SCENES FROM PAUL DE KOCK. NO. I. novel of Zizine: the chapter makes a complete story by itself-but the final disposition of the characters introduced, is reserved for another number. In the selections which we shall make, it will be our object to give an entire scene in every number, rather than disjointed and unconnected points and passages of scenes. This will enable the reader to form a more just estimate of the author, and of the state of the society whose man THE GUARDIAN ANGEL. FROM ZIZINE. Edward never passed a day without going to Madam The sketch that follows, is the first of a series of articles on the living French novelists, which we propose to present to our readers. The novels of Paul de Kock have never been translated into the English language, and, in all probability, never will be. They are not adapted to the English taste. Most of them are dis-ners and morals he delineates. figured by scenes and expressions which ought to deprive them of a general English and American circulation. But Paul de Kock is a bold and striking painter of men and manners. His sketches of character possess a variety and a truth to nature, which mark him as one of the most extraordinary writers of the day. His resources are endless; his fertility is absolutely mar-Dolbert's; the good lady received him as a man to vellous. In selecting, from some of his more remarkable productions, some of the most striking scenes and incidents, we feel that we shall be doing an act of justice to a great though misdirected genius, and shall add to the variety which it is the leading object of a journal like our own to maintain. As we have abandoned entirely the field of politics, we can the better enlarge the circle of our literary interests; and in a monthly paper on the current belles lettres of France, we trust that we shall find much matter of entertainment for our readers. whom she hoped one day to give the name of son, and Stephanie with that sweet smile which betrayed to all eyes the inmost secret of her heart. But it was not thus that the lover of Stephanie desired to be loved. Conducting himself before the world with an extreme reserve, it was only in private, in low whispers, and when removed from the vigilance of her grandmother, that Edward spoke to the young girl of love; but then his words were burning, and his eyes had an expression which compelled Stephanie to avert her own; his caressing hands sought always to ap|proach her—to touch the robe, the arm, or the knee of the young girl, who sometimes found herself suddenly embraced, and pressed warmly to a heart that was beating rapidly with the most ardent desires. The January number of the Edinburgh Review, contains an article on Paul de Kock, presenting a very just estimate of his powers, and a fair exhibition of his beauties and defects. The writer compares him to Hogarth, for the subtle and profound skill with which Stephanie responded with an undisguised affection to he connects the ludicrous and the terrible. Count the transports of the man who seemed so happy by her D'Orsay has styled him the Smollett of France; and the side. But when Edward, profiting by an unobserved Edinburgh critic thinks, that in variety, pathos, and interview, pressed her tenderly to his arms, she suffered appeals to the passions, he is the superior of Smollett. an embarrassment, an agitation, which resembled alarm; "With judicious retrenchment and correction," he con- and she disengaged herself from the embrace which tinues, "we think a translation of some of M. de Kock's would retain her, with the question-“But since, my novels, carefully selected, would be a valuable addition | friend, you love me so fondly, why don't you tell me so to our own libraries of popular fiction. The blots and before my mother? When we are in society, you drawbacks we have before spoken of expunged and re-hardly look at me; you seem to fear that our love moved, the little we might lose in bold and broad should be suspected. Why is this? There is no harm humor, would be amply compensated by the unalloyed in our loving-you have yourself told me so;-why pleasure and advantage with which the graver and then should it be a secret ?" more pathetic portions might be perused and studied. To these questions Edward replied-"I cannot yet The moral aims of Paul de Kock are often good-avow my love-family reasons prevent me; but, my sometimes original and great. But the means through which he endeavors to work out the ends, not unfrequently, in our judgment, destroy his own object." "An Englishman, who, after a fashionable French criticism on Paul de Kock's novels, turns to them, for the first time, to form his own judgment of their merits and defects, will be astonished to find, that, amid an exuberance of familiar humor, which often passes the limits of good taste, and (M. Paul de Kock must pardon us if we add) as often outrages the laws of all sound morality, there are veins of the most beautiful and elevating sentiment, and passages of tremendous, yet never exaggerated power. Perhaps, indeed, no author ever excelled the genius which created Le Bon Enfant and Frère Jacques, in that vivid and thrilling tragedy, which seeks its elements