#and the translator left monsieur/madame/mademoiselle

[caterjunes]

i wish anime dubs would just suck it up and use honorifics. we can fucking figure it out.

[aedislumen]

On Anne-Marie Robinot, Saint-Just's mother

What follows is a personal translation I did of an excerpt taken from the historian Stefania Di Pasquale's book Storie di Madri (A History of mothers) which includes a chapter on Louis-Antoine's mother. The notes at the end are included in the original work.

Marie-Anne Robinot was born in Décize on the 16th of January 1734, the daughter of Jeanne Philiberte Houdry (1712-1745) and Léonard Robinot (1701-1776), king’s counsel, royal notary and procurator in the bourg of Décize.

There are no contemporary pictures of this woman, but that doesn’t mean she was less important than others; the lack of any representation is probably due to the centuries that have passed since her death and to the destruction of personal belongings which occurred right after Robespierre’s fall and also, in particular, during the Restoration of the old European monarchies starting with the Congress of Vienna of 1815.

We don’t know much about her early years, except that she grew up among the Décize haute bourgeoisie of the 18th century and that she received a good education.

The French historian Ernest Hamel, who had met Saint-Just’s nephews for his grandfather was an intimate of the latter, wrote the following in his biography Histoire de Saint-Just:  «Madame de Saint-Just was a charming and charitable woman, who outlived her son by a few years, she was sad by nature; she had loved with excessive love this predestined son, who until the last day returned her motherly tenderness with filial adoration. » (1)

Marie-Anne was a very religious woman, attached to her family, but compared to her contemporaries, who submitted to paternal will on certain matters such as those concerning arranged marriages, and, although she loved and respected her father, she believed it was unfair that parents could decide the future of their children, especially when they were already sentimentally attached to another person. This is what eventually happened to Marie-Anne.

Mademoiselle Robinot fell in love with Monsieur Louis-Jean Saint-Just de Richebourg, knight of the royal and military order of Saint-Louis, marshal of the gendarme company under the title of Berry, son of Marie-Françoise Adam and Charles de Saint-Just.

The age gap between the two was of twenty years: he, a mature man, and she, a young thirty years old woman still unmarried.

Marie-Anne had already the occasion to show her obstinacy just a couple of months after meeting captain Saint-Just.

Unfortunately their union would have been opposed by her father, who didn’t approve their relationship since he considered Louis-Jean as a simple peasant son of humble origins. Monsieur Robinot didn’t consider his future brother-in-law equal to his rank. But perhaps was it just an excuse? At the time the Robinot family was composed of men only and a female figure, who knew how to handle domestic servants, was much needed. The young woman wasn’t evidently of the same opinion and, on the suggestion of some notary friends of her, she resorted to the only means available at the time to counter paternal authority: les sommations respectueuses.

During the Ancien Régime the law required the father’s consent to celebrate a marriage, but in case it was denied, people over 25 could counter the refusal through a process called sommations respectueuses. To accomplish that, one had to rely on a notary and ask the family members three times for the written consent. After that, if the request kept being denied, the person could still proceed with the marriage.

Determined to fulfill her dream, Marie-Anne took courage against her paternal authority and on 21 March 1766 she appeared before her father together with notary Grenot and two other witnesses both belonging to the nobility.

Outraged by such audacity, Léonard Robinot pretended to be absent. The same occurred on 22 March. The following day, the 23, the day of the last visit, Robinot left the house defeated, without uttering a single word. Happy and contented, the next day Marie-Anne signed the marriage contract and the ceremony was set for 30 May 1766.

The two married in Verneuil with a quick ritual, celebrated by the uncle of the spouse, Antoine Robinot, and among the wedding witnesses there were a carpenter, a merchant and a cabaret comedian (two of them couldn’t either read or write).

In a rage, the rest of the Robinot Family didn’t even want to go out of their house to see the spouses, especially the disobedient daughter. Surely the intimacy of the ceremony was thought necessary to avoid their reprimand.

Marie-Anne got pregnant a few months after the marriage and on the 25th of August 1767 a child was born, who one day would have made history, who would have fought and died for the freedom of his country.

The chosen name was that of Louis-Antoine, Louis like his father and Antoine like his uncle and godfather, the abbot Antoine Robinot.

The little Saint-Just was baptized the same day he was born in the church of Saint-Aré (Décize) and, according to the customs of the time, he was placed in the care of a wet nurse in Verneuil who lived in a house next to his uncle's. A few years later his sisters were born as well: Loise-Marie-Antoine in 1768 and Marie-Françoise-Victoire in 1769.

In 1771, however, Antoine Robinot died, the Saint-Just family was forced to take their son back and move to Nampcel, to the house which once belonged to Charles de Saint-Just (1676-1766), Anoine’s paternal grandfather. Marie Madeleine, sister of Louis-Jean, was there to welcome them.

They lived together peacefully for some time, then the family moved again to Marie-Anne’s paternal household in Décize.

According to the French historian Bernard Vinot, Léonard Robinot was a good grandfather, who doted on little Louis-Antoine. However the joy of that peaceful life was short-lived.

In 1776 Robinot died and the Saint-Just family moved one last time to the rural village of Blérancourt. It was a graceful and tranquil place. There, thanks to his military merits, Louis-Jean obtained consideration and privileges, usually reserved to the lower nobility.

Léonhard’s inheritance was split among his children and on 18 July 1776 the heirs sold the house in Décize to Claude Leblanc: that was the last time one could find the Saint-Just spouses’ signature in the town of Décize.

And so Louis-Antoine left in July 1776 the place where he had spent the first four years of his life forever, but he would have never forgotten the mountains and the river Loire, from where the fairies and myths of his work Organt would have come out. (2)

[...] Unfortunately a large part of the familial correspondence [between Saint-Just and his family] was destroyed both during the persecutions the family endured after the death by decapitation of Louis-Antoine and after the dreadful Restauration which started with the Congress of Vienna of 1815.

[...] Other than the pain caused by the death of her beloved son, Madame Saint-Just had to endure the humiliations of the Directory political police.

A mother who until the very end kept like relics those few belongings of her son, saving them from the thermidorian fury; today one can see those mementos in a display case placed in Saint-Just’s house, now a museum, in Blérancourt. In these cases it’s possible to admire a book of the young revolutionary man still with the violet he had put inside as a bookmark; a bronze plaque with an angel on it (once it used to be in Louis-Antoine’s bedroom) and a quill. That was all the poor mother could save, since even the young man’s clothes had been sold to the authorities.

Marie-Anne didn’t even have a grave to mourn her son, buried without clothes to prevent someone from reclaiming those tortured bodies. For Louis-Antoine’s remains were thrown into a mass grave in the Parisian Errancis cemetery, close to Parc Monceau.

Today this cemetery doesn’t exist anymore and the 119 human remains were moved to the catacombs in Paris.

From a missive by Madame Saint-Just sent to the prefecture of the Aisne Department, we know that the authorities still refused to give her back some of the belongings, despite the fact that fifteen years had passed since her son’s death:

To the Prefect of the Department of Aisne, member of the Legion of Honour. Marie-Anne Robinot, widow of the defunct Monsieur Louis de Saint-Just, former cavalry captain in Blérancourt and currently residing there, has the honour to notify you that, following the event of 9 Thermidor Year II, a commission named through a decree of the District of Chauny came to my house to seize all property titles belonging to me and my children, because of the sentence pronounced against Louis de Saint-Just, my son, representative in the National Convention; and that, as a consequence of that event another decree was released that allowed the return of the belongings to the parents of the convicts; I am in need of the titles of which I am concerned and which are currently deposited in the Archives of the prefecture of Aisne, I want to have the honour to ask the Prefect to be so kind to order the collection and delivery of my belongings through you; by doing so you shall have my most sincere gratitude and respect, Monsieur le Préfet, your humble and obedient servant. Widow Saint-Just. Presented on 18 February 1809.

[...] After the death of her son and with age advancing, on 5 June 1807, Marie-Anne decided to make a will, leaving everything to her two daughters:

To Louise, I leave a house, with a kitchen with a small cellar, an attic, a tool shed, gardens for 21 hectares with fruit trees, everything located in Blérancourt in Rue de la Chouette. To Victoire, a house with two rooms, a cellar, a hallway, an attic and office rooms, everything in Blérancourt in Rue de la Chouette. (3)

Madame Saint-Just died of a cholera epidemic four years after writing this small testament on 11 February 1811 in her house in Blérancourt, leaving the void and mourning of her daughters and nephews.

(1) Ernest Hamel, Histoire de Saint-Just, Paris, Poulet-Mallasis et de Braise, 1859, p. 26.

(2) In May 1789 in Paris L’Organt was published, it’s a poem divided into twenty chants in which Saint-Just criticized the absolute monarchy and clerical hierarchies.

(3) Claire Cioti, Saint-Just, cit.

[nightowlfury]

just gonna document some of the themes my brain latched onto in the thk playlist bc i have nothing better to do👍

i didnt listen to all the songs bc i dont like some of the mainstream pop stuff but i looked at most of the lyrics and this is what my brain's noticed at least. could be reading into things too much bc i love to do that but shrug. if it turns out to have relevance thatd b cool.

also i left out the betrayal/heartbreak/"love as a game" metaphor stuff bc like. that's pretty obvious and i don't care to focus on it lol. additionally, i found a few of the thai songs' translations, but others im not sure about so those aren't included obviously

Jealousy

Relevant lyrics:

That Thing You Do! by The Wonders

- "'cause it hurts me so just to see you go / around with someone new"

ขี้หึง by Silly Fools (translation)

the whole song basically, it's literally called 'jealous' - "smile at me, i'm just a little jealous, just waiting for love" - "and i don't distrust you, my heart's anxious if anyone looks at you" - "(i'm like this) i'm like this with love, but i might be too jealous" - "if anyone makes my heart unsure, would you feel jealous and envious too?"

