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My first business, after my arrival at Indianapolis was to find a boarding place in which I at once succeeded, and in a few hours thereafter was at a place of service of my own choice. I had always been under the yoke of oppression, compelled to submit to its laws, and not allowed to advance a rod from the house, or even out of call, without a severe punishment. Now this constant fear and restless yearning was over. It appeared as though I had emerged into a new world, or had never lived in the old one before. The people I lived with were Unionists, and became immediately interested in teaching and encouraging me in my literary advancement and all other important improvements, which precisely met the natural desires for which my soul had ever yearned since my earliest recollection. I could read a little, but was not allowed to learn in slavery. I was obliged to pay twenty-five cents for every letter written for me. I now began to feel that as I was free I could learn to write, as well as others; consequently Mrs. Harris, the lady with whom I lived, volunteered to assist me. I was soon enabled to write quite a legible hand, which I find a great convenience. I would advise all, young, middle aged or old, in a free country to learn to read and write. If this little book should fall into the hands of one deficient of the important knowledge of writing, I hope they will remember the old maxim:--"Never too old to learn." Manage your own secrets, and divulge them by the silent language of your own pen. Had our blessed President considered it too humiliating to learn in advanced years, our race would yet have remained under the galling yoke of oppression. After I had been with Mrs. Harris seven months, the joyful news came of the surrender of Lee's army and the capture of Richmond.

Whilst the country's hearts were throbbing, Filled with joy for victories won; Whilst the stars and stripes were waving O'er each cottage, ship and dome, Came upon like winged lightning Words that turned each joy to dread, Froze with horror as we listened: Our beloved chieftain, Lincoln's dead

War's dark clouds has long held o'er us, They have rolled their gloomy fold's away, And all the world is anxious, waiting For that promised peaceful day. But that fearful blow inflicted, Fell on his devoted head, And from every town and hamlet Came the cry our Chieftain's dead.

Weep, weep, O bleeding nation For the patriot spirit fled, All untold our country's future-- Buried with the silent dead. God of battles, God of nations to our country send relief Turn each lamentation into joy whilst we mourn our murdered chief.

On the Saturday after the assassination of the President there was a meeting held on the Common, and a vote taken to have the President's body brought through Indianapolis, for the people to see his dear dead face. The vote was taken by raising the hands, and when the question was put in favor of it a thousand black hands were extended in the air, seemingly higher and more visible than all the rest. Nor were their hands alone raised, for in their deep sorrow and gloom they raised their hearts to God, for well they knew that He, through martyred blood, had made them free. It was some time before the remains reached Indianapolis, as it was near the last of the route. The body was placed in the centre of the hall of the State House, and we marched in by fours, and divided into two on each side of the casket, and passed directly through the hall. It was very rainy,--nothing but umbrellas were to be seen in any direction. The multitude were passing in and out from eight o'clock in the morning till four o'clock in the afternoon. His body remained until twelve o'clock in the evening, many distinguished persons visiting it, when amid the booming of cannon, it moved on its way to Springfield, its final resting-place. The death of the President was like an electric shock to my soul. I could not feel convinced of his death until I gazed upon his remains, and heard the last roll of the muffled drum and the farewell boom of the cannon. I was then convinced that though we were left to the tender mercies of God, we were without a leader.

Gone, gone is our chieftain, The tried and the true; The grief of our nation the world never knew. We mourn as a nation has never yet mourned; The foe to our freedom more deeply has scorned.

In the height of his glory in manhood's full prime, Our country's preserver through darkest of time; A merciful being, whose kindness all shared Shown mercy to others. Why was he not spared?

Because he had spoken from sea unto sea Glad tidings go heavenward, our country is free, And angels I'm thinking looked down from above, With sweet smiles approving his great works of love.

His name with the honor forever will live, And time to his laurels new lustre will give; He lived so unselfish, so loyal and true, That his deeds will shine brighter at every view.

Then honor and cherish the name of the brave, The champion of freedom, the friend to the slave, The far-sighted statesman who saw a fair end, When north land and south land one flag shall defend.

Rest, rest, fallen chieftain, thy labors are o'er, For thee mourns a nation as never before; Farewell honored chieftain whom millions adore, Farewell gentle spirit, whom heaven has won.

