#ludwig das kind

[dreamconsumer]

Louis the Child (893-911), King of East Francia and Lotharingia. Illustration from "Die Deutschen Kaiser", by Max Barack (Julius Hoffmann, Stuttgart, c.1873).

[emo-gremlin]

what if Harley got emotional in front of his s/o?? Like tears and angst?? Head canons for that?? (FEED ME)

Imma lump these two together since they're basically the same.

The Doctor's emotional outburst! + Reader

💻 Adjusting to his new form was...difficult to say the least. Leith was no help, if anything, it seemed to make it worse.

💻 You tried your best to be a mediator between the two, but today...Leith went too far.

💻 "WELL IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY THINKING LIKE A FUCKING HUMAN BEING AND NOT SOME KIND OF COLD BLOODED REPTILE MAYBE YOU WOULD HAVE STAYED IN THE YOUNG GENUIS PROGRAM AND AWAY FROM YOUR SHIT HEAD FAMILY!"

💻 A scream rang out through the room, several monitors burst, and the lights went out.

💻 "H-how DA-DARE YOU?! I-I DID EVERY T-THING I CO-COULD FO-FOR THAT MAN!" You could hear The Doctor's agony in his voice, almost as if...he was crying.

💻 "You....you ha-have no i-idea what my-My chi-childhood was li-like. Wh-what i-i had to g-go back t-to. To ha-have yo-your dre-dreams taken a-away by the o-only one you t-thought understood y-you..."

💻 What screens were left glowed bright red, forming the shape of an eye. The static on the screens made it seem as if it was dripping with tears.

💻 "Y-you have n-no r-right to speak l-like-"

💻 "I own you, Sawyer. I own the technology you're connected to." Leith wasn't backing down. You heard a door open, a heavy, steel door. "And you are gonna do what you're told, if you know what's best for you."

💻 You heard claws softly tap against the floor. You knew who that was.

💻 "Th-this...Yo-you will p-pay for t-this. I'll m-make sure of it."

💻 You thought about warning him. You thought about jumping in the way of the beast and your boss.

💻 Harley was not a good man. He never said he was. The man was a brilliant scientist, and a cold blooded one at that.

💻 But no one deserves to have their past brought up like this, in front of complete strangers. You didn't know much about his past either, you just knew that it was harder, and harder still after being let go from Ludwig's program.

💻 You decided not to say anything, stepping aside to let Harley's guard beast through.

💻 Harley noticed this, but said nothing.

💻 "Maybe Yarnaby can teach you how to hold your tongue."

💻 The yarn lion pounced on Lieth's back, slamming him to the floor as Dr. White and the other scientists ran out of the room.

💻 Leith's screams echoed as you walked out, a security squad coming in to disable Yarnaby.

💻 "He isn't dead, I presume?" Harley asked as you quietly swept up the shattered remains of multiple screens.

💻 "Nope. But he will be in a wheelchair for a while. So he won't be able to come down here for sometime." You replied, looking up at one of the screens. "Will you be alright?"

💻 Harley stayed silent for a moment. "....Yes. Thank you."

Maybe not as angsty as I originally planned, but I hope you still enjoy.

[eldritch-spouse]

What was Patches doing before he became involved with the Clergy's construction? And what was his first encounter with Krulu and his vessel like?

[I know I have this more organized somewhere...]

Patches was, to put it bluntly, fucking around.

Having already come into his new identity as an undead by a long while, as well as not only discovering but learning to communicate with his unrequited second, Patches' attention had deviated from his study of higher beings to the realities he was confronted with rather forcefully.

First and foremost, he had spent a decent chunk of his time documenting the changes his body underwent as an undead. Because Patches didn't just wake up green, with a pumpkin for a head and a brilliant innate ability to understand his dullahan powers. He needed to study himself, his newfound inclinations, his strange episodes of "unconscious activity" (Stitches). This helped the monster distract himself from the existential grief of being dead, of realizing he missed many opportunities when he was alive.

At some point, that study deviated from knowing himself, to knowing the types of magic he was now having a lot more ease cultivating. Because, naturally, being a monster allows him to retain a lot more magical potential. This took a massive length of time, explaining why he's as clever and apt with several types of magic as he is. Lending special attention to the undead, fire and plant types.

Patches had been living his life still pursuing his various studies and finding ways to integrate himself in various societies, in certain areas of the world where monster populations were highest.

At this point in time his perception of his identity when alive has been deteriorated. He no longer remembers his birth name (Fábio da Cruz) or his appearance, and the artifacts that would allow him to recall how he looked are gone as well. His clothes, his head/skull, his first notes, gone. He knows only the name he'd been given by some, Patches.

This, in turn, is how he meets the triplets. At a concert, actually. Although certainly not reborn in that time period, Patches witnessed the birth of metal, rock and adjacent genres. He met the demon brothers at some kind of mental concert, having lost himself in a metal head phase. One thing leads to another and he's getting drunk with the three, then his head is being used as a punch bowl, and the night ends with everyone limp as corpse on the ground.

They become unlikely friends, especially Ludwig and Patches specifically.

Becoming a trusted friend, Patches gets to witness the moment in time where Ludwig meets you/Admin. He's present when things get difficult, when Lud's crush becomes the vessel to something so much bigger than everything they'd ever seen up until then.

And the sight, the notion, of a siadar on Earth rekindles the fanatic interest he once sported, the thing that got him killed.

It can't be said that Patches' intentions to help Ludwig help you/Admin create The Clergy's Eye are entirely selfless. Sure, he wants to get his friend out of a hard time, but he mostly wants to get closer to the literal god.

It turns out his skulls are useful enough to keep him in close contact with you/Admin and Ludwig during the initial stages of The Clergy's Eye's creation. He becomes a core of the project, gets to see powers and abilities beyond his understanding, gets to have that observation-participation data he so desperately scraped for when he was alive.

Patches knows that, at some point, he was essentially selling himself to an entity of dubious moral standing for answers to questions he'd been plagued with. But why should he care, right? He's already dead, he has nothing to lose.

He's technically the second worker of the establishment. The first being Ludwig, who eventually distances himself.

