MICROFILMED 1 99 1 COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRA JCES,.:EW YORK iC as part of the Foundations of Western Chilization Preservauon Proiect ftjV Funded by the NATIONAL ENT)OT\^Nr£\T FOR THE HUMANTTEES Reproductions may not be made without pemiission from Columbia University Library COPYRIGHT STATEMENT The copyright law of the United States ~ Title 17, United States Code ~ concerns the making of photocopies or other reproductions of copyrighted material. . . Columbia University Library reserves the right to refuse to accept a copy order if, in its judgement, fulfillment of the O] would involve violation of the copyright law. A UTHOR : VAUX, CLOTILDE MARIE Ub TITLF: LUC lb AND THOUGiHTS OF A FLOWER PLA CE: LONDON DATE: COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARIES PRESERVATION DEPARTMENT BIBLIOGRAPHIC MICROFORM TARGET Master Negative # -Si-.MiiiH Original Material as Filmed - Existing Bibliographic Record ■*Wi*N|!!W>«|II*S««e! l t>% S^ INITIALSJ^^jJ?.^, nLMED BY: RESEARCH PUBLICATIONS. INC WOODBRIDGE. CT ' c Association for Information and Image Managoment 1 1 00 Wayne Avenue, Suite 1 1 00 Silver Spring, Maryland 20910 301/587-8202 H i^'i These words of hers— of that high feminine soul, Mother of Man's one Church, the Master's spouse, And Lady of his best Hfe — your grace allows That here I give to you. Take then the scroll Wherein, in forms of poesy, all her dole And large heroic heart she plain avows, And hold it yours. Her part it was to rouse Love in that spirit forlorn, and make it whole, And meet for new creations. Happier doom Was yours but not unlike— to breathe your peace And equal faith serene on him from whom Our England holds the Truth, who gave release Unto the thralls of doubt, and in the gloom Wrought a pure glory of light that shall not cease. i X TRANSLATOR'S NOTE. I have to acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. E. Nicholson for his kindness in reading the proofs of this translation, and for several valuable suggestions. M. Q. \^f > 7 LUCIE. ^^ %(* \it0m Some years ago a crime, accompanied by extra- ordinary circumstances, filled with consternation the little town of . A young man, belonging to a distinguished family, had disappeared under a terrible accusation ; he was charged with having murdered a banker, his partner, and with having at the same time robbed him gi a large sum of money. This double crime was attributed to the fatal passion of gambHng. The guilty man left behind him after some months of marriage, a young wife, endowed with great beauty and with the most eminent qualities. Already an orphan, she was now, at twenty years of age, abandoned to loneliness, poverty, and a position without hope. The law granted her, as a matter of course, a separation in person and property— that is to say, as regards all that it spared. Her husband's family offered her shelter and clothing. As she was generally admired, ( lo ) promises of powerful interest came to her from all sides. She was, happily, one of those noble women who accept misfortune more readily than a dishonourable proposal. Her elevated intelligence revealed to her her situation without disguises ; she understood that she would only owe men's interest in her to her beauty ; she foresaw the dangers which are concealed by friendly sympathies, and she determined to derive from herself alone every improvement in her condition. This courageous decision having once been taken, the young lady no longer thought of anything except its execu- tion. Possessing remarkable talent, she went to Paris in order to utilise it. After various attempts, she was received as a governess in the establishment of the Abbaye-aux-Bois, where she found an honour- able asylum. During this time the law pursued its course, and active inquiries were everywhere set on foot to discover traces of the fugitive. Already the irritated creditors had divided what had remained to his unfortunate victim, whose garments and jewels, and even the little treasures of her childhood, had been sold by auction. She inspired so much interest that some persons i ; ( II ) bought in several of these objects and sent them to her. One young girl wished to have a medallion which contained a portrait of the heroine, and the cure of the place purchased her nuptial robe in order to adorn the altar of the Virgin with it. These things profoundly touched the unfortunate young woman. In her disposition a noble pride was united to a deep sensibility ; she felt herself supported by the proofs of sympathy which came to her from all sides. Filled with fear by the recollection of her first love, she regarded her fetters only as a barrier which she had