Here it is. Tell me if you have ever read smoother lines:—
"Il est un demi-dieu, charmant, léger, volage;
Il devance l'aurore, et, d'ombrage en ombrage,
Il fuit devant le char du jour;
Sur son dos éclatant, où frémissent deux ailes,
S'il portait un carquois et des flèches cruelles,
Vos yeux le prendraient pour l'Amour.
C'est lui qu'on voit, le soir, quand les heures voilées
Entr'ouvrent du couchant les portes étoilées,
Glisser dans l'air à petit bruit;
C'est lui qui donne encore une voix aux Naïades,
Des soupirs à Syrinx, des concerts aux Dryades
Et de doux parfums à la nuit.
Zéphire est son doux nom; sa légère origine,
Pure comme l'éther, trompa l'œil de Lucine,
Et n'eut pour témoins que les airs;
D'un souffle du printemps, d'un soupir de l'aurore,
Dans son liquide azur, le ciel le vit éclore
Comme un alcyon sur les mers.
Ce n'est point un enfant, mais il sort de l'enfance;
Entre deux myrtes verts, tantôt il se balance;
Tantôt il joue au bord des eaux,
Ou glisse sur un lac, ou promène sur l'onde
Les filets d'Arachné, la feuille vagabonde,
Et le nid léger des oiseaux.
Souvent sur les hauteurs du Cynthe ou d'Érymanthe,
Sous les abris voûtés d'une source écumante
Il lutine Diane au bain;
Ou, quand, aux bras de Mars, Vénus s'est endormie,
Sur leur couche effeuillant un rosier d'Idalie,
Il les cache aux yeux de Vulcain.
Parfois, aux antres creux,—palais bizarre et sombre
De la sauvage Écho, du sommeil et de l'ombre,—
Du Lion il fuit les ardeurs;
Parfois, dans un vieux chêne, aux forêts de Cybèle,
Dans le calme des nuits il berce Philomèle,
Son nid, ses chants et ses malheurs.
O puisses-tu, Zéphire, auprès de ton poëte,
Pour seul prix de mes vers, au fond de ma retraite
Caresser un jour mes vieux ans!
Et, si le sort le veut, puisse un jour ton haleine
Sur les bords fortunés de mon petit domaine
Bercer mes épis jaunissants!"
[CHAPTER IV]
Talma's illness—How he would have acted Tasso—His nephews—He receives a visit from M. de Quélen—Why his children renounced his faith—His death—La Noce et l'Enterrement—Oudard lectures me on my fondness for theatre-going—The capital reply that put the Palais-Royal in a gay humour—I still keep the confidence of Lassagne and de la Ponce—I obtain a success anonymously at the Porte-Saint-Martin
In the midst of these first literary labours, into which we had flung ourselves with all the ardour of youth, terrible news for the cause of art spread throughout Paris. Talma was attacked with a fatal disease. He had just reached the zenith of his talent, perhaps, in his last creation of the Démence de Charles VI. The reader will recollect the call Adolphe and I paid him, and how, as he was feeling better, he was hoping to return to the theatre to play Tibère, and his pointing to his lean cheeks which would serve him admirably in taking upon himself the rôle of the aged emperor. But Talma was struck with a mortal disease. Charles VI. was to be his last appearance—an appearance finer than any of the creations of his youth or of his mature years—and Michelot was destined to take the part of Tiberius. We were not the only people, for that matter, to have similar recollections. Towards the close of Talma's life he made a short stay at Enghien, where Firmin went to see him. Firmin was just going to act Tasso, which had been allotted to Talma, but which he had been obliged to renounce. Talma was very fond of Firmin; his enthusiasm enchanted him, and he had often given him advice.
"Well, my dear friend," he said to him, "so you are going to play Tasso?"