/0/4512/coverbig.jpg?v=0c324bcac8e3a360afefb0bb1975cc4c)
The Aspirations of Jean Servien by Anatole France
The Aspirations of Jean Servien by Anatole France
Jean Servien was born in a back-shop in the Rue Notre-Dame des Champs. His father was a bookbinder and worked for the Religious Houses. Jean was a little weakling child, and his mother nursed him at her breast as she sewed the books, sheet by sheet, with the curved needle of the trade. One day as she was crossing the shop, humming a song, in the words of which she found expression for the vague, splendid visions of her maternal ambition, her foot slipped on the boards, which were moist with paste.
Instinctively she threw up her arm to guard the child she held clasped to her bosom, and struck her breast, thus exposed, a severe blow against the corner of the iron press. She felt no very acute pain at the time, but later on an abscess formed, which got well, but presently reopened, and a low fever supervened that confined her to her bed.
There, in the long, long evenings, she would fold her little one in her one sound arm and croon over him in a hot, feverish whisper bits of her favourite ditty:
The fisherman, when dawn is nigh,
Peers forth to greet the kindling sky....
Above all, she loved the refrain that recurred at the end of each verse with only the change of a word. It was her little Jean's lullaby, who became, at the caprice of the words, turn and turn about, General, Lawyer, and ministrant at the altar in her fond hopes.
A woman of the people, knowing nothing of the circumstances of fashionable life, save from a few peeps at their outward pomp and the vague tales of concierges, footmen, and cooks, she pictured her boy at twenty more beautiful than an archangel, his breast glittering with decorations, in a drawing-room full of flowers, amid a bevy of fashionable ladies with manners every whit as genteel as had the actresses at the Gymnase:
But for the nonce, on mother's breast, Sweet wee gallant, take thy rest.
Presently the vision changed; now her boy was standing up gowned in Court, by his eloquence saving the life and honour of some illustrious client:
But for the nonce, on mother's breast, Sweet wee pleader, take thy rest.
Presently again he was an officer under fire, in a brilliant uniform, on a prancing charger, victorious in battle, like the great Generals whose portraits she had seen one Sunday at Versailles:
But for the nonce, on mother's breast, Sweet wee general, take thy rest.
But when night was creeping into the room, a new picture would dazzle her eyes, a picture this of other and incomparably greater glories.
Proud in her motherhood, yet humble too at heart, she was gazing from the dim recesses of a sanctuary at her son, her Jean, clad in sacerdotal vestments, lifting the monstrance in the vaulted choir censed by the beating wings of half-seen Cherubim. And she would tremble awestruck as if she were the mother of a god, this poor sick work-woman whose puling child lay beside her drooping in the poisoned air of a back-shop:
But for the nonce, on mother's breast,
My sweet boy-bishop, take thy rest.
One evening, as her husband handed her a cooling drink, she said to him in a tone of regret:
"Why did you disturb me? I could see the Holy Virgin among flowers and precious stones and lights. It was so beautiful! so beautiful!"
She said she was no longer in pain, that she wished her Jean to learn Latin. And she passed away.
This is a pre-1923 historical reproduction that was curated for quality. Quality assurance was conducted on each of these books in an attempt to remove books with imperfections introduced by the digitization process. Though we have made best efforts - the books may have occasional errors that do not impede the reading experience. We believe this work is culturally important and have elected to bring the book back into print as part of our continuing commitment to the preservation of printed works worldwide.
In this timeless tale, French writer Anatole France recasts the life and works of the beloved 4th century saint who was the distant ancestor of our modern-day Santa Claus. Known for his eminently generous personality, St. Nicolas has also had a number of miracles attributed to him, including the resurrection of three children who had been murdered by a crazed butcher.
Sous la révolution française, le glissement inexorable d'un "pur" vers l'abus de pouvoir et l'assassinat "légal" —puis la mort en Thermidor.