in ordinary passions and daily life." The scene below, is a chapter from one of his most recent productions-we believe his very latest-the dear Stephanie, they need not prevent us from indulging our love. The world is a wicked world, and as it always puts a wrong construction on the conduct of its members, we need not admit it to the confidence of our secret sentiments. Believe me, mystery is one of the greatest charms of love. Are we not an hundred times better pleased with a good fortune of which others know nothing? My dear Stephanie, still let me see you in secret,-permit me still to have with you those sweet interviews, in which we can at least exchange the tender caresses which the world would blame, and which make me so happy." Stephanie sighed, and whispered: "In secret-how? I do not understand." But whenever Delaberge undertook to explain, her grandmother or Zizine appeared to interrupt the conversation. A residence of many months with the ladies, Dolbert had already produced a great change in the manners and language of Zizine. She had always been a deli cate little girl, pale and thoughtful; but she no longer | deserves to be loved-she is so good-and she has so appeared the daughter of a water-carrier. Apt to learn whatever pleased her benefactors, Zizine had soon lost all the outward signs of her humble origin; but her heart still remained the same-she never forgot Jerome, and when a month intervened between his visits, the little girl became uneasy, and would hide herself to weep. Without understanding the cause, Zizine perceived very plainly that Stephanie had ceased to be to her what she once was. Her young protectress still caressed her, but she did not speak to her so frequently. The little games-the dolls, were entirely thrown aside. Stephanie was almost always absent and dreaming, and sometimes did not hear the questions of her little companion, who often asked her, “What, then, are you thinking about ?" At length, one day, when Stephanie was even more absent than usual, the little girl burst into tears. This sight roused Stephanie, who ran to her, caught her in her arms, and asked much talent! Oh, she is not like other children: poor little thing, she was destitute of everything when I found her." "Continue to provide for her-1 would by no means blame you for that; but put her to some boarding-school." "What, send her away from me? Oh, never-and if some day—I should-be marriedthat would not prevent me from keeping Zizine always with me." Stephanie blushed as she uttered these last words; but however unconscious a young lady may be, she knows very well that the name of wife should one day belong to her, and when she loves, she ought still more frequently to think of marriage. Edward said no more. The word marriage which Stephanie had uttered seemed to embarrass him; he saw that it was in vain to attempt detaching Zizine from her mistress; and that he must gain his end in some other way. After several months, Stephanie's grandmother was attacked with a violent fever, which threatened her life. Stephanie was always by her bed-side. She never left it for a moment. Aided by Zizine, who did everything to make herself useful, this young girl watched the invalid with so much assiduity and care, that in the course of a few days she was declared to be out of danger. "Why do you weep Zizine? What have they been doing to you?" "They have been doing nothing to me; it is because you no longer love me." "I don't love you Zizine! and why do you think so?" "Because I see very well you never speak to me-you never play with me-you are always sad. I see that I weary you-and I wish to return to my father, the watercarrier." "What, leave me Zizine! oh, no, no, I cannot think of it; I love you still-always love you. But you see, that--when one grows up, one has many things to think of one has ideas which--in short, I cannot explain it all to you now, because you are too young-but that shall not prevent me from loving you.grandmother recovered, with a smile. Pardon me if I am sometimes sad-but do not leave me. Oh! never desert me; for at the bottom of my heart I am always the same to you." Zizine was easily consoled by these kind words, and since she was assured that her presence was still pleasant to Stephanie, she no longer feared to remain by her side, even when she did not speak to her. Edward had often noticed that this child was constantly with Stephanie, and one evening he said to her in a half whisper : "How annoying to see that little girl forever at your side! One would think that she was set to watch you-a spy upon your every action." me. "Oh, it is not so," replied Stephanie; "she loves me so much, that it is her greatest pleasure to be near "She loves you, it is very possible-but I also love you, and it seems to me that I ought to have the preference." "My dear Edward, it is of your own choice whether or not to be near me when you visit us; it is not Zizine who prevents you." "Pardon me, this little girl vexes me--annoys me. When your mother is engaged, I might be alone with you in this little cabinet, if this Zizine were not always in the way." "But she does not prevent us from being together conversing." "It