Claude's Confession by Émile Zola

Last evening, in order to obtain partial relief from my sufferings, I strolled upon a fair ground. The faubourg was all gayety, and the people in their Sunday clothes were noisily passing through the streets.

The lamps had just been lighted. The avenue, at regular distances, was ornamented with yellow and blue posts, which were garnished with small, colored pots, and in these pots were burning smoky wicks, the flame and smoke being whirled about by the wind. In the trees Venetian lanterns swung. Canvas booths bordered the sidewalks, allowing the fringe of their red curtains to trail in the gutters. The gilded faïences, the freshly painted bonbons and the tinsel everywhere displayed shone in the raw light of the lamps.