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quiet pool. Down from the moor, too, He, too, was unreasonably happy, a last shaft of red-gold struck keen though they had just skirted the edge through the dell; and everywhere of their first quarrel, there was a fairy-dance of red leaves “Do you think two years of makefalling, chasing and coying with each believe will kill sixteen years of-oh, other as the breeze piped their minuet. of this, Roger-the wind from the It was so that the glen said good-bye moor, and the look of Pendle Hillto summer, knowing the keenness of and dusk coming down through the the winter's tooth, but knowing, too, wood?" that on the far side of adversity the "No, it couldn't. I trust you." singing birds would build their nests In life, as wayfarers live it day by again.

day, men and women do not pick the These two, the man of six-and- right word deliberately; they stumble twenty and the girl in her teens, stood on it, and blurt it out, not knowing as if shipwrecked happily on an island why. where no one gossiped and none cared “Trust-old Jabe o' the Barns said for guineas. They were alone in a just the same do you really trust me, world fresh from God's hands, and big Roger?" with righteousness of a swift and “What else, child ?" happy sort. There was no to-morrow "I'm going into a lone country-and and no yesterday-only a comradeship I'm afraid-and-and, Roger say again with the glen's magic and with each that you trust me. They might teach other.

me to think in French—or to love lap“Roger,” she said by and by, “it is dog comforts—it's all a nightmare to just as if we stood in church."

me, somehow." "Brussels will cure you of your fan- They went down the wood, halting cies," he answered—uncivilly, because for a last glance at the crimson splenhe was shaken out of the easy-going dor of it, and crossed the pastures that order of his days. “You'll forget us in led to the side-gate of Woodhouse. six months, Cicely-I give you so And they were very quiet, because long."

they were under a spell that neither She stood away from him, defiant of them could understand until because the hurt went too deep for long trouble had interpreted its tears. "Roger, did— did you say that? beauty. Did you say that I should forget all "You'll come in, Roger, and show this?"

father what we've shot to-day?”' "I was always a bit of a fool, child. “Not to-night, I think. He must Yes, I said it, just to hurt you. I'm take your word for it.” going to miss you-going to look for Something had happened to these you up the fields when I know that two to-day, and they were loth to you're learning monkey-tricks part. They stood dallying at the gate, France-"

so that any passing countryman might "I shall learn them and forget," she have mistaken them for lovers, though broke in, with a sudden, stormy happi- as yet they were simply comrades who ness. The woman in her had guessed stood at the parting of the ways and his secret again, in a fugitive, haphaz- saw a blue mist-of happiness, and ard way, and all her hurts were cured. vague unrest, and sorrow scarcely felt "I'm sixteen, Roger."

-drifting down the separate tracks “And tall at that. You reach nearly they had to take. to my shoulder. Granted, baby."

"There'll never again be a day like

in

this, Roger,” she said, breaking the silence.

And Roger laughed at her. “There will—if we wait for it, baby, and seize it when it comes."

"It is so easy for you. You're stay. ing here, with your dogs and horsesbut I-Roger, I'm going into exile."

“They all think it's easy for membut I shall miss you every day, Cicelyand most of the horses will have to go before you come back from Brussels.”

The old comradeship returned. "Is it—honestly, is it as bad as that?" she asked, with a friendly hand on his

arm.

“Near to it."

“Then, Roger, you will have to take to trade. Other squires are doing it since rents went down."

“I'd rather die a beggar, owning enough soil to bury me. Trade? Can you see me selling wool in their greasy markets?”

"You are always very-very like yourself, somehow." For the moment she had borrowed a grown woman's insight and understood his heat. "If the moors were full of looms, Rogerand father says they will be soon you'd ride further and further out each day, till you found the curlews and the heather. You'd just disdain the mills, pretending they weren't there."

"We're agreed, then. I'm too lazy to get out of the old tracks."

"Unless one thing happened Roger, I'm fey to-night. You mustn't need

I seem to be looking SO far ahead."

"And the one thing?"

"Oh, some sudden call-some one needing you—needing you desperately --you'd take to trade then, Roger-to anything, I think-if you could help them."

"It was never my way. I'm easygoing, child—my own father, I tell you, twits me with it. He says that

I'd ride a horse to death and break my neck at the end of the journey, if it happened to be pleasure I was bent on."

He was teasing her, as of old, glad to be near her, glad even of his reputation for good-natured indolence. After all, his love of sport had brought him many days such as this had been -days unconsidered until he realized that this comrade with the wind-blown hair was soon to leave him.

"You're not fey, for all that," he put in, lazily. “Folk who are really fey see true pictures. You'll go, ana you'll come back-but you'll find me riding horses that I can't afford-and shooting up the moors when I ought to be doing bailiff's work for father”

"Yes, if some one hasn't needed you enough by that time.”

Roger was silent for a long while. He watched a heron standing motionless at the stream's edge, fifty yards below, in search of prey. He heard a plover calling as she flapped overhead, and the smell of the wind came down to him from the moors. All was as of old, save this unexpected broadening of the thing men call the soul. Cicely had said so little; but from old comradeship she had learned the way of speech. “You trust me?” he asked, sharply.

