torn by these two conflicting loves. I had lost Sylvie through my -own fault, but to see her for a day, sufficed to restore my soul. A -glance from her had arrested me on the verge of the abyss, and -henceforth I enshrined her as a smiling goddess in the Temple of Wisdom. -I felt more than ever reluctant to present myself before Aurélie among -the throng of vulgar suitors who shone in the light of her favour for an -instant only to fall blinded.</p> - -<p>"Some day," said I, "we shall see whether this woman has a heart."</p> - -<p>One morning I learned from a newspaper that Aurélie was ill, and I wrote -to her from the mountains of Salzburg, a letter so filled with German -mysticism that I could hardly hope for a reply, indeed I expected none. -I left it to chance or ... the <i>unknown.</i></p> - -<p>Months passed, and in the leisure intervals of travel I undertook to -embody in poetic action the life-long devotion of the painter Colonna to -the fair Laura who was constrained by her relatives to take the veil. -Something in the subject lent itself to my habitual train of thought, -and as soon as the last verse of the drama was written, I hastened back -to France.</p> - -<p>Can I avoid repeating in my own history, that of many others? I passed -through all the ordeals of the theatre. I "ate the drum and drank the -cymbal," according to the apparently meaningless phrase of the initiates -at Eleusis, which probably signifies that upon occasion we must stand -ready to pass the bounds of reason and absurdity; for me it meant to -win and possess my ideal.</p> - -<p>Aurélie accepted the leading part in the play which I brought back from -Germany. I shall never forget the day she allowed me to read it to her. -The love scenes had been arranged expressly for her, and I am positive -that I rendered them with feeling. In the conversation that followed I -revealed myself as the "Unknown" of the two letters. She said: "You are -mad, but come again; I have never found anyone who knew how to love me."</p> - -<p>Oh, woman! you seek for love ... but what of me?</p> - -<p>In the days which followed I wrote probably the most eloquent and -touching letters that she ever received. Her answers were full of good -sense. Once she was moved, sent for me and confessed that it was hard -for her to break an attachment of long standing. "If you love me for -myself alone, then you will understand that I can belong to but one."</p> - -<p>Two months later, I received an effusive letter which brought me to her -feet—in the meantime, someone volunteered an important piece of -information. The handsome young man whom I had met one night at the club -had just enlisted in the Turkish cavalry.</p> - -<p>Races were held at Chantilly the next season, and the theatre troupe to -which Aurélie belonged gave a performance. Once in the country, the -company was for three days subject to the orders of the director. I had -made friends with this worthy man, formerly the Dorante of the comedies -of Marivaux and for a long time successful in lovers' parts. His latest -triumph was achieved in the play imitated from Schiller, when my -opera-glass had discovered all his wrinkles. He had fire, however, and -being thin, produced a good effect in the provinces. I accompanied the -troupe in the quality of poet, and persuaded the manager to give -performances at Senlis and Dammartin. He inclined to Compiègne at first, -but Aurélie was of my opinion. Next day, while arrangements with the -local authorities were in progress, I ordered horses and we set out on -the road to Commelle to breakfast at the castle of Queen Blanche. -Aurélie, on horseback, with her blonde hair floating in the wind, rode -through the forest like some queen of olden times, and the peasants were -dazzled by her appearance. Madame de <i>F</i>—— was the only woman they had -ever seen so imposing and so graceful. After breakfast we rode down to -the villages like Swiss hamlets where the waters of the Nonette turn the -busy saw-mills. These scenes, which my remembrance cherished, interested -Aurélie, but did not move her to delay. I had planned to conduct her to -the castle near Orry, where I had first seen Adrienne on the green. She -manifested no emotion. Then I told her all; I revealed the hidden spring -of that love which haunted my dreams by night and was realized in her. -She listened with attention and said: "You do not love me! You expect me -to say 'the actress and the nun are the same'; you are merely arranging -a drama and the issue of the plot is lacking. Go! I no longer believe in -you."</p> - -<p>Her words were an illumination. The unnatural enthusiasm which had -possessed me for so long, my dreams, my tears, my despair and my -tenderness,—could they mean aught but love? What then is love?</p> - -<p>Aurélie played that night at Senlis, and I thought she displayed a -weakness for the director, the wrinkled "young lover" of the stage. His -character was exemplary, and he had already shown her much kindness.</p> - -<p>One day, Aurélie said to me: "There is the man who loves me!"</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="XIV" id="XIV">XIV.</a></h3> - -<h3>THE LAST LEAF.</h3> - - -<p>Such are the fancies that charm and beguile us in the morning of life! I -have tried to set them down here, in a disconnected fashion, but many -hearts will understand me. One by one our illusions fall like husks, and -the kernel thus laid bare is experience. Its taste is bitter, but it -yields an acrid flavour that invigorates,—to use an old-fashioned -simile. Rousseau says that the aspect of nature is a universal -consolation. Sometimes I seek again my groves of Clarens lost in the fog -to the north of Paris, but now, all is changed! Hermenonville, the spot -where the ancient idyl blossomed again, transplanted by Gessner, thy -star has set, the star that glowed for me with two-fold lustre. Blue and -rose by turns, like the changeful Aldebaran, it was formed by Adrienne -and Sylvie, the two halves of my love. One was the sublime ideal, the -other, the sweet reality. What are thy groves and lakes and thy desert -to me now? Othys, Montagny, Loiseaux, poor neighbouring hamlets, and -Chaâlis now to be restored, you guard for me no treasures of the past. -Occasionally, I feel a desire to return to those scenes of lonely -musing, where I sadly mark the fleeting traces of a period when -affectation invaded nature; sometimes I smile as I read upon the granite -rocks certain lines from Boucher, which I once thought sublime, or -virtuous maxims inscribed above a fountain or a grotto dedicated to Pan. -The swans disdain the stagnant waters of the little lakes excavated at -such an expense. The time is no more when the hunt of Condé swept by -with its proud riders, and the forest-echoes rang with answering horns! -There is to-day no direct route to Hermenonville, and sometimes I go by -Creil and Senlis, sometimes by Dammartin.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to reach Dammartin before night, so I lodge at the -Image of Saint John. They usually give me a neat room hung with old -tapestry, with a glass between the windows. This room shows a return to -the fashion for bric-à-brac which I renounced long ago. I sleep -comfortably under the eider-down covering used there. In the morning, -when I throw open the casement wreathed with vines and roses, I gaze -with rapture upon a wide green landscape stretching away to the -horizon, where a line of poplars stand like sentinels. Here and there -the villages nestle guarded by their protecting church-spires. First -Othys, then Eve and Ver; Hermenonville would be visible beyond the wood, -if it had a belfry, but in that philosophic spot the church has been -neglected. Having filled my lungs with the pure air of these uplands, I -go down stairs in good humour and start for the pastry-cook's. "Helloa, -big Curly-head!" "Helloa, little Parisian!" We greet each other with sly -punches in the ribs as we did in childhood, then I climb a certain stair -where two children welcome my coming. Sylvie's Athenian smile lights up -her classic features, and I say to myself: "Here, perhaps, is the -happiness I have missed, and yet...."</p> - -<p>Sometimes I call her Lotty, and she sees in me some resemblance to -Werther without the pistols, which are out of fashion now. While Big -Curly-head is busy with the breakfast, we take the children for a walk -through the avenues of limes that border the ruins of the old brick -towers of the castle. While the little ones practise with their bows and -arrows, we read some poem or a few pages from one of those old books all -too short, and long forgotten by the world.</p> - -<p>I forgot to say that when Aurélie's troupe gave a performance at -Dammartin, I took Sylvie to the play and asked her if she did not think -the actress resembled someone she knew.</p> - -<p>"Whom, pray?"</p> - -<p>"Do you remember Adrienne?"</p> - -<p>She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!"</p> - -<p>Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she -died at the convent of Saint S—— about 1832."</p> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3><a name="APPENDIX" id="APPENDIX">APPENDIX.</a></h3> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h5>'<i>EL DESDICHADO.</i>'</h5> - -<h5><i>GÉRARD DE NERVAL.</i></h5> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<i>I am that dark, that disinherited.</i><br /> -<i>That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;</i></span><br /> -<i>A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!</i><br /> -<i>Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,</i></span><br /> -<i>The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain.</i><br /> -<br /> -<i>Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been</i><br /> -<i>Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,</i></span><br /> -<i>And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,</i><br /> -<i>And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 10em; font-size: 0.8em;">(ANDREW LANG.)</span><br /> -<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h3>TO ALEXANDER DUMAS.</h3> - -<blockquote> - -<p>When it was currently reported that Gérard de Nerval had become -insane, Alexander Dumas, who was then publishing that amusing -journal <i>Le Mousquetaire,</i> endeavored to explain and interpret the -poet's peculiar form of mental alienation. Gérard, who presently -came to himself, as was his wont, took note of the study, and in -return dedicated to Dumas his <i>Filles du Feu</i>, thus acknowledging -the obligation conferred by the great novelist in inditing the -epitaph of the poet's "lost wits."</p> - -<p>This dedication, now done into English for the first time, is -interesting and important, as embodying the author's own -interpretation of his singular mental constitution. He confesses -that he is unable to compose without incarnating himself in his -creations so thoroughly as to lose his own identity. In -illustration, he throws into the text the tragic history of a -mythical hero. It is easy to trace in this story of a nameless -prince, unable to prove his lofty origin, involved in a network of -misfortunes through the crafty machinations of the arch plotter La -Rancune (malice) and abandoned by his mistress, the beautiful -guiding Star of his destiny, allegorical allusions to the poet, the -heir of genius and of glory, unable to prove or justify his noble -birthright, his highest impulses misunderstood and trampled upon by -a heartless and vulgar world.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 80%; font-size: 0.8em;">LUCIE PAGE.<br /><br /></p></blockquote> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<p>I dedicate this book to you, my dear Master, as I dedicated <i>Lorely</i> to -Jules Janin. I was indebted to him for the same service that I owe to -you. A few years ago, it was reported that I was dead, and he wrote my -biography. A few days ago, I was thought to have lost my reason, and you -honoured me by devoting some of your most graceful lines to the epitaph -of my intelligence. Such an inheritance of glory has fallen to me before -my time. How shall I venture, yet living, to deck my forehead with these -shining crowns? It becomes me to assume an air of modesty and beg the -public to accept, with suitable deductions, the eulogy bestowed upon my -ashes, or rather upon the lost wits contained in the bottle which, like -Astolpho, I have been to seek in the moon, and which, I trust, I have -now restored to their normal place in the seat of thought.</p> - -<p>Being, therefore, no longer mounted upon the hippogriff, and having, in -the popular conception, recovered what is vulgarly termed reason,—let -us proceed to the exercise of that faculty.</p> - -<p>Here is a fragment of what you wrote concerning me, the tenth of last -December:</p> - -<p>"As you can readily perceive, he possesses a subtle and highly -cultivated intellect, in which is manifested from time to time a -singular phenomenon which, fortunately, let us hope, has no serious -import to himself or his friends. At intervals, when preoccupied by -literary toil, imagination goaded to frenzy masters reason and drives it -from the brain; then, like an opium-smoker of Cairo, or a hashish-eater -of Algiers, Gérard finds again the talismans that evoke spirits. Now he -is King Solomon waiting for the Queen of Sheba; then by turns Sultan of -the Crimea, Count of Abyssinia, Duke of Egypt, or Baron of Smyrna. Next -day, he declares himself mad and relates the whole series of events from -which his madness sprung, with such a joyous abandon, such an ingenious -fertility of resource that one is ready to part with his wits in order -to follow such a fascinating guide through the desert of dreams and -hallucinations, sprinkled with oases fresher and greener than any which -dot the route from Alexandria to Ammon. Finally, melancholy becomes his -muse of inspiration, and now, restrain your tears if you can, for never -did Werther, René, or Antony pour forth sobs and complaints more tender -and pathetic!"</p> - -<p>I shall now endeavour to explain to you, my dear Dumas, the phenomenon -which you mention above. There are, as you well know, certain writers -who cannot invent without identifying themselves with the creations of -their imagination. You remember with what conviction our old friend -Nodier related how he had the misfortune to be guillotined in the -Revolution. The narrative was so convincing that we wondered -instinctively how he had contrived to fasten his head on again.</p> - -<p>Understand, therefore, that the ardour of production may conduce to a -like result, that the author incarnates himself, as it were, in the hero -of his imagination so completely that he loses himself and burns with -the imaginary flames of this hero's love and ambition! This was -precisely the effect produced upon me in narrating the history of a -personage who figured under the title of Brisacier, about the time of -Louis XV, I believe. Where did I read the fatal biography of this -adventurer? I have found again that of the Abbé of Bucquoy, but I cannot -recall the slightest historical proof of the existence of this -illustrious unknown. What for you, dear Master, would have been but a -pastime,—you, who have with clever artifices so bewildered our minds -concerning the old chronicles, that posterity will never be able to -disentangle truth from fiction, and is certain to credit your invention -with all the characters from history that figure in your romances—this -became for me a veritable obsession. To invent, is in reality only to -recollect, says a certain moralist. Finding no proofs of the material -existence of my hero, I suddenly came to believe in the transmigration -of souls, not less firmly than Pythagoras or Peter Leroux. Even the -eighteenth century, in which I believed myself to have lived, was full -of these illusions. Do you remember that courtier who recalled -distinctly that he was once a sofa? Whereupon Schahabaham exclaimed with -enthusiasm, "What, you were once a sofa! why, that is delightful!—Tell -me, were you embroidered?"</p> - -<p>As for me, I was embroidered at every seam. From the moment when I first -grasped the continuity of all my previous existences, I figured as -readily in one character as another, prince, king, mage, genie, or even -god; could I unite my memories in one masterpiece, it would represent -the Dream of Scipio, the Vision of Tasso or the Divine Comedy of Dante. -Renouncing, henceforth, all pretensions to inspiration or illumination, -I can offer only what you so justly call impracticable theories, an -impossible book, whose first chapter, subjoined below, seems but to -furnish the context of the Comic Romance of Scarron.... Read and judge -for yourself:<br /><br /></p> - - -<h5>A TRAGIC ROMANCE.