The next May, in Paris, how many times did I buy an apple branch from a florist and spend the night in front of its flower? Flowers emit the same milky-white body fluid and sprinkle their droplets on the buds. It seems that the florist is very generous to me, out of creative interest, ingenious contrast, and in the white corolla, with the right pink * buds on each side. I gazed at the flowers for a long time and ordered them to be placed on the top of my lamp until dawn brought them dawn. I often looked at them. In Balbeck, the dawn may also shine at the same time, right? In my imagination, I tried my best to bring this flower back to this road, so that it could increase a lot and spread it over the ready frame on the ready canvas. The border is the garden. I have kept in mind the pattern of the garden. How I wish, and should, to see it again one day in the spring when it is covered with its paintings in all kinds of colors with genius and wonderful enthusiasm!

Before getting on the bus, I had already conceived the picture of the sea. I'm going to look for this picture. I want to see this picture under the sunshine that shines all over the earth. And in Balbeck, between so many people bathing in the sea, the shed and the vulgar flower arrangement of the yacht, I saw only fragmented pictures, which I could not accept in my dreams.

Mrs. de Villebalisis's carriage reached the height of a seaside, and when I could see the sea from the branches and leaves of trees, the details that moved the sea beyond nature and history disappeared naturally. Looking at the waves of the sea, I can imagine with all my heart that Legunt de Lille described to us in Orestes. At that time, Herring's long-haired warriors "flew by at dawn like meat-eating birds", "beat the roaring waves with 100,000 oars". Conversely, I am not close enough to the sea. I seem to feel that the sea is not alive, but fixed. I can no longer feel the vitality of the sea in that colour, like a painting among the leaves. The sea looks as thin as the sky, but darker than the sky.

The title of Escules'Trilogy is: but Legunt de Lille wrote the tragedy inspired by it. The title of the play is "The Three Goddesses of Revenge". The play was first performed at the Odeon Theatre on January 6, 1873, and the script was published that year.

(2) This is what Doherdi Bios said in the play.

When Mrs. de Villebarisis saw that I liked to see churches, she promised me that we would go to see this and that in the future, especially the church in Clarkville. She said that the church was "completely hidden in the Ivy vine" and made a gesture, which seemed to be very interesting to wrap the front of the church which was not in front of her in invisible and very beautiful branches and leaves. Mrs. de Villebalisis made such descriptive little gestures, often expressing the attractions and peculiarities of a monument in precise words, always avoiding the use of technical words. But she couldn't hide it. She was very clear about what she was talking about. She grew up in one of her father's castles, some of which were in the same style as the churches around Barbeck. The castle was the perfect example of Renaissance architecture, and she had no interest in architecture. She seemed to be trying to defend herself. The castle is also a real museum. In addition, Chopin and Liszt played the piano there, where RaMartin recited poems, where famous artists for a century wrote impressions, harmonious movements and sketches in her family's Memorial book. Therefore, Mrs. de Villebarisis, out of her goodwill, good education, genuine humility, or lack of philosophical spirit, endowed her own knowledge of all kinds of arts only with this purely material source, and finally seemed to regard painting, music, literature and philosophy as well-known cultural relics. The privilege of a young girl who grew up in the list of ancient buildings and was influenced by the most aristocratic education. People seem to have the impression that there is no other painting for her than the one she inherited. She wore a necklace that hung over her long skirt. My grandmother liked it very much. She was very happy. This necklace is on Titian's portrait of one of her great-grandmothers. This necklace has never come out of this family. So you can be sure it's genuine. I don't know how to buy Chrysos's paintings. She doesn't like to listen to them. She is sure in advance that they must be fake. She doesn't want to see them at all. We know that she herself paints some flowers and watercolours. Grandma had heard these works praised and talked to her about it. Mrs. de Villebarisis turned the subject out of modesty, and showed no more surprise and joy than complimenting a rather well-known artist, who was already commonplace. She just said that it was a very pleasant pastime, although the flowers in the painting brush were not so great, at least it made you live in the world of natural flowers. Especially when people have to watch carefully in order to imitate very much, they can never tire of seeing the beauty of natural flowers. But in Barbeck, Mrs. de Villebarisis gave herself a holiday to rest her eyes.

Grandma and I were amazed to see that she was even more liberal than most bourgeoisies. She was puzzled by the outrage over the eviction of Jesuits. She said she had always done so, even in the reign of kings, even in Spain. She defended the Republic and condemned the republic's anti-sectarianism only in the following circumstances:'I want to go to Mass, and people stop me; I don't want to go, people force me to go. I think both are equally bad. She even said something like, "Yo! Today's aristocracy, what kind of art is it?"" In my opinion, a person who does not work is simply worthless." Maybe it's because she feels that people are picking sarcastic, mellow and unforgettable things from her mouth that she says so. David Copperfield

We respect the wisdom of some people and refuse to condemn conservatives with cautious and cautious impartiality. Mrs. de Villebarisis belongs to this kind of person. My grandmother and I often heard her express some very advanced ideas frankly - but not yet advanced enough to agree with socialism. Socialism is the nail in her eye. We almost believe that in all kinds of things, the scale and model of truth are on her. When she commented on Titian's paintings, the pillars of her castle, the humour of Louis Philip's conversation, she really said what we believed.

