Le Selve

It was a cold black night, with neither moon or stars, and an old peasant lay dying. He was all alone. No one thought it worth while to waste time beside him. He was eighty-thre...

When the woodlanders climbed the summits of the colossal pines to gather the ripe cones, they could see if they cared to look, and if the day were clear, a glistening ray of gol...

The girl demurred and resisted, but the old woman, who had known her as a swaddled baby, would take no denial. Cyrille came out of the great doorway, the light of the moon shini...

“Yonder, where you see that spark of light, lies Rome. There, more than one man who was born of a peasant mother has sat enthroned as a viceregent of God, and emperors and kings...

To Cyrille, with his political views, his poetic communism, and his genuine tenderness of temper, it was a daily torment to mark, track, and prevent the continual petty thefts a...

All it contained was a photograph of a woman’s head and shoulders; a likeness of the face which was always in his dreams by night and by day. Under the portrait was written:

The gendarmes had slid from their saddles, had surrounded and seized the woodlanders, who made a fierce but short resistance. Against a horse from which she had dismounted there...