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    Adieu
    Adieu
    Adieu
    Ebook61 pages55 minutes

    Adieu

    By Honoré de Balzac and Sheba Blake

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    About this ebook

    The longish short story "Adieu" is an excerpt from Honore de Balzac's sweeping masterpiece The Human Comedy. A ghost story of sorts, this tragic tale recounts the blossoming romance of two lovers whose relationship is torn asunder by the vagaries of war. When they reunite by chance years later, there is nothing left to be salvaged.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSheba Blake Publishing
    Release dateNov 15, 2021
    ISBN9783986476045
    Adieu
    Author

    Honoré de Balzac

    Honoré de Balzac (Tours, 1799-París, 1850), el novelista francés más relevante de la primera mitad del siglo XIX y uno de los grandes escritores de todos los tiempos, fue autor de una portentosa y vasta obra literaria, cuyo núcleo central, la Comedia humana, a la que pertenece Eugenia Grandet, no tiene parangón en ninguna otra época anterior o posterior.

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      Book preview

      Adieu - Honoré de Balzac

      Honoré de Balzac

      Adieu

      First published by Sheba Blake Publishing Corp. 2021

      Copyright © 2021 by Honoré de Balzac

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

      This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

      Honoré de Balzac asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

      Sheba Blake Publishing Corp.

      2288 Crossrail Dr

      Atlanta, GA 30349

      support@shebablake.com

      First edition

      Cover art by Sheba Blake

      Editing by Sheba Blake

      This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

      Find out more at reedsy.com

      Publisher Logo

      Contents

      1. An Old Monastery

      2. The Passage of the Beresina

      3. The Cure

      About the Author

      One

      An Old Monastery

      Chapter Separator

      Come, deputy of the Centre, forward! Quick step! march! if we want to be in time to dine with the others. Jump, marquis! there, that’s right! why, you can skip across a stubble-field like a deer!

      These words were said by a huntsman peacefully seated at the edge of the forest of Ile-Adam, who was finishing an Havana cigar while waiting for his companion, who had lost his way in the tangled underbrush of the wood. At his side four panting dogs were watching, as he did, the personage he addressed. To understand how sarcastic were these exhortations, repeated at intervals, we should state that the approaching huntsman was a stout little man whose protuberant stomach was the evidence of a truly ministerial embonpoint. He was struggling painfully across the furrows of a vast wheat-field recently harvested, the stubble of which considerably impeded him; while to add to his other miseries the sun’s rays, striking obliquely on his face, collected an abundance of drops of perspiration. Absorbed in the effort to maintain his equilibrium, he leaned, now forward, now back, in close imitation of the pitching of a carriage when violently jolted. The weather looked threatening. Though several spaces of blue sky still parted the thick black clouds toward the horizon, a flock of fleecy vapors were advancing with great rapidity and drawing a light gray curtain from east to west. As the wind was acting only on the upper region of the air, the atmosphere below it pressed down the hot vapors of the earth. Surrounded by masses of tall trees, the valley through which the hunter struggled felt like a furnace. Parched and silent, the forest seemed thirsty. The birds, even the insects, were voiceless; the tree-tops scarcely waved. Those persons who may still remember the summer of 1819 can imagine the woes of the poor deputy, who was struggling along, drenched in sweat, to regain his mocking friend. The latter, while smoking his cigar, had calculated from the position of the sun that it must be about five in the afternoon.

      Where the devil are we? said the stout huntsman, mopping his forehead and leaning against the trunk of a tree nearly opposite to his companion, for he felt unequal to the effort of leaping the ditch between them.

      That’s for me to ask you, said the other, laughing, as he lay among the tall brown brake which crowned the bank. Then, throwing the end of his cigar into the ditch, he cried out vehemently: I swear by Saint Hubert that never again will I trust myself in unknown territory with a statesman, though he be, like you, my dear d’Albon, a college mate.

      But, Philippe, have you forgotten your French? Or have you left your wits in Siberia? replied the stout man, casting a sorrowfully comic look at a sign-post about a hundred feet away.

      True, true, cried Philippe, seizing his gun and springing with a bound into the field and thence to the post. This way, d’Albon, this way, he called back to his friend, pointing to a broad paved path and reading aloud the sign: ‘From Baillet to Ile-Adam.’ We shall certainly find the path to Cassan, which must branch from this one between here and Ile-Adam.

      You are right, colonel, said Monsieur d’Albon, replacing upon his head the cap with which he had been fanning himself.

      "Forward then, my

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