#7 January 1800

[rabbitcruiser]

Millard Fillmore, American soldier, lawyer, and politician, 13th President of the United States, was born on January 7, 1800.  

[coochiequeens]

Ladies please share to spread the word about two exhibits featuring women artists in two different cities

Artemisia Gentileschi, Self Portrait as Saint Catherine of Alexandria (ca. 1615–17). Collection of the National Gallery, London.

Renaissance art calls to mind some of the greatest names in art history—Da Vinci, Raphael, Michelangelo, and Donatello, just to name a few. Lesser known, however, are the influential women artists who shaped the era.

Referring to a period that bridged the end of the Middle Ages and early Modernism, the Renaissance was marked by a widespread effort to recover and advance the accomplishments of classical antiquity. Originating in Florence, Italy, but soon spreading throughout Europe, Renaissance art saw the advent of advanced linear perspective and an increase in realism. Many women artists—famous in their own time—were among these great visionaries.

Though for centuries, these women artists were largely overlooked in the annals of art history, contemporary scholarship has begun a long overdue reappraisal and rediscovery of their lives and works. Evidence of this resurgence of interest in the women artists of the Renaissance can be seen in the two current major museum shows in the U.S. that are dedicated to just that. “Strong Women in Renaissance Italy” at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston brings together over 100 works from the 14th through early 17th century, exploring the lives and work of Italian women artists and is on view through January 7, 2024.  At the Baltimore Museum of Art, “Making Her Mark: A History of Women Artists in Europe, 1400–1800” is a sweeping exhibition that aims to rectify critical oversight and bring awareness to historical women artists, and is also on view through January 7, 2024,.

In light of these two important exhibitions, we’ve brought together a brief introduction to five Renaissance women artists whom we think you should know.

Plautilla Nelli (1524–1588)

Plautilla Nelli, St. Catherine with Lily (ca. 1550). Collection of Le Gallerie Degli Uffizi, Florence.

Plautilla Nelli was a nun of the Dominican order at the convent of St. Catherine of Siena in Florence—and is considered by many scholars to be the first-known woman artist of Renaissance Italy. A self-taught painter, Nelli led a women’s artist workshop from the convent, and she was one of the few women mentioned in Vasari’s seminal treatise Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors, and Architects. Because she developed her practice without formal training and was forbidden from studying male nudes, Nelli frequently copied works by other artists, as well as motifs from religious texts and sculpture.

Nelli’s work recently came into the limelight for her immense painting Last Supper, dating to 1568. Measuring over 21 feet long and 6 feet high, the painting remained in her convent’s refectory until the early 19th century, before being moved to another convent’s refectory and, ultimately, being placed in storage. Following an early 20th-century restoration and several more moves, it went on view to the public for the first time in over four centuries at the Santa Maria Novella Museum in 2019. Hanging alongside other masterworks by artists like Brunelleschi, it finally is getting the widespread recognition it deserves.

Catharina van Hemessen (1528–after 1565)

Catharina van Hemessen, Self-Portrait (1548). Collection of Kunstmuseum Basel.

Northern Renaissance painter Catharina van Hemessen was the daughter of prominent Mannerist painter Jan Sanders van Hemessen, and is the earliest Flemish woman painter with verified work that still exists today. Hailing from Antwerp, van Hemessen achieved success in her lifetime, including obtaining the patronage of Maria of Austria, regent of the Low Countries. She was included both in Vasari’s collection of artist biographies, as well as artist biographer Lodovico Guicciardini’s Description of the Low Countries (1567). Van Hemessen’s greatest claim to fame, however, is that she is attributed with completing the first known self-portrait of an artist at their easel—a compositional approach that has become a pillar of the art historical canon, as it has been taken up by artists ranging from Rembrandt van Rijn to Norman Rockwell.

Though she created religious images, she was most well known as a portraitist. Eight portraits and two religious compositions signed by van Hemessen have survived, dating between 1548 and 1552. Notably, there are no verifiable works dating to later than 1554, which have led scholars to believe she ceased painting following her marriage to organist Christian de Morien that year—though there are records she continued to teach three male apprentices.

Sofonisba Anguissola (ca. 1532–1625)

Sofonisba Anguissola, Self-portrait (ca. 1535–1625). Collection of Łańcut Castle Museum, Poland.

Sofonisba Anguissola was one of the most successful women artists of the Renaissance, with a reputation that rose to international acclaim in her lifetime. Born into a noble Milanese family, Anguissola was able to pursue her artistic aspirations with the support of her family, and began her formal training as a teenager; first apprenticing with Bernardino Campi for three years before working with Bernardino Gatti. Her position also allowed for her to become acquainted with Michelangelo, whom she exchanged drawings with. Her early career saw her complete numerous self-portraits as well as portraits of her sisters, including The Game of Chess (1555), which are noted for their realism and liveliness.

Sofonisba Anguissola, The Game of Chess (ca. 1555). Collection of the National Museum in Poznań, Poland.

Anguissola’s reputation as a painter quickly spread, and she was invited to join the court of King Philip II of Spain in Madrid in approximately 1559. Throughout her 14-year tenure there, she completed many official portraits of both members of the royal family and members of the court, adopting the formal and intricate style expected—though unfortunately, no work from this period survived due to a palace fire in the 18th century. Having garnered considerable royal favor, she ultimately spent the remainder of her life continuing to paint as well as teach and engage with young, up-and-coming artists. In 1624, one such young artist by the name of Anthony van Dyck visited Anguissola and recorded his visit in a series of sketches and noted that he learned more about the principles of painting from her than from anything else he had encountered.

Lavinia Fontana (1552–1614)

Lavinia Fontana, Self-portrait at the Spinet with Maid (1577). Collection of the Accademia Nazionale di San Luca, Rome.

Trained by her artist father Prospero Fontana, a teacher at the School of Bologna, Lavinia Fontana is considered the first professional woman artist insofar as she supported herself and her family solely on the income from her commissions. Unconventional for the time, her husband acted as her agent and took a primary role in childcare for their 11 children.  She began her commercial practice in her mid-twenties, creating small devotional paintings, but later began and excelled at creating portraits—and became a favorite of Bolognese noblewomen who vied for her services. Unusual for the period, she also created large-scale mythological or religious paintings that occasionally featured female nudes.

Lavinia Fontana, The Visit of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon (1599). Collection of the National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin.

In the early years of the 17th century, she was invited to Rome at the invitation of Pope Clement VIII and was soon appointed as an official portraitist at the Vatican, counting Pope Paul V as one of her sitters. Her career success continued to thrive, as evidenced by the numerous honors she received, and the bronze portrait medallion cast in her likeness by sculptor and architect Felice Antonio Casoni. She was also one of the first women elected to the Accademia di San Luca in Rome.

Artemisia Gentileschi (1593–1653)

Artemisia Gentileschi, Self-portrait as a Lute Player (ca. 1615–1618). Collection of the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art, Hartford.

Unlike many of her predecessors, Artemisia Gentileschi has maintained a level of renown over the centuries, with her dramatic and dynamic oeuvre that was unprecedented in her own time. Her Baroque compositions helped usher in a new era of painting. Today, her paintings draw the attention of global audiences. Born in Rome, her father was the painter Orazio Gentileschi, who trained Artemisia starting at an early age. Inspired greatly by the work of Caravaggio and his use of high-contrast compositions, her paintings garnered and maintained attention for their naturalism and nuance, as they broke from the idealism of generations past.

Artemisia Gentileschi, Judith and Her Maidservant with the Head of Holofernes (ca. 1623–1625). Collection of the Detroit Institute of Arts.

In 1612, Gentileschi relocated to Florence, which is where she first achieved major career success, including securing patronage from the House of Medici and being the first woman to attend the Accademia delle Arti del Disegno. From her oeuvre, Gentileschi has become most well-known for her self-portraits as well as religious scenes, specifically the story of Judith Beheading Holofernes—of which there are at least six known variations she completed. Gentileschi’s tendency to portray women as the protagonists of her works—and as equals to their male counterparts—made her innovative in her time and has subsequently secured her legacy as one of the most influential artists within Western art history—of either sex.

[scotianostra]

On March 3rd 1883 three hundred inhabitants of the remote Shetland island of Foula were on the point of starvation as the first supply boat of the year reached the stormbound community.

Foula, often described as the "Edge Of The World" is our most remote inhabited island. It is situated in the Atlantic Ocean approximately 20 miles to the west of the Shetland mainland. It is an island of crofting townships, breath-taking sheer cliff drops, and a wealth of wild flowers and wildlife.

Over a century ago, in 1881, Foula had a population of 267, mostly employed in fishing...at the last census in 2001 that figure had dropped to just 38.

On March 3rd 1883 the Shetland Times published this;

The Weather and Mails – Foula

Nine weeks have now expired since our last mail was landed, and all our resources are almost exhausted. Sugar and tobacco have been all done for more than a fortnight, and tea, coffee, etc, are now done also. Those who had a little meal to spare have helped those who had none, a thing often done in Foula, but if the weather does not moderate we will soon be all alike. The boat has been in readiness now for some time to go to Walls for supplies, and as the weather has become a little more moderate today they are going to make a start, so we hope that they may get safe through, and a chance to return again soon. But we doubt if the mail boat will be able to cross today yet, as the wind still inclines to the westward.

There isn’t much more than this about their plight, but it seems that same day they breathed a sigh of relief as a boat must have made it to Mainland and back successfully.

Today crofting as well as fishing are the main activities, half the population living at Hametoun in the south east and the remainder to be found at Ham near Ham Voe on the east coast. The island is not connected to any mainland electricity grid system. In 1987 a community electricity scheme was constructed, comprising a 3.3kV island grid which linked diesel generators, a wind turbine and a hydroelectricity scheme to the island’s properties. This scheme gradually fell into disrepair and has undergone a major refurbishment, funded primarily through grants.