[gefallene-quengel]

Since the days of Tatort München are counted, here's a list of things I want to happen in the last episodes:

Franz und Ivo müssen sich random als Ehepaar ausgeben, vielleicht während sie wen beschatten ("Schau mal... Liebling... Die Gardinen könnten doch zum Wohnzimmerteppich passen")

callback to any of the older episodes (bonus point for any kind of carlo mention or dropping an episode by its name)

fourth-wall break (Kalli schaut in die Kamera und sagt: "Seit über 30 Jahren sind die schon so drauf")

Ludwig (meinetwegen auch nur kurze Erwähnung im Nebensatz)

Franz zu Ivo: "Denkst du in einem anderen Universum bin ich dich endlich los?" Cut zu Udo und Miro in Setstühlen, die nur betreten den Kopf schütteln

Ivo kocht mal wieder

Eberhofer Anspielung

Franz ukd Ivo sind beide krank und Kalli muss alleine ermitteln

casuale Erwähnung, was sie alle in der Quarantäne getan haben (Franz hat seine Platten umsortiert und neue auf Ebay Kleinanzeigen erworben; Ivo ist ständig more or less legal nach Kroatien gefahren und Kalli hat sich selbst Stricken beigebracht

Kalli rockt den schwarzen Rolli Franz-style (in derselben Folge trägt Franz gleichzeitig auch endlich mal wieder einen Rolli und Kalli sagt: "Och Mensch, man könnt ja fast meinen, das wäre geplant gewesen")

Feel free to add something.

[pastel-medic]

Do the mercs often interact with their other team counterparts? (other than the Medics of course) Do they have opinions of eachother? :0

Sort of! Aside from the Medic brothers I can summarize a small list of the dynamics between the counterparts!

The Scouts sorta get along somewhat, tho they do bicker like most siblings would like getting in brawls or calling each other names :P (Only reason Theo is a bit nicer to him is because they have a shared dislike for Pierre)

The Pyros may as well be besties cuz they immediately act as if they grew up together 💖 If they were left to their own devices they'd probably burn both bases down in a matter of seconds (also Kasai is much shyer than Cyrus)

The Soldiers kinda dunk on each other constantly and nobody can tell if it's all in good fun or if they genuinely are trying to one up the other. Who knows? Could be both!

The Heavys are casually polite to each other but otherwise don't ever interact with one another. They do talk to each other about their families tho! It's kind of a comforting way for them to not forget that the enemy they kill each match are also living people with their own lives

The Engineers get along very well and have actually collaborated on a few projects together under the Administrator's nose :3c their mutual respect has its limits tho, they do know better than to get too friendly with the enemy

The Demos are kinda like long distance friends! They go out to drink once or twice every few months to catch up. Only reason the Administrator hasn't done anything about this is cuz Tavish always forgets they're friends (cuz of da brain scooping from Ludwig) after hanging out so he's still ruthless during matches, yet he has their hang out days marked on his calendar so he doesn't forget to meet up

The Snipers are like oil and water. Neither get along but they also don't hate on the other. Assassins are polite and respectful after all! Also Austin is a rambler kind of talker while Ethan is completely mute and simply listens

The Spies don't talk to each other much even tho they are aware of their familial relation (that doesn't mean they don't care of course >_> they just hide it very well). Maxime tends to talk more to Axel tho in terms of whose sibling relationship is stronger. Pierre keeps to himself a lot so he barely has much a bond with them

Their opinion of their teammates' counterparts tho is a whole different story and I'm not about to make an ENTIRE blog post about that or it'll be too long and boring 😂

[breitzbachbea]

dunno enough about your fav hetalia ships, so feel free to just attach it to the most fitting favourites

OTP (or ship of choice) has to suddenly take care of a child or (feral) animal, how would they react? who would do well

who would be a karen at a restaurant for their patner(s) who got a wrong order at the restaurant, how would both react?

who is the most likely to be completely oblivious while the other is constantly trying to confess their feelings, maybe even actually doing it but person a just doesnt get it? how would they finally find out ?

I'll try to answer something for all of those! Sorry if it isn't all primarily related, da OC AU brainrot ...

Herakles has tons of stray cats at home and the track record with Sadık is mixed. He loves the cats in general and many like him, some don't, some are indifferent. There is one black kitten that loves him more than it does Herakles and he dotes on it so endlessly. It responds without a fail to "Kedicik." I hope I used the right I's.

Not the Karen thing, but restaurant related - Michele (Sicily OC) has had a few occassions where he wanted go beat Paddy over the head with the bread basket. (Paddy is a Human OC and basically a kind of surrogate father/uncle figure for Harry, my Ireland OC). Paddy so shamelessly asks for more food and in general does things that Michele finds rude/embarassing. Harry is lucky he's so fuckable and literally the man of Michele's dreams, bc his aversion of father figures makes Paddy a NIGHTMARE.

Honestly, kinda GerIta behaviour. Still. on my ao3 (also breitzbachbea) I have a very recent GerIta fanfic called Two hearts alas! reside in my chest, where two of Ludwig's friends try to figure out a) if Feli is flirting and b) if Ludwig is gonna notice it.

[ambrosethepoet]

Die liebsten Gedichte des Königs (1/12)

Beginnen wir mit einer hochgeliebten Ballade von König Ludwig II. von Bayern. Dieses nachtschwere Gedicht drückt Ludwigs Hang zur Romantik, aber auch seine tiefe, ewige Todessehnsucht aus. Um Missverständnissen vorzubeugen: Ludwig suchte nach der Ewigkeit, dem Unzerstörbaren, dem Erhabenen. Er erkannte jedoch, dass alles auf dieser Welt zerstörbar ist. Vielleicht faszinierten ihn deshalb das Motiv von Tod und Erlösung? Der Erlkönig stillte seinen poetischen Durst nach diesem dunklen Elixier...

Erlkönig

1782.

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind? Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind; Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm, Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm. Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht? — Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht? Den Erlenkönig mit Kron’ und Schweif? — Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif. — „Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir! Gar schöne Spiele spiel’ ich mit dir; Manch’ bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand, Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand.“ — Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht? — Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind; In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind. — „Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn? Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön; Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein.“ — Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort? — Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh’ es genau: Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. — „Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch’ ich Gewalt.“ — Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an! Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan! — Dem Vater grauset’s; er reitet geschwind, Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind, Erreicht den Hof mit Mühe und Not; In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

[opera-ghosts]

„WALKÜRE“ R. WAGNER / THIRD ACT

„DIES EINE MUSST DU ERHÖREN! ZERKNICKE DEIN KIND, DAS DEIN KNIE UMFASST“

Wotans and Brünnhildes

? as Wotan and ? as Brünnhilde; Nantes, 1903

Baptist Hoffmann as Wotan and Melanie Kurt as Brünnhilde; Berlin, ?

Alfred Jerger as Wotan and Käthe Rantzau as Brünnhilde; Vienna, 1924

Rudolf Bockelmann as Wotan and Nanny Larsén-Todsen as Brünnhilde; Bayreuth, 1927

Ludwig Hofmann as Wotan and Nanny Larsén-Todsen as Brünnhilde; Zoppot (Waldoper), 1934

Wilhelm Rode as Wotan and Henny Trundt as Brünnhilde; Munich, 1933

Rudolf Bockelmann as Wotan and Frida Leider as Brunnhilde; Bayreuth, 1936

[koolkat9]

Rarepair Week 2023 - Day 5

@hetalia-rarepairweek

Prompt: Historical || Meet the Family

Rating: T

Pairing: GerCan

Word Count: 900

Read on AO3

Cw: Temporary character death, violence, minor depictions of blood

Forgiveness

Matthew had always thrived in the quiet and shadows. Soft steps, never heard until it was too late. For decades it had gotten him into trouble or left him overlooked, but now, in war, it was his time.