</h5> - -<p>Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and -alas! still trusting in that beautiful <i>star</i> of comedy, which, for one -brief instant, deigned to call me her <i>destiny</i> The Star and its -Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet -Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two -characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven -pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other -new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that -gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and -equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some -miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant -lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince -in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better -treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an -enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by -the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to -hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son -of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and -well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old -intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch -set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of -my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But -in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a -puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small -clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord -were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he -insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a <i>contraband -prince</i>, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, -fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has -abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This -precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with -the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself -the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to -witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon -the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall -upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have -here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at -sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but -as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience.</p> - -<p>Do you remember how I used to play Achilles, when in passing through -some third or fourth-rate town, the whim would seize us to re-establish -the neglected cult of the old French tragedians? Was I not noble and -puissant in the gilded helmet with streaming locks of purple blackness, -the glittering armor and azure cloak? What a spectacle to see a father -as weak and cowardly as Agamemnon contend with the priest Calchas for -the honour of immolating such a victim as poor, weeping Iphigenia! I -rushed like a thunderbolt into the midst of the forced and cruel action; -I restored hope to the mothers and reawakened courage in the daughters, -always sacrificed from a sense of duty, to stay the anger of a god, -allay the vengeance of a nation, or advance the interests of a family. -For it is easy to recognize here the eternal type of human marriage. The -father will forevermore deliver up his daughter through ambition, and -the mother will sell her through cupidity; but the lover is not always -the worthy Achilles, so gallant and terrible, albeit a trifle too -rhetorical for a man of war!</p> - -<p>As for me, I often rebelled against declaiming long tirades in defense -of a course so evidently just, in the face of an audience so easily -convinced that I was in the right. I was tempted to stab the whole -idiotic court of the king of kings, with its sleepy rows of -super-numeraries, and so put an end to the piece. The public would have -been delighted, but on second thoughts would have found the play too -short, considering that time sufficient to witness the sufferings of a -princess, a lover and a queen, was its rightful due; a period long -enough to see them weep, rage and pour forth a torrent of poetic -invective against the established authority of priest and king. That was -well worth five acts and two hours of close attention, and the audience -would not content itself with less. It desires the humiliation of this -proud race seated upon the throne of Greece, before whom Achilles -himself dares to thunder but in words; it must sound all the depths of -misery hidden beneath this royal purple whose majesty seems so -irresistible. The tears which fall from the most glorious eyes in the -world upon the swelling bosom of Iphigenia, excite the crowd no less -than her beauty, her grace and the splendour of her royal robes. Listen -to the sweet voice that pleads for life with the touching reminder that, -as yet, she stands but upon its threshold. Who does not favour her -lover? Who could wish to see her slain? Great gods, what heart so hard! -None, surely!... On the contrary, the whole audience has already -decided that she must die for the general good rather than live for one -individual. Achilles seems to all too grand, too superb! Shall Iphigenia -be borne away by this Thessalian vulture, as, not long ago, the daughter -of Leda was stolen by a shepherd prince from the voluptuous shores of -Asia? This is the question of paramount importance to the Greeks and to -the audience as well, which takes our measure when we act the part of -hero. I felt myself as much an object of hatred to the men as of -admiration to the women when I thus played the part of victorious lover, -because it was no indifferent actress, taught to listlessly drone those -immortal verses, that I was defending, but a true Greek maiden, a pearl -of grace, purity and love, worthy, indeed, to be rescued by all human -efforts from the hands of the jealous gods. Not Iphigenia alone, she was -Junia, Berenice, all the heroines rendered illustrious by the fair blue -eyes of Mlle. de Champmeslé, or the charming graces of the noble maidens -of Saint Cyr. Poor Aurélie! My comrade and my sister, wilt thou never -regret those hours of triumph and rapture? Didst thou not love me for an -instant, cold star, when I fought and wept and suffered for thee? The -audience questioned nightly: "Who, pray, is this actress, so far beyond -all that we have ever applauded? Are we not mistaken? Is she really as -young, as dazzling, and as pure as she seems?" The young women envied, -criticised or admired sadly. As for me, I needed to see her constantly, -so as not to feel overpowered by her beauty and to be able to meet her -eyes whenever the exigencies of the plot demanded....</p> - -<p>This is why Achilles was my triumph, although I was often embarrassed in -other parts. What a pity that I could not change the situations to suit -me, and sacrifice even the thoughts of genius to my love and respect! -The character of a timid and captive lover like Britannicus or Bajazet, -did not please me. The purple of the young Caesar attracted me more; but -what a misfortune to declaim in conclusion only cold and perfidious -speeches! What! Was this young Nero, the idol of Rome, the handsome -athlete, the dancer, the poet whose only wish was to please the -populace? Is this what history and the conceptions of our poets have -left of him? Ah! give me his fury to interpret; his power I would fear -to accept. Nero! I have comprehended thee, not alas! according to -Racine, but according to my own heart, torn with agony whenever I have -ventured to impersonate thee! Yes, thou wast a god, thou who wouldst -have burned Rome. Thou wast right, perhaps, since Rome had insulted -thee!...</p> - -<p>A hiss, a miserable hiss, in her presence, and because of her! A hiss of -scorn which she attributes to herself—through my mistake, be it -understood! Alas! my friends, for an instant, I felt an impulse to show -myself truly great, immortal, upon the stage of your theatre. Instead of -replying to the insult by another, which brought upon me the assault -from which I still suffer, instead of provoking a vulgar audience to -rush upon the scene and cowardly beat and belabour me, I held for a -moment a sublime purpose, worthy of Caesar himself, a purpose which none -could hesitate to pronounce in harmony with the dramatic conceptions of -the great Racine himself! I thought to set fire to the theatre, and -while the audience perished in the flames, bear away Aurélie in my arms, -her disheveled tresses streaming over her disordered dress. O remorse -that fills my feverish nights and days of agony! What! I might have done -this and I refrained! What! Do ye still insult me, ye, who owe your -lives to pity, rather than any fear on my part? I might have burned them -all! Judge for yourselves: the theatre of P—— has but one exit; ours -opened upon a little street in the rear, but the green-room, where you -were all assembled, is on the other side of the stage. In order to set -fire to the curtain, I had only to snatch down one of the lamps; I ran -no risk of detection, for the manager could not see me and I was alone -listening to the insipid dialogue between Britannicus and Junia, waiting -for my cue to reappear; all through that scene I was struggling with -myself, and when I entered upon the stage I was turning and twisting in -my fingers a glove that I had picked up; I expected to avenge myself -more nobly than Caesar himself of an insult that I had felt with all the -heart of a Caesar.... Ah, well! the cowards dared not begin again; my -glance confounded them, and I was on the point of pardoning the -audience, if not Junia herself, when she dared.... Immortal gods!... -Hold, let me speak my mind! ... Yes, since that night, it is my delusion -to imagine myself a Roman, an emperor; I have identified myself with my -part, and the tunic of Nero clings to my burning limbs as that of the -centaur to the dying Hercules. Let us jest no more with sacred things, -not even those of an age and nation long since past, lest perchance some -tongue of flame yet quiver in the ashes of the gods of Rome!...</p> - -<p>Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of -measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal -chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The -audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; -those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to -my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, -well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, -who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my -conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved -for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... -However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another -for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far -removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome -without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, -Britannicus.</p> - -<p>Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou -hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we -two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, -strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the -choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my -dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit -thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the -prize lost only for me.</p> - -<p>The letter which I have just received from La Caverne reassures me fully -on that point. She advises me to renounce an art for which I have no -capacity and which is incompatible with my necessities. The jest, in -sooth, is bitter, for never did I stand in greater need, if not of my -art, at least of its swift returns. This is just the point that you do -not understand. You consider that you have acquitted yourself of all -obligations toward me in recommending me to the authorities of Soissons -as a distinguished personage, whom his family cannot abandon, but whose -violent illness has forced you to leave him behind in your journey. Your -tool, La Rancune, presented himself at the town hall and the inn with -all the airs of a Spanish grandee forced by unpleasant circumstances to -spend a couple of nights in such a disagreeable place; the rest of you -obliged to leave P—— the day after my disaster, had, as I conceive, no -reason to allow yourselves to pass merely for disreputable players: it -is quite enough to wear that mask in places where no other course is -possible. As for me, what can I say, how shall I extricate myself from -the infernal network of conspiracy in which I find myself caught and -held through the machinations of La Rancune? The famous couplet from -Corneille's "Menteur" assuredly aided him in his invention for the wit -of such a rascal as he never reached such a pitch. Think for a -moment.... But what can I tell you that you do not know already and have -not devised together to ruin me? Have not the white fingers of the -ingrate who is the cause of all my misfortunes, tangled inextricably all -the silken threads that she could weave about her poor victim?... What a -master-plot! Ah, well! I am a captive and I confess it; I yield and -implore mercy. You can take me back without fear now, and if the rapid -post-chaises that bore you swiftly over the Flanders' route, three -months ago, have already given place to the humble equipages of our -first adventures, deign at least to receive me in the quality of monster -or phenomenon, fit to draw the crowd, and I promise to acquit myself of -these duties in a manner calculated to appease the most exacting amateur -of the province.... Answer immediately and I will send a trusty -messenger to bring me the letter from the post, as I fear the curiosity -of mine host....</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 80%; font-size: 0.8em;">BRISACIER.</span><br /> -<br /><br /> -</p> - - -<p>How dispose now of this hero deserted by his mistress and his -companions? Is he, in truth, only a strolling player, rightly punished -for insulting the public, for indulging in his mad jealousy and alleging -ridiculous claims? How can he prove that he is the legitimate son of the -Khan of the Crimea, according to the crafty recital of La Rancune? How, -from the depths of misery where he is plunged, can he rise to the -highest destiny? These are points which would, doubtless, trouble you -but little, but which have thrown my mind into a strange disorder. Once -persuaded that I was writing my own history, I was touched by this love -for a fugitive star which deserted me in the dark night of my destiny; I -have wept and shuddered over these visions. Then a ray divine illumined -my <i>inferno</i>; surrounded by dim and monstrous shapes of horror against -which I struggled blindly, I seized at last the magic clue, the thread -of Ariadne, and since then all my visions have become celestial. One -day, I shall write the history of this "Descent to Hades," and you will -see that it has not been entirely devoid of reason, if it has always -been wanting in fact. And, since you have been so rash as to cite one of -my sonnets composed in this state of supernatural trance, as the Germans -call it, you must hear the rest. You will find them among my poems. They -are little more obscure than the metaphysics of Hegel or the Visions of -Swedenborg, and would lose their charm with any attempt at explanation, -were that possible;—probably my last illusion will be that of thinking -myself a poet; criticism must dispel it.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 90%;">1854.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gérard de Nerval - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - -***** This file should be named 40492-h.htm or 40492-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40492/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois - -Author: Gerard de Nerval - -Commentator: Andrew Lang - -Translator: Lucie Page - -Release Date: August 13, 2012 [EBook #40492] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - - - - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - - - - -SYLVIE: - -SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS - -TRANSLATED FROM - -GERARD DE NERVAL - -BY - -LUCIE PAGE - -Portland, Maine - -THOMAS B. MOSHER - -1896 - - * * * * * - - -GERARD DE NERVAL. - - - Of all that were thy prisons--ah, untamed, - Ah, light and sacred soul!