"The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh" by William Makepeace Thackeray. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten−or yet undiscovered gems−of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
Оглавление
William Makepeace Thackeray. The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh
The Paris Sketch Book of Mr. M. A. Titmarsh
Table of Contents
DEDICATORY LETTER
TO
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION
AN INVASION OF FRANCE
A CAUTION TO TRAVELLERS
THE FÊTES OF JULY
IN A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE “BUNGAY BEACON.”
ON THE FRENCH SCHOOL OF PAINTING:
THE PAINTER'S BARGAIN
A GAMBLER'S DEATH
NAPOLEON AND HIS SYSTEM
ON PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON'S WORK
THE STORY OF MARY ANCEL
BEATRICE MERGER
CARICATURES AND LITHOGRAPHY IN PARIS
LITTLE POINSINET
THE DEVIL'S WAGER
MADAME SAND AND THE NEW APOCALYPSE
THE CASE OF PEYTEL:
IN A LETTER TO EDWARD BRIEFLESS, ESQUIRE, OF PUMP COURT, TEMPLE
FOUR IMITATIONS OF BÉRANGER
LE ROI D'YVETOT
THE KING OF BRENTFORD. ANOTHER VERSION
LE GRENIER
THE GARRET
ROGER-BONTEMPS
JOLLY JACK
FRENCH DRAMAS AND MELODRAMAS
MEDITATIONS AT VERSAILLES
Отрывок из книги
William Makepeace Thackeray
Published by Good Press, 2019
.....
To my surprise, there were TWO ladies in the coach with my friend, and not ONE, as I had expected. One of these, a stout female, carrying sundry baskets, bags, umbrellas, and woman's wraps, was evidently a maid-servant: the other, in black, was Pogson's fair one, evidently. I could see a gleam of curl-papers over a sallow face—of a dusky nightcap flapping over the curl-papers—but these were hidden by a lace veil and a huge velvet bonnet, of which the crowning birds-of-paradise were evidently in a moulting state. She was encased in many shawls and wrappers; she put, hesitatingly, a pretty little foot out of the carriage—Pogson was by her side in an instant, and, gallantly putting one of his white kids round her waist, aided this interesting creature to descend. I saw, by her walk, that she was five-and-forty, and that my little Pogson was a lost man.
After some brief parley between them—in which it was charming to hear how my friend Samuel WOULD speak, what he called French, to a lady who could not understand one syllable of his jargon—the mutual hackney-coaches drew up; Madame la Baronne waved to the Captain a graceful French curtsy. “Adyou!” said Samuel, and waved his lily hand. “Adyou-addimang.”