He wanted to be a pacifist. He saw the damage war did to his guardians' bodies. Blood still made him squirm, even after years of caretaking. He didn’t want to think of how much of his family’s blood splattered his hands. Some nights, he dreamed it was still there.

But now…Now it didn’t have to be that way.

He crept across No Man’s Land, Arthur and a handful of their men in tow. Approaching the enemy trench, Matthew peeked in, ears perked to the slightest sound. He nodded to the others when he deemed the coast clear.

Without a sound, he jumped into the trench. Always forgotten, always overlooked, and now it would be his advantage. Stalking through the muddy walls, across the duck boards, mindful of how much they made them creak. They’d have company soon, Matthew could tell. He had been on enough raids that he formed an intuition.

“Wer ist da?” the darkness called ahead.

Everyone froze, breath held tight in their throats.

“Ich schieße.”

Matthew reached for his knife.

“Matthew…” Arthur warned, voice low, “Don’t be rash now–” A bullet nicked his shoulder. He took in a sharp breath. “Matthew–”

But Matthew had already bolted into the thrush of darkness.

It was all a blur. Killing often was. Red splattering across his vision, the distant sound of screams. It seemed far away, but natural. Too natural.

Ludwig lay before him in a puddle of his own blood. Matthew’s stomach jumped to his throat and yet…he was grinning. He hated it, yet he just kept staring.

“Matthew…You–” Arthur’s words died in his throat, eyes landing on Ludwig. “Oh Matthew…”

Arthur reached for him, but Matthew jerked away, stepping over the body as if nothing had happened.

— — —

Back and forth. Creak, squeak. Something needed to be oiled, but Matthew was too comfortable against the chest of his lover to care. It may have been sweltering, so much so they had discarded their shirts long ago, but Matthew refused to let it ruin his cuddle time.

Fingers trailed along the scars that sprinkled his lover’s torso and chest. Scars put there by him.

Back then he had been blinded by rage and revenge. Failing to realize the bigger picture. Now, in an era of peace, somehow Matthew had found himself falling for the man he wouldn’t hesitate to turn into Swiss cheese with bullet wounds not even a century ago.

The hot summer day spent curled up together on a porch swing couldn’t have been more different from the wet cold night of a trench raid when every fiber had to be on high alert. When the animalistic desire deep within him battled to be free. When it often won.

Each time his fingertips bumped along the jagged skin, a sick kind of pleasure bubbled from deep within Matthew. He did all that. He couldn’t tell if it was his lingering rage from the world wars or a sense of possessiveness that Ludwig was his. That in a way, those marks made Ludwig his. Regardless, Matthew was disgusted with himself.

Nations were bred for war. For violence. At least that’s what Arthur always said. That it was in their nature to be possessive, to solve their problems with a sword or gun or whatever was the popular weapon of the time. Matthew only saw it as an excuse. He had vowed to never be like Arthur. To never be like Francis. Or any of those empires who practically fed on the blood of their enemies.

But he failed. He was just like the rest of them. A sick, twisted, monster.

Yet…Ludwig lay there with him. Eyes closed in bliss despite the heat and sweaty body against him. Completely defenseless. How they could forgive each other after everything was lost on even Matthew who forgave so easily.

“You’re lost in that head of yours again aren’t you?” Ludwig’s voice broke through the train of thought.

“Huh…Wha–”

Ludwig’s chest rumbled with a chuckle. Matthew liked it when Ludwig laughed. At least he could say he preferred it over his screams of agony.

“I’m serious though Matt. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I–”

Matthew pressed his lips against Ludwigs, lazily rolling them against his lovers. He kept Ludwig in place with a single hand pushing gently against his chest. He licked into Ludwig’s mouth, Ludwig gripped Matthew’s thigh, timid tongue meeting Matthew’s.

“Don’t…Don’t think you’ve distracted me,” Ludwig panted, eyes glassy, “I will find out what’s wrong–”

Another kiss. Even longer and slower than the last. “Fine…Something’s up but…I just need you and I’ll be fine.”

Ludwig searched Matthew’s eyes. Desire burned deep within, but also cold, pained desperation. He shivered as Matthew’s fingers traveled over an old stab wound, long since scarred. A wound put there by Matthew. Ah. That was it, wasn’t it?

“Okay…” Ludwig agreed, voice careful, “Okay. But let’s take this inside.”

He pulled Matthew up to his feet, arms wrapping around him for a quick embrace. Noses brushing, Ludwig whispered: “I love you.”

A small smile spread across Matthew’s lips, eyes shifting down to his feet. Bashful. Cute. “I love you too.”

Translation

Wer ist da = Who’s there?

Ich schieße = I’ll shoot

[mykey-and-bobby-koopa]

((And finally, here are the three remaining Koopas that also belong to the Koopa family. They are...

//

Y para finalizar, aquí están los tres Koopas restantes que tambien pertenecen a la familia Koopa. Ellos son...))

BOWSER

Kamek, my faithful right hand and mentor. He has accompanied me throughout my life in the castle. He is usually very organized and knows a lot of things. His specialty is magic. He helps my children with his own magic. He is always there when he is needed.

//

Kamek, mi fiel mano derecha y mentor. Me ha acompañado durante toda mi vida en el castillo. Suele ser muy organizado y sabe muchas cosas. Su especialidad es la magia. Él ayuda a mis niños con su propia magia. Siempre está ahí cuando se le necesita.

____________

LARRY / JR.

Bobby is our best friend. We love spending time with him, even though we argue with each other. He likes reading and fairy tales. Many times, when we are in a bad mood, he encourages us and plays with us.

//

Bobby es nuestro mejor amigo. Nos encanta pasar tiempo con él, aunque discutamos entre nosotros. Le gusta la lectura y los cuentos de hadas. Muchas veces, cuando estamos de malas, él nos da ánimos y juega con nosotros

____________

LUDWIG

Mykey is... a great guy, I must say. He's friendly and everyone here likes him...... I don't really know him that much but... oh what the hell! He is a great friend and a great big brother. I have to admit his sunglasses make him look great and when he puts them on he is kind of scary. I always see him smile, I guess it's the best quality of him. I look forward to meeting him more in the future.

