| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Albert Savarus by Honore de Balzac: Custom-house. The fashion that is called English in Paris is called
French in London, and this is reciprocal. The hostility of the two
nations is suspended on two points--the uses of words and the fashions
of dress. /God Save the King/, the national air of England, is a tune
written by Lulli for the Chorus of Esther or of Athalie. Hoops,
introduced at Paris by an Englishwoman, were invented in London, it is
known why, by a Frenchwoman, the notorious Duchess of Portsmouth. They
were at first so jeered at that the first Englishwoman who appeared in
them at the Tuileries narrowly escaped being crushed by the crowd; but
they were adopted. This fashion tyrannized over the ladies of Europe
for half a century. At the peace of 1815, for a year, the long waists
Albert Savarus |
The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Unconscious Comedians by Honore de Balzac: chairs, the table, were all most abject. The floor tiles oozed like a
water-cooler. In short, every accessory was in keeping with the
fearful old woman of the hooked nose, ghastly face, and decent rags
who directed the "consulters" to sit down, informing them that only
one at a time could be admitted to Madame.
Gazonal, who played the intrepid, entered bravely, and found himself
in presence of one of those women forgotten by Death, who no doubt
forgets them intentionally in order to leave some samples of Itself
among the living. He saw before him a withered face in which shone
fixed gray eyes of wearying immobility; a flattened nose, smeared with
snuff; knuckle-bones well set up by muscles that, under pretence of
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories by Alice Dunbar: levee, with its ships and schooners and sailors, how he could
revel in them! The wondrous ships, the pretty little schooners,
where the foreign-looking sailors lay on long moonlight nights,
singing to their guitars and telling great stories,--all these
things and more could Titee tell of. He had been down to the
Gulf, and out on its treacherous waters through the Eads jetties
on a fishing-smack with some jolly brown sailors, and could
interest the whole school-room in the talk-lessons, if he chose.
Titee shivered as the wind swept round the freight-cars. There
isn't much warmth in a bit of a jersey coat.
"Wish 'twas summer," he murmured, casting another sailor's glance
The Goodness of St. Rocque and Other Stories |