--none holds thee now; - No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou - Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, - Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, - Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough - The Sybil doth to singing men allow, - Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed. - - And they would smile and wonder, seeing where - Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, - Dreamily murmuring a ballad air, - Caught from the Valois peasants, dost thou find - A new life gladder than the old times were, - A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind? - - ANDREW LANG. - - - * * * * * - - -CONTENTS - - SYLVIE ET AURELIE.--ANDREW LANG - GERARD DE NERVAL - - SYLVIE: - - I A WASTED NIGHT - II ADRIENNE - III RESOLVE - IV A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA - V THE VILLAGE - VI OTHYS - VII CHAALIS - VIII THE BALL AT LOISY - IX HERMENONVILLE - X BIG CURLY-HEAD - XI RETURN - XII FATHER DODU - XIII AURELIE - XIV THE LAST LEAF - - APPENDIX - - - - -_SYLVIE ET AURELIE._ - -_IN MEMORY OF GERARD DE NERVAL._ - - _Two loves there were, and one was born_ - _Between the sunset and the rain;_ - _Her singing voice went through the corn,_ - _Her dance was woven 'neath the thorn,_ - _On grass the fallen blossoms stain;_ - _And suns may set and moons may wane,_ - _But this love comes no more again._ - - _There were two loves, and one made white_ - _Thy singing lips and golden hair;_ - _Born of the city's mire and light,_ - _The shame and splendour of the night,_ - _She trapped and fled thee unaware;_ - _Not through the lamplight and the rain_ - _Shalt thou behold this love again._ - - _Go forth and seek, by wood and bill,_ - _Thine ancient love of dawn and dew;_ - _There comes no voice from mere or rill,_ - _Her dance is over, fallen still_ - _The ballad burdens that she knew:_ - _And thou must wait for her in vain,_ - _Till years bring back thy youth again._ - - - _That other love, afield, afar_ - _Fled the light love, with lighter feet._ - _Nay, though thou seek where gravesteads are,_ - _And flit in dreams from star to star,_ - _That dead love thou shalt never meet,_ - _Till through bleak dawn and blowing rain_ - _Thy soul shall find her soul again._ - - ANDREW LANG. - - - -Gerard DE NERVAL - - Il a toujours cherche dans le monde - ce que le monde ne pouvait plus lui - donner. - - LUDOVIC HALEVY. - - He has been a sick man all his life. - He was always a seeker after something - in the world that is there in no - satisfying measure, or not at all. - - WALTER PATER. - - - -GERARD DE NERVAL. - - -I. - - -Of Gerard de Nerval, whose true name was Gerard Labrunie, it has been -finely said: "His was the most beautiful of all the lost souls of the -French Romance."(*) Born in 1808, he came to his death by suicide one -dark winter night towards the end of January. - -The story of this life and its tragic finale was well known at the time -to all men of letters,--Theophile Gautier, Paul de Saint-Victor, Arsene -Houssaye,--friends who never forgot the young poet even after he went -the way that madness lies. For it was insanity,--a nostalgia of the soul -always imminent--that led him into the squalid _Rue de la -Vieille-Lanterne_, in which long forgotten corner of old Paris his dead -body was found one bleak belated dawn. And this was forty years ago. - -In later days Maxime du Camp and Ludovic Halevy have retold with great -feeling the history of Gerard, his early triumphs, his love for Jenny -Colon,--the Aurelie of these _Souvenirs du Valois_,--and how at last -life's scurrile play was ended. - -(*) See _A Century of French Verse_, translated and edited by -William John Robertson (4to, London, 1895). - - -II. - - -One of Mr. Andrew Lang's most genuine appreciations occurs in an epistle -addressed to Miss Girton, Cambridge; where, for the benefit of that -mythical young person, he translates a few passages out of _Sylvie_, and -favours us with a specimen of Gerard's verse. - -"I translated these fragments," he tells her, "long ago in one of the -first things I ever tried to write. The passages are as touching and -fresh, the originals, I mean, as when first I read them, and one hears -the voice of Sylvie singing: - - _'A Dammartin, l'y a trois belles filles,_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour.'_ - -So Sylvie married a confectioner, and, like Marion in the 'Ballad of -Forty Years,' 'Adrienne's dead' in a convent. That is all the story, all -the idyl." - -And just before this he has said of Gerard: "What he will live by, is -his story of Sylvie; it is one of the little masterpieces of the world. -It has a Greek perfection. One reads it, and however old one is, youth -comes back, and April, and a thousand pleasant sounds of birds in -hedges, of wind in the boughs, of brooks trotting merrily under the -rustic bridges. And this fresh nature is peopled by girls eternally -young, natural, gay, or pensive, standing with eager feet on the -threshold of their life, innocent, expectant, with the old ballads of -old France upon their lips. For the story is full of these artless, -lisping numbers of the popular French muse, the ancient ballads that -Gerard collected and put into the mouth of Sylvie, the pretty -peasant-girl." - -One more quotation from Mr. Lang, and we are done. Sylvie and Gerard -have met, and they go on a visit to her aunt, who, while she prepares -dinner, sends Gerard for her niece, who had "gone to ransack the peasant -treasures in the garret." "Two portraits were hanging there--one, that -of a young man of the good old times, smiling with red lips and brown -eyes, a pastel in an oval frame. Another medallion held the portrait of -his wife, gay, _piquante_, in a bodice with ribbons fluttering, and with -a bird perched on her finger. It was the old aunt in her youth, and -further search discovered her ancient festal-gown, of stiff brocade, -Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour; patches were found in a box of -tarnished gold, a fan, a necklace of amber." - -This is the charming moment chosen by M. Andhre des Gachons as the -subject of his _aquarelle_, reproduced in colour as frontispiece to the -present edition. - - -III. - - -In thus bringing out a fresh version of _Sylvie_, not to include the all -too few illusive lyrics "done into English" by Mr. Lang, his exquisite -sonnet on Gerard, and the lovely lines upon "Sylvie et Aurelie," were a -deplorable omission. The sonnet exists in an earlier form; preferably, -the later version is here given. - -Of De Nerval's prose little has yet found its way to us. His poetry is -fully as inaccessible. Things of such iridescent hue are possibly beyond -the art of translation. They are written in an unknown tongue; say, -rather, in the language of Dreamland, "vaporous, unaccountable";--a -world of crepuscular dawns, as of light irradiated from submerged sea -caverns,--"the mermaid's haunt" beheld of him alone. - - -IV. - - -With what _adieux_ shall we now take leave of our little pearl of a -story? And of him who gave us this exquisite creation of heart and brain -what words remain to say? - -Thou, Sylvie, art an unfading flower of virginal, soft Spring, and -faint, elusive skies. For _thee_ Earth's old sweet nights have shed -their tenderest dews, and in thy lovely Valois land thou canst not fade -or die. - -Thy lover, child, fared forth beneath an alien star. For _him_ there was -no true country, here;--no return to thy happy-hearted love: the desert -sands long since effaced the valley track. Only the far distant -lying,--the abyss that calls and is never dumb, urged his onward steps. -And these things, and this divine homesickness led him, pale nympholept, -beyond Earth's human shores. Thither to thee, rapt Soul, shall all -bright dreams of day, all lonely visions of the night, converge at -last. - - - - -SYLVIE: - -(SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS.) - - -_AN OLD TUNE._ - -_GERARD DE NERVAL._ - - _There is an air for which I would disown_ - _Mozart's, Rossini's, Weber's melodies,--_ - _A sweet, sad air that languishes and sighs,_ - _And keeps its secret charm for me alone._ - - _Whene'er I hear that music vague and old,_ - _Two hundred years are mist that rolls away;_ - _The thirteenth Louis reigns, and I behold_ - _A green land golden in the dying day._ - - _An old red castle, strong with stony towers,_ - _The windows gay with many coloured glass;_ - _Wide plains, and rivers flowing among flowers,_ - _That bathe the castle basement as they pass._ - - _In antique weed, with dark eyes and gold hair,_ - _A lady looks forth from her window high;_ - _It may be that I knew and found her fair,_ - _In some forgotten life, long time gone by._ - - (ANDREW LANG.) - - - - -SYLVIE - -(RECOLLECTIONS OF VALOIS.) - - - - -I. - -A WASTED NIGHT. - - -I passed out of a theatre where I was wont to appear nightly, in the -proscenium boxes, in the attitude of suitor. Sometimes it was full, -sometimes nearly empty; it mattered little to me, whether a handful of -listless spectators occupied the pit, while antiquated costumes formed a -doubtful setting for the boxes, or whether I made one of an audience -swayed by emotion, crowned at every tier with flower-decked robes, -flashing gems and radiant faces. The spectacle of the house left me -indifferent, that of the stage could not fix my attention until at the -second or third scene of a dull masterpiece of the period, a familiar -vision illumined the vacancy, and by a word and a breath, gave life to -the shadowy forms around me. - -I felt that my life was linked with hers; her smile filled me with -immeasurable bliss; the tones of her voice, so sweet and sonorous, -thrilled me with love and joy. My ardent fancy endowed her with every -perfection until she seemed to respond to all my raptures--beautiful as -day in the blaze of the footlights, pale as night when their glare was -lowered and rays from the chandelier above revealed her, lighting up the -gloom with the radiance of her beauty, like those divine Hours with -starry brows, which stand out against the dark background of the -frescoes of Herculaneum. - -For a whole year I had not sought to know what she might be, in the -world outside, fearing to dim the magic mirror which reflected to me her -image. Some idle gossip, it is true, touching the woman, rather than the -actress, had reached my ears, but I heeded it less than any floating -rumours concerning the Princess of Elis or the Queen of Trebizonde, for -I was on my guard. An uncle of mine whose manner of life during the -period preceding the close of the eighteenth century, had given him -occasion to know them well, had warned me that actresses were not women, -since nature had forgotten to give them hearts. He referred, no doubt, -to those of his own day, but he related so many stories of his illusions -and disappointments, and displayed so many portraits upon ivory, -charming medallions which he afterwards used to adorn his snuff-boxes, -so many yellow love-letters and faded tokens, each with its peculiar -history, that I had come to think ill of them as a class, without -considering the march of time. - -We were living then in a strange period, such as often follows a -revolution, or the decline of a great reign. The heroic gallantry of the -Fronde, the drawing-room vice of the Regency, the scepticism and mad -orgies of the Directory, were no more. It was a time of mingled -activity, indecision and idleness, bright utopian dreams, philosophic or -religious aspirations, vague ardour, dim instincts of rebirth, weariness -of past discords, uncertain hopes,--an age somewhat like that of -Peregrinus and Apuleius. The material man yearned for the roses which -should regenerate him, from the hands of the fair Isis; the goddess -appeared to us by night, in her eternal youth and purity, inspiring in -us remorse for the hours wasted by day; and yet, ambition suited not our -years, while the greedy strife, the mad chase in pursuit of honour and -position, held us aloof from every possible sphere of activity. Our only -refuge was the ivory tower of the poets whither we climbed higher and -higher to escape the crowd. Upon the heights to which our masters guided -us, we breathed at last the pure air of solitude, we quaffed oblivion in -the golden cup of fable, we were drunk with poetry and love. Love, alas! -of airy forms, of rose and azure tints, of metaphysical phantoms. Seen -nearer, the real woman repelled our ingenuous youth which required her -to appear as a queen or a goddess, and above all, inapproachable. - -Some of our number held these platonic paradoxes in light esteem, and -athwart our mystic reveries brandished at times the torch of the deities -of the underworld, that names through the darkness for an instant with -its train of sparks. Thus it chanced that on quitting the theatre with -the sense of bitter sadness left by a vanished dream, I turned with -pleasure to a club where a party of us used to sup, and where all -depression yielded to the inexhaustible vivacity of a few brilliant -wits, whose stormy gaiety at times rose to sublimity. Periods of renewal -or decadence always produce such natures, and our discussions often -became so animated that timid ones in the company would glance from the -window to see if the Huns, the Turkomans or the Cossacks were not coming -to put an end to these disputations of sophists and rhetoricians. "Let -us drink, let us love, this is wisdom!" was the code of the younger -members. One of them said to me: "I have noticed for some time that I -always meet you in the same theatre. For which one do you go?" Which! -why, it seemed impossible to go there for another! However, I confessed -the name. "Well," said my friend kindly, "yonder is the happy man who -has just accompanied her home, and who, in accordance with the rules of -our club, will not perhaps seek her again till night is over." - -With slight emotion I turned toward the person designated, and perceived -a young man, well dressed, with a pale, restless face, good manners, and -eyes full of gentle melancholy. He flung a gold piece on the card-table -and lost it with indifference. "What is it to me?" said I, "he or -another?" There must be someone, and he seemed worthy of her choice. -"And you?" "I? I chase a phantom, that is all." - -On my way out, I passed through the reading-room and glanced carelessly -at a newspaper, to learn, I believe, the state of the stock market. In -the wreck of my fortunes, there chanced to be a large investment in -foreign securities, and it was reported that, although long disowned, -they were about to be acknowledged;--and, indeed, this had just -happened in consequence of a change in the ministry. The bonds were -quoted high, so I was rich again. - -A single thought was occasioned by this sudden change of fortune, that -the woman whom I had loved so long, was mine, if I wished. My ideal was -within my grasp, or was it only one more disappointment, a mocking -misprint? No, for the other papers gave the same figures, while the sum -which I had gained rose before me like the golden statue of Moloch. - -"What," thought I, "would that young man say, if I were to take his -place by the woman whom he has left alone?" - -I shrunk from the thought, and my pride revolted. Not thus, not at my -age, dare I slay love with gold! I will not play the tempter! Besides, -such an idea belongs to the past. Who can tell me that this woman may be -bought? My eyes glanced idly over the journal in my hand, and I noticed -two lines: "_Provincial Bouquet Festival_. To-morrow the archers of -Senlis will present the bouquet to the archers of Loisy." These simple -words aroused in me an entirely new train of thought, stirring -long-forgotten memories of provincial days, faint echoes of the artless -joys of youth. - -The horn and the drum were resounding afar in hamlet and forest; the -young maidens were twining garlands as they sang, and binding nosegays -with ribbon. A heavy wagon, drawn by oxen, received their offerings as -it passed, and we, the children of that region, formed the escort with -our bows and arrows, assuming the proud title of knights,--we did not -know that we were only preserving, from age to age, an ancient feast of -the Druids that had survived later religions and monarchies. - - - - -II. - -ADRIENNE. - - -I sought my bed, but not to sleep, and, lost in a half-conscious revery, -all my youth passed before me. How often, in the border-land of dreams, -while yet the mind repels their encroaching fancies, we are enabled to -review in a few moments, the