Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-04-27
HAPPINESS.

rubbed, as it were, with gold dust, and the
Mediterranean, without a ripple, without
shudder, smooth, still shining under the
dying day, seemed like huge and pol
ished metal plate.
Far off to the right the jagged mount
aims outlined their black profile on the
paled purple of the West.
We talked of love, we discussed that old
subject, we said again the things which we
had said already very often. The sweet
melancholy of the twilight made our words
| slower, caused tenderness to waver in
our souls; and that word ''love," which
came back ceaselessly, now pronounced by
a strong mans voice, now uttered by the
| frail-toned sweet voice of woman, seemed
to fill the little salon, to fiutter there like
bird, to hover there like spirit.
| "Can one remain in love for years in
succession"
eyes," maintained some.
"No," affirmed others.
| We distinguished cases, we established
limitations, we excited examples; and all,
men and women, filled with rising and
troubling memories, which they could not
| quote, and which mounted to their lips,
seemed moved, and talked of that common,
sovereign thing, the tender and mysterious
union of two beings, with a profound emo
ton and an ardent interest.
But all of sudden some one, whose
eyes had been fixed upon the distance,
cried out:
ooh, look down there! What is it ?"
On the sea, at the bottom Of the horizon,
doomed up mass, gray, enormous and con-
fused
The women had risen from their seats,
and without understanding, looked at this
surprising thing which they had never
seen before.
Some one said:
at is Corsica You see it so two or
three times year, in certain exceptional
conditions of the atmosphere, when the air
is perfectly clear, and it is not concealed
by those heavy mists of sea-fog which al
ways vail the distances"
We distinguish vaguely the mountain
ridges we thought we recognized the snow
of their SUBMITS. And everyone remained
surprised, troubled, almost terrified, by this
sudden apparition of world, by this
phantom risen from the sea. Maybe that
those who, like Columbus, went away
across undiscovered oceans, had such
strange visions as this.
Then said an old gentleman who had not
yet spoken:
"See here, knew in that island which
raises itself before us, as if in person to an
swer what we said, and to recall to me a
singular memoir knew an admirable
case of love which was true; of love which,
improbably enough, was happy. Here it is
Five years ago l made Journey to
Corsica. That savage island is more I'M
known and more distant from US than
America, even though you see 1t sometimes
from the very coasts of France, as we have
to-day.
" Imagine a world which is still chaos.
Imagine storm of mountains separated by
narrow ravines where torrents roll; not a
singh plain, but immense waves of granite,
and giant uudulations of earth covered
with brushwood or with high forests OF
chestnut trees and pines 1t is a virgin
soil, uncultivated desert, although you
sometimes make out village, like heap
of rocks, on the summit of a mountain.
No culture, no industries, no art. One
never meets here with morsel of carved
wood, or bit of sculptured stone, never
the least reminder that the ancestors of
those people had any taste, whether rude
or refined, for gracious and beautiful
things. 1t is this which strikes you the
most in their superb and hard country /;
their indifference TO that search for seduct-
i've forms which is called art.
Italy, where every palace. full of mas
| terpieces, is masterpiece itself; Italy,
where marble, wood, bronze, iron metal
| and precious stones attest mans genius.
| where the smallest old things which lie
about in the ancient houses reveal that d.
vine care for gracefully is for us the
| sacred country we love, because she shows
| us and proves to us the struggle, the grand
eur, the power aud the triumph of the in
telligence which it creates.
And, face to face with her, the savage
| Corsica has remained exactly as in her
| earliest days. A man lives there in his
| rude house, indifferent to everything which
| does not concern his own bare existence or
his family feuds And he has retained the
vices and the virtues of savage races he is
| violent, malignant, sanguinary, without a
| thought of remorse, but also hospitable,
generous, devoted, simple, opening his door
to passers-by and giving freely of his faith
full friendship in return for the least sign
of human sympathy.
So for a month | had been wandering
over this magnificent island with the SEN
sation that | was at the end of the world.
No more inns, no taverns, no roads, You
gain by mule paths hamlets hanging up,
as it were, on a mountain side and COM
| ,t-ba &
evening you hear rising the steady sound.
! the dull and deep voice of the torrent.
You knock at the doors of the houses.
You ask a shelter for the night and some
thing to live on till the morrow And YOU
sit down to the humble board and you
sleep under the humble roof, and in the
morning you press the extended hand of
your host, who has guided you as far as
the outskirts of the village.
Now, one night after ten hours walk
ing, | reached the bottom of a narrow val
ley which was about to throw itself into
the sea a league further on. The two steep
slopes of the mountain, covered with
brush, fallen rocks and great trees, shut in
this lamentably sad ravineli two somber
| walls.
around the cottage were some vines,
little garden, and, further off, several
large chestnut trees-enough TO live on !;
in fact, fortune for this poor country.
"The woman who received nae was cold,
severe and neat-exceptionably so. The
man, seated on straw chair near the door,
rose to salute me, then sat down again
without saying word. His companion
said to me:
"sExcuse him, monsieur, he is deaf now.
He is over 50 years DID,
"She spoke the French of France. /
was surprised. l asked her:
"'You are not of Corsica
"She answered:
"'No; we are from the continent. But
we have lived here now fifty years
"A feeling of anguish and of fear seized
me at the thought of those fifty years passed
| in this gloomy hole, so far from the cities
we're human beings dwell. An old shep-
herd returned and we began to eat the
only dish there was for dinner, thick
soup in which potatoes, lard and cabbage
had been boiled together.
"WheE the short repast was finished l
went and sat down by the door, my heart
pinched by the melancholy of the mourn
full landscape, wrung by that distress which
sometimes seizes travellers on certain sad
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