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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Three short works, by Gustave Flaubert This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Three short works The Dance of Death, The Legend of Saint Julian the Hospitaller, A Simple Soul. Author: Gustave Flaubert Release Date: December 14, 2003 [EBook #10458] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO Latin-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THREE SHORT WORKS *** Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. THREE SHORT WORKS by GUSTAVE FLAUBERT The Dance of Death The Legend of Saint-Julian the Hospitaller A Simple Soul THE DANCE OF DEATH _(1838)_ * * * * * "Many words for few things!" "Death ends all; judgment comes to all." * * * * * [This work may be called a prose poem. It is impregnated with the spirit of romanticism, which at the time of writing had a temporary but powerful hold on the mind of Gustave Flaubert.] * * * * * DEATH SPEAKS At night, in winter, when the snow-flakes fall slowly from heaven like great white tears, I raise my voice; its resonance thrills the cypress trees and makes them bud anew. I pause an instant in my swift course over earth; throw myself down among cold tombs; and, while dark-plumaged birds rise suddenly in terror from my side, while the dead slumber peacefully, while cypress branches droop low o'er my head, while all around me weeps or lies in deep repose, my burning eyes rest on the great white clouds, gigantic winding-sheets, unrolling their slow length across the face of heaven. How many nights, and years, and ages have I journeyed thus! A witness of the universal birth and of a like decay; Innumerable are the generations I have garnered with my scythe. Like God, I am eternal! The nurse of Earth, I cradle it each night upon a bed both soft and warm. The same recurring feasts; the same unending toil! Each morning I depart, each evening I return, bearing within my mantle's ample folds all that my scythe has gathered. And then I scatter them to the four winds of Heaven! * * * * * When the high bil
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