From ab6dcdf2d3bf8623af8066db080355b12cfda1b2 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: yv_pic Date: Sun, 30 May 2021 16:01:05 +0200 Subject: [PATCH] =?UTF-8?q?J'esp=C3=A8re=20que=20=C3=A7a=20rattrape=20le?= =?UTF-8?q?=20tout=20=3F?= MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=UTF-8 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit --- assets/css/userstyles.css | 25 ++-- config.toml | 8 +- .../La Petite Passe tranquille/_index.md | 8 -- .../La Petite Passe tranquille/chapter-6.md | 99 ------------- .../Là-eussent-dû-être-des-amis.md | 132 ++++++++++++++++++ content/Recueils/Poésies & Chansons/_index.md | 1 - content/Récits/La Justice apparente/_index.md | 8 -- content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/Prologue.md | 21 --- content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-1.md | 81 ----------- content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-2.md | 90 ------------ content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-3.md | 100 ------------- content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-4.md | 86 ------------ content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-5.md | 17 --- content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-6.md | 100 ------------- content/_index.md | 12 +- layouts/_default/single.html | 6 +- 16 files changed, 160 insertions(+), 634 deletions(-) delete mode 100644 content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/_index.md delete mode 100644 content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/chapter-6.md create mode 100644 content/Recueils/Là eussent dû être des amis/Là-eussent-dû-être-des-amis.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/La Justice apparente/_index.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/Prologue.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-1.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-2.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-3.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-4.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-5.md delete mode 100644 content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-6.md diff --git a/assets/css/userstyles.css b/assets/css/userstyles.css index ae045b5..db6e7f2 100644 --- a/assets/css/userstyles.css +++ b/assets/css/userstyles.css @@ -7,7 +7,7 @@ body { font-family: FreeSerif, serif; 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text-decoration: underline; padding: 0 0 .3em 0; } @@ -468,8 +468,9 @@ p.resume-subcategory { blockquote { font-family: FreeSerif, serif; + font-style: italic; font-size: .9em; - color: #444; } + color: #969696; } cite { font-family: FreeSerif, serif; diff --git a/config.toml b/config.toml index f227db3..7ab7bce 100644 --- a/config.toml +++ b/config.toml @@ -2,16 +2,16 @@ baseURL = "http://example.org/" languageCode = "fr-fr" title = "Rechampir, l'édition." theme = "notrack" -newContentEditor = "nvim" +# newContentEditor = "nvim" # mainSections = ["Récits"]["Recueils"] # disqusShortname = "example" -paginate = 10 +paginate = 100 removePathAccents = true [params] author = "Yves Picard" siteHeading = "Rechampir, l'édition." # defaults to author - showBlogLatest = true + showBlogLatest = false # mainSections = ["Récits"]["Recueils"] showTaxonomyLinks = false nBlogLatest = 4 # number of blog post om the home page @@ -31,4 +31,4 @@ removePathAccents = true categories = "categories" [permalinks] - blog = "/blog/:year/:month/:slug" + # blog = "/blog/:year/:month/:slug" diff --git a/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/_index.md b/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/_index.md deleted file mode 100644 index a915e93..0000000 --- a/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/_index.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8 +0,0 @@ ---- -title: "La Petite Passe tranquille" -menu: - main: - title: "La Petite Passe tranquille" - parent: "Les recueils" ---- - diff --git a/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/chapter-6.md b/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/chapter-6.md deleted file mode 100644 index 4750783..0000000 --- a/content/Recueils/La Petite Passe tranquille/chapter-6.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,99 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-14T11:25:05-04:00 -description: "Esmeralda" -featured_image: "/images/esmeralda.jpg" -tags: [] -title: "Chapter VI: Esmeralda" -disable_share: false ---- -We are delighted to be able to inform the reader, that during the whole of -this scene, Gringoire and his piece had stood firm. His actors, spurred on -by him, had not ceased to spout his comedy, and he had not ceased to -listen to it. He had made up his mind about the tumult, and was determined -to proceed to the end, not giving up the hope of a return of attention on -the part of the public. This gleam of hope acquired fresh life, when he -saw Quasimodo, Coppenole, and the deafening escort of the pope of the -procession of fools quit the hall amid great uproar. The throng rushed -eagerly after them. “Good,” he said to himself, “there go all the -mischief-makers.” Unfortunately, all the mischief-makers constituted the -entire audience. In the twinkling of an eye, the grand hall was empty. - -To tell the truth, a few spectators still remained, some scattered, others -in groups around the pillars, women, old men, or children, who had had -enough of the uproar and tumult. Some scholars were still perched astride -of the window-sills, engaged in gazing into the Place. - -“Well,” thought Gringoire, “here are still as many as are required to hear -the end of my mystery. They are few in number, but it is a choice -audience, a lettered audience.” - -An instant later, a symphony which had been intended to produce the -greatest effect on the arrival of the Virgin, was lacking. Gringoire -perceived that his music had been carried off by the procession of the -Pope of the Fools. “Skip it,” said he, stoically. - -He approached a group of bourgeois, who seemed to him to be discussing his -piece. This is the fragment of conversation which he caught,— - -“You know, Master Cheneteau, the Hôtel de Navarre, which belonged to -Monsieur de Nemours?” - -“Yes, opposite the Chapelle de Braque.” - -“Well, the treasury has just let it to Guillaume Alixandre, historian, for -six hivres, eight sols, parisian, a year.” - -“How rents are going up!” - -“Come,” said Gringoire to himself, with a sigh, “the others are -listening.” - -“Comrades,” suddenly shouted one of the young scamps from the window, “La -Esmeralda! La Esmeralda in the Place!” - -This word produced a magical effect. Every one who was left in the hall -flew to the windows, climbing the walls in order to see, and repeating, -“La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda?” At the same time, a great sound of applause -was heard from without. - -“What’s the meaning of this, of the Esmeralda?” said Gringoire, wringing -his hands in despair. “Ah, good heavens! it