at four o'clock in the afternoonof Aguat 10, 1862 very many people were assembled outside the famous Konversationshous in Baden-Baden. The weather was beautiful; the trees in their leafy green, the ligh-tinted houses of the cozy little town, the undulating hills-all things were festively arrayed with an overflowing munificence beneath the rays of the benignanat sun;all things wore a blind, trustful, and plasant smile; and the same vague but happy smile rover over the human facces, whether old or young, ugly or handsome. Even the figures of the Parisian or young, ugly or handsome. Even the figurs of the Parisisan lorettes, with their blackened eyebrows and pwdered ffaces, did not mar the general impression of obvious complacency and exultation; and the variolored ribbons,the feather, the golden and steely sparkles on hats and veils, involuntarily called to mind the vivacious shimmer and gentle place of spring flowers and iridescent wings. Though, truly, the dry, guttural rattle of the Franch patois, which was to be heard everywhere, could neither replace the twittering of birds nor compare with it.
Everything followed its appointed course, hoever. The orchestra in the pavilion playe a potpourri from Traviata, a Strauss waltz,or the Russian ballad Tell Her, whichthe obliging conductor had given an instrumental arrangement. The same well-known figures were crowded round the green baize tables in the Casino, and they all wore the stupid and avaricious, half-amazed, half-indignant, but esentlially rapacious....etc...-by ivan turgenev
Thursday, October 26, 2006