That
coffer belonged to Pope Leo X., and was given to me by the Duchesse de
Chaulieu, who received it from the king of Spain. I use it to hold the
letters I receive from ladies and young girls living in every quarter
of Europe. Oh! I assure you I feel the utmost respect for these
flowers of the soul, cut and sent in moments of enthusiasm that are
worthy of all reverence. Yes, to me the impulse of a heart is a noble
and sublime thing! Others--scoffers--light their cigars with such
letters, or give them to their wives for curl-papers; but I, who am a
bachelor, monsieur, I have too much delicacy not to preserve these
artless offerings--so fresh, so disinterested--in a tabernacle of
their own. In fact, I guard them with a species of veneration, and at
my death they will be burned before my eyes. People may call that
ridiculous, but I do not care. I am grateful; these proofs of devotion
enable me to bear the criticisms and annoyances of a literary life.
When I receive a shot in the back from some enemy lurking under cover
of a daily paper, I look at that casket and think,--here and there in
this wide world there are hearts whose wounds have been healed, or
soothed, or dressed by me!"
This bit of poetry, declaimed with all the talent of a great actor,
petrified the lieutenant, whose eyes opened to their utmost extent,
and whose astonishment delighted the poet.
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