Before refurbishment, the entire island's power was supplied by one of the two diesel generators which operated between approximately 7.20am and 00.30am. That’s not to say they were without power for the, just under 7 hours the generator is off, a battery/inverter system was installed between 2006 and January 2007, a solar charging array helps top up the batteries as well . The system was fully commissioned at the beginning of March 2007 and already the islanders not only have continuous power ( instead of the previous 17 hours per day) but are noticing considerable savings in diesel fuel use. Since diesel has to be shipped in by ferry (and often the weather is too bad for the ferry to run for up to 3 weeks on end) this of huge value.

An interesting feature of the island's people is that they still observe the old Julian calendar, replaced in 1752 in Britain by the present Gregorian system which deleted 11 days from the year. Remote areas of the country kept to the old calendar, adding an extra day in 1800, which was a leap year, and some parts of Shetland continued to observe festivals 12 days after the dates in the new calendar. The most remote areas kept to the old calendar longest, and the people of Foula still celebrate Christmas on 6 January and New Year's Day on 13 January

Travel to the island is by sea or air and is completely dependent on suitable weather conditions.

A wee bit more, and a short video can be found at the link below.

[transhuman-priestess]

A High Place in El-Bariyah

The crew of the Huntington grieves the loss of one of their own, while a malevolent force in a distant corner of the solar system forges its newest weapon.

The highly anticipated continuation of The New Flesh is here.

This story contains graphic violence, sexual content, depictions of surgery, brainwashing, identity death, dismemberment, implied rape, abusive parents, firearms, anti-queer slurs, and healthily moderated but melancholy consumption of alcohol.

As always, this story is for adults 18 years of age or older, it's also the third in an ongoing series. Get caught up before you read it!

Chapter 1: The New Flesh Chapter 2: The Third Law

Remember, if you like it, reblog it, and tell me what you liked! I thrive on feedback and shares. I write this stuff for the joy of sharing it with others. Your reblog puts validation directly into my gay little soul.

January 24, 2253 1800 Earth UTC

The Hildas, 530 million kilometers from Jupiter

7 hours. It had been 7 hours since the Huntington had escaped her assailants, and Chester Silvera, First Mate, hadn’t seen the Captain in 6.

He’d just gotten out of the shower. The entire crew was in shock. Most of them had served with Jenna Powell for years. She was their friend, and despite the frequent clashes between her and Holder, Silvera knew that the crew respected and liked both of them.

Silvera surveyed his quarters, a moderately-sized suite of around 20 square meters, containing a modest bed, a small galley, a lavatory, and the shower he had just vacated. The Huntington’s crew accommodations were far from palatial, but they were home.

Chester walked to his dresser, donned a black band T-shirt (The Carowells, Jovian Tour 2250), khaki shorts, and sneakers. He grabbed his portable radio off the table, clipped the handset to his belt and the remote mic to his collar. It chirped reassuringly as he turned it on.

Keying the mic he said, “This is Silvera, anyone seen the Captain?”

A moment later, Jill Campbell’s voice crackled to life on the speaker. “Door logs say she’s still in her quarters. Her radio’s off, want me to ring her?”

“No, I’ll just walk right over, thank you.”

“No problem.”

He opened the door to the hallway outside. The corridor was well-lit, and lined with short-pile navy blue carpet and fake-wood-grained wall paneling that had probably been quite fashionable 20 years ago, but now gave the ship a hopelessly outdated look. Chester actually quite liked it. The old girl was past her prime, but she had a sense of style, and you had to admire her for that.

Holder’s quarters were 10 meters down the hall, on the same side as Silvera’s, adjacent to the bridge entrance. Between their rooms was a corridor that led to the now-vacated Engineer’s quarters, the mess hall, the rec room, and the crew dormitories. As he passed the hallway, Silvera caught a glimpse of Powell’s door. It was closed, and unadorned. He thought about peering inside, but decided that wasn’t his place, and instead he continued to Holder’s room.

Silvera knocked a syncopated pattern on the Captain’s door, and was greeted with a dull, “Enter.”

He turned the knob and swung the door open to reveal the darkened bedroom beyond. A window faced out towards space, looking aft over the ore holds. The #3 bay was still open, its massive door blocking the view of the engines’ yellow-white exhaust plumes.

The captain was lying in her bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t shaved her face yet today, and her stubble was creeping in. Silvera never liked to say anything, but he always thought it gave Holder a dashing, roguish look. Right now though, she just looked exhausted.

“Can’t sleep?” Silvera asked, casually, as if this were a normal cruise under normal circumstances, and he had not a care in the solar system.

Holder just lay there, still staring at the ceiling. Silvera waited for her response. When none came, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure,” was all she said.

He turned the lights on to their lowest setting and closed the door behind him. This was the first time he’d managed to get a good look at the captain’s quarters. She hadn’t yet put up any decorations, but she had managed to situate a small bookshelf, her favorite armchair, and a small table that currently held a laptop terminal.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Silvera joked, “Feels just like home.”

“Chester,” said Holder, without looking at him, “can you fucking not right now?”

Silvera smiled, though Holder didn’t see that. He knew his captain, and he knew he had to get her on her feet to keep her out of trouble. Holder was a problem-solver. She needed dirt on the tires and grease on her hands or she got restless. With the ship moving and no burn scheduled for another 10 days, Silvera had to become that problem.

“Terry, the crew needs to hear something from you,” he said, “They’ve just been through hell. They’ve lost a friend. Now they need a leader.”

“Some fucking leader.” was Holder’s bitter reply.

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” he said, “It’s not your fault Powell didn’t put the tether on.”

“Tell that to the court martial.” the captain said, rolling to face away from him.

“I will,” he said, “and so will the rest of the crew.”

Holder sat up and looked at him, “Are you sure about that? They knew her for years. They met me last month. You don’t have to be a physicist to figure that one out, Chester.”

“The crew will stand by their captain.”

Holder stood now, apparently she’d lay down to sleep in her blue khaki work uniform, “Why? Why will they stand by me? I got Powell killed, Chester. She is dead, because, I fucked up.”

“And how did you do that, hmm?” he asked, “By not breathing down her neck and by treating her like a responsible member of the crew?”

“Chester,” Holder’s voice got louder and she began pacing, “You just told me, right before all of this,” she waved her hands in front of her for emphasis, “that I had to drop my grudge against her. That we’d been butting heads for a month and that I was too hard on her.”

“Terry,” Silvera kept his voice even, “you are not the first Captain to lose a crew member to that crew member’s carelessness.”

“Her carelessness?” Holder said, incredulous, “Chester, I am the Captain, everything on the Huntington is my responsibility, the cargo, the safety of the crew, the integrity of the ship, everything!”

“You are one person.” Silvera could feel his fist clenching

“Who is tasked with maintaining discipline and order,” Holder shot back, “I failed in both. Jenna Powell is dead because I couldn’t control her,” Silvera thought he saw tears in her eyes, “I should have supervised the EVA, I should have checked the suit inventory,” she was shouting now, “I should have turned back and looked for her!”

“And gotten yourself and the rest of the crew killed?”, it was Silvera’s turn to shout now, “With all due respect, shut the fuck up, Theresa!”

Holder was momentarily speechless, incandescent with rage. Finally, she found her voice. “If you ever speak that way to me again, Silvera, I will personally make sure you’re-”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off, tired of the show, “you’ll personally make sure I’m cleaning out waste reprocessors on Io until I’m old and gray, I’ve heard it before.”

“What is your problem?”

“You! This!” was his response, “Your crew just suffered a trauma and you’re sitting in here feeling sorry for yourself like some first-year cadet when you should be out there, tending to your crew as a captain should.” Holder collapsed into a sitting position on the bed and buried her face in her hands, muttering something Silvera couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” Silvera asked.

“I said,” Holder brought her hands away from her face, and Silvera could see the tears lining her cheeks, “That they deserve a better captain than me.”

Chester Silvera had been friends with Holder for half a decade. They’d met on a cargo hauler, the Venture, where Silvera had an engine technician. She’d stayed up helping him study for his command examine, and he’d been her first mate ever since he’d gotten his commission.

“Terry,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “I have served under,” he counted in his head, “4 captains, including you. Now, maybe it’s just my incredibly wise influence,” he paused briefly, and Holder cracked a tiny smile, “but I would say that you are, by far, the best.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.” Holder said, bashfully.

“I wasn’t finished,” Silvera continued, “I’ve never had a truly bad captain, but the ones who’ve impressed me the most have never been the ones that put on a stone face and hide behind their command. The best captains are always those who suffer alongside the crew, who laugh and cry with them. You need to be out there. They don’t need you to be their rock, they need you to be beside them in the flotsam while they’re adrift, so that when someone spots land, you can lead them back to it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Holder grabbed her radio, keyed it, and said, “This is the captain. We’ve had a bad day, probably the worst any of us has ever had. Let’s all meet in the mess hall at 1930. Drinks on me.”

* * *

Time Unknown

Location Unknown

Jenna wasn’t sure if she was in hell yet. She couldn’t possibly be alive in this state. Every signal her body sent was telling her that she should be dead. Her face felt like it was still on fire, her shoulder was in pieces, and she was pretty sure her rib cage was caved in, too. Every breath was agony. She had long since stopped trying to move any part of her body. Even with concerted effort at stillness, though, new pains danced and bloomed throughout her.

Time was behaving strangely, too. She was dizzy, like she’d had too much to drink. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted on an auger. Through the haze of it all, in the back of her engineer’s brain, she knew that if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be. She’d taken at least 50 grays of hard fusion radiation. By all accounts, she should have been dead by now.

And yet, she lived. The thing—for that was all that Jenna could call it—that had taken her from the emptiness of space had carried her over its shoulder to some kind of medical facility. It lay her on a cruel-looking steel table and cut her suit off, injecting her with a syringe of some oily substance that filled her mouth with a rusty taste she couldn’t shake. Even now, what had to be hours later, it remained.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for some time. Each time she woke, her head felt slightly clearer. After what felt like half a day, she woke and found that she could move her neck without feeling the crunching of bones beneath it. How long have I been out?