is not the same thing. In truth, Stephanie, I do not understand how you, well educated, born in the world of fashion, should have formed such an attachment for the daughter of a poor water-carrier, who has nothing attractive about her, for she is not even pretty." "You are deceived, my friend; if you knew Zizine as well as I do, you would see that she But during all this time she had not found a moment to talk of love with Edward; Stephanie would have thought it wrong to waste a single moment on anything but her mother's health. When M. Delaberge presented himself at the door of the invalid's chamber, Stephanie was content with a silent look, or, as her Edward did not dare to complain; he watched and waited with patience for the moment when he might act. Madam Dolbert was out of danger, but her recovery was slow, and the physician had recommended the utmost care. She was directed to rise late, and retire early, as repose was necessary for her restoration. Stephanie was anxious to be ever by her grandmother's side; but touched by the solicitude which her daughter had displayed, Madam Dolbert insisted on her taking some recreation, and often sent her from the bed-side with the words "I am no longer sick. All that is now necessary is rest; but you, my dear child, were not directed to watch constantly by my bed. At your age, you require an active life. Return to your piano, your drawings; go and laugh with your little protégé ; receive our friends; in short, enjoy the pleasures of life, I command you; and you must obey my prescriptions as I the physician's." Stephanie yields to the desires of her grandmother, returns to the saloon, and receives there more frequently than ever the visits of Edward; sometimes other acquaintances of Madam Dolbert came to pass a moment with Stephanie; but, by prolonging his visits, Edward always found an opportunity of being alone with her. Not quite alone however; for Zizine was ever there; if she left the saloon for a moment, she at once returned; hardly could the lover of Stephanie raise to his lips the pretty hand which she unreluctantly abandoned to him, when the child came running back to seat herself by the side of her protectress. "What a torment!" said Edward, dropping the hand of Stephanie, and casting an angry glance at the child; but Stephanie, who seemed not to observe the chagrin of her lover, drew the head of Zizine into her lap, and amused herself by passing her fingers through her long soft locks. Edward observed that the child had been sad for some days, and he soon ascertained the cause. Zizine had not seen her father for more than a month; for Stephanie always accompanied her on her visits, and the sickness of Madam Dolbert having prevented her from going out, poor little Zizine had been deprived of her accustomed pleasure. "We will go soon to Jerome's," said Stephanie to the child; "but I do not wish to go out till my poor mother is entirely restored." "And if my father should be sick!" said Zizine in tears. "Why fear that?" "It is so long since I have seen him-he has given up coming here." "You know very well that he told us he had not time." "Yes, but he will think that I have forgotten him—and that will give him much pain." Edward had listened to this conversation without interrupting it. Suddenly he said to Zizine, "Where does your father dwell, my little one?" "In rue St. Honoré, sir; here is his address-I have been copying it for my writing lesson." "Give it me; to-morrow I will call and inquire about your father, and when I come I can bring you the news." “Ah, sir, you are very kind a thousand thanks!" And Zizine in her gratitude would have leaped upon the neck of the good gentleman, if he had not quickly turned his head to look at Stephanie, who said to him as she extended her hand-"It is very obliging in you to take this trouble-and I am much indebted for your kindness." Edward soon took leave, for he was absent, pre-occupied; he wished that the morrow had already come; he had formed his plan; he had at length devised a project for ridding himself of the little girl who had been such an obstacle to his success. As he withdrew, he exclaimed to himself-" yet a few hours, and Stephanie will be mine." The morrow arrived, and Edward was expected at Madam Dolbert's with more than ordinary impatience. Zizine hopes for news from her father, and Stephanie doubts not that it will dissipate the sadness of her little protégé. But the day wanes, and Edward does not appear. "He does not come," said Zizine with a sigh. "He will come this evening," said Stephanie; "you know he seldom fails to come and keep us company after grandmother has retired." This was indeed the time that Edward preferred, because in the evening they seldom received any other visiters, and that evening he came later than usual, to be certain of no obstacle to his plans. Stephanie and Zizine were in the saloon; they raised a light exclamation of joy as Edward entered, and Zizine cried out "Have you any news of my father, sir?" "Pardon my being so late," replied Edward, wiping his forehead, with an air of extreme fatigue-" but I have had my hands full of engagements--indispensable business-which has