* * *
Les quatre ardents chevaux dressaient leur poitrail d'or;
Faisant leurs premiers pas, ils se cabraient encor
Entre la zone obscure et la zone enflammee;
De leurs crins, d'ou semblait sortir une fumee
De perles, de saphirs, d'onyx, de diamants,
Dispersee et fuyante au fond des elements,
Les trois premiers, l'oeil fier, la narine embrasee,
Secouaient dans le jour des gouttes de rosee;
Le dernier secouait des astres dans la nuit.

In _La Confiance du Marquis Fabrice_ light and shadow are very skilfully
managed. We see the little princess Isora making her toilet in the early
morning, when everything is fresh and bright. It is in the dawn that she
loves to play. But the banquet of death takes place at night in a dimly
lighted hall, when the lack of clear light adds to the horror of the
scene. Note the Rembrandtesque effects in such phrases: 'aux tremblantes
clartes,' 'l'ombre indistincte,' 'a travers l'ombre, on voit toutes les
soifs infames,' and it ends in 'le triomphe de l'ombre,' a phrase in
which the literal and the figurative are subtly blended together. On
the other hand, how everything sparkles and gleams in _Le Mariage de
Roland_! Olivier's sword-point glitters like the eye of a demon, while
Durandal shines as he falls on his foeman's head; the sunshine is all
round them in the day, and the night passes quickly; sparks fly from the
weapons as they strike one another, and light up the very shadows with
a dull flash. Take again _La Rose de l'Infante_. Everything round the
little princess is bright: 'le profond jardin rayonnant et fleuri,' 'un
grand palais comme au fond d'une gloire,' 'de clairs viviers,' 'des
paons etoiles.' The very grass, too, seems to sparkle with diamonds and
rubies. But Philip is a dark shadow, half hidden in mist:

On voit d'en bas une ombre, au fond d'une vapeur,
De fenetre a fenetre errer, et l'on a peur.

He is always dressed in black:

Toujours vetu de noir, ce tout-puissant terrestre
Avait l'air d'etre en deuil de ce qu'il existait.

No light is ever seen in his palaces:

L'Escurial, Burgos, Aranjuez, ses repaires,
Jamais n'illuminaient leurs livides plafonds.

His eye shines, it is true, but it is a gleam that suggests a darkness
beneath:

Sa prunelle
Luit comme un soupirail de caverne.

Note again the oppressive darkness of the opening lines of _Pleine Mer_,
in which the only touch of light is the winding-sheet of the wave