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a wave of intense nausea swept over her. Though the pain had dulled slightly, it still felt as if she might shatter when she reflexively rolled onto her side, and wretched. Nothing came out. She braced herself with her right arm and was surprised to find that she could bear weight on it. She marveled at this only a moment before another convulsion gripped her stomach. This time, she threw up. The room was dimly lit with a warm light, but even the yellow glow could not hide the contents of her stomach as it spilled onto the floor.

Blood. Lots of blood. Some clotted, some not. Some was bright red and some was nearly black. Jenna heaved again. More vomit, more blood. Her engineer’s brain chimed in again. Sodium-24.

The deuterium-tritium fusion that drove the Huntington’s main engines took two hydrogen atoms, one with an extra neutron, the other with two, and smashed them together to form helium and heat. The helium atoms, technically they were alpha particles, were of little harm to the human body normally, though the sheer quantity of them in fusion exhaust posed a danger. The real problem, however, was the neutrons produced as a byproduct. It was them, she knew, that would seal her fate.

It was the sort of thing that had captured her imagination as a young boy in Dublin. A particle so small and nonreactive that it could pass right through solid objects. Except sometimes, it didn’t. Sometimes, the neutron would hit an atom’s nucleus square-on, and stick there. The nucleus would become unstable, rippling like a drop of water falling from a cloud, and then it would break apart. Do this to the right substances, and you could generate power, build a bomb, trace the flow of blood through the human brain. Do it to the wrong substances, the ones that made up your body, and you became a bomb in slow-motion, destroying yourself, unable to prevent your own demise.

Much of the sodium in her body had absorbed neutrons, changing from stable sodium-23 to radioactive sodium-24. While fusion exhaust had neutrons and alpha particles, both of which penetrated relatively little, sodium-24 emitted gamma rays, and those gamma rays could pass through almost anything short of lead, including the human body. As they did, they stripped the ends off her chromosomes, shredding her DNA and leaving her cells unable to replicate themselves properly. The result was that she was dissolving. As the fastest-dividing cells in her body reached the end of their lifespans, they died. Rather than being replaced, her organs were simply shutting down.

But it didn’t make sense. She had taken so much radiation she should have died within an hour. Why hadn’t she? She was pondering that question when the thing that had brought her to this room stepped through the door.

Jenna’s head was clearer now and she was better able to absorb the figure’s appearance. It had a human shape. Bipedal, standing about 180cm tall. The basic outline of it implied that it was, or at least, had been, female. Cybernetic prosthetics were not unheard of but this lay outside the extreme end of that. The thing’s joints were covered in layered segments of metal with a dark oxide coating, tubing ran over its limbs. The only skin that Jenna could see was its face. The face was almost human. Dark lines ran as veins underneath the skin, the lips gunmetal gray, as if the blood inside had rotted. There was hair, a short tangled mess of raven black. One of the eyes was distinctly mechanical, a bright, electric blue. The other was green, and looked natural.

“You are awake,” was all the thing said.

Jenna made a dry croaking sound as she tried to speak. After several seconds of halting attempts, she finally found her voice, “How...how am I alive?” It hurt to speak. She thought she might have burns on her larynx from inhaling fire.

“We have been able to repair your DNA to a degree,” the figure replied, “However the process is not sufficient to ensure survival. Do not be afraid. We will make you one with us.”

“Let me die.” Jenna begged.

“You have been selected to become an assimilator unit for the hive.” was the figure’s flat reply.

“It hurts.” Jenna felt tears running down her face, “Please, let me die.”

“Your body will be modified and augmented to assimilate others into drones for the hive.”

“Like…you? No...no...”

“Do not be afraid. Your body will be altered surgically and mechanically. Due to the extensive mechanical and radiation damage your body has endured, most of it will need to be replaced with a synthetic chassis.”

“No...god, please”

“You will remain conscious during this process.”

Jenna tried to scream but all that came out was a dull rasp

“You are afraid now, but you will enjoy it, soon.”

The figure placed an anesthesia mask over Jenna’s face.

“As your external tissue is so damaged,” it said, in that flat, synthetic voice, “we were unable to administer the nanites in the usual manner. Instead we have given you a 10cc intravenous infusion.”

“Please,” Jenna whimpered, “please kill me”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, however, “Usually,” the figure continued, “The surgical procedures would have begun immediately, but the nanites needed time to stabilize your biological processes. We will now begin.”

It grabbed Jenna’s wrists with shocking strength and fixed them to cuffs on the table. She struggled and pulled and twisted, trying to break free, but she wouldn’t have been able to, even with all her strength in her. And she was so tired. Her heart had been racing since the thing had come in, and the adrenaline had worn her down. It wasn’t so much that she resigned herself to whatever happened, she just couldn’t keep up the fight anymore.

Jenna heard a hissing sound come from the mask as the figure reached beneath the table and twisted something. A sharp, sweet chemical aroma curled into her nostrils. As she inhaled, she could feel herself relax. For a moment she almost forgot about her troubles, but her engineer’s brain started sounding alarm bells. They’re drugging you. It had to be that.

“Please,” said the figure, its voice friendlier, more familiar now, “do not resist the gas.”

“I...I don’t,” she croaked out, “I don’t want this.”

“You do not know what it is you want.”

Don’t I? Jenna thought to herself, Maybe, maybe it’s right.

It was like falling into the arms of a lover after a long day at work. Warmth, softness. Jenna’s mind wandered to an encounter she’d had with a young naval officer she met at a Titan bar not that long ago. How her consort’s uniform had glided so effortlessly off as soon as Jenna’s quarters door closed. How her soft fingers had wrapped around Jenna’s cock at the same time she’d suckled at Jenna’s tits.

Jenna realized her pain had subsided greatly. She also noticed that she had an erection.

“Subject arousal maximized,” said the figure beside her. Jenna looked over her again. She was female, decidedly. Broad-shouldered, but delicate. An artisan’s body. How had Jenna failed to see the beauty there before? “Initiating neural reroute.”

The pain quickly came roaring back, different than it had been before. Before, it felt like her body was on fire. Now it felt like tiny teeth were chewing up her insides. She tried to scream but even as she opened her mouth, it subsided, a beautiful warmth replacing it. It was like falling into the softest bed after the most filling meal in the coziest house in the world.

The world took on a brighter, sharper appearance. Jenna could hear people talking, but couldn’t make out any words. Next to her, the figure spoke, “See, isn’t that better?” As she spoke, the woman ran a mechanical hand up Jenna’s leg. Jenna couldn’t help but curl her body up in pleasure. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the pleasure.

Oh, she thought, I guess you know how to treat a girl.

We have much experience in providing pleasure. Jenna’s eyes shot open. She had heard the woman, not with her ears, but in her head.

The neural transceiver is already functioning? The woman said, You are a promising candidate.

Jenna’s engineer brain was working double-time in thick, deep mud. Neural transceiver?

Jenna could hear the voices again, more clearly now, and realized that they, too, were inside of her. Though every rational fiber of her being screamed to pull away, her curiosity overtook her, and she reached out.

It was like stepping through a door into a crowded amphitheater. Sights, sounds, smells, textures, tastes, movement all seemed to stream into her head from everywhere at once, as if she were both infinite and singular. She flew around the ship, it was smaller than the Huntington. She saw dozens of people and yet felt only one presence. Her mind flicked through them all, letters and numbers appearing with each figure before finally slowing to a stop in the room where she was. The assimilation chamber. Sigma-26 stood above her, warmth on her face. The nascent drone on the table, what had it’s name been?

Deep within Jenna’s mind, a part of her began fighting, kicking, screaming that this was wrong, that there were people out there who missed her. Jill and Karl. Iris and Phoebe. Chester Silvera and Jack Thorton. And Theresa, her captain. Holder hadn’t left Jenna out of spite, or anger. She had been doing her job. She had been trying to keep the others safe and alive.

And yet, the drone now in her head thought, she didn’t even try to save you, did she? She could have tried to scoop you into an ore bay, or given you a few more seconds to make it to the airlock. Instead, she left you out there, adrift. The hive found you. The hive took you in. The hive healed you. Shouldn’t your loyalty lie with them?

Jenna didn’t care. She knew that it wasn’t Holder’s fault. She resisted, trying to pull herself back from the warm light of the Hive. She could feel them working their way into her head. She felt the Hive push into her memories. No, not those!

She was 10, a boy in a flat in Dublin. Her mother has taken her sister, Penny, to the doctor. Her father is asleep, and she’s snuck into Penny’s room. She’s trying on Penny’s dresses when her pa walks in. She’s never seen him so angry.

She was 14, in the boys’ locker room at school. Everyone is showering but she can’t bring herself to take off her shirt. 3 of the other boys corner her. She hides the bruises from her parents.

She was 20, a student at University College Cork, sitting in a doctor’s office. The doctor is writing her a prescription for estrogen. He seems uncomfortable, but says nothing.

She was 21, seeing her family for the first time since starting hormones. Her mother opens the door. She’s confused, but polite. Her father sees her and screams to get out of his house, that he won’t have a faggot for a son. She leaves. It’s the last time she sees her family.

She was 27, on shore leave at Olympus Station, orbiting Mars. She’s leaving a bar, alone, again. After a few minutes of walking, someone hits her hard in the back of the head, knocking her to the ground. The man shoves a chrome handgun in her mouth and says if she makes any sound he’ll blow her tranny brains all over the decking. She thinks about her mother.

She was 28, assigned to MV Huntington, her first posting as chief engineer. The crew are kind to her, but none seek her out. She never grows close to any of them.

She was 30, her new captain wears a nickel-plated .45 on her hip. Jenna’s heart races and suddenly she’s back on Olympus. She runs to her quarters and vomits. The new First Mate knocks on her door. She opens it with tears running down her cheeks. He asks her what’s wrong. She cries for 10 minutes before she can say a word. When she finally speaks, she begs him not to tell the captain. He promises he won’t.

She’s 30. Her face is burning, she’s floating through an abyss, abandoned and alone.

Thinking back on all of these things, the last bit of Jenna Powell, the part that was fighting and screaming for her humanity, grew weary. She had never desired power, or money, or the secrets of the universe. The only thing she’d ever wanted was home. She’d never had it.