detained me-or I should have been here long since." "Any news from my father," said Zizine; "have you not been able to see him?" "Pardon me, my child; that I promised you, and I never break my promise. I went to his lodgings, I found them without difficulty." "Ah, sir, you are too good! You have seen him?” "No, I have not seen him, but I found a neighbor of his who was able to answer my inquiries. I am sorry to tell you, my dear little friend, that your fears were too well founded; your father is ill." "He is ill-good heaven! good heaven! Yes, my dear friend, I was sure he was ill. But what is the matter with him?" "I don't know exactly-the woman could not explain—but it seemed that he was a good deal troubled at not having seen his daughter." "He wishes to see me! My poor, dear father! Oh, yes-and I also wish to see him-immediately. You will let me go and see my father?" Zizine clasped her hands, and looked up imploringly to her benefactress; already the big tears were coursing down her cheeks. In her turn, Stephanie embraced her, and tried to comfort her. "You shall go-certainly-but to-night, how can you? It is already past nine." "No matter-my father is ill-I must go and take care of him, as you have taken care of your grandmother-and she was not alone, she had domestics to provide for her; but, my poor father is all alone; you see that he has need of me." There was that in the expression of the young girl which indicated an energy beyond her years. It seemed that filial love had given new firmness of purpose, new strength of soul to this weak little creature. "But how can you go?" said Stephanie; "my grandmother is a-bed and asleep--I cannot wake her to ask permission to go out." "It is very easy to arrange that," said Edward. "My cab is at the door with my servant; he can carry Zizine to her father-perhaps he is not very ill after all. She can see him-she can stay as long as she pleases with him, and my servant can wait for her and bring her back." "In that case,” said Stephanie, "it would not be necessary for me to go with her. You are not afraid, Zizine?" "Oh, no, my dear friend; oh, sir, how much I thank you!" "Your servant is careful?" said Stephanie, who was a little fearful of parting with her charge. "I'll answer for him, as I would for myself. What are you afraid will happen to the little girl?" “Zizine, you will return ?" "Yes-unless my father should be too sick for me to leave him." "It is likely enough that the sight of you will restore him—that neighbor of his spoke so uncertainly.” “Good bye, my dear friend ;” “but wait a moment, let me get you a shawl or something-you will take cold." "Oh, no, I am well enough. Will your servant, sir, let me get into the carriage?" "Come, my child, I will go down with you, and tell him what to do; come—but make no noise, you must not wake up madam Dolbert-all this would only trouble her." "Oh, yes--you say truly-be careful not to wake my mother." Stephanie embraces Zizine, commits her to Edward, and he goes down with her to the door. Zizine followed the young man with all the swiftness of her little limbs; on reaching the door, Edward took her in | ward, gently drawing the charming girl to a divan that his arms, bore her to the carriage, said a few words to was near them. his servant, and hastened back to rejoin Stephanie. The amiable girl was sad at the loss of her little charge; but she tried to receive Edward with a smile. He throws too the door of the saloon as he enters, and seats himself by the side of Stephanie. "No-no!" said Stephanie, seating herself in great emotion by the side of her lover; "but it seems to me that there is no need—that it is not right-that-" The lips of the maiden were closed-she did not dare to say, "You ought not to embrace me as you have "She is gone, then," said the young lady, with a done," but she thought so; for there is always somesigh. "Yes-I placed her in my carriage myself, and gave her in charge to my servant; you may be assured she is perfectly safe." "I believe you—and yet—it is very strange-I am troubled, distressed-I am so used to having this little girl with me." "That you cannot rest a moment without seeing her? Oh! you love this little girl better than you love me-I see it." " "Oh! no-what I feel for her is friendship, and for you""well? and for me?" "You know well that it is love!" "My dear Stephanie, ah! tell me again that you loverepeat it." "Is it because you doubt? Ah! I cannot deceive--and as I cannot hide what I feel"-" how happy am I and how delightful to exchange without a witness these vows of love! Ah, Stephanie, I have long wished for this moment. I can at last kiss these sweet hands-this white neck-all the charms that I have so long desired to possess?" As he thus spoke, Edward drew his chair directly opposite to Stephanie, passed his arm about her waist, and drawing her gently towards him, imprinted his burning kisses on her neck, her arms, her hands, and even her robe. Stephanie, alarmed by the warmth of caresses to which she is for the first time exposed, blushes and trembles, gently repelling Edward with the exclamation, “but why do you press me so closely ?" | "Dear Stephanie, I am so happy to be thus