#speaks volumes about our society o think

[hamiltonimagines]

You Are a Legend

Pairing: Daveed x Reader

Request: “maybe a daveed x reader based on the song "S.L.U.T, by Bea Miller. like, someone call the reader a slut, then she stands for herself and he's just "I- w o w 😳" thank youu!!” - @brunadesuu

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mentions of clubbing and drinking, mentions of drunk people, slut-shaming (I do NOT condone slut shaming at all), and there is a slightly predatory guy

“Y/N please” Daveed begged me. Daveed was one of my close friends and also my roommate. He was currently begging me to go with him tonight, to a club.

“Every time that we go clubbing, you get recognized and drunk woman won’t stop hitting on you” I complained. “Are you jealous?” Daveed teased. I rolled my eyes.

“It’s just annoying when I go out with my best friend and you spend the whole time with a bunch of strangers” I explained. “Sounds like Y/N is jealous that other women are taking my attention away from her” Daveed continued to tease.

“Can you be serious for a second?” I pleaded with him. Daveed walked towards me and cupped my face. “You have my full attention now” he said, finally listening.

I couldn’t believe how close he was to my face. It took everything I had to not lean in and kiss him.

“Do you understand why I don’t want to go?” I asked him. “Of course I do, I’m just telling you that I want to have a fun night with my best friend. And I think we’ll have a great time. I just need you to go with me, next time we hang out, you can pick what we do” Daveed reasoned.

I thought about it for a second. Then Daveed started pouting. I knew I couldn’t resist him. “Okay fine I’ll go” I told him, giving in. “You’re the best” he said, pulling me into a hug.

I inhaled and I could smell his cologne. It smelled like home. Daveed was always a constant in my life and he was my home, no matter where we were.

“You won’t regret it, I promise” he told me. “I better not” I said, as I turned to go to my room to get dressed up.

I threw on a short silver dress with some heels. I walked into our shared bathroom and put my hair up in a high ponytail. Then I started to do my makeup.

I heard Daveed walk towards the bathroom and stop outside the bathroom doorway. He looked speechless. I saw his eyes slowly look down my whole body.

“Is it too much?” I asked, worried. “Y/N you look...breathtaking” Daveed said, genuinely. I could feel my face heat up, it felt like my cheeks were on fire. “Forget all the girls trying to talk to me, I’ll be lucky if you don’t get stolen away from me by some guy” Daveed said.

“You’re still staring” I said, as I finished my makeup. “No, I was just um....zoned out” Daveed said, clearly lying. “Daveed...” I said as I placed my hands lightly on his chest. “We’ve been friends forever, you can admit when you’re checking me out” I said, a softer volume.

It was Daveed’s turn to be embarrassed and blushing. “Pshh checking you out? I wasn’t checking you out” he said, still lying.

One of the best parts of mine and Daveed’s relationship is we were so comfortable with each other, that sometimes teasing was inevitable.

“Are you ready to go?” I asked him. “Yeah let’s go” he said, snapping out of his daze.

It was a quick ride to the club that Daveed had picked out. He pulled into a parking spot.

“Wait here” he said, quickly. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I trusted him so I stayed in the car. Then before I knew it, he was at my door. He opened the door for me. Then he held out his arm.

I smiled to myself at his kind gesture. I carefully grabbed his arm and stepped out of the car. “Thank you D, you’ll always be the sweetest guy I know” I told him.

I continued to hold on to his arm as we walked up to the club. He pulled away for a second to open the door of the club. “After you” he said, sweetly.

I walked in and the music hit me. I could feel the bass in my bones. “Let’s find a table” Daveed said, loudly over the music. I nodded, since I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to hear me over the music.

Daveed instinctively reached for my hand and interlaced our fingers. Daveed always made sure he was holding my hand when we were in busy places.

He lead and pulled me behind as he walked over to a booth. We both slid into opposite sides of the booth. “If I look as good as you say I do, I think I can pull some strings and get us free drinks” I said, smirking.

“Don’t do it, I’ll pay for the drinks. Don’t flirt with creepy guys please. I care about you too much for that” Daveed said, sounding concerned. “D, relax. It was a joke. I’ll be back, try to not get taken away by any drunk women” I told him. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you tonight” Daveed said, with a flirty tone.

I rolled my eyes and laughed to myself as I walked to the bar. The bartender walked right over. “What can I get you?” He asked me. I told him mine and Daveed’s drink orders and waited. I was waiting for our drinks when I felt an arm slip around my waist.

I expected it to be Daveed. I looked over my shoulder and saw it was some random guy. I moved his arm away from me. “So what’s a pretty girl like you doing all alone?” He asked. “Avoiding guys like you” I answered simply, with a fake smile.

“Woah woah sweetheart, don’t have to get all feisty on me. I just want to show you a good time” he whispered in my ear. “Can I show you something?” I asked him.

His eyes went big, and he just nodded. I pointed over towards where Daveed was sitting. “That’s my boyfriend, and if you don’t leave me alone right now, he might have an issue with you” I told him. Daveed saw what I was doing and stared at the guy and waved at him in a threatening way.

“Have a nice night” the guy said, and quickly ran off to pester someone else. “Here you go miss” the bartender said as he handed me both the drinks. “Thank you so much” I said, grabbing the drinks.

I walked back over to our table and sat down. I handed Daveed his drink and took a sip of mine.

“So what did that guy want?” Daveed asked me. “To show me a good time” I quoted, while rolling my eyes. “How foolish, doesn’t he know that’s my job” Daveed joked.

“Oh look it’s your turn now” I said, giggling to myself. “What do you mean?” Daveed asked, very confused. Just as he said it, a very clearly drunk woman walked up to our table.

“You’re that guy from Hamilton, right?” She said, slurring her words. “Oh...uh yeah” Daveed answered. She smirked and then whispered something in his ear. I could see his eyes go wide as he listened to what she said.

“Actually I’m here with my girlfriend tonight” he said, interlacing our hands from across the table. The girl looked at me and looked disgusted. “Your loss” she told him, and then walked away.

Daveed chugged the rest of his drink. “Was what she said that bad?” I asked him, curiously. “Let’s just say that what she said to me wasn’t PG in any way” he said. Then he stood up from the table.

“Where are you going?” I asked him. “We are going to go dance” he told me. He grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor.

We got to the dance floor and Daveed turned around to face me. I slipped my arms around his neck. He put his hands on my waist and pulled me closer until we were pressed up against each other.

“You look really nice tonight” he whispered in my ear. “So do you” I whispered back to him. I could feel him tracing shapes on my waist. We were dancing with each other to the music, kind of in our own little world.

Then he took my hand and spun me around. Now, I had my back to Daveed. The music transitioned to a much faster one. I started to grind on his lap. He put his hands on my sides and held me close to him.

Then I held someone grab my arm and quickly pull me away from Daveed. I saw that some girl had pulled me away and she looked angry. Daveed grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him, that way the girl couldn’t get to me.

“You make me sick” she told me, with a disgusted tone. “What’s your problem?” I asked her. I had never seen this girl before and I didn’t know why she seemed to hate my guts.

“I can tell you what happened. You recognized Daveed as being famous and now you’re trying to get into bed with him. You’re one of those people who tries to sleep with every famous they run into. You’re such a slut” she ranted.

It stung, this girl had no idea who I was and had no problem telling me how much she hated me. Slut-shaming was such a disgusting part of society. It only targets women, no one ever gets mad at guys for having one-night stands or sleeping with random girls.

“Actually she’s my best friend, not some random girl” Daveed defended. It felt nice of him to step in, but I could defend myself. I saw the girl’s expression change instantly. “Oh...uh...I didn’t know” she said, trying to backpedal.

“You know what, it’s women like you that insist on tearing other women down. Why can’t all women just get along. So I’m comfortable in my own skin and I love my body. So what? I can dance with my best friend however I like. Really it’s none of your business” I said, stepping in front of Daveed.

Daveed put his hand around my waist. “You are a legend” Daveed whispered in my ear. The girl got really embarrassed and quickly walked away. I turn around to face Daveed and he picks me up and hugs me.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen” he exclaimed to me. “I don’t have time for slut-shaming. I’m not going to just stand around and take it” I told him.

“You ready to go?” He asked me. I just nodded my head. Daveed put his arm around my shoulder and we walked out the door.

He helped me into the car again and we drove him. We didn’t speak the whole ride home. We just sat in a comfortable silence. At one point, Daveed put his hand on my thigh and rested it there the whole way home.

We pulled up to our apartment and went upstairs. I went to my room and changed into some pajamas. I went into the bathroom and started to brush my teeth.

Daveed showed up in the doorway again. “Hey, when you’re done, can we talk?” He asked me. I nodded my head and he walked back into his room. I finished up brushing my teeth and took down my hair.

I walked into Daveed’s room and saw that he had changed into a tank top and sweatpants. “So what do you want to talk about?” I asked, as I sat down next to him on his bed. He took one of my hands and held it in his lap. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” He asked me.

“Yep, I am aware” I told him, surprised as to how serious he was being. “Well I need to tell you something” he told me. “You know you can tell me anything” I told him.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship” he said, cautiously. “You could never jeopardize our friendship. I will never stop being your best friend, no matter what” I reassured him.

“Y/N, I like you, I really like you. I fell for you the minute we met, and it was because you seemed like such a free spirit. You reminded me of that tonight when you stood up for yourself. I’m in awe of you constantly” he confessed to me.

“Wow, is that all true?” I asked him. “Every word” he said, genuinely. “Okay, then I have an important question for you” I told him. “What is it?” Daveed asked, seeming nervous.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked him. “I was hoping you would” he said. I smiled to myself and then leaned in and slowly kissed his lips.

He kissed me back and lightly tugged on my bottom lip with his teeth. I could feel him smirking against my lips. “Hey hey, no funny business” I said, giggling.

“Try and stop me” he said, smirking. He quickly pushed me over so I was laying down on his bed. He kept his hands hovering above my sides. Then he started to tickle me and I couldn’t stop the giggling.

I squirmed and tried to get away from his grasp, but Daveed was persistent. “Da...Daveed please stop” I begged him. He didn’t listen to my pleads and continued to tickle me.

“Your laugh is so gorgeous” he said, as he stopped tickling me. He crawled up closer to me and pressed a gentle kiss to my lips.

“I am completely infatuated with you Y/N” he told me, barely above a whisper. “I’m glad the feeling is mutual” I said, kissing him again.

taglist: @someinsanefangirl @outcasted-aloy @geekycatlover @fanfic-addict-98 @romanoffs-heart @multifandomwriterx @andreasworlsboring101 @criminallyhamilton @imatyoursurrvicesurr @irlydontknoanymore @sayweird99 @nyxie75 @elizard-hamilton @daveeds-whore @trost-town @notebookgirl30 @teenag1jealousy @royalstans @elizasfaith @kmsmedine @brunadesuu @roxanne2020 @grandpa-agustd @athenawinchesterx @labellapeaky @rthoney @nerd-88 @theatrenerd86 @lilangeldevil006 @all-time-fanatic

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[misstrashchan]

Since @im-the-king-of-the-ocean did a post about what TMA fear entities the RWBY characters are aligned/avatars of, I’ve been itching to do one myself because as a result of overlapping hyper fixations I think about this A LOT

The basic concept is that avatars in TMA become what they fear most or embrace a fear they have developed the most complex relationship with that plays into their motivations and drive as a character. What negative impulses they have to constantly fight themselves on, the shape of the monster that lives in their heart.

To quote the RWBY song Fear, “But our greatest fear will be realised, if we fall and lose ourselves to fear, we’ll become what we’ve feared all our lives” yeah that’s a very loose definition of what becoming an avatar is.

Since MAG s5 has proven that you can be an avatar of more than one fear, (Like Martin serving both the Eye and the Lonely) some of the RWBY characters might have more than one, but I’ll try to limit it to two to avoid getting complicated, but at the end of the day it’s all fear soup, we might categorise them according to Robert Smirke’s 14, but they all bleed into one another, like Gerard’s colour analogy in 111:

GERARD

I always think it helps to imagine them like colours. The edges bleed together, and you can talk about little differences: “oh, that’s indigo, that’s more lilac”, but they’re both purple. I mean, I guess there are technically infinite colours, but you group them together into a few big ones. A lot of it’s kind of arbitrary. I mean, why are navy blue and sky blue both called blue, when pink’s an entirely different colour from red? Y’know? I don’t know, that’s just how it works.

And like colours, some of these powers, they feed into or balance each other. Some really clash, and you just can’t put them together. I mean, you could see them all as just one thing, I guess, but it would be pretty much meaningless, y’know, like… like trying to describe a… shirt by talking about the concept of colour.

O-Of course, with these things it’s not a simple spectrum, y’know, it’s more like –

ARCHIVIST

An infinite amorphous blob of terror bleeding out in every direction at once.

GERARD

Now you’re getting it.

ARCHIVIST

Like colours, but if colours hated me. Got it. 

Ruby Rose: The End. The fear of death itself, uncaring and unstoppable. Man this was hard to think about but I have a lot of Big Feelings about this one. Initially I really, really wanted to give Ruby the Eye simply because “can laser beam monsters with their eyeballs once they become powerful enough” and there is a fascinating overlap in how the Beholding powers and Silver Eyes function in the same way, (especially in how Cinder being exposed to the Silver Eyes fills her with an overpowering fear and reopens old wounds from trauma that have never properly healed; which is VERY similar in the psychological affect Jon’s has on his victims when he Beholds them) they’re both direct enemies/opposites to the Dark that expose their enemies/victims true nature and destroying them in the process at times. Only one feeds on fear and the trauma of others while the other feeds off of hope and love (Gerard says there’s no such thing as an avatar of hope and love, clearly he’s never heard of Ruby). 

But nope! The fear and nature of the Beholding just doesn’t really match with Ruby at all. She isn’t driven by a need of knowledge, nor does she fear being watched, followed or having her secrets exposed. The End though? Death itself? Ruby outright states that’s her biggest fear in volume 5 to Oscar “It doesn’t matter if you’re standing in Salem’s way or not. She’ll kill anyone. And that, scares me most of all” to me Ruby’s fear of death itself is projected onto Salem here, I think. It’s uncaring, unstoppable, it doesn’t discriminate, and it could come for the people she cares about at any time. What matters though is the context she says this is in explaining her motives to Oscar. Her whole life has been shaped by her inability to process death, her relationship with grief, all starting with the tragic and abrupt death of her mother Summer as a child. She’s also surrounded by a lot of death motif too, the hooded cape, mostly wearing black, the giant grim reaper scythe. She’s the End. 

Of course, her being an Avatar of the End means having to imagine the worst version of Ruby, one that is fully consumed by that fear. Avatars of the End are not malicious or destructive in nature but instead are… very apathetic. They don’t need to seek out victims to feed off of, nor do they have a ritual, because the End comes for all. And that fits with what Ruby would be like if that fear fully consumed her. It’s more or less established in vol6 during the apathy arc when she tries so hard to fight against their influence and how horrified she is when everyone around her falls prey to it. Giving up, not caring, accepting the inevitable demise of everyone and yourself? Ruby was terrified of that. And when looking at the vol8 opening where we see Ruby being dragged down by what looks like the arms of the apathy? She fights the hardest against it because it’s what she’s most afraid of, but because of her inability to process her grief properly is ultimately what will make her the most vulnerable to it when she’s pushed to her limit. All Salem needs to do to break Ruby is to remind her of Summer’s death. Not even what actually happened to her or how she died, just the death itself. Hell, the first time we see Ruby in the Red trailer, she’s at her mother’s grave, the first verse in Red like Roses that’s about Ruby “Red like Roses fills my dreams and brings me to the place you rest” in which we come to understand that the “Red like roses” lyrics in both part one and two of the song is referring to Summer’s abrupt death which Ruby apparently dreams about, which brings to mind Oliver Banks, our most prominent Avatar of the End, whose first statement to The Magnus Institute in 011 (underneath the fake alias of “Antonio Blake”) is concerning how he started dreaming about the deaths of others, which he didn’t begin to take seriously- until it was his father that he saw in his dream. Upon which Oliver realised how terrifying death really was and that fear began to consume him. 

Okay I’ve probably gone off long enough about this but yeah. Ruby is the End. I mean, she also just got a song in the v7 soundtrack called Until the End 

Weiss Schnee: The Lonely. The fear of isolation, of being completely cut off and alone or disconnected from the rest of society. I don’t really have to go too deeply into this one. It’s pretty cut and dry. “The loneliest of all”? And the Schnees basically are the Lukas family. Actually thinking about it the Lukas’ are actually somewhat better? They were the only ones in the whole of TMA that understood to raise a child to be an heir/avatar of their fear they needed room to reject it or actively choose it, even if that had an 80% success rate. Both are still awful though. (Damn, I can’t believe Jaques is an actively worse parent than an eldritch fear avatar)

When Weiss comes back to Atlas in v4 she’s more aware of her loneliness than ever, feels more aware of how she and atlas high society as a whole is disconnected from the rest of the world and its struggles. Whitley commenting on her being in her room for months implies she’s purposefully been isolating herself during this time as well, in order to avoid her family members “A pleasure to see you out of your room for a change” (sidenote; the fact that whenever Whitley shows up it always catches Weiss off guard, like she didn’t even notice his presence until he wanted her too. That’s. That’s a BIG Lonely thing. Given Peter’s siblings eventually ran away and he was the only heir I can imagine Peter being what Whitley would end up like if no one intervenes)

I’d say they might also be an possibility of the Stranger due to her struggling to find her own identity and inability to recognise oneself, but that can be an aspect of the Lonely too, as we see when Martin is in a house that is a domain of the Lonely in s5, and is unable to recognise himself in the mirror or recall who he is.

What I do have to say about this is it’s pretty interesting considering at this point in the show Weiss’ relationship with loneliness is actually somewhat healthy and something she can use to relate to and help others. She understands other people’s loneliness, that Blake in v5 needed space and in time she’d come back, and Weiss would be ready to be there for her when she did. And she also understands Yang’s loneliness in the same volume and that she needed someone there to support her.

“But you’re right. I don’t know loneliness like you do. I have my own version. And I bet  Blake has her own version too.” 

Speaking of Blake…

 Blake Belladonna: The Stranger, I Do Not Know You. The fear that you cannot trust the perception of yourself or of others. The creeping sense that something isn’t right. I considered the Spiral, but the Stranger and the Spiral overlap more than any other two entities so I’m just gonna go with the Stranger. Especially with her semblance being a metaphor for disassociation, a coping mechanism for the abuse and gaslighting from her relationship with Adam being kind of the biggest thing here, since the Stranger and Spiral deal with that a lot. She literally creates false copies of herself, shadow clones which she uses to feint, distract and evade. As well as statues/mannequins when dust is involved, which the Stranger is known for manifesting. Her fighting style centres around misdirection, stealth and fooling people’s senses. She also used to be part of the White Fang, known within Sienna and Adam’s faction to wear the masks of monsters, appearing anonymous. And she literally disguises her identity as a Faunus in order to escape the White Fang and enroll at Beacon. Blake at first was hesitant to trust and rely on the others in the earlier volumes, to let her guard down, and when she finally did, the worst happened and her fears were proven right. In s2 Jonathan becomes more paranoid due to being marked and in close daily proximity to the Stranger (as Not-Sasha), much like how Blake in v2 becomes far more paranoid and less trusting of her team. She also does seek knowledge or answers even at the cost of her wellbeing, which is an Eye thing, but Blake’s desire for knowledge and answers isn’t really consistent or important enough with her character and motives beyond vol2 for me personally to consider her an Avatar of it, but I do think she is Eye aligned. 

Yang Xiao Long- The Eye. The Ceaseless Watcher, It Knows You, as well as The Hunt. For the Eye, the first time we see Yang is her trying to find information on her mother, and we see Raven in bird form at the beginning too, as she has followed Yang her whole life, never actually interacting or doing anything for her, just… watching her. We learn in vol2 that her search for answers surrounding her mother has been a part of her entire life, almost overwhelmingly so to the point where in her childhood she and Ruby nearly lost their lives to the Grimm when she decided to journey to a shack in the woods she thought would lead to clues in finding her mother. She is adamant because of that experience to never let her need for the truth and answers control her, but it is a need that is always there. When she finally meets Raven, she’s encouraged to “start questioning everything she knows” which, she does. Questioning and knowledge is a big part of Yang’s character, even now. She’s the one who questions Ozpin the most, as well as Raven herself, and in the recent volumes is the one who challenges and questions Ruby’s leadership the most. There’s also a moment in vol7 of her drawing parallels between herself and Robyn and relating to her when she says “I won’t stop until I find out the truth” Her being the one to take the relic of knowledge is hugely significant in this too, especially given the context that she acquires it right after confronting her mother, getting the answers she’s searched for her whole life, holding an artefact possessing infinite knowledge, and she sinks to her knees and cries because there is no sense of closure, that anything is better because of her knowing who and what her mother is, and that her choosing this path might have cost her ever having a relationship with Raven (which is more Raven’s fault of course, and Yang knows that, but that’s not how she’s feeling at that exact moment). 

For the Hunt, this one’s a bit simpler. The thrill seeker aspect to Yang’s character and motives in becoming a huntress and enjoying the chase and fighting in of itself. There’s another element in that as most Avatars of the Hunt start out as monster hunters who then develop the need to hunt and kill monsters, and gradually what qualifies as “monster” starts to blur more and more as they become consumed by the need and thrill of the chase and hunt itself. I bring this up because in vol3 Blake draws parallels between Yang and Adam after she is disqualified for attacking and injuring Mercury, worries with how familiar this all feels and that Yang might turn out the same as him (and just for the record Adam is a full blown Avatar of the Hunt, and the Slaughter too most like) 

 “I had someone very dear to me change. It wasn’t in an instant, it was gradual. Little choices that began to pile up. He told me not to worry. At first they were accidents, then it was self-defence. Before long, even I began to think he was right. This is all just… very familiar.” What Blake describes is… kind of similar to Basira’s relationship with Daisy with how Daisy, an Avatar of the Hunt, would justify to Basira and explain away how the violence and murders she committed as being for the greater good. 

Also just one more, because I have to

 Pyrrha Nikos: WebwebWEBWEB. Hoo boi Pyrrha is the Webbiest of Web Avatars as they come. Her whole character’s themes surrounding destiny, control and agency, feeling like her whole life had been decided for her, the fact she’d been blessed with incredible talents and opportunities meant she was supposed to be a huntress, the fact her talent as a world champion meant she was placed on a pedestal without her realising, becoming separate from the people who placed her there in the first place, that Ozpin and his inner circle tell her she has been chosen as the next Fall Maiden, but the method in which she must become so might result in the loss of her identity, that though they ultimately leave the choice to her do pressure and manipulate her into it. The idea of destiny being a predetermined fate you can’t escape is Pyrrha’s greatest fear, and rejects that idea in that she will not let her life be manipulated but will be the one to take control it instead, which is manifested in her having a semblance that she uses to subtly control and manipulate her surroundings. As Cinder puts it, “People assume she’s fated for victory when really she’s really taken fate into her own hands”.  

[taekooktimeline]

1) Idk how much this makes sense but this is like a little theory i thought about and i would like to hear your opinions: i feel like while for JK sexuality isn't important and when he talks about love is always about Tae (a specific person), for Tae, who always seemed more closeted, was always something connected with his inner self and not only with JK. Like, Tae writed Stigma and made a lot of personal songs while JK covered fools and paper hearts which are all songs about someone else

DISCLAIMER - please keep in mind as you read our ask responses that that this is merely our opinion / theory on the matter, separate from the timeline where we remain as objective as possible to ensure integrity of facts presented. In asks we tend to allow ourselves to more freely theorize. Thank you!

Kayla: Anon - who are you?! I love you 😭I feel like Jk is the most transparent member, the easiest to understand, yet I feel like he’s the most misunderstood / most inaccurately read and I don’t get it. And here you come saying everything I’ve always thought. I 100% agree with you. I think Jk came from a progressive family and loves who he loves. He doesn’t worry AS MUCH about the validation of others, despite what some think. My biggest example is he got tattoos knowing it’d be controversial. He did it because he wanted to. And I think that mentality translates to his relationship with Tae - he loves Tae and he’s not worried about what people think. His circle loves and supports. That’s all that matters. He’s been pretty bold in his own way the last year. Whereas, at least from my understanding, is that Tae comes from a more conservative family and really struggled with his sexuality. He’s mentioned school and puberty being hard. I read “confessions of a mask” and I’ll admit it’s boring BUT I gained a lot of insight into Tae’s mentality in connection to the writer - how he tried to be what society deemed “correct” and struggled to come to terms with how that just wasn’t where his attraction lay .. hence “stigma” “singularity” and lgbtq references in “4 o clock”.. plus I sometimes wonder if some down moments are linked to this (again, recalling how he read CMBYN during pride month in 2020 then said “I want to be happy too🥺” the next day on Weverse speaks volumes). I agree with Sara that he came into BTS knowing who he was, whereas Jk had to figure it out in the spotlight, which must have been hard. He’s expressed concerns about how ARMY will perceive him when the mask comes off but, from what I see, Tae is the one who turns to ARMY when he’s struggling more than any other member. He may get sassy but when you compare the two, he appears to lean more on the approval and acceptance of others. I think Tae def is more self introspective towards his identity and wants people to know this part of him (hence the lyrics in some of his solo work, acknowledging pride month since 2018, repeated rainbow references, LGBTQ support and references in various ways). Jk has hinted - “I’m still me” - but Tae, at least to me, is much more vocal about his identity. Perhaps it’s more important for Tae for the public to recognize this whereas Jk’s not bothered by public perception so much. Just my opinion😅

Sara: These are my rough thoughts as of 9th of November 2020. General Disclaimer - I could easily change my mind about anything that I say that isn’t included in the actual Timeline due to insufficient pondering / research and just writing down quick thoughts without much contrasting, meaning I could even contradict it. In that case the Timeline prevails. I see where you are coming from, but I disagree in saying Jk isn’t introspective in regards to his identity. I do think that in the past Tae was more concerned about this while Jk was more focused on the love he felt without worrying too much about external factors, but I think he reached a point where it got too real and the circumstances hit him, starting to have self worth issues as well when he realized not everyone would accept him. I’d say he developed these issues along 2017. You can see it in his yet-to-be-released song “Decalcomania” where he sings about his real hidden self not being good enough and envying his perfect public persona. In 2019 Yoongi said that Jk was very young when he started working in the spotlight and was confused about who he was, that he suffered but eventually understood himself. In 2018 they also mentioned this and added “even last year he was so young (2017)”. I think Jk got caught up in his emotions without questioning them too much while Tae had already faced himself prior to joining BTS and was well aware of his identity and unwelcoming environment. Jk didn’t interiorize all of this until he was deep into the relationship due to the hectic idol lifestyle. He was going through this while living in a bubble. I just think their journeys of self discovery were a bit different but they both ended up in similar places. Now, it is possible that Jk’s initial apparent nonchalance could also be linked to his family possibly being more progressive plus Jk’s overall personality. There was a time in 2014 where Jk talked about wanting tattoos. He was warned against it by another member who was genuinely concerned saying it would make armys sad (it’s pretty taboo in korea) but Jk said “It’s okay, I said I loved them. If they love me they’ll accept it”. I do get the feeling that Tae is more worried about approval but I’m no expert so can’t really know the causes. Basically, I only partially agree.

[throwingideasatthewall]

Clone Wars     Shadow      Warriors

            Seas 4

Oh    this-   just    screams      edgy        ...   Whelp

So is Jar      Jar an     adult,       now,?            (Asking because before his    characteri         zation was force of nature to child

Now he    seems to have his own    personality.

Which is fine   if you want to change some details for the sake of a    better story,      (Or to simply      explore         a new       angle,).    Aesthetic

     Just.            need to make sure I’m holding them to the right standard,

    Okay,

   That-         was    relatively     adult,

  Mm

   Um.

