#bouzingo

[pilferingapples]

' why are my ancient ass posts going around again' and other terrifying tumblr life questions

[clove-pinks]

Eighteen-Thirties Thursday: Newspapers and Their Readers

I am obsessed with this print by Victor Adam, Les journaux et leurs lecteurs, depicting the stereotype reader of various French newspapers, in the Rijksmuseum collection. Although it's dated c. 1830-1854, the clothing of the caricatures is very 1830s.

A merchant reads Le Commerce. (Are his feet tucked into some kind of warmer?)

Children read Le Journal des enfans.

A rare look at working class people in fairly realistic portraiture: a grocer reads Le Constitutionnel and a grisette (younger working woman, often employed as a seamstress) reads La Gazette des Tribuneax.

A man in knee breeches, in this economy? Of course he's l'ultra-royaliste reading La Gazette.

Swanky, obnoxious outfit, long hair, reading Le Charivari illustrated magazine—it's a bousingot Romantic! The hat is characteristic.

The fashionable man reads La Mode (and looks great doing it).

[oldbookist]

mfw i see romanticism trending on tumblr but it’s just dark academia aesthetics and not brawling in a theater or walking a lobster on a leash

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

kin ask meme: you seem like a combeferre or a jehan!

Oh I definitely projected a little onto Combeferre in high school lmao. Think I also RPed him (badly) in this funky little Pinterest group (???) for like a month

Edit: I am assuming you meant Jehan Prouvaire, not Jehan Frollo du Moulin lmao

[thegreatchainingofbeing-blog]

Only a Romantic Army will stop the philistines.

Theophile Gautier was there at The Battle of Hernani to defend Victor Hugo’s 1830 play.

[fremedon]

omg I want to ask SO many things about all your LM WIPs but: Wolf Interval?:D

Poetry Smash Bouzingo orchestra fic! Which so far doesn't even have Bahorel in it; this mostly exists as extensive notes towards an argument between Prouvaire and Combeferre over even temperament. (Combeferre thinks it's a mathematical marvel of the modern age, Prouvaire thinks it's a travesty, Grantaire takes Prouvaire's side even though he can't actually hear the difference: "If too many perfect fifths piled on each other sound like a howling animal to our ears, who are we to tame the wolf just because we can't tolerate that much perfection?")

I do very much intend to write the rest; I read a whole book on musical temperament just for this scene and I have opinions about it now.

[prudencepaccard]

you know how cities have "Keep [City] Weird" campaigns?

that, but for Romanticism

never forget the Hernanistes, and Bouzingo, and eclecticism, and the grotesque, and Hugo just generally being a complete lunatic

@pilferingapples

[midautumnnightdream]

The Bouzingo Dude made a reference to Tannhäuser riot of 1861, which was the first time I heard that name, so I looked it up and oh boy.

Tannhäuser (German: [ˈtanˌhɔʏ̯zɐ]; full title Tannhäuser und der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg, "Tannhäuser and the Minnesingers' Contest at Wartburg") is an 1845 opera in three acts, music and text by Richard Wagner. /.../

Tannhäuser's first performance in Paris was given on 13 March 1861 at the Salle Le Peletier of the Paris Opéra. The composer had been closely involved in its preparation and there had been 164 rehearsals. /.../

At the first performance the opera was initially well-received, with disturbances including whistling and cat-calls beginning to appear in Act II, and becoming prominent by the end of the third act. For the second performance much of the new ballet music was removed, together with some actions that had specifically provoked mockery, such as the piping of the shepherd in Act I. At this performance however the audience disturbances were increased. This was partly due to members of the wealthy and aristocratic Jockey Club, who objected to the ballet coming in Act I, since this meant they would have to be present from the beginning of the performance (disrupting their dining schedule). It was alleged that they distributed whistles to the audience. A further incentive to disruption was the unpopularity of Princess von Metternich and of her native country of Austria. At the third performance on 24 March (which Wagner did not attend) uproar caused several interruptions of up to fifteen minutes at a time. As a consequence, Wagner withdrew the opera after the third performance. This marked the end to Wagner's hopes of establishing himself in Paris.

― wikipedia

whaaa??

[aflamethatneverdies]

Aaah this is a very, very silly AU because I could not help it (Two characters in search of an author- or Gavroche and Navet run into Victor Hugo sometime in 1830).