But it's not uncommon for scholars with great knowledge to talk about Egyptian paintings and Etruscan inscriptions to talk about modern works. We have to wonder whether we value the knowledge they are good at too high, because their study of Baudelaire is simple and ordinary, and their study of modern works is not even ordinary. When I asked Mrs. de Villebarisis about Chateaubrion, Balzac and Victor Hugo --- all of whom her parents had received in the past, and she had seen them vaguely herself --- she laughed at my admiration for them. Just as she had just made sarcastic remarks to some noble lords or some politicians, she had also made sarcastic remarks to them. She criticizes these writers harshly, saying that they lack the following excellent qualities: modesty, not self-flaunting, content with a simple art, just right and no more, to avoid being ridiculous. In short, it lacks the character of moderation and simplicity in judgment. She was told that a truly valuable person would attain the height of these qualities. It can be seen that she did not hesitate to put some people above these writers. Maybe those people, with these qualities, can really outperform Balzac, Hugo and Vinny, or in a living room, at a meeting of ministers, at an academy, at a meeting of ministers, over Molly II, Vontana III, Vetrol IV, Besso_, Basquille_, Lebron_, Safandi_, or Daru. It is.

(formerly) Etruria is the name of the ancient Italian region.

(2) Earl Morley (1781-1855), who participated in the Zheng Palace of the First Empire and later supported the July Dynasty, was Prime Minister of the Louis-Philip Zheng Palace from 1836 to 1839.

(3) Vontana (1757-1821), who had supported the French Revolution, was frightened by revolutionary violence. One of the advocates of rebuilding the empire." When the Hundred Days Incident happened, he did not respond to Napoleon's call, so he was favored by Louis XVIII and was a former Minister of state.

(4) Baron Wittroll (1774-1854), who fought in the counter-revolutionary army of Comte and threw himself on the side of the empire, participated in Taylor's conspiracy and conspiracy. Neither Charlie X nor Louis Philip could make him realize his ambition, but he was always a fanatical royalist.

(5) Besso (1816-1880), who was successively titled Baron and Duke for his successful political activities, refused loyalty to the Second Empire in 1851. After 1871, he was appointed president of a normal university.

Baskie (1767-1862), imprisoned during the terrorist period, loyal to the Empire and Louis XVIII, participated in the Cabinet of Richelieu and Decaz, and was appointed President of the Senate by Louis Philip.

Lebron (1785-1873), who became popular during the July Dynasty, was admitted to the Senate by Napoleon the third and wrote many tragedies and poems.

Count Safandi (1795-1856) was loyal to Napoleon and Louis XVIII, Charles X, and Louis Philip.

Dachang (1767-1829), who first supported the revolution, was arrested and imprisoned during the period of terror. He fought bravely for Napoleon. He became a member of the French Senate in 1819.

"It's like Stendhal's novel. You seem to admire Stendhal very much, but if you talk to him in this tone. That would surprise him. My father often saw Stendhal at home in Mr. Merrimey, at least one of his geniuses. He often told me that Peyer (his real name) was too vulgar, but it was so funny at dinner that one could hardly believe that he would write such a book. Besides, you may have seen how Mr. de Balzac shrugged his shoulders in reply to his extreme praise. At least in this respect, he is a man of noble origin."

All these great men, she has their true works. Her family had such a special relationship with these people that she boasted that she seemed to think her comments on them were more correct than those of young people like me who had not been able to interact with them.

"I think I can talk about them because they often come to my father's house. As the interesting Saint-Bernard said, these people should be trusted to have seen them nearby and to be able to make a more accurate assessment of their value."

Sometimes, the carriage goes up a slope between the cultivated land. We feel the field more vividly. The uphill road adds a real mark to the field. Just as some masters added a precious little flower to their paintings in the past, there are also several indecisive cornflower plants, which are very similar to Gombre's cornflower and follow our carriage. Soon our horses left the cornflower behind. But a few more steps, we can see another plant waiting for us, as early as in the grass, in front of us erected its small blue star. Several more daring plants came and stood by the roadside. Therefore, these cornflower, together with my distant memories and home-grown flowers, formed a nebula.

We went downhill to the coast. Then we will meet girls walking, riding bicycles, sitting in a crappy car or riding a horse-drawn carriage uphill. They are the flowers of this beautiful day. But they are not like the flowers in the field, because every girl shows something unique, which is not found in another girl. This makes the desire that this girl arouses in our hearts, together with her peers, unsatisfactory. One farm girl was driving her own milk cow, or half lying in a car, the daughter of a small shop keeper was walking, and the other lady was sitting on the folding seat of an open carriage, opposite her parents.

When I was walking alone on the side of Messegris, I had the illusion that a village maid would pass by, and I held her in my arms. One day, Block told me that this fantasy was not a fantasy that was totally inconsistent with anything outside me. All the girls people meet on the road, whether they are village girls or young ladies, are ready to realize the same dream at any time. This day, Block naturally opened a new era for me, for me, changed the value of life. But now I'm sick and never go out alone. I'm doomed never to have sex with them. A child born in a prison or hospital has long believed that the human body can only digest dry bread and medicine. When he suddenly learns that peaches, pears and grapes are not just decorations in the fields, but delicious and digestible food. How delighted and overjoyed it should be! Even if the jailer who guarded him or his guard did not allow him to pick these beautiful fruits, the world seemed better to him, and life seemed more generous. I'm just like this kid. When we know that outside of us, reality is in line with desire, even if it is impossible for us to achieve this desire, it seems better to us, and we will rely more confidently on it. We will think with greater pleasure, supposing that this desire | hope is satisfied, what kind of life it should be! Of course, to do this, there is one condition, that is, we can temporarily remove that small and accidental special obstacle from our thinking. It is this obstacle that makes our desire unfulfilled. Since the day I knew I could kiss the cheeks of beautiful girls passing by, I became very curious about their inner activities and the universe seemed more interesting to me.