   I

 Aight        .           .       Well-

   Wait 

    Did they just call Jar Jar     away from      Cou-ncil-

    .         I mean they are clearly    trying       which          is   some thing       I do       give credit   for-

   Though                The             Tone              Is            Robot-                 Ic-

       (Though that might be int-         entional since it seems to be hinting that this lady is practicing some kind of         mind tricks on him

   (Aka, he’s doing it         under           tox, because we don’t do suspension of choice in     dra-         mat         ic       Me-     -dia,

 S’up

 What?

  I-

  -

   H-elp

Screw my own   accou-   -ntability     -      See that was the correct   -amount of   emotion-

.        Okay        -         Right-

  Sus-       (pic)

    No one noticed the obvious people right there?

  Like not even      Mr. sus         there?

[or are they just so    kind that it’s like   oh yeah we were just talking hate speech     but go right ahead?

Logic?

 There

  Yeah    some shit is definitely going on,

   For sake of argument*     sake, i’m just going to assume that his reaction to      toxic    behavior

*Account     ability-

 Any way

  I-

  I’m still      going to try,

  Despite  you clearly saying you want understood

   Because assumed authority        - and assuming you know better than a person about themselves

     Is totally ok-

     - In this         society

-[Cries        in       sad    “accountability,”     -of-      war,        ]

  Whelp,

  In-    flue-     n      -c      e

 Still an  adult-

  Okay-

 Imagine    it was just a normal necklace     and he pulled that shit-

[Ok for the sake of argument I’m going to assume the necklace is symbolism for toxic influence,

  Being around it         enabling]

  It-         -       His voice voice dropped like         - 6 octaves

     Also I swear if they try to   excuse him      for his actions-

     No

    Mind over matter     -Okay, so they’re not excusing him for his   -actions,

   Me-          an         -       OK so it’s not naturally evil it    just comes down to the users      so that dude was still totally responsible,

  Didn’t    change    - much

    -     Ha-Ha

  Actual     gas     -lighting”

    Also     persuade,            -             Okay,     good not excusing him       from his actions,      -      Thing

The   gaslighting goes deep      -      Also isn’t the Darkside supposed to be      negative over involvement?      -       Aight-         -       -           A-lone

  Oh yeah that’s a great idea let’s just let the  dude that just got gaslighted and completely fell forward go back into the person who did it,

 👍

     Genius     

    (This Jedi Council is fucking                  brilliant)

     Gas-       Light-         Ing

(Note;      Confronting the gas lighter is never the way       to do it       (Inter-             Gen-)          (Excluding accountability of the abuser     (Gen-break           Venting Pro-      Ced- u        re)

 [as you’re usually too angry     to let them get a word in edgewise        And remain;           in control)

  With inter- gen productivity,         They are possibly given       five warnings before         Being          Kick        ed-]

   For the sake of argu-       ment as well       as simplicity-

    We’re stick       -ing with        bas-         ic-

    If someone’s acting toxic        with you, you         reflect and you don’t have to         hang out with anyone         you don’t want to,

    Logic

   This dude      is very clearly making it obvious that    he’s willing to listen to this person,

 And, enabling

“Cl-”

See he’s gaslighting him again      because   he thinks he can get away with it,

With no   accoun-       tability-

 (Or the small bit      this society      believes      in     which is    jail,”

Wr-

Oh!

 Is he a     Gungan      Jedi?

  Also,

  You Don’t  

    SAY!

(The repeated Gaslighter      who has shown multiple times to be     toxic,       Was toxic,    (And prepared to use any means to      subvert the         will? 

Prize  for the  most   in  competent      Je      di

 Like,        Serious-         (Really had to put those two    accoun  t-      ability- cells      to good -    use-”

(For   matting       issue-)

  The writer just saving us the effort of him coming downstairs -all feckin- weird, and the   obvious    “should’ve seen that coming,     “

   ?             ha-ha

    What?

Oh yeah       no the creepy magical stuff wasn’t enough of a      fecking clue in-

  Appar-

   Whelp-

  He   snapped out of that quick-

  Like didn’t even need a      reverse- mind trick

   Good for      him-

   And - actual-     nar-    rative-        -

   Whelp,

   Wreck-ing      -house

       Okay, but how do you think this is going to look to the general public like two Jedi,( very good at persuasion -    mind tricks’ -just showed up, now they’re leader and said Jedi are wreck-ing one of their minster’s houses-  

     One who could’ve     feign-           ed lack of support for the        war

     Like if this is a     set up-  

 the chips-      are about to fall,

 Da-

Okay, seriously how obviously evil,    was this person?

Like we have a weird creepy room,     The robots apparently hanging from the    chandelier    (eck)         And      the knife

   Like if this person      ever-       went-   through a checkpoint

   Also,        Oh-

    That-

   (That     really        does not      look good,)

    Bo-ss

   Yeah,       she clearly has    medical experience,

 (Also yeah    that’s really going to make it    better-”

 Oh yeah the    senator was      seen trying to clean up the      evidence-

    Well the Jedi ran out     full sword’s- a blazing

    (Instead of you know the       Senator chasing after him,         While the peacekeeper stayed behind and tried to        tend to the person,]

   Great     -        -       Or    Not-

Well- tensions    just got raised,

  Of,

 Ai.     Ght, 

 Whelp,

(Okay, no way he’s totally not dead      but sure-)

 A-i-

  -

 Whe-

   That-       sucks-          -         Un-     Con-cious

    That-   doesn’t tell me anything else-

   Like;        Critical      condition?

   D-usk

   Li-terally       no one else?

    (Like don’t get me wrong I’ve been a pretty big Jar-jar fan ever since the change-)

   But really, the Senator, the person that spends the most time away from your - planet

   That’s the person,     they trust the most?

  Ai-

  Hm-

Oh yeah just put on the deadly leaders hat-

   The rese-mblance-

   Not really?

   I mean all humans technically    look the same-

  But-

 Pretty sure Jar jar is a lot      scrawn-         thin        -er

    Also if they’re not going to listen to him as him       they’re not going to listen to him      as he pretends to be their (dead) leader

Also, please don’t go with the      liar revealed plot,

    Yeah no, they have completely different kind of light.   tones,

     The face structure-

    Co-mpletely         different-

     -

   Nope

 -Dead

 Di-ssent

  Agree

   I-

   OK yeah I’m just gonna go over the fact, that as previously state,  I am not a huge fan of the liar revealed plot-

    -or lying

  (No because it’s- unrealistic-    - or there’s anything wrong with it

  -people do lie

     -maybe because of how overdone and             poorly done it’s been,

             -With the liar getting off Scott free without any                  weight

               But I really don’t like this               plot-

-And    the   skip    button    maybe   used     ad-     nausuem-   -

       [Well- shit       [for reference; I was using the skip button ad nausuem when I randomly stopped at the part      with    Greivous

        Things just got a whole lot worse]

         [Tumblr             Refresh]       -

   Any        Way,

   Aww,     That’s kind of nice the    friendship and reliance       the dude has on      Other-        Half            -         Yes        ‘Boss       Leoni’        when someone gets         tox         you leave-        - In a      - relation          ship-  

      Also yeah he’s definitely not       ‘Boss         Leoni’            -            He would’ve stayed and tried to take the    tox

 (Aka Jar-jar is less ena-     bling, les-        tox-     And     Doesn’t       Take        It        For          Much        More.            Than            He            Has               To,

        (He’s   les   -s

      Dyfun.  -c)

      Okay

       Good            Job     -     Also - yeah   how’d you manage that         -         That-

Didn’t get   car   ried up the chain of   com-     mand-        -            Then again Gri-   evous has shown to be a pretty   shit boss.     -      So I can’t blame these guys    for being like yeah compl-      ete stranger     I will totally      take a nap       -right    ,now-         -      You        kinda      have      sticks-        -    [The rain is   really    nice,]

[is this the first time we’ve seen them use active     particle effects      for the camera?

  Either way       it’s really        nice            -

Oh,

They’re    

electric     sticks,

That makes   sense

[- bet     ter      for      Figh     t-      In-       g-

Stop one     1v1     -ing-        It

    I

  W-h

   Again this is what happens when you 1v1 it    and    don’t assume accountability-     - -   

 [Don’t fight a metal cyborg with metal sticks when you’re not prepared to take it, full way,)

   I-

  [I feel like this is supposed to be some    big build up but they only shared like one scene where dude was completely silent,]

  Like,

   Sacr-ifice

    Die to take someone out with you

[Great

  Now

   Ouch]

   Are   they actually going to kill off      grievous because this isn’t look-ing    too    - good      -         Shit-

 Dude-      is still not dead-       -       How?        -          Whelp-           -          Oh,    hey      where the fuck    did you come      from,

 I-           Ack.      Br-u-      Tal

W-el

 -       Un         -         M           -              Plan-

“ damn it        he messed up the       script-,           -Pal   - patine

     Cap-

    Prison   break-

   Also yeah     that’s probably like        a vacation    for him-

 Given     how toxic these assholes     are           -            Ex- change           -           Damn             Ship      per-

      Also screw the 150 or how many other                 sena   -tors        -       Only     Amidala           -      matters          -          A-       ight-     -      Also, dude knows where everyone’s      lair,      Is,

 Like he pissed off Grievous with    -his

 Now he’s just chilling in this      dude’s    sipping earl gray       Or-      Some        Shit-

  Him

  Okay

 Getting a little    ahead of yourself     episode-       -       O k

    I

   Hearing this,  Skywalker doesn’t immediately run back      shout        -ing      nope-        - -       Because, to my knowledge the speaking at      room volume,

  Not    whispering        and the distance        isn’t enough to      -explain it             -            Ai          -   -           Wel-             -      There goes one        min-ion-             -             Droids are apparently    expensive enough to      chastise    Grievous          over-

  But sen-tient - beings are        a dime’     a ‘dozen-

    (Also    gaslighter’s.     don’t give a shit about        you     dear,       God,

  The Painful     dramatic-        irony-

 *tra-      gic-      Wh-      -Oa

 Ai     -     Ri-

  An

  Wh-     -elp,

   You know if it wasn’t for the exposure     earl-        ier   

I would assume they would think that the Jedi was just killing all their Im-por-        tant- elected officials

     Why?

     Wh-at

    He’s right.    -         But dude- that’s pretty      ham fisted-

   I mean-

  How many episodes          (and       possibly        seasons-)      do we have to            go-            - -     Anakin-       is a dick    to lanterns-       -        Also the random theme of the     bots-      coming out of nowhere-    continues-       -     St     -op-          -        Wh-       elp-

    .

    ?         (He          live?)

      I-

      ?

  Good           Play-

     Ah-

    To-

       Oh, yeah,       He’s alive we’re not going to bring that up in any      mention-able way?

      Ike

    Wh     e     l-      p

     Oh           -     That was   -nice-

   You deceived everyone and lied to all          our people,  you’ll make a great      leader,

   Or a great council/    committee leader considering that they do have an open position          ,            Best

I like that they had one bad ass fall and had it replace-d by Dooku being particularly bad-ass       -          In his      place-

In the trade off near the end really speaks to the     frag-ility of war

   I thought-

   It was pretty al-right    Though it really did seem like     - they were trying to build up to something but the structure unfortunately        just didn’t support it,

   Which is unfortunate because they do seem like      bits- that could’ve been nice

   Like Jar-jar being a constant       peacekeeper-

   The underwater        nations-

     Wars be-           tween          - Those               Dude’s

   And that    general guy      -        Who seems to be like he was supposed to be this     - really big deal

 [probably intended to do something      massive in the previous       arcs,]

    But, here,    all he did was that one scene,

    [Would’ve worked better if he was like this Re-       Public Gen-       Er          Al-

    To the      shark guy-

     And Akbar,

     Was just like the resident         enforcer-

     Or something to do with the       prince

    I think it would’ve really worked better with the concept of        ‘being taken’        under,               As well that possibly being a good contrast between     Jar Jar         binks          And        Char-        If Jar- jar got promoted-        With Char being eager at first but then realizing he just         can’t-          And Jar- Jar being reluctant at first but realizing he      can-

   [Note; assumed authority is bad,         Just- some people are better at using it for venting         than others)

   Nope boomers vs throw-         it-back, boom-

       I-

     And it really did feel like this episode       -should’ve been the split one 

   Nearing the end- it started to feel like the 1st-       part of a second ep-

    Which is fine

    Just cut-        of-

   Episode all around being al-right, with just several parts that didn’t make quite sense including the emphasis on the general for that one scene,

[anne-lister-adventures]

Wednesday, 29 April 1840

7

11 3/4

Fine but dull morning Reaumur 12 3/4º now at 8 10/’’ – Breakfast at 8 40/’’ to 9 20/’’ – Wrote and sent note ‘to Monsieur Monsieur Besoc’ to ask him to come during today if he could and what could be got for the Billets d’Échange – And to help me about horses – 

Then had Hoffman, and afterwards himself and his son-in-law (and had a servant to offer who however not speaking Tatar would could do me no good ∴[therefore] dismissed him with this answer) – Till 12 40/’’ – After much talked settled to have the wheels and all necessary done to our Kibitka and a large new box behind for 52/- in Silver –

tire of wheels 5 poods of iron at 4/- =                       32.00              

wood-work of wheels repairing .       .                       8.00                  

chevrile ouvrière (main bolt) .           .                       2.00                  

Box behind and doors fixing, and marche pied        10.00

To be ready – All done complete next Monday evening – 

Then wrote the above of today till now 12 50/’’ – Had George – Domna afraid of something happening if we are too long en voyage – Would like to go back if she had an opportunity – I think there is nothing to fear – Hoped to be back and off from here the end of July and at Odessa in a month – Would not take her to Baku – But for toilette could not do without her – 

Dawdling over 1 thing or other till Madame Tchevtchivadzeiff and her sister Princess Dadian called at 1 40/’’ and sat 1/2 hour – George and Domna out – Had locked all never said a word – Left without a soul – This is terrible – 

Ekaterine Dadiani, Princess of Mingrelia

Our visitors très aimable – A perfectly Europeanized specimen of Georgian ladies – Très comme il faut – The father of our friends (Prince Schevtchivadzieff) bought the house cheap they now live in at 3500/- en argent but with furnishing and all, it had cost him 10,000/- en argent – 

Our visitors gone A-[Ann] and I talked over our being so left and agreed to let Domna go back to Moscow if she preferred it – Then till now 3 35/’’, wrote the last 8 or 9 lines – Had George – Said he and Domna must think about what would be best – She might return to Moscow if she thought it better to do so – 

Dinner over and had ice at 5 1/2 (1st time from a man near serf of the Princess Tcherkaski) each of us an ice à la rose – 20 S.[Silver] K.[Kopek] each – Very small glasses, and tolerably good – 

Out at 6 1/4 to the garden for 1/2 hour – Name day of the grand héritière – Military band – Not many ladies but the greater part of our Society – And several of the gents[gentlemen] – The Golovins Chwostoffs Orloffs Madame Latischeff Madame Besoc &c. &c. – Colonel Broussiloff who will give us notes for Baku and says the road is good and we shall do very well – Captain Tolstoy &c. &c. mentioned our going on Tuesday next with post horses to Baku – Sent message to General Kotzebue by Miss K-[Kotzebue] his sister – Asked General O-[Orloff] for escort, and the Chef de Police for a place for the servants’ Kibitka – He will order it to have a place here – Captain Tolstoy to come at 10 tomorrow to direct and forward my letter to Mr. Marc –

On leaving the garden and coming home A-[Ann] sent the 2 vols.[volumes] of Murrays Geography by George to Madame Chwostoff for her husband to keep till we go away and I walked with him and to the end of the street under the castle-mountain from end to end and back by the Bazaar in 3/4 hour hour at 8 1/2 – Hot with walking fast –

Strong wind all today and this evening – Tea – Sat long over it then had Domna – Asleep while A-[Ann] had her – And then wrote the last 11 1/2 or 12 lines till now 10 1/2 a few drops of rain 2 or 3 times during the day with high wind – Fair this evening and my walk did me good –

[in the margin of the page:]            settled about the carriage

Page Reference: SH:7/ML/E/24/0092

[halla12345]

Very Long Ramble™ about Yann’s reaction to Lucas coming out

(Alternative title: Where I say the word tragedy a million times because what is a thesaurus?)

What gets me about the Vendredi 17.05 clip is how it contradicts one of the fundamental and powerful messages presented in the original season.

Now, the remakes obviously have no obligation to follow the original, and I  agree that any adaptation/remake can and should interpret works with their own vision in mind. That said, that does not mean, in return, the audience has to enjoy or positively receive their interpretation. We can simultaneously encourage creative free will in reimagining works and critically engage with what is subsequently produced.  

So the message I am referring to is the subversion of the idea that the lives of queer and mentally ill people must inherently be tragic and painful.

The references to Romeo + Juliet and Pretty Woman in this season have a number of functions. The primary one being a tool to understand Even’s character - his insecurities, being bipolar and his struggles with suicidal thoughts, his romanticism, his desire to have control over his own narrative. But the season is furthermore framed with these two films in mind to discuss the tropes about love/relationships (specifically for queer/mentally ill people) they put forth.

Romeo and Juliet may not literally be a queer love story; however, it is one quite easily read as such through a queer lens. It is a story of lovers who are torn apart by external forces - families who police their desire and demand the status quo. Their love is a forbidden one that society cannot understand or accept. This speaks volumes as a queer subtext!!

So when Skam season 3 blatantly builds its narrative as a subversion of Luhrmann’s Romeo + Juliet, it is telling us to reject this notion of the inherent tragedy of queer romance. In the episode 2 clip ‘Even’, we’re presented with the claim that ‘the lead must die, otherwise it’s not an epic love story’. And then throughout the season, the story parallels Luhrmann’s movie. Reenacting the pool scene, use of the same soundtrack (Talk Show Host, Kissing You, Local Scene), and visual homages (like the shot at the end of episode 5 clip ‘ Bros’ where Isak falls to the ground screaming mirrors a shot of Romeo doing the same in the film).

But then we don’t get the same ending. Instead, we’re given Pretty Woman (I’ll spare everyone from an additional deep dive into the PW references as this is already going to be a long post). So I’ll just say that after building up a story that parallels Romeo and Juliet, they flip the ending in O Helga Natt: the imagery of the blue neon-lit crosses, the use of montage showing their relationship, Isak/Romeo running through the street may all be parallel, but the outcome is different. We have the contrasting imagery of Romeo entering the church with Isak leaving the church, Romeo not receiving the message from Juliet versus Isak getting and understanding the text from Even. This culminates in the vastly different ending where Romeo and Juliet die while Isak and Even are reunited. We were told to expect tragedy and are instead given the Holywood romantic ending where the two mains save each other. (Now, of course, the final - and my favourite - episode then goes further to critique the idea of viewing one’s life and relationships through the prism of movies altogether, but that’s for another post!).

What we are presented with is a story of two characters who think their stories must be tragic ones because they are queer, because they are mentally ill. However, not only do they find love from each other, but also from everyone else around them. It is a story about learning to reach out to others and ask for support, and in return, they’ll receive not only that love and comfort but also have their lives enriched in the process! When Isak comes out to Jonas, of course, Jonas accepts him - and then Jonas in return can help Isak reach out to Even. When Isak is open and communicates his anxiety about how religious people view homosexuality, Sana is able to give him words of support and the language he needs to come out to his own mother. When Isak is vulnerable and confused about what Even being bipolar means, Magnus can knock some sense into him and dispel the notion that Even was only into Isak because he was manic. This story as such not only disputes the notion that their story must end tragically, but also that their friends and family would be anything other than supportive. Their story need not be one of forbidden love that society (i.e. their peers and family) rejects, but one of community and love!

So with all of that said, why do I dislike how Skam France has reinterpreted this story in regards to Yann’s reaction to Lucas coming out? I mean, I am aware we don’t know yet how the story will end! We have three episodes left, and I still expect Lucas and Elliott will end up together and that Lucas’ friends will eventually come to accept his sexuality. So unless that changes, it will still be a functionally similar ending. And since we don’t know how it will end, why am I even rambling about this now?

Because they have - regardless of the ending - thrown out this message of love and support, this subversion of tragedy in queer stories, in the Vendredi 17.05 clip. Whether or not Yann turns out to have reacted in the manner that he did because Lucas is gay or he wasn’t told first (just ugh no) or something else entirely, their intention is clearly to lean into this tragedy rather than reject it. They’ve given us a narrative where the main character is broken down and thought to believe that his best friend has deserted him because of his sexuality. And even if in the end Yann comes around, in this clip he absolutely has done so. Whether or not that is his intention or motive.

So okay, this argument won’t be convincing to people that view the different Skam shows as ‘completely different stories’ with ‘completely different characters’. However, I believe that media is relational. A story ultimately is a commentary on all that has come before it. Through homage, subversion, expansion, reimagining, and so forth, stories communicate with one another. They do not exist in bubbles. Like as I’ve just said, the original season 3 is a commentary on Romeo + Juliet! And all the Skam remakes are ultimately commentaries on the original. Not necessarily overtly or consciously, but when handed the original script, the directors and their teams have, at every step, chosen to either follow what the original did or change it. And with every decision comes the questions: how? why? and to what effect?

How did they change this from the original? How is it fundamentally the same?

Why did they keep one scene the same but change another one? Why did they change it in the manner they did?

What do these similarities or differences tell us about the story they are trying to tell? What does this change about the themes presented in the original? What themes are they exploring now?

And this change in the coming out scene tells me that they have fundamentally rejected the message that Julie presented in season 3. They have taken her subversion of tragedy and instead decided to play into it. Telling us that ‘this is France in 2019. This isn’t Disneyland. He isn’t a liar.’ (Even when this coming out scene is based on a real story!) That he would rather take this loving, true story of a best friend being supportive when coming out, and make it into a tragic one.

Now, I’m not saying we should never explore dark themes on screen. Homophobia exists and people absolutely do react in this way. We can and should delve into hard experiences in our media. It just hurts to see what once was a story about questioning how we present queer stories contorted to display the very tropes the original wanted to reject. To confirm the very real fears that LGBTQ+ people have about how the people close to them could react if they came out. Again, it’s so so so heartbreaking to see this realised in a version of a story that was telling us that media about queer people doesn’t have to be that way!

Of course, there have been a number of people who have responded to Skam France’s version of this scene positively because it reflects their own experiences. I’m not saying that the way they have changed the scene is objectively wrong or bad. Everyone responds to media differently. I am happy that other people have taken something positive from this, truly! So I’m not trying to change people’s opinions about this clip or Skam France in general. I just needed to express why some people (or at least just I) have reacted so negatively to this scene.

I am still curious to see how the last three episodes play out and what they do with Yann’s character, but I am certainly weary and disappointed that this is the direction they have taken thus far.

Thank you for anyone who has had the patience to read all of this. Alt er Love.

[amunahket]

Happiness

When you really take the time to dig down and find who you are and what you desire, it really surprises you by when you realize just how much your heart has really been toyed around with your whole life, but then you dig deeper and realize that no one toyed around with your heart but you. You THEN dig deeper and see that all of the pain, the heartache, the suffering, the struggles, and disappointments and failures. Its all you, but its not because you deserve it. Its because your subconscious is trying to grab your attention and tell you something, but you won't listen. You're too distracted to hear the message, so you find yourself fucking up again. Suddenly that mustang you were ridding on through the green grassy fields, really start to look like you're being chained to the back of a skeleton horse while being drug through the bloody and flaming plains of hell. Stop for a second and pay attention to your mind, listen to your heart and let the two communicate with one another. Our biggest problem is that we are always in a constant tug-o-war between what we want and what we need, but we hardly ever take the time out to think about and appreciate and indulge in what we already have. What we have is really what we want and need. Otherwise it wouldn't be there. It may not even always seem like alot, but its what you truly wanted. Do kot let the views and greed of society and social interactions cloud your personality and perception on happiness. You decide your happiness and if you are truly happy, then it is because you chose to connect your heart and mind and appreciate your life and your blessings that are present. Time a minute from social media, from tech, from people and just meditate and think about what you have. Think about what you had that was probably good for you (or bad) and think about how blessed you truly are, then indulge in it. once you do that, the universe will begin to speak volumes and place more blessings in your life because you are no longer rushing. You're no longer pushing to make moves. You're simply living and loving in the moment, so now there is nothing to stress and obsess over. We all need this.

[beneaththetangles]

Guest Post: Invaders of the Rokujouma and Strength in Weakness

Welcome back JeskaiAngel, one of our regular guest contributors here on Beneath the Tangles. Today, he takes a deep dive into a light novel series we recommend—Invaders of the Rokujouma!?

I didn’t expect to encounter deep, encouraging thoughts about the nature and origin of true strength in a light novel, but… I recently started reading the light novel series Invaders of the Rokujouma!?. It’s partly Stardf29’s fault for a post about it on Twitter, and partly the fault of J-novel Club for making the first NINETEEN volumes of the series available for free (seriously, why are you reading me instead of them?). I quickly devoured, well, all nineteen of them and now eagerly wait for more to be translated into English.

In the course of my madcap novel-devouring spree, I was impressed by how insightfully the series explored the concept of strength. If you’re not familiar with the series, hmm, let’s say it starts out being about a high school kid living on his own and trying to defend his apartment from a ghost, alien invasion, mole people, and cosplayers, and gets more awesome from there. The protagonist ends up facing and defeating all manner of threats to the well-being of his friends and apartment. While the topic of strength comes up several times, there’s an especially deep conversation about it in vol. 14.

Protagonist Koutarou’s landlord, Shizuka, mostly seemed to be a normal human for the first thirteen volumes, albeit one highly skilled in martial arts. Then *spoilers* it turns out she is host to the astral projection of a giant magic dragon and receives said dragon’s strength. Shizuka discovers this when she tries to save a child from a fire similar to the one in which her parents died. She finds herself unable to pull off the rescue, only for Uncle Dragon to reveal himself to her and empower her to save both her own life and that of the kid.

Though the books are incalculably superior to the anime, I concede that the anime is a convenient source for images

Afterward, Shizuka is grateful for Uncle Dragon’s help, but also suffers a crisis of confidence. After years and years of training her body to be as strong as possible so that she could protect others, she still wasn’t strong enough to deal with the problem on her own and had to rely on someone else. “In the end, I still couldn’t save anyone, just like when dad and mom died. So I’m disappointed that I haven’t grown at all…” Landlord-san laments. Feeling that all her training was meaningless, she expresses envy of Koutarou (who, among other achievements, accidentally became the most famous knight in the entire history of an alien civilization). Shizuka says, “I’d like to learn the secret behind being a legendary hero.”

Koutarou’s response shocks his landlord: “According to your way of thinking, I’ve never saved anyone with just my own strength before.” As she starts to object, Koutarou declares that he’s “[A]lways borrowing everyone else’s power to fight.” The only strength Koutarou can claim as his own is moderate skill with a sword. But someone else gave him his regular sword and his high-tech armor. Another character gave him his magic sword. A third person gave him what is basically a magic gauntlet. A fourth gave him some psychic abilities… You get the idea. In every one of his battles, Koutarou owed his success to weapons, skills, and powers that others provided.

Koutarou points out that in terms of basic physical strength Landlord-san is already stronger than he is, and says he can only offer one piece of advice: “What you need right now is to be able to honestly rely on others.” He confesses that he used to think it was “disgraceful” to need others and not be independent, but learned by experience that only by borrowing others’ power could he accomplish anything. “I have people I have to protect no matter how. And I need power to be able to do that. I don’t care whose power that is, because I don’t have room to be picky.” Self-reliance might salve his ego, but it would leave him incapable of making any difference in the lives of those he cared about. Koutarou could receive and fully use the strength of others only because he first accepted his own weakness. As the narrator puts it, “[h]e had something he wanted to protect more than his pride.”

