His originality, as Sainte-Beuve says, “is
distinct from both, in its inspiration and filiation: we can connect
Victor Hugo and Lamartine with anterior French poetry, but in it
we vainly seek the parentage of Moses, Eloa, and Dolorida.
distinct from both, in its inspiration and filiation: we can connect
Victor Hugo and Lamartine with anterior French poetry, but in it
we vainly seek the parentage of Moses, Eloa, and Dolorida.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v26 - Tur to Wat
”
This was growing sad; another accident appeared tragic to
me.
A waiter planted himself before the lady companion, and
asked in a half-bantering tone what he could serve her with.
"Nothing,” she said stoically: "I am not hungry. ” A fat man
with a rather silly air was listening. “You are not hungry! ” he
said, “and in a minute you'll be picking in our plates. " “If I
don't pick in yours," answered the lady companion, “what does
it matter to you ? " “Now lose your temper! ” went on the fat
man. “Why don't you say that you haven't a cent ? Every one
has seen hard-up days. ” “And every one may see them again,
""
answered the companion more sharply. She added, “I don't ask
for anything. ”
"No," said the other, but you take without asking. Never
mind, I'll pay! Order what you want. I like that better than
to see you picking a little here and a little there, as you always
do. "
But the poor thing — oh, cruel honor! -dared not accept. «If
I order, I'll pay. I have money. ”
I have money. " I think the woman has been
an actress.
The fat man lost patience. «You have money? You? Oh,
come now! Ha! ha! Let us see your money, then. Attention,
ladies and gentlemen: Dolorès is going to show her money! ”
There was silence of a sort. Dolorès glanced around with
stormy eyes. Tigruche snatched the star's eggs from the waiter,
and placed them before that lady, who attacked them at once.
Everybody looked at the companion. A mocking voice arose:
« Dolorès, my little one, show us your pretty money! ”
Dolorès began to cry. "Stupid thing! ” said the fat man.
Dolorès was left in peace. A few minutes later, her eyes dry
again, she was picking right and left in her neighbors' plates,-
that of the fat man included.
Tigruche, friend of the star, was offered nothing and took
nothing: he was as disinterested and as unfortunate as Péquet,
the Terror of Princes.
(
-
## p. 15336 (#284) ##########################################
15336
LOUIS VEUILLOT
A BON-MOT
From "Les Odeurs de Paris)
A
N ACTRESS had lost her mother, whom she adored. She re-
ceived from the theatre an order to attend a rehearsal. She
wrote a touching letter, requesting a few days to give to
her grief. The director, furious, fined her.
Doesn't she mean to play,” he said, “while her mother is
dead ? »
This is what is called a bon-mot. The journal which cites one
is called upon to invent it. There are people whose business it
is to make bons-mots. They are paid as much as three or four
sous a line, and they make some which are not bad. But this
director's bon-mot was not invented, I think, but fell from the
true lips of nature.
BÉTINET, AVENGER OF LETTERS
From (Les Odeurs de Paris)
A
YOUNG man of letters undertakes to prove that bad literature
has no effect upon morals; or rather that with reference to
morals, there is neither good nor bad literature. He is not
pleading his own cause: let us render him that justice! No one
ever heard it said that his literature did the least harm; and
although he has been writing for some time, he is as innocent
as a new-born child. I have a sure presentiment that he will die
in his innocence, enveloped in the pages in which he appeared.
He is named Bétinet, and he has money.
I am sure of not vexing him by pointing out his attempt;
but I desire too that my observations should not make him think
too well of himself. In all sincerity the paradox is a little too
much for him. It is evident that he cudgels his brains, and
works, and does his best. He boldly attacks his adversaries,-
those who might believe literature not without influence upon
society. He compares them in the first place to dogs who make
an absurd” uproar; then he calls them “a troop of guardians
«
of public morality”; then “the condottiéri of the army of good”;
then "bastards of Erostratus,” etc. He puts half a dozen of these
attacks in each of his paragraphs: and ahs! and hows! and eh,
good Lords ! everywhere he can; and even elsewhere. As for
## p. 15337 (#285) ##########################################
LOUIS VEUILLOT
15337
exclamation points, the article bristles with them. Unfortunately,
a point of exclamation cannot take the place of a point of wit.
As to the argument, which should be the most carefully prepared
part of such a work, there is none.
If I had the honor of knowing young Bétinet, who has money,
I would advise him to observe the very serious influence of
money upon literature, and the still more serious influence of lit-
erature upon money.
Assuredly, assuredly, by means of money there may be suc-
cess in literature, and a success which may be far-reaching! The
world has seen Academicians of the fork, - that is, those who
knew how to get themselves elected because they knew how to
set a good table. But then that requires a good deal of money,
and knowledge how to employ it; for literature devours money.
Yes, young Bétinet, it devours money; and when all is devoured
there is no
And if you count upon the period
of success brought about by money, — that you will have made
yourself a name to insure success and bring in money,— you
are mistaken, young Bétinet. Wealth by way of the kitchen,
even had it advanced you to the Academy, would not bring you
back more than your fifteen hundred francs and the Cross of
Honor. It would not even repay your dinners.
Behold, Bétinet, something upon which to meditate at your
leisure.
As to knowing the social effect of the books of Gaivaudin,
Papion, and others, and the fate of the old moons, what business
is it of yours, and why the devil should people concern them-
selves with what you think? What difference does it make what
more success.
-
you think?
Thus you have already printed three or four volumes and
dozens of articles, and supported a crowd of literary men. You
have lent them twenty francs, thirty francs, a hundred francs
perhaps; and not one of them has had the humanity to inform
you that you were not born to enlighten the world, nor to draw
ten sous a page for "copy. ”
Bétinet, you are deceived! ! !
## p. 15338 (#286) ##########################################
15338
LOUIS VEUILLOT
HIC ALIQUIS DE GENTE HIRCOSA
From (Les Odeurs de Paris)
THE
HE sergeant was dominating in the car. Around his hairy
countenance, ravaged and arrogant, there were only smooth
faces, upon which was not even the vestige of a thought.
The abbé entered and took the only vacant place opposite the
sergeant.
Once seated, the abbé began to read his breviary. The ser-
geant twisted his beard. Some vague signs appeared upon one
of the smooth faces; by close examination a skilled eye could
have recognized the writing of Monsieur Guéroult.
The sergeant looked at the abbé, then at the smooth faces,
and said: “What I shall never understand is, how a man can be
low enough to kneel to another man as guilty as himself and
often more so. ”
The inspection of a smooth face indicated that this speech
was generally approved. Approbation was evident in the face
where certain signs already showed themselves: the writing of
Adolphus became quite recognizable there.
The abbé raised his gaze, rested it upon the sergeant for a
moment, then carried it back to his breviary.
The sergeant continued: “I think that when a man does his
duty he leaves a good reputation behind him. A good reputation
is paradise, - there is no other; and a bad reputation is hell, and
there is no other.
This speech again appeared (generally) very wise; and even,
in view of the abbé's presence, very opportune.
For what right
has an abbé to thrust himself into a car full of honest folk ?
