CLIO BY ANATOLE FRANCE THE WORKS OF ANATOLE FRANCE IN AN ENGLISH TRANSLATION »EDITED BY JAMES LEWIS MAY AND BERNARD MIALL« A TRANSLATION BY WINIFRED STEPHENS LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD NEW YORK: DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY MCMXXII TO EMILE ZOLA NOTE BY THE EDITORS _The Château de Vaux le Vicomte_ is a translation of the text of a sumptuously illustrated volume descriptive of this wonderful monument of human frailty and ambition, published in 1888 by Lemercier et Cie with plates by Rodolphe Pfnor. Although the text has not been published apart from the plates in France, it seemed only fitting to include a translation of _The Château de Vaux le Vicomte_ in a complete edition of Monsieur Anatole France's works. CONTENTS CLIO THE BARD OF KYME KOMM OF THE ATREBATES FARINATA DEGLI UBERTI THE KING DRINKS "LA MUIRON" THE CHÂTEAU DE VAUX-LE-VICOMTE PREFACE NICOLAS FOUCQUET THE CHÂTEAU DE VAUX [Transcribers' Note: to this English translation of Clio we added 12 plates by Mucha, who illustrated the French 1900 edition, which is also available at Project Gutenberg.] CLIO THE BARD OF KYME Along the hill-side he came, following a path which skirted the sea. His forehead was bare, deeply furrowed and bound by a fillet of red wool. The sea-breeze blew his white locks over his temples and pressed the fleece of a snow-white beard against his chin. His tunic and his feet were the colour of the roads which he had trodden for so many years. A roughly made lyre hung at his side. He was known as the Aged One, and also as the Bard. Yet another name was given him by the children to whom he taught poetry and music, and many called him the Blind One, because his eyes, dim with age, were overhung by swollen lids, reddened by the smoke of the hearths beside which he was wont to sit when he sang. But his was no eternal night, and he was said to see things invisible to other men. For three generations he had been wandering ceaselessly to and fro. And now, having sung all day to a King of Ægea, he was returning to his home, the roof of which he could already see smoking in the distance; for now, after walking all night without a halt for fear of being overtaken by the heat of the day, in the clear light of the dawn he could see the white Kyme, his birthplace. With his dog at his side, leaning on his crooked staff, he walked with slow steps, his body upright, his head held high because of the steepness of the way leading down into the narrow valley and because he was still vigorous in his age. The sun, rising over the mountains of Asia, shed a rosy light over the fleecy clouds and the hill-sides of the islands that studded the sea. The coast-line glistened. But the hills that stretched away eastward, crowned with mastic and terebinth, lay still in the freshness and the shadow of night.