#niemcewicz

[dzierzbia]

GIRLS FIGHTING!!!!

Kurwaaaaaaa

[niemcewitch]

Color wheel with characters requested on my instagram 🫶🌈

[gingergentleman]

Translation:

Thomas Jefferson: in relationship with Tadeusz Kościuszko

Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz: what is this

Thomas Jefferson: sorry i must've clicked somenthing i dont know what it is

[speakingbooks]

Miłość

Miłość jest jak cień człowieka, szkoda, kto dla niej wiek trwoni. Kiedy ją gonisz, ucieka, kiedy uciekasz, to goni. 

[kiliane]

Witam! Którą z niepoprawnych wersji zapisu 'Niemcewicz' uważasz za najzabawniejszą? Nie mogę się zdecydować...

Dzień dobry, z wielką chęcią przyjmę wszystkie znane Ci warianty! Co by nie ukrywać, moja wiedza na ten temat nie jest aż tak rozległa, dlatego chętnie poszerzę horyzonty

[emilia-chopin]

"A Musical story by Chopin" - Andrew Carrick Gow

As is commonly known, musical life flourished in the Chopins' apartment, and often after reading "Historical Songs" by Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz, Fryderyk "painted" them with music. Stories about such patriotic evenings in the Chopin house inspired the British painter Andrew Carrick Gow, who in 1879 year painted "A Musical Story by Chopin." While little Fryderyk plays the piano, his father, sitting under the window with a book in his hand, listens attentively. Around the pianist stand or sit deeply listening boys - neighbors and boarders. One of them – Marylski – wrote this about Fryderyk's evening playing:

"At dusk, when we had free time from studying, we talked about events from Polish history, such as death of the king Władysław Warneńczyk, Żółkiewski, the battles fought by our leaders, and that's all young Chopin played the piano. We cried more than once while listening to this music."

[korewritingandstuff]

The Baron de Viomenil

Based on that time Hamilton said he talked with a ghost but actually he talks with the lover he lost.

I don't have enough words to thank @benoname, who read and corrected this.

***

Hamilton is a man of good character, or at least, that’s what he likes to believe. All the gossip and arguments against people? Even against his political similars? Well deserved and well done, if they ever could meet him deeper, in more friendly manners anyone could realize he has an extraordinarily charm and it’s nice man and good company, after all, he’s warm with his friendships. 

Although this, more than a show on how nice he can be, an act of his good temper and mind, this action could rather fit in the kind of jokes a young man or even a child would do and not the first minister of the Nation. However, this plan had been liked by Mr. Church and a friend of General Kosciuszko therefore at least, he can say he isn’t alone in his genius or madness.

“I’m afraid I’ll make you all amazed, and the true is I have some magical charm to talk with the no-alive,” admits an afternoon the honorable Kosciuszko’s friend, Niemcewicz, to the children of Phillip Church. There’re amused faces, surprised faces and little glances filled with fascination.

“And it’s true, your father can give to you the testimony of this,” insists Niemcewicz.

Phillip Church takes the word. “Indeed it is, he has shown me my calligraphy professor who has already ended his terrene way almost a decade ago.”

With that, the trusted testimony of their father, the faces change and amazed, now admirating the strange power he carries but at the same time, horrified for the broken veil between the world of the life and the death.

The youngest children look totally terrified with this new information, scared of when they’ll enter a room and find a spirit walking among the furniture. Their way of acting is adopting a safe place behind their father and oldest brothers, carefully avoiding Niemcewicz and the ghostly presences he calls.

And that isn’t even the rest of the joke! It still doesn’t have the Hamilton enter, who unluckily have to wait for another chance, let the little story grow up, the children get fun and scares trying to avoid spirits, betting if the curtain that just moved was the wind or something else, they get fun and emotion telling the tale to their friends, Niemcewicz going to the Church’s house and being the reason of lots of childish uproars. Even Phillip himself narrates it to his closest friends.

The rest of the joke is programmed for a dinner placed in Mr. Church place; the General sits at the side of Phillip, and Hamilton’s taking a place two chairs of distance, they eat meat, asparagus and potatoes, well seasoned and letting the room fill with the smells of delicious flavors. The children, even if they look scared, they’re full of emotion and curiosity for Niemcewicz, who eats quietly without having called yet the spirits of another world, enjoying the food and gaining energy for his magical performance.