Mrs. de Villebarisis's carriage was running fast. I just had time to see the girl coming in front of me. However, the beauty of human beings is different from that of objects. We feel that this is the only beauty of a girl, which is conscious and conscious. Her individuality, her visible mind, her unwillingness that I did not understand, was just in the depth of her undivided gaze, which, in a twinkling, became a mystery exactly like the pollen prepared for the pistil, forming a large, narrowed, incomplete little image, and I felt from my own flesh. There is a kind of rudimentary desire in her heart, which is vague, very small, and this desire is: I do not hinder her desire when her mind is not aware of me, I do not hinder her desire, I do not stop in her fantasy, don't let this girl go before I catch her heart! But our carriage is far away, and the beautiful girl is behind us. She didn't have any idea of what constitutes a person to me. Her eyes had just seen me and forgotten me. Is it because I only glanced at her and thought she was so beautiful? Probably. Disease or poverty prevents us from traveling to a country; the rest of our life is numbered, and the days have faded; first, it is impossible to stay with a woman and probably not to meet her again, all of which immediately give her a kind of charm, the same as the charm of those days in that country. 。 This is a battle that we are doomed to fail. So if you don't take it for granted, life will be very sweet for those who are threatened by death at all times, that is, for all people. Secondly, in such road encounters, generally speaking, the charm of passing girls is closely related to the quick crossing of arms. Desire for what we can't have, and the imagination caused by this desire surges, free from the reality that we feel completely in the aforementioned encounter. Despite the arrival of night, the carriage is speeding fast. In the countryside, in the city, there is no female * posture, like the ancient marble statue, which is destroyed by the speed of taking us away; nor is there any female * posture destroyed by the evening that engulfs it. And this evening, at every intersection, from the depths of every shop, all of us shoot arrows from the God of beauty at our hearts. Regret stirs up our imagination. Our imagination adds a lot to the fleeting and incomplete traveling woman. Sometimes we really want to wonder if the God of beauty is just the added part of the world, not something else.

If I could get out of the car and talk to the woman I met face to face, I might be disillusioned by something wrong with her skin. From the car, I couldn't see the problem clearly. (So, all the efforts to get into her life immediately made me feel impossible. Beauty is a set of assumptions. We have seen the way to the unknown, and once Ugly blocked the way, those assumptions were narrowed down. Maybe if she just said a word and smiled, she could give me unexpected inspiration, numbers, so that I could understand the expression on her face and the meaning of her behavior, which would immediately become insipid. This is possible. For a while, I was with a very serious person, and although I had found hundreds of excuses to throw him away, I could not leave. I feel that the girls I met in my life have never been as exciting as the girls I met in those days. Years after my first trip to Balbeck, in Paris, I went for a ride in a carriage with a friend of my father's and saw a woman hurrying through the haze of night. I think it's unreasonable for a person to live a lifetime and lose this happiness for improper reasons. Without apologizing, I jumped out of the car and began to track down the girl I had never met. At the crossroads, I was pulled down two blocks by her. On the third street, she was found again. Finally, under a street lamp, I gasped and ran into the old Mrs. Verdiland. It was her! This man, I can't avoid everywhere! Surprised and delighted, she shouted, "Ah, running after me to say hello to me. It's very polite!"

This year, in Balbeck, whenever such encounters occurred, I said to my grandmother and Mrs. de Villebarisis that I had a terrible headache and it was better for me to walk back alone. They refused to ask me to get off. In this way, I added this beautiful girl (much harder to find than a monument, because she is anonymous and active) to the series I was going to watch closely. But one of them happened to pass by my eyes, and I thought I could get to know her as I wished.

It was a dairy girl who came from the Grange to deliver extra cream to the hotel. I think she recognized me, and she did look at me very attentively, probably because I was surprised by her attentiveness. The next day, I had a rest all morning. Franois came to open the curtain near noon. She handed me a letter from someone who had stayed in the hotel. I don't know anyone in Barbeck. I have no doubt that the letter was written by the milkmaid. Unfortunately not. That's only Bergott's letter. He passed by and wanted to see me, but when he learned that I was sleeping, he left me this enthusiastic note. The elevator driver wrote an envelope to the letter. I thought it was the handwriting of a milk girl.

I was extremely disappointed. Even the thought of getting a letter from Bergott was harder and more complimentary, and it did not comfort me at all that I was disappointed that it was not written by a dairy girl. I haven't seen many more girls than the ones I've only seen far away in Mrs. de Villebalisis's carriage. Seeing these girls one by one and losing them one by one makes me even more upset. I think the philosophers who warn us about abstinence are really wise (in case they want to talk about human desires). Because this is the only desire that can leave people anxious | hope, applicable to the unknown consciousness. It would be ridiculous to suppose that philosophy would talk about the desire for wealth. But I am prepared to judge this incomplete wisdom, and I think these coincidences make me feel that the world is a better place. The world wants to make all the country roads blossom with unusual and ordinary flowers. It is a passing treasure every day and an unexpected harvest in walking. All kinds of incidents may not recur frequently. It is precisely because of incidents that I can not benefit, which gives life new interest.

I hope one day I will be more free to find the same girl on other roads. But maybe, at the same time, I have begun to distort the desire to live with a woman who thinks she is beautiful. I think this desire can be artificially created, and from this point alone, I have secretly admitted the illusion of this desire.

That day, Mrs. de Villebarisis took us to Clarkville, where the ivy-covered church she told us was. The church was built on a hill overlooking a medieval bridge. My grandmother thought I would be very happy to visit this monument alone, so she suggested to her girlfriend that they go to the pastry shop to have some snacks. The shop is on the square, and you can see it clearly. The golden front is ancient and fragrant, just like another part of a very old cultural relic. We agreed that I would go there later to join them. They left me in the shade. Here, in order to recognize a church, it must take some effort to make me grasp the concept of church more accurately. Indeed, when people force students to separate the meaning of sentences from their familiar forms in the form of translating their native language into foreign language or the cost of translating foreign languages into national language, they tend to grasp the meaning of sentences more specifically. Similarly, when I stand in front of the bell tower that can be recognized at first sight, I don't need the concept of church very much. Today, however, I have to resort to this probability from time to time to avoid forgetting here. This dense Ivy arch is the large, pointed glass window of the coloured * where the green leaves bulge because there is a bulge part of the outline pillar. At this time, the breeze blowing, like a touch of sunshine, trembling and rippling wake through the moving gate, the gate will also tremble. Leaves are like rough waves, one by one. The front of the flowers and plants trembled, sweeping away all the magnificent, comforted and vanishing columns.

