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344 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1887
Needless to say that the cicalas [cicadas?] around us keep up their perpetual sonorous chirping. The mountain smells delicious. The atmosphere, the dawning day, the infantine grace of these little girls in their long frocks and shiny chignons, all is redundant with freshness and youth. The flowers and grasses on which we tread sparkle with dewdrops, exhaling a perfume of freshness. What undying beauty there is in Japan, in the first fresh morning hours in the country, and the dawning hours of life! Besides, I am quite ready to admit the attractiveness of the little Japanese children; some of them are most fascinating. But how is it that their charm vanishes so rapidly and is so quickly replaced by the elderly grimace, the smiling ugliness, the monkeyish face?This is the second of Loti's books I have read on the same theme: Loti's Wife (Le Mariage de Loti) was set in Tahiti, but essentially had the same story. In both cases, the narrator, whom we are meant to identify as Loti himself, leaves his wife of an idle hour and goes back to see. Here is the leavetaking in Madame Chrysantheme:
Well, little mousmé, let us part good friends; one last kiss even, if you like. I took you to amuse me; you have not perhaps succeeded very well, but after all you have done what you could: given me your little face, your little curtseys, your little music; in short, you have been pleasant enough in your Japanese way. And who knows, perchance I may yet think of you sometimes when I recall this glorious summer, these pretty quaint gardens, and the ceaseless concert of the cicalas.I don't know how it strikes you, but to me it fairly drips of racist condescension.