#Camille Étienne

[cherusque]

Camille Étienne 🇫🇷

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

Contemporary descriptions of the dantonist execution compilation

Their trial was over around one o’clock in the afternoon. Only Luiner was acquitted. But as he was detained as suspect for the sake of general security he was escorted to the Luxembourg. The fifteen others were sentenced to death, and driven to the scaffold around six o’clock. They were in three tumbrils: in the first was Danton, next to Delacroix; Fabre near the executioner; Hérault opposite Chabot. In the second, Phelippeaux [sic], Westermann, Camille Desmoulins, Basire and Launai d’Angers [sic]. In the last tumbril, one saw but l’Abbé d’Espagnac; his companions were almost all strangers and little known to the public. Almost all approached death with the same audacity that they had shown in court. Danton, who, like Hébert, was recognizable by his red collar, seemed to pay little attention to the crowd around him: he was chatting with Lacroix and Fabre. Hérault was the quietest. Chabot pointed to the sky, laughing. Desmoulins spoke almost continually to the people; the courage he affected seemed like a painful effort, he was an actor who was studying to play his last part well. Diederichsen, danish lawyer, was executed first, the heads of Lacroix and Danton were the last ones to fall. Only that of Danton was shown to the people, among prolonged cries of ”vive la république.”  Suite du Journal de Perlet, number 561 (April 6 1794). A shortened version of this description is given in number 104 of Journal général de la guerre (April 13 1794). According to Michel Biard’s La Liberté ou la mort: mourir en deputé 1792-1795 (2015), these were the only contemporary journals that mentioned any details regarding the execution.

Camille had made incredible efforts to tear herself away from these execrable gendarmes, who have been the lowest servants of despots; so that in going to the scaffold he was completely naked to the waist, because his shirt was in tatters. I saw him cross the space of the palace at the Place de Sang (that's what I called Place de la Révolution) with a frightened air, talking to his neighbors with great agitation, and yet on his face was the convulsive laughter of a man who no longer has his head.  Dictionnaire neólogique des hommes et des choses, volume 2, page 480 (1799) by Louis Abel Beffroy de Reigny. In his Testament d’un électeur de Paris (1795) Beffroy adds that he couldn’t restrain his tears in watching Camille pass by.

I saw the tumbrils pass by to the place of execution, containing the men who, a few days before, had been seen as those who were to consolidate the revolution. Some maintained a firm and calm demeanor, others only showed on their faces that humiliating vexation felt by a scoundrel who finds himself caught in the trap set up by his enemy. This feeling was depicted with the most striking expression on the decomposed countenance of Danton. Camille Desmoulins seemed indignant at the deceit of Robespierre, who had never showed him more friendship than on the eve of his arrest. Bazire and Chabot tried to speak to the people by whom they were surrounded; though they spoke loudly, the noise which was made around them drowned out their voices. One only heard them say that, had not Marat been assassinated, he would have been accused of conspiracy like them, and that with them he would go to his execution. The multitude regarded as blasphemous an assertion of which the truth, a few days later, was disputed by no one. They were executed on 17 germinal.  Histoire Philosophique de la Révolution de France (1807) by Antoine Étienne Fantin-Desodoards, volume 5, page 371-372

Like Hugues Aubriot, who was imprisoned in the Bastille he had had built in order to trap others, when Danton had been condemned to death by the tribunal he had instituted, the crowd gathered in the square to feast their eyes on the horrible spectacle that the cries of the public promised them.  I was going to see Méhul, who was by then living on Rue de la Monnaie, when I came across the tumbril in Rue Honoré in which this revolutionary hero was for the last time presiding over his stricken party. He was calm, between Camille Desmoulins, whom he listened to, and Fabre d'Églantine, who did not listen to anyone. Camille spoke with great warmth, and struggled so much that his unfastened clothes left his collar and shoulders, which the blade was about to separate, bare. Never had life manifested itself in him by more activity. As for Fabre, immobile under the weight of his misfortune, overwhelmed by the feeling of the present and perhaps also by the memory of the past, he no longer existed. Camille who, by cooperating in the revolution, had thought he was cooperating in a good work, still enjoyed his illusion; he believed himself on the road to martyrdom. Alluding to his last writings, he shouted: “My crime is to have shed tears!” to the crowd. He was proud of his conviction. Fabre was on the other hand ashamed of his, he, who had been pushed into revolutionary excesses by less generous interests, was overwhelmed by the awareness of the truth. He saw only torture at the end of the little road that remained for him to travel.  Another physiognomy also attracted my attention in this cartload of reprobates, it was that of Hérault de Séchelles. The tranquility which reigned over the handsome face of this former advocate-general was of a different nature from the tranquility of Danton, whose face offered a caricature of that of Socrates. Hérault's calm was that of indifference; Danton's calm that of disdain. The pallor did not sit on the latter's forehead; but that of the other was colored with such a fiery tint that it looked less like he was going to the scaffold than returning from a banquet. Hérault de Séchelles finally seemed detached from life, the preservation of which he had purchased by so much cowardice, by so many atrocities. The appearance of this selfish man astonished everyone: everyone asked his name with interest, and as soon as he was named he no longer interested anyone. […] I went up to Méhul's, and, my imagination full of what I had just seen, I told him: “Tragedy well begun! I want to see the end of it, after having finished in three words the business which brought me. This Danton really plays his role well. We are all on the eve of the day that will end for him. I want to learn how to pass it well too.” "Useful study," said Méhul, who saw things with the same eye as me, and who would have accompanied me if he hadn't been in his dressing gown and slippers.  However, the fatal tumbril had not stopped moving; the execution was beginning when, after having crossed the Tuileries, I arrived at the gate which opens onto the Place Louis XV. From there I saw the condemned, not mounting together, but appearing one by one on the fatal scaffold, to die immediately by the effect of the movement which the board or the bed on which was about to begin for them the eternal rest. The rest of the operation was hidden from me by the operatives running it. The accelerated fall of the blade alone told me that it was was being carried out.  Danton appeared last on this scene, flooded with the blood of all his friends. Day was falling. At the foot of the horrible statue whose mass stood out in a colossal silhouette against the sky, I saw the rising, like a shadow of Dante, of this tribune who, half-lit by the dying sun, seemed as much to emerge from the tomb as ready to enter it. There is nothing as daring as the countenance of this athlete of the revolution; nothing as formidable as the attitude of this profile which defied the axe, like the expression of this head which, ready to fall, still seemed to dictate laws. Horrible pantomime! time cannot erase it from my memory. I found there all the expression of the sentiment which inspired Danton with his last words; terrible words which I could not hear, but which people repeated to each other, quivering with horror and admiration. ”Above all, don't forget,” he said to the executioner with the accent of a Gracque, don't forget to show my head to the people; it’s worth seeing.” At the foot of the scaffold he had said another word worthy of being recorded, because it characterizes both the circumstance which inspired it, and the man who uttered it. With his hands tied behind his back, Danton was waiting his turn at the foot of the stairs, when his friend Lacroix, whose turn had come, was brought there. As they rushed towards each other to give each other the farewell kiss, a policeman, envying them this painful consolation, threw himself between them and brutally separated them. "At least you won't prevent our heads from kissing each other in the basket," Danton told him with a hideous smile. Danton, as I have said, perishes as a result of a security more justified by reason than by politics. Warned of Robespierre's plans, Robespierre knows too well that he cannot send me to the scaffold without proving that he can be sent there himself." Resting on this idea, he fell asleep in laziness and pleasures.  Souvernirs d’un sexagénaire (1833) by Antoine Vincent Arnault, volume 2 page 95-100. According to Biard in Danton: Le mythe et l’histoire (2016) this is the only semi-authentic source we have for Danton’s last words being ”show my head to the people, it’s worth seeing.” It’s still however somewhat dubious considering Arnault places Camille in the wrong tumbril.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Welp i didn't see this coming

"Natalie Portman and her ballet dancer hubby Benjamin Millepied are battling to save their marriage after she discovered that he had an affair with a 25-year-old woman, sources tell Page Six.

We’re told the pair, who married in 2012, separated last year but managed to work through their relationship woes.

Now their marriage has once again been rocked by revelations that he cheated. New photographs from France suggest that the former New York City Ballet principal dancer has been spending time with glamorous young climate activist Camille Étienne.