voluntarily placed between men and herself. The horror and the perils of her situation in this way escaped her ^mind, and she accepted without revolt the unjust decree of the law. An indestructible sentiment — a sweet and holy friendship of childhood — at first preserved this noble heart from the bitter sorrows of isolation. Philosophy, which is so contemptible and so barren in egoistic natures, developed its magnificent proportions in the soul of this young woman. Although she was poor, she found the means to do good. She seldom went to the churches, where frivolity has estab- lished its market ; but she was often to be met with in ( 12 ) garrets, where misfortune is frequently obliged to hide itself as well as shame. Two years passed away without any event coming to change this strange and sad situation. Time, which only increases great grief, had little by little destroyed the orphan's excellent constitution. To her heroic courage, to her persevering attempts to remain in the difficult path which she had marked out for herself, a profound prostration began to succeed. Thirteen letters, which have fallen into my hands, will paint better than I could do the sorrows of this wounded heart. I ask leave to reproduce them and thus to bring this story to an end. LETTER I. LUCIE TO MADAME M- I write to you, my dearest, from Malzeville, where I am going to spend some months. My chest stood in need of fresh air and milk ; our friends have made use of this pretext to invite me to share with them their delightful solitude. How much I love these excellent people ! Why cannot I resemble them, or transfer to my own heart a little of the peace which reigns in the depths of theirs ! I feel better here, 1^ 3S§ ' ( 13) however. Nothing is so wholesome as the spectacle of the beauties of nature, and of that laborious and uniform life which compels the mind to disciphne itself. The General is expecting the early arrival of his neighbour, who has the reputation of being the bene- factor of all this little district. He is a young man of twenty-six, who possesses a handsome fortune, and is a sincere adherent of liberal ideas. He is accompanied by his mother, whom he adores, and about whom much good is also said. You wish me to cultivate flowers in order to win myself a Httle from music and reading. Alas, my dearest, are not these the only pleasures which remain to me ? When I have paid my little tribute to friend- ship, when I have finished reading to the General some passages of his memoirs, when we have invoked together some great and solemn memories, or when I have shared with our friend her little domestic cares, then I find myself once more a prey to that need of feehng and of thinking which has become the principal impulse of my existence. And yet no woman ever loved more than I did the Hfe of peace and simpHcity. What briUiant pleasures would 1 not have joyfully 'iiltv ( H) sacrificed to the duties and the happiness of the family ! What success would not have appeared insipid to me compared with the caresses of my children ! Mother- hood, my friend, — that is the ideal whose image, so fresh and so impetuous, erects itself in my heart. That love which survives every other — is it not given to woman that she may regenerate herself in her sorrow ? LETTER II. MAURICE TO ROGER. Roger, I have at last seen this woman, so great and so unfortunate, of whom you spoke to me with pride. Do not say that my fate is decided if I confess the pro- found impression which I have experienced at the sight of this young and beautiful martyr to social injustice. Lucie's touching virtues, her talent, her grace — every- thing about her bears perpetually the mark of a deep sorrow. We feel, in seeing her, that she will have need of generosity in order to love. Nevertheless, is she not free in honour and reason ? By what astonishing short-sightedness in our laws is a pure and respected being chained by society itself to a blighted life which it rejects from its own * ( 15 ) bosom? What do we call civil death? Is it a delusion ? With what object does society leave a wife to a man who can no longer give birth to any but illegitimate children ? By what right would it impose loneliness and celibacy on one of its members ? For what purpose would it drive her to evil conduct ? But I have the appearance of being before the judges. Roger, my blood is ready to boil when I see how often the apathy of men gives rise to sorrow and oppression. I have just had a belvedere constructed, command- ing a view of Malzeville ; from this with a telescope I can see the whole of the General's pretty house. Yesterday I saw Lucie sitting at the side of the lake ; her attitude was melancholy