Nevertheless, the Guéroult writing protested. The sergeant's eye
seemed astonished by this, and became interrogative. The Gué-
roult writing said: "All the great philosophers have believed in
the immortality of the soul. ” The sergeant answered, “I tell
>
you, no! »
After a silence he continued: “I will explain what it means
to do one's duty: it is to fight and die for France, and to make
France triumph. On the battle-field a man should cry (Live
France,' and die. And see!
## p. 15339 (#287) ##########################################
LOUIS VEUILLOT
15339
"I care nothing for king, emperor, or republic. I know only
France and liberty. See! And I would just as soon thrust my
bayonet through the Pope and all the priests, for they are enemies
of France and of liberty. See! ”
The sergeant went on in this manner, and more eloquently
still. He allowed himself a few jovialities. But as he grew very
excited, the smooth faces no longer laughed. They feared he
might proceed to acts.
The abbé finished saying his breviary.
At the station all the smooth faces dismounted, and at the
signal of departure scattered themselves in other compartments.
The sergeant alone, and the abbé, resumed their seats. They
found themselves tête-à-tête.
The abbé said: Sergeant, I see that you are a brave soldier.
Of the seven men who were here just now, you alone are not
afraid to stay in the same compartment with a priest. Honor to
French courage! ”
The sergeant drew out his pipe, and closed the windows.
When the pipe was well lighted, the priest lowered a window,
and took his rosary.
He showed it to the sergeant: “Sergeant,
I hope my rosary does not annoy you? ”
1?
The sergeant was no longer so fiery, or so free of voice. He
growled, “You neither - you're not afraid! ”
“Afraid of what ? ” said the abbé. "A soldier loves glory; and
you said a great many things just now to astonish those fellows:
but at heart you're not a bad fellow. ”
“Nevertheless I would kill you," answered the sergeant.
"Doubtless,” said the abbé, "but not in this car. ”
«Why not in this car ? " said the sergeant.
Because you have no order," said the abbé; "and your pro-
motion would suffer. Moreover, my dear fellow, I would forgive
you all the same. Come, sergeant, light your pipe again, and let
me tell my beads. "
»
>
## p. 15340 (#288) ##########################################
15340
LOUIS VEUILLOT
A DUEL
From Les Odeurs de Paris)
ot long ago we had one of these heroic spectacles.
It was
NT
N° very exciting
The men had stripped to their suspenders and taken
their swords in hand. Complications arose. One of the oppo-
nents was in doubt as to the other's identity, and thought, not
without reason, that a proxy was before him. The seconds ar-
gued somewhat hotly; the adversaries, more favorable to peace,
separated the seconds. .
To be concluded at another
meeting! At the following meeting the trouble begins again.
Postponement. The public is palpitating, the fire is rekindled,
the interest increases. Nothing is accomplished; the public talks
of nothing else; to-morrow in the field! They strip to their sus-
penders, they even remove their suspenders; they take swords,
cross them, the steel emits sparks. One, two! One, two! . They
thrust, they ward off. The fencer thrusts, the thruster fences.
One, two! Thrusts here, thrusts there, thrusts everywhere! Flic,
flac! More thrusts! What thrusts, what fire in the steel, what
steel in fire, what fire in the hearts! The sweat pours and is not
wiped ! At last one of those cruel swords touches one of those
cruel men; the blood starts. Stop, rash fellows! Honor is sat-
isfied!
The wounded lost a few hairs of his left eyebrow.
## p. 15341 (#289) ##########################################
15341
ALFRED DE VIGNY
(1797-1863)
BY GRACE KING
(
LFRED VICTOR, Comte de Vigny, is represented in the volu-
minous literature of his country in the nineteenth century
by. a mere handful of books: briefly, by two volumes of
poetry, Poésies Antiques et Modernes' and Les Destinées); by a
novel, Cinq Mars'; a comedy, “Quitte pour la Peur' (Let Off with a
Scare); a prose epic, “Stello'; four tales from military life, Military
Servitude and Grandeur'; a play, Chatter-
ton'; and The Journal of a Poet. ' And
in the resounding fame of great contem-
poraries and successors in literature, De
Vigny's name and this handful of books
might, with easy supposition, have been rel-
egated to the position of a dwindling and
expiring reminiscence of the past; the fate
of long catalogues of successful writers and
books of his day. De Vigny's name and
work, however, have gained rather than lost
lustre by the friction of time upon them;
and the eulogy by Théophile Gautier, that
he was “the purest glory of the romantic ALFRED DE VIGNY
school,” is as fresh in its truth to-day, as
when it was penned over a half-century ago. Of all the romanticists,
he remains, to the critical eyes of to-day, as the most genuine, the
most sincere, and the least illogical; in short, as a romanticist by
blood, birth, and traditions, not by school or profession of faith.
He was born at Loches in Touraine, in 1797, the last descendant
of a once wealthy and distinguished family. Through his mother, he
was connected with great admirals and sea captains; through his
father, with courtiers, army officers, and princely seigneurs. Ruined
by the Revolution, his parents removed to Paris; where they con-
secrated their life, and what fortune remained to them, to his edu-
cation. On the knees of his white-haired father, an old courtier of
Louis XV. and a crippled veteran of the Seven Years' War, the child
learned to know Louis XV. , the great Frederick, Voltaire, and the
»
## p. 15342 (#290) ##########################################
15342
ALFRED DE VIGNY
history of the great campaigns of the past century; and was taught
war, he relates, by his father's wounds, by the parchments and
escutcheons of his family, by the portraits in armor of his ancestors,
— the nobility acting the rôle of a great family of hereditary soldiers.
He was barely sixteen when the Restoration opened to him the
predestined career, as he saw it, of the sons of the nobles of France.
He entered the household troops of the King, a company composed
of young men of family, all graded as sous-lieutenants. But France,
as he says, had sheathed her sword «in the scabbard of the Bour-
bons”: with Napoleon the glory of army life had departed; only
the dullness and routine of it remained. To while away the bur-
densome hours of ennui during his garrison life, the young officer
returned to his early and precocious passion for poetry. His haver-
sack library, consisting of the Bible and a few classics, ministered
to him as Muse. In 1822 he published the collection of these first
essays, - 'Poems Ancient and Modern. ' It contained some of his
best pieces: Moses,' (The Deluge,' (The Adulterous Woman. ' The
following year he published his Eloa. ' The historical novel of
Cinq Mars) (1826) was however the maker of De Vigny's reputation
in literature. Based upon a fine episode of the reign of Louis XIII. ,
its dramatic interest, the virile strength of its characters, its brilliant
coloring, and the elevated purity and elegance of its style and lan-
guage, insured it a success that has been prolonged until the book
has become fixed in its reputation as a modern classic.
After fourteen years of pacific and inglorious service, during which
he attained only to the rank of captain, De Vigny resigned from the
army. In Paris he retired into what Sainte-Beuve wittily called his
ivory tower,” a life of seclusion, aristocratic and mediæval in its lofty
isolation. He emerged but once,- in 1842, to take his seat in the
French Academy. He died in 1863, leaving ready for publication a
volume of poems, "Les Destinées,' and a collection of personal notes
and reflections which was published by his literary executor as “The
Journal of a Poet. ' This last volume contains some of the most
exquisite passages of his writings and of his life: the long painful
illness of his mother; his devotion, her death, and his grief; and
afterwards, the long years of devotion to his invalid wife.
