 Section 11, Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Volume 9. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Rita Butros. Library of the World's Best Literature, Ancient and Modern, Volume 9. Section 11, Andre Chenye, 1762-1794 by Catherine Hillard. There are some reputations which seem to depend upon their environment. Certain names are surrounded by a halo of romance, through which all outlines are enlarged, and heightened in effect until it becomes difficult to discern their true proportions through the golden mist. When we think of Andre Chenye, we see a youthful figure among a crowd of fellow prisoners, the light of genius in his eyes, the dark shadow of impending death already enveloping him, and climbing slowly upwards as the mist of the highland second sight rises higher as death draws near. The pathetic character of his fate touches the heart and disposes us to judge the poems he wrote with that bias of personal interest which is so apt to warp the verdict of the critical mind. Had Andre Chenye died comfortably in his bed at a good old age, would Saint-Biv have been so apt to call him our greatest classic poet since Racine and Huelo? Unless indeed he had vainly wracked his memory to think of any other. Andre Malli de Chenye, as he was called until 1790, swept away all ornamental particles, was born amid picturesque surroundings at Constantinople, October 30th, 1762, where his father then held the office of Consul-General. He had married a young Greek girl, a Mademoiselle Saint-Hellomaca, whose family came originally from the island of Cyprus. A Languedocian father, a Cyprian mother, an Oriental birthplace, it was no wonder that the passionate fire of his blood flamed somewhat too hotly through his births. Andre was the third of four sons, and four daughters were also born to Monsieur de Chenye. In 1765, when he was but three years old, his father returned to France, but two years afterwards left his native country again to fill a diplomatic position in Morocco, while his wife remained in Paris with their children. Andre seems to have always looked back with pleasure to his eastern birthplace and long cherished the hope of revisiting it, but he never got farther on the way than Italy. Madame de Chenye, who was a refined and cultivated woman with much taste for art and literature, gave him his first lessons, but he was soon sent with his brothers to the College of Navarre. There he made many friendships that lasted to the end of his short life, and his school fellows, some of whom belonged to noble and wealthy families, often took him to spend his holidays at their country houses. At the age of sixteen, he carried off a first prize in rhetoric, and from that time began his apprenticeship to the trade of the muses, as Ronsard would say, by writing translations of Greek and Latin verse. He does not seem to have been particularly precocious as a poet, and his imitations of Sappho were even then considered rather feeble. His mother's salon was thronged with artists, poets, writers, and men of the world, among whom Andre might have found many indulgent listeners, were it not that his reserve and fastidious taste made him rather cherry of exhibiting his youthful efforts. His mind was already full of ambitious projects for future epics, and his leisure was spent very much as his classic models had spent theirs in light and facile pleasures and loves. Monsieur Duchenne, who watched over his family from afar, was ambitious for the future of his sons. Constantine the eldest was already in the diplomatic service. The other three were destined for the army. Andre joined his regiment when he was twenty, and went to Strasbourg to learn his new duties. But the life of a soldier was not congenial to him, and although he made one or two dear friends in the garrison, the six months that he spent there seemed interminable, and he returned to Paris to resume his life of elegant dissipation among his rich and titled acquaintances. But his health began to give way, and the hope of relief from a change of climate induced him to join his old friends, the brothers Louis and Charles Juden, in a journey they projected through Switzerland and Italy to Constantinople. The three friends started together in the summer of 1784, passed through Switzerland, and spent the autumn and winter in Italy. But although they remained away a year, they never got any further. This journey and its experiences did much to educate and enrich the mind of Andre, and he continued to devote much time to study and poetic composition to the elaboration of vast schemes for dramas and epics, and to the imitation of the Greek and Latin poets he loved and copied so well. He wished to enlarge the province of the idol, and to give to it more variety than even theocratists had succeeded in doing to make it more dramatic, less rustic, and in short, if we may judge from the assertions of his countrymen, a more perfect picture of that elegant and aristocratic world in which he moved. The idols of André Chénier are to poetry very much what the pictures of Watteau and Boucher are to painting. The variety he wished so much to impart to them is, after all, confined to the grouping of the figures, and their greatest beauty is the classic elegance of their style. As one of his French biographers says, the style of these poems makes up for what the sentiment lacks of ideality and lends a sort of purity to details which from any other pen would have run great risk of coarseness. Saint Boeuf speaks of his boxwood flute, his ivory lute, but all this beauty of diction, this smoothness and grace of verse can hardly blind the unprejudiced critic to the fact that a sort of purity will hardly make up for his too frequent choice of subjects that appeal only to the grossest taste. His highest ideals, like those of most poets, were never reached. He had lofty visions of writing a poem called Hermes, which should be an exposition of natural and social laws, principles and progress. A system of philosophy in heroic couplets beginning with the birth of humanity and its first questioning of natural phenomena, its first efforts to solve the problems of the universe, and coming down to the latest discoveries of physical and political science. He never succeeded in completing the preliminary studies necessary to the carrying out of this vast conception, and the Hermes remains a mass of incoherent fragments. André Deschaigners had not the robust common sense that underlay all the poetic eccentricities of the poet, whom in many ways he so much resembled, Alfred Dumoussé. The latter knew and recognized his limitations. My glass is not large, but I drink from my own glass, he said, and what he did attempt was well within his possibilities and was exquisitely done, not so with Chaignet. With a genius like that of Dumoussé, pre-eminently lyrical, but with infinitely less variety and richness, he laboriously accumulated vast piles of materials for dramas and for epics that, if ever completed, must have but added another page to the list of literary soporifics. He made a colossal sketch of another poem to be called America, a sort of geographical and historical encyclopedia Monsieur Joubert-Kolzit, whose enormous mass of detail could scarcely be floated by any one current of interest, but whose principal motive seemed meant to be the conquest of Peru. In the midst of these enterprises, he suddenly conceived what one of