ren." Then I jumped
into a cab which carried me home; my journey was over. I returned from
Jerusalem.

Dupe! I hear you say, Ah, no, Edgar! I am young and I understand men,
but there dwell in them both the good and the beautiful, and to expect
to derive any other satisfaction than that found in cultivating these
qualities has always seemed to me to be an unreasonable expectation.

What! you, as a poet, enjoy the intoxication of inspiration, the feast
of solitude, the silence of serene and starry nights and that does not
satisfy you; you would have fortune hasten to the sound of the Muses'
kisses.

What! as a generous man, you can enjoy the delights of giving and only
sow a field of benefits in the hope of reaping some day the golden
harvest of gratitude!

Of what do you complain? wretched man! You are the ingrate. Besides,
even with this view, be convinced, dear Edgar, that the good and the
beautiful are still two of the best speculations that can be made here
below, and nothing in the world succeeds better than fine verses and
noble deeds. Only wicked hearts and bad poets dare to affirm the
contrary. For myself, experience has taught me that self-abnegation is
profit enough to him who exercises it, and disinterestedness is a
blossom of luxury that well cultivated bears most savory fruit. I
encountered fortune in turning my back on her. I owe to Lady Penock the
touching care and precious friendship of Madame de Braimes, and if this
system of remuneration continue I shall end by believing that in
throwing myself into the gulf of Curtius I would fall upon a bed of
roses.

The fact is, I was ruined, but whoever could have seen me at the moment
would have said I was overcome with delight. I must tell you all, Edgar;
I pictured to myself the transports of Frederick and his wife on seeing
the abyss that was about to engulf them so easily closed; these sweet
images alone did not cause my wild delight; would you believe it, the
thought of my ruin and poverty intoxicated me more. I had suffered for a
long time from an unoccupied youth, and was indignant at my uneventful
life. At twenty I quietly assumed a position prepared for me; to play
this part in the world I had taken the trouble to be born; to gather the
fruits of life I had only to stretch out my hand. Irritated at the
quietude of my days, wearied with a happiness that cost me nothing, I
sought heroic struggles, chivalrous encounters, and not finding them in
a well