University of Virginia Library

Jeanne.

[_]

(From Victor Hugo.)

Jeanne, in the dark room, had dry bread for dinner,
Guilty of something wrong; and I—the sinner—
Crept up to see that prisoner in her cell,
And slipped—on the sly—some comfits to her. Well!
Against the laws, I own! Those, who with me
Support the order of society,
Were furious! Vainly murmured little Jeanne,
“Indeed, indeed, I never will again
Rub my nose with my thumb! I won't make pussy
Scratch me!” they only cried, “The naughty hussy!
She knows how weak you are, and wanting sense,
And sees you only laugh at grave offence:

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Government is not possible! All day
Order is troubled, influence slips away,
No rules, no regulations! nought can mend her;
You ruin everything!” Then I—the offender—
I hang my head, and say, “There's no excuse!
I know I err; I know by such abuse,
Such wrong indulgence, nations ‘go to pot;’
Put me upon dry bread!” “Why should we not?
We will! you merit it!” But my small maid
From her dark corner looking unafraid
With eyes divine to see, full of a sense
Of settled justice, in their innocence,
Whispered, for me to hear, “Well, if they do,
I shall bring comfits, Grandpapa, to you.”