Gerfaut — Volume 4 by Charles de Bernard
page 12 of 96 (12%)
page 12 of 96 (12%)
|
"I beg of you, do not make him drink any more," said Gerfaut to the
notary. "You are right not to wish to drink any more, Octave, I was about to advise you not to. You have already drunk to excess to-day, and I am afraid that it will make you ill; your health is so weak--you are not a strong man like me. Fancy, gentlemen, Monsieur le Vicomte de Gerfaut, a native of Gascony, a roue by profession, a star of the first magnitude in literature, is afflicted by nature with a stomach which has nothing in common with that of an ostrich; he has need to use the greatest care. So we have him drink seltzer-water principally, and feed him on the white meat of the chicken. Besides, we keep this precious phenomenon rolled up between two wool blankets and over a kettle of boiling water. He is a great poet; I myself am a very great poet." "And I also, I hope," said the notary. "Gentlemen, formerly there were poets who wrote only in verse; nowadays they revel in prose. There are some even who are neither prose nor verse writers, who have never confided their secret to anybody, and who selfishly keep their poetry to themselves. It is a very simple thing to be a poet, provided you feel the indescribable intoxication of the soul, and understand the inexpressible afflatus that bubbles over in your large brain, and your noble heart throbs under your left breast--" "He is as drunk as a fool," said M. de Camier, loud enough for him to hear. "Old man," said he, "you are the one who is drunk. Besides the word drunk is not civil; if you had said intoxicated I should not have |
|