When I left the church, I saw some girls in the village in front of the old bridge. Probably because it was Sunday, they dressed up carefully, stood there and chatted with the passing boys. There was a very tall girl, half sitting on the edge of the bridge, her legs hanging in the air, and in front of her there was a small VAT full of fish, probably just caught by her. She didn't dress as well as other girls, but she seemed to have some power over them because she hardly paid attention to them when they spoke to her. Her expression was more serious and strong-willed. She has dark brown skin and soft eyes, but she looks scornfully at everything around her. Her nose is small, and her shape is elegant and lovely. My eyes fell on her skin, and I could barely believe that my lips were following my eyes. But what I want to touch is not only her body, but also the heart living in her body. There is only one way to get in touch with her, that is, to get her attention; there is only one way to get in, that is, to evoke an idea in her mind.

This beautiful fishing girl, her heart seems to be still closed to me. Even after I glimpsed my own reflection in the mirror of her eyes from the refracted signs, I still wondered if I had entered her heart. This refracted sign is very strange to me, as if I had entered the vision of a yak deer. My lips get pleasure from her lips, which is not enough for me, and I have to give her lips pleasure. Likewise, I want to enter her heart and stop thinking about me, not only to bring her attention to me, but also her admiration, her desire, to force her to remember me until I can see her again that day.

I have only a short time. I already felt that the girls had begun to laugh when they saw me standing there so still. I have five francs in my pocket. I took out five francs. To make her more likely to listen to me, I put the coin in front of her for a while before explaining to the beautiful girl what I had entrusted her with:

"You look like a native," I said to the fishing girl. "Would you be kind enough to run for me? It is said that the shop is in a square, but I don't know where it is. There is a carriage waiting for me. Wait a minute! In order not to be confused, you may ask if this is the carriage of Marquis de Villebarisis. Besides, you should see clearly that the carriage has two horses."

I just want her to know this so that she can have a deep impression on me. When I uttered the words "Marquise" and "Two Horses", I suddenly felt a great calm. I felt that the fishing girl would remember me, and the desire to meet her was partially dissipated with the fear that she would never meet again. It seemed to me that I had touched her heart with my invisible lips just now, and I liked her very much. In this way, the possession of her spirit, this immateriality, as well as the possession of her body, makes her get rid of some mystery...

We went downhill and headed for Dimenier. Suddenly, my heart was filled with deep happiness. I haven't always felt this kind of happiness since Gombre, which is quite similar to the happiness that the Bell Tower of Madanville has given me. But this time, the happiness is incomplete. Where we retracted from the donkey-back road, I had just seen three trees, probably the entrance to a mall, which constituted the pattern I had not seen for the first time. I can't tell where these trees came from independently, but I feel very familiar with this place in the past. So my mind stumbled between some distant age and the present moment, and I wondered if the whole walk was an illusion, whether Barbeck was the only place I had ever imagined, and whether Mrs. de Villebarisis was one of the novels. Characters, and these three old trees, are they the realities you find when you lift your eyes from the books you are reading? It depicts an environment to you, in which people eventually think they are really in it.

I stared at the three trees, and I could see them clearly. But my mind felt that they were hiding something. My mind could not grasp it, just as some objects were put too far away. We stretched our arms out, and our fingers could only touch the envelope of the object, but we did not grasp it at all. At this time, we take a short rest, and then make a vigorous stretch out of the arm, trying to reach farther. But for me, in order for my thoughts to be so concentrated and powerful, I had to be alone. Just like I left my parents for a walk on the side of Galmont. At this moment, how I wish I could escape!

Maybe I could just do that. I recognize this joy, and indeed it requires some kind of thinking activity on the basis of thinking. Compared with this activity, the lazy comfort that makes you give up this activity seems mediocre. The object of this happiness can only foresee that I want to create for myself. I've only felt it a few times, but every time I seem to feel that what happened in the middle of it doesn't matter. As long as I depend on it, I can start a real life.

For a moment, I put my hand in front of me so that I could close my eyes without being noticed by Mrs. de Villebalisis. I sat there, thinking nothing, and then, from the thoughts I had gathered with greater strength, I leaped further in the direction of the three trees, or, more correctly, in the direction of my heart. At the end of this direction, I saw the three trees in my heart. I felt again that it was the familiar and vague object behind the tree, and I couldn't pull it to my side. As the carriage moved forward, I saw all three trees approaching. Where have I looked at these three trees before? Around Gombre, there's no place like this to start with a boulevard. Three trees reminded me of places of interest, and there was no place in the German countryside where I went to a mineral bath with my grandmother for a year. Should I believe that they come from such a remote time in my life that the scenery around them has been completely erased from my memory, just as I was suddenly deeply moved by some pages when I was re-reading a work and thought I had never read these pages before, these old trees have suddenly been forgotten from the book I was young. What about the book alone? Isn't it the opposite? They belong only to visions in dreams? The scenery in my dreams * is always the same, at least for me, it's just the objectification of what I do in the daytime and what I dream in the evening. During the day, I tried to think, either to find out the secrets of a place, to anticipate the secrets behind its appearance, as I often encounter on the Galmont side, or to reintroduce a secret to a place I had wanted to know, but to see the place. My God, I think this place is very superficial, just like Barbeck. Isn't these old trees a brand new image that came out of a dream the night before, and that image is so thin that I think it came from a farther place? Or perhaps I have never seen these trees, which, like some trees, hide behind me the dense grass I have seen on the side of Gelmont, and have the meaning of being as obscure and as difficult to capture as a distant past, so that they arouse my desire to seek the root of an idea, and I think so. Recognize a memory? Or are they not even concealing ideas, but rather my eyesight is tired, so that I look at them for a while, just as I sometimes look at them in space? I don't know all this.