As Shizuka ponders Koutarou’s words, she realizes that her tenant wasn’t strong because of his weapons and powers, “He was strong because he acknowledged that he was weak.” And nothing before this did, that quote especially is reminiscent of a Bible verse or three. Faced with some unspecified problem, the apostle Paul prayed repeatedly that God would remove it. In response, Jesus told him, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Thus, Paul said he determined to “boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me…For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Cor. 12.9-10). Paul’s personal weakness provided the perfect venue for God to display far greater power.

In John 9, we find the hilarious story of Jesus healing a man who was born blind (seriously, I dare you to read this story and then tell me God doesn’t have a sense of humor). Jesus uses the physical blindness of the man he healed as a metaphor for spiritual blindness. When some of his opponents, the Pharisees, scoff that they aren’t blind, “Jesus said to them, ‘If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you say, ‘We see,’ your guilt remains’” (Jn. 9.41). Elsewhere, Jesus observes that those who think they are well don’t visit a doctor. And in Rev. 3.17, addressing the believers in Laodicea, Jesus says, “You say, ‘I am rich, and have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,’ and you do not know that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked.” We can’t accept the help we need while clinging to pride and self-righteousness. We can’t enjoy the strength God offers if we insist on relying on ourselves for everything. A sense of arrogant independence that denies our true weakness will keeping us from trusting others – God above all – the way we need to.

Jesus’ answer when Paul asked about his “thorn in the flesh” was hardly the first time God used weakness as an occasion for power. God brought about salvation fall mankind through a man being crucified, even though the world found that the cross disgraceful and foolish. In ancient times, crucifixion was considered an especially humiliating and degrading form of execution. This is part of what Paul was getting at when he wrote, “For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men…God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong” (1 Cor. 1.25, 27).

Unlike Koutarou, we have no friendly ghosts to grant us psychic abilities or alien princesses to provide us with powered armor, but we do have access to one even mightier who is willing to empower us. But just like Koutarou, we need humility in order to be able to trust someone else for our strength. Accepting our own weakness can challenging. In some ways, it’s more comfortable to cling to a delusion of self-sufficiency. I (and probably most of you, O readers mine) live in a society that prizes that personal independence, glories in so-called “rugged individualism,” and believes that reliance on anything outside ourselves should be considered a regrettable stopgap at best. Moreover, culture often cloaks its pride-promoting messages in pseudo-virtuous rationalizations, making it even trickier to recognize pride in ourselves.

Chronic illness, both physical and mental, has forced me to look at just how weak I really am. For God to aid me in my weakness today is merely a continuation of how he has worked many times before. The scriptures are full of stories in which people who trusted God rather than relying on themselves “were made strong out of weakness” (as Heb. 11.34 puts it). Nothing has changes since Yahweh, speaking of himself, declared:

“He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for Yahweh shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” (Isa. 40.29-31)

I’m weak. That’s just how it is. But I don’t need to stay weak. I just need to trust my Almighty Creator and let go of my pretensions of independence.

Koutarou easily accepts the reality of ghosts, mole people, and extraterrestrials, but struggles with how unrealistic the idea magic is.

The Afterword of vol. 19 further contributes to Invaders of the Rokujouma!?’s exploration of true strength. A character named Yurika has finally come into her own and proven herself extremely strong. Oh, and she’s not just strong, she’s also a prodigy, a genius when it comes to magic. Despite being incredibly powerful, she began the story as the most immature, lazy, whiny, cowardly member of the entire (rather large) cast. Her weakness of character made her what the author calls a “dysfunctional magician” despite having access to phenomenal cosmic power. (Hmm, is it coincidence that she also ends up with an itty-bitty living space inside a wardrobe?) Only after Yurika undergoes many volumes of character development and becomes more loving and courageous is she able to start using her magic to its full potential. The author explains that this was by design – he wanted Yurika to be extremely strong, but making her too capable at the outset would have disrupted the story. Instead of limiting how much power Yurika had, the author used her character flaws to limit on how she used her magic. A similar blending of assets and flaws happened for most of the story’s characters, the author adds. The only member of the main cast with no particular flaws or weaknesses is Kiriha – the one character with no supernatural abilities or overpowered weapons of her own. In different ways, she is both the weakest and the strongest.

Yurika’s character arc – and her contrast with the perceptive and insightful yet physically weak Kiriha – demonstrates of two more points about true strength. First, prideful self-sufficiency isn’t the only the flaw that can keep us from being powerful. Second, while some weaknesses of character can largely nullify other strengths we may possess (as in Yurika’s case), there are also forms of weakness that can coexist alongside great power. Yurika wielded powerful magic but for many volumes was still the weakest member of the cast. The strongest man who ever was or will be let himself be crucified, and you can be sure that while he hung there in pain, naked, bleeding, and gasping for breath, he didn’t look strong at all. But Jesus’ physical weakness in that moment only serves to highlight his incredible strength of character, trust, and love. Going to the cross was an act of weakness, in a sense, but also a display of unfathomable strength. Similarly (though to an infinitely lesser degree), Kiriha’s relative weakness in combat doesn’t prevent her from possessing inner strength.

I don’t know about you, but I struggle with letting my weaknesses define me. I look at my inability to do something, or my inability to do something well, or even my inaccurately perceived inability to something well, and conclude that I am, as a person, weak. I look at areas where I struggle spiritually and conclude I’m a horrendous sinner. I end up defining my self-image based on weakness. Invaders of the Rokujouma!? offered me, and I hope you as well, a helpful correction. These books serve as a reminder that strength comes from others and that a lack of inherent personal strength isn’t a problem. These books are a reminder that character flaws can get in the way of strength but don’t wholly negate it, and by growing in character, I can make greater use of strength I already possess. Finally, the stories of Koutarou, Shizuka, Yurika, and the others serve as a reminder that unlike weakness of character, one may be physically weak and still have access to undiminished strength.

“Fear not, for I am with you;

be not dismayed, for I am your God;

I will strengthen you, I will help you,

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” – Isa. 4

Interested in checking out Invaders of the Rokujouma!? Check out to the links below for Volume 14, referenced in the first half of this piece, and volume 19 from the second half, or if you haven’t started at all, volume 1!

[kgilbri7-blog]

All-Points Bulletin: Wanted: Honor; Last Seen with Moral Values

“So goes the moral compass of the people, so goes the popular culture — so goes the political system, as well.”-Cheryl K Chumley, The Washington Times[1]

 In 2010, CNN’s Jack Cafferty reported that “a new Gallup poll paints a depressing picture of the state of our moral values in the U.S. [and] that 45 percent of those surveyed describe morality in this country as ‘poor’... only 15 percent - fewer than one in five– say ‘excellent or good.”[2] Bloomberg retells this same tale, “More than 80 percent of people polled rate moral values in the U.S. as fair or poor—a seven-year low, and 77 percent of respondents to a new Gallup poll say the state of moral values will continue to get worse.”[3]  

Some people might see the progression of American society as becoming better or more tolerant of differing cultural values. If, this is so, should we not have a society then that improves in its key indicators of success? If tolerance and coexistence, the prosperity gospel, the new age movement, and the overall “do what makes you happy as long as you are not hurting anyone” mantra was so effective; why are we not seeing the result of this in society? We ARE seeing the results of these behaviors and attitudes.

We are becoming a morally bankrupt culture because if everything is permissible then where do we draw the line in the proverbial sand? There is no line in the sand because we do not draw one anymore. No, our arms are not broken, quite the contrary, our collective arm is busy doing other things. And if we draw a line in the sand then in effect, we must make judgment calls as to what is “right” and what is “wrong” and well…we just do not do that anymore because we might offend someone or not be viewed as a team player or as someone who is not P.C. (politically correct). When we are busy appeasing everyone, we appease no one.

“Sputter…Humm…the Bible says, ok maybe I am confused here, but the Bible teaches us not to judge.[4]” One of the Bible verses most people quote at this point is “do not judge so that you will not be judged.”[5] This is also a verse in the Good Book that is very misused. Biblical commentator, Albert Barnes, would tell us that this command is speaking about a certain type of judgment not a pronouncement against all judgment. If that were so, how would we decide what to do every day? What is meant, instead, is “rash, harsh, and uncharitable judgments.”[6]

Getting back to the APB, if we can use a moral compass, then, perhaps we can find our way back. In the days of ole, and not saying these “ole” days did not have their issues, people knew right from wrong because they were taught a moral code; an honor system. Think about the meaning of the word “honour” or “honor.”  The online English Oxford Dictionary, defines honor, in its noun usage as someone who is “upright, held in high esteem, respected, privileged, and of distinction” and it is “the quality of knowing and doing what is morally right.”[7]

One of the top themes found in literature and in movies is Good vs Evil. We know the heroes from the villains because of their behavior, namely their code of honor. Yes, there can be a code among thieves, the standard for “the good: courage, freedom, loyalty, and honor and…the bad: cowardice, imprisonment, selfishness, and betrayal.”[8] Some of the top grossing movies deal with characters of honor, living or doing things honorably or fighting for the honor of something: Avatar, Titanic, Star Wars series, Avenger series, and the more recent Black Panther.[9] Notice, too that some of these movies deal with superheroes, who have their own code of honor. We crave honor because it is missing. What is America’s code of honor based on today?

  [1] Cheryl K Chumley, “America's Morals On Crash Course to Rome,” Washington Times, June 5, 2018, under “Opinion/Commentary,” https://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2018/jun/5/americas-moral-compass-worst-its-ever-been-poll/.

[2] Jack Cafferty, “What's behind precipitous decline in America's morality?,” Cafferty File (blog), CNN, May 17, 2010, http://caffertyfile.blogs.cnn.com/2010/05/17/whats-behind-precipitous-decline-in-americas-morality/.

[3] Suzanne Woolley, “Americans Say U.S. Moral Values at a Seven-Year Low,” Bloomberg, May 22, 2017, under “Business,” https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2017-05-22/americans-see-u-s-moral-values-at-a-seven.

[4] Mt 7:1: Unless otherwise indicated, all scriptural quotations are from the New American Standard Bible.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Albert Barnes, "Commentary on Matthew 7:1," Barnes' Notes on the New Testament: Complete in One Volume, 8th ed. (Grand Rapids: Kregel Publications, 1990), 34.

[7] "Honour". OED Online. December 2018. Oxford University Press. http://www.oed.com/viewdictionaryentry/Entry/88227

[8] Noelle Buffam, “Top 10 Central Themes in Film,” The Script Lab, April 1, 2011, https://thescriptlab.com/screenwriting/story/story-development/1005-top-10-central-themes-in-film/11/.

[9] “All Time Box Office,” Box Office Mojo, February 16, 2018, https://www.boxofficemojo.com/alltime/world/.

[syphiria]

Makai Ouji Pillar 95 (final) Translation

Sorry for the wait. Here is the finale~~~~~!!

RAW via Michelle. Thank you.

Note: Mobile line breaks seem to be broken. Please switch to a browser to see proper formatting.

1 (A splendid palace once stood here) (The fact that it used to be a paradise for demons, now no one knows anymore-) ([Makai Ouji: devils and realist] at last the finale-!!)

2 (Each and every one’s path continues to tomorrow-…) (Volumes 1-14, on sale now!!) (Makai Ouji devils and realist) (Final Pillar)

3 (Finally, the emotional finale!!!!) (Utako Ukihiro) (Author: Madoka Takadono)

4 S: You are Lucifer’s child? Were you after this ring just to challenge him? What a foolish and pitiful soul This is nothing like what you want C: Are you…… going to make me a slave?

5 S: I’m just going to make you sleep Until those wounds heal Everyone is doing that Here, there is no one who will harm you (Not even Lucifer) (Power unattainable even by that Emperor) C: Even I will be able sleep here?

6 (I found relief in those pillars many times) (By his side) (That’s why I tried to create this time So that this time, I may receive him) B: O new Emperor of ours Lead this Hell

7 C: I swear to fulfil my duty

8 A: In the end, with Lord Sitri in Heaven Dantalion in Limbo The one who gained the most from this battle seems to be His Lordship Beelzebub B: Your Majesty is still young From here on, it is likely that we will be required to assist C: With the disappearance of Samael and Baalberith The West and the East are missing Kings Thus, to make sure the land of the Gauls is governed, I myself will take over the ruins B: -As you wish J: To think that even after becoming a demon, I can’t cut ties with the United Kingdom B: Though if I may, there is something that I would like to ask Your Majesty

9 Leaving the command of roles of the Four Kings at that What do you plan to do with the positions of the Four Princes? J: With a new regime do you plan to assign a ‘substitute king’ and an ‘elector’? That being said, both you and we Anyone will eventually slumber The position of the Emperor cannot be left open C: That’s true… However, let’s end the conflicts from the last generation Both illogical and unproductive I’ve painfully experienced enough with this time’s case J: …… ?

10 C: It seems like I’ve been infected by that realist J: My Imperial Majesty C: Stop with that address J: Come on now, I’ve brought some good intel Hear me out ‘til the end C: ?

11 SFX dash B: Your Majesty!? J: Would you please let him go? Because he’s lived until now for this very moment

12 M: Sorry I’ve become a demon C: It’s fine No matter what form You will always be you

13 So please don’t go anywhere else…… M: Let’s bake pizza again, the three of us and invite many guests Because I want people besides us to know too of how kind you are

14 My Imperial Majesty [-One year later] [United Kingdom King’s College of Our Lady of Stratford beside the Avon Also known as: Stradford College] (TN/ The Japanese says Stradford rather that Stratford)

15 T: Graduate representative, the dux- Mycroft Swallow! W: (nihility) T: Congratulations to our new generation of graduates!!

16 Damn it… Damn it…! SFX stomp stomp If it wasn’t for the couple’s quarrel between those annoying old men I wouldn’t have been treated as missing by the house!! (The holiday ended while he was in Hell so he was treated as a missing person) I: (That’s what William makes of arguably the greatest event in History that is Lucifer’s destruction?) W: Curse them How dare there leave a scare in my glorious future diary… I: It’s fine, isn’t it W: What!? I: You’re going for further study at Oxford, right? Yet I can’t even graduate-! [Finally Sixth Form] W: Isn’t it good that you managed to advance to the next grade?

17 (This is supposed to be a view that I’m used to, yet I wonder why I feel as if something is missing-) M: Hey, congrats W: Mathers! M: E-a-r-l!

18 From today, my teaching career ends Since I thought that I’d go travelling with them E: Congrats! B: Happy times! W: Whoa!? What’s with you M: They wanted to thank you for saving Stradford’s forests If you hadn’t bought back the land, this place would have also become a polluted town W: …It’s nothing; I just used the money he left behind appropriately [After Uncle Barton died Arthur Christian disappeared some time from the school] [According to Mathers, the role of the Four Horsemen may have ended…]

19 But the council hasn’t yet passed a law regarding smog restriction M: This you’ll have to ask the person himself I: [After the said day that the old world was destroyed ‘They’ became scarce] [I heard that Sitri became an angel (at the same level as that Metatron to boot)] [Camio ascended the throne of Hell (he’s Lucifer’s son, so to say that was expected)] [Dantalion-] [is apparently slumbering in Limbo]

20 [Injured demons sink themselves into a slumber similar to death for hundreds of years] [That’s why no longer Can he and William meet] (Ultimately, he didn’t even go to Camio’s coronation) At this rate, will he continue and become a normal human? William M: Those notes have become quite thick I: Mr Mathers I’m considering eventually compiling it into one volume as you suggested, sir

21 M: You can stop with the sir I’m no longer a teacher here The Order of the Golden Dawn remains as a secret society for now I: Are you not doing what the Freemasons did? M: Are you interested? I: Of course! I’m thinking of eventually joining the Rosicrucian Order too!! M: If that’s the case, you can use this if you like I: Really!? M: I doubt I will use the name Mathers again You can go ahead and use it as a pen name MacGregor isn’t my real name anyway

22 Isaac, you’ll be the second-generation Mathers, so to speak Alter ipse amicus. ‘A friend is another self’ I: [After that, I never met the ‘Count of Glenstrae’ again] [Perhaps, maybe once] [The one who appeared in England during that horrific world war may have been him]

23 [Regardless, I succeeded his name And went on to record all the odd events that occurred around William] (‘The Lesser Key of Solomon’) […The truth is, saying that nothing strange happened around William after that would sort of be a lie] K: Young Master~~~!!! Thank God I made it on time- W: Kevin, you’re quite late K: I applied for leave just for today But my superior piled up work

24 [After Kevin took Dantalion to Limbo Right when he was about to fall from using up all his power] [It’s hard to believe, but apparently, he was saved by Michael] [He got his wings back and was able to return to Heaven] [Apparently, his current superior is that Sitri For better or for worse, they seem to be getting along well]

25 [The aforementioned Sitri still visits the human realm from time to time Even after becoming an angel] S: Still watching Even now…

26 Sign: Go die, Freemasons!!

27 SFX grab

28 M: I’ll find him Definitely

29

30

31 I: Graduation, huh A lot has happened but Can we no longer gather together and have tea like before~ Ah- T: By the way, I forgot to mention, William There’s actually a transfer student W: What? It’s the graduation ceremony today

32 Who on earth would transfer at a time like this- …Dan talion…? D: Congrats on graduating

33 W: …Why What happened to sleeping for a hundred years!?!? D: I’m shocked myself too To think that I’d awaken so soon W: In Limbo …… never I thought we’d never be able to meet again…… D: Because I wanted to see you

34 -plus I felt like you were calling me

35 K: SFX stab Let go of those filthy hands right now! D: What the heck Jerk who nearly died! K: And who exactly is a jerk who nearly died?! (I can chuck you back into Limbo again if you want!) W: Oi… S: I made it!!! William!! I’ve come by Pegasus Express!

36 C: Hey, William W: Camio too!?!? Is it alright for the Emperor of Hell and the Representative of Heaven to be casually hanging around… (Second-generation Gabriel) (Second-generation Lucifer) S: You’re going to be in a dorm in Oxford too anyway, right? In that case, I’ll occupy the common room again C: Maybe I’ll be a student again W: You guys…

37 There’s no more Substitute King selection Neither is there Solomon’s ring S: This has nothing to do with contracts W: Wha D: I like you so I want to be by your side That’s all W: L L Like…… What are you sayin……

38 S: Choose me any time you feel lonely, William Heaven’s quite a nice place (the annoying obsessed-psycho is no longer here) D: Shut-up angel The one whom William will choose is me! C: Don’t pay attention to those two, William I would love for you to come to my wedding ceremony with Maria (Maria’s bridal state is so beautiful you could die) W: My graduation ceremony My glorious day of departure!! D: You’re at fault W: What did you say S: That’s right We’ve known each other for so long, yet we still haven’t heard that crucial thing

39 D: William Who is it that you like? W: W who…

40 All: -Choose me, William!

41 SFX snap K: Get away from the Young Master’s side!! I: An angel, a demon, and a nephilim It really is rare for a human to be proposed to by everything in this world As expected of you, William W: Listen up I’m telling you this one important thing that you guys seem to have forgotten despite our long acquaintance… Open up your ears and listen carefully!

42 In this glorious life of mine Neither angels Nor demons Nor magic is needed -I am a realist!

43 All: I know!! (Thank you for being a reader for this long time!! Utako Yukihiro’s new series starts next issue!! Please look forward to it!!)

That’s it! As always, please point out any mistakes if you spot any. Thanks for sticking around for so long~~ And for those who still want more, don’t worry, I am still working on the translation for Isaac’s Fortune-Telling Diary; I will probably translate that extra booklet regarding Heaven too.

[voyages-extraordinaires]

C:R ~VE~ Chapter 25

The next morning, Nemo and I decide that it would be a good time to get Impey to try and alter the transmitters so Cardia can speak with the party at Steel London.

I try my best not to make eye contact with her... though I’m stabbed by guilt when I notice the deep bags under her eyes.

When we find Smith, she doesn’t even need an explanation. She proudly escorts us to the transmitter room to show off the technology that they use to keep in contact with Steel London.

“Ohh, this baby will be fun to work with!” Barbicane rolls up his sleeve. “Nemo, hit me with the transmitter paired with Aouda-chan’s.”

I begin to follow Cardia over to watch him work when Smith touches my arm. The look on her face is conflicted, like she’s having trouble forming the words she feels she needs to say.

“Look, I don’t know the details about Professor Aleister did to you, but... I’m sorry,” her voice is quiet and vulnerable, different from her usual boisterousness. “He saved my life. I never would have thought that he’d be capable of this!”

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize.How could you have known? Smith, we would never blame you for this, so please don’t apologize.”

Smith gives me a weak smile but then slowly looks down at the floor. “I trusted him, you know? I... I looked up to him...”

Nemo claps a hand on Smith’s shoulder.

“Ohhhhh, my stuuuudent!” he takes a deep, dramatic breath. “This pain in your heart-- I know it well!”

“Huh?” Smith looks up at Nemo with a confused expression.

“You feel betraaaaayed, right? Lost! Without your guiding light! It was the same for me, yes... without my precious sensei... allow me to pass on the gift that was given to me then! These! Simple! Words!”

He throws his head back and points triumphantly at Smith.

“You... are more than Aleister’s shadow! It’s your time to step out into the suuuuuuuuuuun! The child muuuuust surpass the parent, such is the way of sciiiiiiiiience!”

Nemo’s voice increases in volume as more passion is poured into his words.

"My student-- you are not alone! This island that you discovered is a Holy Laaaaaaaand! Though Aleister sewed the seeds, you were the one who cultivated and tended to it! Now we all walk the same path together, all treading towards new knowledge and new ideas, a beautiful horizon indeeeeeeeeeeed!”

Smiths’s eyes widen, and she puts a hand to her chest as though she had been shot. “Nemo...."

She looks up at him with tears brimming in her eyes. “Nemo-sensei...!!!”

I quickly take a step back so I’m not in the path of teacher and pupil embracing each other. Oh, boy...

As they hug each other, both in tears, I can’t help but smile. Looks like Nemo finally gets to be ‘sensei’.

“If all you can do is regurgitate botched quotes from Aleister, then you probably shouldn’t attempt to dole out advice!”

Nemo and I whirl around to face the very familiar voice.

Barbicane stands up, grinning. “Ha ha! Got this baby working like a charm for me! Hey, Finis, how are things in Steel London?”

“It isn’t as noisy as usual, which is nice,” Finis says with a sigh. “Now, more importantly, where’s my sister?”

“I’m here,” says Cardia. “I’m glad to hear that you’re doing well, Finis.”

“Of course I’m doing well, honestly...”

A light laugh comes through the transmitter. “Don’t be like that, Finis... he was actually quite worried about you, Miss Cardia.”

“Saint!” Cardia beams at the sound of his voice.

“Criminy, you’re all so intent on wasting time with unimportant things. Don’t come complaining to me when Fogg pitches a fit.”

“Finis, don’t blame your foul mood on my wife!” this time it’s Aouda who laughs, and Nemo jumps over to the transmitter like a hyperactive grasshopper. Luckily for everyone who wanted to hold a coherent conversation, Barbicane is able to keep the transmitter away from Nemo.

“Hey, I want to talk to Cardia-chan, too!” This time it's a voice I had never heard, a young boy’s.

“Della-chan, it’s good to hear your voice,” says Cardia. “Have you and Van been able to make a lot of progress?”

“Not as much as we would have liked... but the situation you’ve wound up in is of particular interest to me, so we came back,” another voice I don’t recognize, this one deep and cool.

“Woaaah, Van too?! San-chan, how many people have you crammed into that mansion of yours?” asks Barbicane.

“As soon as Finis arrived with Fogg and Aouda, we sent word for the rest of the group to join us,” says Saint. “For the time being Van, Della, Fran-- (Saint pauses here in anticipation of Nemo’s excited shrieking)-- and Lupin are all staying here. Impey, you shouldn’t need to worry about your companions for long.”

“So... so many people...” Nemo sniffs loudly. “So many people... all here to help meeeeeeeeee?”

There’s a very quiet sigh that I recognize as belonging to Dr. Frankenstein. “I’m fairly certain that most of us are here for Cardia and Impey’s sakes... o-oh, I apologize, Miss Aouda.”

The general clamor of reminiscing dies down when Finis says: “Ah, so the peacock has strut back in.”

“Oh, everyone’s all gathered together? I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long!” a charismatic voice pipes through.

Cardia straightens up, her eyes sparkling. “Lupin!”

I perk up. So, that was the voice of the famous gentleman thief.

“Cardia, it’s been too long! I hope Impey hasn’t been giving you too much trouble,” he says.

“Oy, Lupin--! You greet your partner like that after all this time--?!”

I can practically hear Lupin smiling over the transmitter.

“I’ve been having a lot of fun here,” says Cardia. “Everyone’s very nice, and we’re all working very hard. Actually, I’m very glad that everyone’s around, I wanted to say something important...”

“Hm? What is it, Cardia?” asks Della.

“I’m...” Cardia takes a deep breath, then smiles. “I’m going to be going on the voyage with Impey and the others.”

The silence on the other end of the transmitter is so astounding that Barbicane ducks down to make sure it’s still working.

Saint’s the first one to speak. “A submarine voyage... my, how romantic.”

“Perhaps, but... by ‘the others’, do you mean...”

Frankenstein’s voice is cut off by Nemo plucking the transmitter from Barbicane’s hands.

“Of cooooooooourse! Cardia-chan will be in myyyyyy custody beneath the waves, so you have no need to worry!”

There’s a beat of silence, and then everybody on the other end of the transmitter begins to protest at once.

“Sister, have you lost your mind?!” asks Finis. “There’s no way I can agree to that!”

“He’s right,” says Frankenstein. “There would be no way we could guarantee your safety, Cardia.”

“Hey, hey, I’m going to be there too!” Barbicane points to himself, even though no one can see it over the transmitter. “Don’t count me out, I’ll make sure our princess is safe!”

“It’s-- It’s not that I don’t trust you, Impey...” Frankenstein continues.

“No, we definitely don’t trust him,” says the man that Barbicane called ‘Van’. “Cardia, do you remember the training I gave you?”

“Of course,” replies Cardia.

“SHE ISN’T GOING TO NEED TO USE ANY OF HER TRAINING ON ME!” Barbicane protests loudly.

Among all the clamor, one voice rises to silence the rest. One voice speaks calmly.

“A submarine with Impey and Nemo, huh...” says Lupin. “... Is the Lady of Science there? Professor Aronnax?”

I jump when I realize that he’s referring to me, of all people, with such a romantic name. ‘Lady of Science’... I could get used to that.

I shake my head to stop a self-indulgent smile from crossing my face. Now isn’t the time for daydreaming!

“Yes, I’m here,” I walk towards the transmitter, and Nemo passes it to me with a flourish and a knowing grin. “Just ‘Aronnax’ is fine. I’m not a professor anymore.”

“Oh? That’s a shame, the ‘rogue professor’ has become quite a popular character back home,” says Lupin, a laugh in his voice.

“Back home...? You mean Paris?”  my eyes widen.

“Of course,” says Lupin. “The professor who left her world in pursuit of forbidden love with a mad scientist!”

“W-What...?” I feel my cheeks redden-- with anger. “That’s what they’re saying about me?! That I left Paris to chase after love?! I left Paris for a love, all right, a love of BIOLOGY! If they’re going to spread stories about me, the least they could do make my focus on my research!”

“Haha, sorry, sorry! But a romantic heroine is much more sympathetic, don’t you think?”

“Huh?” I raise an eyebrow.

“A professor, exhausted after being bound by society’s expectations, stands up against the powers that be in order to save the man she loves! Pretty catchy, right?”

Frankenstein speaks softly against Lupin’s grandiose speech: “It’s just a little difficult when the story’s love interest terrorized London in a gigantic battleship...”

“ Arsène Lupin... it sounds almost like you might have had a hand in crafting these stories,” I murmur.