and depressed. Here I will admit that her glance seemed to me to be directed towards the south. Alas, when I saw her so graceful and so broken-down, I asked myself with disgust what was the secret of certain influences, which are exercised on our hearts. Why is it that we see vulgar women fascinate superior minds and become the object of a veritable worship ? How does it come to pass, also, that the generosity and nobleness of some women ( 16) are so often seen unwillingly yoked with egoism and grossness? We must give up the attempt to solve this enigma. As you ask me for another description of Oneil, I may tell you, my dear Roger, that I have made of it one of the prettiest estates of the department. I was told the other day of a dispute about me between the inhabitants of the neighbouring village and an old ruined noble. The question at issue was nothing less than whether Oneil ought to be styled a chateau, and whether the first piece of the consecrated bread was due to its proprietor. I have decided the question by not going to mass and by calling all the district my own valley. LETTER III. MAURICE TO ROGER. No never, Roger, never will any other woman give birth in me to the generous and elevated feelings with which the sight alone of Lucie inspires me. My friend, you spoke the truth : it is in vain that law, opinion, and the world erect their triple barrier between us ; love, as I feel, will unite us. Who knows i I ( 17) better than you the needs of my heart, and its insurmountable antipathy to vulgar pleasures ? Alas, before I met Lucie I often felt that it is a danger for us to refine our sensations. My mother has just paid her first visit to Malzeville. I was curious, I confess, to know what impression Lucie would produce on her. When we arrived before the railings of the little park we perceived her grafting a rose-tree. She was dressed in white ; a large garden hat rested negligently on her head ; a simple green sash defined her slender and delicate figure. In seeing her one would have called her the gentlest ideal of Galatea. I was surprised not to see any emotion in my mother's countenance — she being usually so kind, and finding so much pleasure in admiring ; she was stately and cold during all the time of our visit. The words "duty" and "honour" had a place in her every sentence. For the first time I saw what bitterness and implacability there are in feminine rivalries. Guided by that delicate tact which is produced by the habit of suffering, Lucie withdrew before us under some slight excuse. Why did I not venture to follow her and throw myself at her feet that I might protest against my mother's words ? B ( i8) Roger, this moment fixes my fate for ever. I have learned that it only rests with me to rescue this sweet victim from misfortune. Perish the chimeras which erect themselves between us ! I feel myself strong against the mahce of public opinion, and against the censures of the envious; may I be so against the generosity and the greatness of Lucie ! LETTER IV. MAURICE TO ROGER. One is disposed to curse civilisation and culture when one sees the small number of just minds and true hearts that there are in the world. I cannot say how many paltry and odious insinuations I have to endure every day on account of Lucie. But what is not the least disgusting, all the glory remains with these perverters of morality, who take their stand proudly on their collections of sophisms. It seems in truth that success only waits on shameless attacks. They would allow me without doubt to be an atheist, but certainly not to dispense with the sacraments. I have just had a painful conversation with my mother, which has only too much confirmed my ideas ( ( 19 ) on devotedness. It is a magnificent virtue, but one which exists much more willingly on enjoyments than on sacrifices. I recently met in society the young Countess —whose husband is in a convict prison. She was twenty-four years old when this catastrophe struck her ; she was remarkably pretty and agreeable. The worthy L fell in love with her, and they became united. Well, she told me that what she has had to suffer from her own family is incalculable. When I expressed my astonishment to her, seeing that they have all such advanced ideas, she replied, " Are you at the point of view of your catechism with regard to man, then ? " So far is this admirable mankind even now, my dear Roger, from having discharged its debt to the monkeys, from which some theorists maintain that it directly descends. LETTER V. MAURICE TO LUCIE. What have you done, Lucie ? To what fatal impulse did you yield in going away from me ? Alas, it is in vain that I seek to justify your silence; it (20) weighs upon my heart Hke a mass of ice. Neverthe- less, only yesterday you caused me to prize my life. Your soul seemed to be giving itself to hope. When a slight danger threatened me on the banks of the lake, you sprang to my assistance without appearing to be disturbed by the presence of those around us. How beautiful you were at that moment, and how com- manding your devotedness rendered you ! Did you not see in the eyes of all the enthusiasm of which you were the object ? Oh, Lucie, when it was perhaps only necessary for you to show yourself as you are to soften my mother's heart, by what inconceivable misfortune are we separated ? But perhaps you are not the angehc woman I believed I could see in you; perhaps a 'generous affection is not in your power. Perhaps .... But what is the good of these doubts ? You alone can restore to me the repose of which you have deprived me. I am waiting for a line from you, a word which may tell me what your plans are. Think of it ! I will not answer for myself if you continue to overwhelm me by your silence. Manuel is going to Paris at full speed ; in ten hours I shall be able to have your answer. \ ) ^ r" f ( 21 ) LETTER VL MAURICE TO ROGER. Was it inevitable, then, that this should happen ? To have known her, Roger, to know all that is con- tained in that lofty heart, in that delicate intelligence, and then in a few hours, perhaps, to have to deplore her loss ! May my unhappiness recoil for ever on those who have caused it ! Alas, while I was con- demning her for what I had suffered, she was succumbing to the violence of her struggles and of her love. I wander round the General's house like a mad- man, continually questioning his servants, and only receiving from them vague or alarming replies. Fortunately, the doctor does not know who I am, and three times a day he rends my heart with the truth. I have just this moment left him ; the expression of his face was so sad, he seemed so overcome that I begged him not to conceal the worst from me. He told me that she still lived, but he expects a terrible and in- evitable crisis. P.S. — She is saved ! You must love as I love in order to understand the magic of such a word. I fell at the doctor's feet ; I asked him for his friendship. He in vain preserves a serious air ; I feel myself 1,1 1 ,«ll"l ,l"|l|ll|l|il"B' ■ W^m^ffm, (22 ) about to commit absurdities in his presence. He is a man of distinction, and speaks of Lucie with an enthusiasm ahnost equal to mine. But one thing has struck me ; he often looks at me with astonishment, and seems on the point of confiding a secret to me. f have several times vainly attempted to make him tell me what is in his mind. He always ends our conver- sations about Lucie with this remark : " Society is much to blame." I have often noticed that prudence is the vice of men of this profession — a profession which their pro- found 'knowledge would render so apt to support the social movement. What important changes might be made in our laws by the mere authority of cettaiJi scientific facts which remain eternally concealed from ordinary persons ! I wish that a good doctor would publish his memoirs ; in my opinion, it would be A book which would be very useful to Humanity. LETTER Vn. MAURICE TO ROGER. My friend, I have seen her again! Alas, one hardly dares to believe that she still belongs to the \ 4_ i r" f (23) earth, so entirely is her beauty clothed with an ideal and celestial character. She consented to take her first walk supported on my arm, and I was astonished at the simplicity with which she described her sufferings to me. If I do not deceive myself, a ray of hope has glided into her heart, but I have not been able to understand the significance of several of her expressions. As we were resting in the shade of a little ruined church, a village wedding party passed before us. There was so much happiness and ease on all these honest countenances that I could not refrain from a bitter observation as I compared their fate with ours. Lucie started when she heard me. " Oh my friend," she exclaimed; **'they "are happy ; but it is because their happiness afflicts and offends no one." I looked at her with amazement ; her face was slightly coloured ; she placed my hand upon her heart ; then she continued in Hi ..serious and agitated voice: " Maurice, it would be in vain that our misfortunes should urge us to pit ourselves against society ; its institutions are ^ceat and respectable because they are the work of time ; it is unworthy of great hearts to spread the trouble which they feel." I would have replied to her, but she made me a sign with her hand (H) to indicate that she felt weak. It was beginning