In the meantime, several trees continued to come to me. Or maybe it's a myth, a witch God traveling or Norna traveling, to announce to me what deities. I think, more likely, this is the ghost of the past, my dear companion in my childhood, my friends who have passed away, calling for our common memories. Like ghosts, they seem to ask me to take them away and return them to the world. From their simple, naive and energetic comparison drawing, I can see that a beloved person has turned into a dumb person's helpless regret. He felt unable to tell us what he was going to say, and we couldn't guess what he meant. Soon the two roads crossed and the carriage abandoned the trees. The carriage took me away from what I thought was real and what might make me really happy. The carriage is very similar to my life.

Norna is the God of destiny in Scandinavian mythology.

I saw the tree waving its arms away in despair as if to say to me, "You never know what you didn't learn from us today. We try our best to climb to you from the end of the path. If you let us fall to the end of the path again, the part of yourself that we bring to you will fall into nothingness forever. Indeed, although I will feel the joy and anxiety again later, I miss it very much one night - it's too late and will never come again - but I don't really understand what these trees want to bring to me or where I've seen them before. When the carriage changed its direction again, I turned my back to the tree and could not see it any more, Mrs. de Villebalisis asked me why I was meditating. I was very sad at that time. It seemed that I had just lost a friend, that I had just died, that I had abandoned a dead person or that I had not recognized a god. Come on.

It's time to think about going back. Mrs. de Villebarisis is more appreciative of nature than my grandmother. Even in addition to museums and noble houses, she could recognize the simple and magnificent beauty of some ancient things. She told the coachman to take the old road to Balbeck. There are few people on this road. Old elm trees are planted on both sides, which makes us look amazing.

Once we know that there is an old road, we always go this way when we go out, unless we have gone this way before, and when we return, in order to change our ways, we take another way through the forests of Chantrena and Gontlu. In the woods, countless birds respond to each other around us, but we can't see where the birds are, creating the same peaceful impression as closing our eyes. Like Prometheus chained to the rocks, I was tied tightly to my folding seat and listened to my Okeanides. By pure chance, I saw a bird jumping from one leaf to the bottom of another. On the surface, it did not seem to have much to do with the chorus, so that I could not see why the chorus was coming from this jumping, startled, eyeless little body.

(1) Okeanides is the daughter of Ocean and Thetis, the goddess of the ocean, which is said to have 3000. In Escules'The Restrained Prometheus, they form a chorus, expressing infinite sympathy for the suffering of heroes.

This road is exactly the same as many of these roads people meet in France, with steep uphills and long downhills. At that time, I didn't find the road attractive, but I was happy to return to my residence. But then, for me, the road became a cause of happiness, and it stayed in my memory like the beginning of a road. All the similar roads that I went through in my later walks or travels could not be sustained, but were immediately connected to it, with which my heart could be instantly connected. As soon as the carriage or car set foot on such a road, it seemed to be a continuation of the road I had traveled with Mrs. de Villebarisis. Just as the past had supported my consciousness now, the impressions of the afternoons I traveled around Barbeck immediately came to support my consciousness (the age in the middle was complete). It disappears. At that time, the leaves were fragrant, the mist was rising slowly. Behind the coming village, the sunset could be seen dimly among the trees. It seemed that there was our next stop. The trees were lush and the distance was too far to reach that night. Now in another area, on a similar road, I feel the same secondary feelings as I did then: free breathing, curiosity, laziness, appetite, joy, exclusion of all other feelings. The original impression is connected with the impression at the moment, which has been strengthened and become more dense. It has become a special type of happiness, almost a framework of life. Later, I seldom have the opportunity to meet again. But within this framework, recalling injects a considerable amount of recalled, imaginary and hard-to-capture reality into the reality of concrete material feelings. In these areas I pass through, besides a sense of beauty, it also gives me the fleeting and fanatical hope to live here forever. Desire | Hope. How many times, just because she smelled the fragrance of the leaves, she remembered sitting in a folded seat opposite Mrs. de Villebarisis, passing by Mrs. Prince Luxembourg, greeting her from her carriage and returning to the Grand Hotel for dinner. All of this appeared before me like indescribable happiness. And this happiness, whether now or in the future, will not be returned to us again. One can only experience it once in one's life!

Often the sun sets before we return. I showed Mrs. de Villebarisis the moon in the sky, and shyly recited the beautiful verses of Chateau Brion, or Winnie, or Victor Hugo: "It scatters the old secret of melancholy," or "cries like Diana by the spring," or "Shadows like a wedding night, solemn and noble." 3.

