To live the very poetry of love and not to see the lover--ah,
what sweet intoxication! what visionary rapture! a chimera with
flowing man and outspread wings!
The following is the puerile and even silly event which decided the
future life of this young girl.
Modeste happened to see in a bookseller's window a lithographic
portrait of one of her favorites, Canalis. We all know what lies such
pictures tell,--being as they are the result of a shameless
speculation, which seizes upon the personality of celebrated
individuals as if their faces were public property.
In this instance Canalis, sketched in a Byronic pose, was offering to
public admiration his dark locks floating in the breeze, a bare
throat, and the unfathomable brow which every bard ought to possess.
Victor Hugo's forehead will make more persons shave their heads than
the number of incipient marshals ever killed by the glory of Napoleon.
This portrait of Canalis (poetic through mercantile necessity) caught
Modeste's eye. The day on which it caught her eye one of Arthez's best
books happened to be published. We are compelled to admit, though it
may be to Modeste's injury, that she hesitated long between the
illustrious poet and the illustrious prose-writer.
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