The Lock and Key Library: the Most Interesting Stories of All Nations: French Novels
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The Lock and Key Library: the Most Interesting Stories of All Nations: French Novels
Detective and mystery stories, French; French fiction -- Translations into English
"Madame:--I have found here neither fetes, cavalcades, gala-days
nor Muscovite beauties. What should we do, I beg to know, with
these Muscovite beauties? or perhaps I ought to ask, what would
they do with us? We live in the woods; our castle is an old, very
old one, and in the moonlight it looks like a specter. What I like
best about it, is its long and gloomy corridors, through which the
wind sweeps freely; but I assure you that I have not yet
encountered there a white robe or a plumed hat. Only the other
evening a bat, who had entered by a broken pane, brushed my face
with its wing and almost put out my candle. This, up to the
present time has been my sole adventure. And as for you, sir, know
that I am not obliged to resist the fascinations of my tyrant, for
the reason that he has not taken the trouble to be fascinating.
Know also that I am not bored. I am contented; I am enjoying the
tranquility of mind which comes from a well-defined, well-
regulated, and after all, very supportable position. I am no
longer compelled to urge my life on before me and to show it the
road; it makes its own way, and I follow it as Martin followed his
ass. And then pleasures are not wanting for us,--listen! Our
castle is a long series of dilapidated buildings, of which we
occupy the only one habitable. I am lodged alone in a turret which
commands a magnificent view, and I have a grand precipice under my
window. I can say 'my turret,' 'my precipice!' Oh, my poor
Parisians, you will never understand all there is in these two
words: MY PRECIPICE! 'What is it then but a precipice?' exclaims
Madame Lerins. 'It is only a great chasm.' Ah, yes! Madame, it is
'a great chasm'; but imagine that this morning this chasm was a
deep blue, and this evening at sunset it was--stay, of the color of
your nasturtiums. I opened my window and put my head out to inhale
the odor of this admirable precipice, for I have discovered that in
the evening precipices have an odor. How shall I describe it to
you? It is a perfume of rocks scorched by the sun, with which
mingles a subtle aroma of dry herbs. The combination is exquisite.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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