“Of course!” I can practically see him gesturing grandly. “While Fran tries to reach Victoria’s senses and Saint tries to influence the aristocracy, it is up to me to light a fire in the hearts of the people!”

I hear Lupin step forward and pick up the transmitter. It feels like he’s speaking only to me despite the others being with us.

“Pauline Aronnax, as someone honored enough to live in those hearts as a beloved outlaw, I’m glad to call you a comrade. The story might not be the exact truth, but the ‘heart’ is still there! You feel it too, right?”

I find myself putting my hand over my heart despite myself.

“That ardent heartbeat... whether it awakened in the search of knowledge or in the search of love, no one can deny its power. When our stories come to a close, people won’t remember what made our hearts begin. What they’ll remember is what we do with the power it gives us.”

“Our stories... my story entwining with his...” I whisper.

I am alone with Lupin’s words and the heart thumping in my chest.

“T-T-That’s sooooo beaaauuutiiffuuul----!!!”

It’s Nemo’s loud wailing that pulls me out of the gentleman thief’s spell.

I shake my head to clear it and put a confident smile on my face. “Lupin, you certainly do have a way with words! Very well, then, I’ll leave my reputation in your capable hands.”

“Then I will make sure you live in the hearts of the people forever, Professor! Victoria will find an uprising on her hands if she goes against Paris’ new darling,” says Lupin.

“Just... can’t you add a little bit more of my research to it?” I laugh nervously. “I mean, can’t that be part of my motivation? The pursuit of knowledge is very romantic!”

“Well, I think that settles it,” says Lupin. “Our princess will be safe with the professor.”

“Uh, Lupin?” I try to interject. “My research?”

“And how would you know that Sister will be safe?” Finis’ voice is low and dangerous.

“Because the professor is in love,” replies Lupin.

“Please at least attempt to make a little sense,” Fogg finally speaks up.

“Just think about everything we’ve been told- from Aouda, that Conseil guy, and even you! The Professor is in love with the very idea of this journey. She would never let anything jeopardize it.” 

“Besides, I think you all are missing something very important,” I add. “I’m quite fond of Cardia, too. There’s no way I would let these two get away with anything indecent.”

“M-Man, Polly-chan, that’s cold...” Barbicane mumbles.

“How cruuuuuel of you to include your beloooooved scientist in there---!!” Nemo puts a hand to his head and dramatically leans back in anguish.

I can practically hear Finis sulking through the aether.

“Finis...” Cardia takes the transmitter from me, addressing her brother with a gentle voice. “You should know better than anyone that I can handle myself.”

Eventually, I hear Finis sigh. It’s probably the best consent we’ll get out of him.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I have a question,” asks Smith. She steps up to the transmitter, looking around worriedly. When nobody objects, she takes a breath. “Honestly, up until a little while ago I never thought about questioning it, but.... why would Professor Aleister go to all this length for a submarine?”

Everybody is silent, even Nemo.

“Finis,” I ask. “He worked under you, right? What do you think?”

Finis scoffs. “Aleister did what I needed for him to do, and that was that. I didn’t bother with useless questions, and neither did he.”

“...Van?” I hear Frankenstein ask quietly. “Do you have any ideas?”

There’s a deep sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it myself. It seems out of character for him to be after something like a submarine,” he says.

“If he specifically wanted a submarine capable of crossing the Atlantic, that means he plans on going a great distance,” says Frankenstein. “But for what purpose...?”

There’s more silence, until Lupin speaks: “Well, that’s our job to find out, isn’t it? Leave Aleister to us!”

“Haaaa ha ha ha ha!That’s riiiiiiiiiight! If our precious friends help us, then nothing is impossible!”

Nemo’s saccharine words silence me. Though I’m not sure how many picked up on it, or how many even wanted to pick up on it...those words were nothing short of his cruelest sarcasm.

They’re his strange way of reminding us-- me-- that we have to prepare for the worst.That we might not ever be able to go back. That we might always be on the run from Victoria, or that we might always be evading Aleister’s games.

I quietly reach over and take Nemo’s hand, choosing to respond with a touch instead of with words.

Cardia and Barbicane chat happily with Lupin and the others, pausing every now and then to let Nemo shriek at Frankenstein.

It’s a good half-hour before the call begins to wrap up and we say our goodbyes. It’s obvious just how much Cardia means to the gang, each of them wishing her well on this journey. They also each threaten Barbicane in great detail, and reference the harm that will come to Nemo if he even looks at Cardia the wrong way.

“Professor.”

I straighten up when I hear Aouda’s calm and cool voice. “Yes?”

“Have you found the happiness that you were looking for?”

I remember when she asked me: “What do you think will make you happy now?”

I had replied, “I want to be with Nemo and Barbicane and the others.”

I look over at the slouched scientist idly looking over the controls.

“I have.”

[the-tailor-retailored]

The French Revolution: A History Volume 1 Excepts

it is a summing-up of Life; a final settling, and giving-in the “account of the deeds done in the body:” they are done now; and lie there unalterable, and do bear their fruits, long as Eternity shall last

that praying Duke of Orleans, Egalité’s grandfather, who honesty believed that there was no Death! He, if the Court Newsmen can be believed, started up once on a time, glowing with sulphurous contempt and indignation on his poor Secretary, who had stumbled on the words, feu roi d’Espagne (the late King of Spain): ‘Feu roi, Monsieur?' (the *late* king?) —‘Monseigneur,’ (My Lord) hastily answered the trembling but adroit man of business, ‘c’est une titre qu’ils prennent (’tis a title they take)

Man, “Symbol of Eternity imprisoned into Time!” it is not thy works, which are all mortal, infinitely little, and the greatest no greater than the least, but only the Spirit thou workest in, that can have worth or continuance.

These things befell not, they were slowly done; not in an hour, but through the flight of days: what was to be said of it? This hour seemed altogether as the last was, as the next would be.

As victory is silent, so is defeat. Of the opposing forces the weaker has resigned itself; the stronger marches on, noiseless now, but rapid, inevitable: the fall and overturn will not be noiseless.

If when the oak stands proudliest flourishing to the eye, you know that its heart is sound, it is not so with the man; how much less with the Society, with the Nation of men! Of such it may be affirmed even that the superficial aspect, that the inward feeling of full health, is generally ominous. For indeed it is of apoplexy, so to speak, and a plethoric lazy habit of body, that Churches, Kingships, Social Institutions, oftenest die. Sad, when such Institution plethorically says to itself, Take thy ease, thou hast goods laid up;—like the fool of the Gospel, to whom it was answered, Fool, this night thy life shall be required of thee!

Intelligence so abounds; irradiated by wit and the art of conversation. Philosophism sits joyful in her glittering saloons, the dinner-guest of Opulence grown ingenuous, the very nobles proud to sit by her; and preaches, lifted up over all Bastilles, a coming millennium.

let the Absurd fly utterly forsaking this lower Earth for ever. It is Truth and Astræa Redux that (in the shape of Philosophism) henceforth reign. For what imaginable purpose was man made, if not to be “happy”? By victorious Analysis, and Progress of the Species, happiness enough now awaits him.

With the working people, again it is not so well. Unlucky! For there are twenty to twenty-five millions of them.

the masses consist all of units. Every unit of whom has his own heart and sorrows; stands covered there with his own skin, and if you prick him he will bleed.

what a thought: that every unit of these masses is a miraculous Man, even as thyself art; struggling, with vision, or with blindness, for his infinite Kingdom

For them, in this world, rises no Era of Hope; hardly now in the other,—if it be not hope in the gloomy rest of Death, for their faith too is failing. Untaught, uncomforted, unfed! A dumb generation; their voice only an inarticulate cry: spokesman, in the King’s Council, in the world’s forum, they have none that finds credence.

At rare intervals they will fling down their hoes and hammers; and, to the astonishment of thinking mankind, flock hither and thither, dangerous, aimless; get the length even of Versailles.

The Château gates have to be shut; but the King will appear on the balcony, and speak to them. They have seen the King’s face; their Petition of Grievances has been, if not read, looked at. For answer, two of them are hanged, on a “new gallows forty feet high;” and the rest driven back to their dens,—for a time.

Clearly a difficult “point” for Government, that of dealing with these masses;—if indeed it be not rather the sole point and problem of Government

the masses count to so many millions of units; made, to all appearance, by God,—whose Earth this is declared to be. Besides, the people are not without ferocity; they have sinews and indignation.

governing; what by the spurt of your pen, in its cold dastard indifference, you will fancy you can starve always with impunity; always till the catastrophe come!—Ah Madame, such Government by Blindman’s-buff, stumbling along too far, will end in the General Overturn

trouble us not with thy prophecies, O croaking Friend of Men: ’tis long that we have heard such; and still the old world keeps wagging, in its old way.

For all is wrong, and gone out of joint; the inward spiritual, and the outward economical; head or heart, there is no soundness in it. As indeed, evils of all sorts are more or less of kin, and do usually go together: especially it is an old truth, that wherever huge physical evil is, there, as the parent and origin of it, has moral evil to a proportionate extent been.

—what unspeakable, nigh infinite Dishonesty ... must there not, through long ages, have gone on accumulating! It will accumulate: moreover, it will reach a head; for the first of all Gospels is this, that a Lie cannot endure for ever.

Their King has become a King Popinjay; with his Maurepas Government, gyrating as the weather-cock does, blown about by every wind. Above them they see no God; or they even do not look above, except with astronomical glasses. The Church indeed still is; but in the most submissive state; quite tamed by Philosophism; in a singularly short time; for the hour was come.

Peace? O Philosophe-Sentimentalism, what hast thou to do with peace, when thy mother’s name is Jezebel? Foul Product of still fouler Corruption, thou with the corruption art doomed!

it is singular how long the rotten will hold together, provided you do not handle it roughly.

On the other hand, be this conceded: Where thou findest a Lie that is oppressing thee, extinguish it. Lies exist there only to be extinguished; they wait and cry earnestly for extinction. Think well, meanwhile, in what spirit thou wilt do it: not with hatred, with headlong selfish violence; but in clearness of heart, with holy zeal, gently, almost with pity. Thou wouldst not replace such extinct Lie by a new Lie, which a new Injustice of thy own were; the parent of still other Lies? Whereby the latter end of that business were worse than the beginning.

It has been well said: “Man is based on Hope; he has properly no other possession but Hope; this habitation of his is named the Place of Hope.”

Off Ushant some naval thunder is heard. In the course of which did our young Prince, Duke de Chartres, “hide in the hold;” or did he materially, by active heroism, contribute to the victory? Alas, by a second edition, we learn that there was no victory; or that English Keppel had it.

Brave Suffren must return from Hyder Ally and the Indian Waters; with small result; yet with great glory for “six” non-defeats;—which indeed, with such seconding as he had, one may reckon heroic.

Dance on, ye foolish ones; ye sought not wisdom, neither have ye found it. Ye and your fathers have sown the wind, ye shall reap the whirlwind. Was it not, from of old, written: The wages of sin is death?

The name jokei (jockey) comes from the English; as the thing also fancies that it does. Our Anglomania, in fact , is grown considerable; prophetic of much. If France is to be free, why shall she not, now when mad war is hushed, love neighbouring Freedom? Cultivated men, your Dukes de Liancourt, de la Rochefoucault admire the English Constitution, the English National Character; would import what of it they can.

Of what is lighter, especially if it be light as wind, how much easier the freightage! Non-Admiral Duke de Chartres (not yet d’Orléans or Egalité) flies to and fro across the Strait; importing English Fashions; this he, as hand-and-glove with an English Prince of Wales, is surely qualified to do. Carriages and saddles; top-boots and rédingotes, as we call riding-coats. Nay the very mode of riding: for now no man on a level with his age but will trot à l’Anglaise, rising in the stirrups; scornful of the old sitfast method, in which, according to Shakspeare, “butter and eggs” go to market.

Elf jokeis, we have seen; but see now real Yorkshire jockeys, and what they ride on, and train: English racers for French Races.

A problematic Chevalier d’Eon, now in petticoats, now in breeches, is no less problematic in London than in Paris; and causes bets and lawsuits. Beautiful days of international communion! Swindlery and Blackguardism have stretched hands across the Channel, and saluted mutually: on the racecourse of Vincennes or Sablons, behold in English curricle-and-four, wafted glorious among the principalities and rascalities, an English Dr. Dodd,[43]—for whom also the too early gallows gapes.

Duke de Chartres was a young Prince of great promise, as young Princes often are; which promise unfortunately has belied itself. With the huge Orléans Property, with Duke de Penthievre for Father-in-law (and now the young Brother-in-law Lamballe killed by excesses),—he will one day be the richest man in France. Meanwhile, “his hair is all falling out, his blood is quite spoiled,”—by early transcendentalism of debauchery. Carbuncles stud his face; dark studs on a ground of burnished copper. A most signal failure, this young Prince! The stuff prematurely burnt out of him: little left but foul smoke and ashes of expiring sensualities: what might have been Thought, Insight, and even Conduct, gone now, or fast going,—to confused darkness, broken by bewildering dazzlements; to obstreperous crotchets; to activities which you may call semi-delirious, or even semi-galvanic!

the circles of Beauty and Fashion, each circle a living circular Passion-Flower: expecting the magnetic afflatus, and new-manufactured Heaven-on-Earth. O women, O men, great is your infidel-faith!

under the strangest new vesture, the old great truth (since no vesture can hide it) begins again to be revealed: That man is what we call a miraculous creature, with miraculous power over men; and, on the whole, with such a Life in him, and such a World round him, as victorious Analysis, with her Physiologies, Nervous-systems, Physic and Metaphysic, will never completely name, to say nothing of explaining. Wherein also the Quack shall, in all ages, come in for his share.

Through all time, if we read aright, sin was, is, will be, the parent of misery. This land calls itself most Christian, and has crosses and cathedrals; but its High-priest is some Roche-Aymon, some Necklace-Cardinal Louis de Rohan. The voice of the poor, through long years, ascends inarticulate, in Jacqueries, meal-mobs; low-whimpering of infinite moan: unheeded of the Earth; not unheeded of Heaven. Always moreover where the Millions are wretched, there are the Thousands straitened, unhappy; only the Units can flourish; or say rather, be ruined the last. Industry, all noosed and haltered, as if it too were some beast of chase for the mighty hunters of this world to bait, and cut slices from,—cries passionately to these its well-paid guides and watchers, not, Guide me; but, Laissez faire, Leave me alone of your guidance! What market has Industry in this France? For two things there may be market and demand: for the coarser kind of field-fruits, since the Millions will live: for the fine kinds of luxury and spicery,—of multiform taste, from opera-melodies down to racers and courtesans; since the Units will be amused. It is at bottom but a mad state of things.

and now has not Jean Jacques promulgated his new Evangel of a Contrat Social; explaining the whole mystery of Government, and how it is contracted and bargained for,—to universal satisfaction? Theories of Government! Such have been, and will be; in ages of decadence. Acknowledge them in their degree; as processes of Nature, who does nothing in vain; as steps in her great process. Meanwhile, what theory is so certain as this, That all theories, were they never so earnest, painfully elaborated, are, and, by the very conditions of them, must be incomplete, questionable, and even false? Thou shalt know that this Universe is, what it professes to be, an infinite one. Attempt not to swallow it, for thy logical digestion; be thankful, if skilfully planting down this and the other fixed pillar in the chaos, thou prevent its swallowing thee.

Blessed also is Hope; and always from the beginning there was some Millennium prophesied; Millennium of Holiness; but (what is notable) never till this new Era, any Millennium of mere Ease and plentiful Supply.

Man is not what one calls a happy animal; his appetite for sweet victual is so enormous. How, in this wild Universe, which storms in on him, infinite, vague-menacing, shall poor man find, say not happiness, but existence, and footing to stand on, if it be not by girding himself together for continual endeavour and endurance? Woe, if in his heart there dwelt no devout Faith; if the word Duty had lost its meaning for him!

For life is no cunningly-devised deception or self-deception: it is a great truth that thou art alive, that thou hast desires, necessities; neither can these subsist and satisfy themselves on delusions, but on fact. To fact, depend on it, we shall come back: to such fact, blessed or cursed, as we have wisdom for.

let the theory of Perfectibility say what it will, discontents cannot be wanting: your promised Reformation is so indispensable; yet it comes not; who will begin it—with himself?

How, beneath this rose-coloured veil of Universal Benevolence and Astræa Redux, is the sanctuary of Home so often a dreary void, or a dark contentious Hell-on-Earth! The old Friend of Men has his own divorce case too; and at times, “his whole family but one” under lock and key: he writes much about reforming and enfranchising the world; and for his own private behoof he has needed sixty Lettres-de-Cachet. A man of insight too, with resolution, even with manful principle: but in such an element, inward and outward; which he could not rule, but only madden. Edacity, rapacity;—quite contrary to the finer sensibilities of the heart! Fools, that expect your verdant Millennium, and nothing but Love and Abundance, brooks running wine, winds whispering music,—with the whole ground and basis of your existence champed into a mud of Sensuality; which, daily growing deeper, will soon have no bottom but the Abyss!

It is a doomed world: gone all “obedience that made men free;” fast going the obedience that made men slaves,—at least to one another. Slaves only of their own lusts they now are, and will be. Slaves of sin; inevitably also of sorrow.

Shall we say, then: Wo to Philosophism, that it destroyed Religion, what it called “extinguishing the abomination (écraser l’infâme)”? Wo rather to those that made the Holy an abomination, and extinguishable; wo at all men that live in such a time of world-abomination and world-destruction! Nay, answer the Courtiers, it was Turgot, it was Necker, with their mad innovating; it was the Queen’s want of etiquette; it was he, it was she, it was that. Friends! it was every scoundrel that had lived, and quack-like pretended to be doing, and been only eating and misdoing, in all provinces of life, as Shoeblack or as Sovereign Lord, each in his degree, from the time of Charlemagne and earlier. All this (for be sure no falsehood perishes, but is as seed sown out to grow) has been storing itself for thousands of years; and now the account-day has come.

Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. And yet, as we said, Hope is but deferred; not abolished, not abolishable. It is very notable, and touching, how this same Hope does still light onwards the French Nation through all its wild destinies. For we shall still find Hope shining, be it for fond invitation, be it for anger and menace; as a mild heavenly light it shone; as a red conflagration it shines: burning sulphurous blue, through darkest regions of Terror, it still shines; and goes sent out at all, since Desperation itself is a kind of Hope. Thus is our Era still to be named of Hope, though in the saddest sense,—when there is nothing left but Hope.

If the soliloquising Barber ask: ‘What has your Lordship done to earn all this?’ and can only answer: ‘You took the trouble to be born (Vous vous êtes donné la peine de naître),’ all men must laugh: and a gay horse-racing Anglomaniac Noblesse loudest of all.

Men, though never so thickly clad in dignities, sit not inaccessible to the influences of their time; especially men whose life is business;

There are Duports of deep scheme; Fréteaus, Sabatiers, of incontinent tongue: all nursed more or less on the milk of the Contrat Social.

and now nothing but a solid phlegmatic M. de Vergennes sits there, in dull matter of fact, like some dull punctual Clerk (which he originally was); admits what cannot be denied, let the remedy come whence it will. In him is no remedy; only clerklike “despatch of business” according to routine. The poor King, grown older yet hardly more experienced, must himself, with such no-faculty as he has, begin governing; wherein also his Queen will give help. Bright Queen, with her quick clear glances and impulses; clear, and even noble; but all too superficial, vehement-shallow, for that work!

Less chivalrous was Duke de Coigny, and yet not luckier: ‘We got into a real quarrel, Coigny and I,’ said King Louis; ‘but if he had even struck me, I could not have blamed him.’

Baron Besenval, with that frankness of speech which stamps the independent man, plainly assures her Majesty that it is frightful (affreux); ‘you go to bed, and are not sure but you shall rise impoverished on the morrow: one might as well be in Turkey.’ It is indeed a dog’s life.

How singular this perpetual distress of the royal treasury! And yet it is a thing not more incredible than undeniable. A thing mournfully true: the stumbling-block on which all Ministers successively stumble, and fall. Be it “want of fiscal genius,” or some far other want, there is the palpablest discrepancy between Revenue and Expenditure; a Deficit of the Revenue: you must “choke (combler) the Deficit,” or else it will swallow you!

Controller Joly de Fleury, who succeeded Necker, could do nothing with it; nothing but propose loans, which were tardily filled up; impose new taxes, unproductive of money, productive of clamour and discontent.

Vain seems human ingenuity.

Great is Bankruptcy: the great bottomless gulf into which all Falsehoods, public and private, do sink, disappearing; whither, from the first origin of them, they were all doomed. For Nature is true and not a lie. No lie you can speak or act but it will come, after longer or shorter circulation, like a Bill drawn on Nature’s Reality, and be presented there for payment,—with the answer, No effects. Pity only that it often had so long a circulation: that the original forger were so seldom he who bore the final smart of it! Lies, and the burden of evil they bring, are passed on; shifted from back to back, and from rank to rank; and so land ultimately on the dumb lowest rank, who with spade and mattock, with sore heart and empty wallet, daily come in contact with reality, and can pass the cheat no further.

Observe nevertheless how, by a just compensating law, if the lie with its burden (in this confused whirlpool of Society) sinks and is shifted ever downwards, then in return the distress of it rises ever upwards and upwards. Whereby, after the long pining and demi-starvation of those Twenty Millions, a Duke de Coigny and his Majesty come also to have their “real quarrel.” Such is the law of just Nature; bringing, though at long intervals, and were it only by Bankruptcy, matters round again to the mark.

Honour to Bankruptcy; ever righteous on the great scale, though in detail it is so cruel! Under all Falsehoods it works, unweariedly mining. No Falsehood, did it rise heaven-high and cover the world, but Bankruptcy, one day, will sweep it down, and make us free of it.

anon, invites some dedicating Poet or Poetaster to sing “this Assembly of the Notables and the Revolution that is preparing.”[53] Preparing indeed; and a matter to be sung,—only not till we have seen it, and what the issue of it is.

with spoiled blood and prospects; half-weary of a world which is more than half-weary of him, Monseigneur’s future is most questionable. Not in illumination and insight, not even in conflagration; but, as was said, “in dull smoke and ashes of outburnt sensualities,” does he live and digest.

These Privileged Classes have been used to tax; levying toll, tribute and custom, at all hands, while a penny was left: but to be themselves taxed? Of such Privileged persons, meanwhile, do these Notables, all but the merest fraction, consist. Headlong Calonne had given no heed to the “composition,” or judicious packing of them; but chosen such Notables as were really notable; trusting for the issue to off-hand ingenuity, good fortune, and eloquence that never yet failed. Headlong Controller-General! Eloquence can do much, but not all. Orpheus, with eloquence grown rhythmic, musical (what we call Poetry), drew iron tears from the cheek of Pluto: but by what witchery of rhyme or prose wilt thou from the pocket of Plutus draw gold?

The force of private intrigue, and then also the force of public opinion, grows so dangerous, confused!

a Rustic is represented convoking the poultry of his barnyard, with this opening address: ‘Dear animals, I have assembled you to advise me what sauce I shall dress you with;’ to which a Cock responding, ‘We don’t want to be eaten,’ is checked by ‘You wander from the point (Vous vous écartez de la question).’

worse men there have been, and better; but to thee also was allotted a task,—of raising the wind, and the winds; and thou hast done it.

Unhappy only that it took such talent and industry to gain the place; that to qualify for it hardly any talent or industry was left disposable! Looking now into his inner man, what qualification he may have, Loménie beholds, not without astonishment, next to nothing but vacuity and possibility. Principles or methods, acquirement outward or inward (for his very body is wasted, by hard tear and wear) he finds none; not so much as a plan, even an unwise one. Lucky, in these circumstances, that Calonne has had a plan! Calonne’s plan was gathered from Turgot’s and Necker’s by compilation; shall become Loménie’s by adoption. Not in vain has Loménie studied the working of the British Constitution; for he professes to have some Anglomania, of a sort.

There are things, as we said, which should not be dwelt on with minute close scrutiny: over hot coals you cannot glide too fast.

‘Tithe, that free-will offering of the piety of Christians’—‘Tithe,’ interrupted Duke la Rochefoucault, with the cold business-manner he has learned from the English, ‘that free-will offering of the piety of Christians; on which there are now forty-thousand lawsuits in this realm.’

The unquietest humour possesses all men; ferments, seeks issue, in pamphleteering, caricaturing, projecting, declaiming; vain jangling of thought, word and deed. It is Spiritual Bankruptcy, long tolerated; verging now towards Economical Bankruptcy, and become intolerable. For from the lowest dumb rank, the inevitable misery, as was predicted, has spread upwards. In every man is some obscure feeling that his position, oppressive or else oppressed, is a false one: all men, in one or the other acrid dialect, as assaulters or as defenders, must give vent to the unrest that is in them. Of such stuff national well-being, and the glory of rulers, is not made.

Loménie’s first Edicts are mere soothing ones: creation of Provincial Assemblies, “for apportioning the imposts,” when we get any; suppression of Corvées or statute-labour; alleviation of Gabelle. Soothing measures, recommended by the Notables; long clamoured for by all liberal men. Oil cast on the waters has been known to produce a good effect.

The lower classes, in this duel of Authority with Authority, Greek throttling Greek, have ceased to respect the City-Watch: Police-satellites are marked on the back with chalk (the M signifies mouchard, spy); they are hustled, hunted like feræ naturæ. Subordinate rural Tribunals send messengers of congratulation, of adherence. Their Fountain of Justice is becoming a Fountain of Revolt.

What will not people bless; in their extreme need?

The evil is considerable; but can he not remove it, can he not attack it? At lowest, he can attack the symptom of it: these rebellious Parlements he can attack, and perhaps remove. Much is dim to Loménie, but two things are clear: that such Parlementary duel with Royalty is growing perilous, nay internecine; above all, that money must be had.

But apart from exile, or other violent methods, is there not one method, whereby all things are tamed, even lions? The method of hunger! What if the Parlement’s supplies were cut off; namely its Lawsuits!

In a victorious Parlement, Counsellor Goeslard de Monsabert even denounces that “levying of the Second Twentieth on strict valuation;” and gets decree that the valuation shall not be strict,—not on the privileged classes.

To a shower of gold most things are penetrable.

For the rest, in such circumstances, the Successive Loan, very naturally, remains unfilled; neither, indeed, can that impost of the Second Twentieth, at least not on “strict valuation,” be levied to good purpose: “Lenders,” says Weber, in his hysterical vehement manner, “are afraid of ruin; tax-gatherers of hanging.” The very Clergy turn away their face: convoked in Extraordinary Assembly, they afford no gratuitous gift (don gratuit),—if it be not that of advice; here too instead of cash is clamour for States-General.

During all that hatching of the Plenary Court, while Lamoignon looked so mysterious, Besenval had kept asking him one question: Whether they had cash? To which as Lamoignon always answered (on the faith of Loménie) that the cash was safe, judicious Besenval rejoined that then all was safe. Nevertheless, the melancholy fact is, that the royal coffers are almost getting literally void of coin. Indeed, apart from all other things this “invitation to thinkers,” and the great change now at hand are enough to “arrest the circulation of capital,” and forward only that of pamphlets. A few thousand gold louis are now all of money or money’s worth that remains in the King’s Treasury.

an Edict concerning Payments (such was the soft title Rivarol had contrived for it): all payments at the Royal Treasury shall be made henceforth, three-fifths in Cash, and the remaining two-fifths—in Paper bearing interest!

But the effect on Paris, on the world generally? From the dens of Stock-brokerage, from the heights of Political Economy, of Neckerism and Philosophism; from all articulate and inarticulate throats, rise hootings and howlings, such as ear had not yet heard. Sedition itself may be imminent!