And a source close to the couple tells Page Six, “They have not split and are trying to work things out. Ben is doing everything he can to get Natalie to forgive him. He loves her and their family.”

“She is incredibly private,” the source added. “Her biggest focus right now is protecting the kids.”

We hear it was an open secret on the set of Portman’s upcoming movie “May December,” which shot in November over the course of 23 days, that she and Millepied were having problems.

And word at the premiere at the Cannes Film Festival this month was that the couple were still on thin ice. Portman, 41, was in the French Riviera city making the promotional rounds, but Millepied, 45, was nowhere to be seen."

Men are trash 🗑️

[lemagcinema]

La fille de son père: Le Duc se recentre

Un film de Erwan Le Duc Avec: Nahuel Pérez Biscayart, Céleste Brunnquell, Maud Wyler, Mohammed Louridi, Mercedes Dassy, Alexandre Steiger, Camille Rutherford, Noémie LvovskyÉtienne a vingt ans à peine lorsqu’il tombe amoureux de Valérie, et guère plus lorsque naît leur fille Rosa. Puis Valérie s’en va et les abandonne. Étienne choisit de ne pas en faire un drame, ils se construisent une vie heureuse. Seize ans et demi plus tard, alors que le père et la fille vont se séparer à leur tour, chacun pour vivre sa vie, le passé ressurgit…Notre avis : **

Retrouvez l'article complet ici https://lemagcinema.fr/microcritique/la-fille-de-son-pere-le-duc-se-recentre/

[aimonsnouspleinement]

J'écoutais un podcast écologiste militant (ouais je suis un mec comme ça ouais 😂) et l'oratrice c'est Camille Étienne (trop stylée la gonz 😎)

Et là, je tique sur une prononciation d'un mot. Il faut savoir que mes amis se foutent de moi parce que les mots en -ie (ex plie) je les prononce -iiiiiille.

Et en fait tout fais sens ! Elle est haute savoyarde (moi aussi de famille) et du coup tout est logique, j'aime beaucoup.

[heavymetalseries]

A Waltz of Witchcraft | Chapter 1

1856, Paris, France

“If you fall and break your neck, maman is going to kill you!”

Jean-Étienne ignored his sister’s comment, muffled by the distance between the top of the roof and the street below. A gentle melody played through his mind, vibrating through the muscles of his throat as he moved, fluid and boneless as a pampered cat. Despite the way his muscles strained, he kept his breathing slow and steady. He had spent just as much time playing this piece on the violin as he did dancing it, and his muscles knew the choreography just as well as his fingers knew the notes.

“Jean-Étienne!”

The roof ledge was so narrow, he shouldn’t have been able to dance on it the way he did. His thick thigh muscles tensed and loosened, keeping him balanced. 

“Get down from there, or I swear to God— Jean-Étienne! Jean-Étienne!”

Jean-Étienne stood on the ball of his foot. The wind whipped his hair around his face and made the hairs on his bare arms stand on end. He closed his eyes, breathing through the strain of his calves, the tightening of his abdomen as he leaned forward. His leg raised, seemingly of its own volition, as though he was one of the marionettes Parisian street performers played with. An invisible string connected to the back of his heel pulled him to pivot down around his pelvis in a held penché. If he stretched just a little more, he would be able to touch the roof with his fingertips. 

There was a trust in moments like this. 

A trust that he could support himself. A trust that his body wouldn’t betray him. A trust that his reflexes were enough to keep him from falling.

He opened his eyes and looked down. In the moonlight, he couldn’t see much. What he could see of his older sister’s form was largely hidden by shadows. 

In music, it was called a fermata. A rest, a pause held until released by the conductor. Up here, there was nobody to release him from it. Up here, he answered only to himself, to the music, and to his own body.

It would be so easy to fall. It would be so easy to allow his muscles to loosen enough to drop. 

There was nothing easy in ballet, just as there was nothing easy in violin. 

Easy didn’t exist.

Jean-Étienne straightened himself so his skull, shoulders, and pelvis were all stacked on top of each other. The line of his spine was perfectly perpendicular to the roof he danced on. He spun on the ball of his foot, extended his other leg up so that his heel was in line with his ear, then lowered it to cross his ankles with a graceful bow that was almost more likely to send him over the edge than the leaning did. 

“I swear to God, Jean-Étienne, I will—!”

Camille didn’t finish her threat. Instead, she let out a high shriek as Jean-Étienne took a step forward so his toes hung over the edge of the roof, his entire weight resting only on the balls of his feet. 

Blood rushed through Jean-Étienne's ears. If his arms couldn’t support him, if he mis-timed the movement by so much as a fraction of a second, he would be sent hurtling toward the ground at a speed that would no doubt shatter most of the bones in his body if it didn’t kill him.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jean-Étienne stepped off the ledge.

Camille’s scream was muffled by the wind rushing around him.

Twelve years of dancing had taught Jean-Étienne to trust his body. He trusted his muscles, and that trust was well-earned. In a well-practiced motion, he spun mid-air and caught himself on the ledge of the roof. The bricks scraped the palms of his hands. The muscles of his arms snapped tight and bulged out from beneath the short sleeves of his shirt. A seam along the back of his shoulder broke open. Using the momentum, he swung his legs forward through the open window and released the ledge.

A lesser dancer would have gone sprawling to the floor. As skilled as Jean-Étienne was at controlling his violin, he was equally good, if not better, at controlling his body.

Madame Marin would be proud of his landing.

The storage room was empty, save for the walls of shelves packed with dance shoes. He took the silence as an opportunity to sit on the floor and stretch out his legs and hips, and to give his stuttering heart a chance to slow down. Even though he hadn’t been dancing long compared to most nights, Madame Marin always emphasized how important it was to stretch before and after. All it would take was one wrong movement on a tight muscle to cause a tear that would never repair.

The pull of his muscles and the opening of the joints where thigh met pelvis felt good. Still sitting on the floor, he stretched his arms over his head and pressed back until his shoulder blades popped a little.

This close to a performance, it would only be a matter of minutes before ballerinas were flittering in and out of the room in search of last-minute emergency shoes. 

Jean-Étienne pressed his toes and palms flat on the floor, stretching his calves, and walked his hands toward his feet until he stood upright. He moved the pile of unusable, discarded shoes he’d dumped onto his clothing to hide them. Modesty didn’t occur to him as he stripped off the shorts he preferred to practice in. He had grown up in a home that was little more than the size of this room with two parents, three sisters, two brothers, and the occasional aunts and uncles and cousins and petit rats under his mother’s tutelage who moved in and out. Private moments were rare and unexpected luxuries. Besides, he spent enough time with the dancers that they had all seen each other in various states of undress. The laws of propriety didn’t always apply to the low-class whores of the ballet and opera, himself included.

Loud footsteps echoed from down the hall, and the door slammed open as he finished the top button on his shirt over the close-fitting bodice. The fact that it had once belonged to Samuel was obvious in the way it hung loose on his narrow frame.

Camille only stared at him long enough to see that he wasn’t hurt before she crossed the small room and shoved him hard. Jean-Étienne took a step back to steady himself.

“Goddamn it, Jean-Étienne Petit! Are you trying to kill yourself?” she shrieked.

Jean-Étienne rolled his eyes and straightened his posture into the only stance his body knew by reflex. His heels pressed together, tightening the muscles of his abdomen. 

“If I was trying to kill myself, I would have landed on the ground,” he pointed out. 

This time, when she shoved him, he didn’t stumble back.

“You’re an ass,” she said.

He stuck his tongue out her, momentarily betraying his age. She only snorted and tapped the front of his shoulder with her fist.

“Stop showing off and hurry up already. If we’re late, maman is going to kill us, or worse. How would you like it if she made all your hair fall out?”

Jean-Étienne winced and ran a self-conscious hand through his long, golden hair. Surely, no matter how angry Madame Marin was with him, she wouldn’t do anything to tarnish his appearance. Not when, in her own words, it was his most valuable asset. 

They had come to Paris six years ago without much, only their instruments and dance clothes. After nearly a decade of petitioning, their mother had finally secured a position as maitresse de ballet with le Ballet de l'Opéra national de Paris. Once there, it didn’t take her long to climb the ranks. Though she was forced to take instruction from the men choreographing the pieces, every dancer knew she was the one they answered to. It seemed that though Amalie Petit, née Amalie Marin, had been forced to retire from the stage when her eldest child, Samuel, was born, her reputation still meant something. She’d moved from Marseilles, dragging with her an aspiring composer husband, three petit rats, and three musicians.