SISTER LOST--MOTHER'S ESCAPE

In two or three weeks after the body of the President was carried through, my sister made her escape, but by some means we entirely lost trace of her. We heard she was in a free State. In three months my mother also escaped. She rose quite early in the morning, took my little brother, and arrived at my place of service in the afternoon. I was much surprised, and asked my mother how she came there. She could scarcely tell me for weeping, but I soon found out the mystery. After so many long years and so many attempts, for this was her seventh, she at last succeeded, and we were now all free. My mother had been a slave for more than forty-three years, and liberty was very sweet to her. The sound of freedom was music in our ears; the air was pure and fragrant; the genial rays of the glorious sun burst forth with a new lustre upon us, and all creation resounded in responses of praise to the author and creator of him who proclaimed life and freedom to the slave. I was overjoyed with my personal freedom, but the joy at my mother's escape was greater than anything I had ever known. It was a joy that reaches beyond the tide and anchors in the harbor of eternal rest. While in oppression, this eternal life-preserver had continually wafted her toward the land of freedom, which she was confident of gaining, whatever might betide. Our joy that we were permitted to mingle together our earthly bliss in glorious strains of freedom was indescribable. My mother responded with the children of Israel,--"The Lord is my strength and my song. The Lord is a man of war, and the Lord is his name." We left Indianapolis the day after my mother arrived, and took the cars at eleven o'clock the following evening for St. Louis, my native State. We were then free, and instead of being hurried along, bare headed and half naked, through cars and boats, by a brutal master with a bill of sale in his pocket, we were our own, comfortably clothed, and having the true emblems of freedom.

MOTHER'S MARRIAGE

It appeared to me that the city presented an entirely new aspect. The reader will remember that my mother was engaged to be married on the evening after we were kidnapped, and that Mr. Adams, her intended, had prepared the house for the occasion. We now went in search of him. He had moved about five miles into the country. He had carefully preserved his furniture and was patiently awaiting our return. We were gone two years and four months. The clothing and furniture which we had collected were all destroyed. It was over a year after we left St. Louis before we heard from there. We went immediately from the cars to my aunt's, and from there went to Mr. Adams' residence and took him by surprise. They were married in a week after our return. My mother is comfortably situated on a small farm with a kind and affectionate companion, with whom she had formed an early acquaintance, and from whom she had been severed by the ruthless hand of Wrong; but by the divine hand of Justice they were now reunited forever.

MATTIE MEETS HER OLD MASTER--GOES TO SERVICE--IS SENT FOR BY HER STEP-FATHER IN LAWRENCE, MASS.

In a short time I had selected a place of service, and was improving my studies in a small way. The place I engaged was in the family where I was born, where my mother lived when my father Jackson made his escape. Although Mr. Canory's family were always kind to us, I felt a great difference between freedom and slavery. After I had been there a short time my step-father sent for me and my half brother to come to Lawrence. He had been waiting ever since the State was free, hoping to get some account of us. He had been informed, previously, that mother, in trying to make her escape, had perished by the way, and the children also, but he was never satisfied. He was aware that my aunt was permanently in St. Louis, as her master had given her family their freedom twenty years previous. She was formerly owned by Major Howe, harness and leather dealer, yet residing in St. Louis. And long may he live and his good works follow him and his posterity forever. My father well knew the deception of the rebels, and was determined to persevere until he had obtained a satisfactory account of his family. A gentleman moved directly from Lawrence to St. Louis, who made particular enquiries for us, and even called at my aunt's. We then heard directly from my father, and commenced correspondence. He had not heard directly from us since he made his escape, which was nine years. He had never heard of his little son who my mother was compelled by Mrs. Lewis to confine in a box. He was born eight months after he left. As soon as possible after my mother consented to let my little brother go to his father he sent means to assist us to make preparations for our journey to the North. At first he only sent for his little son. My mother was anxious about sending him alone. He was only eleven years old, and perfectly unused to traveling, and had never been away from his mother. Finally my father came to the conclusion that, as my mother had endured such extreme hardships and sufferings during the nine years he was not permitted to participate or render her any assistance, that it would afford him much pleasure in sending for us both, bearing our expenses and making us as comfortable as his means would allow. Money was sent us, and our kind friend, Mr. Howe, obtained our tickets and voluntarily assisted us in starting. We left for the North on Monday, April 9th, and arrived safe and sound, on the 11th. We found my step-father's residence about six o'clock in the evening. He was not expecting us till the next day. Our meeting is better imagined than told. I cannot describe it. His little son was only two years old when he left, and I was eleven, and we never expected to meet him again this side of eternity. It was Freedom that brought us together. My father was comfortably situated in a nice white cottage, containing some eight rooms, all well furnished, and attached to it was a fine garden. His wife, who is a physician, was absent, but returned on the following day. The people were kind and friendly. They informed me there was no other colored family in the city, but my step-mother was continually crowded with friends and customers without distinction. My step-mother had buried her only son, who returned from the war in a decline. The white friends were all in deep sympathy with them. I felt immediately at home among such kind and friendly people, and have never felt homesick, except when I think of my poor mother's farewell embrace when she accompanied us to the cars. As soon as my step-mother had arrived, and our excitement was over, they commenced calculating upon placing me in the Sabbath school at the church where my mother belonged. On the next Sabbath I accompanied her and joined the Sabbath school, she occupying a side seat about middle way up the house. I was not reminded of my color except by an occasional loafer or the Irish, usually the colored man's enemy. I was never permitted to attend a white church before, or ride in any public conveyance without being placed in a car for the especial purpose; and in the street cars we were not permitted to ride at all, either South or West. Here I ride where I please, without the slightest remark, except from the ignorant. Many ask me if I am contented. They can imagine by the above contrast. My brother and myself entered the public school, and found a host of interested friends and formed many dear acquaintances whom I shall never forget. After attending school a month the term closed. I advanced in my studies as fast as could be expected. I never attended school but one month before. I needed more attention than my kind teacher could possibly bestow upon me, encumbered as she was by so many small children. Mother then proposed my entering some select school and placing myself entirely under its discipline and influence. I was much pleased with the idea, but as they had already been to so much expense for me, I could not wish to place them under any heavier contribution. I had previously told my step-mother my story, and how often my own mother had wished she could have it published. I did not imagine she could find time to write and arrange it, but she immediately proposed writing and publishing the entire story, by the sale of which I might obtain the aid towards completing my studies. I am glad I came to the old Bay State, the people of which the rebels hate with an extreme hatred. I found it just such a place as I had imagined by the appearance of the soldiers and the kindness they manifested.

