#Fonds 1818

[burningvelvet]

a post in honor of lord byron's 200th death anniversary —

the greeks were very fond of byron, who when he died in 1824 was a military commander and notable influence in their war of independence. as one of the most (if not the most) famous members of the philhellenist movement, byron used his poetic platform to try to remind people of greece's reputation as the source of western traditions in art and culture. the greeks then honored byron by decorating his coffin with a laurel wreath (below). they also erected statues for him, like this one below in athens depicting him being crowned with a laurel wreath (a symbol of greatness, especially in poetry/music [which historically overlapped]) by a female personification of greece. to this day, some statues of byron are annually wreathed in tradition, and the names byron/vyron/vyronas are still used in greece for roads, towns, and people in his honor.

"’Tis sweet to win, no matter how, one’s laurels,

By blood or ink; ’tis sweet to put an end

To strife; ’tis sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,

Particularly with a tiresome friend:

Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;

Dear is the helpless creature we defend

Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot

We ne’er forget, though there we are forgot.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,

Is first and passionate love — it stands alone,

Like Adam’s recollection of his fall;

The tree of knowledge has been pluck’d — all ’s known —

And life yields nothing further to recall

Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,

No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven

Fire which Prometheus filch’d for us from heaven."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the First (writ 1818, pub. 1819).

"The mountains look on Marathon –

And Marathon looks on the sea;

And musing there an hour alone,

I dreamed that Greece might still be free;

For standing on the Persians' grave,

I could not deem myself a slave."

— excerpt from Lord Byron's Don Juan, Canto the Third (writ 1819, pub 1821) — this stanza is part of a section often published on its own under the title "The Isles of Greece."

"Byron was at once a romantic dreamer, who wanted life to square up to his illusions, and a satirical realist, who saw what was before him with unusual clarity and found its contradictoriness amusing. The clash between the two Byrons is nowhere more noticeable than in his last writings, done on Cephalonia and at Missolonghi during the months before his death. There we see the Greece he dreams of, and the Greece which, in different ways, destroys him."

— excerpt from Peter Cochran's "Byron's Writings in Greece, 1823-4."

"Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;

The days of our youth are the days of our glory;

And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two and twenty

Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?

'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled.

Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!

What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory!

Oh FAME! - if I e'er took delight in thy praises,

'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,

Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,

She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;

Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;

When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,

I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory."

— Lord Byron's "Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa" (November, 1821). What is illustrated here, and what I try to illustrate all throughout this assortment, is Byron's conflation of love and glory, and the idea that poetry and politics are both ways to deserve and achieve — not fame, but what fame seems to promise — love.

"But 'tis not thus—and 'tis not here

Such thoughts should shake my Soul, nor now,

Where Glory decks the hero's bier,

Or binds his brow.

The Sword, the Banner, and the Field,

Glory and Greece around us see!

The Spartan borne upon his shield

Was not more free.

Awake (not Greece—she is awake!)

Awake, my Spirit! Think through whom

Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake

And then strike home!"

— excerpt from Lord Byron's "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" (1824).

"What are to me those honours and renown

Past or to come, a new-born people's cry

Albeit for such I could despise a crown

Of aught save Laurel, or for such could die;

I am the fool of passion, and a frown

Of thine to me is as an Adder's eye

To the poor bird whose pinion fluttering down

Wafts unto death the breast it bore so high –

Such is this maddening fascination grown –

So strong thy Magic - or so weak am I."

— although the much more popular and published "On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sxith Year" is often believed to be Byron's last poem, the above is likely Byron's actual last poem. Like the former, it wasn't solely written for Greece, but for his page Lukas Chalandritsanos who he was in unrequited love (or lust) with. It is sometimes titled "Last Words on Greece" (named so by his friend and sometimes-editor Hobhouse).

[robertwaltons]

i am not immune to blasting my favourite characters with the neurodivergent beam — i think there is something very comforting about a character from a book written long before these things were understood (at least with the vocabulary we have today) articulating things about themselves that you can see something of yourself in

with that in mind, let me take you on a journey where i explain in far more detail than probably necessary

Why Captain Robert Walton from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus (1818) has ADHD (in my non-professional neurodivergent opinion)!

i’ll be going through some common ADHD symptoms and presenting evidence from the text to demonstrate how Walton, in his own representation of himself, can be interpreted as displaying these traits

this got Long so analysis under the cut!

— INATTENTIVENESS AND FOCUS

Walton has a strong and active imagination, and seems prone to excessive daydreaming and letting his mind wander, even becoming distracted by sensory input (the sublime beauty of nature, lol):

Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent and vivid.

He feels that he is set apart by his own manner of thinking, that his mind is in need of "regulation":

Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that my daydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the painters call it) keeping; and I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.

The "keeping" that Shelley refers to is artistic terminology meaning

The maintenance of the proper relation between the representations of nearer and more distant objects in a picture; [...] the maintenance of harmony of composition. (X)

I would interpret Walton's meaning here to be that he understands his thoughts to be somewhat "all over the place" or lacking practicality; he is aware that he has an overzealous and ambitious personality, and requires a sense of harmony (ideally, in the form of an understanding friend) who will keep him focused.

Even Victor comments on Walton seeming to become impatient with him or lose focus during his own tangent:

Victor: But I forget that I am moralizing in the most interesting part of my tale, and your looks remind me to proceed.

(adhd bitches be like let me infodump my entire brain at you and tell you seven unrelated stories before getting to the point but the SECOND someone else goes off topic it's so over)

Walton's inattentiveness is best demonstrated by his lack of concentration on things like his education in favour of his interests when he was a boy:

My education was neglected, yet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study day and night[...]

and speaking of!

— HYPERFIXATIONS

I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven, for nothing contributes so much to tranquillise the mind as a steady purpose—a point on which the soul may fix its intellectual eye.

^ me when i will go insane if i don't have my silly little Topics to obsess over. this guy gets it

Walton is clearly influenced heavily by his fixations; polar exploration and his "passionate enthusiasm for the dangerous mysteries of ocean" are lifelong special interests for him. He refers to his voyage as "the favourite dream of my early years", and also developed a love for poetry from a young age:

[...] for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas’ books of voyages. At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our own country;

When he is forbidden for pursuing a seafaring life by his father, and in doing so prevented from indulging his main interests, Walton becomes fixated solely on literature, attempting to become a poet himself:

These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation; I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated.

Interestingly, when he fails to achieve his literary goal, his attention seemingly switches seamlessly back to his previous interests when he is finally given the opportunity to pursue them - jumping between hyperfixations in search of dopamine is often experienced by many with ADHD:

You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned into the channel of their earlier bent.

Walton claims that he is “practically industrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance and labour” but this mostly seems applicable when he can hyperfocus on tasks that are stimulating to him and related to his interests - for example, when he prepares for his voyage while working on whaling ships:

I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine, and those branches of physical science from which a naval adventurer might derive the greatest practical advantage.

— HYPERACTIVITY, IMPULSIVITY AND RESTLESSNESS

i mean. i think most people would consider sailing off to explore as-yet unknown and extremely dangerous parts of the world completely of your own volition impulsive no matter how long you've been planning to do it

Even so, Walton seems to display a reduced sense of danger even upon "the commencement of an enterprise which you [Margaret] have regarded with such evil forebodings":

These are my enticements, and they are sufficient to conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence this laborious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery up his native river.

Walton's hyperactivity can be seen in his innate restlessness and never wanting to feel “settled” or too comfortable:

My life might have been passed in ease and luxury, but I preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path.

His wanderlust drives him forward, literally physically sending him to places very few have ever been:

[...] there is a love for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.

To me, this line indicates that Walton has an awareness of his own overwhelming eagerness (and tbh this is also how I would describe what my own ADHD feels like sometimes):

I am too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties.

Walton also seems prone to excessive talking and infodumping, demonstrated even by the act of sending his sister such long and detailed letters in the first place. He is a grade A yapper and that is why we even have the story in the first place!

My favourite evidence of this is when Walton is so taken by the romantic story of his ship's master that he derails his entire letter to his sister to tell her about it, saying:

This, briefly, is his story.

Reader: the story was not brief.

My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.

you don't say!

— POOR PLANNING AND PRIORITISATION

Despite committing himself to his voyage for six years and having thought of it for much longer, Walton doesn't seem to have uh. much of an actual concrete plan:

I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall I return? Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I succeed, many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you and I may meet. If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.

In relation to this, let me just leave this extract from Jessica Richard's article '“A paradise of my own creation”: Frankenstein and the improbable romance of polar exploration' here:

Shelley subtly indicates Walton’s incompetence as an expedition leader (despite his extensive reading and apprenticeships on Greenland whaling vessels) when she has him begin his journey on a rather late date, July 7th. Whether Walton is simply a poor planner, or, as Frankenstein himself fears, he “share[s] my madness,” a departure date so late in the season all but dooms his enterprise to failure from the outset. (p. 299)

ouch!

He seems to have little awareness of this aspect of his personality; he assures his sister that:

I shall do nothing rashly: you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.

Yet to Victor, he describes:

how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune, my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise. One man’s life or death were but a small price to pay for the acquirement of the knowledge which I sought[...]

Not only does he neglect his duties as captain to care for Victor, even while his ship is imperilled by pack ice…

Thus has a week passed away, while I have listened to the strangest tale that ever imagination formed. My thoughts and every feeling of my soul have been drunk up by the interest for my guest which this tale and his own elevated and gentle manners have created.

… he is highly averse to abandoning his voyage even when his crew threatens mutiny:

We were immured in ice and should probably never escape, but they feared that if, as was possible, the ice should dissipate and a free passage be opened, I should be rash enough to continue my voyage and lead them into fresh dangers, after they might happily have surmounted this. They insisted, therefore, that I should engage with a solemn promise that if the vessel should be freed I would instantly direct my course southwards. This speech troubled me. I had not despaired, nor had I yet conceived the idea of returning if set free.

oh robert........

— EMOTIONAL DYSREGULATION AND SOCIAL DIFFICULTIES

This seems to be a persistent issue for Walton; he continually refers to the fluctuation of his own emotions and his inability to regulate them on his own:

My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate, and my spirits are often depressed.

I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection.

He is deeply desirous of understanding and community with others, but is left feeling lonely and like an outsider, having difficulty connecting with most people including the men he sails with:

A youth passed in solitude, my best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board ship:

Walton implies that he is insecure of aspects of his personality, and is in need of external validation and someone to “sympathise with and love” him:

How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother!

Lastly, this line appears in the 1831 version of the novel only but it is one that, for me, ties together a lot of the book's themes especially with regard to neurodiversity and is generally one of the most affecting for me personally for that reason:

There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand.

me too, buddy. me too

aaaaaaaand that's all(!) i have to say for now

most of this is really just based on my own experiences and traits (am i projecting? absolutely. but am i correct? also yes) and just my own interpretation and i’m sure i’ve left out SO much but i had fun putting my hyperfix spinterest hat on and hopefully it was interesting to read! let me know your thoughts!

