#tuilleries

[artthatgivesmefeelings]

Nicolas Pérignon (French, 1726-1782) Vue du Jardin des Tuilleries, 1772

[lafcadiosadventures]

rewatched les diaboliques yesterday. I still hate [redacted plot point] but if you think hitchcock’s psycho has the best death scene in a bathroom in terms of acting/staging/editing (ok maybe we can give the editing point to H) and if you think he’s some kind of visionary genius for projecting signs in screenings asking not to spoil the ending to friends,,, think again

[random-brushstrokes]

Léon-Auguste Mellé - L'incendie des Tuilleries (1871)

The construction of the Tuilleries palace was overseen by Catherine de Medici from 1564. The grand palace became the residence for many royal and imperial rulers, including Napoleon. This magnificent building with its large façade and considerable gardens was also the seat of the First Republic and the Consulate. During the Commune of Paris – the French uprising against the government following France’s defeat in the Franco-German war – the palace was destroyed by arson. On 23 May 1871 Jules-Henri-Marius Bergeret, Victor and Stephen Bénot Boudin set light to the palace, and it burned over three days. In 1883 the ruins were razed to the ground, and remains of the palace can be found incorporated in monuments and buildings all over Paris. (source)

[pegasusdrawnchariots]

Lettre V

@ninadove here's another one for ya :)

This one was hard to split up! M de Bergerac is not a fan of full stops lol

I had trouble in 3F specifically with the use of "ne". I believe it has something to do with the role of "ſoupçonnerois" but I wasn't confident enough to rule on if it was affirmative or negative either way 😅

4F also has a historical reference that may be lost on me, hopefully u can shed some light on it! My thanks again for yr invaluable help 💌

1F MADAME,

Suis je condamné de pleurer encore bien long-temps? Hé je vous prie, ma belle Maiſtreſſe, au nom de vôtre bon Ange, faites-moy cette amitié, de découvrir là-deſſus vôtre intention, afin que j'aille de bonne heure retenir place aux Quinze Vingts parce que je prévoy que de vôtre courtoiſie, je ſuis predeſtiné à mourir aveugle, Oüy aveugle (car vôtre ambition ne ſe contenteroit pas que je fuſſe ſimplement borgne.)

1A MADAM,

Am I condemned to cry much longer still? Oh, I beg you, my beautiful Mistress, in the name of your good Angel, be kind enough to reveal your intention up there, that I may go in time to reserve a place in the Quinze-Vingts Ophthalmology Hospital because I predict that from your courtesy, I am predestined to die blind — yes, blind (because your ambition would not be content for me to be simply one-eyed).

2F N'avez-vous pas fait deux alambics de mes deux yeux, par où vous avez trouvé l'invention de diſtiler ma vie, & de la convertir en eau toute claire?

2A Have you not made two stills out of my two eyes, by which you have found the invention of distilling my life and converting it into clearest water?

3F En verité, je ſoupçonnerois (ſi ma mort vous eſtoit utile, & ſi ce n'eſtoit la ſeule choſe que je ne puis obtenir de voſtre pitié) que vous n'épuiſiez ces ſources d'eau, qui ſont chez moy, que pour me bruſler plus facilement; & je commence d'en croire quelque choſe, depuis que j'ay pris garde, que plus mes yeux tirent d'humide de mon coeur, plus il bruſle:

3A In truth, I would suspect (if my death were useful to you, and if it [[[wasn't]]] the only thing that I [[[can]]] obtain from your mercy) that you drain these sources of water within me in order to burn me more easily. And I'm starting to believe something of it, since I'm wary, that the more my eyes draw moisture from my heart, the more it burns.

4F Il faut bien dire que mon Pere ne forma pas mon corps du meſme argile, dont celuy du premier homme fut compoſé, mais qu'il le tailla ſans doute d'une pierre de chaux, puis que l'humidité des larmes que je répands m'a tantoſt conſommé: Mais conſommé, croiriez-vous bien, Madame, de quelle façon? je n'oſerois plus marcher dans les ruës embraſé comme je ſuis, que les enfans ne m'environnent de fuſées, parce que je leur ſemble une figure échappée d'un feu d'artifice, ny à la Campagne, qu'on ne me prenne pour un de ces Ardens, qui traiſnent les Gens à la riviere.