The last part of her let go of the cliff it clung to. It fell, backwards, through an infinite abyss. And where it had been, only the drone remained.

“I am a drone of the hive.” she said, “Shape me to a razor’s edge.”

* * *

1930 Earth UTC

MV Huntington mess hall

Captain Theresa Holder stood just outside the entrance to the mess hall. The crew was seated in 2 rows at the long table, nine on a side. Chester was sitting on the left side nearest the empty chair at the head.

The Captain had not told the crew to wear anything special. She didn’t like the formality, and the crew, in turn, had donned their ragtag Sunday best. Jill Campbell wore a navy blue polo. Karl Miller had tied his hair, normally past his shoulders, into a tight bun. Iris Owens was actually wearing a dress. A bright, neon-pink dress with a skull printed on the front, but a dress nonetheless.

Holder, for her part, was wearing her blue dress uniform. Deep navy wool with brass toggles, her captain’s pips on her shoulders. The Civil Navy did not award medals to be worn with dress uniforms, and so on her left breast was a patch that simply said “HOLDER” in light grey letters above the embroidered silhouette of a Shinkelobwe-class ship.

As she entered the hall, Silvera stood, “Captain on deck!” he barked. The crew stood with him. Holder stopped half a meter beyond the threshold. Funerals at sea were one of the times that regulation permitted her to wear the pistol strapped to her hip. Despite this, she made a show, while the crew watched, of removing the belt and hanging it on a hook next to the door. She pulled the pistol from its worn leather holster, and racked the slide back. She had not loaded it prior, and so manually locked it open before replacing it in the belt and turning to the crew. “At ease,” she said, and the crew sat.

She walked, not to the head of the table, but to the foot. She remained standing, and spoke.

“We are here, tonight, our number one too few,” she began, “We have lost our colleague and friend, Genevieve Powell.” She paused, she hadn’t written anything down and was struggling to remember the bits she’d thrown together in her mind as she’d shaved and showered.

“Look,” she said, dropping the air of pretense she’d held before, “Nobody comes out here expecting to die. We didn’t join a combat fleet. We didn’t sign up to be shot at or blow up troop depots or raid supply outposts. We’re miners.”

She looked around at the crew a moment before continuing, “And miners die. It’s been happening ever since humans started digging holes in the ground. Tunnel collapses, methane explosions, tidal shifts. But what happened today, that’s not something, I think, that any of us expected.

“Jenna and I didn’t exactly get along. It feels a bit ghoulish to be up here, praising her, to tell you the truth. Like I’m taking credit for something I didn’t earn. But I need you all to hear this. What happened today, it’s my responsibility. You all performed admirably in a situation that none of us was prepared for. This morning, you were asteroid miners. This evening, you’re heroes, all of you. None more so than the woman who should, by all rights, be sitting at the head of this table.”

Holder gestured in the direction of the empty place setting, “Jenna Powell died trying to get you all to safety. When you tell your friends and families about today, don’t sing praises of your captain. Heap your praise on Jenna Powell, whose loyalty and courage cannot be disputed. Chester, the bottle.”

Silvera stood, grabbing a bottle of whiskey that he had placed on the floor next to his chair. He walked towards Holder, and handed her the thick, ornate glass vessel.

Holder broke the seal and uncorked the bottle. She walked around the table, gently pouring a finger of the amber liquid into each crew member’s glass. When all had been served, she poured herself a glass, and holding it in her left hand, raised it. “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna,” the crew replied, smiles and tears all around, and drank.

After downing her glass, Holder placed it on the table and picked up the bottle. She held it high and said, again, “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna!” the crew said once more.

And with that, Captain Theresa Holder silently drained the rest of the bottle out onto the floor of the mess.

Timecode Error: Format Not Recognized

Hive Interdictor K-14

The drone lay on the table, no longer restrained. Her tired flesh would soon be discarded, replaced by metal, composite, and plastics.

Sigma-26 stood above her, “The radiation has severely damaged your body,” she said to the new drone, “your augmentations will be rather more extensive than most.”

The new drone silently confirmed receipt of this information. 26 began hooking life support tubes into the new drone’s neck. The plan was already clear in her mind. She was eager for it, eager to leave behind the flesh that had confined her and become one with the hive. To feel the electricity run through her wires and hear the thrum of motors and pumps.

26 approached, pulling down an armature from the ceiling that held a large band saw. Wordlessly, she turned it on, and began lowering it towards the new drone’s hips. The blade bit into the damaged flesh of her right leg first, right where the femur met the ball of the hip.

The new drone heard the hive through the wire, It is not clear yet how much of your body will need replacing, it said, the process will proceed in stages to ensure stability.

The blade ground through the new drone’s leg, spitting bits of meat out to the side. As it struck bone the motor bogged down slightly, and the drone felt a high-pitched vibration through her entire being. Waves of pleasure overtook her, the ecstasy of death and rebirth. The nanites in her system worked to seal off the femoral artery and other blood vessels, protecting the brain from losing its precious supply of oxygen. The external life support systems were not yet needed, but that time would come soon.

26 removed the severed limb from the table and began amputating the other leg. Another fine mist of gore sprayed out. It felt so good, the new drone felt itself grow hard as the last bit of skin was severed.

In order to assess tissue damage, the hive spoke again, we will need to access your abdominal cavity. The life support systems will take over now.

Wordlessly, 26 plunged a scalpel into the new drone’s abdomen, just above the pubic bone. She worked it around to the right hip, then back and down almost to the table. She turned then and cut upwards, under and around the lower segment of the rib cage. The new drone’s cock was nearly bursting now, and she gave in, releasing herself, firing juices all over her stomach.

When the scalpel had circumnavigated the new drone’s belly, 26 reached in just under the sternum, and peeled the skin back. It pulled and twisted and sucked, a mass of skin, fat, and muscle a few centimeters thick. It, too, was tossed aside. Another drone came in the door and retrieved the severed legs and the skin flap, whisking them away to a reprocessing terminal.

26 examined the new drone’s organs. The new drone could not see them, but could hear the hive as it wordlessly assessed the situation. The radiation damage was too severe. Her body, even with most of the skin and organs removed, was too damaged to remain.

Full submaxillial amputation necessary, the hive declared.

26 grabbed a port with several needles on the end of various bores. She gently cupped the new drone’s head in one hand, lifting it up, before gently pushing the cable in to the base of the skull. Nanites in the port flooded in, connecting themselves to nerves, building microducts to carry oxygenated blood to the brain after the next step.

When the connection was complete, 26 reached into the open abdominal cavity and began paring out organs. She started with the bladder and intestines. The new drone watched as meters of glistening tubes were removed from her. She could feel herself becoming lighter. The stomach came next, along with the pancreas. Each cut was like an orgasm in and of itself. A blast of pleasure that washed over the new drone like fire consuming kindling.

Her liver and lungs were removed. The new drone could feel her brain stem panicking, trying to force her to breathe with lungs that could not draw air. It was driving her mad, she could feel pressure building up behind her genitals again, and once more she fired off, her glistening seed spurting into the now-empty cavity.

At last, all that was left was her beating heart. It was pounding so fast, and her body was so much lighter now, that she actually thought she might be popping off the operating table under the power of its palpitations. The new drone met 26’s eyes as the latter reached for the band saw. 26 switched the tool on, its blade accelerating to full speed almost instantly. In anticipation, the new drone opened her mouth wide.

26 brought the saw down between the new drone’s jaws. It first caught her cheeks, tearing into them and spraying blood inside her mouth and out the side. She could taste it, the hot, metallic taste of her own body, the last thing she would ever taste. As the blade continued downward it met her mandible, the blade shrieking inside the new drone’s head. It passed out the back side of the bone and immediately dug into the drone’s throat. Blood spurted down it. The pleasure of it all was overwhelming. Finally, 26 angled the blade to pass up through the top of the spinal column, just below the brain stem.

As the blade exited at the end, the new drone felt her body disappear. A nuclear bomb of pleasure went off in her, her eyes rolling back in her skull. The few muscles that remained, as well as the stumps of mandible that had not yet been removed thrashed wildly, for 12 minutes and 22 seconds. When the last wave of orgasm subsided, the new drone opened her eyes.

26 was standing above her, smiling. She felt her hivemate grasp her on either side, and lift her up. It was a curious sensation. She felt so light, so free. Wordlessly, 26 strode over to a person-sized case standing in the corner of the room.

Behold, said the hive, your new form.

The mechanical body was slightly taller than the new drone’s old one. It was sturdier too, with a more muscular look. On top of the neck sat a mechanical mandible. There was no skin, that would be artificially grown over it after assembly. 26 carefully placed the new drone atop the stack, and, using a scalpel, cut away the last bits of her original jawbone.

The artificial mandible responded without command, screwing into the joint sockets on her skull and connecting artificial muscles to mechanical ones. Soon, the drone could feel small actuators gripping the blood vessels inside her and making permanent connections. 26 stood back and watched the process. Finally, she reached behind the new drone and removed the life support tube from the plug. The new drone became momentarily dizzy during the changeover, but 26 was quick to connect the body’s hookup to the port on the skull.

Step forward, came the voice of the hive.

The new drone complied. Wordlessly, she turned around, facing herself away from 26, who began fixing armor plates to the back of her skull, covering up the sensitive port. When 26 was finished, the new drone turned back to face her. She stared down at her new hands, sleek and metal. She flexed her fingers, feeling the power of them. A full diagnostic ran automatically, the results appearing in the corner of her vision, confirming all systems were functioning as designed.

“What is your designation?” 26 asked the new drone.

The new drone looked at her, and said, “I am Sigma-38, assimilator unit.”

Welcome, Sigma-38, came the voice of the hive, we will do great things together.

[whencyclopedia]

Great Sioux War

The Great Sioux War (also given as the Black Hills War, 1876-1877) was a military conflict between the allied forces of the Lakota Sioux/Northern Cheyenne and the US government over the territory of the Black Hills and, more widely, US policies of westward expansion and the appropriation of Native American lands.

The Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 had established the Great Sioux Reservation, including the Black Hills, and promised this land to the Sioux in perpetuity. When gold was discovered in the Black Hills in 1874, the treaty was ignored by the US government, leading to the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and Arapaho responded with armed resistance in raids on wagon trains, skirmishes, and five major battles fought between March 1876 and January 1877:

Battle of Powder River (Reynolds Battle) – 17 March 1876

Battle of the Rosebud (Battle Where the Girl Saved Her Brother) – 17 June 1876

Battle of the Little Bighorn (Battle of the Greasy Grass) – 25-26 June 1876

Battle of Slim Buttes – 9-10 September 1876

Battle of Wolf Mountain (Battle of Belly Butte) – 8 January 1877

In between these, were so-called minor engagements with casualties on both sides but, after June 1876, greater losses for the Sioux and Cheyenne. The final armed conflict of the Great Sioux War was the Battle of Muddy Creek (the Lame Deer Fight, 7-8 May 1877), by which time the Sioux war chief Crazy Horse (l. c. 1840-1877) had already surrendered and the chief Sitting Bull (l. c. 1837-1890) and Sioux war chief Gall (l.c. 1840-1894) and others had fled to the region of modern-day Canada. Although the war was over by May 1877, ending in a victory for the US military, some bands of Sioux and Cheyenne continued to struggle against reservation life until the Wounded Knee Massacre of 29 December 1890 broke their resistance.

Background

Although the first armed conflict between the Plains Indians and Euro-Americans was in 1823, problems between the Sioux and the US military began on 19 August 1854 with the Grattan Fight (Grattan Massacre), when 2nd Lieutenant John L. Grattan led his command of 30 soldiers to the camp of Chief Conquering Bear (l. c. 1800-1854) to demand the surrender of a man they claimed had stolen a cow from a Mormon wagon train.

Conquering Bear refused to surrender anyone, offering compensation instead, and, as the negotiations broke down, Grattan's men fired on the Sioux, mortally wounding Conquering Bear, and the Sioux warriors retaliated, killing Grattan and all of his command. The US military responded with campaigns against the Sioux in the First Sioux War of 1854-1856, which also included actions against their allies, the Cheyenne and Arapaho.

Tensions escalated after the opening of the Bozeman Trail in 1863, the establishment of forts to protect white settlers using the trail, and the Sand Creek Massacre of 29 November 1864. Red Cloud's War (1866-1868) was launched in response to the construction of these forts and the policies of the US government, concluding with the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868, which established the Great Sioux Reservation (modern-day South Dakota and parts of North Dakota and Nebraska), including the Black Hills – a site sacred to the Sioux – which was promised to them for "as long as the grass should grow and the rivers flow."

When Lt. Colonel George Armstrong Custer (l. 1839-1876) discovered gold in the Black Hills in 1874, the Fort Laramie treaty was broken as over 15,000 white settlers and miners streamed into the region during the Black Hills Gold Rush of 1876. The US government offered to purchase the Black Hills, but the Sioux would not sell. More settlers arrived, the government ignored Sioux demands that the 1868 treaty be honored, and the Great Sioux War began in March of that year, with the Reynolds campaign on the Powder River.

Continue reading...

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Five Fics Friday: January 26/24

Happy Friday everyone! It's been a long week, and I'm looking forward to eating up a great new fic! Check out these fics to start off your weekend, and I hope you'll come back on Sunday for a new list!!

Enjoy!

MARKED FOR LATER JOHNLOCK

The Edge of the Sea by weeesi (E, 16,659+ w., 7/12 Ch. || WiP || Pre/Post-TRF, POV John, Angst, Complicated Relationships, Pining John, Jealous John, Sherlock/Victor Trevor, Grief/Mourning, John's Trust Issues, Closeted John, Character Study, Panic Attacks) – Sherlock is dead. The next week passes in a blur. Mycroft invites John not to come to the funeral if he’d like, except for the fact that Mrs Hudson needs an escort and he’d really rather get through it than wonder forever what it would have been. He goes, and sits, and contains, and pours a cup of scalding-hot coffee down his throat which he hopes will burn down the tumble of nerves and anger and the type of sick-sadness he can’t examine too closely and the other feelings he won’t even acknowledge. He misses not missing him all the same. John spends the next two years alone. Sherlock doesn't.

The Man in the Iron Collar by Mamaorion (M, 128,771+ w., 29/? Ch. || WiP || 1800s Steampunk England Magical Realism AU || Circus, Faries, Flying, Soulmates, Murder Mystery, Prophesy, Healer John, Mind Reader Sherlock, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Animal Transformation, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmates, Freeing Prisoner, Bullying, Kidlock) – The magical worlds of Faerie and humans have been separated by the Wall for over 1,000 years, but halfbloods, half-Faerie/half-human hybrids, continue to trickle into this magical, steampunky 19th century England. Healer Captain John Watson discovers a telepathic halfblood imprisoned in a traveling circus. While he tries to unravel his mysterious connection to this wild man, the two are pulled into London's halfblood underworld. A wave of serial murders will take them beyond the Wall and into the ancient battle between humans and Faerie.

MARKED FOR LATER GOOD OMENS

post-professional endeavours by darcylindbergh (T, 8,949 w., 3 Ch. || Comedy, Fluff, South Downs Shenanigans, POV Outsiders, Real Estate) – Red, you are the green tea latte to my hot cocoa. I can't believe we've been nearly three years in the soup together. I hope you enjoy this one!!

Mint Tea by CopperBeech (E, 23,006+ w., 8/? Ch. || WIP || Human AU || Cottager Aziraphale, Gardener Crowley, Light Dom/Sub, Dom Crowley, Sub Aziraphale, Top Crowley, Face-Fucking, Deep Throat, Consent, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Gratuitous Sex, Intercrural Sex, Quickies, Rough Sex, Baked Goods, Phone Sex, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Edging, Aziraphale in Lingerie, Nipple Play, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Cuddles, Stargazing, Picnicking) – Workaday clerical drone Aziraphale Fell unexpectedly comes into a cottage in the South Downs. But life is as drab as ever, and worse, a disastrous decision has left him with mint running rampant through all the beautiful plantings. It's clearly time someone got him- er, his garden - under control.

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED LOKIUS

more than words by unintentionallyangsty (T, 4,716 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Lokius, Post S2, Slow Romance, Awkward Romance, First Dates, Awkward Flirting, Attachment Issues, Abandonment Issues, Touch-Starvation, Slow Dancing, Shyness, Insecure Loki, Anxiety Attacks, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Fluffy Angst, Hugs, Getting Together, Future Fic) – After everything - in spite of everything-, there are only a few words that have truly gone unspoken between Loki and Mobius. And, in spite of Loki's famed "silver tongue", none of these words ever seem to come easily. Luckily, Mobius is patient. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

[yaggy031910]

The napoleonic marshal‘s children

After seeing @josefavomjaaga’s and @northernmariette’s marshal calendar, I wanted to do a similar thing for all the marshal’s children! So I did! I hope you like it. c: I listed them in more or less chronological order but categorised them in years (especially because we don‘t know all their birthdays). At the end of this post you are going to find remarks about some of the marshals because not every child is listed! ^^“ To the question about the sources: I mostly googled it and searched their dates in Wikipedia, ahaha. Nevertheless, I also found this website. However, I would be careful with it. We are talking about history and different sources can have different dates. I am always open for corrections. Just correct me in the comments if you find or know a trustful source which would show that one or some of the dates are incorrect. At the end of the day it is harmless fun and research. :) Pre 1790

François Étienne Kellermann (4 August 1770- 2 June 1835) 

Marguerite Cécile Kellermann (15 March 1773 - 12 August 1850)

Ernestine Grouchy (1787–1866)

Mélanie Marie Josèphe de Pérignon (1788 - 1858)

Alphonse Grouchy (1789–1864)

Jean-Baptiste Sophie Pierre de Pérignon (1789- 14 January 1807)

Marie Françoise Germaine de Pérignon (1789 - 15 May 1844)

Angélique Catherine Jourdan (1789 or 1791 - 7 March 1879)

1790 - 1791

Marie-Louise Oudinot (1790–1832)

Marie-Anne Masséna (8 July 1790 - 1794)

Charles Oudinot (1791 - 1863)

Aimee-Clementine Grouchy (1791–1826)

Anne-Francoise Moncey (1791–1842)

1792 - 1793

Bon-Louis Moncey (1792–1817)

Victorine Perrin (1792–1822)

Anne-Charlotte Macdonald (1792–1870)

François Henri de Pérignon (23 February 1793 - 19 October 1841)

Jacques Prosper Masséna (25 June 1793 - 13 May 1821)

1794 - 1795

Victoire Thècle Masséna (28 September 1794 - 18 March 1857)

Adele-Elisabeth Macdonald (1794–1822)

Marguerite-Félécité Desprez (1795-1854); adopted by Sérurier

Nicolette Oudinot (1795–1865)

Charles Perrin (1795–15 March 1827)

1796 - 1997

Emilie Oudinot (1796–1805)

Victor Grouchy (1796–1864)

Napoleon-Victor Perrin (24 October 1796 - 2 December 1853)

Jeanne Madeleine Delphine Jourdan (1797-1839)

1799

François Victor Masséna (2 April 1799 - 16 April 1863)

Joseph François Oscar Bernadotte (4 July 1799 – 8 July 1859)

Auguste Oudinot (1799–1835)

Caroline de Pérignon (1799-1819)

Eugene Perrin (1799–1852)

1800

Nina Jourdan (1800-1833)

Caroline Mortier de Trevise (1800–1842)

1801

Achille Charles Louis Napoléon Murat (21 January 1801 - 15 April 1847)

Louis Napoléon Lannes (30 July 1801 – 19 July 1874)

Elise Oudinot (1801–1882)

1802

Marie Letizia Joséphine Annonciade Murat (26 April 1802 - 12 March 1859)

Alfred-Jean Lannes (11 July 1802 – 20 June 1861)

Napoléon Bessière (2 August 1802 - 21 July 1856)

Paul Davout (1802–1803)

Napoléon Soult (1802–1857)

1803

Marie-Agnès Irma de Pérignon (5 April 1803 - 16 December 1849)

Joseph Napoléon Ney (8 May 1803 – 25 July 1857)

Lucien Charles Joseph Napoléon Murat (16 May 1803 - 10 April 1878)

Jean-Ernest Lannes (20 July 1803 – 24 November 1882)

Alexandrine-Aimee Macdonald (1803–1869)

Sophie Malvina Joséphine Mortier de Trévise ( 1803 - ???)