his biographers calls the amiable intention of writing a poem on the story of Susanna and the Elders, but only completed a prose sketch with two or three short passages in verse. He also began one or two tragedies which were to be after Echelus, a comedy called the charlatans, poems on the literary life and many other subjects, and, at the same time, he was keeping up his relations with many of his distinguished contemporaries. The Polish poet Nemsiewicz, Mrs. Cosway, the charming young wife of the well-known English painter and artist herself, the Italian poet Alfieri and the Countess of Albany. In 1787, his father, who had returned to Paris, was anxious that Andre should begin his diplomatic career, and he was appointed attaché to Monsieur de la Luzerne, just sent as ambassador to England. The poet went to London in December, a most unpropitious season, and naturally nothing pleased him there. He found the climate detestable, the manners of the English rude and cold, their literature of a barbaric richness, and, in fact, he approved of nothing in England but its constitution, which he thought not only good but worthy of imitation. He had been in London about sixteen months when the first rumors of the French Revolution reached him and turned all his thoughts toward the great political questions of the moment. The project of a rule of liberty and justice for France appealed to the noblest side of his nature, and, while passionately opposed to all excess and violence, he was eager to assist any movement that promised to help the people. With his friends, the brothers Trudin, he joined the Society of Eighty-Nine when it was a centre for varying shades of opinion reconciled by a common love of liberty and hatred of anarchy. He returned to Paris definitely in the summer of 1790 and wrote independent and impassioned articles in the Journal of the Society of Seventeen Eighty-Nine, warning the people against their real enemies, the fomenters of anarchy, while he expressed much the same ideas in one of the most celebrated of his poems, the ode to David's picture called Le jeu du pont, representing the deputies taking their famous oath in the hall of the jeu du pont at Versailles. Lacretel, in his reminiscences, published half a century later, spoke of André Chénier as a fellow member of the club called Friends of the Constitution as a man of great talent and great force of character. The most decided and the most eloquently expressed opinions always came from him. His strongly marked features, his athletic though not lofty stature, his dark complexion, his glowing eyes enforced and illuminated his words. Demosthenes as well as Pindar had been the object of his study. But moderate opinions and a horror of the excesses of the revolution were very unsafe things to hold. Although André took refuge in 1793 in a quiet little house at Versailles, he could not stay there altogether, but made frequent visits to Paris and an unfortunate chance caused his arrest at the house of Monsieur Pasteuré at Passy where he was accused of having gone to warn his friend of his own danger. Chénier was first taken to the prison of the Luxembourg which was too full to receive him and then to Saint Lazar where he was registered on the 8th of March 1794. Apart from the suspicion which caused his arrest he could hardly have escaped much longer. His fellow editor of the Journal du Paris had already been in Saint Lazar for several months and his friends the Trudans joined him there before long. Monsieur de Chénier exerted all his influence to procure his son's liberation but was put off with promises and polite evasions and not long after his second son Sauveur was imprisoned in the Conciergerie. By this time there were nearly 8,000 persons in the prisons of Paris about 800 in Saint Lazar where Chénier found many of his friends and among the ladies there the beautiful and charming young duchess of Fleury. It was she who inspired the poet with the idea of his poem called The Young Captive perhaps the most beautiful as it is the most touching of all his poems. Shortly before Chénier was arrested he had formed a close friendship with Madame Pourat of Luxembourg and her two daughters, the Countess Hocar and Madame Laurent Lecouton. To the latter under the name of Fanny he addressed many charming verses one owed in particular that seems to have been intended to accompany the gift of a necklace is almost worthy of Ronsard although like many of Chénier's poems it was never finished. His last poems were written in a very fine hand with some narrow strips of paper that had escaped the vigilance of his jailers and were smuggled out of prison with the linen that went to the wash. On the flimsy pretext of a conspiracy among the prisoners André Chénier, then only 31 was condemned with 25 others as an enemy of the people and for having shared in all the crimes perpetrated by the tyrant his wife and his family of writing against liberty and in favor of tyranny of corresponding with enemies of the Republic abroad and at home and finally of conspiring in the prison of Saint-Lizarre to murder the members of the committees of general safety etc and to re-establish royalty in France. The 25 victims went through the mockery of their trial in the morning of the 25th of July 1794 and at six the same evening were executed at the Barrières de Vincennes. Three days afterwards Robespierre and many of his accomplices perished upon the scaffold and the reign of terror was at an end. Very little of André Chénier's poetry was left in a state fit for publication. He began so many vast enterprises of which he left but the merest fragments and he wrote so much that his literary executors feared would shock the public taste. His brother published The Young Captive and one or two other poems some seven years after his death which were quoted by Chateaubriand in 1802 and warmly admired by him. The first complete edition of his poems did not appear till 1819 a year before Lamartine's meditations came out and three years before Victor Hugo's first collection was printed. He was not considered a great poet by his first readers and he would be almost a forgotten one now were it not for the romance of his short life and his early death he was the precursor of Byron and de Musée having the ardent love of liberty of the former and the sensuous grace of the latter but he lacked the strength for a sustained flight and he did not know the measure of his powers. He had saturated himself too completely with the honey of Greek verse and was present in its cloying sweetness. When he would soar into the Empyrean his wings were clogged and he soon fell back again among the flowers but he will always be a notable figure in French literature although we may not consider him with his French admirers as one of the masters among the poets of our own time. The Young Captive by André Chénier The corn in peace fills out its golden ear through the long summer days the flowers without a fear drink in the strength of noon and I a flower like them as young as fair as pure though at the present hour some trouble I endure I would not die so soon. No, let the stoic heart call upon death as kind for me I weep and hope before the bitter wind I bend like some lithe palm if there be long sad days others are bright and fleet alas what honey draft holds nothing but the sweet what sea is ever calm and still within my breast nestles illusion bright in vain these