A Tatter of Scarlet: Adventurous Episodes of the Commune in the Midi 1871
Реклама. ООО «ЛитРес», ИНН: 7719571260.
Оглавление
Crockett Samuel Rutherford. A Tatter of Scarlet: Adventurous Episodes of the Commune in the Midi 1871
CHAPTER I. HOW THE TRICOLOUR CAME DOWN
CHAPTER II. KITH AND KIN
CHAPTER III. THE LAUNDRY DOOR
CHAPTER IV. THROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINES
CHAPTER V. THE DEVENTER GIRLS
CHAPTER VI. AN OLD MAN MASTERFUL
CHAPTER VII. OUR FIRST COMMUNARD
CHAPTER VIII. I SEE THE SCARLET TATTER NEAR AT HAND
CHAPTER IX. A REUNION OF THE REDS
CHAPTER X. JEANNE'S VELVET EYES
CHAPTER XI. HOW MEN SEE RED
CHAPTER XII "GOOD-BYE, RHODA POLLY"
CHAPTER XIII. WE SEEK GARIBALDI
CHAPTER XIV "THE CHILDREN"
CHAPTER XV. FIRST BLOOD
CHAPTER XVI. THE COMING OF ALIDA
CHAPTER XVII. A DESERT PRINCESS
CHAPTER XVIII. THE PRINCESS COMMANDS
CHAPTER XIX. KELLER BEY COMES TO ARAMON
CHAPTER XX. I PLAY "THREE'S COMPANY"
CHAPTER XXI. THE GOLDEN HEART OF RHODA POLLY
CHAPTER XXII. IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
CHAPTER XXIII. THE MISGIVINGS OF ALIDA
CHAPTER XXIV. PEACE BEFORE STORM
CHAPTER XXV. THE PROCLAMATION
CHAPTER XXVI. KELLER BEY, INSURGENT
CHAPTER XXVII. UNDER WHICH KING, BEZONIAN?
CHAPTER XXVIII. STORM GATHERING
CHAPTER XXIX. WITHIN THE PALE
CHAPTER XXX. DEVILS' TALK
CHAPTER XXXI. THE BLACK BAND
CHAPTER XXXII "READY!"
CHAPTER XXXIII "HELL UPSIDE DOWN!"
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE PASSING OF KELLER BEY
CHAPTER XXXV. A CAPTAIN OF BRIGANDS
CHAPTER XXXVI. LEFT-HANDED MATTHEW
CHAPTER XXXVII. LOOT
CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE LAST ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK BAND
CHAPTER XXXIX. THE CONVERSION OF CHANOT
CHAPTER XL. THE LAST OF THE "TATTER OF SCARLET"
Отрывок из книги
I don't think I troubled much about my father when I resolved to run away from the Lycée St. André. He had, as I thought, never troubled much about me.
Afterwards I found that I had been mistaken, but perhaps not more than most. For it is the rarest thing in the world to find a son entering upon life, able to do justice to his father's ideas and motives.
.....
But in this we were fortunate. The key which I had carried so long in the inner pocket of my jacket turned easily. The door swung noiselessly inwards, and the clean breath of the salt breeze from the Camargue marshes made our faces pleasantly chill and our lips sticky. We locked the door on the outside, and in another minute stood in the roadway, looking back at the great ghostly pile of the Palace of the Monks – as Louis the XIV had called it, when he cut down the plans so that it should not rival in dimensions that "abyss of expenditure" which was Versailles.
But it was no time to stand sentimentalising upon architecture. We turned and went down the vacant white road as fast as our legs would serve us.
.....