tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23645654057757634592024-03-05T10:40:46.656+02:00IMPROMPTUIMPROMPTU - about God, life, love - prayers, love poems, inspirational stories, fashion, cosmetics, travel, jokes , quotes. music.Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.comBlogger1141125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-64855304448931950382021-03-07T16:39:00.004+02:002021-03-07T16:39:45.603+02:00GUIDING LIGHT MOM - by Karl and Joanna Fuchs<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><strong></strong><br />
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</center><center><center><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">GUIDING LIGHT MOM </span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4; font-size: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4; font-size: 20px;">by Karl and Joanna Fuchs</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4; font-size: 20px;"><br />
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</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">Mom, from the time I was really young,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">I realized I had someone...you,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">who always cared,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">who always protected me,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">who was always there for me no matter what.</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">You taught me right from wrong,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">and pushed me to do the right thing,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">even when it was hard to do.</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">You took care of me when I was sick,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">and your love helped make me well.</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">You had rules,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">and I learned that when I obeyed them,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">my life was simpler, better, richer.</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">You were and are</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">the guiding light of my life.</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">My heart is filled with love for you,</span></span></span></span></center><center><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: #f3ebe4;">my teacher, my friend, my mother.</span></span></span></span></center><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
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</center><center><span style="color: #702d11;"><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">SUPER MOM</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Joanna Fuchs</span></span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">Mom, you're a wonderful mother,</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">So gentle, yet so strong.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">The many ways you show you care</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">Always make me feel I belong.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You're patient when I'm foolish;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You give guidance when I ask;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">It seems you can do most anything;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You're the master of every task.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You're a dependable source of comfort;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You're my cushion when I fall.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You help in times of trouble;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You support me whenever I call.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">I love you more than you know;</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You have my total respect.</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">If I had my choice of mothers,</span></center><center><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 25px; font-weight: 700;">You'd be the one I'd select!</span></center>
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</div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-79741083230939703172021-03-04T19:16:00.005+02:002021-03-04T19:16:46.426+02:00THE BET - by ANTON P. CHEKHOV<p> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv0029988197">
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I</span></span></div>
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<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was a dark autumn
night. The old banker was pacing from corner to corner of his study,
recalling to his mind the party he gave in the autumn fifteen years
before. There were many clever people at the party and much interesting
conversation. They talked among other things of capital punishment. The
guests, among them not a few scholars and journalists, for the most part
disapproved of capital punishment. They found it obsolete as a means of
punishment, unfitted to a Christian State and immoral. Some of them
thought that capital punishment should be replaced universally by life
imprisonment.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“I don’t agree with
you,” said the host. “I myself have experienced neither capital
punishment nor life-imprisonment, but if one may judge a priori, then in
my opinion capital punishment is more moral and more humane than
imprisonment. Execution kills instantly, life-imprisonment kills by
degrees. Who is the more humane executioner, one who kills you in a few
seconds or one who draws the life out of you incessantly, for years?”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“They’re both
equally immoral,” remarked one of the guests, “because their purpose is
the same, to take away life. The State is not God. It has no right to
take away that which it cannot give back, if it should so desire.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Among the company was a lawyer, a young man of about twenty-five. On being asked his opinion, he said:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Capital punishment
and life-imprisonment are equally immoral; but if I were offered the
choice between them, I would certainly choose the second. It’s better to
live somehow than not to live at all.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">There ensued a
lively discussion. The banker who was then younger and more nervous
suddenly lost his temper, banged his fist on the table, and turning to
the young lawyer, cried out:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“It’s a lie. I bet you two millions you wouldn’t stick in a cell even for five years.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“If you mean it seriously,” replied the lawyer, “then I bet I’ll stay not five but fifteen.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Fifteen! Done!” cried the banker. “Gentlemen, I stake two millions.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Agreed. You stake two millions, I my freedom,” said the lawyer.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So this wild,
ridiculous bet came to pass. The banker, who at that time had too many
millions to count, spoiled and capricious, was beside himself with
rapture. During supper he said to the lawyer jokingly:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Come to your
senses, young roan, before it’s too late. Two millions are nothing to
me, but you stand to lose three or four of the best years of your life. I
say three or four, because you’ll never stick it out any longer. Don’t
forget either, you unhappy man, that voluntary is much heavier than
enforced imprisonment. The idea that you have the right to free yourself
at any moment will poison the whole of your life in the cell. I pity
you.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And now the banker, pacing from corner to corner, recalled all this and asked himself:</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Why did I make this
bet? What’s the good? The lawyer loses fifteen years of his life and I
throw away two millions. Will it convince people that capital punishment
is worse or better than imprisonment for life? No, no! all stuff and
rubbish. On my part, it was the caprice of a well-fed man; on the
lawyer’s pure greed of gold.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He recollected
further what happened after the evening party. It was decided that the
lawyer must undergo his imprisonment under the strictest observation, in
a garden wing of the banker’s house. It was agreed that during the
period he would be deprived of the right to cross the threshold, to see
living people, to hear human voices, and to receive letters and
newspapers. He was permitted to have a musical instrument, to read
books, to write letters, to drink wine and smoke tobacco. By the
agreement he could communicate, but only in silence, with the outside
world through a little window specially constructed for this purpose.
Everything necessary, books, music, wine, he could receive in any
quantity by sending a note through the window. The agreement provided
for all the minutest details, which made the confinement strictly
solitary, and it obliged the lawyer to remain exactly fifteen years from
twelve o’clock of November 14th, 1870, to twelve o’clock of November
14th, 1885. The least attempt on his part to violate the conditions, to
escape if only for two minutes before the time freed the banker from the
obligation to pay him the two millions.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">During the first
year of imprisonment, the lawyer, as far as it was possible to judge
from his short notes, suffered terribly from loneliness and boredom.
From his wing day and night came the sound of the piano. He rejected
wine and tobacco. “Wine,” he wrote, “excites desires, and desires are
the chief foes of a prisoner; besides, nothing is more boring than to
drink good wine alone,” and tobacco spoils the air in his room. During
the first year the lawyer was sent books of a light character; novels
with a complicated love interest, stories of crime and fantasy,
comedies, and so on.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the second year
the piano was heard no longer and the lawyer asked only for classics. In
the fifth year, music was heard again, and the prisoner asked for wine.
Those who watched him said that during the whole of that year he was
only eating, drinking, and lying on his bed. He yawned often and talked
angrily to himself. Books he did not read. Sometimes at nights he would
sit down to write. He would write for a long time and tear it all up in
the morning. More than once he was heard to weep.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the second half
of the sixth year, the prisoner began zealously to study languages,
philosophy, and history. He fell on these subjects so hungrily that the
banker hardly had time to get books enough for him. In the space of four
years about six hundred volumes were bought at his request. It was
while that passion lasted that the banker received the following letter
from the prisoner: “My dear gaoler, I am writing these lines in six
languages. Show them to experts. Let them read them. If they do not find
one single mistake, I beg you to give orders to have a gun fired off in
the garden. By the noise I shall know that my efforts have not been in
vain. The geniuses of all ages and countries speak in different
languages; but in them all burns the same flame. Oh, if you knew my
heavenly happiness now that I can understand them!” The prisoner’s
desire was fulfilled. Two shots were fired in the garden by the banker’s
order.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Later on, after the
tenth year, the lawyer sat immovable before his table and read only the
New Testament. The banker found it strange that a man who in four years
had mastered six hundred erudite volumes, should have spent nearly a
year in reading one book, easy to understand and by no means thick. The
New Testament was then replaced by the history of religions and
theology.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">During the last two
years of his confinement the prisoner read an extraordinary amount,
quite haphazard. Now he would apply himself to the natural sciences,
then he would read Byron or Shakespeare. Notes used to come from him in
which he asked to be sent at the same time a book on chemistry, a
text-book of medicine, a novel, and some treatise on philosophy or
theology. He read as though he were swimming in the sea among broken
pieces of wreckage, and in his desire to save his life was eagerly
grasping one piece after another.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">II</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The banker recalled all this, and thought:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“To-morrow at twelve
o’clock he receives his freedom. Under the agreement, I shall have to
pay him two millions. If I pay, it’s all over with me. I am ruined for
ever ...”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fifteen years before
he had too many millions to count, but now he was afraid to ask himself
which he had more of, money or debts. Gambling on the Stock-Exchange,
risky speculation, and the recklessness of which he could not rid
himself even in old age, had gradually brought his business to decay;
and the fearless, self-confident, proud man of business had become an
ordinary banker, trembling at every rise and fall in the market.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“That cursed bet,”
murmured the old man clutching his head in despair... “Why didn’t the
man die? He’s only forty years old. He will take away my last farthing,
marry, enjoy life, gamble on the Exchange, and I will look on like an
envious beggar and hear the same words from him every day: ‘I’m obliged
to you for the happiness of my life. Let me help you.’ No, it’s too
much! The only escape from bankruptcy and disgrace—is that the man
should die.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The clock had just
struck three. The banker was listening. In the house every one was
asleep, and one could hear only the frozen trees whining outside the
windows. Trying to make no sound, he took out of his safe the key of the
door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on his overcoat,
and went out of the house. The garden was dark and cold. It was raining.
A damp, penetrating wind howled in the garden and gave the trees no
rest. Though he strained his eyes, the banker could see neither the
ground, nor the white statues, nor the garden wing, nor the trees.
Approaching the garden wing, he called the watchman twice. There was no
answer. Evidently the watchman had taken shelter from the bad weather
and was now asleep somewhere in the kitchen or the greenhouse.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“If I have the courage to fulfil my intention,” thought the old man, “the suspicion will fall on the watchman first of all.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the darkness he
groped for the steps and the door and entered the hall of the
garden-wing, then poked his way into a narrow passage and struck a
match. Not a soul was there. Some one’s bed, with no bedclothes on it,
stood there, and an iron stove loomed dark in the corner. The seals on
the door that led into the prisoner’s room were unbroken.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When the match went out, the old man, trembling from agitation, peeped into the little window.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the prisoner’s
room a candle was burning dimly. The prisoner himself sat by the table.
Only his back, the hair on his head and his hands were visible. Open
books were strewn about on the table, the two chairs, and on the carpet
near the table.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Five minutes passed
and the prisoner never once stirred. Fifteen years’ confinement had
taught him to sit motionless. The banker tapped on the window with his
finger, but the prisoner made no movement in reply. Then the banker
cautiously tore the seals from the door and put the key into the lock.
The rusty lock gave a hoarse groan and the door creaked. The banker
expected instantly to hear a cry of surprise and the sound of steps.
Three minutes passed and it was as quiet inside as it had been before.
He made up his mind to enter.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Before the table sat
a man, unlike an ordinary human being. It was a skeleton, with
tight-drawn skin, with long curly hair like a woman’s, and a shaggy
beard. The colour of his face was yellow, of an earthy shade; the cheeks
were sunken, the back long and narrow, and the hand upon which he
leaned his hairy head was so lean and skinny that it was painful to look
upon. His hair was already silvering with grey, and no one who glanced
at the senile emaciation of the face would have believed that he was
only forty years old. On the table, before his bended head, lay a sheet
of paper on which something was written in a tiny hand.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Poor devil,”
thought the banker, “he’s asleep and probably seeing millions in his
dreams. I have only to take and throw this half-dead thing on the bed,
smother him a moment with the pillow, and the most careful examination
will find no trace of unnatural death. But, first, let us read what he
has written here.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The banker took the sheet from the table and read:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“To-morrow at twelve
o’clock midnight, I shall obtain my freedom and the right to mix with
people. But before I leave this room and see the sun I think it
necessary to say a few words to you. On my own clear conscience and
before God who sees me I declare to you that I despise freedom, life,
health, and all that your books call the blessings of the world.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“For fifteen years I
have diligently studied earthly life. True, I saw neither the earth nor
the people, but in your books I drank fragrant wine, sang songs, hunted
deer and wild boar in the forests, loved women... And beautiful women,
like clouds ethereal, created by the magic of your poets’ genius,
visited me by night and whispered to me wonderful tales, which made my
head drunken. In your books I climbed the summits of Elbruz and Mont
Blanc and saw from there how the sun rose in the morning, and in the
evening suffused the sky, the ocean and the mountain ridges with a
purple gold. I saw from there how above me lightnings glimmered cleaving
the clouds; I saw green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, cities; I heard
syrens singing, and the playing of the pipes of Pan; I touched the
wings of beautiful devils who came flying to me to speak of God... In
your books I cast myself into bottomless abysses, worked miracles,
burned cities to the ground, preached new religions, conquered whole
countries..</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Your books gave me
wisdom. All that unwearying human thought created in the centuries is
compressed to a little lump in my skull. I know that I am cleverer than
you all.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“And I despise your
books, despise all worldly blessings and wisdom. Everything is void,
frail, visionary and delusive as a mirage. Though you be proud and wise
and beautiful, yet will death wipe you from the face of the earth like
the mice underground; and your posterity, your history, and the
immortality of your men of genius will be as frozen slag, burnt down
together with the terrestrial globe.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“You are mad, and
gone the wrong way. You take falsehood for truth and ugliness for
beauty. You would marvel if suddenly apple and orange trees should bear
frogs and lizards instead of fruit, and if roses should begin to breathe
the odour of a sweating horse. So do I marvel at you, who have bartered
heaven for earth. I do not want to understand you.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“That I may show you
in deed my contempt for that by which you live, I waive the two
millions of which I once dreamed as of paradise, and which I now
despise. That I may deprive myself of my right to them, I shall come out
from here five minutes before the stipulated term, and thus shall
violate the agreement.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When he had read,
the banker put the sheet on the table, kissed the head of the strange
man, and began to weep. He went out of the wing. Never at any other
time, not even after his terrible losses on the Exchange, had he felt
such contempt for himself as now. Coming home, he lay down on his bed,
but agitation and tears kept him a long time from sleeping...</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The next morning the
poor watchman came running to him and told him that they had seen the
man who lived in the wing climb through the window into the garden. He
had gone to the gate and disappeared. The banker instantly went with his
servants to the wing and established the escape of his prisoner. To
avoid unnecessary rumours he took the paper with the renunciation from
the table and, on his return, locked it in his safe.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img height="640" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2Ff9%2F56%2F02%2Ff95602b765a661c3ffc357d0d8cf493b.jpg&t=1614878000&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2fcb-68000b014900&sig=PJO6cWbml0jG3YE2H7vuBg--~D" width="474" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><br />
</div>
</div>
</div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-31241418950799488562021-03-03T18:44:00.004+02:002021-03-03T18:44:40.984+02:00TREES - by Joyce Kilmer<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<div style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div style="font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><center style="font-size: 20px; font-weight: 700;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2360968%2Fkrasota_01.gif&t=1614789679&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f0024014300&sig=cq8RsGkt3bn3V7IGUE_KiA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal; height: 616px; width: 800px;"></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2360970%2Fkrasota_02.png&t=1614789679&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f0024014300&sig=lkvLs6Hi4IGAff8y1nlSgA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal; height: 61px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="650"><center>
<div style="color: #cbb8a9; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><br />
</div>
<div style="color: #cbb8a9; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="font-size: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">TREES</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: small;">by Joyce Kilmer</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I think that I shall never see</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A poem lovely as a tree.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A tree whose hungry mouth is prest</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Against the sweet earth’s flowing breast;</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A tree that looks at God all day,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And lifts her leafy arms to pray;</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A tree that may in summer wear</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A nest of robins in her hair;</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Upon whose bosom snow has lain;</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Who intimately lives with rain.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Poems are made by fools like me,</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><span style="color: #cbb8a9; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">But only God can make a tree.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: #cbb8a9; font-size: 1.2em; font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 7px; text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.5px 1.4px 1.4px;"><br />
</div>
</center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2360972%2Fkrasota_03.png&t=1614789679&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f0024014300&sig=cSb7bS4i5kNU3XNqFOtQHA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal; height: 123px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><center><a href="https://www.liveinternet.ru/users/5041332/blog#post407799648" rel="nofollow noopener noreferrer" style="color: dimgrey; position: relative; text-decoration-line: underline;" target="_blank"><img alt="R-Oksan@" border="0" height="8" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F0%2F39%2F455%2F39455483_1234251264_9.gif&t=1614789679&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f0024014300&sig=xBco9RqzrsZzqXcqsr1iJw--~D" style="border: 0px none; margin: 5px;" title="R-Oksan@" width="9" /></a></center></td></tr></tbody></table></center><center style="font-size: 20px; font-weight: 700;"><br /></center></div>
<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-9702226903578847922021-03-03T18:40:00.009+02:002021-03-03T18:40:56.784+02:00LET’S PLANT A TREE - by Aileen Fisher<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F1886239%2F4220dzh1.png&t=1614789420&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f001e014300&sig=mAS7KKVT9z9p5n0V34Uv3A--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="font-family: serif; height: 639px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F1886240%2F4220dzh2.png&t=1614789420&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f1f-7f001e014300&sig=C0zpyNRiTBGMZTmUGXOI_g--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="font-family: serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr><td>
<div align="center"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td align="center" style="padding: 0px 10px;">
<div align="center"><center style="color: #ffe4b7; font-size: 18px;"><br />
</center><center style="color: #ffe4b7; font-size: 18px;"><br />
</center><center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">LET’S PLANT A TREE</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Aileen Fisher</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It’s time to plant a tree, a tree.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What shall it be? What shall it be ?</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a pine - we can’t go wrong:</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a pine is green the whole year long.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a maple - more than one,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">to shade us from the summer sun.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a cherry - you know why:</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">there’s nothing like a cherry pie !</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant an elm, the tree of grace,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">where robins find a nesting place.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant an apple - not too small,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">with flowers in spring and fruit in fall.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a fir - so it can be</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a lighted outdoor Christmas tree.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a birch, an oak, a beech,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">there’s something extra-nice in each…</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">in winter, summer, spring or fall.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Let’s plant a…</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffe4b7; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">why not plant them ALL ?</span></span></center></center><center style="color: #ffe4b7; font-size: 18px;"><br />
</center><center style="color: #ffe4b7; font-size: 18px;"><br />
</center><center style="color: #ffe4b7; font-size: 18px;"><br />
</center></div>
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</div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-24218304514757295502021-02-26T17:03:00.002+02:002021-02-26T17:03:23.395+02:00THE ROAD TO A WOMAN'S HEART - by Sam Slick<div><p> <br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F04%2Fsamslick-6.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" class="overflowingVertical" src="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F04%2Fsamslick-6.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: left;">
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">As we approached
the inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew uneasy. "It's pretty well on in
the evening, I guess," said he, "and Marm Pugwash is as onsartin in her
temper as a mornin' in April; it's all sunshine or all clouds with her,
and if she's in one of her tantrums she'll stretch out her neck and hiss
like a goose with a flock of goslin's. I wonder what on airth Pugwash
was a-thinkin' on when he signed articles of partnership with that are
woman; she's not a bad<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"> </span>lookin'
piece of furniture, neither, and it's a proper pity sich a clever woman
should carry sich a stiff upper lip. She reminds me of our old minister
Joshua Hopewell's apple-trees.</span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"The
old minister had an orchard of most particular good fruit, for he was a
great hand at buddin', graftin', and what not, and the orchard (it was
on the south side of the house) stretched right up to the road. Well,
there were some trees hung over the fence, I never seed such bearers:
the apples hung in ropes, for all the world like strings of onions, and
the fruit was beautiful. Nobody touched the minister's apples, and when
other folks lost their'n from the boys, his'n always hung there like
bait t' a hook, but there never was so much as a nibble at 'em. So I
said to him one day, 'Minister,' said I, 'how on airth do you manage to
keep your fruit that's so exposed, when no one else can't do it nohow?'
'Why,' says he, 'they are dreadfully pretty fruit, ain't they?' 'I
guess,' said I, 'there ain't the like on 'em in all Connecticut.'
