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found Desdemona in a dressinggown. I hasten to say that she was most amiable, and that the thing went off very well-in tutti fiochi, in a word. But I had been feverish the night before; and if I tell you this, madam, it is not that you may repeat it to my mother. Having, therefore, been feverish, I had clothed myself in fur—a certain fur with which you are perhaps acquainted; and as it was very hot at Desdemona's, I naturally grew still hotter. The heat was doing me good; there is no harm in that; but probably it showed in my looks. Now there was present a Mr. Osborne, who is, I believe, a pianist, but certainly an Englishman. Enveloped in the most complimentary of compliments, some words of that 'devilish language' were exchanged between Desdemona and the islander. They imagined I could not understand them. Moreover, I was talking with the mamma. Now just imagine what I believe-yes, archi-believe I caught flying! Two atrocious words (which nothing would ever induce me to repeat), in the way of a joke on the fur and the heat. I did not let on I understood; and no one had the right to say to me, as to Mithridate, Seigneur, vous changez de visage;' but only fancy such a thing! Can you conceive the whole reverse of this médaille? Whether I was right or wrong in my supposition, do you realise the salt of this plaisanterie played on me by my old enemy, fate? If I was not mistaken (and I feel quite sure I was not mistaken), you will understand all the good I derived from these two words without decency, nor pity (of my feverishness), and which were almost coarsely savage! If I am mistaken, there is no way of ascertaining it-none ! And you know me! I am now convinced. As to the sorrow it may have caused me, I had already forgotten it this evening after dinner; but I shall never be face to face with the demoiselle without . . . the devil take all strange tongues!

"This is my tale. Ouf!

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"I am continuing to polish off my

nouvelle, which is unending, and wearies me,-there are no words either in English or French to say how much. Disappointed compliments. A. DE MUSSET."

His wrath at this ill-treatment was not, however, of long duration. Pauline Garcia's talent and charm easily triumphed afresh over his malleable heart. Soon his Paolita's souvenir is mixed up again in its turn with the recurrent domination of the Princess, and the next letter given betrays the fluctuations of this dual state of mind. It was addressed to Madame Jaubert at Versailles, where she had gone to spend a few days with her friend the Princess de Belgiojoso, and is as follows:

"I had begun a letter to you as follows: 'Madam, I have absolutely nothing new to tell you, but I write merely because it shall not be said that you gave me your address, and that I have not profited by it,' when I learnt through the channel of my family that you were to return on Sunday, and perceived that I was rather too late, as this was on Saturday. A hundred and one thanks, in the first place, for your kind envoi. I shall never be able to tell you the pleasure I feel when I see a letter of yours arrive, at breaking open the seal and reading it with the certainty of finding therein a word or two of real friendship and some good news. When in the midst of my foolish life I read a letter of yours, I must somewhat resemble a man poisoned by asphalt and tobacco-smoke, who suddenly entering a garden, should receive into his nostril a puff of wind full of the odour of roses!

"And so she returns, and you also. Consequently folk will be able to resume life in some measure.

"I should like to be able to say something in answer to your pretty note on apparitions, but the light blows dealt by your little hand are so

*Pauline Garcia, one of Musset's étoiles filantes. "Le revers de la médaille" is a French saying for the unpleasant side of things

pleasant to receive that I feel bound to confess I think they will hardly correct any one. However that may be, learn that your godson is working.

"How pretty she was the other evening running about the garden with my slippers on, and a little knitted cap in red and black worsted! I felt, nevertheless and it is true-I am no longer good for anything. I am no longer mad when in love. And you? And if one is that no longer, of what value is the rest? To talk nonsense seriously, therein lies the great business of life. When one no longer dares to be preposterous, one must either blow one's brains out or marry.

The letter that followed this one is all given up to the Princess.

"Your advice was good, dear Marraine: proceeding from you, it was bound to be so; but followed out by me, I was in great fear of it.