Lay All Your Love On Me by ABBA

- "i wasn't jealous before we met / now, every woman i see is a potential threat" - "don't go sharing your devotion"

Marriage [likely not thematically relevant]

Relevant lyrics:

Time to Pretend by MGMT

- "let's...find some models for wives" - "the models will have children, we'll get a divorce / we'll find some more models, everything must run its course"

You're Gonna Live Forever in Me by John Mayer

- "and when the pastor asks the pews / for reasons he can't marry you / i'll keep my word in my seat"

You Never Can Tell by Chuck Berry

THIS SONG WAS USED IN THE PULP FICTION DANCE so i dont think its relevant outside of that anymore - "it was a teenage wedding and the old folks wished them well" - "and now the young monsieur and madame have rung the chapel bell" - "it was there where pierre was wedded to the lovely mademoiselle"

Escape/starting over

Relevant lyrics:

Time to Pretend by MGMT

- "i'll move to paris, shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars" - "love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew"

California - Tchad Blake Mix by Phantom Planet

- "right back where we started from" - "we've been on the run, driving in the sun"

This Love by Maroon 5

- "whispered goodbye as she got on a plane / never to return again"

Island In The Sun by Weezer

- "we'll run away together / we'll spend some time forever / we'll never feel bad anymore"

Smooth (feat. Rob Thomas) by Santana

- "and if you say, 'this life ain't good enough' / i'd give you my world to lift you up / i could change my life to better suit your mood"

Agency/control (lack of)

Drive by Incubus

- "and i, i can't help but ask myself / how much i'll let the fear take the wheel and steer / it's driven me before, and it seems to have a vague / haunting mass appeal / but lately, i'm beginning to find that i / should be the one behind the wheel" - "so if i decide to waiver my / chance to be one of the hive"

Bitter Sweet Symphony by The Verve

- "i'll take you down the only road i've ever been down" - "no change, i can change, i can change, i can change / but i'm here in my mould, i am here in my mould" -> "i can't change my mould, no, no, no, no, no" - "i need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me, yeah" - "(i just can't change my violence, melody, and violence...)" (? not 100% sure these are accurate lyrics, but i think they're right)

You Don't Own Me by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts

this whole song pretty much - "you don't own me / i'm not just one of your many toys" - "and don't tell me what to do / don't tell me what to say" - "don't try to change me in any way" - "don't tie me down 'cause i'll never stay" - "i don't tell you what to say / i don't tell you what to do / so just let me be myself" - "i'm free and i love to be free / to live my life the way i want / to say and do whatever i please"

This Love by Maroon 5

- "the chaos that controlled my mind" - "and i have no choice, 'cause i won't say goodbye anymore"

Crazy by Aerosmith

- "that kinda loving turns a man to a slave"

Island In The Sun by Weezer

- "and it makes me feel so fine / i can't control my brain"

The past/memory

Relevant lyrics:

คนของเธอ by Maew Jirasak (translation)

- "you don't need to ask me about the past" - "but i have past mistakes" - "i don't want you to ask, it doesn't concern us / it's not a memory of us" - "we still can't return to yesterday, and we still don't know tomorrow" - "regardless of who you used to be or what has happened" - "there's no need to ask me about the past"

ยังไงก็รักเธอ by Chat Chaichat (translation)

- "screw the past, forget it, it's not worth remembering" - "don't get upset, screw whoever says anything, pretty soon you won't remember"

ขอบใจจริง ๆ by Y not 7 (translation)

- "in the end, we separated / and left behind only memories" - "make me remember my costly* lesson" (*translation said 'expensive', but i think this might be what's being implied)

Island In The Sun by Weezer

- "you don't need no memory / just a place to call your own"

Time to Pretend by MGMT

- "love must be forgotten, life can always start up anew"

Specific character connections:

Bison

he's the one i made the most connections to, maybe bc they're the most blatant or maybe bc i just am just bound to pay attention to him. the theme that i think connects to him most is agency/control. i also have a suspicion the jealousy theme is related to him as well, but there's not really any evidence of that as of yet.

with the agency and control, it's pretty clear already that this is one of bison's main struggles in life. he desperately wants to live his own life and feels pressure from both his brother and his mother, but also from his own nature/life circumstance ("mould"). i personally think Bitter Sweet Symphony in the playlist probably directly relates to bison based on the things i've noticed:

"the only road i've ever been down" -> references how bison's life is reduced to and has never strayed from its singular path/purpose (one which was forced on him and he didn't have the power to change)

"no change, i can change, i can change, i can change / but i'm here in my mould, i am here in my mould" -> references bison's struggles with wanting a new life (change) but not being able to achieve it, especially with regards to the fact that he's been 'moulded' into who he is. nevertheless, he believes in the possibility ("i can change")

"but i'm a million different people from one day to the next" -> maybe a bit of a stretch, but this line made me think about bison's interview, where he talks about trying "a hundred" different professions. the line fits well with the idea that bison has to constantly be "different people" in his er, line of work

"i can't change my mould" -> juxtaposition with earlier "i can change", indicating that while bison wants to change his life, he'll never be able to change where he comes from

"well, i've never prayed, but tonight i'm on my knees" -> heavy, heavy religious symbolism with bison which we have already seen oodles of, so it's not much of a stretch to connect this lyric to him. it's interesting to me though, because the line is "i've never prayed", while from the imagery we've seen it would imply that bison is (and has been) religious. i don't know if it's this deep, but maybe it's something like bison being raised religious but not fully believing it/having some sort of resentment of it. but im probably just reading into it too much there. interesting to think about though

"i need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me" -> is it a stretch to connect this line to bison's penchant for pain play? probably but that's where my mind goes nevertheless

"but the airwaves are clean and there's nobody singing to me now" -> makes me think of kant's inevitable betrayal and how that's going to leave bison. but i dont think that's actually intentionally related, just my own thoughts

"(i just can't change my violence, melody, and violence)" -> well, "can't change my violence" is pretty obvious, because yeah, part of bison's struggle is that he can't change the violence he carries with him, even if he manages to change his life he can't change his past, his mould, his 'violence'

some of these lyrics could also apply to fadel, but i think his attitude about it is much different from bison's and this song paints a picture that fits bison's perspective much more — at least for the moment.

i think You Don't Own Me could also be related to bison, but i'm not sure if it's supposed to just be related to bison. but i'll focus on him for the moment. the whole song is about a lack of agency and control, which we know bison is frustrated by. the rejection of being controlled that's central to the song reminds me a lot of bison's rebellious attitude. what i'm not sure about is who the song might be implying is trying to control him — his mother, maybe? fadel? kant, even? all three of them? i'm interested to see how things develop with lilly (fadel + bison's mother), what their relationship actually looks like. so far i havent noticed anything particularly resentful in bison's attitude toward her, but then again she hasn't actually shown up in the show yet, and bison's been sort of dismissive when she's brought up (e.g. khun mae comment from kant). he seems to defer to fadel in terms of communication with her — he wants fadel to ask her for things on his behalf, so i have a feeling he's not got the best relationship with her.

i think Drive by Incubus could have elements relating to bison, because that song focuses a lot on agency. e.g. "i should be the one behind the wheel" could very well apply to him. however, i think the 'fear taking the wheel' thing doesn't necessarily fit him, so...

Kant

like...i don't really know why i first thought of kant when i heard Drive. maybe bc of the stills of him in his car or smth. but now my brain Associates the song with him — maybe it makes sense, maybe not, but here's my thoughts anyway

i honestly rly like the song bc of the 'driving' metaphor. it's about motivations, what's driving you. in this case, it's fear. i do think this is super relevant to kant. he also struggles with agency, in a similar way that bison does — his past ties him down. he's being used as a tool by someone with power over him. but for him, fear is a much more defining factor of this relationship. while bison might hold a bit of fear, it's not what's driving him.

kant is being driven by fear. specifically, fear of being taken away from his brother, who needs him. their parents are dead, babe doesn't have anyone else to lean on. the captain threatens kant with jail time if he doesn't cooperate, and that would ruin babe's life. so kant has to do what he says even if there's "technically" a choice

so one of kant's main struggles is the fear that 'takes the wheel and steers'. the line "it's driven me before" could relate to the past job(s) he was coerced into by the captain, or even perhaps something else in his past (can't help but wonder why he would steal that car initially — surely he's not the kind of person to do that without a reason?)

"but lately, i'm beginning to find that i / should be the one behind the wheel" -> perhaps this could connect to the inevitable change kant will go through, when somehow he decides that he can't work for the captain anymore, that he needs to be in charge of his own life. i don't pretend to know how that will play out, but it's a thought.

(also, didn't notice until just now but the line "i feel the fear of / uncertainty stinging clear" is rly cool given the name of kant's tattoo studio (inksting) and his back tattoo (beware my sting))

something that doesn't immediately connect to kant about this song in my mind are the lyrics that relate to mass opinion. but i'll get into that in a bit, i'll finish with my kant thoughts first.

there are songs about the past/relationships too that i think apply to kant, e.g. คนของเธอ by Maew Jirasak:

i think marriage is also related to kant but isnt necessarily a full theme from the playlist. kant specifically for obvious reasons (mystery wife listed on his info sheet). Time to Pretend mentions wives and even children and divorce, although i'm not entirely convinced that isn't a coincidence given the rest of the song is pretty applicable to other themes. additionally, You're Gonna Live Forever mentions a wedding, but i can't quite make sense of that one since it seems to imply a person is in love with someone who's actively getting married to someone else. but maybe im taking that too literally. You Never Can Tell is specifically about a wedding so i was suspicious, but i recently found out it was the song used in the pulp fiction dance they imitated in ep 2. so...idk. maybe kants wife was a typo. my one fear

- "you don't need to ask me about the past / you don't have to tell me who you used to be with / if i get careless and happen to ask you / you don't have to answer me" - "i don't want you to ask, it doesn't concern us / it's not a memory of us" - "regardless of who you used to be or what has happened / don't be worried, this is your someone"

i think this could relate to kant's past and his current (or future, i guess) relationship with bison. there's also ยังไงก็รักเธอ by Chat Chaichat which i think could perhaps relate to the same event/circumstance. my mind is sort of pinning these past/memory themes to kant specifially because of the unknowns, probably, but i do think his past is much more important than we know right now. so i suppose we'll see.

kant could connect to other songs too, e.g. You Don't Own Me with regards to the captain, but i'm less inclined to focus on those because i think they relate to other characters more. i don't have many specific things to say about it, but i will mention that i think the jealousy theme might relate to kant. im not quite sure how though (his wife showing back up???¿), so im just going to wait and see with that one.