Placed chronologically by birth between Victor Hugo and Lamar-
tine, De Vigny's intrinsic value as a poet receives its best illustra-
tion from the juxtaposition.
His originality, as Sainte-Beuve says, “is
distinct from both, in its inspiration and filiation: we can connect
Victor Hugo and Lamartine with anterior French poetry, but in it
we vainly seek the parentage of Moses, Eloa, and Dolorida. ”
De Vigny's earliest conception of the fatal and sublime gift of
genius, - condemning man to solitude and sadness, imprisoning him
»
## p. 15343 (#291) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15343
in his own greatness," as it has been expressed, - became his master
idea through life. It appeared first in Moses,' and reappeared in all
his writings, poetry and prose, in different reincarnations;- in the
Maison de Berger,' idyllic, in love; in Stello,' tragic, in the suffer-
ings of the modern poet; the idea reaches its culmination in moral
grandeur in Military Servitude and Grandeur,' where self-abnegation
and virile honor are depicted as the only ransom of greatness, and
the price of the happiness of the common mortal.
Grace Krug
MOSES
.
H*
E SAID unto the Lord:-“Shall I ne'er be done ?
Where wilt thou still that I my footsteps turn ?
Am I to live for aye, great, powerful, and alone ?
Give me, ah, give me leave to sleep the sleep of earth!
What did I to thee to be chosen thine elect?
Let now some other stand 'twixt thee and thine!
Some other curb thy wild steed, Israel!
I gladly make him heir to book and brazen rod.
Why needest thou have dried up all my hopes ?
Why not have left me man in all my ignorance?
Alas! thou madest me wise among the wise:
My finger showed thy wandering race its path,
I called down fire upon the heads of kings,
And future time will kneel before my laws.
I am the Great: my feet tread nations' necks,
My hand holds generations in its will.
Alas, my Lord! I am great - I am alone:
Give me — ah, give me leave to sleep the sleep of earth! )
ELOA
O
N THE snowy mountain crown of the hamlet,
The Spaniard has wounded the Asturian eagle
That threatened his white bounding flock.
With bristling plumes, and raining down blood,
The bird strikes upward to heaven, quick as a flash could descend,
## p. 15344 (#292) ##########################################
15344
ALFRED DE VIGNY
Gazing up at his sun! breathing it in with wide-open beak,
As if once again his life to retake from the empire of flame.
In the golden air he swims with great strokes,
Hovers a moment in rest, 'mid the bright darting rays, –
But the aim of the man was too sure:
The hot ball burns like a coal in his wound;
His wing drops its shafts, his royal mantle its plumes;
Dispossessed of his heights, his weight bears him down,-
He sinks into the snow of the mount, with wild heaving breast;
And the cold of the earth, with its heavy death sleep,
Shuts the eyes that held the respect of the sun.
LAURETTE, OR THE RED SEAL
T"
still sang
He grand route of Artois and Flanders is long and desolate.
It extends in a straight line, without trees, without ditches,
through countries flat and covered with yellow mud at all
times. In the month of March 1815 I passed along this route,
and had a rencontre which I have never since forgotten.
I was alone. My comrades were ahead on the route in the
suite of the King, Louis XVIII. I saw their white capes and
red capes at the very horizon of the north. A lost shoe retarded
my horse. He was young and strong. I urged him on to rejoin
my squadron; he started at a rapid trot. It still rained, and I
But I soon stopped, tired of hearing only my own
self; and then I heard only the rain, and my horses' feet which
plashed the beaten track. On examining intently this yellow
line of the road, I remarked at about a quarter of a mile dis-
tant a small black point which moved. This gave me pleasure:
it was some person. I hurried my steps. At about a hundred
paces I could clearly distinguish a little wagon of white wood,
covered with three circles and black oilcloth; it resembled a lit-
tle cradle placed on two wheels; the wheels sank to their hubs
in the mud. The little mule which dragged it was carefully
led by a man on foot who held the bridle. He was a man of
about fifty years, with white mustache, strong and tall. He had
a hard but good face, such as is frequently seen in the army.
Having seen his white cockade, I contented myself with show-
ing him the sleeve of my red coat, and then he replaced his gun
in the cart. —“Will you have a drop? ” -“Willingly," I replied,
approaching: "I have not drunk in twenty-four hours. ” He had
(C
(
## p. 15345 (#293) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15345
>
(
»
.
at his neck a cocoanut very well carved, made into a flagon, with
a silver mouthpiece, of which he seemed rather proud. He
passed it to me, and I drank a little of the bad white wine with
much pleasure. I returned the cocoanut to him. We went on
for about a quarter of a mile without saying anything. Then
as he stopped to rest his poor little mule, which it pained me
to look at, I stopped too, to empty my boots of the water which
filled them. “Your boots begin to stick to your feet,” said he.
«It is four nights since I took them off,” said I. «Bah! in eight
«
days you will no longer think of them,” he replied in his hoarse
voice. "Do you know what I have in there? ” “No,” said I
to him. - “It is a woman. " — I said, “Ah! ” without too much
surprise, and I began to walk tranquilly on.
He followed me.
« You do not care ? What I said then ought to astonish you. ”
_“I am but little astonished,” I said. — “Oh! but if I should
tell you how I left the sea, we should see. ” — “Well,” replied I,
» «
“why not try? That would warm you up, and would make me
forget that the rain is running down my back and out at my
heels. ”
“You must know first, my boy, that I was born at Brest. I
started by being the child of the troop, earning my half-rations
and my half-stipend from the age of nine; my father being a
soldier in the guards. But as I loved the sea, - on a beautiful
night while I was on leave of absence in Brest, I hid myself in
the hold of a merchant vessel leaving for the Indies: I was only
discovered in mid-ocean, and the captain preferred making me
a cabin-boy to throwing me overboard. When the Revolution
came I had made my way, and had in my turn become captain of
a little merchant vessel, — full of zest, having skimmed the ocean
for fifteen years. As the royal ex-marine- ma foi! the good
old marine - all of a sudden found itself depopulated of officers,
captains were taken from the merchant marine. I had had some
filibustering affairs, of which I may tell you later. They gave
me command of a brig of war named the Marat. The 28th Fruc.
tidor 1797 I received orders to weigh for Cayenne. I was to
convey sixty soldiers; and one exile, who was left over from the
one hundred and ninety-three taken on board by the frigate
La Decade a few days before. I had orders to treat this individ-
ual with consideration; and the first letter of the Directoire con-
tained a second, closed with three red seals, one amongst them of
unusual size. I was forbidden to open this letter before the first
XXVI–960
-
## p. 15346 (#294) ##########################################
15346
ALFRED DE VIGNY
degree of latitude north from the twenty-seventh to the twenty-
eighth of longitude, - that is, near to passing the line. This big
letter had a shape all its own. It was long, and so tightly closed
that I could not read between the angles, nor through the envel-
ope. I am not superstitious, but it made me afraid.