seems to be the turn of the -windows now.” - -He returned towards the marble table, and saw that the representation had -been interrupted. It was precisely at the instant when Jupiter should have -appeared with his thunder. But Jupiter was standing motionless at the foot -of the stage. - -“Michel Giborne!” cried the irritated poet, “what are you doing there? Is -that your part? Come up!” - -“Alas!” said Jupiter, “a scholar has just seized the ladder.” - -Gringoire looked. It was but too true. All communication between his plot -and its solution was intercepted. - -“The rascal,” he murmured. “And why did he take that ladder?” - -“In order to go and see the Esmeralda,” replied Jupiter piteously. “He -said, ‘Come, here’s a ladder that’s of no use!’ and he took it.” - -This was the last blow. Gringoire received it with resignation. - -“May the devil fly away with you!” he said to the comedian, “and if I get -my pay, you shall receive yours.” - -Then he beat a retreat, with drooping head, but the last in the field, -like a general who has fought well. - -And as he descended the winding stairs of the courts: “A fine rabble of -asses and dolts these Parisians!” he muttered between his teeth; “they -come to hear a mystery and don’t listen to it at all! They are engrossed -by every one, by Chopin Trouillefou, by the cardinal, by Coppenole, by -Quasimodo, by the devil! but by Madame the Virgin Mary, not at all. If I -had known, I’d have given you Virgin Mary; you ninnies! And I! to come to -see faces and behold only backs! to be a poet, and to reap the success of -an apothecary! It is true that Homerus begged through the Greek towns, and -that Naso died in exile among the Muscovites. But may the devil flay me if -I understand what they mean with their Esmeralda! What is that word, in -the first place?—‘tis Egyptian!” diff --git a/content/Recueils/Là eussent dû être des amis/Là-eussent-dû-être-des-amis.md b/content/Recueils/Là eussent dû être des amis/Là-eussent-dû-être-des-amis.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43f6ee5 --- /dev/null +++ b/content/Recueils/Là eussent dû être des amis/Là-eussent-dû-être-des-amis.md @@ -0,0 +1,132 @@ +--- +title: Là eussent dû être des amis +--- + +> Pour Nicolas Giacometti. + +> Samples de J. P. Jacobsen [^footnote] + +> [^footnote]: Pour ceux chagrins du procédé, je dis que parmi des textes à sauver d’une apocalypse, je choisirais cette nouvelle de Jacobsen, *Là eussent dû être des roses*. De ceci, je tire l’obligation de me servir de ce texte.Là eussent dû être des amis. +> +> + + + +Là eussent dû être des amis + +De ces grands amis d'un jaune pâle. + +Ils eussent dû se tenir accoudés au comptoir, silencieux, laissant négligemment descendre leur délicat visage vers les ornières du plancher. + +Et donnons-leur le subtil et fugace parfum de la compassion, chaleureux comme celui de pensées conçues en leurs rêves. Ou encore eussent-ils dû être tapageurs, ces amis ? + +Peut-être. + +*** + +L'action pourrait se dérouler au sein de la Petite Passe tranquille, maison dont j'ai déjà eu l'occasion d'écrire ailleurs la vie, la mort, l'étrange existence que nous y avons menée. Il faudrait peut-être réaffecter l'endroit, lui donner quelques détails pour en faire un décor qui vaille le coup. + +Un lieu-besoin pour un théâtre-proverbe. + +De la même façon, des personnes auxquelles nous pensons, il s'agirait de n'en prendre qu'une partie, de telle sorte qu'ils puissent devenir des personnages de théâtre-proverbe, et pas plus. Surtout pas plus. + +Ainsi dessiné le lieu, ainsi réduits les acteurs. + +Nous pouvons imaginer : c'est bien peu de choses, eu égard au résultat visé. + +*** + +Tout est gris et vert, une longueur de zinc, comme un quai vide de Recouvrance, endroit sec où des auréoles feraient souvenir, où tant sont venus, d'où tant sont repartis, à Brême Loïc, Vincent vers Niamey ou Thierry venu de Saint-Malo. On s'y accouderait plutôt aux coins martelés, avec vue sur les humbles petits clous à tête plate quasiment alignés qui enforcent la tôle sur le comptoir, vieil étal de l’ancien boucher du village, M. Roger. Lieu d'arrivée et de en-partance, exactement juste en face d'un profond miroir mité qui garde l'image de qui est venu, de qui revient et retrouve là sa gueule éternelle. C'est là qu'eussent dû se tenir ces amis et ils eussent dû se pencher précisément à cet endroit où le dehors peut se voir, fenêtre-tableau du monde sur le mur jaune où se vantent par ailleurs des apéritifs et des guerres coloniales. Les croisées de la fenêtre découpent la vue en une mosaïque d'images, deux ou trois ciels et mers bleu-vert, des fruits orange et le chemin. Immobile chemin d'un bord de mer à quoi ou à qui on adresse un regard, un failli salut et des pensées qu'on tait à l'aide d'un hochement de tête alors qu'un voyageur, jeune, déjà las et poussiéreux y passe – il est parvenu bien au-delà, au moins d'une lieue, d'où il voulait aller. + +À quoi songe-t-il ? + +Les bancs, les tables, les tabourets semblent sortir des planches, il y a partout des caches pour le souffleur du théâtre-proverbe. Le bois est entendeur, absorbeur, meubleur d'emblée, il connaît la chanson et renvoie les hommes à ce qu'ils sont : des personnages, des gens qui vont à la cave sortir une bouteille, la posent, la boivent, des bouche-trous, des remplaçables – bien que nous pensions à des gens précis. + +Des guerres, des Glorieuses, des révolutions auraient laissé passer des couleurs : ciment tiède, formica moderne, métal-usé, le brun du charbon, le bleu-blanc d'un paquet de cigarettes, la noire usure de la cire.Des livres traîneraient, oui, sûrement il en traînerait. + +*** + +Du chemin immobile, il ne faudrait garder que son inlassable faculté à venir de, à s'en aller vers, le pouvoir qu'il a d'être oubli ou obsession, un chemin comme une porte que chacun franchit d'une manière bien à lui. Un passage secret gardé par un épineux, d'un côté, une bouée en béton, de l'autre. Le doute du paysage : serait-on au bord d'une vasière, le long d'un aber à marée basse ? Le large est-il derrière cette pointe, en face, ou bien vient-il baigner lui-même ces rochers à naufrage, sans formes ? Le chemin hésiterait au-devant de la maison, rotonde de questions en suspens, peut-être un banc pour le voyageur. + +Au sol de cet espace rond s'imposerait du béton, défait dans sa hauteur mais solide au roc, du fer encore à rouiller pris dedans. Günter a vécu là. Tellement de questions qu'il n'a pas pu résoudre ! Il fallait surveiller, Günter s'est enterré au cœur du problème. + +La maison a quant à elle abandonné ce rôle il y a bien deux siècles, lorsque Jean Valletaille y est mort. + +Sa mauvaise façade plisse deux yeux, face au vent, une porte verte à l'encoignure, protégée par une petite hauteur en granite. Elle grince mollement. Le voyageur entre, en songeant. Il y a une odeur de cantine.Les personnages : des pages, des rois. Ils pourront échanger leurs rôles comme on battrait les cartes, des figures, des brelles tout pareil. Taper le carton pour