THE POET JACOBUS
SUPPOSED HE HAD FOUND A SUBJECT FOR AN
CHAPTER CONTAINS A SUMMARY OF EVERY THING WHICH THE ANCIENTS AND
MODERNS HAVE WRITTEN ON THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS.
THE FLOWERS CONVERSE
The Pansy* was wandering about the earth, not knowing where to find a home.
*La Pensée, --Thought. “And there is
pansies, that’s for thoughts.” [Ophelia,
She had knocked at door after door, and found
no admittance. Then she offered herself as lady’s companion to a celebrated
blue-stocking, and was refused.
A philosopher of high renown declined
receiving the Pansy, even as a housekeeper.
Repulsed successively by an academician, a
minister of state, a preacher, a painter, a novelist, and a sculptor, poor Pansy
determined to leave the town, and resume her wanderings.
It was a fine spring morning when she set out
on her journey. She had not much to carry – but she was firm, resigned, and
prepared to endure bravely the inconveniences of her lot.
Plunged in meditation, the Pansy walked on,
unconscious of the length of the way. Evening at length overtook her; she began
to feel weary, and casting her eyes around, she looked for some place where she
could seek refuge.
She saw, at a short distance from the road,
the front of a château brightly lighted up, and towards it she turned her steps.
The owner, seated at his table, which was spread under a tent of silk upon the
terrace, was singing, drinking, eating, and laughing with his friends.
“Admit me,” said a feeble voice, which
reached, nevertheless, the ears of the guests.
“Who are you?” said the host. “if you are a
merry companion, and know how to lighten the heavy hours, come in.”
The voice replied, “I am the Pansy.”
“Servants, shut the gates, Drive away this
dull intruder – this troublesome companion, who causes us to remember. Let us
forget! Let us forget!”
The master of the château filled his cup, and
drank to Forgetfulness.
“I noticed, yonder, a modest cottage,” said
the Pansy, who, to rest herself, had leaned for a moment upon a marble vase,
that stood near the entrance of the château. “The poor are always hospitable: I
will seek there a shelter for the night. I am fatigued, and begin to feel the
cravings of hunger.”
Section 1 of 8