important events of a lifetime! - -I saw a castle of the time of Henry IV., with its slate-covered turrets, -its reddish front, jutting corners of yellow stone, and a stretch of -green bordered by elms and lime-trees, through whose foliage, the -setting sun shot its last fiery rays. Young girls were dancing in a ring -on the lawn, singing quaint old tunes caught from their mothers, in a -French whose native purity bespoke the old country of Valois, where for -more than a thousand years had throbbed the heart of France. I was the -only boy in the circle where I had led my young companion, Sylvie, a -little maid from the neighboring hamlet, so fresh and animated, with -her black eyes, regular features and slightly sun-burned skin. I loved -but her, I had eyes but for her--till then! I had scarcely noticed in -our round, a tall, beautiful blonde, called Adrienne, when suddenly, in -following the figures of the dance, she was left alone with me, in the -centre of the ring; we were of the same height, and they bade me kiss -her, while the dance and song went whirling on, more merrily than -before. When I kissed her, I could not forbear pressing her hand; her -golden curls touched my cheek, and from that moment, a new feeling -possessed me. - -The fair girl must sing a song to reclaim her place in the dance, and we -seated ourselves about her. In a sweet, penetrating voice, somewhat -husky, as is common in that country of mists and fogs, she sang one of -those old ballads full of love and sorrow, which always carry the story -of an imprisoned princess, shut in a tower by her father, as a -punishment for loving. At the end of every stanza, the melody died away -in those quavering trills which enable young voices to simulate so well -the tremulous notes of old women. - -While she sang, the shadows of the great trees lengthened and the light -of the young moon fell full upon her, as she stood apart from the rapt -circle. The lawn was covered with rising clouds of mist that trailed its -white wreaths over every blade of grass. We thought ourselves in -Paradise. The song ended and no one dared break the stillness--at last I -rose and ran to the gardens where some laurels were growing in large -porcelain vases painted in monochrome. I plucked two branches which were -twined into a crown, bound with ribbon, and I placed it upon Adrienne's -brow, where its glossy leaves gleamed above her fair locks in the pale -moonlight. She looked liked Dante's Beatrice, smiling at the poet as he -strayed on the confines of the Blest Abodes. - -Adrienne rose and, drawing up her slender figure, bowed to us gracefully -and ran back to the castle; they said she was the child of a race allied -to the ancient kings of France, that the blood of the Valois princes -flowed in her veins. Upon this festal day, she had been permitted to -join in our sports, but we were not to see her again, for on the morrow -she would return to the convent of which she was an inmate. - -When I rejoined Sylvie, I found her weeping because of the crown I had -given to the fair singer. I offered to make another for her, but she -would not consent, saying she did not merit it. I vainly tried to -vindicate myself, but she refused to speak as we went the homeward way. - -Paris soon recalled me to resume my studies, and I bore with me the -two-fold memory of a tender friendship sadly broken, and of a love -uncertain and impossible, the source of painful musings which my college -philosophy was powerless to dispel. - -Adrienne's face alone haunted me, a vision of glory and beauty, -sweetening and sharing the hours of arduous study. - -In the vacation of the following year, I learned that this lovely girl, -who had but flitted past me, was destined by her family to a religious -life. - - - - -III. - -RESOLVE. - - -These memories, recalled in my dreamy revery, explained everything. This -hopeless passion for an actress, which took possession of me nightly -from the hour when the curtain rose until I fell asleep, was born of my -remembrance of Adrienne, the pale moon-flower, as she glided over the -green, a rose-tinted vision enveloped in a cloud of misty whiteness. The -likeness of a face long years forgotten was now distinctly outlined; it -was a pencil-sketch, which time had blurred, developed into a painting, -like the first drafts of the old masters which delight us in a gallery, -the completed masterpiece being found elsewhere. - -To fall in love with a nun in the guise of an actress!... suppose they -were one and the same!--it is enough to drive one mad, a fatal mystery, -drawing me on like a will o' the wisp flitting over the rushes of a -stagnant pool. Let us keep a firm foothold on reality. - -Sylvie, too, whom I loved so dearly, why had I forgotten her for three -long years? She was a charming girl, the prettiest maiden in Loisy; -surely she still lives, pure and good. I can see her window, with the -creeper twining around the rose-bush, and the cage of linnets hanging on -the left; I can hear the click of her bobbins and her favourite song: - - _La belle etait assise_ - _Pres du ruisseau coulant...._ - - The maiden was sitting - Beside the swift stream. - -She is still waiting for me. Who would wed her, so poor? The men of her -native village are sturdy peasants with rough hands and gaunt, tanned -faces. I, the "little Parisian," had won her heart in my frequent visits -near Loisy, to my poor uncle, now dead. For the past three years I have -been squandering like a lord the modest inheritance left by him, which -might have sufficed for a lifetime, and Sylvie, I know, would have -helped me save it. Chance returns me a portion, it is not too late. - -What is she doing now? She must be asleep.... No, she is not asleep; -to-day is the Feast of the Bow, the only one in the year when the dance -goes on all night.... She is there. What time is it? I had no watch. - -Amongst a profusion of ornaments, which it was then the fashion to -collect, in order to restore the local colour of an old-time interior, -there gleamed with freshly polished lustre, one of those tortoise-shell -clocks of the Renaissance, whose gilded dome, surmounted by a figure of -Time, was supported by caryatides in the style of the Medici, resting in -their turn upon rearing steeds. The historic Diana, leaning upon her -stag, was in bas-relief under the face, where, upon an inlaid -background, enameled figures marked the hours. The works, no doubt -excellent, had not been put in motion for two centuries. It was not to -tell the hour that I bought this time-piece in Touraine. - -I went down to the porter's lodge to find that his clock marked one in -the morning. "In four hours I can be at Loisy," thought I. - -Five or six cabs were still standing on the Place du Palais Royal, -awaiting the gamblers and clubmen. "To Loisy," I said to the nearest -driver. "Where is it?" "Near Senlis, eight leagues distant." "I will -take you to the posting station," said the cabman, more alert than I. - -How dreary the Flanders road is by night! It gains beauty only as it -approaches the belt of the forest. Two monotonous rows of trees, taking -on the semblance of distorted figures, rise ever before the eye; in the -distance, patches of verdure and cultivated land, bounded on the left -by the blue hills of Montmorency, Ecouen and Luzarches. Here is Gonesse, -an ordinary little town, full of memories of the League and the Fronde. - -Beyond Louvres is a road lined with apple-trees, whose white blossoms I -have often seen unfolding in the night, like stars of the earth--it is -the shortest way to the village. While the carriage climbs the slope, -let me recall old memories of the days when I came here so often. - - - - -IV. - -A VOYAGE TO CYTHERA. - - -Several years had passed, and only a childish memory was left me of that -meeting with Adrienne in front of the castle. I was again at Loisy on -the annual feast, and again I mingled with the knights of the bow, -taking my place in the same company as of old. The festival had been -arranged by young people belonging to the old families, who still own -the solitary castles, despoiled rather by time than revolution, hidden -here and there in the forest. From Chantilly, Compiegne and Senlis, -joyous companies hastened to join the rustic train of archers. After the -long parade through hamlet and village, after mass in the church, -contests of skill and awarding of prizes, the victors were invited to a -feast prepared upon an island in the centre of one of the tiny lakes, -fed by the Nonette and the Theve. Boats, gay with flags, conveyed us to -this island, chosen on account of an old temple with pillars, destined -to serve as a banquet hall. Here, as in Hermenonville, the country side -is sown with these frail structures, designed by philosophical -millionaires, in accordance with the prevailing taste of the close of -the eighteenth century. Probably this temple was originally dedicated to -Urania. Three pillars had fallen, bearing with them a portion of the -architrave, but the space within had been cleared, and garlands hung -between the columns, quite rejuvenated this modern ruin, belonging -rather to the paganism of Boufflers and Chaulieu than of Horace. The -sail on the lake was perhaps designed to recall Watteau's "Voyage to -Cythera," the illusion being marred only by our modern dress. The -immense bouquet was borne from its wagon and placed in a boat, -accompanied by the usual escort of young girls dressed in white, and -this graceful pageant, the survival of an ancient custom, was mirrored -in the still waters that flowed around the island, gleaming in the red -sunlight with its hawthorn thickets and colonnades. - -All the boats soon arrived, and the basket of flowers borne in state, -adorned the centre of the table, around which we took our places, the -most fortunate beside a young girl; to win this favour it was enough to -know her relatives, which explains why I found myself by Sylvie, whose -brother had already joined me in the march, and reproached me for -neglecting to visit them. I excused myself by the plea that my studies -kept me in Paris, and averred that I had come with that intention. - -"No," said Sylvie, "I am sure he has forgotten me. We are only village -folk, and a Parisian is far above us." I tried to stop her mouth with a -kiss, but she still pouted, and her brother had to intercede before she -would offer me her cheek with an indifferent air. I took no pleasure in -this salute, a favour accorded to plenty of others, for in that -patriarchal country where a greeting is bestowed upon every passing -stranger, a kiss means only an exchange of courtesies between honest -people. - -To crown the enjoyment of the day, a surprise had been contrived, and, -at the close of the repast, a wild swan, hitherto imprisoned beneath the -flowers, soared into the air, bearing aloft on his powerful wings, a -tangle of wreaths and garlands, which were scattered in every direction. -While he darted joyously toward the last bright gleams of the sun, we -tried to seize the falling chaplets, to crown our fair neighbours. I was -so fortunate as to secure one of the finest, and Sylvie smilingly -granted me a kiss more tender than the last, by which I perceived that I -had now redeemed the memory of a former occasion. She had grown so -beautiful that my present admiration was without reserve, and I no -longer recognised in her the little village maid, whom I had slighted -for one more skilled in the graces of the world. Sylvie had gained in -every respect; her black eyes, seductive from childhood, had become -irresistibly fascinating, and there was something Athenian in her -arching brows, together with the sudden smile lighting up her quiet, -regular features. I admired this classic profile contrasting with the -mere prettiness of her companions. Her taper fingers, round, white arms -and slender waist changed her completely, and I could not refrain from -telling her of the transformation, hoping thus to hide my long -unfaithfulness. Everything favoured me, the delightful influences of the -feast, her brother's regard, the evening hour, and even the spot chosen -by a tasteful fancy to celebrate the stately rites of ancient gallantry. -We escaped from the dance as soon as possible, to compare recollections -of our childhood and to gaze, side by side, with dreamy pleasure, upon -the sunset sky reflected in the calm waters. Sylvie's brother had to -tear us from the contemplation of this peaceful scene by the unwelcome -summons that it was time to start for the distant village where she -dwelt. - - - - -V. - -THE VILLAGE. - - -They lived at Loisy, in the old keeper's lodge, whither I accompanied -them, and then turned back toward Montagny, where I was staying with my -uncle. Leaving the highway to cross a little wood that divides Loisy -from Saint S----, I plunged into a deep track skirting the forest of -Hermenonville. I thought it would lead me to the walls of a convent, -which I had to follow for a quarter of a league. The moon, from time to -time, concealed by clouds, shed a dim light upon the grey rocks, and the -heath which lay thick upon the ground as I advanced. Right and left -stretched a pathless forest, and before me rose the Druid altars -guarding the memory of the sons of Armen, slain by the Romans. From -these ancient piles I discerned the distant lakelets glistening like -mirrors in the misty plain, but I could not distinguish the one where -the feast was held. - -The air was so balmy, that I determined to lie down upon the heath and -wait for the dawn. When I awoke, I recognized, one by one, the -neighbouring landmarks. On the left stretched the long line of the -convent of Saint S----, then, on the opposite side of the valley, La -Butte aux Gens d'Armes, with the shattered ruins of the ancient -Carlovingian palace. Close by, beyond the tree-tops, the crumbling walls -of the lofty Abbey of Thiers, stood out against the horizon. Further on, -the manor of Pontarme, surrounded as in olden times, by a moat, began to -reflect the first fires of dawn, while on the south appeared the tall -keep of La Tournelle and the four towers of Bertrand Fosse, on the -slopes of Montmeliant. - -The night had passed pleasantly, and I was thinking only of Sylvie, but -the sight of the convent suggested the idea that it might be the one -where Adrienne lived. The sound of the morning bell was still ringing in -my ears and had probably awakened me. The thought came to me, for a -moment, that by climbing to the top of the cliff, I might take a peep -over the walls, but on reflection, I dismissed it as profane. The sun -with its rising beams, put to flight this idle memory, leaving only the -rosy features of Sylvie. "I will go and awaken her," I said to myself, -and again I started in the direction of Loisy. - -Ah, here at the end of the forest track, is the village, twenty cottages -whose walls are festooned with creepers and climbing roses. A group of -women, with red kerchiefs on their heads, are spinning in the early -light, in front of a farmhouse, but Sylvie is not among them. She is -almost a young lady, now she makes dainty lace, but her family remain -simple villagers. I ran up to her room without exciting surprise, to -find that she had been up for a long time, and was busily plying her -bobbins, which clicked cheerfully against the square green cushion on -her knees. "So, it is you, lazybones," she said with her divine smile; -"I am sure you are just out of bed." - -I told her how I had lost my way in the woods and had passed the night -in the open air, and for a moment she seemed inclined to pity me. - -"If you are not too tired, I will take you for another ramble. We will -go to see my grand-aunt at Othys." - -Before I had time to reply, she ran joyously to smooth her hair before -the mirror, and put on her rustic straw hat, her eyes sparkling with -innocent gaiety. - -Our way, at first, lay along the banks of the Theve, through meadows -sprinkled with daisies and buttercups; then we skirted the woods of -Saint Lawrence, sometimes crossing streams and thickets to shorten the -road. Blackbirds were whistling in the trees, and tomtits, startled at -our approach, flew joyously from the bushes. - -Now and then we spied beneath our feet the periwinkles which Rousseau -loved, putting forth their blue crowns amid long sprays of twin leaves, -a network of tendrils which arrested the light steps of my companion. -Indifferent to the memory of the philosopher of Geneva, she sought here -and there for fragrant strawberries, while I talked of the New Heloise, -and repeated passages from it, which