1804

Napoléon Mortier de Trévise (6 August 1804 - 29 December 1869)

Michel Louis Félix Ney (24 August 1804 – 14 July 1854)

Gustave-Olivier Lannes (4 December 1804 – 25 August 1875)

Joséphine Davout (1804–1805)

Hortense Soult (1804–1862)

Octavie de Pérignon (1804-1847)

1805

Louise Julie Caroline Murat (21 March 1805 - 1 December 1889)

Antoinette Joséphine Davout (1805 – 19 August 1821)

Stephanie-Josephine Perrin (1805–1832)

1806

Josephine-Louise Lannes (4 March 1806 – 8 November 1889)

Eugène Michel Ney (12 July 1806 – 25 October 1845)

Edouard Moriter de Trévise (1806–1815)

Léopold de Pérignon (1806-1862)

1807

Adèle Napoleone Davout (June 1807 – 21 January 1885)

Jeanne-Francoise Moncey (1807–1853)

1808: Stephanie Oudinot (1808-1893) 1809: Napoleon Davout (1809–1810)

1810: Napoleon Alexander Berthier (11 September 1810 – 10 February 1887)

1811

Napoleon Louis Davout (6 January 1811 - 13 June 1853)

Louise-Honorine Suchet (1811 – 1885)

Louise Mortier de Trévise (1811–1831)

1812

Edgar Napoléon Henry Ney (12 April 1812 – 4 October 1882)

Caroline-Joséphine Berthier (22 August 1812 – 1905)

Jules Davout (December 1812 - 1813)

1813: Louis-Napoleon Suchet (23 May 1813- 22 July 1867/77)

1814: Eve-Stéphanie Mortier de Trévise (1814–1831) 1815

Marie Anne Berthier (February 1815 - 23 July 1878)

Adelaide Louise Davout (8 July 1815 – 6 October 1892)

Laurent François or Laurent-Camille Saint-Cyr (I found two almost similar names with the same date so) (30 December 1815 – 30 January 1904)

1816: Louise Marie Oudinot (1816 - 1909)

1817

Caroline Oudinot (1817–1896)

Caroline Soult (1817–1817)

1819: Charles-Joseph Oudinot (1819–1858)

1820: Anne-Marie Suchet (1820 - 27 May 1835) 1822: Henri Oudinot ( 3 February 1822 – 29 July 1891) 1824: Louis Marie Macdonald (11 November 1824 - 6 April 1881.) 1830: Noemie Grouchy (1830–1843) —————— Children without clear birthdays:

Camille Jourdan (died in 1842)

Sophie Jourdan (died in 1820)

Additional remarks: - Marshal Berthier died 8.5 months before his last daughter‘s birth. - Marshal Oudinot had 11 children and the age difference between his first and last child is around 32 years. - The age difference between marshal Grouchy‘s first and last child is around 43 years. - Marshal Lefebvre had fourteen children (12 sons, 2 daughters) but I couldn‘t find anything kind of reliable about them so they are not listed above. I am aware that two sons of him were listed in the link above. Nevertheless, I was uncertain to name them in my list because I thought that his last living son died in the Russian campaign while the website writes about the possibility of another son dying in 1817. - Marshal Augerau had no children. - Marshal Brune had apparently adopted two daughters whose names are unknown. - Marshal Pérignon: I couldn‘t find anything about his daughters, Justine, Elisabeth and Adèle, except that they died in infancy. - Marshal Sérurier had no biological children but adopted Marguerite-Félécité Desprez in 1814. - Marshal Marmont had no children. - I found out that marshal Saint-Cyr married his first cousin, lol. - I didn‘t find anything about marshal Poniatowski having children. Apparently, he wasn‘t married either (thank you, @northernmariette for the correction of this fact! c:)

[daily-rayless]

It's my blog's fifth birthday!

And I just wanted to celebrate a little. During the 2010s, I lurked around Tumblr for ages without having my own account. In mid-to-late 2018, I started to emerge from the general reclusive lurkerdom I'd been in, and I mentally put January 2019 as when I'd go and officially join and do a little daily art blog.

You may recall that was right when vast swaths of people up and left Tumblr. I decided not to take it as a sign.

And I'm glad I did it. I've enjoyed running my little daily art blog, and I hope you've enjoyed visiting. Later, I'll be revealing my most popular posts, but to start with, I want to highlight my favorites among all the stuff I've posted (nearly 1800 pieces) over the past five years. It was very hard to limit myself to just ten.

10. October

9. A flapper and her Pekingese

8. Unlimited Swiss Roll Works

7. Cloudbank

6. Red-Winged Blackbird

5. The Transistor in Captivity

4. Zoe before battle

3. Red and wheat (attempt two)

2. Hingre Red

The Price and Prey of Magic

Looking back, I'm proud of myself. Hopefully I'll continue to progress.

[my-deer-history]

Francis Kinloch in the Müller-Bonstetten letters (and others): Part 5

More translations, taken from various sources (here, here, here and here). The letters are to Bonstetten unless otherwise noted. Biographical details sourced from Kinloch of South Carolina.

13 May 1780

Because of Mr Kinloch, I am filled with joy and dread. Dread, because his city has been besieged by 10,000 men with a great deal of artillery; joy, because he has married a very amiable and wealthy woman*. I receive regular letters from his brother; his own are often lost due to the perils of war.

*Kinloch’s first wife was Mildred Walker, though it seems they were only married on 22 Feb 1781. She died in Nov 1784.

9 Sept 1780

Kinloch, after having performed bravely in various engagements, was wounded in the arm, whereupon South Carolina unanimously elected him as a delegate to the Continental Congress; he sits with his colleagues in Philadelphia, not very peacefully, I think.

11 Aug 1781

I spent two days sorting more than 500 letters that came from Geneva along with my books. Memories of Kinloch, Nassau, Bonnet, Tronchin, Boone, Knight, Sandys, Abbot sweetened the work

7 Dec 1782, to his mother

I have largely been happy with my life up until now: but almost never on the path that I intended to take. Twelve years ago, I wished to marry*, and to live in Schaffhausen on a few professorships; I then had various plans for England and Flanders; at one point, the greatest and best thing seemed to me to witness the blossoming and progress of a new free country with Kinloch, and the serve a free people in war and peace;

*Original annotation: The desire lasted only a few days.

January 1784

It is neither my place to compare myself with such writers nor to scorn what God has given me: but after almost losing many years of my early youth, the 33rd [year] is finally here, but in an occupation to which I was not suited, the 24th and 25th I spent with Kinloch, leaving me little time for my own studies of friendship and duty

9 Aug 1786

Nothing else has changed in my household, except that Mr Boone, Kinloch’s former guardian and governor of South Carolina, has sent his son here, and he is living with me; he does not take up any of my time, as I only see him at mealtimes; he is an amiable officer, who was also very popular at Aschaffenburg.*

*A town in Bavaria.

20 Feb 1801

In my letter writing, I had to ensure that there was also a reply to Kinloch in South Carolina. Do you remember the noble youth? Now he is a grandfather;* he lives happily besides and I have just read an excellent essay of his about the character of the revolution.**

*Kinloch’s daughter, Eliza Kinloch Nelson, gave birth to a son called Francis in 1800.

**From context, the French rather than American revolution. 

7 Jan 1803

Not enjoyable, as you can see, but rather tender in its sufferings and joys was the transition into my 52nd year. On that birthday I wrote to South Carolina, responding to two of Kinloch’s letters, full of spirit and love.

22 Oct 1803

I already wrote to you that Kinloch has arrived in Bordeaux and will soon be in Geneva; he wrote to me at once in such a brotherly way, rejoiced at the long-awaited reunion, and for a few days took me back to the charming dreams of my youth! I answered him immediately; we shall see each other in the coming year. If nothing unusual happens, I can easily get a few months' leave; should it not be possible from this or that perspective, then the one who has crossed the ocean and all of France will also make these 60 posts himself. 

25 Jan 1804

Write to me in Dresden at once. If the world quietens, or at least does not continue to burn, I hope to visit you and Kinloch in the summer.

18 June 1804

To Geneva, first, came the most beautiful letters from Berlin, gracious, joyful, inducing longing. Then Kinloch’s embrace! he is as he was; slightly fatter; his heart noble, as before; a husband, like you; a caring father; a faithful brother; a morally perfect person.

13 May 1780

Ich bin wegen Hrn. Kinloch in großer Freude und Furcht. In Furcht, weil seine Stadt von 10,000 Mann mit vieler Artillerie belagert wird; in Freude, weil er eine sehr liebenswürdige und reiche Frau geheirathet hat. Von seinem Bruder bekomme ich öftere Briefe; die seinigen gehen durch die Kriegsgefahren häufig verlohren.

9 Sept 1780

Kinloch, nachdem er sich in verschiedenen Treffen tapfer gehalten, ist am Arm verwundet worden, worauf Südcarolina ihn einmüthig zum Deputirten auf den Generalcongreß erwählt hat; er sitzt mit seinen Collegen zu Philadelphia, nicht eben ruhig, denke ich.

11 Aug 1781

Zwei Tage sind mir über der Anordnung von mehr als 500 Briefen, die nebst meinen Büchern aus Genf gekommen sind, verflossen. Manche Erinnerung an Kinloch, Nassau, Bonnet, Tronchin, Boone, Knight, Sandys, Abbot, versüßte die Arbeit

7 Dec 1782, to his mother

Ich bin in meinem Leben bis dahin meist glücklich gewesen: fast nie aber auf dem Weg, den ich gehen wollte. Vor zwölf Jahren wünschte ich zu heirathen*, und mit ein Paar Professorstellen zu Schaffhausen zu leben; ich hatte nachmals auf England und Flandern verschiedene Plane; einst schien mir das größte und beste, mit Kinloch dem Aufblühen und Fortgang eines neuen Freistaates beizuwohnen, und im Krieg und Frieden einem freien Volk zu dienen;

*Der Wunsch dauerte nur wenige Tage.

