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She laughed her acknowledgment, and lying there, face to the sky, began to sing to herself, under her breath, fragments of that ancient war-song: "Le bon Roi Dagobert Avait un grand sabre de fer; Le grand Saint Éloi Lui dit: 'O mon Roi Vôtre Majesté Pourrait se blesser! 'C'est vrai, lui dit le Roi, 'Qu'on me donne un sabre de bois!"
I have but a line to give to the one or two other men of abnormally splendid gifts whom this century has seen. Henri Regnault's extraordinary talent was extinguished almost at the first spark, and it is beyond prophecy to tell what it might have produced. His eccentricities seem to have been quite genuine, due to an overflow of power rather than to posing or grimace. His love of his art, his passion for color, were almost frantic in their intensity, but sincere. A certain exaggerated phrase of his is but the protest of reaction against the literary painting, the erudite and philosophical art, of his time. "La vie," he cries, "étant courte, il faut peindre tant qu'on a des yeux. Donc on ne doit pas les fatiguer
Chamfort makes the excellent remark that society les cercles, les salons, ce qu'on appelle le monde is like a miserable play, or a bad opera, without any interest in itself, but supported for a time by mechanical aid, costumes and scenery. And so, too, with academies and chairs of philosophy.
I asked her if she could not throw off a century or two in consideration of the hard, times, and she laughed, and said I blagued, and honestly she didn't know how old they were, but it was drole, tout de meme, qu'on put adorer un petit bon Dieu d'une laideur pareille." "Really, I don't see how they can do it," said Mrs.
Racine's Bajazet is bred at Constantinople, but his civilities are conveyed to him by some secret passage from Versailles into the Seraglio." It is curious that Voltaire, speaking of the Berenice of Racine, praises a passage in it for precisely what Dryden condemns: "Il semble qu'on entende Henriette d'Angleterre elle-meme parlant au marquis de Vardes.
Mais le fourbe s'est converti, Biribi! A la facon de Barbari, Mon ami! Lass, le fils aine de Satan Nous met tous a l'aumone, Il nous a pris tout notre argent Et n'en rend a personne. Mais le Regent, humain et bon, La faridondaine! la faridondon! Nous rendra ce qu'on nous a pris, Biribi! A la facon de Barbari, Mon ami! The following smart epigram is of the same date:
The new king, Jerome, who declared, "Je veux qu'on respecte la dignite de l'homme et du citoyen," bestowed, it is true, many and great benefits upon his subjects; the system of flogging, so degrading to the soldier, was abolished, the judicature was improved, the administration simplified, and the German in authority, notwithstanding his traditionary gruffness, became remarkable for urbanity toward the citizens and peasants.
So long as love is thus spoken of in the general, the ordinary serious Englishman will have no difficulty in inclining himself with respect while Madame Sand speaks of it. But when he finds that love implies, with her, social equality, he will begin to be staggered. And in truth for almost every Englishman Madame Sand's strong language about equality, and about France as the chosen vessel for exhibiting it, will sound exaggerated. "The human ideal," she says, "as well as the social ideal, is to achieve equality." France, which has made equality its rallying cry, is therefore "the nation which loves and is loved," la nation qui aime et qu'on aime. The republic of equality is in her eyes "an ideal, a philosophy, a religion." She invokes the "holy doctrine of social liberty and fraternal equality, ever reappearing as a ray of love and truth amidst the storm." She calls it "the goal of man and the law of the future." She thinks it the secret of the civilization of France, the most civilized of nations. Amid the disasters of the late war she cannot forbear a cry of astonishment at the neutral nations, insensibles
If the arguments which have been brought forward are valid, probably no one, in view of the present state of opinion, will be inclined to think the time wasted which has been spent upon their elaboration. FOOTNOTES: "Le plus grand service qu'on puisse rendre
"Ah, true," returned the young man, taking his seat at the rude naked table which bore their meal. "I had quite forgotten my appetite-mais ca viendra en mangent, n'est-ce pas?" and he looked at the young girl. "Plait-il, monsieur?" "Tais toi ma fille ce n'est pas a toi qu'on parle," gruffly remarked her father.
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