The
verses are, perhaps, the "bird-chorus" of French life, but they have
not the permanent truth and delightfulness of the "bird-chorus" in
Aristophanes. One has easily too much of the Carnival, the masked
ball, the debardeurs, and the pierrots. The people at whom M. De
Banville laughed are dead and forgotten. There was a certain M.
Paul Limayrac of those days, who barked at the heels of Balzac, and
other great men, in the Revue des Deux Mondes. In his honour De
Banville wrote a song which parodied all popular aspirations to be a
flower. M. Limayrac was supposed to have become a blossom:
"Sur les coteaux et dans les landes
Voltigeant comme un oiseleur
Buloz en ferait des guirlandes
Si Limayrac devenait fleur!"
There is more of high spirits than of wit in the lyric, which became
as popular as our modern invocation of Jingo, the god of battles.
It chanced one night that M. Limayrac appeared at a masked ball in
the opera-house. He was recognised by some one in the crowd. The
turbulent waltz stood still, the music was silent, and the dancers
of every hue howled at the critic
"Si Paul Limayrac devenait fleur!"
Fancy a British reviewer, known as such to the British public, and
imagine that public taking a lively interest in the feuds of men of
letters! Paris, to be sure, was more or less of a university town
thirty years ago, and the students were certain to be largely
represented at the ball.
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