[maggiec70]

what did Louise Lannes do then for you to have such a low opinion of her?

Why I Dislike/Disapprove of/Loathe/Condemn The Lovely Louise

!800 – 1809: Greed, Pettiness, and Bargain-Basement Bourgeois Mentality

She had the intellectual curiosity of a housefly and the education of the lowest of the bourgeoisie. Not surprising since her mother home-schooled her in the basics, and she had one year only with Madame Campan.

She was greedy and overly fond of collecting trinkets, ornaments, and similar items of no particular quality or style. She demanded, with some degree of shrill relentlessness, plenty of money to pay for all her crap.

She was often unrelenting in her demands for all sorts of things: that her brother be promoted to Lannes’ premier aide-de-camp; that her brother-in-law be promoted to head of V Corps’ engineers; that her father be given a higher-paying, more prestigious position in the imperial bureaucracy. She managed to give blatant nepotism a bad name.

She refused to be social. Ever. She hated the Imperial Court functions and refused to go, using the kinds as an excuse. She didn’t want Lannes to go either, and when he went because Napoleon expected him to, she engaged in monumental pouts. The myths that she was always so lovely, graceful, and sweet on these occasions were just that—myths.

She had two close—unhealthily close—friends, the slimy Dr. Corvisart, whom her equally slimy father introduced to Napoleon, and a second-rate perennially off-duty chevalier. No women friends of any rank. Just as well, because according to almost all the extant memoirs, no woman of any rank liked her, apparently able to see through the “I’m so sweet and demur” act.

She never went to Lectoure, Lannes’ hometown, and threw a real bitch fit when he wanted to go or went without her “approval” simply because he wanted to see his father and his siblings, and a lot of friends.

She insisted if they visited anyone, carting the kids with them, it was only and always to see her family. Full stop.

1809-1822: Treachery, Treason, Malfeasance, and Suspicious Death

She had to deal with claims from Lannes’ first wife, the much-maligned Polette Meric, on behalf of her son, Jean-Claude, until Naps ended that by a sharp letter to Cambaceres.

She actually went to the Tuileries to demand that Naps grant—posthumously, of course—the title “Prince of Seviers” so she could be a for-real princess just like Mesdames Massena, Berthier, and so forth and so on. She threw a significant shit-storm when Naps refused, and he reminded her that Lannes never applied for the letters patent because he didn’t care about the title, so she shouldn’t either.

No one—literally, no one other than Naps—thought she was a suitable choice for Marie-Louise. The historical record is replete with examples from the folks surrounding Marie-Louise, who was no winner herself.

She and her partner in crime, Dr. Corvisart, worked to insinuate themselves into M-L’s life so that when 1814 arrived, they could work to keep her away from Naps.

She made sure, as her letters show, that M-L and Naps II went back to Vienna, accompanied by her soon-to-be lover, Count Neipperg.

She offered her mansion that Lannes had bought and paid for to Wellesley for his headquarters. He refused, graciously, it is said.

Her parents immediately pledged their loyalty to Louis XVIII.

She lawyered up for the next legal battle with Polette, now that Naps was out of the picture.

She went into higher gear after Waterloo, now with nothing to stop her other than Jean-Claude’s attorney, who began to show that her marriage and Lannes’ divorce from Polette were riddled with illegal points.

Jean-Claude died in mysterious circumstances in November 1817. He had never been ill, and died three days after contracting an unknown illness. This has always been suspicious for obvious reasons.

She packed up the kids and went to Lectoure in 1818—she stayed in Auch, however, about 20 miles south—and, in a large PR event, donated Lannes’ house to the town. She never returned nor allowed any of the kids to return.

To be fair, which I always try to do regarding interpreting historical facts and figures, read Regis Bob-Crepy’s bio of Louise. His family married into hers back in the day before she married Lannes, and he is remarkably talented in glorifying his view of Louise. Besides the sheer comedic value for me, the best thing about his book is the letters he uses, which were/are maintained in the family’s hands and never before shared. Of course, we cannot know if others shed a different light on the subject. Given the family’s cavalier and almost criminal way they have treated anything to do with Lannes, his possessions, or his legacy, opting instead for celebrating their ties with the de Broglies and the Berthiers, I can almost guarantee that any shred of anything detrimental about Louise disappeared ages ago.

I have often sneered at the men who wrote biographies and articles about Lannes buying the Louise myth in its totality. But then, the poor dears simply can’t see things that are very clear to us.

Hope this answers your question.

[cirrus-grey]

research journal of jonathan sims 1818 👀

Historical fic! It's been in my drafts long enough that I had it as part of a wip game a few years ago too (whoops) so you can check out the basic premise here. Instead of a summary, have an excerpt!

“So, Jonathan,” he said, and I confess I did not hear the rest of his words, as I was so shocked by the impropriety of his referring to me by my given name so soon into our acquaintance that I near burned my hand on the kettle and spent the next several seconds struggling not to drop it to the floor.

When I had safely returned it to the stovetop I turned to face him, shoring up my composure as much as I could under the circumstances.

“My apologies, Mr. Blackwood,” I said, putting as much force into the words as I could without appearing rude. “I did not catch what you said.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression fixed in one of bemusement, before it cleared into sudden understanding.

“Right, eighteen-hundreds,” he muttered, rolling his eyes again - it seems to be a gesture he is quite fond of - and fixing his face into a smile that was almost a grimace. “I said, Mr. Sims,” - the amount of emphasis he put on those two words cared not one jot for appearing rude - “What are your plans for today?"

[vickyvicarious]

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, any variation was agreeable to me, and I was delighted with the idea of spending a year or two in change of scene and variety of occupation, in absence from my family; during which period some event might happen which would restore me to them in peace and happiness: my promise might be fulfilled, and the monster have departed; or some accident might occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under the guise of wishing to travel and see the world before I sat down for life within the walls of my native town.

I urged my entreaty with earnestness, and my father was easily induced to comply; for a more indulgent and less dictatorial parent did not exist upon earth. Our plan was soon arranged. I should travel to Strasburgh, where Clerval would join me. Some short time would be spent in the towns of Holland, and our principal stay would be in England. We should return by France; and it was agreed that the tour should occupy the space of two years.

My father pleased himself with the reflection, that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return to Geneva. "These two years," said he, "will pass swiftly, and it will be the last delay that will oppose itself to your happiness. And, indeed, I earnestly desire that period to arrive, when we shall all be united, and neither hopes or fears arise to disturb our domestic calm."

"I am content," I replied, "with your arrangement. By that time we shall both have become wiser, and I hope happier, than we at present are." I sighed; but my father kindly forbore to question me further concerning the cause of my dejection. He hoped that new scenes, and the amusement of travelling, would restore my tranquillity.

1818

I remembered also the necessity imposed upon me of either journeying to England, or entering into a long correspondence with those philosophers of that country, whose knowledge and discoveries were of indispensable use to me in my present undertaking. The latter method of obtaining the desired intelligence was dilatory and unsatisfactory: besides, I had an insurmountable aversion to the idea of engaging myself in my loathsome task in my father's house, while in the habits of familiar intercourse with those I loved. I knew that a thousand fearful accidents might occur, the slightest of which would disclose a tale to thrill all connected with me with horror. I was aware also that I should often lose all self-command, all capacity of hiding the harrowing sensations that would possess me during the progress of my unearthly occupation. I must absent myself from all I loved while thus employed. Once commenced, it would quickly be achieved, and I might be restored to my family in peace and happiness. My promise fulfilled, the monster would depart forever. Or (so my fond fancy imaged) some accident might meanwhile occur to destroy him, and put an end to my slavery for ever.

These feelings dictated my answer to my father. I expressed a wish to visit England; but, concealing the true reasons of this request, I clothed my desires under a guise which excited no suspicion, while I urged my entreaty with an earnestness that easily induced my father to comply. After so long a period of an absorbing melancholy, that resembled madness in its intensity and effects, he was glad to find that I was capable of taking pleasure in the idea of such a journey, and he hoped that change of scene and varied amusement would, before my return, have restored me entirely to myself.

The duration of my absence was left to my own choice; a few months, or at most a year, was the period contemplated. One paternal kind precaution he had taken to ensure my having a companion. Without previously communicating with me, he had, in concert with Elizabeth, arranged that Clerval should join me at Strasburgh. This interfered with the solitude I coveted for the prosecution of my task; yet at the commencement of my journey the presence of my friend could be in no way an impediment, and truly I rejoiced that thus I should be saved many hours of lonely, maddening reflection. Nay, Henry might stand between me and the intrusion of my foe. If I were alone, would he not at times force his abhorred presence on me, to remind me of my task, or to contemplate its progress?

To England, therefore, I was bound, and it was understood that my union with Elizabeth should take place immediately on my return. My father's age rendered him extremely averse to delay. For myself, there was one reward I promised myself from my detested toils—one consolation for my unparalleled sufferings; it was the prospect of the day when, enfranchised from my miserable slavery, I might claim Elizabeth, and forget the past in my union with her.

1831

This is a bit of a longer comparison, but I think there's a couple of interesting differences here. In the first paragraph alone, there are a couple of intriguing differences, which then inform the rest of each passage.

In 1818, Victor wants to get away from his family. For a couple of years. And he isn't being very specific at all about what he wants to do once alone, outside from England being a useful place to study up to create a second Creature. He says maybe he will fulfill his promise, or maybe something will just kill the Creature off without him having to do anything, with about the same amount of detail. It definitely seems like a major part of him wanting to leave is to be away from these people. He loves them, of course, but his guilt still holds him separate. And in addition, some of the older familial expectations (and his own feelings of failing at them) seem to be cropping up with the questions about him marrying Elizabeth. Victor is still being quite avoidant of his responsibilities, and guilty about being so, both in regards to his 'son' and his father.

Contrast to 1831, where Victor wants to leave because he can't imagine making another Creature near his family. Not only is this a much more grisly reminder of the reality of what goes into making a living being, but completely changes the tone of his desire to leave. He doesn't want his family to see him like that - and it's a much more foregone conclusion in this Victor's mind that he will get caught up in that same frame of mind and commit those same actions as before. 1831 Victor is much more actively planning to honor his promise, and his hope that something will happen to prevent its being necessary is acknowledged as a mere fancy this time around.

Bearing these differences in mind, the tone of the rest of both quotes follow predictable lines. In 1818, Victor seems to be planning his trip together with his father, and isn't surprised by Clerval's inclusion. This account dwells more on the various places they will visit, and gives a much longer timeframe of one or two years absence before Victor will be expected to return. While he is framing this trip as necessary for fulfilling his promise to the Creature, Victor is still being avoidant, still trying to give himself outs. Finally, Alphonse 'pleased himself with the reflection' that Victor will be married immediately upon his return. Victor's response is pretty lukewarm, all told: "I am content with your arrangement." Not only is it other peoples' doing, with which he is just willingly going along, but he also just doesn't seem to care that much about the idea of being married to Elizabeth. He's not against it, but he doesn't seem to be looking forward to it either.

