ligence, keeping on you would get to Inequality, from there
you would pass to Lukewarm and Forgetfulness, and presently you would
be on the lake of Indifference. Similarly if, in starting from New
Friendship you took to the left, one after another you would arrive
at Indiscretion, Perfidiousness, Pride, Tittle-Tattle, Wickedness
and, instead of landing at Tenderness-on-Gratitude, you would find
yourself at Enmity, from which no boats return.

The vogue of _Astree_ was enormous. That of _Clelie_ exceeded it.
Throughout Europe, wherever lovers were, the map of the Pays du Tendre was
studied. But its indications, otherwise excellent, did not prevent Mlle.
de Scudery from reaching Emnity herself. The Abbe d'Aubignac produced a
history of the Kingdom of Coquetry in which were described Flattery
Square, Petticoat Lane, Flirtation Avenue, Sweet Kiss Inn, the Bank of
Rewards and the Church of Good-by. Between the abbe and the demoiselle a
conversation ensued relative to the priority of the idea. It was their
first and their last. The one real hatred is literary hate.

Meanwhile the puerilities of _Clelie_ platitudinously repeated across the
Channel, resulted at Berlin in the establishment of an Academy of True
Love. Then, into the entire nonsense, the _Cid_ blew virilly a resounding
note.

In that splendid drama of Corneille, Rodrigue and Chimene, the hero and
heroine, are to love what martyrs were to religion, all in all for it and
for nothing else whatever. They moved to the clash of swords, to the
clatter of much duelling, a practice which Richelieu opposed. Said
Boileau:

En vain contre le Cid un ministre se ligue,
Tout Paris pour Chimene a les yeux de Rodrigue.

They merited the attention. Theirs was real love, a love struggling
between duty and fervor, one that effected the miracle of an interchange
of soul, transferring the entity of the beloved into the heart of the
lover and completed at last by a union entered into with the pride of
those who recognize above their own will no higher power than that of God.
Admirable and emulative the beauty of it passed into a proverb:--"C'est
beau comme le Cid."

The Cid was a Spaniard. But of another age. Melancholy but very proud, the
Spaniard of the seventeenth century lived in a desert which the
Inquisition had made. The Holy Office that had sent Christ to the Aztecs
brought back Vizlipoutzli, a Mexican deity whose food was hearts. Hi