voir ce qu'il en sort, voilà du théâtre-proverbe, un talon d'Achilles posé sur la table, sans discuter. + +*** + +Ce serait un après-midi de Saint-Jean que le voyageur passerait la porte, ses chaussures de ville faisant soudainement bruit sur le plancher. Hésitation-silence – quelques pas finissant en une chaise tirée. Le décor retrouve sa fixité. + +Entre le bois et les personnages, il y a le tenancier. Imagine-le tel que sans lui le bois aurait le juste trop d'importance qui ferait de la pièce un lit clos, un espace pour asthmatique. Être observateur : remarque la patine au coin du comptoir où sa vie passe, l'usure des coudes sur la petite table du fond où il écoute parler son ami Pierrot, la légère déformation de la chaise où il dort, la marque de l'effort à tirer la trappe de la cave. Ce sont les indices d'un corps qui s'est arrêté un jour à la Petite Passe tranquille et qui n'en a plus bougé. Ce tenancier peut te paraître flou, un peu âgé, on le sent toujours un peu en arrière de là où il se tient physiquement – lui dirait « un peu plus en avant ».Quelqu'un qui s'arrête ne l'étonne en rien. « Qu'est-ce vous voulez ? » est une question qu'il ne poserait pas. Sans bruit véritable, il empoigne la bouteille, chope un verre et apporte le tout sur la table du voyageur qui saura bien s'en débrouiller. + +– « Toujours une chose en face de l'autre », voilà le vers auquel je songeais, songe à nouveau le voyageur en se débrouillant avec les verres. + +Tant et si bien qu’il exaspère sa solitude. + +Dans la porte du fond pourtant vient la foule des personnages auxquels nous pensons. + +Au tenancier, l’un d’eux : + +– Où sont donc partis les habitués ? + +– C’est la Saint-Jean, ils sont tous de l’autre côté de l’eau à boire le vin nouveau. + +– Et toi, quel nouveau vin as-tu pour nous ? + +– Toujours le même, celui de Simon Tanner ! + +– Va pour celui-ci, puisque c’est toi qui le choisis. + +Il y a des bruits alors dans ce lieu tranquille, mais songe à leur réalité particulière : le tenancier tire sa chaise, au son du plancher il trouve sa place à tirer la trappe, on entend le dos forcer tandis qu’il se glisse sous la planche. L’humidité de la cave a le bourdon paisible d’une réserve à jamais inépuisable, la terre battue sonne comme la sagesse. Comprends que pour ceux du plancher d’en-dessus, ces bruits seraient différents : pour les uns, l’industrie humaine à savoir préparer les adjuvants du bonheur. Pour le jeune citadin attablé, la désespérante frappe de la pluie sur un toit de campagne. + +Car il pleuvrait, dehors. + +L’entrechoque des bouteilles. Les seconds rôles auraient apprêté : Duralex sur la nappe, tiré la table dans l’espace vide du centre de la pièce, du poivre sorti auprès des œufs durs du comptoir. Tout est là pour la première scène, bien que toi tu saches qu’il y en a eu d’autres avant. C’est à un dimanche que tu as à faire, les jours de la semaine ne sont qu’intermèdes pour ces Indiens. + +Ce sont de joyeux drilles, sans cesse à se moquer, ayant la faculté et la connaissance pour déjouer tous les pièges du monde. Ils ont accès à des écrits mystérieux, ce sont des hommes qui peuvent. Ils convoquent lorsqu’ils parlent toute une cour incroyable de clients, de figures, des hommes et des femmes encore plus supérieurs dont ils font dire des choses et des choses exactes. Même leurs silences sont des bribes de vie enviable. Combien de temps doivent-ils passer dans leur atelier secret pour fondre l’or et l’argent de leurs pensées effrayantes ! Par quel mystère ne brillent-ils pas comme des soleils par ce temps pluvieux ? La conversation se mêle au vin et le vin se mêle aux pensées et les pensées se mêlent au temps : tout cela est bon et résistant à l’usure. Et plus les dieux parlent, plus le jeune homme s’efface. Sa jeunesse lui pèse. + +*** + +Dans un lieu différent, des conversations animées : un salon en plastique où se côtoient des icônes, où des mains se superposent et des paroles sont tenues tranquilles au-dessus de verres colorés. On y joue une belote d’attouchements, écharpe blanche contre écharpe rouge, col Mao s’inquiète de chemise écrue, chaussures anglaises s’amourachent de chignons espagnols. La moquette est très regardée, les murs s’éloignent. Univers mou en forme de ballon jetable, cependant increvable. Un adolescent étrange dédaigne déjà la fête du jour. Il trimballe sa mine et n’est pas loin de ressembler à un second voyageur qui se promènerait le long d’une eau pour finalement passer une porte, ses chaussures de ville faisant soudainement bruit sur le plancher. Hésitation-silence – quelques pas finissant en une chaise tirée. + +Quelle certitude a place en ce lieu ? Il s’assoit ce jeune homme non loin de l’autre jeune homme. + +Physiquement, il est une rose belle de regrets. + +Moralement, c’est une toundra, au raz des pâquerettes. + +Un jeune homme, c’est un intrus ; deux, c’est une foule qui envahit et qui fait résonner les planches d’une façon singulière aux oreilles des hôtes. S’effaçant encore un peu plus dans le bois, le tenancier va chercher un autre bouteille et les habitués observent et écoutent cette foule de voyageurs échoués là : + +les deux se rapprochent l’un de l’autre, comme des touristes ayant été aux mêmes endroits. Ils le font avec fièvre. Ils se reconnaissent une même fougue qu’ils détestent tous deux et dont ils se débarrassent en trois mots deux hochements de tête. + +– Je comptais me rendre au bal de la Saint-Jean, dit le premier jeune homme, m’amuser, danser et ce genre de choses. Et puis j’ai songé et me voilà rendu ici. + +– J’ai quitté la fête comme ça, reprend le second jeune homme. + +Les hasards d’être là les étonnent et rien ne leur paraît sûr, sauf qu’ils ne verront pas la fin de leur jeunesse. D’autres la vivront à leur place. Ce sont deux perdus qui sont dans l’exact sentiment de n’avoir pas visé juste, la cible manquant à l’appel. Voilà précisemment pourquoi le théâtre-proverbe prend soin de ne pas confondre personnages et jeunes voyageurs. Ne t’étonne pas !, c’est la force des personnages d’être par définition des gens qui ont visé juste. + +Et vois comment l’histoire avance sans bruit car, pourtant tout ce qui vient de se dire, mystère encore plus mystérieux, voilà que les rois ne seraient pas fatigués de parler encore, de reprendre à zéro de vieilles conversations. Leurs rêves prennent parfois la forme de jeunes voyageurs. Eux qui sont les gardiens de plaines fertiles se rêvent certains jours barbares impétueux ravageant leur propre domaine. Et puisqu’ils se rêvent ainsi, pourquoi ne se changeraient-ils pas, eux les rois, en sans-atouts, en valets ? Alors ça parle, ça parle. + +Un oui et un non général, dictions et contradictions, tout et rien, une clameur qui les fait se taper sur l’épaule, personnages et voyageurs, comme de vieux amis. C’est le soir des grandes tornioles. + +Mais pourtant l’on ne saura rien de la solitude de l’un, ni de la joie de l’autre : + +l’un se sent pâlir d’un coup, sa soixantaine le rend soudain fragile comme du verre. C’est idiot sans