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Of Alfred de Musset I had heard a great deal. Marshall and the Marquise were in the habit of reading him in moments of relaxation, they had marked their favourite passages, so he came to me highly recommended. Nevertheless, I made but little progress in his poetry. His modernisms were out of tune with the present strain of my aspirations, and I did not find the unexpected word and the eccentricities of expression which were, and are still, so dear to me. I am not a purist; an error of diction is very pardonable if it does not err on the side of the commonplace; the commonplace, the natural, is constitutionally abhorrent to me; and I have never been able to read with any very thorough sense of pleasure even the opening lines of "Rolla," that splendid lyrical outburst. What I remember of it now are those two odious chevilles marchait et respirait, and Astarté fille de l'onde amère; nor does the fact that amère rhymes with mère condone the offence, although it proves that even Musset felt that perhaps the richness of the rhyme might render tolerable the intolerable. And it is to my credit that the Spanish love songs moved me not at all; and it was not until I read that magnificently grotesque poem "La Ballade
'Le Seigneur, says the old formula, 'enferme ses manants comme sous porte et gonds, du ciel a la terre. Tout est a lui, foret chenue, oiseau dans l'air, poisson dans l'eau, bete an buisson, l'onde qui coule, la cloche dont le son au loin roule. Such was his old state of sovereignty, a local god rather than a mere king.
L'onde est en furie, Adieu patrie, Azur! Adieu, maison, treille au fruit mer, Adieu les fruits d'or du vieux mur! Adieu, patrie, Ciel, foret, prairie; Adieu patrie, Azur." "Hush, monsieur!" the girl said with a swift gesture. He looked and saw that Angers was waking. "If I live," he hurriedly whispered, "I shall be at the King's Cave to-morrow night. And you the horses?"
Of Alfred de Musset I had heard a great deal. Marshall and the Marquise were in the habit of reading him in moments of relaxation, they had marked their favourite passages, so he came to me highly recommended. Nevertheless, I made but little progress in his poetry. His modernisms were out of tune with the strain of my aspirations at that moment, and I did not find the unexpected word and the eccentricities of expression which were, and are still, so dear to me. I am not a purist; an error of diction is very pardonable if it does not err on the side of the commonplace; the commonplace, the natural, is constitutionally abhorrent to me; and I have never been able to read with any very thorough sense of pleasure even the opening lines of "Rolla," that splendid lyrical outburst. What I remember of it now are those two odious chevilles marchait et respirait, and Astarté fille de l'onde amère; nor does the fact that amère rhymes with mère condone the offence, although it proves that even Musset felt that perhaps the richness of the rhyme might render tolerable the intolerable. And it is to my credit that the Spanish love songs moved me not at all; and it was not until I read that magnificently grotesque poem "La Ballade
L'onde est en furie, Adieu patrie, Azur! Adieu, maison, treille au fruit mer, Adieu les fruits d'or du vieux mur! Adieu, patrie, Ciel, foret, prairie; Adieu patrie, Azur." "Hush, monsieur!" the girl said with a swift gesture. He looked and saw that Angers was waking. "If I live," he hurriedly whispered, "I shall be at the King's Cave to-morrow night. And you the horses?"
At ease on soft couches, in hanging gardens set with fountains, these beings feasted with every refinement of cruelty. Kneeling slaves were their living tables; while for their food Tous les oiseaux de l'air, tous les poissons de l'onde, Tout ce qui vole ou nage ou rampe dans le monde, Mourant pour leur plaisir des plus cruels trepas De sanglantes savours composent leurs repas. . . .
Humant l'acre parfum des Ears opened to the shores' grands bois odorants, harmonious tunes, Rasant les îlots verts et les Following in their dreams and dunes d'opale, voices mellow, De méandre en méandre, au fil To wander and wander in the l'onde pâle, thread of the pale billow, Suivre le cours des flots Past islands hushed and errants. . . . opalescent dunes.
En vain la duchesse en rougit, Et la princesse en gronde, Chacun sait que Venus naquit De l'ecume de l'onde. En rit-elle moins tous les dieux. Lui rendre un juste hommage! Et Paris, le berger fameux, Lui donner l'avantage Meme sur la reine des cieux Et Minerve la sage? Dans le serail du grand seigneur. Quelle est la favorite? C'est la plus belle au gre de coeur Du maitre qui l'habite.
En vain la duchesse en rougit, Et la princesse en gronde, Chacun sait que Venus naquit De l'ecume de l'onde. En rit-elle moins tous les dieux. Lui rendre un juste hommage! Et Paris, le berger fameux, Lui donner l'avantage Meme sur la reine des cieux Et Minerve la sage? Dans le serail du grand seigneur. Quelle est la favorite? C'est la plus belle au gre de coeur Du maitre qui l'habite.
Et c'est bien, bien bas que l'onde engloutie se decide a reparaitre, elle sort d'une grotte, au fond des gorges, au pied de ces roches droites, symetriques, monumentales, qui porte le terre-plein du Causse.
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