'Well,' says he, 'I'll tell you the secret, but you needn't let on to no
one about it. That are row next the fence, I grafted it myself: I took
great pains to get the right kind. I sent clean up to Roxberry and away
down to Squawneck Creek.' I was afeard he was a-goin' to give me day and
date for every graft, bein' a terrible long-winded man in his stories;
so says I, 'I know that, minister, but how do you preserve them?' 'Why, I
was a-goin' to tell you,' said he, 'when you stopped me. That are
outward row I grafted myself with the choicest kind I could find, and I
succeeded. They are beautiful, but so etarnal sour, no human soul can
eat them. Well, the boys think the old minister's graftin' has all
succeeded about as well as that row, and they sarch no further. They
snicker at my graftin', and I laugh in my sleeve, I guess, at their
penetration.'</span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Now,
Marm Pugwash is like the minister's apples, very temptin' fruit to look
at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash had a watery mouth when he married, I
guess it's pretty puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act
ugly, I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder' that will take the frown out
of her frontispiece and make her dial-plate as smooth as a lick of
copal varnish. It's a pity she's such a kickin' devil, too, for she has
good points,<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"> </span>good eye, good foot, neat pastern, fine chest, a clean set of limbs, and carries a good<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"> - </span>But here we are. Now you'll see what 'soft sawder' will do."</span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;">
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">When we entered the
house, the travelers' room was all in darkness, and on opening the
opposite door into the sitting-room we found the female part of the
family extinguishing the fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in
her hand, and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery) of
sweeping the hearth. The strong flickering light of the fire, as it fell
upon her tall, fine figure and beautiful face, revealed a creature
worthy of the Clockmaker's comments.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Good evening,
marm," said Mr. Slick. "How do you do? and how's Mr. Pugwash?" "He!"
said she: "why, he's been abed this hour. You don't expect to disturb
him this time of night, I hope?" "Oh, no," said Mr. Slick, "certainly
not, and I am sorry to have disturbed you, but we got detained longer
than we expected; I am sorry that<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;">...</span>" "So am I," said she, "but if Mr. Pugwash will keep an inn when he has no occasion to, his family can't expect no rest."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Here the
Clockmaker, seeing the storm gathering, stooped down suddenly, and,
staring intently, held out his hand and exclaimed: "Well, if that ain't a
beautiful child! Come here, my little man, and shake hands along with
me. Well, I declare, if that are little feller ain't the finest child I
ever seed. What, not abed yet? Ah, you rogue, where did you get them are
pretty rosy cheeks? Stole them from mama, eh? Well, I wish my old
mother could see that child, it is such a treat. In our country," said
he, turning to me, "the children are all as pale as chalk or as yaller
as an orange. Lord! that are little feller would be a show in our
country. Come to me, my man." Here the "soft sawder" began to operate.
Mrs. Pugwash said, in a milder tone than we had yet heard, "Go, my dear,
to the gentleman; go, dear." Mr. Slick kissed him, asked him if he
would go to the States along with him, told him all the little girls
would fall in love with him, for they didn't see such a beautiful face
once in a month of Sundays. "Black eyes,<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"> </span>let me see,<span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"> - </span>ah,
mama's eyes, too, and black hair also; as I am alive, you are mama's
own boy, the very image of mama." "Do be seated, gentlemen," said Mrs.
Pugwash. "Sally, make a fire in the next room." "She ought to be proud
of you," he continued. "Well, if I live to return here, I must paint
your face, and have it put on my clocks, and our folks will buy the
clocks for the sake of the face. Did you ever see," said he, again
addressing me, "such a likeness between one human and another, as
between this beautiful little boy and his mother?" "I am sure you have
had no supper," said Mrs. Pugwash to me; "you must be hungry, and weary,
too. I will get you a cup of tea." "I am sorry to give you so much
trouble," said I. "Not the least trouble in the world," she replied; "on
the contrary, a pleasure."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">We were then shown
into the next room, where the fire was now blazing up, but Mr. Slick
protested he could not proceed without the little boy, and lingered
behind to ascertain his age, and concluded by asking the child if he had
any aunts that looked like mama.</span></span></div>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;">
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">As the door closed
Mr. Slick said, "It's a pity she don't go well in gear. The difficulty
with those critters is to git them to start: arter that there is no
trouble with them, if you don't check 'em too short. If you do they'll
stop again, run back and kick like mad, and then Old Nick himself
wouldn't start 'em. Pugwash, I guess, don't understand the natur' of the
crittur; she'll never go kind in harness for him. When I see a child,"
said the Clockmaker, "I always feel safe with these women-folk; for I
have always found that the road to a woman's heart lies through her
child."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"You seem," said I,
"to understand the female heart so well, I make no doubt you are a
general favorite among the fair sex." "Any man," he replied, "that
understands horses has a pretty considerable fair knowledge of women,
for they are jist alike in temper, and require the very identical same
treatment. Encourage the timid ones, be gentle and steady with the
fractious, but lather the sulky ones like blazes.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"People talk an
everlastin' sight of nonsense about wine, women and horses. I've bought
and sold 'em all, I've traded in all of them, and I tell you there ain't
one in a thousand that knows a grain about either on 'em. You hear
folks say, Oh, such a man is an ugly-grained critter, he'll break his
wife's heart; jist as if a woman's heart was as brittle as a pipe-stalk.
The female heart, as far as my experience goes, is jist like a new
india-rubber shoe: you may pull and pull at it till it stretches out a
yard long, and then let go, and it will fly right back to its old shape.
Their hearts are made of stout leather, I tell you; there's a plaguy
sight of wear in 'em.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"I never knowed but
one case of a broken heart, and that was in t'other sex, one Washington
Banks. He was a sneezer. He was tall enough to spit down on the heads
of your grenadiers, and near about high enough to wade across
Charlestown River, and as strong as a tow-boat. I guess he was somewhat
less than a foot longer than the moral law and catechism, too. He was a
perfect pictur' of a man; you couldn't fault him in no particular, he
was so just a made critter; folks used to run to the winder when he
passed, and say, 'There goes Washington Banks; beant he lovely!' I do
believe there wasn't a gal in the Lowell factories that warn't in love
with him. Sometimes, at intermission, on Sabbath-days, when they all
came out together (an amazin' handsom' sight, too, near about a whole
congregation of young gals), Banks used to say, 'I vow, young ladies, I
wish I had five hundred arms to reciprocate one with each of you; but I
reckon I have a heart big enough for you all; it's a whopper, you may
depend, and every mite and morsel of it at your service.' 'Well, how you
do act, Mr. Banks!' half a thousand little clipper-clapper tongues
would say, all at the same time, and their dear little eyes sparklin'
like so many stars twinklin' of a frosty night.</span></span></div>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"Well,
when I last seed him he was all skin and bone, like a horse turned out
to die. He was teetotally defleshed, a mere walkin' skeleton. 'I am
dreadful sorry,' says I, 'to see you, Banks, lookin' so peaked. Why, you
look like a sick turkey-hen, all legs! What on airth ails you?' 'I'm
dyin', says he, 'of a broken heart.' 'What!' I says I, 'have the gals
been jiltin' you?' 'No, no,' says he; 'I beant such a fool as that,
neither.' 'Well,' says I, 'have you made a bad speculation?' 'No,' says
he, shakin' his head, 'I hope I have too much clear grit in me to take
on so bad for that.' 'What under the sun is it, then?' said I. 'Why,'
says he, 'I made a bet the fore part of the summer with Leftenant Oby
Knowles that I could shoulder the best bower of the Constitution
frigate. I won my bet, but the anchor was so etarnal heavy that it broke
my heart.' Sure enough, he did die that very fall; and he was the only
instance I ever heard tell of a broken heart."<br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span>
</div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">
</span></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><img alt="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F05%2FSamslick-2-11.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" class="overflowingVertical" src="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F05%2FSamslick-2-11.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" /></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;">Sam
Slick is a character created in 1835 by Thomas Chandler Haliburton, a
Nova Scotian judge and author. With his wry wit and Yankee voice, Sam
Slick of Slicksville put forward his views on "human nature" in a
regular column in the Novascotian. The twenty-one sketches were
published in a collection entitled The Clockmaker or, also known as, the
Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of Slicksville First Series in 1836
and supplemented by an additional 12 unpublished or new sketches. The
book was Canada's first international bestseller and was hugely popular
not only in Nova Scotia, but also in Britain and the United States.<br /><br />Slick’s
wise-cracking commentary on the colonial life of Nova Scotia and
relations with the U.S. and Britain struck a note with readers, which
lead to a second series in 1838 and a third in 1840. The satirical
sketches, mocking both Canadians and Americans, made Haliburton one of
the most popular writers of comic fiction in English of that era. The
Clockmaker, which was also translated into German, established
Haliburton as one of the founders of North American humour. As Arthur
Scobie notes in The Canadian Encyclopedia, The Clockmaker stories,
"proved immensely popular and, ironically, have influenced American
humour as much as Canadian."</span></span></span></span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><img alt="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F05%2FSamslick-2-10.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" class="overflowingVertical" src="https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.norwichcards.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F05%2FSamslick-2-10.jpg&f=1&nofb=1" /></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-79349159037445089582021-02-24T19:47:00.001+02:002021-02-24T19:47:15.248+02:00A MOTHER'S PRAYER - by L. E. Homfray (1915)<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
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</span></center><center><br /><b style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;"></span></span></b><div style="font-family: New Times, serif;"><b style="color: maroon;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman,Times,serif;">A MOTHER'S PRAYER<br /><br /><span style="font-size: medium;">by L. E. Homfray</span><br /><br /><br />When our hearts are sad with longing<br />For our dear ones far away,<br />Holy Father in Thy mercy<br />Watch around them night and day.<br /><br /><br />In the awful hour of battle<br />When their enemies prevail,<br />Strengthen them with hope and courage<br />Lest their weary footsteps fail.<br /><br /><br />Where we cannot help or comfort<br />Thou in tender pity bless,<br />Guarding them awake or sleeping<br />Cheering them in loneliness.<br /><br /><br />If in pain or sickness lying<br />Far beyond a mother’s care,<br />May Thy gracious mercy save them<br />From the darkness of despair.<br /><br />1915</span><br />
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<br /><br /></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-10535627926958003382021-02-24T18:57:00.002+02:002021-02-24T18:57:26.237+02:00FOREST DELIGHTS - by Belinda Stotler<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial, helvetica; font-size: 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;">
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<div align="center"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F0%2F118%2F139%2F118139313_50.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=Xl4iyB2mjrionArjXEwlkA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F26827%2F39663434.98a%2F0_b2452_bb20bc0a_M.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=a3UO6hFL_OacyZudZCOrjw--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F0%2F118%2F139%2F118139313_50.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=Xl4iyB2mjrionArjXEwlkA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fd%2F1%2F130%2F167%2F130167461_gay1.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=M5jEkfK8wXnFa0bx.9bj3w--~D" border="0" cellpadding="45" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 45px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F0%2F118%2F139%2F118139313_50.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=Xl4iyB2mjrionArjXEwlkA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F26827%2F39663434.98a%2F0_b2452_bb20bc0a_M.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=a3UO6hFL_OacyZudZCOrjw--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg1.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F0%2F118%2F139%2F118139313_50.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=Xl4iyB2mjrionArjXEwlkA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 4px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg0.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fc%2F10%2F110%2F54%2F110054122_46851373_1248791045_tutorialsbakgrunn3.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=n81KbIyZ0mYPUL9IWOWsYA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="11" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 11px;"><center><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg0.liveinternet.ru%2Fimages%2Fattach%2Fd%2F1%2F130%2F167%2F130167090_gay.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=leWrztMUTHjPlxqYyGhn4g--~D" width="600" /><br />
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</center><center><center><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">FOREST DELIGHTS</span></span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Belinda Stotler</span></span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Leaves fluttering on a gentle breeze,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Within the forest of whispering trees,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Makes sunlight gracefully dance there,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Upon the ground and everywhere.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Dappling streams with sparkling light,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Catching the colors of birds in flight,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Giving flowers a lovely surreal glow,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Rousing our spirits with nature's show.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Nightfall gives the forest a mysterious allure</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">As trees become shadows of what they were;</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Soon a chorus arises deep in forest thickets,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">From the croaking frogs and chirping crickets,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Blending in the whip-poor-wills' lonely calls,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">With the owls' echoing pleas in forest halls,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">As fireflies scatter light upon a dark palette,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">All beneath the mystic forest's starlit coverlet.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Nature's melodic sounds are sure to enthrall,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">As life's songs peal within a forest cathedral.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Nature adds the wind's timbre with a breeze,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Or the rain's resonating rhythm through leaves.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Merging with rippling sounds of forest streams,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">All serenading restless minds into daydreams</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">That comforts those who seek refuge there.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">If only they'll listen while in the forest's care.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Thoughts become gentle among natural sights,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">While our spirits entwine with forest delights,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Enticing us to hear life's natural gifts of mirth,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Inviting us to see the wondrous beauty of Earth,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">As nature stirs feelings some cannot determine;</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Yet, the subtle answers lie in a forest's sermon,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Urging us to listen to instincts we once knew,</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">To walk lightly on Earth as other creatures do.</span></center><center style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: darkgreen; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-75357102825492974432021-02-24T18:51:00.004+02:002021-02-24T18:51:48.817+02:00NOTES ON THE ART OF POETRY - by Dylan Thomas<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
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</center><center><span style="font-size: medium;">by Dylan Thomas</span></center><center style="font-size: 25px; font-style: italic;"><br />
</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">in the world between the covers of books,</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">such and so many blinding bright lights,</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">splashing all over the pages</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">in a million bits and pieces</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">all of which were words, words, words,</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">and each of which were alive forever</center><center style="font-size: 25px;">in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.</center></span></center><center><br />
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</b></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fs018.radikal.ru%2Fi525%2F1511%2F59%2Fb4f127f7ff76.jpg&t=1614185254&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f97-da000c01d200&sig=V2J15FpIDOWqscH.6KJ7Ag--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 58px; width: 700px;"><tbody><tr><td><center><br /></center><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-70538624330009025192021-02-18T13:58:00.003+02:002021-02-18T13:58:30.012+02:00CHANGING THE PAST - by Donna<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="yiv2157322182GL_MAR10T yiv2157322182GL_MAR10B yiv2157322182MESS" style="background-attachment: initial; background-position: 0px 100%; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 15px; text-align: justify;"><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fia.wampi.ru%2F2020%2F10%2F30%2F780K652.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=bMGosA4fBuqsxjvRArN74g--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 652px; width: 780px;" title="Galzi@"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fia.wampi.ru%2F2020%2F10%2F30%2F780K28.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=ttNpDttYK.h_1SiUsvmdLA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 35px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; width: 650px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #c3b091; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></center><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #c3b091; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></center><center><span style="color: #c3b091; font-family: New Times, serif;"><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">CHANGING THE PAST</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Donna</span></span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">The past is the past for a reason.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">That is where it is supposed to stay,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">But some cannot let it go.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">In their heads it eats away</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Until all their focus becomes</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">The person they used to be,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">The mistakes they made in their life.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Oh, if only they could see</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">That you cannot change what happened,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">No matter how hard you try,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">No matter how much you think about it,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">No matter how much you cry.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">What happens in your lifetime</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Happens for reasons unknown,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">So you have to let the cards unfold.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Let your story be shown.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Don't get wrapped up in the negative.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Be happy with what you have been given.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Live for today not tomorrow.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Get up, get out, and start living,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">Because the past is the past for a reason.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">It's been, and now it is gone,</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">So stop trying to think of ways to fix it.</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center style="font-size: xx-large;"><span style="font-weight: 700;">It's done, it's unchangeable; move on.</span></center></span></center><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #c3b091; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b>
<br />
</b></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fia.wampi.ru%2F2020%2F10%2F30%2F780K152.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=OKCwP1Aiu.Tr0UjmJ3KaCg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 152px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><center><br />
</center></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
</center><center><br /></center></div></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-70585034717811228432021-02-18T13:55:00.003+02:002021-02-18T13:55:29.832+02:00YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME FALL - by Joyce Alcantara <p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2457779%2F53_01.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=FEAw78b5ZFmw3Cm2PlRvvQ--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 697px; width: 800px;" title="Selesta"></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2457780%2F53_02.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=at1XH4Y.1GD5NatnFAnTdg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 24px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="650"><center><span style="text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 0.9px 1.7px 1.7px;"><center style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 1em;"><br />
</center><center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">YOU WILL NEVER SEE ME FALL</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">by Joyce Alcantara<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">You may see me struggle,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">but you won't see me fall.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Regardless if I'm weak or not,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I'm going to stand tall.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Everyone says life is easy,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">but truly living it is not.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Times get hard,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">people struggle</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">and constantly get put on the spot.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I'm going to wear the biggest smile,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">even though I want to cry.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I'm going to fight to live,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">even though I'm destined to die.</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">And even though it's hard</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">and I may struggle through it all,</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">you may see me struggle...</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">but you will NEVER see me fall.</span></center><center style="font-family: Arial;"><br />
</center></center><center style="color: #ffcc66; font-family: Arial; font-size: 1em;">
<br />
</center></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2457781%2F53_03.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=3cZacwdLiQ3PRCmgsfwu.Q--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 79px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><center><br />
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</center><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-51905825222109568192021-02-18T13:52:00.006+02:002021-02-18T13:52:42.240+02:00DESTINED TO FLY - by Ashley Hyder<p style="text-align: center;"> </p>
<center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2253177%2F3_1.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=2UfXcnDpTgrT.LWwFFgbcQ--~D" border="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 674px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2253178%2F3_2.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=_86xtFmk4n8kHyb211SxlQ--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 15px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="660"><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></center><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></center><center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">DESTINED TO FLY</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Ashley Hyder</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I remember the day we met.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Too young to see the danger.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I didn't know the devil you were,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">That you'd fill me with so much anger.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At first you gave me comfort,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Numbed me from the pain,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">But the light you gave me faded,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Brought blackness to my veins.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Your trap worked as always.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I am not the only one to fall.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So many friends forever gone now;</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No one's left to call.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Dragged me to rock bottom,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Each day a life in hell anew,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Felt there was no possibility</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Of breaking this dependence on you.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Every day I woke</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">With only you on my mind,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Desperate for your love,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">More desperate for you to die.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Through time I saw you were evil.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I watched you steal my soul.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Each time I tried to get away,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You would not let me go.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Tried to scream and cry,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Eventually accepted my fate.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Everyone had tried to warn me,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And now it was too late.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Family and friends could never understand,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Couldn't hear my silent plea.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">They did not want to see</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The sick effect you had on me.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You locked me in a cell.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You made me freeze at night,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Made me deceive those I loved,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Made me live in constant fright.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Left broken, battered, and bruised,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My number of scars grew.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Both physical and mental,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">While the number of wasted years flew.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Went through the motions like a zombie.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No longer did I see</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Any type of future</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In this world for me.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You erased any shred of hope</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When everyone turned their backs.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Difficult to escape this dark hole and cope,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Impossible to defend against your attacks.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I knew no church, no God.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">YOU, my ultimate power.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No way to know real love.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I was now a rotted, dead flower.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then one day it happened.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Most amazing hope one moment brings,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And I decided then and there</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">That I would grow my wings.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No longer will you take from me</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Like you have stolen all these years.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">You will never take my life.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">No longer will I cry these tears.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will deal with the pain.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will swallow all my pride.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will deal with my life of rubble.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I'm prepared for this difficult ride.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">If it kills me to leave you,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then I will gladly die,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Because with you I'm only surviving,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And I have been destined to fly.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will soar, laugh, and smile,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Will breathe my life once more.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will go back to a time</span></span></center><center><span style="color: saddlebrown; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Before you came knocking at my door.</span></span></center><center><br />
</center></center><center style="font-size: 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 20px;"><b><i>
<br />
</i></b></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></center></center><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2253179%2F3_3.jpg&t=1613648072&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f42-d6000b01ab00&sig=5toJ8CIG7p.0Bv9BAfzlqg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 114px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
</center><center><br /></center><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-39107824180748826732021-02-15T21:31:00.002+02:002021-02-15T21:31:24.537+02:00ENCOURAGEMENT IS... - by Catherine Pulsifer <p style="text-align: center;"><strong style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px; text-align: justify;"></strong><br style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px; text-align: justify;" /></p><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><center style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2153994%2Fimeni1_01.gif&t=1613416904&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2feb-700047012600&sig=Qy2vWbPlbA92qH8oosm4xA--~D" border="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 781px; width: 850px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2153995%2Fimeni1_02.png&t=1613416904&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2feb-700047012600&sig=VO3Q5fovWKwt1ZLrf6yfYw--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 102px; width: 850px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="710"><center><span style="color: #4d3142; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><br />
ENCOURAGEMENT IS...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: medium;">by Catherine Pulsifer </span></span></span></span></span></b></span></center><center><span style="color: #4d3142; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"><b><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="vertical-align: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span><br />
<br />
Encouragement is . . .<br />
<br />
the person who takes the time to listen<br />
the person who supports you while others turn their back<br />
the person who lends that helping hand<br />
the person who has faith in you to be all you can<br />
the person who shares what they have<br />
the person who has confidence in you and your plans<br />
the person who gives you hope to see the project through<br />
the person who listens and does not judge<br />
<br />
Encouragement you see is not a noun<br />
but a person taking action showing kindness and compassion.<br />
<br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
</b></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></center></center><center style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2153996%2Fimeni1_03.png&t=1613416904&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2feb-700047012600&sig=qV5ktMYJ5ssmxqeLMYQFuA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 117px; width: 850px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></center><center style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px;"></center><center style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px;"><br /></center>
</div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-37212370577033588622021-02-15T20:49:00.000+02:002021-02-15T20:49:12.515+02:00A STROLL - by Guy de Maupassant<p> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv0824353167">
<div style="color: black; font: 14pt Times New Roman, Times, serif;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F24%2F26%2F49%2F2426498a8fb5c3c4c46e9b9cc51cd13c.jpg&t=1613414622&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2feb-700024012600&sig=2X85oU5H_1VU5GI7BHiqtg--~D" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When Old Man Leras,
bookkeeper for Messieurs Labuze and Company, left the store, he stood
for a minute bewildered at the glory of the setting sun. He had worked
all day in the yellow light of a small jet of gas, far in the back of
the store, on a narrow court, as deep as a well. The little room where
he had been spending his days for forty years was so dark that even in
the middle of summer one could hardly see without gaslight from eleven
until three.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was always damp and cold, and from this hole on which his window opened came the musty odor of a sewer.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For forty years
Monsieur Leras had been arriving every morning in this prison at eight
o'clock, and he would remain there until seven at night, bending over
his books, writing with the industry of a good clerk.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He was now making
three thousand francs a year, having started at fifteen hundred. He had
remained a bachelor, as his means did not allow him the luxury of a
wife, and as he had never enjoyed anything, he desired nothing. From
time to time, however, tired of this continuous and monotonous work, he
formed a platonic wish: “Gad ! If I only had an income of fifteen
thousand francs, I would take life easy.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He had never taken
life easy, as he had never had anything but his monthly salary. His life
had been uneventful, without emotions, without hopes. The faculty of
dreaming with which every one is blessed had never developed in the
mediocrity of his ambitions.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When he was twenty-one he entered the employ of Messieurs Labuze and Company. And he had never left them.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In 1856 he had lost
his father and then his mother in 1859. Since then the only incident in
his life was when he moved, in 1868, because his landlord had tried to
raise his rent.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Every day his alarm clock, with a frightful noise of rattling chains, made him spring out of bed at 6 o'clock precisely.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Twice, however, this
piece of mechanism had been out of order, once in 1866 and again in
1874; he had never been able to find out the reason why. He would dress,
make his bed, sweep his room, dust his chair and the top of his bureau.