Flimsier mortal was seldom fated to do as weighty a mischief; to have a life as despicable-envied, an exit as frightful. Fired, as the phrase is, with ambition: blown, like a kindled rag, the sport of winds, not this way, not that way, but of all ways, straight towards such a powder-mine,—which he kindled! Let us pity the hapless Loménie; and forgive him; and, as soon as possible, forget him.

The City-watch can do nothing; hardly save its own skin: for the last twelve-month, as we have sometimes seen, it has been a kind of pastime to hunt the Watch. Besenval indeed is at hand with soldiers; but they have orders to avoid firing, and are not prompt to stir.

On Monday morning the explosion of petards began: and now it is near midnight of Wednesday; and the “wicker Mannequin” is to be buried,—apparently in the Antique fashion.

and there are soldiers come. Gloomy Lamoignon is not to die by conflagration, or this night; not yet for a year, and then by gunshot (suicidal or accidental is unknown).[105] Foiled Rascality burns its “Mannikin of osier,” under his windows; “tears up the sentry-box,” and rolls off: to try Brienne; to try Dubois Captain of the Watch. Now, however, all is bestirring itself; Gardes Françaises, Invalides, Horse-patrol: the Torch Procession is met with sharp shot, with the thrusting of bayonets, the slashing of sabres. Even Dubois makes a charge, with that Cavalry of his, and the cruelest charge of all: “there are a great many killed and wounded.” Not without clangour, complaint; subsequent criminal trials, and official persons dying of heartbreak![106] So, however, with steel-besom, Rascality is brushed back into its dim depths, and the streets are swept clear. Not for a century and half had Rascality ventured to step forth in this fashion; not for so long, showed its huge rude lineaments in the light of day. A Wonder and new Thing: as yet gamboling merely, in awkward Brobdingnag sport, not without quaintness; hardly in anger: yet in its huge half-vacant laugh lurks a shade of grimness,—which could unfold itself! However, the thinkers invited by Loménie are now far on with their pamphlets: States-General, on one plan or another, will infallibly meet; if not in January, as was once hoped, yet at latest in May. Old Duke de Richelieu, moribund in these autumn days, opens his eyes once more, murmuring, ‘What would Louis Fourteenth’ (whom he remembers) ‘have said!’—then closes them again, forever, before the evil time.

As good Archbishop Loménie was wont to say: ‘There are so many accidents; and it needs but one to save us.’—How many to destroy us?

What! To us also has hope reached; down even to us? Hunger and hardship are not to be eternal? The bread we extorted from the rugged glebe, and, with the toil of our sinews, reaped and ground, and kneaded into loaves, was not wholly for another, then; but we also shall eat of it, and be filled? Glorious news (answer the prudent elders), but all-too unlikely!

To which political phenomena add this economical one, that Trade is stagnant, and also Bread getting dear; for before the rigorous winter there was, as we said, a rigorous summer, with drought, and on the 13th of July with destructive hail. What a fearful day! all cried while that tempest fell. Alas, the next anniversary of it will be a worse.[118] Under such aspects is France electing National Representatives.

The incidents and specialties of these Elections belong not to Universal, but to Local or Parish History: for which reason let not the new troubles of Grenoble or Besancon; the bloodshed on the streets of Rennes, and consequent march thither of the Breton “Young Men” with Manifesto by their “Mothers, Sisters and Sweethearts;”[119] nor suchlike, detain us here. It is the same sad history everywhere; with superficial variations.

for the new popular force can use not only arguments but brickbats!

The plebeian heart too has red life in it, which changes not to paleness at glance even of you; and “the six hundred Breton gentlemen assembled in arms, for seventy-two hours, in the Cordeliers’ Cloister, at Rennes,”—have to come out again, wiser than they entered.

the Noblesse, with equal goodwill, finds it better to stick to Protests, to well-redacted “Cahiers of grievances,” and satirical writings and speeches.

“In all countries, in all times,” exclaims he departing, “the Aristocrats have implacably pursued every friend of the People; and with tenfold implacability, if such a one were himself born of the Aristocracy. It was thus that the last of the Gracchi perished, by the hands of the Patricians. But he, being struck with the mortal stab, flung dust towards heaven, and called on the Avenging Deities; and from this dust there was born Marius,—Marius not so illustrious for exterminating the Cimbri, as for overturning in Rome the tyranny of the Nobles.”[121] Casting up which new curious handful of dust (through the Printing-press), to breed what it can and may, Mirabeau stalks forth into the Third Estate.

But indeed, if Achilles, in the heroic ages, killed mutton, why should not Mirabeau, in the unheroic ones, measure broadcloth?

More authentic are his triumph-progresses through that disturbed district, with mob jubilee, flaming torches, “windows hired for two louis,” and voluntary guard of a hundred men... He has opened his far-sounding voice, the depths of his far-sounding soul; he can quell (such virtue is in a spoken word) the pride-tumults of the rich, the hunger-tumults of the poor; and wild multitudes move under him, as under the moon do billows of the sea: he has become a world compeller, and ruler over men.

Meanwhile such things, cheering as they are, tend little to cheer the national creditor, or indeed the creditor of any kind. In the midst of universal portentous doubt, what certainty can seem so certain as money in the purse, and the wisdom of keeping it there? Trading Speculation, Commerce of all kinds, has as far as possible come to a dead pause; and the hand of the industrious lies idle in his bosom. Frightful enough, when now the rigour of seasons has also done its part, and to scarcity of work is added scarcity of food!

actual existing quotity of persons: who, long reflected and reverberated through so many millions of heads, as in concave multiplying mirrors, become a whole Brigand World; and, like a kind of Supernatural Machinery wondrously move the Epos of the Revolution. The Brigands are here: the Brigands are there; the Brigands are coming! Not otherwise sounded the clang of Phoebus Apollo’s silver bow, scattering pestilence and pale terror; for this clang too was of the imagination; preternatural; and it too walked in formless immeasurability, having made itself like to the Night (νυκτὶ ἐοικώς.)!

These Brigands (as Turgot’s also were, fourteen years ago) have all been set on; enlisted, though without tuck of drum,—by Aristocrats, by Democrats, by D’Orléans, D’Artois, and enemies of the public weal.

the Brigands are clearly got to Paris, in considerable multitudes:[126] with sallow faces, lank hair (the true enthusiast complexion), with sooty rags; and also with large clubs, which they smite angrily against the pavement! These mingle in the Election tumult; would fain sign Guillotin’s Cahier, or any Cahier or Petition whatsoever, could they but write. Their enthusiast complexion, the smiting of their sticks bodes little good to any one; least of all to rich master-manufacturers of the Suburb Saint-Antoine, with whose workmen they consort.

Or was he only thought, and believed, to be heard saying it? By this long chafing and friction it would appear the National temper has got electric.

grim individuals, soon waxing to grim multitudes, and other multitudes crowding to see, beset that Paper-Warehouse; demonstrate, in loud ungrammatical language (addressed to the passions too), the insufficiency of sevenpence halfpenny a-day. The City-watch cannot dissipate them; broils arise and bellowings; Réveillon, at his wits’ end, entreats the Populace, entreats the authorities. Besenval, now in active command, Commandant of Paris, does, towards evening, to Réveillon’s earnest prayer, send some thirty Gardes Françaises. These clear the street, happily without firing; and take post there for the night in hope that it may be all over.[127]

Not so: on the morrow it is far worse.

two cartloads of paving-stones, that happened to pass that way” have been seized as a visible godsend. Another detachment of Gardes Françaises must be sent; Besenval and the Colonel taking earnest counsel. Then still another; they hardly, with bayonets and menace of bullets, penetrate to the spot. What a sight! A street choked up, with lumber, tumult and the endless press of men. A Paper-Warehouse eviscerated by axe and fire: mad din of Revolt; musket-volleys responded to by yells, by miscellaneous missiles; by tiles raining from roof and window,—tiles, execrations and slain men!

The Gardes Françaises like it not, but have to persevere. All day it continues, slackening and rallying; the sun is sinking, and Saint-Antoine has not yielded. The City flies hither and thither: alas, the sound of that musket-volleying booms into the far dining-rooms of the Chaussée d’Antin; alters the tone of the dinner-gossip there. Captain Dampmartin leaves his wine; goes out with a friend or two, to see the fighting. Unwashed men growl on him, with murmurs of ‘À bas les Aristocrates (Down with the Aristocrats);’ and insult the cross of St. Louis? They elbow him, and hustle him; but do not pick his pocket;—as indeed at Réveillon’s too there was not the slightest stealing.[128]

At fall of night, as the thing will not end, Besenval takes his resolution: orders out the Gardes Suisses with two pieces of artillery. The Swiss Guards shall proceed thither; summon that rabble to depart, in the King’s name. If disobeyed, they shall load their artillery with grape-shot, visibly to the general eye; shall again summon; if again disobeyed, fire,—and keep firing “till the last man” be in this manner blasted off, and the street clear. With which spirited resolution, as might have been hoped, the business is got ended. At sight of the lit matches, of the foreign red-coated Switzers, Saint-Antoine dissipates; hastily, in the shades of dusk. There is an encumbered street; there are “from four to five hundred” dead men. Unfortunate Réveillon has found shelter in the Bastille; does therefrom, safe behind stone bulwarks, issue, plaint, protestation, explanation, for the next month. Bold Besenval has thanks from all the respectable Parisian classes; but finds no special notice taken of him at Versailles,—a thing the man of true worth is used to.[

Poor Lackalls, all betoiled, besoiled, encrusted into dim defacement; into whom nevertheless the breath of the Almighty has breathed a living soul! To them it is clear only that eleutheromaniac Philosophism has yet baked no bread; that Patrioti Committee-men will level down to their own level, and no lower. Brigands, or whatever they might be, it was bitter earnest with them. They bury their dead with the title of Défenseurs de la Patrie, Martyrs of the good Cause.

Oh, one might weep like Xerxes:—So many serried rows sit perched there; like winged creatures, alighted out of Heaven: all these, and so many more that follow them, shall have wholly fled aloft again, vanishing into the blue Deep; and the memory of this day still be fresh.

and from this present date, if one might prophesy, some two centuries of it still to fight! Two centuries; hardly less; before Democracy go through its due, most baleful, stages of Quackocracy; and a pestilential World be burnt up, and have begun to grow green and young again.

This day, sentence of death is pronounced on Shams; judgment of resuscitation, were it but far off, is pronounced on Realities. This day it is declared aloud, as with a Doom-trumpet, that a Lie is unbelievable. Believe that, stand by that, if more there be not; and let what thing or things soever will follow it follow. “Ye can no other; God be your help!” So spake a greater than any of you; opening his Chapter of World-History.

No symbolic Ark, like the old Hebrews, do these men bear: yet with them too is a Covenant; they too preside at a new Era in the History of Men. The whole Future is there, and Destiny dim-brooding over it; in the hearts and unshaped thoughts of these men, it lies illegible, inevitable. Singular to think: they have it in them; yet not they, not mortal, only the Eye above can read it,—as it shall unfold itself, in fire and thunder, of siege, and field-artillery; in the rustling of battle-banners, the tramp of hosts, in the glow of burning cities, the shriek of strangled nations!

for is not every meanest Day “the conflux of two Eternities!”

A fellow of infinite shrewdness, wit, nay humour; one of the sprightliest clearest souls in all these millions. Thou poor Camille, say of thee what they may, it were but falsehood to pretend one did not almost love thee, thou headlong lightly-sparkling man!

Which of these Six Hundred individuals, in plain white cravat, that have come up to regenerate France, might one guess would become their king? For a king or leader they, as all bodies of men, must have: be their work what it may, there is one man there who, by character, faculty, position, is fittest of all to do it; that man, as future not yet elected king, walks there among the rest.

One ancient Riquetti, in mad fulfilment of a mad vow, chains two Mountains together; and the chain, with its “iron star of five rays,” is still to be seen. May not a modern Riquetti unchain so much, and set it drifting,—which also shall be seen?

The idea, the faculty of another man he can make his; the man himself he can make his. ‘All reflex and echo (tout de reflet et de réverbère)!’ snarls old Mirabeau, who can see, but will not. Crabbed old Friend of Men! it is his sociality, his aggregative nature; and will now be the quality of all for him. In that forty-years “struggle against despotism,” he has gained the glorious faculty of self-help, and yet not lost the glorious natural gift of fellowship, of being helped. Rare union! This man can live self-sufficing—yet lives also in the life of other men; can make men love him, work with him: a born king of men!

This is no man of system, then; he is only a man of instincts and insights. A man nevertheless who will glare fiercely on any object; and see through it, and conquer it: for he has intellect, he has will, force beyond other men. A man not with logic-spectacles; but with an eye! Unhappily without Decalogue, moral Code or Theorem of any fixed sort; yet not without a strong living Soul in him, and Sincerity there: a Reality, not an Artificiality, not a Sham! And so he, having struggled “forty years against despotism,” and “made away with all formulas,” shall now become the spokesman of a Nation bent to do the same. For is it not precisely the struggle of France also to cast off despotism; to make away with her old formulas,—having found them naught, worn out, far from the reality? She will make away with such formulas;—and even go bare, if need be, till she have found new ones.

Forty years of that smouldering, with foul fire-damp and vapour enough, then victory over that;—and like a burning mountain he blazes heaven-high; and, for twenty-three resplendent months, pours out, in flame and molten fire-torrents, all that is in him, the Pharos and Wonder-sign of an amazed Europe;—and then lies hollow, cold forever! Pass on, thou questionable Gabriel Honoré, the greatest of them all: in the whole National Deputies, in the whole Nation, there is none like and none second to thee.

Shall we say, that anxious, slight, ineffectual-looking man, under thirty, in spectacles; his eyes (were the glasses off) troubled, careful; with upturned face, snuffing dimly the uncertain future-time; complexion of a multiplex atrabiliar colour, the final shade of which may be the pale sea-green.[132] That greenish-coloured (verdâtre) individual is an Advocate of Arras; his name is Maximilien Robespierre.

But he begged our famed Necklace-Cardinal, Rohan, the patron, to let him depart thence, and resign in favour of a younger brother.

With a strict painful mind, an understanding small but clear and ready, he grew in favour with official persons, who could foresee in him an excellent man of business, happily quite free from genius.

of business, happily quite free from genius. The Bishop, therefore, taking counsel, appoints him Judge of his diocese; and he faithfully does justice to the people: till behold, one day, a culprit comes whose crime merits hanging; and the strict-minded Max must abdicate, for his conscience will not permit the dooming of any son of Adam to die. A strict-minded, strait-laced man! A man unfit for Revolutions?

His hair is grizzled, though he is still young: convictions, beliefs, placid-unalterable are in that man; not hindmost of them, belief in himself.

There are so many of them young. Till thirty the Spartans did not suffer a man to marry: but how many men here under thirty; coming to produce not one sufficient citizen, but a nation and a world of such! The old to heal up rents; the young to remove rubbish:—which latter, is it not, indeed, the task here?

Singular Guillotin, respectable practitioner: doomed by a satiric destiny to the strangest immortal glory that ever kept obscure mortal from his resting-place, the bosom of oblivion!

This is the product of Guillotin’s endeavours, gained not without meditation and reading; which product popular gratitude or levity christens by a feminine derivative name, as if it were his daughter: La Guillotine! ‘With my machine, Messieurs, I whisk off your head (vous fais sauter la tête) in a twinkling, and you have no pain;’—whereat they all laugh.[135] Unfortunate Doctor! For two-and-twenty years he, unguillotined, shall hear nothing but guillotine, see nothing but guillotine; then dying, shall through long centuries wander, as it were, a disconsolate ghost, on the wrong side of Styx and Lethe; his name like to outlive Cæsar’s.

Poor Bailly, how thy serenely beautiful Philosophising, with its soft moonshiny clearness and thinness, ends in foul thick confusion—of Presidency, Mayorship, diplomatic Officiality, rabid Triviality, and the throat of everlasting Darkness! Far was it to descend from the heavenly Galaxy to the Drapeau Rouge: beside that fatal dung-heap, on that last hell-day, thou must “tremble,” though only with cold, “de froid.”

Speculation is not practice: to be weak is not so miserable; but to be weaker than our task.

Wo the day when they mounted thee, a peaceable pedestrian, on that wild Hippogriff of a Democracy; which, spurning the firm earth, nay lashing at the very stars, no yet known Astolpho could have ridden!

In the Commons Deputies there are Merchants, Artists, Men of Letters; three hundred and seventy-four Lawyers;[136] and at least one Clergyman:

passionless, or with but one passion, that of self-conceit. If indeed that can be called a passion, which, in its independent concentrated greatness, seems to have soared into transcendentalism; and to sit there with a kind of godlike indifference, and look down on passion! He is the man, and wisdom shall die with him.

The victorious cause pleased the gods, the vanquished one pleased Sieyes

this question, put in a voice of thunder: What are you doing in God’s fair Earth and Task-garden; where whosoever is not working is begging or stealing? Wo, wo to themselves and to all, if they can only answer: Collecting tithes, Preserving game!

There are Liancourt, and La Rochefoucault; the liberal Anglomaniac Dukes. There is a filially pious Lally; a couple of liberal Lameths. Above all, there is a Lafayette; whose name shall be Cromwell-Grandison, and fill the world. Many a “formula” has this Lafayette too made away with; yet not all formulas. He sticks by the Washington-formula; and by that he will stick;—and hang by it, as by sure bower-anchor hangs and swings the tight war-ship, which, after all changes of wildest weather and water, is found still hanging. Happy for him; be it glorious or not! Alone of all Frenchmen he has a theory of the world, and right mind to conform thereto; he can become a hero and perfect character, were it but the hero of one idea.

it is Viscomte Mirabeau; named oftener Mirabeau Tonneau (Barrel Mirabeau), on account of his rotundity, and the quantities of strong liquor he contains.

There then walks our French Noblesse. All in the old pomp of chivalry: and yet, alas, how changed from the old position; drifted far down from their native latitude, like Arctic icebergs got into the Equatorial sea, and fast thawing there! Once these Chivalry Duces (Dukes, as they are still named) did actually lead the world,—were it only towards battle-spoil, where lay the world’s best wages then: moreover, being the ablest Leaders going, they had their lion’s share, those Duces; which none could grudge them. But now, when so many Looms, improved Ploughshares, Steam-Engines and Bills of Exchange have been invented; and, for battle-brawling itself, men hire Drill-Sergeants at eighteen-pence a-day,—what mean these goldmantled Chivalry Figures, walking there “in black-velvet cloaks,” in high-plumed “hats of a feudal cut”? Reeds shaken in the wind!

nay thou shalt have a Cardinal’s Hat, and plush and glory; but alas, also, in the longrun—mere oblivion, like the rest of us; and six feet of earth!

He will do and suffer strange things; and will become surely one of the strangest things ever seen, or like to be seen. A man living in falsehood, and on falsehood; yet not what you can call a false man: there is the specialty! It will be an enigma for future ages, one may hope: hitherto such a product of Nature and Art was possible only for this age of ours,—Age of Paper, and of the Burning of Paper.

has not this unfortunate Clergy also drifted in the Time-stream, far from its native latitude? An anomalous mass of men; of whom the whole world has already a dim understanding that it can understand nothing. They were once a Priesthood, interpreters of Wisdom, revealers of the Holy that is in Man: a true Clerus (or Inheritance of God on Earth): but now?—They pass silently, with such Cahiers as they have been able to redact; and none cries, God bless them.

Instead of Vive la Reine, voices insult her with Vive d’Orléans. Of her queenly beauty little remains except its stateliness; not now gracious, but haughty, rigid, silently enduring. With a most mixed feeling, wherein joy has no part, she resigns herself to a day she hoped never to have seen. Poor Marie Antoinette; with thy quick noble instincts; vehement glancings, vision all-too fitful narrow for the work thou hast to do! O there are tears in store for thee; bitterest wailings, soft womanly meltings, though thou hast the heart of an imperial Theresa’s Daughter. Thou doomed one, shut thy eyes on the future!—

And so, in stately Procession, have passed the Elected of France. Some towards honour and quick fire-consummation; most towards dishonour; not a few towards massacre, confusion, emigration, desperation: all towards Eternity!

Probably the strangest Body of Men, if we consider well, that ever met together on our Planet on such an errand.

To the wisest of them, what we must call the wisest, man is properly an Accident under the sky.

Man is without Duty round him; except it be “to make the Constitution.” He is without Heaven above him, or Hell beneath him; he has no God in the world.

What further or better belief can be said to exist in these Twelve Hundred? Belief in high-plumed hats of a feudal cut; in heraldic scutcheons; in the divine right of Kings, in the divine right of Game-destroyers. Belief, or what is still worse, canting half-belief; or worst of all, mere Macchiavellic pretence-of-belief,—in consecrated dough-wafers, and the godhood of a poor old Italian Man! Nevertheless in that immeasurable Confusion and Corruption, which struggles there so blindly to become less confused and corrupt, there is, as we said, this one salient point of a New Life discernible: the deep fixed Determination to have done with Shams.

How has the Heaven’s light, oftentimes in this Earth, to clothe itself in thunder and electric murkiness; and descend as molten lightning, blasting, if purifying! Nay is it not rather the very murkiness, and atmospheric suffocation, that brings the lightning and the light? The new Evangel, as the old had been, was it to be born in the Destruction of a World?

We remark only that, as his Majesty, on finishing the speech, put on his plumed hat, and the Noblesse according to custom imitated him, our Tiers-Etat Deputies did mostly, not without a shade of fierceness, in like manner clap-on, and even crush on their slouched hats; and stand there awaiting the issue.[141] Thick buzz among them, between majority and minority of Couvrezvous, Décrouvrez-vous (Hats off, Hats on)! To which his Majesty puts end, by taking off his own royal hat again.

“France, in this same National Assembly of hers, has got something, nay something great, momentous, indispensable, cannot be doubted; yet still the question were: Specially what?

The States-General, created and conflated by the passionate effort of the whole nation, is there as a thing high and lifted up. Hope, jubilating, cries aloud that it will prove a miraculous Brazen Serpent in the Wilderness; whereon whosoever looks, with faith and obedience, shall be healed of all woes and serpent-bites.

We may answer, it will at least prove a symbolic Banner; round which the exasperating complaining Twenty-Five Millions, otherwise isolated and without power, may rally, and work—what it is in them to work. If battle must be the work, as one cannot help expecting, then shall it be a battle-banner (say, an Italian Gonfalon, in its old Republican Carroccio); and shall tower up, car-borne, shining in the wind: and with iron tongue peal forth many a signal.

For what is Majesty but the Delegate of the Nation; delegated, and bargained with (even rather tightly),—in some very singular posture of affairs, which Jean Jacques has not fixed the date of?

But the Noblesse and Clergy, it would seem, have retired to their two separate Apartments, or Halls; and are there “verifying their powers,” not in a conjoint but in a separate capacity.

Double representation, and all else hitherto gained, were otherwise futile, null. Doubtless, the “powers must be verified;”—doubtless, the Commission, the electoral Documents of your Deputy must be inspected by his brother Deputies, and found valid: it is the preliminary of all.

It must be resisted; wise was that maxim, Resist the beginnings! Nay were resistance unadvisable, even dangerous, yet surely pause is very natural: pause, with Twenty-five Millions behind you, may become resistance enough.—

The inorganic mass of Commons Deputies will restrict itself to a “system of inertia,” and for the present remain inorganic.

For six weeks their history is of the kind named barren; which indeed, as Philosophy knows, is often the fruitfulest of all.

These were their still creation-days; wherein they sat incubating! In fact, what they did was to do nothing, in a judicious manner. Daily the inorganic body reassembles; regrets that they cannot get organisation, “verification of powers in common, and begin regenerating France. Headlong motions may be made, but let such be repressed; inertia alone is at once unpunishable and unconquerable.

Six Hundred inorganic individuals, essential for its regeneration and salvation, sit there, on their elliptic benches, longing passionately towards life; in painful durance; like souls waiting to be born.

At times shall come an inspiration from royal Mirabeau: he is nowise yet recognised as royal; nay he was “groaned at,” when his name was first mentioned: but he is struggling towards recognition

the Commons having called their Eldest to the chair, and furnished him with young stronger-lunged assistants,—can speak articulately; and, in audible lamentable words, declare, as we said, that they are an inorganic body, longing to become organic. Letters arrive; but an inorganic body cannot open letters; they lie on the table unopened.

the poor man looks desolately towards a nameless lot. And this States-General, that could make us an age of gold, is forced to stand motionless; cannot get its powers verified! All industry necessarily languishes, if it be not that of making motions.

In the Palais Royal there has been erected, apparently by subscription, a kind of Wooden Tent (en planches de bois);[144]—most convenient; where select Patriotism can now redact resolutions, deliver harangues, with comfort, let the weather but as it will.

Lively is that Satan-at-Home! On his table, on his chair, in every café, stands a patriotic orator; a crowd round him within; a crowd listening from without, open-mouthed, through open door and window; with “thunders of applause for every sentiment of more than common hardiness.”

Finally, on the 27th day of May, Mirabeau, judging the time now nearly come, proposes that “the inertia cease;” that, leaving the Noblesse to their own stiff ways, the Clergy be summoned, “in the name of the God of Peace,” to join the Commons, and begin.

This Third Estate will get in motion, with the force of all France in it; Clergy-machinery with Noblesse-machinery, which were to serve as beautiful counter-balances and drags, will be shamefully dragged after it,—and take fire along with it.

we meanwhile getting forward Swiss Regiments, and a “hundred pieces of field-artillery.” This is what the Œil-de-Bœuf, for its part, resolves on.

they have now, on this 17th day of June, determined that their name is not Third Estate, but—National Assembly!They, then, are the Nation? Triumvirate of Princes, Queen, refractory Noblesse and Clergy, what, then, are you? A most deep question;—scarcely answerable in living political dialects.

Now surely were the time for a “god from the machine;” there is a nodus worthy of one. The only question is, Which god? Shall it be Mars de Broglie, with his hundred pieces of cannon?—Not yet, answers prudence; so soft, irresolute is King Louis. Let it be Messenger Mercury, our Supreme Usher de Brézé.

Your Third Estate, self-styled “National Assembly,” shall suddenly see itself extruded from its Hall, by carpenters, in this dexterous way; and reduced to do nothing, not even to meet, or articulately lament,—till Majesty, with Séance Royale and new miracles, be ready! In this manner shall De Brézé, as Mercury ex machinâ, intervene;

Before supper, this night, he writes to President Bailly, a new Letter, to be delivered shortly after dawn tomorrow, in the King’s name. Which Letter, however, Bailly in the pride of office, will merely crush together into his pocket, like a bill he does not mean to pay.

It is shut, this Salle; occupied by Gardes Françaises. ‘Where is your Captain?’ The Captain shows his royal order: workmen, he is grieved to say, are all busy setting up the platform for his Majesty’s Séance; most unfortunately, no admission; admission, at furthest, for President and Secretaries to bring away papers, which the joiners might destroy!—President Bailly enters with Secretaries; and returns bearing papers: alas, within doors, instead of patriotic eloquence, there is now no noise but hammering, sawing, and operative screeching and rumbling! A profanation without parallel.

Six hundred right-hands rise with President Bailly’s, to take God above to witness that they will not separate for man below, but will meet in all places, under all circumstances, wheresoever two or three can get together, till they have made the Constitution. Made the Constitution, Friends! That is a long task.

Barndoor poultry fly cackling: but National Deputies turn round, lion-faced; and, with uplifted right-hand, swear an Oath that makes the four corners of France tremble.

President Bailly has covered himself with honour; which shall become rewards. The National Assembly is now doubly and trebly the Nation’s Assembly; not militant, martyred only, but triumphant; insulted, and which could not be insulted. Paris disembogues itself once more, to witness, “with grim looks,” the Séance Royale:[150] which, by a new felicity, is postponed till Tuesday. The Hundred and Forty-nine, and even with Bishops among them, all in processional mass, have had free leisure to march off, and solemnly join the Commons sitting waiting in their Church. The Commons welcomed them with shouts, with embracings, nay with tears;[151] for it is growing a life-and-death matter now.

