the dryad-第3章

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years　in　every…day　sameness　and　weariness；　in　which　I　become　ill；

and　at　last　sink　and　disappear　like　the　dew　on　the　meadows。　I　will

gleam　like　the　cloud；　gleam　in　the　sunshine　of　life；　look　out　over　the

whole　like　the　cloud；　and　pass　away　like　it；　no　one　knoweth　whither。〃

　　　　Thus　sighed　the　Dryad；　and　she　prayed：

　　　　〃Take　from　me　the　years　that　were　destined　for　me；　and　give　me　but

half　of　the　life　of　the　ephemeral　fly！　Deliver　me　from　my　prison！　Give

me　human　life；　human　happiness；　only　a　short　span；　only　the　one　night；

if　it　cannot　be　otherwise；　and　then　punish　me　for　my　wish　to　live；

my　longing　for　life！　Strike　me　out　of　thy　list。　Let　my　shell；　the

fresh　young　tree；　wither；　or　be　hewn　down；　and　burnt　to　ashes；　and

scattered　to　all　the　winds！〃

　　　　A　rustling　went　through　the　leaves　of　the　tree；　there　was　a

trembling　in　each　of　the　leaves；　it　seemed　as　if　fire　streamed　through

it。　A　gust　of　wind　shook　its　green　crown；　and　from　the　midst　of　that

crown　a　female　figure　came　forth。　In　the　same　moment　she　was　sitting

beneath　the　brightly…illuminated　leafy　branches；　young　and　beautiful

to　behold；　like　poor　Mary；　to　whom　the　clergyman　had　said；　〃The

great　city　will　be　thy　destruction。〃

　　　　The　Dryad　sat　at　the　foot　of　the　tree…　at　her　house　door；　which

she　had　locked；　and　whose　key　had　thrown　away。　So　young！　so　fair！

The　stars　saw　her；　and　blinked　at　her。　The　gas…lamps　saw　her；　and

gleamed　and　beckoned　to　her。　How　delicate　she　was；　and　yet　how

blooming！…　a　child；　and　yet　a　grown　maiden！　Her　dress　was　fine　as

silk；　green　as　the　freshly…opened　leaves　on　the　crown　of　the　tree；

in　her　nut…brown　hair　clung　a　half…opened　chestnut　blossom。　She　looked

like　the　Goddess　of　Spring。

　　　　For　one　short　minute　she　sat　motionless；　then　she　sprang　up；

and；　light　as　a　gazelle；　she　hurried　away。　She　ran　and　sprang　like　the

reflection　from　the　mirror　that；　carried　by　the　sunshine；　is　cast；　now

here；　now　there。　Could　any　one　have　followed　her　with　his　eyes；　he

would　have　seen　how　marvellously　her　dress　and　her　form　changed；

according　to　the　nature　of　the　house　or　the　place　whose　light　happened

to　shine　upon　her。

　　　　She　reached　the　Boulevards。　Here　a　sea　of　light　streamed　forth

from　the　gas…flames　of　the　lamps；　the　shops　and　the　cafes。　Here

stood　in　a　row　young　and　slender　trees；　each　of　which　concealed　its

Dryad；　and　gave　shade　from　the　artificial　sunlight。　The　whole　vast

pavement　was　one　great　festive　hall；　where　covered　tables　stood

laden　with　refreshments　of　all　kinds；　from　champagne　and　Chartreuse

down　to　coffee　and　beer。　Here　was　an　exhibition　of　flowers；　statues；

books；　and　colored　stuffs。

　　　　From　the　crowd　close　by　the　lofty　houses　she　looked　forth　over　the

terrific　stream　beyond　the　rows　of　trees。　Yonder　heaved　a　stream　of

rolling　carriages；　cabriolets；　coaches；　omnibuses；　cabs；　and　among

them　riding　gentlemen　and　marching　troops。　To　cross　to　the　opposite

shore　was　an　undertaking　fraught　with　danger　to　life　and　limb。　Now

lanterns　shed　their　radiance　abroad；　now　the　gas　had　the　upper　hand；

suddenly　a　rocket　rises！　Whence？　Whither？

　　　　Here　are　sounds　of　soft　Italian　melodies；　yonder；　Spanish　songs

are　sung；　accompanied　by　the　rattle　of　the　castanets；　but　strongest　of

all；　and　predominating　over　the　rest；　the　street…organ　tunes　of　the

moment；　the　exciting　〃Can…Can〃　music；　which　Orpheus　never　knew；　and

which　was　never　heard　by　the　〃Belle　Helene。〃　Even　the　barrow　was

tempted　to　hop　upon　one　of　its　wheels。

　　　　The　Dryad　danced；　floated；　flew；　changing　her　color　every

moment；　like　a　humming…bird　in　the　sunshine；　each　house；　with　the

world　belonging　to　it；　gave　her　its　own　reflections。