"With a beating heart I got into a carriage this morning-nevertheless I showed much force of character going down the hill of Viroflay on foot; and did you but know all the courage I mustered to ring at the door, you would give me the croix d'honneur. Not Pietro's honest face itself, nor Mr. M's friendly salute, sufficed to reassure me. It was only when the star rose, half asleep, veiled in a few

"What think you of the three fol- clouds, but perfectly charming and lowing lines?

Lorsque ma bien aimée entr'ouvre sa paupière,

Sombre comme la nuit, pur comme la lumière,

Sur l'émail de ses yeux brille un diamant noir.

I much want to know if you like that. Two good things helped me to write them-a line from you and Paolita's souvenir. I warn you that the verses have been found bold; but is it certain that boldness is a fault? A question, Why do souvenirs of Paolita occur to me constantly when in the presence of -? Talk of rights of presence! Another question, If Paolita, when singing 'Le Saule,'* should take the fancy of turning slightly to one side (and being au balcon), so as to render your most Montmorenci-like godson quite madly in love, what, then, would signify the proverb about the two hares? This is a philosophical and providential question. Third question, Might it not so happen that I find myself between two stools? Oh fie! A last question, Why should the smell of patchouli render me melancholy, and that of iris joyous? That's a rebus!

"I give your left foot, madam, a shake of the hand. The three lines are in the idyl of 'Rodolphe.'

"A. DE MUSSET."

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gentle, shedding the purest rays around, that I felt rather more cheerful; and thus, after being burnt up by the sun on the road, I set to playing chess au clair de la lune. (This metaphor is slightly romantic.) Be that as it may, the dreaded lady wasHeavens, how dull words are! I believe that on my side I did my duty, not having grumbled, and having swallowed four glasses of wine and water. I felt so lamb-like that on getting home I took a Bavaroise au lait in consequence. 'O milk and water!' says Byron somewhere. But tell me this, Marraine-why is it that I was ever so much more furious the other day than I am satisfied this evening? What ferociousness, what cruelty,' said I to myself the last time, what a shame!' whereas tonight, when rolling back with the Abbé Stéfani, I but whispered to myself, 'What a charm is hers! what a lovely and good child!' And I repeat it. I am not as pleased as I was angry, and this is a nasty feeling. What is the cause? Perhaps you will say it is because last time I was angry without motive, whereas to day I had good reason for being satisfied; and therein you recognise the adroit and happy brains of your most deplorable godson.

"But that would be a calumny. Yes! I dare to affirm that I am as grateful as I am cross, so find another

*The song in "Otello," -a piè d'un salice."

French saying-" On ne doit pas courir deux lièvres à la fois."

explanation-I address the question to your wisdom. Were I to venture on hazarding an opinion, I should be inclined to think that whereas her ferocity was as complete as possible, and left me nothing further to wish for, her sweetness was but I hope you will communicate your opinion to me on the subject.

"Good night, Marraine; amongst the flies at Versailles look at your small foot and remember there is a merle blanc who is pecking around it.-Yours, A. DE MUSSET.

"P.S.-Pray tell me what you think of the following sentence: 'He found in it' (it is Origen who is spoken of) 'that passing preference for material things over the pleasures of the mind, so precious when it is unaccustomed, and so sweet to him who causes it.' I do not quote quite correctly perhaps, but it's something like that. Is it not well put and well felt? With out any pretence to resembling Origen, my sick stomach has kept the remembrance of this.

"ALFRED DE MUSSET."

But this "lamb-like condition" was not of long duration. Madame Jaubert relates that during the numerous réunions that afford ed so many occasions for meeting to the poet and his Princess, one evening at the Marraine's, having been defied by his fair one to draw her likeness en caricature, a few rapid strokes of his pencil produced a three-quarter face, with an immense eye placed full face, giving, with exaggeration, her thinness and long neck, and making up a whole which was strikingly and intolerably like. The Princess had the good taste to acquiesce in the general admission of resemblance made smilingly by all present, but was nevertheless hurt at the result. Probably, too, De Musset was soon made aware of the consequences, for a very few days after

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"Yes, Madam Y- E-S-, this answer might, and ought perhaps to be put into type. It contains the noblest pride, 80 degrees (not centigrade) above freezing-point, and the most exquisite calm, 120 degrees below itwhich is the equivalent of 200 horsepower, or of something like that.