All this took him an hour and a half.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then he would go
out, buy a roll at the Lahure Bakery, in which he had seen eleven
different owners without the name ever changing, and he would eat this
roll on the way to the office.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">His entire existence
had been spent in the narrow, dark office, which was still decorated
with the same wall paper. He had entered there as a young man, as
assistant to Monsieur Brument, and with the desire to replace him.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He had taken his place and wished for nothing more.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The whole harvest of
memories which other men reap in their span of years, the unexpected
events, sweet or tragic loves, adventurous journeys, all the occurrences
of a free existence, all these things had remained unknown to him.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Days, weeks, months,
seasons, years, all were alike to him. He got up every day at the same
hour, started out, arrived at the office, ate luncheon, went away, had
dinner and went to bed without ever interrupting the regular monotony of
similar actions, deeds and thoughts.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Formerly he used to
look at his blond mustache and wavy hair in the little round mirror left
by his predecessor. Now, every evening before leaving, he would look at
his white mustache and bald head in the same mirror. Forty years had
rolled by, long and rapid, dreary as a day of sadness and as similar as
the hours of a sleepless night. Forty years of which nothing remained,
not even a memory, not even a misfortune, since the death of his
parents. Nothing.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">That day Monsieur
Leras stood by the door, dazzled at the brilliancy of the setting sun;
and instead of returning home he decided to take a little stroll before
dinner, a thing which happened to him four or five times a year.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He reached the
boulevards, where people were streaming along under the green trees. It
was a spring evening, one of those first warm and pleasant evenings
which fill the heart with the joy of life.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Monsieur Leras went
along with his mincing old man's step; he was going along with joy in
his heart, at peace with the world. He reached the Champs-Elysees, and
he continued to walk, enlivened by the sight of the young people
trotting along.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The whole sky was
aflame; the Arc de Triomphe stood out against the brilliant background
of the horizon, like a giant surrounded by fire. As he approached the
immense monument, the old bookkeeper noticed that he was hungry, and he
went into a wine dealer's for dinner.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The meal was served
in front of the store, on the sidewalk. It consisted of some mutton,
salad and asparagus. It was the best dinner that Monsieur Leras had had
in a long time. He washed down his cheese with a small bottle of
burgundy, had his after-dinner cup of coffee, a thing which he rarely
took, and finally a little pony of brandy.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When he had paid he
felt quite youthful, even a little moved. And he said to himself: “What a
fine evening! I will continue my stroll as far as the entrance to the
Bois de Boulogne. It will do me good.” He set out. An old tune which one
of his neighbors used to sing kept returning to his mind. He kept on
humming it over and over again. A hot, still night had fallen over
Paris. Monsieur Leras walked along the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne and
watched the cabs drive by. They kept coming with their shining lights,
one behind the other, giving him a glimpse of the couples inside, the
women in their light dresses and the men dressed in black.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It was one long
procession of lovers, riding under the warm, starlit sky. They kept on
coming in rapid succession. They passed by in the carriages, silent,
side by side, lost in their dreams, in the emotion of desire, in the
anticipation of the approaching embrace. The warm shadows seemed to be
full of floating kisses. A sensation of tenderness filled the air. All
these carriages full of tender couples, all these people intoxicated
with the same idea, with the same thought, seemed to give out a
disturbing, subtle emanation.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At last Monsieur
Leras grew a little tired of walking, and he sat down on a bench to
watch these carriages pass by with their burdens of love. Almost
immediately a woman walked up to him and sat down beside him.
“Good-evening, papa,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He answered: “Madame, you are mistaken.”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">She slipped her arm through his, saying: “Come along, now; don't be foolish. Listen...”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He arose and walked
away, with sadness in his heart. A few yards away another woman walked
up to him and asked: “Won't you sit down beside me?” He said: “What
makes you take up this life?”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">She stood before him and in an altered, hoarse, angry voice exclaimed:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">“Well, it isn't for the fun of it, anyhow!”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He insisted in a gentle voice: “Then what makes you ?”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">She grumbled: “I've got to live ! Foolish question !” And she walked away, humming.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Monsieur Leras stood
there bewildered. Other women were passing near him, speaking to him
and calling to him. He felt as though he were enveloped in darkness by
something disagreeable.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">He sat down again on
a bench. The carriages were still rolling by. He thought: “I should
have done better not to come here; I feel all upset.” He began to think
of all this venal or passionate love, of all these kisses, sold or
given, which were passing by in front of him. Love ! He scarcely knew
it. In his lifetime he had only known two or three women, his means
forcing him to live a quiet life, and he looked back at the life which
he had led, so different from everybody else, so dreary, so mournful, so
empty.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Some people are
really unfortunate. And suddenly, as though a veil had been torn from
his eyes, he perceived the infinite misery, the monotony of his
existence: the past, present and future misery; his last day similar to
his first one, with nothing before him, behind him or about him, nothing
in his heart or any place.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The stream of
carriages was still going by. In the rapid passage of the open carriage
he still saw the two silent, loving creatures. It seemed to him that the
whole of humanity was flowing on before him, intoxicated with joy,
pleasure and happiness. He alone was looking on. To-morrow he would
again be alone, always alone, more so than any one else. He stood up,
took a few steps, and suddenly he felt as tired as though he had taken a
long journey on foot, and he sat down on the next bench.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What was he waiting
for ? What was he hoping for ? Nothing. He was thinking of how pleasant
it must be in old age to return home and find the little children. It is
pleasant to grow old when one is surrounded by those beings who owe
their life to you, who love you, who caress you, who tell you charming
and foolish little things which warm your heart and console you for
everything.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And, thinking of his
empty room, clean and sad, where no one but himself ever entered, a
feeling of distress filled his soul; and the place seemed to him more
mournful even than his little office. Nobody ever came there; no one
ever spoke in it. It was dead, silent, without the echo of a human
voice. It seems as though walls retain something of the people who live
within them, something of their manner, face and voice. The very houses
inhabited by happy families are gayer than the dwellings of the unhappy.
His room was as barren of memories as his life. And the thought of
returning to this place, all alone, of getting into his bed, of again
repeating all the duties and actions of every evening, this thought
terrified him. As though to escape farther from this sinister home, and
from the time when he would have to return to it, he arose and walked
along a path to a wooded corner, where he sat down on the grass.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About him, above
him, everywhere, he heard a continuous, tremendous, confused rumble,
composed of countless and different noises, a vague and throbbing
pulsation of life: the life breath of Paris, breathing like a giant.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The sun was already
high and shed a flood of light on the Bois de Boulogne. A few carriages
were beginning to drive about and people were appearing on horseback.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A couple was walking through a deserted alley.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Suddenly the young
woman raised her eyes and saw something brown in the branches. Surprised
and anxious, she raised her hand, exclaiming: “Look ! what is that ?”</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Then she shrieked and fell into the arms of her companion, who was forced to lay her on the ground.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The policeman who had been called cut down an old man who had hung himself with his suspenders.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Examination showed
that he had died the evening before. Papers found on him showed that he
was a bookkeeper for Messieurs Labuze and Company and that his name was
Leras.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">His death was attributed to suicide, the cause of which could not be suspected. Perhaps a sudden access of madness !</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img height="400" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2F564x%2F4f%2F5d%2Fd8%2F4f5dd83899c9105b876e23fe35d58e9d.jpg&t=1613414622&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2feb-700024012600&sig=KrYvXJ3Az9kjgNFB1Z_nGw--~D" width="348" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div><br />
</div>
</div>
</div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-47192527079573439332021-02-15T14:31:00.007+02:002021-02-15T14:31:57.759+02:00REMEMBER WELL, REMEMBER NOT - by Edmund Wong, Hong Kong<div style="color: black; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="color: black; font-family: serif; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; text-align: center;">
<div class="yiv9657203057GL_MAR10T yiv9657203057GL_MAR10B yiv9657203057MESS" style="background-attachment: initial; background-position: 0px 100%; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-size: initial; font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13.3333px; line-height: 22px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-top: 10px; padding-bottom: 15px; text-align: justify;"><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2451355%2Fp2_01.png&t=1613391301&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a001f012e00&sig=P8CAouoYvJ4ccu7rz0cGgw--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 670px; width: 830px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td align="center" style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 1px;"><br />
<br />
</td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2451356%2Fp2_02.png&t=1613391301&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a001f012e00&sig=DxmpPN6WYIRjNOtRNq9HZw--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 13px; width: 830px;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt;"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 8px;" width="830"><center><center><span style="text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 1.7px 1.7px 1.7px;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">REMEMBER WELL, REMEMBER NOT</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Edmund Wong, Hong Kong</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
<br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When you should see the passing of the train,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Remember not the voice that trails behind;</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When you should hear the falling of the rain,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Remember not the day that once was fine.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Imagine, instead, the meadow that we’ll sit</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On hand in hand beneath the linden tree;</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">If you are weak against the taxing heat, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I will then let you hop on me, as free</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As clouds, and wander over the tranquil vale</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And brook, where I pick roses up along,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Whose odor I can’t tell, in the mild gale,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">From my sweet Lily’s native scent, so strong</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">That it sets off the passion of my sweats.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">We need not books of tales to pass our time,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Nor time will seize the treasure in our chests,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">For you‘re my fairy queen who lives in mine.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">When you should see the passing of the hearse,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Remember well the reason of this verse,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Be not sorry, nor sad, and miss me like a fool,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: cornsilk; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As all of me is nothing else but you.</span></span></center><center style="font-family: serif;"><span style="color: cornsilk; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><br />
</span></center></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2451357%2Fp2_03.png&t=1613391301&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a001f012e00&sig=3iNAJDEclDiC_mTCx54t.A--~D" border="0" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 10pt; height: 147px; width: 830px;" title="Angelstar"><tbody><tr style="font-size: 10pt;"><td style="font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px; padding: 8px;"><center><br />
</center></td></tr></tbody></table></center><br />
<center><br /></center></div></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-14742329494132504352021-02-15T14:02:00.000+02:002021-02-15T14:02:41.447+02:00THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE - by Myrna Lambert<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;"><strong></strong><br />
<br />
</span></span></span></span></p><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F30894%2F132297003.144%2F0_17d6ab_35bed424_orig.jpg&t=1613390061&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000c012e00&sig=XBCApxlUoV75JUQl9j52MQ--~D" border="0" style="height: 606px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F131807%2F132297003.144%2F0_17d6ac_4425dd40_orig.jpg&t=1613390061&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000c012e00&sig=yxB3PX9n0YXK_67j6yXbKA--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 35px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td width="650"><center><br />
</center><center><br />
</center><center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE LANGUAGE OF LOVE</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;">by Myrna Lambert</span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The language of love is not </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">music heard in the night, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a heated moment of passion, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a moonlit walk or a trip to lover's lane. </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The language of love is not </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a sonnet sweetly written. </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It is not a Shakespearean quote </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">defining a well read mind. </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The language of love </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">is displayed in measures, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">a gentle caress from a lover </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">in a chair with two wheels, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">or a long night spent beside </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">the bed of an ill child. </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Love's language speaks not </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">to the face, but to the soul. </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Its memories are wrapped </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">and placed within the corner </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">of a bursting heart. </span></span></center></center><center><span style="color: #ded1a9; font-family: Georgia; font-size: 18px;"><b><br />
</b></span></center><center><br />
</center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></center></center><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F120725%2F132297003.144%2F0_17d6ad_d541ef99_orig.jpg&t=1613390061&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000c012e00&sig=tcVh83avsQYzrgFsqo.TXg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 126px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></center><center></center><center><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></center><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-9361583075892393752021-02-15T12:35:00.001+02:002021-02-15T12:35:18.090+02:00THE EXTRAVAGANT, MEMORABLE LIFE - by Bill Darrah<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;"></span></span></span></span></p><div style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; font-size: small;">
<br />
<center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F109793%2F132297003.145%2F0_17dd41_953bd8bb_orig.jpg&t=1613385008&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000b01c300&sig=X6ovezTE.96y5ZWArMVnxg--~D" border="0" style="height: 642px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F109793%2F132297003.145%2F0_17dd43_73c19849_orig.jpg&t=1613385008&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000b01c300&sig=7LGNFX.H155HcmKJkB3qmg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 35px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td width="660"><center><br />
</center><center><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE EXTRAVAGANT, MEMORABLE LIFE </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: 700;">by Bill Darrah</span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-family: Georgia; font-weight: 700;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I die you may choose to cry, but please do not wonder why</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">I was chosen to die. No one on Earth was designed to wonder why</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">We must surrender our lives to the unknown future of an eternity we</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Can only rely upon as our enduring supply of true life, comfort, </span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Extravagant love, and most importantly true inner peace. Please</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do not cry for the memories lost between you and I but rather for</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">The memories you and I earnestly earned together as well as the</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Memories I will now strive for through my eternity my soul feels</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Free to fulfill, always remembering those unforgettable memories</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">I shared with you. As hard as it is for you to see me leave, please</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Do not let your grief prevent and hinder the strength you need to</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Make new, more meaningful memories by allowing the peace of my</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Passing, I can truly feel for the first time, to overcompensate your</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Painful thoughts and feelings of any regret for the abundant life</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">You were hoping for me with you I have once lived now restored in</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">My soul forever for you to feel joyful and rejuvenated about as our</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thoughts of love merge together now in your time of encouraging</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Need and in my time of remembrance of you loving me endlessly,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Almost as much as I love you. With my peaceful passing I thankfully</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Extend this deeply heartfelt message of love to help you build a</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Stronger, more meaningful life of peace not only for yourself, but</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Also for anyone else in need of a more soothing peace your</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #260202; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">Extravagant love willingly provides. </span></span></center><center style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></center></center><center><br />
</center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></center></center><center><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimg-fotki.yandex.ru%2Fget%2F105765%2F132297003.145%2F0_17dd42_a98a6cfd_orig.jpg&t=1613385008&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f8f-5a000b01c300&sig=FUyT6jXOJ_Pa9EMFisavGg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 96px; width: 780px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></center><center></center><center><br />
</center><center><br /></center></span></span></span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-46789803146656987112021-02-13T10:59:00.004+02:002021-02-13T10:59:32.668+02:00"WARM " SALAD WITH DUCK, GRILLED MANGO AND BERRY JELLY CUBES - PHOTO RECIPE - STEP BY STEP<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv1646429203">
<div style="color: black; font: 14pt Times New Roman, Times, serif;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipes%2F109%2F109601%2Frecipe_13665df8-457b-403b-a967-ca480f53ecf1_large.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=mXnHjtkE02yiG5HvLv1cLw--~D" style="min-height: 568px; width: 800px;" /><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">INGREDIENTS:</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">40 gr. mesclam salad (arugula, corn, spinach, Swiss chard, lolo biondo and lolo rosso) </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">FOR BERRY JELLY: </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">77 gr. blueberry </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">62 gr. blackberry </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">58 gr. black currant </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">42 gr. Strawberry </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">44 gr. dry red wine </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">43 gr. water </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">35 gr. cane sugar demerara </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">8 gr. sheet gelatin (or 8g powder + 20g cold boiled water) </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">FOR DUCK BREAST: </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">200 gr. duck breast with skin (fillet) </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">5 gr. flower honey </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">7 gr. soy sauce </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">6 gr. rosemary </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">4 gr. garlic </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">1 gr. ground mix of five peppers </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">FOR GRILLED MANGO: </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">150 gr. mango </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">5 gr. extra virgin olive oil
for cranberry dressing: </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">10 gr. mascarpone cheese </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">15 gr. 35% cream </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">10 gr. cranberry "Darbo" sauce </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Besides:
rectangular shape 40x110 mm </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"> STEP BY STEP PHOTOS OF THE RECIPE</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img alt="https://www.koolinar.ru/all_image/recipe_pictures/364/364104/rp364104_w450.jpg" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364104%2Frp364104_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=0Ll4bCZNs8n9ZUN80J128A--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>1.
In the photo, a set of products for berry jelly: black currants,
blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, dry red wine, Demerara cane
sugar, leaf gelatin.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Pour
the sheet gelatin with cold water, let it swell, and then fold it onto a
sieve (pour the powdered gelatin with cold boiled water and leave until
it swells).</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364105%2Frp364105_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=jqSaPxTmpjj5pQy97pup2Q--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>2. Combine berries, red wine, water and cane sugar in a saucepan.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Bring
the contents of the saucepan to a boil over medium heat and cook,
crushing the berries with a wooden spoon, for 10 minutes.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364106%2Frp364106_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=Vxml_WCtkTrdL_Uezj66fw--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>3. Pass the berry mixture through a fine mesh sieve.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Return the saucepan to the heat and bring the contents to a boil.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Remove
from heat, cool the juice to t = 80C, add the swollen gelatin, and then
stir until the latter is completely dissolved (additional gelatin is
not required to dissolve, since it will disperse in hot berry juice).</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Cool to t = 25C.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364107%2Frp364107_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=PJQOMYuKLqv0oCbTUfny.w--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>4. Pour the juice into a rectangular dish.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Bring the mold to the cold until it is completely gelatinous (the hardening process can be accelerated using the freezer).</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364108%2Frp364108_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=XinsBgamJttxOmE9.ZncSA--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>5. Dip the jelly mold into hot water for 3-4 seconds.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Shake the jelly out of the mold onto a cutting board and then cut into 10 x 20 x 20mm rectangles.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364109%2Frp364109_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=y3daMPP0N_hGMDQe3BfcKA--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>6.