doute, mais c’est ainsi, il sait bien qu’il faut s’y habituer ; + +l’autre dit des conneries, il retrouve la joie innocente des cafés étudiants et ça l’enthousiasme. Pourquoi tout est si sérieux, pense-t-il soudain ? + +sa dame le regarde et se dit Comme il est beau !, jusqu’à quel point j’ai envie de le connaître sous toutes ses coutures ! Et elle-même pense soudain à sa pauvreté à elle, comment se fait-il qu’il m’aime, lui ? Elle se ressert du vin et songe à ses enfants, à tout ce qu’elle pourrait faire aussi ; + +en voici un qui tressaille, un autre encore dit que tout est à refaire, et que seuls les gens de bonne volonté... La foule est là, mais tout ce qu’elle est est peu à peu absorbé par le bois du lieu, qui seul gardera mémoire de ces bouche-trous, de ces gens, comme déjà par le passé Jean Valletaille, Günter, Martin Roger, Pierrot, Loïc, Vincent, Thierry ou même Simon Tanner. + +*** + +Ainsi tout passe et nous n’avons pas parlé d’amitié. Tout au plus du côtoiement. C’est déjà beaucoup. Le tenancier est fatigué. Il essuie les verres et regarde sa gueule dans le miroir mité. Derrière lui, rien, le cadre vide de la fenêtre. + +Un voyageur s’engage vers le lointain. Le chemin ondule sous ses pas. + +La fenêtre : + +c’est là qu’eussent dû être des amis et ils eussent dû se pencher avec la délicatesse des ----roses sur le chemin et poursuivre de leur regard le jeune homme qui s’y éloigne. + diff --git a/content/Recueils/Poésies & Chansons/_index.md b/content/Recueils/Poésies & Chansons/_index.md index d6f57be..5d80e22 100644 --- a/content/Recueils/Poésies & Chansons/_index.md +++ b/content/Recueils/Poésies & Chansons/_index.md @@ -5,4 +5,3 @@ menu: main: parent: "Les recueils" --- -les TP sont good ó diff --git a/content/Récits/La Justice apparente/_index.md b/content/Récits/La Justice apparente/_index.md deleted file mode 100644 index d744c8e..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/La Justice apparente/_index.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8 +0,0 @@ ---- -title: "La Justice apparente" -date: 2020-12-22 -menu: - main: - parent: "Les récits" ---- -les TP sont good ó diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/Prologue.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/Prologue.md deleted file mode 100644 index 62d3398..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/Prologue.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,21 +0,0 @@ ---- -title: "Prologue" -date: 2019-03-26T08:47:11+01:00 -draft: true ---- - -Jeune lecteur ! - -Tous les jours n'est-ce pas tu regardes les nuages ? Tu t'émerveilles de leurs aspects, de leur infini défilé ? Comme tu as raison ! Mais la vie contraint souvent à ne pas regarder ce que l'on aime et à poser les yeux sur ce qui fascine mais n'émerveille pas. De la fenêtre d'une voiture par exemple, sur les à-côtés, sur les terre-pleins, les embranchements et les rond-points que nous voyons chaque jour, leurs coquelicots rouge et là, soudain, un busard. Des bouleaux, des taïgas, des folles avoines et des genêts. Et leurs ombres aussi, que tu devines. Bref, sache que, s'il existe toute une science pour nommer les nuages selon leur forme, leur altitude et leur devenir, la science des terre-pleins n'existe pas encore, comme s'ils ne faisaient pas partie de la vie, effacés tout simplement. - -Alors j'ai écrit une histoire qui marche à pied, allons voir. - -Pour la suivre, le mieux est que toi-même tu te mettes en route : enfile tes mocassins, mets-toi torse nu et rejoins la file ! Exactement comme quand tu imagines et que tu joues. Suis les Indiens sur les sentiers, il y en a partout autour de la ville, ils sauront te guider. Vas vers les campements, les caravanes, les tentes et les taillis, écoute : au feu à la nuit tombée, il se dit des aventures tirées d'un nouveau *far west*. - -Pars cette semaine par exemple, tu as le temps. Jan Yoors, un gamin de ton âge a déjà fait cela. Fais comme lui, pars et reviens selon tes souhaits. Essaye, prends l'habitude, cherche ! Sois patient les premiers soirs, ne brusque surtout pas : que tes retours à la maison se fassent en silence pour ne pas réveiller ceux qui dorment. – Tes vieux ! - -Et s'il te plaît plus tard, fais ton profit de cette histoire. Lorsque tu voudras à ton tour embrasser la vie, plier le monde, circonscrire les causes et faire usage de ta puissance ou simplement construire ta propre route : alors repense à ces terres-pleins et aux compagnons qui y vivent. - -Je te laisse de poursuivre la fable. - - diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-1.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-1.md deleted file mode 100644 index ff2a14f..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-1.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,81 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-09T10:58:08-04:00 -description: "The Grand Hall" -featured_image: "/images/Pope-Edouard-de-Beaumont-1844.jpg" -tags: ["scene"] -title: "Chapter I: The Grand Hall" ---- - -Three hundred and forty-eight years, six months, and nineteen days ago -to-day, the Parisians awoke to the sound of all the bells in the triple -circuit of the city, the university, and the town ringing a full peal. - -The sixth of January, 1482, is not, however, a day of which history has -preserved the memory. There was nothing notable in the event which thus -set the bells and the bourgeois of Paris in a ferment from early morning. -It was neither an assault by the Picards nor the Burgundians, nor a hunt -led along in procession, nor a revolt of scholars in the town of Laas, nor -an entry of “our much dread lord, monsieur the king,” nor even a pretty -hanging of male and female thieves by the courts of Paris. Neither was it -the arrival, so frequent in the fifteenth century, of some plumed and -bedizened embassy. It was barely two days since the last cavalcade of that -nature, that of the Flemish ambassadors charged with concluding the -marriage between the dauphin and Marguerite of Flanders, had made its -entry into Paris, to the great annoyance of M. le Cardinal de Bourbon, -who, for the sake of pleasing the king, had been obliged to assume an -amiable mien towards this whole rustic rabble of Flemish burgomasters, and -to regale them at his Hôtel de Bourbon, with a very “pretty morality, -allegorical satire, and farce,” while a driving rain drenched the -magnificent tapestries at his door. - -What put the “whole population of Paris in commotion,” as Jehan de Troyes -expresses it, on the sixth of January, was the double solemnity, united -from time immemorial, of the Epiphany and the Feast of Fools. - -On that day, there was to be a bonfire on the Place de Grève, a maypole at -the Chapelle de Braque, and a mystery at the Palais de Justice. It had -been cried, to the sound of the trumpet, the preceding evening at all the -cross roads, by the provost’s men, clad in handsome, short, sleeveless -coats of violet camelot, with large white crosses upon their breasts. - -So the crowd of citizens, male