prison walls shut out the noonday light fair hope has lent me wings so from the Fowler's net again set free to fly more swift more joyous through the summer sky Philomel sores and sings is it my lot to die in peace I lay me down in peace awake again a peace nor care doth drown nor fell remorse destroy my welcome shines from every morning face and to these downcast souls my presence in this place almost restores their joy the voyage of life is but begun for me and of the landmarks I must pass I see so few behind me stand at life's long banquet now before me set my lips have hardly touched the cup as yet still brimming in my hand I only know the spring I would see autumn brown like the bright sun that all the seasons crown I would round out my year a tender flower the sunny gardens boast I have but seen the fires of morning's host would Eve might find me here O death, can't thou not wait depart from me and go to comfort those sad hearts whom pale despair and woe and shame per chance have wrong for me the woods still offer verdant ways the loves their kisses and the muses praise I would not die so young thus captive to and sad my liar nonetheless woke at the plaint of one who breathed its own distress youth in a prison cell and throwing off the yoke that weighed upon me too I strove in all the sweet and tender words I knew her gentle grief to tell melodious witness of my captive days these rhymes shall make some lover of my lace seek the maid I have sung grace sits upon her brow and all shall share who see her charms, her grief and her despair they too must die so young Ode by André Chénier May fewer roses calls her own and fewer vines wreath autumn's throne fewer the wheat ears of the field than all the songs that Fanny smiles and Fanny's eyes and witching wiles inspire my lips and liar to yield the secret longings of my heart in words of fire to being start moved by the magic of her name as when from oceans depths the shell yields up the pearl it wrought so well worthy the sultan's diadem and thus from out the mulberry leaves the cafe silkworm, twines and weaves her sparkling web of palest gold come dear my muse has silk more pure and bright than hers that shell endure and all your loveliness unfold and pearls of poetry divine with rosy fingers she shall twine to make a necklace rich and rare come Fanny and that snowy neck let me with radiant jewels deck although no pearl is half so fair End of Section 11 Section 12 the library of the world's best literature ancient and modern, volume 9 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Rita Butros library of the world's best literature ancient and modern, volume 9 section 12 1829 in 1863 the Revue de Dumont offered its readers a novel by a young author very slightly known to Parisian literatures but everybody read him with interest whether cordially approving or not the story was not evolutionary had no definite moral purpose perhaps the public were glad to temporarily lay aside their instruments for scientific dissection of literary art for Le Comte Costia a lively tale of romantic adventure was the most popular story that had been published by the Revue de Dumont naturally the gratified editors accepted the author as a regular contributor which he has been ever since introduced to them by Georges Sainte who, pleased with an earlier work of his wrote him appreciatively and did him this kind turn this earlier work a horse by Phidias cordially praised by Saint Boeuf was a capable dissertation upon archaeology and art strong on a thread of narrative young author Victor Cherbouillet Genovese of French descent was about 34 when Le Comte Costia appeared a critic in discussing him speaks almost enviously of the liberalizing influences experienced in cosmopolitan little Switzerland Cherbouillet's advantages have been great his father was a professor in the university and of his parents it has been pleasantly said that from his father he learned all he ought to know from his mother all he ought to be he was graduated from the University of Geneva and later studied history and philosophy at Paris, Bonn and Berlin for a time he taught at Geneva then he married and with his wife he settled extensively in the east where he collected abundant material for his trained powers of observation and his love of social and artistic questions he has been a member of the academy since 1881 and now lives in Paris a perennial novel writer distinguished also for the clever sketches on modern French politics he appeared regularly in the review de Dumont signed Georges Valbert but his best and most abundant work has been in fiction where his talent lies in the union of romantic imagination with a practical view of life there is sometimes falsetto in the imagination but it gratifies a liking for falsetto in many readers translated his novels have been read almost as much in English as in French and among the best liked are L'idée de Jean Teterolle Jean Teterolle's idea La Révanche des Josephes Noisselles Joseph Noisselles's revenge Le Dr. Ramon If they refuse Cheboulier a place among great writers at least the critics always respect his cleverness and recognize the range of his information regarding the art, literature, politics and history of different lands the prime quality of his work is interest his remarkable inventiveness shows in one unusual situation after another without repetition and with always fresh stimulus his kinship with Georges Sans romantic spirit was felt at once and his style has always remained essentially unchanged but that his earlier emotional spontaneity has grown with maturity to a more conventional spirit may be seen by comparing the two ends of his work in Le Comte Castille we have the persecution of a beautiful young daughter by a Russian nobleman who forces her to hide her sex and personate the son he has lost and subjects her to many terrors until she is rescued by his chivalrous young secretary who in time discovers her secret and marries her but first, numberless adventures and scenes of passion in Le Roi à Peppi King à Peppi 1895 no profound emotion it is the cleverly cynical account of the rescue by a worldly old uncle of a romantic and short-sighted nephew the young man, infatuated by an adventurous insists upon marrying her the uncle, ingeniously without compromising himself leads the lady to believe that he himself is in love with her she prefers proprietor to heir and throws over the ladder only to find herself deceived perhaps the best way to indicate Cherboulier's place in French literature is by comparison with the English trollop both create interest both have a swift firm style with sometimes almost too facile a rush but while trollop draws ordinary men and women who talk in ordinary fashion Cherboulier invents brilliant-minded people who shower us with epigram they shoulder too much of their creator's erudition and are too clever to be quite natural The Silent Duel by Victor Cherboulier from Samuel Brawl & Company Madame de Lorsie ushered Samuel into the salon where he had scarcely set foot when he described an old woman lounging on a cossouse fanning herself as she chatted with Abbe Miollens he remained motionless his eyes fixed scarcely breathing cold as marble it seemed to him that the four walls of the salon swayed from right to left and left to right and that the floor was sliding from under his feet like the deck of a pitching vessel The previous day Antoinette once departed