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"Expound," quoth Frank, who was really ready to swallow any fresh marvel, so many had he seen already. "Why, how else would those two bronze statues dare to go to sea in such a cockleshell, eh? Have I given you the dor now, master courtier!" "I am long past dors, Will. But what noble creatures they are! and how fearlessly they are coming alongside!
The little girl at the other end of the bench rolled her big eyes toward them with indifference, continuing to croon to her doll: "Dors, mon enfant; dors, dors; ta mère est allée au bal.... Dors, mon enfant, dors; ta mère est au théâtre.... Tais-toi; tais-toi; ta mère dîne au restaurant.... Dors, ma chérie, dors."
When I wanted to publish my little French compositions Dors, mon enfant, and the music to Hugo's Attente and Ronsard's Mignonne Lewald not only sent me a small fee the first I had ever received for a composition but commissioned some long articles on my Paris impressions, which he begged me to write as entertainingly as possible.
The queen was singing, and the tones of her soulful voice resound still in my heart. The song was this: 'Dors, mon enfant, clos ta paupiere, Tes cris me dechirent le coeur: Dors, mon enfant, ta pauvre mere A bien assez de sa douleur. And while she sang she turned her head toward her son, who listened to her motionless and as if enchanted.
Anders brought a very innocent Dors, mon enfant, written by a young poet of his acquaintance; this was the first thing I composed to a French text. It was so successful that, when I had tried it over softly several times on the piano, my wife, who was in bed, called out to me that it was heavenly for sending one to sleep.
Allez obscurement eclaircir vos misteres, Et courez dans l'ecole adorer vos chimeres. Il est d'autres erreurs, il est de ces devots Condamne par eux memes a l'ennui du repos. Ce mystique encloitre, fier de son indolence Tranquille, au sein de Dieu. Que peut il faire? Il pense. Non, tu ne penses point, miserable, tu dors: Inutile a la terre, et mis au rang des morts.
This led my husband to write to me sometimes from London, after a hard day's work: "Here is a very short note, but I am like our donkey, je dors debout." The editor of the "Saturday Review" asked Mr. Hamerton to be present at the opening of the Paris Exhibition of 1867, and to write a series of articles on the works of art exhibited; then to proceed to London for a review of the Academy.
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