and female, having closed their houses and -shops, thronged from every direction, at early morn, towards some one of -the three spots designated. - -Each had made his choice; one, the bonfire; another, the maypole; another, -the mystery play. It must be stated, in honor of the good sense of the -loungers of Paris, that the greater part of this crowd directed their -steps towards the bonfire, which was quite in season, or towards the -mystery play, which was to be presented in the grand hall of the Palais de -Justice (the courts of law), which was well roofed and walled; and that -the curious left the poor, scantily flowered maypole to shiver all alone -beneath the sky of January, in the cemetery of the Chapel of Braque. - -The populace thronged the avenues of the law courts in particular, because -they knew that the Flemish ambassadors, who had arrived two days -previously, intended to be present at the representation of the mystery, -and at the election of the Pope of the Fools, which was also to take place -in the grand hall. - -It was no easy matter on that day, to force one’s way into that grand -hall, although it was then reputed to be the largest covered enclosure in -the world (it is true that Sauval had not yet measured the grand hall of -the Château of Montargis). The palace place, encumbered with people, -offered to the curious gazers at the windows the aspect of a sea; into -which five or six streets, like so many mouths of rivers, discharged every -moment fresh floods of heads. The waves of this crowd, augmented -incessantly, dashed against the angles of the houses which projected here -and there, like so many promontories, into the irregular basin of the -place. In the centre of the lofty Gothic* façade of the palace, the grand -staircase, incessantly ascended and descended by a double current, which, -after parting on the intermediate landing-place, flowed in broad waves -along its lateral slopes,—the grand staircase, I say, trickled -incessantly into the place, like a cascade into a lake. The cries, the -laughter, the trampling of those thousands of feet, produced a great noise -and a great clamor. From time to time, this noise and clamor redoubled; -the current which drove the crowd towards the grand staircase flowed -backwards, became troubled, formed whirlpools. This was produced by the -buffet of an archer, or the horse of one of the provost’s sergeants, which -kicked to restore order; an admirable tradition which the provostship has -bequeathed to the constablery, the constablery to the _maréchaussée_, -the _maréchaussée_ to our _gendarmeri_ of Paris. diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-2.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-2.md deleted file mode 100644 index b3c7d4f..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-2.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,90 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-10T11:00:59-04:00 -description: "Pierre Gringoire" -featured_image: "" -tags: [] -title: "Chapter II: Pierre Gringoire" ---- - -Nevertheless, as be harangued them, the satisfaction and admiration -unanimously excited by his costume were dissipated by his words; and when -he reached that untoward conclusion: “As soon as his illustrious eminence, -the cardinal, arrives, we will begin,” his voice was drowned in a thunder -of hooting. - -“Begin instantly! The mystery! the mystery immediately!” shrieked the -people. And above all the voices, that of Johannes de Molendino was -audible, piercing the uproar like the fife’s derisive serenade: “Commence -instantly!” yelped the scholar. - -“Down with Jupiter and the Cardinal de Bourbon!” vociferated Robin -Poussepain and the other clerks perched in the window. - -“The morality this very instant!” repeated the crowd; “this very instant! -the sack and the rope for the comedians, and the cardinal!” - -Poor Jupiter, haggard, frightened, pale beneath his rouge, dropped his -thunderbolt, took his cap in his hand; then he bowed and trembled and -stammered: “His eminence—the ambassadors—Madame Marguerite of -Flanders—.” He did not know what to say. In truth, he was afraid of -being hung. - -Hung by the populace for waiting, hung by the cardinal for not having -waited, he saw between the two dilemmas only an abyss; that is to say, a -gallows. - -Luckily, some one came to rescue him from his embarrassment, and assume -the responsibility. - -An individual who was standing beyond the railing, in the free space -around the marble table, and whom no one had yet caught sight of, since -his long, thin body was completely sheltered from every visual ray by the -diameter of the pillar against which he was leaning; this individual, we -say, tall, gaunt, pallid, blond, still young, although already wrinkled -about the brow and cheeks, with brilliant eyes and a smiling mouth, clad -in garments of black serge, worn and shining with age, approached the -marble table, and made a sign to the poor sufferer. But the other was so -confused that he did not see him. The new comer advanced another step. - -“Jupiter,” said he, “my dear Jupiter!” - -The other did not hear. - -At last, the tall blond, driven out of patience, shrieked almost in his -face,— - -“Michel Giborne!” - -“Who calls me?” said Jupiter, as though awakened with a start. - -“I,” replied the person clad in black. - -“Ah!” said Jupiter. - -“Begin at once,” went on the other. “Satisfy the populace; I undertake to -appease the bailiff, who will appease monsieur the cardinal.” - -Jupiter breathed once more. - -“Messeigneurs the bourgeois,” he cried, at the top of his lungs to the -crowd, which continued to hoot him, “we are going to begin at once.” - -“_Evoe Jupiter! Plaudite cives_! All hail, Jupiter! Applaud, -citizens!” shouted the scholars. - -“Noel! Noel! good, good,” shouted the people. - -The hand clapping was deafening, and Jupiter had already withdrawn under -his tapestry, while the hall still trembled with acclamations. - -In the meanwhile, the personage who had so magically turned the tempest -into dead calm, as our old and dear Corneille puts it, had modestly -retreated to the half-shadow of his pillar, and would, no doubt, have -remained invisible there, motionless, and mute as before, had he not been -plucked by the sleeve by two young women, who, standing in the front row -of the spectators, had noticed his colloquy with Michel Giborne-Jupiter. - -“Master,” said one of them, making him a sign to approach. “Hold your -tongue, my dear Liénarde,” said her neighbor, pretty, fresh, and very -brave, in consequence of being dressed up in her best attire. “He is not a -clerk, he is a layman; you must not say master to him, but messire.” diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-3.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-3.md deleted file mode 100644 index cd29cee..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-3.