New England, that blessed land, All in a happy Union band; They with the needy share their bread And teach the weak the Word of God.

We never heard from my sister Hester, who made her escape from Kentucky, except when she was on the cars, though we have no doubt she succeeded in gaining her freedom.

SUMMARY

On my return to St. Louis I met my old master, Lewis, who strove so hard to sell us away that he might avoid seeing us free, on the street. He was so surprised that before he was aware of it he dropped a bow. My mother met Mrs. Lewis, her old mistress, with a large basket on her arm, trudging to market. It appeared she had lived to see the day when her children had to wait upon themselves, and she likewise. The Yankees had taken possession, and her posterity were on an equality with the black man. Mr. Lewis despised the Irish, and often declared he would board at the hotel before he would employ Irish help, but he now has a dissipated Irish cook. When I was his slave I was obliged to keep away every fly from the table, and not allow one to light on a person. They are now compelled to brush their own flies and dress themselves and children. Mr. Lewis' brother Benjamin was a more severe slave master than the one who owned me. He was a tobacconist and very wealthy. As soon as the war commenced he turned Unionist to save his property. He was very severe in his punishments. He used to extend his victim, fastened to a beam, with hands and feet tied, and inflict from fifty to three hundred lashes, laying their flesh entirely open, then bathe their quivering wounds with brine, and, through his nose, in a slow rebel tone he would tell them "You'd better walk a fair chalk line or else I'll give yer twice as much." His former friends, the guerrillas, were aware he only turned Union to save his cash, and they gave those persons he had abused a large share of his luxury. They then, in the presence of his wife and another distinguished lady, tortured him in a most inhuman manner. For pretending Unionism they placed him on a table and threatened to dissect him alive if he did not tell them where he kept his gold. He immediately informed them. They then stood him against the house and fired over his head. From that, they changed his position by turning him upside down, and raising him two feet from the floor, letting him dash his head against the floor until his skull was fractured, after which he lingered awhile and finally died. There was a long piece published in the paper respecting his repentance, benevolence, & c. All the slaves who ever lived in his family admit the Lord is able to save to the uttermost. He saved the thief on the cross, and perhaps he saved him.

When I made my escape from slavery I was in a query how I was to raise funds to bear my expenses. I finally came to the conclusion that as the laborer was worthy of his hire, I thought my wages should come from my master's pocket. Accordingly I took twenty-five dollars. After I was safe and had learned to write, I sent him a nice letter, thanking him for the kindness his pocket bestowed to me in time of need. I have never received any answer to it.

