fidante_ very properly observes) stay crying there all night, he
gradually comes right again. Besides all which, it is eight o'clock,
and he has still to _do_, and we to _suffer_, _Napoleon_--whose ashes
were just then being carried to Paris, as we had read in all the
papers of last week. Glad were we when they reached the _Octroi_, and
when the indulgent _Barriere_ passed them with all the honours of the
_Douane_. An old lady has twice yawned, and many would follow her
example, but that the performer fascinates his audience by staring at
them--like the boa at the poor bird in the wood--and frightens them to
their seats for a few minutes longer. At length one _resolute_ chair
moves; two others are out of the ranks; new centres of movement are
establishing; several shawls are seen advancing to the door. The rout
is complete, there will be no rally, and the efforts of the artist
have been _crowned_ (one hundred and fifty scudi) with success. We
meet him every where. He honours our table-d'hote daily, where he
stays an hour and a half to bait--after which we see him lounging in
the carriage of some fair _compatriote_ with herself and daughters. If
we are paying a morning visit, in he comes, "glissarding it" into the
drawing-room, and bowing like a dancing-master; nor does he disdain to
produce a small book of testimonials, in which the subscribers have
agreed to give him a poetic _character_, and compare him to a torrent,
to a nightingale, to an eagle, to an avalanche. They who love flattery
as a bee loves honey, are all captivated, and almost make love to him.
Their albums are rich in the spoils of his poetry, and she is happy
who, by her blandishment, can detain him in conversation for five
minutes. Yet they own they understand less than half of what he says.
Vexed with _one_ to whom we were talking, we thought rationally, for
permitting herself to be "so pestered by a popinjay,"--"He _is_ so
clever," was the reply; "such an odd creature, too. I wish you knew
him. He is in such a strange humour to-night. Do you know he tells me
he wishes to marry an English girl? See! he is gone into the balcony
yonder to look at the moon." To be sure he was. He came back looking
somewhat wild, and, walking in like a modern Prometheus, down he sits,
and the new inspiration is presently bespoken for the fly page of
virgin scrap-book. Smoothly flows the immortal verse, without care,
correction, or halt, for the lines are the result of power