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,100 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-11T11:13:32-04:00 -description: "Monsieur the Cardinal" -featured_image: "" -tags: [] -title: "Chapter III: Monsieur the Cardinal" ---- - -Poor Gringoire! the din of all the great double petards of the Saint-Jean, -the discharge of twenty arquebuses on supports, the detonation of that -famous serpentine of the Tower of Billy, which, during the siege of Paris, -on Sunday, the twenty-sixth of September, 1465, killed seven Burgundians -at one blow, the explosion of all the powder stored at the gate of the -Temple, would have rent his ears less rudely at that solemn and dramatic -moment, than these few words, which fell from the lips of the usher, “His -eminence, Monseigneur the Cardinal de Bourbon.” - -It is not that Pierre Gringoire either feared or disdained monsieur the -cardinal. He had neither the weakness nor the audacity for that. A true -eclectic, as it would be expressed nowadays, Gringoire was one of those -firm and lofty, moderate and calm spirits, which always know how to bear -themselves amid all circumstances (_stare in dimidio rerum_), and who -are full of reason and of liberal philosophy, while still setting store by -cardinals. A rare, precious, and never interrupted race of philosophers to -whom wisdom, like another Ariadne, seems to have given a clew of thread -which they have been walking along unwinding since the beginning of the -world, through the labyrinth of human affairs. One finds them in all ages, -ever the same; that is to say, always according to all times. And, without -reckoning our Pierre Gringoire, who may represent them in the fifteenth -century if we succeed in bestowing upon him the distinction which he -deserves, it certainly was their spirit which animated Father du Breul, -when he wrote, in the sixteenth, these naively sublime words, worthy of -all centuries: “I am a Parisian by nation, and a Parrhisian in language, -for _parrhisia_ in Greek signifies liberty of speech; of which I have -made use even towards messeigneurs the cardinals, uncle and brother to -Monsieur the Prince de Conty, always with respect to their greatness, and -without offending any one of their suite, which is much to say.” - -There was then neither hatred for the cardinal, nor disdain for his -presence, in the disagreeable impression produced upon Pierre Gringoire. -Quite the contrary; our poet had too much good sense and too threadbare a -coat, not to attach particular importance to having the numerous allusions -in his prologue, and, in particular, the glorification of the dauphin, son -of the Lion of France, fall upon the most eminent ear. But it is not -interest which predominates in the noble nature of poets. I suppose that -the entity of the poet may be represented by the number ten; it is certain -that a chemist on analyzing and pharmacopolizing it, as Rabelais says, -would find it composed of one part interest to nine parts of self-esteem. - -Now, at the moment when the door had opened to admit the cardinal, the -nine parts of self-esteem in Gringoire, swollen and expanded by the breath -of popular admiration, were in a state of prodigious augmentation, beneath -which disappeared, as though stifled, that imperceptible molecule of which -we have just remarked upon in the constitution of poets; a precious -ingredient, by the way, a ballast of reality and humanity, without which -they would not touch the earth. Gringoire enjoyed seeing, feeling, -fingering, so to speak an entire assembly (of knaves, it is true, but what -matters that?) stupefied, petrified, and as though asphyxiated in the -presence of the incommensurable tirades which welled up every instant from -all parts of his bridal song. I affirm that he shared the general -beatitude, and that, quite the reverse of La Fontaine, who, at the -presentation of his comedy of the “Florentine,” asked, “Who is the -ill-bred lout who made that rhapsody?” Gringoire would gladly have -inquired of his neighbor, “Whose masterpiece is this?” - -The reader can now judge of the effect produced upon him by the abrupt and -unseasonable arrival of the cardinal. - -That which he had to fear was only too fully realized. The entrance of his -eminence upset the audience. All heads turned towards the gallery. It was -no longer possible to hear one’s self. “The cardinal! The cardinal!” -repeated all mouths. The unhappy prologue stopped short for the second -time. - -The cardinal halted for a moment on the threshold of the estrade. While he -was sending a rather indifferent glance around the audience, the tumult -redoubled. Each person wished to get a better view of him. Each man vied -with the other in thrusting his head over his neighbor’s shoulder. - -He was, in fact, an exalted personage, the sight of whom was well worth -any other comedy. Charles, Cardinal de Bourbon, Archbishop and Comte of -Lyon, Primate of the Gauls, was allied both to Louis XI., through his -brother, Pierre, Seigneur de Beaujeu, who had married the king’s eldest -daughter, and to Charles the Bold through his mother, Agnes of Burgundy. -Now, the dominating trait, the peculiar and distinctive trait of the -character of the Primate of the Gauls, was the spirit of the courtier, and -devotion to the powers that be. The reader can form an idea of the -numberless embarrassments which this double relationship had caused him, -and of all the temporal reefs among which his spiritual bark had been -forced to tack, in order not to suffer shipwreck on either Louis or -Charles, that Scylla and that Charybdis which had devoured the Duc de -Nemours and the Constable de Saint-Pol. Thanks to Heaven’s mercy, he had -made the voyage successfully, and had reached home without hindrance. But -although he was in port, and precisely because he was in port, he never -recalled without disquiet the varied haps of his political career, so long -uneasy and laborious. Thus, he was in the habit of saying that the year -1476 had been “white and black” for him—meaning thereby, that in the -course of that year he had lost his mother, the Duchesse de la -Bourbonnais, and his cousin, the Duke of Burgundy, and that one grief had -consoled him for the other. diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-4.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-4.md deleted file mode 100644 index f49d937..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-4.