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Je crois rêver sous un ciel de féerie, l'âme encore grisée de ton premier baiser! And M. Cartel, lifting his head, broke in with the single electric cry of Julian the lover: 'Louise! Then, as if answering to the personal note, Jacqueline melted into Louise's sweet admission of absolute surrender: 'Quelle belle vie!
Not that his mind was less preoccupied with the drama. On the contrary, Champfleury, who went to see him in the Rue Fortunee, soon after his arrival in Paris, found him more bent on writing for the stage than ever. One idea of his now was to create a feerie, or sort of pantomime, sparkling throughout with wit. It was a trust scheme before the era of trusts.
It was an affair of four-and-twenty hours of less than four-and-twenty hours, for all passed between eight in the morning and midnight, the day after their arrival in Paris. Imagine a sort of little 'feerie', in three acts, of which the success increases from tableau to tableau: 1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with the two marvellous grooms imported from America. 2d.
I "dunched" my brother, who lay beside me, with my elbow. "Go an' see if oul Hughie's livin' or dead," I said. "Ye cudn't kill 'im," he said. "How d'ye know?" "I heerd a quare story about 'im last night!" "Where?" "In th' barber's shop." "Is he a feerie?" "No." "What is he?" "Close yer thrap an' lie still!" Somebody opened the door and walked in. I slid into my clothes and climbed down.
Then it was I first beheld that extraordinary veteran of the stage, Mademoiselle Pierson, almost immemorially attached, for later generations, to the Théâtre Français, the span of whose career thus strikes me as fabulous, though she figured as a very juvenile beauty in the small féerie or allegory forming M. Ponsard's second act.
"Yer spakin' ov clothes, Jamie; I'm spakin' ov mind, an' ye wor behind th' doore whin th' wor givin' it out, but begorra, Anna was at th' head ov th' class, an' that's no feerie story, naither, is it, me bhoy?" At the head of Pogue's entry, Bob Dougherty, Tommy Wilson, Sam Manderson, Lucinda Gordon and a dozen others stopped for a "partin' crack." The kettle was boiling on the chain.
It was not far from here that Louise and Julien kept house when they were interrupted by Louise's mother, and it was looking down over these lights that they swore those eternal vows, ending with Louise's "C'est une Féerie!" and Julien's "Non, c'est la vie!"
To the Cirque d'Été, the Cirque d'Hiver, the Théâtre du Cirque we were on occasion conducted we had fallen so to the level of circuses, and that name appeared a safety; in addition to which the big theatre most bravely bearing it, the especial home at that time of the glittering and multitudinous féerie, did seem to lift the whole scenic possibility, for our eyes, into a higher sphere of light and grace than any previously disclosed.
Donizetti, as we have seen, enriched the repertory of opera buffa with several masterpieces of gay and brilliant vivacity, but few of the lighter works of his contemporaries deserve permanent record. The story is a happy combination of farce and féerie. Crispino, a half-starved cobbler, is about to throw himself into a well, when La Comare, a fairy, rises from it and bids him desist.
It was an affair of four- and-twenty hours of less than four-and-twenty hours, for all passed between eight in the morning and midnight, the day after their arrival in Paris. Imagine a sort of little 'feerie', in three acts, of which the success increases from tableau to tableau: 1st. A ride at ten in the morning in the Bois, with the two marvellous grooms imported from America. 2d.
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