I knew by heart. - -"Is it pretty?" she asked. - -"It is sublime." - -"Is it better than Auguste Lafontaine?" - -"It is more tender." - -"Well, then," said she, "I must read it. I will tell my brother to bring -it to me the next time he goes to Senlis." - -I went on reciting portions of the Heloise, while Sylvie picked -strawberries. - - - - -VI. - -OTHYS. - - -When we had left the forest, we found great tufts of purple foxglove, -and Sylvie gathered an armful, saying it was for her aunt who loved to -have flowers in her room. - -Only a stretch of level country now lay between us and Othys. The -village church-spire pointed heavenward against the blue hills that -extend from Montmeliant to Dammartin. The Theve again rippled over the -stones, narrowing towards its source, where it forms a tiny lake which -slumbers in the meadows, fringed with gladiolus and iris. We soon -reached the first houses where Sylvie's aunt lived in a little cottage -of rough stone, adorned with a trellis of hop-vine and Virginia creeper. -Her only support came from a few acres of land which the village folk -cultivated for her, now her husband was dead. The coming of her niece -set the house astir. - -"Good morning, aunt; here are your children!" cried Sylvie; "and we are -very hungry." She kissed her aunt tenderly, gave her the flowers, and -then turned to present me, saying, "He is my sweetheart." - -I, in turn, kissed the good aunt, who exclaimed, "He is a fine lad! why, -he has light hair!" "He has very pretty hair," said Sylvie. "That does -not last," returned her aunt; "but you have time enough before you, and -you are dark, so you are well matched." - -"You must give him some breakfast," said Sylvie, and she went peeping -into cupboards and pantry, finding milk, brown bread and sugar which she -hastily set upon the table, together with the plates and dishes of -crockery adorned with staring flowers and birds of brilliant plumage. A -large bowl of Creil china, filled with strawberries swimming in milk, -formed the centrepiece, and after she had raided the garden for cherries -and goose-berries, she arranged two vases of flowers, placing one at -each end of the white cloth. Just then, her aunt made a sensible speech: -"All this is only for dessert. Now, you must let me set to work." She -took down the frying-pan and threw a fagot upon the hearth. "No, no; I -shall not let you touch it," she said decidedly to Sylvie, who was -trying to help her. "Spoiling your pretty fingers that make finer lace -than Chantilly! You gave me some, and I know what lace is." - -"Oh, yes, aunt, and if you have some left, I can use it for a pattern." - -"Well, go look upstairs; there may be some in my chest of drawers." - -"Give me the keys," returned Sylvie. - -"Nonsense," cried her aunt; "the drawers are open." "No; there is one -always locked." While the good woman was cleaning the frying-pan, after -having passed it over the fire to warm it, Sylvie unfastened from her -belt a little key of wrought steel and showed it to me in triumph. - -I followed her swiftly up the wooden staircase that led to the room -above. Oh youth, and holy age! Who could sully by an evil thought the -purity of first love in this shrine of hallowed memories? The portrait -of a young man of the good old times, with laughing black eyes and rosy -lips, hung in an oval gilt frame at the head of the rustic bed. He wore -the uniform of a gamekeeper of the house of Conde; his somewhat martial -bearing, ruddy, good-humoured face, and powdered hair drawn back from -the clear brow, gave the charm of youth and simplicity to this pastel, -destitute, perhaps, of any artistic merit Some obscure artist, bidden to -the hunting parties of the prince, had done his best to portray the -keeper and his bride who appeared in another medallion, arch and -winning, in her open bodice laced with ribbons, teasing with piquant -frown, a bird perched upon her finger. It was, however, the same good -old dame, at that moment bending over the hearth-fire to cook. It -reminded me of the fairies in a spectacle who hide under wrinkled masks, -their real beauty revealed in the closing scene when the Temple of Love -appears with its whirling sun darting magic fires. - -"Oh, dear old aunt!" I exclaimed, "how pretty you were!" - -"And I?" asked Sylvie, who had succeeded in opening the famous drawer -which contained an old-fashioned dress of taffeta, so stiff that the -heavy folds creaked under her touch. "I will see if it fits me," she -said; "I shall look like an old fairy!" "Like the fairy of the legends, -ever young," thought I. - -Sylvie had already unfastened her muslin gown and let it fall to her -feet. She bade me hook the rich robe which clung tightly to her slender -figure. - -"Oh, what ridiculous sleeves!" she cried; and yet, the lace frills -displayed to advantage her bare arms, and her bust was outlined by the -corsage of yellow tulle and faded ribbon which had concealed but little -the vanished charms of her aunt. - -"Come, make haste!" said Sylvie. "Do you not know how to hook a dress?" -She looked like the village bride of Greuze. "You ought to have some -powder," said I. "We will find some," and she turned to search the -drawers anew. Oh! what treasures, what sweet odours, what gleams of -light from brilliant hues and modest ornaments! Two mother-of-pearl fans -slightly broken, some pomade boxes covered with Chinese designs, an -amber necklace and a thousand trifles, among them two little white -slippers with sparkling buckles of Irish diamonds. "Oh! I will put them -on," cried Sylvie, "if I find the embroidered stockings." - -A moment more, and we were unrolling a pair of pink silk stockings with -green clocks; but the voice of the old aunt, accompanied by the hiss of -the frying-pan, suddenly recalled us to reality. "Go down quickly," said -Sylvie, who refused to let me help her finish dressing. Her aunt was -just turning into a platter the contents of the frying-pan, a slice of -bacon and some eggs. Presently, I heard Sylvie calling me from the -staircase. "Dress yourself as soon as possible," and, completely attired -herself, she pointed to the wedding clothes of the gamekeeper, spread -out upon the chest. In an instant I was transformed into a bridegroom of -the last century. Sylvie waited for me on the stairs, and we went down, -arm in arm. Her aunt gave a cry when she saw us. "Oh, my children!" she -exclaimed, beginning to weep and then smiling through her tears. It was -the image of her own youth, a cruel, yet charming vision. We sat beside -her, touched, almost saddened, but soon our mirth came back, for after -the first surprise, the thoughts of the good old dame reverted to the -stately festivities of her wedding day. She even recalled the -old-fashioned songs chanted responsively from one end of the festal -board to the other, and the quaint nuptial hymn whose strains attended -the wedded pair when they withdrew after the dance. We repeated these -couplets with their simple rhymes, flowery and passionate as the Song of -Solomon. We were bride and bridegroom the space of one fair summer -morn. - - - - -VII - -CHAALIS. - - -It is four o'clock in the morning; the road winds through a hollow and -comes out on high ground; the carriage passes Orry, then La Chapelle. On -the left is a road that skirts the forest of Hallate. Sylvie's brother -took me through there one evening in his covered cart, to attend some -local gathering on the Eve of Saint Bartholomew, I believe. Through the -woods, along unfrequented ways, the little horse sped as if hastening to -a witches' sabbath. We struck the highway again at Mont-l'Eveque, and a -few moments later pulled up at the keeper's lodge of the old abbey of -Chaalis--Chaalis, another memory! - -This ancient retreat of the emperors offers nothing worthy of -admiration, save its ruined cloisters with their Byzantine arcades, the -last of which are still mirrored in the lake--crumbling fragments of the -abodes of piety, formerly attached to this demesne, known in olden -times as "Charlemagne's farms." In this quiet spot, far from the stir of -highways and cities, religion has retained distinctive traces of the -prolonged sojourn of the Cardinals of the House of Este during the time -of the Medici; a shade of poetic gallantry still lingers about its -ceremonial, a perfume of the Renaissance breathing beneath the -delicately moulded arches of the chapels decorated by Italian artists. -The faces of saints and angels outlined in rose tints upon a vaulted -roof of pale blue produce an effect of pagan allegory, which recalls the -sentimentality of Petrarch and the weird mysticism of Francesco Colonna. -Sylvie's brother and I were intruders in the festivities of the evening. -A person of noble birth, at that time proprietor of the demesne, had -invited the neighbouring families to witness a kind of allegorical -spectacle in which some of the inmates of the convent close by were to -take part. It was not intended to recall the tragedies of Saint Cyr, but -went back to the first lyric contests, introduced into France by the -Valois princes. What I saw enacted resembled an ancient mystery. The -costumes, consisting of long robes, presented no variety save in colour, -blue, hyacinth or gold. The scene lay between angels on the ruins of the -world. Each voice chanted one of the glories of the now extinct globe, -and the Angel of Death set forth the causes of its destruction. A spirit -rose from the abyss, holding a flaming sword, and convoked the others to -glorify the power of Christ, the conqueror of bell. This spirit was -Adrienne, transfigured by her costume as she was already by her -vocation. The nimbus of gilded cardboard encircling her angelic head -seemed to us a circle of light; her voice had gained in power and -compass, and an infinite variety of Italian trills relieved with their -bird-like warbling the stately severity of the recitative. - -In recalling these details, I come to the point of asking myself, "Are -they real or have I dreamed them?" Sylvie's brother was not quite sober -that evening. We spent a few minutes in the keeper's house, where I was -much impressed by a cygnet displayed above the door, and within there -were tall chests of carved walnut, a large clock in its case and some -archery prizes, bows and arrows, above a red and green target. A -droll-looking dwarf in a Chinese cap, holding a bottle in one hand and a -ring in the other, seemed to warn the marksmen to take good aim. I think -the dwarf was cut out of sheet-iron. Did I really see Adrienne as surely -as I marked these details? I am, however, certain that it was the son of -the keeper who conducted us to the hall where the representation took -place; we were seated near the door behind a numerous company who seemed -deeply moved. It was the feast of Saint Bartholomew--a day strangely -linked with memories of the Medici, whose arms, impaled with those of -the House of Este, adorned these old walls. Is it an obsession, the way -these memories haunt me? Fortunately the carriage stops here on the road -to Plessis; I leave the world of dreams and find myself with only a -fifteen-minutes walk to reach Loisy by forest paths. - - - - -VIII - -THE BALL AT LOISY. - - -I entered the ball of Loisy at that sad yet pleasing hour when the -lights flicker and grow dim at the approach of dawn. A faint bluish -tinge crept over the tops of the lime-trees, sunk in shadow below. The -rustic flute no longer contended so gayly with the trills of the -nightingale. The dancers all looked pale, and among the dishevelled -groups I distinguished with difficulty any familiar faces. Finally, I -recognized a tall girl, Sylvie's friend Lise. - -"We have not seen you for a long time, Parisian," said she. - -"Yes; a long time." - -"And you come so late?" - -"By coach." - -"And you traveled slowly!" - -"I came to see Sylvie; is she still here?" - -"She will stay till morning; she loves to dance." - -In a moment I was beside her; she looked tired, but her black eyes -sparkled with the same Athenian smile as of old. A young man stood near -her, but she refused by a gesture to join the next country-dance, and he -bowed to her and withdrew. - -It began to grow light, and we left the ball hand in hand. The flowers -hung lifeless and faded in Sylvie's loosened tresses, and the nosegay at -her bosom dropped its petals on the crumpled lace made by her skilful -hands. I offered to walk home with her; it was broad day, but the sky -was cloudy. The Theve murmured on our left, leaving at every curve a -little pool of still water where yellow and white pond-lilies blossomed, -and lake star-worts, like Easter daisies, spread their delicate -broidery. The plain was covered with hay-ricks whose fragrance seemed -wafted to my brain, affecting me as the fresh scent of the woods and -hawthorn thickets had done in the past. This time neither of us thought -of crossing the meadows. - -"Sylvie," said I, "you no longer love me." - -She sighed. "My friend," she continued, "you must console yourself, -since things do not happen as we wish in this world. You once mentioned -the New Heloise; I read it, and shuddered when I found these words, at -the beginning: 'Any young girl who reads this book is lost.' However, I -kept on, trusting in my discretion. Do you remember the day we put on -the wedding clothes, at my aunt's house? The engravings in the book also -represented lovers dressed in olden costumes, so that to me you were -Saint-Preux and I was Julie. Ah! why did you not come back then? But -they said you were in Italy. You must have seen there far prettier girls -than I!" - -"Not one, Sylvie, with your expression or the pure lines of your -profile. You do not know it, but you are a nymph of antiquity. Besides, -the woods here are as beautiful as those about Rome. There are granite -masses yonder, not less sublime, and a cascade which falls from the -rocks like that of Terni. I saw nothing there to regret here." - -"And in Paris?" she asked. - -"In Paris--" I shook my head, but did not answer. Suddenly I remembered -the vain shadow which I had pursued so long. "Sylvie," cried I, "let us -stop here, will you?" - -I threw myself at her feet, and with hot tears I confessed my -irresolution and fickleness; I evoked the fatal spectre that haunted my -days. - -"Save me!" I implored, "I come back to you forever." - -She turned toward me with emotion, but at this moment our conversation -was interrupted by a loud burst of laughter, and Sylvie's brother -rejoined us with the boisterous mirth always attending a rustic -festival, and which the abundant refreshments of the evening had -stimulated beyond measure. He called to the gallant of the ball, who was -concealed in a thicket, but hastened to us. This youth was little firmer -on his feet than his companion, and appeared more embarrassed by the -presence of a Parisian than by Sylvie. His candid look and awkward -deference prevented any dislike on my part, on account of his dancing so -late with Sylvie at the ball; I did not consider him a dangerous rival. - -"We must go in," said Sylvie to her brother. "We shall meet again soon," -she said, as she offered me her cheek to kiss, at which the lover was -not offended. - - - - -IX. - -HERMENONVILLE. - - -Not feeling inclined to sleep, I walked to Montagny to revisit my -uncle's house. Sadness fell upon me at the first glimpse of its yellow -front and green shutters. Everything looked as before, but I was obliged -to go to the farmer's to obtain the key. The shutters once open, I -surveyed with emotion the old furniture, polished from time to time, to -preserve its lustre, the tall cupboard of walnut, two Flemish paintings -said to be the work of an ancient artist, our ancestor, some large -prints after Boucher, and a whole series of framed engravings -representing scenes from "Emile" and the "New Heloise" by Moreau; on the -table was the dog, now stuffed and mounted, that I remembered alive, as -the companion of my forest rambles, perhaps the last "Carlin," for it -had belonged to that breed now extinct. - -"As for the parrot," said the farmer, "he is still alive, and I took him -home with me." - -The garden offered a magnificent picture of the growth of wild -vegetation, and there in a corner was the plot I had tended as a child. -A shudder came over me as I entered the study, which still contained the -little library of choice books, familiar friends of him who was no more, -and where upon his desk lay antique relics, vases and Roman medals found -in the garden,--a local collection, the source of much pleasure to him. - -"Let us go to see the