"I was occupied in putting this letter under the glass of the
clock when my exile entered my room; he held by the hand
a beautiful young girl, about seventeen years old. He told me
that he was nineteen; a fine-looking boy, though a little pale,
and too white for a man. His little wife was fresh and gay as
a child. They looked like two turtle-doves. It gave me pleasure
to see them. I said to them, 'Well, my children, you have come
to visit the old captain ? That is very good of you. I am tak-
ing you rather far away, but so much the better: we shall have
time to become acquainted. I am sorry to receive madame with-
out my coat, but I was nailing that great rascally letter 'way up
there. If you would help me a little? That made good little
children of them. The little husband took the hammer, and the
little wife the nails, and they passed them to me as I asked for
them; and she called to me, « To the right! to the left! captain! ”
laughing as she did so, for the pitching made my clock unsteady.
Ah! ' I said, little mischief! I shall make your husband scold
you, see if I do not. ' Then she threw her arms about his neck
and kissed him. They were really very nice. We immediately
became good friends. The trip was beautiful. I always did
have weather made to order. As I had none but black faces on
board, I made the two little lovers come to my table every other
day. It enlivened me. When we had eaten the biscuits and
fish, the little wife and her husband would remain gazing at each
other, as if they had never one another before. Then I
would begin to laugh with all my heart, and make fun of them.
They too would laugh with me. You would have laughed too,
to see us laughing like three imbeciles, not knowing what was
the matter with us.
They slept in a hammock, where
the vessel would roll them over and over like these two pears,
which I have here in my wet handkerchief. They were lively
and contented. I did as you do: I did not question. What need
was there that I should know their name and their affairs ? I
was taking them across the sea, as I would have taken two birds
of Paradise.
I ended after a month by looking on them
as my children. All day long, when I called them, they would
seen
.
## p. 15347 (#295) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15347
am
come and sit by me. The young man wrote at my table, — that
is, on my bed: and when I wished it, he would help me to keep
my course; he soon knew how to do it as well as I, and I was
sometimes forbidden to do it. The young woman would seat
herself on a little barrel, and sew. One day as they were thus
sitting, I said to them :-
« Do you know, little friends, that we make a fine family
picture as we are now? I do not want to question you; but
probably you have not more money than you need, and you are
both prodigiously delicate to spade and hoe, as the exiles do in
Cayenne. It is an ugly country; I tell you the truth: but I, who
an old wolfskin dried in the sun, I could live there like a
lord. If you have, as it seems to me you have (without wishing
to question you), a little friendship for me, I will willingly leave
my old brig, which is only a sabot now, and establish myself with
you, if it would please you. I have no more family than a dog,
and that worries me: you would be a little society for me. I
would help you in many things: I have saved up a nice little
heap, on which we can live, and which I shall leave to you when
I come to turn up my eyes, as we say politely. ' Astonished,
they looked at one another, apparently believing that I had not
spoken the truth; then the little one ran, as she always did,
threw herself on the bosom of the other, and sat on his knee,
all red and weeping. He pressed her close in his arms, and I
saw tears in his eyes too; he stretched out his hand to me and
became paler than usual. She spoke softly to him, and her
long blonde tresses fell on his shoulder; her twist had become
undone, like a cable which unrolls suddenly. That hair — if you
had seen it! it was like gold.
"As they still spoke low, the young man kissing her brow
,
from time to time, and she weeping, I grew impatient. Well,
does that suit you? I said at last. But — but, captain, you
are very good;' said the husband, but - you could not live with
deported convicts he lowered his eyes.
«T,' said I, do not know what you have done to be exiled;
but you shall tell me some day if you choose, or you shall not
if you choose. You do not seem to me to have a very heavy
conscience; I am very sure that I have done much more in my
life than you, poor innocents! For instance, as long as you are
under my guard, I shall not let you go: you need not expect
it; I would sooner cut your throats as I would two pigeons. But
(
## p. 15348 (#296) ##########################################
15348
ALFRED DE VIGNY
(
my child?
>
once my epaulet removed, I know no longer either admiral or any.
thing else.
«What I am thinking is,' he replied, sadly shaking his brown
head, slightly powdered as it was still worn in those days, that
it would be dangerous for you, captain, to seem to know us.
We
laugh because we
are so young; we seem to be happy because
we love each other: but I have some ugly moments when I
think of the future, and I do not know what will become of
my poor Laure. ' He again pressed the young wife's head to his
breast. (That was what I should say to the captain, was it not,
Would you not have said the same thing ? ?
"I took my pipe and got up; for I began to feel my eyes
growing moist, and that was not becoming to me.
«Come, come! ' I said: that will all be cleared up after a
while. If the tobacco is unpleasant to madame, her absence will
be necessary. She arose, her face all on fire and wet with tears,
like a child that has been scolded.
« And yet,' she said, looking at my clock, you two do not
think about it that letter! ?
"I felt as if something had struck me. I had a kind of pain
up
under
my
hair when she said that to me.
(Pardieu! I did not think of it,' I said. Ah, here indeed
is a pretty affair! If we have passed the first degree north, all
I can do is to throw myself overboard! ' I must be lucky: that
child reminded me of that devilish letter!
"I looked quickly at my marine map; and when I saw that
there was still a week ahead of us, my head felt easier, but not
my heart, - I could not tell why.
«It is because the Directory does not joke about the article
obedience! ' I said. "Good!
once more afloat this time.
Time few so quickly that I had entirely forgotten it. '
“Well, sir, we remained all three with our noses in the air,
looking at that letter as if it were going to speak to us. What
struck me very much was that the sun, which slipped in through
the skylight, lit up the glass of the clock, and made the big red
seal and the other little ones seem like features of a face in
the midst of fire.
« Would not one say that the eyes were starting from his
head? ) I said to amuse them.
««Oh! my friend,' said the young woman, “it looks like blood
stains. '
-
I am
(
## p. 15349 (#297) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15349
(c
« « Bah! bah! ' said her husband, laying her arm in his, you
are mistaken, Laure: it looks like a card of announcement of
a marriage. Come and rest yourself, come: why let that letter
bother you ? '
“They went off. I remained alone with that big letter; and
I remember that while smoking my pipe, I continued to look at
it, as if those red eyes had attached mine to them by drawing
them ever as do the eyes of a serpent.
« The night was more beautiful than any I had ever seen in
my life so near the tropics The moon rose on the horizon as
large as a sun; the sea cut it in half, and became all white, like
a cloth of snow covered with little diamonds. I was glad to hear
nothing. I love silence and order. I had forbidden all noises
and all fires. Nevertheless I perceived a small red line almost
under my feet. I should have got into a temper instantly; but as
it was in the cabin of my little convicts, I wished to be sure of
what they were doing before I grew angry. I had only to bend
down: I could see through the big hatchway into the little room,
and I looked. The young wife was on her knees praying. A
small lamp threw its light on her. I thought I would slip away,
but I said, 'Bah! an old soldier, what does it matter? ' And
I remained to see. While she prayed, her husband took the
ends of her long hair and kissed them noiselessly. When she had
.
finished she made the sign of the cross, with the air of going to
paradise.