//

Mykey es... un gran chico, debo decir. Es amigable y le agrada a todos aquí...... realmente no lo conozco mucho pero... oh, qué demonios! Él es un gran amigo y un gran hermano mayor. Debo admitir que sus lentes lo hacen ver genial y cuando se los pone da algo de miedo. Siempre lo veo sonreír, supongo que es su mejor cualidad. Espero poder conocerlo más en el futuro.

[tharizdun-03]

Oppenheimer Review

First of all, I think Oppenheimer is a technical masterpiece. An audiovisual marvel. It's Nolan's best work in that regard, a completely new level for him, and an incredible achievement. Editing-wise, it's remarkable too. People have said that the writing can be over-written and that it struggled to breathe. There are a lot of time jumps, and I didn't follow everything in detail, but it never struggled to hold my attention personally. I think that as long as you follow along overall, it doesn't really matter.

I love the little flashes of sparks and stuff here and there, and the consistent clapping and stomping. It adds to that feeling of inevitability, knowing what's coming and building up to it. Ludwig Göransson's score for this is absolutely fearsome to an insane degree. It's one of the best aspects of this film, and it wraps you in its blanket of existential dread from the very first scene and never lets go. And as much as this feels like it was the film Nolan was perhaps born to made, Cillian Murphy equally gave the performance of a lifetime. I think to those worried that this was going to be US imperalist propaganda, let me tell you that it is certainly not. There are some criticisms I have up ahead, but especially for an American film, they portrayed the communist characters very sympathetically, and was very clear about how dropping those bombs against a country who was going to surrender anyway was anything but a just act. In fact, this might be one of the most overtly anti-nuclear weapons movie made since the first Cold War.

In fact, talking about its politics for a bit. I wouldn't say it is leftist, but the movie is very sympathetic to leftism and incredibly damning of the red scare. Almost from the get go, Oppenheimer has to hide any sort of left wing beliefs that he has or any ties to the communist party. Oppenheimer actually takes time to show him organizing, unionizing his campus, discussing theory with commie comrades, funding the spanish civil war and helping refugees escape. They even frame the whole Los Alamos project like it's a sort of pseudo commune where everyone (yes, even women) gets to contribute to the little society they're resided in. That's very sympathetic to leftist perspectives for a mainstream movie. I think the movie almost goes so far as to portray most communists as empathetic and kind, whereas the anticommunists tend to be petty and vindictive (the scene where the guy decides not to bomb Kyoto because he had his honeymoon there). I'd also say that the movie is very much about the folly of centrism and apolitical science, and I think that even though the movie isn't explicitly saying "yay communism", I think Oppenheimer himself is consistently portrayed, in the final act especially, as never really having been a true communist and how that's a bad thing. I think Jean calls it from the beginning in the scene about reading das kapital, and he just refuses to take any stance on anything. Which, of course, is a consistent character trait of his that leads to his future actions. In fact, let's talk about that. The man himself.

I do think Oppenheimer is less of a character study, and more of an idea study. I think if you're looking to really get into Oppenheimer's head, it only foes so far. But if you see it as a general encapsulation of the events, rather than the person, and the ideas behind those, it succeeds. I think that disconnect prevents emotional investment of the personal kind, but I don't think it's that kind of movie. It calls for emotional investment of the existential kind. And I think, in a way, perhaps it's good. Perhaps it's good that we didn't get too deep into Oppenheimer's head or tried to make him too sympathetic. It's not a story about Oppenheimer. It's a story about the atomic bomb, and they only tell it through Oppenheimer. He is the vehicle, not the subject. It explores ideas, less so than people.

"You can’t commit the sin and then have us all feeling bad for you because it had consequences"

That is the moral center of the film.

Oppenheimer ego and cowardice is estabilished from the get-go and everything else follows. He can't commit politically or romantically. All theory, no practice. The communists saw him as a traitor (kitty pretty much explicitly said the issue was that he never saw a communist, and he suffered repercussions cause he detached from his political beliefs, not considering the moral implications of his practicing science). Right-wing government officials saw him as spineless and weak. The characters even say "nobody knows what you think." I think it was exceedingly interesting how he quickly abandon hid interest in communism and anti-imperialism (when matt damon's character confronts him) and how it is that lack of integrity that leads him to committing what he does.

Throughout the film there's a constant undercurring criticism of Oppenheimer's indecisiveness. How at every opportunity he could have done the right thing, and the consequences of not doing so. He tries to poison his professor. He allows his colleague to work on the hydrogen bomb. He never apologizes for the bombings, and yet the guilt eats away at him only after he's made the bomb. And even then he denies it. He compartmentalizes it away. You're not supposed to feel for him. His guilt was paper-thin, wanting to present himself as a martyr. He's a coward and a narcissist.

I think that what prevents personal emotional investment is that we rarely actually got a look into his head. It's a lot of you have to pick up what the movie thinks about him, but we don't see things from his perspective, like from being really embedded in how he sees everything. And again, I think it's good cause it's not about his struggle, but about how he played a part in the larger story. We don't want to identify with him too strongly. But sometimes it makes it so that the film can't properly look at everything. Not just in that we don't get to know Oppenheimer's specific self-conflicted thoughts but instead they keep it vague.

But I also do think it erases Japanese and Native American voices regarding nuclear testing and detonations. In fact, pacific islanders were also severely impacted by nuclear testing under the Pacific Proving Grounds. At least 318 bombs were dropped on ancestral homes and people. The movie does, of course, say that the bombings (overall) were bad. We all know that. But I think it's terribly reductive when to this criticism people just say "uuh, did you just want to see japanese people get burnt to crisps lmaoo". Like, no. But I do think Nolan only symbolically annihilating literally everyone victimized by the production and subsequent bombings is an inherent pitfall by taking this approach. We don't see the Hispanic and indigenous people whose land was stolen and poisoned to build the bomb. We don't see a single face from Hiroshima and Nagasaki. 

And I do think that was a bad call. In fact, I think natives tried reaching out to Nolan to at least be acknowledged in the film. Which, if true, isn't a good look. Obviously, him seeing the atomic bomb basically wherever he looks and the skin rotting off of people infront of him, I recognize. That's not what I'm talking aboutl But there is a scene where he can't even look at photographs of victims of the bomb, and by proxy, neither can the film. It limits itself only to Oppenheimer's guilt while never giving the actual victims any voice whatsoever. And I think this is important to bring light to. 

I also think that we didn't really dig into what must've been extreme inner turmoil for a Jewish man to build a weapon he thinks will end the war, but then the movie doesn't actually explore it. Not that it should be the main conflict, but it's as if they didn't even tie him being Jewish to wanting to defeat the Nazis and that feels like a stronger connection they should've made, right?

Also, the women in this movie don't really get much to do. Florence's character mostly had sex and then died, which is a shame, cause there was some sort of sadness there that could've been something but we never looked at it. Even Emily Blunt's scenes, which she act out very well, lack proper build-up.

