The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three short works, by Gustave Flaubert
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Three short works
The Dance of Death, The Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, A Simple Soul.
Author: Gustave Flaubert
Release Date: December 14, 2003 [EBook #10458]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO Latin-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE SHORT WORKS ***
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.
THREE SHORT WORKS
by
GUSTAVE FLAUBERT
The Dance of Death
The Legend of Saint-Julian the Hospitaller
A Simple Soul
THE DANCE OF DEATH
_(1838)_
* * * * *
"Many words for few things!"
"Death ends all; judgment comes to all."
* * * * *
[This work may be called a prose poem. It is impregnated with the
spirit of romanticism, which at the time of writing had a
temporary but powerful hold on the mind of Gustave Flaubert.]
* * * * *
DEATH SPEAKS
At night, in winter, when the snow-flakes fall slowly from heaven
like great white tears, I raise my voice; its resonance thrills
the cypress trees and makes them bud anew.
I pause an instant in my swift course over earth; throw myself
down among cold tombs; and, while dark-plumaged birds rise
suddenly in terror from my side, while the dead slumber
peacefully, while cypress branches droop low o'er my head, while
all around me weeps or lies in deep repose, my burning eyes rest
on the great white clouds, gigantic winding-sheets, unrolling
their slow length across the face of heaven.
How many nights, and years, and ages have I journeyed thus! A
witness of the universal birth and of a like decay; Innumerable
are the generations I have garnered with my scythe. Like God, I am
eternal! The nurse of Earth, I cradle it each night upon a bed
both soft and warm. The same recurring feasts; the same unending
toil! Each morning I depart, each evening I return, bearing within
my mantle's ample folds all that my scythe has gathered. And then
I scatter them to the four winds of Heaven!
* * * * *
When the high bil
|