Madame de Lorsie had resumed her attack on Princess Guloff and the princess had ended by consenting to delay her departure to dine with the adventurer of the green eyes and to subject him to a close scrutiny There she was Yes, it was indeed she The first impulse of Samuel Brawl was to regain the door as speedily as possible but he did nothing of the kind He looked at Madame de Lorsie She herself was regarding him with astonishment She wondered what could suddenly have overcome him She could find no explanation for the bewilderment apparent in his countenance It is a mere chance, he thought at last she has not intentionally drawn me into a snare This thought was productive of a sort of half-relief Eh bien, what is it, she asked Has my poor salon still the misfortune to be hurtful to you? He pointed to a jardinier saying You are fond of hyacinths and tuberoses Their perfume overpowered me for a moment I fear you think me very effeminate She replied in a caressing voice I take you for a most worthy man who has terrible nerves but you know by experience that if you have weaknesses I have salts Will you have my smelling-battle? You are a thousand times too good, he rejoined and bravely marched forward to face the danger It is a well-known fact that dangers in a silken robe are the most formidable of all Madame de Lorsie presented him to the princess who raised her chin to examine him with her little glittering eyes It seemed to him that those grey orbs directed at him were two balls which struck him in the heart He quivered from head to foot and asked himself confusedly whether he were dead or living He soon perceived that he was still living The princess had remained impassable not a muscle of her face had moved She ended by bestowing upon Samuel a smile which was almost gracious and addressing to him some insignificant words which he only half understood but which seemed to him exquisite, delicious He fancied that she was saying to him You have a chance, you were born lucky My sight has been impaired for some years and I do not recognize you Bless your star, you are saved He experienced such a transport of joy that he could have flung his arms about the neck of Abbe Mio Lenz who came up to him with extended hand saying what have you been thinking about, my dear Count Since we last met a very great event has been accomplished What woman wishes, God wishes But, after all, my own humble efforts were not without avail and I am proud of it Madame de Lorsie requested Count Lorenzky to offer his arm to Princess Guloff and lead her out to dinner He mechanically complied but he had not the strength to utter a syllable as he conducted the princess to table She herself said nothing She seemed wholly busy in arranging with her unoccupied hand a lock of her grey hair which had strayed too far over her forehead He looked fixedly at this short plump hand which one day, in a fit of jealous fury had administered to him two smart blows His cheeks recognized it During dinner the princess was very gay She paid more attention to Abbe Mio Lenz than to Count Lorenzky She took pleasure in teasing the good priest in endeavoring to shock him a little It was not easy to shock him To his natural easy good nature he united an innate respect for grandeurs and for princesses She did not neglect so good an opportunity to air her monkey development theories He merrily flung back the ball He declared that he should prefer to be a fallen angel rather than a perfected monkey That in his estimation a parvenu made a much sorrier figure in the world than the descendant of an old family of ruined nobility She replied that she was more democratic than he It is pleasant to me, said she to think that I am a progressive ape who has a wide future before him and who, by taking proper pains may hope to attain new advancement While they were thus chatting Samuel Brawl was striving with all his might to recover from the terrible blow he had received He noted with keen satisfaction that the eyesight of the princess was considerably impaired that the microscopic studies for which she had always had a taste had resulted in rendering her somewhat nearsighted that she was obliged to look out carefully to find her way among her wine glasses She has not seen me for six years, thought he and I have become a different man I have undergone a complete metamorphosis I have difficulty sometimes in recognizing myself Formally my face was closed shaven Now I have let my entire beard grow My voice, my accent, the poise of my head My manners, the expression of my countenance All are changed Poland has entered into my blood I am Samuel no longer I am Lorenzki He blessed the microscope which enfeebled the sight of old women He blessed Count Abel Lorenzki who had made of him his twin brother Before the end of the repast he had recovered all his assurance all his aplomb He began to take part in the conversation He recounted in a sorrowful tone a sorrowful little story He retailed sundry playful anecdotes with a melancholy grace and sprightliness He expressed the most chivalrous sentiments shaking his lion's mane He spoke of the prisoner at the Vatican with tears in his voice It were impossible to be a more thorough Lorenzki The princess manifested in listening to him an astonished curiosity She concluded by saying to him Count, I admire you but I believe only in physiology and you are a little too much of a pole for me After they had left the table and repaired to the salon several callers dropped in It was like a deliverance to Samuel If the society was not numerous enough for him to lose himself in it at least it served him as a shield He held it for a certainty that the princess had not recognized him yet he did not cease feeling in her presence unutterably ill at ease This kalmak visage of hers recalled to him all the miseries the shame, the hard-grinding slavery of his youth He could not look at her without feeling his brow burn as though it were being seared with a hot iron He entered into conversation with a supercilious, haughty and pedantic counselor at law whose interminable monologues distilled ennui This fine speaker seemed charming to Samuel who found in him wit, knowledge, scholarship, and taste He possessed the, in his eyes, meritorious quality of not knowing Samuel Brawl For Samuel had come to divide the human race into two categories The first comprehended those well-to-do thriving people who did not know a certain Brawl He placed in the second old women who did know him He interrogated the counselor with deference He hung upon his words He smiled with an air of approbation at all the absurdities which escaped him He would have been willing to have his discourse last three hours by the watch if this charming bore had shown symptoms of escaping him he would have held him back by the button Suddenly he heard a harsh voice saying to Madame Delorsie Where is Count Lorenzky? Bring him to me I want to have a discussion with him He could not do otherwise than comply He quitted his counselor with regret went over and took a seat in the armchair that Madame Delorsie drew up for him at the side of the princess and which had for him the effect of a stool of repentance Madame Delorsie moved away and he was left tet-a-tet with Princess Guloff who said to him I have been told that congratulations are due you and I must make them at once although we are enemies By what right are we enemies princess? he asked with a