Monsieur Paulin Limayrac, that little bit of a fellow, the fly of the
political and literary coach, went first to one and then to another, his
eye-glass incrusted in his eyebrow, stiffening his wee form as long as
he could make it, rattling his high-heeled boots as loudly as he could
contrive, stretching out his round, dogmatic face, puffing and blowing
to give himself importance, dying to be the Coryphaeus of the company,
and mortified to see himself reduced to sing his enthusiasm in the
chorus; he frisked about the room, and seemed to be handing around his
rapture on a waiter, as domestics hand around cake and ices at parties.
The tragedy fatigued me. This comedy of adulation disgusted me. My very
humble and obscure position in the midst of all these illustrious
shareholders of the Mutual-Admiration Society, organized by the vanity
of all to the profit of the vanity of each, kindled in me a desire to
show myself frank and independent. I murmured, loud enough to be heard
by all my neighbors,--"Of a truth, the Country's Muse is not Melpomene!"
Madame Emile de Girardin, when Mademoiselle Delphine Gay and in the most
brilliant period of her poetical youth, had styled herself "the
Country's Muse"; her admirers had adopted the title, and it had remained
her poetical _alias_.
Pages:
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222