Identifier: tourthroughpyren00tain (find matches)
Title: A tour through the Pyrenees
Year: 1875 (1870s)
Authors: Taine, Hippolyte, 1828-1893 Fiske, John Safford, 1838-1907, (from old catalog) tr Dore, Gustave, 1832-1883, (from old catalog) illus
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Publisher: New York, H. Holt and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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akes himself off, and when he has gonea score of paces the good soul is melted entirelyinto water. Nowadays this mythology seems unmeaning,and the thought flat. Look at the environs, thesurroundings save it. Carelessness, intoxication,are on one side. It is born between two glassesof good wine thoroughly relished, in the midst ofan unpremeditated letter. Are people so very niceat table? It is a refrain they are humming ; flat ornot, is of no consequence. The main thing is goodhumor and the inclination to laugh. I picture tomyself the honest fellows, well-dressed, portly, theireyes still shining from the long dinner of yesterday,with rubies on their cheeks, perfectly ready to sitdown to dine at the first inn and to bedevil themaid. La Fontaine did so, especially when hetravelled. They made stops, forgot themselves, Que Ton me reiide ce devoir;Car enfin jai eel avantage,Quun canal si clair et si netEst le lieu de mon ajianage.Dans la tiascognc, un tel partageEst bien joli pour un cadet.
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Chap. IV. TO BAGNERES-DE-LUCHON. 483 the broad jokes flew. They didnt cross France asnowadays, after the fashion of a cannon-ball oran attorney; they allowed five days for going toPoitiers, and in the evening, on going to bed, theyfed the body. It was the last age of the good cor-poreal life, that heavy bourgeoisie which had itsflower and its portrait in Flemish art. It wasalready disappearing; aristocratic propriety andlordly salutes were taking possession of literature ;Boileau gave us serious verse, thoroughly usefuland solid, like pairs of tongs. Nowadays whenthe middle-class man is a philosopher, ambitious, aman of business, it is far worse. Let us not speakill of those who are happy; happiness is a sort ofpoetry ; it is in vain that we boast ourselves, thatpoetry we have not. IV. The road is bordered with vines, each of whichcarries up its tree, elm or ash, the crown of a freshverdure, and lets its leaves and tendrils fall againin plumes. The valley is a garden long and nar-row,

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