When I complete my education, if my life is spared, I shall endeavor to publish further details of our history in another volume from my own pen.

CHRISTIANITY

Christianity is a system claiming God for its author, and the welfare of man for its object. It is a system so uniform, exalted and pure, that the loftiest intellects have acknowledged its influence, and acquiesced in the justness of its claims. Genius has bent from his erratic course to gather fire from her altars, and pathos from the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvary. Philosophy and science have paused amid their speculative researches and wonderous revelations, to gain wisdom from her teachings and knowledge from her precepts. Poetry has culled her fairest flowers and wreathed her softest, to bind her Author's "bleeding brow." Music has strung her sweetest lyres and breathed her noblest strains to celebrate His fame; whilst Learning has bent from her lofty heights to bow at the lowly cross. The constant friend of man, she has stood by him in his hour of greatest need. She has cheered the prisoner in his cell, and strengthened the martyr at the stake. She has nerved the frail and sinking heart of woman for high and holy deeds. The worn and weary have rested their fainting heads upon her bosom, and gathered strength from her words and courage from her counsels. She has been the staff of decrepit age, and the joy of manhood in its strength. She has bent over the form of lovely childhood, and suffered it to have a place in the Redeemer's arms. She has stood by the bed of the dying, and unveiled the glories of eternal life; gilding the darkness of the tomb with the glory of the resurrection.

Christianity has changed the moral aspect of nations. Idolatrous temples have crumbled at her touch, and guilt owned its deformity in her presence. The darkest habitations of earth have been irradiated with heavenly light, and the death shriek of immolated victims changed for ascriptions of praise to God and the Lamb. Envy and Malice have been rebuked by her contented look, and fretful Impatience by her gentle and resigned manner.

At her approach, fetters have been broken, and men have risen redeemed from dust, and freed from chains. Manhood has learned its dignity and worth, its kindred with angels, and alliance to God.

To man, guilty, fallen and degraded man, she shows a fountain drawn from the Redeemer's veins; there she bids him wash and be clean. She points him to "Mount Zion, the city of the living God, to an innumerable company of angels, to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of the new Covenant," and urges him to rise from the degradation of sin, renew his nature and join with them. She shows a pattern so spotless and holy, so elevated and pure, that he might shrink from it discouraged, did she not bring with her a promise from the lips of Jehovah, that he would give power to the faint, and might to those who have no strength. Learning may bring her ample pages and her ponderous records, rich with the spoils of every age, gathered from every land, and gleaned from every source. Philosophy and science may bring their abstruse researches and wonderous revelations--Literature her elegance, with the toils of the pen, and the labors of the pencil--but they are idle tales compared to the truths of Christianity. They may cultivate the intellect, enlighten the understanding, give scope to the imagination, and refine the sensibilities; but they open not, to our dim eyes and longing vision, the land of crystal founts and deathless flowers. Philosophy searches earth; Religion opens heaven. Philosophy doubts and trembles at the portals of eternity; Religion lifts the veil, and shows us golden streets, lit by the Redeemer's countenance, and irradiated by his smile. Philosophy strives to reconcile us to death; Religion triumphs over it. Philosophy treads amid the pathway of stars, and stands a delighted listener to the music of the spheres; but Religion gazes on the glorious palaces of God, while the harpings of the blood-washed, and the songs of the redeemed, fall upon her ravished ear. Philosophy has her place; Religion her important sphere; one is of importance here, the other of infinite and vital importance both here and hereafter.

Amid ancient lore the Word of God stands unique and pre-eminent. Wonderful in its construction, admirable in its adaptation, it contains truths that a child may comprehend, and mysteries into which angels desire to look. It is in harmony with that adaptation of means to ends which pervades creation, from the polypus tribes, elaborating their coral homes, to man, the wonderous work of God. It forms the brightest link of that glorious chain which unites the humblest work of creation with the throne of the infinite and eternal Jehovah. As light, with its infinite particles and curiously blended colors, is suited to an eye prepared for the alterations of day; as air, with its subtle and invisible essence, is fitted for the delicate organs of respiration; and, in a word, as this material world is adapted to man's physical nature; so the word of eternal truth is adapted to his moral nature and mental constitution. It finds him wounded, sick and suffering, and points him to the balm of Gilead and the Physician of souls. It finds him stained by transgressions and defiled with guilt, and directs him to the "blood that cleanseth from all unrighteousness and sin." It finds him athirst and faint, pining amid the deserts of life, and shows him the wells of salvation and the rivers of life. It addresses itself to his moral and spiritual nature, makes provision for his wants and weaknesses, and meets his yearnings and aspirations. It is adapted to his mind in its earliest stages of progression, and its highest state of intellectuality. It provides light for his darkness, joy for his anguish, a solace for his woes, balm for his wounds, and heaven for his hopes. It unveils the unseen world, and reveals him who is the light of creation, and the joy of the universe, reconciled through the death of His Son. It promises the faithful a blessed re-union in a land undimmed with tears, undarkened by sorrow. It affords a truth for the living and a refuge for the dying. Aided by the Holy Spirit, it guides us through life, points out the shoals, the quicksands and hidden rocks which endanger our path, and at last leaves us with the eternal God for our refuge, and his everlasting arms for our protection.

Humili? d'?tre ainsi forc? d'ob?ir ? une femme, mais rendu ind?cis et faible par la joie physique qu'elle lui donnait, il restait donc l?! Sa b?te, qu'il excitait sans la violenter, plusieurs fois chercha ? se faire libre, sans y parvenir. Renaud regardait.... L?g?re, souple comme un petit chat-tigre, agile et forte,--habile ? lutter avec un cheval,--la boh?mienne, dont la main gauche ne l?chait pas la corde cruelle, avait entortill? la longue crini?re, saisie d'abord ? pleine poign?e, autour de l'autre main, et quand le cheval se dressait,--ainsi agripp?e ? lui, elle se laissait soulever de terre, toute droite, la pointe des orteils tendue et crisp?e, ou bien, obliquement, elle accrochait ses pieds ? la jambe du cavalier, s'attachant ? lui comme un poulpe, avec ses lani?res, se colle au rocher, et riant toujours, d'un air obstin?, m?chant et triomphateur.

--Tu ne te d?livreras plus de moi!

A la longue, de plus en plus inquiet, il eut horreur d'elle comme d'un insecte malfaisant, vu en r?ve, araign?e ou mouche ? poison, qui se mettrait ? vous suivre opini?tr?ment, ou comme d'une couleuvre qui, prise de haine intelligente, ?trange, s'obstinerait sur vos traces, implacablement patiente, et deviendrait ?pouvantable, malgr? la petitesse inoffensive, par le surnaturel acharnement.

Et en v?rit?, la fermet? rageuse, la pers?v?rance maligne, l'ent?tement d?moniaque de cette femme, prot?g?e par sa beaut? et par sa faiblesse, ?taient effrayants.

Mais le jeu des muscles, qui faisait ondoyer cette peau f?minine, luisante, humide maintenant de sueur, int?ressait l'homme, malgr? tout, lui plaisait toujours davantage. Le d?sir, en lui, se r?veilla. Et, tout aussit?t, il n'accepta plus sa d?faite, eut une r?volte.

--Prends garde!... cria-t-il alors, et il poussa son cheval, l'?peronnant; mais, pinc?e aux naseaux, la b?te ne fit que trois bonds et demeura immobile, soufflant du feu.... Pauvre Blanchet, qui avait connu les caresses et les g?teries de la jeune fille! il apprenait maintenant ? conna?tre la femme.

Enfin, la boh?mienne l?cha sa double proie.

--Pars! tu m'as assez vue! dit-elle tout ? coup.

Renaud la regarda encore un instant sans rien dire et sans bouger. La force et le chaos de ses tentations l'arr?taient une seconde encore, le fixaient l?.... Cette chose extraordinaire ?tait donc finie!...--Des id?es violentes, nette chacune, confuses par le nombre, se heurtaient dans sa t?te. Comment n'avait-il pas mis fin plus t?t ? ce combat? Que dirait-on de lui quand on le saurait? Comment avait-il pu, lui qui ?tait le roi de la lande, ne pas se baisser pour ramasser cette joie? Mais Livette!... Ah oui! Livette!

Il enfon?a brusquement ses deux ?perons dans le ventre de Blanchet qui vola vers les Saintes.

La boh?mienne, debout sur le rivage, regarda son fuyard longtemps. Elle souriait. Elle repassait en elle-m?me les p?rip?ties de la lutte, et mesurait sa victoire. Elle rappelait une ? une, pour en bien jouir, les id?es qui avaient pass? par son esprit lorsqu'elle avait march? vers le rivage.

