ound: she appears in all her glory and power, the being
you have dreamed of, your wife that should have been, she whom you
feel you could love forever. She would always have flattered your
little vanities, she would understand and admirably serve your
interests. She is tender and gay, too, this young lady who reawakens
all your better feelings, who rekindles your slumbering desires.

You look at Caroline with gloomy despair, and here are the
phantom-like thoughts which tap, with wings of a bat, the beak of
a vulture, the body of a death's-head moth, upon the walls of the
palace in which, enkindled by desire, glows your brain like a lamp
of gold:

FIRST STANZA. Ah, dear me, why did I get married? Fatal idea! I
allowed myself to be caught by a small amount of cash. And is it
really over? Cannot I have another wife? Ah, the Turks manage things
better! It is plain enough that the author of the Koran lived in the
desert!

SECOND STANZA. My wife is sick, she sometimes coughs in the morning.
If it is the design of Providence to remove her from the world, let it
be speedily done for her sake and for mine. The angel has lived long
enough.

THIRD STANZA. I am a monster! Caroline is the mother of my children!

You go home, that night, in a carriage with your wife: you think her
perfectly horrible: she speaks to you, but you answer in
monosyllables. She says, "What is the matter?" and you answer,
"Nothing." She coughs, you advise her to see the doctor in the
morning. Medicine has its hazards.

FOURTH STANZA. I have been told that a physician, poorly paid by the
heirs of his deceased patient, imprudently exclaimed, "What! they cut
down my bill, when they owe me forty thousand a year." _I_ would not
haggle over fees!

"Caroline," you say to her aloud, "you must take care of yourself;
cross your shawl, be prudent, my darling angel."

Your wife is delighted with you since you seem to take such an
interest in her. While she is preparing to retire, you lie stretched
out upon the sofa. You contemplate the divine apparition which opens
to you the ivory portals of your castles in the air. Delicious
ecstasy! 'Tis the sublime young woman that you see before you! She is
as white as the sail of the treasure-laden galleon as it enters the
harbor of Cadiz. Your wife, happy in your admiration, now understands
your former taciturnity. You still see, with closed eyes, the sublime
young woman; she is the burden of your thoughts, an