"And what do you think that poor stupid first did on receiving this imperishable answer-or rather this answer worthy of being immortalised? He (that's me) began by crying like a whipped child during a good halfhour. Yes, godmother! hot tears, as in my best days, my head in my hands, my two elbows on my bed, my two feet on my neck-tie, my knees on my new dress-coat; and thus I sobbed like a child being scrubbed, and moreover suffering like a hound being sewn up (hunting metaphor).

"Then I found myself, as you can readily believe, in such a huge vexation, that I swam in it; my room was verily an ocean of bitterness,' as good people say, and in it I plunged over and over again. Vli-vlan-flan &c. -pagn, After this exercise I

got into a tremendous passion,—with whom? It would be quite impossible to say; but I was in a great passion, which certainly lasted two full hours. God be thanked, I smashed nothing! Afterwards I began to feel weary, and recommenced crying, but not much, only for refreshment's sake.

Afterwards I ate four eggs. they were poached.

...

After which all I felt fatigued(after which means at present). I have suffered so much that I am tired

* A saying which means an exceptional creature, a “black swan.”

out, and that is why I talk nonsense to you.

"If you could see my face you would die of laughing: my hair is all standing on end, the left eye swelled almost out of my head, the right one still whimpering half closed and bunged up, my nose fiery red, and my face lengthened, as a gingerbread one on a rainy day at the fair. Such are thy jests, O love! The devil take the jests of love! they are worse than those of chance.*

"Zounds, godmother, such little jokes do hurt! Seriously, from henceforth I will abstain from all correspondence or intercourse whatever with her Serene Highness-under no pretence whatever I will any of it.

"Moreover, I formally authorise you, Madame Jaubert, dwelling in such a street wherein is your house, aged as many springs as the lilacs of next season, small of size, but sound of judgment (which is fortunate for you), I authorise you, I repeat, to say as follows to Monsieur le Docteur: You found fault to my godson's telling you a few days ago, "Ça ne fait pas mon compte;" to-day he has the honour to say to you, "Ça fait mon compte."' ALF. DE MUSSET."

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The poet soon after fled to the country to recover from this blow, and Madame Jaubert having joked him on this vigorous resolution, received the following answer :

"Godmother, you have certainly often blown into a bladder with a quill, and seen it pass from the condition of parchment to that of a melon, and if you continued blowing -Pouf! That's the effect produced on me by your words, The serpent did not go to Normandie to look for apples.'

"I defy you to have more esprit, even you, than in that sentence. You must allow its prettiness yourself.

"What a pity 'tis to spend one's days saying what a pity! One thing which strikes me as strangely odd, is

that you should have allowed yourself to be so entirely won over by the big cruel eyes of that beautiful Mandarine disguised en princesse, as to be inoculated with the taste for sermonising.

"As for me, this is my whole opinion on the matter."

(Here two blank pages in the sheets of letter-paper.)

"I hope you will admit that, after what I have thus told you, you have no further observations to address to me. I think nothing could be added to so eloquent a pleading, and I beg you will make no joke at my expense-for the other day, at thirty paces, I cut a butterfly in two. It is certain

I am dreadfully in love; but with whom, I no longer know-perhaps it's with you, and I don't feel sure how to address this letter. Supposing I

put 'à Madame la prinJaucesse bert de Bel rue Taitgiojoso bout.' Do you think my letter would go to St. Germain?

"You say that you love me à tort et à travers, and I you à droit et à raison. LE FIEUX."

This letter was followed immediately by another, equally from the country:

"Well, madam, you would not believe I would do it. What do you say now? Am I off or not? eh? Aha! I am but too truly off. In all conscience, do you know what I have been and done?-the wisest and the stupidest thing in the world. Reason with me a little and say, 'No good would ever have come of it; there was danger of souring, as you yourself foresaw-item, causes for suffering, and for very serious suffering, though I joke about it,' &c. Therefore I acted for the best in leaving; for travelling diverts the thoughts, absence brings forgetfulness, a decision taken brings back one's sang-froid, &c.,-in short, mischief might have come of it; and now, unless the devil interferes, none will happen.