It wasn’t long before the two eldest of those daughters secured minor roles for themselves. The youngest, while decent enough, wasn’t up to the high standards of l’Opera. Instead, she joined their father and brothers beneath the stage. Sometimes, Jean-Étienne was down there with her and their brothers. Sometimes, he was on top of the stage with his other sisters. He was skilled enough at both, and pretty enough to pass as a woman from far when he had to. He was supposed to be part of the orchestra this time, but Marie-Soleil had shattered her leg in three places with not nearly enough time to find and train a suitable replacement. By God’s good grace, Jean-Étienne was the closest to her size and knew the choreography as well as the rest of the corps. 

“How are things with Charles?” Jean-Étienne asked as they walked down the hall Camille had come from.

The floor was cold beneath his already bruised and blistered, stocking-clad feet. Neither of them wore their pointe-shoes, holding them in their hands instead. 

Camille let out a long sigh and shook her head. Her golden curls swung with the motion.

“It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to keep it a secret. He doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand what will happen if maman finds out about him,” she said. 

Jean-Étienne barely managed to keep himself from wincing. Charles really had no idea what a mess he was in, involving himself with one of Amalie Petit’s daughters. Everyone who had stood between her children and their chances of finding a wealthy patron who would support them and the family didn’t seem to stick around very long.

It wasn’t only poor baker’s apprentices who were in danger, either. The unfortunate girl who played a supporting role in this season’s production had been forced to step down when she was suddenly plagued by a swarm of ticks, promoting Brigitte from understudy. And of course, there was poor Marie-Soleil’s leg. 

Many things could be said about Amalie Petit. None of those things were that she didn’t have a flair for the dramatic. Ballet was the only place her vicious nature could be tolerated. 

“Either get it right, or get out of my studio! How do you intend to find a patron when you dance like a pregnant duck?” she shouted, her harsh voice carrying through the halls as though she were an opera singer. 

Jean-Étienne and Camille exchanged similar grimaces. It was nice not to be the one on the receiving end of Madame Marin’s anger for once. 

The thump of a cane against the floor made Jean-Étienne wince. Whichever poor girl had irritated Madame Marin yelped, high and startled. There was a heavy thud of a body hitting the floor. 

“Jean-Étienne! Camille! Come here,” Madame Marin barked. 

Jean-Étienne shrank back a little, half-tempted to try hiding his narrow frame behind his sister’s similar build. How did she even know they were there? They weren’t even within the door’s sight line. She must have caught their reflections in a mirror. 

“Both of you, I said come here!”

“Witch,” Camille muttered under her breath.

Jean-Étienne's lip twitched, and he fought to suppress a smile. Whether or not it was meant to be an insult, she was right. Madame Marin was a witch in every sense of the term, but she was talented enough that most people were willing to look the other way about it.

Exchanging one last worried glance, Camille and Jean-Étienne walked into the room together. Jean-Étienne stayed close to the mirrors lining the wall and gave Priscille a small smile that the dancer didn’t return. She was too focused on performing the same steps he’d been doing on the roof.

“Keep your hips straight, for God’s sake. Jean-Étienne, tell her.”

“Maybe he should dance the part,” Priscille snapped through clenched teeth.

Jean-Étienne flinched. 

Though she really did need to keep her hips straight if she didn’t want to screw up the land—

There was a sickening crunch, followed by an even more sickening scream. Priscille crumbled to the floor. 

Nausea filled Jean-Étienne's stomach and his skin prickled, a sensation like sharp nails raking down his scalp as his body registered the reason for the sounds before his mind did. His hands flew up to cover his mouth.

Camille leapt to her feet, only to drop to a crouch beside Priscille.

“It’s all right, dear. Let me see— Oh my God! Oh my— It isn’t as bad as it sounds, I promise,” she said, her voice more desperate than reassuring.

Jean-Étienne's muscles unfroze one by one, though his movements were far too stiff as he forced himself to step toward the pair.

Camille was right. It wasn’t as bad as it sounded. It was worse.

Jean-Étienne had hoped it was only a sprain that would heal in time, but the bone was clearly broken. Even if Madam Marin had something that could help heal it, there was no way Priscille could dance on it tonight.

Madame Marin only sighed and peered down at Priscille. Another woman might have been worried, but Madame Marin only looked annoyed. 

Jean-Étienne tried not to blame her. Since she couldn’t dance herself anymore, Madame Marin had devoted every minute of her life to bringing her dancers up to the same standard she held herself. They weren’t more than an hour from the curtains rising. With the recent round of consumption that had swept through the company, there weren’t any dancers who could take her place. They might be able to get somebody from another company, but there wasn’t much time.

Jean-Étienne reached forward, but stopped himself. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do right now. Was there even anything he could do to help her?

The tapping of Madame Marin’s cane on the floor drew Jean-Étienne's attention from Priscille’s screams of pain. He tipped his head up toward her. Her thin lips were quirked up into a tight, humourless smile. She sighed and waved a bony hand.

“Camille, take her out of here. Jean-Étienne, you will be taking her place at the front of the corps. Come on. Show me.”

Priscille glared up at him through tears as Camille helped her to her feet, supporting her weight so she didn’t have to put any pressure on her broken leg. No dancer was a stranger to pain, but her composure unsettled even him. He kept his eyes on his feet as he shrugged off his shirt. There was a difference between dancing as part of the corps, and alone with nobody to share Madame Marin’s cold regard.

“Keep your chin up. Good. Down up, and-a down up. Chin up, dammit. You’re too pretty to have such an ugly expression. There you go. Watch your ankles. Six, seven, eight, one, two, three— Good. That’s enough, stop right there.”

Jean-Étienne froze in place. His heart raced from a combination of nerves and exertion. Madame Marin approached, her cane thumping against the floor, and walked a circle around him. 

“There is going to be a very important man here tonight. Our ballet’s primary financier. I have been told that his tastes are… Well, that he isn’t interested in ballet because of the ladies,” Madame Marin said.

Jean-Étienne wasn’t sure how he managed to keep his expression neutral. He didn’t miss the implication of her words. It was a poorly kept secret that most of the wealthy men who funded ballets did so because of the access it gave them to dancers. It wasn’t much different from the way the orchestra was treated, though at least with the musicians, the interest did tend to be more artistic than lecherous.

Madame Marin turned her attention from him and crossed the floor to reach her bag. Jean-Étienne didn’t move. 

“I need your blood,” she said.

Jean-Étienne stiffened, though not so much at the words as at the sharp knife in his mother’s hand.

“You need—“

“It isn’t much, you’ll barely notice it.”

She held the knife out to him. When he hesitated, she snatched his hand and made a slight nick in his wrist. Her grip was like a vice.

“Ow!”

“It isn’t that bad.”

“That hurt.”

“Don’t be a child. There you go.”

As soon as Madame Marin released his hand, Jean-Étienne jerked it toward his chest, only just managing to stop himself from pressing the bloody wound to his clothes. Instead, he took the handkerchief she held out to him. He tied it awkwardly around his wrist, watching her make her way back to her bag. From it, she pulled a large glass jar. The lid popped off with a smooth twist of her wrist.

She poured the blood into the mixture and closed the lid of the jar again, tight enough that it didn’t leak when she shook it hard. Whatever was in the concoction alongside his blood, it would be fed to the wealthy men who paid to meet the ballerinas after the performance. Or, tonight, to one man in particular. 

For the first time in longer than Jean-Étienne could remember, Madame Marin smiled up at him.

“Tonight, you are going to make me very proud.”

###

Jean-Étienne didn’t mind playing a woman’s role. 

When Madame Marin was young, most ballet dancers were men. Now, they were mostly women.

Most of the company’s dancers had known him since they’d moved to Paris. With his mother teaching and choreographing, and two sisters performing, it wasn’t uncommon for him to join them. Sometimes, he only watched.

Sometimes, he participated in rehearsals with his violin. Sometimes, he joined in to take the place of an absent corps member or one of the few male dancers. 

“It is important,” Madame Marin was always saying, “for you to understand how the ladies move so you can understand how to play it.”