parrot," I said to the farmer. The parrot -clamoured for his breakfast, as in his best days, and gave me a knowing -look from his round eye peering out from the wrinkled skin, like the -wise glances of the old. - -Full of sad thoughts awakened by my return to this cherished spot, I -felt that I must again see Sylvie, the only living tie which bound me to -that region, and once more I took the road to Loisy. It was the middle -of the day, and I found them all asleep, worn out by the night of -merry-making. It occurred to me that it might divert my thoughts to -stroll to Hermenonville, a league distant, by the forest road. It was -fine summer weather, and on setting out I was delighted by the freshness -and verdure of the path which seemed like the avenue of a park. The -green branches of the great oaks were relieved by the white trunks and -rustling leaves of the birches. The birds were silent, and I heard no -sound but the woodpecker tapping the trees to find a hollow for her -nest. At one time I was in danger of losing my way, the characters being -wholly effaced on the guide-posts which served to distinguish the roads. -Passing the Desert on the left, I came to the dancing-ring where I found -the benches of the old men still in place. All the associations of -ancient philosophy, revived by the former owner of the demesne, crowded -upon me, at the sight of this picturesque realisation of "Anacharsis" -and "Emile." - -When I caught sight of the waters of the lake sparkling through the -branches of willows and hazels, I recognised a spot which I had often -visited with my uncle. Here stands to this day, sheltered by a group of -pines, the Temple of Philosophy which its founder had not the good -fortune to complete. It is built in the form of the temple of the -Tiburtine Sibyl, and displays with pride the names of all the great -thinkers from Montaigne and Descartes to Rousseau. This unfinished -structure is now but a ruin around which the ivy twines its graceful -tendrils, while brambles force their way between its disjointed steps. -When but a child, I witnessed the celebrations here, where young girls, -dressed in white, came to receive prizes for scholarship and good -conduct. Where are the roses that girdled the hillside? Hidden by brier -and eglantine, they are fast losing all traces of cultivation. As for -the laurels, have they been cut down, according to the old song of the -maidens who no longer care to roam the forest? No! these shrubs from -sweet Italy have withered beneath our unfriendly skies. Happily, the -privet of Virgil still thrives as if to emphasize the words of the -Master, inscribed above the door, _Rerum cognoscere causas._ Yes! like -so many others, this temple crumbles, and man, weary or thoughtless, -passes it by, while indifferent nature reclaims the soil for which art -contended, but the thirst for knowledge is eternal, the mainspring of -all power and activity. - -Here are the poplars of the island and the empty tomb of Rousseau. O -Sage! thou gavest us the milk of the strong and we were too weak to -receive it! We have forgotten thy lessons which our fathers knew, and we -have lost the meaning of thy words, the last faint echoes of ancient -wisdom! Still, let us not despair, and like thee, in thy last moments, -let us turn our eyes to the sun! - -I revisited the castle, the quiet waters about it, the cascade which -complains among the rocks, the causeway that unites the two parts of -the village with the four dove-cotes that mark the corners, and the -green that stretches beyond like a prairie, above which rise wooded -slopes; the tower of Gabrielle is reflected from afar in the waters of -an artificial lake studded with ephemeral blossoms; the scum is -seething, the insects hum. It is best to escape the noxious vapours and -seek the rocks and sand of the desert and the waste lands where the pink -heath blooms beside green ferns. How sad and lonely it all seems! In -by-gone days, Sylvie's enchanting smile, her merry pranks and glad cries -enlivened every spot! She was then a wild little creature with bare feet -and sun-burned skin, in spite of the straw hat whose long strings -floated loosely amid her dark locks. We used to go to the Swiss farm to -drink milk, and they said: "How pretty your sweetheart is, little -Parisian!" Ah! no peasant lad could have danced with her in those days! -She would have none but me for her partner, at the yearly Feast of the -Bow. - - - - -X. - -BIG CURLY-HEAD - - -I went back to Loisy and they were all awake. Sylvie was dressed like a -young lady, almost in the fashion of the city. She led me up to her room -with all her old simplicity. Her bright eyes smiled as charmingly as -ever, but the decided arch of her brows made her at times look serious. -The room was simply decorated, but the furniture was modern: a mirror in -a gilt frame had replaced the old-fashioned looking-glass where an -idyllic shepherd was depicted offering a nest to a blue and pink -shepherdess; the four-post bed, modestly hung with flowered chintz, was -succeeded by a little walnut couch with net curtains; canaries occupied -the cage at the window where once there were linnets. I was impatient to -leave this room, where nothing spoke to me of the past. "Shall you make -lace to-day?" I asked Sylvie. "Oh, I do not make lace now; there is no -demand for it here, and even at Chantilly the factory is closed." "What -is your work then?" She brought forward, from the corner of the room, an -iron tool which resembled a long pair of pincers. - -"What is that?" - -"It is called the machine and is used to hold the leather in place while -the gloves are sewed." - -"Then you are a glove-maker, Sylvie?" - -"Yes, we work here for Dammartin; it pays well now, but I shall not work -to-day; let us go wherever you like." I glanced towards Othys, but she -shook her head, and I understood that the old aunt was no more. Sylvie -called a little boy and bade him saddle an ass. "I am still tired from -yesterday," she said, "but the ride will do me good; let us go to -Chaalis." - -We set out through the forest, followed by the boy armed with a branch. -Sylvie soon wished to stop, and I kissed her as I led her to a seat. Our -conversation could no longer be very intimate. I had to talk of my life -in Paris, my travels.... "How can anyone go so far?" she demanded. "It -seems strange to me, when I look at you." - -"Oh! of course," - -"Well, admit that you were not so pretty in the old days." - -"I cannot tell." - -"Do you remember when we were children and you the tallest?" - -"And you the wisest?" - -"Oh! Sylvie!" - -"They put us on an ass, one in each pannier." - -"And we said thee and thou to each other? Do you remember how you taught -me to catch crawfish under the bridges over the Nonette and the Theve?" - -"Do you remember your foster-brother who pulled you out of the water one -day?" - -"Big Curly-head? It was he who told me to go in." - -I made haste to change the subject, because this recollection had -brought vividly to mind the time when I used to go into the country, -wearing a little English coat which made the peasants laugh. Sylvie was -the only one who liked it, but I did not venture to remind her of such a -juvenile opinion. For some reason, my mind turned to the old aunt's -wedding clothes in which we had arrayed ourselves, and I asked what had -become of them. - -"Oh! poor aunt," cried Sylvie; "she lent me her gown to wear to the -carnival at Dammartin, two years ago, and the next year she died, dear, -old aunt!" She sighed and the tears came, so I could not inquire how it -chanced that she went to a masquerade, but I perceived that, thanks to -her skill, Sylvie was no longer a peasant girl. Her parents had not -risen above their former station, and she lived with them, scattering -plenty around her like an industrious fairy. - - - - -XI. - -RETURN. - - -The outlook widened when we left the forest and we found ourselves near -the lake of Chaalis. The galleries of the cloister, the chapel with its -pointed arches, the feudal tower and the little castle which had -sheltered the loves of Henry IV. and Gabrielle, were bathed in the -crimson glow of evening against the dark background of the forest. - -"Like one of Walter Scott's landscapes, is it not?" said Sylvie. "And -who has told you of Walter Scott?" I inquired. "You must have read much -in the past three years! As for me, I try to forget books, and what -delights me, is to revisit with you this old abbey where, as little -children, we played hide and seek among the ruins. Do you remember, -Sylvie, how afraid you were when the keeper told us the story of the Red -Monks?" - -"Oh, do not speak of it!" - -"Well then, sing me the song of the fair maid under the white -rose-bush, who was stolen from her father's garden." - -"Nobody sings that now." - -"Is it possible that you have become a musician?" - -"Perhaps." - -"Sylvie, Sylvie, I am positive that you sing airs from operas!" - -"Why should you complain?" - -"Because I loved the old songs and you have forgotten them." - -Sylvie warbled a few notes of a grand air from a modern opera.... She -_phrased!_ - -We turned away from the lakeside and approached the green bordered with -lime-trees and elms, where we had so often danced. I had the conceit to -describe the old Carlovingian walls and to decipher the armorial -bearings of the House of Este. - -"And you! How much more you have read than I, and how learned you have -become!" said Sylvie. I was vexed by her tone of reproach, as I had all -the way been seeking a favourable opportunity to resume the tender -confidences of the morning, but what could I say, accompanied by a -donkey and a very wide-awake lad who pressed nearer and nearer for the -pleasure of hearing a Parisian talk? Then I displayed my lack of tact, -by relating the vision of Chaalis which I recalled so vividly. I led -Sylvie into the very hall of the castle where I had heard Adrienne sing. -"Oh, let me hear you!" I besought her; "let your loved voice ring out -beneath these arches and put to flight the spirit that torments me, be -it angel or demon!" She repeated the words and sang after me: - - "_Anges, descendez promptement_ - _au fond du purgatoire...._" - - Angels descend without delay - To dread abyss of purgatory. - -"It is very sad!" she cried. - -"It is sublime! An air from Porpora, I think, with words translated in -the present century." - -"I do not know," she replied. - -We came home through the valley, following the Charlepont road which the -peasants, without regard to etymology, persistently called Challepont. -The way was deserted, and Sylvie, weary of riding, leaned upon my arm, -while I tried to speak of what was in my heart, but, I know not why, -could find only trivial words or stilted phrases from some romance that -Sylvie might have read. I stopped suddenly then, in true classic style, -and she was occasionally amazed by these disjointed rhapsodies. Having -reached the walls of Saint S---- we had to look well to our steps, on -account of the numerous stream-lets winding through the damp marshes. - -"What has become of the nun?" I asked suddenly. - -"You give me no peace with your nun! Ah, well! it is a sad story!" Not a -word more would Sylvie say. - -Do women really feel that certain words come from the lips rather than -the heart? It does not seem probable, to see how readily they are -deceived, and what an inexplicable choice they usually make--there are -men who play the comedy of love so well! I never could accustom myself -to it, although I know some women lend themselves wittingly to the -deception. A love that dates from childhood is, however, sacred, and -Sylvie, whom I had seen grow up, was like a sister to me; I could not -betray her. Suddenly, a new thought came to me. "At this very hour, I -might be at the theatre. What is Aurelie (that was the name of the -actress) playing to-night? No doubt the part of the Princess in the new -play. How touching she is in the third act! And in the love scene of the -second with that wrinkled actor who plays the lover!" - -"Lost in thought?" said Sylvie; and she began to sing: - - _"A Dammartin l'y a trots belles filles:_ - _L'y en a z'une plus belle que le jour...."_ - - _At Dammartin there are three fair maids,_ - _And one of them is fairer than day._ - -"Little tease!" I cried, "you know you remember the old songs." - -"If you would come here oftener, I would try to remember more of them," -she said; "but we must think of realities; you have your affairs at -Paris, I have my work here; let us go in early, for I must rise with the -sun to-morrow." - - - - -XII. - -FATHER DODU. - - -I was about to reply, to fall at her feet and offer her my uncle's house -which I could purchase, as the little estate had not been apportioned -among the numerous heirs, but just then we reached Loisy, where supper -awaited us and the onion-soup was diffusing its patriarchal odour. -Neighbours had been invited to celebrate the day after the feast, and I -recognised at a glance Father Dodu, an old wood-cutter who used to amuse -or frighten us, in the evenings by his stories. Shepherd, carrier, -gamekeeper, fisherman and even poacher, by turns, Father Dodu made -clocks and turnspits in his leisure moments. For a long time he acted as -guide to the English tourists at Hermenonville, and while he recounted -the last moments of the philosopher, would lead them to Rousseau's -favourite spots for meditation. He was the little boy employed to -classify the herbs and gather the hemlock twigs from which the sage -pressed the juice into his cup of coffee. The landlord of the Golden -Cross contested this point and a lasting feud resulted. Father Dodu had -once borne the reproach of possessing some very innocent secrets, such -as how to cure cows by saying a rhyme backwards and making the sign of -the cross with the left foot, but he had renounced these -superstitions--thanks, he declared, to his conversations with Jean -Jacques. - -"That you, little Parisian?" said Father Dodu; "have you come to carry -off our pretty girls?" - -"I, Father Dodu?" - -"You take them into the woods when the wolf is away!" - -"Father Dodu, you are the wolf." - -"I was as long as I could find sheep, but at present I meet only goats, -and they know how to take care of themselves! As for you, why, you are -all rascals in Paris. Jean Jacques was right when he said, 'Man grows -corrupt in the poisonous air of cities.'" - -"Father Dodu, you know very well that men become corrupt everywhere." - -"Father Dodu began to roar out a drinking song, and it was impossible to -stop him at a questionable couplet that everyone knew by heart. Sylvie -would not sing, in spite of our entreaties, on the plea that it was no -longer customary to sing at table. I bad already noticed the lover of -the ball, seated at her left, and his round face and tumbled hair seemed -familiar. He rose and stood behind me, saying, "Have you forgotten me, -Parisian?" A good woman who came back to dessert after serving us, -whispered in my ear: "Do you not recognize your foster-brother?" Without -this warning, I should have made myself ridiculous. "Ah, it is _Big -Curly-head_!" I cried; "the very same who pulled me out of the water." -Sylvie burst out laughing at the recollection. - -"Without considering," said the youth em-bracing me, "that you had a -fine silver watch and on the way home you were more concerned about it -than yourself, because it had stopped. You said, 'the _creature is -drowned_ does not go tick-tack; what will Uncle say?'" "A watch is a -creature," said Father Dodu; "that is what they tell children in Paris!" - -Sylvie was sleepy, and I fancied there was no hope for me. She went -upstairs, and as I kissed her, said: "Come again to-morrow." Father Dodu -remained at table with Sylvain and my foster-brother, and we talked a -long time over a bottle of Louvres ratafia. - -"All men are equal," said Father Dodu between glasses; "I drink with a -pastry-cook as readily as with a prince." - -"Where is the pastry-cook?" I asked. - -"By your side! There you see a young man who is ambitious to get on in -life." - -My foster-brother appeared embarrassed and I understood the situation. -Fate had reserved for me a foster-brother in the very country made -famous by Rousseau, who opposed putting children out to nurse! I learned -from Father Dodu that there was much talk of a marriage between Sylvie -and Big Curly-head, who wished to open a pastry-shop at Dammartin. I -asked no more. Next morning the coach from Nanteuil-le-Haudouin took me -back to Paris. - - - - -XIII - -AURELIE. - - -To Paris, a journey