Which Five-and-Thirty Articles, adds his Majesty again rising, if the Three Orders most unfortunately cannot agree together to effect them, I myself will effect: ‘seul je ferai le bien de mes peuples,’—which being interpreted may signify, You, contentious Deputies of the States-General, have probably not long to be here!

This is the determination of the royal breast: pithy and clear. And herewith King, retinue, Noblesse, majority of Clergy file out, as if the whole matter were satisfactorily completed.

These file out; through grim-silent seas of people. Only the Commons Deputies file not out; but stand there in gloomy silence, uncertain what they shall do. One man of them is certain; one man of them discerns and dares! It is now that King Mirabeau starts to the Tribune, and lifts up his lion-voice. Verily a word in season; for, in such scenes, the moment is the mother of ages! Had not Gabriel Honoré been there,—one can well fancy, how the Commons Deputies, affrighted at the perils which now yawned dim all round them, and waxing ever paler in each other’s paleness, might very naturally, one after one, have glided off; and the whole course of European History have been different!

But he is there. List to the brool of that royal forest-voice; sorrowful, low; fast swelling to a roar! Eyes kindle at the glance of his eye:—National Deputies were missioned by a Nation; they have sworn an Oath; they—but lo! while the lion’s voice roars loudest, what Apparition is this?

Apparition of Mercurius de Brézé, muttering somewhat!—‘Speak out,’ cry several.—‘Messieurs,’ shrills De Brézé, repeating himself, ‘You have heard the King’s orders!’—Mirabeau glares on him with fire-flashing face; shakes the black lion’s mane: ‘Yes, Monsieur, we have heard what the King was advised to say: and you who cannot be the interpreter of his orders to the States-General; you, who have neither place nor right of speech here; you are not the man to remind us of it. Go, Monsieur, tell these who sent you that we are here by the will of the People, and that nothing shall send us hence but the force of bayonets!’

But what does the Œil-de-Bœuf, now when De Brézé shivers back thither? Despatch that same force of bayonets? Not so: the seas of people still hang multitudinous, intent on what is passing; nay rush and roll, loud-billowing, into the Courts of the Château itself; for a report has risen that Necker is to be dismissed. Worst of all, the Gardes Françaises seem indisposed to act: “two Companies of them do not fire when ordered!”[

Instead of soldiers, the Œil-de-Bœuf sends—carpenters, to take down the platform. Ineffectual shift! In few instants, the very carpenters cease wrenching and knocking at their platform; stand on it, hammer in hand, and listen open-mouthed.[157] The Third Estate is decreeing that it is, was, and will be, nothing but a National Assembly; and now, moreover, an inviolable one, all members of it inviolable: “infamous, traitorous, towards the Nation, and guilty of capital crime, is any person, body-corporate, tribunal, court or commission that now or henceforth, during the present session or after it, shall dare to pursue, interrogate, arrest, or cause to be arrested, detain or cause to be detained, any,” &c. &c. “on whose part soever the same be commanded.”[158] Which done, one can wind up with this comfortable reflection from Abbé Sieyes: ‘Messieurs, you are today what you were yesterday.’

Folly is that wisdom which is wise only behindhand.

Few months ago these Thirty-five Concessions had filled France with a rejoicing, which might have lasted for several years. Now it is unavailing, the very mention of it slighted; Majesty’s express orders set at nought.

All France is in a roar; a sea of persons, estimated at “ten thousand,” whirls “all this day in the Palais Royal.”[159] The remaining Clergy, and likewise some Forty-eight Noblesse, D’Orléans among them, have now forthwith gone over to the victorious Commons; by whom, as is natural, they are received “with acclamation.”

The Third Estate triumphs; Versailles Town shouting round it; ten thousand whirling all day in the Palais Royal; and all France standing a-tiptoe, not unlike whirling! Let the Œil-de-Bœuf look to it. As for King Louis, he will swallow his injuries; will temporise, keep silence; will at all costs have present peace. It was Tuesday the 23d of June, when he spoke that peremptory royal mandate; and the week is not done till he has written to the remaining obstinate Noblesse, that they also must oblige him, and give in. D’Espréménil rages his last; Barrel Mirabeau “breaks his sword,” making a vow,—which he might as well have kept. The “Triple Family” is now therefore complete; the third erring brother, the Noblesse, having joined it;—erring but pardonable; soothed, so far as possible, by sweet eloquence from President Bailly.

So triumphs the Third Estate; and States-General are become National Assembly; and all France may sing Te Deum.

By wise inertia, and wise cessation of inertia, great victory has been gained.

It is the last night of June: all night you meet nothing on the streets of Versailles but “men running with torches” with shouts of jubilation. From the 2nd of May when they kissed the hand of Majesty, to this 30th of June when men run with torches, we count seven weeks complete. For seven weeks the National Carroccio has stood far-seen, ringing many a signal; and, so much having now gathered round it, may hope to stand.

Mercury descended in vain; now has the time come for Mars.

But now, above all, while the hungry food-year, which runs from August to August, is getting older; becoming more and more a famine-year?

Frightful enough to look upon; but what to hear of, reverberated through Twenty-five Millions of suspicious minds!

At Marseilles, many weeks ago, the Townsmen have taken arms; for “suppressing of Brigands,” and other purposes: the military commandant may make of it what he will. Elsewhere, everywhere, could not the like be done?

Your National Assembly, stopped short in its Constitutional labours, may fatigue the royal ear with addresses and remonstrances: those cannon of ours stand duly levelled; those troops are here.

The Parisians resist? scornfully cry Messeigneurs. As a meal-mob may! They have sat quiet, these five generations, submitting to all. Their Mercier declared, in these very years, that a Parisian revolt was henceforth “impossible.”[162] Stand by the royal Declaration, of the Twenty-third of June. The Nobles of France, valorous, chivalrous as of old, will rally round us with one heart;—and as for this which you call Third Estate, and which we call canaille of unwashed Sansculottes, of Patelins, Scribblers, factious Spouters,—brave Broglie, “with a whiff of grapeshot (salve de canons),” if need be, will give quick account of it. Thus reason they: on their cloudy Ida; hidden from men,—men also hidden from them.

Good is grapeshot, Messeigneurs, on one condition: that the shooter also were made of metal! But unfortunately he is made of flesh;

your hired shooter has instincts, feelings, even a kind of thought. It is his kindred, bone of his bone, this same canaille that shall be whiffed; he has brothers in it, a father and mother,—

The soldier, who has seen his pay stolen by rapacious Foulons, his blood wasted by Soubises, Pompadours, and the gates of promotion shut inexorably on him if he were not born noble,—is himself not without griefs against you. Your cause is not the soldier’s cause; but, as would seem, your own only, and no other god’s nor man’s.

Neither have the Gardes Françaises, the best regiment of the line, shown any promptitude for street-firing lately. They returned grumbling from Réveillon’s; and have not burnt a single cartridge since; nay, as we saw, not even when bid.

Consigned to their barracks, the Gardes Françaises do but form a “Secret Association,” an Engagement not to act against the National Assembly. Debauched by Valadi the Pythagorean; debauched by money and women! cry Besenval and innumerable others. Debauched by what you will, or in need of no debauching, behold them, long files of them, their consignment broken, arrive, headed by their Sergeants, on the 26th day of June, at the Palais Royal! Welcomed with vivats, with presents, and a pledge of patriot liquor; embracing and embraced; declaring in words that the cause of France is their cause! Next day and the following days the like. What is singular too, except this patriot humour, and breaking of their consignment, they behave otherwise with “the most rigorous accuracy.”

Why new military force was not called out? New military force was called out. New military force did arrive, full gallop, with drawn sabre: but the people gently “laid hold of their bridles;” the dragoons sheathed their swords; lifted their caps by way of salute, and sat like mere statues of dragoons,—except indeed that a drop of liquor being brought them, they “drank to the King and Nation with the greatest cordiality.”

And now, ask in return, why Messeigneurs and Broglie the great god of war, on seeing these things, did not pause, and take some other course, any other course?

Pride, which goes before a fall; wrath, if not reasonable, yet pardonable, most natural, had hardened their hearts and heated their heads; so, with imbecility and violence (ill-matched pair), they rush to seek their hour.

The twelfth July morning is Sunday; the streets are all placarded with an enormous-sized De par le Roi, “inviting peaceable citizens to remain within doors,” to feel no alarm, to gather in no crowd.

Besenval is with them. Swiss Guards of his are already in the Champs Elysées, with four pieces of artillery.

Have the destroyers descended on us, then? From the Bridge of Sèvres to utmost Vincennes, from Saint-Denis to the Champ-de-Mars, we are begirt! Alarm, of the vague unknown, is in every heart. The Palais Royal has become a place of awestruck interjections, silent shakings of the head:

Are these troops verily come out “against Brigands”? Where are the Brigands? What mystery is in the wind?—Hark! a human voice reporting articulately the Job’s-news: Necker, People’s Minister, Saviour of France, is dismissed. Impossible; incredible! Treasonous to the public peace! Such a voice ought to be choked in the water-works;[171]—had not the news-bringer quickly fled

We have a new Ministry: Broglie the War-god; Aristocrat Bréteuil; Foulon who said the people might eat grass!

Rumour, therefore, shall arise; in the Palais Royal, and in broad France. Paleness sits on every face; confused tremor and fremescence; waxing into thunder-peals, of Fury stirred on by Fear.

But see Camille Desmoulins, from the Café de Foy, rushing out, sibylline in face; his hair streaming, in each hand a pistol! He springs to a table: the Police satellites are eyeing him; alive they shall not take him, not they alive him alive. This time he speaks without stammering:—Friends, shall we die like hunted hares? Like sheep hounded into their pinfold; bleating for mercy, where is no mercy, but only a whetted knife? The hour is come; the supreme hour of Frenchman and Man; when Oppressors are to try conclusions with Oppressed; and the word is, swift Death, or Deliverance forever. Let such hour be well-come! Us, meseems, one cry only befits: To Arms! Let universal Paris, universal France, as with the throat of the whirlwind, sound only: To arms!—‘To arms!’ yell responsive the innumerable voices: like one great voice, as of a Demon yelling from the air: for all faces wax fire-eyed, all hearts burn up into madness. In such, or fitter words,[172] does Camille evoke the Elemental Powers, in this great moment.—Friends, continues Camille, some rallying sign! Cockades; green ones;—the colour of hope!—As with the flight of locusts, these green tree leaves; green ribands from the neighbouring shops; all green things are snatched, and made cockades of. Camille descends from his table, “stifled with embraces, wetted with tears;” has a bit of green riband handed him; sticks it in his hat.

France, so long shaken and wind-parched, is probably at the right inflammable point.—

In this manner march they, a mixed, continually increasing multitude; armed with axes, staves and miscellanea; grim, many-sounding, through the streets. Be all Theatres shut; let all dancing, on planked floor, or on the natural greensward, cease! Instead of a Christian Sabbath, and feast of guinguette tabernacles, it shall be a Sorcerer’s Sabbath; and Paris, gone rabid, dance,—with the Fiend for piper!

Victorious Lambesc, in this his second or Tuileries charge, succeeds but in overturning (call it not slashing, for he struck with the flat of his sword) one man, a poor old schoolmaster, most pacifically tottering there; and is driven out, by barricade of chairs, by flights of “bottles and glasses,” by execrations in bass voice and treble. Most delicate is the mob-queller’s vocation; wherein Too-much may be as bad as Not-enough.

Counsel dwells not under the plumed hat.

The Six-and-twenty Town-Councillors, with their long gowns, have ducked under (into the raging chaos);—shall never emerge more. Besenval is painfully wriggling himself out, to the Champ-de-Mars; he must sit there “in the cruelest uncertainty:” courier after courier may dash off for Versailles; but will bring back no answer, can hardly bring himself back. For the roads are all blocked with batteries and pickets, with floods of carriages arrested for examination: such was Broglie’s one sole order; the Œil-de-Bœuf, hearing in the distance such mad din, which sounded almost like invasion, will before all things keep its own head whole. A new Ministry, with, as it were, but one foot in the stirrup, cannot take leaps. Mad Paris is abandoned altogether to itself.

Use and wont will now no longer direct any man; each man, with what of originality he has, must begin thinking; or following those that think. Seven hundred thousand individuals, on the sudden, find all their old paths, old ways of acting and deciding, vanish from under their feet. And so there go they, with clangour and terror, they know not as yet whether running, swimming or flying,—headlong into the New Era.

The working man has become a fighting man; has one want only: that of arms. The industry of all crafts has paused;—except it be the smith’s, fiercely hammering pikes;

“on les pendit, they hanged them.”[175] Brief is the word; not without significance, be it true or untrue!

Our Parisian Militia,—which some think it were better to name National Guard,—is prospering as heart could wish. It promised to be forty-eight thousand; but will in few hours double and quadruple that number: invincible, if we had only arms!

O poor mortals, how ye make this Earth bitter for each other; this fearful and wonderful Life fearful and horrible; and Satan has his place in all hearts! Such agonies and ragings and wailings ye have, and have had, in all times:—to be buried all, in so deep silence; and the salt sea is not swoln with your tears.

Great meanwhile is the moment, when tidings of Freedom reach us; when the long-enthralled soul, from amid its chains and squalid stagnancy, arises, were it still only in blindness and bewilderment, and swears by Him that made it, that it will be free! Free? Understand that well, it is the deep commandment, dimmer or clearer, of our whole being, to be free. Freedom is the one purport, wisely aimed at, or unwisely, of all man’s struggles, toilings and sufferings, in this Earth. Yes, supreme is such a moment (if thou have known it): first vision as of a flame-girt Sinai, in this our waste Pilgrimage,—which thenceforth wants not its pillar of cloud by day, and pillar of fire by night! Something it is even,—nay, something considerable, when the chains have grown corrosive, poisonous, to be free “from oppression by our fellow-man.” Forward, ye maddened sons of France; be it towards this destiny or towards that! Around you is but starvation, falsehood, corruption and the clam of death. Where ye are is no abiding.

Commandant Besenval, in the Champ-de-Mars, has worn out these sorrowful hours Insurrection all round; his men melting away! From Versailles, to the most pressing messages, comes no answer; or once only some vague word of answer which is worse than none. A Council of Officers can decide merely that there is no decision: Colonels inform him, “weeping,” that they do not think their men will fight.

war-god Broglie sits yonder, inaccessible in his Olympus; does not descend terror-clad, does not produce his whiff of grapeshot; sends no orders.

Truly, in the Château of Versailles all seems mystery: in the Town of Versailles, were we there, all is rumour, alarm and indignation.

It has sent solemn Deputation over to the Château, with entreaty to have these troops withdrawn. In vain: his Majesty, with a singular composure, invites us to be busy rather with our own duty, making the Constitution!

with an eye too probably to the Salle des Menus,—were it not for the “grim-looking countenances” that crowd all avenues there.[177] Be firm, ye National Senators; the cynosure of a firm, grim-looking people!

He is the Brother of that Pompignan who meditated lamentably on the Book of Lamentations:

Saves-voux pourquoi Jérémie

Se lamentait toute sa vie?

C’est qu’il prévoyait

Que Pompignan le traduirait!

If ordered to fire, they would, he imagines, turn their cannon against himself.

Unfortunate old military gentlemen, it is your hour, not of glory! Old Marquis de Launay too, of the Bastille, has pulled up his drawbridges long since, “and retired into his interior;” with sentries walking on his battlements, under the midnight sky, aloft over the glare of illuminated Paris;—whom a National Patrol, passing that way, takes the liberty of firing at; “seven shots towards twelve at night,” which do not take effect.[178] This was the 13th day of July, 1789; a worse day, many said, than the last 13th was, when only hail fell out of Heaven, not madness rose out of Tophet, ruining worse than crops!

hot old Marquis Mirabeau lies stricken down, at Argenteuil,—not within sound of these alarm-guns; for heproperly is not there, and only the body of him now lies, deaf and cold forever.

Upwards from the Esplanade, horizontally from all neighbouring roofs and windows, flashes one irregular deluge of musketry,—without effect. The Invalides lie flat, firing comparatively at their ease from behind stone; hardly through portholes, shew the tip of a nose. We fall, shot; and make no impression!

Let conflagration rage; of whatsoever is combustible! Guard-rooms are burnt, Invalides mess-rooms. A distracted “Peruke-maker with two fiery torches” is for burning “the saltpetres of the Arsenal;”—had not a woman run screaming; had not a Patriot, with some tincture of Natural Philosophy, instantly struck the wind out of him (butt of musket on pit of stomach), overturned barrels, and stayed the devouring element. A young beautiful lady, seized escaping in these Outer Courts, and thought falsely to be de Launay’s daughter, shall be burnt in de Launay’s sight; she lies swooned on a paillasse: but again a Patriot, it is brave Aubin Bonnemere the old soldier, dashes in, and rescues her. Straw is burnt; three cartloads of it, hauled thither, go up in white smoke: almost to the choking of Patriotism itself; so that Elie had, with singed brows, to drag back one cart; and Reole the “gigantic haberdasher” another. Smoke as of Tophet; confusion as of Babel; noise as of the Crack of Doom!

Blood flows, the aliment of new madness.

The Firemen are here, squirting with their fire-pumps on the Invalides’ cannon, to wet the touchholes; they unfortunately cannot squirt so high; but produce only clouds of spray. Individuals of classical knowledge propose catapults. Santerre, the sonorous Brewer of the Suburb Saint-Antoine, advises rather that the place be fired, by a “mixture of phosphorous and oil-of-turpentine spouted up through forcing pumps:” O Spinola-Santerre, hast thou the mixture ready? Every man his own engineer!

Hast thou considered how each man’s heart is so tremulously responsive to the hearts of all men; hast thou noted how omnipotent is the very sound of many men? How their shriek of indignation palsies the strong soul; their howl of contumely withers with unfelt pangs? The Ritter Gluck confessed that the ground-tone of the noblest passage, in one of his noblest Operas, was the voice of the Populace he had heard at Vienna, crying to their Kaiser: Bread! Bread! Great is the combined voice of men; the utterance of their instincts, which are truer than their thoughts: it is the greatest a man encounters, among the sounds and shadows, which make up this World of Time. He who can resist that, has his footing some where beyond Time. De Launay could not do it.

As we said, it was a living deluge, plunging headlong; had not the Gardes Françaises, in their cool military way, “wheeled round with arms levelled,” it would have plunged suicidally, by the hundred or the thousand, into the Bastille-ditch.

Alas, already one poor Invalide has his right hand slashed off him; his maimed body dragged to the Place de Grève, and hanged there. This same right hand, it is said, turned back de Launay from the Powder-Magazine, and saved Paris.

And so it goes plunging through court and corridor; billowing uncontrollable, firing from windows—on itself: in hot frenzy of triumph, of grief and vengeance for its slain.

Through roarings and cursings; through hustlings, clutchings, and at last through strokes! Your escort is hustled aside, felled down; Hulin sinks exhausted on a heap of stones. Miserable de Launay! He shall never enter the Hotel de Ville: only his “bloody hair-queue, held up in a bloody hand;” that shall enter, for a sign. The bleeding trunk lies on the steps there; the head is off through the streets; ghastly, aloft on a pike.

Rigorous de Launay has died; crying out, ‘O friends, kill me fast!’

Your Place de Grève is become a Throat of the Tiger; full of mere fierce bellowings, and thirst of blood. One other officer is massacred; one other Invalide is hanged on the Lamp-iron: with difficulty, with generous perseverance, the Gardes Françaises will save the rest. Provost Flesselles stricken long since with the paleness of death, must descend from his seat, “to be judged at the Palais Royal:”—alas, to be shot dead, by an unknown hand, at the turning of the first street!—

O evening sun of July, how, at this hour, thy beams fall slant on reapers amid peaceful woody fields; on old women spinning in cottages; on ships far out in the silent main;

It was the Titans warring with Olympus; and they scarcely crediting it, have conquered: prodigy of prodigies; delirious,—as it could not but be. Denunciation, vengeance; blaze of triumph on a dark ground of terror: all outward, all inward things fallen into one general wreck of madness!

Electoral Committee? Had it a thousand throats of brass, it would not suffice.

Last night, a Patriot, in liquor, insisted on sitting to smoke on the edge of one of the Powder-barrels; there smoked he, independent of the world,—till the Abbé “purchased his pipe for three francs,” and pitched it far.

Elie, in the grand Hall, Electoral Committee looking on, sits “with drawn sword bent in three places;” with battered helm, for he was of the Queen’s Regiment, Cavalry; with torn regimentals, face singed and soiled; comparable, some think, to “an antique warrior;”—judging the people; forming a list of Bastille Heroes. O Friends, stain not with blood the greenest laurels ever gained in this world: such is the burden of Elie’s song; could it but be listened to. Courage, Elie! Courage, ye Municipal Electors! A declining sun; the need of victuals, and of telling news, will bring assuagement, dispersion: all earthly things must end.

Along the streets of Paris circulate Seven Bastille Prisoners, borne shoulder-high: seven Heads on pikes;

See also the Garde Françaises, in their steadfast military way, marching home to their barracks, with the Invalides and Swiss kindly enclosed in hollow square.

and now they have participated; and will participate. Not Gardes Françaises henceforth, but Centre Grenadiers of the National Guard: men of iron discipline and humour,—not without a kind of thought in them!

His Majesty, kept in happy ignorance, perhaps dreams of double-barrels and the Woods of Meudon. Late at night, the Duke de Liancourt, having official right of entrance, gains access to the Royal Apartments; unfolds, with earnest clearness, in his constitutional way, the Job’s-news. ‘Mais,’ said poor Louis, ‘c’est une révolte, Why, that is a revolt!’—‘Sire,’ answered Liancourt, ‘It is not a revolt, it is a revolution.’

when lo, his Majesty himself attended only by his two Brothers, step in; quite in the paternal manner; announces that the troops, and all causes of offence, are gone, and henceforth there shall be nothing but trust, reconcilement, good-will; whereof he “permits and even requests,” a National Assembly to assure Paris in his name! Acclamation, as of men suddenly delivered from death, gives answer. The whole Assembly spontaneously rises to escort his Majesty back; “interlacing their arms to keep off the excessive pressure from him;” for all Versailles is crowding and shouting.

As for old Foulon, one learns that he is dead; at least a “sumptuous funeral” is going on; the undertakers honouring him, if no other will.

that in Henri Quatre’s case, the King had to make conquest of his People, but in this happier case, the People makes conquest of its King (a conquis son Roi). The King, so happily conquered, drives forward, slowly, through a steel people, all silent, or shouting only Vive la Nation;

[Louis] knows not what to think of it, or say of it; learns that he is “Restorer of French Liberty,”—as a Statue of him, to be raised on the site of the Bastille, shall testify to all men.

It was Sunday when the red-hot balls hung over us, in mid air: it is now but Friday, and “the Revolution is sanctioned.” An August National Assembly shall make the Constitution;

Already in most Towns, Electoral Committees were met; to regret Necker, in harangue and resolution. In many a Town, as Rennes, Caen, Lyons, an ebullient people was already regretting him in brickbats and musketry. But now, at every Town’s-end in France, there do arrive, in these days of terror,—“men,” as men will arrive; nay, “men on horseback,” since Rumour oftenest travels riding. These men declare, with alarmed countenance, The BRIGANDS to be coming, to be just at hand; and do then—ride on, about their further business, be what it might! Whereupon the whole population of such Town, defensively flies to arms. Petition is soon thereafter forwarded to National Assembly; in such peril and terror of peril, leave to organise yourself cannot be withheld: the armed population becomes everywhere an enrolled National Guard. Thus rides Rumour, careering along all radii, from Paris outwards, to such purpose: in few days, some say in not many hours, all France to the utmost borders bristles with bayonets. Singular, but undeniable,—miraculous or not!—But thus may any chemical liquid; though cooled to the freezing-point, or far lower, still continue liquid; and then, on the slightest stroke or shake, it at once rushes wholly into ice. Thus has France, for long months and even years, been chemically dealt with; brought below zero; and now, shaken by the Fall of a Bastille, it instantaneously congeals: into one crystallised mass, of sharp-cutting steel! Guai a chi la tocca; ’Ware who touches it!

Some living domestic or dependant, for none loves Foulon, has betrayed him to the Village. Merciless boors of Vitry unearth him; pounce on him, like hell-hounds: Westward, old Infamy; to Paris, to be judged at the Hôtel-de-Ville! His old head, which seventy-four years have bleached, is bare; they have tied an emblematic bundle of grass on his back; a garland of nettles and thistles is round his neck: in this manner; led with ropes; goaded on with curses and menaces, must he, with his old limbs, sprawl forward; the pitiablest, most unpitied of all old men.

Foulon must not only be judged righteously; but judged there where he stands, without any delay. Appoint seven judges, ye Municipals, or seventy-and-seven; name them yourselves, or we will name them: but judge him![193] Electoral rhetoric, eloquence of Mayor Bailly, is wasted explaining the beauty of the Law’s delay. Delay, and still delay! Behold, O Mayor of the People, the morning has worn itself into noon; and he is still unjudged!—Lafayette, pressingly sent for, arrives; gives voice: This Foulon, a known man, is guilty almost beyond doubt; but may he not have accomplices? Ought not the truth to be cunningly pumped out of him,—in the Abbaye Prison? It is a new light! Sansculottism claps hands;—at which hand-clapping, Foulon (in his fainness, as his Destiny would have it) also claps. ‘See! they understand one another!’ cries dark Sansculottism, blazing into fury of suspicion.—‘Friends,’ said “a person in good clothes,” stepping forward, ‘what is the use of judging this man? Has he not been judged these thirty years?’ With wild yells, Sansculottism clutches him, in its hundred hands: he is whirled across the Place de Grève, to the “Lanterne,” Lamp-iron which there is at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie; pleading bitterly for life,—to the deaf winds. Only with the third rope (for two ropes broke, and the quavering voice still pleaded), can he be so much as got hanged! His Body is dragged through the streets; his Head goes aloft on a pike, the mouth filled with grass: amid sounds as of Tophet, from a grass-eating people.

Surely if Revenge is a “kind of Justice,” it is a “wild” kind!

Nevertheless, be the man’s conscience what it may, his nerves are of iron. At the Hôtel-de-Ville, he will answer nothing. He says, he obeyed superior order; they have his papers; they may judge and determine: as for himself, not having closed an eye these two nights, he demands, before all things, to have sleep. Leaden sleep, thou miserable Berthier! Guards rise with him, in motion towards the Abbaye. At the very door of the Hôtel-de-Ville, they are clutched; flung asunder, as by a vortex of mad arms; Berthier whirls towards the Lanterne. He snatches a musket; fells and strikes, defending himself like a mad lion; is borne down, trampled, hanged, mangled: his Head too, and even his Heart, flies over the City on a pike.

Horrible, in Lands that had known equal justice! Not so unnatural in Lands that had never known it.

The halcyon weather returns, though of a grayer complexion; of a character more and more evidently notsupernatural.

Thus, in any case, with what rubs soever, shall the Bastille be abolished from our Earth; and with it, Feudalism, Despotism; and, one hopes, Scoundrelism generally, and all hard usage of man by his brother man. Alas, the Scoundrelism and hard usage are not so easy of abolition!

Vanished is the Bastille, what we call vanished: the body, or sandstones, of it hanging, in benign metamorphosis, for centuries to come, over the Seine waters, as Pont Louis Seize;[197] the soul of it living, perhaps still longer, in the memories of men.

