Access Online - The European Library
Access Online - The European Library Access Online - The European Library
40 ARIADNE.Ifelt my head whirl;I, who had sat so longby the moss-grown fountain in the wall, whereeven Carnival had reeled away without touchingme, andhad left me quiet.Isat down onabench under aplane-tree, andtried to collect my thoughts.Now thatIhad come, what couldIdo ? hownearer wasI? Iseemed to myself to have comeona fool's errand.Under the tree was one of those gay littlepainted metal houses they call kiosques, wherethey sell newspapers always, and sometimesvolumes as well. In this little minaret-shapedtoy, withits bright gas,and its ear-ringed blackhaired girl to sit in it,Isaw Hilarion's name inlarge letters;there was a new poem of his onsale there, just as Martial's used to be sold at" the shop of Secundus, the freedman of thenoble Lucens, behind tbe Temple of Peace."The volume was called Fauriel.Iasked the womanifit were selling well; shelaughed at me for an ignoramus; who wasIthat did not know that all Paris thought andspoke of nothing else ?
ARIADNE. 41Ibought the slender, clear-typed book. Isatdown under the trees and readit: Pales at myfeet.It was beautiful; he seldom wrote anythingthat was otherwise. He had the secret of aperfect melody, and the sense of unerring colourand fonn.Ithad but a sHght story: Fauriel loved andwearied of love;there was Httle else for atheme;but the passion of it was like a pomegranateblossom freshlyburst open to the kiss of noon;the weariness of it was like the ashesof ahouse.The union wasintoxication to his own generation,which craves contrasts, as the sick palatecraves to be burnt and cloyed.Isat under the leafless branches and read thebook by the Hghtof the lamps above me. Therewerebands playing near some wheeling waltzingdreamy measure ; the verse seemed to go withthe music; the crowd wentby, the many wheelsmade a sound like the sea; beyond at the endwas the white pile of Napoleon's arch,and wintrymasses of trees and countless lights: — ifIlook
- Page 5 and 6: ARIADNE
- Page 7 and 8: AriadneTHE STORY OF A DREAM.By OUID
- Page 9 and 10: ABIADNE:THE STORY OF A DREAM.CHAPTE
- Page 11 and 12: ARIADNE. 3and its porphyry^ and its
- Page 13 and 14: ARIADNE. 5like the moorlands of the
- Page 15 and 16: ARIADNE. 7whiteness. We had walked
- Page 17 and 18: ARIADNE. 9The lamp that he held he
- Page 19 and 20: ARIADNE. 11dead. Icare for the marb
- Page 21 and 22: ARIADNE. 13silvery aboutmy feet, an
- Page 23 and 24: ARIADNE. 15before the genius of his
- Page 25 and 26: ARIADNE. 17that is never dim. But m
- Page 27 and 28: ARIADNE. 19laid bare all the jewels
- Page 29 and 30: ARIADNE. 21it, but only saw the loc
- Page 31 and 32: ARIADNE. 23times; nervous depressio
- Page 33 and 34: ARIADNE. 25forgot them: what matter
- Page 35: ARIADNE. 27tered many curses and fe
- Page 38 and 39: 30ARIADNE.Would the wealth all fall
- Page 40 and 41: 32ARIADNE.their cuirasses of steel,
- Page 42 and 43: CHAPTER IVIwent to Pippo, andIsaid
- Page 44 and 45: 36ARIADNE.AndItook the other things
- Page 46 and 47: 38 ARIADNE.must have been, all alon
- Page 50 and 51: 42 ARIADNE.at a line of the poem no
- Page 52: 44 ARIADNE.me, and stayed on in Par
- Page 55 and 56: ARIADNE. 47had been able to hear no
- Page 57 and 58: ARIADNE. 49aside in a little passag
- Page 59 and 60: ARIADNE. 51Myheart stood stUl. Ihad
- Page 61 and 62: ARIADNE. 53" Oh, my dear! Oh, my de
- Page 63 and 64: ARIADNE. 55He breathed quickly, the
- Page 65 and 66: ARIADNE. 57think he was cruel to he
- Page 67 and 68: ARIADNE. 59garden,Isaw a messenger
- Page 69 and 70: ARIADNE. 61'sorrowful,though knowin
- Page 71 and 72: ARIADNE. 63' Hush !it will be finis
- Page 73 and 74: ARIADNE. 65she is always asking;tha
- Page 75 and 76: ARIADNE. 67" Isuppose he never send
- Page 77 and 78: ARIADNE. 69agony,Irepented then hav
- Page 79 and 80: ARIADNE. 71thinking only of her;but
- Page 81 and 82: CHAPTER V— t—Next dayIgot such
- Page 83 and 84: ARIADNE. 75see them even. No doubt
- Page 85 and 86: ARIADNE. 77waters, and here and the
- Page 87 and 88: ARIADNE. 79Iwalked on and led her b
- Page 89 and 90: ARIADNE. 81shores, and on the domes
- Page 91 and 92: ARIADNE. 83motionless.Itouched and
- Page 93 and 94: ARIADNE. 85quiet and deserted; the
- Page 95 and 96: ARIADNE. 87went out and sat clown o
- Page 97 and 98: ARIADNE. 89"Yes,Iam here. Hush! spe
ARIADNE. 41Ibought the slender, clear-typed book. Isatdown under the trees and readit: Pales at myfeet.It was beautiful; he seldom wrote anythingthat was otherwise. He had the secret of aperfect melody, and the sense of unerring colourand fonn.Ithad but a sHght story: Fauriel loved andwearied of love;there was Httle else for atheme;but the passion of it was like a pomegranateblossom freshlyburst open to the kiss of noon;the weariness of it was like the ashesof ahouse.<strong>The</strong> union wasintoxication to his own generation,which craves contrasts, as the sick palatecraves to be burnt and cloyed.Isat under the leafless branches and read thebook by the Hghtof the lamps above me. <strong>The</strong>rewerebands playing near some wheeling waltzingdreamy measure ; the verse seemed to go withthe music; the crowd wentby, the many wheelsmade a sound like the sea; beyond at the endwas the white pile of Napoleon's arch,and wintrymasses of trees and countless lights: — ifIlook
Change language