of five hours! I was impatient for evening, and -eight o'clock found me in my accustomed seat Aurelie infused her own -spirit and grace into the lines of the play, the work of a contemporary -author evidently inspired by Schiller. In the garden scene she was -sublime. During the fourth act, when she did not appear, I went out to -purchase a bouquet of Madame Prevost, slipping into it a tender effusion -signed _An Unknown_, "There," thought I, "is something definite for the -future," but on the morrow I was on my way to Germany. - -Why did I go there? In the hope of com-posing my disordered fancy. If I -were to write a book, I could never gain credence for the story of a -heart torn by these two conflicting loves. I had lost Sylvie through my -own fault, but to see her for a day, sufficed to restore my soul. A -glance from her had arrested me on the verge of the abyss, and -henceforth I enshrined her as a smiling goddess in the Temple of Wisdom. -I felt more than ever reluctant to present myself before Aurelie among -the throng of vulgar suitors who shone in the light of her favour for an -instant only to fall blinded. - -"Some day," said I, "we shall see whether this woman has a heart." - -One morning I learned from a newspaper that Aurelie was ill, and I wrote -to her from the mountains of Salzburg, a letter so filled with German -mysticism that I could hardly hope for a reply, indeed I expected none. -I left it to chance or ... the _unknown._ - -Months passed, and in the leisure intervals of travel I undertook to -embody in poetic action the life-long devotion of the painter Colonna to -the fair Laura who was constrained by her relatives to take the veil. -Something in the subject lent itself to my habitual train of thought, -and as soon as the last verse of the drama was written, I hastened back -to France. - -Can I avoid repeating in my own history, that of many others? I passed -through all the ordeals of the theatre. I "ate the drum and drank the -cymbal," according to the apparently meaningless phrase of the initiates -at Eleusis, which probably signifies that upon occasion we must stand -ready to pass the bounds of reason and absurdity; for me it meant to -win and possess my ideal. - -Aurelie accepted the leading part in the play which I brought back from -Germany. I shall never forget the day she allowed me to read it to her. -The love scenes had been arranged expressly for her, and I am positive -that I rendered them with feeling. In the conversation that followed I -revealed myself as the "Unknown" of the two letters. She said: "You are -mad, but come again; I have never found anyone who knew how to love me." - -Oh, woman! you seek for love ... but what of me? - -In the days which followed I wrote probably the most eloquent and -touching letters that she ever received. Her answers were full of good -sense. Once she was moved, sent for me and confessed that it was hard -for her to break an attachment of long standing. "If you love me for -myself alone, then you will understand that I can belong to but one." - -Two months later, I received an effusive letter which brought me to her -feet--in the meantime, someone volunteered an important piece of -information. The handsome young man whom I had met one night at the club -had just enlisted in the Turkish cavalry. - -Races were held at Chantilly the next season, and the theatre troupe to -which Aurelie belonged gave a performance. Once in the country, the -company was for three days subject to the orders of the director. I had -made friends with this worthy man, formerly the Dorante of the comedies -of Marivaux and for a long time successful in lovers' parts. His latest -triumph was achieved in the play imitated from Schiller, when my -opera-glass had discovered all his wrinkles. He had fire, however, and -being thin, produced a good effect in the provinces. I accompanied the -troupe in the quality of poet, and persuaded the manager to give -performances at Senlis and Dammartin. He inclined to Compiegne at first, -but Aurelie was of my opinion. Next day, while arrangements with the -local authorities were in progress, I ordered horses and we set out on -the road to Commelle to breakfast at the castle of Queen Blanche. -Aurelie, on horseback, with her blonde hair floating in the wind, rode -through the forest like some queen of olden times, and the peasants were -dazzled by her appearance. Madame de _F_-----was the only woman they had -ever seen so imposing and so graceful. After breakfast we rode down to -the villages like Swiss hamlets where the waters of the Nonette turn the -busy saw-mills. These scenes, which my remembrance cherished, interested -Aurelie, but did not move her to delay. I had planned to conduct her to -the castle near Orry, where I had first seen Adrienne on the green. She -manifested no emotion. Then I told her all; I revealed the hidden spring -of that love which haunted my dreams by night and was realized in her. -She listened with attention and said: "You do not love me! You expect me -to say 'the actress and the nun are the same'; you are merely arranging -a drama and the issue of the plot is lacking. Go! I no longer believe in -you." - -Her words were an illumination. The unnatural enthusiasm which had -possessed me for so long, my dreams, my tears, my despair and my -tenderness,--could they mean aught but love? What then is love? - -Aurelie played that night at Senlis, and I thought she displayed a -weakness for the director, the wrinkled "young lover" of the stage. His -character was exemplary, and he had already shown her much kindness. - -One day, Aurelie said to me: "There is the man who loves me!" - - - - -XIV. - -THE LAST LEAF. - - -Such are the fancies that charm and beguile us in the morning of life! I -have tried to set them down here, in a disconnected fashion, but many -hearts will understand me. One by one our illusions fall like husks, and -the kernel thus laid bare is experience. Its taste is bitter, but it -yields an acrid flavour that invigorates,--to use an old-fashioned -simile. Rousseau says that the aspect of nature is a universal -consolation. Sometimes I seek again my groves of Clarens lost in the fog -to the north of Paris, but now, all is changed! Hermenonville, the spot -where the ancient idyl blossomed again, transplanted by Gessner, thy -star has set, the star that glowed for me with two-fold lustre. Blue and -rose by turns, like the changeful Aldebaran, it was formed by Adrienne -and Sylvie, the two halves of my love. One was the sublime ideal, the -other, the sweet reality. What are thy groves and lakes and thy desert -to me now? Othys, Montagny, Loiseaux, poor neighbouring hamlets, and -Chaalis now to be restored, you guard for me no treasures of the past. -Occasionally, I feel a desire to return to those scenes of lonely -musing, where I sadly mark the fleeting traces of a period when -affectation invaded nature; sometimes I smile as I read upon the granite -rocks certain lines from Boucher, which I once thought sublime, or -virtuous maxims inscribed above a fountain or a grotto dedicated to Pan. -The swans disdain the stagnant waters of the little lakes excavated at -such an expense. The time is no more when the hunt of Conde swept by -with its proud riders, and the forest-echoes rang with answering horns! -There is to-day no direct route to Hermenonville, and sometimes I go by -Creil and Senlis, sometimes by Dammartin. - -It is impossible to reach Dammartin before night, so I lodge at the -Image of Saint John. They usually give me a neat room hung with old -tapestry, with a glass between the windows. This room shows a return to -the fashion for bric-a-brac which I renounced long ago. I sleep -comfortably under the eider-down covering used there. In the morning, -when I throw open the casement wreathed with vines and roses, I gaze -with rapture upon a wide green landscape stretching away to the -horizon, where a line of poplars stand like sentinels. Here and there -the villages nestle guarded by their protecting church-spires. First -Othys, then Eve and Ver; Hermenonville would be visible beyond the wood, -if it had a belfry, but in that philosophic spot the church has been -neglected. Having filled my lungs with the pure air of these uplands, I -go down stairs in good humour and start for the pastry-cook's. "Helloa, -big Curly-head!" "Helloa, little Parisian!" We greet each other with sly -punches in the ribs as we did in childhood, then I climb a certain stair -where two children welcome my coming. Sylvie's Athenian smile lights up -her classic features, and I say to myself: "Here, perhaps, is the -happiness I have missed, and yet...." - -Sometimes I call her Lotty, and she sees in me some resemblance to -Werther without the pistols, which are out of fashion now. While Big -Curly-head is busy with the breakfast, we take the children for a walk -through the avenues of limes that border the ruins of the old brick -towers of the castle. While the little ones practise with their bows and -arrows, we read some poem or a few pages from one of those old books all -too short, and long forgotten by the world. - -I forgot to say that when Aurelie's troupe gave a performance at -Dammartin, I took Sylvie to the play and asked her if she did not think -the actress resembled someone she knew. - -"Whom, pray?" - -"Do you remember Adrienne?" - -She laughed merrily, in reply. "What an idea!" - -Then, as if in self-reproach, she added with a sigh: "Poor Adrienne! she -died at the convent of Saint S---- about 1832." - - - - -APPENDIX. - -'_EL DESDICHADO._' - -_Gerard DE NERVAL._ - -_I am that dark, that disinherited._ -_That all dishonoured Prince of Aquitaine,_ - _The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled;_ -_A black sun on my lute doth yet remain!_ -_Oh, thou that didst console me not in vain,_ - _Within the tomb, among the midnight dead,_ - _Show me Italian seas, and blossoms wed,_ -_The rose, the vine-leaf, and the golden grain._ - -_Say, am I Love or Phoebus? have I been_ -_Or Lusignan or Biron? By a Queen_ - _Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay,_ -_And twice I crossed the unpermitted stream,_ -_And touched on Orpheus' lute as in a dream,_ - _Sighs of a Saint, and laughter of a Fay!_ - -(ANDREW LANG.) - - -TO ALEXANDER DUMAS. - - When it was currently reported that Gerard de Nerval had become - insane, Alexander Dumas, who was then publishing that amusing - journal _Le Mousquetaire,_ endeavored to explain and interpret the - poet's peculiar form of mental alienation. Gerard, who presently - came to himself, as was his wont, took note of the study, and in - return dedicated to Dumas his _Filles du Feu_, thus acknowledging - the obligation conferred by the great novelist in inditing the - epitaph of the poet's "lost wits." - - This dedication, now done into English for the first time, is - interesting and important, as embodying the author's own - interpretation of his singular mental constitution. He confesses - that he is unable to compose without incarnating himself in his - creations so thoroughly as to lose his own identity. In - illustration, he throws into the text the tragic history of a - mythical hero. It is easy to trace in this story of a nameless - prince, unable to prove his lofty origin, involved in a network of - misfortunes through the crafty machinations of the arch plotter La - Rancune (malice) and abandoned by his mistress, the beautiful - guiding Star of his destiny, allegorical allusions to the poet, the - heir of genius and of glory, unable to prove or justify his noble - birthright, his highest impulses misunderstood and trampled upon by - a heartless and vulgar world. - - LUCIE PAGE. - -I dedicate this book to you, my dear Master, as I dedicated _Lorely_ to -Jules Janin. I was indebted to him for the same service that I owe to -you. A few years ago, it was reported that I was dead, and he wrote my -biography. A few days ago, I was thought to have lost my reason, and you -honoured me by devoting some of your most graceful lines to the epitaph -of my intelligence. Such an inheritance of glory has fallen to me before -my time. How shall I venture, yet living, to deck my forehead with these -shining crowns? It becomes me to assume an air of modesty and beg the -public to accept, with suitable deductions, the eulogy bestowed upon my -ashes, or rather upon the lost wits contained in the bottle which, like -Astolpho, I have been to seek in the moon, and which, I trust, I have -now restored to their normal place in the seat of thought. - -Being, therefore, no longer mounted upon the hippogriff, and having, in -the popular conception, recovered what is vulgarly termed reason,--let -us proceed to the exercise of that faculty. - -Here is a fragment of what you wrote concerning me, the tenth of last -December: - -"As you can readily perceive, he possesses a subtle and highly -cultivated intellect, in which is manifested from time to time a -singular phenomenon which, fortunately, let us hope, has no serious -import to himself or his friends. At intervals, when preoccupied by -literary toil, imagination goaded to frenzy masters reason and drives it -from the brain; then, like an opium-smoker of Cairo, or a hashish-eater -of Algiers, Gerard finds again the talismans that evoke spirits. Now he -is King Solomon waiting for the Queen of Sheba; then by turns Sultan of -the Crimea, Count of Abyssinia, Duke of Egypt, or Baron of Smyrna. Next -day, he declares himself mad and relates the whole series of events from -which his madness sprung, with such a joyous abandon, such an ingenious -fertility of resource that one is ready to part with his wits in order -to follow such a fascinating guide through the desert of dreams and -hallucinations, sprinkled with oases fresher and greener than any which -dot the route from Alexandria to Ammon. Finally, melancholy becomes his -muse of inspiration, and now, restrain your tears if you can, for never -did Werther, Rene, or Antony pour forth sobs and complaints more tender -and pathetic!" - -I shall now endeavour to explain to you, my dear Dumas, the phenomenon -which you mention above. There are, as you well know, certain writers -who cannot invent without identifying themselves with the creations of -their imagination. You remember with what conviction our old friend -Nodier related how he had the misfortune to be guillotined in the -Revolution. The narrative was so convincing that we wondered -instinctively how he had contrived to fasten his head on again. - -Understand, therefore, that the ardour of production may conduce to a -like result, that the author incarnates himself, as it were, in the hero -of his imagination so completely that he loses himself and burns with -the imaginary flames of this hero's love and ambition! This was -precisely the effect produced upon me in narrating the history of a -personage who figured under the title of Brisacier, about the time of -Louis XV, I believe. Where did I read the fatal biography of this -adventurer? I have found again that of the Abbe of Bucquoy, but I cannot -recall the slightest historical proof of the existence of this -illustrious unknown. What for you, dear Master, would have been but a -pastime,--you, who have with clever artifices so bewildered our minds -concerning the old chronicles, that posterity will never be able to -disentangle truth from fiction, and is certain to credit your invention -with all the characters from history that figure in your romances--this -became for me a veritable obsession. To invent, is in reality only to -recollect, says a certain moralist. Finding no proofs of the material -existence of my hero, I suddenly came to believe in the transmigration -of souls, not less firmly than Pythagoras or Peter Leroux. Even the -eighteenth century, in which I believed myself to have lived, was full -of these illusions. Do you remember that courtier who recalled -distinctly that he was once a sofa? Whereupon Schahabaham exclaimed with -enthusiasm, "What, you were once a sofa! why, that is delightful!