Fadel

ok now, remember that thing about Drive having lyrics relating to mass opinion? in my mind, i think that might relate to fadel a little. we've already seen in just two episodes (but mainly this last one) that he is very conscious of public opinion and perception. he has to be, really, with his profession and everything, but he's much more concerned about it than carefree bison. that's why i think these lyrics might relate to him:

"it seems to have a vague / haunting mass appeal"

"so if i decide to waiver my / chance to be one of the hive"

"and it seems to be the way / that everyone else gets around"

in a way, fadel is somewhat driven by fear, like kant. i think he's less conscious of it, maybe, and it's coupled with other motivations, but fadel is afraid. of slipping up, of not being able to protect bison, of disappointing their mother maybe, etc. fadel's fear drives him to put extra effort into 'laying low' — we saw it when he scolded bison for wearing bright colors, and it's pretty obvious after the second episode: he's polite with strangers at the market, is frustrated when attention is drawn to him, etc. so i think public opinion is something that is very much at the forefront of fadel's mind, which is why this part of Drive reminds me of him.

the agency/control themes also apply to fadel bc of his shared situation with bison. i don't have much to say other than that, but it's interesting to me how central this theme is to the story as a whole.

i think the escape/starting over themes could relate to pretty much any/all of the characters, but bison and fadel specifically given their life situations. bison's more motivated to pursue that escape, but i think fadel very much craves it as well. and kant too, even, wants to escape his past, has done his best to do so but can't seem to fully succeed. i hope they all do eventually 💪

Dunk

dunk confuses me. i feel like i know the least about him, which is maybe true given we have some idea of the backstories of the three other characters. but dunk is like... an enigma to me. i have 0 clue what his past is like, so i can't necessarily connect him to these themes atm.

but it's interesting to me, because he very much seems like the odd one out in comparison to the other characters. from what we've seen so far, dunk has the most agency out of any of them. kant's being a bit deceptive/manipulative with him, sure, but he still willingly made the choice to pursue fadel for his own benefit, and could logically call the deal off at any point.

he works under his father at the auto shop, but we don't really know much about that. i suppose you might be able to connect that to the themes somewhat — his dad tells him not to listen to music, tries to exert this (light) form of control over him, and dunk takes no heed of it. he does what he wants. it juxtaposes fadel a lot, who holds himself back at every turn. dunk's using his prolific agency to taunt fadel, who has none. interesting flirtation strategy there. but it's very interesting.

that's the only theme here that i can imagine connecting to him at the moment — the same agency that's represented in the other characters, but flipped on its head. if bison, fadel, and kant represent a lack of agency, dunk represents an abundance of it. at least so far. which i do think will play a part in his er, wooing of fadel, who craves that agency even if he pretends not to.

we'll see. idk. atm dunk feels a lot more two-dimensional than the other characters so i hope he gets a little more development.

overall very intrigued by the themes in the playlist and how they (will) bleed through in the show. also curious about which songs are actually gonna be in the show diegetically/non-diegetically (though so far สุดสุดไปเลย and คิดอะไรอยู่ have been diegetic, so i expect we'll see more of that)

[pedanther]

Apart from the older translator's determination not to pick up what Dumas is laying down when it comes to Eugénie, here are a few more interesting differences between the English translations.

Here, the older translator is definitely picking up what Dumas is laying down:

Nul n'est friand de loges qui ne coûtent rien comme un millionnaire.

To no class of persons is the presentation of a gratuitous opera–box more acceptable than to the wealthy millionaire, who still hugs economy while boasting of carrying a king’s ransom in his waistcoat pocket.

No one likes a free box as much as a millionaire.

Here, the older translator omits the capper to the earlier running joke:

Le second acte se passa au milieu de cette rumeur sourde qui indique dans les masses assemblées un grand événement. Personne ne songea à crier silence.

The second act passed away during one continued buzz of voices—one deep whisper—intimating that some great and universally interesting event had occurred

The second act was played against that dull murmuring which is the response of a large crowd to some great event. No one thought of shouting: “Silence!”

A few smaller moments of the older translation trying to buff the edges off Eugénie:

—Et cette femme, M. de Morcerf sait-il qui elle est? —Mademoiselle, dit Albert, répondant à cette interpellation presque directe...

“Who is this young person, M. de Morcerf?” inquired Eugenie; “does anybody know?” “Mademoiselle,” said Albert, replying to this direct appeal...

“Does Monsieur Morcerf know who she is?” “Mademoiselle,” Albert said, in reply to this almost direct question...

and

—Elle est donc de retour, la comtesse G...? demanda la baronne. —Dans cette loge de côté, dit Eugénie, presque en face de nous, ma mère; cette femme, avec ces admirables cheveux blonds, c'est elle. —Oh! oui, dit Mme Danglars...

“Then the Countess G——has returned to Paris, has she?” inquired the baroness. “Is that she, mamma?” asked Eugenie; “almost opposite to us, with that profusion of beautiful light hair?” “Yes,” said Madame Danglars, “that is she.

“Countess G——? Is she back, then?” said the baroness. “In that side box,” Eugénie said. “Look, mother, almost opposite us; she's that woman with the magnificant blonde hair.” “Oh, yes,” said Mme Danglars.

and

«Vous êtes là avec une admirable personne, monsieur le comte, dit Eugénie; est-ce votre fille? —Non, mademoiselle, dit Monte-Cristo étonné de cette extrême ingénuité ou de cet étonnant aplomb, c'est une pauvre Grecque dont je suis le tuteur.

“You have a charming young person with you to–night, count,” said Eugenie. “Is she your daughter?” “No, mademoiselle,” said Monte Cristo, astonished at the coolness and freedom of the question. “She is a poor unfortunate Greek left under my care.”

“You are accompanied by a splendid young woman, Monsieur le Comte,” said Eugénie. “Is she your daughter?” “No, Mademoiselle,” Monte Cristo replied, astonished at what was either great naïvety or amazing insolence. “She is a poor Greek; I am her guardian.”

Finally, Albert's recital of the Count's recent deeds:

Vous donnez des attelages de mille louis; vous sauvez la vie à des femmes de procureur du roi; vous faites courir, sous le nom de major Brack, des chevaux pur sang et des jockeys gros comme des ouistitis; enfin, vous gagnez des coupes d'or, et vous les envoyez aux jolies femmes.

You give away horses worth a thousand louis; you save the lives of ladies of high rank and beauty; under the name of Major Brack you run thoroughbreds ridden by tiny urchins not larger than marmots; then, when you have carried off the golden trophy of victory, instead of setting any value on it, you give it to the first handsome woman you think of!

You give away horseflesh to the value of a thousand louis, you save the life of the king's prosecutor, you dub yourself Major Brack to race thoroughbreds ridden by jockeys no bigger than marmosets and, finally, you win gold cups and send them to beautiful women.

(My copy of the Buss translation very definitely says “you save the life of the king's prosecutor”, but I assume that's meant to be “the wife of the king's prosecutor”, or possibly “the life of the wife of the king's prosecutor” – and after typing that out I don't blame whoever got muddled in the composition.)

[church-history]

The Charity of Marie Antoinette and Louis XVI

“My dear heart, our tenderness for this child should be stern. We must not forget that we are educating him not for ourselves, but for the nation. The first impressions of childhood are so strong that I am, in truth, frightened when I think that we are bringing up the king.” excerpt from letter of Marie Antoinette to Madame de Tourzel in regards to her son Louis Charles (Louis XVII)

More often, he [Louis Charles] accompanied his mother in her round of charity. When the queen visited the hospitals or the poor, she took her son with her, and was careful that he himself distributed the alms which she left in the garrets. Sometimes they went to the Gobelins; and the president of the district coming on one occasion to compliment her, she said, “Monsieur, you have many destitute; but the moments which we spend in relieving them are very precious to us.” Sometimes she went to the free Maternity Society which she had founded, where she had authorized the Sisters to distribute sixteen hundred livres for food and fuel every month, and twelve hundred for blankets and clothing, without counting the baby outfits which were given to three hundred mothers. At other times she went to the School of Design, also founded by her, to which she sent one day twelve hundred livres saved with great effort, that the rewards might not be diminished nor the dear scholars suffer through her own distress. Again, she placed in the house of Mademoiselle O’Kennedy four daughters of disabled soldiers, ― orphans, for whom, she said, “I made the endowment.”

Royal family at the foundling hospital, 1790

But that which most strongly attracted the dauphin, as if by a mysterious presentiment, was the Foundling Hospital. Marie Antoinette took him there often; and the gratitude of these poor children expressed itself in acclamations, which was most agreeable to him; they shouted often, “Vive le roi!” and not unfrequently, “Vive la reine!” The young prince always left the hospital with reluctance, and all his little savings were devoted to the relief of these little unfortunates.

One day his father came upon him as he was putting some écus into a pretty little box which had been given him by his aunt, Madame Elisabeth. “What, Charles,” he exclaimed with a look of displeasure, “you hoard your money like a miser?” The child blushed, but recovering immediately, replied, “Yes, father, I am miserly; but it is for the foundlings. Ah, if you could see them! They are truly pitiable!” The king bent over his son, and embracing him with an effusion of joy which he seldom experienced now, said to him, “In that case, my child I will help you fill your little box.”

Source:  The Life of Marie Antoinette, Volume 2, by Maxime de La Rocheterie; Translated from the French by Cora Hamilton Bell; New York, Dodd Mead and Company 1893. Pg. 68-69.

[your-disobedient-servant]

Voltaire’s Paméla Letters Translated: Intro and Letter #1

The letters that Voltaire rewrote in the vein of Richardson’s Paméla after his falling out with Frederick the Great have intrigued me ever since I first heard of them in November or December. Only discovered to have been a rewrite and not originals in the late 20th century, it’s hard to say how much of it is authentic and how much exaggerated or made up, but for me, the fact that they have been altered only adds to the fascination.

Six months into learning French, I’m still not sure I’m quite ready to use this as translation exercises, but I’m impatient, I found the book for very cheap, and besides, I feel that to translate Voltaire you must channel some of the hubris, so bring it on. Poetry (to my surprise, it turns out I actually enjoy translating poetry in some masochistic way) and all. In the end, I am proud of the result.

This is not a very juicy letter, but I’m sure one will come along soon enough. I’m not sure how many will I be able to complete because there’s about fifty of them altogether, but I hope I manage at least a few.

