Captain of a galley filled with precious; slaves, he sails among the tempting perils of purple archipelagos (as the Greek isles are said to appear at certain hours), and when the night comes he seeks the sandy shore of a violet gulf, Dans la splendeur des clairs de lune violets. (Tr. 24) And he stays for the divine apparition: Alors des profondeurs et des ténèbres saintes Comme un jeune soleil sort des gouffres marins, Blanche, laissant couler des épaules aux reins Ses cheveux où nageaient de pâles hyacinthes, Une femme surgit.... (Tr. 25) whose eyes are gulfs of joy, love and terror, and where one sees reflected the whole world of things from grass to the infinity of seas. And she speaks: "Poet who, amidst life, exhibits astonishments and desires and loves, you appear moved by sensual joys and you suffer, for these joys you feel are truly vain, but Si tu n'étreins que des chimères, si tu bois L'enivrement de vins illusoires, qu'importe! Le soleil meurt, la foule imaginaire est morte Mais le monde subsiste en ta seule âme: vois! Les jours se sont fanées comme des roses brèves, Mais ton Verbe a créé le mirage où tu vis.... (Tr. 26) and my beauty, you give it form and gesture; I am your creation, I exist because you think of me and because you evoke me." Such is the leading idea of that _Gloire du Verbe_, one of the rare poems of that time, where the idea and word march in harmonious rhythm. At sunrise the galley again set sail: Pierre Quillard departed for distant countries. His is a pagan soul, or which would like to be pagan, for if his eyes eagerly seek sensible beauty, his dream lingers, wishing to force the portal behind which sleeps the beauty enclosed in things. He is truly the more disturbed that he deigns not to mention it, and the glance of the captives disturbs him with more than a shudder. As he knows all the théogonies and all literatures, J'ai connu tous les dieux du ciel et de la terre, (Tr. 27) as he has drunk at all sources, he knows more than one way to get intoxicated: dilettante of a superior kind, when he will have worn out the joy of sailing, when he will have chosen his residence (doubtless near an old, holy fountain), having collected much, having sown many noble seeds, he will see himself master of a royal garden and of a people odorous with flowers, Fleurs éternelles, fleurs égales aux dieux! (Tr. 28) A. FERDINAND HEROLD