Sometimes, as he was doing with this ballet, he joined as a dancer himself.

He didn’t mind. Though he never wanted the attention that would come with being a soloist, he did enjoy dancing just as much as he enjoyed playing.

The women’s costumes were much different from the men’s. The corset wasn’t quite as uncomfortable as he expected it to be, given that it clearly wasn’t made for someone with his body type. His waist was broader than Priscille’s, though he also didn’t have any breasts that required supporting, which meant the girl helping him dress didn’t have to tie the lacing quite as tight. The stripped muslin skirt seemed like it would be impossibly distracting, but a few fouettés rondes de jambe en tournants were all it took to become accustomed to it. While the skirt and corset didn’t bother him much, it was embarrassing to wear women’s bloomers.

It was difficult to ignore the way the women stared at him in mixtures of confusion, curiosity, and annoyance, no doubt wondering why he was dancing such a front-facing role tonight. He winced a little as Marianne pulled a little too sharply at his hair as she tied it up to match the other corps dancers. Papa had always sneered at the way he kept his hair so long, but Madame Marin had never let him cut it short the way most men did. 

“Sorry,” Marianne said without an ounce of apology in her voice.

Before Jean-Étienne could say anything, loud clapping echoed through the room. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the dancers as every one of them stood upright and faced the source of the sound. Though Jean-Étienne had never actually met the man paying for L’Oiseau rebelle, there was nobody else who could command so much attention so quickly.

For some reason, Jean-Étienne had expected Gaspard Lavoisier to be taller, though perhaps it was only Madame Marin’s height that made him appear so short by comparison. His eyes were as cold and critical as hers. He said something to her that Jean-Étienne was too far away to hear, then sighed and waved a hand.

“Tonight,” he said, “you will be premiering what will be one of the most important ballets of this century. Do not disappoint me.”

Standing slightly behind him, Madame Marin’s lips twitched a little. The tight lines around her eyes made Jean-Étienne half-expect the man to burst into flames right there.

Monsieur Lavoisier began to move through the room, motioning with two fingers for Madame Marin to follow. It was nothing short of a miracle that spiders didn’t begin to spill from his mouth, or something equally horrific. He adjusted dancers’ clothes and postures as though they were nothing but mannequins. 

Though Jean-Étienne had never been formally trained as a dancer, Madame Marin had always put him through the same strict regiments she’d put his sisters through. It was a testament to that training that he had the discipline not to flinch the way he wanted to when Monsieur Lavoisier paused in front of him. He kept his body straight and rigid, staring at a spot on the wall.

“And who is this?” Monsieur Lavoisier snapped. 

“A substitute corps dancer,” Madame Marin said evenly. 

“Dressed as a woman.”

“It does still happen, Monsieur Lavoisier.”

“People do not come to the ballet to see men dance, Madame Petit. They come to see beautiful women in beautiful dresses. If I wanted more men in my ballet, I would have asked more men be written into it.”

Jean-Étienne was too focused on the spot on the wall to see Madame Marin’s expression, though he still felt the multiple sets of eyes on him, every dancer in the room watching the exchange as subtly as they could.

“He dances as well as any woman,” Madame Marin said.

Monsieur Lavoisier let out a short hum. He gripped Jean-Étienne's jaw with a firm hand and forced Jean-Étienne to look down at him.

It was a struggle to keep from flinching back as Monsieur Lavoisier examined him like a horse. The relief he felt when his jaw was released disappeared before it could fully form as Monsieur Lavoisier ran his hands down Jean-Étienne's chest and sides over the corset. Thankfully, they stopped at his hips. Thumbs dug painfully into the spots just inside his pelvis, but Jean-Étienne didn’t flinch.

He hated this. He hated this.

It was the only part of dance he hated. The aches and pains, the blistered feet, even the jealousy of the other dancers, he could find a way to tolerate. But this…

He longed for the solitude and the safety of the space beneath the stage where nobody would look at him, where nobody would touch him. If he cried, he would ruin his makeup. If he ruined his makeup, Madame Marin would be furious. That would be far worse than this. The dark makeup smudged around his eyes was her own personal creation, using a combination of God only knew what. He didn’t want it to go to waste. 

Finally, finally, finally, Monsieur Lavoisier stepped back and looked up at Jean-Étienne with a hard scowl.

Please tell me to leave. Please kick me out of the corps. I don’t want to be up there.

He didn’t want a theatre full of people looking at him the way Monsieur Lavoisier looked at him.

“I suppose he is lovely enough to pass as a woman. A little tall, but… He had better know the choreography.”

“Monsieur Lavoisier, this is just as much my ballet as it is yours,” Madame Marin snapped.

Monsieur Lavoisier’s eyes stayed sharp on him for a moment longer before he finally nodded and turned to Marianne. Madame Marin stepped beside Jean-Étienne and tipped her head up so her lips were right beside his ear.

“Make sure that cow has nothing to say about your ability to dance,” she said. 

Jean-Étienne nodded just slightly. His resolve to dance poorly disappeared at the sharp venom in her voice. When her attention was finally off him, he nearly crumpled as a sudden combination of relief and exhaustion washed over him. He squirmed a little in discomfort as the other dancers continued to stare at him. This night couldn’t end soon enough.

Keep Reading

[argan-g]

INDEX

CLASSICO E ROMANTICO

William Blake, Newton

Jöhan Heinrich Füssli, L'incubo

Étienne-Luoise Boullée, Progetto per il cenotafio di Newton

Claude-Nicolas Ledoux, Casa delle Guardie campestri

John Constable, La chiusa

e il mulino di Flatford

William Turner, Mare in tempesta

Francisco Goya, Fucilazione

Jacques-Louis David, La morte di Marat

Antonio Canova, Monumento di Maria Cristina d’Austria

Jean-August-Dominique Ingres, La bagnante di Valpingon

Théodore Géricault, La zattera della Medusa

Eugène Delacroix, La Libertà guida il popolo

Lorenzo Bartolini, Monumento funebre della contessa Zamoyska

François Rude, Rilievo dell'Arco di trionfo di Parigi Camille Corot, La cattedrale di Chartres

Théodore Rousseau, Temporale; veduta della piana di Montmartre

Honoré Daumier, Vogliamo Barabba

Constantin Guys, Per la strada

Honoré Daumier, Il vagone di terza classe

François Millet, L’Angelus

Camille Pissarro, Sentiero nel bosco in estate

LA REALTA' E LA COSCIENZA (l’Impressionismo; La fotografia; Il Neo-impressionismo; Il Simbolismo; L’architettura degli ingegneri)

Gustave Courbet, Ragazze in riva alla Senna (Estate)

Edouard Manet, Le déjeuner sur l'herbe

Alfred Sisley, Isola della Grande Jatte

Claude Monet, Regate ad Argenteuil;

Claude Monet, La Cattedrale di Rouen

Auguste Renoir, Le Moulin de la Galette 

Edgar Degas, L'absinthe

Paul Cézanne, L'asino e i ladri

Paul Cézanne, La casa dell'impiccato ad Auvers (Non Aversa)

Paul Cézanne, I giocatori di carte

Paul Cézanne, La montagna Sainte-Victoire 

Georges Seurat, Una domenica pomeriggio all’isola della Grande-Jatte

Paul Signac, Ingresso del porto a Marsiglia

Paul Gauguin, Te Tamari No Atua

Vincent van Gogh, Ritratto del postino Roulin 

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, La toilette

Henri Rousseau detto il Doganiere, La Guerra 

Odilon Redon, Nascita di Venere

Gustave Moreau, L'apparizione 

Pierre Bonnard, La toilette del mattino

Auguste Rodin, Monumento a Balzac

Medardo Rosso, Impressione di bambino davanti alle cucine economiche

I pittori della cerchia di Mallarmé

Edouard Vuillard, La pappa di Annette.

