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Subject:
From:
Jay Bowks <[log in to unmask]>
Reply To:
INTERLNG: Discussiones in Interlingua
Date:
Wed, 23 Jul 1997 23:36:04 -0400
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http://www.cheshire.net/~jjbowks/home.html
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Francese

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

--GUSTAVE FLAUBERT, Madame Bovary.

Au fond de son a^me, cependant, elle attendait un e've'nement. Comme les
matelois en de'sespe're's, cherchant au loin quelque voile blanch dans les
brumes de l'horizon. Elle ne savait pas quel rerait ce hasard, le vent qui
le pousserait jusqu'a` elle, vers quel rivage il la me`nerait, s'il e'tail
chaloup du vaisseau a trois pont, charge' d'angoisses du plein de
fe'licite's jusqu'aux sabords. Mais chaque matin, a` son reveil, elle
l'espe'rait pour la journe'e, et elle e'coutait tous les bruits, se levait
en sursant, s'entonnait qu'il ne vint pas; puis, au coucher du soleil,
toujours plus triste, de'sirait e'tre au lendemain.

Al fundo de su anima, tamen, illa attendeva un evento. Como naufragatos in
desperation, illa cercava al distantia qualque terreno blanc in le brumas
del horizonte. Illa ne sapeva que serea iste hasardo, le vento que la
pulsarea usque a illa, verso qual ripa il la manearea, si il esserea un
chalupa o un vascello de tres pontes, cargate de angustias o plen de
felicitates usque le portieras. Mais cata matino, al eveliar se, illa lo
sperava pro le die, e illa auscultava tote le ruitos, se levava con un
salto, illa se preocupava que il no veniva; pois, al poner del sol, semper
plus triste, desirava anxiemente que jam esserea deman.

At the bottom of her heart, however, she was waiting for something to
happen. Like shipwrecked sailors, she turned desparing eyes upon the
solitude of her life, seeking afar off some white soil in the midst of the
horizon. She did not know what this chance would be, what wind would bring
it to her, towards what shore it would drive her, if it would be a shallop
or a three - decker, laden with anguish or full of bliss to the portholes.
But each morning, as she awoke, she hoped it would come that day; she
listened to every sound , spran up with a start, wondered that it did not
come; then at sunset, always more saddened, she longed for the morrow.
------------
from The Languages of the World by Charles Berlits
Funk and Wagnals c. 1975

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