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. . . et je porte en mon coeur La liberté gravée et les rois en horreur. The audience was too loyal to Bourbonism to accept these sentiments; there were loud murmurs; and Brutus had to be withdrawn. As late as 1766, a play on the subject of William Tell was given to an empty house; no one would go to see a republican hero. But from the sixties matters changed rapidly.
Segur, after his return from America, heard the whole court applaud these lines at the theatre: "Je suis fils de Brutus, et je porte en mon coeur La liberte gravee et les rois en horreur." None suspected whither the road would lead which they were pursuing with so much gayety and enlightenment.
Ogleton, the rich young widow, with her large black eyes, who, people did say, was setting her cap at the young squire, though Mrs. Botherby did not believe it; and, above all, there was Mademoiselle Pauline, her femme de chambre, who "mon-Dieu'd" everything and everybody, and cried "Quel horreur!" at Mrs. Botherby's cap.
But a further blow awaits him; and it is not till Pylades informs him of the death of Hermione, that the horrors of madness begin to seize on his mind. D'ou-vient que je frissonne. Quelle horreur me saisit?" and at once a shriek, dreadful beyond all description, announces the destruction of reason, and the agonies of madness.
"Me! horsevhip! me! the friend of Henri V.! horreur!" cried the count. "Very good, monsieur, I have presented the alternative. Where may you be found?" "Hôtel de Ville City Hotel." "Au plaisir, then Count Alfred de Roseville," said Merton, glancing at the card the Frenchman handed him. "Come, father." "Mr. Brandon, I shall wait on you at your counting room in the course of the forenoon," said Mr.
Grand ciel and quelle horreur punctuated the selections.
Grace thought a republic odious, without knowing any thing of any other state of society, and because it contained odious things; and Mademoiselle Viefville called a republic une horreur, because heads fell and anarchy prevailed in her own country, during its early struggles for liberty.
For what woman of flesh and blood can seriously maintain through life the rôle of sham attendant on sham sensations, and play public celebrant of other women's loves and lovers, singing, or rather saying, nothing more enlivening than: "Oh, madame!" and "Ah, madame!" and "Quelle ivresse!" or "Quelle horreur!" or, in recitative, detailing whatever dreary platitudes and inanities the librettist and Heaven connive to put upon the tongues of confidantes and attendants?
Her present self-possession and aplomb struck Newman as really infernal, and he inclined to agree with Valentin de Bellegarde that the young lady was very remarkable. "No, to tell the truth, I didn't come for you," he said, "and I didn't expect to find you. I was told," he added in a moment "that you had left your father." "Quelle horreur!" cried Mademoiselle Nioche with a smile.
Madame, quelle horreur ... &c. And it is amazing to discover that these are the very phrases with which Racine has managed to express all the violence of human terror, and rage, and love. Voltaire at his best never rises above the standard of a sixth-form boy writing hexameters in the style of Virgil; and, at his worst, he certainly falls within measurable distance of a flogging.
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