In the photo, a set of products for the salad: a mix of Mesklam lettuce
leaves (arugula, corn, spinach, Swiss chard, lolo biondo and lolo
rosso), mango, duck breast on the skin, Mascarpone cheese, 35% cream,
flower honey, soy sauce, cranberry</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Darbo sauce, Extra virgin olive oil, rosemary, garlic, five pepper mill.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364111%2Frp364111_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=lT7WNpJ0VrZ8Dr_Txdbp6w--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>7. Peel the duck fillet from the films.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Make grating cuts in the skin without touching the meat.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Marinate in soy sauce, honey and a ground mixture of five peppers for 15 minutes.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Fry
duck meat (put skin side down) in a dry and hot frying pan on both
sides until golden-red color, adding rosemary and garlic crushed with a
knife blade ( 3 minutes, maximum fire).</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Transfer the breast into a heat-resistant form, cover with foil and place in an oven preheated to t = 180C for 7 minutes.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>8. Cut the mago into 3mm thick slices.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Brush a thin layer of olive oil onto the wedges from 2 sides.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Fry the mango on 2 sides until half cooked in a dry, hot grill pan.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364112%2Frp364112_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=bau187Y_4Ai3iXX9gJQnSQ--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>9. For dressing, whisk the Mascarpone cheese with cream.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Stir in Darbo cranberry sauce.</span></span><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364113%2Frp364113_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=LNKjNsyQyZnhsrkqhAsQ4A--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en"><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b"><span> </span></span><span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>10. Fan the warm mango slices onto a plate.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>Place hot duck slices on top of the mango.</span></span> <span class="yiv1646429203JLqJ4b yiv1646429203ChMk0b"><span>In the center, in the form of a slide, lay out a mix of lettuce leaves seasoned with cranberry dressing.</span></span></span> <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipe_pictures%2F364%2F364114%2Frp364114_w450.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=mWFs6WkCaFjbtsr7I9Rfkg--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en">11. Place the berry jelly cubes on the edge of the plate (the jelly should not come into contact with the warm mango slices).</span><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en">Good appetite !</span><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="yiv1646429203VIiyi" lang="en" style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><img src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.koolinar.ru%2Fall_image%2Frecipes%2F109%2F109601%2Frecipe_13665df8-457b-403b-a967-ca480f53ecf1_large.jpg&t=1613206633&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f08-62000b017500&sig=mXnHjtkE02yiG5HvLv1cLw--~D" /><br />
</span></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"></div></div></div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-53093934099468762822021-02-12T11:10:00.000+02:002021-02-12T11:10:35.657+02:00VALENTINE'S DAY - GIF<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv4364186662">
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</div></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-85758935812269611302021-02-09T20:35:00.003+02:002021-02-09T20:35:22.759+02:00 THE INFANT'S SKULL or THE END OF THE WORLD - A Tale of the Millennium - by Eugène Sue - Part I - THE CASTLE OF COMPIEGNE<p> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv3521768973">
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: large;">Louis V (c. 966 or 967 – 21 May 987), </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: large;">also known as Louis the Do-Nothing (Louis le Fainéant)<br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER I</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE FOUNTAIN OF THE HINDS</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A spring of living
water, known in the neighborhood by the appropriate name of the
"Fountain of the Hinds," empties its trickling stream under the oaks of
one of the most secret recesses of the forest of Compiegne. Stags and
hinds, deers and does, bucks and she-goats come to water at the spot,
leaving behind them numerous imprints of their steps on the borders of
the rill, or on the sandy soil of the narrow paths that these wild
animals have worn across the copse.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">One early morning in
the year 987, the sun being up barely an hour, a woman, plainly dressed
and breathing hard with rapid walking, stepped out of one of these
paths and stopped at the Fountain of the Hinds. She looked in all
directions in surprise as if she expected to have been preceded by some
one at the solitary rendezvous. Finding her hopes deceived, she made an
impatient motion, sat down, still out of breath, on a rock near the
fountain, and threw off her cape.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The woman, barely
twenty years of age, had black hair, eyes and eye-brows; her complexion
was brown; and cherry-red her lips. Her features were handsome, while
the mobility of her inflated nostrils and the quickness of her motions
betokened a violent nature. She had rested only a little while when she
rose again and walked up and down with hurried steps, stopping every now
and then to listen for approaching footsteps. Catching at last the
sounds of a distant footfall, she thrilled with joy and ran to the
encounter of him she had been expecting. He appeared. It was a man, also
in plain garb and in the vigor of age, large-sized and robust, with a
piercing eye and somber, wily countenance. The young woman leaped at a
bound into the arms of this personage, and passionately addressed him:
"Hugh, I meant to overwhelm you with reproaches; I meant to strike you;
but here you are and I forget everything," and in a transport of amorous
delight she added, suiting the deed to the words: "Your lips! Oh, give
me your lips to kiss!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">After the exchange
of a shower of kisses, and disengaging himself, not without some effort,
from the embrace of the fascinated woman, Hugh said to her gravely: "We
cannot indulge in love at this hour."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"At this hour, today, yesterday, tomorrow, everywhere and always, I love and shall continue to love you."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Blanche, they are
foolhardy people who use the word 'always,' when barely fourteen years
separate us from the term assigned for the end of the world! This is a
grave and a fearful matter!"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What! Can you have
given me this early morning appointment at this secreted place, whither I
have come under pretext of visiting the hermitage of St. Eusebius, to
talk to me about the end of the world ? Hugh ... Hugh.... To me there is
no end of the world but when your love ends!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Trifle not with
sacred matters! Do you not know that in fourteen years, the first day of
the year 1000, this world will cease to be and with it the people who
inhabit it ?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Struck by the
coldness of her lover's answers, Blanche brusquely stepped back. Her
brows contracted, her nostrils dilated, her breast heaved in pain, and
she darted a look at Hugh that seemed to wish to fathom the very bottom
of his heart. For a few instants her gaze remained fixed upon him; she
then cried in a voice trembling with rage: "You love some other woman !
You love me no more !"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Your words are senseless !"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Heaven and earth !
Am I also to be despised.... I the Queen!... Yes, you love some other
woman, your own wife, perhaps; that Adelaide of Poitiers whom you
promised me you would rid yourself of by a divorce !" Further utterances
having expired upon her lips, the wife of King Louis the Do-nothing
broke down sobbing, and with eyes that glistened with fury she shook her
fists at the Count of Paris: "Hugh, if I were sure of that, I would
kill both you and your wife; I would stab you both to death!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Blanche," said Hugh
slowly and watching the effect of his words upon the face of the Queen,
who, with eyes fixed upon the ground, seemed to be meditating some
sinister project: "I am not merely Count of Paris and Duke of France, as
my ancestors were, I am also Abbot of Saint Martin of Tours and of
Saint-Germain-des-Pres, abbot not only by virtue of my cowl—but by
virtue of my faith. Accordingly, I blame your incredulity on the subject
of the approaching end of the world. The holiest bishops have
prophesied it, and have urged the faithful to hasten to save their souls
during the fourteen years that still separate them from the last
judgment.... Fourteen years!... A very short period within which to gain
the eternal paradise!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"By the hell that
burns in my heart, the man is delivering a sermon to me!" cried the
Queen with an outburst of caustic laughter. "What are you driving at?
Are you spreading a snare for me? Malediction! this man is a compound of
ruse, artifice and darkness, and yet I love him! I am insane!... Oh,
there must be some magic charm in this!" and biting into her
handkerchief with suppressed rage, she said to him: "I shall not
interrupt again, even if I should choke with anger. Proceed, Hugh the
Capet! Explain yourself!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Blanche, the
approach of the dreadful day when the world is to end makes me uneasy
about my salvation. I look with fright at our double adultery, seeing we
are both married." Stopping with a gesture a fresh explosion of rage on
the part of the Queen, the Count of Paris added solemnly raising his
hand heavenward: "I swear to God by the salvation of my soul, were you a
widow, I would obtain a divorce from the Pope, and I would marry you
with holy joy. But likewise do I swear to God by the salvation of my
soul, I wish no longer to brave eternal punishment by continuing a
criminal intercourse with a woman bound, as I am myself, by the
sacrament of marriage. I wish to spend in the mortification of the
flesh, in fasting, abstinence, repentance and prayer the years that
still separate us from the year 1000, to the end that I may obtain from
our Lord God the remission of my sins and of my adultery with you.
Blanche, seek not to alter my decision. According as the caprice of your
love led you, you have alternately boasted over and cursed the
inflexibility of my character. Now, what I have said is said. This shall
be the last day of our adulterous intercourse. Our carnal relations
shall then end."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">While Hugh the Capet
was speaking, the wife of Louis the Do-nothing contemplated his face
with devouring attention. When he finished, so far from breathing forth
desperate criminations, she carried both her hands to her forehead and
seemed steeped in mediation. Looking askance upon Blanche, the Count of
Paris anxiously waited for the first word from the Queen. Finally, a
tremor shook her frame, she raised her head, as if struck by a sudden
thought, and curbing her emotions she asked: "Do you believe that King
Lothaire, the father of my husband Louis, died of poison in March of
last year?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I believe he was poisoned."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Do you believe that Imma, his wife, was guilty of poisoning her husband?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"She is accused of the crime."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Do you believe Imma guilty of the crime?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I believe what I see."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"And when you do not see?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Doubt is then natural."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Do you know that in that murder Queen Imma's accomplice was her lover Adalberon, bishop of Laon?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"It was a great scandal to the church!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"After the poisoning
of Lothaire, the Queen and the bishop, finally delivered from the eyes
of her husband, indulged their love more freely."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"A double and horrible sacrilege!" cried the Count of Paris with indignation. "A bishop and a Queen adulterers and homicides!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Blanche seemed
astonished at the indignation of Hugh the Capet and again contemplated
him attentively. She then proceeded with her interrogatory:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Are you aware,
Count of Paris, that King Lothaire's death is a happy circumstance for
you—provided you were ambitious? Bishop Adalberon, the accomplice and
lover of the Queen, that bishop, expert in poisons, was your friend!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"He was my friend before his crime."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You repudiate his friendship, but you profit by his crime. That is high statecraft."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"In what way,
Blanche, have I profited by that odious crime? Does not the son of
Lothaire reign to-day? When my ancestors, the Counts of Paris, aspired
at the crown they did not assassinate the kings, they dethroned them.
Thus Eudes dethroned Charles the Fat, and Rothbert, Charles the Simple. A
transmission of crowns is easy."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"All of which did
not prevent Charles the Simple, the nephew of Charles the Fat from
re-ascending the throne, the same as Louis Outer-mer, the son of Charles
the Simple, also resumed his crown. On the other hand, King Lothaire,
who was poisoned last year, will never reign again. Whence we see, it is
better to kill the kings than to dethrone them ... if one wishes to
reign in their stead. Not so, Count of Paris?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Yes, provided one does not care for the excommunications of the bishops, nor for the eternal flames."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Hugh, if perchance my husband, although young, should die?... That might happen."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The will of the
Lord is all-powerful," answered Hugh with a contrite air. "There be
those who to-day are full of life and youth, and to-morrow are corpses
and dust! The designs of God are impenetrable."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"So that if
perchance the King, my husband, should die," rejoined Blanche, without
taking her eyes from the face of the Count of Paris, "in short, if some
day or other I become a widow—your scruples will then cease ... my love
will no longer be adulterous, would it, Hugh?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"No, you would then be free."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"And will you remain
faithful to what you have just said ... 'Blanche, I swear to God by the
salvation of my soul, if you should become a widow I shall separate
from my wife Adelaide of Poitiers, and I shall marry you with a pure and
holy joy.' ... Will you be faithful to that oath?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Blanche, I repeat
it," answered Hugh the Capet avoiding the Queen's eyes that remained
obstinately fixed upon him. "I swear to God by the salvation of my soul,
if you become a widow I shall demand of the Pope permission to divorce
Adelaide of Poitiers, and I shall marry you. Our love will then have
ceased to be criminal."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">An interval of silence again followed the words of the Count of Paris, whereupon Blanche resumed slowly:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Hugh, there are strange and sudden deaths."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Indeed, strange and sudden deaths have been seen in royal families."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"None is safe from accident. Neither princes nor subjects."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Only the will of heaven disposes of our fates. We must bow before the decrees of God."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My husband, Louis, the Do-nothing, is, like all other people, subject to death and the decrees of Providence."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Indeed, kings as well as subjects."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"It may then happen,
although he is now barely twenty, that he die suddenly ... within a
year ... within six months ... to-morrow ... to-day...."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Man's end is death."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Should that
misfortune arrive," the Queen proceeded after a pause, "there is one
thing that alarms me, Hugh, and on which I desire your advice."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What, my dear Blanche?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Calumniators, seeing Louis dies so suddenly, might talk ... about poison."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"A pure conscience despises calumny. The wicked may be disregarded."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, as to me, I
would despise them. But, you, Hugh, my beloved, whatever may be said,
would you also accuse me of being a poisoner? Would you pass such a
judgment upon me?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I believe what I
see.... If I do not see, I doubt. Blanche, may the curse of heaven fall
upon me if I ever could be infamous enough to conceive such a suspicion
against you!" cried Hugh the Capet taking the Queen in his arms with
passionate tenderness. "What! If the Lord should call your husband to
Him He would fulfil the most cherished dreams of my life! He would allow
me to sanctify with marriage the ardent love that I would sacrifice
everything to, everything except my eternal salvation! And would I,
instead of thanking God, suspect you of an odious crime! You the soul of
my life!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Queen seemed
overwhelmed with ecstacy. Hugh the Capet proceeded in a low and
tremulous voice: "Oh, joy of my heart, if some day you should be my wife
before God, our souls would then merge in one and in a love that would
then be pure and holy. Then, Oh joy of Heaven, we shall not age! The end
of the world approaches. Together we shall quit life full of ardor and
love!" saying which the Count of Paris drew his mouth close to the lips
of the Queen. The latter closed her eyes and muttered a few words in a
faint voice. Hugh the Capet, however, suddenly and with great effort
disengaged himself from Blanche's arms exclaiming: "A superhuman courage
is needed to overcome the passion that consumes me! Adieu, Blanche,
well-beloved of my heart, I return to Paris!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">With these words
Hugh the Capet disappeared in the copse, while the Queen, overpowered
with passion and the struggle within herself, followed him with her
eyes: "Hugh, my lover, I shall be a widow, and you King!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER II</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE IDIOT</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Among the household
serfs of the royal domain of Compiegne was a young lad of eighteen named
Yvon. Since the death of his father, a forester serf, he lived with his
grandmother, the washerwoman for the castle, who had received
permission from the bailiff to keep her grandson near her. Yvon was at
first employed in the stables; but having long lived in the woods, he
looked so wild and stupid that he was presently taken for an idiot, went
by the name of Yvon the Calf, and became the butt of all. The King
himself, Louis the Do-nothing, amused himself occasionally with the
foolish pranks of the young serf. He was taught to mimic dogs by barking
and walking on all fours; he was made to eat lizards, spiders and
grass-hoppers for general amusement. Yvon always obeyed with an idiotic
leer. Thus delivered to the sport and contempt of all, since his
grandmother's death, the lad met at the castle with the sympathy of none
except a poor female serf named Marceline the Golden-haired from the
abundant gold-blonde ornament of her head. The young girl was a helper
of Adelaide, the favorite lady of the Queen's chamber.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The morning of the
day that Blanche and Hugh the Capet had met at the Fountain of the
Hinds, Marceline, carrying on her head a bucket of water, was crossing
one of the yards of the castle towards the room of her mistress.
Suddenly she heard a volley of hisses, and immediately after she saw
Yvon enter the yard pursued by several serfs and children of the domain,
crying at the top of their voices: "The Calf!" "The Calf!" and throwing
stones and offal at the idiot. Marceline revealed the goodness of her
heart by interesting herself in the wretch, not that Yvon's features or
limbs were deformed, but that the idiotic expression of his face
affected her. He was in the habit of dressing his long black hair in
five or six plaids interwoven with wisps of straw, and the coiffure fell
upon his neck like as many tails. Barely clad in a sorry hose that was
patched with materials of different colors, his shoes were of rabbit or
squirrel skin fastened with osiers to his feet and legs. Closely pursued
from various sides by the serfs of the castle, Yvon made several
doublings in the yard in order to escape his tormentors, but perceiving
Marceline, who, standing upon the first step of the turret stairs that
she was about to ascend, contemplated the idiot with pity, he ran
towards the young girl, and throwing himself at her feet said joining
his hands: "Pardon me, Marceline, but protect poor Yvon against these
wicked people!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Climb the stairs
quick!" Marceline said to the idiot, pointing up the turret. Yvon rose
and swiftly followed the advice of the serf maid, who, placing herself
at the door, lay down her bucket of water, and addressing Yvon's
tormentors, who were drawing near, said to them: "Have pity for the poor
idiot, he harms no one."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I have just seen
him leap like a wolf out of the copse of the forest from the side of the
Fountain of the Hinds," cried a forester serf. "His hair and the rags
he has on are wet with dew. He must have been in some thicket spreading
nets for game which he eats raw."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, he is a worthy
son of Leduecq, the forester, who lived like a savage in his den, never
coming out of the woods!" observed another serf. "We must have some fun
with the Calf."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Yes, yes, let us
dip him up to his ears in the neighboring pool in punishment for
spreading nets to catch game with," said the forester; and taking a step
toward Marceline who remained at the door: "Get out of the way, you
servant of the devil, or we shall give you a ducking along with the
Calf!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My mistress, Dame
Adelaide, a lady of the Queen's chamber, will know how to punish you if
you ill-treat me. Begone, you heartless people!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The devil take Adelaide! To the pool with the Calf!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Yes, to the pool with him! And Marceline also! A good mud-bath for both!"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At the height of the
tumult, one of the casements of the castle was thrown open, and a young
man of twenty years at most leaned out and cried angrily: "I shall have
your backs flayed with a sound strapping, you accursed barking dogs!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The King!" exclaimed the tormentors of Yvon, and a minute later all had fled by the gate of the yard.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Halloa, you girl!"
called out Louis the Do-nothing to Marceline who was taking up her
bucket of water. "What was the cause of the infernal racket made by that
noisy pack?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur," answered Marceline trembling, "they wanted to ill-treat poor Yvon."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Is the Calf about?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur, I know
not where he is gone to hide," explained the maid who feared lest Yvon,
barely escaped from one set of tormentors, should fall into the hands of
the whimsical King. As the latter thereupon withdrew from the window,
Marceline hastened to ascend the stair of the turret. She had scarcely
mounted a dozen steps when she saw Yvon crouching with his elbows on his
knees and his chin in his hands. At the sight of the maid he shook his
head and with a voice full of emotion said: "Good you; oh, you good!
Marceline good!" and he fixed his eyes so full of gratitude upon her
that she observed aloud with a sigh: "Who would believe that this
wretch, with eyes at times so captivating, still is deprived of reason?"
and again laying down her bucket she said to the idiot: "Yvon, why did
you go this morning into the forest? Your hair and rags are really moist
with dew. Is it true that you spread nets to take game?" The idiot
answered with a stupid smile, swaying his head backward and forward.
"Yvon," said Marceline, "do you understand me?" The idiot remained mute,
but presently observing the bucket of water that the maid had laid down
at his feet, he lifted it up, placed it on his own head, and motioned
to Marceline to go up ahead of him. "The poor creature is expressing his
gratitude as well as he can," Marceline was thinking to herself when
she heard steps above coming down the stairs, and a voice cried out:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, Calf, is it you?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"That is the voice
of one of the King's servants," said Marceline. "He is coming for you,
Yvon. Oh, you are going to fall into another tormentor's hands!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Indeed, one of the
men of the royal chamber appeared at the turning of the winding stairs
and said to the idiot: "Come, get up quick and follow me! Our lord the
King wishes to amuse himself with you, you double Calf!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The King! Oh! Oh!
The King!" cried Yvon with a triumphant air, clapping his hands gayly.
The bucket being left unsupported on his head, fell and broke open at
the feet of the King's servitor whose legs were thereby drenched up to
his knees.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"A plague upon the
idiot!" cried Marceline despite all her good-heartedness. "There is the
bucket broken! My mistress will beat me!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Furious at the
accident that drenched his clothes, the royal servitor hurled
imprecations and insults upon Yvon the Calf, who, however, seeming not
to notice either the imprecations or the insults, continued to repeat
triumphantly: "The King! Oh! Oh! The King!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER III</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal; text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">LOUIS THE DO-NOTHING</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Like his wife Louis
the Do-nothing was barely twenty years of age. Justly nicknamed the
"Do-nothing," he looked as nonchalant as he seemed bored. After having
scolded through the window at the serfs, whose noise annoyed him, he
stretched himself out again upon his lounge. Several of his familiar
attendants stood around him. Yawning fit to dislocate his jaws, he said
to them: "What a notion that was of the Queen's to go at sunrise with
only one lady of the chamber to pray at the hermitage of St. Eusebius!
Once awakened, I could not fall asleep again. So I rose! Oh, this day
will be endless!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, would you like to hunt?" suggested one of the attendants. "The day is fine. We would certainly kill some game."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The hunt fatigues me. It is a rude sport."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, would you prefer fishing?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Fishing tires me; it is a stupid pastime."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, if you call your flute and lute-players, you might enjoy a dance."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Music racks my head, and I cannot bear dancing. Let's try something else."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, shall your chaplain read to you out of some fine work?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I hate reading. I think I could amuse myself with the idiot. Where is he?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, one of your attendants has gone out to find him.... I hear steps.... It is surely he coming."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The door opened and a
servitor bent the knee and let in Yvon. From the moment of his entrance
Yvon started to walk on all fours, barking like a dog; after a little
while he grew livelier, jumped and cavorted about clapping his hands and
shouting with such grotesque contortions that the King and the
attendants began to laugh merrily. Encouraged by these signs of
approbation and ever cavorting about, Yvon mimicked alternately the
crowing of a rooster, the mewing of a cat, the grunting of a hog and the
braying of an ass, interspersing his sounds with clownish gestures and
ridiculous leaps, that redoubled the hilarity of the King and his
courtiers. The merriment was at its height when the door was again
thrown open, and one of the chamberlains announced in a loud voice from
the threshold where he remained: "Seigneur King, the Queen approaches!"