--Tell -me, were you embroidered?" - -As for me, I was embroidered at every seam. From the moment when I first -grasped the continuity of all my previous existences, I figured as -readily in one character as another, prince, king, mage, genie, or even -god; could I unite my memories in one masterpiece, it would represent -the Dream of Scipio, the Vision of Tasso or the Divine Comedy of Dante. -Renouncing, henceforth, all pretensions to inspiration or illumination, -I can offer only what you so justly call impracticable theories, an -impossible book, whose first chapter, subjoined below, seems but to -furnish the context of the Comic Romance of Scarron.... Read and judge -for yourself: - - -A TRAGIC ROMANCE. - -Here I still languish in my prison, Madame, still rash and culpable and -alas! still trusting in that beautiful _star_ of comedy, which, for one -brief instant, deigned to call me her _destiny_ The Star and its -Destiny! what a charming couple to figure in a romance like the poet -Scarron's! And yet, how difficult we should find it to sustain the two -characters now! The heavy vehicles which used to jolt us over the uneven -pavements of Mons, have been superseded by coach, post-chaise and other -new inventions. Where shall we find to-day those wild adventures, that -gay, Bohemian life that united us, poets and actresses, as comrades and -equals? You have betrayed and deserted us, and left us to perish in some -miserable inn, while you share the fortunes of some rich and gallant -lord. Here, in sooth, am I, but lately the brilliant actor, the prince -in disguise, the disinherited son and the banished lover, no better -treated than some provincial rhymer! My countenance disfigured by an -enormous plaster only adds to my discomfiture. The landlord, tempted by -the plausible story poured into his ears by La Rancune, has consented to -hold as security for the settlement of his account the person of the son -of the great Khan of the Crimea, sent here to finish his education and -well known throughout Christian Europe as Brisacier. Had the old -intriguer, La Rancune, left me a few gold pieces, or even a paltry watch -set with false brilliants, I could, doubtless, have won the respect of -my accusers and extricated myself from this unfortunate situation. But -in addition, you have left my wardrobe furnished only with a -puce-coloured smock-coat, a blue and black striped waist-coat and small -clothes in a doubtful state of repair. The suspicions of the landlord -were awakened upon lifting my valise after your departure, and he -insulted me to my face by calling me an imposter, and a _contraband -prince_, I sprang up to stab him, but La Rancune had removed my sword, -fearing lest despair on account of the ungrateful mistress who has -abandoned me, might lead me to thrust it through my heart. This -precaution was needless, O La Rancune! An actor never stabs himself with -the sword that he has worn in many a comedy; nor does he who is himself -the hero of tragedy ape the hero of a romance. I call all my comrades to -witness that such a death could never be represented with dignity upon -the stage. I know that one may plant his sword in the earth and fall -upon it with outstretched arms; but in spite of the cold weather, I have -here a bare floor with no carpet. The window, too, is wide enough and at -sufficient height to aid in putting an end to all despair. But ... but -as I have told you a thousand times, I am an actor with a conscience. - -Do you remember how I used to play Achilles, when in passing through -some third or fourth-rate town, the whim would seize us to re-establish -the neglected cult of the old French tragedians? Was I not noble and -puissant in the gilded helmet with streaming locks of purple blackness, -the glittering armor and azure cloak? What a spectacle to see a father -as weak and cowardly as Agamemnon contend with the priest Calchas for -the honour of immolating such a victim as poor, weeping Iphigenia! I -rushed like a thunderbolt into the midst of the forced and cruel action; -I restored hope to the mothers and reawakened courage in the daughters, -always sacrificed from a sense of duty, to stay the anger of a god, -allay the vengeance of a nation, or advance the interests of a family. -For it is easy to recognize here the eternal type of human marriage. The -father will forevermore deliver up his daughter through ambition, and -the mother will sell her through cupidity; but the lover is not always -the worthy Achilles, so gallant and terrible, albeit a trifle too -rhetorical for a man of war! - -As for me, I often rebelled against declaiming long tirades in defense -of a course so evidently just, in the face of an audience so easily -convinced that I was in the right. I was tempted to stab the whole -idiotic court of the king of kings, with its sleepy rows of -super-numeraries, and so put an end to the piece. The public would have -been delighted, but on second thoughts would have found the play too -short, considering that time sufficient to witness the sufferings of a -princess, a lover and a queen, was its rightful due; a period long -enough to see them weep, rage and pour forth a torrent of poetic -invective against the established authority of priest and king. That was -well worth five acts and two hours of close attention, and the audience -would not content itself with less. It desires the humiliation of this -proud race seated upon the throne of Greece, before whom Achilles -himself dares to thunder but in words; it must sound all the depths of -misery hidden beneath this royal purple whose majesty seems so -irresistible. The tears which fall from the most glorious eyes in the -world upon the swelling bosom of Iphigenia, excite the crowd no less -than her beauty, her grace and the splendour of her royal robes. Listen -to the sweet voice that pleads for life with the touching reminder that, -as yet, she stands but upon its threshold. Who does not favour her -lover? Who could wish to see her slain? Great gods, what heart so hard! -None, surely!... On the contrary, the whole audience has already -decided that she must die for the general good rather than live for one -individual. Achilles seems to all too grand, too superb! Shall Iphigenia -be borne away by this Thessalian vulture, as, not long ago, the daughter -of Leda was stolen by a shepherd prince from the voluptuous shores of -Asia? This is the question of paramount importance to the Greeks and to -the audience as well, which takes our measure when we act the part of -hero. I felt myself as much an object of hatred to the men as of -admiration to the women when I thus played the part of victorious lover, -because it was no indifferent actress, taught to listlessly drone those -immortal verses, that I was defending, but a true Greek maiden, a pearl -of grace, purity and love, worthy, indeed, to be rescued by all human -efforts from the hands of the jealous gods. Not Iphigenia alone, she was -Junia, Berenice, all the heroines rendered illustrious by the fair blue -eyes of Mlle. de Champmesle, or the charming graces of the noble maidens -of Saint Cyr. Poor Aurelie! My comrade and my sister, wilt thou never -regret those hours of triumph and rapture? Didst thou not love me for an -instant, cold star, when I fought and wept and suffered for thee? The -audience questioned nightly: "Who, pray, is this actress, so far beyond -all that we have ever applauded? Are we not mistaken? Is she really as -young, as dazzling, and as pure as she seems?" The young women envied, -criticised or admired sadly. As for me, I needed to see her constantly, -so as not to feel overpowered by her beauty and to be able to meet her -eyes whenever the exigencies of the plot demanded.... - -This is why Achilles was my triumph, although I was often embarrassed in -other parts. What a pity that I could not change the situations to suit -me, and sacrifice even the thoughts of genius to my love and respect! -The character of a timid and captive lover like Britannicus or Bajazet, -did not please me. The purple of the young Caesar attracted me more; but -what a misfortune to declaim in conclusion only cold and perfidious -speeches! What! Was this young Nero, the idol of Rome, the handsome -athlete, the dancer, the poet whose only wish was to please the -populace? Is this what history and the conceptions of our poets have -left of him? Ah! give me his fury to interpret; his power I would fear -to accept. Nero! I have comprehended thee, not alas! according to -Racine, but according to my own heart, torn with agony whenever I have -ventured to impersonate thee! Yes, thou wast a god, thou who wouldst -have burned Rome. Thou wast right, perhaps, since Rome had insulted -thee!... - -A hiss, a miserable hiss, in her presence, and because of her! A hiss of -scorn which she attributes to herself--through my mistake, be it -understood! Alas! my friends, for an instant, I felt an impulse to show -myself truly great, immortal, upon the stage of your theatre. Instead of -replying to the insult by another, which brought upon me the assault -from which I still suffer, instead of provoking a vulgar audience to -rush upon the scene and cowardly beat and belabour me, I held for a -moment a sublime purpose, worthy of Caesar himself, a purpose which none -could hesitate to pronounce in harmony with the dramatic conceptions of -the great Racine himself! I thought to set fire to the theatre, and -while the audience perished in the flames, bear away Aurelie in my arms, -her disheveled tresses streaming over her disordered dress. O remorse -that fills my feverish nights and days of agony! What! I might have done -this and I refrained! What! Do ye still insult me, ye, who owe your -lives to pity, rather than any fear on my part? I might have burned them -all! Judge for yourselves: the theatre of P---- has but one exit; ours -opened upon a little street in the rear, but the green-room, where you -were all assembled, is on the other side of the stage. In order to set -fire to the curtain, I had only to snatch down one of the lamps; I ran -no risk of detection, for the manager could not see me and I was alone -listening to the insipid dialogue between Britannicus and Junia, waiting -for my cue to reappear; all through that scene I was struggling with -myself, and when I entered upon the stage I was turning and twisting in -my fingers a glove that I had picked up; I expected to avenge myself -more nobly than Caesar himself of an insult that I had felt with all the -heart of a Caesar.... Ah, well! the cowards dared not begin again; my -glance confounded them, and I was on the point of pardoning the -audience, if not Junia herself, when she dared.... Immortal gods!... -Hold, let me speak my mind! ... Yes, since that night, it is my delusion -to imagine myself a Roman, an emperor; I have identified myself with my -part, and the tunic of Nero clings to my burning limbs as that of the -centaur to the dying Hercules. Let us jest no more with sacred things, -not even those of an age and nation long since past, lest perchance some -tongue of flame yet quiver in the ashes of the gods of Rome!... - -Consider, friends, that in this scene more than a mere repetition of -measured lines was involved and three hearts contended with equal -chances, where as in the arena, life-blood itself might flow! The -audience, that of a small town where there are no secrets, knew it well; -those women, many of them ready to fall at my feet, could I be false to -my one love, those men all jealous of me on her account, and the third, -well chosen for the part of Britannicus, the poor, stammering suitor, -who trembled before me in her presence, but who was destined to be my -conqueror in that fearful contest where all the honours were reserved -for the latest comer.... Ah! the no-vice in love knew his part well.... -However, he had nothing to fear, for I am too just to condemn another -for the same love that I feel myself; in this particular, I am far -removed from the ideal monster of the poet Racine; I could burn Rome -without hesitation, but, in saving Junia, I should also save my brother, -Britannicus. - -Yes, my brother, yes, frail child of art and fancy like myself, thou -hast conquered in the struggle, having merited the prize for which we -two contended. Heaven preserve me from taking advantage of my age, -strength, or the fierce courage of returning health to question the -choice or the caprice of her, the all-powerful, impartial divinity of my -dreams and life!... I only feared, for a time, lest my defeat profit -thee nothing and the gay suitors of the town wrest from us both the -prize lost only for me. - -The letter which I have just received from La Caverne reassures me fully -on that point. She advises me to renounce an art for which I have no -capacity and which is incompatible with my necessities. The jest, in -sooth, is bitter, for never did I stand in greater need, if not of my -art, at least of its swift returns. This is just the point that you do -not understand. You consider that you have acquitted yourself of all -obligations toward me in recommending me to the authorities of Soissons -as a distinguished personage, whom his family cannot abandon, but whose -violent illness has forced you to leave him behind in your journey. Your -tool, La Rancune, presented himself at the town hall and the inn with -all the airs of a Spanish grandee forced by unpleasant circumstances to -spend a couple of nights in such a disagreeable place; the rest of you -obliged to leave P---- the day after my disaster, had, as I conceive, no -reason to allow yourselves to pass merely for disreputable players: it -is quite enough to wear that mask in places where no other course is -possible. As for me, what can I say, how shall I extricate myself from -the infernal network of conspiracy in which I find myself caught and -held through the machinations of La Rancune? The famous couplet from -Corneille's "Menteur" assuredly aided him in his invention for the wit -of such a rascal as he never reached such a pitch. Think for a -moment.... But what can I tell you that you do not know already and have -not devised together to ruin me? Have not the white fingers of the -ingrate who is the cause of all my misfortunes, tangled inextricably all -the silken threads that she could weave about her poor victim?... What a -master-plot! Ah, well! I am a captive and I confess it; I yield and -implore mercy. You can take me back without fear now, and if the rapid -post-chaises that bore you swiftly over the Flanders' route, three -months ago, have already given place to the humble equipages of our -first adventures, deign at least to receive me in the quality of monster -or phenomenon, fit to draw the crowd, and I promise to acquit myself of -these duties in a manner calculated to appease the most exacting amateur -of the province.... Answer immediately and I will send a trusty -messenger to bring me the letter from the post, as I fear the curiosity -of mine host.... - - BRISACIER. - - -How dispose now of this hero deserted by his mistress and his -companions? Is he, in truth, only a strolling player, rightly punished -for insulting the public, for indulging in his mad jealousy and alleging -ridiculous claims? How can he prove that he is the legitimate son of the -Khan of the Crimea, according to the crafty recital of La Rancune? How, -from the depths of misery where he is plunged, can he rise to the -highest destiny? These are points which would, doubtless, trouble you -but little, but which have thrown my mind into a strange disorder. Once -persuaded that I was writing my own history, I was touched by this love -for a fugitive star which deserted me in the dark night of my destiny; I -have wept and shuddered over these visions. Then a ray divine illumined -my _inferno_; surrounded by dim and monstrous shapes of horror against -which I struggled blindly, I seized at last the magic clue, the thread -of Ariadne, and since then all my visions have become celestial. One -day, I shall write the history of this "Descent to Hades," and you will -see that it has not been entirely devoid of reason, if it has always -been wanting in fact. And, since you have been so rash as to cite one of -my sonnets composed in this state of supernatural trance, as the Germans -call it, you must hear the rest. You will find them among my poems. They -are little more obscure than the metaphysics of Hegel or the Visions of -Swedenborg, and would lose their charm with any attempt at explanation, -were that possible;--probably my last illusion will be that of thinking -myself a poet; criticism must dispel it. - -1854. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sylvie: souvenirs du Valois, by Gerard de Nerval - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SYLVIE: SOUVENIRS DU VALOIS *** - -***** This file should be named 40492.txt or 40492.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/4/9/40492/ - -Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org -(From images generously made available by the Hathi Trust) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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