slightly troubled feeling which quickly passed away as she answered I am a Russian and you are a pole but we shall have no time for fighting I leave for London tomorrow morning at seven o'clock He was on the point of casting himself at her feet tenderly kissing her two hands in testimony of his gratitude tomorrow at seven o'clock he mentally ejaculated I have slandered her she has some good in her When I say that I am a Russian resumed the princess it is merely a formal speech love of country is a prejudice an idea which has had its day which had sense in the times of Epaminondas or of Theseus but which has it no longer we live in the age of the telegraph the locomotive and I know of nothing more absurd now than a frontier or more ridiculous than a patriot rumours says that you fought like a hero in the insurrection of 1863 that you gave proof of incomparable prowess and that you killed with your own hand ten Cossacks what harm had they done you those poor Cossacks do they not sometimes haunt your dreams can you think of your victims without disquietude and without remorse he replied in a dry haughty tone I really do not know princess how many Cossacks I have killed but I do know that there are some subjects on which I do not love to expatiate you are right I should not comprehend you Don Quixote did not do Sancho the honor to explain himself to him every day ah, I beg of you let us talk a little of the man monkey he observed in a rather more pliant tone than he had at first assumed that is a question which has the advantage of being neither Russian nor Polish you will not succeed that way in throwing me off the track I mean to tell you all the evil I think of you no matter how it may ensense you you uttered at table theories which displeased me you are not only a Polish patriot you are an idealist a true disciple of Plato and you do not know how I have always detested this man in all these sixty years that I have been in this world I have seen nothing but selfishness and grasping after self gratification twice during dinner you spoke of an ideal world what is an ideal world where is it situated you speak of it as of a house whose inhabitants you are well acquainted with whose key is in your pocket can you show me the key I promise not to steal it from you oh poet for you are quite as much of a poet as of a pole which is not saying much nothing remains but to hang me he interposed smilingly no I shall not hang you opinions are free and there is room enough in the world for all even idealists besides if you were to be hanged it would bring to the verge of despair a charming girl who adores you who was created expressly for you and whom you will shortly marry when will the ceremony take place if I dared hope that you would do me the honour of being present princess I should postpone it until you'll return from England you are too amiable but I could not on any consideration retard the happiness of Mademoiselle Moriaz there my dear Count I congratulate you sincerely I had the pleasure to meet here the future Countess Lorenzky she is adorable it is an exquisite nature hers a true poet's wife she must have brains discernment she has chosen you that says everything as to her fortune I dare not ask you if she has any you would turn away from me in disgust do idealists trouble their heads with such vile questions she leaned toward him and fanning herself excitedly at it these poor idealists they have one misfortune and what is that princess they dream with open eyes and the awakening is sometimes disagreeable ah my dear Count Lorenzky this that and the other etc thus endeth the adventure then stretching out her neck until her face was close to his she darted at him a venomous viper-like look and in a voice that seemed to cut into his timpanum like a sharp toothed saw she hissed Samuel Brawl the man with the green eyes sooner or later the mountains must meet it seemed to him that the candelabra on the mantelpiece darted out jets of flame whose green blue and rose colored tongues ascended to the ceiling and it appeared to him as though his heart was beating as noisily as a clock pendulum and that everyone would turn to inquire whence came the noise but everyone was occupied no one turned round no one suspected that there was a man present on whom a thunderbolt had just fallen the man passed his hand over his brow covered with a cold sweat then dispelling by an effort of will the cloud that veiled his eyes he in turn leaned toward the princess and with quivering lip and evil sardonic glance said to her in a low voice princess I have a slight acquaintance with this Samuel Brawl of whom you speak he is not a man who will allow himself to be strangled without a great deal of outcry you are not much in the habit of writing nevertheless he received from you two letters which he copied placing the originals in safety if ever he sees the necessity of appearing in a court of justice these two letters can be made to create quite a sensation and unquestionably they will be the delight of all the petty journals of Paris there upon he made a profound bow respectfully took leave of Madame de Lorcy and retired followed by Ebay Miollens who inflicted a real torture by insisting on accompanying him to the station Samuel Brawl gives up the play by Victor Cherbouillet from Samuel Brawl and Company the gate opened and admitted Samuel Brawl who had a smile on his lips his first words were and your umbrella you have forgotten it mademoiselle de Moriaz replied do you not see that there is no sunshine and she remained leaning against the apple tree he uplifted his hand to show her the blue sky he let it fall again he looked at Antoinette and he was afraid he guessed immediately that she knew all at once he grew audacious I spent a dull day yesterday said he Madame de Lorcy invited me to dine with a crazy woman but the night made up for it I saw and got in in my dreams the furs the alpine pines the emerald lakes and a red hood I too dreamed last night that you gave me belonged to the crazy woman of whom you speak and that she had her name engraved on it she threw him the bracelet he picked it up examined it turned and returned it in his trembling fingers she grew impatient look at the place that has been forced open don't you know how to read he read and became stupefied that he had found among his father's old traps had come to him from Princess Guloff that it was the price she had paid for Samuel Brull's ignominy and shame Samuel was a fatalist he felt that his star had set that fate had conspired to ruin his hopes that he was found guilty and condemned his heart grew heavy within him tell me what I ought to think of a certain Samuel Brull she asked that name pronounced by her fell on him like a mass of lead he never would have believed that there could be so much weight in a human word he trembled under the blow then he struck his brow with his clenched hand and replied Samuel Brull is a man as worthy of your pity as he is of mine he knew all that he has suffered all that he has dared you could not help deeply pitying and admiring him listen to me Samuel Brull is an unfortunate man or a wretch she interrupted in a terrible voice she was seized by a fit of nervous laughter she cried out Madame Brull I will not be called Madame Brull or Countess Lorinsky he had a spasm of rage that would have terrified her had she conjectured what agitated him he raised his head crossed his arms on his