| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Scenes from a Courtesan's Life by Honore de Balzac: perhaps be deprived of some of the marvelous effect which, in our day,
can be given to a narrative only by incredible improbabilities, it is
necessary, before we accompany Jacques Collin to the public
prosecutor's room, that we should follow Madame Camusot in her visits
during the time we have spent in the Conciergerie.
One of the obligations which the historian of manners must unfailingly
observe is that of never marring the truth for the sake of dramatic
arrangement, especially when the truth is so kind as to be in itself
romantic. Social nature, particularly in Paris, allows of such freaks
of chance, such complications of whimsical entanglements, that it
constantly outdoes the most inventive imagination. The audacity of
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Maggie: A Girl of the Streets by Stephen Crane: and a subdued clinking of glasses. Clouds of tobacco smoke rolled
and wavered high in air about the dull gilt of the chandeliers.
The vast crowd had an air throughout of having just quitted
labor. Men with calloused hands and attired in garments that
showed the wear of an endless trudge for a living, smoked their
pipes contentedly and spent five, ten, or perhaps fifteen cents for
beer. There was a mere sprinkling of kid-gloved men who smoked
cigars purchased elsewhere. The great body of the crowd was
composed of people who showed that all day they strove with their
hands. Quiet Germans, with maybe their wives and two or three
children, sat listening to the music, with the expressions of happy
Maggie: A Girl of the Streets |
The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne: There were no more marks on the planisphere. I knew not where we were.
And the Canadian, too, his strength and patience at an end, appeared no more.
Conseil could not draw a word from him; and, fearing that, in a dreadful
fit of madness, he might kill himself, watched him with constant devotion.
One morning (what date it was I could not say) I had fallen into a heavy
sleep towards the early hours, a sleep both painful and unhealthy, when I
suddenly awoke. Ned Land was leaning over me, saying, in a low voice,
"We are going to fly." I sat up.
"When shall we go?" I asked.
"To-night. All inspection on board the Nautilus seems to have ceased.
All appear to be stupefied. You will be ready, sir?"
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea |
