Reverie

I am going to tell you a story from the other world, where I find myself. Imagine a blue sky, a calm and green sea, rocks bizarrely carved; no vegetation, save the pale lichens clinging to the crevices of the stones. Such is the landscape. As a simple novelist, I cannot indulge myself in giving you more details. To people this sea, these rocks, there was found only a poet, seated, dreaming, reflecting in his soul, as in a mirror, the gentle beauty of Nature, which spoke no less to the heart than to the eyes. This poet, this dreamer, was I. Where? When does my story take place? What does it matter! Thus I listened, I gazed, moved and pierced by the impenetrable enchantment of the great solitude. Suddenly I saw a woman appear, standing, on the crest of the rock. She was tall, dark, and pale. Her long black hair floated over her white dress. She looked straight ahead, with a strange firmness. I had risen, entranced with admiration, because that woman, blossoming suddenly upon the rock, seemed reverie itself, the divine reverie, which I had so often evoked with singular rapture. I drew near. Without moving, she stretched out her bare and superb arm toward the sea and, as though inspired, sang with a soft and plaintive voice. I listened to her, assailed by a mortal sadness, and repeated mentally the stanzas that glided from her lips, as from a living spring. Then she turned toward me and I was as though enveloped by the shadow of her white garments. — Friend, said she, listen to me. Less deep is the sea of inconstant waves, less implacable are the rocks than love, the cruel love that tears apart a poet's heart. Do not listen to its voice, which seizes upon all the seductions of the wave, of the air, of the sun, to grip, penetrate, and burn his soul, which trembles and longs to suffer the malady of love. Thus she spoke. I listened to her and felt my heart melting in a divine intoxication. I would have wished to annihilate myself in the pure breath that emanated from her mouth. — No, she continued; friend, do not struggle against the genius that dominates you. Let yourself be borne on its ardent wings to the radiant spheres. Forget, forget the passion that will make you crawl, you, eagle destined for the lofty peaks. Listen to the voices that call you to the celestial concerts. Take your flight, sublime bird; genius is solitary. Marked with the divine seal, you cannot become the slave of a woman. She spoke; the shadow advanced and the sea, green as it was, had become black; the sky clothed itself in darkness and the rocks stood out, sinister. More radiant still, she seemed to crown herself with stars, which kindled their twinkling lights, while her tunic, white as the foam that lashed the shore, unfolded itself in immense folds.

— Do not leave me, said I to her at last. Carry me in your arms; let your black hair serve as a snare to keep me captive; let me live in your light or die in your shadow.

— Come, then, she resumed in a clear voice, although she seemed distant. Come, since you prefer reverie, which benumbs genius, to genius, which enlightens men. Come; I will leave you no more; and, struck by the mortal blow, we shall go on entwined, like the group of Dante. Do not fear that I will abandon you, O my poet! Reverie consecrates you to misfortune and to the disdain of men, who will bless your songs only when they no longer feel irritated before the splendor of your genius. Then I felt that a powerful embrace lifted me from the ground. I saw nothing more, save the snowy garments enveloping me like a halo. And I was carried away by the power of reverie, which separated me forever from men. [see La Fantaisie.]

Alfred de Musset. n [1]

[see Alfred de Musset.]