P.S. I think if you avoid Oppenheimer because you're a leftist yet flock to Barbie, the most corporatized depiction of feminism ever where capitalism can't be addressed and the patriarchy is reduced to anti gender equality (completely dismissing intersectionality), then you need to work on stop identifying so much with your pre-concieved biases so that it doesn't affect your media literacy. Representation is not glorification. (last time i'll talk about barbie, sorry. i just see a lot of dumb oppenheimer takes when there are legitimate criticisms you can focus on instead)

Overall, it's a great film tho. Technically, it's Nolan's magnum opus. I think the movie not being much angrier and giving a slice to the people actually victimized instead of being utterly disinterested in such, or not allowing us to actually get into Oppenheimer's head (nolan very much picked the middle road, not committing to either. ironically, like oppenheimer himself often did lol), prevents it from being an all time great classic for me. It would've needed a bit more bite. 

But I'm very impressed by Nolan's damning of imperialism's hunger for unnecessary war and destruction, the red scare mass hysteria, the consistent persecution of communists, and how how anything remotely left wing is seen as anti-american which cruelly exposes how being "american" is identifying with the lust and acceptance of the empires' war crimes.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hello bestie Sinnie!! I am but a humble disciple asking you to impart anything and everything you feel like you shouldn't, any hc's, any outrageous thoughts or kinks, anything, about any one of your characters of choice!!! (I'm so sorry if this is Insanely vague but I so so so wanna be taken out by a chair to the knees fact, and also you absolutely deserve to impart any type of rabid/unhinged thoughts about your OWN CHARACTERS (A.K.A the PCU)

Also thought of Santi and Vesper and also you whenever I think of this

[HHh- You're killing me with the vague asks, pls.]

I'm just going to toss random bullshit at you, gomen. These aren't particularly shocking.

Random factoids (also a sketch)

Patches' name while alive was "Fábio da Cruz", his first dullahan head was his own macerated skull (because the flesh had begun to rot). He used to wear a veil over it because he was ashamed of it and couldn't animate the bone the same way he animates his current head;

Ludwig not-so-secretly wants a rug/carpet made out of a person;

Kalymir is jokingly called Clifford (the Big Red Dog) by the other Icons- He hates it;

The Clergy's gargoyles think Belo is fucking hideous, they kind of pity him. Pebble, on the other hand, is superbly attractive to them;

"Slimy bastard", or the use of "slimy" as an insult will make Gallon rip one of your limbs off. Rude;

Shags has a sketchbook with elaborate drawings of every person kidnapped, every "failed inspiration" as he puts it;

The ruler of Limbo has gotten powerful enough to kill a siadar;

I never showed you this, but Shags' parents are basically planned out, here are concept sketches. They're both ink caps as well, workaholics who moved out of the city for some peace of mind.

Entirely unrelated, but I've wanted to make a neomorph-ish oc for way too God damn long, and I want the whole scenario to be so dark. I just need to learn to draw them differently, better.

And this concludes the odd trivia section of our program. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[amadea-nachtmusik]

"Das Traumbild" ("The Dream Song"), K. 530, is a song, or Lied, for piano and voice by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to a poem by Ludwig Hölty.

Mozart wrote the song on 6 November 1787 in Prague where here prepared the premiere of his opera Don Giovanni. He sent the song by mail on 9 November to his friend and occasional composer Gottfried von Jacquin, who had it copied – with Mozart's knowledge – into a songbook of six songs under his own attribution. Four of the songs were indeed by Jacquin, Mozart's other contribution to this collection was "Als Luise die Briefe ihres ungetreuen Liebhabers verbrannte", K. 520.

Emil Gottfried Edler von Jacquin was a son of Nikolaus Joseph von Jacquin and younger brother of Joseph Franz von Jacquin. Nikolaus and Mozart often gave house concerts together where Nikolaus played the flute. Gottfried also had a younger sister, Franziska (9 October 1769 – 12 August 1850) who received piano lesson from Mozart. Mozart dedicated a considerable number of his works to the Jacquin family, notably the Kegelstatt Trio. This was first played at the Jacquins' house in August 1786 with Mozart playing the viola, Anton Stadler the clarinet, and Franziska the piano.

Gottfried von Jacquin added different dedications to each of the six songs, and had his booklet published in Vienna by Laurenz Lausch in 1791; he died the following year, 25 years old. His family had it published again as part of his estate in about 1803 by Johann Cappi. Jacquin dedicated this song to Marianne von Natorp, sister of Joseph Franz von Jaquin's wife, Babette; both the Natorp sisters were also the dedicatees of Mozart's Sonata in C major for piano four-hands, K. 521, composed earlier in 1787. Mozart indicates in a letter from 4 November 1787 that this song may have improved Marianne Natorp's affection towards Jacquin.

Constanze Mozart offered both songs, K. 520 and K. 530, in 1799 to Breitkopf & Härtel for publication. The work was unknown to Ludwig von Köchel and is not catalogued in the first Köchel catalogue.

It was published in English by Broderip & Wilkinson in London in c. 1800 under the title "The Exile".

The Poem

Wo bist du, Bild, das vor mir stand,

als ich im Garten träumte,

ins Haar den Rosmarin mir wand,

der um mein Lager keimte?

Wo bist du, Bild, das vor mir stand,

mir in die Seele blickte,

und eine warme Mädchenhand

mir an die Wangen drückte?

Nun such' ich dich, mit Harm erfüllt,

Bald bei des Dorfes Linden,

Bald in der Stadt, geliebtes Bild,

Und kann dich nirgends finden.

Nach jedem Fenster blick' ich hin,

Wo nur ein Schleier wehet,

Und habe meine Lieblingin

Noch nirgends ausgespähet.

Komm selber, süßes Bild der Nacht,

Komm mit den Engelsmienen,

Und in der leichten Schäfertracht,

Worin du mir erschienen!

Bring' mit die schwanenweiße Hand,

Die mir das Herz gestohlen,

Das purpurrote Busenband,

Das Sträußchen von Violen.

Dein großes blaues Augenpaar,

Woraus ein Engel blickte;

Die Stirne, die so freundlich war,

Und guten Abend nickte;

Den Mund, der Liebe Paradies,

Die kleinen Wangengrübchen,

Wo sich der Himmel offen wies:

Bring' alles mit, mein Liebchen!

Where are you, vision, that stood before me

as I was dreaming in the garden,

winding rosemary into my hair,

that sprouted near my bed?

Where are you, vision, that stood before me,

who gazed into my soul,

and a maiden's warm hand

pressed against my cheeks?

Now I search for you, full of pain,

now by the village linden tree,

now in the town, beloved image,

and cannot find you anywhere.

At every window do I stare

where just a veil might flutter,

and have my dear darling

not espied anywhere.

