Je vous présente René Juiced, jeune adulte mais il craint un peu on va dire….avec des traits de caractère assez spéciaux !! René es donc: Gourmand, Hyper écolo, Crasseux et…un avantage c’est qu’il apprends vite ! Ouf !
Dans sa vie, René a décidé de devenir Astronaute…Eh oui, il en faut pour tout le monde hein ^^. Ce sera d’ailleurs le but ultime de sa vie ! Il faut savoir que René es attiré par les hommes, oui oui …Il aime les hommes ! Bon, ceci dit, cela se remarque à sa démarche Hihi ^^
Il y avait trois pasteurs qui discutaient sur la meilleure position pour la prière. Alors qu'ils discutaient, il y avait dans la pièce le réparateur du téléphone qui réparait le système téléphonique. Un des pasteurs dit :
— Moi, je crois que la solution ce sont les mains jointes dans l'adoration.
— Moi, dit le deuxième pasteur, je crois que c'est à genoux.
— Vous n’y êtes pas du tout, intervient le troisième, la meilleure position ce sont les bras levés et le visage tourné vers le ciel !
Il se trouva que le réparateur des télécoms ne pouvait plus se retenir et entra dans la conversation :
— La prière la plus puissante que j'ai jamais faite, c'est quand je me suis retrouvé pendu la tête en bas, accroché par les talons en haut d'un pylône électrique à 12 m du sol !
Since they demolished the Wall of the Farmers-General,
the torrents of people could move easily in Paris, though Napoleon III and Baron
Haussmann still feared of revolts. The famous rectilinear avenues, which to
this day remain a visiting card of Paris, put an end to the street-corner
fighting, in which the people of Paris had excelled since the famous “Day
of the Barricades” (on the 12th of May 1588, it was a spontaneous rebellion
in the staunch Catholic Paris against the tolerable, havering, temporising
policies of Henry III; it is said to be called, in fact, called by the Council
of Sixteen, representing the sixteen quartiers of Paris, led by Henri, duc de
Guise, head of the Catholic League, and coordinated by Philip II of Spain’s
ambassador). The affair of straitening the boulevards did not prevent Goncourt
Brothers from sighing at these boulevards with no turning, with no adventures
of perspective, implacable in their straight lines. Proudhon no longer recognised
Paris in this new, monotonous, exhausting town.
“Regret the old Paris who will,” said
George Sand, “my intellectual faculties never allowed me to know its
turns, although like many others I was brought up there. Now that the great
cuttings, too straight for the artist’s eye, but eminently safe, enable us to
walk for a long time, hands in pockets, without losing our way or being forced
every moment to consult the policeman on the street corner or the affable
grocer, it is a blessing to be able to wander along the wide pavement. For my
part, I like to realise that no vehicle, from the sumptuous equipage to the
modest four-wheeler, is as good for gentle, smiling reverie as the pleasure of
using two good legs, obedient, on asphalt or stone, to their proprietor’s
wishes. But go down the street, follow the quays and boulevards, cross the
The Rue des Marmousets, one of the narrow and dark medieval streets on the Île de la Cité, in the 1850s.
The great boulevards by Auguste Renoir, 1875
Boulevard Montmartre, Spring by Camille Pissarro
Pissarro spent six years in in rural Eragny. When he returned to Paris in 1897,
he painted several series of the grands boulevards. Surveying the view from his
lodgings at the Grand Hotel de Russie in early 1897, Pissarro marvelled at that he
could “see down the whole length of the boulevards” with “almost
a bird’s-eye view of carriages, omnibuses, people, between big trees, big
houses that have to be set straight.” From February to April, he painted —
in two scenes of the Boulevard des Italiens to the right, and fourteen of the Boulevard
Montmartre to the left — the spectacle of urban life as it unfolded below his
remarkable scope and variety of the Boulevard Montmartre series revealed Pissarro’s
approach to the systematic exploration of a series of views of the same
subject. Focused upon a single compositional device — the magnificent
procession of the Boulevard Montmartre — the artist thoroughly investigated the
different atmospheric conditions of the street. This variety is illustrated by
two distinct determinations — the weather and the activity represented. Thus,
there are festive afternoons as well as comparatively tranquil ones, sparsely
populated streets in winter and conversely busy scenes, as well as a view of
the street at night.
Une femme s'est approchée de moi dans le métro alors que j'étais assis.
Je me suis d'abord demandé si elle voulait ma place avant d'essayer d'estimer son âge. Métisse avec des cheveux défrisés, elle portait des lunettes fumées à la James Brown et un casque audio noir.
Debout, elle faisait ma taille alors que j'étais assis. J'ai donc pensé, au vu de la manière dont elle se rapprochait de moi, qu'elle voulait ma place. Je l'ai regardée du coin de l'œil car j'avais réellement la flemme de me lever. Dans mon champ de vision, je l'ai sentie s'agiter de haut en bas, comme si une folle envie d'uriner l'avait prise.
Ses épaules bougeaient de la gauche vers la droite et de l'avant à l'arrière. “Serait-elle en train de danser ?” ai-je pensé. Il était 12h et sur la ligne 4 à Châtelet, ce n'était pas quelque chose d'habituel. J'ai donc tourné la tête en estimant qu'elle devait sûrement avoir envie de pisser.
