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Young Irony
Hestumbledblindlyon,huntingforawayout,andfinally,throughwebsoftwistedbranches,caughtsightofariftinthetreeswheretheunbrokenlightningshowedopencountry.Herushedtotheedgeofthewoodsandthenhesitatedwhetherornottocrossthefieldsandtrytoreachtheshelterofthelittlehousemarkedbyalightfardownthevalley.Itwasonlyhalfpastfive,buthecouldseescarcelytenstepsbeforehim,exceptwhenthelightningmadeeverythingvividandgrotesqueforgreatsweepsaround.
Suddenlyastrangesoundfellonhisears.Itwasasong,inalow,huskyvoice,agirl’svoice,andwhoeverwassingingwasveryclosetohim.Ayearbeforehemighthavelaughed,ortrembled;butinhisrestlessmoodheonlystoodandlistenedwhilethewordssankintohisconsciousness:
"Lessanglotslongs
Desviolons
Del’automne
Blessentmoncoeur
D’unelangueur
Monotone."
Thelightningsplitthesky,butthesongwentonwithoutaquaver.Thegirlwasevidentlyinthefieldandthevoiceseemedtocomevaguelyfromahaystackabouttwentyfeetinfrontofhim.
Thenitceased:ceasedandbeganagaininaweirdchantthatsoaredandhungandfellandblendedwiththerain:
"Toutsuffocant
Etblemequand
Sonnel’heure
Jemesouviens
Desjoursanciens
Etjepleure...."
"WhothedevilisthereinRamillyCounty,"mutteredAmoryaloud,"whowoulddeliverVerlaineinanextemporaneoustunetoasoakinghaystack?"
"Somebody’sthere!"criedthevoiceunalarmed."Whoareyou?—Manfred,St.