　　　　As　the　glowing　lotus…flower；　torn　from　its　stem；　is　carried　away

by　the　stream；　so　the　Dryad　drifted　along。　Whenever　she　paused；　she

was　another　being；　so　that　none　was　able　to　follow　her；　to　recognize

her；　or　to　look　more　closely　at　her。

　　　　Like　cloud…pictures；　all　things　flew　by　her。　She　looked　into　a

thousand　faces；　but　not　one　was　familiar　to　her；　she　saw　not　a

single　form　from　home。　Two　bright　eyes　had　remained　in　her　memory。　She

thought　of　Mary；　poor　Mary；　the　ragged　merry　child；　who　wore　the　red

flowers　in　her　black　hair。　Mary　was　now　here；　in　the　world…city；

rich　and　magnificent　as　in　that　day　when　she　drove　past　the　house　of

the　old　clergyman；　and　past　the　tree　of　the　Dryad；　the　old　oak。

　　　　Here　she　was　certainly　living；　in　the　deafening　tumult。　Perhaps

she　had　just　stepped　out　of　one　of　the　gorgeous　carriages　in

waiting。　Handsome　equipages；　with　coachmen　in　gold　braid　and　footmen

in　silken　hose；　drove　up。　The　people　who　alighted　from　them　were　all

richly…dressed　ladies。　They　went　through　the　opened　gate；　and　ascended

the　broad　staircase　that　led　to　a　building　resting　on　marble

pillars。　Was　this　building；　perhaps；　the　wonder　of　the　world？　There

Mary　would　certainly　be　found。

　　　　〃Sancta　Maria！〃　resounded　from　the　interior。　Incense　floated

through　the　lofty　painted　and　gilded　aisles；　where　a　solemn　twilight

reigned。

　　　　It　was　the　Church　of　the　Madeleine。

　　　　Clad　in　black　garments　of　the　most　costly　stuffs；　fashioned

according　to　the　latest　mode；　the　rich　feminine　world　of　Paris

glided　across　the　shining　pavement。　The　crests　of　the　proprietors　were

engraved　on　silver　shields　on　the　velvet…bound　prayer…books；　and

embroidered　in　the　corners　of　perfumed　handkerchiefs　bordered　with

Brussels　lace。　A　few　of　the　ladies　were　kneeling　in　silent　prayer

before　the　altars；　others　resorted　to　the　confessionals。

　　　　Anxiety　and　fear　took　possession　of　the　Dryad；　she　felt　as　if

she　had　entered　a　place　where　she　had　no　right　to　be。　Here　was　the

abode　of　silence；　the　hall　of　secrets。　Everything　was　said　in

whispers；　every　word　was　a　mystery。

　　　　The　Dryad　saw　herself　enveloped　in　lace　and　silk；　like　the　women

of　wealth　and　of　high　birth　around　her。　Had；　perhaps；　every　one　of

them　a　longing　in　her　breast；　like　the　Dryad？

　　　　A　deep；　painful　sigh　was　heard。　Did　it　escape　from　some

confessional　in　a　distant　corner；　or　from　the　bosom　of　the　Dryad？

She　drew　the　veil　closer　around　her；　she　breathed　incense；　and　not　the

fresh　air。　Here　was　not　the　abiding…place　of　her　longing。

　　　　Away！　away…　a　hastening　without　rest。　The　ephemeral　fly　knows

not　repose；　for　her　existence　is　flight。

　　　　She　was　out　again　among　the　gas　candelabra；　by　a　magnificent

fountain。

　　　　〃All　its　streaming　waters　are　not　able　to　wash　out　the　innocent

blood　that　was　spilt　here。〃

　　　　Such　were　the　words　spoken。　Strangers　stood　around；　carrying　on

a　lively　conversation；　such　as　no　one　would　have　dared　to　carry　on

in　the　gorgeous　hall　of　secrets　whence　the　Dryad　came。

　　　　A　heavy　stone　slab　was　turned　and　then　lifted。　She　did　not

understand　why。　She　saw　an　opening　that　led　into　the　depths　below。　The

strangers　stepped　down；　leaving　the　starlit　air　and　the　cheerful

life　of　the　upper　world　behind　them。

　　　　〃I　am　afraid；〃　said　one　of　the　women　who　stood　around；　to　her

husband；　〃I　cannot　venture　to　go　down；　nor　do　I　care　for　the　wonders

down　yonder。　You　had　better　stay　here　with　me。〃

　　　　〃Indeed；　and　travel　home；〃　said　the　man；　〃and　quit　Paris　without

having　seen　the　most　wonderful　thing　of　all…　the　real　wonder　of　the

present　period；　created　by　the　power　and　resolution　of　one　man！〃

　　　　〃I　will　not　go　down　for　all　that；〃　was　the　reply。

