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The librettist, Planché, in a tribute to Weber, gives the origin of the story of "Oberon." It appeared originally in a famous collection of French romances, "La Bibliothèque Bleue," under the title of "Huon of Bordeaux." The German poet Wieland adopted the principal incidents of the story as the basis of his poem, "Oberon," and Sotheby's translation of it was used in the preparation of the text.
One feels that the Magyar is a kind of Centaur, and that he is only Christian and European by accident. The Hun in him tends toward the Arab. March 20, 1880. I have been reading "La Banniere Bleue" a history of the world at the time of Genghis Khan, under the form of memoirs. It is a Turk, Ouigour, who tells the story.
So when he parted with these Indians he told them to stop and see him in the spring when they would be coming down to Pointe Bleue with their furs-Francois Paradis of Mistassini, said he to them, will not forget what you have done ... Francois Paradis. And when they came in spring while running the river he looked after them well and every one carried away a new ax, a fine woollen blanket and tobacco for six months.
C'est l'ascension bleue a son premier degre; Hors de l'antique et vil decombre, Hors de la pesanteur, c'est l'avenir fonde; C'est le destin de l'homme a la fin evade, Qui leve l'ancre et sort de l'ombre!
In an instant he was back again, carrying a second basket under his arm, which he placed carefully on the table, saying, "Pomard of '87, gentlemen; I wish it were Chambertin for your sakes." "Tête bleue!that's what I call wine," said one, smacking his lips, as he tasted the generous liquor. "Yes," said Paul, "that's better than drinking the pink water they serve us out on service.
It is, for instance, liable to be accompanied by an affection, known also to the agricultural world as affecting the wheat crop, and called "the smut." Fortunately this is less prevalent among us than the French, who have a name for the class of books affected by this school of collectors in the Bibliothèque bleue. There is a sad story connected with this peculiar frailty.
It might possibly be so for Parsifal. Of all operas since Parsifal that I have seen, the Ariane et Barbe Bleue of Dukas and Maeterlinck seems to me the most beautiful, the most exalted in conception, the most finely symbolic, and surely of all modern operas it is that in which the ideas and the words, the music, the stage pictures, are wrought with finest artistry into one harmonious whole.
He was born with a caul on January 6, 1832, in the Rue Bleue at Strasbourg, near the Cathedral. About 1841 his father removed to Bourg, in the Department of Ain, where he was chief government engineer of the department. These two residences of the young artist are supposed to account for the mastery of Gothic architecture and of mountain scenery which his admirers find in his mature work.
I shrugged my shoulders what would you have done? and opened 'La Duchesse Bleue'. Mrs. Morgan, wife of a judge of the High Court of Bombay, and I sat amidships on the cool side in the Suez Canal. She was outlining 'Soiled Linen' in chain-stitch on a green canvas bag; I was admiring the Egyptian sands. 'How charming, said I, 'is this solitary desert in the endless oasis we are compelled to cross!
I had 'La Duchesse Bleue' uncut in my lap, and an agreeable person to talk to. I fear that in any case I should not been inclined to attend the service, but there was something in my daughter's intonation that made me distinctly hostile to the idea. I am putting things down as they were, extenuating nothing. 'I think not, dear. 'I've turned up two such nice seats.
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