James MeNeill Whistler, Notturno in blu e oro: il vecchio ponte di Battersea

L' OTTOCENTO IN ITALIA, IN GERMANIA, IN INGHILTERRA

1. Giovanni Fattori, In vedetta

IL MODERNISMO (Urbanistica e architettura moderniste; Art Nouveau; La pittura del Modernismo; Pont-Aven e Nabis)

1. Antoni Gaudí, Casa Milá a Barcellona

2. Adolf Loos, Casa Steiner a Vienna

3. Antoni Gaudi, Il Parco Güell a Barcellona

L’ARTE COME ESPRESSIONE (Espressionismo; La grafica dell’Espressionismo)

1. Edvard Munch, Pubertà

André Derain, Donna in camicia

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Marcella

Henri Matisse, La danza

Emil Nolde, Rose rosse e gialle

Oskar Kokoschka, Chamonix, Monte Bianco

L’EPOCA DEL FUNZIONALISMO (Urbanistica, architettura, disegno industriale; Pittura e scultura; Der blaue Reiter; L’avanguardia russa; La situazione italiana; École de Paris; Dada; Il Surrealismo; La situazione in Inghilterra; La situazione italiana: Metafisica, Novecento, anti-Novecento)

Le Corbusier, Villa Savoye a Poissy

Le Corbusier, Cappella di Nötre-Dame-du-Haute a Ronchamp

Walter Gropius, La Bauhaus a Dessau

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Plastico di un grattacielo in verro per Chicago

Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, Seagram Buildings a New York

Tre progetti per il Palazzo dei Soviet. Le Corbusier e Pierre Jeanneret,

Walter Gropius, Bertold Luberkin,

Teo van Docsburg e Hans Arp, Cinema-ristorante L'Aubette a Strasburgo.

Thomas Gerrit Rietveld, Poltrona con elementi in nero, rosso, blu

Pier Mondrian, Composizione in rosso, giallo, blu

Aivar Aalto, Sanatorio a Paimio - Poltrona

Frank Lloyd Wright, Casa Kaufmann a Bear Run 

Pablo Picasso, I saltimbanchi; Les demoiselles d’Avignon; Natura morta spagnola

Georges Braque, Narura morta con l’asso di fiori

Robert Delaunay, Tour Eiffel

Juan Gris, Natura morta con fruttiera e bottiglia d’acqua

Georges Braque, Natura morta con credenza: Café-bar

Marcel Duchamp, Nu descendant un escalier n. 2

Umberto Boccioni, Forme uniche nella continuità dello spazio

Giacomo Balla, Automobile in corsa

Vasili; Kandinsky, Primo acquerello astratto; Punte nell'arco

Paul Klee, Strada principale e strade laterali

Anton Pevsner, Costruzione dinamica

Naum Gabo, Costruzione nello spazio; Il cristallo

Fernand Léger, Composizione con tre figure

Joan Miró, La lezione di sci; Donne e uccello al chiaro di luna

Giuseppe Terragni, Progetto dell'Asilo Sant'Elia a Como

Atanasio Soldati, Composizione

Constantin Brancusi, La Maiastra 

Amedeo Modigliani, Ritratto di Léopold Zborowski 

Georges Rouault, Cristo Deriso

Marc Chagall, A la Russie, aux anes et aux autres

Pablo Picasso, Guernica

René Magritte, La condizione umana Il

Man Ray, Motivo perpetuo 

Henry Moore, Figura sdraiata

Alexander Calder, Mobile

Ben Nicholson, Feb. 28-53 (Vertical Seconds)

Francis Bacon, Studio dal ritratto di Innocenzo X di Velázquez

Diego Rivera, L'esecuzione dell'imperatore Massimiliano

David Alfaro Sigueiros, Morte all'invasore

Giorgio De Chirico, Le Muse inquietanti

Carlo Carrà, L'amante dell'ingegnere 

Alberto Savinio, Nella foresta

Osvaldo Licini, Amalasunta su fondo blu

Giorgio Morandi, Natura morta con fruttiera

7. LA CRISI DELL'ARTE COME "SCIENZA EUROPEA" (Urbanistica e architettura; La ricerca visiva; La pittura negli Stati Uniti)

Ellsworth Kelly, Verde, blu, rosso

Morris Louis, Gamma Delta

László Moholy-Nagy, Composizione Q XX

Julius Bissier, 25 settembre 1963?

Josef Albers, Omaggio al quadrato

Arshile Gorky, Giardino a Sochi 

Jean Fautrier, Nudo

Jean Dubuffet, Orateur

André Masson, Les Chevaliers

Hans Hartung, Composizione 

Jackson Pollock, Sentieri ondulati

Mark Rothko, Rosso e blu su rosso

Albero Burri, Sacco B. 

Antoni Tápies, Bianco e arancione 

Giuseppe Capogrossi, Superficie 114

Lucio Fontana, Concetto spaziale: attesa 

Alberto Giacometti, Figura

Ettore Colla, Officina solare 

Mark Tobey, Circus transfigured

Georges Mathieu, Cast 

Victor Vasarély, Composizione. 

Kenneth Noland, Empireo 

Clyfford Still, 1962-D

Emilio Vedova, Plurimo n. 1; Le mani addosso 

Robert Rauschenberg, Letto

Mimmo Rotella, Marilyn 

Roy Lichtenstein, Il tempio di Apollo

Andy Warhol, Marilyn Monroe

[lesser-known-composers]

Jean Baptiste Édouard Louis Camille Du Puy (1770 -- April 3, 1822) - Ouverture, Ungdom og galskab eller List over list / Youth and Folly, Singspiel in two acts, first performance 1806, Copenhagen.

Libretto: Niels Thoroup Bruun, after the Libretto by Jean Nicolas Bouilly to the opera Une folie by Étienne Nicolas Méhul.

Orchestra: Collegium Musicum Copenhagen, Conductor: Michael Schønwandt

[bienvenuechezmoi]

Camille Étienne, ça c'est de la bonne com écolo. Elle remet l'église au milieu du village tout en ayant un physique passe partout.

[zehub]

75 personnalités et organisations : "Nous vous demandons de faire de la lutte contre les atteintes environnementales une priorité nationale"

À la Une du prochain numéro du magazine Le Nouvel Obs, François Molins, ex-procureur général près la Cour de cassation, la militante Camille Étienne ou encore l’avocate et ancienne ministre Corinne Lepage adressent une lettre au président de la République, Emmanuel Macron, pour renforcer la justice environnementale. Ils demandent notamment une augmentation des budgets alloués aux tribunaux concernés, afin « de former et de recruter davantage de procureurs et de mettre enfin sur pied un véritable service d’enquête environnementale ». D’après les signataires, qui comptent aussi des ONG comme Greenpeace France ou Notre affaire à tous, « la réponse pénale à la délinquance environnementale représente moins de 1 % des affaires jugées par les tribunaux français, ce qui confère aux pollueurs et autres délinquants environnementaux une forme d’impunité ». Mise en ligne le 21 mai, elle a également pris la forme d’une pétition comptant déjà plus de 400 signatures.

[breathetoseethetruth]

Anyone else on here who is a fan of Camille Étienne?

[ruppertmundysrevival]

Douzième partie | 21 août 2023

D’aussi loin que je me rappelle, ma fête est toujours tombée en été.

Enfant, être né un 21 août, c’était le plaisir de pouvoir profiter des 21 « 2 pour 1 » à la crèmerie du coin. En contrepartie, c’était aussi la tristesse de ne jamais être fêté à l’école, tout comme les autres élèves dont la mère avait eu la bonne idée d’accoucher entre la Saint-Jean-Baptiste et la fin des Perséides. C’est qu’en début d’année scolaire, on était souvent invités à apporter un petit cadeau anonyme qu’on mettait dans la Grosse boîte des fêtes. Le jour de ta fête, tu pouvais piger un cadeau au hasard et t’amuser avec durant la journée. À celles et ceux dont la fête était l’été, on nous disait qu’on allait nous fêter à la dernière journée d’école avant les vacances. On s’entend-tu que j’en ai jamais pigé, de cadeau, dans la Grosse boîte des fêtes ? Parce qu’à la dernière journée d’école, les profs pensaient à bien d’autres choses qu’à faire piger un sac à faux pets ou bien une glu vert fluo aux 2-3 petits dont les parents avaient eu l’égoïste idée de forniquer dans le coin de l’Halloween, probablement érotisés par leurs costumes de métiers olé-olé.

Mais comme adulte, et surtout comme athlète amateur du lundi, être né l’été, c’est l’extase de pouvoir fêter sa fête lors d’une partie de la RMR. Et ça, ça compense pour tous les cadeaux du monde non-reçus au primaire.

