United States or Bermuda ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
I sat aloft among the Immortals, with the Duc de Broglie, Haussonville, Lesseps, Vieil Castel, and next Alexandre Dumas, who was very pleasant. The Duc d'Aumale was on the other side. Yesterday we had a very pleasant dinner at the De Broglies' Gavard, Lambert de Ste.-Croix and Cornelis de Witt. The Comte de Paris brought down 300 himself.
"Umbriel, a l'instant, vieil gnome rechigne, Va d'une aile pesante et d'un air renfrogne Chercher en murmurant la caverne profonde, Ou loin des doux raions que repand l'oeil du monde La Deesse aux Vapeurs a choisi son sejour, Les Tristes Aquilons y sifflent a l'entour, Et le souffle mal sain de leur aride haleine Y porte aux environs la fievre et la migraine.
Left Foxholes for Broglie via Havre. Slept at Rouen. 11th, Broglie, by rail to Bernay; at Broglie, Vieil Castel, Laugel, Target, Gavard. Old name of Broglie, Chambrey. 15th. Left Broglie for Val Richer. Drive with De Witt. 17th. Gout coming on in foot. Started for Honfleur and Havre; quite lame. Spent the day on board the Wolf; met Prothero again. Managed to get home on the 18th.
Alzire's 'Je puis mourir, for instance, is an obvious reminiscence of the 'Qu'il mourût! of le vieil Horace; and the cloven hoof is shown clearly enough by the 'O ciel! with which Alzire's confidante manages to fill out the rest of the line. Many of these blemishes are, doubtless, the outcome of simple carelessness; for Voltaire was too busy a man to give over-much time to his plays.
He must have met Duchaine that morning as the old man was flying or wandering aimlessly along the tunnel. They had reached le Vieil Ange together, and Leroux had probably had little difficulty in inducing the witless old man to take him back into the secret hiding-place. It was lucky that we had not been there when Leroux discovered it.
Will you wait for me here while I go back and search?" She nodded, and I went back into that interminable tunnel again. I went along the tunnel in the direction of le Vieil Ange. It was broad day now, and the distance between the cataract and the open ground where the gold had been mined was sufficiently short for the whole length of the passage to be faintly visible.
Pierre caught my arm as I reeled, sick with the shock of the discovery, and yelled into my ear above the dim. "Le Vieil Ange!" he cried. "This way Simon mean you to go to-morrow. Lacroix him tell you: 'Get down, we find the road. He take you up here and push you so." He made a graphic gesture with his arm and pointed.
There is no score of his, for all the tang and luxuriousness of his orchestration, for all the incrustation of bright, strange stones on the matter of his operas, that has the deep, glowing color of certain passages of Borodin's work, with their magical evocations of terrestrial Asia and feudal Muscovy, their "Timbres d'or des mongoles orfevrèries Et vieil or des vieilles nations."
"To-morrow you will convey him to the cabin of Père Antoine, where he will be able to make his own plans. You will go by way of le Vieil Ange." Lacroix started violently, muttered something, and passed up the stairs, often turning to stare, as I surmised from the brief occasions of his footsteps.
"Il est un vieil air populaire Par tous les violons racle, Aux abois de chiens en colere Par tous les orgues nasille." She read the first verse with a pure clear accent and paused, with a glance first at the hearth-rug, then at Sir Elphinstone in his chair. Perhaps the sight of him stirred a small flame of defiance.
Word Of The Day