I always trusted you. I always shall."

"It is a sporting risk. None of my friends would take odds as long as that."

"All your friends would—"

“Yes, if I rode a steeplechase, or played a match at pigeon-shooting. But in the big game of life, child, they wouldn't count

me. They've guessed my secret.”

"Why are you bitter? It has been so good-so good until you spoil it all. Roger, your face is hard. I do not like it."

He straightened his big, lazy body.

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“They happen to be right. In the big cut to a nicety. No moss or weed game I'm not wanted. If the need brightened the smooth surface of the came-do you think I could give up road. It was a house the very apall this—the days in the open, and the proach to which put folk on their best smell of a horse-Cicely, you know I behavior, though it lay cradled by couldn't, and so do I. Let's be honest moors so free and rugged that makeabout it."

believe seemed out of place. "Perhaps I should like you less if The house-front was the same. She you could," she said by and by.

glanced impatiently at it before going And then they talked of Brussels, in. There were the decorous, whiteof the journey and the parting, and at painted windows, the Michaelmas last they said good-bye. And in the daisies tied neatly into clumps, that girl's heart, as she crossed the strip she knew of old. There was nowhere of woodland and went up the winding an eyelash out of place. It was as if drive, there was rebellion. All was house and garden had been fashioned so tidy here. The drive was swept by an architect who had an orderly, free of fallen leaves. The formal clear mind, but never a human soul yews and laurels that bordered it were that had travailed and found beauty. The Times

(To be continued)

THE SHORT STORY IN FRANCE.

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It was during the period when the or detached by remoteness of time and genius of romanticism had saturated place, from ordinary experience, the public with exuberant rhetoric and Mérimée's pages are dyed with eloquent sentimentalism, typified by guinary extravagances, as in "CarVictor Hugo and George Sand, that men,” “Les Ames du Purgatoire," and the contes of Mérimée and Gautier re- "Lokis"; Gautier portrays to satiety vindicated, in different fashion and the Byronic frenzies of sensuous pasby opposite methods, the supreme sion in his "Fortunio," "Le Roi value of form in composition and of Caudaule," and La Morte Amoureuse." that unity of effect which is twin to But apart from a similar tendency structural completeness. Neither, it is towards the exotic and the abnormal, true, escaped the infection of contem- and apart from their place as pioneers porary taste. The infatuation of the of the doctrine of art for art's sake, monstrous and the exceptional pos- no two artists ever reached their sessed the imaginations of both goals by more contrary paths. Gautier writers, and the themes they selected sought his end in concentration, by preference are insulated by ab- Mérimée in elimination of detail. normality of character and incident, Gautier, by accumulated touches, all •1. "La Venus d'Ille, etc." By Pros

conducing to one effect, attained his per Mérimée. Paris. 1830-1847.

special quality-pictorial unity. Méri2. "Nouvelles." By Theophile Gautier. Paris. 1836 et seq.

mée with trained precision resumed in 3. "Contes et Nouvelles." By Alfred de Musset. 1830-1839.

few clearly outlined traits 4. "Lettres de mon Moulin, etc." By

Paris. Alphonse Daudet.

1866 et seq.

whole groups of minutiæ. Further, 5. "L'Etui de Nacre." By Anatole Mérimée carried to perfection the France. Paris. 1892.

6. “Claire de Lune, Contes de la economy of words. “La Vénus d'Ille," Becasse, etc." By Guy de Maupassant. Paris. 1883-1890.

a modernized version of the ring given 7. "Stello." By Alfred de Vigny. to the goddess, illustrates the process. Paris. 1832.

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A Parisian archæologist is the guest du matin le jour allait se lever. of a provincial confrère. His host Alors j'entendis distinctement les owns an antique Venus of dubious mêines pas lourds. Cela me parut date and sinister aspect. The statue singulier." A

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listens, stands at an angle of the garden hedge there comes a cry, bells ring, steps which bounds the village tennis- pass hither and thither, servants run ground. The son of the house, bride- to and fro. The guest rises, dresses in groom-elect, has possessed himself of haste; he seeks the corridor; the door an antique ring for the approaching of the nuptial-room is open wide. marriage ceremony.

The suggestion Across the bed the body of the brideof the whole plot is contained in these groom is stretched—“il était déja raide two presentments:

the ring—the et froid. Ses dents serrées ... statue. The guest depicts the tedious eat dit qu'il avait été étreint dans un family life, trite, vulgar, pretentious; cercle de fer. Mon pied posa sur but now here, now there, comes quelque chose de dur qui se trouvait glimpse of some undercurrent of dir sur le tapis; je me baissai et vis la horror. Soon the first hint of vitality bague." in the sullen, inanimate bronze is Few authors have shown more skill giver. The Venus, "l'idole,” is in ill than Mérimée in expressing a characrepute with the superstitious villagers. ter by an isolated action, or comAs the guest gazes from his window plete personality by one type-feature. at dusk some lads in passing have The prefatory incident in the story of caught sight of the ominous idol, the Arsène Guillot when Arsène, aban"coquine." A stone is thrown—there doned by her lovers, expends her last is a cry,

