Catholics -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; France -- Fiction; Sin -- Christianity -- Fiction
Thus, now, in front of them, behind them, to the right of them and
to the left, all was theirs. They had gained possession of the whole
domain, and they walked through a friendly expanse which knew them, and
smiled kindly greetings to them as they passed, devoting itself to their
pleasure, like a faithful and submissive servitor. The sky, with its
vast canopy of blue overhead, was also theirs to enjoy. The park walls
could not enclose it, their eyes could ever revel in its beauty, and it
entered into the joy of their life, at daytime with its triumphal sun,
at night with its golden rain of stars. At every moment of the day it
delighted them afresh, its expression ever varying. In the early morning
it was pale as a maiden just risen from her slumber; at noon, it was
flushed, radiant as with a longing for fruitfulness, and in the
evening it became languid and breathless, as after keen enjoyment. Its
countenance was constantly changing. Particularly in the evenings, at
the hour of parting, did it delight them. The sun, hastening towards the
horizon, ever found a fresh smile. Sometimes he disappeared in the
midst of serene calmness, unflecked by a single cloud, sinking gradually
beneath a golden sea. At other times he threw out crimson glories, tore
his vaporous robe to shreds, and set amidst wavy flames that streaked
the skies like the tails of gigantic comets, whose radiant heads lit up
the crests of the forest trees. Then, again, extinguishing his rays
one by one, he would softly sink to rest on shores of ruddy sand,
far-reaching banks of blushing coral; and then, some other night, he
would glide away demurely behind a heavy cloud that figured the grey
hangings of some alcove, through which the eye could only detect a spark
like that of a night-light. Or else he would rush to his couch in
a tumult of passion, rolled round with white forms which gradually
crimsoned beneath his fiery embraces, and finally disappeared with him
below the horizon in a confused chaos of gleaming, struggling limbs.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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