Catholics -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Sin -- Christianity -- Fiction
A tide of emotion now stirred the Paradou to its depths. The old flower
garden escorted them--that vast field bearing a century’s untrammelled
growth, that nook of Paradise sown by the breeze with the choicest
flowers. The blissful peace of the Paradou, slumbering in the broad
sunlight, prevented the degeneration of species. It could boast of a
temperature ever equable, and a soil which every plant had long enriched
to thrive therein in the silence of its vigour. Its vegetation was
mighty, magnificent, luxuriantly untended, full of erratic growths
decked with monstrous blossoming, unknown to the spade and watering-pot
of gardeners. Nature left to herself, free to grow as she listed, in the
depths of that solitude protected by natural shelters, threw restraint
aside more heartily at each return of spring, indulged in mighty
gambols, delighted in offering herself at all seasons strange nosegays
not meant for any hand to pluck. A rabid fury seemed to impel her to
overthrow whatever the effort of man had created; she rebelliously cast
a straggling multitude of flowers over the paths, attacked the rockeries
with an ever-rising tide of moss, and knotted round the necks of marble
statues the flexible cords of creepers with which she threw them down;
she shattered the stonework of the fountains, steps, and terraces with
shrubs which burst through them; she slowly, creepingly, spread over the
smallest cultivated plots, moulding them to her fancy, and planting on
them, as ensign of rebellion, some wayside spore, some lowly weed which
she transformed into a gigantic growth of verdure. In days gone by the
parterre, tended by a master passionately fond of flowers, had displayed
in its trim beds and borders a wondrous wealth of choice blossoms. And
the same plants could still be found; but perpetuated, grown into such
numberless families, and scampering in such mad fashion throughout the
whole garden, that the place was now all helter-skelter riot to its very
walls, a very den of debauchery, where intoxicated nature had hiccups of
verbena and pinks.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account