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,86 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-12T11:14:48-04:00 -description: "Master Jacques Coppenole" -featured_image: "" -tags: ["scene"] -title: "Chapter IV: Master Jacques Coppenole" ---- -While the pensioner of Ghent and his eminence were exchanging very low -bows and a few words in voices still lower, a man of lofty stature, with a -large face and broad shoulders, presented himself, in order to enter -abreast with Guillaume Rym; one would have pronounced him a bull-dog by -the side of a fox. His felt doublet and leather jerkin made a spot on the -velvet and silk which surrounded him. Presuming that he was some groom who -had stolen in, the usher stopped him. - -“Hold, my friend, you cannot pass!” - -The man in the leather jerkin shouldered him aside. - -“What does this knave want with me?” said he, in stentorian tones, which -rendered the entire hall attentive to this strange colloquy. “Don’t you -see that I am one of them?” - -“Your name?” demanded the usher. - -“Jacques Coppenole.” - -“Your titles?” - -“Hosier at the sign of the ‘Three Little Chains,’ of Ghent.” - -The usher recoiled. One might bring one’s self to announce aldermen and -burgomasters, but a hosier was too much. The cardinal was on thorns. All -the people were staring and listening. For two days his eminence had been -exerting his utmost efforts to lick these Flemish bears into shape, and to -render them a little more presentable to the public, and this freak was -startling. But Guillaume Rym, with his polished smile, approached the -usher. - -“Announce Master Jacques Coppenole, clerk of the aldermen of the city of -Ghent,” he whispered, very low. - -“Usher,” interposed the cardinal, aloud, “announce Master Jacques -Coppenole, clerk of the aldermen of the illustrious city of Ghent.” - -This was a mistake. Guillaume Rym alone might have conjured away the -difficulty, but Coppenole had heard the cardinal. - -“No, cross of God?” he exclaimed, in his voice of thunder, “Jacques -Coppenole, hosier. Do you hear, usher? Nothing more, nothing less. Cross -of God! hosier; that’s fine enough. Monsieur the Archduke has more than -once sought his _gant_\* in my hose.” - -_* Got the first idea of a timing._ - -Laughter and applause burst forth. A jest is always understood in Paris, -and, consequently, always applauded. - -Let us add that Coppenole was of the people, and that the auditors which -surrounded him were also of the people. Thus the communication between him -and them had been prompt, electric, and, so to speak, on a level. The -haughty air of the Flemish hosier, by humiliating the courtiers, had -touched in all these plebeian souls that latent sentiment of dignity still -vague and indistinct in the fifteenth century. - -This hosier was an equal, who had just held his own before monsieur the -cardinal. A very sweet reflection to poor fellows habituated to respect -and obedience towards the underlings of the sergeants of the bailiff of -Sainte-Geneviève, the cardinal’s train-bearer. - -Coppenole proudly saluted his eminence, who returned the salute of the -all-powerful bourgeois feared by Louis XI. Then, while Guillaume Rym, a -“sage and malicious man,” as Philippe de Comines puts it, watched them -both with a smile of raillery and superiority, each sought his place, the -cardinal quite abashed and troubled, Coppenole tranquil and haughty, and -thinking, no doubt, that his title of hosier was as good as any other, -after all, and that Marie of Burgundy, mother to that Marguerite whom -Coppenole was to-day bestowing in marriage, would have been less afraid of -the cardinal than of the hosier; for it is not a cardinal who would have -stirred up a revolt among the men of Ghent against the favorites of the -daughter of Charles the Bold; it is not a cardinal who could have -fortified the populace with a word against her tears and prayers, when the -Maid of Flanders came to supplicate her people in their behalf, even at -the very foot of the scaffold; while the hosier had only to raise his -leather elbow, in order to cause to fall your two heads, most illustrious -seigneurs, Guy d’Hymbercourt and Chancellor Guillaume Hugonet. diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-5.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-5.md deleted file mode 100644 index e0f5d28..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-5.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-13T11:15:58-04:00 -description: "Quasimodo" -featured_image: "" -tags: [] -title: "Chapter V: Quasimodo" ---- - -In the twinkling of an eye, all was ready to execute Coppenole’s idea. Bourgeois, scholars and law clerks all set to work. The little chapel situated opposite the marble table was selected for the scene of the grinning match. A pane broken in the pretty rose window above the door, left free a circle of stone through which it was agreed that the competitors should thrust their heads. In order to reach it, it was only necessary to mount upon a couple of hogsheads, which had been produced from I know not where, and perched one upon the other, after a fashion. It was settled that each candidate, man or woman (for it was possible to choose a female pope), should, for the sake of leaving the impression of his grimace fresh and complete, cover his face and remain concealed in the chapel until the moment of his appearance. In less than an instant, the chapel was crowded with competitors, upon whom the door was then closed. - -Coppenole, from his post, ordered all, directed all, arranged all. During the uproar, the cardinal, no less abashed than Gringoire, had retired with all his suite, under the pretext of business and vespers, without the crowd which his arrival had so deeply stirred being in the least moved by his departure. Guillaume Rym was the only one who noticed his eminence’s discomfiture. The attention of the populace, like the sun, pursued its revolution; having set out from one end of the hall, and halted for a space in the middle, it had now reached the other end. The marble table, the brocaded gallery had each had their day; it was now the turn of the chapel of Louis XI. Henceforth, the field was open to all folly. There was no one there now, but the Flemings and the rabble. - -The grimaces began. The first face which appeared at the aperture, with eyelids turned up to the reds, a mouth open like a maw, and a brow wrinkled like our hussar boots of the Empire, evoked such an inextinguishable peal of laughter that Homer would have taken all these louts for gods. Nevertheless, the grand hall was anything but Olympus, and Gringoire’s poor Jupiter knew it better than any one else. A second and third grimace followed, then another and another; and the laughter and transports of delight went on increasing. There was in this spectacle, a peculiar power of intoxication and fascination, of which it would be difficult to convey to the reader of our day and our salons any idea. - -Let the reader picture to himself a series of visages presenting successively all geometrical forms, from the triangle to the trapezium, from the cone to the polyhedron; all human expressions, from wrath to lewdness; all ages, from the wrinkles of the new-born babe to the wrinkles of the aged and dying; all religious phantasmagories, from Faun to Beelzebub; all animal profiles, from the maw to the beak, from the jowl to the muzzle. Let the reader imagine all these grotesque figures of the Pont Neuf, those nightmares petrified beneath the hand of Germain Pilon, assuming life and breath, and coming in turn to stare you in the face with burning eyes; all the masks of the Carnival of