The spam of the day award goes to this gem. I’m not sure the point, but it did make me giggle.
O’Donnell’s Tempest in a Tea Party Pot Groups mount new challenge to Ruby Pipeline plan Helena, repeated several times, was never accepted by Napoleon. She died in 1825 at Florence, from consumption, reconciled to her husband, from whom she had been separated since 1807. She was buried at Sta Maria Maggiore, Rome. Elisa, the eldest sister of Napoleon, the former Grand Duchess of Tuscany, which Duchy she had ruled well, being a woman of considerable talent, was the first of all to die. In 1814 she had been forced to fly from her Government, and, accompanied by her husband, she had attempted to reach France. Finding herself cut off by the Austrians; she took shelter with Augereaus army, and then returned to Italy. She took the title of Comtesse de Campignana, and retired to Trieste, near which town, at the Chateau of Sant Andrea, under a wearisome surveillance, she expired in 1820, watched by her husband, Felix Baeciocchi, and her sister Caroline. Her monument is in the Bacciocchi Chapel in San Petronio, Bologna. Caroline, the wife of Murat, was the only one of the family untrue to Napoleon. Dewyl de schepen eerst na twee dagen zee moesten kiezen, was ik zeer gereed om dezelven met deeze gevoelige vrouw door te brengen, het geen haar moed scheen in te boezemen: maar, helaas!wy betaalden deeze al te korte oogenblikken zeer duur. Naauwlyks waren er eenige uuren verloopen, toen een matroos my eensklaps kwam kennis geven, dat een sloep my wagte, om oogenblikkelyk aan boord te gaan. De moeder van JOANNA nam het kind, dat in de armen van haare dochter rustte, terwyl de laatstgemelde door Mevrouw GODEFROY ondersteund wierd. Haare broeders en zusters omringden my, den Hemel deszelfs bystand voor my afsmeekende, en eene treurige klaagstem opheffende. De ongelukkige JOANNA, een meisje van slechts negentien jaaren oud, de oogen op my gevestigd houdende, drukte my met kragt de hand. Zy kon niet spreeken, haar geest was verwilderd; maar de tyd was daar! Ik drukte haar met drift tegen mynen boezem, en nam één van haare hairlokken. There flowed the many-bridged winding river, always the same way, unlike our tidal Thames, and always full; just beyond it was spread that stately, exclusive suburb, the despair of the newly rich and recently ennobled, where almost every other house bore a name which read like a page of French history; and farther still the merry, wicked Latin quarter and the grave Sorbonne, the Pantheon, the Garden of Plants; on the hither side, in the middle distance, the Louvre, where the kings of France had dwelt for centuries; the Tuileries, where the King of the French dwelt then, and just for a little while yet.Well I knew and loved it all; and most of all I loved it when the sun was setting at my back, and innumerable distant windows reflected the blood-red western flame. It seemed as though half Paris were on fire, with the cold blue east for a background.
[Crossposted from Adam Israel. If you'd like to comment, you can do so either here or there.]