Voici donc la liste de mes cadeaux RMR reçus pour mes 39 ans :

Ça a commencé avec Arthur Raymond qui a sorti ses grands airs de saxophone pour me chanter des mots doux après le garrochage des mites : « Thibodeau, y me semble que jouer avec les NSDB, ça t’irait bien. Tu pourrais t’amuser sans la pression du capitanat, simplement être toi-même, laisser tomber les masques et exprimer ta vraie gentillesse. » Je me voyais presque avec le gilet noir et blanc, je me sentais bien ! J’allais succomber quand une chance que quelqu’un a crié BON PLAY BALL, LÀ pour me faire retomber des nuages, direct dans mes bottines à crampons verts et blancs.

Étienne Lepage, dramaturge de renom et souvent en chest, a choisi d’écrire la plus belle de ses histoires en faisant un grand retour aujourd’hui, simplement pour m’offrir le cadeau d’attraper toutes les balles de l’autre équipe.

Manu Ruiz, lui, en échange d’un salaire purement symbolique, a accepté de jouer pour les Martres, une équipe qui d’ordinaire le répugne, le temps d’un magnifique double-jeu champ-centre/premier but. Ce type de double-jeu portera d’ailleurs maintenant le nom de La danse du bartender mercenaire.

Camille, joueuse remplaçante et probablement acrobate de formation, est venue donner tout un show de pirouettes en trébuchant pas une, pas deux, mais bien trois fois lors de la même présence sur les buts, tout en participant au dernier retrait de la partie.

Berthiaume, pour sa part, m’a candidement offert un certificat-cadeau pour un blanchiment. Je n’ai pas bien compris c’était quoi, mais il m’a offert de venir avec moi, car il connaît une bonne place. Après, sans que personne ne lui demande, il s’est mis sur le dos et a montré son derrière au public présent au parc Laurier.

Marie-Eve Brouard a choisi de me donner… des frissons ! Lors d’un duel au monticule contre le lanceur des NSDB, Mayo la mailloche. Ça s’est fini avec un strike-out, oui madame !

Thomas a de son côté eu le calme et la gentillesse de m’épeler poliment comment écrire son nom de famille quand je le lui ai demandé, alors qu’il aurait simplement pu me dire « Crisse, regarde dans mon dos, c’est écrit sur mon gilet, gros tata. » Gentleman, ce Thomas !

Et que dire de Tantawy notre catcheuse qui, fidèle à ses habitudes, a subtilement mis de la Vaseline sur les bâtons des NSDB à chacune de leur présence, menant cette jeune équipe vers le record du plus bas pointage dans une partie complète : 0.

Il y a même Bourgon, la Martre de cœur, qui a recollé avec du tape son doigt meurtri pour venir encourager les deux équipes depuis les estrades.

Une fête comme ça, avec la présence de ma petite famille en plus, me donne déjà hâte d’avoir 40 ans ! Mais si quelqu’un pouvait quand même m’offrir un sac à faux pets, j’aimerais ça.

* * *

Étoile du match : toute la défensive des Martres, qui a réalisé la première partie parfaite en 12 ans de RMR !

Pee-wee du match : Eric « Machiavel » Bouchard, reconnu pour sa malveillance et son caractère pernicieux, qui a essayé de manipuler mon petit garçon d’à peine 4 ans pour lui faire dire des OBSCÉNITÉS. Maintenant, Philémon pense que je ne laisse pas jouer les autres amis.

– Thibodeau

--

--

--

--

[lemagcinema]

La fille de son père: Le Duc se recentre

Un film de Erwan Le Duc Avec: Nahuel Pérez Biscayart, Céleste Brunnquell, Maud Wyler, Mohammed Louridi, Mercedes Dassy, Alexandre Steiger, Camille Rutherford, Noémie LvovskyÉtienne a vingt ans à peine lorsqu’il tombe amoureux de Valérie, et guère plus lorsque naît leur fille Rosa. Puis Valérie s’en va et les abandonne. Étienne choisit de ne pas en faire un drame, ils se construisent une vie heureuse. Seize ans et demi plus tard, alors que le père et la fille vont se séparer à leur tour, chacun pour vivre sa vie, le passé ressurgit…Notre avis : **

Retrouvez l'article complet ici https://lemagcinema.fr/microcritique/la-fille-de-son-pere-le-duc-se-recentre/

[christophe76460]

LE CHRÉTIEN ET L’ÉCOLOGIE

#_Le_chrétien_et_l_écologie #Serge_Rossi Qc_0624

ORIGINE DE L’ÉCOLOGIE

Le mot "écologie" vient des mots grecs "oïkos" et "logos". Ces termes se traduisent littéralement "étude de l’habitat". Ce terme fait son apparition en 1866 par le biologiste Ernst Haeckel, adepte et promoteur de la théorie de l’évolution darwiniste.

BREF HISTORIQUE DE L’ÉCOLOGIE

D’abord, le mot écologie a été donné à l’étude des interactions des êtres vivants avec leur environnement appelée la biodiversité, étant désignée également par le terme "écosystème". En tant que discipline scientifique, l’écologie a construit ses connaissances vers la fin du XIXème siècle.

Puis au XXème siècle, l’écologie s’est liée à la biologie, la génétique, l’éthologie ou comportement animal ou encore la géologie et la climatologie, afin de comprendre la complexité des écosystèmes naturels. La discipline va continuer à se développer jusqu’à aujourd’hui.

Ensuite, l’écologie est devenue une idéologie, elle s’est étendue au-delà de la science par un courant de pensée appelé "l’écologisme" ou "l’écologie politique". Les prémices de l’écologie politique font leur apparition en Occident au XIXème siècle, en réaction à l’événement de l’ère industrielle.

Face aux pollutions et aux dégradations de la nature engendrées par les activités industrielles, de plus en plus d’individus commencèrent à revendiquer une forme de protection de la nature.

Ce courant écologique va se développer tout au long du XXème siècle, mais c’est surtout à partir des années 1960, que ce courant de pensée de protection de la nature va devenir un mouvement politique dont l’objectif consiste à intégrer les enjeux environnementaux à l’organisation politique, économique et sociale.

Pour les idéologues de l’écologie, il s’agit à terme de mettre en place un nouveau modèle de société, une transformation radicale du rapport de l’homme avec son environnement.

Dès 1974, l’élection présidentielle française a été marquée par la première participation d’un candidat écologiste nommé René Dumont. Dans le monde, c’est aussi à cette période que l’écologie politique va prendre de plus en plus d’importance.

Aux États-Unis, la biologiste Rachel Carson publia un livre "Silent Sprint" qui est devenu un best-seller faisant rayonner les enjeux écologiques dans la société. Sa critique des pesticides et de la pollution sur l’environnement a contribué à l’interdiction d’un pesticide en 1972 aux États-Unis appelé le DDT, (Dichloro-Diphénnyl-Trichloroéthane).

Depuis, la prise de conscience écologique n’a cessé de s’étendre parmi les nations, dont l’apparition de certaines figures fédératrices, telles que la jeune suédoise Greta Thunberg ou de la militante écologiste française Camille Étienne. Elles exhortent les nations à prendre conscience du désastre environnemental qui se profile sur la terre entière.

LE CONSTAT DE LA CRISE ÉCOLOGIQUE ET SES DANGERS PLANÉTAIRES

L’écologie est devenue importante, puisqu’en tant que discipline scientifique l’écologie permet de mieux comprendre de quelle manière les êtres vivants interagissent au sein d’un milieu. En tant qu’idéologie politique et sociale, l’écologie a pour mission de protéger les écosystèmes, la biodiversité et l’environnement général.

Néanmoins, les scientifiques alertent régulièrement sur la dégradation écologique à l’échelle de la planète. Plus de 15,000 scientifiques ont signé une tribune médiatique afin de faire prendre conscience des dangers de cette crise écologique globale.

Le CO2 émis par les énergies fossiles et la production électrique mondiale, ainsi que par l’agriculture et les industries humaines contribue à modifier l’équilibre de l’atmosphère et du climat. En conséquence, les températures moyennes augmentent et transforment l’écosystème global de la planète.

Aujourd’hui, on assiste donc à un réchauffement du climat qui concourt à la fonte des glaces et icebergs et à l’élévation du niveau des mers et l’acidation des océans. Ce réchauffement transforme le métabolisme des plantes mettant en danger les populations de la planète.