to get late. The worthy doctor, who was already be- coming anxious at not seeing Lucie return, came to meet us, and he helped me to support her to the entrance to Malzeville park, where we were obliged to separate. Roger, what dismays me is less the various obstacles which surround me than the natural gran- deur of Lucie herself. It is not to idle prejudices, I feel, that such a woman has hitherto felt obliged to sacrifice the sweetest inclinations of her heart. LETTER VIII. LUCIE TO MADAME M- My dear friend, hope has greeted me on my return to life : Maurice agrees to raise his powerful voice to protest against the terrible injustice which divides us. His mother has pressed me to her heart ; I shall never forget the delightful sensations which that moment mingled with the bitterness of my recollections. Oh, my dearest, the love of a man who is pure and delicate is a feeling full of power. How much force and courage I need to resist it ! But the welfare and "■"fl'' t f I (25) reputation of Maurice are dearer to me, perhaps, than my owh repose ; moreover, 1 am sustained by the pride of seeing him attempt a noble enterprise ; for it seems to me that I have accomplished mine like a veritable heroine. It w^as only yesterday that our fate was decided. We had spent the evening with the worthy doctor, whose moral principles are at once so gentle and so elevated. Hardly had he left us when Maurice impetuously seized my hand, and, pressing it to his heart, vowed he would protect me in spite of the world, and would not permit me to go away from him any more. I collected my strength to do battle with these delicious and terrible emotions. I represented to Maurice that what duty demanded from him was to try and free me from my bonds by asking for a just and wise law. In order to move him I used the arguments which have most influence with his great heart. I depicted to him with ardour the advantages which society might reap from this glorious under- taking. As for him, it was not difficult to interest him in the fate of those young, weak and defenceless beings whom an odious bond may drive to despair. He agreed that the abuses of the laws are most commonly ^Trf (26) a consequence of the apathy of men, and that it is always honourable and useful to struggle against oppression. • Afterwards we considered our situation from every point of view. Maurice declared that a union such as that which he wished me to contract was sufficient for happiness, and that, without the shghtest regret, he would renounce that society which sacrifices real honour to prejudices proudly decorated with the name of propriety. I confessed to him that I felt neither important enough nor insignificant enough to brave public opinion, and that it would be delightful to me to be able to surround our love with the respect of honourable families. He gently combated my ideas ; but the remembrance of his mother associated itself in his mind with all the elevated feelings which are characteristic of him. He ended by promising me that he would address a petition to ParHament, and that he would worthily await the result. ■ • * I threw myself at the feet of this man who is so dear to me, shedding tears of gratitude and love. The efforts which I had made -lc> restrain him had so exhausted my strength that it seemed as if life were going to abandon me. I have never felt its value so much as at that moment. v„ > v^ ^J ( 27) Oh my friend, you, who live calm and happy with the man of your choice, will understand all that is passing in my poor heart. You know whether I share the ridiculous opinions of those women who stamp their feet at the idea of never being members of Parliament, and who ride on horseback to prove that in case of need they would make excellent colonels of dragoons. But you also know whether I intensely resent oppres- sion where it is real. It is by dealing a blow at that happiness of woman which is modest and true that the laws drive her outside of her own sphere, and make her sometimes misunderstand her sublime destiny. Henrietta, what pleasures can be superior to those of devotedness ? to surrdund the man whom we love with comfort, to be kind and simple in the family, dignified and affable outside of it— is not that our gentlest function and the one which suits us the best ? It seems to me that the circle of the family may be modeWeci, in certain respects, on the circles of society ; and is it not woman who does the honours of "' 1" " I ' ,1, ''■ II '" I I "'"f I' it? MAURICE TO ROGER. A new calamity has just befallen her ; the monster who chains her to him has been arrested at the (28) frontier, and has been taken to the convict prison at Toulon, where