#cour des miracles

[mask131]

Fun fact: Everybody knows the Parisian "Cour des Miracles", right? But there's a funny thing: this Court of beggars and thieves and crooks seems to be doomed to the curse of anachronism. Because in almost all of its big fictional depictions, the Court is placed within eras where it is not supposed to exist - from "Assassin's Creed Unity", where the Court is still here in 1791 when it was definitively destroyed in the 1780s, to Victor Hugo's own "Notre-Dame de Paris" where the Court appears in 1482... While the Court historically appeared around the 1630s - maybe a bit earlier, but it was definitively in the beginning of the 17th century.

[saintrabouin]

Les leaders de la Cour des Miracles

*

@saintrabouin on Twitter

[notredamearchives]

Jay and ensemble perform "La Cour des Miracles" at the Amphithéâtre Cogeco in Trois-Rivières, Québec, on September 12, 2022. Recorded by me.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

I'm going to Give The Fuck Up

[dieuxcerf]

y’a une rue à Lyon qui s’appelle rue du béguin je suis fan !!!!!

[thebutcher-5]

Notre-Dame de Paris - Victor Hugo

Benvenuti o bentornati sul nostro blog. Nello scorso articolo abbiamo deciso di continuare il nostro viaggio nel mondo della commedia e abbiamo parlato di un’opera creata da un gruppo comico che ho sempre amato, Monty Python e il Santo Graal. La storia ha come protagonista Re Artù che un giorno decide di voler riunire i cavalieri più valorosi del regno intorno alla tavola rotonda e parte alla…

[cinevoyageuses]

🎥 "One day a wise man told me that you were a real miracle. I should have listened to him." Warrior Nun (2020-...)

Episode 1x10 - Revelations 2:10

🎬 The filming location: We take you to the Real Fábrica de Tabacos at the University of Seville. Some small scenes of episode 1x09 - Corinthians 10:4 took place indoors but the biggest takes place outdoors, in the final episode, in the first two courtyards of the main entrance of the building.

🎞️ Warrior Nun is one of our favorites of 2020, so when we saw that the most epic scene of season 1 took place in Seville we jumped at the chance 😁

Did you watch the show? We hope Simon Barry will find it a new home ♥️

-

🎥 "Un jour, un homme sage m'a dit que tu étais un véritable miracle. J'aurais dû l'écouter." Warrior Nun (2020-...)

Episode 1x10 - Révélations 2:10

🎬 Le lieu de tournage : On vous emmène à la Real Fábrica de Tabacos à l'Université de Séville. Quelques petites scènes de l'épisode 1x09 - Corinthiens 10:4 se sont déroulées à l'intérieur mais le plus gros se passe en extérieur, dans l'episode final, dans les deux premières cours de l'entrée principale du bâtiment.

🎞️ Warrior Nun est un de nos coups de coeur 2020, alors quand on a vu que la scène la plus épique de la saison 1 s'est déroulée à Séville on a sauté sur l'occasion 😁

Vous avez regardé la série ? On espère que Simon Barry lui trouvera une nouvelle maison ♥️

Follow us on Instagram for more filming locations: cinevoyageuses

[monaluisa]

Every Song on the Notre Dame de Paris Soundtrack as Memes because I have writer's block again (Act 1: Outverture-Fatalité)

Ouverture:

Le temps des cathédrales:

Les sans-papiers:

Intervention de Frollo:

Bohémienne:

Esmeralda tu sais:

Ces diamants-là:

La fête des fous:

Le pape des fous:

La sorcière:

L'enfant trouvé:

Les portes de Paris:

Tentative d'enlèvement:

La cour des miracles:

Le mot Phoebus:

Beau comme le soleil:

Déchiré:

Anarkia:

A boire:

Belle:

Ma maison c'est ta maison:

Ave Maria païen:

Si tu pouvais voir en moi:

Tu vas me détruire:

L'ombre:

Le val d'amour:

La volupté:

Fatalité:

[coolvieilledentelle]

