[log in to unmask] 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