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He remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he received the following answer: Dear Old Boy: I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Café des Lilacs together.
"What else, sirrah?" "A boiled calf's head, my lord." "A boiled calf's head! Let it be roasted, or I'll roast you, sir!" cried Pickersgill, in an angry tone. "Yes, my lord; I'll roast it." "And what else, sir?" "Maintenon cutlets, my lord." "Maintenon cutlets! I hate them I won't have them, sir. Let them be dressed a l'ombre Chinoise." "I don't know what that is, my lord."
"Adieu, dear Monsieur l'Ombre." "Adieu, excellent Monsieur Ernanton." And as Chicot drew back a step, he saw the door quietly shut in his face.
Poor nerves, poor heart; it is food you want and wine and rest, and I cannot give them to you. Sing, Hortense, will you? Sit by my side, by our dear river St. Maurice, the clear, the sparkling. See how the floating cribs sail by, each with its gleaming lights! It is like Venice I suppose. Shall we see Venice ever, Hortense, you and I? Sing now for me, Descendez a l'ombre, Ma Jolie blonde.
M. d Anquetil, remaining with Jahel and me in the grotto, proposed a game of l'ombre, which is played by three, and which he said, being a Spanish game, was the very one for persons as adventurous as ourselves.
Mais ce que le plateau n'a bu qu'en mille gorgees, la bouche de la caverne le rend souvent par un seul flot, les gouttes qui tombent du filtre s'unissant dans l'ombre en misseaux, puis en rivieres. Aussi, les sources du pied du Causse, sont-elles admirables par l'abondance des eaux, par la hauteur et la sublimite des rocs, de leur "bouts de mondes."
He leaves behind him a volume of poems, "L'Ombre qui tourne," and various essays and fragments. The journal of the last days of his life has been edited by M. Maurice Barrès, and is a record of singular delicacy and courage.
We might say with Scarron: "Et je vis l'ombre d'un esprit Qui tracait l'ombre d'um systeme Avec l'ombre de l'ombre meme." This abolition of nature by natural science is logical, and it was, in fact, Schelling's starting-point. From the standpoint of physiology, nature is but a necessary illusion, a constitutional hallucination.
Descendez a l'ombre, Ma Jolie blonde. And now I am dreaming surely! This is London, not Beau Sejour, and Hortense is far away, and it is that cursed fellow in the street I hear! The morrow comes on quickly. If I were to draw up that crooked blind now I should see the first streaks of daylight. Who pinned those other curtains together?
Only you are petite brune, there is nothing blonde about you, mignonne, my dear mademoiselle, I should say if I were with you of course as I used to do. But surely I am with you and those lights are the floating cribs I see, and your voice it is that sings, and presently the boatmen hear and they turn and move their hands and join in Now all together, Descendez a l'ombre,
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