Décembre est la fin qui ressemble à un début. Décembre remplit nos cœurs de miséricorde et d'humilité. Décembre est le temps des miracles, le temps des contes de fées, le temps de la magie et des cadeaux. Un cadeau que nous avons attendu toute l'année. Parfois le plus cher à notre coeur. Une série de moments magiques pour les familles. Les gestes du cœur, l'affection, la chaleur du mois de décembre sont disposés de manière tentante dans le collier le plus exquis. Un collier qui illumine l'arrière-plan enneigé et réfracte nos rayons de soleil préférés dans un arc-en-ciel coloré d'espoirs pour un début coloré. Décembre brille de toutes les couleurs sur le fond blanc… Comme une feuille sur laquelle on écrit les moments passés et les projets d'avenir… entre les lignes du bilan. L'évaluation pour savoir si nous avons été bons, si nous avons été plus heureux au cours de l'année écoulée, ce que nous serons au cours de la nouvelle année… Nous colorons de nouveaux rêves, et ce que nous voulons oublier reste sous la ligne. Nous effaçons les attentes erronées pour faire de la place dans nos yeux pour de nouveaux couchers de soleil magnifiques , mais seulement pour les retrouver après des levers de soleil encore plus beaux. Décembre est la flamme dans la cheminée, qui est allumée par les étincelles de nos sourires, par l'affection dans nos yeux, par les mains tendues avec gratitude. Décembre a la couleur de l'amour et du vin rouge. Il nous enivre au fil des jours du calendrier. Et il nous rend réels. Il nous fait revivre nos souvenirs d'enfance. Il nous donne de l'humanité, de la foi, de l'espoir et du partage ! Décembre est notre prière… Ne pas être seul ! Soyons meilleurs ! Que nos enfants soient plus heureux ! Que nos proches soient en bonne santé ! Que nos cœurs soient pleins ! Que la route soit lumineuse ! Les gens - bénis… Qu'il en soit ainsi !

Charlotte

[pearlywritings]

I tend to listen to music when I clean the apartment, and "Ou est-elle?" from the musical Notre Dame de Paris came up. And I was like "damn, imagine this with either Neuvillette or Wriothesley x reader"

Où est-elle ton Esmeralda? (Where is your Esmeralda?)

Les rues de Paris sont tristes sans elle. (The streets of Paris are sad without her).

And

Où est-elle mon Esmeralda? (Where is my Esmeralda?)

La Cour de Miracle à perdu sa reine. (The Court of Miracles lost its queen).

I'm just

Thinking thoughts.

Honestly can't wait for Fontaine to come out. I feel like I am gonna write for this region on the sole power of songs lol.

[bakawitch]

Miraculous Mortality Parasite Users

(No particular order of importance, up to change)

*TBR - To Be Revealed

**TBS - To Be Selected

Dove - Marinette/Mireille Qian - l'Œillet/Eyelet

Snail - Adrien/René le Blanc - Helix Vert

Cat - TBR*

Dragonfly - TBR

Wolf - TBR

Rabbit - TBR

Deer - TBR

Fox - TBR

Ferret - TBR

Fungus - TBR

Anglerfish - Ondine/Margot Fontaine - Sirena

Owl - Chloé/Cornelia Neuville - Strixelle

Coyote - Claudia/Jaqueline Ramage - Brigand (OC) @wisteriasymphony

Butterfly - Lívia/Illangó Bíborka - Fair Malison (OC)

Jellyfish - TBR

Black Widow - TBR

White Bat - Felix/Asher Blackvale - Noctule

Snapping Turtle - TBR

Octopus - TBR

Chameleon - Manon/Clarabelle Beaufoy - Princess Blissa

Wild Dog - Ivan/Piers Faucher - Hell Hound

Moth - Juleka/Rose Rock - Mothra

Silk Moth - TK/Kingsley Rucker - Hexerei (YGO)

Lanternfly - Beau/Cleé Malachai - Phthonus (OC)

Albino Peacock - TBR

Black Goat - TBR

Spider - Sabrina/Delancey de la Cour - Agent S

Fly - TBR

Cattle - TBR

Platypus - Inaaya 'Aya' Acharya-Lockwood - Ekaanta (OC) @kissofchrysantheum

Lice - Hyperion Acharya-Lockwood - Ichor (OC) @kissofchrysantheum

Panther -TBR

Snake - Adalheidis 'Alice/Heidi' Exton - Ophedia (OC) @kissofchrysantheum

Hare - TBR

Mouse - Camilla Higashikata - Cheer (OC) @yukii0nna

Jaguar - TBS**

Hawk - TBR

Dragon - TBR

Possum - TBS

Lionfish - TBS

Rook - TBS

Shark - TBS

Hornet - TBS

Eel - TBS

Mortality Miracle Box

[deadboyfriendd]

Brave | E.M.

I write this lil fic-let one shot Drabble thing for @luveline . Jade has been providing us with some *Chefs Kiss* top notch work always. I saw someone finally ask her what she wanted to see written, so I snaked one of the prompts from her response. ily Jade thank you for putting out banger after banger for us <3

There is a stark difference in your personage when you cross the threshold of the nearly-cardboard trailer walls. It was as if they were a portal and not mere plywood and tin. Corrugated bravery. A diamond in the rough. 

