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which is passing away, you hear the song of approaching spring; if it be
summer which is vanishing, you see glimmering on the horizon the
undefinable smile of autumn. The wind lulled and harmonized all those
pleasant sounds which compose the murmur of the fields; the tinkling of
the sheep-bells seemed to soothe the humming of the bees; the last
butterflies met together with the first grapes; this hour of the year
mingles the joy of being still alive with the unconscious melancholy of
fast approaching death; the sweetness of the sun was indescribable.
Fertile fields streaked with furrows, honest peasants' cottages; under
the trees a turf covered with shade, the lowing of cattle as in Virgil,
and the smoke of hamlets penetrated by rays of sunshine; such was the
complete picture. The clanging of anvils rang in the distance, the
rhythm of work amidst the harmony of nature. I listened, I mused
vaguely. The valley was beautiful and quiet, the blue heavens seemed as
though resting upon a lovely circle of hills; in the distance were the
voices of birds, and close to me the voices of children, like two songs
of angels mingled together; the universal purity enshrouded me: all this
grace and all this grandeur shed a golden dawn into my soul....
Suddenly a fellow-traveller asked,--
"
What place is this?"
Another answered,--
"
Sedan."
I shuddered.
656
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