Sur le banc de trois places qui me faisait face, le siège s'était libéré. L'agitée s'est approché et au lieu de s'asseoir elle a déposé son sac pour y remettre des affaires. Faisant face à la vitre, elle a recommencé à gigoter et j'ai eu la confirmation qu'elle était bien en train de danser. Tout son corps bougeait en rythme alors qu'elle rangeait des affaires dans son sac tout en se regardant dans le miroir.
Le masque imposé par le contexte sanitaire ne permettait pas de voir l'expression de son visage mais je suis quasiment certain qu'elle était heureuse. J'ai alors souri. Pas le sourire moqueur qu'on pourrait esquisser en voyant un fou délirer, mais plutôt celui d'une envie d'être aussi heureux et libéré du regard des gens.
Le titre de Damso que j'écoutais à ce moment-là m'a paru bien triste. J'ai ensuite coupé ma musique pour pouvoir écrire, tout en rêvant du jour où je danserai comme cette femme, et qu'un autre écrira comme moi, sur moi.
“I came into the world during a sad century, with a soul inclined to sadness, but I have never given anyone the right to suspect this. On the contrary, I pass for being a gay man. But sometimes people are surprised at hearing what sounds like a sob in the concert of my airy indifference.”
When studying the days of Napoléon III, I often refer to this “unhappy man”, le Comte Horace de Viel-Castel, who was the type of the embittered misanthrope. Today I was surprised by the discovery of his odd connexions.
His father, who held the posts of chamberlain, was lover to the Empress Josephine, the beloved wife of Napoléon I. Horace de Viel-Castel’s brother was a lover of Mme. de Montijo, mother of the Empress Eugénie!
However, Napoléon III did not think the author of twenty-seven books “an illustration of his reign” at all. Some historians declare him to had been granted the post of secretary general of the national museums merely for he had pestered his cousin Émilien de Nieuwerkerke, /ntendant des Beaux-Arts of the Emperor’s Household and, since 1870, surintendant of the Imperial Museums, with requests.
“I register debates in which I take no part,” Viel-Castel’s memoirs were published twenty years after his death in seven volumes. Each night, like a good viper not wishing his venom to be lost, he would note down what he had said and heard. For the most part, they collected gossips and tittle-tattles, but leaving aside some flagrant backbiting, history gleaned some profit.
On the 11th of March 1863, in the newspaper ‘La France’, Horace de Viel-Castel published the article criticising the measures taken by Nieuwerkerke regarding the Paris Salon and the rules drawn up by the director of the national museums. He received the letter by Nieuwerkerke from his the next day, which he described as “stupid in its swollen vanity and crudeness,”
I have read the article entitled ‘The Salon of 1863’ in ‘La France’ on the 11th of March. You understand that I cannot tolerate a person, who is a member of my administration, permitting himself to criticise its actions. You have attacked the most important points in the regulations I proposed, which have been approved. You know quite well that mine was the initiative in all those measures and I had just given H.E. the Minister of State a report in favour of annual exhibitions. It would have been, I think, good taste to choose between the independence of your pen and the respect, which you owe to your chief.
I might perhaps have the right to invoke other motives for being sur prised by such a procedure.”
Le Comte de Nieuwerkerke ended his letter by informing the culprit that he was no longer a member of the general directorate of the imperial museums. Princess Mathilde companied herself with her lover and never again received Comte de Viel-Castel in the salon on the Rue de Courcelles. Viel-Castel’s rage was enormous. In his Memoirs, he heaped abuse on "the pasha Nieuwerkerke,” whom he arraigned for sponging on Mathilde. The princess, whose person he formerly admired, became a vulgar and stupid fat woman under his pen, and her drawing room turned into merely a bazaar full of false splendour, which needed to take only a step to become an anteroom. Viel-Castel died in the following year. The other motives, which Nieuwerkerke sentenced in his letter, according to the ‘Souvenirs’ of Charles-Philippe de Chennevières-Pointel, were shady acquisitions made by Horace for the Louvre. Marguerite Castillon du Perron in her book ‘La Princesse Mathilde: un règne féminin sous le Second Empire’ (1953) published a letter from Nieuwerkerke to Frédéric Eugène de Reiset dated the 1st of December 1882:
I shall give you a categorical reply to your question concerning Viel-Castel. He was not relieved of his post. He was dismissed as a thief. Out of respect for the name, which he bore, and for his brother Louis, who is a very honourable man [he was a historian], I took as a pretext the article in La France, of which he was one of the editors, and which contained attacks against the office, of which I was director. However, there were proofs of several thefts not only from me, but also from other people, among whom was the Marquise de Gabriac, from whom he stole five hundred francs, while she turned around, during a visit, which he was paying her. He had taken some of the objects under his care to sell to dealers, but had had to bring them back on their refusal to take them. I had a collection of five-franc pieces bearing the effigy of Louis XVIII, and I saw their number diminishing. I informed Moissenet [apparently, an assistant], who, with his skill of a detective, gave me proofs that Viel-Castel was stealing them while I dressed.”
Inasmuch, time avenged all, whom Comte Horace de Viel-Castle smeared, of whom he spoke ill.