C’est un ORdre.
Liège, la veille de mon aventure lusitanienne. Fignolant une illu, je prête une OReille distraite au Sense and Sensibility de Jane AUSTEN (ou comment les livres audio ont changé ma vie) quand soudain, j’entends Marianne parler d’une bague, de cheveux, enfin, d’une bague en cheveux :
She was sitting by Edward, and in taking his tea from Mrs. Dashwood, his hand passed so directly before her, as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.
“I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,” she cried. “Is that Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should have thought her hair had been darker.”
Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt—but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, “Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The setting always casts a different shade on it, you know.”
Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Marianne; the only difference in their conclusions was, that what Marianne considered as a free gift from her sister, Elinor was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. She was not in a humour, however, to regard it as an affront, and affecting to take no notice of what passed, by instantly talking of something else, she internally resolved henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and of satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own.
Grosso modo, le timide Edward porte au doigt un bijou en cheveux, ceux de sa sœur, dit-il. Marianne et ElinOR font mine de le croire mais croient surtout reconnaitre une mèche des cheveux d’ElinOR et s’en réjouissent.
Plus tard, Lucy confie à ElinOR être secrètement fiancée à Edward et lui apprend que les cheveux sertis sont les siens :
I gave him a lock of my hair set in a ring when he was at Longstaple last, and that was some comfort to him, he said, but not equal to a picture. Perhaps you might notice the ring when you saw him?”
“I did,” said Elinor, with a composure of voice, under which was concealed an emotion and distress beyond any thing she had ever felt before.
“Life isn’t f’hair”, songe alORs héhé ElinOR.
PorTO, une chaude journée de printemps. Papillonnant de vitrines en tableaux, je tombe nez-à-nez, fascinée, avec les bracelets en cheveux ici photographiés. Ils sont faits de citrine, de cheveux et d’OR, sont exposés au Museu Nacional de Soares dos Reis et je puis d’ORes et déjà l’écrire :
Je les adORe ; – )