Fiat Kobelco Mini Excavator E30sr E35sr Evolution Workshop Manual
Fiat Kobelco Mini Excavator E30sr E35sr Evolution Workshop Manual
Fiat Kobelco Mini Excavator E30sr E35sr Evolution Workshop Manual
https://manualpost.com/download/fiat-kobelco-mini-excavator-e30sr-e35sr-evolutio
n-workshop-manual
THE VILLA
Our villa ...
... lies on the slope of the Alban hill;
Lifting its white face, sunny and still,
Out of the olives' pale gray green,
That, far away as the eye can go,
Stretch up behind it, row upon row.
There in the garden the cypresses, stirred
By the sifting winds, half musing talk,
And the cool, fresh, constant voice is heard
Of the fountain's spilling in every walk.
There stately the oleanders grow,
And one long gray wall is aglow
With golden oranges burning between
Their dark stiff leaves of sombre green.
And there are hedges all clipped and square,
As carven from blocks of malachite,
Where fountains keep spinning their threads of
light
And statues whiten the shadow there.
And if the sun too fiercely shine,
And one would creep from its noonday glare,
There are galleries dark, where ilexes twine
Their branchy roofs above the head.
W. W. Story.
XI
RANCONEZZO
BRAMANTE
Few words record Bramante's great command,
As from some mountain silence set apart,
He blazed a trail along the way of art,
Upheld the torch and led his little band.
RANCONEZZO
IL PENSEROSO
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowèd roof,
With antick pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow
To the full-voiced Quire below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstacies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
Milton.
XIII
RANCONEZZO
RANCONEZZO
FRENCH TOWNS
It is a drowsy little Burgundian town, very old and ripe, with
crooked streets, vistas always oblique, and steep moss-covered
roofs.... I carried away from Beaune the impression of something
autumnal,—something rusty yet kindly, like the taste of a sweet
russet pear.
. . . . . . . . . .
At Le Mans as at Bourges, my first business was with the
cathedral, to which I lost no time in directing my steps.... It stands
on the edge of the eminence of the town, which falls straight away
on two sides of it, and makes a striking mass, bristling behind, as
you see it from below, with rather small but singularly numerous
flying buttresses. On my way to it I happened to walk through the
one street which contains a few ancient and curious houses,—a very
crooked and untidy lane, of really mediæval aspect, honored with
the denomination of the Grand Rue. Here is the house of Queen
Berengaria.... The structure in question—very sketchable, if the
sketcher could get far enough away from it—is an elaborate little
dusky façade, overhanging the street, ornamented with panels of
stone, which are covered with delicate Renaissance sculpture. A fat
old woman, standing in the door of a small grocer's shop next to it,
—a most gracious old woman, with a bristling moustache and a
charming manner,—told me what the house was.
. . . . . . . . . .
This admirable house, in the centre of the town, gabled,
elaborately timbered, and much restored, is a really imposing
monument. The basement is occupied by a linen-draper, who
flourishes under the auspicious sign of the Mère de Famille; and
above her shop the tall front rises in five overhanging stories. As the
house occupies the angle of a little place, the front is double, and
carved and interlaced, has a high picturesqueness. The Maison
d'Adam is quite in the grand style, and I am sorry to say I failed to
learn what history attaches to its name.
. . . . . . . . . .
I remember going around to the church, after I had left the good
sisters, and to a little quiet terrace, which stands in front of it,
ornamented with a few small trees and bordered with a wall, breast
high, over which you look down steep hillsides, off into the air, and
all about the neighboring country. I remember saying to myself that
this little terrace was one of those felicitous nooks which the tourist
of taste keeps in his mind as a picture.
Henry James, A Little Tour in France.