‘And yet think, Messieurs,’ as the Petitioner justly urged, ‘you who were our saviours, did yourselves need saviours,’—the brave Bastillers, namely; workmen of Paris; many of them in straightened pecuniary circumstances! [198] Subscriptions are opened; Lists are formed, more accurate than Elie’s; harangues are delivered. A Body of Bastille Heroes, tolerably complete, did get together;—comparable to the Argonauts; hoping to endure like them. But in little more than a year, the whirlpool of things threw them asunder again, and they sank.

So many highest superlatives achieved by man are followed by new higher; and dwindle into comparatives and positives!

The Siege of the Bastille, weighed with which, in the Historical balance, most other sieges, including that of Troy Town, are gossamer, cost, as we find, in killed and mortally wounded, on the part of the Besiegers, some Eighty-three persons: on the part of the Besieged, after all that straw-burning, fire-pumping, and deluge of musketry, One poor solitary invalid, shot stone-dead (roide-mort) on the battlements;[199]

The Bastille Fortress, like the City of Jericho, was overturned by miraculous sound.

All things are in revolution; in change from moment to moment, which becomes sensible from epoch to epoch: in this Time-World of ours there is properly nothing else but revolution and mutation, and even nothing else conceivable. Revolution, you answer, means speedier change. Whereupon one has still to ask: How speedy? At what degree of speed; in what particular points of this variable course, which varies in velocity, but can never stop till Time itself stops, does revolution begin and end; cease to be ordinary mutation, and again become such? It is a thing that will depend on definition more or less arbitrary.

Seeing which course of things, Messeigneurs of the Court Triumvirate, Messieurs of the dead-born Broglie-Ministry, and others such, consider that their part also is clear: to mount and ride. Off, ye too-loyal Broglies, Polignacs, and Princes of the Blood; off while it is yet time! Did not the Palais-Royal in its late nocturnal “violent motions,” set a specific price (place of payment not mentioned) on each of your heads?

This is what they call the First Emigration; determined on, as appears, in full Court-conclave; his Majesty assisting; prompt he, for his share of it, to follow any counsel whatsoever. “Three Sons of France, and four Princes of the blood of Saint Louis,” says Weber, “could not more effectually humble the Burghers of Paris than by appearing to withdraw in fear of their life.” Alas, the Burghers of Paris bear it with unexpected Stoicism!

The Emigration is not gone many miles, Prince Condé hardly across the Oise, when his Majesty, according to arrangement, for the Emigration also thought it might do good,—undertakes a rather daring enterprise: that of visiting Paris in person.

The King, so happily conquered, drives forward, slowly, through a steel people, all silent, or shouting only Vive la Nation; is harangued at the Townhall, by Moreau of the three-thousand orders, by King’s Procureur M. Ethys de Corny, by Lally Tollendal, and others; knows not what to think of it, or say of it; learns that he is “Restorer of French Liberty,”—as a Statue of him, to be raised on the site of the Bastille, shall testify to all men. Finally, he is shewn at the Balcony, with a Tricolor cockade in his hat; is greeted now, with vehement acclamation, from Square and Street, from all windows and roofs:—and so drives home again amid glad mingled and, as it were, intermarried shouts, of Vive le Roi and Vive la Nation; wearied but safe.

Surely a great Phenomenon: nay it is a transcendental one, overstepping all rules and experience; the crowning Phenomenon of our Modern Time. For here again, most unexpectedly, comes antique Fanaticism in new and newest vesture; miraculous, as all Fanaticism is. Call it the Fanaticism of “making away with formulas, de humer les formules.” The world of formulas, the formed regulated world, which all habitable world is,—must needs hate such Fanaticism like death; and be at deadly variance with it. The world of formulas must conquer it; or failing that, must die execrating it, anathematising it;—can nevertheless in nowise prevent its being and its having been. The Anathemas are there, and the miraculous Thing is there.

When the age of Miracles lay faded into the distance as an incredible tradition, and even the age of Conventionalities was now old; and Man’s Existence had for long generations rested on mere formulas which were grown hollow by course of time; and it seemed as if no Reality any longer existed but only Phantasms of realities, and God’s Universe were the work of the Tailor and Upholsterer mainly, and men were buckram masks that went about becking and grimacing there,—on a sudden, the Earth yawns asunder, and amid Tartarean smoke, and glare of fierce brightness, rises SANSCULOTTISM, many-headed, fire-breathing, and asks: What think ye of me?

The age of Miracles has come back! “Behold the World-Phoenix, in fire-consummation and fire-creation; wide are her fanning wings; loud is her death-melody, of battle-thunders and falling towns; skyward lashes the funeral flame, enveloping all things: it is the Death-Birth of a World!”

Whereby, however, as we often say, shall one unspeakable blessing seem attainable. This, namely: that Man and his Life rest no more on hollowness and a Lie, but on solidity and some kind of Truth. Welcome, the beggarliest truth, so it be one, in exchange for the royallest sham! Truth of any kind breeds ever new and better truth; thus hard granite rock will crumble down into soil, under the blessed skyey influences; and cover itself with verdure, with fruitage and umbrage. But as for Falsehood, which in like contrary manner, grows ever falser,—what can it, or what should it do but decease, being ripe; decompose itself, gently or even violently, and return to the Father of it,—too probably in flames of fire?

Sansculottism will burn much; but what is incombustible it will not burn. Fear not Sansculottism; recognise it for what it is, the portentous, inevitable end of much, the miraculous beginning of much.

and the wrath of men is made to praise Him.—But to gauge and measure this immeasurable Thing, and what is called account for it, and reduce it to a dead logic-formula, attempt not!

How the Twenty-five Millions of such, in their perplexed combination, acting and counter-acting may give birth to events; which event successively is the cardinal one; and from what point of vision it may best be surveyed

A Constitution can be built, Constitutions enough à la Sieyes: but the frightful difficulty is that of getting men to come and live in them!

Nay, strictly considered, is it not still true that without some such celestial sanction, given visibly in thunder or invisibly otherwise, no Constitution can in the long run be worth much more than the waste-paper it is written on? The Constitution, the set of Laws, or prescribed Habits of Acting, that men will live under, is the one which images their Convictions,—their Faith as to this wondrous Universe, and what rights, duties, capabilities they have there; which stands sanctioned therefore, by Necessity itself, if not by a seen Deity, then by an unseen one. Other laws, whereof there are always enough ready-made, are usurpations; which men do not obey, but rebel against, and abolish, by their earliest convenience.

Who is it that especially for rebellers and abolishers, can make a Constitution? He that can image forth the general Belief when there is one; that can impart one when, as here, there is none. A most rare man; ever as of old a god-missioned man!

Or is it the nature of National Assemblies generally to do, with endless labour and clangour, Nothing? Are Representative Governments mostly at bottom Tyrannies too! Shall we say, the Tyrants, the ambitious contentious Persons, from all corners of the country do, in this manner, get gathered into one place; and there, with motion and counter-motion, with jargon and hubbub, cancel one another, like the fabulous Kilkenny Cats; and produce, for net-result, zero;—the country meanwhile governing or guiding itself, by such wisdom, recognised or for most part unrecognised, as may exist in individual heads here and there?—Nay, even that were a great improvement: for, of old, with their Guelf Factions and Ghibelline Factions, with their Red Roses and White Roses, they were wont to cancel the whole country as well.

One thing an elected Assembly of Twelve Hundred is fit for: Destroying. Which indeed is but a more decided exercise of its natural talent for Doing Nothing. Do nothing, only keep agitating, debating; and things will destroy themselves.

It is the cynosure of revolutionary France, this National Assembly. All work of Government has fallen into its hands, or under its control; all men look to it for guidance. In the middle of that huge Revolt of Twenty-five millions, it hovers always aloft as Carroccio or Battle-Standard, impelling and impelled, in the most confused way; if it cannot give much guidance, it will still seem to give some.

With endless debating, we get the Rights of Man written down and promulgated: true paper basis of all paper Constitutions. Neglecting, cry the opponents, to declare the Duties of Man! Forgetting, answer we, to ascertain the Mights of Man;—one of the fatalest omissions!—Nay, sometimes, as on the Fourth of August, our National Assembly, fired suddenly by an almost preternatural enthusiasm, will get through whole masses of work in one night.

Such night, unforeseen but for ever memorable, was this of the Fourth of August 1789. Miraculous, or semi-miraculous, some seem to think it. A new Night of Pentecost, shall we say, shaped according to the new Time, and new Church of Jean Jacques Rousseau? It had its causes; also its effects.

For the present, if we glance into that Assembly Hall of theirs, it will be found, as is natural, “most irregular.” As many as “a hundred members are on their feet at once;” no rule in making motions, or only commencements of a rule; Spectators’ Gallery allowed to applaud, and even to hiss;[200] President, appointed once a fortnight, raising many times no serene head above the waves.

There likewise sits seagreen Robespierre; throwing in his light weight, with decision, not yet with effect. A thin lean Puritan and Precisian; he would make away with formulas; yet lives, moves, and has his being, wholly in formulas, of another sort. “Peuple,” such according to Robespierre ought to be the Royal method of promulgating laws, “Peuple, this is the Law I have framed for thee; dost thou accept it?”—answered from Right Side, from Centre and Left, by inextinguishable laughter.[203] Yet men of insight discern that the Seagreen may by chance go far: ‘this man,’ observes Mirabeau, ‘will do somewhat; he believes every word he says.’

As we often say, he has an eye, he is a reality; while others are formulas and eye-glasses. In the Transient he will detect the Perennial, find some firm footing even among Paper-vortexes. His fame is gone forth to all lands; it gladdened the heart of the crabbed old Friend of Men himself before he died. The very Postilions of inns have heard of Mirabeau

Twelve Hundred brother men are there, in the centre of Twenty-five Millions; fighting so fiercely with Fate and with one another; struggling their lives out, as most sons of Adam do, for that which profiteth not.

But figure Twelve Hundred pamphleteers; droning forth perpetual pamphlets: and no man to gag them! Neither, as in the American Congress, do the arrangements seem perfect. A Senator has not his own Desk and Newspaper here; of Tobacco (much less of Pipes) there is not the slightest provision. Conversation itself must be transacted in a low tone, with continual interruption: only “pencil Notes” circulate freely; “in incredible numbers to the foot of the very tribune.”[206]—Such work is it, regenerating a Nation; perfecting one’s Theory of Irregular Verbs!

Of the King’s Court, for the present, there is almost nothing whatever to be said. Silent, deserted are these halls; Royalty languishes forsaken of its war-god and all its hopes, till once the Œil-de-Bœuf rally again. The sceptre is departed from King Louis; is gone over to the Salles des Menus, to the Paris Townhall, or one knows not whither.

Poor King; for French Kings also are men!

The Queen sits weeping in her inner apartments, surrounded by weak women: she is “at the height of unpopularity;” universally regarded as the evil genius of France. Her friends and familiar counsellors have all fled; and fled, surely, on the foolishest errand.

That France should see her Nobles resist the Irresistible, Inevitable, with the face of angry men, was unhappy, not unexpected: but with the face and sense of pettish children? This was her peculiarity. They understood nothing; would understand nothing.

Volition, determination is not in this man: only innocence, indolence; dependence on all persons but himself, on all circumstances but the circumstances he were lord of. So troublous internally is our Versailles and its work.

So many millions of persons, all gyved, and nigh strangled, with formulas; whose Life nevertheless, at least the digestion and hunger of it, was real enough! Heaven has at length sent an abundant harvest; but what profits it the poor man, when Earth with her formulas interposes? Industry, in these times of Insurrection, must needs lie dormant; capital, as usual, not circulating, but stagnating timorously in nooks. The poor man is short of work, is therefore short of money; nay even had he money, bread is not to be bought for it. Were it plotting of Aristocrats, plotting of d’Orléans; were it Brigands, preternatural terror, and the clang of Phoebus Apollo’s silver bow,—enough, the markets are scarce of grain, plentiful only in tumult. Farmers seem lazy to thresh;—being either “bribed;” or needing no bribe, with prices ever rising, with perhaps rent itself no longer so pressing. Neither, what is singular, do municipal enactments, “That along with so many measures of wheat you shall sell so many of rye,” and other the like, much mend the matter. Dragoons with drawn swords stand ranked among the corn-sacks, often more dragoons than sacks.[211] Meal-mobs abound; growing into mobs of a still darker quality.

Starvation has been known among the French Commonalty before this; known and familiar. Did we not see them, in the year 1775, presenting, in sallow faces, in wretchedness and raggedness, their Petition of Grievances; and, for answer, getting a brand-new Gallows forty feet high? Hunger and Darkness, through long years! For look back on that earlier Paris Riot, when a Great Personage, worn out by debauchery, was believed to be in want of Blood-baths; and Mothers, in worn raiment, yet with living hearts under it, “filled the public places” with their wild Rachel-cries,—stilled also by the Gallows. Twenty years ago, the Friend of Men (preaching to the deaf) described the Limousin Peasants as wearing a pain-stricken (souffre-douleur) look, a look past complaint, “as if the oppression of the great were like the hail and the thunder, a thing irremediable, the ordinance of Nature.”[212] And now, if in some great hour, the shock of a falling Bastille should awaken you; and it were found to be the ordinance of Art merely; and remediable, reversible!

Or has the Reader forgotten that “flood of savages,” which, in sight of the same Friend of Men, descended from the mountains at Mont d’Or? Lank-haired haggard faces; shapes rawboned, in high sabots; in woollen jupes, with leather girdles studded with copper-nails! They rocked from foot to foot, and beat time with their elbows too, as the quarrel and battle which was not long in beginning went on; shouting fiercely; the lank faces distorted into the similitude of a cruel laugh. For they were darkened and hardened: long had they been the prey of excise-men and tax-men; of “clerks with the cold spurt of their pen.” It was the fixed prophecy of our old Marquis, which no man would listen to, that “such Government by Blind-man’s-buff, stumbling along too far, would end by the General Overturn, the Culbute Générale!”

No man would listen, each went his thoughtless way;—and Time and Destiny also travelled on. The Government by Blind-man’s-buff, stumbling along, has reached the precipice inevitable for it. Dull Drudgery, driven on, by clerks with the cold dastard spurt of their pen, has been driven—into a Communion of Drudges! For now, moreover, there have come the strangest confused tidings; by Paris Journals with their paper wings; or still more portentous, where no Journals are,[213] by rumour and conjecture: Oppression not inevitable; a Bastille prostrate, and the Constitution fast getting ready! Which Constitution, if it be something and not nothing, what can it be but bread to eat?

The harvest is reaped and garnered; yet still we have no bread. Urged by despair and by hope, what can Drudgery do, but rise, as predicted, and produce the General Overturn?

Fancy, then, some Five full-grown Millions of such gaunt figures, with their haggard faces (figures hâves); in woollen jupes, with copper-studded leather girths, and high sabots,—starting up to ask, as in forest-roarings, their washed Upper-Classes, after long unreviewed centuries, virtually this question: How have ye treated us; how have ye taught us, fed us, and led us, while we toiled for you? The answer can be read in flames, over the nightly summer sky. This is the feeding and leading we have had of you: EMPTINESS,—of pocket, of stomach, of head, and of heart. Behold there is nothing in us; nothing but what Nature gives her wild children of the desert: Ferocity and Appetite; Strength grounded on Hunger. Did ye mark among your Rights of Man, that man was not to die of starvation, while there was bread reaped by him? It is among the Mights of Man.

Where this will end? In the Abyss, one may prophecy; whither all Delusions are, at all moments, travelling; where this Delusion has now arrived. For if there be a Faith, from of old, it is this, as we often repeat, that no Lie can live for ever. The very Truth has to change its vesture, from time to time; and be born again. But all Lies have sentence of death written down against them, and Heaven’s Chancery itself; and, slowly or fast, advance incessantly towards their hour.

To some it is a matter of wonder that the Seigneurs did not do something to help themselves; say, combine, and arm: for there were a “hundred and fifty thousand of them,” all violent enough. Unhappily, a hundred and fifty thousand, scattered over wide Provinces, divided by mutual ill-will, cannot combine. The highest Seigneurs, as we have seen, had already emigrated,—with a view of putting France to the blush. Neither are arms now the peculiar property of Seigneurs; but of every mortal who has ten shillings, wherewith to buy a secondhand firelock.

The Seigneurs did what they could; enrolled in National Guards; fled, with shrieks, complaining to Heaven and Earth. One Seigneur, famed Memmay of Quincey, near Vesoul, invited all the rustics of his neighbourhood to a banquet; blew up his Château and them with gunpowder; and instantaneously vanished, no man yet knows whither.[218] Some half dozen years after, he came back; and demonstrated that it was by accident.

Unhappy country! How is the fair gold-and-green of the ripe bright Year defaced with horrid blackness: black ashes of Châteaus, black bodies of gibetted Men! Industry has ceased in it; not sounds of the hammer and saw, but of the tocsin and alarm-drum. The sceptre has departed, whither one knows not;—breaking itself in pieces: here impotent, there tyrannous. National Guards are unskilful, and of doubtful purpose; Soldiers are inclined to mutiny: there is danger that they two may quarrel, danger that they may agree. Strasburg has seen riots: a Townhall torn to shreds, its archives scattered white on the winds; drunk soldiers embracing drunk citizens for three days, and Mayor Dietrich and Marshal Rochambeau reduced nigh to desperation.

But consider, while work itself is so scarce, how a man must not only realise money; but stand waiting (if his wife is too weak to wait and struggle) for half days in the Tail, till he get it changed for dear bad bread!

The Mayor of Saint-Denis, so black was his bread, has, by a dyspeptic populace, been hanged on the Lanterne there. National Guards protect the Paris Corn-Market: first ten suffice; then six hundred.[225] Busy are ye, Bailly, Brissot de Warville, Condorcet, and ye others!

The old Bastille Electors, after some ten days of psalmodying over their glorious victory, began to hear it asked, in a splenetic tone, Who put you there?

Unhappy friends of Freedom; consolidating a Revolution! They must sit at work there, their pavilion spread on very Chaos; between two hostile worlds, the Upper Court-world, the Nether Sansculottic one; and, beaten on by both, toil painfully, perilously,—doing, in sad literal earnest, “the impossible.”

Pamphleteering opens its abysmal throat wider and wider: never to close more. Our Philosophes, indeed, rather withdraw; after the manner of Marmontel, “retiring in disgust the first day.”

Camille Desmoulins has appointed himself Procureur-Général de la Lanterne, Attorney-General of the Lamp-iron; and pleads, not with atrocity, under an atrocious title; editing weekly his brilliant Revolutions of Paris and Brabant. Brilliant, we say: for if, in that thick murk of Journalism, with its dull blustering, with its fixed or loose fury, any ray of genius greet thee, be sure it is Camille’s. The thing that Camille teaches he, with his light finger, adorns: brightness plays, gentle, unexpected, amid horrible confusions; often is the word of Camille worth reading, when no other’s is. Questionable Camille, how thou glitterest with a fallen, rebellious, yet still semi-celestial light; as is the star-light on the brow of Lucifer! Son of the Morning, into what times and what lands, art thou fallen!

Unhappy mortals: such tugging and lugging, and throttling of one another, to divide, in some not intolerable way, the joint Felicity of man in this Earth; when the whole lot to be divided is such a “feast of shells!”—Diligent are the Three Hundred; none equals Scipio Americanus in dealing with mobs. But surely all these things bode ill for the consolidating of a Revolution.

No, Friends, this Revolution is not of the consolidating kind. Do not fires, fevers, sown seeds, chemical mixtures, men, events; all embodiments of Force that work in this miraculous Complex of Forces, named Universe,—go on growing, through their natural phases and developments, each according to its kind; reach their height, reach their visible decline; finally sink under, vanishing, and what we call die? They all grow; there is nothing but what grows, and shoots forth into its special expansion,—once give it leave to spring.

Observe too that each grows with a rapidity proportioned, in general, to the madness and unhealthiness there is in it: slow regular growth, though this also ends in death, is what we name health and sanity.

Seventy-two Châteaus have flamed aloft in the Maconnais and Beaujolais alone: this seems the centre of the conflagration; but it has spread over Dauphiné, Alsace, the Lyonnais; the whole South-East is in a blaze. All over the North, from Rouen to Metz, disorder is abroad: smugglers of salt go openly in armed bands: the barriers of towns are burnt; toll-gatherers, tax-gatherers, official persons put to flight. “It was thought,” says Young, “the people, from hunger, would revolt;” and we see they have done it.

Many things too, especially all diseased things, grow by shoots and fits.

Barriers and Customhouses burnt; the Tax-gatherer hunted, not hunting; his Majesty’s Exchequer all but empty. The remedy is a Loan of thirty millions; then, on still more enticing terms, a Loan of eighty millions: neither of which Loans, unhappily, will the Stockjobbers venture to lend. The Stockjobber has no country, except his own black pool of Agio.

And yet, in those days, for men that have a country, what a glow of patriotism burns in many a heart; penetrating inwards to the very purse! So early as the 7th of August, a Don Patriotique, “a Patriotic Gift of jewels to a considerable extent,” has been solemnly made by certain Parisian women; and solemnly accepted, with honourable mention. Whom forthwith all the world takes to imitating and emulating. Patriotic Gifts, always with some heroic eloquence, which the President must answer and the Assembly listen to, flow in from far and near: in such number that the honourable mention can only be performed in “lists published at stated epochs.” Each gives what he can: the very cordwainers have behaved munificently; one landed proprietor gives a forest; fashionable society gives its shoebuckles, takes cheerfully to shoe-ties. Unfortunate females give what they “have amassed in loving.”[227] The smell of all cash, as Vespasian thought, is good.

Beautiful, and yet inadequate!

They flung themselves before him; conjuring him with tears in their eyes not to suffer the Veto Absolu. They were in a frenzy: ‘Monsieur le Comte, you are the people’s father; you must save us; you must defend us against those villains who are bringing back Despotism. If the King get this Veto, what is the use of National Assembly? We are slaves, all is done.’”[228] Friends, if the sky fall, there will be catching of larks! Mirabeau, adds Dumont, was eminent on such occasions: he answered vaguely, with a Patrician imperturbability, and bound himself to nothing.

To the Parisian common man, meanwhile, one thing remains inconceivable: that now when the Bastille is down, and French Liberty restored, grain should continue so dear. Our Rights of Man are voted, Feudalism and all Tyranny abolished; yet behold we stand in queue! Is it Aristocrat forestallers; a Court still bent on intrigues? Something is rotten, somewhere.

O much-suffering People, our glorious Revolution is evaporating in tricolor ceremonies, and complimentary harangues! Of which latter, as Loustalot acridly calculates, “upwards of two thousand have been delivered within the last month, at the Townhall alone.”[229] And our mouths, unfilled with bread, are to be shut, under penalties?

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation. Realities themselves, in this Paris, have grown unreal: preternatural. Phantasms once more stalk through the brain of hungry France. O ye laggards and dastards, cry shrill voices from the Queues, if ye had the hearts of men, ye would take your pikes and secondhand firelocks, and look into it; not leave your wives and daughters to be starved, murdered, and worse!—Peace, women! The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism, driven out by Patrollotism, knows not what to resolve on.

Dinners are defined as “the ultimate act of communion;” men that can have communion in nothing else, can sympathetically eat together, can still rise into some glow of brotherhood over food and wine.

Suppose the customary loyal toasts drunk; the King’s health, the Queen’s with deafening vivats;—that of the Nation “omitted,” or even “rejected.” Suppose champagne flowing; with pot-valorous speech, with instrumental music; empty feathered heads growing ever the noisier, in their own emptiness, in each other’s noise! Her Majesty, who looks unusually sad tonight (his Majesty sitting dulled with the day’s hunting), is told that the sight of it would cheer her. Behold! She enters there, issuing from her State-rooms, like the Moon from the clouds, this fairest unhappy Queen of Hearts; royal Husband by her side, young Dauphin in her arms! She descends from the Boxes, amid splendour and acclaim; walks queen-like, round the Tables; gracefully escorted, gracefully nodding; her looks full of sorrow, yet of gratitude and daring, with the hope of France on her mother-bosom! And now, the band striking up, O Richard, O mon Roi, l’univers t’abandonne (O Richard, O my King, and world is all forsaking thee)—could man do other than rise to height of pity, of loyal valour?

A natural Repast, in ordinary times, a harmless one: now fatal, as that of Thyestes; as that of Job’s Sons, when a strong wind smote the four corners of their banquet-house! Poor ill-advised Marie-Antoinette; with a woman’s vehemence, not with a sovereign’s foresight! It was so natural, yet so unwise.

Captains of horse and foot go swashing with “enormous white cockades;” nay one Versailles National Captain had mounted the like, so witching were the words and glances; and laid aside his tricolor! Well may Major Lecointre shake his head with a look of severity; and speak audible resentful words. But now a swashbuckler, with enormous white cockade, overhearing the Major, invites him insolently, once and then again elsewhere, to recant; and failing that, to duel. Which latter feat Major Lecointre declares that he will not perform, not at least by any known laws of fence; that he nevertheless will, according to mere law of Nature, by dirk and blade, “exterminate” any “vile gladiator,” who may insult him or the Nation;—whereupon (for the Major is actually drawing his implement) “they are parted,” and no weasands slit.[231]

But fancy what effect this Thyestes Repast and trampling on the National Cockade, must have had in the Salle des Menus; in the famishing Bakers’-queues at Paris! Nay such Thyestes Repasts, it would seem, continue. Flandre has given its Counter-Dinner to the Swiss and Hundred Swiss; then on Saturday there has been another.

Yes, here with us is famine; but yonder at Versailles is food; enough and to spare! Patriotism stands in queue, shivering hungerstruck, insulted by Patrollotism; while bloodyminded Aristocrats, heated with excess of high living, trample on the National Cockade. Can the atrocity be true? Nay, look: green uniforms faced with red; black cockades,—the colour of Night! Are we to have military onfall; and death also by starvation? For behold the Corbeil Cornboat, which used to come twice a-day, with its Plaster-of-Paris meal, now comes only once.

Truly, it is time for the black cockades at least, to vanish. Them Patrollotism itself will not protect. Nay, sharp-tempered “M. Tassin,” at the Tuileries parade on Sunday morning, forgets all National military rule; starts from the ranks, wrenches down one black cockade which is swashing ominous there; and tramples it fiercely into the soil of France. Patrollotism itself is not without suppressed fury.

Sullen is the male heart, repressed by Patrollotism; vehement is the female, irrepressible. The public-speaking woman at the Palais Royal was not the only speaking one:—Men know not what the pantry is, when it grows empty, only house-mothers know. O women, wives of men that will only calculate and not act! Patrollotism is strong; but Death, by starvation and military onfall, is stronger. Patrollotism represses male Patriotism: but female Patriotism? Will Guards named National thrust their bayonets into the bosoms of women? Such thought, or rather such dim unshaped raw-material of a thought, ferments universally under the female night-cap; and, by earliest daybreak, on slight hint, will explode.

If Voltaire once, in splenetic humour, asked his countrymen: ‘But you, Gualches, what have you invented?’ they can now answer: The Art of Insurrection. It was an art needed in these last singular times: an art, for which the French nature, so full of vehemence, so free from depth, was perhaps of all others the fittest.

Let the Reader confess too that, taking one thing with another, perhaps few terrestrial Appearances are better worth considering than mobs. Your mob is a genuine outburst of Nature; issuing from, or communicating with, the deepest deep of Nature. When so much goes grinning and grimacing as a lifeless Formality, and under the stiff buckram no heart can be felt beating, here once more, if nowhere else, is a Sincerity and Reality. Shudder at it; or even shriek over it, if thou must; nevertheless consider it. Such a Complex of human Forces and Individualities hurled forth, in their transcendental mood, to act and react, on circumstances and on one another; to work out what it is in them to work. The thing they will do is known to no man; least of all to themselves. It is the inflammablest immeasurable Fire-work, generating, consuming itself. With what phases, to what extent, with what results it will burn off, Philosophy and Perspicacity conjecture in vain.