When the food is ending and the sounds or cutlery are slowly stopping, the talk slips to trivials topics, like Niemcewicz’s abilities; when Phillips asks for a magical talk is the sign for Hamilton to get out of that room, preparing himself for his part of the joke.

“If you excuse me, I’ll go to get some air to another room,” he says, explaining that the heat from the candles it’s starting to suffocate.

They offer him a glass of water, he rejects it and starts his way to the library, bathed in moonly light and the soft heat, and light of the candles, all dominated with the quietness of the night.

Now his task is easy, close the door between giggles and take a sit in the room in a place where he can still hear the conversation on the table, then, when it’s his moment to make his apparition, looked all surprised and amazed, says he just talked with the Baron de Viomenil, and the rest will be about highlighting the story while Niemcewicz talks with humbleness about his sixth sense.

A few moments pass before he hears the chimes from the table, the start of the “ritual”, a creative invention which adds credibility to the story.

“Now you spend your time invoking the dead, my dear boy?” Asks a voice at his backs, full of fun and with a strange tone, a tone which should be impossible to have, a tone of life and vitality.

Hamilton doesn’t turn, the surprise and the new emotions are grasping to his bones, his body totally frozen, a bad combination of nocturnal cold and his accelerated heart crying. It these moments, he isn’t surprised by the presence of another one in the room, he’s moved by how similar that voice is to his Laurens’.

His good Laurens, his perfect but dead Laurens.

His Laurens who should be finding peace in heaven, who should be being accompanied by all the happiness that the terrene world refused him. His Laurens who should have been forgotten by his mind, who shouldn’t be close to puncture the memory of him, to bleed out his heart with his sole presence.

However, that who sounds so similar to his Laurens is at a short distance from him, so short the distance that can be easily eliminated with a pair of steps. Soft, dedicated and galant steps, his Laurens just leaves the sound of his coat moving at the time he gets close to him, solid and real.

Hamilton would like to do the thing any sane man would do in this situation, running away without looking back at the dead’s appearance, but very much at his pity (and his happiness and sadness) he isn’t a sane man around Laurens. His good John, his John who is the desire and the weakness of his mind, the destructor of the organized mental kingdoms he creates. The secret desire his heart had kept no matter the years and the distances, his Laurens, his heart wishes to fall down for him more than anyone, more than nothing.

So, if the suspicious presence at his back can be remotely his Laurens, no matter what, he’s taking it, no matter if his nails bleed or if his eyes cry, he has the chance, the merciful chance of giving to his heart the most little pound of the purest happiness his J brings.

But oh, fool heart, so scared but so excited at the same time, so nervous but so unable to make a move. His cold hands possessed the nerves even if they could be so easily warmed by his dearest. His eyes now so easily covered by tears which could be easily cleaned by the fingertips of his dear, why doesn’t he turn around? Why don’t he take a sip of happiness after being thirsty? It has always been like this, he and John, so close but so far away due the war, the distances and his shaky body refusing to move.

Nevertheless, despite the stars against them, his J would always returned to him, would always take the way to find him, like it’s happening in the Church’s library, Laurens would take him with the most gentle hands, without caring if he has to hold him from his own emotions, scared, big and messed emotions, like a sea in his chest, big waves raising and claiming domination, his own feelings trying to drown down each other.

“Dearest, won’t you give me a last look of your face?” Asks the voice at his side, no- asks his Laurens. And if his Laurens asks for something, he gives it and lets him take more, take all he can desire of him and his simple body and love.

So he looks at him, just unable of deny a petition as sweet as that, a petition his own heart asked and cried for so many nights, a last glance of Laurens, something as close as he can have of the color in his eyes, the sweetness from his lips and the warmth of him all. And if Laurens would treasure a glance of him with the same care? How can he deny? 

His eyes find the quiet blue, the sweet blue which his memory cannot make justice, the blue he has tried to find in clothing, in paints and in the sky, searching just for the most little comfort to his heart, his heavy heart due the yoke 27th of August gave him.

