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old peasant woman of the richer class。 She prepared dinner for them； and
sent De Nerval for the girl； who had gone to ransack the peasant treasures
in the garret。
Two portraits were hanging thereone that of a young man of the good
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old times； smiling with red lips and brown eyes； a pastel in an oval frame。
Another medallion held the portrait of his wife； gay； piquante； in a bodice
with ribbons fluttering； and with a bird perched on her finger。 It was the
old aunt in her youth； and further search discovered her ancient festal…
gown； of stiff brocade。 Sylvie arrayed herself in this splendour； patches
were found in a box of tarnished gold； a fan； a necklace of amber。
The holiday attire of the dead uncle； who had been a keeper in the
royal woods； was not far to seek； and Gerard and Sylvie appeared before
the aunt； as her old self； and her old lover。 〃My children！〃 she cried and
wept； and smiled through her tears at the cruel and charming apparition of
youth。 Presently she dried her tears； and only remembered the pomp and
pride of her wedding。 〃We joined hands； and sang the naive
epithalamium of old France； amorous； and full of flowery turns； as the
Song of Songs； we were the bride and the bridegroom all one sweet
morning of summer。〃
I translated these fragments long ago in one of the first things I ever
tried to write。 The passages are as touching and fresh； the originals I
mean； as when first I read them； and one hears the voice of Sylvie singing：
〃A Dammartin； l'y a trois belles filles； L'y en a z'une plus belle que le
jour！〃
So Sylvie married a confectioner； and； like Marion in the 〃Ballad of
Forty Years；〃 〃Adrienne's dead〃 in a convent。 That is all the story； all the
idyll。 Gerard also wrote the idyll of his own delirium； and the proofs of
it （Le Reve et la Vie） were in his pocket when they found him dead in La
Rue de la Vieille Lanterne。
Some of his poems have a sweetness and careless grace； like the grace
of his favourite old ballads。 One cannot translate things like this：
〃Ou sont nos amoureuses？ Elles sont au tombeau！ Elles sont plus
heureuses Dans un sejour plus beau。〃
But I shall try the couplets on a Greek air：
〃Neither good morn nor good night。〃
The sunset is not yet； the morn is gone； Yet in our eyes the light hath
paled and passed； But twilight shall be lovely as the dawn； And night shall
bring forgetfulness at last！
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Gerard's poems are few； the best are his vision of a lady with gold
hair and brown eyes； whom he had loved in an earlier existence； and his
humorous little piece on a boy's love for a fair cousin； and on their winter
walk together； and the welcome smell of roast turkey which greets them
on the stairs； when they come home。 There are also poems of his
madness； called Chimeres； and very beautiful in form。 You read and
admire； and don't understand a line； yet it seems that if we were a little
more or a little less mad we would understand：
〃Et j'ai deux fois vainqueur traverse l'Acheron： Modulant tour e tour
sur la lyre d'Orphee Les soupirs de la sainte et les cris de la fee。〃
Here is an attempt to translate the untranslatable； the sonnet called …
〃El Desdichado。〃
I am that dark； that disinherited； That all dishonoured Prince of
Aquitaine； The Star upon my scutcheon long hath fled； A black sun on my
lute doth yet remain！ Oh； thou that didst console me not in vain； Within
the tomb； among the midnight dead； Show me Italian seas； and blossoms
wed； The rose； the vine…leaf； and the golden grain。
Say； am I Love or Phoebus？ have I been Or Lusignan or Biron？ By a
Queen Caressed within the Mermaid's haunt I lay； And twice I crossed the
unpermitted stream； And touched on Orpheus' lyre as in a dream； Sighs of
a Saint； and laughter of a Fay！
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ON BOOKS ABOUT RED MEN
To Richard Wilby； Esq。； Eton College； Windsor。
My Dear Dick；It is very good of you； among your severe studies at
Eton； to write to your Uncle。 I am extremely pleased to hear that your
football is appreciated in the highest circles； and shall be happy to have as
good an account of your skill in making Latin verses。
I am glad you like 〃She；〃 Mr。 Rider Haggard's book which I sent you。
It is 〃something like；〃 as you say； and I quite agree with you； both in being
in love with the heroine； and in thinking that she preaches rather too much。
But； then； as she was over two thousand years old； and had lived for most
of that time among cannibals； who did not understand her； one may excuse
her for 〃jawing；〃 as you say； a good deal； when she met white men。 You
want to know if 〃She〃 is a true story。 Of course it is！
But you have read 〃She；〃 and you have read all Cooper's； and
Marryat's； and Mr。 Stevenson's books； and 〃Tom Sawyer；〃 and
〃Huckleberry Finn；〃 several times。 So have I； and am quite ready to
begin again。 But； to my mind； books about 〃Red Indians〃 have always
seemed much the most interesting。 At your age； I remember； I bought a
tomahawk； and； as we had also lots of spears and boomerangs from
Australia； the poultry used to have rather a rough time of it。
I never could do very much with a boomerang； but I could throw a
spear to a hair's breadth； as many a chicken had occasion to discover。
When you go home for Christmas I hope you will remember that all this
was very wrong； and that you will consider we are civilized people； not
Mohicans； nor Pawnees。 I also made a stone pipe； like Hiawatha's； but I
never could drill a hole in the stem； so it did not 〃draw〃 like a civilized
pipe。
By way of an awful warning to you on this score； and also； as you say
you want a true book about Red Indians； let me recommend to you the
best book about them I ever came across。 It is called 〃A Narrative of the
Captivity and Adventures of John Tanne