Winner of the 1921 Nobel Prize for Literature, Anatole France was a French poet, journalist and novelist, whose works were celebrated for their nobility of style and profound human sympathy. For the first time in publishing history, this comprehensive eBook presents France's complete fictional works, with numerous illustrations, many rare texts, informative introductions and the usual Delphi bonus material. (Version 1)Beautifully illustrated with images relating to France's life and worksConcise introductions to the novels and other textsALL 16 novels, with individual contents tablesImages of how the books were first published, giving your eReader a taste of the original textsAll the novels, including all four volumes of A CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES, available in no other collectionExcellent formatting of the textsAll the shorter fiction, with rare tales appearing here for the first time in digital printSpecial chronological and alphabetical contents tables for the poetry and the short storiesEasily locate the poems or short stories you want to readIncludes France's seminal historical study of Joan of ArcSpecial criticism section, with 8 essays and articles evaluating France's contribution to literatureScholarly ordering of texts into chronological order and literary genresPlease visit delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titlesCONTENTS:The NovelsTHE CRIME OF SYLVESTRE BONNARDTHE ASPIRATIONS OF JEAN SERVIENHONEY-BEETHAÏSAT THE SIGN OF THE REINE PÉDAUQUETHE OPINIONS OF JEROME COIGNARDTHE RED LILYA CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES I: THE ELM-TREE ON THE MALLA CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES II: THE WICKER-WORK WOMANA CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES III: THE AMETHYST RINGA CHRONICLE OF OUR OWN TIMES IV: MONSIEUR BERGERET IN PARISA MUMMER'S TALETHE WHITE STONEPENGUIN ISLANDTHE GODS ARE ATHIRSTTHE REVOLT OF THE ANGELSThe Shorter FictionJOCASTA AND THE FAMISHED CATBALTHASAR AND OTHER WORKSMOTHER OF PEARLTHE WELL OF SAINT CLARECLIOCRAINQUEBILLE, PUTOIS, RIQUET AND OTHER PROFITABLE TALESTHE MERRIE TALES OF JACQUES TOURNEBROCHETHE SEVEN WIVES OF BLUEBEARD AND OTHER MARVELLOUS TALESCHILD LIFE IN TOWN AND COUNTRYMISCELLANEOUS STORIESThe Short StoriesLIST OF SHORT STORIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDERLIST OF SHORT STORIES IN ALPHABETICAL ORDERThe PlaysCRAINQUEBILLETHE COMEDY OF A MAN WHO MARRIED A DUMB WIFECOME WHAT MAYThe PoetryLIST OF POETICAL WORKSThe Non-FictionTHE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARCThe CriticismANATOLE FRANCE — 1904 by Joseph ConradANATOLE FRANCE by Arnold BennettHOMAGE TO ANATOLE FRANCE by John GalsworthyANATOLE FRANCE by John Cowper PowysANATOLE FRANCE by Robert LyndTHE WISDOM OF ANATOLE FRANCE by John Middleton MurryANATOLE FRANCE by George BrandesANATOLE FRANCE by Winifred StephensPlease visit delphiclassics.com to browse through our range of exciting titles
After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."
After being kicked out of her home, Harlee learned she wasn't the biological daughter of her family. Rumors had it that her impoverished biological family favored sons and planned to profit from her return. Unexpectedly, her real father was a zillionaire, catapulting her into immense wealth and making her the most cherished member of the family. While they anticipated her disgrace, Harlee secretly held design patents worth billions. Celebrated for her brilliance, she was invited to mentor in a national astronomy group, drew interest from wealthy suitors, and caught the eye of a mysterious figure, ascending to legendary status.
Kallie, a mute who had been ignored by her husband for five years since their wedding, also suffered the loss of her pregnancy due to her cruel mother-in-law. After the divorce, she learned that her ex-husband had quickly gotten engaged to the woman he truly loved. Holding her slightly rounded belly, she realized that he had never really cared for her. Determined, she left him behind, treating him as a stranger. Yet, after she left, he scoured the globe in search of her. When their paths crossed once more, Kallie had already found new happiness. For the first time, he pleaded humbly, "Please don't leave me..." But Kallie's response was firm and dismissive, cutting through any lingering ties. "Get lost!"
It was supposed to be a marriage of convenience, but Carrie made the mistake of falling in love with Kristopher. When the time came that she needed him the most, her husband was in the company of another woman. Enough was enough. Carrie chose to divorce Kristopher and move on with her life. Only when she left did Kristopher realize how important she was to him. In the face of his ex-wife’s countless admirers, Kristopher offered her 20 million dollars and proposed a new deal. “Let’s get married again.”
I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.
After two years of marriage, Kristian dropped a bombshell. "She's back. Let's get divorced. Name your price." Freya didn't argue. She just smiled and made her demands. "I want your most expensive supercar." "Okay." "The villa on the outskirts." "Sure." "And half of the billions we made together." Kristian froze. "Come again?" He thought she was ordinary—but Freya was the genius behind their fortune. And now that she'd gone, he'd do anything to win her back.
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP