22
" Zu früh, befürcht ich; denn mein Herz erbangt
Und ahnet ein Verhängnis, welches, noch
Verborgen in den Sternen, heute Nacht
Bei dieser Lustbarkeit den furchtbarn Zeitlauf
Beginnen und das Ziel des läst'gen Lebens,
Das meine Brust verschließt, mir kürzen wird
Durch irgendeinen Frevel frühen Todes.
Doch er, der mir zur Fahrt das Steuer lenkt,
Richt' auch mein Segel!
I fear, too early. For my mind misgives
Some consequence, yet hanging in the stars,
Shall bitterly begin his fearful date
With this night's revels, and expire the term
Of a despisèd life, closed in my breast,
By some vile forfeit of untimely death.
But He that hath the steerage of my course
Direct my sail!
Romeo: Act I, Scene 4 "
― William Shakespeare , Romeo and Juliet
28
" victor hugo, Les Contemplations, Mors
Je vis cette faucheuse. Elle était dans son champ.
Elle allait à grands pas moissonnant et fauchant,
Noir squelette laissant passer le crépuscule.
Dans l'ombre où l'on dirait que tout tremble et recule,
L'homme suivait des yeux les lueurs de la faulx.
Et les triomphateurs sous les arcs triomphaux
Tombaient ; elle changeait en désert Babylone,
Le trône en échafaud et l'échafaud en trône,
Les roses en fumier, les enfants en oiseaux,
L'or en cendre, et les yeux des mères en ruisseaux.
Et les femmes criaient : - Rends-nous ce petit être.
Pour le faire mourir, pourquoi l'avoir fait naître ? -
Ce n'était qu'un sanglot sur terre, en haut, en bas ;
Des mains aux doigts osseux sortaient des noirs grabats ;
Un vent froid bruissait dans les linceuls sans nombre ;
Les peuples éperdus semblaient sous la faulx sombre
Un troupeau frissonnant qui dans l'ombre s'enfuit ;
Tout était sous ses pieds deuil, épouvante et nuit.
Derrière elle, le front baigné de douces flammes,
Un ange souriant portait la gerbe d'âmes. "
― Victor Hugo
38
" The ‘Oberge des Mailletz’ is by far the oldest tavern of which any record can found in the City archives. In 1292, Adam des Mailletz, inn-keeper, paid a tithe of 18 sous and 6 deniers.This we learn from the Tax Register of the period. At the time it was founded, the Trois-Mailletz was the meeting place of masons, who under the supervision of Jehan de Chelles, carved out of white stone the biblical characters destined to grace the north and south choirs of Notre-Dame. Underneath the building, there are two floors of superimposed cellars: the deeper ones date from the Gallo-Roman period. What remains of the instruments of torture found in the cellars of the Petit-Châtelet have been housed here, along with some other restored objects.
A modest bar counter, a long-haired patron who bizarrely manages never to be freshly shaven or downright bearded. A stove in the middle of the shabby room; simple straightforward folk, less drunk than at Rue de Bièvre, and less dirty. Just what we needed. "
― Jacques Yonnet , Paris Noir: The Secret History of a City
39
" She observed the dumb-show by which her neighbour was expressing her passion for music, but she refrained from copying it. This was not to say that, for once that she had consented to spend a few minutes in Mme. de Saint-Euverte's house, the Princesse des Laumes would not have wished (so that the act of politeness to her hostess which she had performed by coming might, so to speak, 'count double') to shew herself as friendly and obliging as possible. But she had a natural horror of what she called 'exaggerating,' and always made a point of letting people see that she 'simply must not' indulge in any display of emotion that was not in keeping with the tone of the circle in which she moved, although such displays never failed to make an impression upon her, by virtue of that spirit of imitation, akin to timidity, which is developed in the most self-confident persons, by contact with an unfamiliar environment, even though it be inferior to their own. She began to ask herself whether these gesticulations might not, perhaps, be a necessary concomitant of the piece of music that was being played, a piece which, it might be, was in a different category from all the music that she had ever heard before; and whether to abstain from them was not a sign of her own inability to understand the music, and of discourtesy towards the lady of the house; with the result that, in order to express by a compromise both of her contradictory inclinations in turn, at one moment she would merely straighten her shoulder-straps or feel in her golden hair for the little balls of coral or of pink enamel, frosted with tiny diamonds, which formed its simple but effective ornament, studying, with a cold interest, her impassioned neighbour, while at another she would beat time for a few bars with her fan, but, so as not to forfeit her independence, she would beat a different time from the pianist's. "
― Marcel Proust , Swann's Way
40
" And one cold Tuesday in December, when Marie-Laure has been blind for over a year, her father walks her up rue Cuvier to the edge of the Jardin des Plantes." Here, ma chérie, is the path we take every morning. Through the cedars up ahead is the Grand Gallery." " I know, Papa." He picks her up and spins her around three times. " Now," he says, " you're going to take us home." Her mouth drops open." I want you to think of the model, Marie." " But I can't possibly!" " I'm one step behind you. I won't let anything happen. You have your cane. You know where you are." " I do not!" " You do." Exasperation. She cannot even say if the gardens are ahead or behind." Calm yourself, Marie. One centimeter at a time." " I'm far, Papa. Six blocks, at least." " Six blocks is exactly right. Use logic. Which way should we go first?" The world pivots and rumbles. Crows shout, brakes hiss, someone to her left bangs something metal with what might be a hammer. She shuffles forward until the tip of her cane floats in space. The edge of a curb? A pond, a staircase, a cliff? She turns ninety degrees. Three steps forward. Now her cane finds the base of a wall. " Papa?" " I'm here." Six paces seven paces eight. A roar of noise - an exterminator just leaving a house, pump bellowing - overtakes them. Twelve paces farther on, the bell tied around the handle of a shop door rings, and two women came out, jostling her as they pass.Marie-Laure drops her cane; she begins to cry. Her father lifts her, holds her to his narrow chest." It's so big," she whispers." You can do this, Marie." She cannot. "