| The first excerpt represents the past or something you must release, and is drawn from Father Sergius by Leo Tolstoy: their white dogskins. The drivers disputed as to whose troyka
should go ahead, and the youngest, seating himself sideways with
a dashing air, swung his long knout and shouted to the horses.
The troyka-bells tinkled and the sledge-runners squeaked over the
snow.
The sledge swayed hardly at all. The shaft-horse, with his
tightly bound tail under his decorated breechband, galloped
smoothly and briskly; the smooth road seemed to run rapidly
backwards, while the driver dashingly shook the reins. One of
the lawyers and the officer sitting opposite talked nonsense to
Makovkina's neighbour, but Makovkina herself sat motionless and
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The second excerpt represents the present or the deciding factor of the moment, and is drawn from Maitre Cornelius by Honore de Balzac: people of the middle classes, whom he made his allies against
feudality. For some time past he had found no opportunity to "make
himself populace" and espouse the domestic interests of some man
"engarrie" (an old word still used in Tours, meaning engaged) in
litigious affairs, so that he shouldered the anxieties of Maitre
Cornelius eagerly, and also the secret sorrows of the Comtesse de
Saint-Vallier. Several times during dinner he said to his daughter:--
"Who, think you, could have robbed my silversmith? The robberies now
amount to over twelve hundred thousand crowns in eight years. Twelve
hundred thousand crowns, messieurs!" he continued, looking at the
seigneurs who were serving him. "Notre Dame! with a sum like that what
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The third excerpt represents the future or something you must embrace, and is drawn from Life in the Iron-Mills by Rebecca Davis: for one moment of free air on a hill-side, to lie down and let
his sick soul throb itself out in the sunshine. But to-night he
panted for life. The savage strength of his nature was roused;
his cry was fierce to God for justice.
"Look at me!" he said to Deborah, with a low, bitter laugh,
striking his puny chest savagely. "What am I worth, Deb? Is it
my fault that I am no better? My fault? My fault?"
He stopped, stung with a sudden remorse, seeing her hunchback
shape writhing with sobs. For Deborah was crying thankless
tears, according to the fashion of women.
"God forgi' me, woman! Things go harder Wi' you nor me. It's
Life in the Iron-Mills |