Mais il n’y a pas que les dangers du CO2. D’autres phénomènes constituent la crise environnementale tels que l’extinction de la biodiversité, la dégradation de la qualité des sols, la pollution des eaux et de l’air, la surexploitation des ressources naturelles, la pêche abusive dans les océans et les mers.

Tous ces phénomènes se conjuguent et mettent en péril l’équilibre des écosystèmes environnementaux, et donc notre capacité à vivre sur la planète.

Devant ce constat d’un désastre planétaire à venir, l’écologie est devenue fondamentale, car en prenant des mesures drastiques pour protéger la nature et l’environnement, elle permet de limiter les dégâts et des catastrophes.

En effet, sans protection de l’environnement, les capacités de la vie en société serait remise en cause et même ne pourrait survivre dans certaines parties du globe. C’est ce qui incite de manière urgente de plus en plus d’experts à considérer l’écologie comme une priorité politique de premier plan.

L’ÉCOLOGIE EST-ELLE DEVENUE UNE NOUVELLE RELIGION ?

La crise écologique a fait émerger plusieurs courants écologistes radicaux dont certains se sont éloignés

de leur vocation première qui consistait à promouvoir "la préservation de l’environnement".

Sommes-nous à l’aube d’une nouvelle religion, avec ses dogmes, ses prêtres ou chamanes, ses prophètes, ses rituels, ses anathèmes et ses excommunications et son eschatologie ?

En tous cas, certains commentateurs véhiculent un discours qui n’a rien de farfelu et qui se répand dans l’air du temps, un message sur la nature, la terre mère nourricière dont l’homme est la principale menace.

Cette vision est portée par les courants de la Deep Ecology, qui enseigne que toute hiérarchie entre les différentes espèces est à proscrire, et que toute vie mérite d’être défendue, celle de la limace comme celle de l’homme. L’homme serait alors une espèce nuisible dont il faudrait envisager sa diminution ou sa disparition.

Cette croyance s’exprime dans "l’antispécisme", qui à l’exemple de l’antiracisme qui se bat contre les discriminations raciales, les antispécistes combattent les discriminations sur les espèces. Ils revendiquent l’idée qu’il ne faudrait plus dire les animaux, mais "les animaux non humains", puisque pour eux l’homme serait un animal.

On pourrait dire que cette idéologie est grotesque et n’est pas à prendre au sérieux, mais la philosophe Ariane Nicolas met en alerte dans son livre sur "l’imposture antispéciste", (Ed. Desclée de Brouwer), car ce serait oublier que l’antispécisme met en branle le fondement même de l’humanité.

D’autres observateurs rappellent que si cette idéologie a été considérée comme loufoque, elle est parvenue à s’imposer dans les universités et les médias. Son hégémonie est immense, car beaucoup s’accordent malheureusement à penser que l’identité sexuelle n’est qu’une construction sociale.

Et si l’écologisme venait combler un vide apparu avec le désenchantement consumériste ? Par lequel l’humanité perd son intérêt pour la vie matérielle et serait en quête d’autres valeurs. Certains commentateurs ont constaté que l’écologie joue le rôle d’une nouvelle religion ayant un discours écologiste qui suit le mode d’action du catholicisme et a les mêmes conséquences.

En effet, les croyances religieuses ont toujours un impact sur les comportements de la vie quotidienne notamment sur l’alimentation qui consiste à faire maigre le vendredi et le temps du Carême, le Ramadan et le Halal pour les musulmans, le jeûne et Casher pour les Juifs. Le discours écologique l’a rejoint avec des préceptes alimentaires, même s’ils ne sont pas fondés sur la foi, mais sur des données prétendues scientifiques.

Les partisans mobilisés à cette idéologie sont empreints du savoir faire du catholicisme, puisqu’on assiste aux sanctuaires de la biodiversité, à la conversion au bio, à l’apocalypse du réchauffement climatique, dont la suédoise Greta Thunberg accuse le monde de faire n’importe quoi avec son environnement.

Alors, maintenant, sans tarder, il faut aller vers la rédemption, non pas de son âme, mais de la nature. Le monde moderne court dans tous les sens, pour apaiser sa conscience.

Certains pensent à des vertus chrétiennes telles que la tempérance et la prudence et d’autres tiennent compte de l’enseignement de François d’Assise qui appelait le soleil son frère et la lune sa soeur et qui avait pris conscience que la nature était vivante, car il parlait aux oiseaux et les invitait à louer Dieu.

Finalement, si l’écologie est devenue une religion, elle n’est pas nouvelle, puisque ceux qui prennent cette voie cherchent leur justification par leurs oeuvres. L’écologisme avec ses dispositifs religieux propose seulement un horizon terrestre alors que l’avenir chrétien est céleste.

Cette idéologie humaine, comme beaucoup d’autres, montre ses limites et, tôt ou tard, suscitera la déception de ses propres adeptes.

LE CHRÉTIEN DOIT-IL SE PRÉOCCUPER DE LA CRISE ÉCOLOGIQUE ?

D’abord, il faut dire que le monde se préoccupe des phénomènes écologiques, de l’avenir de la planète et de la gestion des dangers constatés sous l’angle scientifique, politique et idéologique, et rien de plus.

En réalité, le regard du monde est fermé, il ne peut pas avoir une vision des choses finales. Car cette vision n’appartient qu’à ceux qui font entendre une voix biblique sur ce sujet, la voix qui vient de Dieu.

Même si les messages et les avertissements, les lois et les actions scientifiques et politiques sont nécessaires au respect de la nature et peuvent apporter des améliorations significatives aux écosystèmes menacés, nous allons considérer ce que disent les Écritures à propos de la terre dont les politiques de ce monde devraient s’en inspirer davantage dans leurs décisions, car elles décrivent la vérité de notre planète et révèlent son apparition jusqu’à sa disparition.

De plus, même si les Écrits bibliques ne demandent aucune mobilisation de la part des chrétiens pour protéger la nature, chacun d’eux respecte son environnement proche par des oeuvres cachées ou peu manifestes, car il considère que la nature est la création merveilleuse de Dieu.

« Et cela fut ainsi. Dieu vit tout ce qu’il avait fait, et voici, cela était très bon. Ainsi, il y eut un soir et il y eut un matin, ce fut le sixième jour. Ainsi furent achevés les cieux et la terre, et toute leur armée. Dieu acheva au septième jour son oeuvre, qu’il avait faite, et il se reposa au septième jour de toute son oeuvre, qu’il avait faite. Dieu bénit le septième jour, et il le sanctifia, parce qu’en ce jour il se reposa de toute son oeuvre qu’il avait créée en la faisant. » Genèse 1.31, Genèse 2.1, 2

En effet, le chrétien vit le présent façonné par l’Esprit de Vérité parce qu’il est devenu un des fils de Dieu par sa grâce et sa miséricorde qui a été manifestées en Jésus-Christ.

Le chrétien construit son futur non pas sur les traditions humaines ou sur les idéologies incertaines des sages et des intelligents, mais sur les promesses de Dieu. Il fait confiance dans la Parole révélée de Dieu qui dit que la terre est sa création, et qu’il a fixé ses ressources et ses limites. Donc, elle n’est pas comme certains le croient le fruit de hasard, mais d’une création ordonnée.

« Le Dieu qui a fait le monde et tout ce qui s’y trouve, étant le Seigneur du ciel et de la terre, n’habite point dans des temples faits de main d’homme, il n’est point servi par des mains humaines, comme s’il avait besoin de quoi que ce soit, lui qui donne à tous la vie, la respiration, et toutes choses.

Il a fait que tous les hommes, sortis d’un seul sang, habitassent sur toute la surface de la terre, ayant déterminé la durée des temps et les bornes de leur demeure, il a voulu qu’ils cherchassent le Seigneur, et qu’ils s’efforçassent de le trouver en tâtonnant, bien qu’il ne soit pas loin de chacun de nous, car en lui nous avons la vie, le mouvement et l’être. » Actes 17.24-28

La vision future qui échappe aux incrédules et aux athées mais que le chrétien a adopté dans sa vie présente donne un rapport à la création qui est complètement différent de la vision du monde.

Les Écritures nous donnent une vision certaine et différente de celle de l’idéologie écologique, car elles décrivent la vision de Dieu qui ne se forme pas selon les pensées humaines, mais d’après un dessein qui s’est accompli avec sagesse et qui impacte l’ensemble de l’univers créé par Dieu.

