The studio contained another fatal object, a large piece of broken mirror hooked to the wall. It was a dead and soundless sea, standing on end, and at the bottom of which a false life animated what did not exist. Thus, confronting Art, there is the appearance of Art, against which men are not sufficiently on their guard, and which pulls them to earth when Art has raised them to the heights. Croniamantal bent over in a sitting posture, leaned his fore-arms on his knees, and turned his eyes from the painting to a placard thrown on the floor on which was painted the following announcement: I AM AT THE BAR--_The Bird of Benin_ He read and re-read this sentence while the Bird of Benin contemplated his picture, approaching it and withdrawing from it, his head at all angles. Finally he turned towards Croniamantal and said: "I saw the woman for you last night." "Who is she?" asked Croniamantal. "I do not know, I saw her but I do not know her. She is a really young girl, as you like them. She has the sombre and child-like face of those who are destined to cause suffering. And despite all the grace of her hands that straighten in order to repel, she lacks that nobility which poets could not love because it would prevent their being miserable. I have seen the woman for you, I tell you. She is both beauty and ugliness; she is like everything that we love nowadays. And she must have the taste of the laurel leaf." But Croniamantal, who was not listening to him, interrupted at this point to say: "Yesterday I wrote my last poem in regular verses: _Well, Hell!_[6] and my last poem in irregular verses (take care that in the second stanza the word wench is taken in its less reputable meaning): PROSPECTUS FOR A NEW MEDICINE _Why did Hjalmar return The tankard of beaten silver lay void, The stars of the evening Became the stars of the morning Reciprocally The sorceress of the forest of Hruloë Prepared her repast She was an eater of horse-flesh But he was not Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._ _Then the stars of the morning Became again the stars of the evening And reciprocally They cried--In the name of Maröe Wench of Arnamoer And of his favorite zoöphyte Prepare the drink of the gods --Certainly noble warrior Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._ _She took the sun And plunged him into the sea As housewives Dip a ham in gravy But alas! the salmons voracious Have devoured the drowned sun And have made themselves wigs With his beams Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._ _She took the moon and did her all with bands As they do with the illustrious dead And with little children And then in the light of the only stars The eternal ones She made a concoction of sea-brine The euphorbiaceans of Norwegian resin And the mucous of Alfes To make a drink for the gods Mai Mai ramaho nia nia._