Kerfol has ratings and 20 reviews. Tom said: This story is not exactly what I expected going in. Even so, it is a great example of gothic horror and. It is one of the many ghost stories Edith Wharton wrote and was also included in the collection Ghosts published in Kerfol. cover design. Edith Wharton aimait les chiens, et elle a exprimé la force de ce sentiment dans deux passages-clés de ses écrits autobiographiques. «Kerfol» est la seule de.

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Presses universitaires d’Angers Support: Some one on the bench was heard to say: She was whafton woman of great piety and consequence, and much respected by Yves de Cornault, and when she proposed to Anne to go with her to Ste.

The dogs –” At that point she was carried out of the court in a swoon. I noticed that he kept a little behind them.

The Dogs of “Kerfol”: Animals, Authorship, and Wharton

The dog had been brought to him by a sailor from an East India merchantman, and the sailor had bought it of a pilgrim in a bazaar at Jaffa, who had stolen it from a nobleman’s wife in China: She was awarded the French Legion of Honor for her courage and distinguished work. The account of the trial of Anne de Cornault, wife of the lord of Kerfol, was long and closely printed.

How or where she would not say — one had the impression that she feared to implicate some one. Edith Wharton at Fantastic Fiction A compilation which purports to be a complete bibliography, arranged as novels, collections, non-fiction, anthologies, short stories, letters, and commentaries — but is largely links to book-selling sites, which however contain some hidden gems.


The Uncollected Critical Writings. I read this with my mum. At the suggestion of his friend Lanvirain, an un-named narrator goes to visit an old semi-fortified mansion in Brittany.

The dogs stood motionless, watching me. University of California Press,pp.

Kerfol, by Edith Wharton

It was a winter evening when he rode up to Kerfol and, walking into the hall, found her sitting listlessly by the fire, her chin on her hand, looking into the fire. I stared back at him for a time, to see if the sense that he was being watched would not rouse him.

She had no desire for the pomander, and did not know why she had bought it. He editg the cause of their suffering in terms of what would matter in the emotional life of a dog: A moat filled with wild shrubs and brambles surrounded the place; the drawbridge had been replaced by a stone arch, and the portcullis by an iron gate.

Two or three witnesses thereupon came forward to say that it was known throughout the country that Lanrivain had formerly been on good terms edth the lady of Cornault; but that he had been absent from Brittany for over a year, and people had ceased to associate their names. I’m really not a big fan of Edith Wharton, or ghost-stories, but the pointlessness of the novella still surprised me.

But even that feeling probably reached them through a thick fog whartoh listlessness.

The Ghosts of Kerfol

More important, she knew the story would be read by a twentieth-century audience. She opened it and found a grey bean rolled in a strip of paper; and on the paper she saw a sign she knew, and a message from Herve de Lanrivain, saying that he was at home again and would be at the door in the court that night after the moon had set.

She confessed to having seen him three times afterward: Refresh and try again.


Wharton traveled throughout Europe to encourage young authors. Edith Wharton at Mantex Biographical notes, study guides to the major novels, tutorials on the shorter fiction, bibliographies, critiques of the shorter fiction, and web links.

Kerfol, by Edith Wharton

The assumptions of these critics is troubling: When he arrives at Kerfol, the guardian who is supposed to show him the house fails to appear. A creepy, gothic ghost story, this is a very effective and unsettling short work that reminds one of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. In the last analysis, the impression they produced was that of having in common one memory so deep and dark that nothing that had happened since was worth either a growl or a wag.

Presently I looked across at the ruined facade, and saw that in one of its empty window-frames another dog stood: If I had met a peasant I should certainly have asked, and probably been sent astray; but I had the desert landscape to myself, and so stumbled on the right turn and walked across the heath till I came to an avenue. And still there was not a sound.

Dec 30, Phil Slattery rated it liked it Wwharton Webb suggests that the excess associated with the love of dogs offers something spiritually rewarding: About Catherine catherinedelors gmail.

But there, sure enough, at the top of the stairs lay her husband, stone dead, and head foremost, the blood from his wounds dripping down to the steps below him.

I had a feeling that they must be horribly cowed to be so silent and inert.