These fine verses were published in a first and only edition from the
press of Bournier, printer of Ville-aux-Fayes. One hundred
subscribers, in the sum of three francs, guaranteed the dangerous
precedent of immortality to the poem,--a liberality that was all the
greater because these hundred persons had heard the poem from
beginning to end a hundred times over.

Madame Soudry had lately suppressed the cup-and-ball, which usually
lay on a pier-table in the salon and for the last seven years had
given rise to endless quotations, for she finally discovered in the
toy a rival to her own attractions.

As to the author, who boasted of future poems in his desk, it is
enough to quote the terms in which he mentioned to the leading society
of Soulanges a rival candidate for literary honors.

"Have you heard a curious piece of news?" he had said, two years
earlier. "There is another poet in Burgundy! Yes," he added, remarking
the astonishment on all faces, "he comes from Macon. But you could
never imagine the subjects he takes up,--a perfect jumble, absolutely
unintelligible,--lakes, stars, waves, billows! not a single
philosophical image, not even a didactic effort! he is ignorant of the
very meaning of poetry. He calls the sky by its name. He says 'moon,'
bluntly, instead of naming it 'the planet of night.' That's what the
desire to be thought original brings men to," added Gourdon,
mournfully. "Poor young man! A Burgundian, and sing such stuff as
that!--the pity of it! If he had only consulted me, I would have
pointed out to him the noblest of all themes, wine,--a poem to be
called the Baccheide; for which, alas! I now feel myself too old."