Big thanks to everyone who helped me out with the draft. The rest under the cut for brevity, English followed by original French.

FIRST LETTER

In Clèves, July 1750

It is to you, please, niece of mine, to you, woman of a wit superb, philosopher of the selfsame kind, to you who, like me, of Permesse, knows the many paths diverse; it is to you I now address this disarray of prose and verse, recount my long odyssey's story; recount unlike I back then did when, in my splendid age's glory, I still kept to Apollo's writ; when I dared, perhaps courting disaster, for counsel strike for Paris forth, notwithstanding our minds' worth, the god of Taste, my foremost master!

This journey is only too true, and puts too much distance between you and me. Do not imagine that I want to rival Chapelle, who has made, I do not know how, such a reputation for himself for having been from Paris to Monpellier and to papal land, and for having reported to a gourmand.

It was not, perhaps, difficult when one wished to mock monsieur d'Assoucy. We need another style, we need another pen, to portray this Plato, this Solon, this Achilles who writes his verses at Sans-Souci. I could tell you of that charming retreat, portray this hero philosopher and warrior, so terrible to Austria, so trivial for me; however, that could bore you.

Besides, I am not yet at his court and you should not anticipate anything: I want order even in my letters. Therefore know that I left Compiègne on July 25th, taking my road to Flanders, and as a good historiographer and a good citizen, I went to see the fields of Fontenoy, of Rocoux and of Lawfeld on my way. There was no trace of it left: all of it was covered with the finest wheat in the world. The Flemish men and women were dancing, as if nothing had happened.

Go on, innocent eyes of this bad-mannered populace; reign, lovely Ceres, where Bellona once flourished; countryside fertilised with blood of our warriors, I like better your harvests than all of the laurels: provided by chance and by vanity nourished Oh! that grand projects were prevented by doom! Oh! fruitless victories! Oh! the blood spilled in vain! French, English, German so tranquil today did we have to slit throats for friendship to bloom!

I went to Clèves hoping to find there the stage stations that all the bailiwicks provide, at the order of the king of Prussia, to those who to go to philosophise to Sans-Souci with the Solomon of the North and on whom the king bestows the favour of travelling at his expense: but the order of the king of Prussia had stayed in Wesel in the hands of a man who received it as the Spanish receive the papal bulls, with the deepest respect, and without putting them to any use. So I spent a few days in the castle of this princess that madame de La Fayette made so famous.

But this heroine and the duc of Nemours, we ignore in these places the gallant adventure; for  it is not here, I vow, the land of novels, nor the one of love.

It is a shame, for the country seems made for the princesses of Clèves: it is the most beautiful place of nature and art has further added to its position. It is a view superior to that of Meudon; it is a land covered in vegetation like the Champs-Élysées and the forests of Boulogne; it is a hill covered in gently sloping avenues of trees: a large pool collects  the waters of this hill; in the middle of the pool stands a statue of Minerva. The water of this first pool is received by a second, which returns it to the third; and at the foot of the hill ends in a waterfall pouring into a vast, semi-circular grotto. The waterfall lets the waters spill into a canal, which goes on to water a vast meadow and joins a branch of the Rhine. Mademoiselle de Scudéri and La Calprenède would have filled a volume of their novels with this description; but I, historiographer, I will only tell you that a certain prince Maurice de Nassau, the governor, during his lifetime, of this lovely solitude devised nearly all of these wonders there. He lies buried in the middle of the forest, in a great devil of an iron tomb, surrounded by all the ugliest bas-reliefs of the time of the Roman empire's decadence, and some gothic monuments that are worse still. But all of it would be something very respectable for those deep minds who fall into ecstasy at the sight of poorly cut stone, as long as it is two thousand years old.

Another ancient monument, the remains of a great stone road, built by the Romans, which led to Frankfurt, to Vienna, and to Constantinople. The Holy Empire devolved into Germany has fallen a little bit from its magnificence. One gets stuck in the mud in the summer nowadays, in the august Germania. Of all the modern nations, France and the little country of Belgium are the only ones who have roads worthy of Antiquity. We could above all boast of surpassing the ancient Romans in cabaret; and there are still certain points on which we equal them: but in the end, when it comes to durable, useful, magnificent monuments, which people can come close to them? which monarch does in his kingdom what a procosul did in Nîmes and in Arles?

Perfect in the trivial, in trifles sublime great inventors of nothing, envy we excite. Let our minds to the supreme heights strive of the children of Romulus so proud: they did a hundred times more for the vanquished crowd than we solely for ourselves contrive.

In the end, notwithstanding the beauty of the location of Clèves, notwithstanding the Roman road, in spite of a tower believed to have been built by Julius Caesar, or at least by Germanicus; in spite of the inscriptions of the twenty-sixth legion that quartered here for the winter; in spite of the lovely tree-lined roads planted by prince Maurice, and his grand iron tomb; in spite of, lastly, the mineral waters recently discovered here, there are hardly any crowds in Clèves. The waters there are, however, just as good as those of Spa or of Forges; and one cannot swallow the little atoms of iron in a more beautiful place. But it does not suffice, as you know, to have merits to be fashionable: usefulness and pleasantness are here; but this delicious retreat is frequented only by a few Dutchmen, who are attracted by the proximity and the low prices of living and houses there, and who come to admire and to drink.

I found there, to my great satisfaction, a well-known Dutch poet, who gave us the honour of elegantly, and even verse for verse, translating our tragedies, good or bad, to Dutch. Perhaps one day we will be reduced to translating the tragedies of Amsterdam: every nation gets their turn.

The Roman ladies, who leered at their lovers at the theatre of Pompeii, did not suspect that one day, in the middle of Gaul, in a little town called Lutèce, we would produce better plays than Rome.

The order of the king regarding the stage stations has finally reached me; so my delight at the princess of Clèves' place is over, and I am leaving for Berlin.

***

LETTRE PREMIÈRE

À Clèves, juillet 1750

C'est à vous, s'il vous plaît, ma nièce, vous, femme d'esprit sans travers, philosophe de mon espèce, vous qui, comme moi, du Permesse connaisez les sentiers divers ; c'est à vous qu'en courant j'adresse ce fatras de prose et de vers, ce récit de mon long voyage ; non tel que j'en fis autrefois quand, dans la fleur de mon bel âge, d'Apollon je suivais les lois ; quand j'osai, trop hardi peut-être, aller consulter à Paris, en dépit de nos beaux esprits, le dieu du Goût mon premier maître !

Ce voyage-ci n'est que trop vrai, et ne m'éloigne que trop du vous. N'allez pas vous imaginer que je veulle égaler Chapelle, qui s'est fait, je ne sais comment, tant de réputation, pour avoir été de Paris à Montpellier et en terre papale, et en avoir rendu compte à un gourmand.

Ce n'était pas peut-être un emploi difficile de railler monsieur d'Assoucy. Il faut une autre plume, il faut une autre style, pour peindre ce Platon, ce Solon, cet Achille qui fait des vers à Sans-Souci. Je pourrais vous parler de ce charmant asile, vous peindre ce héros philosophe et guerrier, si terrible à l'Autriche, et pour moi si facile ; mais je pourrais vous ennuyer.

D'ailleurs je ne suis pas encore à sa cour, et il ne faut rien anticiper : je veux de l'ordre jusque dans mes lettres. Sachez donc que je partis de Compiègne le 25 de juillet, prenant ma route par la Flandre, et qu'en bon historiographe et en bon citoyen, j'allai voir en passant les champs de Fontenoy, de Rocoux et de Lawfeld. Il n'y paraissait pas : tout cela était couvert des plus beaux blés du monde. Les Flamands et les Flamandes dansaient, comme si de rien n'eût été.

Durez, yeux innocents de ces peuples grossiers ; régnez, belle Cérès, où triompha Bellone ; campagnes qu'engraissa le sang de nos guerriers, j'aime mieux vos moissons que celles des lauriers : la vanité les cueille et le hasard les donne. Ô que de grands projets par le sort démentis ! Ô victoires sans fruits ! Ô meurtres inutiles ! Français, Anglais, Germains, aujourd'hui si tranquilles fallait-il s'égorger pour être bons amis !

J'ai été à Clèves comptant y trouver des relais que tous les bailliages fournissent, moyennant un ordre du roi de Prusse, à ceux qui vont philosopher à Sans-Souci auprès du Salomon du Nord et à qui le roi accorde la faveur de voyager à ses dépens : mais l'ordre du roi de Prusse était resté à Vesel entre les mains d'un homme qui l'a reçu comme les Espagnols reçoivent les bulles des papes, avec le plus profond respect, et sans en faire aucun usage. Je me suis donc quelques jours dans le château de cette princesse que madame de La Fayette a rendu si fameux.

Mais de cette heroïne, et du duc de Nemours, on ignore en ces lieux la galante aventure : ce n'est pas ici, je vous jure, le pays des romans, ni celui des amours.

C'est dommage, car le pays semble fait pour des princesses de Clèves : c'est le plus beau lieu de nature et l'art a encore ajouté à sa situation. C'est une vue supérieure à celle de Meudon ; c'est un terrain planté comme les Champs-Élysées et le bois de Boulogne ; c'est une colline couverte d'allées d'arbres en pente douce : un grand bassin reçoit les eaux de cette colline ; au milieu du bassin s'élève une statue de Minerve. L'eau de ce premier bassin est reçue dans un second, qui la renvoie à un troisième ; et le bas de la colline est terminé par une cascade ménagée dans une vaste grotte en demi-cercle. La cascade laisse tomber les eaux dans un canal qui va arroser une vaste prairie et se joindre à un bras du Rhin. Mademoiselle de Scudéri et La Calprenède auraient rempli de cette description un tome de leurs romans ; mais moi, historiographe, je vous dirai seulement qu'un certain prince Maurice de Nassau, gouverneur, de son vivant, de cette belle solitude, y fit presque toutes ces merveilles. Il s'est fait enterrer au milieu des bois, dans un grand diable de tombeau de fer, environné de tous les plus vilains bas-reliefs du temps de la décadence de l'empire romain, et de quelques monuments gothiques plus grossiers encore. Mais le tout serait quelque chose de fort respectable pour ces esprits profonds qui tombent en extase à la vue d'une pierre mal taillée, pour peu qu'elle ait deux mille ans d'antiquité.