1831, on the other hand, continues with a much stronger focus on what Victor is planning to do. He didn't expect Clerval to join him, and waffles between being upset that it will make his work more difficult, and hoping that it will mean the Creature is more reluctant to approach him (both versions keep Victor worrying about his family being left behind before convincing himself that the Creature will probably follow him on his trip; having this come before that feels a little disjointed in the later version). There is a huge difference in how long he is expected to be away; he asks for only a few months to a year maximum. Obviously, he's planning to be much more on-task about his promise, trying to get it out of the way and then put it behind him forever. He also seems much more invested in the idea of peaceful domestic life with Elizabeth, musing to himself about his eagerness to marry her. He views this marriage (and, presumably, happy family life afterwards) as a reward for all he's been through.

A further difference between the two versions is that in 1818, asking for this trip is one of the first things Victor has done under his own willpower since his return home. For the most part he has otherwise been willing to follow alone with others, or seek solitude on the lake. So it makes sense that his father is excited about him asking, and is more eager to agree. In 1831, he chose to go to the mountains of his own accord and entirely alone, meaning this second trip isn't as distinctive of a sign of him beginning to recover. In that sense, his father's willingness to agree makes a little less sense, given the state Victor was in upon his return; but him and Elizabeth contriving to have Clerval join Victor becomes an even stronger expression of their concern. They seem to hope that having his best friend along will keep Victor from falling back into a similar depression.

Overall, we once again see 1818 Victor as being much more listless, and having a more complicated relationship with his family, as well as less of a romantic relationship with Elizabeth. 1831 Victor is more driven, his family life is more idyllic/must be protected, and he looks forward to marrying Elizabeth.

[sea-owl]

Pearl Gardenia

Remember a while back I said that I wasn't sure who I wanted to be the first to know about Colleen and Penelope's relationship? Well I figured it out. Here you go.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45421066

-

It was the end of the season of 1818, the Bridgerton family was having a small get together at Aubrey Hall. It was a small event, with a select number invited.

"Are you sure it is alright for me to join you?" Penelope asked her lover. The two women were riding in their own carriage sitting across from one another. They planned to take off on another tour to Denmark once their trip to Aubrey Hall was over. "Eloise had told me it was a mostly private event."

Colleen only laughed before kissing her lover's wrist right where her glove would hide it. Colleen let her lips linger, willing her lip pomade to stain even just a little. "It may be smaller than during the season, but Mama still plans to host a ball for tonight. More local families"

"Besides," Colleen said as she pulled Penelope into her lap. "You've been around longer than anyone else my darling nymph."

Penelope blushed, but still wrapped her arms around Colleen's neck. "Charmer."

Colleen grinned. "Your charmer."

With an eye roll Penelope gave Colleen a quick peck before climbing off the taller woman's lap, and onto the seat next to her. Colleen pouted and made to pull Penelope against her once more when Penelope pushed her hands away with her own. Colleen managed to keep hold of one of those small hands.

"I can see Aubrey Hall," Penelope said.

Colleen sighed and plopped her head on top of Penelope's. Fine if she can't have Penelope in her lap, then laying against her will have to do. They can just say she fell asleep on the way over. Wouldn't be the first time she cuddled up to someone while asleep during a carriage ride.

Colleen raised the glove on the hand she held, giving Penelope's other wrist a kiss. Her wrists should match after all.

Penelope giggled. "Can I trust you not to make mischief until we leave?"

"But I love making mischief," Colleen pretnded to whine. Leaning more of her weight on the smaller redhead. "Almost as much as I love you."

Penelope giggled again but pushed back against Colleen. "Alright then, no mischief that involves me then!"

Colleen faked a wounded look, one hand on her chest, like she was scandalized. "My lovely nymph you wound me!"

Penelope shook her head, a fond smile on her face. She gave another quick peck to Colleen's lips. "Behave. We're here."

Colleen looked out the window to see they were indeed coming up to Aubrey Hall's front doors. Sitting up straighter she gave Penelope's hand a squeeze before the footman opened the door.

"Oh Pen!" Eloise exclaimed. Grabbing Penelope's hand Eloise began to drag her off. "I am so sorry I could not accompany you. Colleen practically shoved me in that blasted carriage."

Colleen pretended her smile didn't tightened.

"Come along dear sister," Daphne said, wrapping her arm in Colleen's. "We have to pick out your dress for Mama's ball."

-

Colleen sat on the floor in front of her mirror. Her hands were bare, gloves next to her, along with her cosmetics. Ever since she started traveling she has found she preferred applying her own cosmetics, or doing Penelope's while she does Colleen's.

A knock on the door.

"Come in," Colleen said. She watched from the mirror as the door to her bedroom opened and Penelope slipped inside. Penelope's face was bare, but her own cosmetics were in her hands. Colleen grinned as her eyes traced Penelope's reflection. "We match."

While Colleen's dress was blue and Penelope's green, they matched in jewelry. Both women wore a choker that looked like gardenias on silver vines wrapping around their necks. The gardenias were made out of pearl, and the two women both had dangle pearl earrings to match. It was a gift Colleen had gotten them when they first gotten together in 1815 on the Island of Ithaca. Colleen had thought it was the perfect way to declare her secret love to Penelope, after all she could always claim she thought the necklaces were pretty.

Penelope sat down next to Colleen, her hands playing with her cosmetics. She looked down in a corner of the mirror. "I thought it would be nice if we did each other's cosmetics like we do when we're traveling. Eloise is currently distracted so she won't be looking for me."

Colleen couldn't help herself. Penelope looked so cute, her cheeks taking on a rosy shade. Even with Penelope's head turned down, a glance at the mirror showed her bitting her lip. Really could you blame Colleen for stealing a kiss?

"No mischief!" Penelope giggled, pulling away.

"You make it very hard my dear nymph," Colleen said, leaning closer once again. "But if you share your lip pomade with me I might be able to behave during the ball."

Penelope raised an eyebrow. "Just the ball?"

"If you want me to behave after I just might need some more incentive," Colleen whispered in her lover's ear.

Penelope felt a shiver run up her back. "We'll have to get up early."

Colleen turned her head so her lips were just brushing against Penelope's ear. "Do you wish for me to behave?"

Penelope picked up her lip pomade. "Your room or mine?"

Colleen picked up Penelope's rouge. "Oh definitely mine my dear nymph. Not only are we less likely to be disturbed, but I've been wanting to put this mirror here to good use."

The two women worked in a comfortable silence. Penelope applying the lip pomade to Colleen's lips, while Colleen traced the rouge on Penelope's cheeks. When Penelope nodded satisfied with Colleen's lips, Colleen snuck a quick peck. She smiled smugly seeing that there was a faint trace of the color left behind.

Penelope only shook her head fondly but handed off the lip pomade to Colleen while she picked up Colleen's rouge. Two women switched places, and when deemed good by the other they turned to the mirror.

Colleen smiled at her nymph's beautiful reflection.

-

Colleen scowled in to her drink, her green eyes glaring at the dance floor.

She's going to kill Francesca. As much as she loves her little sister, Francesca still brought her husband's cousin, the merry bloody fucking rake, to their mother's ball. God damn Michael fucking Stirling was dancing and flirting with her Pen.

Colleen's free hand clenched in her skirt.

It's not like they haven't talked about the possibility of one of them marrying before so society wouldn't suspect them. They have and quickly came to the conclusion that Colleen would end up calling for a duel with Penelope's potential suitor. Colleen Bridgerton does not like to share what's her's, and Penelope Featherington most certainly was her's. No matter what Eloise says.

"Is that a new shade?" Daphne asked, sliding up to her sister.

Colleen tore her eyes away from the dance floor and down at her sister. Colleen is still unsure how she ended up taller than most of her siblings, she even has an inch on Anthony, which made for an interesting day when it was first noticed. She let her eyes ask her question.

"Your lip pomade," Daphne pointed. "I don't think I have ever seen you wear that shade before."

"Oh," Colleen said. "I had tried of mine, so Penelope was kind enough to let me try her's."

"It looks good on you," Daphne said.

Colleen nodded, she knew it looked good on her. She shares Penelope's lip pomade all the time when they travel. Speaking of Penelope, the merry rake had just had just released her nymph, and Colleen needs a recharge. "Thank you sister. I should go ask Penelope what she uses, perhaps I'll wear this shade more often."

With that Colleen was off to collect her nymph. She said she would behave at the ball, but she never said she behave in the library.

Something was off with Colleen. Daphne couldn't place it, but her older sister was being a tad more polite than what she usually is during society events. The type of politeness Colleen uses when she's tense or trying to hide something. Not to mention Daphne thought the glass Colleen was holding earlier was going to shatter from how tight she held it.

"Daphne, could you find Colleen please?" Violet asked. "There is an Earl here that I would like to introduce her to."

Daphne shook her head, a fond smile on her face. Trust their mother to always trying to play matchmaker. "Of course Mama."

Daphne walked around the ballroom but had yet to see her sister. Perhaps she had stepped out, it would not have been the first time. Colleen likes her food and what was often served at balls did nothing for her voracious appetite. Or Colleen would gather up a huge plate and then hide away so neither Violet or Anthony would chastise her for being more interested in the food then the men.

Daphne poked her head in the library. No sign of Colleen. Perhaps she's in her room?

A moan coming from deeper in the library made Daphne pause. That moan sounded like Colleen.

Is her older sister meeting with a lover? Oh dear, Anthony will surely lose it if he finds out Colleen has followed the family tradition of scandoulous courtships. Especially since they have been trying to get her to at least entertain the idea of marriage for so long.

Daphne had to make sure.

Walking back further, hidden among the book stacks Daphne was not prepared for what she saw.

Penelope Featherington was being held up against the books, her head rolled back allowing access to her lover to suck on her pulse point. Penelope's bodice was falling, her lover's kisses, going lower and lower until they began to kiss at Penelope's breast.

Penelope's lover, whose back was to Daphne, did not wear boots and a coat like all the other gentlemen. But rather a dress, much similar to other ladies at the ball tonight. The lover lifted her head to smile up at Penelope.

Daphne gasped as she recognized Colleen.

Daphne's gasp was enough to catch Penelope's attention who let out her own gasp. "Daphne!"

Colleen's head whipped around. At the sight of her sister she put Penelope down and turned to face Daphne. Her body immediately covering Penelope's smaller one as the red head began to pull her bodice back into place.

"Colleen, what is going on?" Daphne asked. The duchess didn't know what to think. Her sister with another woman? Not only that but a woman they have known since they were all little girls. Is this why Colleen never married?

Colleen reached behind her, and Daphne could barley see the slight movement of Penelope holding Colleen's hand.

Colleen stared Daphne in the eye. "Penelope and I are in love."

In love? Two women . . . in love? That can't be right. Daphne has never heard of such a thing. It has always been a man and a woman who married. They're parents, Anthony and Kate, Benedict and Sophie, herself and Simon.