4A It must be said that my Father did not form my body from the same clay that comprised the first man but that he doubtless sculpted it from limestone, since the humidity of the tears that I shed has [[[soon]]] consumed me. But, would you believe, Madam, consumed me how? I would no longer dare walk through the streets inflamed as I am, lest the children surround me with rockets, since to them I seem a figure escaped from a firework — nor to the country, lest they take me for one of these [[[Ardens]]] that drag people to the river.

5F Enfin vous pouvez connoiſtre tout ce que cela veut dire; c'eſt, ſi vous ne revenez bien-toſt, vous entendrez dire à voſtre retour, quand vous demanderez où je demeure, que je demeure aux Tuilleries, & que mon nom c'eſt la beſte à feu qu'on fait voir aux Badauts pour de l'argeut. Alors vous ſerez bien honteuſe, d'avoir un Amant Salemandre, & le regret de voir bruſler dés ce Monde,

MADAME,

Voftre Serviteur.

5A At last, you can know what all this means — if you return soon, you will hear it said, when you ask where I reside, that I reside in the Tuileries, and that my name is the fire beast that they show to onlookers for money. Then you will be quite ashamed to have a salamander lover, and the regret of seeing burning [[[from]]] this world,

MADAM,

your servant.

[castelnou]

jardin des tuilleries

paris (france)

[thepointoftheneedle]

Lockwood and Co

Well, I watched the show because I'd enjoyed the books ages ago. For some reason the show made me want to write fiction which I haven't done for an age. Will I continue it? No clue. Maybe...? It's canon after The Empty Grave but I've tried to avoid major spoilers for anyone who has only seen the tv show and hasn't read the books. Anyway, here's the prologue in case anyone else enjoyed the silly little ghost-hunting show.

Lockwood stalked into the kitchen and turned on the gas under the kettle. As he reached for the Earl Grey his elbow nudged the charred skull that sat on the kitchen worktop and he smiled wryly at the incongruous domestic arrangements in place in Portland Row.  “Alas, poor Skull,” he murmured. “People always misquote that line you know, Skull.  ‘Alas poor Yorick, I knew him Horatio,’ not ‘I knew him well.’  Idiots.”

He dropped a teabag into a mug and leaned back against the counter, waiting for the whistle of the kettle.  It wasn’t worth making a pot; he was alone in the house.  Holly was at home, packing.  George was at the embassy poring over maps of the Paris Catacombs with the representative of the French Ministère des Evénements Paranormaux.  Lucy was with Barnes at the passport office in Petit France. If Barnes couldn’t pull some strings, that would be as close as she’d get to France.  Lockwood and Co. would have to go without her.  It didn’t bear thinking about.

“We’ve got a lot in common you know Skull,” he said as the kettle began to sing.  He knew he wouldn’t get a response.  The Skull had made the ultimate sacrifice for them, given up his life… afterlife… whatever the hell it had had, to save them at the showdown at Fittes House.  Well, to save Lucy really. He’d just been an unintended beneficiary of the Skull’s heroism.  He poured the boiling water into the mug and set the kettle down. He picked up the blackened bone, stared into its ruined sockets. “We were both prepared to die for her.  I think I’m a little bit jealous that you got to do it.”

Still holding the skull, Lockwood sat down at the table, waiting for his tea to brew.  Lucy would have been mashing the bag against the side of the mug with a teaspoon, or a fork, or whatever came to hand like an absolute savage.  He preferred to wait, to let the scent of bergamot pervade the warm kitchen on the steam rising from the mug. “Ever been to Paris, Skull?” he asked.  “My parents went there on honeymoon.  They had a guidebook. It must be in the library somewhere.  Art galleries and parks and cafes on the Rive Gauche.  I think they stayed in a grand hotel near the Luxembourg Gardens.”  He chuckled but there was no mirth in it. “That’s what she should have of course.  She should be going to Paris with someone who can give her all that, order escargot in garlic at a fancy restaurant just to see her face when she realises what it is, walk hand in hand with her through the Tuilleries, kiss her breath away in front of one of those huge water lily paintings that make you feel like you’re floating. All that romantic stuff.  Instead, she gets me, a rapier and a guaranteed brush with death. Even you’d do better than that wouldn’t you, Skull? Give her candles and rose petals on the carpet and a little chocolate in gold paper on her pillow.   I mean you couldn’t do much else I suppose, couldn’t follow through on any of it but then, I don’t do that either, do I?  Never even kissed her. I’m more of a ghost than you ever were, trapped behind silver glass, no idea how to get out.”

