But a day in this garden is always for them a dear
holiday. They live in dread lest Venus discover how superfluous they
are here. And so, knowing that the hypocrite's first dupe must be
himself, they are always pretending to themselves that they are of
some use. See that child yonder, perched on the balustrade, reading
aloud from a scroll the praise of love as earnestly as though his
congregation were of infidels. And that other, to the side, pushing
two lovers along as though they were the veriest laggarts. The torch-
bearer, too, and the archer, and the sprinkler of the rose-leaves--
they are all, after their kind, trying to persuade themselves that
they are needed. All but he who leans over and nestles his fat cheek
on a lady's lap, as fondly and confidingly as though she were his
mother... And truly, the lady is very like his mother. So, indeed, are
all the other ladies. Strange! In all their faces is an uniformity of
divine splendour. Can it be that Venus, impatient of mere sequences of
lovers, has obtained leave of Jove to multiply herself, and that to-
day by a wild coincidence her every incarnation has trysted an adorer
to this same garden? Look closely! It must be so...
Hush! Let us keep her secret.
`ARIANE ET DIONYSE'
A PAINTING BY PAUL BERGERON, 1740
PAUVRETTE! no wonder she is startled.
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