Over them, ever over them, floats the Blue Bird; and they, the
ennuye'es and the ennuyants, the ennuyantes and the ennuye's, these
Parisians of 1830, are lolling in a charmed, charming circle, whilst
two of their order, the young Duc de Belhabit et Profil-Perdu with the
girl to whom he has but recently been married, move hither or thither
vaguely, their faces upturned, making vain efforts to lure down the
elusive creature. The haze of very early morning pervades the garden
which is the scene of their faint aspiration. One cannot see very
clearly there. The ladies' furbelows are blurred against the foliage,
and the lilac-bushes loom through the air as though they were white
clouds full of rain. One cannot see the ladies' faces very clearly. One
guesses them, though, to be supercilious and smiling, all with the
curved lips and the raised eyebrows of Experience. For, in their time,
all these ladies, and all their lovers with them, have tried to catch
this same Blue Bird, and have been full of hope that it would come
fluttering down to them at last. Now they are tired of trying, knowing
that to try were foolish and of no avail. Yet it is pleasant for them
to see, as here, others intent on the old pastime. Perhaps--who
knows?--some day the bird will be trapped... Ah, look! Monsieur Le Duc
almost touched its wing! Well for him, after all, that he did not more
than that! Had he caught it and caged it, and hung the gilt cage in the
boudoir of Madame la Duchesse, doubtless the bird would have turned out
to be but a moping, drooping, moulting creature, with not a song to its
little throat; doubtless the blue colour is but dye, and would soon
have faded from wings and breast. And see! Madame la Duchesse looks a
shade fatigued. She must not exert herself too much. Also, the magic
hour is all but over. Soon there will be sunbeams to dispel the dawn's
vapour; and the Blue Bird, with the sun sparkling on its wings, will
have soared away out of sight. Allons! The little rogue is still at
large.
'MACBETH AND THE WITCHES'