The skull said nothing.  Lockwood shook his head, appalled by his own mawkish foolishness.  He stood, snatched up his mug, grasped a corner of the scalding teabag and flicked it across the kitchen into the bin while heading out of the room. Behind him, on the thinking cloth, the skull flickered softly with a greenish flame.

[empirearchives]

Army opinion of Napoleon in 1805

From the diary of Washington Irving, Paris, date: June 2, 1805:

“Walking in the Garden of the Tuilleries encountered young french officer with whom I had travelled in dilligence last summer from Bordeaux to Toulouse. He had passed all the winter at his mothers in Languedoc & had come to Paris in hopes of getting a commission to go over to England in the flotilla. Warm in praise of the emperor—said the army universally loved him & would carry him even in their hands.”

[Italics in original]

Source: Washington Irving’s First Stay in Paris, Stanley T. Williams, American Literature, Vol. 2

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Letter from Lucile Desmoulins to her mother, telling her about the Insurrection of August 10th

How many tears I have shed, my dear maman, since yesterday at midnight when the toscin started ringing, without bothering to stop until today, at one o'clock in the afternoon. We are victorious, the castle is burning and the blood of the Swiss is flowing. Suivau (Suleau) had his head cut off; one paraded it throughout Paris yesterday. C(amille) had said to him: ”My dear, if you want to fight for the king you will be hanged tomorrow.” What C(amille) said was only too true, the monsters had rained cannon shots on the dome of the castle, and the unfortunate Marseilles suffered the first volley; the king is at the National Assembly, they are dying of stupidity, they are waiting for the assembly to pronounce on his forfeiture; Lafayette is in Paris, one is going to tear down his house, one is carrying the tatters of the clothes of the Swiss on the end of pikes, there are a lot of wounded, but thank God none of our Parisian patriots are among them. C(amille) does not leave the commune or the section.

I believe that now the patriots and the people are going to camp at the Tuilleries. Mme Danton (illegible word) we do not leave each other, when I would have liked to flee it would have been impossible, the women are kept from going out, it is impossible for C(amille) to leave, and events follow one another too quickly for me to be able to leave myself. It is from Danton’s house that I write, I barely breathe; I dare not believe that we have won. As we had every reason to believe that the danger has passed, at least the greatest, risk coming here, but inform yourself well before crossing the barriers if you will be able to do so again; one is still killing and the people do not say grace. Farewell, when I see you you will know more; O my dear maman, how I long to embrace you; it seems to me that it has been ten years since I last saw you.

Commit P(apa) to come; tell him I embrace him. Everything will no doubt be over within a week; they are breaking the windows in the castle, they have brought us sponges and brushes from the queen's bathroom, they tread on the silverware with their feet, and they don't touch it; farewell, farewell, the (illegible words) return triumphantly shouting "vive la nation!" they wear shreds covered in the blood of their villains. Oh what fermentation! C(amille) and all the patriots are going to embrace all the Marseille generals, I would need a volume to tell you everything.

Cited in La Libre Parole, August 15 1904

[dzinahk]

#TomHiddleston in Paris, Tuilleries Garden, March 2023

[chez-mimich]

Parigi, agosto 2023. Che sua quella del metro oppure quella delle brasseries, quella che si incrocia sui Grands Boulevards, quella delle stazioni o quella delle expositions, poco importa: la folla è l’anima di Parigi. Può essere anche una folla discreta come quella che si disperde nelle immense Tuilleries o al Luxembourg, ma sempre di folla si tratta. Ed eccola qui, fermata nel magnifico altorilievo bronzeo di Raymond Mason: “La foule” appunto…

[joachimnapoleon]

A letter from Gourgaud to his mother, written during the Russian campaign and intercepted by the Russians.