"You think these poems are beautiful, don't you?" She asked me, "'Genius', as you said? Let me tell you, it's always strange to see people take things too seriously now. And these gentlemen's friends, while fully affirming their strengths, are also the first to make fun of these things. The word genius was not abused as it is now. Now, if you tell a writer that he has only a few talents, he will regard it as an insult. You just recited a long sentence about moonlight from Mr. Chateaubrion to me. I object. I have my reason. You will understand it in a minute. Mr. Chateaubrion often comes to my father's house. When he was alone with him, he was very happy, because he was very simple and amusing. But as soon as he had more guests, he began to put on airs and became ridiculous. In front of my father, he should be said to have dropped his resignation on the king's face and directed the Pope's election. He forgot that he had personally entrusted my father to the king to plead with him and use him again, and that my father had personally heard his crazy prophecies about the election of the pope. For this well-known Pope Election, we should listen to Mr. Bragas, who is not the same person as Mr. Chateaubrion. As for Mr. De Chateaubrion's remarks about moonlight, they have become a burden on our family. Every time the moon shines around the castle, if a new visitor arrives, he is always advised to take Mr. de Chateaubrion out for a change of air after dinner. When they come back, my father will pull the guests aside and say to him:

This is Chateaubrion's poem in Adala.

This is the penultimate sentence in Winnie's Shepherd's Home.

Thirdly, this is the poem of "Sleeping Boots" in Victor Hugo's Legend of the Century.

Pope Leon XII died in 1829. Chateaubrion, then ambassador to Rome, was extremely concerned about the election of a new pope. De Bragas, then ambassador to Naples, was also very concerned about the election of a new pope. Finally, Cardinal Castiglioni was elected as Pope Shelter VIII.

'Mr. de Chateaubrion is eloquent, isn't he?'

'Oh, yes'.

He talks to you about moonlight.

'Yes, how do you know?'

'Wait a minute, didn't he say to you...' So my father recited the sentence.

'Yes, but what's the secret?'

He even talked to you about the moonlight in the countryside of Rome.

"You are a sorcerer!"

My father was not a sorcerer, but Mr. de Chateaubrion served the ready dish to everyone.

She laughed when she heard Winnie's name. A Tale of Two Cities

"That's the man who always says,'I'm Count Alfred de Viney'. It doesn't matter whether it's an earl or not."

Maybe she thought it was somewhat urgent, because she went on like this:

"First of all, I'm not sure he's the Earl. Anyway, he came from a humble background, and the gentleman mentioned his "gentleman's headdress" in his poems. How elegant and interesting this style is for readers! It's like Mussel, a common citizen of Paris, exaggerating what he said:'The Canary hawk armed with my hat'. A real aristocrat never said such a thing. But at least Musset is talented as a poet. But Mr. De Winnie, apart from his Saint-Kerr-Mars, I have never been able to take any notice of any other work, and the dullness of it will make the book fall from my hand. Mr. Morley was funny and clever, but De Vinny didn't. Morley arranged him well enough to go to the French Academy. Why, you haven't read his speech? That's a masterpiece of cunning and arrogance!"

(1) Quoted from the poem Pure Thought.

(2) Quoted from the poem "To Mr. Alfred Dade".

She was surprised to see that her nephews admired Balzac. She blamed Balzac for declaring that she had portrayed a society in which he was "rejected" and for telling a lot of unreliable things about it. As for Victor Hugo, she told us that her father, Mr. de Bullon, had several partners in the Romantic Youth School, and with their help, he went in at the opening of Enani. But he failed to stick to it. He thought the lines of the clever but exaggerated writer were ridiculous. His title as a great poet was nothing more than a negotiated business, rewarding him for tolerating his dangerous nonsense against socialists out of interest.

(1) Enani was first performed at the French Theatre on February 25, 1830. It became a battlefield for the famous classical and romantic schools.

We've seen the Home Lantern in the distance. When the carriage arrives near the gate, the porter, the young waiter. The elevator driver, who showed courtesy and naivety, was vaguely disturbed by our late return and had gathered on the steps to wait for us. They became very friendly. They belong to the kind of people who have to change many times in our lives, just as we have changed ourselves. But. At a certain time, they are the mirrors of our common things. At this time, we find a sense of intimacy in him and feel that we have been faithfully and friendly reflected. We like them more than some friends we haven't seen for a long time, because they contain more about our current situation. Except for the servant in uniform. During the day he was windy and sunny. Now, in order not to endure the cold at night, he was moved indoors and wrapped in wool. Plus his orange scalp and the odd pink flowers on his cheeks, in the middle of the glass hall. One can't help but think of a greenhouse plant for cold protection.

We got off with the help of a servant. It doesn't need so many people. They feel that this situation is very important and they think they have to play a role in it. I'm hungry. In order not to postpone dinner, I often don't go back to my room. The room eventually became truly mine, so that the sight of the big purple curtains and the low bookshelves was tantamount to meeting myself alone. Items, like people, provide me with their own image. We waited together in the lobby, waiting for the head waiter to report to us that dinner was ready. At this time, we had another chance to listen to Mrs. de Villebalisis.

"We borrowed all of you," said Grandma.

"Where did you go?" I'm so happy, it really makes my heart blossom, "my grandmother's girlfriend answered with a naughty smile, dragging her long voice and beautiful tone, in sharp contrast to the ordinary simplicity of nature.

At such moments, she was really unnatural. She remembered her education and what kind of aristocratic manner a lady should show in front of Buljoa with whom she was happy. She was not arrogant, and the only real lack of etiquette in her was her excessive politeness. Because people recognize the professional habit of St. Germanic ladies from this excessive politeness. In her eyes, some bourgeoisie people are always dissatisfied, and sometimes she is doomed to act dissatisfied. In her enthusiastic relationship with these people, she avariciously took every opportunity she could to spend the money of the lender early and early so that she could debit the dinner or Gala she would not invite them to in the future. The genius of her social class had once had a lasting impact on her, but she didn't know that the situation was different and the objects were different. She hoped to see us often in her home in Paris, and the time she was allowed to be hospitable was very short, so the genius of her social class feverishly pushed her forward. During our stay in Barber Kerr, we were often sent roses and melons, lent us books and sat with us. Carriage trips and long talks with us. That's why, just like the dizzying beauty of the beach, the colorful lights in the hotel room and the deep light of the ocean, the peddler's son is regarded as a magical jockey like Alexander de Marcedovana, Mrs. de Villebarisis's daily hospitality, and my grandmother's reception. The temporary and summer easiness of these hospitality has remained in my memory as a feature of the life of bathing in the sea.