Un autre monument antique, c'est le reste d'un grand chemin pavé, construit par les Romains, qui allait à Francfort, à Vienne et à Constantinople. Le Saint-Empire dévolu à l'Allemagne est un peu déchu de sa magnificence. On s'embourbe aujourd'hui en été, dans l'auguste Germanie. De toutes les nations modernes, la France et la petit pays des Belges sont les seules qui aient des chemins dignes de l'Antiquité. Nous pouvons surtout nous vanter de passer les anciens Romains en cabarets ; et il y a encore certains points sur lesquels nous les valons bien : mais enfin, pour les monuments durables, utiles, magnifiques, quel peuple approche d'eux ? quel monarque fait dans son royaume ce qu'un proconsul faisait dans Nîmes et dans Arles ?

Parfait dans le petit, sublimes en bijoux, grands inventeurs de riens, nous faisons des jaloux. Elevons nos esprits à la hauteur suprême des fiers enfants de Romulus : ils faisaient plus cent fois pour des peuples vaincus que nous ne faisons pour nous-mêmes.

Enfin, malgré la beauté de la situation de Clèves, malgré le chemin des Romains, en dépit d'une tour qu'on croit bâtie par Jules César, ou au moins par Germanicus ; en dépit des inscriptions d'une vingt-sixième légion qui était ici en quartier d'hiver ; en dépit des belles allées plantées par le prince Maurice, et de son grand tombeau de fer ; en dépit enfin des eaux minérales découvertes ici depuis peu, il n'y a guère d'affluence à Clèves. Les eaux y sont cependant aussi bonnes que celles de Spa et de Forges ; et on ne peut avaler de petits atomes de fer dans un plus beau lieu. Mais il ne suffit pas, comme vous savez, d'avoir du mérite pour avoir la vogue : l'utile et l'agréable sont ici ; mais ce séjour délicieux n'est fréquenté que par quelques Hollandais que le voisinage et le bas prix des vivres et de maisons y attirent, et qui viennent admirer et boire.

J'y ai retrouvé, avec une très grande satisfaction, un célèbre poète hollandais, qui nous a fait l'honneur de traduire élégamment en batave, et même vers pour vers, nos tragédies bonnes ou mauvaises. Peut-être un jour viendra que nous serons réduits à traduire les tragédies d'Amsterdam : chaque peuple a son tour.

Les dames romaines, qui allaient lorgner leurs amants au théâtre de Pompée, ne se doutaient pas qu'un jour au milieu des Gaules, dans un petit bourg nommé Lutèce, on ferait de meilleurs pièces de théâtre qu'à Rome.

L'ordre du roi pour les relais vient enfin de me parvenir ; voilà mon enchantement chez la princesse de Clèves fini, et je pars pour Berlin.

[bereft-of-frogs]

ok I think the problem with the Phantom of the Opera adaptations that I’ve seen is they just...they just don’t quite capture how silly and young and stupid Raoul is.

like they always try to make him a serious romantic foil to Erik when in the book he is a painfully exuberant 20 year old trailing after his brother to the opera and occasionally just bursting into tears.

I mean I’m always in favor of more men crying in fiction, but this case especially. More dumb baby-faced Raoul.

- - -

Evidence

Introduction:

“The shyness of the sailor-lad - I was almost saying his innocence - was remarkable. He seemed to have just left the women’s apron-strings. As a matter of fact, petted as he was by his two sisters and his aunt, he had retained from this purely feminine education manners that were almost candid and stamped with a charm that nothing had yet been able to sully. He was a little over twenty-one years of age and looked eighteen. He had a small, fair moustache, beautiful blue eyes and a complexion like a girl’s.” (22)

The ‘meet-cute’:

“’Monsieur,’ she said, in a voice not much above a whisper, ‘who are you?’

‘Mademoiselle,’ replied the young man, kneeling on one knee and pressing a fervent kiss on the diva’s hand, ‘I am the little boy who went into the sea to rescue your scarf.’

Christine again looked at the doctor and the maid; and all three began to laugh.

Raoul turned very red and stood up.” (25)

At the masquerade (after Christine has stopped him from going after the Red Death/Erik and has a literal ‘you shall not pass’ moment, that’s literally the line in this translation):

“...And, in accents of childish hatred, he said:

‘You lie, madam, for you do not love me and you have never loved me! What a poor fellow I must be to let you mock and flout me as you have done! Why did you give me every reason for hope, at Perros...for honest hope, madam, for I am an honest man and I believed you to be an honest woman, when your only intention was to deceive me! Alas, you have deceived us all! You have taken a shameful advantage of the candid affection of your benefactress herself, who continues to believe in your sincerity while you go about the Opera ball with Red Death!...I despise you!...’

And he burst into tears.” (95)

In conclusion: cast more baby-faced and over-emotional Raouls. Make Raoul and Christine’s love story just so pure and innocent stop trying to turn this into an actual love triangle-

(okay like...I’ll admit that sometimes the drama of the actual love triangle is fun. and you all know how much I love Hadley Fraser, but I just also would love an adaptation that takes more of the book characterizations, where like Erik and Christine are having this very serious Gothic horror narrative and Raoul is just Not Emotionally Equipped for this. it’s the contrast that’s really fun. instead of making them both brooding rivals, like...dialing up the innocence. I think it would be fun.)

[wasalwaysagreatpickle]

Saturday 22 May 1830

5 1/2

11 55/..

Fahrenheit 62˚ at 7 1/4 a.m. off at 6 35/.. – walked in 50 minutes – 5 minutes at my apartment – 2nde lecon de Monsieur Desfontaines (resumé de la première for the sake of those who had not been able to attend on Thursday) from 7 1/2 to 8 1/2 – the lady who was so cross once last year about a place had taken one she was uncertain for whom gave it to me, and promised to keep it for me! Stopt to speak to Monsieur Desfontaines – this delayed me so that going to the laiterie – finding too many people there, and taking my milk to my apartment 1st time, found I had not time to breakfast – Brongniarts 16th lecture from 9 to 10 1/2 – had only just time to tell Monsieur Saint Romain I was faché, shocké – demandait mille pardons – on ne demande jamais de telles choses – oh! yes! yes! he meant to say, but seeing that I took it in that way (his long rigmarole genealogical note), he said no more – 

Returned by the garden – got at the administration the printed affiches of all the cours de leçons yet announced – home at 10 40/.. – breakfast – excellent milk – enjoyed it – looking over the affiches, and writing out list of all the lectures I have and shall to have attend – counting Pelletier I have 6 for Tuesday – then read over my notes of de Mirbels and Desfontaine’s lectures, and read Mérat’s botany – stupidish – 1/4 hour’s nap, and nodded a little afterwards.

Off at 2 10/.. – brought a porringer and pot to fetch my milk in, and took back the porringer to the laiterie – on coming out, met Madame Cuvier and her daughter, and Cuvier’s little secretary – joined them and walked with them to the collège – flattered Mademoiselle Duvaucel on her being savante – said I should have been happy if I could have imagined anything pour lui être agréable, a day in the country or anything else – but unfortunately found she never left home – said I had heard of her 11 years ago – Cuvier’s 34th lecture from 3 to 4 4/..

Then went to Madame Thurot to inquire about monsieur Richard’s terms for young Waterhouse – board, lodging, washing, fire, and candle, French drawing, anything monsieur Richard can teach him for 2000/. per annum – said why I could not give an immediate answer – a fortnight for to and fro of letters and expected an answer from un prètre protestant – sat talking to monsieur Thuron, a very pleasant man, about Greek, his friend poor old Coray now 82 – still coughs – a rheumatic cough – monsieur Thuron has translated Harris’s Hermes, and Roscoés Leo the 10th into French – has adopted in his lectures (one of the Greek professors at the college) the modern Greek pronunciation of the old Greek language – read a few lines to me from a late work of Coray’s – an hour there – then paid for Miss Pickford’s phrenological bust at Drumontier’s – saw the box – it was just going off per diligence – and bought ordered de Mirbel’s elements of vegetale physiology – then to Madame Galvani’s – she advised to write to the bureau of contributions directes about not having them to pay being en garni – 

Wrote me or rather dictated copy of note – 

Not home till 7 – dressed – dinner at 7 20/.. read the paper – came to my room at 9 1/4 – Monsieur and Madame de Hagemann came at 9 20/.. and stayed till 10 1/2 – tea and coffee – he going on Tuesday – 

We are very good friends – 

Came to my room at 11 – very fine day – Fahrenheit 70˚ at 1 50/.. p.m. and 64˚ at 11 3/4 p.m. Crochard, cloître de Saint Benoit, sent de Mirbel, 3 volumes octavo, éléments de physiologie végétale this evening –

[upennmanuscripts]

“Love and Humility are the sweet bonds of our marriage:” A Book of Hours owned by the wife of a French Catholic propagandist of the 16th century, and the Governor of Pennsylvania!

Fifty-two discoveries from the BiblioPhilly project, No. 7/52

Book of Hours, Use of Paris, Philadelphia, Philadelphia Museum of Art, 1924‑19‑1, fol. 24r (miniature of the Annunciation from the Hours of the Virgin)

Books of Hours are highly mobile objects that can often accrue fascinating later histories. Because of their deeply personal nature, they can become associated with historical persons either through legend or fact (or a combination of the two). Only relatively rarely, however, does one later owner purchase a book on account of its earlier ownership history. One such example is a fairly modest Parisian Book of Hours acquired by the Philadelphia Museum of Art in 1924 (accession number 1924‑19‑1). Unlike the later ensembles of illuminated manuscripts donated to the museum by Samuel and Vera White or Philip S. Collins, this manuscript was not published or described upon its entry into the collection.[1] Its only existing description comes from Seymour de Ricci’s Census of Medieval and Renaissance manuscripts in the United States and Canada and its later Supplement, produced by C.U. Faye and W.H. Bond.

