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Bernhardt, Sarah, 1845-1923

"The Idol of Paris"

They sat down on a high rock
overlooking the little beach of Penhouet and remained silent for a
while.
"How very beautiful it is," murmured Albert at last. "You love the
sea, do you not, Mlle. Esperance?"
"More than anything else in nature. I love great plains too, but I
like them best because they are like the sea when they billow under
the breeze."
"You don't like the mountains at all?" asked Genevieve.
"Oh! no, I stifle there. I dream at night that they are pressing in to
strangle me. I went to Cauterets with mama after she had bronchitis. I
spent all my time climbing to get a view of a horizon and breathe
better. As soon as mama was well the Doctor sent us away saying that
it was not good for me."
"And the forest?" asked Albert.
"The forest hides the sky too much. Nothing makes me as sad as the
deep woods."
"And the lakes, cousin, what do you say of them?"
"A lake makes me shiver. I feel constrained before a lake as before a
person whom I know to be false and perfidious. Of course, the sea is
dangerous, but no one is ignorant of its caprices, its violence, its
tragic love bouts with the wind. The sea is open, whether in laughter
or fury. See, look off there," she said, standing upon the rock. "This
evening it is calm as a lake, and still the waves are all rippling,
preparing for an assault on this rock! It is so immensely alive, even
in its great reserve!"
The silhouette of the young girl, cut against the horizon, was blurred
by the passing night mist.


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