This was growing sad; another accident appeared tragic to
me.
A waiter planted himself before the lady companion, and
asked in a half-bantering tone what he could serve her with.
"Nothing,” she said stoically: "I am not hungry. ” A fat man
with a rather silly air was listening. “You are not hungry! ” he
said, “and in a minute you'll be picking in our plates. " “If I
don't pick in yours," answered the lady companion, “what does
it matter to you ? " “Now lose your temper! ” went on the fat
man. “Why don't you say that you haven't a cent ? Every one
has seen hard-up days. ” “And every one may see them again,
""
answered the companion more sharply. She added, “I don't ask
for anything. ”
"No," said the other, but you take without asking. Never
mind, I'll pay! Order what you want. I like that better than
to see you picking a little here and a little there, as you always
do. "
But the poor thing — oh, cruel honor! -dared not accept. «If
I order, I'll pay. I have money. ”
I have money. " I think the woman has been
an actress.
The fat man lost patience. «You have money? You? Oh,
come now! Ha! ha! Let us see your money, then. Attention,
ladies and gentlemen: Dolorès is going to show her money! ”
There was silence of a sort. Dolorès glanced around with
stormy eyes. Tigruche snatched the star's eggs from the waiter,
and placed them before that lady, who attacked them at once.
Everybody looked at the companion. A mocking voice arose:
« Dolorès, my little one, show us your pretty money! ”
Dolorès began to cry. "Stupid thing! ” said the fat man.
Dolorès was left in peace. A few minutes later, her eyes dry
again, she was picking right and left in her neighbors' plates,-
that of the fat man included.
Tigruche, friend of the star, was offered nothing and took
nothing: he was as disinterested and as unfortunate as Péquet,
the Terror of Princes.
(
-
## p. 15336 (#284) ##########################################
15336
LOUIS VEUILLOT
A BON-MOT
From "Les Odeurs de Paris)
A
N ACTRESS had lost her mother, whom she adored. She re-
ceived from the theatre an order to attend a rehearsal. She
wrote a touching letter, requesting a few days to give to
her grief. The director, furious, fined her.
Doesn't she mean to play,” he said, “while her mother is
dead ? »
This is what is called a bon-mot. The journal which cites one
is called upon to invent it. There are people whose business it
is to make bons-mots. They are paid as much as three or four
sous a line, and they make some which are not bad. But this
director's bon-mot was not invented, I think, but fell from the
true lips of nature.
BÉTINET, AVENGER OF LETTERS
From (Les Odeurs de Paris)
A
YOUNG man of letters undertakes to prove that bad literature
has no effect upon morals; or rather that with reference to
morals, there is neither good nor bad literature. He is not
pleading his own cause: let us render him that justice! No one
ever heard it said that his literature did the least harm; and
although he has been writing for some time, he is as innocent
as a new-born child. I have a sure presentiment that he will die
in his innocence, enveloped in the pages in which he appeared.
He is named Bétinet, and he has money.
I am sure of not vexing him by pointing out his attempt;
but I desire too that my observations should not make him think
too well of himself. In all sincerity the paradox is a little too
much for him. It is evident that he cudgels his brains, and
works, and does his best. He boldly attacks his adversaries,-
those who might believe literature not without influence upon
society. He compares them in the first place to dogs who make
an absurd” uproar; then he calls them “a troop of guardians
«
of public morality”; then “the condottiéri of the army of good”;
then "bastards of Erostratus,” etc. He puts half a dozen of these
attacks in each of his paragraphs: and ahs! and hows! and eh,
good Lords ! everywhere he can; and even elsewhere. As for
## p. 15337 (#285) ##########################################
LOUIS VEUILLOT
15337
exclamation points, the article bristles with them. Unfortunately,
a point of exclamation cannot take the place of a point of wit.
As to the argument, which should be the most carefully prepared
part of such a work, there is none.
If I had the honor of knowing young Bétinet, who has money,
I would advise him to observe the very serious influence of
money upon literature, and the still more serious influence of lit-
erature upon money.
Assuredly, assuredly, by means of money there may be suc-
cess in literature, and a success which may be far-reaching! The
world has seen Academicians of the fork, - that is, those who
knew how to get themselves elected because they knew how to
set a good table. But then that requires a good deal of money,
and knowledge how to employ it; for literature devours money.
Yes, young Bétinet, it devours money; and when all is devoured
there is no
And if you count upon the period
of success brought about by money, — that you will have made
yourself a name to insure success and bring in money,— you
are mistaken, young Bétinet. Wealth by way of the kitchen,
even had it advanced you to the Academy, would not bring you
back more than your fifteen hundred francs and the Cross of
Honor. It would not even repay your dinners.
Behold, Bétinet, something upon which to meditate at your
leisure.
As to knowing the social effect of the books of Gaivaudin,
Papion, and others, and the fate of the old moons, what business
is it of yours, and why the devil should people concern them-
selves with what you think? What difference does it make what
more success.
-
you think?
Thus you have already printed three or four volumes and
dozens of articles, and supported a crowd of literary men. You
have lent them twenty francs, thirty francs, a hundred francs
perhaps; and not one of them has had the humanity to inform
you that you were not born to enlighten the world, nor to draw
ten sous a page for "copy. ”
Bétinet, you are deceived! ! !
## p. 15338 (#286) ##########################################
15338
LOUIS VEUILLOT
HIC ALIQUIS DE GENTE HIRCOSA
From (Les Odeurs de Paris)
THE
HE sergeant was dominating in the car. Around his hairy
countenance, ravaged and arrogant, there were only smooth
faces, upon which was not even the vestige of a thought.
The abbé entered and took the only vacant place opposite the
sergeant.
Once seated, the abbé began to read his breviary. The ser-
geant twisted his beard. Some vague signs appeared upon one
of the smooth faces; by close examination a skilled eye could
have recognized the writing of Monsieur Guéroult.
The sergeant looked at the abbé, then at the smooth faces,
and said: “What I shall never understand is, how a man can be
low enough to kneel to another man as guilty as himself and
often more so. ”
The inspection of a smooth face indicated that this speech
was generally approved. Approbation was evident in the face
where certain signs already showed themselves: the writing of
Adolphus became quite recognizable there.
The abbé raised his gaze, rested it upon the sergeant for a
moment, then carried it back to his breviary.
The sergeant continued: “I think that when a man does his
duty he leaves a good reputation behind him. A good reputation
is paradise, - there is no other; and a bad reputation is hell, and
there is no other.
This speech again appeared (generally) very wise; and even,
in view of the abbé's presence, very opportune.
For what right
has an abbé to thrust himself into a car full of honest folk ?
Nevertheless, the Guéroult writing protested. The sergeant's eye
seemed astonished by this, and became interrogative. The Gué-
roult writing said: "All the great philosophers have believed in
the immortality of the soul. ” The sergeant answered, “I tell
>
you, no! »
After a silence he continued: “I will explain what it means
to do one's duty: it is to fight and die for France, and to make
France triumph. On the battle-field a man should cry (Live
France,' and die. And see!
## p. 15339 (#287) ##########################################
LOUIS VEUILLOT
15339
"I care nothing for king, emperor, or republic. I know only
France and liberty. See! And I would just as soon thrust my
bayonet through the Pope and all the priests, for they are enemies
of France and of liberty. See! ”
The sergeant went on in this manner, and more eloquently
still. He allowed himself a few jovialities. But as he grew very
excited, the smooth faces no longer laughed. They feared he
might proceed to acts.
The abbé finished saying his breviary.
At the station all the smooth faces dismounted, and at the
signal of departure scattered themselves in other compartments.
The sergeant alone, and the abbé, resumed their seats. They
found themselves tête-à-tête.
The abbé said: Sergeant, I see that you are a brave soldier.
Of the seven men who were here just now, you alone are not
afraid to stay in the same compartment with a priest. Honor to
French courage! ”
The sergeant drew out his pipe, and closed the windows.
When the pipe was well lighted, the priest lowered a window,
and took his rosary.
He showed it to the sergeant: “Sergeant,
I hope my rosary does not annoy you? ”
1?
The sergeant was no longer so fiery, or so free of voice. He
growled, “You neither - you're not afraid! ”
“Afraid of what ? ” said the abbé. "A soldier loves glory; and
you said a great many things just now to astonish those fellows:
but at heart you're not a bad fellow. ”
“Nevertheless I would kill you," answered the sergeant.
"Doubtless,” said the abbé, "but not in this car. ”
«Why not in this car ? " said the sergeant.
Because you have no order," said the abbé; "and your pro-
motion would suffer. Moreover, my dear fellow, I would forgive
you all the same. Come, sergeant, light your pipe again, and let
me tell my beads. "
»
>
## p. 15340 (#288) ##########################################
15340
LOUIS VEUILLOT
A DUEL
From Les Odeurs de Paris)
ot long ago we had one of these heroic spectacles.
It was
NT
N° very exciting
The men had stripped to their suspenders and taken
their swords in hand. Complications arose. One of the oppo-
nents was in doubt as to the other's identity, and thought, not
without reason, that a proxy was before him. The seconds ar-
gued somewhat hotly; the adversaries, more favorable to peace,
separated the seconds. .
To be concluded at another
meeting! At the following meeting the trouble begins again.
Postponement. The public is palpitating, the fire is rekindled,
the interest increases. Nothing is accomplished; the public talks
of nothing else; to-morrow in the field! They strip to their sus-
penders, they even remove their suspenders; they take swords,
cross them, the steel emits sparks. One, two! One, two! . They
thrust, they ward off. The fencer thrusts, the thruster fences.
One, two! Thrusts here, thrusts there, thrusts everywhere! Flic,
flac! More thrusts! What thrusts, what fire in the steel, what
steel in fire, what fire in the hearts! The sweat pours and is not
wiped ! At last one of those cruel swords touches one of those
cruel men; the blood starts. Stop, rash fellows! Honor is sat-
isfied!
The wounded lost a few hairs of his left eyebrow.
## p. 15341 (#289) ##########################################
15341
ALFRED DE VIGNY
(1797-1863)
BY GRACE KING
(
LFRED VICTOR, Comte de Vigny, is represented in the volu-
minous literature of his country in the nineteenth century
by. a mere handful of books: briefly, by two volumes of
poetry, Poésies Antiques et Modernes' and Les Destinées); by a
novel, Cinq Mars'; a comedy, “Quitte pour la Peur' (Let Off with a
Scare); a prose epic, “Stello'; four tales from military life, Military
Servitude and Grandeur'; a play, Chatter-
ton'; and The Journal of a Poet. ' And
in the resounding fame of great contem-
poraries and successors in literature, De
Vigny's name and this handful of books
might, with easy supposition, have been rel-
egated to the position of a dwindling and
expiring reminiscence of the past; the fate
of long catalogues of successful writers and
books of his day. De Vigny's name and
work, however, have gained rather than lost
lustre by the friction of time upon them;
and the eulogy by Théophile Gautier, that
he was “the purest glory of the romantic ALFRED DE VIGNY
school,” is as fresh in its truth to-day, as
when it was penned over a half-century ago. Of all the romanticists,
he remains, to the critical eyes of to-day, as the most genuine, the
most sincere, and the least illogical; in short, as a romanticist by
blood, birth, and traditions, not by school or profession of faith.
He was born at Loches in Touraine, in 1797, the last descendant
of a once wealthy and distinguished family. Through his mother, he
was connected with great admirals and sea captains; through his
father, with courtiers, army officers, and princely seigneurs. Ruined
by the Revolution, his parents removed to Paris; where they con-
secrated their life, and what fortune remained to them, to his edu-
cation. On the knees of his white-haired father, an old courtier of
Louis XV. and a crippled veteran of the Seven Years' War, the child
learned to know Louis XV. , the great Frederick, Voltaire, and the
»
## p. 15342 (#290) ##########################################
15342
ALFRED DE VIGNY
history of the great campaigns of the past century; and was taught
war, he relates, by his father's wounds, by the parchments and
escutcheons of his family, by the portraits in armor of his ancestors,
— the nobility acting the rôle of a great family of hereditary soldiers.
He was barely sixteen when the Restoration opened to him the
predestined career, as he saw it, of the sons of the nobles of France.
He entered the household troops of the King, a company composed
of young men of family, all graded as sous-lieutenants. But France,
as he says, had sheathed her sword «in the scabbard of the Bour-
bons”: with Napoleon the glory of army life had departed; only
the dullness and routine of it remained. To while away the bur-
densome hours of ennui during his garrison life, the young officer
returned to his early and precocious passion for poetry. His haver-
sack library, consisting of the Bible and a few classics, ministered
to him as Muse. In 1822 he published the collection of these first
essays, - 'Poems Ancient and Modern. ' It contained some of his
best pieces: Moses,' (The Deluge,' (The Adulterous Woman. ' The
following year he published his Eloa. ' The historical novel of
Cinq Mars) (1826) was however the maker of De Vigny's reputation
in literature. Based upon a fine episode of the reign of Louis XIII. ,
its dramatic interest, the virile strength of its characters, its brilliant
coloring, and the elevated purity and elegance of its style and lan-
guage, insured it a success that has been prolonged until the book
has become fixed in its reputation as a modern classic.
After fourteen years of pacific and inglorious service, during which
he attained only to the rank of captain, De Vigny resigned from the
army. In Paris he retired into what Sainte-Beuve wittily called his
ivory tower,” a life of seclusion, aristocratic and mediæval in its lofty
isolation. He emerged but once,- in 1842, to take his seat in the
French Academy. He died in 1863, leaving ready for publication a
volume of poems, "Les Destinées,' and a collection of personal notes
and reflections which was published by his literary executor as “The
Journal of a Poet. ' This last volume contains some of the most
exquisite passages of his writings and of his life: the long painful
illness of his mother; his devotion, her death, and his grief; and
afterwards, the long years of devotion to his invalid wife.