"No," Daphne finally said, starting to make her way to the library door. Perhaps she should get Anthony. "No that can't be. Two women have never married. It has always been a man and a woman."

"Daphne," Colleen practically begged.

"Perhaps if Penelope was man-"

"If I was a man, I would have married Penelope already!" Colleen declared.

Daphne paused, her older sister's words sinking in. Looking into Colleen's green eyes she could she see fear, but also a determination. Colleen and Penelope were holding onto each other, the same way Daphne holds onto Simon, and how her brothers hold onto their wives. Eventually she sat down on a nearby sofa. "Okay," she said, "okay I'm listening. Tell me how this happened."

Colleen and Penelope sat across from Daphne. They look at one another, their pearl gardenia necklaces catching in the moonlight.

Penelope gestures, and Colleen gives her lover a nod. "It officially started three years ago when we went to Ithaca."

Daphne's jaw dropped. Three years these two have been hiding their relationship, and no one in the Ton had any clue about it. Though Colleen's wording was interesting. "What do you mean by officially?"

Penelope spoke next. "I was in love with Colleen before, but I didn't know what those feelings were right away."

Colleen held Penelope's hand. "And I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I fell in love with Penelope. My best guess though is that my feelings started to change when we started traveling together."

Penelope picked the story back up. "Being alone together so often in our travels probably helped speed up our feelings. We would also pretend to be married in certain areas where it was a safer option for us."

"I quite enjoy when I get to pretend to be your husband," Colleen said, shooting Penelope a grin.

Daphne watched as Colleen and Penelope stared at each other in adoration. She could see it so easily now, it's the same look she sees on Simon's face. The same look she sees when Anthony and Kate or Benedict and Sophie stare at one another. Colleen and Penelope stared at one another with love. A love they have to keep secret. Their gardenia necklaces make so much more sense.

On the the thought of love and now love making . . .

"So how do you," Daphne trailed off. Using one hand to make a circle she used her other hand to stick a finger in.

Colleen and Penelope looked at her for a moment before realization hit. Penelope's face went red, while Colleen smirked.

"Dear sister," Colleen said, her voice full of laughter. "Has Simon not been using his hands or his tongue? Do Pen and I need to leave him some anonyms detailed instructions?"

"Colleen Bridgerton!" Daphne gasped at her sister's crude language.

"You asked!" Colleen laughed.

Daphne turned to apologize to Penelope, for Colleen or herself she wasn't sure yet. She caught Penelope's eye.

The younger woman went redder before saying, "There are also toys that can take place of a man's private parts, such as a dildo."

"Pen's favorite is the ivory one," Colleen added.

Penelope shot Colleen a look, her face becoming less red. "Though Colleen has a thing for mirrors and tying others up."

Colleen shot Penelope a look back that was nothing but filthy, "I like tying you up, and getting to see you from so many different angles. All pretty and on display for me."

"Colleen," Penelope hissed. "Daphne is right there."

Daphne felt her own face grow hot. She may not have the same level of attraction to women that her sister does but the images the two lovers are putting in her head would make a nun blush.

Colleen turned towards her sister. "If you want, we can find you a dildo sister," Colleen offered. "That way you can experience some of this yourself. There's some that imitate a man coming but uses water instead. You can take a break from the pregnancies!"

Daphne really should not have been surprised to learn that either Colleen or Penelope had snuck instructions for Simon on how to use his hands and mouth on Daphne in her luggage. It was very detailed. They also left a dildo her a dildo buried underneath her night dresses before they left for Denmark. It was actually the one Colleen had described to her that night in the library.

Well, Daphne was kind of tired of being pregnant, but she did like the feeling of her husband coming. Maybe she and Simon should give this a try.

[supeuro]

Supeuro, votre super héros des investissements a mené sa petite enquête. Le livret A est le livret d’épargne le plus connu et le plus apprécié en France. Il s’agit d’un placement réglementé, sûr, et à taux d’intérêt garanti.

La petite histoire du Livret A

Le Livret A est un produit d'épargne populaire en France, créé en 1818 sous le nom de : Livret de caisse d'épargne. Le but de sa création était de fournir un moyen sûr et facile pour les gens ordinaires d'économiser leur argent et de s'assurer contre les événements imprévus tels que la maladie et la perte d'emploi. Au départ, le Livret de caisse d'épargne était destiné aux travailleurs modestes et ne pouvait être ouvert qu'avec un dépôt minimum de 1 franc. Au fil des ans, le produit a gagné en popularité et en 1881, le gouvernement a décidé de le rendre accessible à tous les citoyens. En 1906, le Livret de caisse d'épargne est devenu le : "Livret de la Caisse Nationale d'Epargne", puis en 1954, il a été renommé Livret A en l'honneur du ministre des Finances de l'époque, Antoine Pinay. Depuis lors, le Livret A a connu de nombreuses évolutions, notamment en termes de plafond de dépôt, de taux d'intérêt et de conditions d'accès. Le Livret A est aujourd'hui l'un des produits d'épargne les plus populaires en France. Il est géré par la Caisse des Dépôts et Consignations et offre un taux d'intérêt relativement faible mais garanti par l'État, ce qui en fait un choix populaire pour les épargnants cherchant à protéger leur argent contre l'inflation et les fluctuations du marché.

Voici comment il fonctionne :

Ouverture : tout d'abord, pour ouvrir un Livret A, vous devez être résident fiscal français et posséder une pièce d'identité en cours de validité. L'ouverture d'un Livret A peut se faire auprès de plusieurs établissements financiers, tels que les banques ou les bureaux de poste.

Plafond de dépôt : le plafond de dépôt sur un Livret A est fixé à 22 950 euros depuis le 1er octobre 2020. Cela signifie que vous ne pouvez pas déposer plus de cette somme sur votre compte.

Taux d'intérêt : le taux d'intérêt du Livret A est réglementé et fixé par l'État. Depuis le 1er février 2023, le taux d'intérêt annuel est de 0,25%. Les intérêts sont calculés chaque quinzaine, sur la base du solde moyen du Livret A.

Accessibilité : les fonds placés sur un Livret A sont disponibles à tout moment. Vous pouvez effectuer des retraits ou des dépôts à tout moment, sans pénalité ou frais.

Fiscalité : les intérêts perçus sur un Livret A sont exonérés d'impôts et de prélèvements sociaux. Ils sont donc totalement nets d'impôts.

En résumé, le Livret A est un produit d'épargne simple, sûr et réglementé, qui permet aux épargnants de placer leur argent à court terme et d'en disposer facilement. Il offre un taux d'intérêt garanti par l'État et est exempt d'impôts et de prélèvements sociaux. Cependant, le taux d'intérêt peut être faible en période de taux d'intérêt bas.

​​Livret A : taux à 3 % à partir du 1er février 2023

Le taux du livret A est passé à 3 % le 1er février 2023, son taux le plus élevé depuis 15 ans. Il avait connu une première révision à 1 % en février 2022, puis, en raison de la forte hausse de l'inflation, avait été porté à 2 % le 1er août 2022. Le livret A est un compte d'épargne rémunéré dont les fonds sont disponibles à tout moment. Les intérêts sont exonérés d'impôt sur le revenu et de prélèvements sociaux. Ils sont calculés le 1er et le 16 de chaque mois et sont versés en une seule fois le 31 décembre. Ils s'ajoutent au capital. Tous les établissements bancaires peuvent le proposer. Son taux de rémunération est révisé deux fois par an, en janvier et en juillet, avec application au 1er du mois suivant. Le plafond du livret A est fixé à 22 950 € pour les particuliers et à 76 500 € pour les personnes morales, hors calcul des intérêts capitalisés. Avec un taux à 3 %, les particuliers ayant un livret A au plafond de 22 950 € peuvent obtenir 688,50 € d'intérêts sur un an. Le livret A peut être cumulé avec d'autres comptes sur livret, par exemple le livret de développement durable et solidaire (LDDS), sans condition, le livret jeune, sous condition d'âge, ou le livret d'épargne populaire (LEP), sous condition de ressources. En revanche, il est interdit de détenir plusieurs de ces livrets.

Le livret A est-il un bon placement ?

Le Livret A est un produit d'épargne réglementé en France qui offre un taux d'intérêt relativement faible mais garanti par l'État. En tant que tel, il peut être considéré comme un placement sûr, car les fonds placés sur un Livret A sont disponibles à tout moment et sont protégés par l'État. Cependant, le taux d'intérêt du Livret A est souvent inférieur à l'inflation, ce qui signifie que l'argent placé sur un Livret A perd de la valeur réelle au fil du temps. En conséquence, si vous cherchez à maximiser vos rendements à long terme, le Livret A n'est pas le meilleur choix. Il existe d'autres produits d'épargne et d'investissement, tels que les actions, les obligations, les fonds communs de placement ou les assurances-vie, qui peuvent offrir un potentiel de rendement plus élevé à long terme, mais qui comportent également des risques de pertes en capital. Cependant, le Livret A peut être un bon choix pour les épargnants cherchant à protéger leur argent contre l'inflation et les fluctuations du marché. Il peut également être une option intéressante pour les personnes cherchant à épargner de l'argent à court terme et ayant besoin d'un accès facile à leurs fonds, sans risque de perte en capital. Voici les conseils de Supeuro.com concernant un investissement dans un Livret A.

[lesmislettersdaily]

One Mother Meets Another Mother

Volume 1: Fantine; Book 4: To Confide Is Sometimes To Deliver Into A Person's Power; Chapter 1: One Mother Meets Another Mother

There was, at Montfermeil, near Paris, during the first quarter of this century, a sort of cook-shop which no longer exists. This cook-shop was kept by some people named Thénardier, husband and wife. It was situated in Boulanger Lane. Over the door there was a board nailed flat against the wall. Upon this board was painted something which resembled a man carrying another man on his back, the latter wearing the big gilt epaulettes of a general, with large silver stars; red spots represented blood; the rest of the picture consisted of smoke, and probably represented a battle. Below ran this inscription: AT THE SIGN OF SERGEANT OF WATERLOO (Au Sargent de Waterloo).

Nothing is more common than a cart or a truck at the door of a hostelry. Nevertheless, the vehicle, or, to speak more accurately, the fragment of a vehicle, which encumbered the street in front of the cook-shop of the Sergeant of Waterloo, one evening in the spring of 1818, would certainly have attracted, by its mass, the attention of any painter who had passed that way.