He took notice of the way your legs crossed at the ankles instead of the knees. You breathed a little deeper and hunched a little further. You discarded your own rigidity at the door like a woolen coat, discarding the itch of your own painful self-awareness with it. 

Out there, your words were careful and calculated, kept at a minimal volume and never daring. Your words came out in the most Times New Roman-esque way he could possibly think of. Your face was a stone, keeping every semblance of composure you could muster at any given time. Out there, you were graceful. 

Here, though, you seemed more organic. Your words were slightly more abstract, coming out of your throat as it came to your mind. Here, you were more obnoxious, you laughed from your core, your body moved with it in a calculated dance. Your face was a mirror image of your brain. 

He felt lucky. He was a Cour de Miracles insider watching you peel the leprosy-laden sore of your own hyper awareness back. He never looked for too long, this rare state still wavering in your own insecurity. .

Eddie ebbed and flowed with whatever person you decided to be that day. He always had a coat to match your hat. He loved every version of you, even if he did it in silence. 

But tonight, you were a republic of voices. He knew how you would react to this mixtape- you always reacted this way to this mixtape. Head accepted long ago that music was your first love, and that even he couldn’t scrape past it in the confines of your heart. 

He laid back, the hum of the speakers fading into the background as he tried to feel the vibrato of your voice in his chest- so stark from your usual barely-above-whisper notes. 

“I love when you’re like this.”

The phrase slipped from his mouth- his speculation missing the filter and funneling into the direct pipeline from his brain to his mouth and spilling from his lips like a broken dam. 

“Like what?” You questioned, body already buzzing less than it had been seconds ago. 

“When you get excited. You talk louder.” He explained, knowing he was already in deeper than he expected. 

“Oh… sorr-”

“No, honey. Not sorry. Never have to be sorry with me.” 

He was quick to reach out, arms sliding across your triceps and around your back- arms a blanket of please, thank you, I’m sorry, and I love you. Moreso the latter part. 

Your head rested just below his collarbone, on the plush of his chest. All of the smells that made you wrinkle your nose in distaste now smelled like home. Behind the fresh burn of the still-lingering cigarette smoke, Eddie smelled so distinctly human. He radiated warmth like the best parts of a sunburn. He was all of the best things about the human experience in one tangible being. 

“Hey, Eddie?” You asked, pulling your face off of the soft warmth of him. 

“Yes?” He asked, chin wrinkling when he pulled back to took at you- his arms never leaving your back fully. 

“Do you like me better when I’m… ugh, I don’t know… like this?” You asked, sheepishly, your arms snaking between two bodies to bury your face in. 

“What do you mean?” He ran his hand gently up and down your back, slow, in a you’re okay kind of way. 

“Do you wish I was braver?” You asked, noise muffled from between your hands. He reached up to pull them from your face, wrists locked in a grasp. 

“Sweetheart, absolutely not. Where did this come from?” His gaze was intense, eyes worried and brows furrowed in concern. His expression, though worrisome, radiated nothing but love from its confines. 

“I don’t know, I just- ugh, don’t you wish you were with someone like you?” You asked, more broken than before. You willed the tears not to fill your eyes, especially not at something a remedial as the tone of your voice. 

“Like me how?” He mimicked your tone, his own growing soft to match yours. 

“Oh come on, Eddie. Loud, walking around on tables and up on a stage… Brave.”

“No. I don’t. I fell in love with you. Didn’t I?” He asked, dropping his grip on one of your hands to smooth the hair on the back of your head in a loving cradle. He couldn’t help but to press a kiss, molasses sweet, to your forehead. 

“But do you love this part of me more?” You asked him, sheepishly. He felt his heart shatter in his chest. He wanted to rip it out and eat it if it meant you never felt like this again. 

“No.” He said, pressing a kiss to your lips. And then another. And then another. Each one a bandage for every pinprick against your own heart from insecurity. 

“I love every part of you.”

[dolphin1812]

Hugo’s framing of the sewers as ancient and irrational, drawing both on facts – they date back to before the 19th century – and notions of Progress that contrast “modern” Europe with its past and “the Orient.” Such stereotypes play into Orientalism, as we’ve seen before with Hugo’s arguments about Progress, so this isn’t entirely new.