"Give them your coats and ask them to take them upstairs!"

Grandma gave the coat to the manager. He seemed to feel sorry for such disrespect.

He has always been kind and warm to me, and I am very sorry to read that.

"I don't think this gentleman is happy," said the Marquise. "He must think he's a big man and can't bring you a shawl. I remember the story of Duke de Namur, when I was very young and my father lived on the top floor of the Buyong Mansion. Duke Namur went into my father's room with a large bag of things, letters and newspapers under his arm. From the frame of my house, which has beautiful wooden carvings, I think the prince in blue dress is in front of me. I thought it was Baga's craft. You know, the carpenters sometimes make boats out of very delicate sticks, just like wrapping bouquets with ribbons.

This may refer to Louis Charles Philip de Orleans, the second son of Louis Philip.

(2) Baga (1639-1709), a French sculptor, was called "Great Caesar" by his contemporaries. Sometimes he also does wood carving.

"Here you are, Sylvis," he said to my father, "this is your porter, and I'll give it to you." He said,'Since you are going to the Count, I don't have to go up several floors. However. Be careful not to break the rope that binds the letters!' Well, now that you've given your coat to someone, please sit down, come and sit here, "she said to her, holding her grandmother's hand.

"Oh, if everywhere is the same to you, I won't sit on this sofa! If two people sit too small and I sit too big alone, I'll be uncomfortable."

"Oh, that reminds me of a sofa. It's exactly the same. It was a sofa that I was asked to sit on long ago, but I couldn't sit on it in the end because it was given to my mother by the poor Duchess de Plasland. My mother is actually the simplest person in the world, but she still has some old ideas, which I don't quite understand. She was initially reluctant to be introduced to Mrs. de Plasland, who was only Miss Sebastiani when she was a daughter. And the lady, because she had become a duchess, thought that she should not invite others to introduce herself. In fact, "added Mrs. de Villebarisis, forgetting that she did not know much about these subtle differences," if she were Mrs. de Schwarzer, her ambition might hold water. The Schwarzer family is the greatest. They are the descendants of a sister of King Fat Louis. They are the real monarch of Bassini. I admit that our family has the upper hand in terms of affinity and fame, but it's almost the same when it comes to the ancient family. The question of who is first and who is next has produced some ridiculous incidents, such as having a luncheon for more than an hour, because a lady had argued for such a long time before she agreed to be introduced to the other party. Nevertheless, my mother and Duchess de Plasland became very good friends, and the Duchess made my mother sit on a sofa of this style. As you just did, everybody refused to sit down.

The wife was not of aristocratic origin.

(2) The roots of the Schwarzer family in Bassini can be traced back to the end of the tenth century. They are related to Count Jurge de Chambanet, whose wife is Gondstein, sister of Louis VI (known as Fat Louis) of the King of France (1108-1137).

"One day, my mother heard a carriage enter the courtyard of the mansion. She asked the little servant who had come.

"It's Duchess de La Rochefoucault, Countess."

"Ah, well, I'll see her."

"After a quarter of an hour, no one was seen.

"Hey, what's the matter, Duchess de la Rochefoucault? Where is she?

"She's gasping on the stairs, Countess." The servant answered. This little servant has just arrived from the countryside. My mother has a good habit of hiring people in the countryside. She often watches them born. In this way, the family has very honest and reliable servants, which is also the highest luxury. Sure enough, Duchess de La Rochefoucauld had a hard time going upstairs because she was so fat that when she entered the door, my mother became anxious and wondered where she could sit. Just then, Mrs. de Plasland's furniture flashed in front of her eyes:

"Sit down, please," said my mother, pushing the sofa forward.

"The Duchess sat on the sofa until it reached the edge. This lady, though... Fertile, but always quite pleasant.

"She still has some dramatic effect when she comes in," said one of our friends.

"Especially when you go out," my mother answered. Her words came quickly, but it's not appropriate to say so now.

"In Mrs. de La Rochefoucauld's own house, people joke in front of her casually, and she herself first tells a few jokes about her disproportionate proportion.

"Why, are you at home alone?" One day, my mother went to visit the Duchess, but she was received by her husband at the entrance. My wife was at the window inside, and my mother did not see her, so she opened her mouth and asked Mr. de La Rochefoucault,'Is Mrs. de La Rochefoucault absent? How can I not see her?'

"You are so kind!" The Duke answered that he had made the most erroneous judgment I had ever seen, but it was interesting."

After dinner, when I went upstairs with my grandmother, I said to her that Mrs. de Villebarisis's strengths that fascinated us were probably not so rare, because the people who had the most of them were just people like Molly Lomeni. Although not having these strengths can make everyday life unhappy, it does not prevent us from becoming Chateau Brion, Winnie, Hugo and Balzac. Some people who have no judgment and love vanity, like Block, can easily laugh at them... My grandmother screamed when she heard Block's name. So she flattered Mrs. de Villebarisis. As people often say, in love, people have their own good, dominated by the interests of race. In order to give birth to the most normal structure of children, we should ask fat men to find thin women, thin men to find fat women. Likewise, the pathological tendencies of nervousness, sentimentality and aloofness threaten my happiness. And my happiness stubbornly asked my grandmother to put the advantages of stability and judgment first. This is not only the unique quality of Mrs. de Villebarisis, but also the quality of the whole upper class society in which I can find amusement and satisfaction. This society is very similar to those of Dudang and De Remisa, who have brilliant ideas, not to mention those of Madame Bozeren, Jube and Madame Sevigny. This idea has injected more happiness and dignity into life than its relative essence. The essence of it is that Baudelaire, Ellen Poe, Wei Erlan and Rambo are led to pain and no respect. My grandmother didn't want her grandson to do that. I interrupted her, kissed her, and then asked her if she had noticed what Mrs. de Villebarisis had said, which showed that she actually valued her origin more than she had admitted. So I gave my grandmother all my impressions, because only with her advice did I know how much respect I should have for someone. Every night, I present to her sketches of all the non-existent characters in the daytime.