It was the fore-carriage of one of those trucks which are used in wooded tracts of country, and which serve to transport thick planks and the trunks of trees. This fore-carriage was composed of a massive iron axle-tree with a pivot, into which was fitted a heavy shaft, and which was supported by two huge wheels. The whole thing was compact, overwhelming, and misshapen. It seemed like the gun-carriage of an enormous cannon. The ruts of the road had bestowed on the wheels, the fellies, the hub, the axle, and the shaft, a layer of mud, a hideous yellowish daubing hue, tolerably like that with which people are fond of ornamenting cathedrals. The wood was disappearing under mud, and the iron beneath rust. Under the axle-tree hung, like drapery, a huge chain, worthy of some Goliath of a convict. This chain suggested, not the beams, which it was its office to transport, but the mastodons and mammoths which it might have served to harness; it had the air of the galleys, but of cyclopean and superhuman galleys, and it seemed to have been detached from some monster. Homer would have bound Polyphemus with it, and Shakespeare, Caliban.

Why was that fore-carriage of a truck in that place in the street? In the first place, to encumber the street; next, in order that it might finish the process of rusting. There is a throng of institutions in the old social order, which one comes across in this fashion as one walks about outdoors, and which have no other reasons for existence than the above.

The centre of the chain swung very near the ground in the middle, and in the loop, as in the rope of a swing, there were seated and grouped, on that particular evening, in exquisite interlacement, two little girls; one about two years and a half old, the other, eighteen months; the younger in the arms of the other. A handkerchief, cleverly knotted about them, prevented their falling out. A mother had caught sight of that frightful chain, and had said, “Come! there’s a plaything for my children.”

The two children, who were dressed prettily and with some elegance, were radiant with pleasure; one would have said that they were two roses amid old iron; their eyes were a triumph; their fresh cheeks were full of laughter. One had chestnut hair; the other, brown. Their innocent faces were two delighted surprises; a blossoming shrub which grew near wafted to the passers-by perfumes which seemed to emanate from them; the child of eighteen months displayed her pretty little bare stomach with the chaste indecency of childhood. Above and around these two delicate heads, all made of happiness and steeped in light, the gigantic fore-carriage, black with rust, almost terrible, all entangled in curves and wild angles, rose in a vault, like the entrance of a cavern. A few paces apart, crouching down upon the threshold of the hostelry, the mother, not a very prepossessing woman, by the way, though touching at that moment, was swinging the two children by means of a long cord, watching them carefully, for fear of accidents, with that animal and celestial expression which is peculiar to maternity. At every backward and forward swing the hideous links emitted a strident sound, which resembled a cry of rage; the little girls were in ecstasies; the setting sun mingled in this joy, and nothing could be more charming than this caprice of chance which had made of a chain of Titans the swing of cherubim.

As she rocked her little ones, the mother hummed in a discordant voice a romance then celebrated:—

“It must be, said a warrior.”

Her song, and the contemplation of her daughters, prevented her hearing and seeing what was going on in the street.

In the meantime, some one had approached her, as she was beginning the first couplet of the romance, and suddenly she heard a voice saying very near her ear:—

“You have two beautiful children there, Madame.”

“To the fair and tender Imogene—”

replied the mother, continuing her romance; then she turned her head.

A woman stood before her, a few paces distant. This woman also had a child, which she carried in her arms.

She was carrying, in addition, a large carpet-bag, which seemed very heavy.

This woman’s child was one of the most divine creatures that it is possible to behold. It was a girl, two or three years of age. She could have entered into competition with the two other little ones, so far as the coquetry of her dress was concerned; she wore a cap of fine linen, ribbons on her bodice, and Valenciennes lace on her cap. The folds of her skirt were raised so as to permit a view of her white, firm, and dimpled leg. She was admirably rosy and healthy. The little beauty inspired a desire to take a bite from the apples of her cheeks. Of her eyes nothing could be known, except that they must be very large, and that they had magnificent lashes. She was asleep.

She slept with that slumber of absolute confidence peculiar to her age. The arms of mothers are made of tenderness; in them children sleep profoundly.

As for the mother, her appearance was sad and poverty-stricken. She was dressed like a working-woman who is inclined to turn into a peasant again. She was young. Was she handsome? Perhaps; but in that attire it was not apparent. Her hair, a golden lock of which had escaped, seemed very thick, but was severely concealed beneath an ugly, tight, close, nun-like cap, tied under the chin. A smile displays beautiful teeth when one has them; but she did not smile. Her eyes did not seem to have been dry for a very long time. She was pale; she had a very weary and rather sickly appearance. She gazed upon her daughter asleep in her arms with the air peculiar to a mother who has nursed her own child. A large blue handkerchief, such as the Invalides use, was folded into a fichu, and concealed her figure clumsily. Her hands were sunburnt and all dotted with freckles, her forefinger was hardened and lacerated with the needle; she wore a cloak of coarse brown woollen stuff, a linen gown, and coarse shoes. It was Fantine.

It was Fantine, but difficult to recognize. Nevertheless, on scrutinizing her attentively, it was evident that she still retained her beauty. A melancholy fold, which resembled the beginning of irony, wrinkled her right cheek. As for her toilette, that aerial toilette of muslin and ribbons, which seemed made of mirth, of folly, and of music, full of bells, and perfumed with lilacs had vanished like that beautiful and dazzling hoar-frost which is mistaken for diamonds in the sunlight; it melts and leaves the branch quite black.

Ten months had elapsed since the “pretty farce.”

What had taken place during those ten months? It can be divined.

After abandonment, straightened circumstances. Fantine had immediately lost sight of Favourite, Zéphine and Dahlia; the bond once broken on the side of the men, it was loosed between the women; they would have been greatly astonished had any one told them a fortnight later, that they had been friends; there no longer existed any reason for such a thing. Fantine had remained alone. The father of her child gone,—alas! such ruptures are irrevocable,—she found herself absolutely isolated, minus the habit of work and plus the taste for pleasure. Drawn away by her liaison with Tholomyès to disdain the pretty trade which she knew, she had neglected to keep her market open; it was now closed to her. She had no resource. Fantine barely knew how to read, and did not know how to write; in her childhood she had only been taught to sign her name; she had a public letter-writer indite an epistle to Tholomyès, then a second, then a third. Tholomyès replied to none of them. Fantine heard the gossips say, as they looked at her child: “Who takes those children seriously! One only shrugs one’s shoulders over such children!” Then she thought of Tholomyès, who had shrugged his shoulders over his child, and who did not take that innocent being seriously; and her heart grew gloomy toward that man. But what was she to do?

She no longer knew to whom to apply. She had committed a fault, but the foundation of her nature, as will be remembered, was modesty and virtue. She was vaguely conscious that she was on the verge of falling into distress, and of gliding into a worse state. Courage was necessary; she possessed it, and held herself firm. The idea of returning to her native town of M. sur M. occurred to her. There, some one might possibly know her and give her work; yes, but it would be necessary to conceal her fault. In a confused way she perceived the necessity of a separation which would be more painful than the first one. Her heart contracted, but she took her resolution. Fantine, as we shall see, had the fierce bravery of life. She had already valiantly renounced finery, had dressed herself in linen, and had put all her silks, all her ornaments, all her ribbons, and all her laces on her daughter, the only vanity which was left to her, and a holy one it was. She sold all that she had, which produced for her two hundred francs; her little debts paid, she had only about eighty francs left. At the age of twenty-two, on a beautiful spring morning, she quitted Paris, bearing her child on her back. Any one who had seen these two pass would have had pity on them. This woman had, in all the world, nothing but her child, and the child had, in all the world, no one but this woman. Fantine had nursed her child, and this had tired her chest, and she coughed a little.

We shall have no further occasion to speak of M. Félix Tholomyès. Let us confine ourselves to saying, that, twenty years later, under King Louis Philippe, he was a great provincial lawyer, wealthy and influential, a wise elector, and a very severe juryman; he was still a man of pleasure.

Towards the middle of the day, after having, from time to time, for the sake of resting herself, travelled, for three or four sous a league, in what was then known as the Petites Voitures des Environs de Paris, the “little suburban coach service,” Fantine found herself at Montfermeil, in the alley Boulanger.

As she passed the Thénardier hostelry, the two little girls, blissful in the monster swing, had dazzled her in a manner, and she had halted in front of that vision of joy.

Charms exist. These two little girls were a charm to this mother.

She gazed at them in much emotion. The presence of angels is an announcement of Paradise. She thought that, above this inn, she beheld the mysterious HERE of Providence. These two little creatures were evidently happy. She gazed at them, she admired them, in such emotion that at the moment when their mother was recovering her breath between two couplets of her song, she could not refrain from addressing to her the remark which we have just read:—

“You have two pretty children, Madame.”

The most ferocious creatures are disarmed by caresses bestowed on their young.

The mother raised her head and thanked her, and bade the wayfarer sit down on the bench at the door, she herself being seated on the threshold. The two women began to chat.

“My name is Madame Thénardier,” said the mother of the two little girls. “We keep this inn.”

Then, her mind still running on her romance, she resumed humming between her teeth:—

“It must be so; I am a knight,

And I am off to Palestine.”

This Madame Thénardier was a sandy-complexioned woman, thin and angular—the type of the soldier’s wife in all its unpleasantness; and what was odd, with a languishing air, which she owed to her perusal of romances. She was a simpering, but masculine creature. Old romances produce that effect when rubbed against the imagination of cook-shop woman. She was still young; she was barely thirty. If this crouching woman had stood upright, her lofty stature and her frame of a perambulating colossus suitable for fairs, might have frightened the traveller at the outset, troubled her confidence, and disturbed what caused what we have to relate to vanish. A person who is seated instead of standing erect—destinies hang upon such a thing as that.

The traveller told her story, with slight modifications.

That she was a working-woman; that her husband was dead; that her work in Paris had failed her, and that she was on her way to seek it elsewhere, in her own native parts; that she had left Paris that morning on foot; that, as she was carrying her child, and felt fatigued, she had got into the Villemomble coach when she met it; that from Villemomble she had come to Montfermeil on foot; that the little one had walked a little, but not much, because she was so young, and that she had been obliged to take her up, and the jewel had fallen asleep.

At this word she bestowed on her daughter a passionate kiss, which woke her. The child opened her eyes, great blue eyes like her mother’s, and looked at—what? Nothing; with that serious and sometimes severe air of little children, which is a mystery of their luminous innocence in the presence of our twilight of virtue. One would say that they feel themselves to be angels, and that they know us to be men. Then the child began to laugh; and although the mother held fast to her, she slipped to the ground with the unconquerable energy of a little being which wished to run. All at once she caught sight of the two others in the swing, stopped short, and put out her tongue, in sign of admiration.

Mother Thénardier released her daughters, made them descend from the swing, and said:—

“Now amuse yourselves, all three of you.”

Children become acquainted quickly at that age, and at the expiration of a minute the little Thénardiers were playing with the newcomer at making holes in the ground, which was an immense pleasure.

The newcomer was very gay; the goodness of the mother is written in the gayety of the child; she had seized a scrap of wood which served her for a shovel, and energetically dug a cavity big enough for a fly. The grave-digger’s business becomes a subject for laughter when performed by a child.

The two women pursued their chat.

“What is your little one’s name?”

“Cosette.”