Venice passing in succession before your glass,—in a word, a human kaleidoscope. - -The orgy grew more and more Flemish. Teniers could have given but a very imperfect idea of it. Let the reader picture to himself in bacchanal form, Salvator Rosa’s battle. There were no longer either scholars or ambassadors or bourgeois or men or women; there was no longer any Clopin Trouillefou, nor Gilles Lecornu, nor Marie Quatrelivres, nor Robin Poussepain. All was universal license. The grand hall was no longer anything but a vast furnace of effrontry and joviality, where every mouth was a cry, every individual a posture; everything shouted and howled. The strange visages which came, in turn, to gnash their teeth in the rose window, were like so many brands cast into the brazier; and from the whole of this effervescing crowd, there escaped, as from a furnace, a sharp, piercing, stinging noise, hissing like the wings of a gnat. diff --git a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-6.md b/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-6.md deleted file mode 100644 index 47ad7ce..0000000 --- a/content/Récits/Les Terre-pleins/chapter-6.md +++ /dev/null @@ -1,100 +0,0 @@ ---- -date: 2017-04-14T11:25:05-04:00 -description: "Esmeralda" -featured_image: "/images/esmeralda.jpg" -tags: [TP] -category: [terP] -title: "Chapter VI: Esmeralda" -disable_share: false ---- -We are delighted to be able to inform the reader, that during the whole of -this scene, Gringoire and his piece had stood firm. His actors, spurred on -by him, had not ceased to spout his comedy, and he had not ceased to -listen to it. He had made up his mind about the tumult, and was determined -to proceed to the end, not giving up the hope of a return of attention on -the part of the public. This gleam of hope acquired fresh life, when he -saw Quasimodo, Coppenole, and the deafening escort of the pope of the -procession of fools quit the hall amid great uproar. The throng rushed -eagerly after them. “Good,” he said to himself, “there go all the -mischief-makers.” Unfortunately, all the mischief-makers constituted the -entire audience. In the twinkling of an eye, the grand hall was empty. - -To tell the truth, a few spectators still remained, some scattered, others -in groups around the pillars, women, old men, or children, who had had -enough of the uproar and tumult. Some scholars were still perched astride -of the window-sills, engaged in gazing into the Place. - -“Well,” thought Gringoire, “here are still as many as are required to hear -the end of my mystery. They are few in number, but it is a choice -audience, a lettered audience.” - -An instant later, a symphony which had been intended to produce the -greatest effect on the arrival of the Virgin, was lacking. Gringoire -perceived that his music had been carried off by the procession of the -Pope of the Fools. “Skip it,” said he, stoically. - -He approached a group of bourgeois, who seemed to him to be discussing his -piece. This is the fragment of conversation which he caught,— - -“You know, Master Cheneteau, the Hôtel de Navarre, which belonged to -Monsieur de Nemours?” - -“Yes, opposite the Chapelle de Braque.” - -“Well, the treasury has just let it to Guillaume Alixandre, historian, for -six hivres, eight sols, parisian, a year.” - -“How rents are going up!” - -“Come,” said Gringoire to himself, with a sigh, “the others are -listening.” - -“Comrades,” suddenly shouted one of the young scamps from the window, “La -Esmeralda! La Esmeralda in the Place!” - -This word produced a magical effect. Every one who was left in the hall -flew to the windows, climbing the walls in order to see, and repeating, -“La Esmeralda! La Esmeralda?” At the same time, a great sound of applause -was heard from without. - -“What’s the meaning of this, of the Esmeralda?” said Gringoire, wringing -his hands in despair. “Ah, good heavens! it seems to be the turn of the -windows now.” - -He returned towards the marble table, and saw that the representation had -been interrupted. It was precisely at the instant when Jupiter should have -appeared with his thunder. But Jupiter was standing motionless at the foot -of the stage. - -“Michel Giborne!” cried the irritated poet, “what are you doing there? Is -that your part? Come up!” - -“Alas!” said Jupiter, “a scholar has just seized the ladder.” - -Gringoire looked. It was but too true. All communication between his plot -and its solution was intercepted. - -“The rascal,” he murmured. “And why did he take that ladder?” - -“In order to go and see the Esmeralda,” replied Jupiter piteously. “He -said, ‘Come, here’s a ladder that’s of no use!’ and he took it.” - -This was the last blow. Gringoire received it with resignation. - -“May the devil fly away with you!” he said to the comedian, “and if I get -my pay, you shall receive yours.” - -Then he beat a retreat, with drooping head, but the last in the field, -like a general who has fought well. - -And as he descended the winding stairs of the courts: “A fine rabble of -asses and dolts these Parisians!” he muttered between his teeth; “they -come to hear a mystery and don’t listen to it at all! They are engrossed -by every one, by Chopin Trouillefou, by the cardinal, by Coppenole, by -Quasimodo, by the devil! but by Madame the Virgin Mary, not at all. If I -had known, I’d have given you Virgin Mary; you ninnies! And I! to come to -see faces and behold only backs! to be a poet, and to reap the success of -an apothecary! It is true that Homerus begged through the Greek towns, and -that Naso died in exile among the Muscovites. But may the devil flay me if -I understand what they mean with their Esmeralda! What is that word, in -the first place?—‘tis Egyptian!” diff --git a/content/_index.md b/content/_index.md index c50a6d1..36834af 100644 --- a/content/_index.md +++ b/content/_index.md @@ -4,17 +4,21 @@ date: 2020-12-23 menu: "main" weight: 5 --- + + + # Se redonner du champ -*Rechampir, l'édition* est un espace de publication électronique créé et animé par Yves Picard. - -Son ambition et sa forme sont modestes et entendent le rester. - +*Rechampir, l'édition* est un espace de publication électronique créé et animé par Yves Picard. Son ambition et sa forme sont modestes et elles entendent le rester. +{{}} >« Au village, tout le monde sait toutes les histoires >mais il y en a que deux ou trois qui les disent. » >(*La Justice apparente*, éditions Apogée, 2007.) + + + ### Au générique Le site est créé grâce à Hugo, [https://gohugo.io/](https://gohugo.io/), à partir du thème Notrack [https://github.com/gevhaz/hugo-theme-notrack](https://github.com/gevhaz/hugo-theme-notrack) diff --git a/layouts/_default/single.html b/layouts/_default/single.html index ecaeaf9..899e00a 100644 --- a/layouts/_default/single.html +++ b/layouts/_default/single.html @@ -19,19 +19,19 @@ {{ else }} {{ .Content }} {{ end }} - {{ if or (.PrevInSection) (.NextInSection) }} + {{if or (.PrevInSection) (.NextInSection)}}
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