XV
ROCHER-ST.-POL
A COUNTRY TOWN
They wake you early in this hilly town. It was hardly light this
morning when up and down through all its highways went a
vigorous drum beat. Reluctantly peeking from the window to see the
troops enter our square I was disappointed to find that one
regimental drummer, marching unaccompanied and lonely, had done
all this mischief. What useful purpose did he serve? After a brief
respite and repose the noise of another commotion came in with the
morning air; a murmur which grew and became a chatter and at last
a din! The next journey to the window showed that the morning
market was in full swing. Piles of fresh greens and rich-colored
vegetables were tended by gnarled old peasant women sitting under
widespread umbrellas of faded colors. But what a pleasant air it was
that came through the opened sash; a mountain air with just that
faint flavor of garlic tinging it which presages something satisfying to
be found later. Strengthened for a time by our coffee and rolls we
wandered through these winding streets. We saw the weather-
beaten, leaden flèche of the cathedral high on the hill, but for the
time were satisfied to study the many ancient houses which still
remain. Their fronts framed in dark oak with a filling of amber-
colored plaster topple over the public ways until they almost meet.
Here and there the oak beams are carved, and grinning man or
snarling monster regards you from corbel or boss. In places too
there are bits of old Gothic detail and one doorway of true
Flamboyant work. There is the true poetry of architecture! In
England the Decorated Period gives you what is handsome, the
Perpendicular what is stately. In France the cathedrals of Paris and
of Rheims are splendidly serious and correct; but if in Gothic work
you seek imaginative, unrestrained, carelessly free poetry it is to be
found in the flowing lines and exuberant fancy of the work of the
Flamboyant period.
XVI
ROCHER-ST.-POL
ROCHER-ST.-POL
L'escalier de Jacob
ROCHER-ST.-POL
THE CATHEDRAL
Looking up suddenly, I found mine eyes
Confronted with the minster's vast repose.
Silent and gray as forest-leaguered cliff
Left inland by the ocean's slow retreat.
. . . . . . . . . .
It rose before me, patiently remote
From the great tides of life it breasted once,
Hearing the noise of men as in a dream
I stood before the triple northern port,
Where dedicated shapes of saints and kings,
Stern faces bleared with immemorial watch,
Looked down benignly grave and seemed to
say,
Ye come and go incessant; we remain
Safe in the hallowed quiets of the past;
Be reverent, ye who flit and are forgot,
Of faith so nobly realized as this.
James Russell Lowell.
CHARTRES
All day the sky had been banked with thunderclouds, but by the
time we reached Chartres, toward four o'clock, they had rolled away
under the horizon, and the town was so saturated with sunlight that
to pass into the cathedral was like entering the dense obscurity of a
church in Spain. At first all detail was imperceptible: we were in a
hollow night. Then, as the shadows gradually thinned and gathered
themselves up into pier and vault and ribbing, there burst out of
them great sheets and showers of color. Framed by such depths of
darkness, and steeped in a blaze of mid-summer sun, the familiar
windows seemed singularly remote and yet overpoweringly vivid.
Now they widened into dark-shored pools splashed with sunset, now
glittered and menaced like the shields of fighting angels. Some were
cataracts of sapphires, others roses dropped from a saint's tunic,
others great carven platters strewn with heavenly regalia, others the
sails of galleons bound for the Purple Islands; and in the western
wall the scattered fires of the rose window hung like a constellation
in an African night. When one dropped one's eyes from these
ethereal harmonies, the dark masses of masonry below them, all
veiled and muffled in a mist pricked by a few altar lights, seemed to
symbolize the life on earth, with its shadows, its heavy distances and
its little islands of illusions. All that a great cathedral can be, all the
meanings it can express, all the tranquillizing power it can breathe
upon the soul, all the richness of detail it can fuse into a large
utterance of strength and beauty, the cathedral of Chartres gave us
in that perfect hour.
Edith Wharton, Fighting France.
XIX
ROCHER-ST.-POL
AT HIGH MASS
Thou Who hast made this world so wondrous
fair;—
The pomp of clouds; the glory of the sea;
Music of water; songbirds' melody;
The organ of Thy thunder in the air;
Breath of the rose; and beauty everywhere—
Lord, take this stately service done to Thee,
The grave enactment of Thy Calvary
In jewelled pomp and splendor pictured there!
ROCHER-ST.-POL