January 1784

Es kömmt weder mir zu, mich solchen Schriftstellern zu vergleichen oder zu verachten, was Gott auch mir gegeben: aber nachdem ich viele Jahre der ersten Jugend fast verloren, das 33ste endlich hier, aber in einer Beschäftigung, für die ich nicht war, das 24ste und 25ste mit Kinloch, so daß mir für eigene Studien von Freundschaft und Pflicht wenige Zeit gelassen wurde

9 Aug 1786

In meinem Hauswesen hat sich weiter nichts verändert, als daß Hr. Boone, Kinloch's ehmaliger Vormund, und von Südcarolina Gouverneur, seinen Sohn' hieher gesandt, welcher bei mir wohnt; Zeit kostet er mir keine, da ich nur bei Tafel ihn sehe; er ist ein liebenswürdiger Officier, der auch zu Aschaffenburg sehr wohl gefallen.

20 Feb 1801

Von meiner Briefschreibung muß ich nachholen, daß auch nach Südcarolina an Kinloch eine Antwort dabei war. Erinnerst du dich des edlen Jünglings? Nun ist er Großvater; lebt übrigens glücklich und ich habe so eben einen vortrefflichen Aufsatz über den Charakter der Revolution von ihm gelesen. 

7 Jan 1803

Nicht lustig war, wie du siehst, aber zärtlich in Leiden und Freuden der Uebergang in mein 52stes Jahr. An dem Geburtstag wurde nach Südcarolina geschrieben, auf zwei Briefe Kinloch's voll Geist und Liebe.

22 Oct 1803

Schrieb ich dir schon, daß Kinloch zu Bordeaux angekommen ist und nun zu Genf seyn wird; wie brüderlich er mir sogleich schrieb, des lang ersehnten Wiedersehens frohlockte, und für einige Tage mich ganz in der Jugend holde Trăume zurück versehte! Ich habe ihm sogleich geantwortet; sehen werden wir uns im zukünftigen Jahr. Wenn nichts besonderes eintritt, so kann ich Urlaub auf ein paar Monate leicht erhalten; sollte es aus der oder der Betrachtung nicht seyn können, so wird der über das Weltmeer und ganz Frankreich Hergekommene auch diese 60 Posten selbst noch machen. 

25 Jan 1804

Nach Dresden schreibe mir sogleich. Wenn die Welt ruhig, oder doch nicht weiterhin entflammt wird, so hoffe ich auf den Sommer Euch und Kinloch zu besuchen.

18 June 1804

Zu Genf erstlich die schönsten Briefe von Berlin, gnädig, freudevoll, sehnsuchterregend. Dann Kinloch's Umarmung! er ist, wie er war; etwas fetter; sein Herz edel, wie vorhin; ein Gatte, wie du; ein sorgsamer Vater; ein treuer Bruder; ein moralisch vollkommener Mensch. 

[rabbitcruiser]

Millard Fillmore, American soldier, lawyer, and politician, 13th President of the United States, was born on January 7, 1800.  

[study-with-aura]

Friday, January 26, 2024

It's the weekend, and my two best friends are staying the night tonight! We have our cookie booth early in the morning, so we all agreed that it would be easier to stay at my house since it's closest to the store we're selling at. One of my friends, we'll call her H, is in ballet with me, same level, so she'll come home with me from that. Then my other friend, we'll call her E, her mom is going to drop her off at my house around 9pm since that's about when H and I will get back from ballet. Senior sleepover! I can't wait!

H and I have known each other since we were in first grade and were Daisies together, and E joined us for Brownies in second grade, so we've been friends for forever it feels like. I don't know what I would do without them honestly. We've been through everything together.

Tasks Completed:

Geometry - Reviewed finding sides in similar polygons + learned about perimeters and areas of similar polygons + practice

Lit and Comp II - Reviewed units 7-9 vocabulary + sent biography assignment to my mom for grading (100/100) + read the news

Spanish 2 - Reviewed vocabulary + read my sentences in Spanish out loud to my dad (30/30)

Bible I - Read Deuteronomy 17-18

World History - Watched 38 minutes of Hidden Killers season 1 episode 1 + worked on a chart showing the issues with invention risks in Victorian homes

Biology with Lab - Read over ecology key terms + read over project guidelines + chose my endangered animal project (saola because they're nicknamed Asian unicorns and are unbelievably cute but hardly ever seen in the wild, so hopefully I'll find enough information)

PE/Health I - Read a health article about synthetic biology and its use in treating disease and super powering cells

Foundations - Read more on obedience + wrote down all the different pictures I saw in a line image within one minute (helps with creativity) + finished up my speech and editing

Piano - Practiced for two hours in one hour split sessions

Khan Academy - None today (It was already assigned)

CLEP - Watched Module 7.0-7.3 lecture videos + completed Module 7 reading "Europe: A.D. 1800-1901" sections 4.33.1-4.33.1.2.5

Duolingo - Completed at least one lesson each in Spanish, French, and Chinese

Reading - Read pages 81-114 of They’re Watching You by Chelsea Ichaso

Chores - Dusted my bedroom, my bathroom, and the study + laundered my bedding

Activities of the Day:

Ballet

Pointe

Journal/Mindfulness

-

What I’m Grateful for Today:

I am grateful that I did not live during the Victorian age because all of the risks leading to so many injuries and deaths were unbelievable!

Quote of the Day:

We can’t begin to learn until we admit how much we don’t know.

-A Thousand Pieces of You, Claudia Gray

🎧Impromptu pour piano, op. 49 - Louise Farrenc

[scotianostra]

On March 3rd 1883 three hundred inhabitants of the remote Shetland island of Foula were on the point of starvation as the first supply boat of the year reached the stormbound community.

Foula, often described as the “Edge Of The World” is our most remote inhabited island.  It is situated in the Atlantic Ocean approximately 20 miles to the west of the Shetland mainland.  It is an island of crofting townships, breath-taking sheer cliff drops, and a wealth of wild flowers and wildlife.

Over a century ago, in 1881, Foula had a population of 267, mostly employed in fishing…at the last census in 2001 that figure had dropped to just 38.

On March 3rd 1883 the Shetland Times published this;

The Weather and Mails – Foula

Nine weeks have now expired since our last mail was landed, and all our resources are almost exhausted. Sugar and tobacco have been all done for more than a fortnight, and tea, coffee, etc, are now done also. Those who had a little meal to spare have helped those who had none, a thing often done in Foula, but if the weather does not moderate we will soon be all alike. The boat has been in readiness now for some time to go to Walls for supplies, and as the weather has become a little more moderate today they are going to make a start, so we hope that they may get safe through, and a chance to return again soon. But we doubt if the mail boat will be able to cross today yet, as the wind still inclines to the westward.

There isn’t much more than this about their plight, but it seems that same day they breathed a sigh of relief as a boat must have made it to Mainland and back successfully.

Today crofting as well as fishing are the main activities, half the population living at Hametoun in the south east and the remainder to be found at Ham near Ham Voe on the east coast. The island  is not connected to any mainland electricity grid system.  In 1987 a community electricity scheme was constructed, comprising a 3.3kV island grid which linked diesel generators, a wind turbine and a hydroelectricity scheme to the island’s properties. This scheme gradually fell into disrepair and has undergone a major refurbishment, funded primarily through grants.  

Before refurbishment, the entire island’s power was supplied by one of the two diesel generators which operated between approximately 7.20am and 00.30am. That’s not to say they were without power for the, just under 7 hours the generator is off,  a battery/inverter system was installed between 2006 and January 2007, a solar charging array helps top up the batteries as well .  The system was fully commissioned at the beginning of March 2007 and already the islanders not only have continuous power ( instead of the previous 17 hours per day) but are noticing considerable savings in diesel fuel use. Since diesel has to be shipped in by ferry (and often the weather is too bad for the ferry to run for up to 3 weeks on end) this of huge value.

An interesting feature of the island’s people is that they still observe the old Julian calendar, replaced in 1752 in Britain by the present Gregorian system which deleted 11 days from the year. Remote areas of the country kept to the old calendar, adding an extra day in 1800, which was a leap year, and some parts of Shetland continued to observe festivals 12 days after the dates in the new calendar. The most remote areas kept to the old calendar longest, and the people of Foula still celebrate Christmas on 6 January and New Year’s Day on 13 January

Travel to the island is by sea or air and is completely dependent on suitable weather conditions.

A wee bit more, and a short video can be found at the link below.

https://www.shetland.org/visit/plan/areas/foula

[flamingkorybante]

The World That Is Coming: A Do'ikayt Teach-In - upcoming workshops!

NEW DATES FOR IN-PERSON LEARNING AND CONNECTION!

Saturday January 13th, 3-6 PM, Blackbird Infoshop & Cafe, 587 Abeel Street, Kingston NY (doors close at 4 for a protected circle practice, masks required and provided)

Wednesday January 31st, 6-9 PM, Bureau of General Services-Queer Division, The LGBT Community Center, 208 W 13th St, Room 210, New York, NY 10011 (doors close at 7 for a protected circle practice, attendance capped at 35, masks required and provided)

Neither conversation will be recorded or shared publicly, to allow people to share freely, to be courageous, to integrate the new.

Do'ikayt is the yiddish word for "here-ness." It describes a movement that came into being at the same time as, and in conversation with, the nascent zionist political project in the late 1800s, and it is based on the idea that wherever we are, that is our homeland; that our task as Jews is to build solidarity and fight for liberation in the places where we already live and work.

It’s difficult for many diasporic Jews to imagine a praxis that integrates all of the ancestral trauma that we carry with the drive for peace and justice for all peoples to which we are commanded. Do’ikayt offers as a possibility that tikkun olam will come when ALL borders fall and ALL states dissolve.