Come you, sweet image of the night,

come with angelic mien,

and in that light shephard's costume,

in which you appeared to me!

And bring that swan-white hand,

that has my heart stolen,

that purple-red bodice ribbon,

that bunch of violets.

Your pair of large blue eyes,

from which an angel gazed;

the brow that was so kind,

and nodded good evening;

the mouth, that paradise of love,

the little dimples in your cheeks,

where open heaven did appear:

bring all of it, my love!

Ludwig Hölty wrote the poem "An ein Traummädchen" (To a Dream Girl) in 1771. It was first published in the Göttinger Musenalmanach of 1775 under the title "Das Traumbild".[4] This text was used by Franz Schubert in 1815, D. 204A, but that music is lost. However, the version Mozart used is very different, following the publication of a collection of Hölty's poems by Friedrich Leopold zu Stolberg-Stolberg and Johann Heinrich Voß in 1783.

Each of the four stanzas consists of eight lines as a pair of two ballad metre four-line segments, each consisting of a iambic tetrameter followed by a iambic trimeter with feminine rhyme of ABAB–ACAC.

The Music

The song is written in the time signature of 6/8 and in the key signature of E-flat major, the key that Mozart used for the Countess in The Marriage of Figaro.[7] The tempo instruction is ruhig (quiet), equivalent to andante. The vocal range is mainly from E-flat4 to F5, with one G5–A-flat5 figure.

The song begins with a two-bar piano introduction. The first four lines of each stanza take four bars, followed by a two-bar interlude, and four bars for the next four lines. A postlude, based on the theme from the interlude, then leads into the next stanza.

The structure is not through-composed but strophic (all four verses are identical). The text and the music leave it undecided whether the vision can ever be found.[7] Amanda Glauert suggests that, compared other Lieder by Mozart, especially to "Das Veilchen", K. 476, "Das Lied der Trennung", K. 519, "Abendempfindung", K. 523, and "Als Luise die Briefe ihres ungetreuen Liebhabers verbrannte", K. 520, "Das Traumbild" lacks responsiveness to the text and melodic tautness.

A performance of all four stanzas takes between five and six minutes, but some recordings consist only of one, two or three stanzas.

Score Page-Through Here 👇

https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/btv1b55006511h/f3.item.r=mozart.langFR

Text Source: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Das_Traumbild

[lord-here-i-am]

Hl. Genoveva

gefeiert am 3. Januar Hl. Genoveva (Geneviève) Patronin von Paris   * um 422 in Nanterre in Frankreich † 502 in Paris in Frankreich

Genoveva war das Kind armer Bauern, nach anderer Überlieferung von vornehmer Abkunft. Ihr Leben und Wirken ist völlig von Legenden überdeckt, die aber sicher einen wahren Kern haben, so ihre frühe Entscheidung für die Jungfräulichkeit, ihre Sorge für die Armen und Kranken und ihre beherzten Aktionen in Zeiten der Not.  

Die Legende will, dass schon bei ihrer Geburt Engel über der Wiege des neugeborenen Kindes gesungen hätten. Im Alter von sieben Jahren erlebte Genoveva in der heimatlichen Kirche in Nanterre zwei  Wanderbischöfe, die - unterwegs nach England - Zwischenstation machten  und predigten. Einer der beiden war Germanus von Auxerre; er erkannte in der Siebenjährigen die spätere Heilige, gab ihr - mit dem Hinweis, es statt Gold und Perlen zu tragen - ein kupfernes Medaillon mit einem Kreuz und weihte sie für ein heiliges Leben.  Mit fünfzehn Jahren legte sie das Gelübde der Jungfräulichkeit ab. 16-jährig ging sie, nach dem frühen Tod ihrer Eltern, zu einer Tante nach Paris und lebte im Dienst an Armen und  Kranken. Vor Erschöpfung dem Tode nahe, erholte sie sich wunderbarerweise wieder und berichtete nach ihrer Genesung, Engel hätten sie bis vor Gottes Angesicht getragen. Genovevas Gebet soll die Stadt Paris vor den Hunnen gerettet haben: Als  Attila 451 gegen Paris marschierte, sammelte sie der Legende nach Frauen zum Gebet und feuerte in einer leidenschaftlichen Predigt die Männer an, Maßnahmen zur Verteidigung zu ergreifen. Doch die Geängstigten, vor allem die Männer, wollten Geneviève steinigen, ja sogar in den Fluss werfen. Die Frauen jedoch ließen sich von der Jungfrau umstimmen und knieten nieder, um mit ihr zu beten. Das Wunder geschah: die Hunnen  wichen zurück und umgingen die Stadt, um sich nach Orléans zu wenden -  gerade dorthin, wohin die Bevölkerung hatte fliehen wollen. In der Schlacht bei den Katalaunischen Feldern wurden dann die Asiaten besiegt.   Bei einer späteren Belagerung der Stadt durch die letzten römischen Truppen rettete Genoveva die Bevölkerung vor dem Hungertod: Es gelang ihr, so die Legende, mit Schiffen aus der Stadt zu entkommen. Mit reich beladenen Schiffen kehrte Geneviève zurück und konnte allen das Notwendige austeilen. Zur Verbreitung des Christentums soll sie beigetragen haben, indem sie  Chlodwig I., den Herrscher der Franken, und mit ihm das gesamte Volk, bekehrte. Ihre große Nächstenliebe wirkte nach den Legenden viele Heilungen und hilfreiche Taten: Genoveva rettete einen vierjährigen Knaben aus einem Brunnen; als sie ihr Pallium über ihn warf, erwachte er zum Leben. Beim Bau der Kirche von St-Denis ging den Bauleuten das Getränk aus, sie ließ einen Kelch holen, der sich auf ihr Gebet hin füllte und gefüllt blieb, bis der Bau vollendet war. Eine Kerze hatte ihr ein Teufel ausgeblasen, ein Engel aber wieder angezündet; auch wenn Kerzen beim Kirchgang oder in ihrer Kammer erloschen, entzündeten sie sich wieder, wenn Genoeva sie in die Hand nahm. Partikel ihrer Kerzen bewirkten Heilungen. Als der Merowinger Childerich die Stadttore schließen ließ, damit Genoveva die Gefangenen nicht befreie, eilte sie herbei, die Tore öffneten sich von selbst, und die Schlüssel blieben in ihrer Hand. Genoveva wurde in der späteren Abteikirche Église de Sainte-Geneviève begraben. Auch nach ihrem Tode ereigneten sich noch zahlreiche Wunder an ihrer Grabstätte. Als im Jahre 1129 in Frankreich ein bislang unbekanntes Fieber auftrat, bei welchem menschliche Heilkunst versagte, wandte man sich an die Schutzheilige um Fürsprache, und angeblich wurden alle, die gläubig ihre Reliquien berührten, geheilt.