At these words the attendants of Louis, some of whom had dropped upon
stools convulsing with laughter, rose hastily and crowded to the door to
salute the Queen at her entrance. Louis, however, who lay stretched on
his lounge, continued laughing and cried out to the idiot: "Keep on
dancing, Calf! Dance on! You are worth your weight in gold! I never
amused myself better!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King, here
is the Queen!" said one of the courtiers, seeing Blanche cross the
contiguous chamber and approach the door. The wing of this door, when
thrown open almost reached the corner of a large table that was covered
with a splendid Oriental piece of tapestry, the folds of which reached
to the floor. Yvon the Calf continued his gambols, slowly approaching
the table, and concealed from the eyes of the King by the head-piece of
the lounge on which the latter remained stretched. Ranged at the
entrance of the door in order to salute the Queen, the prince's
attendants had their backs turned to the table under which Yvon quickly
blotted himself out at the moment when the seigneurs were bowing low
before Blanche. The Queen answered their salute, and preceding them by a
few steps moved towards Louis, who had not yet ceased laughing and
crying out: "Ho, Calf, where are you? Come over this way that I may see
your capers.... Have you suddenly turned mute, you who can bark, mew and
crow so well?"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My beloved Louis is
quite merry this morning," observed Blanche caressingly and approaching
her husband's lounge. "Whence proceeds the mirth of my dear husband?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"That idiot could
make a dead man laugh with his capers. Ho, there, Calf! Come this way,
you scamp, or I'll have your bones broken!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur King,"
said one of the attendants after glancing around the room for Yvon, "the
Calf must have escaped at the moment when the door was opened to admit
the Queen. He is not here, nor in the adjoining room."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Fetch him back, he can not be far!" cried the King impatiently and with rising anger. "Bring him back here immediately!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">One of the seigneurs
hurried out to execute the King's orders, while Blanche letting herself
down near him, said, smiling tenderly: "I shall try, my beloved
seigneur, to enable you to wait patiently for the idiot's return."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Fetch him back. All of you run after him; the more of you look after him, the quicker will he be found."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bowing to the King's orders, the courtiers trooped out of the apartment in search of Yvon.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER IV</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A ROYAL COUPLE</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Blanche remained
alone with her husband, whose face, that for a moment had brightened up,
speedily resumed its normal expression of lassitude. The Queen had
thrown off her simple vestment of the morning to don a more elaborate
costume. Her black hair, braided with pearls, was combed with skill. She
wore an orange colored robe of rich material, with wide flowing
sleeves, leaving half exposed her breast and shoulders. A collar and
gold bracelets studded with precious stones ornamented her neck and
arms. Still reclining on his lounge, now shared by his wife who sat down
at its edge, Louis did not even bestow a glance upon her. With his head
leaning upon one of the pillows, he was mumbling: "You will see the
clumsy fellows will turn out more stupid than the idiot; they will not
catch him."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"In such a
disastrous event," replied Blanche with an insinuating smile, "I shall
have to console you, my darling. Why is your face so careworn? Will you
not deign as much as to throw your eyes upon your wife, your humble
servant?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Louis indolently turned his head towards his wife and said: "How dressed up you are!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Does this dress
please my amiable master?" inquired the Queen caressingly; but noticing
that the King suddenly shivered, became gloomy and brusquely turned away
his head, she added: "What is the matter, Louis?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I do not like the color of that dress!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I am sorry I did not know the color of orange displeased you, dear seigneur. I would have guarded against putting it on."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You were dressed in the same color on the first day of this month last year."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My memory is not as perfect as yours on the subject, my dear seigneur."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"It was on the second of May of last year that I saw my father die, poisoned by my mother!" answered the King mournfully.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What a sad souvenir! How I now hate this accursed orange color, seeing it awakens such recollections in your mind!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The King remained
silent; he turned on his cushions and placed his hands over his eyes.
The door of the apartment was re-opened and one of the courtiers said:
"Seigneur, despite all our search, we have not been able to find Yvon
the Calf; he must have hidden in some corner; he shall be severely
punished soon as we find him again." Louis made no answer, and Blanche
motioned the courtier with an imperious gesture to retire. Left again
alone, and seeing her husband more and more mentally troubled, Blanche
redoubled her blandishments, seeking to provoke a return of her
caresses: "Dear seigneur, your sadness afflicts me."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Your tenderness is extreme ... this morning. Quite different from usual."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My tenderness for you increases by reason of the sorrow that I see you steeped in, dear seigneur."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, I lost everything with my father's death," Louis murmured despondently, and he added with concentrated fury:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"That felonious
bishop of Laon! Poisoner and adulterer! Infamous prelate! And my mother!
my mother his accomplice! Such crimes portend the end of the world! I
shall punish the guilty!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Pray, my seigneur, do forget that dark past. What is it you said about the end of the world? It is a fable."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"A fable! What! Do not the holiest bishops assert that in fourteen years the world must come to an end ... in the year 1000?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What makes me
question their assertion, Louis, is that, while announcing the end of
the world, these prelates recommend to the faithful to part with their
goods to the Church and to donate their domains to them."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Of what use would it be to keep perishable riches if soon everything is to perish?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But then, dear
seigneur, if everything is to perish, what is the Church to do with the
goods that she is eternally demanding from the faithful?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"After all, you are
right. It may be another imposture of the tonsured fraternity. Nor
should anything of the sort surprise us when we see bishops guilty of
adultery and poisoning."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You always come
back to those lugubrious thoughts, dear seigneur! Pray forget those
unworthy calumnies regarding your mother.... Just God! Can a woman be
guilty of her husband's murder! Impossible! God would not permit it!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But did I not
witness the agony and death of my father! Oh, the effect of the poison
was strange ... terrible!" said the King in somber meditation. "My
father felt his feet growing cold, icy and numb, unable to support him.
By degrees the mortal lethargy invaded his other members, as if he were
being slowly dipped into an ice bath! What a terrible spectacle that
was!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"There are illnesses
so sudden, so strange, my beloved master.... When such crimes are
charged, I am of those who say: 'When I see I believe, when I do not see
I refuse to accept such theories.'"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, I saw but too
much!" cried Louis, and again hiding his face in his hands he added in a
distressful voice: "I know not why these thoughts should plague me
to-day. Oh, God, have pity on me. Remove these fears from my spirit!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Louis, do not weep
like that, you tear my heart to pieces. Your sadness is a wrong done to
this beautiful May day. Look out of the window at that brilliant sun;
look at the spring verdure of the forest; listen to the gay twittering
of the birds. Why, all around us, everything in nature is lovely and
joyous; you alone are sad! Come, now, my beautiful seigneur," added
Blanche taking both the hands of the King. "I am going to draw you out
of this dejection that distresses me as much as it does you.... I am all
the gladder at my project, which is intended to please and amuse you."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What is your project?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I propose to spend
the whole day near you. We shall take our morning meal here. I have
issued orders to that effect, my indolent boy. After that we shall go to
mass. We shall then take a long outing in a litter through the forest.
Finally.... But, no, no, the surprise I have in store for you shall
remain a secret. It shall be the price of your submission."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What is the surprise about?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You will never have
spent such a delightful evening.... You whom everything tires and whom
everything is indifferent to ... you will be charmed by what I have in
store for you, my dear husband."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Louis the
Do-nothing, a youth of indolent and puerile mind, felt his curiosity
pricked, but failed to draw any explanation from Blanche. A few minutes
later the chamberlains and servants entered carrying silver dishes and
gold goblets, together with the eatables that were to serve for the
morning repast. Other attendants of the royal chamber took up the large
table covered to the floor with tapestry and under which Yvon the Calf
had hidden himself, and carried it forward to the lounge on which were
Louis and Blanche. Bent under the table, and completely concealed by the
ample folds of the cover which trailed along the floor, the idiot moved
forward on his hands and knees as, carried by the servants, the table
was being taken towards the royal lounge. When it was set down before
Louis and Blanche, Yvon also stopped. Menials and equerries were
preparing to render the habitual services at table when the Queen said
smiling to her husband: "Will my charming master consent that to-day I
be his only servant?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"If it please you,"
answered Louis the Do-nothing, and he proceeded in an undertone: "But
you know that according to my habit I shall neither eat nor drink
anything that you have not tasted before me."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What a child you
are!" answered Blanche smiling upon her husband with amiable reproach.
"Always suspicious! We shall drink from the same cup like two lovers."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The officers of the King left upon a sign from the Queen. She remained alone with Louis.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER V</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE FOUNDING OF A DYNASTY</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Day was waning.
Darkness began to invade the spacious apartment where seventy-five years
before Francon, archbishop of Rouen, informed Charles the Simple that
he was to give his daughter Ghisele together with the domains of
Neustria to Rolf the Norman pirate, and where now King Louis and his
wife Blanche had spent the day.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Louis the Do-nothing
was asleep at full length upon his lounge near to the table that was
still covered with the dishes and vases of gold and silver. The King's
sleep was painful and restless. A cold sweat ran down his forehead that
waxed livid by the second. Presently an overpowering torpor succeeded
his restlessness, and Louis remained plunged in apparent calmness,
although his features were rapidly becoming cadaverous. Standing behind
the lounge with his elbows resting against its head, Yvon the Calf
contemplated the King of the Franks with an expression of somber and
savage triumph. Yvon had dropped his mask of stupidity. His features now
revealed undisguised intelligence, hidden until then by the semblance
of idiocy. The profoundest silence reigned in the apartment now darkened
by the approach of night. Suddenly, emitting a deep groan, the King
awoke with a start. Yvon stooped down and disappeared behind the lounge
while the King muttered to himself: "There is a strange feeling upon
me.... I felt so violent a pain in my heart that it woke me up...." then
looking towards the window: "What! Is it night!... I must have slept
long.... Where is the Queen?... Why was I left alone?... I feel heavy
and my feet are cold.... Halloa, someone!" he called out turning his
face to the door, "Halloa, Gondulf!... Wilfrid!... Sigefried!" At the
third name that he pronounced, Louis' voice, at first loud, became
almost unintelligible, it sunk to a husky whisper. He sat up. "What is
the matter with me? My voice is so feeble that I can hardly hear myself.
My throat seems to close ... then this icy feeling ... this cold that
freezes my feet and is rising to my legs!" The King of the Franks had
barely uttered these words when a shudder of fear ran through him. He
saw before him Yvon the Calf who had suddenly risen and now stood erect
behind the head of the lounge. "What are you doing there?" asked Louis,
and he immediately added with a sinking voice: "Run quick for some
one.... I am in danger....", but interrupting himself he observed: "Of
what use is such an order; the wretch is an idiot.... Why am I left thus
alone?... I shall rouse myself," and Louis rose painfully; but hardly
had he put his feet down when his limbs gave way under him and he fell
in a heap with a dull thud upon the floor. "Help! Help!... Oh, God, have
pity upon me!... Help!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Louis, it is too
late!" came from Yvon in a solemn voice. "You are about to die ...
barely twenty years old, Oh, King of the Franks!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What says that idiot? What is the Calf doing here?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You are about to die as died last year your father Lothaire, poisoned by his wife! You have been poisoned by Queen Blanche!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Fear drew a long cry
from Louis; his hair stood on end over his icy forehead, his lips, now
purple, moved convulsively without producing a sound; his eyes, fixed
upon Yvon, became troubled and glassy, but still retaining a last
glimmer of intelligence, while the rest of his body remained inert.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"This morning," said
Yvon, "the Count of Paris, Hugh the Capet, met your wife by appointment
in the forest. Hugh is a cunning and unscrupulous man. Last year he
caused the poisoning of your father by Queen Imma and her accomplice the
bishop of Laon; to-day he caused you to be poisoned by Blanche, your
wife, and to-morrow the Count of Paris will be King!" Louis understood
what Yvon was saying, although his mind was beclouded by the approach of
death. A smile of hatred contracted his lips. "You believed yourself
safe from danger," Yvon proceeded, "by compelling your wife to eat of
the dishes that she served you. All poison has its antidote. Blanche
could with impunity moisten her lips in the wine she had poisoned—"
Louis seemed hardly to hear these last words of Yvon; his limbs
stiffened, his head dropped and thumped against the floor; his eyes
rolled for a last time in their depths; a slight froth gathered on his
now blackened lips; he uttered a slight moan, and the last crowned scion
of the Carlovingian stock had passed away.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Thus end the royal
races! Thus, sooner or later, do they expiate their original crime!"
thought Yvon contemplating the corpse of the last Carlovingian king
lying at his feet. "My ancestor Amæl, the descendant of Joel and of
Genevieve, declined to be the jailor of little Childeric, in whom the
stock of Clovis was extinguished, and now I witness the crime by which
is extinguished, in the person of Louis the Do-nothing, the stock of
Charles the Great—the second dynasty of the conquerers of Gaul.
Perchance some descendant of my own will in the ages to come witness the
punishment of this third dynasty of kings, now raised by Hugh the Capet
through an act of cowardly perfidy!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Steps were heard
outside. Sigefried, one of the courtiers, entered the apartment saying
to the King: "Seigneur, despite the express orders of the Queen, who
commanded us not to disturb your slumber, I come to announce to you the
arrival of the Count of Paris."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">So saying, Sigefried
drew near, leaving the door open behind him. Yvon profited by the
circumstance and groped his way out of the apartment under cover of the
dark. Receiving no answer from Louis, Sigefried believed the King was
still asleep, when, drawing still nearer he saw the King's body lying on
the floor. He stooped and touched the icy hand. Struck with terror he
ran to the door crying out: "Help!... Help!" and crossed the next room
continuing to call for assistance. Several servitors soon appeared with
torches in their hands, preceding Hugh the Capet, who now was clad in
his brilliant armor and accompanied by several of his officers. "What?"
cried the Count of Paris addressing Sigefried in an accent of surprise
and alarm, "The King cannot be dead!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, Sire, I found
Louis on the floor where he must have dropped down from the lounge. I
touched his hand. It was icy!" saying which Sigefried followed Hugh the
Capet into the apartment that now was brilliantly lighted by the torches
of the servants. The Count of Paris contemplated for an instant the
corpse of the last Carlovingian king, and cried in a tone of pity: "Oh!
Dead! And only twenty years of age!" and turning towards Sigefried with
his hands to his eyes as if seeking to conceal his tears: "How can we
account for so sudden a death?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Seigneur, the King
was in perfect health this morning. He sat down at table with the Queen;
after that she left giving us orders not to disturb her husband's
sleep; and—" Sigefried's report was interrupted by nearing lamentations,
and Blanche ran in followed by several of her women. Her hair was
tumbled, her looks distracted. "Is Louis really dead?" and upon the
answer that she received she cried:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Woe is me! Woe is
me! I have lost my beloved husband! For pity's sake, seigneur Hugh, do
not leave me alone! Oh, promise me to join your efforts to mine to
discover the author of his death, if my Louis died by crime!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, worthy spouse, I
swear to God and his saints, I shall help you discover the criminal!"
answered Hugh the Capet solemnly; and seeing Blanche tremble and stagger
on her feet like one about to fall he cried: "Help! Blanche is
swooning!" and he received in his arms the seemingly fainting body of
Blanche who whispered in his ear: "I am a widow ... you are King!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER VI</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">YVON AND MARCELINE</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Upon leaving the
room where lay the corpse of Louis the Do-nothing, Yvon descended the
stairs to the apartment of Adelaide, the lady of the Queen's chamber,
and mistress of the golden-haired Marceline, whom he expected to find
alone, Adelaide having followed the Queen when the latter ran to the
King's apartment feigning despair at the death of her husband. Yvon
found the young female serf at the threshold of the door in a state of
great agitation at the tumult that had suddenly invaded the castle.
"Marceline," Yvon said to her, "I must speak with you; let us step into
your mistress's room. She will not leave the Queen for a long time. We
shall not be interrupted. Come!" The young woman opened wide her eyes at
seeing for the first time the Calf expressing himself in a sane manner,
and his face now free of its wonted look of stupidity. In her
astonishment, Marceline could not at first utter a word, and Yvon
explained, smiling: "Marceline, my language astonishes you. The reason
is, you see, I am no longer Yvon the Calf but ... Yvon who loves you!
Yvon who adores Marceline!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Yvon who loves me!" cried the poor serf in fear. "Oh, God, this is some sorcery!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"If so, Marceline,
you are the sorceress. But, now, listen to me. When you will have heard
me, you will answer me whether you are willing or not to have me for
your husband." Yvon entered the room mechanically followed by Marceline.
She thought herself in a dream; her eyes did not leave the Calf and
found his face more and more comely. She remembered that, often struck
by the affectionateness and intelligence that beamed from Yvon's eyes,
she had asked herself how such looks could come from a young man who was
devoid of reason.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Marceline," he proceeded, "in order to put an end to your surprise, I must first speak to you of my family."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, speak, Yvon, speak! I feel so happy to see you speak like a sane person, and such language!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Well, then, my
lovely Marceline, my great-grandfather, a skipper of Paris named Eidiol,
had a son and two daughters. One of these, Jeanike, kidnapped at an
early age from her parents, was sold for a serf to the superintendant of
this domain, and later she became the wet-nurse of the daughter of
Charles the Simple, whose descendant, Louis the Do-nothing, has just
died."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Is the rumor really true? Is the King dead? So suddenly? It is strange!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Marceline, these
kings could not die too soon. Well, then, Jeanike, the daughter of my
great-grandfather had two children, Germain, a forester serf of this
domain, and Yvonne, a charming girl, whom Guyrion the Plunger, son of my
great-grandfather, took to wife. She went with him to Paris, where they
settled down and where he plied his father's trade of skipper. Guyrion
had from Yvonne a son named Leduecq ... and he was my father. My
grandfather Guyrion remained in Paris as skipper. A woman named Anne the
Sweet was assaulted by one of the officers of the Count of the city,
and her husband, Rustic the Gay, a friend of my father, killed the
officer. The soldiers ran to arms and the mariners rose at the call of
Rustic and Guyrion, but both of them were killed together with Anne in
the bloody fray that ensued. My grandfather being one of the leaders in
the revolt, the little he owned was confiscated. Reduced to misery, his
widow left Paris with her son and came to her brother Germain the
forester for shelter. He shared his hut with Yvonne and her son. Such is
the iniquity of the feudal law that those who dwell a year and a day
upon royal or seigniorial domain become its serfs. Such was the fate of
my grandfather's widow and her son Leduecq. She was put to work in the
fields, Leduecq following the occupation of his uncle succeeded him as
forester of the canton of the Fountain of the Hinds. Later he married a
serf whose mother was a washerwoman of the castle. I was born of that
marriage. My father, who was as gentle towards my mother and myself as
he was rude and intractable towards all others, never ceased thinking of
the death of my grandfather Guyrion, who was slaughtered by the
soldiers of the Count of Paris. He never left the forest except to carry
his tax of game to the castle. Of a somber and indominable character,
often switched for his insubordination towards the bailiff's agents, he
would have taken a cruel revenge for the ill-treatment that he was
subjected to were it not for the fear of leaving my mother and myself in
want. She died about a year ago. My father survived her only a few
months. When I lost him, I came by orders of the bailiff to live with my
maternal aunt, a washerwoman at the castle of Compiegne. You now know
my family."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The good Martha!