For Cosette, read Euphrasie. The child’s name was Euphrasie. But out of Euphrasie the mother had made Cosette by that sweet and graceful instinct of mothers and of the populace which changes Josepha into Pepita, and Françoise into Sillette. It is a sort of derivative which disarranges and disconcerts the whole science of etymologists. We have known a grandmother who succeeded in turning Theodore into Gnon.

“How old is she?”

“She is going on three.”

“That is the age of my eldest.”

In the meantime, the three little girls were grouped in an attitude of profound anxiety and blissfulness; an event had happened; a big worm had emerged from the ground, and they were afraid; and they were in ecstasies over it.

Their radiant brows touched each other; one would have said that there were three heads in one aureole.

“How easily children get acquainted at once!” exclaimed Mother Thénardier; “one would swear that they were three sisters!”

This remark was probably the spark which the other mother had been waiting for. She seized the Thénardier’s hand, looked at her fixedly, and said:—

“Will you keep my child for me?”

The Thénardier made one of those movements of surprise which signify neither assent nor refusal.

Cosette’s mother continued:—

“You see, I cannot take my daughter to the country. My work will not permit it. With a child one can find no situation. People are ridiculous in the country. It was the good God who caused me to pass your inn. When I caught sight of your little ones, so pretty, so clean, and so happy, it overwhelmed me. I said: ‘Here is a good mother. That is just the thing; that will make three sisters.’ And then, it will not be long before I return. Will you keep my child for me?”

“I must see about it,” replied the Thénardier.

“I will give you six francs a month.”

Here a man’s voice called from the depths of the cook-shop:—

“Not for less than seven francs. And six months paid in advance.”

“Six times seven makes forty-two,” said the Thénardier.

“I will give it,” said the mother.

“And fifteen francs in addition for preliminary expenses,” added the man’s voice.

“Total, fifty-seven francs,” said Madame Thénardier. And she hummed vaguely, with these figures:—

“It must be, said a warrior.”

“I will pay it,” said the mother. “I have eighty francs. I shall have enough left to reach the country, by travelling on foot. I shall earn money there, and as soon as I have a little I will return for my darling.”

The man’s voice resumed:—

“The little one has an outfit?”

“That is my husband,” said the Thénardier.

“Of course she has an outfit, the poor treasure.—I understood perfectly that it was your husband.—And a beautiful outfit, too! a senseless outfit, everything by the dozen, and silk gowns like a lady. It is here, in my carpet-bag.”

“You must hand it over,” struck in the man’s voice again.

“Of course I shall give it to you,” said the mother. “It would be very queer if I were to leave my daughter quite naked!”

The master’s face appeared.

“That’s good,” said he.

The bargain was concluded. The mother passed the night at the inn, gave up her money and left her child, fastened her carpet-bag once more, now reduced in volume by the removal of the outfit, and light henceforth and set out on the following morning, intending to return soon. People arrange such departures tranquilly; but they are despairs!

A neighbor of the Thénardiers met this mother as she was setting out, and came back with the remark:—

“I have just seen a woman crying in the street so that it was enough to rend your heart.”

When Cosette’s mother had taken her departure, the man said to the woman:—

“That will serve to pay my note for one hundred and ten francs which falls due to-morrow; I lacked fifty francs. Do you know that I should have had a bailiff and a protest after me? You played the mouse-trap nicely with your young ones.”

“Without suspecting it,” said the woman.

[bobmccullochny]

History

December 13, 1545 - The Council of Trent, summoned by Pope Paul III, met to discuss doctrinal matters including the rise of Protestantism.

December 13, 1577 - Francis Drake departed Plymouth, England, in the Golden Hind on his voyage around the world.

December 13, 1642 - New Zealand was discovered by Dutch navigator Abel Tasman of the Dutch East India Company.

December 13, 1862 - During the American Civil War, the Battle of Fredericksburg occurred in Virginia as the Union Army of the Potomac under General Burnside suffered a costly defeat, losing 12,653 men after 14 frontal assaults on well entrenched Rebels on Marye's Heights. "We might as well have tried to take hell," a Union soldier remarked. Confederate losses were 5,309. "It is well that war is so terrible - we should grow too fond of it," stated Confederate General Robert E. Lee during the fighting.

December 13, 1937 - The beginning of one of the worst atrocities of World War II as the Chinese city of Nanking (Nanjing) was captured by the Japanese. Over the next six weeks, the Rape of Nanking occurred in which Japanese soldiers randomly attacked, raped and indiscriminately killed an estimated 200,000 Chinese persons.

December 13, 1981 - In its struggle to maintain Communism, the Polish government imposed martial law and took steps to stifle the growing power of the pro-democratic trade union Solidarity.

December 13, 1991 - North and South Korea signed a treaty of reconciliation and nonaggression which also formally ended the Korean War, although actual fighting had ceased in 1953.

Birthday - German writer Heinrich Heine (1797-1856) was born in Dusseldorf. Best known for his statement made a hundred years before the advent of book-burning Nazis in Germany - "Where books are burned, human beings are destined to be burned too."

Birthday - Mary Todd (1818-1882) was born in Lexington, Kentucky. She became the wife of Abraham Lincoln, the 16th U.S. President.

Birthday - American clergyman and composer Phillips Brooks (1835-1893) was born in Boston, Massachusetts. He wrote the lyrics for the popular Christmas Carol, O Little Town of Bethlehem.

[blinkaholik1]

Reliquary Continued

Kettle 1783/84 Sèvres Porcelain, Manufactory (Sèvres, France, founded 1740) Painting attributed to Charles-Eloi Asselin (French, active 1712-1803) Mounts attributed to Jean-Nicolas Bastin (French, died 1785) Hard-paste porcelain, brown ground (fond laque), gilding, and black enamel; silver-gilt and ebony mounts Harry and Maribel G. Blum, Annette M. Chapin, Mr. and Mrs. Fred Krehbiel, and Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Variety endowments; through prior acquisition of Richard T. Crane, Jr., 1998.517a-b This kettle, which is entirely covered with a brown ground, is densely over laid with a gold, friezelike procession subject depicted on this kettle-Albinus giving his chariot to the vestal virgins-is taken from the fifth book of Livy’s the History of Rome. Plate 1778 Sèvres Porcelain Manufactory (Sèvres, founded 1740) Painted by Edmé-Francois Bouilliat (French, 1758-1810) and Pierre-Antoine Mereaud (French, active 1754-91) Gilded by Etienne-Henry Le Guay (French, Active 1748-49 and 1751-96) and Philippe Castel (French, active 1771-97) Covered Bowl and Stand 1794 Sevres Porcelain Manufactory (Sevres, France, founded 1740) Painted by Nicolas-Pierre Pithou (French, active 1759/60-1769-1795, 1814-1818) Hard-paste porcelain, underglaze dark blue Gift of the Antiquarian Society, rs. L. Ruggles in memory of her huosband, Antique Show Fund, and Canada Trip Fund, 1993.34a-c The Maribel G. Blum Gallery Franz Xavier Karl Palko Austrian, 1724-1767 Saint John of Matha and Saint Felix of Valois Ransoming Christian Slaves About 1745 Oil on canvas Bequest from the Estate of Bertha C. Loomis, 1966.550 Prie-Dieu 1759 Pietro Piffetti (Italian, about 1700-1777) Turin Boxwood and ebony Mary Walker Langhorne, Memorial Fund, restricted gift of Kay and Fred Krehbiel; Irish Gala Purchase Fund; restricted gifts of John W. and Patricia O’Brien and Gayle Tilles; Neville and John Bryan Fund, 2016.117

[wesper-ao3feed]

I Saw the TV Glow

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/iVqafcl by Anonymous "Wylan gazes down at Jesper. His head is still tired towards the TV, his lips gently parted on an exhale, arm slack around his waist. Wylan feels an unbearable fondness rise in his chest at the sight. He knows he shouldn’t wake Jesper, should let him get his much needed rest, but he can’t help himself." Words: 1818, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo, Shadow and Bone (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Wylan Van Eck, Jesper Fahey Relationships: Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck Additional Tags: Top Wylan Van Eck, Bottom Jesper Fahey, T4T Jesper Fahey/Wylan Van Eck, Trans Male Character, Trans Wylan Van Eck, Trans Jesper Fahey, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Boys In Love read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/iVqafcl

[brasilconspiracao]

Rothschilds envolvidos na Independência do Brasil; Jacob Rothschild visto com Marina Abramovic (Macumbeira e “guia espiritual” de famosos de Hollywood); Drogas; Rituais Satânicos de Crowley (Sangue, Esperma e Leite)

1: The Rothschilds in Brazil

For almost two hundred years, Rothschild has been involved in the financial development of Brazil. The relationship dates back to the time of Nathan Mayer Rothschild, who issued a loan in 1825 to help Brazil secure its independence from Portugal. Further loans helped to develop railways and infrastructure and as agents to the government, Rothschild helped Brazil maintain its standing in financial markets. Nathan's London banking house, N M Rothschild, dealt in bullion and foreign exchange, and his remarkable successes in these fields earned him the contract from the British Government to supply Wellington's troops with gold coin in 1814 and 1815, leading up to the Battle of Waterloo. He issued 26 British and foreign government loans between 1818 and 1835 and in 1824 floated the Alliance Assurance Company. Nathan's involvement in Brazil can be traced to his connection by marriage to the firm of Samuel, Phillips & Co. (archive files XI/38/215A and XI/38/215B): Samuel Moses Samuel was married to Nathan's sister-in-law Esther (née Cohen).

2: Financing the new nation Nathan Rothschild in London, although otherwise cautious about South American investments, took an early interest in the new state. He was probably considering a loan to Brazil as early as 1823, but the first loan in 1824 was managed by a group of smaller contractors consisting of Baylett, Farquhar & Co., Alexander & Co. and Wilson, Shaw & Co. Nathan may well have discretely supported this group, because in 1825 he managed a second, larger, tranche of the loan, amounting to £2,000,000.  The loan was secured on customs revenues. When the South American speculative bubble burst at the end of the 1820s, Brazil managed to preserve a degree of solvency. This was in large part due to Nathan's financial innovation in raising a loan of £400,000 in 1829 specifically to service Brazil's existing debts. This bond is thought to be the first of its kind. 3: Railways The Rothschilds had been involved in the development of railways around the world and Brazil was no exception. As early as 1858 they issued their first loans to Brazilian railway companies, the Bahia and San Francisco Railway Company and the Don Pedro Segundo Railway Company, followed by the São Paulo (Brazilian) Railway Company in 1859. Further loans were issued to these companies over the years, and the Western of Minas Railroad was added to their number in 1893. The railways opened up Brazil's interior: immigrants poured in and coffee planting expanded enormously. […] 4: Henry Lynch (1878-1958) Henry Lynch was N M Rothschild and Son's representative in Brazil from 1919 until his retirement in 1957. Palin, an employee of the bank in London, describes Lynch in his memoirs Rothschild Relish  (1970): "This great character, a member of an old-established Anglo-Brazilian family, was a partner in an import and export business but more importantly for us he was the agent and representative in Brazil of NMR. He was a bachelor, tall, with a complexion which deepened during the years I knew him from pink to purple, fond of good living, and occupying a unique position in Rio, where he was sometimes said to be more the British Ambassador than the British Ambassador was. Knowing and known to everybody who was anybody in governmental, political, financial, commercial and social circles, he always seemed to me to be supremely well fitted for his job." Lynch became indispensable to the bank, and was dedicated to the promotion of British interests in Brazil. He sent the bank regular and detailed information and advice on commercial, political, and economic matters, and was a conduit to the very highest levels of Brazilian government. His correspondence files for the years 1919-1940 discuss inter alia proposed loans; loans being sought and issued elsewhere; and developments at the Banco do Brasil. 5: Coffee […] As a result the bank participated in the 1922 loan to Brazil intended to help finance the stock-piling of coffee. With a £9,000,000 loan secured on 3,000,000 sacks of coffee, the government had to protect this economically vital commodity. In 1924, as agents for the Brazilian government, Rothschilds sought out insurance for the coffee, gathering information about fire protection in the warehouses across the state of São Paulo.