　　　　〃The　wonder　of　the　present　time；〃　it　had　been　called。　The　Dryad

had　heard　and　had　understood　it。　The　goal　of　her　ardent　longing　had

thus　been　reached；　and　here　was　the　entrance　to　it。　Down　into　the

depths　below　Paris？　She　had　not　thought　of　such　a　thing；　but　now　she

heard　it　said；　and　saw　the　strangers　descending；　and　went　after　them。

　　　　The　staircase　was　of　cast　iron；　spiral；　broad　and　easy。　Below

there　burned　a　lamp；　and　farther　down；　another。　They　stood　in　a

labyrinth　of　endless　halls　and　arched　passages；　all　communicating　with

each　other。　All　the　streets　and　lanes　of　Paris　were　to　be　seen　here

again；　as　in　a　dim　reflection。　The　names　were　painted　up；　and　every；

house　above　had　its　number　down　here　also；　and　struck　its　roots

under　the　macadamized　quays　of　a　broad　canal；　in　which　the　muddy　water

flowed　onward。　Over　it　the　fresh　streaming　water　was　carried　on

arches；　and　quite　at　the　top　hung　the　tangled　net　of　gas…pipes　and

telegraph…wires。

　　　　In　the　distance　lamps　gleamed；　like　a　reflection　from　the

world…city　above。　Every　now　and　then　a　dull　rumbling　was　heard。　This

came　from　the　heavy　wagons　rolling　over　the　entrance　bridges。

　　　　Whither　had　the　Dryad　come？

　　　　You　have；　no　doubt；　heard　of　the　CATACOMBS？　Now　they　are　vanishing

points　in　that　new　underground　world…　that　wonder　of　the　present

day…　the　sewers　of　Paris。　The　Dryad　was　there；　and　not　in　the

world's　Exhibition　in　the　Champ　de　Mars。

　　　　She　heard　exclamations　of　wonder　and　admiration。

　　　　〃From　here　go　forth　health　and　life　for　thousands　upon　thousands

up　yonder！　Our　time　is　the　time　of　progress；　with　its　manifold

blessings。〃

　　　　Such　was　the　opinion　and　the　speech　of　men；　but　not　of　those

creatures　who　had　been　born　here；　and　who　built　and　dwelt　here…　of　the

rats；　namely；　who　were　squeaking　to　one　another　in　the　clefts　of　a

crumbling　wall；　quite　plainly；　and　in　a　way　the　Dryad　understood　well。

　　　　A　big　old　Father…Rat；　with　his　tail　bitten　off；　was　relieving

his　feelings　in　loud　squeaks；　and　his　family　gave　their　tribute　of

concurrence　to　every　word　he　said：

　　　　〃I　am　disgusted　with　this　man…mewing；〃　he　cried…　〃with　these

outbursts　of　ignorance。　A　fine　magnificence；　truly！　all　made　up　of　gas

and　petroleum！　I　can't　eat　such　stuff　as　that。　Everything　here　is　so

fine　and　bright　now；　that　one's　ashamed　of　one's　self；　without　exactly

knowing　why。　Ah；　if　we　only　lived　in　the　days　of　tallow　candles！　and

it　does　not　lie　so　very　far　behind　us。　That　was　a　romantic　time；　as

one　may　say。〃

　　　　〃What　are　you　talking　of　there？〃　asked　the　Dryad。　〃I　have　never

seen　you　before。　What　is　it　you　are　talking　about？〃

　　　　〃Of　the　glorious　days　that　are　gone；〃　said　the　Rat…　〃of　the

happy　time　of　our　great…grandfathers　and　great…grandmothers。　Then　it

was　a　great　thing　to　get　down　here。　That　was　a　rat's　nest　quite

different　from　Paris。　Mother　Plague　used　to　live　here　then；　she　killed

people；　but　never　rats。　Robbers　and　smugglers　could　breathe　freely

here。　Here　was　the　meeting…place　of　the　most　interesting　personages；

whom　one　now　only　gets　to　see　in　the　theatres　where　they　act

melodrama；　up　above。　The　time　of　romance　is　gone　even　in　our　rat's

nest；　and　here　also　fresh　air　and　petroleum　have　broken　in。〃

　　　　Thus　squeaked　the　Rat；　he　squeaked　in　honor　of　the　old　time；

when　Mother　Plague　was　still　alive。

　　　　A　carriage　stopped；　a　kind　of　open　omnibus；　drawn　by　swift　horses。

The　company　mounted　and　drove　away　along　the　Boulevard　de

Sebastopol；　that　is　to　say；　the　underground　boulevard；　over　which

the　well…known　crowded　street　of　that　name　extended。

　　　　The　carriage　disappeared　in　the　twilight；　the　Dryad　disappeared；

lifted　to　the　cheerful　freshness　above。　Here；　and　not　below　in　the

vaulted　passages；　filled　wit