When you first came here she always said to me: 'It is no wonder that my
grandson looks like a savage; he never left the forest.' But during the
last days of her life your grandmother often said to me with tears in
her eyes: 'The good God has willed it that Yvon be an idiot.' I thought
as she did, and therefore had great pity for you. And yet, how mistaken I
was. You speak like a clerk. While you were just now speaking, I said
to myself: 'Can it be?... Yvon the Calf, who talks that way? And he in
love?'"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"And are you pleased to see your error dispelled? Do you reciprocate my feelings?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I do not know,"
answered the young serf blushing. "I am so taken by surprise by all that
you have been telling me! I must have time to think."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Marceline, will you
marry me, yes or no? You are an orphan; you depend upon your mistress; I
upon the bailiff; we are serfs of the same domain; can there be any
reason why they should refuse their consent to our marriage?" And he
added bitterly: "Does not the lambkin that is born increase its master's
herd?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Alack! According to
the laws our children are born and die serfs as ourselves! But would my
mistress Adelaide give her consent to my marrying an idiot?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"This is my project: Adelaide is a favorite and confidante of the Queen. Now, then this is a beautiful day for the Queen."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What! The day when the King, her husband, died?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"For that very
reason. The Queen is to-day in high feather, and for a thousand reasons
her confidante, your mistress, must feel no less happy than the widow of
Louis the Do-nothing. To ask for a favor at such a moment is to have it
granted."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What favor would you ask?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"If you consent to
marry me, Marceline, you will need Adelaide's permission and we shall
want her promise to have me appointed forester serf with the canton of
the Fountain of the Hinds under my charge. Two words of your mistress to
the Queen, two words of the Queen to the bailiff of the domain, and our
wishes are fulfilled."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But, Yvon, do you
consider that everybody takes you for an idiot? And would they entrust
you with a canton? It is out of the question."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Let them give me a bow and arrows and I am ready to acquit myself as an archer. I have an accurate eye and steady hand."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But how will you
explain the sudden change that has turned you from an idiot to a sane
man? People will want to know why you pretended to be an idiot. You will
be severely punished for the ruse. Oh, my friend, all that makes me
tremble."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"After I am married I
shall tell you my reasons for my long comedy. As to my transformation
from idiocy to sanity, that is to be the subject of a miracle. The
thought struck me this morning while I followed your mistress and the
Queen to the hermitage of St. Eusebius. Everything is explainable with
the intervention of a saint."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"And why did you follow the Queen?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Having woke up this
morning before dawn, I happened near the fosse of the castle. Hardly
was the sun up when I saw at a distance your mistress and the Queen
going all alone towards the forest. The mysterious promenade pricked my
curiosity. I followed them at a distance across the copse. They arrived
at the hermitage of St. Eusebius. Your mistress remained there, but the
Queen took the path to the Fountain of the Hinds."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"What could she be up to at that early hour? My curiosity also is now pricked."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"That is another
question that I shall satisfy you upon after we are married, Marceline,"
answered Yvon after a moment's reflection; "but to return to the
miracle that is to explain my transformation from idiocy to sanity, it
is quite simple: St. Eusebius, the patron of the hermitage, will be
credited with having performed the prodigy, and the monk, who now
derives a goodly revenue from the hermitage will not deny my
explanation, seeing that the report of the new miracle will double his
tithes. His whole fraternity speculate upon human stupidity."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The golden-haired Marceline smiled broadly at the young man's idea, and replied:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Can it be Yvon the Calf that reasons thus?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"No, my dear and
sweet maid, it is Yvon the lover; Yvon on whom you took pity when he was
everybody else's butt and victim; Yvon, who, in return for your good
heart, offers you love and devotion. That is all a poor serf can
promise, seeing that his labor and his life belong to his master. Accept
my offer, Marceline, we shall be as happy as one can be in these
accursed times. We shall cultivate the field that surrounds the
forester's hut; I shall kill for the castle the game wanted there, and
as sure as the good God has created the stags for the hunt, we never
shall want for a loin of venison. You will take charge of our vegetable
garden. The streamlet of the Fountain of the Hinds flows but a hundred
paces from our home. We shall live alone in the thick of the woods
without other companions than the birds and our children. And now,
again, is it 'yes' or 'no'? I want a quick answer."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, Yvon," answered
Marceline, tears of joy running from her eyes, "if a serf could dispose
of herself, I would say 'yes' ... aye, a hundred times, 'yes'!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My beloved, our
happiness depends upon you. If you have the courage to request your
mistress's permission to take me for your husband, you may be certain of
her consent."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Shall I ask Dame Adelaide this evening?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"No, but to-morrow
morning, after I shall have come back with my sanity. I am going on the
spot to fetch it at the hermitage of St. Eusebius, and to-morrow I shall
bring it to you nice and fresh from the holy place—and with the monk's
consent, too."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"And people called
him the 'Calf'!" murmured the young serf more and more charmed at the
retorts of Yvon, who disappeared speedily, fearing he might be surprised
by the Queen's lady of the chamber, Adelaide.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER VII</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE STOCK OF JOEL</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon's calculations
proved right. He had told Marceline that no more opportune time could be
chosen to obtain a favor from the Queen, so happy was she at the death
of Louis the Do-nothing and the expectation of marrying Hugh the Capet.
Thanks to the good-will of Adelaide, who consented to the marriage of
her maid, the bailiff of the domain also granted his consent to Yvon
after the latter, agreeable to the promise he had made Marceline,
returned with his sanity from the chapel of the hermitage of St.
Eusebius. The serf's story was, that entering the chapel in the evening,
he saw by the light of the lamp in the sanctuary a monstrous black
snake coiled around the feet of the saint; that suddenly enlightened by a
ray from on high, he stoned and killed the horrible dragon, which was
nothing else than a demon, seeing that no trace of the monster was left;
and that, in recompense for his timely assistance, St. Eusebius
miraculously returned his reason to him. In glorification of the miracle
that was thus performed by St. Eusebius in favor of the Calf, Yvon was
at his own request appointed forester serf over the canton of the
Fountain of the Hinds, and the very morning after his marriage to the
golden-haired Marceline, he settled down with her in one of the profound
solitudes of the forest of Compiegne, where they lived happily for many
years.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As was to be
expected, Marceline's curiosity, pricked on the double score of the
reasons that led Yvon to simulate idiocy for so many years, and that
took the Queen to the Fountain of the Hinds at the early hours of the
morning of May 2nd, instead of dying out, grew intenser. Yvon had
promised after marriage to satisfy her on both subjects. She was not
slow to remind him of the promise, nor he to satisfy her.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My dear wife," said
Yvon to Marceline the first morning that they awoke in their new forest
home, "What were the motives of my pretended idiocy?—I was brought up
by my father in the hatred of kings. My grandfather Guyrion, slaughtered
in a popular uprising, had taught my father to read and write, so that
he might continue the chronicle of our family. He preserved the account
left by his grandfather Eidiol, the dean of the skippers of Paris,
together with an iron arrow-head, the emblem attached to the account. We
do not know whatever became of the branch of our family that lived in
Britanny near the sacred stones of Karnak. It has the previous
chronicles and relics that our ancestors recorded and gathered from
generation to generation since the days of Joel, at the time of the
Roman invasion of Gaul by Julius Caesar. My grandfather and my father
wrote nothing on their obscure lives. But in the profound solitude where
we lived, of an evening, after a day spent hunting or in the field, my
father would narrate to me what my grandfather Guyrion had told him
concerning the adventures of the descendants of Joel. Guyrion received
these traditions from Eidiol, who received them from his grandfather, a
resident of Britanny, before the separation of the grandchildren of
Vortigern. I was barely eighteen years old when my father died. He made
me promise him to record the experience of my life should I witness any
important event. To that end he handed me the scroll of parchment
written by Eidiol and the iron arrow-head taken from the wound of Paelo,
the pirate. I carefully put these cherished mementos of the past in the
pocket of my hose. That evening I closed my father's eyes. Early next
morning I dug his grave near his hut and buried him. His bow, his
arrows, a few articles of dress, his pallet, his trunk, his
porridge-pot—everything was a fixture of and belonged to the royal
domain. The serf can own nothing. Nevertheless I cogitated how to take
possession of the bow, arrows and a bag of chestnuts that was left,
determined to roam over the woods in freedom, when a singular accident
upturned my projects. I had lain down upon the grass in the thick of a
copse near our hut, when suddenly I heard the steps of two riders and
saw that they were men of distinguished appearance. They were
promenading in the forest. They alighted from their richly caparisoned
horses, held them by the bridle, and walked slowly. One of them said to
the other:</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;">
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'King Lothaire was
poisoned last year by his wife Imma and her lover, the archbishop of
Laon ... but there is Louis left, Lothaire's son ... Louis the
Do-nothing.'</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'And if this Louis
were to die, would his uncle, the Duke of Lorraine, to whom the crown
would then revert by right, venture to dispute the crown of France from
me ... from me, Hugh, the Count of Paris?'</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'No, seigneur; he
would not. But it is barely six months since Lothaire's death. It would
require a singular chain of accidents for his son to follow him so
closely to the tomb.'</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">'The ways of Providence are impenetrable.... Next spring, Louis will come with the Queen to Compiegne, and—'</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I could not hear
the end of the conversation, the cavaliers were walking away from me as
they spoke. The words that I caught gave me matter for reflection. I
recalled some of the stories that my father told me, that of Amæl among
others, one of our ancestors, who declined the office of jailor of the
last scion of Clovis. I said to myself that perhaps I, a descendant of
Joel, might now witness the death of the last of the kings of the house
of Charles the Great. The thought so took hold of me that it caused me
to give up my first plan. Instead of roaming over the woods, I went the
next morning to my grandmother. I had never before stepped out of the
forest where I lived in complete seclusion with my father. I was
taciturn by nature, and wild. Upon arriving at the castle in quest of my
grandmother, I met by accident a company of Frankish soldiers who had
been exercising. For pastime they began to make sport of me. My hatred
of their race, coupled with my astonishment at finding myself for the
first time in my life among such a big crowd, made me dumb. The soldiers
took my savage silence for stupidity, and they cried in chorus: 'He is a
calf!' Thus they carried me along with them amidst wild yells and
jeers, and not a few blows bestowed upon me! I cared little whether I
was taken for an idiot or not, and considering that nobody minds an
idiot, I began in all earnest to play the rôle, hoping that, thanks to
my seeming stupidity, I might succeed in penetrating into the castle
without arousing suspicion. My poor grandmother believed me devoid of
reason, the retainers at the castle, the courtiers, and later the King
himself amused themselves with the imbecility of Yvon the Calf. And so
one day, after having been an unseen witness to the interview of Hugh
the Capet with Blanche near the Fountain of the Hinds, I saw the
degenerate descendant of Charles the Great expire under my very eyes; I
saw extinguished in Louis the Do-nothing the second royal dynasty of
France."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Marceline followed Yvon closely with her hands in his, and kissed him, thinking the recital over.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But I have a
confession to make to you," Yvon resumed. "Profiting by the facility I
enjoyed in entering the castle, I committed a theft.... I one day
snatched away a roll of skins that had been prepared to write upon.
Never having owned one denier, it would have been impossible for me to
purchase so expensive an article as parchment. As to pens and fluid, the
feathers that I pluck from eagles and crows, and the black juice of the
trivet-berry will serve me to record the events of my life, the past
and recent part of which is monumental, and whose next and approaching
part promises to be no less so."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal; text-align: center;"><img alt="https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?q=85&c=sc&poi=%5B800%2C500%5D&w=1600&h=1067&url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F28%2F2017%2F04%2Feltz-castle-germany-CASTLES0417.jpg" class="yiv3521768973shrinkToFit" height="526" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fimagesvc.meredithcorp.io%2Fv3%2Fmm%2Fimage%3Fq%3D85%26c%3Dsc%26poi%3D%255B800%252C500%255D%26w%3D1600%26h%3D1067%26url%3Dhttps%253A%252F%252Fstatic.onecms.io%252Fwp-content%252Fuploads%252Fsites%252F28%252F2017%252F04%252Feltz-castle-germany-CASTLES0417.jpg&t=1612895619&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f7f-0c000e01b400&sig=rHJWnlL0GyRbR8isx7AiXQ--~D" width="788" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="color: black; font-family: New Times, serif; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
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</div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-64993659385906068872021-02-09T20:33:00.003+02:002021-02-09T20:33:21.175+02:00THE INFANT'S SKULL or THE END OF THE WORLD - A Tale of the Millennium - by Eugène Sue - PART II - THE END OF THE WORLD<p> </p><div style="color: black; font-family: arial,helvetica; font-size: 10pt;"><div id="yiv4194993179">
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER I</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE APOCALYPTIC FRENZY</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Two months after the
poisoning of Louis the Do-nothing in 987, Hugh the Capet, Count of
Paris and Anjou, Duke of Isle-de-France, and Abbot of St. Martin of
Tours and St. Germain-des-Pres, had himself proclaimed King by his bands
of warriors, and was promptly consecrated by the Church. By his
ascension to the throne, Hugh usurped the crown of Charles, Duke of
Lorraine, the uncle of Blanche's deceased husband. Hugh's usurpation led
to bloody civil strifes between the Duke of Lorraine and Hugh the
Capet. The latter died in 996 leaving as his successor his son Rothbert,
an imbecile and pious prince. Rothbert's long reign was disturbed by
the furious feuds among the seigneurs; counts, dukes, abbots and
bishops, entrenched in their fortified castles, desolated the country
with their brigandage. Rothbert, Hugh's son, died in 1031 and was
succeeded by his son Henry I. His advent to the throne was the signal
for fresh civil strife, caused by his own brother, who was incited
thereto by his mother. Another Rothbert, surnamed the Devil, Duke of
Normandy, a descendant of old Rolf the pirate, took a hand in these
strifes and made himself master of Gisors, Chaumont and Pontoise. It was
under the reign of Hugh the Capet's grandson, Henry I, that the year
1033 arrived, and with it unheard-of, even incredible events, a
spectacle without its equal until then, which was the culmination of the
prevalent myth regarding the end of the world with the year 1000.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The Church had fixed
the last day of the year 1000 as the final term for the world's
existence. Thanks to the deception, the clergy came into possession of
the property of a large number of seigneurs. During the last months of
that year an immense saturnalia was on foot. The wildest passions, the
most insensate, the drollest and the most atrocious acts seemed then
unchained.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The end of the
world approaches!" exclaimed the clergy. "Did not St. John the Divine
prophesy it in the Apocalypse saying: 'When the thousand years are
expired, Satan will be loosed out of his prison, and shall go out to
deceive the nations which are in the four quarters of the earth; the
book of life will be opened; the sea will give up the dead which were in
it; death and hell will deliver up the dead which were in them; they
will be judged every man according to his works; they will be judged by
Him who is seated upon a brilliant throne, and there will be a new
heaven and a new earth.' - Tremble, ye peoples !" the clergy repeated
everywhere, "the one thousand years, announced by St. John, will run out
with the end of this year! Satan, the anti-Christ is to arrive!
Tremble! The trumpet of the day of judgment is about to sound; the dead
are about to arise from their tombs; in the midst of thunder and
lightning, and surrounded by archangels carrying flaming swords, the
Eternal is about to pass judgment upon us all! Tremble, ye mighty ones
of the earth: in order to conjure away the implacable anger of the
All-Mighty, give your goods to the Church! It is still time! It is still
time! Give your goods and your treasures to the priests of the Lord!
Give all you possess to the Church!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The seigneurs,
themselves no less brutified than their serfs by ignorance and by the
fear of the devil, and hoping to be able to conjure away the vengeance
of the Eternal, assigned to the clergy by means of authentic documents,
executed in all the forms of terrestrial law, lands, houses, castles,
serfs, their harems, their herds of cattle, their valuable plate, their
rich armors, their pictures, their statues, their sumptuous robes.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Some of the shrewder
ones said: "We have barely a year, a month, a week to live! We are full
of youth, of desires, of ardor! Let us put the short period to profit!
Let us stave-in our wine casks, let us indulge ourselves freely in wine
and women!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"The end of the
world is approaching!" exclaimed with delirious joy millions of serfs of
the domains of the King, of the lay and of the ecclesiastical
seigneurs. "Our poor bodies, broken with toil, will at last take rest in
the eternal night that is to emancipate us. A blessing on the end of
the world! It is the end of our miseries and our sufferings!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">And those poor
serfs, having nothing to spend and nothing to assign away, sought to
anticipate the expected eternal repose. The larger number dropped their
plows, their hoes and their spades so soon as autumn set in. "What is
the use," said they, "of cultivating a field that, long before harvest
time, will have been swallowed up in chaos?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As a consequence of
this universal panic, the last days of the year 999 presented a
spectacle never before seen; it was even fabulous! Light-headed
indulgence and groans; peals of laughter and lamentations; maudlin songs
and death dirges. Here the shouts and the frantic dances of supposed
last and supreme orgies; yonder the lamentations of pious canticles. And
finally, floating above this vast mass of terror, rose the formidable
popular curiosity to see the spectacle of the destruction of the world.
It came at last, that day said to have been prophesied by St. John the
Divine! The last hour arrived, the last minute of that fated year of
999! "Tremble, ye sinners!" the warning redoubled; "tremble, ye peoples
of the earth! the terrible moment foretold in the holy books is here!"
One more second, one more instant, midnight sounds and the year 1000
begins.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">In the expectation
of that fatal instant, the most hardened hearts, the souls most certain
of salvation, the dullest and also the most rebellious minds experienced
a sensation that never had and never will have a name in any language</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Midnight sounded!... The solemn hour.... Midnight!</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The year 1000 began !</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Oh, wonder and
surprise!... The dead did not leave their tombs, the bowels of the earth
did not open, the waters of the ocean remained within their basins, the
stars of heaven were not hurled out of their orbits and were not
striking against one another in space. Aye, there was not even a tame
flash of lightning! No thunder rolled! No trace of the cloud of fire in
the midst of which the Eternal was to appear. Jehovah remained
invisible. Not one of the frightful prodigies foretold by St. John the
Divine for midnight of the year 1000 was verified. The night was calm
and serene; the moon and stars shone brilliantly in the azure sky, not a
breath of wind agitated the tops of the trees, and the people, in the
silence of their stupor, could hear the slightest ripple of the mountain
streams gliding under the grass. Dawn came ... and day ... and the sun
poured upon creation the torrents of its light! As to miracles, not a
trace of any !</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Impossible to
describe the revulsion of feeling at the universal disappointment. It
was an explosion of regret, of remorse, of astonishment, of
recrimination and of rage. The devout people who believed themselves
cheated out of a Paradise that they had paid for to the Church in
advance with hard cash and other property; others, who had squandered
their treasures, contemplated their ruin with trembling. The millions of
serfs who had relied upon slumbering in the restfulness of an eternal
night saw rising anew before their eyes the ghastly dawn of that long
day of misery and sufferings, of which their birth was the morning and
only their death the evening. It now began to be realized that, left
uncultivated in the expectation of the end of the world, the land would
not furnish sustenance to the people, and the horrors of famine were
foreseen. A towering clamor rose against the clergy; the clergy,
however, knew how to bring public opinion back to its side. It did so by
a new and fraudulent set of prophecies.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Oh, these wretched
people of little faith," thus now ran the amended prophecy and
invocation; "they dare to doubt the word of the All-powerful who spoke
to them through the voice of His prophet! Oh, these wretched blind
people, who close their eyes to divine light! The prophets have
announced the end of time; the Holy Writ foretold that the day of the
last judgment would come a thousand years after the Saviour of the
world!... But although Christ was born a thousand years before the year
1000, he did not reveal himself as God until his death, that is
thirty-two years after his birth. Accordingly it will be in the year
1032 that the end of time will come!"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Such was the general
state of besottedness that many of the faithful blissfully accepted the
new prediction. Several seigneurs, however, rushed at the "men of God"
to take back by force the property they had bequeathed to them. The "men
of God," however, well entrenched behind fortified walls, defended
themselves stoutly against the dispossessed claimants. Hence a series of
bloody wars between the scheming bishops, on the one hand, and the
despoiled seigneurs, on the other, to which disasters were now
superadded the religious massacres instigated by the clergy. The Church
had urged Clovis centuries ago to the extermination of the then Arian
heretics; now the Church preached the extermination of the Orleans
Manichaeans and the Jews. A conception of these abominable excesses may
be gathered from the following passages in the account left by Raoul
Glaber, a monk and eye-witness. He wrote:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"A short time after
the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem in the year 1010, it was
learned from unquestionable sources that the calamity had to be charged
to the perverseness of Jews of all countries. When the secret leaked out
throughout the world, the Christians decided with a common accord that
they would expel all the Jews, down to the last, from their territories
and towns. The Jews thereby became the objects of universal execration.
Some were chased from the towns, others massacred with iron, or thrown
into the rivers, or put to death in some other manner. This drove many
to voluntary death. And thus, after the just vengeance wreaked upon
them, there were but very few of them left in the Roman Catholic world."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Accordingly, the
wretched Jews of Gaul were persecuted and slaughtered at the order of
the clergy because the Saracens of Judea destroyed the Temple of
Jerusalem! As to the Manichaeans of Orleans, another passage from the
same chronicle expresses itself in these words:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"In 1017, the King
and all his loyal subjects, seeing the folly of these miserable heretics
of Orleans, caused a large pyre to be lighted near the town, in the
hope that fear, produced by the sight, would overcome their
stubbornness; but seeing that they persisted, thirteen of them were cast
into the flames ... and all those that could not be convinced to
abandon their perverse ways met the same fate, whereupon the venerable
cult of the Catholic faith, having triumphed over the foolish
presumption of its enemies, shone with all the greater luster on earth."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">What with the wars
that the ecclesiastical seigneurs plunged Gaul into in their efforts to
retain possession of the property of the lay seigneurs whom they had
despoiled by the jugglery of the "End of the World," and what with these
religious persecutions, Gaul continued to be desolated down to the year
1033, the new term that had been fixed for the last day of judgment.
