German gives me a cold in the head, sets me wheez ing And coughing; and Russian is nothing but sneezing; But, by Belus and Babel! I never have heard, And I never shall hear (I well know it), one word Of that delicate idiom of Paris without Feeling morally sure, beyond question or doubt, By the wild way in which my heart inwardly flutter'd, That my heart's native tongue to my heart had been utter'd. And whene'er I hear French spoken as I approve, I feel myself quietly falling in love. XVIII. Lord Alfred, on hearing the stranger, appeased By a something, an accent, a cadence, which pleased His ear with that pledge of good breeding which tells At once of the world in whose fellowship dwells The speaker that owns it, was glad to remark In the horseman a man one might meet after dark Without fear. Not unfavourably thus impress'd, As it seem'd, with each other, the two men abreast Rode on slowly a moment. Yes. I fear, Since our road is the same, that our journey must be Somewhat closer than is our acquaintance. You see How narrow the path is. I'm tempted to ask LORD ALFRED. Charm'd, Sir, to find your road lies In the way of my own inclinations! Indeed The dream of your nation I find in this weed. In the distant Savannahs a talisman grows That makes all men brothers that use it . . . who knows? That blaze which erewhile from the Boulevart out broke, It has ended where wisdom begins, Sir, — in smoke. Messieurs Lopez (whatever your publicists write) Have done more in their way human kind to unite Than ten Prudhons perchance. This air is delicious; the day was too hot. STRANGER. Ah, yes! did you chance scarce a half-hour ago LORD ALFRED. Why, no. STRANGER. All the occident, fused in one fierce conflagration, Stream'd flame: and the hills, as in grim expectation, Scarr'd and hoary stood round, like severe hierophants When at some savage rite the red flame breathes and pants And expands for a victim. LORD ALFRED. A very old trick! One would think that the sun by this time must be sick Of blushing with such a parade of disdain STRANGER. Who is not, alone In these mountains? For me, though, I own I am none. Man's life is but short, and the youth of a man A sunset, if only a sunset be near; A moon such as this, if the weather be clear; A good dinner, if hunger come with it; good wine, Be she blonde or brunette, so she lets me look at her. LORD ALFRED. I suspect that at Serchon, if rumour speak true, STRANGER. Yes. One or two Of our young Paris ladies remain there, but yet The season is over. LORD ALFRED. I almost forget The place; but remember when last I was there, STRANGER. No doubt! all these baths are the same. One wonders for what upon earth the world came To seek, under all sorts of difficulties, The very same things in the far Pyrenees Which it fled from at Paris. Health, which is, no doubt, The true object of all, not a soul talks about. 'Tis a sort of religion. LORD ALFRED. You know the place well? I have been there two seasons. LORD ALFRED. Pray who is the Belle Of the Baths at this moment? STRANGER. The belle of all places in which she is seen; The same who has been An uncommon character. Truly, each day Or, rather, I knew her, a long time ago. I almost forget. STRANGER. What a wit! what a grace In her language! her movements! what play in her face! And yet what a sadness she seems to conceal! LORD ALFred. You speak like a lover. STRANGER. I speak as I feel, But not like a lover. What interests me so In Lucile, at the same time forbids me, I know, To give to that interest, whate'er the sensation, The name we men give to an hour's admiration, A night's passing passion, an actress's eyes, A dancing girl's ankles, a fine lady's sighs. LORD ALFRED. Yes, I quite comprehend. But this sadness shade Which you speak of? me afraid grown, it almost would make Your gay countrymen, Sir, less adroit must have |