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Pierre Loti
Pierre Loti, born Louis Marie-Julien Viaud in 1850, was a French naval officer and novelist known for his exotic, romanticized depictions of foreign cultures. His works often reflected his travels, with books like "Madame Chrysanthème" inspired by his time in Japan and "Iceland Fisherman" based on his experiences in Brittany and Iceland. Loti's writing style combined vivid descriptions with a melancholic tone, making him a key figure in French literary Orientalism. He was elected to the Académie française in 1891, cementing his influence in French literature.
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Pierre Loti
CHAPTER I. It is with some degree of awe that I touch upon the enigma of my impressions at the commencement of my life. I am almost doubtful whether they had reality within my own experience, or whether they are not, rather, recollections mysteriously transmitted—I feel an almost sacred hesitation when I would fathom their depths. I came forth from the darkness of unconsciousness very gradually, for...
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Pierre Loti
INTRODUCTION At sea, about two o'clock in the morning, on a clear night, under a star-lit sky. Yves stood near me on the bridge, and we were talking of the country, so utterly unknown to us both, to which the chances of our destiny were now wafting us. As we were to cast anchor the following day, we enjoyed the state of expectation, and formed a thousand plans. "As for me," I said, "I...
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Pierre Loti
CHAPTER I. THE MYSTERIOUS LAND At dawn we beheld Japan. Precisely at the foretold moment the mysterious land arose before us, afar off, like a black dot in the vast sea, which for so many days had been but a blank space. At first we saw nothing by the rays of the rising sun but a series of tiny pink-tipped heights (the Fukai Islands). Soon, however, appeared all along the horizon, like a misty veil...
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Pierre Loti
CHAPTER I. The sad curlews, annunciators of the autumn, had just appeared in a mass in a gray squall, fleeing from the high sea under the threat of approaching tempests. At the mouth of the southern rivers, of the Adour, of the Nivelle, of the Bidassoa which runs by Spain, they wandered above the waters already cold, flying low, skimming, with their wings over the mirror-like surfaces. And their cries,...
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