Gavroche and Navet were engrossed in the lives of snails on the sidewalk. These tiny beings in their colourful shells occupied their attention so completely, that they had not noticed a large figure with a buttoned up collar and a prominent forehead, glancing at their games.

Gavroche recognized the face and poked Navet in the shoulder, ‘Why look here Navet, isn’t that the writer of the play with the poison, the dagger and Mademoiselle Muche sleeping under her veil?’

Navet looked puzzled at Gavroche, he had been at a lot of plays that involved poison and the dagger and he was fond of Mademoiselle Mars’ appearances.

‘The one that caused a fight and was talked about for days by all the actors!’

Navet nodded vigorously and then proudly added, ‘I booed very loudly at the bourgeois who would not stop loudly complaining.’

‘See. He is our good friend. I have seen his other plays and thrown cabbage at him many times. We will tell him of the adventures of our snails. Pardi! Perhaps we can earn a sou.’

Gavroche ran out with the makeshift bag of snails, but stopped midtrack when his sight was caught by an interesting scene and hid among some bushes to watch the scene unfold in front of him.

It was Gillenormand out for an evening stroll looking horrified at the sight of some students and various Romantics, one of them dressed in a rash, red waistcoat.

The two students in the front of the group had managed to annoy Gillenormand with their appearance alone- one was wearing a medieval doublet and the other a red waistcoat. He would complain to his daughter about students running around wearing the red of the revolution and having no respect for anything.

‘Why Monsieur Farce, we are pleased you could join us from the 18th Century.’ Gavroche laughed, loud enough for Gillenormand to hear. The old man pompously raised his cane in Gavroche’s direction and muttered, ‘Gamin’

‘Relic.’ Gavroche shouted back as the group came in full view. 

‘By the pantouflouche of the pantouflouchade!’ Gillenormand spat out his famous oath, getting increasingly incensed as some of the students started singing a loud strain of ‘We will make a Bouzingo…Bouzingo’ and some others took to banging pots and pans along, causing heads to turn towards them. Gillenormand launched into his favourite speech about the excesses of youth to no one in particular, 'The youth of today are blackguards who have no respect for any institution, call themselves Romantics or such affectation and have the impudence to walk around insulting the monarchy. What an abomination.’

'Abomination yourself’ Gavroche retorted louder still, sticking out his tongue and shifting closer so that he could have a better glance at the students that he instantly took a liking to.

Gillenormand looked as if he was under a fit of apoplexy as the songs became rowdier. He breathed a sigh of relief when the National Guard appeared and cut short the students reveleries. He would be glad of the comfort of his own armchair from where he could talk at his daughter about his opinions on the youth of today, a speech which he had given so many times that he could recite it in his sleep. 

Gavroche turned with the bag of snails to find that on the other side of the street, oblivious to the commotion, the author had disappeared among a crowd of gamins who were trying to sell him their wares- mainly worms and bugs in old tattered socks and persuading him to buy them.  

He laughed and opened the bag with the snails who scuttled about on their way, and draped his arm around Navet’s shoulders as they sang a refrain from the bouzingo song that could be heard for miles.

Brickclub Les Mis 3.1.5

In which Hugo reaffirms the gamins’ connection to Paris by circumscribing their world to the city’s boundaries. I’m going to take his word for this.

My main takeaways are 1) half this chapter is really about Marius, Vicky’s avatar, who spends half of book 4 wandering these border regions of Paris, lost in dreams; and 2) I desperately need a fic in which some urchins try to sell Vicky a sock full of bugs. Please. Anyone?

No second person pronouns.

[theradioghost]

What is the nerdiest academic or semi-academic thing you're into and what are your favorite facts related to said thing?

I think the answer might be my devotion to the lesser-known (at least in North America?) Romantic poets. I’ve got my Felicia Hemans rant, for one thing, but I’m also very fond of the Bouzingo? My favorite fact about the Bouzingo is literally everything on their Wikipedia page, and also that Petrus Borel Was A Werewolf, Maybe.

[clove-pinks]

"Sir Walter Scott?" I laugh coldly, studying you with detached scorn. "Is that really the best you can do? Not even Coleridge?"