In both Census volumes, the manuscript’s early provenance with the Duderé family in France is briefly recorded, as is its later ownership in the United States by Samuel W. Pennypacker, 23rd Governor of Pennsylvania (1843–1916), who served from 1903 to 1907 (and to whom we shall return). The Duderé provenance is evident through two unequivocal inscriptions within the manuscript. The first, on folio 1r, reads:

1924‑19‑1, fol. 1r, with ownership inscription of Michelle Duderé dated to 1577

Ces heures apartiennent a damoyselle Michelle du Deré femme de Me Loys Dorleans aduocat en la court de Parlement et lesquelles luy sont echeues par la succession de feu son pere Me Jehan Duderé conseiller du roy & auditeur en sa chambre des comptes, 1577; Amour & Humilité sont les doux liens de nostre mariage.

(“This Book of Hours belongs to Lady Michelle du Deré wife of Mr. Louis d’Orléans advocate in the court of Parliament and it descended from her deceased father Mr. Jean Duderé counsellor of the King and auditor in his chamber of accounts. 1577. Love and Humility are the sweet bonds of our marriage.”)

It thus transpires that the book was in the possession of Michelle Duderé, wife of the noted French Catholic League pamphleteer Louis Dorléans (1542–1629).[2] In addition to being known for authoring numerous religious tracts, Dorléans was also an occasional poet, and wrote some bucolic verses replete with thinly-veiled references to his beloved wife, but also to his former mistress Catherine de la Sale![3] Interestingly, some of his writings also show an unusual knowledge of Middle French poetry; he even donated a fourteenth-century French translation of the Golden Legend to a Minim convent in Paris in 1561 (Paris, Bibliothèque Mazarine, ms. 1279). Michelle Duderé, as she herself tells us in the inscription, had inherited the Book of Hours from her father, Jean Duderé, notary and secretary to the French king, whose principal historical importance seems to have been his invocation in a seventeenth-century lawsuit concerning the inheritance of such royal appointments. It appears that the manuscript was then gifted by Michelle Duderé’s blind son to a cousin once-removed, a certain G. Duderé, for on the verso of the first folio we read another French inscription, written some seventy-three years later:

1924‑19‑1, fol. 1r, with ownership inscription of G. Duderé dated to 1650

Ce présent livre m’a esté donné par feu monsieur d’Orléans, fils de mademoiselle d’Orléans nomée Michelle Duderé lequel estoit aveugle et qui estoit digne de cette affliction, mon cousin germain, G. Dudere 1650… les figures qui sont à genoux dans les ymages de ce livre sont de feu damoiselle Michelle de Sauslai [?] mère de deffunct mon frère.

(“This present book was given to me by the late Monsieur D’Orleans son of Madame D’Orleans named Michelle Dudere. He was blind and worthily bore this affliction, my cousin once removed. G. Dudere 1650… the figures which are on their knees in the pictures of this book are portraits of the deceased demoiselle Michelle de Sauslai [?], mother of my deceased father.”)

   1924‑19‑1, fols. 124r and 130r (miniature of the Virgin and Child with Angel with a female donor; miniature of the Trinity with an Angel holding the Crown of Thorns with a female donor)

The supposition that the two donor portraits (on folios 124r and 130r; illustrated above) contained in the book depict a certain “Michelle de Sauslai” (?), grandmother of the owner alive in 1650 is manifestly incorrect, since the book dates from the fifteenth century. But there is no reason to doubt the other pieces of evidence situating the book with the Duderé family early in its history.

Governor Samuel W. Pennypacker (1843–1916)

This is all fine and well, but how did the manuscript come to be owned by the Governor of Pennsylvania, Samuel Pennypacker? Pennypacker was a noted jurist, trustee of the University of Pennsylvania, president of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania, and local history enthusiast who collected a large amount of material related to the early German and Dutch settlement of South-Eastern Pennsylvania, most of which is today preserved at the Pennypacker Mills house museum. Other manuscripts once owned by Pennypacker that are still in Philadelphia include another Book of Hours (Lewis E 116) and a series of astronomical tables followed by a short text concerning astrology and planetary movements (Lewis E 3), both of which are today in the Free Library. These manuscripts were all auctioned off in the Pennypacker sale in 1906, together with a small number of other manuscripts. Additionally, for the present manuscript, the Faye and Bond supplement to de Ricci’s Census includes the name of an additional owner, the noted Chestnut Hill philanthropist, John Story Jenks (1839–1923). Jenks was a great supporter of the Pennsylvania Museum and School of Industrial Art (the precursor of the Philadelphia Museum of Art), as a short obituary confirms.[4] It was he who left the manuscript to the museum upon his death.

Portrait of John Story Jenks (1839–1923) by Alice Mumford Roberts

So why did Governor Pennypacker purchase this particular French Book of Hours, prior to its acquisition and donation by Jenks? The answer is provided in an all-but-forgotten issue of a regional historical journal, The Perkiomen Region, Past and Present, published in March of 1901 by Henry S. Dotterer (1841–1903). The short article, entitled “A Sumptuous Devotional Book,” vividly describes the book and asserts that the Governor:

…purchased it because he felt convinced that the family of Duderé mentioned in the inscription was identical with an old Pennsylvanian family—that of Doderer, Dotterer, Dudderer, Duttera, Dudderow. This conviction induced him to pay the large sum quoted for it by the foreign bookseller [i.e. James Tregaskis of London], and to bring it, after a service of more than three centuries, from its native France to the New World.

To find the connecting links from the Duderés of the Sixteenth century to the Dotterers of the Twentieth century would be a great genealogical achievement. Doderers and Dotterers appear in various parts of Europe prior to the date of the arrival, about 1722, of George Philip Dodderer, or Dotterer, in Pennsylvania. Tradition, in some instances, asserts that the Pennsylvania immigrants were of French origin; but not uniformly so, for Alsace, Baden, Wurtemberg and Austria are also named as the place of their nativity. We have unbounded respect for Judge Pennypacker’s insight into genealogy, ethnology, and the kindred sciences, and it will therefore not be a surprise to us if research shall ultimately prove that his intuitions are correct.[5]

The prominent Dotterer family of Pennsylvania was established by George Phillip Dotterer (ca. 1676–1741), who was born in Baden-Württemberg and died in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, in 1741. George’s father Hans is thought to have been born in the same region of Germany as his son around 1650. However, this family’s link to the prominent Catholic Duderés of France remains tenuous. As such, Governor Pennypacker’s assumption remains unlikely; perhaps his doubts led him to sell the book on in his 1906 sale. In any case, both G. Duderé’s misattribution of the portraits in the book and the dubious linkage to the Dotterer dynasty made by Governor Pennypacker demonstrate the extent to which an unsuspecting manuscript can become the subject of historical wishful thinking.

[1] Henry G. Gardiner, “The Samuel S. White, 3rd, and Vera White Collection,” Philadelphia Museum of Art Bulletin 63, no. 296/297 (1968): 71–150, http://bit.ly/2Hc3lI4; Carl Zigrosser, “The Philip S. Collins Collection of Mediaeval Illuminated Manuscripts,” Philadelphia Museum of Art Bulletin 58, no. 275 (1962): 3–34, http://bit.ly/2Vt3u3u.

[2] See the entry by Christophe Bernard in Dictionnaire des lettres françaises: le XVIe siècle, ed. Michel Simonin (Paris: Fayard-La Pochothèque, 2001), 370–71.

[3] Anne-Bérangère Rothenburger, “L’Eglogue de la naissance de Jésus-Christ pas Louis Dorléans: datation et filiation poétiques,” in Le poète et son œuvre: de la composition à la publication, ed. Jean-Eudes Girot (Geneva: Droz, 2004), 259–87.

[4] Pennsylvania Museum Bulletin 18, no. 77 (May 1923): 16.

[5] Henry S. Dotterer, “A Sumptuous Devotional Book,” The Perkiomen Region, Past and Present 3, no. 2 (March 1901): 166–7.

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[randomaldiarytranscriptions]

1824 Tuesday 9 November

9 10/60

2 50/60

at 10 1/4 went down to Mrs Barlow for about 3/4 hour – brought her back with me to see Miss Harvey who called and staid with me (with us) till luncheon was announced at 12 50/60 –

Began my breakfast a few minutes before she left us and finished it after Madame Galvani came at 1 – we had talked over Madame de Boyve’s management our sorry that it was not such as could the pensionaire answer as well as it ought and as we wished etc. Mrs Barlow left me when Madame Galvani came who stayed till 2 5/60 – spent the whole time in conversation having done nothing more of my translation from the Italian –

at 2 1/2 set off with Barlow to the school at Mont Parnasse where Miss Barlow is to wish her joy on her 14th birthday – took a fiacre near the rue de Bac – I left Mrs Barlow and walked beyond the barrier of Mont Parnasse and sauntered about for 20 minutes – then rejoined Mrs Barlow saw her daughter for 2 or 3 minutes and we returned along the boulevards close past the hotel Des Invalides, and got home at 4 40/60 – flirted a little but talked reasonably about Miss Barlows future and last of education etc. etc.

Dinner at 5 40/60 – about 7 1/4 Mrs Barlow Mrs Heath, Mademoiselle de Sans Monsieur Dacier and myself set off (in a fiacre) to the Italian to see Madame Pasta in Nina mad for love – She was certainly very great – her voice and sining very fine - She very graceful - Madame Galvani some time ago said she was decidedly a very much better singer than Catalani –

Mr Dacier paying attention to Miss de Sans to which she shews no dislike and I toMrs Barlow under our shawls had my arm round her waist great part of the time felt a little excited by the music etc etc and she surely knew it full well I thing she felt something herself had my arm round her waist oo as we returned –

