Publisher: Hard Press (November 3, 2006)
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an excerpt from bankruptcy I: all of the bells have been ringing the Angelus. The solar used to be sinking;--and from the many old fashioned and gorgeous gray towers which crown the traditional urban of Rouen, the sacred chime pealed forth melodiously, floating with candy and variable tone some distance up into the nice and cozy autumnal air. marketplace girls returning to their cottage houses after a protracted day's chaffering disposal in their fruit, vegetable, and flower- wares within the city, paused of their gradual trudge alongside the dusty highway and crossed themselves devoutly,--a bargeman, lazily gliding down the river on his flat unwieldly craft, took his pipe from his mouth, lifted his cap routinely, and muttered extra from behavior than reflection--"Sainte Marie, Mere de Dieu, priez pour nous!"--and a few young ones operating out of college, got here to a surprising standstill, listening and glancing at one another, as if silently wondering whether or not they should still say the outdated church-formula between themselves or no? even if, for instance, it may possibly now not be extra silly than clever to copy it? Yes;--even even though there has been a hearsay that the Cardinal- Archbishop of a definite small, half-forgotten, yet as soon as historically-famed Cathedral city of France had come to stopover at Rouen that day,--a Cardinal-Archbishop reputed to be so natural of center and basic in nature, that the folk of his distant and restricted diocese looked him nearly as a saint,--would it's correct or moderate for them, because the secularly trained kids of recent development, to murmur an "Angelus Domini," whereas the bells rang? It used to be a uncertain point;--for the college they attended was once a central authority one, and prayers have been neither taught nor inspired there, France having for a time placed God out of her nationwide associations. however, the glory of that banished author shone within the deepening glow of the luxurious heavens,--and--from the silver windings of the Seine which, turning purple in the sunshine, looped and garlanded the time-honoured previous urban as with festal knots of rosy ribbon, as much as the trembling tops of the tall poplar timber fringing the river banks,--the hot radiance palpitated with one thousand airy colours of soppy and changeful color, transfusing all obvious issues into the misty semblance of a few divine residing of goals. Ding-dong--ding dong! The final echo of the final bell died away upon the air--the final phrases enunciated through religious clergymen in their cloistered seclusion have been said--"In hora mortis nostrae! Amen!"--the marketplace girls went on their sluggish method homeward,--the young children scampered off in diverse instructions, simply forgetful of the Old-World petition that they had considered, but left unuttered,--the bargeman and his barge slipped quietly away jointly down the windings of the river out of sight;-- the silence following the clangour of the chimes used to be deep and impressive--and the good sunlight had all the heaven to himself as he went down. throughout the attractive rose-window of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, he flashed his parting rays, weaving shiny styles of ruby, gold and amethyst at the worn pavement of the traditional pile which enshrines the tomb of Richard the Lion-Hearted, as additionally that of Henry the second one, husband to Catherine de Medicis and lover of the intense Diane de Poitiers,--and one vast beam fell purpling aslant into the curved and fretted choir-chapel specifically devoted to the Virgin, there lighting fixtures up with a hot glow the recognized alabaster tomb referred to as "Le Mourant" or "The death One." an odd and extraordinary piece of sculpture actually, is that this related "Mourant"!-- exhibiting, because it does with deft and virtually appalling exactitude, the final convulsion of a robust man's physique gripped within the death-agony.