You attempt to reply—but too late! The elegant walking stick in my hand is now leveled at your breast.

"BOUZINGO BOUZINGOT BOUSINGO!" I chant the words in a stentorian voice and the air crackles with an arcane force not seen since the reign of Louis XIII.

Speechless, you gasp as your waist is constricted by unseen powers. Atop your head, your new silk hat squeals in protest as it collapses in on itself to form a conical shape; the fabric of your sleeves strains in the opposite direction, swelling to form mounds of virago.

I smile blandly at your predicament.

"Un peu chargée," I observe, regarding your transformation.

with apologies to @pilferingapples

[aflamethatneverdies]

Courfeyrac is very much There for various Romantic shenanigans, but he's a bit like Gautier with "But Practicalities??" Dancing wildly through the streets all night is an awesome concept, but his feet hurt and really he wanted to fall asleep hours ago? Anyone who thinks stealing a skeleton is a great idea has never tried to transport one through several quarters, in the dark, while keeping it more-or-less in one piece. (He has never quite forgiven Prouvaire for that one. (1/2)

Or Bahorel for laughing at him when the skull dropped on his foot. Or Combeferre for saying he deserved it while bandaging him up) (2/2)

I have nothing to add to this beautiful headcanon except this: 

Courfeyrac was draped over the sofa at a salon in the Latin Quarter, his eyelids drooping heavily, his hat askance, his cravat abandoned to some charming young woman. He refused the third cup of coffee that was offered to him.His head was spinning from lack of sleep and he was pretty sure he had just vomited on the fashionable Turkish rug in the middle of the room. He could not tell for sure, because time kept its warp pace and he had no idea how long he had been at this party, it could have been years or months instead of several hours, which his pocket watch showed. 

‘Is it fashionably late to make excuses to leave?’ he shouted to Bahorel amid the noise of the talk, ‘I’ve danced with charming young women for hours till my feet hurt, even participated in a cancan, which I suspect is illegal and drunk some of the punch and passed out, I think I’ve reached peak fun times.’ 

There were people talking, reciting poetry, putting on a dramatic performance. Someone was even juggling knives. In the far corner a piano was being played upon, rather badly. Courfeyrac who had taken piano lessons in his youth, because of his older sisters, could tell it was off-key and it pained him to hear it.    

Bahorel put away the pipe he was smoking and raised his eyebrows. He was thoroughly enjoying himself at this salon, he had acquired a reputation as an outrageous member of the petit cenacle. The young men and women flocked around him as he easily moved from talking about Robespierre to talking about art and theatre.  

He looked at Courfeyrac closely and noticing his friend’s haggard appearance and sleep deprived face said gently, ‘Can you walk? I’ll call a cab.’

As the cab rattled along the narrow streets, Courfeyrac lightly closed his eyes.

‘Why is it that I always find myself in impractical situations, with you two? Remember when you and Jehan asked me to help you in smuggling a skeleton across half of Paris?’

‘Vaguely.’ Bahorel said with a twinkle in his eyes. 

Courfeyrac was wide awake now, ‘I should write a manual on how to transport skeletons: Bouzingo edition. First, don’t get caught in the rain while supporting the damn thing. Second, make sure you have a good excuse when dealing with curious gendarmes and no, this is the skeleton of a pretty young lady who is now haunting Paris as a ghost and we hope to unite her with her lover, does not count, be sure to inform Jehan of that. Thirdly, do I need to continue?’ Courfeyrac said as they reached his lodgings. 

Marius was still not home from wooing his lady love, a good thing, Courfeyrac thought as they collapsed on the bed, he would have hated to have woken his roommate up. 

‘Thirdly,’ Courfeyrac said with more emphasis, ‘Don’t let the skull fall on your feet while trying to navigate the streets in the dark and have your friends laugh at you.’

‘I am chastened and ashamed, I did not mean to, Courfeyrac.’ Bahorel said with a dramatic flourish which made Courfeyrac think his friend would have made a better Hernani than any living actor in Paris. 

Bahorel helped Courfeyrac to clean up and discard his hat, shoes and waistcoat. Courfeyrac slipped into his bed and smiled, ‘It was a good joke, running around with the skeleton. I tell this story to everyone, they laugh and I enjoy it. Though, it was less comforting to end up with a broken foot and having to explain to Combeferre how it was I got the injury. I wish to pay him back for the insult. He had the nerve, the absolute nerve….’ 

‘For what?’ Bahorel was grinning. 

‘To say that I had deserved it.’ Courfeyrac said ruefully, ‘The worst part was that he wasn’t actually wrong.’          

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

I'm getting a history-lover vibe from you. Yes? No? Subjects of interest?

Yes, very much so!  (Was it the sudden T.E. Lawrence spam yesterday that gave it away? :P)  I am interested in quite a few areas of history.

I love the age of sail, especially the golden age of piracy, though I seem to have picked up more about the Royal Navy at that time than about the actual pirates due to my love of Norrington from POTC.  (One time I got to infodump about naval discipline to my friend group; I don’t think they knew what they were getting into.)  Sea-stories hold a great deal of interest for me in both literature and film.  Pirates of the Caribbean 1-3 are some of my all-time favorite movies.  I love the history of the Mutiny on the Bounty (and I will heartily defend the 1962 film over the 1935 one despite the former’s inaccuracies).  I’m also a big fan of Stevenson’s Treasure Island, and Disney’s Treasure Planet was my CHILDHOOD JAM.  Finally, I’m always here for a good Errol Flynn swashbuckler like Captain Blood or The Sea Hawk.

The French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars are also really fun to learn about.  I particularly love the Sharpe and Hornblower series even though I technically haven’t finished either one yet, whoops.

Thanks to my love of Les Misérables, I know rather a lot about 1830s Paris.  A few years ago I wrote a massive research paper on the bouzingos, or Jeunes-France, the first self-proclaimed avant-garde movement which came to inspire the “bohemian artist” archetype.  The members got up to some truly legendary shenanigans, the most famous of which included drinking alcoholic foam/cream out of (arguably real) human skulls, holding impromptu brass concerts in the yard while naked, stirring up theatergoers to protest Classicism, and more.  Also, Gérard de Nerval once walked his pet lobster on a ribbon in the public square.

As mentioned earlier, one of my more recent subjects of interest is T.E. Lawrence, or “Lawrence of Arabia” (how he hated that epithet!).  He came to play an important role in the Arab Revolt during WWI, aiding its original leaders in organizing and leading various guerrilla military campaigns, and later fighting hard (if unsuccessfully) to ensure that the Arab leaders got what they had been promised by the English and French.  He was an immensely interesting (and concerningly relatable) man who acted and experienced terrible things during the war, yet remained heroic despite his reluctance to admit as such.  He was friends with some of the most influential figures of the time, many of whom remembered him very fondly.  Lawrence’s two books, Seven Pillars of Wisdom and The Mint, are modern classics in their own right and I can’t recommend them enough!  As if that wasn’t cool enough, the 1962 film Lawrence of Arabia is consistently ranked among the best movies ever made.

Other areas of interest include World War I poets (e.g., Siegfried Sassoon, Robert Graves, and Wilfred Owen, partly because of Lawrence’s friendship with the first two), the Vikings, the American Revolution, and film history.

[thegreatchainingofbeing-blog]

Mathilda Lund will not bend to male artists, she never compromises her poetry for men.

[amelancholycharm]

FRENCH ROMANTICS FANDOM FRIENDS!!!

First, an apology for Dropping Out Of Society for a while there - I started a new job in September which I LOVE - but has been pretty much CONSUMING MY LIFE UTTERLY...

Which brings me to my request:

Next week, for aforementioned Awesome New Job, I get to run a cool workshop  in which I’m going to try to recreate, in some small way, a bit of the Wild Bouzingo Lifestyle (to the extent possible in 2.5 hours a day with high school students.)

We plan to to Saunter, Write And Draw Things, drink coffee, observe people, sing in public, dress up, etc. etc, - maybe even take our pet lobsters for a walk in the park, who knows.

But first I want to set the scene! I need some   brief stories & readings that will give these guys a taste of what we’re trying for without making them feel like it’s Homework.  I don’t want to overwhelm, just develop a vivid image of what these guys were like.  

SO....

Hit me with your favorites - anecdotes, quotations, poetry, the works - what do YOU think would help these crazy kids feel like it’s 1830 all over again????