Le chrétien connaît ce plan divin qui consiste à mettre toutes choses dans les cieux et sur la terre sous l’autorité de Jésus-Christ, le Fils de Dieu.

« En lui, nous avons la rédemption par son sang, la rémission des péchés, selon la richesse de sa grâce, que Dieu a répandue abondamment sur nous par toute espèce de sagesse et d’intelligence, nous faisant connaître le mystère de sa Volonté, selon le bienveillant dessein qu’il avait formé en lui-même, pour le mettre à exécution lorsque les temps seraient accomplis, de réunir toutes choses en Christ, celles qui sont dans les cieux et celles qui sont sur la terre. » Éphésiens 1.7-10

« Car mes pensées ne sont pas vos pensées, et vos voies ne sont pas mes voies, dit l’Éternel. Autant les cieux sont élevés au-dessus de la terre, autant mes voies sont élevées au-dessus de vos voies, et mes pensées au-dessus de vos pensées. » Ésaïe 55.8, 9

Depuis le commencement jusqu’à aujourd’hui, la création toute entière manifeste son existence par ses interactions entre les hommes et Dieu, entre les animaux et Dieu, entre les hommes entre eux, entre les hommes et la nature.

Tout ce qui a été créé par Dieu est en relation et participe à son dessein qui comporte plusieurs étapes dont la création, la chute d’Adam et Ève, la rédemption et la glorification.

Même si la chute de l’homme a entraîné un égarement de l’homme dans sa conduite, une disparition de certaines espèces animales, ainsi qu’une dégradation de la terre et de la nature, toute la création fait partie du plan de Dieu et nous donne une perspective heureuse de l’écologie.

Les Écritures nous révèlent le destin de notre planète. Donc, pour répondre à la question, le chrétien doit-il se préoccuper de la crise écologique ? Oui, parce que c’est la création de Dieu, mais il ne s’en préoccupe pas comme les écologistes et leur idéologie politique, car il veut pratiquer les oeuvres que Dieu a préparées d’avance, sachant qu’il n’y a aucun commandement connu qui puisse mesurer l’investissement de chacun à gérer la création, mais plutôt à parler de sa rédemption future.

Cependant, le chrétien reconnaît que la création dans laquelle il se trouve est l’oeuvre de Dieu, et que durant le temps de son pèlerinage terrestre, il ne peut pas montrer une posture de retrait ni de mépris envers cette oeuvre divine merveilleuse, car il est écrit : « Les cieux sont les cieux de l’Éternel, mais il a donné la terre aux fils de l’homme. » Psaume 115.16

C’est pourquoi, sans interférer dans les décisions politiques et sans devenir un militant idéaliste, il apporte par ses oeuvres, sa part de respect à la création toute entière, selon la sagesse que Dieu lui a donné qui peut être dans certains cas une force éducative auprès des enfants ou de proposition pour améliorer un environnement régional.

En effet, Dieu a délégué aux hommes sa propriété. Il s’agit de comprendre son fonctionnement, lui accorder du temps et de l’attention, l’admirer, pour voir à travers elle l’infinie sagesse de Dieu, la cultiver et faire croître, en prendre soin, distinguer l’oeuvre de Dieu et celle des hommes, et ramasser les fruits de ses ressources.

« La colère de Dieu se révèle du ciel contre toute impiété et toute injustice des hommes qui retiennent injustement la Vérité captive, car ce qu’on peut connaître de Dieu est manifeste pour eux, Dieu le leur ayant fait connaître. En effet, les perfections invisibles de Dieu, sa puissance éternelle et sa divinité, se voient comme à l’oeil, depuis la création du monde, quand on les considère dans ses ouvrages. » Romains 1.18-20

Dans la vie en Christ, nous avons la liberté de mener nos actions en fonction de nos moyens et de nos possibilités. L’apôtre Paul avait exhorté les chrétiens de Corinthe à ne pas changer de situation. « Que chacun, frères, demeure devant Dieu dans l’état où il était lorsqu’il a été appelé. » I Corinthiens 7.24

C’est pourquoi, le chrétien fait des oeuvres diverses, jour après jour, pour son prochain, pour le salut de son âme et pour le bien de la création. Ainsi, il remplit des oeuvres nobles, car elles contribuent toutes à la gloire de Dieu. « Et quoi que vous fassiez en parole et en oeuvre, faites tout au nom du Seigneur Jésus, en rendant par lui des actions de grâces à Dieu le Père. » Colossiens 3.17

LA VISION ESCHATOLOGIQUE DE LA TERRE

Les Écritures nous rappellent que la création a été soumise à la vanité. La terre porte en elle les effets désastreux de la chute d’Adam et Ève initiée par le diable, le serpent ancien. Dès lors, les hommes se sont égarés et éloignés de la sagesse divine, ils ont perdu le sens de la vie.

Leur intelligence s’est obscurcie au profit de richesses incertaines, et par un excès de convoitises, ils ont contribué à la destruction de la terre. Pourtant, une chose est certaine, chaque être humain, puissant ou misérable, sait que le destin de l’homme est lié au destin de la terre. Si la terre n’a plus l’oxygène nécessaire, si les eaux sont polluées, la vie humaine est menacée.

D’ailleurs, certains ont commencé à chercher les possibilités de vie sur une autre planète. Certains veulent s’affranchir de la terre pour pouvoir vivre dans un autre lieu, mais leur espérance est incertaine.

Néanmoins, ceux qui cherchent un autre habitat montrent que la destruction de la terre est inévitable et que son avenir est inéluctable, même si elle peut être retardée de quelques décennies par les bonnes consciences.

Cependant, cette destruction annoncée par l’homme n’arrivera pas, malgré l’égoïsme humain et la recherche de son confort sans frein, car le destin de la terre n’appartient pas aux hommes, mais au Seigneur Jésus-Christ.

En effet, d’après les Écritures, La vision eschatologique de la terre qui annonce les choses finales ne va pas dans le sens des scientifiques, des moralistes accusateurs et des politiciens, ni de ceux qui voudraient quitter cette terre, car malgré leur dévouement et leurs actions.

La création toute entière est destinée à un jugement de Dieu pour se débarrasser des oeuvres impies et injustes des hommes et pour ensuite connaître la gloire de ceux qui ont été renouvelés par l’Esprit de Dieu.

Le renouveau des cieux et de la terre était annoncé dans les Psaumes et s’accomplira avec l’avènement du Seigneur Jésus. Il viendra pour ressusciter les morts et changer le corps des vivants lors de sa venue, mais aussi pour juger les oeuvres des hommes.

La vision prophétique révèle que les cieux visibles et la terre d’à-présent préparent une nouvelle terre et de nouveaux cieux, comme une femme enceinte soupire et souffre avant de donner naissance à son enfant.

« Tu as anciennement fondé la terre, et les cieux sont l’ouvrage de tes mains. Ils périront, mais tu subsisteras, ils s’useront tous comme un vêtement, tu les changeras comme un habit, et ils seront changés. Mais toi, tu restes le même, et tes années ne finiront point. » Psaume 102.26-28 cf. Hébreux 1.10-12

« Le jour du Seigneur viendra comme un voleur, en ce jour, les cieux passeront avec fracas, les éléments embrasés se dissoudront, et la terre avec les oeuvres qu’elle renferme sera consumée.

Puis donc que toutes ces choses doivent se dissoudre, quels ne devez-vous pas être par la sainteté de la conduite et par la piété, attendant et hâtant l’avènement du jour de Dieu, jour à cause duquel les cieux enflammés se dissoudront et les éléments embrasés se fondront ? Mais nous attendons, selon sa promesse, de nouveaux cieux et une nouvelle terre, où la justice habitera. » II Pierre 3.10-13

« Aussi la création attend-elle avec un ardent désir la révélation des fils de Dieu. Car la création a été soumise à la vanité, non de son gré, mais à cause de celui qui l’y a soumise, avec l’espérance qu’elle aussi sera affranchie de la servitude de la corruption, pour avoir part à la liberté de la gloire des enfants de Dieu. Or, nous savons que, jusqu’à ce jour, la création toute entière soupire et souffre les douleurs de l’enfantement. » Romains 8.19-22

Serge Rossi

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