The belief in the approaching dissolution of the world, which the clergy
now again zealously preached, although not so universally entertained
as that of the year 1000, was accompanied with results that were no less
horrible. In 999, the expectation of the end of the world had put a
stop to work; all the fields except those belonging to the
ecclesiastical seigneurs, lay fallow. The formidable famine of the year
1000 was then the immediate result, and that was followed by a
wide-spread mortality. Agriculture pined for laborers; every successive
scarcity engendered an increased mortality; Gaul was being rapidly
depopulated; famine set in almost in permanence during thirty years in
succession, the more disastrous periods being those of the years 1003,
1008, 1010, 1014, 1027, 1029 and 1031; finally the famine of 1033
surpassed all previous ones in its murderous effects. The serfs, the
villeins and the town plebs were almost alone the victims of the
scourge. The little that they produced met the needs of their masters,
the seigneurs, counts, dukes, bishops or abbots; the producers
themselves, however, expired under the tortures of starvation. The
corpses of the wretches who died of inanition strewed the fields, roads
and highways; the decomposing bodies poisoned the air, engendered
illnesses and even pestilential epidemics until then unknown; the
population was decimated. Within thirty-three years, Gaul lost more than
one-half its inhabitants, the new-born babies died vainly pressing
their mother's breasts for nourishment.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER II</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">YVON THE FORESTER'S HUT</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon - now no longer
the Calf, but the Forester, since his appointment over the canton of
the Fountain of the Hinds and his family did not escape the scourge.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">About five years
before the famine of 1033, his beloved wife Marceline died. He still
inhabited his hut, now shared with him by his son Den-Brao and the
latter's wife Gervaise, together with their three children, of whom the
eldest, Nominoe, was nine, the second, Julyan, seven, and the youngest,
Jeannette, two years of age. Den-Brao, a serf like his father, was since
his youth employed in a neighboring stone quarry. A natural taste for
masonry developed itself in the lad. During his hours of leisure he
loved to carve in certain not over hard stones the outlines of houses
and cottages, the structure of which attracted the attention of the
master mason of Compiegne. Observing Den-Brao's aptitude, the artisan
taught him to hew stone, and soon confided to him the plans of buildings
and the overseership in the construction of several fortified donjons
that King Henry I ordered to be erected on the borders of his domains in
Compiegne. Den-Brao, being of a mild and industrious disposition and
resigned to servitude, had a passionate love for his trade. Often Yvon
would say to him:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My child, these
redoubtable donjons, whose plans you are sketching and which you build
with so much care, either serve now or will serve some day to oppress
our people. The bones of our oppressed and martyrized brothers will rot
in these subterraneous cells reared above one another with such an
infernal art!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Alack! You are
right, father," Den-Brao would at such times answer, "but if not I, some
others will build them ... my refusal to obey my master's orders would
have no other consequence than to bring upon my head a beating, if not
mutilation and even death."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Gervaise, Den-Brao's
wife, an industrious housekeeper, adored her three children, all of
whom, in turn, clung affectionately to Yvon.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The hut occupied by
Yvon and his family lay in one of the most secluded parts of the forest.
Until the year 1033, they had suffered less than other serf families
from the devastations of the recurring famine. Occasionally Yvon brought
down a stag or doe. The meat was smoked, and the provision thus laid by
kept the family from want. With the beginning of the year 1033,
however, one of the epidemics that often afflict the beasts of the
fields attacked the wild animals of the forest of Compiegne. They grew
thin, lost their strength, and their flesh that speedily decomposed,
dropped from their bones. In default of venison, the family was reduced
towards the end of autumn to wild roots and dried berries. They also ate
up the snakes that they caught and that, fattened, crawled into their
holes for the winter. As hunger pressed, Yvon killed and ate his hunting
dog that he had named Deber-Trud in memory of the war-dog of his
ancestor Joel. Subsequently the family was thrown upon the juice of
barks, and then upon the broth of dried leaves. But the nourishment of
dead leaves soon became unbearable, and likewise did the sap-wood, or
second rind of young trees, such as elders and aspen trees, which they
beat to a pulp between stones, have to be given up. At the time of the
two previous famines, some wretched people were said to have supported
themselves with a kind of fattish clay. Not far from Yvon's hut was a
vein of such clay. Towards the end of December, Yvon went out for some
of it. It was a greenish earth of fine paste, soft but heavy, and of
insipid taste. The family thought themselves saved. All its members
devoured the first meal of the clay. But on the morrow their contracted
stomachs refused the nourishment that was as heavy as lead.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER III</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">ON THE BUCK'S TRACK</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Thirty-six hours of fast had followed upon the meal of clay in Yvon's hut. Hunger gnawed again at the family's entrails.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">During these
thirty-six hours a heavy snow had fallen. Yvon went out. His family was
starving within. He had death on his soul. He went towards the nets that
he had spread in the hope of snaring some bird of passage during the
snow storm. His expectations were deceived. A little distance from the
nets lay the Fountain of the Hinds, now frozen hard. Snow covered its
borders. Yvon perceived the imprint of a buck's feet. The size of the
imprint on the snow announced the animal's bulk. Yvon estimated its
weight by the cracks in the ice on the stream that it had just crossed,
the ice being otherwise thick enough to support Yvon himself. This was
the first time in many months that the forester had run across a buck's
track. Could the animal, perhaps, have escaped the general mortality of
its kind? Did it come from some distant forest? Yvon knew not, but he
followed the fresh track with avidity. Yvon had with him his bow and
arrows. To reach the animal, kill it and smoke its flesh meant the
saving of the lives of his family, now on the verge of starvation. It
meant their life for at least a month. Hope revivified the forester's
energies; he pursued the buck; the regular impress of its steps showed
that the animal was quietly following one of the beaten paths of the
forest; moreover its track lay so clearly upon the snow that he could
not have crossed the stream more than an hour before, else the edges of
the imprint that he left behind him would have been less sharp and would
have been rounded by the temperature of the air. Following its tracks,
Yvon confidently expected to catch sight of the buck within an hour and
bring the animal down. In the ardor of the chase, the forester forgot
his hunger. He had been on the march about an hour when suddenly in the
midst of the profound silence that reigned in the forest, the wind
brought a confused noise to his ears. It sounded like the distant
bellowing of a stag. The circumstance was extraordinary. As a rule the
beasts of the woods do not cry out except at night. Thinking he might
have been mistaken, Yvon put his ear to the ground.... There was no more
room for doubt. The buck was bellowing at about a thousand yards from
where Yvon stood. Fortunately a turn of the path concealed the hunter
from the game. These wild animals frequently turn back to see behind
them and listen. Instead of following the path beyond the turning that
concealed him, Yvon entered the copse expecting to make a short cut,
head off the buck, whose gait was slow, hide behind the bushes that
bordered the path, and shoot the animal when it hove in sight.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The sky was
overcast; the wind was rising; with deep concern Yvon noticed several
snow flakes floating down. Should the snow fall heavily before the buck
was shot, the animal's tracks would be covered, and if opportunity
failed to dart an arrow at it from the forester's ambuscade, he could
not then expect to be able to trace the buck any further. Yvon's fears
proved correct. The wind soon changed into a howling storm surcharged
with thick snow. The forester quitted the thicket and struck for the
path beyond the turning and at about a hundred paces from the clearing.
The buck was nowhere to be seen. The animal had probably caught wind of
its pursuer and jumped for safety into the thicket that bordered the
path. It was impossible to determine the direction that it had taken.
Its tracks vanished under the falling snow, that lay in ever thicker
layers.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">A prey to insane
rage, Yvon threw himself upon the ground and rolled in the snow uttering
furious cries. His hunger, recently forgotten in the ardor of the hunt,
tore at his entrails. He bit one of his arms and the pain thus felt
recalled him to his senses. Almost delirious, he rose with the fixed
intent of retracing the buck, killing the animal, spreading himself
beside its carcass, devouring it raw, and not rising again so long as a
shred of meat remained on its bones. At that moment, Yvon would have
defended his prey with his knife against even his own son. Possessed by
the fixed and delirious idea of retracing the buck, Yvon went hither and
thither at hap-hazard, not knowing in what direction he walked. He beat
about a long time, and night began to approach, when a strange incident
came to his aid and dissipated his mental aberration.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER IV</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">GREGORY THE HOLLOW-BELLIED</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Driven by the gale,
the snow continued to fall, when suddenly Yvon's nostrils were struck by
the exhalations emitted by frying meat. The odor chimed in with the
devouring appetite that was troubling his senses, and at least bestowed
back upon him the instinct of seeking to satisfy his hunger. He stood
still, whiffed the air hither and thither like a wolf that from afar
scents carrion, and looked about in order to ascertain by the last
glimmerings of the daylight where he was. Yvon was at the crossing of a
path in the forest that led from the little village of Ormesson. The
road ran before a tavern where travelers usually put up for the night.
It was kept by a serf of the abbey of St. Maximim named Gregory, and
surnamed the Hollow-bellied, because, according to him, nothing could
satisfy his insatiable appetite. An otherwise kind-hearted and cheerful
man, the serf often, before these distressful times, and when Yvon
carried his tithe of game to the castle, had accommodatedly offered him a
pot of hydromel. A prey now to the lashings of hunger and exasperated
by the odor of fried meat which escaped from the tavern, Yvon carefully
approached the closed door. In order to allow the smoke to escape,
Gregory had thrown the window half open without fear of being seen. By
the light of a large fire that burned in the hearth, Yvon saw Gregory
seated on a stool placidly surveying the broiling of a large piece of
meat whose odor had so violently assailed the nostrils of the famishing
forester.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">To Yvon's great
surprise, the tavern-keeper's appearance had greatly changed. He was no
longer the lean and wiry fellow of before. Now his girth was broad, his
cheeks were full, wore a thick black beard and tinkled with the warm
color of life and health. Within reach of the tavern-keeper lay a
cutlass, a pike and an ax, all red with blood. At his feet an enormous
mastiff picked a bone well covered with meat. The spectacle angered the
forester. He and his family could have lived a whole day upon the
remnants left by the dog; moreover, how did the tavern-keeper manage to
procure so large a loin? Cattle had become so dear that only the
seigneurs and the ecclesiastics could afford to purchase any; beef cost a
hundred gold sous, sheep a hundred silver sous! A sense of hate rose in
Yvon's breast against Gregory whom he had until then looked upon very
much as a friend. The forester could not take his eyes from the meat,
thinking of the joy of his family if he were to return home loaded with
such a booty. For a moment Yvon was tempted to knock at the door of the
serf and demand a share, at least the chunks thrown at the dog. But
judging the tavern-keeper by himself, and noticing, moreover, that the
former was well armed, he reflected that in days like those bread and
meat were more precious than gold and silver; to request Gregory the
Hollow-bellied to yield a part of his supper was folly; he would surely
refuse, and if force was attempted he would kill the intruder. These
thoughts rapidly succeeded one another in Yvon's troubled brain. To add
to his dilemma, his presence was scented by the mastiff who, at first,
growled angrily without, however, dropping his bone, and then began to
bark.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At that moment
Gregory was removing the meat from the spit. "What's the matter, Fillot?
Be brave, old boy! We shall defend our supper. You are furnished with
good strong jaws and fangs, I with weapons. Fear not. No one will
venture to enter. So be still, Fillot! Lie down and keep quiet!" But so
far from lying down and keeping quiet, the mastiff dropped his bone,
stood up, and approaching the window where Yvon stood, barked louder
still. "Oh, oh!" remarked the tavern-keeper depositing the meat in a
large wooden platter on the table. "Fillot drops a bone to bark ...
there must be someone outside." Yvon stepped quickly back, and from the
dark that concealed him he saw Gregory seize his pike, throw the window
wide open and leaning out call with a threatening voice: "Who is there?
If any one is in search of death, he can find it here." The deed almost
running ahead of the thought, Yvon raised his bow, adjusted an arrow
and, invisible to Gregory, thanks to the darkness without, took straight
aim at the tavern-keeper's breast. The arrow whizzed; Gregory emitted a
cry followed by a prolonged groan; his head and bust fell over the
window-sill, and his pike dropped on the snow-covered ground. Yvon
quickly seized the weapon. It was done none too soon. The furious
mastiff leaped out of the window over his dead master's shoulders and
made a bound at the forester. A thrust of the pike nailed the faithful
brute to the ground. Yvon had committed the murder with the ferocity of a
famished wolf. He appeased his hunger. The dizziness that had assailed
his head vanished, his reason returned, and he found himself alone in
the tavern with a still large piece of meat beside him, more than half
of the original chunk.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Feeling as if he
just woke from a dream, Yvon looked around and felt frozen to the
marrow. The light emitted by the hearth enabled him to see distinctly
among the bloody remnants near where the mastiff had been gnawing his
bone, a human hand and the trunk of a human arm. Horrified as he was,
Yvon approached the bleeding members.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">There was no doubt.
Before him lay the remains of a human body. The surprising girth that
Gregory the Hollow-bellied had suddenly developed came to his mind. The
mystery was explained. Nourished by human flesh, the monster had been
feeding on the travelers who stopped at his place. The roast that had
just been hungrily swallowed by Yvon proceeded from a recent murder. The
forester's hair stood on end; he dare not look towards the table where
still lay the remains of his cannibal supper. He wondered how his mouth
did not reject the food. But that first and cultivated sense of horror
being over, the forester could not but admit to himself that the meat he
had just gulped down differed little from beef. The thought started a
poignant reflection: "My son, his wife and children are at this very
hour undergoing the tortures of hunger; mine has been satisfied by this
food; however abominable it may be, I shall carry off the rest; the same
as I was at first ignorant of what it was that I ate, my family shall
not know the nature of the dish.... I shall at least have saved them for
a day!" The reasoning matured into resolution.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">As Yvon was about to
quit the tavern with his load of human flesh, the gale that had been
howling without and now found entrance through the window, violently
threw open the door of a closet connecting with the room he was in. The
odor of a charnel house immediately assailed the forester's nostrils. He
ran to the hearth, picked up a flaming brand, and looked into the
closet. Its naked walls were bespattered with blood; in a corner lay a
heap of dried twigs and leaves used for kindling a fire and from beneath
them protruded a foot and part of a leg. Yvon scattered the heap of
kindling material with his feet ... they hid a recently mutilated
corpse. The penetrating smell obviously escaped from a lower vault. Yvon
noticed a trap door. Raising it, there rose so putrid an odor that he
staggered back; but driven despite himself to carry his investigation to
the end, he approached the flaming brand to the opening and discovered
below a cavern that was almost filled with bones, heads and other human
members, the bloody remnants of the travelers whom Gregory the
Hollow-bellied had lived upon. In order to put an end to the horrible
spectacle, Yvon hurled his flaming brand into the mortuary cellar; it
was immediately extinguished; for a moment the forester remained in the
dark; he then stepped back into the main room; and overcoming a fresh
assault of human scruple, darted out with the remains of the roast in
his bag, thinking only of his famishing family.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Without, the gale
blew violently; its rage seemed to increase. The moon, then at its
fullest, cast enough light, despite the whirls of snow, to guide Yvon's
steps. He struck the road to the Fountain of the Hinds in haste, moving
with firm though rapid strides. The infernal food he had just partaken
of returned to him his pristine strength. About two leagues from his
hut, he stopped, struck with a sudden thought. The mastiff he had killed
was enormous, fleshy and fat. It could furnish his family with food for
at least three or four days. Why had he forgotten to bring it along?
Yvon turned back to the tavern, long though the road was. As he
approached the house of Gregory he noticed a great brilliancy from afar
and across the falling snow. The light proceeded from the door and
window of the tavern. Only two hours before when he left, the hearth was
extinct and the place dark. Could someone have gone in afterwards and
rekindled the fire ? Yvon crept near the house hoping to carry off the
dog without attracting notice, but voices reached him saying:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Friends, let us wait till the dog is well roasted."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I'm hungry! Devilish hungry!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"So am I ... but I
have more patience than you, who would have eaten the dainty raw....
Pheu! What a smell comes from that charnel room! And yet the door and
window are open!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Never mind the smell!... I'm hungry!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"So, then, Master
Gregory the Hollow-bellied slaughtered the travelers to rob them, I
suppose.... One of them must have been beforehand with him and killed
him.... But the devil take the tavern-keeper! His dog is now roasted.
Let's eat!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Let's eat!"</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER V</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE DELIRIUM OF STARVATION</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Too old a man to
think of contesting the spoils for which he had returned to Gregory's
tavern, Yvon hurried back home and reached his hut towards midnight.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">On entering, a torch
of resinous wood, fastened near the wall by an iron ring, lighted a
heart-rending spectacle. Stretched out near the hearth lay Den-Brao, his
face covered by his mason's jacket; himself expiring of inanition, he
wished to escape the sight of the agony of his family. His wife,
Gervaise, so thin that the bones of her face could be counted, was on
her knees near a straw pallet where Julyan lay in convulsions. Almost
fainting, Gervaise struggled with her son who was alternately crying
with fury and with pain and in the frenzy of starvation sought to apply
its teeth to his own arms. Nominoe, the elder, lay flat on his face, on
the pallet with his brother. He would have been taken for dead but for
the tremor that from time to time ran over his frame still more
emaciated than his brother's. Finally Jeannette, about three years old,
murmured in her cradle with a dying voice: "Mother ... I am hungry.... I
am hungry!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">At the sound of
Yvon's steps, Gervaise turned her head: "Father!" said she in despair,
"if you bring nothing with you, I shall kill my children to shorten
their agony ... and then myself!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon threw down his
bow and took his bag from his shoulders. Gervaise judged from its size
and obvious weight that it was full. She wrenched it from Yvon's hands
with savage impatience, thrust her hand in it, pulled out the chunk of
roasted meat and raising it over her head to show it to the whole family
cried out in a quivering voice: "Meat!... Oh, we shall not yet die!
Den-Brao.... Children!... Meat!... Meat!" At these words Den-Brao sat up
precipitately; Nominoe, too feeble to rise, turned on his pallet and
stretched out his eager hands to his mother; little Jeannette eagerly
looked up from her cradle; while Julyan, whom his mother was not now
holding, neither heard nor saw aught but was biting into his arms in the
delirium of starvation, unnoticed by either Yvon or any other member of
the family. All eyes were fixed upon Gervaise, who running to a table
and taking a knife sliced off the meat crying: "Meat!... Meat!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Give me!... Give
me!" cried Den-Brao, stretching out his emaciated arms, and he devoured
in an instant the piece that he received.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"You next,
Jeannette!" said Gervaise, throwing a slice to the little girl who
uttered a cry of joy, while her mother herself, yielding to the cravings
of starvation bit off mouthfuls from the slice that she reached out to
her oldest son, Nominoe, who, like the rest, pounced upon the prey, and
fell to eating in silent voracity. "And now, you, Julyan," continued
Gervaise. The lad made no answer. His mother stooped down over him:
"Julyan, do not bite your arm! Here is meat, dear boy!" But his elder
brother, Nominoe, having swallowed up his own slice, brusquely seized
that which his mother was tendering to Julyan. Seeing that the latter
continued motionless, Gervaise insisted: "My child, take your arm from
your teeth!" But hardly had she pronounced these words than, turning
towards Yvon, she cried: "Come here, father.... His arm is icy and rigid
... so rigid that I cannot withdraw it from his jaws."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon rushed to the
pallet where Julyan lay. The little boy had expired in the convulsion of
hunger, although less unfeebled than his brother and sister. "Step
aside," Yvon said to Gervaise; "step aside!" She realized that Julyan
was dead, obeyed Yvon's orders and went on to eat. But her hunger being
appeased, she approached her son's corpse and sobbed aloud:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My poor little
Julyan!" she lamented. "Oh, my dear child! You died of hunger!... A few
minutes longer and you would have had something to eat like the others
... at least for today!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Where did you get this roast, father?" asked Den-Brao.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I found the tracks
of a buck," answered Yvon dropping his eyes; "I followed the animal but
failed to come up to it. In that way I went as far as the tavern of
Gregory the Hollow-bellied. He was at supper.... I shared his repast,
and he gave me what you have just eaten."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Such a gift! and in days of famine, father! in such days when only seigneurs and the clergy do not suffer of hunger!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I made the
tavern-keeper sympathize with our distress," Yvon answered brusquely,
and, in order to put an end to the subject he added: "I am worn out with
fatigue; I must rest," saying which he walked into the contiguous room
to stretch himself out on his couch, while his son and daughter remained
on their knees near the body of little Julyan. The other two children
fell asleep, still saying they were hungry. After a long and troubled
sleep, Yvon woke up. It was day. Gervaise and her husband still knelt
near Julyan. His brother and sister were saying: "Mother, give us
something to eat; we are hungry!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Later, dear little ones," answered the unhappy woman to console them; "later you shall have something to eat."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Den-Brao raised his head and asked: "Where are you going, father?"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I am going to dig the grave of my little grandson.... I wish to save you the sad task."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Dig ours also,
father," Den-Brao replied with a dejected mien. "We shall all die
to-night. For a moment allayed, our hunger will rise more violent than
last night ... dig a wide grave for us all."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Despair not, my children. It has stopped snowing. I may be able to find again the traces of the buck."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon picked up a
spade with which to dig Julyan's grave near where the boy's
great-grandfather, Leduecq, lay buried. Near the place was a heap of
dead branches that had been gathered shortly before by the woodsmen
serfs to turn into coal. After the grave was dug, Yvon left his spade
near it and as the snow had ceased falling he started anew in pursuit of
the buck. It was in vain. Nowhere were the animal's tracks to be seen.
