I paused without turning around, to listen to them; they were sweet and plaintive and formed a melodious combination beyond my comprehension. It was rather a succession of vague and mysterious chords, struck as if by chance and executed by instruments that I could not divine, for their tones resembled nothing that I had ever heard. The effect although pleasing was exceedingly melancholy.
I retraced my steps and convinced myself that these voices, if voices they could be called, issued decidedly from the shell of the tritons and nymphs of the fountain, increasing and diminishing in intensity as the water which now flowed in an irregular and intermittent manner, increased or decreased in the basins.
I saw nothing fantastical in this for I remembered having heard of those Italian jets, which produced hydraulic organs of a more or less successful nature, through means of air compressed by water. These sounds were sweet and very true, perhaps because they attempted no air and only sighed forth harmonious chords somewhat after the manner of eolian harps.
I also remembered that Madame d’Ionis had spoken to me of this music, telling me that it was out of order, and that sometimes it played by itself for several minutes.
This solution did not prevent me from pursuing the course of my poetical reveries. I was grateful to this capricious fountain who reserved its music for me alone, on such a beautiful night and amid so religious a silence.
Seen thus by the light of the moon, the effect was startling, a shower of green diamonds appeared to be descending upon the fresh ferns that were planted around the border. There was something appalling in the appearance of the tritons, immovable in the midst of all this tumult, and their dying murmurs, mingled with the subdued sound of the cascades, made them seem as if in despair that their passionate souls should be chained in bodies of marble. One would have thought it a scene from Pagan life that had been suddenly petrified by the sovereign touch of the naiad.
I then remembered the species of fear that this nymph had caused me in broad daylight, with her air of proud repose in the midst of these monsters writhing beneath her feet.
Can an unemotional soul express true beauty? thought I, and should this creature of marble awake to life, despite her magnificence would she not terrify one, by that air of supreme indifference which renders her so superior to the beings of our race?
I regarded her attentively in the light of the moonbeams which bathed her white shoulders and revealed her small head set upon a firm and slender neck as upon a column. I could not distinguish her features, as she was at too great a height; but her easy attitude was defined in brilliant lines with an incomparable grace.
This is truly, thought I, the idea I would fain picture to myself of the green lady, for surely, seen thus....