he is to undergo his sentence. This event, which gives so great an importance to our demands, seems, nevertheless, to have shaken Lucie's courage. This tender heart has succumbed to fear in presence of the horrible denouement with which she is associated by our laws. The name which she still bears resounds in her ears charged with infamy and with painful recollections. Her indestructible kind- ness has come to add compassion to all her troubles. May her strength not be exhausted in this cruel conflict ! No, I feel it , law cannot be deliberately immoral and absurd. Evidence impresses men ; they will break this odious bond which chains the purest of beings to a criminal. Lucie, having such a nature as I recognise in her, will still suffer much ; but various circumstances have enlightened me as to her feelings, and I will not sacrifice any of them to love. This noble woman will be as a mother what she is as a lover. She suffers at the idea of bequeathing to her children sacrifices which she would bravely accept for herself. May she find at last the reward of her gentle virtues ! I will muster up my strength and courage to overcome my » 7 ( 29 ) impatience. Oh, Roger, life has rude experiences ! I send you a copy of my petition to Parliament : — ** Gentlemen, In the midst of our laws there exists an injustice, the extent of which is frightful. Permit me to illustrate it by a striking example. ** A woman of twenty-two, whose heart is pure and full of honourable feeling, finds herself linked by marriage to a convict. Fifteen years of imprisonment, with infamy, contempt, and everything which distin- guishes virtue from vice, practically annul this odious bond. Civilly, the man isdead; the woman, pronounced free by the law courts, has re-entered into possession of her fortune, which she already administers. All her rights are incontestable, and yet she is compelled to renounce the most precious of all— that of using her freedom of heart. ** By an inconceivable short-sightedness in our laws this woman finds herself deprived of their protection, and placed by them between two abysses — unhappi- ness and misconduct. Which choice should we venture to impose upon her ? In order to dignify herself with a barren heroism, is she to renounce love (30) and maternity — those beautiful and noble prerogatives of the wife ? '* If isolation weighs like a law of death on her soul, and drives her to contract a union condemned by society, who will protect her against the unfairness of public opinion, and against all the dangers attached to a false situatioti ? " Between these two perils there is a third into which every oppressed and feeble being falls — it is cowardice. " Gentlemen, I invite your attention to this im- portant moral question, and I ask for a law which will make divorce the natural consequence of a disgraceful punishment." LETTER X. MAURICE TO ROGER. Our hearts are calmer. Lucie seems happy in seeing me make my submission to this poor society. May she reap the fruit of my patience ! Perhaps I have really performed a duty. I have suffered so much for some time that I may no longer be a good judge on a question of wisdom. Injustice is revolting to me, and oppression inspires me with so \„ / ^-f (31 ) much horror that I would willingly fly from it instead of combating it. It may be that Lucie, with her heroism, is much nearer than I am to pure moraHty. Few women unite as she does, penetration to sensibility ; she is eminently loyal and spiritual. The better I know her tender heart the more I feel that I cannot too well repay her love. How slowly every day, as it seems to me, the moment comes for us to meet again ! I like to surprise her in the midst of the occupations which, as she tells me, she has contrived for herself in order that she may be able to wait for me. Yesterday, I found her very busy copying a large book of unimportant music, for the use of schools. As 1 expressed my astonishment to her rather emphatically, she at last confessed to me that she earned money by this work. I cannot tell you, Roger, what a painful impression this discovery produced upon me. Is not the true function of woman to give to man the attentions and delights of the fireside, receiving from him in exchange all the means of subsistence that are procured by labour ? I would rather see the mother of a family who has little means washing her children's clothes than spending her life in spreading abroad the fruits of her >■»■ p \i (32) intellect. I make an exception, of course, of the distinguished woman whose genius urges her outside the sphere of the family. She ought to have free scope in society ; for expression serves as a light to superior