Fiacres not allowed to drive up to the door of the opera-house after the opera is over – we had there for to walk perhaps 100 more yards than got into a fiacre and got home at 11 20/60 – went immediately into Mrs Barlow’s and stayed with her till 12 3/4 we had tea, and I had some of my grapes –

dead love making and talked a litt foolishly said if I could not make a good hit I should make a bad one hinting at having a mistress seeing her look as if xxxxxxxxxx angry turned it that I should shut my self up from the world she said she knew I took tea merely for an excuse to stay with her a little longer and this was true she saying the tea would prevent her sleeping she was with me she answered she could sleep quietly with me I half smiled and looked in silence eloquent then asked she would be asking to me if she was always with me why should I not said she ah I answered would you be exactly so kind and no more would you not relax a little said she what questions you ask that you have no business to ask you are engaged I know said I you told me before I should know my own mind I inquired that of others it is not my mind I dont know I that well enoug hinting how foolish I had been to engage myself but I should see how circumstance were in two or three years ssaid I was at present waiting for what would be a shadow even if I had got it cut I would not do anything my uncle did not like etc, here she pretended not to understand me said I would not for worlds have all this known it would make a quarrel between Π Mariana and I Miss Norcliffe would make a ioke of it and perha ps tell it at unawares Miss Maclean would stare as if she had never had the use of her eyes before I had before told her I had once had a person with me with whom I had gone to bed at ten and lain till one two three and later the next day and my father would not have us disturbed she leened and said she would not have had such a person in her house –

iust before going to the opera had come up to put my things on and kissed her left cheek till it was quite red and three places quite raised when she shewed me I laughed heartily declaring I knew not what I was doing she said she was ashamed to go downstairs I believe she was but she was not at all angry –

at dinner madame de Boyve mentioning my silence last night I said I was always sso in such case she was too mad to be admitted witness the manner in which he kissed her hand besides he incommo ded xxx she said that was not my affair yet ssaid all Mrs Barlows affairs are mine a little more passed but finding me staunch to my purpose and that I turned his sso kissing her hand completely against her she turned the subject and after dinner asked me to give her my hand which I did very cordially –

on looking in my secretaire this morning found the 6 numbers of the work on butterflies that there was a row about last night and sent my compliments and an apology to Madame de Boyve for the trouble I had so unnecessarily given – thought it right to mention publickly at dinner –

a little light rain for a little while after I got up afterwards a very fine day – Fahrenheit 60° at 2 25/60 p.m. at which hour had just finished writing all the above of today –

Venereal condition with flow of medium virulent discharge, one time treatment on the day, two times treatment in the evening.

[kittensandkoffeestuff]

Indian erotic tale with desi hindi women

- Each and every one of the characters are from the imagination of the authors are but eighteen years old. - This is our presentation for the 2016 Summer passion contest. - Galicism in context (several times escorted by translation) is sprayed throughout this history. - This is a complete but long story, with a slow, crazy burn along the way a slope to the end. - Unique thanks to Skye4Life for editing feedback during the story outcome. "Hello Monsieur-Mister Rocinante? Bonjour, are you with us these days?”

I let my pencil collapse I broke it in the chair, suddenly I realized that she was bracing to trigger to invoke my attention.

"Do I need to repeat the question?”

"Excuse Me, Madame Soliel, shall you?”

I deserved the question. I've been striding through the day in the back section of my Humanities lesson. My set contained an almost complete sketch of a familiar lady with long curls of hair making up her face. I had conquered the same silhouette shape that was in front of the level patiently waiting for my answer. Hands on her hips, she was illuminated by the brightness of the effervescent Day flowing through the subordinate section of the tall windows that ran the length of our lesson room. The half-lowered blinds added to the effect as the sun of the late oddly reflected off the intensely polished floor. I assumed that having her for both francesism and the Humanities made me Profit something of patience, she rephrased the question. The accent slightly liled her words still delighted me but, however somehow I withdrew from this passion I formed a congruent response, which she accepted, promptly continued with the prelection, casually calling other students.

It was a glorious vernal day a slight puff blew the flowering trees out there. The iridescence of the albugin dress she wore must have induced my stupor, because I usually paid a lot of attention in Humanities, since it was one of my favorite classes. Nowadays, however, my mind had oscillated between the time of vernal out there the feminine contours of my master. The way the sun was shining through the partially low blinds, accentuated her long dress fluent target enlightened by the sun captivated me completely the look I focused on her my hand kept working on the pencil.

The talk was not boring, it was about the height of the resurgence inhabitant of Europe it brought an excellent taste galicism that made it quite interesting with several side references. This erotic tale was deeply fascinated me; it seemed to be the seed that had germinated in our modern culture. My thoughts of currently were mixed with the libido of getting to have mature that season as their incredible venustiousness seemed to personify number of women we had seen, captured in paintings or sculptures shown during the lecture, somehow brought to life in our in front of.

At any moment, she considered me drawing watching her she finished describing the slide stopped beforehand proceeding. The room seemed to fade our eyes were closed. I knew I was looking, I was looking, I kept looking, but I couldn't help it. There was a kind of mental block that kept me from looking away. She knew I was agaze there was the slightest trace of a vermilion on her face she turned her attention from girata to the next slide in her presentation. The opaque room contributed to the translucency of your dress that so caught my attention. Her method beneath her was clear to the pompous clarity of the Sun I could not deflect my vision continued to fill particularities of my outline.

The rays of luminosity danced in her long golden curls shone from her alabaster skin she headed to the level after any slip. A small piece of loss seemed to invade my thoughts whenever my view of her face was interrupted she would turn our sides to describe in detail, any tone of the art depicted. Her words were soft seductive she gently walked from to to in front of the level. She extended the pointer to the projection screen she stroked gently along the artist brush shapes. Slide after slide she continued the talk; any new slide similar but deep than the previous one. She was a graceful raconteuse who had taken the level towards one of her well-known climatic endings.

the lecture is over, I saw her looking at the completed sketch I drew of her. Shame instantly spread heat across my face body. she finally looked up with a perplexed phrase, I felt momentarily motionless as if the force of our eyes catching had apparent my whole being. Fortune had his attention redirected by another aulist asking him a question, which consented to my escape I fail closing my notes for numerous prolonged moments quick left the gallery. Urgency directed me solely by instinct to my next lesson. Blinded by the tension that accumulated in me, I could only process the path directly to mine in front of repeating the incident on my carola without suspending. I was almost in the middle of the quad, someone gently grabbed me by the hand. Suddenly, time froze I found myself turning into slow motion to unravel it there, as if I had come out of a dream.

"Monsieur Rocinante, at present you seem rather distracted. Is everything much?”

"Oh, no. I think it's a beautiful time in vernal, " I replied, abysmal by the interaction by his soft hand still repressing mine.

"You got the one that's all?"she asked with that continually present touch of Gallic accent.

"Yeah, just. Soliel, I'm enjoying the course. It's quite interesting, even quite interesting. I get as involved in meditating as it should have been. The resurrection had so much going on, people were in so many different areas of study everything was new.”

"Very much, that was certainly this way to the level rise."After but an instant, she moved her hand to my shoulder. "Did I realize your thoughts were elsewhere today?"she asked firmly blushing brightly such and as if surprised by her question.

"Excuse Me, Madame ... excuse me. I didn't want to miss reverence. I shouldn't have looked, it's just ... your dress was currently ... it's ... it's ... it's ... beautiful. Mr. Soliel is a lucky man, " I chatted the words tactlessly. "Sorry, I'm an idiot. I hope I haven't offended,” I volunteered, kind of waiting for a spanking.

"Your notes tell a telling story, but no offense,” she added promptly, but then seemed temporarily speechless. The moments passed she shook several nervous words, " La fièvre springanière arrives. Perhaps this beautiful weather has made us fools. I will proceed to see him in Gallic, tomorrow; to soon, jam", she says, with what I could swear was a blink of an eye.

Was it a snap? I was meditating. Maybe it was the Sun that nailed jokes in my eyes or a wishful thought that I had imagined during my idle dream. I regained my senses moments later, she had resigned, but we stood there like 2 Strange debutants, meditating on how to extract ourselves from this self-inflicted enchantment.

"Yes, it must be ‘vernal fever', as I say, until tomorrow, Madame", I agreed, at last I tried to break the mandinga I began to lean to transpose.

"Can I see him again?"she quickly asked before we split up.

I carried the set of thick epidermis wrapped everywhere with me; I didn't think I had enough talent, but I continually drew. This set was perhaps my tithe or tithe first from which I began to trace things in Boy. I had even taken small number of art options, in advance of deciding to select my course. I took it from under my arm, I turned it in the middle I flipped through several other photographs until I got to hers.

"Behold," I say, finally.

Her Miller leaned over, she studied him with a smile on her lips then says, " you own any talent is quite flattering.”

I do not have the , what to express to her Encomio, I asked, " Would you estimate to have it?”

"Indeed, I would love it.”

I folded the thick sheet along the small punctures several times carefully tore it from the link slug, leaving behind the stalk.

"Can you sign for me?"she asked.

"Naturally”" I say. I put it on the surface duration inside the bonnet of in front of to sign it with a bloom that lightly touched the height of the outline. “See.”

"I don't think I have a garrison that does justice. I will continue to have to acquire something good to put it. Thank you very much," she says accepting.

"The pleasure is mine, have a good late.”

"I will proceed you do the same.”

She turned slowly to return in the direction when she was coming. Languid steps took her away from me she continued to study the sketch. I remained frosty watching; I still felt attracted by the dress blowing in the light plowing, alit in the luminosity of the sun. I thought I should wait until she had not seen the desperate excitement she had unleashed, but somehow I thought I had seen maybe she was playing with the physical response it gave rise to.

My administration lesson didn't go much better, because I dedicated a novelty page to a new sketch of it from memory. Honestly, this was better than the first, since I considered the finished part. The season of doubtful answers gave me another amazing question I looked at the trees blooming on the quad again. In fact, I heard this answer appropriately, but a follow-up question had fallen to me. It seemed that I was not the only one with my forehead in the clouds because after but small number of repetitions of this with others in the class, the master gave us an early deposition.

I went back to my room, I was convinced that it had been that dress her figure that I had seen through it. The image was beautified in my mind I could not sustain my thoughts away from it. I knew she was married, she covered Madame alternatively to Mademoiselle in the first week of classes during my first year. She taught most of the first week to speak only francesism her showy engagement ring had a consortium coalition to match. It had been one of several props she employed for the purpose of the whole world talking. I had already had a year of Gallic in high school, but those rings had been in my memory.

She must have been out of bounds for many reasons, but nowadays she was not meditating with insight. My thoughts were continually returning to her, reaching out to my hand there, to the luminosity of quad day. We were right in front of the spring Drumheller, but I didn't remember hearing the water. It was all I could do to look her in the eye to divert my attention from her body. the blood was beating in my ears. Her hand had been so soft gentle. His eyes shone with joy a touch of mischief. I wasn't quite good at picking up social cues, however I couldn't meditate that his manners were but that mere concern; it seemed exploratory flirtatious.

She possibly owns the age of my mother is married my master, she is so off limits, completely unattainable, correct?? I asked repeatedly or maybe tells myself.

