At last the longing of his youth—the longing which he had dissipated in
dreams and song—were gratified. Marguerite was his. In her he saw the
fulfillment of the promises of Hedwiga, of Hilda, of Eugenie, of Miriam.
His soul was steeped in dreams, in imaginary romances, and he would not
part with his dreams even when love had become a reality. He had brought
to Marguerite all the pent-up passion that lay slumbering in his soul,
all which he would have lavished on Hedwiga, on Hilda, on Eugenie, on
Miriam. Realities are dreams to the poet as dreams are realities to him.
What was wanting in the guileless country girl his romantic imagination
supplied. What he had found especially fascinating about his beloved was
her want of sophistication. When he proposed that she come and live with
him in his two-room apartment she readily consented despite the protests
of her relatives.
Nor was he disillusioned after she had gone to live with him. He had no
illusions about her save her physical charms. He was sick at heart of
the artifice of the chatter of the women of the drawingroom, and enjoyed
the sweet naturalness of this woman child. And she obeyed his mandates.
She sat for hours knitting or eating bonbons without uttering a syllable
while he was absorbed in his writing. She did not know what he was
writing about, nor did she have sufficient curiosity to find out, and he
loved her for her silence. He thought the price of a woman who could
keep still for hours “far above rubies and precious ointment.”
His life would have been perfect could he have impressed the wisdom of
silence on Marguerite’s pet parrot, but he was soon reconciled to his
chatter since that was the parrot’s business. At least the parrot
prattled the only things he knew. Albert wished some of the savants of
his day would emulate the parrot’s example.
The love of Albert and Marguerite did not run smoothly, however. They
quarreled, and quarreled frequently, but then Albert knew he had an
uncontrollable temper and that she was sometimes unreasonable. And she
did not like those queer countrymen of his to intrude upon him so often.
But after each tilt he became more tender, more solicitous, and called
her a thousand more endearing names, and she nestled closer to him and
loved her Albert more than ever.
In the early stages of their love they had two serious ruptures. Each
time they parted she went back to her relatives and he went to the
seashore to mend his shattered nerves, but no sooner had he returned to
Paris than he went to the Philistines and demanded his wife, and, unlike
the people of Timnath, Marguerite’s aunt at once complied with his
demand and nothing disastrous happened. Lover and beloved went back to
their two room apartment, he to write and she to knit and eat bonbons
and to quarrel as of yore.