a sound of clumsy flight. five-franc piece in votive candles to "Elle me l'a rejetée!" She has thrown the intent that her livelihood may be it back at me! The story progresses; assured in her unavowable trade, its surface the usual, the familiar; its elucidates the whole course of the understrata the abnormal, the impos- narrative. It is the casual episode sible. The traditional incidents fol- that determines the nature of the low. Upon the wedding-eve there ensuing catastrophe, nor could pages tennis play; the bridegroom joins the of analytic psychology characterize play, he sets his ring for safety upon more completely the attitude of heart the finger of the malignant effigy, for- and mind belonging to the naïve singets it, seeks it at nightfall. “Elle a ner of her forlorn class. Mastery in serré le doigt," stammers the bride- the art of such abbreviations is groom to the guest. He has been leading factor throughout Mérimée's drinking hard at the marriage feast- fiction. Having presented his "signe" maybe it was a drunken illusion. The he states his facts with studied modsupper ended, the Parisian retreats to eration and inimitable conciseness of his own bedchamber located in the phrase and diction. The very violence wing allotted to the newly-wedded of the action depicted in many incouple. Night has come. Le silence stances facilitates his aim. Extremes réguait depuis quelque temps lorsqu'il admit of no superlatives and invite fut troublé par des pas lourds qui little annotation. He leaves them un. montaient l'escalier. Les marches explained, uninterpreted; they need craquèrent fortement.

Op- no commentary. Logically enchained, pressed with some sense of disquiet episode succeeds episode with calcuhe sleeps a disturbed sleep; when he lated crescendo of emphasis. They awakens, "Il pouvait être cinq heures are viewed from one standpoint only

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the bystander's. Mérimée makes He is no doubt driven, as all writers pretence to be the depositary of hu- must be at times, to employ descripman secrets; his is not the office of tive metaphorical diction, but when it the confessor but of the detective, occurs it lies as close to the object and his psychology lies not in the dis- described as the mould to the cast. section of mental states but in their "La pluie hachait le ciel à fils menus." visible outcome and exposure.

“Le houblon du treillage passait In a different way it is for the familièrement sa petite main verte par sense of sight that Gautier wrote, as un carreau cassé." with rapid visualizing touches he re- "Une Nuit de Cléopâtre" is perhaps gretted that “less happy than painter the most brilliant example of an art or musician, he could only present the where the pen acts as a substitute for objects not simultaneously but in suc- the brush. The hot desolation of the cession." His stories resolve them- vast Egyptian necropolis of mystery selves into sequences of scenes; and granite, “where the sole occupa"Le Roi Candaule," “La Toison tion of th living would appear to be d'Or,” “Le Nid de Rossignols,” are the embalming of the dead," is outpicture-narratives. Color and form stretched before our

eyes, threaded engross the author's attention. Where by the opaque waters of the sluggard the conte cruelle of literature sought Nile. Over all “une lumière crue, sensational stimulus from instincts of éclatante et poussiéreuse à force d'in. physical or moral repulsion, Gautier, tensité, ruisselait en torrents de on the other hand, sought it in the flamme, l'azur du ciel blanchissait de principle of non-moral physical at- chaleur comme

métal à la traction. Beauty is the decorum of fournaise.” his art; and as for the moralist good- The scene shifts to the queen's garness is the redemption of life, so for den, with its pools and fountains, its Gautier beauty is the veil cast over the verdurous luxuriance of leaf and blosdeformities and distortions of nature. Som. Thither Meïamoun penetrates In it he sought immortality, "dans Acta eon-wise death the penalty. l'art les événements passent et la Cleopatra arrests the doom; his life beauté seule reste." In excess of de- is in truth forfeit, but it pleases her tail he approaches Balzac; but where first to pay its price—the payment, one Balzac inventories, Gautier depicts; night, "une nuit de Cléopâtre.” Again his catalogue consists of illustrations. the scene shifts. Meiamuun as a god Every non-pictorial element is ignored, sits enthroned beside that womannor is any pictorial element admitted glory of the ancient world. The which is not in close relation to the death-cup is outpoured, Meĩamoun lifts color, outline, and movement of the it. For a moment Cleopatra's touch picture. In his use of words the retards the crisis, for a moment only; translation of things seen to things the sound of trumpets breaks the written is as direct as language per spell; Anthony's heralds ride into the mits. To present, not to suggest, is vast ball, and Cleopatra's detaining his endeavor; hence his general avoid. hand falls from her lover's

of allegorical and emblematic "C'est l'heure où les beaux rêves imagery whenever the dictionary s'envolent." Meïamoun raises the cup could supply a term, however recon- to the lips Cleopatra has kissed.. .. dite and technical, sufficiently distinc- “Whose is the dead body lying upon tive to characterize the object treated. the marble?" Anthony asks, as he 8 "Hist. du Romantisme." T. Gau

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