Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 22, 2025
It was the first time she had ever raised her voice in the councils. "Oh, indeed!" said Goldberg, bowing with ridicule: "Since when did her serene highness make you her confidante?" "Her serene highness told me so herself." Gretchen's eyes, which had held only mildness and good-will, now sparkled with contempt.
"I am not going to let you pass till I have had a kiss." "Ah!" Battle flamed up in Gretchen's eyes. Somewhere in the past, in some remote age, her forebears had been men-at-arms or knights in the crusades. "You are very hard to please. Some women " "But what kind of women?" bitingly. "Not such as I should care to meet. Will you let me by peacefully?" "After the toll, after the toll!"
'She is surely Gretchen's daughter, and Arthur's, too, he would say to himself, as he, too, detected in her face the likeness to his brother, which had so startled Jerrie in the mirror.
Once I had undertaken this journey with Gretchen's cousins, when a young man joined us at table in Hochst, who might be a little older than we were. They knew him, and he got himself introduced to me. He had something very pleasing in his manner, though he was not otherwise distinguished.
"I do not; I love no one in the sense you mean. It was not written that I should love any man." "Gretchen, who are you, and what have you done?" "What have I done? Nothing! Who am I? Nobody!" "Is that the only answer you can give?" "It is the only answer I will give." There was something in Gretchen's face which awed me. It was power and resolution, two things man seldom sees in a woman's face.
The steins clicked crisply in Gretchen's arms; one of them fell and broke at her feet. Gretchen, troubled in heart and mind over the strange event of the night, walked slowly home, her head inclined, her arms swinging listlessly at her side. A spy, this man to whom she had joyously given the flower of her heart and soul? There was some mistake; there must be some mistake.
"Think of Gretchen's mother, old Barbara; she does not complain of the goître; though she has to bear it under her chin, she tries to keep it out of sight. I wish you would do the same with your clumsiness. There, go and change your clothes, go, you unlucky child, go!"
And through much of the volume of 1863, in the verses to "My Godson," or in the charming poem to Loulou, the little girl who at five years old, daisy in hand, had sworn him eternal friendship over Gretchen's game of "Er liebt mich liebt mich nicht," one hears the same tender note.
MM. Michel Carre and Jules Barbier, who made the book for Gounod's opera "Faust," went for their subject to Goethe's dramatic poem. Out of that great work, which had occupied the mind of the German poet for an ordinary lifetime, the French librettists extracted the romance which sufficed them the story of Gretchen's love for the rejuvenated philosopher, her seduction and death.
She could just fancy how Gretchen's eyes would glisten as she talked to her in her mother tongue, while little Hans' shyness would vanish under the genial influence of Pompey's sympathetic companionship, and he would clap his hands with delight as Brutus and Caesar drew them under the arches of evergreen beauty, bending low beneath their ermine robes, while the silver bells broke the hush of silence which dwelt among the forest halls with a subdued melody and then rang out joyously as they emerged into the open, where the sun shone bright and clothed denuded twigs and trees in the bewitching beauty of a silver thaw.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking