This morning the city of Paris looks slightly fuming; the sky is overcast, and it is drizzling too. But it does no harm to me. I have decided to go out for a visit or an observation tour. I asked Nirmal braai for a list of museums in the vicinity of Paris yesterday. He brought me some brochures with the names and addresses, and street maps of Paris Museums in the evening. Paris has more museums than temples and gods in Kathmandu, he says. I am new to Paris, staying here for only one week. Hope these maps and brochures will show me the Paris metro zones and guide me to some museums today. Last week Nirmal braai showed me the Pompidou Centre, a complex building of high-tech structures. This visit has emboldened me to explore further. I guess I can cover a maximum, of two museums today. It means just giving a cursory glance. This is my plan. They say Cezanne is quite far away, Paul Cezanne, the post-impressionist painter, may be on the outskirts. I cannot visit him all alone, and cannot cover two museums in a day. So I chose to visit a museum nearby in the heart of the city. Likewise, Braque is far, Du Champ is farther away. So I have decided as per Nirmal’s suggestion to start with Rodin’s. Maybe I will go to Monet’s next.
A. Write ‘True’ for true and ‘False’ for false statements. 5×1=5
a. The weather of the morning was pleasant for the visit.
b. Nirmal braai provided great support to the writer.
c. Paris is the city of many gods and temples.
d. The writer plans to visit three museums a day.
e. The museum of Paul Cezanne is probably the furthest.
B. Answer the following questions. 5×1=5
a. How did Nirmal braai help the writer?
b. How are Kathmandu and Paris compared in the text?
c. How long is the writer staying in Paris?
d. What encouraged the writer to explore further?
e. Why can’t the writer visit Paul Cezanne?
The Chimney Sweeper When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry ‘weep! weep! ‘weep! ‘weep! So your chimneys I sweep and in soot, I sleep. There’s little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curled like a lamb’s back, was shaved: so I said, “Hush, Tom! never mind it, for when your head’s bare, You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.” And so he was quiet, and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping he had such a sight! That thousand of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them locked up in coffins of black; And by came an angel who had a bright key, And he opened the coffins and set them all free; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run, And wash in a river and shine in the sun.
William Blake
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