Herdeiro da família Rothschild conta como trocou o banco pelos vinhos

A história do nome Rothschild começa na Alemanha em meados da segunda metade do século XVI, mas sua ascensão ocorre pouco mais de 130 anos depois, no início do século XVIII. O patriarca Mayer Amschel Rothschild enviou cada um dos seus cinco filhos para um país da Europa e foi na França e na Inglaterra que os negócios prosperaram com mais intensidade. A família está ligada a alguns dos maiores eventos da história do mundo moderno, intermediando negócios para reis e, muitas vezes, financiando países inteiros. A rede de bancos construída pela família na Europa é vista por muitos como o primeiro grupo a estabelecer uma rede financeira internacional. O banco inglês Rothschild foi, inclusive, um dos que financiou a independência do Brasil em 1822. Na França, além dos bancos, a família também é conhecida no mundo dos vinhos. Em 1853, o ramo inglês dos Rothschild apostou no segmento e adquiriu o Château Mouton de Pauillac, que foi renomeado para Château Mouton Rothschild. Cerca de 15 anos depois, o braço francês da família adquiriu o Château Lafite, constituindo o Château Lafite Rothschild. Ambos fazem parte do seleto grupo das únicas cinco vinícolas francesas da região de Bordeaux a ter o selo “Premier Grand Cru”, classificação estabelecida pelo governo da França em 1855. Quase 200 anos se passaram desde a independência e hoje um dos herdeiros da família escolheu o Brasil para viver. O banqueiro Philippe de Nicolay Rothschild mora atualmente no interior de São Paulo, mas sua porta de entrada foi Trancoso, no sul da Bahia.

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Jacob Rothschild já apareceu em uma foto com Marina Abramovic, em que ao fundo se encontra uma pintura Chamada Satan Summoning his Legions.

Performance Artist Marina Abramović to deliver the Rothschild Foundation Lecture https://rothschildfoundation.org.uk/2019/09/10/rothschild-foundation-lecture-2019/

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Marina Abramovic é uma bruxa que já apareceu em uma propaganda da Microsoft e anda com as famosas figuras de Hollywood. Marina já veio ao Brasil buscar “elevação espiritual” e também participou de rituais de macumba e usou drogas (pecado da pharmakeia). Ela também já apareceu em um vídeo bizarro jogando sangue em um boneco que parecia representar uma criança e também já foi capa da Revista Vogue, em uma das fotos segurava um crânio que simbolizava Baphomet. Marina também já abortou três filhos e disse que eles "poderiam ser um desastre para a sua carreira”.

Marina Abramovic Comercial

https://www.facebook.com/BabiloniaImpiusDomain/videos/a-satanista-marina-abramovi%C4%87-j%C3%A1-filmou-com-bill-gates-no-brasil-apoie-nosso-trab/544348970049034/

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Ela também se envolveu em um escândalo nas eleições de 2016 nos EUA, em que foram vazadas informações no WikiLeaks em que ela convidava John Podesta, o chefe da campanha de Hillary Clinton, para uma “Culinária Espiritual”, que envolvia Sangue, Leite e Esperma - assim como nos rituais do satanista Aleister Crowley, que utilizava esse tipo de “matéria” (fluidos corporais). A grande mídia escrava da elite - como sempre- tentou proteger John Podesta do escrutínio do grande público.

Em uma suposta “Performance Artística” (Rhythm 0) Marina foi cortada, despida, ameaçada com uma arma de fogo e ainda teve seu sangue bebido.

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Performance do olhar

https://href.li/?https://appoa.org.br/correio/edicao/245/performance_do_olhar/205

Uma mesa e 72 objetos sobre ela: tesouras, rosa, perfumes, facas, arma, espanador, corrente, espelho... E Marina como objeto, entregue ao outro, põe-se à espera do que pudessem fazer com ela. Por seis horas seguidas despiram-na, cortaram-na, beberam seu sangue, deram-lhe um beijo, flores, deitaram-na, sentaram-na, foi amarrada, e por fim, a arma – carregada, foi o objeto escolhido. Por sorte alguém impediu que a arma fosse disparada. Foi através dessa performance que comecei ame interessar pela obra de Marina Abramovic: Rhythm 0 (1974). Comecei a me interrogar a respeito da melancolia e sua estreita relação com a morte. Esse corpo quase morto que se apresenta moribundo sem a possibilidade de desejo. Deparei-me com as performances de Marina e se salientou para mim sua relação crua e violenta com o corpo além de um limiar estreito com a eminência da morte, o que neste último ponto me lembra o melancólico. Seria o mesmo corpo? A mesma morte? A mesma dor? Do que se trata? Marina Abramovic, em suas performances parece apontar, de modo nada sutil, a linha tênue que ameaça morrer a qualquer instante, mas com tal força que parece demarcar bem a diferença entre esses dois mundos. O dos vivos e o dos mortos.

Marina Abramović. Rhythm 0. 1974

GLENN LOWRY: By the 1970s, performance art had achieved a level of notoriety and even acceptance. However, because many artists used their bodies aggressively in their performances, it was often perceived as masochistic and sensationalist. [...] MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ: I was standing there in the middle of the space,[with] this table with objects I put the objects on the table very carefully chosen, because the objects was for pleasure, and there was also the object for pain and objects that can bring you to death. GLENN LOWRY: Some of the objects included were a rose, a feather, grapes, honey, a whip, a scalpel, a gun and a bullet. MARINA ABRAMOVIĆ: In the beginning, the public was really very much playing with me. Later on it became more and more aggressive. It was six hours of real horror. They would cut my clothes. They will cut me with a knife, close to my neck, and drink my blood, and then put the plaster over the wound. They will, carry me around, half-naked, put me on the table, and stuck the knife between my legs into the wood. And, even somebody put the bullet in the pistol, and put in my hand and see if I were pressing it, her hand against my hand, if I would resist. But, I remember after six hours when the gallerist come and say this piece, it's finished that I start being by myself and start walking through the audience naked and with blood, and tears in my eyes, everybody run away, literally run out of the door. I remember coming to the hotel that evening, looking at myself in the mirror and seeing really big piece of white hair.

WikiLeaks: John Podesta invited to ‘Spirit’ dinner; host’s known ‘recipes’ demand breast milk, sperm

Jantares 'Spirit Cooking', Marina Abramović e a Elite Oculta

https://www.teoriamaxima.com.br/2023/06/jantares-spirit-cooking-marina.html?zx=764023c2f4d29330

Antes de prosseguir, aqui está um vídeo de Marina preparando um ritual de 'Spirit Cooking'. Sim, o processo envolve baldes de sangue de porco congelado. Marina pinta nas paredes instruções codificadas em matéria ocultista clássica. Fato estranho: em outro e-mail vazado, Podesta entra em contato com seu médico sobre um dedo infectado. Estranha coincidência. Mais adiante no vídeo, Marina enxuga de sangue uma estátua em forma de criança pequena. A culinária espiritual refere-se a "um sacramento na religião de Thelema que foi fundada por Aleister Crowley" e envolve uma performance oculta durante a qual sangue menstrual, leite materno, urina e esperma são usados para criar uma "pintura". Por que uma ocultista como Marina Abramović estaria em contato direto e amigável com pessoas nos mais altos níveis de poder? Porque todos fazem parte da ELITE OCULTA. […] "Limpando o Espelho", 1995. Outro dado interessante: o nome de Marina no Twitter é @AbramovicM666

Após quatro anos de viagens espirituais pelo Brasil, Marina Abramovic lança filme e fala sobre incorporar entidades, ayahuasca, coração partido e DNA galáctico

https://href.li/?https://revistatrip.uol.com.br/tpm/marina-abramovic-e-sua-jornada-espiritual-pelo-brasil

A cena inicial do filme Espaço além – Marina Abramovic e o Brasil dá uma ideia do que vem pela frente. O documentário, dirigido por Marco Del Fiol e produzido pela Casa Redonda, mostra a jornada espiritual da artista sérvia de 69 anos nos mais longínquos recantos do país. Em busca de “pessoas e locais de poder”, Marina e a equipe de filmagem percorreram mais de 6 mil quilômetros, entre 2012 e 2015, e encontraram pelo caminho xamãs, médiuns e guias espirituais que os levaram a participar de diversos rituais sagrados. Ao longo de 86 minutos, acompanhamos Marina tendo alucinações depois de ingerir chá de ayahuasca num ritual xamânico na Chapada Diamantina, Bahia; a vemos participar de uma sessão de João de Deus em Abadiânia, Goiás, na qual o médium corta com uma faca o globo ocular de um paciente; a observamos deitada numa cama rodeada de cristais em Corinto, Minas Gerais; e comparando um templo no Vale do Amanhecer, Distrito Federal, a um cenário de um filme de Stanley Kubrick. O longa-metragem teve sua estreia mundial em março no Festival South by Southwest (SxSW), em Austin, nos EUA, e estreia nos cinemas brasileiros no dia 19 de maio. A artista virá à première em São Paulo. Na ocasião será lançado o catálogo de sua exposição Terra comunal + MAI, que ocorreu ano passado no Sesc Pompeia. […] Marina Abramovic. Tomar ayahuasca, sem dúvida. Foi uma das experiências mais difíceis de toda a minha vida. Fiquei traumatizada porque perdi o controle da minha mente. […] Na primeira vez em que tomei o chá, tinha tanta vontade de ter aquela experiência que ingeri uma dose de elefante e fiquei completamente fora do ar. Senti muito medo e me convenceram de que eu deveria passar por uma segunda experiência para perder o trauma. Foi o suficiente, não quero passar por aquilo de novo. Os xamãs dizem que é o espírito da planta que entra no seu corpo, que ele carrega um conhecimento, mas não me senti bem. Só de lembrar, me dá arrepio. […] Num ritual de xamanismo em Curitiba, você tem uma dificuldade enorme de quebrar um ovo que carregaria seus traumas do passado. O que aconteceu? Racionalmente e cientificamente não é possível explicar o que aconteceu, mas foi real: eu não conseguia quebrar aquele ovo de jeito nenhum. Agora, toda vez que fico doente, penso: “Preciso quebrar ovos de novo para tirar as negatividades”. A xamã Denise, que comandou o ritual, é muito especial, possui uma energia feminina muito poderosa. Você tem ou teve algum líder espiritual? Uma pessoa que teve um impacto muito grande na minha vida foi Ling Rinpoche [1903-1983], primeiro mestre do Dalai Lama. Nos encontramos na Índia em 1981, dois anos antes de sua morte. Naquela época, eu estava muito interessada no budismo tibetano, que é bem diferente do xamanismo no Brasil. As diversas culturas me interessam e sempre por uma questão de trabalho: na arte performática é preciso pesquisar diferentes formas de explorar a energia do corpo. O Brasil tem potencial para se tornar um destino turístico para viagens espirituais? Poucos lugares no mundo têm tanto potencial como o Brasil, um país cheio de pessoas com poder espiritual e com vastas áreas naturais preservadas. Para mim, jornadas espirituais não estão relacionadas apenas com pessoas, mas com lugares cheios de energia, e isso o Brasil possui em abundância. No filme, os xamãs e médiuns falam muito sobre as entidades, como se fossem a coisa mais normal do mundo. Você também conta que conversava com seres invisíveis quando criança. Continua em contato com eles? Como adulta, não deveria responder isso, mas, sim, continuo. Existe essa coisa esquisita em relação aos artistas, parece que eles nunca amadurecem, permanecem sempre como crianças. Não posso me comparar com João de Deus, que incorpora 32 entidades diferentes, um verdadeiro exército de entidades. Mas às vezes, nos meus sonhos ou quando estou sozinha, sinto como se estivesse rodeada por espíritos que me protegem. Também tenho uma intuição muito forte. Acho que faz parte do processo criativo do artista, ele encontra inspiração em contato com o mundo invisível.

