Presently,  after  a  book  of  the  most  tender  pastoral
beauty,  filled  with  the  charm  which  only  St.  Pierre
had  ever  known  before  how  to  pour  over  his  writings
— a  sort  of  atmosphere  of  calm  and  peace,  in  which


Alfred  de  Musset  151

love,  like  a  flower,  easily  grows  and  gradually  unfolds
its  leaves — the  expected  result  arrives,  and  in  the
arms  of  Madame  Pierson  the  enfant  du  Sihle  seeks
again  the  jewel  he  has  thrown  away — the  freshness
and  sweetness  of  pure  love.  With  a  cynicism  which
one  hardly  expects,  the  writer  makes  Brigitte  a
rosiere — the  maiden  who  has  won  the  rose  of  virtue.
And  here  the  book  should,  artistically,  have  ended.
As  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  in  writing  the
introduction  to  this  book  De  Musset  attempted  to
describe  the  influences  of  his  own  childhood,  so
there  can  be  none  that  in  the  scenes  of  Parisian  life
so  minutely  drawn,  so  true  that  they  must  have
been  copied,  not  imagined,  he  described  his  own
life  during  the  first  two  or  three  years  of  his  early
manhood.  In  the  part  that  follows — the  liaison  with
Madame  Pierson — we  have  an  account  written  from
his  own  point  of  view  —  an  honourable  and  chival-
rous one — in  which  he  takes  to  himself  all  the  blame
of  his  celebrated  relations  with  George  Sand.
