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Updated: June 14, 2025
"La reine lui répondit par un sourire de pitié, et lui demanda s'il était fou.... C'est par la reine elle-même que, le lendemain de cette étrange scène, je fus instruit de tous les détails que je viens de rapporter." BERTRAND DE MOLEVILLE, i., p. 126.
During all the first part of the service he neither saw nor heard, but did his work mechanically like one in a dream; and in every pause of it the old chant recurred to him, filling his heart with a separate undercurrent of solemn supplication, now in French: "Agneau de Dieu, qui effacez les peches du monde, ayez pitie de nous," and now in Latin: "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis."
One day, as I was sitting before the samovár at a posting-station on the T highway, waiting for horses, I suddenly heard, under the open window of the station-room, a hoarse voice uttering in French: "Monsieur ... monsieur ... prenez pitié d'un pauvre gentilhomme ruiné!".... I raised my head and looked.... The kazák cap with the fur peeled off, the broken cartridge-pouches on the tattered Circassian coat, the dagger in a cracked sheath, the bloated but still rosy face, the dishevelled but still thick hair.... My God!
The French flag swung forth on the parapet, the French shout rose to heaven. Meanwhile a strange sight was to be seen the St. Michael in shining armour, who had led that assault, shedding tears for the ferocious Classidas, who had cursed her with his last breath. "J'ai grande pitie de ton ame." Had he but had time to clear his soul and reconcile himself with God!
That which has always gone most to the tender heart: a country torn in pieces, brother fighting against brother, the invader seated at the native hearth, and blood and fire making the smiling land a desert: "la pitie qui estoit au royaume de France." Did the Inquisitor break down here? Could no one go on? or was it mere human incompetence to feel the divine touch?
Only Emil laughed ruthlessly. Cet age est sans pitie that age knows no mercy Lafontaine has said already. Tucking his chin deeper than ever into his cravat and sullenly rolling his eyes, he was once more like a bird, an angry one too, a crow or a kite.
She knew the words, she knew the tune. She had sung them both herself often and often at home in France. She was a Child of Mary then and now? As the Tenor finished the last note of the phrase and paused, she clasped her hands convulsively, and gasped: "O mon Dieu! mon Dieu! ayez pitie de moi!"
On the occasion of a severe famine in Burgundy, she collected a band of her mendicant friends in a stable, and burned them all, saying that 'par pitié elle hauoit faict cela, considerant les peines que ces pauvres debuoient endurer en temps de si grande et tant estrange famine.
Then they all struck the attitudes for the closing tableau and in one last burst of music sang all together, "Mon Dieu, ayez pitié de moi" and "de lui" and "d'elle" and "de nous." Then the orchestra closed with a long roll of the kettle-drums, and the prima donna fainted into the arms of her confidante. The curtain fell. There was a roar of applause. The gallery whistled and stamped.
Mon Dieu, ayez pitié de lui." The soldiers of the watch were huddled together immediately back of him. They wore tin helmets, much too large, and green peplums, and repeated his words continually. The chorus itself was made up of citizens of the town; it was in a semicircle at the back of the stage the men on one side, the women on the other.
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