with you." "But it is wrong, perhaps, that you should embrace me." "Why wrong? since we love, and shall always love?" "Always?" "Oh, yes, it is true, very true." "And will you never change, Edward ?" "Never-I swear it by this kiss." To the virgin lips of the young girl, the insolent Edward presses his own; Stephanie burns with emotion; the prey of a new passion, she has hardly power to rise and tear herself from the arms of her lover. thing in the depth of the heart that teaches us to distinguish the wrong from the right. Edward divines easily what Stephanie dares not utter, and exclaims while circling her in his arm— "But when we love, is it not natural to show it ?The caresses of lovers are the dearest pleasures we are permitted to enjoy. Stephanie, I tremble with joy in touching your hand, your arm-in pressing you to my heart; if you loved me with an equal passion, you would feel as I do" "Oh, I love you as well-but-how you press me!" "Stephanie, am I not he to whom you have given your heart? Oh, let me hold you thus-let me snatch a kiss from those lips that have sworn to love only me!” Stephanie knows not what to reply, but Edward does not wait permission for a new embrace; the young maiden melts in the ardor of his caress; her lover be comes more confident; she wishes to repel him, but she has not the power. "Mercy-mercy!" murmurs Stephanie, who now feels the extent of her danger; but Edward does not listen; a moment only and he will have triumphed over her feeble resistance, when footsteps are heard in the passage leading to the apartment. Some one approaches; Edward disengages himself from Stephanie, and the moment after the door of the saloon opens. It is Zizine, who returns, and runs to throw herself into the arms of Stephanie. "The child! so soon!" muttered Edward, striking his fists together in his rage, "Oh-this is my evil genius-and this miserable Dupré has permitted her to return!" "Here I am, my dear friend," said the child, throwing her arms about the neck of Stephanie. "I have not been long? and you did not expect me so soon ?” "Dear Zizine, it is heaven that has sent you. Hencere-forth you shall never leave me-no, never. Oh, how happy am I that you have returned!" Edward, surprised at the escape of Stephanie, mained fixed on his chair, looking after the young girl, who had fled to the opposite side of the saloon. "Stephanie-do you fly from me?" said the lover, in a tone of gentleness. Stephanie embraced the little girl, pressed her to her bosom, concealing on the cheeks of Zizine the blushes of her forehead, and the tears which moistened her "No-I do not fly from you," replied Stephanie, eyes; while Edward, seated at the other end of the with downcast eyes; "but it was-I know not what-apartment, was impatiently striking the floor with his it was something like fear." "Fear of me, Stephanie? Indeed I am too unhappy if I have inspired such a sentiment-I who love you so much-I who breathe only for you!" foot, and made no effort to conceal his chagrin and disappointment. "You are surprised to see me back so soon!" said Zizine; "I will tell you how it happened. But first These words were uttered in a tone so touching, that of all, I am very glad that I went, for my father is not Stephanie reproached herself for having given pain to ill-he has not been ill; it was very malicious in that Edward; she turned her fine eyes towards him, they neighbor of his to invent that story only to give me expressed no anger; the young man left his seat, ran to pain. Listen-I was in the cab; we were going along her, took one of her hands which he pressed tenderly some street-I don't known which; I did not well know in his own; and by his looks, endeavored to excite in the way, but the gentleman's servant told me that he the breast of the young girl all the desires that were knew where he was to carry me. All at once, as we raging in his own; but Stephanie again cast down her were passing by a shop that was very brightly lit up, eyes in shame. I saw my father. I knew him instantly, and cried out, "Am I guilty of a crime in loving you ?” asked Ed- 'Papa, papa! it is I!' and then I said to the servant, girl, but of an insulted and outraged woman, proud of her virtue, who sees before her the abyss that she has escaped, and defies the pledges and promises that lure her to a new peril. Her look said all that, for Edward could not endure it; and this man, so presumptuous, so 'Stop, if you please sir, for I have just seen my father.' | raises her head, and turning it towards Edward, fastens But he would not hear me; he drove on without stop-on him a glance that freezes the words on his lips; for ping, and I was just bursting into tears. Fortunately, it is no longer the look of a young, timid and loving my father had heard my voice-he ran after the cab, and at the risk of being crushed, caught the horse by the head and stopped him. Then I told my father where I was going, and was about getting out of the cab, when the gentleman's servant detained me, saying that he was responsible for my safe return. My father imme-habituated in the ways of gallantry, hung his head in diately took me in his arms, replying to the servant, shame, and was struck dumb in the presence of a 'Know that when I am present, no one but I has the maiden whom he had failed to dishonor. right of protecting her.' My poor father! he did not know what to make of it when he saw me riding alone in a cab. When I told him that I heard he was sick, he kissed me and thanked me. He then asked if I wished to go home with him, but I told him that you loved me dearly, and that I had promised to come back to you. Then the gentleman's servant, who had waited It is in a trembling voice, and with a look of despair, there, offered to bring me back; but my father said to that Edward said farewell to Miss Dolbert; whispering him, 'I will myself return with my daughter to her in a tone of voice that she only could hear-"If you protectress ;'-and indeed he brought me quite home-do not condescend to give me one look, I shall believe not leaving me till he got to the square, and charging me as he went away, never to ride alone again in a cab." "Little dear!" said Stephanie, once more embracing Zizine; "your father is right-I ought not to have suffered you to go out alone, and for the future you never shall, I promise you." Stephanie immediately turned back her face to Zizine, for she seemed to pity the confusion of her lover. Edward walks to and fro in the saloon, begins several sentences that he does not finish, stops before Stephanie, wishes to take a hand which is at once withdrawn, and finally resolves to take his leave. that my presence is disagreeable to you, and shall not dare to visit you again." Stephanie hesitates-reflects-but her heart is so kind! She confides in the regrets, in the despair of Edward, and gently raising her eyes casts upon him a sweet look, in which there was quite as much affection as resentment. It would have been enough for an or"But what has happened to you, my dear friend? | dinary lover; but it was very little for one who had have you been weeping?" flattered himself that this evening would be the witness "Ah-nothing-I was too warm-I have been trou-of his triumph. bled-it is all over now; look, dear, I am quite well now. Sit down by me, just opposite." Stephanie seated the child by her side. Since the return of Zizine, she had not raised her eyes to Edward. In the arms of her little ward she seeks to calm her agitation, and recover her serenity; and Zizine, who sees in Stephanie's countenance the signs of an unusual emotion, looks on her with an air of disquietude. For a long time they keep silence. At length Edward determines to leave the corner he had sought on Zizine's entrance, and approaches the ottoman where Stephanie is still resting. The maiden cannot resist a shudder of apprehension, and circling Zizine with her arms she presses her closely to her heart, as if to interpose the child as a shield against the advances of her lover. Edward pauses, and exclaims: "What is the matter, lady? You seem alarmed— trembling-what has frightened you?" Stephanie does not reply; she continues to hold Zizine in her arms, and does not lift her eyes upon Edward. The lover ventures to seat himself upon the ottoman, but on the side opposite to that of the child; and leaning towards the ear of Stephanie, he says to her in a low voice: Having left Stephanie, and no longer compelled to restrain himself, Delaberge gave a free rein to his passion-for he had never before been so cruelly deceived in his hopes and the chagrin of being disappointed in a scheme which he had so well conceived, and so well matured, exasperated and enraged him beyond measure. He had mounted his cab, and his servant, who sat trembling by his side, attempted in vain to vindicate himself. "You are a fool-an idiot," said Edward; "I had given you your instructions, and you ought to have detained the child, no matter by what means, by what falsehood. You ought not to have brought her back to Madam Dolbert's under two hours at least, and twenty minutes had not elapsed before she returned." "Was it my fault, sir, that we met her father?" "You ought not to have stopped." "Then I must have killed the man who was hanging on the neck of my horse." "You should have obeyed my commands at all hazards." "But, sir "Enough—no more—I give you your discharge-you must quit my service." Arrived home, Edward retires to his inner saloon, and abandons himself to his fury; he breaks everything that he can lay his hands on; splendid articles of furniture, rich vases, a whole pile of the beautiful "What have I done that you should treat me thus? What? You will not even look upon me. Is it, Stephanie, that you have ceased to love me? You see very well that we can come to no explanation or under-nothings that are invented to adorn the apartments of standing, whilst this child is here. Permit me to speak one word with you alone-to justify my conduct-to ask your pardon-it is late-you can send the child tobed- 39 the wealthy, are broken and trampled under the foot of this man, who had never before met with any resistance to his desires, and for the first time had been thwarted in their gratification. Like a spoiled child, who spites Stephanie, who till this moment had remained silent, I himself and breaks all his playthings because he can |