breast and said with a bitter smile it was not the man that you loved it was the Count she replied the man whom I loved never lied yes I lied he cried I drank that cup of shame without remorse or disgust I lied because I loved you madly I lied because you were dearer to me than my honor I lied because I despaired of touching your heart and any road seemed good that led to you why did I meet you why could I not see you without recognizing in you the dream of my whole life it passed me by it was about to take flight I caught it in a trap I lied who would not lie to be loved by you Samuel Brull had never looked so handsome despair and passion kindled a somber flame in his eyes he had the sinister charm of a fiery satan he fixed on Antoinette a fascinating glance which said my name, my lies, and the rest my face is not a mask and I am the man who pleased you he had not the least suspicion of the astonishing facility with which Antoinette had taken back the heart that she had given away so easily he did not suspect what miracles can be wrought by contempt in the middle ages people believed in golems the clay of an entrancing beauty which had all the appearance of life under a lock of hair was written in Hebrew characters on their brow the word truth if they chanced to lie the word was obliterated they lost all their charm the clay was no longer anything but clay Madame Waselle Moriaz Divined Samuel Brull's thought behind the man I loved was he whose history you related to me he would have liked to kill her so that she should never belong to another behind Antoinette not 20 steps distant he described the curb of a well and grew dizzy at the site he discovered with despair that he was not made of the stuff for crime he dropped down on his knees and cried if you will not pardon me nothing remains for me but to die she stood motionless and impassive she repeated between her teeth Camille Longi's phrase I am waiting until this great comedian has finished playing his piece he rose and started to run toward the well she was in front of him and barred the passage she felt two hands clasp her waist and the breath of two lips which sought her lips and which murmured you love me still since you do not want me to die she struggled with violence and horror she succeeded by a frantic effort in disengaging herself from his grasp she fled toward the house Samuel Brull rushed after her in mad pursuit he was just reaching her when he suddenly stopped he had caught sight of Monsieur Longius hurrying from out of thicket where he had been hidden growing uneasy he had approached the orchard through a path concealed by the heavy foliage Antoinette out of breath ran to him gasping Camille save me from this man and she threw herself into his arms which closed about her with delight she felt her sink she would have fallen had he not supported her at the same instant a menacing voice saluted him with the words Monsieur we will meet again today if you will he replied Antoinette's wild excitement had given place to insensibility she neither saw nor heard her limbs no longer sustained her Camille had great difficulty in bringing her to the house she could not ascend the steps of the terrace he was obliged to carry her mademoiselle moissanie saw him and filled the air with her cries she ran forward she lavished her best care on her queen all the time she was busy in bringing her to her senses she was asking Camille for explanations she did not say the least attention she interrupted him at every word to exclaim this has been designed and you are at the bottom of the plot I have suspected you you owe Antoinette a grudge your wounded vanity has never recovered from her refusal and you are determined to be revenged perhaps you flatter yourself that she will end by loving you she does not love you and she never will love you who are you to dare compare yourself with Count Lorenzki be silent do I believe in Samuel Braul I do not know Samuel Braul I venture my head that there is no such person as Samuel Braul not much of a venture mademoiselle replied Monsieur Moriaz who had arrived in the meantime Antoinette remained during an hour in a state of mute langer then a violent fever took possession of her when the physician who had been sent for arrived Monsieur Langeys accompanied him into the chamber of the sick girl she was delirious seated upright she kept continually passing her hand over her brow she sought to efface the taint of a kiss she had received one moonlight night a passion in her hair of the flapping of a bat's wings that had caught in her hood these two things were confounded in her memory from time to time she said where is my portrait give me my portrait it was about ten o'clock when Monsieur Langeys called on Samuel Braul who was not astonished to see him appear he had hoped he would come Samuel had regained possession he was calm and dignified however the tempest through which he had gone had left on his features some vestige of its passage his lips quivered and his beautiful chestnut locks curled like serpents about his temples and gave his head a Medusa-like appearance he said to Camille where and when our seconds will undertake the arrangement of the rest you mistake Monsieur the motive of my visit replied Monsieur Langeys I am grieved to destroy your illusions but I did not come to arrange a meeting with you do you refuse to give me satisfaction what satisfaction do I owe you you insulted me when and you said the day, the place, the weapons I leave all to your choice Monsieur Langeys did not refrain from smiling ah, you at last acknowledged that your fainting fit was comedy he rejoined acknowledge on your part replied Samuel that you insult persons when you believe that they are not in a state to hear you your courage likes to take the safe side be reasonable replied Camille I placed myself at Count Lorenzky's disposal you cannot require me to write with a Samuel Brawl Samuel sprang to his feet with fierce bearing and head erect he advanced to the young man who awaited him unflinchingly and whose resolute manner awed him he cast upon him a sinister look turned and reseeded himself bit his lips until the blood came then said in a placid voice will you do me the favour of telling me Monsieur to what I owe the honour of this visit I came to demand of you a portrait that mademoiselle Moriaz is desirous of having returned if I refuse to give it up you will doubtless appeal to my delicacy do you doubt it ironically replied Camille that proves Monsieur that you still believe in Count Lorenzky that it is to him at this moment you deceive yourself I came to see Samuel Brawl who is a businessman and it is a commercial transaction that I intend to hold with him and drawing from his pocket a porte-monnaie he added you see I do not come empty handed Samuel settled himself in his armchair half closing his eyes he watched Monsieur Longy's through his eyelashes a change passed over his features his nose became more crooked and his chin more pointed he no longer resembled a lion he was a fox his lips wore the sugared smile of a usurer one who lays snares for the sons of wealthy families and who scents out every favourable case if at this moment Jeremiah Brawl had seen him he would have recognised his own flesh and blood he said at last to Camille you are a man of understanding Monsieur I am ready to listen to you I am very glad of it and to speak frankly I had no doubts about it I knew