His Laurens is still beautiful, an attractive and galant man with a naughty smile oin his lips and the eyes filled with charm and holy heaven-... Filled with the love and adoration he thought he wouldn’t find ever again, the emotions in his eyes are sweet and make Hamilton's chest blossom. He only hopes for one thing, he hopes that his eyes, conflictual and scared eyes with tears are giving Laurens the biggest piece of peace and love that can be offered.

However, despite Hamilton have thought about a remeeting in another world many times, despite he planned his apologies, his scoldings and the ways he would give Laurens all the love and caresses his soul can offer, he’s still unable to do a thing, his hands shaking so terribly empty and cold, so terribly impropers to be holding nothing when his Laurens is so close.

That isn’t to be an annoyance to Laurens, who looks ready to fill up the empty places that Alexander left between them. Hugging him and closing him, letting their foreheads lay together and Hamilton feels it, warmth and solid against him, strong and affectionate as he remembers him, his heart demands him to fall in John’s love while his poor chest, the chest he thought whitered, returns to life.

And Hamilton cries, now conscious of his fast tears over his cheeks, wetting Laurens but who cares? It’s his Laurens, his dearest and his dearest was never annoyed for being stained by his happiness or sadness.

His hands, his shaky hands caress, no, grasp Laurens' face, his blushed cheeks, his powdered hair- maybe it’s his impression, but he feels perfectly the sensation of powder on his hands.

He wants to laugh, to scream of joy, because it is his Laurens, his Laurens who always returns to him, the one who never could abandon him, not even after death. His Laurens.

And he, as his Hamilton, lets himself flourish beyond his attention, smiles at the feeling of his embrace and the tears are now just another expression of his happiness.

“I’ve missed you too much,” says Laurens, with the same great and big emotions crossing through his face;, Hamilton nods strongly, caressing, kissing his cheeks, still too tired and emotional to find proper words.

It’s when he kisses his lips his emotions are finally calming down, holded and well loved, fitting with his J as he always desired, working together for such sweet purposes like love. The kiss is more than good, it’s incredible, it’s drinking pure water, it’s walking together through the forest again, it’s laying together in the same bed after making love.

When the precious kiss finds its end, the emotions are still flying through the air, strong and present, Alexander is still firmly grasping at John, as close as he can, ready to jump and take all John is ready to give him.

“You’re getting old, my dear boy,” John does the observation, innocent and naive, looking at the new face of Alexander, a stronger face, more mature, maybe even a little taller and less thin than before. 

But that’s a terrible memory to Hamilton, because while his body is getting old, his Laurens is looking identical to his last meeting, even dressed with his uniform as the most beautiful of the soldiers.

“I can promise my love hasn't suffered the same consequences of the years,” aAnswers Alexander, too scared that John is being assaulted by insecurities and abstract fears he cannot understand.

However, John just smiles. “It would proper you being called ‘boy’ then?”.

“If you consider me worthy of such title,” says Alexander, actually scared of the possibility of removing the “dear boy” title, even when it’s evident that Laurens loves him as ardently as he remembers.

 John doesn’t answer with words, he looks wanting to demonstrate with actions and what better that to continue kissing, embracing and adoring?

Hamilton lets himself be conquered again, not really sure if there’s some part of him which isn’t already captivated by Laurens. Anyway, he lets himself sink into the tenderness as a man returning home.

His hands, before numb for the emotions, are now excited and wandering, remembering the shape of Laurens, the firmness of his embracing, the texture of his hair, he delights with the texture of his coat, with how his hands are covered with a thin cape of powder from his J’s hair and his heart sings of joy when his dearest takes his hand, giving to him the impossible, something he didn’t even imagine he could have again.

Very far away, he hears the bell has stopped sounding. Bad for Niemcewicz and Church, they won’t see him again, they won’t take him out again from Laurens’ embrace, let he be him, comfortable and happy, aging and dying happily in tenderness and love -, the world already removed his Laurens from him once, he won’t lose him again, they won’t oblige him to let him go again.

He keeps grasping at Laurens, or at least he tries to do so until John moves away, caressing his cheek.

“My dear, you must return to the table.”