[Source: Lettres interceptées par les Russes durant la campagne de 1812, ed. L. Hennet & E. Martin, 1913. Pages 255-6]

***

Baron Gourgaud to his mother Mme Gourgaud

Rue neuve du Luxembourg, n. 8, near the Tuilleries, Paris

Smolensk, 10 November 1812

Do not murmur against me, good mother, if I have gone so long without writing to you, for I really have not had the time since my departure from Moscow. I have had the happiness of being continually employed by our great Emperor; I am also so flattered by the trust he seems to show me that despite the fatigues, the races, the deprivations, I am very content and am very far from complaining.

Before leaving Moscow I received a letter from good Madame Foucher, but since I haven’t had the time to write to my good mother, all the more so was I unable to write to this friend. So I haven’t responded yet. I beg you not to say that you’ve received news from me. I count on replying to her at the first moment of repose.

Tell my good Ninette that she has no need to tell me to try to obtain a receipt for the arrondissement in Paris, tell her that my happiness won’t be complete until I see this tender and beloved sister as happy as I desire her. But one needs patience and sometimes the tortoise arrives before the hare. As for me, I have nothing to desire, since the greatest man in the world has deigned to notice both my zeal and my attachment. So I have much hope; yes, yes we will all be happy.

General Foucher, while crossing over a little bridge, was knocked over by a carriage into the river; he was immediately taken out, but as it was cold, he has had a bit of a fever. I saw him the day before yesterday and he was doing well. I think, good mother, it might be a good idea for you to go and enroll yourself with Madame de Gueheneuc, whose son, my friend, has just had an arm taken off. General Kirgener told me yesterday that this good young man was doing as well as possible. Still, before taking the approach of honesty that I advise, you must consult Ninette and do only what she says.

Farewell, my good mother, rejoice for my happiness, because as long as the Emperor distinguishers me, I will be the happiest of men.

I repeat to you again and I will repeat to you always that you should not worry yourself when I go a long time without writing you, because circumstances often arise where I cannot do so. Always give thanks to God.

I am doing marvelously and am very content. I embrace you from the heart, your good son,

Baron Gourgaud

[P.S.] I don’t need to tell you to embrace my Ninette and her little ones. Tell me if you have bought them the dresses I gave them for my nomination of Baron. Tell Ninette to assure M. de Montalivet that I owe him my happiness.

[beakyspecialpics]

Kiss Under an Umbrella, Jardin des Tuilleries, Paris, 1997

Photo: Louis Stettner

[derniererondeavantlanuit-blog]

Jardin des Tuilleries - Guillaume Lavrut

[josemanuellopezsanmartin]

Jean-Marie Guyau Tuillerie (Vida y obra)

Tal día como el 28 de octubre de hace 170 años, nació Jean-Marie Guyau Tuillerie. Nació el  28-10-1854 en Laval, Mayenne, Países del Loira, (Francia) y murió el 31-3-1888 en Menton, Alpes-Marítimos, (Francia). Fue un filósofo y poeta francés. Sus obras están impregnadas por el vitalismo e insisten en la felicidad de una vida compartida con los demás

[kmp78]

"The petri dish session was the 1st time we met her, but she had already met JL at that Gucci thing where she got a 📸."

And we found out they got together in Paris because she was slightly visible in JL's selfie from the Tuilleries which was March '23 and her petri dish pics were posted April '23. And of course the Stuuuuck video later confirmed that timeline!

Yep. 💯

And her hysterical photographing in Casa Craphole and then at Petri Dish Palace also speak very loudly about when she started Hammering. 🔨

[stuartbramhall]

French Revolution: Napoleon Becomes Emperor

Episode 40 Napoleon Becomes Emperor Living the French Revolution and Age of Napoleon Dr Suzanne M Desan Film Review In 1802 Napoleon became Consul for life and by 1803 his face was displayed on French coins and he had three residences: Malmaison, a few miles to the west of Paris, and royal palaces at St Cloud and the Tuilleries. The justification he gave for promoting himself to emperor (a…