you to be very intelligent very much disposed to make the best of an unpleasant conjuncture spare my modesty you are a very intelligent opinion of me I should warn you that I am accused of being greedy after gain you will leave some of the feathers from your wings between my fingers for a reply Monsieur Longy significantly padded the Port Monnier which he held in his hand and which was literally stuffed with banknotes immediately Samuel took from a locked drawer this is a very precious gem he said the medallion is gold and the work on the miniature is exquisite it is a masterpiece the colour equals the design the mouth is marvelously rendered Meng's or Lyotard could not have done better at what do you value this work of art you are more of a connoisseur than I I will leave it to your own valuation I will let you have the trinket for five thousand francs it is almost nothing Camille began to draw out the five thousand francs from his Port Monnier how prompt you are remarked Samuel the portrait has not only a value as a work of art I am sure you attach a sentimental value to it for I suspect you of being overhead and ears in love with the original I find you too greedy replied Camille casting on him a crushing glance do not be angry I am accustomed to exercise methodical precision in business affairs my father always sold at a fixed price and I too never lower my charges you will readily understand that what is worth five thousand francs to a friend is worth double to a lover a friend is worth ten thousand francs you can take it or leave it I will take it replied Monsieur Longes since we agree continued Samuel I possess still other articles which might suit you why do you think of selling me your clothing let us come to an understanding I have other articles of the same lot and he brought from a closet the red hood we spread out on the table here is an article of clothing to use your own words that may be of interest to you its color is beautiful if you saw it in the sunshine it would dazzle you I grant that this stuff is common it is very ordinary cashmere but if you deign to examine it closely you will be struck by the peculiar perfume that it exhales the Italians call it odor femenino and what is your rate of charge for the odor femenino I will be moderate I will let you have this article and its perfume for five thousand francs it is actually giving it away assuredly we will say ten and five that makes fifteen thousand one moment you can pay for all together I have other things to offer you one would say that the floor burned your feet and that you could not endure being in this room I allow that I long to leave this what shall I say this shop, lair, or den you are young monsieur it never does to hurry haste causes us acts of forgetfulness which we afterward regret you would be very sorry not to take away with you perhaps of paper at these words he drew from his notebook two letters which he unfolded is there much more? demanded Camille I fear that I shall become short of funds and be obliged to go back for more ah, these two letters I will not part with them for a trifle the second especially it is only twelve lines in length but what pretty English handwriting only see and the style is loving and tender I will add that it is signed ah, monsieur mademoiselle Moriaz will be charmed to see these scrolls again under what obligations will she be to you you will make the most of it you will tell her that you rested them from me your dagger at my throat that you terrified me with what a gracious smile will reward your heroism according to my opinion that smile is as well worth ten thousand francs as the medallion the two gems are of equal value if you want more it makes no difference no, monsieur I have told you I have only one price at this rate it is twenty five thousand francs that I owe you you have nothing more to sell me yes, that is all will you swear it what, monsieur? you admit then that Samuel Barol has a word of honour that when he has sworn he can be believed you are right I am still very young that is all then I swear to you affirmed Samuel sighing my shop is poorly stocked I had commenced laying in a supply but an unfortunate accident deranged my little business bah, be consoled replied monsieur Longis you will find another opportunity a genius of such lofty flights as yours is never at a loss you have been unfortunate some day fortune will compensate you for the wrongs she has done you and the world will accord justice to your fine talents speaking thus he laid on the table twenty five notes of a thousand francs each he counted them Samuel counted them after him and at once delivered to him the medallion, the hood and the two letters Camille rose to leave monsieur Barol he said from the first day I saw you I formed the highest opinion of your character the reality surpasses my expectations I am charmed to have major acquaintance and I venture to hope that you are not sorry to have made mine however I shall not say au revoir who knows replied Samuel suddenly changing his countenance and attitude and he added if you are fond of being astonished monsieur will you remain still another instant in this den he rolled and twisted the twenty five one thousand francs notes into lamp lighters then with a grand gesture ala poniatanski he approached the candle held them in the flame until they blazed and then threw them on the hearth where they were soon consumed turning toward monsieur longi as he cried will you now do me the honor of fighting with me after such a noble act as that I can refuse you nothing returned Camille I will do you that signal honor just what I desire replied Samuel I am the offended I have the choice of arms and in showing monsieur lungis out he said I will not conceal from you that I have frequented the shooting galleries and that I am a first class pistol shot Camille bowed and went out the next day in a lucid interval mademoiselle more as saw at the foot of her bed a medallion laid on a red hood from that moment the physician announced an improvement in her symptoms end of section 12 section 13 of library of the world's best literature ancient and modern volume 9 this is a LibriVox recording a LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer LibriVox.org recording by Deon Giants Salt Lake City, Utah library of the world's best literature ancient and modern volume 9 section 13 selected works by Lord Chesterfield 1694 to 1773 as the best representative of a credible type among English noblemen in the reign of George II and accomplished courtier a diplomatic statesman worthy of reliance on occasions of emergency a scholar and a patron of literature Philip Dormer Stanhope 4th Earl of Chesterfield occupied a prominent place in the history of his country for more than 40 years he was the eldest son of Philip 3rd Earl and was born at London in 1694 most of his boyhood was spent under the care of his grandmother the Marchioness of Halifax when 18 he was entered at Trinity College Cambridge and became an excellent classical scholar the principal events in his public career were his election to parliament in his 21st year his appointment as captain of the yeoman of the guard in return for a political vote his selection for special service as ambassador to the Hague after his succession to the family title his appointment as Lord High Steward with the garter as a reward for his success in Holland his expulsion from that position