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Updated: May 8, 2025
The closed door of the first classe my sanctuary offered no obstacle; it burst open, and a paletot and a bonnet grec filled the void; also two eyes first vaguely struck upon, and then hungrily dived into me. "C'est cela!" said a voice. "Je la connais: c'est l'Anglaise. Tant pis. Toute Anglaise, et, par consequent, toute begueule qu'elle soit elle fera mon affaire, ou je saurai pourquoi."
On peut bien distinguer entr'elles les choses qui ont fortement l'empreinte de leur classe; mais les confins échappent toujours.
I felt restless to know. There stood a clock in the classe below: what hindered me from venturing down to consult it? By such a moon, its large white face and jet black figures must be vividly distinct. As for hindrance to this step, there offered not so much as a creaking hinge or a clicking latch. On these hot July nights, close air could not be tolerated, and the chamber-door stood wide open.
Meanwhile Rameau will explain to you, as he has done to me, that the journal in question is designed for circulation among readers of haute classe it is to be pleasant and airy, full of bons mots and anecdote; witty, but not ill-natured. Politics to be Liberal, of course, but of elegant admixture, champagne and seltzer-water.
Some are Byzantine of the type of those at S. Apollinare in Classe; two are truncated reversed pyramids with roughly cut scrolls on the surface, and one of these has a super-abacus. Two of them are queer, rough things, with brackets at the angles in place of volutes, and a deep abacus sloping back, with a cross upon it. The bases of the pillars are boxed in, as at the cathedral.
The pupils of the first classe sat very still; the cleanly-written compositions prepared since the last lesson lay ready before them, neatly tied with ribbon, waiting to be gathered by the hand of the Professor as he made his rapid round of the desks.
Between the city and the forest, in the midst of malarious rice- swamps, stands the finest of the Ravennese churches, the stately temple of San Apollinare in Classe. The Emperor Augustus constructed hereabouts a harbour for fleets, which the ages have choked up, and which survives only in the title of this ancient church. Its extreme loneliness makes it doubly impressive.
One morning I was sitting in the carre, at work upon a piece of embroidery which one of the pupils had commenced but delayed to finish, and while my fingers wrought at the frame, my ears regaled themselves with listening to the crescendos and cadences of a voice haranguing in the neighbouring classe, in tones that waxed momentarily more unquiet, more ominously varied.
I, sardine, look at three sardines, at three million sardines, at a carful of sardines. How did I get here? Oh yes of course. Briouse. Horrible name "Briouse." Made a bluff at riding deuxieme classe on a troisieme classe ticket bought for me by les deux balayeurs. Gentleman in the compartment talked French with me till conductor appeared. "Tickets, gentlemen?" I extended mine dumbly.
If ever a spot was expressive in every way by which a locality can speak to the imagination of the abomination of desolation, the view which spreads before the eye at the huge doorway of the Basilica of St. Apollinare in Classe is so. The general character of the country around it has been described. But the church itself is the most dreary and melancholy feature in the landscape.
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