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The Love Affairs Of A Bibliomaniac-Part10_Eugene Field(1850-1895)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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HE in his meagre, shabby home, _I_ in my roaring den--

HE with his babes around him, _I_ with my hunted men!



His virtue be his bulwark--my genius should be mine!--

``Go, fetch my pen, sweet Margot, and a jorum of your wine!



. . . . . . .

So would one vainly plod, and one win immortality--



If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I!

My acquaintance with Master Villon was made in Paris during my



second visit to that fascinating capital, and for a while I was

under his spell to that extent that I would read no book but his,



and I made journeys to Rouen, Tours, Bordeaux, and Poitiers for

the purpose of familiarizing myself with the spots where he had



lived, and always under the surveillance of the police. In fact,

I became so infatuated of Villonism that at one time I seriously



thought of abandoning myself to a life of crime in order to

emulate in certain particulars at least the example of my hero.



There were, however, hindrances to this scheme, first of which

was my inability to find associates whom I wished to attach to my



cause in the capacity in which Colin de Cayeulx and the Baron de

Grigny served Master Francois. I sought the companionship of



several low-browed, ill-favored fellows whom I believed suited to

my purposes, but almost immediately I wearied of them, for they



had never looked into a book and were so profoundlyignorant as

to be unable to distinguish between a folio and a thirty-twomo.



Then again it befell that, while the Villon fever was raging

within and I was contemplating a career of vice, I had a letter



from my uncle Cephas, apprising me that Captivity Waite (she was

now Mrs. Eliphalet Parker) had named her first-born after me!



This intelligence had the effect of cooling and sobering me; I

began to realize that, with the responsibility the coming and the



christening of Captivity's first- born had imposed upon me, it

behooved me to guard with exceedingjealousy the honor of the



name which my namesake bore.

While I was thus tempest-tossed, Fanchonette came across my



pathway, and with the appearance of Fanchonette every ambition to

figure in the annals of bravado left me. Fanchonette was the



niece of my landlady; her father was a perfumer; she lived with

the old people in the Rue des Capucins. She was of middling



stature and had blue eyes and black hair. Had she not been

French, she would have been Irish, or, perhaps, a Grecian. Her



manner had an indefinable charm.

It was she who acquainted me with Beranger; that is why I never



take up that precious volume that I do not think, sweetly and

tenderly, of Fanchonette. The book is bound, as you see, in a



dainty blue, and the border toolings are delicate tracings of

white --all for a purpose, I can assure you. She used to wear a



dainty blue gown, from behind the nether hem of which the most

immaculate of petticoats peeped out.



If we were never boys, how barren and lonely our age would be.

Next to the ineffably blessed period of youth there is no time of



life pleasanter than that in which serene old age reviews the

exploits and the prodigies of boyhood. Ah, my gay fellows,



harvest your crops diligently, that your barns and granaries be

full when your arms are no longer able to wield the sickle!



Haec meminisse--to recall the old time-- to see her rise out of

the dear past--to hear Fanchonette's voice again--to feel the



grace of springtime--how gloriously sweet this is! The little

quarrels, the reconciliations, the coquetries, the jealousies,



the reproaches, the forgivenesses--all the characteristic and

endearing haps of the Maytime of life--precious indeed are these



retrospections to the hungry eyes of age!




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