Excerpt: ...the sea. It always inspires, like an adored mistress: ." The sea sleeps. "Immense, sighing lazily along the strand, it has gone to sleep, peaceful in its huge stretch, bathed in the moonlight. As soft as velvet, and black, it mingles with the dark southern sky and sleeps profoundly, while on its surface is reflected the transparent tissue of the flaky, immobile clouds, in which is incrusted the gilded design of the stars." Thus, like a "leitmotiv," the murmuring of the water interrupts the course of the story. ...
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Excerpt: ...the sea. It always inspires, like an adored mistress: ." The sea sleeps. "Immense, sighing lazily along the strand, it has gone to sleep, peaceful in its huge stretch, bathed in the moonlight. As soft as velvet, and black, it mingles with the dark southern sky and sleeps profoundly, while on its surface is reflected the transparent tissue of the flaky, immobile clouds, in which is incrusted the gilded design of the stars." Thus, like a "leitmotiv," the murmuring of the water interrupts the course of the story. And the steppe, this steppe "which has devoured so much human flesh and has drunk so much blood that it has become fat and fecund," surrounds with its immensity these miserable wandering beings and menaces them with its storm: Pg 156 "Suddenly, the entire steppe undulated, enveloped with a dazzling blue light which seemed to enlarge the horizon . the shadows trembled and disappeared for a moment . a crash of thunder burst forth, disturbing the sky, where many black clouds were flying past. ." At times the steppe stretched forth like an oscillating giant . the vast stretch of blue and cloudless sky poured light down upon us, and seemed like an immense cupola of sombre color." The wind passed "in large and regular waves, or blew with a sharp rattle, the leaves sighed and whispered among themselves, the waves of the river washed up on the banks, monotonous, despairing, as if they were telling something terribly sad and mournful," the entire country vibrated with a powerful life that harmonized with the souls of the people. In "Old Iserguile," Gorky writes: "I should have liked to transform myself into dust and be blown about by the wind; I should have liked to stretch myself out on the steppe like the warm waters of the river, or throw myself into the sea and rise into the sky in an opal mist; I should have liked to drink in this evening so wonderful and melancholy. And, I know not why, I was suffering." Pg 157 Gorky's stories, always short...
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