Ludwig XV.  ließ ihr zu Ehren 1764 eine neue Kirche errichten, die 1791 von der Konstituierenden Versammlung benutzt und im Zuge der Französischen Revolution zum Panthéon umgebaut wurde, der Totengedenkstätte für hochrangige französische Persönlichkeiten.

[lunatic-fandom-space]

Im about to watch Sissi (1955) but before I do, I want to talk about it a little because I actually saw part of this movie before. Basically, my mom and I were going on a small roadtrip to see a musical in abother city and I brought my Elisabeth 2001 CD and we listened to it and I explained the context of the songs to her because it only had 16 of them on it, it was very nice. But it made her mistakenly believe that I was interested in historical or Sissi-media in general, so when we were in our hotel room and we had some time, she suggested that we watch Sissi (1955) and again, I wasnt really interested, but I agreed and we ended up watching the first 20 or so minutes before we had to leave, we severely overestimated how much time we had lol. But I feel like not a lot happened in those 20 minutes, all I remember is Franz Joseph is very busy, Elisabeth is homesick, Sophie does NOT like her, there was this guard-guy who had a very sillygoofy crush on her, and when we left it was at the start of her hungarian lesson, she was like "ach, something about hungary just speaks to me" and thats it. I also remember getting this post-war-country-reminiscing-about-its-"glory days"-vibe from this film, although Im not sure if that actually has anything to do with the filmitself, or if me knowing that it was made in the 1950s colored my perception of it, so Im curious if seeing it again and in full will be any different. I also ended up telling that anecdote to my therapist recently and she told me she grew up with the trilogy and apparently it is pretty kitschy, but I hope it'll be a kind of kitschy I can enjoy. Oh, also I told her that I was kinda interested in seeing them but also not because Ive found all the 50s movies Ive seen pretty boring so far (this was wayyyy before I decided to do this whole thing), and she recommended that I watch the films Audrey Hepburn did and it just so happens that I have one of those on my list, so Im curious about that one too

Also, this isnt related to anything I just said, but Ive been thinking about this since yesterday. When I wrote that line in my Ludwig II — Glanz und Ende eines Königs (1955) review where I was like "It was refreshing seeing a film about a different genre of mentally ill man", obviously referring to Rudolf only, I was originally going write smth like "royal" instead of "man" there, but then I looked back on my list and I remembered all the previous movies Ive seen and I realized that not only do they not portray Elisabeth's mental issues or suffering beyond being like "shes sad :( for reasons :((", these movies have really not been about her. I mean, Kaiserin Elisabeth von Österreich (1921) was but that one was like 30 seconds long. After that we had Das Schicksal derer von Habsburg (1928) which was mostly about Rudolf, then Elisabeth von Österreich (1931) which, idk if I would say that one was mostly about Rudolf but it was certainly about him a lot for a film named after her, then we had Sissy (1932), The King Steps Out (1936) and L'Aigle à deux Têtes (1948) which were all obviously inspired by her but theyre mostly just made up bullshit, and then inbetween that we also had Erzsébet királyné (1940) where she was a supporting character

And thats interesting to me because when I started this project, I was expecting the romantic image we have of Sissi to be more 'built up' in cinema, if the way Im phrasing that makes any sense, but thats really not the case and it really seems like that image that would be regurgitated and then subverted by media that's more "real" only comes from this one movie, or rather movie trilogy, and idk, I just think thats interesting

[ambrosethepoet]

Sabin Tambrea (Ludwig II Darsteller)

Die liebsten Gedichte des Königs (3/12)

Die dritte Ballade spricht ganz die Sprache des Mittelalters. Die Verfasserin war Annette von Droste zu Hülshoff. Ihr zentrales Motiv ist das der Buße und der Suche nach Erlösung. Es sind einmal mehr düstere Verse, die in Wahnsinn und Visionen kulminieren. Auch hier spiegelt sich Ludwigs Lebenswelt, die einerseits von Rittern und Edelfrauen bevölkert war; sich aber andererseits immer im Kampf mit der "Sünde" befand . . .

Der Graf von Thal

1838.

I.

Das war der Graf von Thal, So ritt an der Felsenwand; Das war sein ehlich Gemahl, Die hinter dem Steine stand.

Sie schaut' im Sonnenstrahl Hinunter den linden Hang, »Wo bleibe der Graf von Thal? Ich hört' ihn doch reiten entlang!

Ob das ein Hufschlag ist? Vielleicht ein Hufschlag fern? Ich weiß doch wohl ohne List, Ich hab' gehört meinen Herrn!«

Sie bog zurück den Zweig. »Bin blind ich oder auch taub?« Sie blinzelt' in das Gesträuch, Und horcht' auf das rauschende Laub.

Öd' war's, im Hohlweg leer, Einsam im rispelnden Wald; Doch überm Weiher, am Wehr, Da fand sie den Grafen bald.

In seinen Schatten sie trat. Er und seine Gesellen, Die flüstern und halten Rat, Viel lauter rieseln die Wellen.

Sie starrten über das Land, Genau sie spähten, genau, Sahn jedes Zweiglein am Strand, Doch nicht am Wehre die Frau.

Zur Erde blickte der Graf, So sprach der Graf von Thal: »Seit dreizehn Jahren den Schlaf Rachlose Schmach mir stahl.«

»War das ein Seufzer lind? Gesellen, wer hat's gehört?« Sprach Kurt: »Es ist nur der Wind, Der über das Schilfblatt fährt.« -

»So schwör' ich beim höchsten Gut, Und wär's mein ehlich Weib, Und wär's meines Bruders Blut, Viel minder mein eigner Leib:

Nichts soll mir wenden den Sinn, Daß ich die Rache ihm spar'; Der Freche soll werden inn', Zins tragen auch dreizehn Jahr'.

Bei Gott! das war ein Gestöhn!« Sie schossen die Blicke in Hast. Sprach Kurt: »Es ist der Föhn, Der macht seufzen den Tannenast.« -

»Und ist sein Aug' auch blind, Und ist sein Haar auch grau, Und mein Weib seiner Schwester Kind -« Hier tat einen Schrei die Frau.

Wie Wetterfahnen schnell Die Dreie wendeten sich. »Zurück, zurück, mein Gesell'! Dieses Weibes Richter bin ich.

Hast du gelauscht, Allgund? Du schweigst, du blickst zur Erd'? Das bringt dir bittre Stund'! Allgund, was hast du gehört?« -

»Ich lausch' deines Rosses Klang, Ich späh' deiner Augen Schein, So kam ich hinab den Hang. Nun tue was Not mag sein.« -

»O Frau!« sprach Jakob Port, »Da habt Ihr schlimmes Spiel! Grad' sprach der Herr ein Wort, Das sich vermaß gar viel.«

Sprach Kurt: »Ich sag' es rund, Viel lieber den Wolf im Stall, Als eines Weibes Mund Zum Hüter in solchem Fall.«

Da sah der Graf sie an, Zu Einem und zu Zwein; Drauf sprach zur Fraue der Mann: »Wohl weiß ich, du bist mein.

Als du gefangen lagst Um mich ein ganzes Jahr, Und keine Silbe sprachst: Da ward deine Treu' mir klar.

So schwöre mir denn sogleich: Sei's wenig oder auch viel, Was du vernahmst am Teich, Dir sei's wie Rauch und Spiel.

Als seie nichts geschehn, So muß ich völlig meinen; Darf dich nicht weinen sehn, Darfst mir nicht bleich erscheinen.

Denk' nach, denk' nach, Allgund! Was zu verheißen Not. Die Wahrheit spricht dein Mund, Ich weiß, und brächt' es Tod.«

Und konnte sie sich besinnen, Verheißen hätte sie's nie; So war sie halb von Sinnen, Sie schwur, und wußte nicht wie.

II.

Und als das Morgengrau In die Kemnate sich stahl: Da hatte die werte Frau Geseufzt schon manches Mal;

Manch Mal gerungen die Hand, Ganz heimlich wie ein Dieb; Rot war ihrer Augen Rand, Todblaß ihr Antlitz lieb.

Drei Tage kredenzt' sie den Wein, Und saß beim Mahle drei Tag', Drei Nächte in steter Pein In der Waldkapelle sie lag.

Wenn er die Wacht besorgt, Der Torwart sieht sie gehn, Im Walde steht und horcht Der Wilddieb dem Gestöhn'.

Am vierten Abend sie saß An ihres Herren Seit', Sie dreht' die Spindel, er las, Dann sahn sie auf, alle beid'.

»Allgund, bleich ist dein Mund!« »Herr, 's macht der Lampe Schein.« »Deine Augen sind rot, Allgund!« »'s drang Rauch vom Herde hinein.

Auch macht mir's schlimmen Mut, Daß heut vor fünfzehn Jahren Ich sah meines Vaters Blut; Gott mag die Seele wahren!

Lang ruht die Mutter im Dom, Sind Wen'ge mir verwandt, Ein' Muhm' noch und ein Ohm: Sonst ist mir keins bekannt.«

Starr sah der Graf sie an: »Es steht dem Weibe fest, Daß um den ehlichen Mann Sie Ohm und Vater läßt.«

»Ja, Herr! so muß es sein. Ich gäb' um Euch die zweie, Und mich noch obendrein, Wenn's sein müßt', ohne Reue.

Doch daß nun dieser Tag Nicht gleich den andern sei, Lest, wenn ich bitten mag, Ein Sprüchlein oder zwei.«

Und als die Fraue klar Darauf das heil'ge Buch Bot ihrem Gatten dar, Es auf von selber schlug.

Mit einem Blicke er maß Der nächsten Sprüche einen; »Mein ist die Rach'«, er las; Das will ihm seltsam scheinen.

Doch wie so fest der Mann Auf Frau und Bibel blickt, Die saß so still und spann, Dort war kein Blatt geknickt.

Um ihren schönen Leib Den Arm er düster schlang: »So nimm die Laute, Weib, Sing' mir einen lust'gen Sang!« -

»O Herr! mag's Euch behagen, Ich sing' ein Liedlein wert, Das erst vor wenig Tagen Mich ein Minstrel gelehrt.

Der kam so matt und bleich, Wollt' nur ein wenig ruhn, Und sprach, im oberen Reich Sing' man nichts Anderes nun.«

Drauf, wie ein Schrei verhallt, Es durch die Kammer klingt, Als ihre Finger kalt Sie an die Saiten bringt.

»Johann! Johann! was dachtest du An jenem Tag, Als du erschlugst deine eigne Ruh' Mit einem Schlag? Verderbtest auch mit dir zugleich Deine drei Gesellen; O, sieh nun ihre Glieder bleich Am Monde schwellen!

Weh dir, was dachtest du Johann Zu jener Stund'? Nun läuft von dir verlornem Mann Durchs Reich die Kund'! Ob dich verbergen mag der Wald, Dich wird's ereilen; Horch nur, die Vögel singen's bald, Die Wölf' es heulen!

O weh! das hast du nicht gedacht, Johann! Johann! Als du die Rache wahr gemacht Am alten Mann. Und wehe! nimmer wird der Fluch Mit dir begraben, Dir, der den Ohm und Herrn erschlug, Johann von Schwaben!«

Aufrecht die Fraue bleich Vor ihrem Gatten stand, Der nimmt die Laute gleich, Er schlägt sie an die Wand.

Und als der Schall verklang, Da hört man noch zuletzt, Wie er die Hall' entlang Den zorn'gen Fußtritt setzt.

III.

Von heut' am siebenten Tag' Das war eine schwere Stund', Als am Balkone lag Auf ihren Knien Allgund.

Laut waren des Herzens Schläge: »O Herr! erbarme dich mein, Und bracht' ich Böses zuwege, Mein sei die Buß' allein.«

Dann beugt sie tief hinab, Sie horcht und horcht und lauscht: Vom Wehre tost es herab, Vom Forste drunten es rauscht.

War das ein Fußtritt? nein! Der Hirsch setzt über die Kluft. Sollt' ein Signal das sein? Doch nein, der Auerhahn ruft.

»O mein Erlöser, mein Hort! Ich bin mit Sünde beschwert, Sei gnädig und nimm mich fort, Eh' heim mein Gatte gekehrt

Ach, wen der Böse umgarnt, Dem alle Kraft er bricht! Doch hab' ich ja nur gewarnt, Verraten, verraten ja nicht!

Weh! das sind Rossestritte.« Sie sah sie fliegen durchs Tal Mit wildem grimmigen Ritte, Sie sah auch ihren Gemahl.

Sie sah ihn dräuen, genau, Sie sah ihn ballen die Hand: Da sanken die Knie der Frau, Da rollte sie über den Rand.

Und als zum Schlimmen entschlossen Der Graf sprengt' in das Tor, Kam Blut entgegen geflossen, Drang unterm Gitter hervor.

Und als er die Hände sah falten Sein Weib in letzter Not, Da konnt' er den Zorn nicht halten, Bleich ward sein Gesicht so rot.

»Weib, das den Tod sich erkor!« - »'s war nicht mein Wille« sie sprach, Noch eben bracht' sie's hervor. »Weib, das seine Schwüre brach!«

Wie Abendlüfte verwehen Noch einmal haucht sie ihn an: »Es mußt' eine Sünde geschehen - Ich hab' sie für dich getan!«

Annette von Droste-Hülshoff