minds. Not only do I feel that women should find in their fathers, their brothers, and their husbands their natural support, but that, if this support should fail them, they ought to be maintained by the government. It would, I suppose, found establishments to unite them and utihse. their various talents. There are delicate tasks which cannot be performed except by women. They would be accomplished in these establishments, in which solitary and weak beings would at least be assured a resource against all the evils wjiich threaten them outside social life. Our cities would then possess vast bazaars where opulent women would take the trouble to go and buy their clothing. We should no longer see poor girls, worn out by compulsory labour, obliged to wander about, often all day long, to find a market for it. These means, or other analogous ones, would soon establish some small proportion between women's powers and their duties, which are often so little in harmony. k J ( 33 ) LETTER XL MAURICE TO ROGER. Where shall we find some remnant of generosity in this languid and worn out society ? Money — that is the key to their dictionary, the word which it is absolutely necessary to master in order to understand them. I had spoken to Count de J. about our actual position and about my proceedings in regard to Parliament. He thought he should please me by inviting me to meet some men who are called intelli- gent, doubtless because they have ended by sacrificing the heart for the sake of the head. I did not believe that dryness of character could go so far. The general conversation of these people resembles a stock-exchange transaction. When they contend for the conversion of a simple soul it is a curious thing to see. The obliging manner in which Count de J. — had presented me to his circle caused me* in spite of myself, to become prominent. Being forced to speak about my opinions and sentiments, I forthwith became the butt of all the company. They defeated me in philosophy and in morals. They were going to C i I ( 34 ) pronounce me sublime in order to get rid of me, when one of the most influential men of the day took me on one side. " You are," he said, "like a bull in a china shop. Do not make so absurd a mistake. You have just offended men who could and who would be of use to you. Put the matter right at once, and remember that a hero with fifteen thousand francs a year is not strong enough to walk alone." This language astonished me so much that I left him the freedom to unfold himself. " You have," he continued, "just demanded divorce, and you have fortified yourself by a rather striking example. Certainly, justice and reason are on your side. A limited law, such as the one you ask for, would pass without the shghtest difficulty, and would be a real benefit. Well, all the same, I would wager a hundred to one that you will not get it. " That is my conviction," he added, while I, with an effort, repressed a painful impatience. " The fault is your own, entirely your own. To wish to play the giant, to foohshly show contempt for the official world, to withhold deference from it, and to ransack, for your only support, the arsenal of ancient phrases — is not this voluntarily to adopt the part of a dupe, I 4 I, ( 35 ) and to run to shoot pigeons with a dagger in your hand ? Come," he said, " if you were not young, you would be reckoned a madman. But that infirmity makes everything pardonable. I offer you, therefore, my influence with the ambassador of . You have a good position and a fine appearance : You will be able to advance yourself with him. You love a remarkable woman ; you will give her a rank worthy of her ; and, believe me, love can very well dispense with marriage." As he finished his sentence, my worthy mentor threw me a significant glance and left me. I went to shake hands with Count de J. , who is so superior to the men by whom he is surrounded, and returned to Oneil with rage in my heart. Roger, I shall investigate what this man said to me, and ascertain whether it is true that there is no longer a trace of justice and honour in the midst of our existing society. Lucie is too great and too pure to bow down before it. LETTER XII. LUCIE TO MAURICE. Maurice, you are noble and great. What heart can be worthier than yours to understand justice and { 36 ) reason ? Oh, best and most generous of men, to whom I would have joyfully sacrificed the repose of my whole life, may you recognise to what a degree your own has been dear and sacred to me ! My dearest, it would be in vain that we should try to struggle any longer against destiny; my heart has finished by breaking under these strokes. Alas, when I allowed myself to be carried away