There are so many reasons that this could never happen, it was the consistent response of my conscience that night several others.

After many days of these feelings, I began to philosophize that it was good that the semester was almost over. This would be the last of my Foreign Language Humanities requirements. Visions of her filled my mind I slept in my little alcove I found myself continuing to be visually distracted by her in the lesson. Fortunately, there were no repeated chapters with yours. Soliel, at least none she noticed I tried to be but demure. My thoughts dwelt in her for the remaining weeks of the lesson.

I longed to be dispatched from this deep enchantment; it was an irretrievably irretrievable libido that could never be tormented.  the finals were made the semester arrived at the end, I found myself experiencing a dichotomous mix of comfort sadness. I thought maybe the mandinga would be fragmented, especially if I could find a way to avoid this worry I had that could only lead to a perpetual sadness.

Driven by concern for the depths of my fixation, I decided to take a break this summer. I had not communicated in advance sign for classes because I was already cause any travel class. My senior year was going to be pretty light because I had attended the summer semester during my sophomore years to get the most out of the likely way requirements.  I finished this semester with “ A " in my affairs once again solved the object. Feelings of accomplishment made me believe that I had benefited from a break in addition to needing one.

I was hoping that removing myself from the University of Washington might redefine my perspective on things. I thought of seeing my brothers in California, but surprisingly, what I really wanted was to return to Villa, despite having been there during the winter break. I didn't trust my truck enough to try to drive to see my brothers in San Francisco, only 13 hours apart, much less cross the country on a long day trip to Vermont. Our family was not rich I had taken classes, pension room covered between the Pell grant a scholarship of my grades. Soon, I had gone to housing beforehand, had been by the affordable but cheap transportation that had been a collective.

The alcove phone offered little privacy, so I came from my room with a roll of coins to the corner booth. I dialed the number, deposited many coins I heard the operator Express me to insert but two for my long range call to complete. Once the mother was in dash, there were a few minutes when I danced at the wheel of matter, I think she could feel the despair in my voice she tells me to return to the House. Soon she added the temptation that Pops would give me any money to stop the trip expenses any living money to assist on the farm.

I hung up the phone, realized that if I was being honest with myself, I was feeling but something of longing for living alone. I had opted to stay on campus for most summers to date several of the truce but Short had returned to the estate for a couple of winter rest. My last trip to Villa had been delightful, but it had been winter what I missed was the term of the summer vernal of our family farm. The wonderful time of the last few weeks deepened my libido to see it return to hover. I had not returned to housing in my sophomore year because the first College Christmas Villa had coincided with the one-year Christmas of the overwhelming psyche ending of my first royal superior relationship. It had been a solitary memorial of a couple of weeks of parting with my girlfriend from high school.

Jenny had gone to the University of Vermont in Burlington, graduated a year from mine in front of. This and that we were born grew up in Vermont, on the outskirts of Montpelier, that neither my brothers but old my mana. My sister, Emma, had graduated from the same university I was five years old was philosophizing about going there too, until Jenny told me that she had divulged another persona. She did it during her first UVM Christmas home, before I finished high school. I ended my senior year without a girlfriend, who somehow felt but alone, even though she hadn't been around during the decadence. This led to many strange cases of being ridiculed for taking my mana to the dance this started my often avoiding relationships altogether. The separation had shaped my resolve to go out of State for college I had gone the but likely far from her from the farm.

There were no girlfriends after her I went to college demudado. It was pretty naive to try, but I just cut that section of my life I became but focused on my schoolwork, on my outline on my horizon. I thought of inviting a small number of women to my freshman classes, but the women at the University of Washington seemed but socially adept than I felt intimidating. I figured you were from a small town, subsisting on a farm, having such little experience dating because of my involvement for a long time. Avoiding me after the first year seemed solely to perpetuate the conduct I had not been primarily attracted to absolutely anyone until that day in Humanities.

Mom's encouragement to return to the farm made me think it would do me a lot. Emma may not like her younger brother being there, taking her space, but I thought she'd get over it. I'd help out on the farm. She and her boyfriend, Bo, were practically coordinating the farm. They were planning to get married about years ago, but they had not yet offered the knot for some reason. I packed up and went back to the room and took the next bus to vivenda. The tiring three-day trip was another reason why I had not gone enough for housing, mostly for breaks but short.

Many days after bus changes, I last arrived in Burlington. In the parking lot of the bus station, I was horrified to see Emma coming to pick me up. I expected to see my mother, since I had called her a day before I arrived, but it was good to see her face. She had driven the family farm van with our golden retriever Samson eagerly waiting for me back there. Lightly, I stepped out of the shaded waiting area, threw my stuff into the bed of the truck, slapped Samson good, joined her in the cab.

"You seem but happy to see him than you do to me”"she says, leaning toward a quick kiss.

"By no means are you a vision to my eyes.”

"logo? How's College?"she asked with something of concern looked at me with pity.

She called me that from continuously, from what I remember. I never resisted the last name, and even now, it seemed tender to me. Despite her rude stance towards me, I could manifest that she loved cared about me. She had a regular habit of sending me care packages all my time in college. My heart continually leaped they came; the anticipation of something of it constantly gladdened my day. Her small gift boxes were tidy contained items she thought I might need or desire: homemade snacks, robes or books she thought I could read.

"A lot is going on, but I'm happy to be in Villa. Thank you for each and every care package you sent. You can't imagine how simple it is to be away.”

“I remember how it was I was in college”" she says laughed. "lived close enough to go to needed housing. Thank you for answering.”

[bobcatmoran]

Les Misérables Manga: The Not-Scanlation, 3.1.1

http://bobcatmoran.tumblr.com/post/165564832022/les-mis%C3%A9rables-manga-the-not-scanlation-312Previously on Les Misérables Manga: Jean Valjean and Cosette find a new home at the convent with Fauchelevent.

Coming up: Little Marius, his domineering grandfather, and his very sad father. Also, the entirety of the Waterloo section, mercifully cut down to four pages.

As always, beneath the cut are scans, followed by the translated script. A big thank-you to this chapter's guest translator, @vapaus-ystavyys-tasaarvo! Translations of previous parts and overviews of more recent chapters can be found at the [manga masterpost]. 

If it’s within your budget, I encourage you to support the artists by buying the manga via any of the links [here]. The entire run of the manga is available in both Japanese and French! (alas, you’re stuck with my amateurish translations for English)

Preview is freaking adorable:

Heading: 18 June 1815 Waterloo

SFX: *kneel*

Thénardier: Hmph... There's nothing worth taking.

SFX: rummage rummage

Thénardier: Oh! This would be wasted on a corpse.

Georges Pontmercy: cough!

Thénardier: Eek...!!

Titles: Book 3: Marius Chapter 1: Grandfather and Grandson

Georges: Thank you... Which side won...?

Thénardier: Th-the British...

Georges: I see......

Thénardier: !! It's a patrol of British soldiers. If they find us we're dead!!

SFX: rummage rummage

Thénardier: You're on your own now.

SFX: grab

Georges: Your name?

Thénardier: Thénardier.

Georges: Your rank...

Thénardier: Rank? Ah~... S-sergeant.

Georges: You saved my life, I won't forget your name...

Thénardier: Let go!! It's getting risky!!

Georges: And you too, please remember my name... I am Pontmercy. Georges Pontmercy.

Text: Year 1817 Paris

Gillenormand: HURRY UP AND COME DOWN! YOU DUNCE!! ANSWER ME!! STOP LAZING AROUND!!

Marius Pontmercy: Yes, Grandfather.

Marius: My name is Marius.

Gillenormand: Show me your face, you good-for-nothing!!

Marius: I turn seven this year. This person is my maternal grandfather. M. Gillenormand.

Gillenormand: Let's get going.

Marius: He's over his mid-seventies but his back is still straight and his voice loud. His eyes are sharp, his wine is strong, he eats well and he sleeps well, his snoring is really noisy.

SFX: BWAHAHAHA!

Marius: He also likes women. His tongue is generally sharp but after getting mad once he won't touch you again.

Basque: Monsieur, this is a cook who wishes to work here.

Gillenormand: How much do you want to get paid per month?

Olympie: 30 francs.

Gillenormand: Name?

Olympie: Olympie.

Gillenormand: That won't do. I'll give you 50 francs, so change it to "Nicolette".

Marius: He has all kinds of prejudices and he's deeply selfish. In a word, Grandfather's temperament —

Basque: Have a nice day.

Marius: — is "old yet gaining vigor.”

Marius: She is my aunt. My mother's older sister from another mother. People call her "Mademoiselle Gillenormand, the elder".

Butler: If it isn't Monsieur Gillenormand. Welcome, please come in.

Marius: She never married in her life and at forty she looks over fifty. "It's because she has never been embraced by a man,” says Grandfather. I don't quite understand it, though.

Text: Rue Ferou The "Monarchist Salon" of Madame la Baronne de T.

Marius: Ah, it'll be fine, it'll be fine, it'll be fine! Buonapartists* to the gallows!!**

*mangaka's note: "another name for Napoleon Bonaparte"

Monarchists: Marvellous!!

SFX: clap clap clap clap

Monarchists: Monsieur Gillenormand's training has been thorough. You are a wonderful monarchist as well. It is just regrettable... What a shame... about the father.

**Marius is singing a parody of “Ça Ira,” whose widely known French Revolution-era lyrics call for stringing up the aristocrats, not Buonapartists.

Gillenormand: THIS CHILD DOESN'T HAVE A FATHER!!

Marius: I don't remember much about my father... It's just sad how everyone makes a disgusted face when he is mentioned...

Gillenormand: He's the shame of the family...

Marius (text): My father was a soldier who served under Napoleon.

Marius: I hate my father.

Text: Vernon About 50 km west from Paris

Text: Paris Church of Saint-Sulpice

Mabeuf: ..........

Georges: sigh

Marius: Twice a year at New Year's and on St. George's day* --

*mangaka's note: 23 April

Marius: I hate writing letters to my father. Just copying the sentences dictated by my aunt. A list of set phrases.

Nicolette: Monsieur.

Marius: I hate my father. I'm sure my father doesn't love me either. He left me right after mother died.

SFX: CRUSH

Marius: He hasn't replied to my letters even once.

Next time on Les Mis Manga: Marius, all grown up! Gillenormand, still awful! Georges, dead!