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The novelists and dramatists whom Balzac made earliest acquaintance with were probably those whose works were appearing and attracting notice during his school-days Pigault-Lebrun, Ducray-Duminil, and that Guilbert de Pixerecourt who for a third of the nineteenth century was worshipped as the Corneille of melodrama.
One day she met the Count. She clasped her hands as if in prayer, and cried: 'My lord, have mercy! Burchard the Wolf turned away his head and passed on. She might have humbled his pride had she gone to her spinning-wheel again, but she did nothing of the sort. Not long after she learnt that Guilbert had left the country.
André Raffalovich states just that difference so subtly that I must quote it to help out my interpretation: If you want hearty laughter, country mirth Or frantic gestures of an acrobat, Heels over head or floating lace skirts worth I know not what, a large eccentric hat And diamonds, the gift of some dull boy Then when you see her do not wrong Yvette, Because Yvette is not a clever toy, A tawdry doll in fairy limelight set ... And should her song sound cynical and base At first, herself ungainly, or her smile Monotonous wait, listen, watch her face: The sufferings of those the world calls vile She sings, and as you watch Yvette Guilbert, You too will shiver, seeing their despair.
"If it were easy to find, the glory would be so much the less. I can but hope that I shall have the vision to see it when it is near me." "I wish you well," Sir Guilbert made answer. "Now let us repair to the dining hall for the meal waits." It was after they had eaten that Sir Galahad found the opportunity to hold speech with the youth, Charles.
If they who sometimes sat over their wine in Coralio, reshaping old, diverting stories of the madcap career of Isabel Guilbert, could have seen the wife of Frank Goodwin that afternoon in the estimable aura of her happy wifehood, they might have disbelieved, or have agreed to forget, those graphic annals of the life of the one for whom their president gave up his country and his honour.
"A year," he answered simply, "just a year." He looked down at the child, then stooped, caught him up in his arms and said: "He's grown. Es-tu gentiment?" he added to the child "es-tu gentiment, m'sieu'?" The child did not quite understand. "Please?" it said in true Jersey fashion at which the mother was troubled. "O Guilbert, is that what you should say?" she asked.
Goodwin took off his hat and seated himself, with his characteristic deliberate ease, upon a corner of the table. He held a lighted cigar between his fingers. He took this familiar course because he was sure that preliminaries would be wasted upon Miss Guilbert. He knew her history, and the small part that the conventions had played in it. "Good evening," he said.
Thierry in Considerations sur l'histoire de France, p. 196, ed. 12mo. A. Luchaire, Les Communes francaises, pp, 45-46. Guilbert de Nogent, De vita sua, quoted by Luchaire, l.c., p. 14. Lebret, Histoire de Venise, i. 393; also Marin, quoted by Leo and Botta in Histoire de l'Italie, French edition, 1844, t. i 500. Dr.
"You are wasting time, Monsieur," he interrupted. "M. de Canaples will not see you. He bids you close the door, Guilbert." "Pardieu! he shall see me!" "The door, Guilbert!" I took a step forward, but before I could gain the threshold, the door was slammed in my face, and as I stood there, quivering with anger and disappointment, I heard the bolts being shot within. I turned with an oath.
There is something automatic in all fine histrionic genius, and I find some of the charm of the automaton in Yvette Guilbert. The real woman, one fancies, is the slim bright-haired girl who looks so pleased and so amused when you applaud her, and whom it pleases to please you, just because it is amusing.
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