First among those by which Charney was interested, after the flowering of his plant, was the faculty exhibited by Picciola of turning her sweet face towards the sun, and following him with her looks throughout his daily course, as if to imbibe the greatest possible portion of his vivifying rays. When clouds obscured the orb of day, or there was a prospect of rain, her petals instantly closed, like a vessel furling its canvas before a storm. “Are light and heat so necessary, then, to her existence?” mused the Count; “and why should she fear to refresh herself with a sprinkling shower? Why? why? Picciola will explain! I have perfect confidence in Picciola!”
Already his darling had fulfilled towards him the functions of a physician. She was now about to become his compass and barometer, perhaps even his timepiece; for by dint of constantly inhaling her fragrance, Charney found he could discover that her perfumes varied in power and quality at different hours of the day. At first, this phenomenon seemed an illusion; but reiterated experiments convinced him that he was not mistaken; and he was soon able to designate to a certainty the hour of the day, according to the varying odour of the flower.[1]
[1] Sir James Smith notices this property in the Antirrhinum repens. Flora Britannica, vol. ii. p. 638.
Innumerable blossoms already studded his beautiful plant: towards evening their exhalations were as delicious as they were potent; and at that moment, what a relief to the weary captive to draw near to his favourite! He now constructed a rude bench, with some planks derived from the munificence of Ludovico, and pointed a few logs, which he contrived to insert into the interstices of the pavement. A rough plank, nailed transversely, afforded him a leaning place, as he sat for hours musing and meditating in the fragrant atmosphere of his plant. He was happier there than he had ever felt on his silken ottomans of former days; and hour after hour would he sit reflecting on his wasted youth, which had elapsed without the attainment of a single real pleasure, or genuine affection! withering away in the midst of vain chimeras and premature satiety.
Often, after such retrospections, Charney found himself gradually soothed into reveries between sleep and waking; his senses subdued into a sort of apathetic torpor, his imagination excited to a visionary ecstasy, perplexing the desolate Count with scenes of days past and days to come.
He sometimes fancied himself in the midst of those brilliant fêtes, where, though himself the victim of ennui, he used to lavish upon others all the pleasures and luxuries of life. He seemed to stand gazing, some night of the Carnival, beside the illuminated façade of his hotel in the Rue de Verneuil, the rolling of a thousand carriages vibrating in his ear. One by one, they entered, by torchlight, his circular courtyard, depositing successively in the vestibule, covered with rich carpets, and protected by silken hangings, the fashionable belles of the day, enveloped in costly furs, under which was audible the rustling of satin or brocade; the beaux of the imperial court, with their high-crowned hats, cravats up to their ears, and redundant knee strings; artists of eminence, with naked throats, Brutus-heads, and a costume half French, half Greek; and men of science or letters, wearing the distinctive academic collar of green. A crowd of lackeys clustered on all sides, insolently defying, under their new liveries, the absolute decrees of the once puissant conventional republic of France.
The fancy of Charney next ascended to the crowded saloons in which were assembled all that was illustrious or notorious of the capital. The toga and chlamyda were jumbled together with jackets, or frock-coats. High-heeled shoes, with rosettes, trod the same floors as jockey-boots, with spur on heel, nay, even with the caliga and cothurnus. Men of the law, the pen, the sword, moneyed men and moneyless, artists and ministers of state, all were confounded in this olla podrida of the Directory. An actor stood hand in glove with an ex-bishop, a ci-devant peer with a ci-devant pauper; aristocracy and democracy were united like twin brothers; wealthy ignorance paraded itself arm in arm with starving erudition. Such was the regeneration of society, rallying round a common centre in masses, of which each felt itself still too feeble to stand alone. The marshalling of the crowd was deferred to some more convenient season; there would be a time for that hereafter! Such is the system of a play-ground, where all classes of a school mingle together under the impulse of a common thirst after amusement. As the boys grow older, the powerful influence of the spirit of social order insensibly estranges them from unbecoming companions, and high and low mechanically range themselves under their appointed banners.
A reverie.