At the top of a high, bleak wall, several square bay-windows, of unequal
length and position, let the pure sky shine through their crossed bars;
and the bright blue, framed by the stone, attracted my eye with
surprising persistency. The sparrows in the trees were chirping, and in
the midst of it all a cow, thinking, no doubt, that it was a meadow,
grazed peacefully, her horns sweeping over the grass.
There is a window, a large window that looks out into a meadow called
_la prairie des chevaliers_. It was there, from a stone bench carved in
the wall, that the high-born dames of the period watched the knights
urge their iron-barbed steeds against one another, and the lances come
down on the helmets and snap, and the men fall to the ground. On a fine
summer day, like to-day, perhaps, when the mill that enlivens the whole
landscape did not exist, when there were roofs on the walls, and Flemish
hangings, and oil-cloths on the window-sills, when there was less grass,
and when human voices and rumours filled the air, more than one heart
beat with love and anguish under its red velvet bodice. Beautiful white
hands twitched with fear on the stone, which is now covered with moss,
and the embroidered veils of high caps fluttered in the wind that plays
with my cravat and that swayed the plumes of the knights.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29