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And yet after this, and after his admission to the Academy, after Henry VIII and the Symphonie avec orgue, he still remained aloof from praise or blame, and judged his triumphs with sad severity: "Tu connaîtras les yeux menteurs, l'hypocrisie Des serrements de mains, Le masque d'amitié cachant la jalousie, Les pâles lendemains
Her attitude allowed the Marquise d'Espard's mocking eye to take in Clotilde's lean, narrow figure, exactly like an asparagus stalk; the poor girl's bust was so flat that it did not allow of the artifice known to dressmakers as fichus menteurs, or padded habitshirts.
Among the bric-a-brac of my heart I still cherish some of those little slips of paper with which we made international love question and answer. "Vous allez m'oublier, et ne plus penser a moi ni me voir. Les hommes egoistes menteurs, pas dire la verite..." so ran the questions, considerably devoid of auxiliary verbs and such details of construction.
The king smiled, and, raising his arms to heaven, he exclaimed, with the mock pathos of a French tragedian: "O Dieu! qui douez les poetes De tant de sublime faveure; Ah, rendez vos graces parfaites, Et qu'ils soient un peu moins menteurs." "In trying to punish me for what you are pleased to call my falsehood, your majesty proves that I have spoken the truth," cried Voltaire, eagerly.
"yeux menteurs, l'hypocrisie Des serrements de mains, La masque d'amitié cachant la jalousie, Les pâles lendemains De ces jours de triomphe"... of which M. Saint-Saëns in his little volume of verse complains somewhat pompously, were unknown to César Franck. For this man, even in the years of his prime, there were only the humiliations, the disappointments that are the lot of uncomprehended genius.
"You wish to show me that the fruit of your muse ripens slowly, and you improvise a charming quatrain that Moliere himself would be proud to have composed." "Rendez vos graces parfaites, Et qu'ils Boient un peu moins menteurs!" repeated Frederick, nodding merrily to Voltaire. "Look you, friend, I am perhaps that mortal who incommodes the gods least with prayers and petitions.
The first Letter was read in the dining-hall of the Sorbonne itself. Some were amused, others greatly provoked. But, as the Letters proceeded, there was no room for any feeling but indignation. It was so difficult to set forth any direct reply to productions mingling such a subtle irony with grave attack. They could only say of them, as they afterwards more formally did—Les menteurs immortelles.
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