The Bibelot, Volume 12, Issues 1-2

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T. B. Mosher., 1906 - Literature
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Page 72 - LET us forget we loved each other much, Let us forget we ever have to part ; Let us forget that any look or touch Once let in either to the other's heart. Only we '11 sit upon the daisied grass, And hear the larks and see the swallows pass; Only we '11 live awhile, as children play, Without to-morrow, without yesterday.
Page 15 - ... the Infidels. The Cardinal, his uncle, engages Diego, a Spaniard of Moorish descent, and a most expert singer and player on the virginal, to win access to his Highness's confidence ; to understand and compass the Duke's strange malady. The Duke's moodiness is marked by abhorrence of all womankind. And the mere name of his young cousin and affianced bride, Princess Hippolyta, throws him into paroxysms of rage. Diego is told that the Duke is of those who are apt to love once, and, as the poets...
Page 26 - But as the wayfarer from out of the snow and wind feels his limbs numb and frozen in the hearth's warmth, so, having learned that one might speak, be understood, be comforted, that one might love and be beloved, — the misery of loneliness was revealed to me. And then to be driven back into it once more, shut in to it for ever ! Oh, Madam, when one can no longer claim understanding and comfort ; no longer say " I suffer : help me ! " — because the creature one would say it to is the very same...
Page 27 - What are such things to me ? And as to understanding my sorrows, no one can, save the very one who is inflicting them. Besides, you and I call different things by the same names. What you call love, to me means nothing : nonsense taught to children, priest's metaphysics. What / mean, you do not know. (A pause, DIEGO walks up and down in agitation).
Page 43 - Stale ! My love grown stale ! You make me laugh, boy, instead of angering. Stale ! You never knew her. She was not like a song- — even your sweetest song — which, heard too often, cloys, its phrases dropping to senseless notes. She was like music, — the whole art: new modes, new melodies, new rhythms, with every day and hour, passionate or sad, or gay, or very quiet ; more wondrous notes than in thy voice ; and more strangely sweet, even when they grated, than the tone of those newfangled fiddles,...
Page 13 - CARDINAL remains for a second turning over a letter, and then reads through the magnify ing- glass out loud. CARDINAL. Ah, here is the sentence : " Diego, a Spaniard of Moorish descent, and a most expert singer and player on the virginal, whom I commend to your Eminence's favour as entirely fitted for such services as your revered letter makes mention of " Good, good. The CARDINAL folds the...
Page 43 - ... saying that perhaps Magdalen realised that his love was turning stale and therefore set him free, the Duke breaks into passionate outburst : "Stale! My love grown stale ? You make me laugh, boy, instead of angering. Stale ! you never knew her. She was not like a song — even your sweetest song. . . . She was like music — the whole art : new modes, new melodies, new rhythms with every day and hour, passionate, or sad, or gay, or very quiet. . . . DIEGO. You loved her then sincerely ? DUKE....
Page 17 - ... young cousin and affianced bride, Princess Hippolyta, throws him into paroxysms of rage. Diego is told that the Duke is of those who are apt to love once, and, as the poets say, to die of love ; Diego is to keep to his part of singer, and not to let the Duke suspect anything. He is to be a mere singing creature, having seen passion, but never felt it, yet capable by the miracle of art of rousing it and soothing it afterwards. Now Diego is in reality none other than Magdalen, a courtesan, whom...
Page 29 - DIEGO'S last words, and remains reflecting. DUCHESS. Then, it is he who, as you call it, spurns you ? How so ? For you are admitted to his close familiarity ; nay, you have worked the miracle of curing him. I do not understand the situation. For, Diego, — I know not by what other name to call you — I feel your sorrow is a deep one. You are not the woman who would despair and call God cruel for a mere lover's quarrel. You love my son ; you have cured him, — cured him, do I guess rightly, through...
Page 20 - ... small irregular chamber ; the vaulted ceiling painted with Giottesque patterns in blue and russet, much blackened, and among which there is visible only a coronation of the Virgin, white and visionlike. Shelves with a few books and phials and jars of medicine ; a small movable organ in a corner ; and in front of the ogival window a prayingchair and large crucifix. The crucifix is black against the landscape, against the grey and misty waters of the lake ; and framed by the nearly leafless branches...

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