by the happiness of loving you, I believed myself capable in my turn of infusing a charm into your life. Let me derive my final force from a great and consoling thought — the hope that you will pour out upon society the fount of devotedness and love which is in you. How often have I not seen your fine mind on fire at the sight of the evils which overspread the world ! Oh, Maurice, all generous feelings are dehghtful to experience. What career is at once greater and happier than that of a useful man ? Do you not remember having often envied poor artisans the glory of some little discovery ? You, who can do so much more than they — would you remain idle ? My dear and dearest friend, live that you may imprint upon the earth some traces of your nobleness. When a man such as you are appears in the midst of society he must either pay to it list ^- . 'N / I ( 37 ) his tribute of talent and virtue, or stand condemned to the silence and the apathy of the egoist. I know your nature ; it is rich and stormy, like the clouds of a beautiful sky ; never could you have found happiness in isolation. Do not renounce the joys of the family ; children will diffuse great interest over your life. You will find pleasure in developing in them the germs of noble feeling which they will inherit from you. You will make of their young hearts so many centres which will be kindled by the fire of your own. They will surround you with respect and love. Oh Maurice, are not all the delights of life summed up in this one word ? LEXTER XIII. DOCTOR L. TO DOCTOR B. Old friend, I thoroughly approve of the resolution at which you have arrived to take care of yourself in your turn. It is a sad spectacle for us who beheve in goodness— this disorderly society, in which nothing that is noble and great can any longer assert itself. I have just again been the witness of one of those sacrifices which are revolting to the heart and the ( 38 ) reason. The unfortunate young woman of whom I wrote you an account died yesterday in my arms, shattered by sorrows which I refrain from describing to you. The man whom she loved only survived her for some moments ; it seemed as if he wished to luxuriate in his despair. I in vain attempted to lead him back to reason and calmness ; he blew out his brains by the side of the death-bed, before I could anticipate his fatal purpose. Those who knew the interesting and unfortunate woman, whose loss I deplore, will understand the disastrous passion which she inspired. She was one of those organisations, so rarely found, in which the heart and the intellect have an equal share. No woman understood better than she the greatness of her mission. She would have been an accomplished mother and wife. Alas, as I saw her dying in my arms at an age when life is precious, I was painfully conscious of the little power which is given to man to remedy the evil which he causes. THOUGHTS OF A FLOWER Born to be loved ! thanks, gentle Fate, be thine ! Against thy law let mighty mortals strive, Them let life's storms before thine altar drive, Perfumes and light are mine. Mine is the primal glance of nature's king, His fire-kiss mine, his splendours round me cling ; Me sister-smiles from young Aurora greet ; Mine are the new-born breeze and savours sweet Of dew drops trembhng on my cup's soft round ; Mine, too, the ray that plays o'er deeps profound ; And mine the scene, noblest which eyes behold. When wakening worlds the gates of day unfold. No blighting force of frost my life-spring dries ; Embosomed in delights I gently rest ; Nature prote :ts me and bestows her best. And for her feast of love I ravished rise. ■';■ r*«s:iw^^^^^ "■= ( 40 ) To grace new grace I often bring ; Pure on pure hearts I radiate down^ Pleasure will weave me in her crown, And to the side of Joy I cling. And when the nightingale inspires Its soul as on my stem it plays, Nature in listening to its lays. Throughout her vast domain expires. Love murmurs all its mind to me ; To me its tender vows are paid ; Its mysteries of joy I aid ; To shrinking hearts I give the key. Oh bounteous Fate, if wills profane Could change the courses of thy doom. Here in my birth-robes bright again I at love's breath alone should bloom. ■* ' Preserve me from the evils Of darkening storms that lower ; May evermore a flower Give gladness to thy revels ! /»«-'^-"i" COLUmb'i. O'l i^fv^-cn Mil III if II ii /' \G V4-63 This book is due two weeks from the last date stamped below, and if not returned at or before that time a fine of five cents a day will be incurred. b i OG \ 5 \U\ • ^ ■J .i' ' ' ",1 sfel. !■-'".■, s -* iA\ •I Ii taiiii^iayaiiiiiiliii-illftilli %i^....^ iai..-> .., t . I*'.* * - j-itoJii .J -a «