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- Miss Ellen jes’ as cool
- The lesson of a tree

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  Miss Ellen jes’ as cool Alerter l'administrateur Recommander à un ami Lien de l'article 

“No matter, ‘twill never be light”—she took the words to her tired mind. Would her load never be light? Was coming home to Tara to mean, not blessed surcease, but only more loads to carry? She slipped from Mammy’s arms and, reaching up, patted the wrinkled black face.  “Honey, yo’ han’s!” Mammy took the small hands with their blisters and blood clots in hers and looked at them with horrified disapproval. “Miss Scarlett, Ah done tole you an’ tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by her han’s an’—yo’ face sunbuhnt too!”  Poor Mammy, still the martinet about such unimportant things even though war and death had just passed over her head! In another moment she would be saying that young Misses with blistered hands and freckles most generally didn’t never catch husbands and Scarlett forestalled the remark.  “Mammy, I want you to tell me about Mother. I couldn’t bear to hear Pa talk about her.”  Tears started from Mammy’s eyes as she leaned down to pick up the buckets. In silence she carried them to the bedside and, turning down the sheet, began pulling up the night clothes of Suellen and Carreen. Scarlett, peering at her sisters in the dim flaring light, saw that Carreen wore a nightgown, clean but in tatters, and Suellen lay wrapped in an old negligee, a brown linen garment heavy with tagging ends of Irish lace. Mammy cried silently as she sponged the gaunt bodies, using the remnant of an old apron as a cloth.  “Miss Scarlett, it wuz dem Slatterys, dem trashy, no-good, low-down po’-w’ite Slatterys dat kilt Miss Ellen. Ah done tole her an’ tole her it doan do no good doin’ things fer trashy folks, but Miss Ellen wuz so sot in her ways an’ her heart so sof’ she couldn’ never say no ter nobody whut needed her.”  “Slatterys?” questioned Scarlett, bewildered. “How do they come in?”  “Dey wuz sick wid disyere thing,” Mammy gestured with her rag to the two naked girls, dripping with water on their damp sheet. “Ole Miss Slattery’s gal, Emmie, come down wid it an’ Miss Slattery come hotfootin’ it up hyah affer Miss Ellen, lak she allus done w’en anything wrong. Why din’ she nuss her own? Miss Ellen had mo’n she could tote anyways. But Miss Ellen she went down dar an’ she nuss Emmie. An’ Miss Ellen wuzn’ well a-tall her-seff, Miss Scarlett. Yo’ ma hadn’ been well fer de longes’. Dey ain’ been too much ter eat roun’ hyah, wid de commissary stealin’ eve’y thing us growed. An’ Miss Ellen eat lak a bird anyways. An’ Ah tole her an’ tole her ter let dem w’ite trash alone, but she din’ pay me no mine. Well’m, “bout de time Emmie look lak she gittin’ better, Miss Carreen come down wid it. Yas’m, de typhoy fly right up de road an’ ketch Miss Carreen, an’ den down come Miss Suellen. So Miss Ellen, she tuck an’ nuss dem too.  “Wid all de fightin’ up de road an’ de Yankees ‘cross de river an’ us not knowin’ whut wuz gwine ter happen ter us an’ de fe’el han’s runnin” off eve’y night, Ah’s ‘bout crazy. But Miss Ellen jes’ as cool as a cucumber. ‘Cept she wuz worried ter a ghos’ ‘bout de young Misses kase we couldn’ git no medicines nor nuthin’. An’ one night she say ter me affer we done sponge off de young Misses ‘bout ten times, she say, ‘Mammy, effen Ah could sell mah soul, Ah’d sell it fer some ice ter put on mah gals’ haids.’

  Aucun commentaire | Ecrire un nouveau commentaire Posté le 28-07-2015 à 08h54

 The lesson of a tree Alerter l'administrateur Recommander à un ami Lien de l'article 

I should not take either the biggest or the most picturesque1 tree to illustrate2 it. Here is one of my favorites now before me, a fine yellow poplar, quite straight, perhaps 90 feet high reenex , and four thick at the butt3. How strong, vital, enduring! how dumbly eloquent4! What suggestions of imperturbability5 and being, as against the human trait of mere6 seeming. Then the qualities, almost emotional, palpably artistic7, heroic, of a tree; so innocent and harmless, yet so savage8. It is, yet says nothing. How it rebukes9 by its tough and equable serenity10 all weathers, this gusty-temper'd little whiffet, man, that runs indoors at a mite11 of rain or snow. Science (or rather half-way science) scoffs12 at reminiscence of dryad and hamadryad, and of trees speaking. But, if they don't, they do as well as most speaking, writing, poetry, sermons -- or rather they do a great deal better. I should say indeed that those old dryad-reminiscences are quite as true as any, and profounder than most reminiscences we get. ("Cut this out," as the quack13 mediciners say, and keep by you.) Go and sit in a grove14 or woods, with one or more of those voiceless companions, and read the foregoing, and think. One lesson from affiliating15 a tree -- perhaps the greatest moral lesson anyhow from earth, rocks, animals, is that same lesson of inherency, of what is, without the least regard to what the looker on (the critic) supposes or says, or whether he likes or dislikes Metro Ethernet Service. What worse -- what more general malady16 pervades17 each and all of us, our literature, education, attitude toward each other, (even toward ourselves,) than a morbid18 trouble about seems, (generally temporarily seems too,) and no trouble at all, or hardly any, about the sane19, slow-growing, perennial20, real parts of character, books, friendship, marriage -- humanity's invisible foundations and hold-together?

  Aucun commentaire | Ecrire un nouveau commentaire Posté le 15-06-2015 à 08h44

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  Blog créé le 15-06-2015 à 08h39 | Mis à jour le 15-02-2019 à 10h25 | Note : Pas de note