It grew night with the prospect of a long darkness, seeing the moon
would not rise until late. Yvon was reminded by the pangs of hunger,
that began to assail him, that in his hut the sufferings must have
returned. A spectacle, even more distressing than that of the previous
night now awaited him, the convulsive cries of starving children, the
moaning of their mother, the woe-begone looks and dejectment of his son
who lay on the floor awaiting death, and reproaching Yvon for having
prolonged his own and the sufferings of his family with their lives.
Such was the prostration of these wretched beings that, without turning
their heads to Yvon, or even addressing a single word to him, they let
him carry out the corpse of the deceased child.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">An hour later Yvon
re-entered his hut. It was pitch dark; the hearth was cold. None had
even the spirit to light a resin torch. Hollow and spasmodic rattlings
were heard from the throats of those within. Suddenly Gervaise jumped up
and groped her way in the dark towards Yvon crying: "I smell roast meat
... just as last night ... we shall not die!... Den-Brao, your father
has brought some more meat!... Come, children, come for your share.... A
light quick!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"No, no! We want no
light!" Yvon cried in a tremulous voice. "Take!" said he to Gervaise,
who was tugging at the bag on his shoulders. "Take!... Divide this
venison among yourselves, and eat in the dark!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The wretched family
devoured the meat in the dark; their hunger and feebleness did not allow
them to ask what kind of meat it was. But Yvon fled from the hut almost
crazed with horror. Abomination! His family was again feeding upon
human flesh!</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">CHAPTER VI</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">THE FLIGHT TO ANJOU</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Long, aimless,
distracted, Yvon wandered about the forest. A severe frost had succeeded
the fall of snow that covered every inch of the ground. The moon shone
brilliantly in the crisp air. The forester felt chilled; in despair he
threw himself down at the foot of a tree, determined there to await
death.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The torpor of death
by freezing was creeping upon the mind of the heart-broken serf when,
suddenly, the crackling of branches that announce the passage of game
fell upon his ears and revived him with the promise of life. The animal
could not be more than fifty paces away. Unfortunately Yvon had left his
bow and arrows in his hut. "It is the buck! Oh, this time I shall kill
him!" he murmured to himself. His revived will-power now dominated the
exhaustion of his forces, and it was strong enough to cause him to lose
no time in vain regrets at not having his hunting arms with him, now
when the prey would be certain. The crackling of the branches drew
nearer. Yvon found himself under a clump of large and old oaks, a little
distance away was the thick copse through which the animal was then
passing. He rose up and planted himself motionless close to and along
the trunk of the tree at the foot of which he had thrown himself down.
Covered by the tree's thickness and the shadow that it threw, with his
neck extended, his eyes and ears on the alert, the serf took his long
forester's knife between his teeth and waited. After several minutes of
mortal suspense, the buck might get the wind of him or come from cover
beyond his reach, Yvon heard the animal approach, then stop an instant
close behind the tree against which he had glued his back. The tree
concealed Yvon from the eyes of the animal, but it also prevented him
from seeing the prey that he breathlessly lay in wait for. Presently,
six feet from Yvon and to the right, he saw plainly sketched upon the
snow, that the light of the moon rendered brilliant, the shape of the
buck and the wide antlers that crowned his head. Yvon stopped breathing
and remained motionless so long as the shadow stood still. A moment
later the shadow began to steal towards him, and with a prodigious bound
Yvon rushed at and seized the animal by the horns. The buck was large
and struggled vigorously; but clambering himself around the horns with
his left arm, Yvon plunged his knife with his right hand into the
animal's throat. The buck rolled over him and expired, while Yvon, with
his mouth fastened to the wound, pumped up and swallowed the blood that
flowed in a thick stream.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The warm and healthy blood strengthened and revivified the serf.... He had not eaten since the previous night.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Yvon rested a few
moments; he then bound the hind legs of the buck with a flexible twig
and dragging his booty, not without considerable effort by reason of its
weight, he arrived with it at his hut near the Fountain of the Hinds.
His family was now for a long time protected from hunger. The buck could
not yield less than three hundred pounds of meat, which carefully
prepared and smoked after the fashion of foresters, could be preserved
for many months.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Two days after these
two fateful nights, Yvon learned from a woodsman serf, that one of his
fellows, a forester of the woods of Compiegne like himself, having
discovered the next morning the body of Gregory the Hollow-bellied
pierced with an arrow that remained in the wound, and having identified
the weapon as Yvon's by the peculiar manner in which it was feathered,
had denounced him as the murderer. The bailiff of the domain of
Compiegne detested Yvon. Although the latter's crime delivered the
neighborhood of a monster who slaughtered the travelers in order to
gorge himself upon them, the bailiff ordered his arrest. Thus notified
in time, Yvon the Forester resolved to flee, leaving his son and family
behind. But Den-Brao as well as his wife insisted upon accompanying him
with their children.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The whole family
decided to take the road and place their fate in the hands of
Providence. The smoked buck's meat would suffice to sustain them through
a long journey. They knew that whichever way they took, serfdom awaited
them. It was a change of serfdom for serfdom; but they found
consolation in the knowledge that the change from the horrors they had
undergone could not but improve their misery. The famine, although
general, was not, according to reports, equally severe everywhere.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The hut near the
Fountain of the Hinds was, accordingly, abandoned. Den-Brao and his wife
carried the little Jeannette by turns on their backs. The other child,
Nominoe, being older, marched besides his grandfather. They reached and
crossed the borders of the royal domain, and Yvon felt safe. A few days
later the travelers learned from some pilgrims that Anjou suffered less
of the famine than did any other region. Thither they directed their
steps, induced thereto by the further consideration that Anjou bordered
on Britanny, the cradle of the family. Yvon wished eventually to return
thither in the hope of finding some of his relatives in Armorica.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The journey to Anjou
was made during the first months of the year 1034 and across a thousand
vicissitudes, almost always accompanied by some pilgrims, or by beggars
and vagabonds. Everywhere on their passage the traces were met of the
horrible famine and not much less horrible ravages caused by the private
feuds of the seigneurs. Little Jeannette perished on the road.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">EPILOGUE</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The narrative of my
father, Yvon the Forester, breaks off here. He could not finish it. He
was soon after taken sick and died. Before expiring he made to me the
following confession which he desired inserted in the family's annals:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"I have a horrible
confession to make. Near by the grave to which I took the body of
Julyan, lay a large heap of wood that was to be reduced to coal by the
woodsmen. My family was starving in the hut. I saw no way of prolonging
their existence. The thought then occurred to me: 'Last night the
abominable food that I carried to my family from Gregory's human charnel
house kept them from dying in the agonies of starvation. My grandson is
dead. What should I do? Bury the body of little Julyan or have it serve
to prolong the life of those who gave him life?'</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"After long
hesitating before such frightful alternatives, the thought of the
agonies that my family were enduring decided me. I lighted the heap of
dried wood. I laid upon it the flesh of my grandson, and by the light
cast from the pyre I buried his bones, except a fragment of his skull,
which I preserved as a sad and solemn relic of those accursed days, and
on which I engraved these fateful words in the Gallic tongue:
Fin-al-bred - The End of the World. I then took the broiled pieces of
meat to my expiring family!... You all ate in the dark.... You knew not
what you ate.... The ghastly meal saved your lives!"</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My father then
delivered to me the parchment that contained his narrative, accompanied
with the lettered bone from the skull of my poor little Julyan, and also
the iron arrow-head which accompanied the narrative left by our
ancestor Eidiol, the skipper of Paris. Some day, perhaps, these two
narratives may be joined to the chronicle of our family, no doubt held
by those of our relatives who must still be living in Britanny.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">My father Yvon died on the 9th of September, 1034.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">This is how our
journey ended: Following my father's wishes and also with the purpose of
drawing near Britanny, we marched towards Anjou, where we arrived on
the territory of the seigneur Guiscard, Count of the region and castle
of Mont-Ferrier. All travelers who passed over his territory had to pay
tribute to his toll-gatherers. Poor people, unable to pay, were,
according to the whim of the seigneur's men, put through some
disagreeable, or humiliating, or ridiculous performance: they were
either whipped, or made to walk on their hands, or to turn somersaults,
or kiss the bolts of the toll-gatherer's gate. As to the women, they
were subjected to revolting obscenities. Many other people as penniless
as ourselves were thus subjected to indignity and brutality. Desirous of
sparing my father and my wife the disgrace, I said to the bailiff of
the seigniory who happened to be there: "The castle I see yonder looks
to me weak in many ways. I am a skillful mason; I have built a large
number of fortified donjons; employ me and I shall work to the
satisfaction of your seigneur. All I ask of you is not to allow my
father, wife and children to be maltreated, and to furnish us with
shelter and bread while the work lasts." The bailiff accepted my offer
gladly, seeing that the mason, who was killed during the last war
against the castle of Mont-Ferrier, had not yet been replaced, and
besides I furnished ample evidence of knowing how to build. The bailiff
assigned us to a hut where we were to receive a serf's pittance. My
father was to cultivate a little garden attached to our hovel, while
Nominoe, then old enough to be of assistance, was to help me at my work
which would last until winter. We contemplated a journey to Britanny
after that. We had lived here five months when, three days ago, I lost
my father.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> ***</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Today the eleventh
day of the month of June, of the year 1035, I, Den-Brao add this
post-script to the above lines that I appended to my father's narrative.
I have to record a sad event. The work on the castle of Mont-Ferrier
not being concluded before the winter of 1034, the bailiff of the
seigneur, shortly after my father's death proposed to me to resume work
in the spring. I accepted. I love my trade. Moreover, my family felt
less wretched here than in Compiegne, and I was not as anxious as my
father to return to Britanny where, after all, there may be no member of
our family left. I accepted the bailiff's offer, and continued to work
upon the buildings, that are now completed. The last piece of work I did
was to finish up a secret issue that leads outside of the castle.
Yesterday the bailiff came to me and said: "One of the allies of the
seigneur of Mont-Ferrier, who is just now on a visit at the castle,
expressed great admiration for the work that you did, and as he is
thinking of improving the fortifications of his own manor, he offered
the count our master to exchange you for a serf who is a skillful
armorer, and whom we need. The matter was settled between them."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"But I am not a serf of the seigneur of Mont-Ferrier," I interposed; "I agreed to work here of my own free will."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">The bailiff shrugged
his shoulders and replied: "The law says - every man who is not a
Frank, and who lives a year and a day upon the land of a seigneur,
becomes a serf and the property of the said seigneur, and as such is
subject to taille at will and mercy. You have lived here since the tenth
day of June of the year 1034; we are now at the eleventh day of June of
the year 1035; you have lived a year and a day on the land of the
seigneur of Mont-Ferrier; you are now his serf; you belong to him, and
he has the right to exchange you for a serf of the seigneur of
Plouernel. Drop all thought of resisting our master's will. Should you
kick up your heels, Neroweg IV, seigneur and count of Plouernel, will
order you tied to the tail of his horse, and drag you in that way as far
as his castle."</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">I would have
resigned myself to my new condition without much grief, but for one
circumstance. For forty years I lived a serf on the domain of Compiegne,
and it mattered little to me whether I exercised my trade of masonry in
one seigniory or another. But I remember that my father told me that he
had it from his grandfather Guyrion how an old family of the name of
Neroweg, established in Gaul since the conquest of Clovis, had ever been
fatal to our own. I felt a sort of terror at the thought of finding
myself the serf of a descendant of the Terrible Eagle - that first of
the Nerowegs that crossed our path.</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">May heaven ordain it
so that my forebodings prove unfounded! May heaven ordain, my dear son
Nominoe, that you shall not have to register on this parchment aught but
the date of my death and these few words:</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"My father Den-Brao ended peaceably his industrious life of a mason serf."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="https://www.historyhit.com/app/uploads/2020/07/495px-15jh_castle_siege-1.jpg" class="yiv4194993179overflowingVertical" src="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.historyhit.com%2Fapp%2Fuploads%2F2020%2F07%2F495px-15jh_castle_siege-1.jpg&t=1612895510&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2f7f-0c000b01b400&sig=sLMsdWJ.roFLoJkb8MfUZQ--~D" style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 14pt;" /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-large; font-weight: 700;">(THE END)</span><br />
</div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
<div><br />
</div>
<div><br />
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-86525478571827436142021-02-03T00:54:00.003+02:002021-02-03T00:54:22.409+02:00ASPIRATION - by Basudev Chakraborty, India<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial, helvetica; font-size: large; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"></span></span><br />
</p>
<div class="yiv9855407584GL_MAR10T yiv9855407584GL_MAR10B yiv9855407584GL_MAR10B yiv9855407584MESS yiv9855407584QUOT_T" style="font-size: 10pt; font-weight: normal;">
<div class="yiv9855407584QUOT_B"><center style="font-size: 13.3333px;"><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2095474%2Fbiryuzovaya_01.jpg&t=1612305891&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2fc5-f50023019400&sig=BHS3QvLpVOu9yKvnQc34sQ--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 711px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2095476%2Fbiryuzovaya_02.jpg&t=1612305891&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2fc5-f50023019400&sig=bVZBriVsxbYBsE3MOMgcMg--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 36px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr><td><table align="center" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><center><span style="text-shadow: rgb(0, 0, 0) 0.9px 1.7px 1.7px;"><center style="color: #95815a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 0.9em;"><br />
</center><center style="color: #95815a; font-family: Arial; font-size: 0.9em;"><br />
</center><center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">ASPIRATION</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">by Basudev Chakraborty, India</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Till the sun will shine</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">And the rain fall,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Amity will remain</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Between I and you all.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Till the time of breath</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">When lastly shall I take ;</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">I must ask those spoiled</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">To rise who yet to awake.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">I will be amidst you</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">In the time of reign,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Let me plight you</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">In your plight even.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Let me pray thy God</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">To give impetus enough -</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">And bless with the strength</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">To face the problem tough.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">If the almighty succour</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Even after my demise,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">I wanna be amidst you</span></span></center><center><span style="color: #95815a; font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;">Though you can’t surmise.</span></span></center>
<div style="color: #95815a;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></div>
</center><center style="color: #95815a;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
</span></span></center></span></center></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table background="https://ecp.yusercontent.com/mail?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.yapfiles.ru%2Ffiles%2F2095477%2Fbiryuzovaya_03.jpg&t=1612305891&ymreqid=0407a522-eab5-afed-2fc5-f50023019400&sig=wYjLOy1IgusVgs.kVfaJ3Q--~D" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="height: 98px; width: 800px;"><tbody><tr><td><center><br />
</center></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br />
</center></div></div><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-61252441318280780292021-02-02T02:23:00.006+02:002021-02-02T02:23:55.354+02:00SONGS OF RADHA - by Sarojini Naidu<p style="text-align: center;"> <span class="yiv6140699036GL_TXTSM yiv6140699036GL_MAR5B"></span><span class="yiv6140699036GL_TXTSM yiv6140699036GL_MAR5B" style="font-family: New Times, serif;"><br />
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</p><div class="yiv6140699036GL_MAR10T yiv6140699036GL_MAR10B yiv6140699036MESS">
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">SONGS OF RADHA </span></span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Sarojini Naidu</span></span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">AT D</span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">AWN </span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;"> </span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">All night my heart its lonely vigil kept</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Listening for thee, O Love. All night I wept.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Where went thy wanton footsteps wandering,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Sweet Ghanashyam, my King ?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">My bridal veils are flung upon the floor,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">My bridal garlands drop across the door.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">The buds that on my bed their fragrance spilt,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Grief-scattered, wane and wilt.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">O Flute-player, how quickly dost thou tire</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Of thine own gladness and thine own desire!</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Couldst thou not find upon my sheltering breast</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Thy rapture and thy rest ?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Whose are the fingers that like amorous flocks</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Raid the ambrosial thickets of thy locks?</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Ah, whose the lips that smite with sudden drouth</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">The garden of thy mouth ?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">What shall it profit to revile or hate</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Thy fickleness, her beauty or my fate,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Or strive to tear with black and bitter art</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Thine image from my heart ?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Without thy loveliness my life is dead,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Love, like a lamp with golden oils unfed.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Come back, come back from thy wild wandering.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Sweet Ghanashyam, my King!</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">AT D</span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">USK </span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Krishna Murari, my radiant lover</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Cometh O comrades haste.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Bring me rich perfumes my limbs to cover.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Saffron and sandal paste.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Bring shining garments for my adorning,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Blue of the dusk and rose of the morning.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Gold of the flaming noon.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Bring me a breastband of gems that shimmer,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Making the lamps of the stars grow dimmer,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Fillets and fringes of pearls whose glimmer</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Shameth the Shravan moon.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Krishna Murari, my radiant lover</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Cometh, O sisters spread</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Buds and ripe blossoms his couch to cover,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Silver and vermeil red.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">With flowering branches the doorways darken,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Is that his flute call? Sisters hearken!</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Why tarrieth he so long?</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">O like a leaf doth my shy heart shiver,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">O Like a wave do my faint limbs quiver.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Softly, softly, Jamuna river,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Sing thou our bridal song.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">THE QUEST</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">My foolish love went seeking thee at dawn,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Crying </span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">-</span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;"> O wind where is Kanhaya gone?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">I questioned at noonrise the forest glade,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Rests my sweet lover in thy friendly shade?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">At dusk I pleaded with the dovegray tides,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">O tell me where my Flute-player abides?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Dumb were the waters, dumb the woods, the wind,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">They knew not where my playfellow to find.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">I bowed my weeping face upon my palm,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Moaning </span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">-</span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;"> O where art thou, my Ghanashyam?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Then, like a boat that rocks from keel to rafter,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">My heart was shaken by thy hidden laughter.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Then didst thou mock me with thy tender malice,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Like nectar bubbling from my own heart's chalice.</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Thou saidst, </span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">- </span><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">O faithless one, self-slain with doubt,</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Why seekest thou my loveliness without,</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">And askest wind or wave or flowering dell</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">The secret that within thyself doth dwell?</span></div>
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<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">I am of thee, as thou of me, a part.</span></div>
<div style="text-shadow: rgb(253, 253, 254) 1.6px 1.7px 1.7px;"><span style="font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: 26.1334px; font-weight: bold;">Look for me in the mirror of thy heart.</span></div>
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</div></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-61979302584960100132021-02-02T01:59:00.000+02:002021-02-02T01:59:03.241+02:00WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU - by Queenie Quisido<p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
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</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">WHEN I THINK ABOUT YOU</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br />
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</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: medium;">by Queenie Quisido</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">You are the one who I always think,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">I even see your face everytime I blink.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">I really don’t know why am I acting like this,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">All I know that it is you who I miss.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I think about you, my eyes seemed to glow,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When I dream of you, I hoped for no tomorrow.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> To be with you right now is what I’ve wished</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> ‘Coz it is really you whom my heart has missed.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I believe that we will be together sooner or later.</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> How I hope that the time and day will pass faster</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> So that I’ll be with you and hug you tight,</span></span></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif; font-weight: 700;"><span style="font-size: large;"> And never let go of you with all my might.</span></span></center></center><center><span style="color: indigo; font-family: New Times, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
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</center><center><br /></center></div></div>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2364565405775763459.post-7284451357222909772021-02-02T01:32:00.003+02:002021-02-02T01:32:24.929+02:00I MISS... - by Thalia Jones<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div style="text-align: center;">
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</span></center><center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I MISS...</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">by Thalia Jones</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
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</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss how we used to be,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">So vibrant, so honest, so wild and free.</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss the way you would understand,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Listen carefully, and be there when I needed a hand.</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss our long, random talks at night,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Our private conversations,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Our silly little fights.</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss the way you could read my mind,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Know what to say,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">When words were hard to find.</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss the way you could brighten my day,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Make me forget the mistakes,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Make the pain go away.</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">I miss how you made me laugh,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Hate how you made me cry,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">Loved how you said you would always be there,</span></center><center><span style="color: silver; font-family: New Times, serif; font-size: x-large; font-weight: bold;">But once again, I forgot that everything you say is a lie.</span></center><center><span style="color: midnightblue;"><br />
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</div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Doina Badescuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10034738908999269968noreply@blogger.com0