[6]. “Tyrans, fers, enfers, homme, Rome, esclavage, liberté.” Monsieur Mille is, of course, engaged in a search for rhymes. (Trans.)
“Well?” he said. “You are examining the apartment. It is as severe as that of an ancient Roman. No gilding on the panels, no fal-lals on the mantelpiece; nothing is left to remind us of the detestable times of the late king, nothing remains that is derogatory to the dignity of a free man (un homme libre). Libre, Tibre. I must jot that rhyme down. It’s a good one, now, isn’t it? Are you fond of verse, Monsieur Pierre Aubier?”
I replied that I was only too much devoted to it, and that it would have served me better when I presented myself before the Duke if I had preferred Mr. Burke to Virgil.
“Virgil is a great man,” replied Monsieur Mille. “But what is your opinion of Monsieur Chénier? For my part I know nothing finer than his Charles IX. I will not attempt to conceal from you that I am myself experimenting in tragedy, and at the very moment you entered I was finishing a scene with which I am not a little pleased. You appear to me to be a very trustworthy person. I am quite willing to confide in you so far as to tell you what my tragedy is about, but you mustn’t breathe a word. You realize how far-reaching the least indiscretion might be. I am composing a tragedy upon the subject of Lucretia.”
Then taking up a large manuscript book he read out: “Lucretia, a tragedy in five acts, dedicated to Louis the Well Beloved, the restorer of liberty to France.”
He spouted some two hundred lines to me and then broke off, saying in excuse that the remainder was as yet uncorrected.
“The Duke’s post-bag,” he said with a sigh, “robs me of the best hours of the day. We are in correspondence with all the enlightened men in England, Switzerland, and America. And talking of this, I may tell you, Monsieur Aubier, that your employment will consist of copying and classifying letters. If you would like to be informed without delay as to the matters which are occupying our attention at this very moment, I will tell you. At Puybonne we are superintending a farm where certain English experts have been engaged to introduce into France such agricultural improvements as have been attained in Great Britain. We are importing from Spain a number of those silky-fleeced sheep the flocks of which have enriched Segovia with their wool. This is so arduous an undertaking that we have been compelled to enlist the co-operation of the King himself. Lastly, we are buying cows in Switzerland to present to our dependents.
“I can say nothing on the subject of our correspondence upon public affairs. Entire secrecy is preserved as to that. But you are, of course, aware that the efforts of the Duc de Puybonne are directed towards the introduction into France of the English constitutional system. Pardon my leaving you, Monsieur Aubier. I am due at the Comédie Française. Alzire is to be performed.”
That night I slept in fine linen sheets, and I did not sleep well. I dreamed that my mother’s bees were flying over the ruins of the Bastille and around the Duc de Puybonne, who smiled graciously, and was enveloped in an unearthly radiance.