Three short works: The Dance of Death, the Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, a Simple Soul.Flaubert, Gustave
General
Three short works: The Dance of Death, the Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, a Simple Soul.
Flaubert, Gustave
France -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Like its owners, the farm had an ancient appearance. The beams of
the ceiling were mouldy, the walls black with smoke and the
windows grey with dust. The oak sideboard was filled with all
sorts of utensils, plates, pitchers, tin bowls, wolf-traps. The
children laughed when they saw a huge syringe. There was not a
tree in the yard that did not have mushrooms growing around its
foot, or a bunch of mistletoe hanging in its branches. Several of
the trees had been blown down, but they had started to grow in the
middle and all were laden with quantities of apples. The thatched
roofs, which were of unequal thickness, looked like brown velvet
and could resist the fiercest gales. But the wagon-shed was fast
crumbling to ruins. Madame Aubain said that she would attend to
it, and then gave orders to have the horses saddled.
It took another thirty minutes to reach Trouville. The little
caravan dismounted in order to pass Les Écores, a cliff that
overhangs the bay, and a few minutes later, at the end of the
dock, they entered the yard of the Golden Lamb, an inn kept by
Mother David.
During the first few days, Virginia felt stronger, owing to the
change of air and the action of the sea-baths. She took them in
her little chemise, as she had no bathing suit, and afterwards her
nurse dressed her in the cabin of a customs officer, which was
used for that purpose by other bathers.
In the afternoon, they would take the donkey and go to the
Roches-Noires, near Hennequeville. The path led at first through
undulating grounds, and thence to a plateau, where pastures and
tilled fields alternated. At the edge of the road, mingling with
the brambles, grew holly bushes, and here and there stood large
dead trees whose branches traced zigzags upon the blue sky.
Ordinarily, they rested in a field facing the ocean, with
Deauville on their left, and Havre on their right. The sea
glittered brightly in the sun and was as smooth as a mirror, and
so calm that they could scarcely distinguish its murmur; sparrows
chirped joyfully and the immense canopy of heaven spread over it
all. Madame Aubain brought out her sewing, and Virginia amused
herself by braiding reeds; Félicité wove lavender blossoms, while
Paul was bored and wished to go home.
Sometimes they crossed the Toucques in a boat, and started to hunt
for seashells. The outgoing tide exposed starfish and sea-urchins,
and the children tried to catch the flakes of foam which the wind
blew away. The sleepy waves lapping the sand unfurled themselves
along the shore that extended as far as the eye could see, but
where land began, it was limited by the downs which separated it
from the "Swamp," a large meadow shaped like a hippodrome. When
they went home that way, Trouville, on the slope of a hill below,
grew larger and larger as they advanced, and, with all its houses
of unequal height, seemed to spread out before them in a sort of
giddy confusion.
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account