by Horace Walpole for political disobedience in opposing an excise bill his second successful mission to the Hague his selection as a reward for the responsible post of viceroy in Ireland and subsequently his resignation and acceptance of office as secretary of state this latter appointment being taken when the Earl had reached his 50th year Chesterfield was first a warm friend then a bitter enemy of Horace Walpole he also antagonized George II but that monarch finally succumbed to diplomatic treatment at his hands and offered his former antagonist a duptem as courteously declined in his 58th year partial deafness caused him to withdraw almost wholly from public affairs in diplomacy his successful missions to the Hague made him strong with officials in power his ability as a statesman was shown to great advantage in a firm yet popular administration of Irish affairs during a critical period in Irish history as a patron of literature Dr. Samuel Johnson deemed him a distinct failure and expressed this opinion forcibly to that effect in his celebrated letter his literary reputation rests chiefly on letters addressed to his natural son Philip who died in his 36th year greatly to his father's disappointment he having looked forward to a great career for the young man his letters of counsel and advice were to that end oddly they left the recipient still shy, awkward tactless and immature these epistles not intended for public perusal were subsequently printed in book form the Earl of Chesterfield died in 1773 four years after his death miscellaneous works were published in two volumes also characters the art of pleasing and letters to his heir appeared 10 years from the date of his decease and this was followed a few months later by memoirs of Asiaticus from letters to his son concerning manners there is a bien-science with regard to people of the lowest degree a gentleman observes it with his footman even with the beggar in the street he considers them as objects of compassion not of insult he speaks to neither Dunn-Tonbrusk but corrects the one Cooley and refuses the other with humanity there is no one occasion in the world in which Le-Tonbrusk is becoming a gentleman in short, les bien sciences are another word for manners and extend to every part of life they are propriety the graces should attend in order to complete them the graces enable us to do gentile and pleasingly what les bien sciences require to be done at all the latter are an obligation upon every man the former are an infinite advantage and ornament to any man the control of one's countenance people unused to the world have babbling countenances and are unskillful enough to show what they have sense enough not to tell in the course of the world a man must very often put on an easy frank countenance upon very disagreeable occasions he must seem pleased when he is very much otherwise he must be able to accost and receive with smiles those whom he would much rather meet with swords in courts not turn himself inside out all this may nay must be done without falsehood and treachery for it must go no further than politeness and manners and must stop short of assurances and professions of simulated friendship good manners to those one does not love are no more a breach of truth than your humble servant at the bottom of a challenge is they are universally agreed upon and understood to be things of course they are necessary guards of the decency and peace of society they must only act defensively and then not with arms poisoned with perfidity truth but not the whole truth must be the invariable principle of every man who hath either religion honor or prudence dress as an index to character I cannot help forming some opinion of a man's sense and character from his dress and I believe most people do as well as myself any affectation whatsoever in dress implies in my mind a flaw in the understanding a man of sense carefully avoids any particular character in his dress he is accurately clean for his own sake but all the rest is for other peoples he dresses as well and in the same manner as the people of sense and fashion of the place where he is if he dresses better as he thinks that is more than they stop if he dresses worse he is unpardonably negligent but of the two I would rather have a young fellow too much than too little dressed the excess on that side will wear off with a little age and reflection but if he is negligent at 20 he will be a sloven at 40 and stink at 50 years old self-fine where others are fine and plain where others are plain but take care always that your clothes are well made and fit you for otherwise they will give you a very awkward air when you are once well dressed for the day think no more of it afterwards and without any stiffness or fear of decomposing that dress your emotions be as easy and natural as if you had no clothes on at all some remarks on good breeding a friend of yours and mine has justly defined good breeding to be the result of much good sense some good nature and a little self-denial for the sake of others and with a view to obtain the same indulgence taking this for granted as I think it cannot be disputed it is astonishing to me that anybody who had good sense and good nature and I believe you have both can essentially fail in good breeding as to the modes of it indeed they vary according to persons places and circumstances and are only to be acquired by observation and experience but the substance of it is everywhere and eternally the same good manners are to particular societies what good morals are to society in general their cement and their security and as laws are enacted to enforce good morals or at least to prevent the ill effects of bad ones so there are certain rules of civility universally implied and received to enforce good manners and punish bad ones and indeed there seems to me to be less difference both between the crimes and punishments than at first one would imagine mutual complacences attentions and sacrifices of little conveniences are as natural between civilized people as protection and obedience are between kings and subjects whoever in either case violates that compact justly forfeits all advantages arising from it for my own part I really think that next to the consciousness of doing a good action that of doing a civil one is the most pleasing the epitaph which I should covet the most next to that of Aristides would be that of well-bred the choice of a vocation from miscellaneous works it is very certain that no man is fit for everything but it is almost as certain too that there is scarce any one man who is not fit for something which something which her plainly points out to him by giving him a tendency and propensity to it I look upon common sense to be to the mind what conscience is to the heart the faithful and constant monitor of what is right or wrong and I am convinced that no man commits either a crime or a folly but against the manifest and sensible representation of the one or the other every man finds in himself either from nature or education for they are hard to distinguish a peculiar bent and disposition to some particular character and his struggling against it is the fruitless and endless labor of Sisyphus let him follow and cultivate that vocation he will succeed in it and be considerable in one way at least whereas if he departs from it he will at best be inconsiderable probably ridiculous end of section 13