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His reply, and the ensuing conversation, are thus reported by Boschini, in curious Italian verse, which, thus translated by Dr. Donaldson, is quoted in Mr. Stirling's Life of Velasquez: "Diego answered thus: 'I saw in Venice The true test of the good and beautiful; First in my judgment, ever stands that school, And Titian first of all Italian men is." "Tizian ze quel die porta la bandiera"
They seemed to be afflicted with the same idea as "Quel Pays." "Ah, monsieur et dame," said they, "quel pays." We asked them how things were. "We have just come from Prizren. The Serbs are in a dreadful condition. All the roads are covered with starving and dying people. The troops are eating dead horses and roots. There have been violent snow blizzards all over the mountains.
We shifted the burden on to other shoulders; you see a dead body's a matter of two hundred roubles, as sure as ninepence. Mr. Pyenotchkin laughed heartily at his agent's cunning, and said several times to me, indicating him with a nod, 'Quel gaillard, eh! Meantime it was quite dark out of doors; Arkady Pavlitch ordered the table to be cleared, and hay to be brought in.
"Well, I suppose plenty of cash puts a man in good humor, and therefore in good condition," he replied. "But my dear fellow, you are dressed for dinner quel preux chevalier! I am positively unfit to be in your company! You insisted that I should come to you directly, on my arrival, but I really must change my apparel.
When I first began to open my eyes, it was with so perplexed, so weak and dead a sight, that I could yet distinguish nothing but only discern the light: "Come quel ch'or apre, or'chiude Gli occhi, mezzo tra'l sonno e l'esser desto." Tasso, Gierus. As to the functions of the soul, they advanced with the same pace and measure with those of the body.
To-night we are going to a concert, and I've found out that there's a really fine course of lectures to be given soon on "Literary Tendencies," or something like that. Quel chance. Landry is intensely interested. You've no idea what a deep mind he has, Laura a real thinker. "'But here's really a big piece of news.
"Je ne le crois fas, Monsieur." "O God's name!" he shouted. "What a fool, quel idiot, what a beastly fool!" And he did something through his froth-covered lips, something remotely suggesting laughter. Hereupon the Surveillant again intervened. I was mistaken. It was lamentable. I could not be made to understand. Very true.
It was said by a critic of the last century, not wisely though agreeably to the practice of his time, that poetry rejoices in abstractions. For Rossetti, as for Dante, without question on his part, the first condition of the poetic way of seeing and presenting things is particularisation. "Tell me now," he writes, for Villon's Dictes-moy où, n'en quel pays, Est Flora, la belle Romaine
He was tall, largely built, with massive head, dark hair beginning to turn grey, sanguine, embrowned complexion, very dark eyes, fine, soft, yet penetrating. 'Quel bel homme! quel homme magnifique! the French would exclaim in talking of him. In his features might be remarked that indefinable expression which belongs to the practised advocate.
He compares the noise of a tremendous battle heard in the neighbourhood to the sound of the cataracts of the Nile: "un alto suon ch' a quel s' accorda Con che i vicin' cadendo il Nil assorda." He "scourges" ships at sea with tempests say rather the "miserable seamen;" while night-time grows blacker and blacker on the "exasperated waters."
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