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NOTES AND QUERIES. [u s. vi. OCT. 20,1912.

FRENCH SONNET : FELIX ARVERS (11 S vi. 246). I am glad that JOSEPH KNIGHT' memorable translation of the well known sonnet by Felix Arvers has been reprintec in ' N. & Q.,' for though it is almost impos sible to convey in another language the mystic reticence of the original, the lines of KNIGHT are a fine poem in themselves and they deserve to find a place in every anthology.

To talk of the " works " of Felix Arvers has a flavour of exaggeration. He died in 1851, and during his forty-five years of life he published only one book. This was ' Mes Heures Perdues,' a volume of 352 pages, which was issued by Fournier in 1833. The drama, 'La Mort de Francis I er ,' and the comedy, ' Plus de Peur que de Mai,' which were mentioned by DR. KRUEGER, were not published separately, but were included in this volume. He also wrote a comedy called ' La Course au Clocher,' which was represented at the Theatre Francais on 8 March, 1839, and was published separately in that year; and, in collaboration with MM. Bayard and Paul Foucher, a vaude- ville called ' En attendant,' which was first played at the Gymnase on 30 Nov., 1835, and was also issued in pamphlet form. His literary output was of the slenderest character.

With the exception of the sonnet, the work of Arvers was more indicative of promise than of performance. Asselineau in his ' Bibliographie Rornantique ' devotes & few pages to him, 'and gives quotations from the more striking passages in ' La Mort de Francois I er .' But in his drama his muse was imitative, and his best efforts were but an echo of Gautier and Byron. Admirable as they were in style, the note of originality was absent.

Sainte-Beuve was the first to recognize the merit of the famous sonnet, and after him Jules Janin, in his ' Histoire de la Litterature dramatique,' criticized it in a few true words: "La langue est belle, la passion est vraie; il faut y croire." In England the name of Arvers, except among the few who, like the late Mr. Andrew Lang, were attracted to the early literature of the Romantic Movement, is unknown. In the new Preface to his ' Ballades and Rhymes,' which was published last year in Longmans' " Pocket Library," Mr. Lang says :

" Thus the sonnet is a thing which every poet thinks it worth while to try at ; like Felix Arvers, he may be made immortal by a single sonnet."

It may be remembered that in the eighties Mr. Lang frequently contributed occasional verses to The Saturday Review ; they were

fenerally, if not always, unsigned, and few, think, have been collected. Many of them were of merely topical interest, though the hand of the master was always in evidence. In its issue for 23 July, 1887, The Saturday Review printed a poem called ' The Masque of Man's Wickedness,' with the following introduction :

" Scena est in vico quodam. Hie entrant et cantant tres Reginae, de hominum vitiis necnon de pulchritudine et virtute sua loquentes,"

and the commencement ran : REGINA PRIMA.

I am a Dame in Navy blue,

The folks that stay me are not few,

Or in the Place of Waterloo,

Or in the realm of Regent -street ! Full many a man will sigh and swear (Much like the late Felix Arvers), " Alas, thou know'st not thou art fair,

And sweeter than all shape of sweet ! "

As soon as I read the lines I said to myself, " Aut Lang aut Diabolus," for no other Eng- lish versifier that I knew of would " drag in " Arvers in this way. DR. KRUEGER has done good service in recalling him to our recollection. W. F. PRIDEAUX.

Several translations have been made of this very beautiful and celebrated sonnet, and I included two of them (one by Long- fellow, and the other by Thomas Ashe) in my ' Sonnets of Europe,' published in 1886. The following is Longfellow's trans- lation :

THE SECRET.

My soul its secret hath, my life too hath its

mystery,

A love eternal in a moment's space conceived ; Hopeless the evil is, I have not told its history, And she who was the cause nor knew it nor

believed. Alas ! I shall have passed close by her unper-

ceived,

For ever at her side and yet for ever lonely, [ shall unto the end have made life's journey, only Daring to ask for nought, and having nought received.

her, though God hath made her gentle and endearing,

She will go on her way distraught and without hearing

These murmurings of Love that round her steps ascend,

Piously faithful still unto her austere duty, Will say, when she shall read these lines full of her beauty,

'Who can this woman be? " and will not com- prehend.