Year: 1866

Happening to be at Saint NJ, a small
town in the south of France, visited the
lunatic asylum. have always been fond
of lunatics. | have never met among them
stupid and bad man. was shown into a
tidy cell occupied by little old man bent
Overa desk, and writing with his finger
on the board with ineXpressible rapidity.
He rose timidly, twirling his fingers. He
was at least sixty years old, but OCCASION
ally did not seem to be above fifteen. His
white, almost blorde hair fell in childlike
curls, and his sweet face, smiling and un-
easy, were the expression OF infants when
they both weep and laugh at the same time.
Nevertheless one could detect profound
griefand trembling agony in his dilated eyes,
which wore the fixed expression of mad
ness and despair. My attendant made a
gesture, and the poor old man resumed his
seat with eXtravagant delight, and began
to write as fast as ever he could. Then,
seated in a corner of the cell in front of this
infantine old man, my attendant told me
the unhappy creatures history. Some.
forty or more years ago, there lived, in
small town. named Saint R, young
orphan. She was intellectual, wealthy,
beautiful. Every unmarried man of the
province was at her feet, his eyes fixed on
her fortune. She was so flattered, so adu-
lated, so complimented, her gorge would
rise at night when upon going to bed, she
would think OF the sugar forced upon her
during the day. At last such was the
nausea she experienced, she resolved to
give her hand and all it contained to q
promising young man" who would give
her in affection and reputation substan-
tial exchange for the beauty and estate she
gave him. There was at that time in her
town prodigy ofeighteen, who had rhymed
from his infancy-had ''lisped in num-
bers." He had already written many q
fable, tragedy, sonnet, and epic, and the
whole province held firm belief that he
would bloom into a great genius. She
married this prodigy that no material OBJ
stacle might delay his progress on the road
to fame. She brought him up to Paris, and
so planted him in wealth's hot house to
force him to bear fruit. Strange and in
explicable fatality unheard Of catastrophe! !!
The poet bore no fruit. He had charm
ing study; it was nothing but brouze and
black marble. He lived in most favorable
quiet. He knew nothing of the thorns of
life. And after all he rhymed as he rhymed
when he was fifteen, mere doggerel, fit at
best for confectioner's kisses, He was the
best little husband that ever was seen, gen.
tie and timid, amiable and laborious. She
was tho best little wife that ever was seen,
conciliating and encouraging, extremely
tolerant and of an invariable good humor.
Nevertheless, by degrees she became nerv-
GUS and irritable. He became ashamed Of
himself. Every morning he would lock
himself up in his study, write madly, blot
quire after quire of paper, read it over, and
in despair confess twas not worth the ink
twas written in. Every evening she would
come, her heart throbbing with anxiety, to
6 onI lina ko1 xaE, hoty


appearance. She would question the poet,
who every day hung his head still lower
At last impatience and disdain appeared :;
she could net long check their outbreak; !;
and she upbraided her husband for de-
frauding her, because in return for her
beauty and her money he had not given her
genius. ,l "'.r ...' .l


After this scene matters went from bad
to worse. The husband became a child
scolded by the wife. He lived blushing
and trembling; his heart was wrung by all
the tortures of the impotent artist and the
insolvent man. He suffered the torments
of the damned by the side of the woman he
had robbed $50 she said), and whose only
sentiment for him now was disdainful pity. 1.
So long as that woman had not abandoned
all hope of seeing her husband bloom into
a genius, she chained him to his writing
desk, and made him write q given number
of lines every day before dinner. The un-
happy man addressed himself to the task,
and daily wrote worEe. Twas an hourly
battle between them of contempt and pain.
She laughed disdainfully. He shivered
with fear and anguish He spent $2500 of
her money in attempting to become great
poet. This was his CALLED withers. One
morning he refused to do his daily task set
him every morning by his wife. He had
found in the office of some joint-stock COM
pany copying clerks place, with salary of
$3.50, and henceforward he began to pay his
debt to his wife, He lived under the same
root with her, but paid rent for his room; he
took his solitarylnlealsi Ia restaurants whose
price was IA souss he dressed himself with
his own money, and nevertheless managed