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Updated: May 2, 2025
The roses of the flower garden, the lofty boughs of the forest, the resounding rocks of the waterfall, the meadows which the sun planted with blades of light, were his. Then he closed his eyes and slowly reopened them that he might enjoy the dazzle of a second wakening. 'The birds have eaten all the strawberries, said Albine disconsolately, as she ran up to him.
This is, indeed, so true that he has introduced into his work all the ideas on which he had based an early unfinished poem called 'Genesis. He carries us to an enchanted garden, the Paradou a name which one need hardly say is Provencal for Paradise* and there Serge Mouret, on recovering from brain fever, becomes, as it were, a new Adam by the side of a new Eve, the fair and winsome Albine.
-Virtus, Albine, est pretium persolvere verum Queis in versamur, queis vivimu' rebu' potesse; Virtus est homini scire quo quaeque habeat res; Virtus scire homini rectum, utile, quid sit honestum, Quae bona, quae mala item, quid inutile, turpe, inhonestum; Virtus quaerendae finem rei scire modumque; Virtus divitiis pretium persolvere posse; Virtus id dare quod re ipsa debetur honori, Hostem esse atque inimicum hominum morumque malorum, Contra defensorem hominum morumque bonorum, Hos magni facere, his bene velle, his vivere amicum; Commoda praeterea patriai prima putare, Deinde parentum, tertia iam postremaque nostra-.
Certain, now, of not being seen and stopped, Albine softly pushed the door which was before her, keeping hold of it in order that it might make no noise as it closed again. And she found herself in the church. At first she could see nobody. Outside, the rain had again begun to fall in fine close drops. The church looked very grey and gloomy.
And as they walked over the grass, they seemed to be seeking footmarks, or a fallen knot of ribbon, or a whiff of ancient perfume something that would clearly satisfy them that they were really travelling along the path that led to the joy of union. 'Wait out here, said Albine, when they once more stood before the pavilion; 'don't come up for three minutes.
At last she made him store away in the 'cupboard' the few drops of wine that remained at the bottom of the bottle. He was also ordered to sweep the grass. Then Albine lay down at full length. 'We are going to sleep now, you know. You must lie down by my side. He did as he was ordered. They lay there stiffly staring into the air, and saying that they were asleep, and that it was very nice.
Albine and Serge rose on tip-toes to peep over the hedges; but they were in no haste, and would willingly have stayed where they were, lost in the mazy windings, without ever getting anywhere, if they had not seen before them the proud lines of the lofty forest trees. They passed at last beneath their shade, solemnly and with a touch of sacred awe, as when one enters some vaulted cathedral.
One morning, however, Albine ventured, after much hesitation, to say to Serge: 'It is wrong of you to keep always indoors. You will fall ill again. Serge laughed in rather an embarrassed way. 'Bah! he muttered, 'we have been everywhere, we know all the garden by heart. But Albine shook her head, and in a whisper replied, 'No, no, we don't know the rocks, we have never been to the springs.
He sprang to his feet and waved his book about with a terrible gesture. But the doctor caught hold of his hands and clasped them within his own, beseeching him to be calm. And for a long time he talked to him, saying all that he had upon his mind. He blamed himself, made fragmentary confessions of his fault, and vaguely hinted at those who had killed Albine.
And Albine led Serge straight on to a spot that seemed to be the graveyard of the flower-garden. There the scabious mourned, and processions of poppies stretched out in line, with deathly odour, unfolding heavy blooms of feverish brilliance. Sad anemones clustered in weary throngs, pallid as if infected by some epidemic.
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