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Updated: June 6, 2025
The Roi s'amuse had its time; but the il bondo can of some here, at times, beats that of the Italina in Algero. The two letters of Greeley to the President show that the old, indomitable lion begins to awake. As to Mr. Lincoln's answer, it reads badly, and as for all the rest, it is the eternal dodging of a vital question. Mr. Lincoln's equanimity, although not so stoical, is unequalled.
Stunned by this terrible charge Madame de Villefort fell to the floor; she no longer dared to deny the accusation, and was oppressed by a feeling of deep despair. "Every crime, madame," continued the procureur du roi, "has its penalty; yours will be the scaffold. This expiation, however, would be as terrible for me as for you. Fate has left you to pay for your deeds by your own hand.
First came Henri III., pale, almost bald, although he was at that time only thirty-five, and with a somber expression, always a mystery to his subjects, who, when they saw him appear, never knew whether to say "Vive le Roi!" or to pray for his soul. He was dressed in black, without jewels or orders, and a single diamond shone in his cap, serving as a fastening to three short plumes.
There was something fine about the faces collectively; there was a certain look of tried endurance and perils bravely borne. I heard those on furlough telling the names of their home villages to the officer in charge, pleasant old names, Saint-Pierre aux Vignes, La Tour du Roi.
Such we have shown to be the great lesson inculcated by the Lottery, when rightly contemplated; and if we might parody M. de Châteaubriand's jingling expression, "Le Roi est mort: vive le Roi!" we should be tempted to exclaim, "The Lottery is no more: long live the Lottery!" The foregoing article, as the reader may possibly remember, was not Lamb's only contribution to the "New Monthly Magazine."
There is M. Roi the "Poet," as he was then reckoned; jingling Roi, who concocts satirical calumnies; who collects old ones, reprints the same, and sends Travenol, an Opera-Fiddler, to vend them. From which sprang a Lawsuit, PROCES-TRAVENOL, of famous melancholy sort. As Voltaire had rather the habit of such sad melancholy Lawsuits, we will pause on this of Travenol for a moment:
Ah! there at last loomed the great building, the pointed bastions cut through the surrounding gloom as with a sable knife. Armand reached the gate; the sentinels challenged him; he replied: "Vive le roi!" shouting wildly like one who is drunk. He was hatless, and his clothes were saturated with moisture. He tried to pass, but crossed bayonets barred the way.
The defeated Confederates gained new courage, the victorious Royalists were beginning to waver, when suddenly, between the hostile lines, in the very midst of the battle, the king gallopped forward, bareheaded, covered with blood and dust, but entirely unhurt. A wild shout of "Vive le Roi!" rang through the air.
This Order was under the protection of St. Nicholas de Bari, whose image hung to the collar. Henry III. found the Order of St. Michael prostituted and degraded, during the civil wars; he therefore joined it to his new Order of the St. Esprit, and gave them both together; for which reason every knight of the St. Esprit is now called Chevalier des Ordres du Roi.
The white narcissi lying on the grass, and preparing to die sweetly, like sacrificed maiden-victims of the flower-world, could turn true faces to the God who made them, but the men at that particular moment of time had no real features ready for God's inspection, only masks. "C'est mon metier d'etre Roi!" So said one of the many dead and gone martyrs on the rack of sovereignty.
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