We are in a climate of unbearable propaganda; we are being thrown bodily into the memories of generations of screaming ancestors who yearn for sanctuary. This is being crafted intentionally by agents of states who need us to be too dissociated, too triggered, and too terrified to connect across difference so that they can get on with their work of exploitation and domination. Our only job right now is to resist that, to push through the dissociation and the fear and the trauma to reach out for each other, to dismantle the borders and walls and protections that the fear and trauma spring up around us, to remember that we are not each other’s enemy.

When we tear down the walls around our hearts, we are making ourselves into channels through which olam haba’a can be born, and when we tear down the walls in the world, letting the sacred peace of Shabbat rush in like undammed water, letting the artificial mechanisms of the state be washed away by a river of solidarity, we are bringing it to pass.

If you want to open yourself to the possibility of do'ikayt as medicine, and want to do it in community, please join us to explore the history, tradition, and possibility of a way of being Jewish that does not accept the violence that we are being asked to tolerate in the name of our own safety.

[josefavomjaaga]

Napoleon’s family - Birthday Calendar

Posting this on behalf of @northernmariette who went to the trouble to put this calendar together :

January

Elisa, 3 January 1777

Joseph, 7 January 1768

March

Napoléon II, 20 March 1822

Caroline, 25 March 1782

Charles (Carlo), 27 March 1746

April

Hortense, 10 April 1783

May

Lucien, 21 May 1775

June

Joséphine, 23 June 1763

August

Napoléon, 15 August 1769

Laetitia, 24 August 1750

September

Louis, 2 September 1778

Eugène, 3 September 1781

October

Pauline, 20 October 1780

November

Jérôme, 15 November 1784

December

Marie-Louise, 12 December 1791

-

On January 1, 1800, they were respectively:

if Charles had lived, hé would have been 53

Laetitia, 49

Joséphine, 36

Joseph, 31

Napoléon, 30

Lucien, 24

Elisa, 22

Louis, 21

Pauline, 19

Eugène, 18

Caroline, 17

Hortense, 16

Jérôme, 15

Marie-Louise, 8

Napoléon II, still an ovule.

[rotterdamvanalles]

De Vijverhofstraat op de hoek van de Zomerhofstraat met het spoorviaduct van de Hofpleinlijn en daarachter het in aanbouw zijnde scholencomplex Technikon aan de Benthemstraat, 5 januari 1967.

De Vijverhofstraat lag vroeger deels ter plaatse van buitenplaats 'Vijverhof'. De dichter Dirk Smits noemt in 1750 in 'De Rottestroom' deze buitenplaats 'het Temple dezer dagen, een Edens Eden'. De buitenplaats 'Vijverhof' was namelijk op 7 maart 1744 eigendom geworden van Egbert Edens (+1753). Het laatste huis op de buitenplaats was omstreeks 1830 als zomerverblijf gebouwd voor het echtpaar J.F. van Oordt-Gobius. Later werd het zowel 's zomers als 's winters bewoond. De familie Van der Ven bewoonde het huis van 1877 tot 1902. Daarna werd het buiten, nadat het woonhuis nog enige jaren in gebruik was geweest bij de R.K. Volksbond, in verschillende percelen verkocht voor f. 150.000,-. In 1907 werd het afgebroken.

In de eerste helft van de 18de eeuw kocht Michiel Baelde verschillende tuinen aan de oostzijde van de Schiekade en liet daarop een buitenplaats aanleggen. De buitenplaats komt al in 1777 voor onder de naam 'Zomerhof'. Omstreeks 1800 kwam ze in het bezit van de familie Van Oordt. In de jaren tachtig van de 19de eeuw werd de buitenplaats met de daarnaast gelegen gronden aangekocht door de gemeente en gesloopt voor de aanleg van nieuwe straten.

Het Hofpleinlijnviaduct (ook wel de De Hofbogen) is een 1,9 kilometer lang buiten gebruik gesteld spoorwegviaduct in Rotterdam-Noord. Op 1 oktober 1908 werd het in gebruik genomen als onderdeel van de eerste elektrische spoorlijn van Nederland, de Hofpleinlijn van Rotterdam Hofplein naar Scheveningen. Tot 16 augustus 2010 reed RandstadRail over het viaduct.

Het Hofpleinlijnviaduct is de eerste grote constructie van gewapend beton in Nederland en werd gebouwd tussen 1904 en 1908. Het viaduct telt 189 bogen die oorspronkelijk open zouden blijven, maar al in 1909 was een goed deel van de ruimtes onder de bogen als bedrijfsruimte verhuurd. In de jaren dertig waren er zelfs plannen om noodwoningen te maken onder de bogen. Nog steeds zijn de meeste bogen in gebruik als opslagruimte en dergelijke. Halverwege het viaduct ligt het opgeheven station Rotterdam Bergweg.

De fotograaf is Ary Groeneveld en de foto komt uit het Stadsarchief Rotterdam. De informatie komt eveneens uit het Stadsarchief Rotterdam en van Wikipedia.

[orthodoxydaily]

Saints&Reading; Tuesday, February 13, 2024

january 30_ february 13

St PACHOMIUS ABBOT OF KENO LAKE MANASTERY (1525)

He was the disciple and fellow ascetic of Saint Alexander of Oshevensk (April 20). Father Pakhomios left his instructor's Monastery shortly after the latter's repose. A strict faster and man of prayer, Pakhomios spent many years in solitude. Over time, the local residents began coming to the place of his ascetical exploits (podvigs), and some asked the Elder for his advice and his blessing.

Gradually, many monks settled near the Elder's cell. There a temple was built in honor of the Transfiguration of the Lord, which became the focus of the Savior-Transfiguration Keno Monastery. This occurred no later than the beginning of the XVI century, or possibly at the end of the XV century. Saint Pakhomios established a hospital for infirm monks. The brethren themselves, along with their Igoumen, worked on the land: they sowed, harvested wheat, caught fish, and cleared the forest for fields.

In 1508, Saint Anthony of Siya (December 7), who was once a disciple of Saint Pakhomios, was tonsured at Keno Monastery. Saint Pakhomios would not entrust Saint Anthony to one of the other monks, but he himself took him under his wing and was his guide in asceticism and in the spiritual life. Saint Anthony possessed every virtue and resisted every temptation, purifying his mind and soul from the passions, and freeing himself from worldly attachments. When the time came for Saint Anthony to leave the Monastery and live in solitude, Saint Pakhomios blessed him to follow that path saying, “May the Lord bless you, my child. May the Lord’s will be done.”

Saint Pakhomios was a great ascetic and a clairvoyant Elder, a good and faithful servant who, at an advanced age, reposed in 1525 at the Monastery he had founded.

Soon afterward, miracles began to take place at the Saint's tomb. In 1800, the Transfiguration Church, and everything in it was destroyed in a fire. Only three planks over the Saint's grave remained untouched by the fire.

SAINT NIKITA, OF THE KIEV FAR CAVE BISHOP OF NOVGOROD ( 1108)

Saint Nikḗtas, Bishop of Novgorod, in his youth entered the Kiev Caves monastery and soon wished to become a hermit. The igumen cautioned him that such an exploit was premature for a young monk, but he, trusting in his own strength, would not listen.

In the hermitage Saint Nikḗtas fell into temptation. The devil appeared to him in the guise of an angel, and the inexperienced ascetic bowed down to him. The devil gave him advice, speaking as if to one who had attained perfection: “Don’t bother to pray, just read and study other things, and I shall pray in your place.” He stood near the hermit, giving the appearance of praying. The deceived monk Nikḗtas came to surpass everyone in his knowledge of the Books of the Old Testament, but he would not speak about the Gospel, nor did he wish to hear it read.

The Elders of the Kiev Caves went to the monk, and after they had prayed, they expelled the devil from him. After this Saint Nikḗtas remained a hermit with the blessing of the Elders, and lived in strict fasting and prayer, surpassing everyone in obedience and humility.

Through the prayer of the holy Elders, the merciful Lord brought him up from the depths of his fall to a high degree of spiritual perfection. Afterwards, he was made Bishop of Novgorod, and for his holy life God granted him the gift of wonderworking. Once, during a time of drought, he brought rain from the heavens by his prayers. Another time, he stopped a fire in the city. Saint Nikḗtas guided the Novgorod flock for thirteen years, and then peacefully fell asleep in the Lord in 1109.

In 1558, during the reign of Tsar Ivan Vasilievich, Bishop Nikḗtas was glorified as a saint. His relics now rest in the church of the holy Apostle Philip in Novgorod. He is also commemorated on May 14.

Saint Nikḗtas is invoked for protection against lightning and fire. People also turn to the Most Holy Theotokos, glorified in her “Unburnt Bush” Icon (September 4), for this purpose.

JAMES 3:1-10

1 My brethren, let not many of you become teachers, knowing that we shall receive a stricter judgment. 2 For we all stumble in many things. If anyone does not stumble in word, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle the whole body. 3 Indeed, we put bits in horses' mouths that they may obey us, and we turn their whole body. 4 Look also at ships: although they are so large and are driven by fierce winds, they are turned by a very small rudder wherever the pilot desires. 5 Even so the tongue is a little member and boasts great things. See how great a forest a little fire kindles! 6 And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity. The tongue is so set among our members that it defiles the whole body, and sets on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire by hell. 7 For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and creature of the sea, is tamed and has been tamed by mankind. 8 But no man can tame the tongue. It is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison. 9 With it we bless our God and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in the similitude of God. 10 Out of the same mouth proceed blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not to be so.

MARK 11:11-23

15 So they came to Jerusalem. Then Jesus went into the temple and began to drive out those who bought and sold in the temple, and overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves. 16 And He would not allow anyone to carry wares through the temple. 17 Then He taught, saying to them, "Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations'? But you have made it a 'den of thieves.' " 18 And the scribes and chief priests heard it and sought how they might destroy Him; for they feared Him, because all the people were astonished at His teaching. 19 When evening had come, He went out of the city.