[...] Você é uma espécie de guru das artes, com admiradores espalhados pelo mundo, incluindo celebridades como Lady Gaga e Jay-Z. Sinto que o que está acontecendo na minha vida hoje é o resultado de 45 anos de trabalho. Vou completar 70 anos de idade. Olhando para trás, vejo que pus toda a minha energia, sacrifiquei a minha vida pessoal em nome do trabalho. Há uma ordem matemática no cosmos: quanto mais energia você coloca em algo, mais recebe de volta. Acho que estou colhendo os frutos do que plantei. É maravilhoso ver que a arte performática não está morta, que há um monte de jovens artistas se dedicando a ela. Agora mesmo estou em Atenas, na Grécia, dando aulas sobre performance. […] No filme, a xamã Denise diz que você não é deste planeta, seu DNA é galáctico. De onde você vem? Não sei, mas devo vir de uma estrela bem distante! [Risos] Conheci um escritor de ficção científica em Los Angeles chamado Kim Stanley Robinson. Ele me contou que eu apareço no livro dele, 2312, que se passa no futuro. Faço performances em asteroides. Comecei a acreditar que vim mesmo de outro planeta.

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O uso de drogas te abre para o mundo espiritual e te faz ter contato com os demônios. É por isso que no Oráculo de Delfos, após se entorpecerem com gás liberado no local, os bruxos tinham experiências sobrenaturais e visões. Os índios e diversos grupos ocultistas usam drogas como Ayahuasca e LSD para contatar entidades no mundo espiritual. Aleister Crowley contou suas experiências com drogas no seu livro The Diary of a Drug Fiend. Crowley, assim como Herbert Marcuse e a Geração Beatnik, também teve influência na criação da mentalidade da geração dos anos 60. Crowley influenciou os Beatles, Jimmy Page (Led Zeppelin), Marvel Comics (Dr. Estranho foi inspirado em Aleister Crowley e a Wanda na Whore of Babylon), Alfred Kinsey (pedobear que fraudou trabalho científico e que influenciou Hugh Hefner [criador da revista Playboy]) Jay-Z, Jim Morrison (The Doors) e Kenneth Anger (amigo de James Franco).

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Jay-Z: A Master Of Occult Wisdom?

https://www.npr.org/2009/09/19/112998783/jay-z-a-master-of-occult-wisdom

Marvel is Satanic - Whore of Babylon, Dr. Strange (Aleister Crowley), Wanda, Chaos Magick, Moonchild and Demonic Comic Writers Marvel's Connection to the Occult - YouTube

A Bíblia e as Drogas

https://href.li/?https://portugues.logos.com/2015/11/12/a-biblia-e-as-drogas/

Imagine uma época em que uma pessoa ajuntava em si as prerrogativas de sacerdote, médico e feiticeiro. Imagine esse curandeiro tendo a capacidade de fazer poções a partir de plantas e outras matérias primas que poderiam fazer uma pessoa entrar em transe, curar uma doença ou deixar alguém doente. Esse é o contexto do desenvolvimento dessa palavra. Assim, na língua grega, φαρμακεία (farmakeia) significa feitiçaria, artes mágicas; φαρμακεύς (farmakeus), fazedor de poções, mago; o verbo φαρμακεύω (farmakeuo) significa fazer poções, praticar magia; φάρμακον (fármakon) significa droga nociva, veneno, droga usada como um meio de controle, poção mágica, encanto, remédio, droga; e, finalmente, φάρμακος (fármacos) é aquele que é competente na prática do uso de ervas ou drogas; aquele que envenena, aquele que faz coisas extraordinárias pelo uso de meios ocultos, feiticeiro, mago.

Drugs, Demons, And Destruction

Oracle of Delphi

https://think-biblically.com/10-lucubrations/135-oracle-of-delphi-revisited

The rest of this chapter (Acts 16.16-.40) is packed with interesting concepts and teachings, so we’re going to go slowly and try to gain as much understanding as possible from the text. We begin with Paul’s encountering a woman possessed by a spirit of divination. In the Greek this is literally the spirit of Python, which is not surprising when one considers the location of these events.

https://english.elpais.com/science-tech/2022-12-07/the-sacred-drugs-of-antiquity-fact-and-fiction.html

Carlos Wagner has written an exciting book that synthesizes the current body of knowledge about the role of psychoactive substances, and also presents insights from neuroscience on how they affect the mind and body. The use of vision-inducing substances in spiritual rituals officiated by priestly elites enabled them to maintain their own power and prestige through stories, rituals and images. The myths, visions, sorceries, oracles and trances that persisted over four millennia can and should be viewed in the light of mythical plants like ambrosia, soma and haoma, and real ones like hellebore, dogbane, cannabis and poppy.

[tripcaptain]

Kedarnath From Pune

These articles will adviser you on how to get to Kedarnath from Pune. If you are orgnazing to the popular Kedarnath temple from Pune city and have no plan about the journey then you are in the nice and right place. Here, we’ll provide you with a detailed travel guide, including the distance via air route, train, and road from Pune to Kedarnath. route map, the distance by air line,train, & roadway. Pune is a horizontal city in the state of Maharashtra, India. It was once the base of the peshwas of the Maratha kingdom, which kasted from 1674 to 1818. Pesewa  means is chancellor in Chatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Swarajya.

        The 8th centurial pataleshwar cavern temple is dedicated to the Hindu god Shiva, Maratha people are especially fond of worshiping Lord Ganesha. That is why many admirer visit the Kedarnath temple from Pune ever proper year.

        If you are also organization your trip to Kedarnath Yatra . Then here we are presenting you with a complete admirer on how to reach kedarnath from pune.

[judyconda]

#FairytaleTuesday: Snow-White and Rose-Red "Snow-White and Rose-Red" (German: Schneeweißchen und Rosenrot) is a German fairy tale. The best-known version is the one collected by the Brothers Grimm (KHM 161). An older, somewhat shorter version, "The Ungrateful Dwarf", was written by Caroline Stahl (1776–1837). Indeed, that appears to be the oldest variant; no previous oral version is known, although several have been collected since its publication in 1818. This story is not related to the Brothers Grimm fairy tale "Snow White" that provided the basis for the 1937 Walt Disney animated film Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. The modern German name of that heroine is Schneewittchen rather than Schneeweißchen. This story has little in common but the similar name of its fair-skinned girl. "Snow-White and Rose-Red" does feature encounters with one dwarf. Snow-White and Rose-Red are two little girls living with their mother, a poor widow, in a small cottage by the woods. Snow-White is quiet and shy and prefers to spend her time indoors, doing housework and reading. Rose-Red is outspoken, lively and cheerful, and prefers to be outside. They are both very good girls who love each other and their mother dearly, and their mother is very fond of them as well. One winter night, there is a knock at the door. Rose-Red opens the door to find a bear. At first, she is terrified, but the bear tells her not to be afraid. "I'm half frozen and I merely want to warm up a little at your place," he says. They let the bear in, and he lies down in front of the fire. Snow-White and Rose-Red beat the snow off the bear, and they quickly become quite friendly with him. They play with the bear and roll him around playfully. They let the bear spend the night in front of the fire. In the morning, he leaves trotting out into the woods. The bear comes back every night for the rest of that winter and the family grows used to him. When summer comes, the bear tells them that he must go away for a while to guard his treasure from a wicked dwarf. During the summer, when the girls are walking through the forest, they find a dwarf whose beard is stuck in a tree. https://www.instagram.com/p/CliXLAzSrrz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[geloveninmoerwijk]

Geef warmte en doneer uw energiebonus

Geef warmte en doneer uw energiebonus. Een groot aantal mensen al gaven gehoor aan de oproep die Neo de Bono en Bettelies Westerbeek in de uitzending van Crux deden. Doe net als hen en Geef warmte door uw energiecompensatie te doneren

Neo de Bono en Bettelies Westerbeek deelde in het EO tv programma Crux hun droom van een kerkelijke solidariteitsactie om de stijgende energiearmoede het hoofd te bieden. Gelukkig is dat niet tegen dovemansoren gebleken en zijn er inmiddels al veel mensen die in het kader van de actie ‘Geef warmte’  (een deel van) hun energiecompensatie willen doneren aan gezinnen die door de prijsstijgingen…

[neodebono]

Geef warmte en doneer uw energiebonus

Oproep van Bettelies en Neo in het #EO tv programma Crux gezien? Geef warmte en doneer uw #energiebonus aan gezinnen die door de energieprijsstijgingen zwaar geraakt worden. Help ons #energiearmoede bestrijden. #geefwarmte

Neo de Bono en Bettelies Westerbeek deelde in het EO tv programma Crux hun droom van een kerkelijke solidariteitsactie om de stijgende energiearmoede het hoofd te bieden. Gelukkig is dat niet tegen dovemansoren gebleken en zijn er inmiddels al veel mensen die in het kader van de actie ‘Geef warmte’ (een deel van) hun energiecompensatie willen doneren aan gezinnen die door de…