Dudang (1800-1872), a literary critic. Politicians, it is said, are not good at speaking in public, while small circles are eloquent when gathering.

(2) Remisa (1797-1875), who joined the Cabinet of Ministers of the Interior of Tier in 1840, opposed Kizo in 1847, and sided with the Republic in 1848. After the Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte coup in 1851, he was banished, returned to France in 1859, and was appointed Minister of Foreign Affairs by Tier in 1871.

(3) Jube (1754-1824), an ethicist.

Once I said to her, "I can't live without you."

"It shouldn't be so!" She answered me in a flurried tone, "Be harder. Otherwise, what would you do if I went out? On the contrary, I went out, hoping you would be reasonable and happy."

"If you go out for a few days, I can be very reasonable, but I must live like a year."

"What if I go out for a few months? (When I think of this, my heart is tightly gripped) For several years.................................................. Even..."

Both of us were silent. Nobody dares to look at anyone. However, I felt sorry for her anxiety, more than for my own anxiety. I approached the window without looking at her. I said to her word by word:

"I'm a habitual person, you know. I was very sad for the first few days that I had just separated myself from my most beloved. But I gradually got used to it. Although I still loved them as much as I used to, my life became calm and gentle. I separated myself from them for months, years, and maybe I could stand it.

When I said this, I had to shut my mouth and look out of the window. My grandmother went out of the room for a while. Orphans of Wudu

The next day, I talked about philosophy in a completely indifferent tone, but it was well arranged for my grandmother to notice what I said. I said, it's strange that materialism seems to go bankrupt after the latest scientific discoveries, and it's more likely that souls will always be there and that they will be together in the future.

Mrs. de Villebalisis had told us beforehand that she would not be able to meet us so often in the near future. She has a grandnephew who is garrisoned in the nearby East Sierra. He is preparing to apply to Sormore Military Academy for a few weeks'vacation, when she will spend a lot of time with her grandnephew. During our trip, she bragged before us that her nephew was extremely smart, especially good-hearted. I had imagined in my heart that he would be enthusiastic about me and that I would be his best friend. Before he arrived, his aunt and grandmother revealed to my grandmother that she had pity on him when he fell into the hands of a bad woman who was so fascinated by him that she held him tight. I have long been convinced that this love is doomed to end in madness, murder and suicide. Thought of the time left for our friendship so short, although I have not seen him, this friendship has been so great in my heart, I cry for this friendship and for the misfortune waiting for him, like a dear man, who just told us that he is seriously ill and will soon die, and we cry for him as well. 。

One hot afternoon, I stayed in the dining room. In order to block the sunshine, the curtains which were sunburnt by the sun had been lowered, and the restaurant was immersed in half-light and half-darkness. Through the crevice of the curtain, the blue sea was shining. At that moment, I saw a young man walking along the middle of the beach and the road, tall, thin, with his neck outstretched, his head raised proudly, his eyes keen, and his skin and hair as golden as all the sunshine. His clothes were thin and white, and I never thought a man would dare wear them. His lean figure was more reminiscent of the coolness of the restaurant and the hot and fine weather outside. He is flying fast. His eyes are the same color as the sea, and a single glasses always fall from one eye. Everyone watched him curiously as he passed, and it was known that the young Marquis of St. Lou-Ong-Bray was famous for his gorgeous clothes. The dress he had recently worn as a witness to the young Marquis de Yusser in a duel was described in every newspaper. His unique strengths in hair, eyes, skin, and manners made him instantly visible in the crowd as a rare sky-blue * shiny opal vein hidden in rough material. Corresponding to all this, life is probably quite different from other people's life, right? Therefore, before the ambiguous relationship Mrs. de Villebalisis complained about, when the most beautiful women in the upper class were competing for him, if he appeared on a beach with the famous beauty he sought, it would not only make the beauty a star, but also attract a lot of attention. Look at him, look at her! Because of his "fashionable" and "young" lion-like arrogance, mainly because of his extraordinary beauty, some people even feel that his look is somewhat feminized, but not to blame, because he is so strong, how he pursues women enthusiastically, is well known. It was this nephew that Mrs. de Villebarisis spoke to us.

I'm really happy to think of meeting him in a couple of weeks, and I'm sure he'll pour all his love on me. He flew across the hotel as if chasing his single glasses, which were flying like butterflies in front of him. He came up from the beach and dipped the hall windows into the half-height sea, which formed a background for him. His whole body stands out from this background, just like in some portraits, some painters are very accurate in observing the current life without adulteration, choosing a suitable environment for their models, such as Polo lawn, golf lawn, racetrack, yacht deck, which gives these pictures. A contemporary equivalent, while those primitive painters called portraits to appear in a close-up view of a landscape.

A two-horse car was waiting for him at the hotel gate. When his single glasses bounce and play on the sunny road again, his graceful posture and skillful movements are like a great pianist who finds a way out of the simplest touch of the keys to show that he is one head higher than a second-rate performer, and on the surface, from the simplest one. It's impossible to show so much in the keys of the violin. Mrs. de Villebarisis's nephew then took the reins handed by the driver and sat beside him, opening a letter from the hotel manager and calling the cattle to start.