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with violence into the modest arms of the Galerian, by a pale interesting sentimentallooking little gentleman, with green spectacles, who panting, puffing, running, rushed on to the theatre.]

Galerian. It is Amaury!

Amaury.-L'ombre est épaisse, la foule est inconnue les lumières trompeuses du soir éblouissent sans éclairer, nul œil redouté ne me voit. Je me perds, je me retrouve toujours. Les plus étroites defilés, les plus populant carrefours, et les plus jonchés de piéges m'appellent de préférence : je les découvre avec certitude; un instinct funeste m'y dirige. Ce sont des circuits étranges, inexplicables, un labyrinthe tournoyant comme celui des damnés luxurieux. Je repasse plusieurs fois aux mêmes angles. Il semble qui je reconnais d'avance les fosses les plus profondes de peur de n'y pas tomber : ou encore, je reviens effleurer le péril de l'air effaré dont on le fuit. Mille propos de miel ou de boue m'accueillent au passage, mille mortelles images m'atteignent; je les emporte dans ma chair palpitante, courant, rebroussant comme un cerf aux abois, le front en eau, les pieds brisés, les lèvres arides


* The shadows are thick, the crowd is unknown: the deceitful lamps of evening dazzle without lighting, no

Governess-Poor young man! What is he in such a fuss about?

Amaury-Madam, I am devoted to voluptuousness; I run after it, I have been running after it just now, through all the dirty lanes and in all the dirty corners of Paris. I gaze on those dirty lanes, I gaze on the dirty ladies who inhabit them-God forbid I should do more than gaze-no; Madam, I have not lost my virtue.

Galerian-Oh! Amaury is virtuous !

Young Princess (simpering)—And have you never been in love, Sir?

Amaury-Love, Mademoiselle! (with one

dreaded eye sees me. I lose myself, I find myself again. The narrowest lanes, the cross-ways most populous and covered with snares, are to me the most inviting. I discover them with certitude-a fatal instinct directs me.

These are passages circuitous, strange, inexplicable, a labyrinth tortuous and luxurious like that of the damned. I pass and re-pass the same angles. It seems as if I knew before hand the deepest ditches, from the fear of falling therein. Or, again I return and glance by the peril, with the air of one who flies it. A thousand expressions of mud or of honey welcome my passage― a thousand deadly images reach me; I carry them away in my palpitating flesh, running on, and running back, like a stag tired down-the forehead covered with perspiration, the feet bruised, the lips dry...... Volupté.

hand in his breeches pocket and the other on his heart), love! who, of you all-human lovers! -who of you all amongst those most happy, have not felt even in your most delicious hours wearisome and disgusted? Who, of you all, even in the most voluptuous moment of mortal pleasures have not desired something above or below what you experienced-have not imagined some capricious and inconstant diversionhave not wished-ay, at the very feet of your idol-sighing forth your passion on a perfumed terrace-have not wished, I say, for some coarse exchange-some vulgar creature passing by ?"* But, what do I see? (he gazes with eager admiration, as there enters a slapping and somewhat slovenly wench, crowned with laurel and holding a bottle in her hand of that democratic liquid called vin bleu.')+

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* Qui de vous, amants humains, parmis les plus comblés, et au sein des accablantes faveurs, qui de vous n'a subi l'ennui? Qui de vous, sous le coup même des mortelles délices, n'a désiré au-delà ou en-deça, n'a imaginé quelque diversion capricieuse, inconstante, et aux pieds de son idole, sur les terrasses embaumées, n'a souhaité peut-être quelque grossier échange, quelque vulgaire créature qui passe, ou tout simplement être seul pour son repos.-(Volupté, p. 200.)

↑ Le peuple c'est enfin la fille de taverne

La fille buvant du vin bleu

Barnave.-It is Liberty! (Liberty staggering forward and singing a melody, of which are distinguished the following stanzas :)

The Goddess they call Liberty
Is not of ancient pedigree,

A pampered lady fond of ease
Who at a cry will faint;
Dwelling in gorgeous palaces

And dawbing her cheeks with paint.

Behold a female stout and strong,
Of bosom hard and large !
Who tramps with terrible stride along
Where shouting squadrons charge.

Her sombre voice is hoarse and high,
Her skin is brown and tann'd;
There's a manly fire in her free eye,
And broad is her brawny hand.

She joys in the roll of the warlike drum,
In the powder's sulphurous smell;
In the gathering people's mighty hum,
And the toll of the alarum bell.

Qui veut dans son amant un bras qui la gouverne
Un corps de fer, un œil de feu.

Et qui dans son taudit, sur sa couche de paille
N'a d'amour chaud et libertin

Que pour l'homme hardi qui la bat et la fouaille,
Depuis le soir jusqu'au matin.-Barbier.

Her lovers are of the populace,
She clasps to her big breast,
Men of her own gigantic race.

And when she is caressed

It is the battle won and o'er

By hands where mud is mix'd with gore.*

Captain Brulart (regarding his own hands.) -Egad! she means me. Here, Madam, (pulling out a small vial) do me the favour to put one end of this in your mouth, and I will put the other in mine-oh! happiness, we will poison ourselves together.†

* C'est que la liberté n'est pas une Duchesse
Du noble faubourg St. Germain ;

Une femme qu'un cri fait tomber en faiblesse
Qui met du blanc et du carmin.

C'est une femme forte aux puissantes mamelles
A la voix rauque, aux durs appas,

Qui du brun sur la peau, du feu dans les prunelles
Agile en marchant à grands pas,

Se plaît aux cris du peuple, aux sanglantes mêlées,
Aux longs roulemens des tambours,

A l'odeur de la poudre, aux lointaines volées
Des cloches et des canons sourds :

Qui ne prend ses amants que dans la populace,

Qui ne prête son large flanc


Qu'à des gens forts comme elle, et qui veut qu'on

Avec des bras rouges de sang.

† Eh bien! mon Arthur, nous mettrons ce mince cristal

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