Elle n'avait pas pr?m?dit? son agression, et sa premi?re pens?e avait bien ?t? de ramasser quelques pierres pour les lancer, y ?tant adroite, ? la t?te de Renaud.... Mais elle n'en avait pas trouv?. Alors elle avait continu? sa marche en avant, sans savoir ce qu'elle allait faire, mais certaine d'avoir ? faire quelque chose contre ce chr?tien insolent.

Puis, d?s qu'elle avait senti fra?chir hors de l'eau sa belle poitrine nue, elle s'?tait dit ? elle-m?me, en sa langue myst?rieuse, pleine d'images et de mots cabalistiques, que si une sainte avait pu payer, rien qu'en lui montrant sa beaut? toute nue, un batelier son ami,--une pa?enne pouvait bien, par un moyen pareil, ch?tier un bouvier brutal, car l'amour, c'est l'herbe ? sorcier, c'est la douce-am?re, la plante aux deux saveurs, baume et poison ? la fois; et la femme est am?re comme l'eau sal?e de la mer, effroyable comme la mort, et ses mains sont des cha?nes plus fortes que le fer, et tout son ?tre est redoutable comme une arm?e!

Elle qui ?tait brune, presque noire de peau ? c?t? de la blancheur des blondes, ne pourrait-elle pas commander, si elle le voulait bien, ? cet amoureux de la p?le Livette? En v?rit?, pour qu'il f?t infid?le ? sa blonde fianc?e, que fallait-il autre chose que se montrer ? lui, et ne pouvait-elle pas le faire sans avoir l'air d'y songer? Assur?ment, insult?e par ce chr?tien, elle pouvait feindre d'en oublier, de col?re, sa nudit?, et l'attaquer avec cette nudit? m?me!... Non, non, il n'?tait pas besoin de philtres, de paroles magiques, de flammes allum?es la nuit, ? la lune nouvelle, sous les tr?pieds o? bouillonne l'eau du mar?cage, pleine de couleuvres, pour ensorceler celui-ci!... Elle sortirait de l'eau, nue et belle comme elle ?tait, et le d?mon, ? son ordre, ferait le reste!... Qu'?tait-ce que des cailloux lanc?s contre un homme jeune, ? c?t? de la puissance qui s'?chappait d'elle-m?me?... Oui, c'?tait l? le charme des charmes. Elle le savait,--?tant sorci?re tout comme une autre, la femme! C'est le d?sir de son corps qu'elle allait jeter en lui comme un mauvais sort; dont elle allait l'empoisonner... et ensuite, tranquille, elle regarderait les ravages du poison.

Elle s'?tait donc avanc?e, petite et formidable, la reine! Elle savait aussi qu'autrefois, au temps des pa?ens d'Europe, une d?esse, une immortelle, ?tait sortie de la mer, en avait jailli, blonde et nue, comme une fleur merveilleuse, et que, debout sur les eaux bleues, ses pieds dans une coquille de nacre, elle avait longtemps command? aux hommes,--avant le r?gne du Christ J?sus.

Renaud, se retournant sur sa selle, vit la boh?mienne, toujours toute nue et debout, qui ?tirait ses bras au soleil, comme si elle e?t voulu, de loin encore, ?tonner et fasciner de sa beaut?, le fianc? de Livette.

Le soleil avait disparu derri?re la ligne d'horizon, et c'est sur un ciel de cuivre rouge que se profilait en noir la silhouette de la femme nue, plus myst?rieuse dans le cr?puscule.

Des Saintes, o? il allait demander combien il devrait amener de taureaux pour sa part, le jour de la f?te, Renaud regagna tout de suite le Ch?teau d'Avignon.

Il avait h?te de revoir Livette, d'oublier pr?s d'elle la sc?ne de la journ?e, ? laquelle, malgr? lui, son esprit revenait toujours.

Quatre ou cinq lieues, et il fut rendu.

Livette et ses parents ?taient tous trois, pr?s de leur ferme, ? prendre le frais sur le banc de pierre qui est l? contre la fa?ade du ch?teau, ? c?t? des vieux rosiers grimpants qui, au-dessus, encadrent les fen?tres de leurs touffes vertes piqu?es de fleurs.

C'?tait aussi une des places favorites de nos amoureux, tout contents d'avoir sur leurs t?tes ce feuillage parfum?, dans l'?paisseur duquel venait souvent chanter un des rossignols du parc.

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