Parisians in the Country Part 20

"I seem to be walking in the dark," replied the Mayoress.

"The jest would be lost in an explanation," remarked Gatien.

"Nowadays," Lousteau went on, "a novelist draws characters, and instead of a 'simple outline,' he unveils the human heart and gives you some interest either in Lubin or in Toinette."

"For my part, I am alarmed at the progress of public knowledge in the matter of literature," said Bianchon. "Like the Russians, beaten by Charles XII., who at least learned the art of war, the reader has learned the art of writing. Formerly all that was expected of a romance was that it should be interesting. As to style, no one cared for that, not even the author; as to ideas--zero; as to local color--_non est_.

By degrees the reader has demanded style, interest, pathos, and complete information; he insists on the five literary senses--Invention, Style, Thought, Learning, and Feeling. Then some criticism commenting on everything. The critic, incapable of inventing anything but calumny, p.r.o.nounces every work that proceeds from a not perfect brain to be deformed. Some magicians, as Walter Scott, for instance, having appeared in the world, who combined all the five literary senses, such writers as had but one--wit or learning, style or feeling--these cripples, these acephalous, maimed or purblind creatures--in a literary sense--have taken to shrieking that all is lost, and have preached a crusade against men who were spoiling the business, or have denounced their works."

"The history of your last literary quarrel!" Dinah observed.

"For pity's sake, come back to the Duke of Bracciano," cried Monsieur de Clagny.

To the despair of all the company, Lousteau went on with the made-up sheet.

224 OLYMPIA

I then wished to make sure of my misfortune that I might be avenged under the protection of Providence and the Law. The d.u.c.h.ess guessed my intentions. We were at war in our purposes before we fought with poison in our hands. We tried to tempt each other to such confidence as we could not feel, I to induce her to drink a potion, she to get posses- sion of me. She was a woman, and she won the day; for women have a snare more than we men. I fell into it--I was happy; but I awoke next day in this iron cage. All through the day I bellowed with rage in the

OR ROMAN REVENGE 225

darkness of this cellar, over which is the d.u.c.h.ess' bedroom. At night an ingenious counterpoise acting as a lift raised me through the floor, and I saw the d.u.c.h.ess in her lover's arms. She threw me a piece of bread, my daily pittance.

"Thus have I lived for thirty months! From this marble prison my cries can reach no ear. There is no chance for me. I will hope no more. Indeed, the d.u.c.h.ess' room is at the furthest end of the palace, and when I am carried up there none can hear my voice. Each time I see my wife she shows me the

226 OLYMPIA

poison I had prepared for her and her lover. I crave it for myself, but she will not let me die; she gives me bread, and I eat it.

"I have done well to eat and live; I had not reckoned on robbers!"

"Yes, Eccellenza, when those fools the honest men are asleep, we are wide awake."

"Oh, Rinaldo, all I possess shall be yours; we will share my treasure like brothers; I would give you everything--even to my Duchy----"

"Eccellenza, procure from the Pope an absolution _in articulo mor- tis_. It would be of more use to me in my walk of life."

OR ROMAN REVENGE 227

"What you will. Only file through the bars of my cage and lend me your dagger. We have but little time, quick, quick! Oh, if my teeth were but files!--I have tried to eat through this iron."

"Eccellenza," said Rinaldo, "I have already filed through one bar."

"You are a G.o.d!"

"Your wife was at the fete given by the Princess Villaviciosa. She brought home her little Frenchman; she is drunk with love.--You have plenty of time."

"Have you done?"

"Yes."

228 OLYMPIA

"Your dagger?" said the Duke eagerly to the brigand.

"Here it is."

"Good. I hear the clatter of the spring."

"Do not forget me!" cried the robber, who knew what grat.i.tude was.

"No more than my father," cried the Duke.

"Good-bye!" said Rinaldo. "Lord!

How he flies up!" he added to him- self as the Duke disappeared.--"No more than his father! If that is all he means to do for me.--And I

OR ROMAN REVENGE 229

had sworn a vow never to injure a woman!"

But let us leave the robber for a moment to his meditations and go up, like the Duke, to the rooms in the palace.

"Another tailpiece, a Cupid on a snail! And page 230 is blank," said the journalist. "Then there are two more blank pages before we come to the word it is such a joy to write when one is unhappily so happy as to be a novelist--_Conclusion_!

CONCLUSION

Never had the d.u.c.h.ess been more lovely; she came from her bath clothed like a G.o.ddess, and on seeing

234 OLYMPIA

Adolphe voluptuously reclining on piles of cus.h.i.+ons--

"You are beautiful," said she.

"And so are you, Olympia!"

"And you still love me?"

"More and more," said he.

"Ah, none but a Frenchman knows how to love!" cried the d.u.c.h.ess. "Do you love me well to- night?"

"Yes."

"Then come!"

And with an impulse of love and hate--whether it was that Cardinal Borborigano had reminded her of her husband, or that she felt un- wonted pa.s.sion to display, she pressed the springs and held out her arms.

"That is all," said Lousteau, "for the foreman has torn off the rest in wrapping up my proofs. But it is enough to show that the author was full of promise."