"But godmother, but madam, pray

*Referring to a vaudeville entitled "Les jeux de l'amour et du hasard.” The Princess de Belgiojoso.

An expression often used by the Roi Vertgalant in ending a letter.

listen! Happiness might have come of it, by which I only mean (being no longer a coxcomb) that, between a certain person and myself there might have arisen a tie, an affection, which, with time and growth, might have become a very pretty thing, sans même coucher tout à fait ensemble, but only under the same roof; whereas now, speaking quite seriously, and knowing myself thoroughly as I do, all is absolutely broken off between us. It is a second edition of my story with Rachel, whom I broke with out of temper, and for no sufficient reason. The said Rachel was piqued-tried to make out that she had been the first to break off. They said I got red-hot angry-letters were exchanged-fuss! complaints and, finally, the devil

of a row.

"This is in some measure what has again overtaken me on account of a certain beautiful southerner. I break a pot, already knocked down, as you said the other day. C'est exactly true.' No one is weaker, more changeable, and shows more the white feather than your incorrigible godson; but once the bridge is crossed, bon soir la rivière. It is not courage that drives me on, but a need of getting further, as a horse being broken in; once over the bar, I do not go back. C. is now as one dead to me. Comparison: Fancy an egg being thrown up in one's hand; it is very frail, very slight, but still very good for cooking and for general use as long as unbroken; but once fallen on the ground and broken, there is no spoon, no any thing, that can reinstate the yolk and remake it an egg, there remains but a shell in bits and a little mess. Such is now the condition of my amiable heart. Well, godmother, I take the liberty of saying-and the devil take me if I have not the right to say it! even should you judge me overweening these women who play the prudes, who ill-treat and slight me, paining me to their heart's content, and, finally, make me hate them,-I will write them down at full length, Sillies! It is neither their interest nor instinct to act thus. It is nought but humbug, which doesn't deceive me. What do you suppose is the meaning of Marco's writing from the heights of

VOL. CXXX.-NO. DCCLXXXIX.

her big eyes, 'that the only good result of over-facile triumphs was to prevent obstinacy in seeking to achieve impossible ones'? What does she mean by 'facile triumphs'? Certainly nothing was less facile than certain succès (what a horrid expression!) which my memory recalls, and nothing less 'impossible' than Elle. What is this way of treating as a mere boy, or as a libertin usé, a man younger than herself, who at bottom is as good as she is, and who lets himself be driven, out of weakness, or, as our fathers used to say, par mignardise, but who has it in him to rouse up if his tail is trodden on? It is utter foolishness, godmother, and vanity, which overreaches itself and misses its target. 'What ought she to have done?' you will ask, perhaps; to have yielded? Is she bound to yield lest she incur the august wrath of Monsieur!' No, godmother; but she should understand, not make believe to think, and make others think, that, after a few years of worldly life, she is a Présidente de Tourvel; and she should not profit by this attempt at making herself unrecognisable, to refuse to recognise others. She should speak, in a word, as if aware to whom she was speaking, and strive to acquire the half only of the good sense, delicacy, and frankness of one of her friends who knows the difference between the bœuf and the bouvier.

6

"There, I have had my say out. I am stiff, and my knees ache, because I have been running after a roe, who took it as a good joke, and who was right enough. It is my turn to snap my fingers at the creature, now that I have changed my clothes and boots. This is no metaphor. I have really just returned from hunting with a quite sufficient number of leagues to my back. And I can certify you that the celebrated poet Horace knew not what he was talking about when he wrote that grief mounted and rode behind the horseman. Grief falls away on horseback with every gallop. I am writing to you with a liberated heart, a quiet conscience, and hands (a thousand pardons) that smell of the stables. Good-bye, godmother. Few folk do I love as I love the good little fairy who stands upright on your little feet.-Yours,

66

A. DT M."

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