Placed chronologically by birth between Victor Hugo and Lamar-
tine, De Vigny's intrinsic value as a poet receives its best illustra-
tion from the juxtaposition.
His originality, as Sainte-Beuve says, “is
distinct from both, in its inspiration and filiation: we can connect
Victor Hugo and Lamartine with anterior French poetry, but in it
we vainly seek the parentage of Moses, Eloa, and Dolorida. ”
De Vigny's earliest conception of the fatal and sublime gift of
genius, - condemning man to solitude and sadness, imprisoning him
»
## p. 15343 (#291) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15343
in his own greatness," as it has been expressed, - became his master
idea through life. It appeared first in Moses,' and reappeared in all
his writings, poetry and prose, in different reincarnations;- in the
Maison de Berger,' idyllic, in love; in Stello,' tragic, in the suffer-
ings of the modern poet; the idea reaches its culmination in moral
grandeur in Military Servitude and Grandeur,' where self-abnegation
and virile honor are depicted as the only ransom of greatness, and
the price of the happiness of the common mortal.
Grace Krug
MOSES
.
H*
E SAID unto the Lord:-“Shall I ne'er be done ?
Where wilt thou still that I my footsteps turn ?
Am I to live for aye, great, powerful, and alone ?
Give me, ah, give me leave to sleep the sleep of earth!
What did I to thee to be chosen thine elect?
Let now some other stand 'twixt thee and thine!
Some other curb thy wild steed, Israel!
I gladly make him heir to book and brazen rod.
Why needest thou have dried up all my hopes ?
Why not have left me man in all my ignorance?
Alas! thou madest me wise among the wise:
My finger showed thy wandering race its path,
I called down fire upon the heads of kings,
And future time will kneel before my laws.
I am the Great: my feet tread nations' necks,
My hand holds generations in its will.
Alas, my Lord! I am great - I am alone:
Give me — ah, give me leave to sleep the sleep of earth! )
ELOA
O
N THE snowy mountain crown of the hamlet,
The Spaniard has wounded the Asturian eagle
That threatened his white bounding flock.
With bristling plumes, and raining down blood,
The bird strikes upward to heaven, quick as a flash could descend,
## p. 15344 (#292) ##########################################
15344
ALFRED DE VIGNY
Gazing up at his sun! breathing it in with wide-open beak,
As if once again his life to retake from the empire of flame.
In the golden air he swims with great strokes,
Hovers a moment in rest, 'mid the bright darting rays, –
But the aim of the man was too sure:
The hot ball burns like a coal in his wound;
His wing drops its shafts, his royal mantle its plumes;
Dispossessed of his heights, his weight bears him down,-
He sinks into the snow of the mount, with wild heaving breast;
And the cold of the earth, with its heavy death sleep,
Shuts the eyes that held the respect of the sun.
LAURETTE, OR THE RED SEAL
T"
still sang
He grand route of Artois and Flanders is long and desolate.
It extends in a straight line, without trees, without ditches,
through countries flat and covered with yellow mud at all
times. In the month of March 1815 I passed along this route,
and had a rencontre which I have never since forgotten.
I was alone. My comrades were ahead on the route in the
suite of the King, Louis XVIII. I saw their white capes and
red capes at the very horizon of the north. A lost shoe retarded
my horse. He was young and strong. I urged him on to rejoin
my squadron; he started at a rapid trot. It still rained, and I
But I soon stopped, tired of hearing only my own
self; and then I heard only the rain, and my horses' feet which
plashed the beaten track. On examining intently this yellow
line of the road, I remarked at about a quarter of a mile dis-
tant a small black point which moved. This gave me pleasure:
it was some person. I hurried my steps. At about a hundred
paces I could clearly distinguish a little wagon of white wood,
covered with three circles and black oilcloth; it resembled a lit-
tle cradle placed on two wheels; the wheels sank to their hubs
in the mud. The little mule which dragged it was carefully
led by a man on foot who held the bridle. He was a man of
about fifty years, with white mustache, strong and tall. He had
a hard but good face, such as is frequently seen in the army.
Having seen his white cockade, I contented myself with show-
ing him the sleeve of my red coat, and then he replaced his gun
in the cart. —“Will you have a drop? ” -“Willingly," I replied,
approaching: "I have not drunk in twenty-four hours. ” He had
(C
(
## p. 15345 (#293) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15345
>
(
»
.
at his neck a cocoanut very well carved, made into a flagon, with
a silver mouthpiece, of which he seemed rather proud. He
passed it to me, and I drank a little of the bad white wine with
much pleasure. I returned the cocoanut to him. We went on
for about a quarter of a mile without saying anything. Then
as he stopped to rest his poor little mule, which it pained me
to look at, I stopped too, to empty my boots of the water which
filled them. “Your boots begin to stick to your feet,” said he.
«It is four nights since I took them off,” said I. «Bah! in eight
«
days you will no longer think of them,” he replied in his hoarse
voice. "Do you know what I have in there? ” “No,” said I
to him. - “It is a woman. " — I said, “Ah! ” without too much
surprise, and I began to walk tranquilly on.
He followed me.
« You do not care ? What I said then ought to astonish you. ”
_“I am but little astonished,” I said. — “Oh! but if I should
tell you how I left the sea, we should see. ” — “Well,” replied I,
» «
“why not try? That would warm you up, and would make me
forget that the rain is running down my back and out at my
heels. ”
“You must know first, my boy, that I was born at Brest. I
started by being the child of the troop, earning my half-rations
and my half-stipend from the age of nine; my father being a
soldier in the guards. But as I loved the sea, - on a beautiful
night while I was on leave of absence in Brest, I hid myself in
the hold of a merchant vessel leaving for the Indies: I was only
discovered in mid-ocean, and the captain preferred making me
a cabin-boy to throwing me overboard. When the Revolution
came I had made my way, and had in my turn become captain of
a little merchant vessel, — full of zest, having skimmed the ocean
for fifteen years. As the royal ex-marine- ma foi! the good
old marine - all of a sudden found itself depopulated of officers,
captains were taken from the merchant marine. I had had some
filibustering affairs, of which I may tell you later. They gave
me command of a brig of war named the Marat. The 28th Fruc.
tidor 1797 I received orders to weigh for Cayenne. I was to
convey sixty soldiers; and one exile, who was left over from the
one hundred and ninety-three taken on board by the frigate
La Decade a few days before. I had orders to treat this individ-
ual with consideration; and the first letter of the Directoire con-
tained a second, closed with three red seals, one amongst them of
unusual size. I was forbidden to open this letter before the first
XXVI–960
-
## p. 15346 (#294) ##########################################
15346
ALFRED DE VIGNY
degree of latitude north from the twenty-seventh to the twenty-
eighth of longitude, - that is, near to passing the line. This big
letter had a shape all its own. It was long, and so tightly closed
that I could not read between the angles, nor through the envel-
ope. I am not superstitious, but it made me afraid.
