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Updated: May 17, 2025
Seeing in the distance the curious, enigmatical Pile de Cinq Mars, we suddenly realized that we were quite near Luynes, and Walter told François to stop there as he knew that Archie would be charmed with the beauty of the situation of this château which hangs high, like an eagle's nest, upon a bluff above the lowlands and the river.
He could not make up his mind. At midnight he still wavered. His great friend, the poet Déroulède, then took out his watch waited, in perfect silence, until it was five minutes past twelve, and then said, "Général, depuis cinq minutes votre auréole baisse."
On the eighteenth Brumaire, the First Republic blinked itself out in the Palais de Saint Cloud, and the Conseil de Cinq Cents installed itself therein under the Directoire. Bonaparte, returning from Egypt, arrived at Saint Cloud just as Lemercier was dissolving the Conseil. Seeing trouble ahead he commanded Murat to clear the chamber by drawn bayonets.
That is a touch of real truth, and so of a true morality, where Tata, the fashionable courtesan, leaning over her stairs as Toto the school-boy bears off her elderly lover, and laughing at him, cries out, "Toi, mon petit homme, je te repincerai dans quatre ou cinq ans!"
For a moment I was awed by the aristocratic magnificence of balloons. How superb, how reckless! Very humbly I appealed to her, "Pouvez-vous, voulez-vous me donner un ballon?" "Les ballons, ca ne se donne pas apres cinq heures," she said. I didn't press her. How could I? By how many thousands of years of tradition might not the habits of balloons have been fixed?
But to the left, through the chink of the ill-fitting door, there was nothing to be seen but the forest, and the road dying under the snow. Brandy was good at the Cinq Chateaux and Pierre L'Oreillard gave Hyacinthe plenty of directions, but no further help with the cabinet.
They said: "The bonnet rouge!-that's Monseigneur; 'quarante onces! that's Cinq- Mars; 'tout finira! that's De Thou. What a providential incident! His Eminence reigns over the future as over the present."
Mary lay awake in her upper berth, longing to look out, and thrilling to musical cries of big baritone voices at the few stops the train made: "Di-jon-n, cinq minutes d'arrêt! Ma-con-n, cinq minutes d'ar-rêt! Ly-on, dix minutes d'a-rr-êt!"
While confined to my sofa and forbidden my pen, I have been reading a good deal: 1st, Cinq Mars, a French novel, with which I think you would be charmed, because I am; 2nd, The Collegians, in which there is much genius and strong drawing of human nature, but not elegant: terrible pictures of the passions, and horrible, breathless interest, especially in the third volume, which never flags till the last huddled twenty pages.
"Je suis pere de famille!... Je suis un soldat de France!... Dans les tranchees pour cinq mois!... Qu'est-ce que mes camarades vont dire, 'cre nom de Dieu? et mon capitaine? C'est emmordant apres toute ma service comme brave soldat. Mais, quoi donc, mon vieux!" "Viens donc, saligaud," growled the agent de police. The crowd was against the policeman.
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