In Bohemia with Du Maurier | Page 6

it otherwise, and as Mahomet can't write words to the mountain's music, the mountain must try and adapt its music to the verses of Mahomet.
SéRéNADE APRèS LA SIESTE.
"Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, ouvre done ta paupière, Chasse les rêves d'or de ton léger sommeil-- Ils sont là, nos amis; cêde a notre prière Le tr?ne préparé n'attend que ton réveil; Le soleil a cessé de régner sur la terre, Viens régner sur la fête et sois notre soleil. Réponds à nos accords par tes accents plus doux Au jardin des amours, viens ? viens avec nous.
Au jardin des amours ta place est réservée, Parmi des feux de joie et des lilas en fleurs. Viens réveiller en nous de nouvelles ardeurs-- Descends avec la nuit, ainsi que la rosée-- Tant que l'astre d'argent sourit à la vallée, Toi, bel astre d'amour, viens sourire à nos coeurs! Réponds à nos accords par tes accents plus doux, Au jardin des amours, Berthe, viens avec nous.
Viens avec ta couronne, et viens avec ta lyre, Tes chants pour nos amis, tes doux regards pour moi! Déjà j'entends les jeux de la foule en émoi Sur des gazons fleuris ... oh le joyeux délire! Si tu ne descends pas, helas! on pourra dire: 'Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, on a chanté sans toi!' Réponds à nos accords par tes accents plus doux, Berthe aux grands yeux d'azur, viens ? viens avec nous!
"You see I have indulged in poetic license; for instance, the first tenor says he hears the folks doing the light fantastic toe. One might suppose they danced in sabots--mere poetic license, and besides, a first tenor ought to have very good ears.... So now, my lad, inspire yourself."
What the result of his appeal to my inspiration may have been, I do not remember, but I find this is what he writes on the subject--
"CARISSIMO,--In vain have I taxed Rag's inventive powers to alter the last stanza; we must e'en stick to 'Ce baiser-la.' The lines I have underlined mean that I don't quite approve the part of the music that comes just there, as in the musical phrase you have set to it I fancy there is a want of tenderness. All the rest is stunning; the more I hums it the more I likes it, but I can't exactly come your accompaniment."
[Illustration: Moscheles, or Mephistopheles? which]
No wonder, for my accompaniments were usually rather indefinite quantities, subject to the mood of the moment. "Moscheles or Mephistopheles, which?" he asks, as he depicts me at the piano, perhaps evolving some such accompaniment from the depths of "untrained inner consciousness." "Eureka" he might have put under that other sketch, where his own hands have at last found some long-sought harmony or chord on the piano. Another drawing there is of a somewhat later period which he calls "Inspiration papillotique." Again I am at the piano, my eyes raised to the "She" in papillottes, who floats as a vision in the clouds, issuing from my ever-puffing cigar, whilst at my feet is stretched the meditative form of my friend, and under them is crushed some work of our immortal colleague Beethoven.
[Illustration: "INSPIRATION PAPILLOTIQUE."]
[Illustration: DU MAURIER IMPROVISING.]
And who was "She" thus to inspire us? On the supposition that most people are, like myself, interested in the "Shes" that can inspire, I may permit myself to say something about the attractive young lady who was able to lead us by easy stages from the vague "inspiration papillotique" to an admiration which might be said to culminate in flirtation. I don't remember either of us ever trying to cut the other out, as the accompanying sketch seems to imply, where "Rag and Bobtail fight a duel for Carry, using their noses as double-barrelled pistols. Shows the way in which Rag tries to _désillusio?er_ Carry on Bobtail, and in which Bobtail tries to ditto ditto on Rag Carry being on this side of the rivals is not represented."
[Illustration: HOW RAG TRIES TO DéSILLUSIONER CARRY ON BOBTAIL, AND BOBTAIL TRIES TO DITTO DITTO ON RAG.]
The truth of the matter is that we shared fraternally in the enjoyment of her good graces, he having the pull of me the greater part of the week, and only suspending operations in my favour when I came to Malines on a Saturday to Monday visit. These occasions were productive of a great number of drawings and sketches, illustrating our little adventures, and all plainly showing that the incidents recorded occurred to us at that pleasant time of life, when bright illusions and buoyant spirits lead the way, and when sorrow itself has more of the rose colour than many a rose of a later day.
Malines was, and perhaps is still, a dull, deserted city, at best up to the date of last century, beating the record