Much of this section takes me back to Patron Minette, with the idea of a darker, “unenlighted” Paris underneath the surface. This paragraph in particular wouldn’t have been out of place there:

“The sewer of Paris has been an ancient and formidable thing. It has been a sepulchre, it has served as an asylum. Crime, intelligence, social protest, liberty of conscience, thought, theft, all that human laws persecute or have persecuted, is hidden in that hole; the maillotins in the fourteenth century, the tire-laine of the fifteenth, the Huguenots in the sixteenth, Morin’s illuminated in the seventeenth, the chauffeurs [brigands] in the eighteenth. A hundred years ago, the nocturnal blow of the dagger emerged thence, the pickpocket in danger slipped thither; the forest had its cave, Paris had its sewer. Vagrancy, that Gallic picareria, accepted the sewer as the adjunct of the Cour des Miracles, and at evening, it returned thither, fierce and sly, through the Maubuée outlet, as into a bed-chamber.”

The sewer is a vector for crime, yet it’s also a vessel for change, thus containing a glimmer of hope not found in Patron Minette’s depths. The sewer is almost religiously framed in how truthful it is, with Hugo linking it to a “confession.” That term, though, also suggests that it’s honest about society’s sins, once again emphasizing that the sewer is a mirror to social ills like the waste of the poor. 

Also: “A sewer is a cynic. It tells everything.”

I can’t read “cynic” without thinking of Grantaire, especially as this section comes so soon after his death. In “telling everything,” the sewer may be as incomprehensible as Grantaire’s speeches, but it’s also not useless. Grantaire reached for change with his death, so the sewer can’t be dismissed, either.

I unfortunately don’t know all the historical references here, but they generally serve to confirm the tumultuous history of the sewers.

[profenscene]

Mercredi 21 juin

Hier, les élèves de l'atelier théâtre d'Alrest et les quatrièmes ont eu le droit à la grande expérience : celle de la journée dans une salle de spectacle, répétitions et prestation le soir.

Elle est invariablement la même, invariablement différente.

La même : quand ils découvrent leur terrain de jeu pour les heures à venir. La scène, qu'ils osent à peine effleurer le matin et qu'ils parcourent en courant dans tous les sens à la fin de l'après-midi. Les fauteuils pliants dans lesquels ils se lovent au fil de leur fatigue, c'est long six heures de répétition. La régie, que les élèves désignés comme techniciens apprendront à manipuler ; ils adopteront, le soir de la représentation, la même sérénité un peu bourrine qu'ont les professionnels. Ce boulot vous possède.

Différente : des instants uniques. Ollie, incapable d'émettre un seul son quand il arrive sur scène. Je lui prête un manteau rouge incroyable, lui met un pistolet en plastique dans la main, je me colle au devant de la scène. "Vous me parlez, juste à moi." Le soir venu, il sortira son texte. Liliana, élève adorable, qui récitait son texte comme absolument tous les autres textes qu'elle apprenait depuis le CP, et qui, le soir venu, se transforme en une version adolescente d'Emmanuelle Béart dans Huit Femmes. Gilliat, qui canalise son stress en tapant de toutes ses forces dans les syllabes de Corneille, Rodrigue se mue en un rappeur de la Prohibition, avec sa chemise son revolver.

Et puis, comme à chaque fois, ce grand moment terrifiant. Quand, après six heures de répétitions, le rideau s'ouvre et qu'absolument plus personne ne peut les aider. S'il y a un trou, un imprévu, une catastrophe, on ne peut compter que sur soi et ses partenaires. Plus d'adultes, plus de prof. Et on découvre toute sa force, toute sa puissance, parce qu'on est en train de tomber. Dans cette chute, si on déploie ses ailes, on remontera.

Ce moment est un peu pour les spectateurs, bien sûr, et totalement pour ces jeunes comédiens. Les règles s'étiolent, ils accèdent à une autre partie d'eux-mêmes. "Ça passe vite, ça passe trop vite !" souffle Chimène à son retour dans les coulisses.

Ça passe si vite en effet. Toutes ces semaines de boulot, ces permanences piratées pour répéter les textes, ces heures du midi où on avalait beaucoup trop vite nos repas pour avoir le temps de filer le texte...

Le salut, et le rideau qui tombe.

C'est terminé. Le moment est passé et, déjà, il faut passer à autre chose. "C'était le dernier cours de théâtre", me dit Lionel, affalé sur la scène vidé de son énergie. Toute cette force, cette énergie, tout ce miracle s'est évaporé. Littéralement. Ce qui s'est passé n'a pas disparu, mais est devenu invisible. Constitutif de l'air que respire ces jeunes gens, de leurs atomes.

C'était un grand et beau chaos. Puisse-t-il résonner longtemps à leurs tempes et à leurs vies.

[doyouknowthisdragartist]

[maryeve-the-bitch]

The masterpiece

Get the Italian version as well.