No. No. No.

He shakes his head, no, nobody, not even Laurens will move him away. 

There’s much risk to take after that, how will he live quietly knowing there’s ways to return to him? How will he live knowing he returned to him? How will he continue with his life after being gifted with the lover he lost, the lover who was removed from his life so cruelly?

“You must return, my Hamilton”.

“The dinner will continue without me.” Life will continue without him, as it continued without J.

“They’ll worry about you dear, they’ll come to search you,” argues Laurens.

“Do you not want me close?” attacks Hamilton, without finding a good explanation to this rejection from his lover.

“I love you more than anything in this world, you have a family waiting for you, that’s why you must return.” So it’s about that, it isn’t about dinners, it’s about something bigger, something he’s right.

“Just five more minutes.” It’s the only petition he could be asking for.

“Fine, five more minutes.” 

And Hamilton enjoys those, makes Laurens bend down his knees, letting him watch his face better, lets his finger search a comfy place in his hair, lets his arms be wrapped around his neck, lets his lips find again any part of John he can get, forgetting the world outside them, forgetting all the things different to the paradise exclusive for him and Laurens.

He doesn’t know if the five minutes pass but when he hears voices at the living room asking for him, it’s the painful sign he has to abandon Laurens to meet the life incompatible with such love.

Laurens looks at him tenderly, opens the door for him and before he has said goodbye, he confesses to him, all lovely and affectionate. 

“This is the life I wanted for you, happy and social, fun dinners every week with people who admire and respect you.” Alexander knows the implication in his words. ‘This is the life I couldn’t have given to you.’

And he wants to reciprocate, at least make his spirit know, that this life cannot be a reasonable competition with a moment at his side.

But the spirit has disappeared. And Hamilton's chest withered again, maybe even worse than before, but how likely he would offer his heart over and over again to Laurens, no matter what.

When he’s in the living room, he doesn’t have time to think about love, pain and melancholy, he just can say:

“I just talked with the Baron de Viomenil”.

[archvampyr]

Niemcewicz po prostu by się zesrał jakby mu zabronili być fruity

[maciej-smolen-poznan]

OGRODY | Nałkowska and Niemcewicz [2019.06.24]

[fryderyk-chopin]

"Obchód Bożego Ciała zwyczajny. Obiad u generała Kniaziewicza, na którym był Mickiewicz i Chopin, jeden z pierwszych pianistów w Europie - wesoły, dowcipny, umiejący przedrzeźniać każdego, bawił nas wyśmienicie."

— Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz o Fryderyku Chopinie w "Pamiętnikach"

[culture-biatch]

Once,  looking at my Zosia, When she crowned her head with flowers, You  are – I said – my world, You  decide my fate Your  gaze with affectionate or cooliness: I  am happy or sad

[dzierzbia]

OLD MEN YAOI TRIO

[niemcewitch]

🌿🌹 fenomen korelacji pomiędzy Niemcewiczem a Kościuszką; poeta i jego muza, ten, co historię zapisuje oraz ten, co historię tworzy, język pełen łagodnych słów oraz język ostry i cięty, słońce i księżyc, drzewo i kwitnące na nim kwiaty — postać, która nie może istnieć bez drugiej.

[toringo]

Was rereading some biographies, including Alexander Hamilton’s and

[ohchopin]

Ordinary celebrations of Corpus Christi […] Dinner at general Kniaziewicz’s, attended by Mickiewicz and Chopin, one of the foremost pianists in Europe, cheerful, witty, capable of mimicking anyone, entertained us splendidly.

Julian Ursyn Niemcewicz in his notebook, 1836

[sonofhistory]

One time Alexander Hamilton, a Polish poet Julian Niemcewicz and his nephew Philip Church tricked everyone in his family as well as family friends that Niemcewicz had the ability to make ghosts appear. So Hamilton went behind a curtain and Niemcewicz said some fake incantation and rang a bell and Hamilton emerged saying he saw his dead friend. But the news that Hamilton had seen ghosts leaked to the public and attracted people to Niemcewicz so much that Hamilton had to admit that it was all just a hoax to “frighten the family for amusement and that it was never intended to be made public.”