"I was occupied in putting this letter under the glass of the
clock when my exile entered my room; he held by the hand
a beautiful young girl, about seventeen years old. He told me
that he was nineteen; a fine-looking boy, though a little pale,
and too white for a man. His little wife was fresh and gay as
a child. They looked like two turtle-doves. It gave me pleasure
to see them. I said to them, 'Well, my children, you have come
to visit the old captain ? That is very good of you. I am tak-
ing you rather far away, but so much the better: we shall have
time to become acquainted. I am sorry to receive madame with-
out my coat, but I was nailing that great rascally letter 'way up
there. If you would help me a little? That made good little
children of them. The little husband took the hammer, and the
little wife the nails, and they passed them to me as I asked for
them; and she called to me, « To the right! to the left! captain! ”
laughing as she did so, for the pitching made my clock unsteady.
Ah! ' I said, little mischief! I shall make your husband scold
you, see if I do not. ' Then she threw her arms about his neck
and kissed him. They were really very nice. We immediately
became good friends. The trip was beautiful. I always did
have weather made to order. As I had none but black faces on
board, I made the two little lovers come to my table every other
day. It enlivened me. When we had eaten the biscuits and
fish, the little wife and her husband would remain gazing at each
other, as if they had never one another before. Then I
would begin to laugh with all my heart, and make fun of them.
They too would laugh with me. You would have laughed too,
to see us laughing like three imbeciles, not knowing what was
the matter with us.
They slept in a hammock, where
the vessel would roll them over and over like these two pears,
which I have here in my wet handkerchief. They were lively
and contented. I did as you do: I did not question. What need
was there that I should know their name and their affairs ? I
was taking them across the sea, as I would have taken two birds
of Paradise.
I ended after a month by looking on them
as my children. All day long, when I called them, they would
seen
.
## p. 15347 (#295) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
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am
come and sit by me. The young man wrote at my table, — that
is, on my bed: and when I wished it, he would help me to keep
my course; he soon knew how to do it as well as I, and I was
sometimes forbidden to do it. The young woman would seat
herself on a little barrel, and sew. One day as they were thus
sitting, I said to them :-
« Do you know, little friends, that we make a fine family
picture as we are now? I do not want to question you; but
probably you have not more money than you need, and you are
both prodigiously delicate to spade and hoe, as the exiles do in
Cayenne. It is an ugly country; I tell you the truth: but I, who
an old wolfskin dried in the sun, I could live there like a
lord. If you have, as it seems to me you have (without wishing
to question you), a little friendship for me, I will willingly leave
my old brig, which is only a sabot now, and establish myself with
you, if it would please you. I have no more family than a dog,
and that worries me: you would be a little society for me. I
would help you in many things: I have saved up a nice little
heap, on which we can live, and which I shall leave to you when
I come to turn up my eyes, as we say politely. ' Astonished,
they looked at one another, apparently believing that I had not
spoken the truth; then the little one ran, as she always did,
threw herself on the bosom of the other, and sat on his knee,
all red and weeping. He pressed her close in his arms, and I
saw tears in his eyes too; he stretched out his hand to me and
became paler than usual. She spoke softly to him, and her
long blonde tresses fell on his shoulder; her twist had become
undone, like a cable which unrolls suddenly. That hair — if you
had seen it! it was like gold.
"As they still spoke low, the young man kissing her brow
,
from time to time, and she weeping, I grew impatient. Well,
does that suit you? I said at last. But — but, captain, you
are very good;' said the husband, but - you could not live with
deported convicts he lowered his eyes.
«T,' said I, do not know what you have done to be exiled;
but you shall tell me some day if you choose, or you shall not
if you choose. You do not seem to me to have a very heavy
conscience; I am very sure that I have done much more in my
life than you, poor innocents! For instance, as long as you are
under my guard, I shall not let you go: you need not expect
it; I would sooner cut your throats as I would two pigeons. But
(
## p. 15348 (#296) ##########################################
15348
ALFRED DE VIGNY
(
my child?
>
once my epaulet removed, I know no longer either admiral or any.
thing else.
«What I am thinking is,' he replied, sadly shaking his brown
head, slightly powdered as it was still worn in those days, that
it would be dangerous for you, captain, to seem to know us.
We
laugh because we
are so young; we seem to be happy because
we love each other: but I have some ugly moments when I
think of the future, and I do not know what will become of
my poor Laure. ' He again pressed the young wife's head to his
breast. (That was what I should say to the captain, was it not,
Would you not have said the same thing ? ?
"I took my pipe and got up; for I began to feel my eyes
growing moist, and that was not becoming to me.
«Come, come! ' I said: that will all be cleared up after a
while. If the tobacco is unpleasant to madame, her absence will
be necessary. She arose, her face all on fire and wet with tears,
like a child that has been scolded.
« And yet,' she said, looking at my clock, you two do not
think about it that letter! ?
"I felt as if something had struck me. I had a kind of pain
up
under
my
hair when she said that to me.
(Pardieu! I did not think of it,' I said. Ah, here indeed
is a pretty affair! If we have passed the first degree north, all
I can do is to throw myself overboard! ' I must be lucky: that
child reminded me of that devilish letter!
"I looked quickly at my marine map; and when I saw that
there was still a week ahead of us, my head felt easier, but not
my heart, - I could not tell why.
«It is because the Directory does not joke about the article
obedience! ' I said. "Good!
once more afloat this time.
Time few so quickly that I had entirely forgotten it. '
“Well, sir, we remained all three with our noses in the air,
looking at that letter as if it were going to speak to us. What
struck me very much was that the sun, which slipped in through
the skylight, lit up the glass of the clock, and made the big red
seal and the other little ones seem like features of a face in
the midst of fire.
« Would not one say that the eyes were starting from his
head? ) I said to amuse them.
««Oh! my friend,' said the young woman, “it looks like blood
stains. '
-
I am
(
## p. 15349 (#297) ##########################################
ALFRED DE VIGNY
15349
(c
« « Bah! bah! ' said her husband, laying her arm in his, you
are mistaken, Laure: it looks like a card of announcement of
a marriage. Come and rest yourself, come: why let that letter
bother you ? '
“They went off. I remained alone with that big letter; and
I remember that while smoking my pipe, I continued to look at
it, as if those red eyes had attached mine to them by drawing
them ever as do the eyes of a serpent.
« The night was more beautiful than any I had ever seen in
my life so near the tropics The moon rose on the horizon as
large as a sun; the sea cut it in half, and became all white, like
a cloth of snow covered with little diamonds. I was glad to hear
nothing. I love silence and order. I had forbidden all noises
and all fires. Nevertheless I perceived a small red line almost
under my feet. I should have got into a temper instantly; but as
it was in the cabin of my little convicts, I wished to be sure of
what they were doing before I grew angry. I had only to bend
down: I could see through the big hatchway into the little room,
and I looked. The young wife was on her knees praying. A
small lamp threw its light on her. I thought I would slip away,
but I said, 'Bah! an old soldier, what does it matter? ' And
I remained to see. While she prayed, her husband took the
ends of her long hair and kissed them noiselessly. When she had
.
finished she made the sign of the cross, with the air of going to
paradise.