“Man,” as has been written, “is for ever interesting to man; nay properly there is nothing else interesting.” In which light also, may we not discern why most Battles have become so wearisome? Battles, in these ages, are transacted by mechanism; with the slightest possible developement of human individuality or spontaneity: men now even die, and kill one another, in an artificial manner. Battles ever since Homer’s time, when they were Fighting Mobs, have mostly ceased to be worth looking at, worth reading of, or remembering. How many wearisome bloody Battles does History strive to represent; or even, in a husky way, to sing:—and she would omit or carelessly slur-over this one Insurrection of Women?

In squalid garret, on Monday morning, Maternity awakes, to hear children weeping for bread. Maternity must forth to the streets, to the herb-markets and Bakers’—queues; meets there with hunger-stricken Maternity, sympathetic, exasperative. O we unhappy women! But, instead of Bakers’-queues, why not to Aristocrats’ palaces, the root of the matter? Allons! Let us assemble. To the Hôtel-de-Ville; to Versailles; to the Lanterne!

All women gather and go; crowds storm all stairs, force out all women: the female Insurrectionary Force, according to Camille, resembles the English Naval one; there is a universal “Press of women.”

Fly back, thou shifty Maillard; seek the Bastille Company; and O return fast with it; above all, with thy own shifty head! For, behold, the Judiths can find no Mayor or Municipal; scarcely, in the topmost belfry, can they find poor Abbé Lefevre the Powder-distributor. Him, for want of a better, they suspend there; in the pale morning light; over the top of all Paris, which swims in one’s failing eyes:—a horrible end? Nay, the rope broke, as French ropes often did; or else an Amazon cut it.

And now doors fly under hatchets; the Judiths have broken the Armoury; have seized guns and cannons, three money-bags, paper-heaps; torches flare: in few minutes, our brave Hôtel-de-Ville which dates from the Fourth Henry, will, with all that it holds, be in flames!

[awhilesince]

Friday, 30 March 1827

7 1/2

11 10/60

my bowels as if the magnesia had not yet been quite forgotten by them – finished dressing – did not hurry – at my desk at 9 – wrote very small and close under the seal and a few lines across one end – about Mrs B– (Barlow) 

‘She occasionally inquires after you, and told me some time ago, that, if she were sure of your real and disinterested regard for me, and that you would make me happy, she should no longer feel any dislike, but anxious only for my welfare, should rejoice at the prospect of your suiting me better than she could have done – She often alludes to her folly at first, and always with regret – She is certainly ashamed of it – She is very attentive to my aunt – I joked her about getting into favour – She said, if I thought she wanted to curry favour, she would never call again – She says, that, if she had no wish on her own part, she should think it so great an advantage to Jane to go with me to Switzerland, that it would not be right to lose it – I have not a thought about it, but that the tour will be amusing, and will set me right again – But I will not go without your consent’ – 

I wrote yesterday that I now saw her almost every day, ‘and I know no feasible means of helping it’ – thought it best not to seem to notice it, but often alluded to my ‘decided determination; and this is now so well understood, that it has ceased to be a source of potheration’ – not a word ever said against my future plans – In fact, I could not clearly see much difference between going to Switzerland or remaining here – SomeTimes sighed to be at Congleton or Chester, but then again thought no place could suit us better than here – best to be out of the way a little just now on all accounts – I was not ill but wanted a rummage, and the Swiss mountains would do me good – from anxiety or one thing or other never had my bowels so obstinate before, and often a little fever at night – If she could peep into my heart she would be satisfied – ‘But it is impossible to throw it on paper – think it all you wish – In this, not even your wishes can Exceed the reality’ – 

on the subject of lady Johnstone’s house in York, not surprised at Mr Charles L–‘s (Lawton’s) proposal (to buy or take it on lease) – 

‘It strikes me that to take it for a term of yours, would be even worse than purchasing – I can think of but one argument in its favour, – videlicet the not being able to get the money secured to you by any other means – If there be a certain sum which C– (Charles) can afford to lay out for the benefit of your own, or any future jointure, I am persuaded, he may invest it between them in the purchase of Lady Johnstones house, for which he would probably give twice as much as he could get for it – Besides, I cannot think that living in York would suit him; and, perhaps there are many reasons why you would not much like it – as to the futurity, if you have more than five-hundreds a year; I think the income will be five- and-twenty hundreds; and you can judge better than I how far this would be sufficient – For my own part, however, I cannot help asking myself whether, after being used to one’s own place in the country, or a capital, York would not be too provincial a town to suit my taste – Perhaps you would like to travel for a few years – perhaps, on your return, you would not care to vegetate among old maids and scandal – Of men’s society there is certainly very little in York – the country troubles it but little, save at assizes, races, and elections, thinking, perhaps, like me, it is too far from London – But, Mary, in your case, your judgment is better than mine – If you leave Lawton, why not move further south? It would, surely, better suit you all – you can get well introduced almost anywhere; and this is all you want – I would not have you say much to bring the party here; for fear it should not answer – Your not speaking French, is a weighty objection – should anything happen to my aunt, I have no thought of remaining here’ – 

then follows an account of her – not so well this last fortnight but better now – yet I doubt, 

‘how she will get over next winter and the following spring – she may continue for years; but it does not seem likely – I am persuaded the complaint is gradually taking more and more hold of her; and, whenever an attack does come, I know not how she will struggle against it – Her bowels are still marvelously well; and she can sew and read; but her hands and feet see, to swell more; and it strikes me, that all this looks like tendency to dropsy’ – 

then mention Miss Fletchers letter and quote the passage about hoping ‘that our more mercurial neighbours’ have been ‘trusty guardians of her long delayed Epistle’, and tho’ ‘appearances have been against her’ how ‘fresh in her remembrance’ etc etc all at Parkgate – 

cannot be off writing to her occasionally so may as well do it with a good grace – will therefore write on or before Monday – then an answer to the particulars of M–‘s (Mariana’s) letter – think Steph, considering all things, ought to be satisfied about Clifton – and I would like M– (Mariana) get rid of it at the best price I could – give the heads of Mrs Duffins news – ‘we have fine spring weather’ – no time for the thermometrical journal – page 1. speaking of my accounts – 

‘my accounts for the last 3 years were unsettled – I have had them all to add up, and analyse; and it has cost me many a day’s trouble to make out, from scraps of paper, and from memory, my exact receipts of these 3 last years – I have all along promised myself to put my accounts from the time of my uncle’s death upon a new plan; – for without this, my affairs would now be too complicated – I knew I should not be satisfied till I could see the whole state of my affairs, at any moment, at a glance – I have, therefore, toiled for my comfort’s sake, and hope I am now on the point of reaping the fruit of my labours – about 10 days more, and I shall have done – my system consists of 8 books – 3 day-books (private, general, and travelling) – 2 summary books (a general summary, and a private ditto), – 2 cash-books (for English and foreign money), and a ledger – my general summary will amuse you – you can see, at a glance, the weekly consumption of the house – the travelling summary will have its interest – the difficulty has been in arranging the plan – once arranged, the trouble of keeping it up will not be great – you will recollect that my concerns are not quite so simple now, as formerly – I have an account with 3 bankers, (at home, in London, and here), besides my steward’s accounts, and the detail of daily Expense, more tiresome, because everything here is necessarily bought in small quantities, on account of having no store-room, as in England – Perhaps you can now understand somewhat better how it is, that I have had all this pother’ – 

from 9 to 10 55/60 finishing my letter and writing the above of today – then wafered and sent it off (at 11 27/60) my letter to M– (Mariana) (‘Mrs Lawton Lawton hall Lawton Cheshire Angleterre post payé’) and sat down to breakfast at 11 1/2 – said Mrs William Buchanan had 

‘no hole to creep out at’ – only 7 of Murillo’s pictures in the gallery; and of the 2 in which are the virgin, and infant Jesus, and he could not mean the one, because there is no St. John: she could not mean the other, because there are le père Éternel, L’Esprit Saint, and Sainte Elizabeth, 3 personages too many’ – 

Copy the notice of la belle jardinière given in the last Edition (of last year) of the ‘Notice des Tableaux – § ‘Give my remembrances to Miss Pattison and thro’ her to her sister Mrs ‘(Alexander)’ B– (Buchanan) and say, that if we ought to ‘render mute the Cæsar the things which are Cæsar’s, La Belle Jardinière ought to be given not to Murillo, whose virgins have quite a different countenance, but to ‘Raffaelio Sanzio on di Santi, né à Urbin en 1483, mort en 1520’ – vide page 221. Notice des Tableaux – 

wrote the last 6 1/2 lines – sent off my letter at 11 25/60, and breakfast at 11 1/2 – from then till 1 1/2 breakfast and reading the paper – the Trial of the Wakefields for the abduction of Miss Turner – Mrs Wakefield, Miss Davis of Macclesfield that was, seems to have been the main spring of contrivance, and is found guilty of the conspiracy with the brothers Messieurs Edward Gibbon and William Wakefield –

at 11 50/60 went in to Madame Sené (who was with my aunt) for 1/4 hour she wanted Mrs Barlow’s address to inquire further about the English governess Mrs B– (Barlow) recommended to them yesterday – from 1 1/2 to 4 20/ 60 wrote 3 pages to Miss Fletcher, but, having somehow spoilt the sheet, shall write it over again – wrote the last 6 lines, and went out at 5 1/4 having been kept waiting 25 minutes during a shower – in much time read from page 324. to 342. volume 1 Anquetil’s précis of the history of Germany – 

direct to Mrs B– (Barlow) waited a few minutes while she got ready – then went out together at 6 35/60 and walked in the gardens – parted with her at our own door, and came in at 6 40/60 – 

dinner at 6 3/4 – Left the dining room and came to my own room at 9 – wrote the last 4 1/2 lines settled with George my accounts – prepared my bedroom as usual and went into the drawing room to my aunt at 9 35/60 – paid my aunt the copy of what I had written to M– (Mariana) about Johnston’s house – then lay on the sofa as usual – Came to my room at 10 5/60 [O two dots, marking discharge from venereal complaint]

left margin: Fahrenheit 42 at 7 1/2 p.m. 48 at 1 3/4 – 43 at 10 5/60 – toleraby fine morning – black clouds hovering about at 4 3/4 p.m. a shower for near 1/2 hour – fair while I was out – more rain after dinner and windy towards night –

§ Explain the Musée Royal at the end which could not surely have misled Mrs William B– (Buchanan)

reference number: SH:7/ML/E/10/0074

[theattainer]

20 Classic Poems Every Man Should Read

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https://theattainer.com/20-classic-poems-every-man-should-read/

20 Classic Poems Every Man Should Read

Editor’s note: This article was written through a collaboration between C. Daniel Motley and the AoM Team. 

Matthew Arnold, a Victorian poet, once claimed, “The crown of literature is poetry,” and if our neglect of poetry is any indication, the crown is rusting. While books sales fluctuate from year to year, fewer and fewer publishing houses are printing volumes of poetry. The demand for poets and their poems has ebbed.

However, we do ourselves a great disservice when we neglect the reading of poetry. John Adams, one of the founding fathers of the United States, commended poetry to his son John Quincy. Both Abraham Lincoln and Theodore Roosevelt committed their favorite poems to memory. Ancient kings were expected to produce poetry while also being versed in warfare and statecraft. That poetry has fallen out of favor among men in the 21st century is a recent trend rather than the norm.

To help remedy this, we have compiled a list of 20 classic poems that every man should read. Spanning the past two thousand years, the poems on this list represent some of the best works of poetry ever composed. But don’t worry—they were selected for both their brevity and ease of application. Some are about striving to overcome, others about romantic love, and still others about patriotism. Whether you’ve been reading poetry for years or haven’t read a single line since high school, these poems are sure to inspire and delight you.

1. “Ulysses” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Tennyson, poet emeritus of England during the latter half of the 19th century, has composed a number of classic poems that deserve careful reading. “Ulysses,” possibly his most anthologized poem, begins at the end of Odysseus’ life after the events of Homer’s Odyssey. Tennyson depicts the desire of a man wanting to set out on new adventures and see new sights, even as his life is passing into twilight. Ulysses’ memorable phrases will encourage even the most settled soul to strike out and start something new.

Read “Ulysses” here.

2. “If–” by Rudyard Kipling

Literature is filled with examples of fathers passing their wisdom down to their sons, from the biblical Book of Proverbs to Ta Nehisi Coates’ Between the World and Me. While not everyone had a father to teach them life lessons, Kipling’s most read poem provides an education in living that anyone can benefit from. Soldiers and athletes have drawn from its wisdom, and boys (and men!) have committed its lines to memory for over a century. A celebration of the British “stiff upper lip,” this Victorian classic is worth meditating on every so often as a reminder of the virtues and actions that make up a life well-lived.

Read “If–” here.

3. “Sailing to Byzantium” by W. B. Yeats

Socrates, speaking to a friend, once asked, “Is life harder at the end?” W.B. Yeats’ meditation on adolescence and what it means to grow old is a salve for world-weary souls. Writing near the end of his life, Yeats confesses that, although his body wastes away, his desire for what is good will not cease. Yeats’ vision for what is “true, good, and beautiful” reminds us that youth and vitality are ultimately about how one sees the world and not about age. Filled with beautiful imagery, “Sailing to Byzantium” offers a corrective to our modern obsession with chasing the phantom of eternal youth.

Read “Sailing to Byzantium” here. 

4. Sonnet 29 by William Shakespeare

No list of poems is complete without the Bard himself. Known primarily for his plays, universally accepted as some of the best works in world literature, Shakespeare was also a poet, composing over 150 sonnets in his lifetime. Sonnet 29 is a lamentation on the loss of fame and fortune but ends with a meditation on the love that he has for his beloved. Works such as It’s a Wonderful Life echo the themes in Shakespeare’s Sonnet, showing us that the company of loved ones far outweighs all the riches that the world offers.

Read Sonnet 29 here.

5. “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley

We’re not promised a life absent trials and suffering. While horrific events have sidelined many men, William Ernest Henley refused to be crushed on account of hardship. As a young man he contracted tuberculosis of the bone, which resulted in the amputation of the lower part of one of his legs. The disease flared up again in Henley’s twenties, compromising his other good leg, which doctors also wished to amputate. Henley successfully fought to save the leg, and while enduring a three-year hospitalization, he wrote “Invictus” — a stirring charge to remember that we are not merely given over to our fates. While life can be “nasty, brutish, and short,” we cannot sit idle while waves crash against us. A product of Victorian stoicism, and lived struggle, Henley’s poem is a clarion call to resist and persevere through the hardest of trials.

Read “Invictus” here.

6. “Mending Wall” by Robert Frost

Robert Frost once told John F. Kennedy that “Poetry and power is the formula for another Augustan Age.” If that is the case, then Frost brought both to bear in this poem about two neighbors rebuilding a fence between their property during a cold winter in New England. A story told in blank verse, Frost critiques the phrase that he attributes to the other man in the story, “Good fences make good neighbors.” Dedicated to neighborliness and good will towards others, Frost’s work is a helpful tonic against 21st century individualism and selfishness.

Read “Mending Wall” here.

7. “Pioneers! O Pioneers!” by Walt Whitman

The West has captivated the imaginations of America’s greatest writers, from James Fenimore Cooper to Cormac McCarthy. Walt Whitman’s “Pioneers! O Pioneers!” mixes adventure and a summons to tread out on new paths. Published at the end of the Civil War and the start of the great migration west, Whitman is rightly considered to be one of the earliest poets to distill America down to its essence. “Pioneers! O Pioneers!” still moves the spirit to chart a new course and serves as both a reminder of where we have come from and where we can go.

Read “Pioneers! O Pioneers!” here.

8. “Horatius” by Thomas Babington

While serving the English government in India during the 1830s, politician, poet, and historian Thomas Babington Macaulay spun semi-mythical ancient Roman tales into memorable ballads or “lays.” His most famous lay was “Horatius,” a ballad that recounted the legendary courage of an ancient Roman army officer, Publius Horatius Cocles, who was lauded for making a stand with two comrades, and then alone, against a horde of advancing enemy Etruscans. Macaulay’s homage to the honor of Horatius has proved an inspiration to many men, including Winston Churchill, who is said to have memorized all seventy stanzas of the poem as a boy.

Read “Horatius” here.

9. “On the Stork Tower” by Wang Zhihuan

The shortest poem on this list (the entirety of its text is contained on the image above), Zhihaun’s meditation on nature also serves as an epigram, a short motivational work meant to encourage seeking out new and better prospects. While the poem is only four lines long, it works as a meditative focus point, something to ponder whether sitting alone outside or during a crisis as a reminder that there is a solution to be found no matter the problem. Combining Taoist, Buddhist, and Confucian religious ideas, Zhihuan’s only surviving poem provides food for thought dressed in the language of nature.

10. “The Builders” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

While we often think of builders as limited to those who work with their hands, the ethos of the craftsman is something everyone should strive to emulate and cultivate. Life is a craft in and of itself — one that needs to be learned and attended to with the same kind of patience, care, and integrity that go into shaping tangible materials. All of us, Longfellow argues in this poem, are architects; all of our days are building blocks that contribute to the structure of our existence; and all of our actions and decisions (even those no one else sees) determine the strength, and thus the height, that the edifices of our lives can reach.

Read “The Builders” here.

11. “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” by Langston Hughes

Hughes penned this poem when he was just 17 years old. Written on his way to visit his father, the work both summarizes the experience of the young, black writer and encapsulates the struggle of African Americans across the span of time. Hughes uses famous locations of African civilizations as a reminder of the proud history of black people in America. Exasperated but not undone, Hughes’ poem is a tribute to those who have come before and an unspoken pledge to transcend time and circumstances.

Read “The Negro Speaks of Rivers” here. 

12. “The Soldier” by Rupert Brooke

“War is hell” quipped William Tecumseh Sherman, and no generation understood this better than the boys thrown into the grinder of World War I. While Wilfred Owen’s “Dolce Et Decorum Est” also makes for necessary reading, Rupert Brooke’s poem about loss and remembrance in wartime marries youthful vigor with a cautious patriotism. Meditating on his own death and what he hopes it means for others, Brooke reminds us that countries aren’t composed of flags and anthems, but the people who serve and sacrifice their lives for the greater good. His soldier is “A body of England’s, breathing English air,” composed of and composing what England is. “The Soldier” is a heartfelt memorial to all of those who met danger with courage and should stir us to press forward — even at the highest cost.

Read “The Soldier” here.

13. “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T. S. Eliot

What happens when societies favor disillusionment rather than contentment, individuality rather than community, safety rather than fulfillment? Eliot explores these questions in his own context, writing after the devastation brought on by World War I. Ironically titled, the poem lacks another individual for the poet to praise. Rather, the narrator reflects and laments on missed chances and opportunities never taken to reach out and connect with another person. A difficult but rewarding read, Eliot’s iconic poem serves as a warning — do not allow the awkwardness of human connection to keep you from making meaningful relationships.

Read “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” here.

14. “Ozymandias” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Julius Caesar, Charlemagne, and Napoleon have one thing in common — they were unable to outlast the empires they forged. Though they garbed themselves in symbols meant to represent the eternal, eventually they went to the grave like the rest of mankind. Shelley encapsulates this motif in “Ozymandias,” written from the perspective of a man speaking with a traveler who had just visited the former empire of the great Ozymandias. Although the dead ruler’s statues and memorials remain, they are dilapidated and gather dust, a symbol of the passage of time that dooms any who dreams of building empires. Shelley’s classic work is a morality tale, a check on hubris, a reminder that no matter how great our works, they will all ultimately decay as the wheel of history turns round.

Read “Ozymandias” here.

15. “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning” by John Donne

Written to his wife upon leaving for a trip abroad, Donne’s poem uses the literary concept of a “conceit,” an extended metaphor, to encourage his wife to see their momentary separation not as “A breach, but an expansion” of their love. Donne describes their relationship in terms of a drawing compass, her being the arm that is fixed in place and his as the arm extended outward, yet still connected. Donne’s masterful use of the English language, blended with emotional longing, makes “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning” one of the greatest love songs ever penned. Donne’s work is an excellent poem to read with your spouse or significant other.

Read “A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning” here.

16. Poem from The Iron Heel by Jack London

This poem is actually contained within another work of literature — Jack London’s novel, The Iron Heel. The book’s narrator, Avis Everhard, describes the text as her husband’s favorite poem and an encapsulation of his sprit, but it is also clearly a description of London’s own philosophy of life — his belief in the infinite power and potential of man and desire to experience everything the world had to offer. “How can a man, with thrilling, and burning, and exaltation, recite the following and still be mere mortal earth, a bit of fugitive force, an evanescent form?” Everhard asks. It’s a rhetorical question, of course; speak it aloud and see for yourself.

Read the poem from The Iron Heel here. 

17. “The Charge of the Light Brigade” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

During the Crimean War, a miscommunication led a small band of around six hundred British cavalrymen to ride into a valley surrounded by twenty Russian battalions armed with heavy artillery. While the British cavalry was resoundingly and tragically defeated, and their commanders sharply criticized for the heavy casualties, the bravery of the men who charged into the “valley of death” was celebrated and honored in many forms — none more famous than this poem by Tennyson.

Read “The Charge of the Light Brigade” here.

18. “Opportunity” by John James Ingalls

Opportunity, it is famously said, knocks only once. John James Ingalls, a U.S. Senator from Kansas, penned an ode to this simple but profound principle in the mid-19th century, and it was said to have become Theodore Roosevelt’s very favorite poem. When he was president, an autographed copy of it was the only thing besides a portrait to hang in TR’s executive office in the White House. If the Bull Moose needed a potent reminder to listen for opportunity’s subtle call, we all surely do as well.

Read “Opportunity” here.

19. “Character of the Happy Warrior” by William Wordsworth

What makes a good soldier? What qualities are attendant in a “happy warrior”? These are the questions that William Wordsworth lays out in the opening line of one of his most famous poems, and then proceeds to answer in the lines that follow. A great warrior deftly finds balance between being eager for battle, and yet aching for the joys and pleasures of home. A great warrior is guided by an inner light of virtuosity and generosity. A great warrior knows that suffering contains purpose. While the words pertain particularly to the soul of a soldier, its inspiration applies to every man engaged in the fight of life.

Read “Character of the Happy Warrior” here.

20. Ode 1.11 by Horace

Made famous by Robin Williams’ inspiring literature teacher in the film Dead Poets Society, Horace’s Ode 1.11 contains one of the most quoted Latin phrases — Carpe diem, or “Seize the day!” Writing to his friend Leuconoe, Horace tries to convince him to avoid thinking about tomorrow, or attempt to speak to astrologers in order to peer into the future. Instead, he encourages Leuconoe to “seize the day!” — to make every day count and to stop relying on the hope that tomorrow will bring something better on its own. Ode 1.11 admonishes us to remember that we are not promised tomorrow, and calls us to do what needs to be done today.

Read Ode 1.11 here.

C. Daniel Motley lives in Washington state with his wife, cat, and dog. They are both Southern ex-pats who are always on the prowl for sweet tea and Cracker Barrel. Follow him on Twitter @motleydaniel.

What do you think?

[fin-gson]

Written assignment research

important for Māori in maintaining their pride and identity as a people.

CCC Essay

 Maori language

To write

How language forms culture

Language in art and design and how it crosses that boundary

What happens when language is taken away from a culture and how that effects it as well as art responses to this.

Ko te reo te mauri o te mana Māori

The Māori language is the life force of the Māori p

eople

  Maori language shows a very clear distinction between the different maori culture and pakeha culture. Takahe toou wai! Translated as Stamp your foot! But not really it is better translated as “Let your foot stamp!” This is a clear example of how an order to move a body part involves a special construction so that it appears that the body part is the actor receiving the instruction. There are many more examples of this difference in the maori language which when understood speaks volumes to how the maori culture operates.

Mana Reo

Kapa Haka

It is easy to picture how kapa haka, carving and all other traditional maori art mediums fit into the web. Kapahaka is directly connected to the maori language as it is the traditional form of expression and so relies heavily on te reo. It is also said that traditional waiata and haka can be described as the News papers and history books of the past as they tell the whakapapa of many different areas within Maori culture. Tīmoti Kāretu (googole who this is) talks about how “for haka to be meaningful and to survive the young performer must know what is being said, how to interpret what is being said and how to imbue that interpretation with passion and panache. Not to do so, is to do haka and our ancestors an injustice” (cite)

This really shows how important the te reo Maori is for the art of kapa haka and as Tīmoti Kāretu says “conventions and philosophies of haka are ignored for the sake of applause and victory, so the whole art becomes shallow”

 . Furthermore, the Māori language is also the traditional form of expression. This illustrates the direct and parallel link to the performing arts as one such form of expression that relies on te reo.

 It is easy to see if the model was expanded where performance arts such as haka or waiata would fit in and how they would be connected to many of the different parts represented.

 oral language. Traditional Māori

waiata and haka can be described

as the traditional newspapers and history books of

Māori society. It is logical then that the origin of the

Māori performing arts is located in an oral Māori historiography

  Tīmoti Kāretu raises his concern regarding

this matter:

Each generation changes and what one did not accept

another does. As conventions and philosophies of haka are ignored for the sake of applause and victory, so the whole art becomes shallow ... The language will continue to be the difficult issue for most of the young performers but for haka to be meaningful and to survive the young performer must know what is being said, how to interpret what is being said and how to imbue that interpretation with passion and panache. Not to do so, is to do haka and our ancestors an injustice

    HAKA

  The mana of Te Reo maori

To quote from Huhana Smiths ..

“ The values and ethos of a culture is central to the identity and social well being of its members. So in a very basic sense the mana of Maori culture and its transmission is bound up with te reo Maori. This is the vehicle through which people uniquely express their world view, their religious beliefs, the accounts of their ancestry, the histories of their origins, their songs, their oratory, their wisdom and their humour.”pg 96 Mana Huhana Smith.

History is told oral maori are an oral culture and so their history lies in their language so to loose language would be to loose history. Quote proverb about walking backwards. To loose their language would be to loose who they are in every aspect

 The Māori language is at the heart of Māori society

and is

connected to all other cultural concepts within the

Māori

world. The holistic nature of the Māori world-view

and the

inter-connectedness of Māori cultural concepts is b

est

illustrated by the late John Te Rangiāniwaniwa Rang

ihau in a

model that he developed to help non-Māori to unders

tand the

Māori world-view more effectivel

  Reo is one cultural concept that Rangihau has included as

the Māori language is, for Māori, the traditional vessel for the

transmission of knowledge including tribal history, politics,

and environmental knowledge. Furthermore, the Māori

language is also the traditional form of expression. This

illustrates the direct and parallel link to the per

forming arts as

one such form of expression that relies on te reo.

It is easy to see if the model was expanded where performance arts such as haka or waiata would fit in and how they would be connected to many of the different parts represented.

 HAKA

The Māori language was traditionally an exclusively

oral language. Traditional Māori

waiata and haka can be described

as the traditional newspapers and history books of

Māori society. It is logical then that the origin of the

Māori performing arts is located in an oral Māori historiography

  Tīmoti Kāretu raises his concern regarding

this matter:

Each generation changes and what one did not accept

another does. As conventions and philosophies of haka are ignored for the sake of applause and victory, so the whole art becomes shallow ... The language will continue to be the difficult issue for most of the young performers but for haka to be meaningful and to survive the young performer must know what is being said, how to interpret what is being said and how to imbue that interpretation with passion and panache. Not to do so, is to do haka and our ancestors an injustice

  5

. COLONIAL INFLUENCE

The mechanism of the Government’s agenda of

assimilation and language domination was the State

education

system. This was, therefore, the primary cause of M

āori language loss. In 1847, the Education Ordinance Act

was introduced in order to aid the assimilation proces

  He locates te ao Māori (the Māori world) in the centre of his model/framework under the term Māoritanga,

He locates the Pākehā world (Pākehātanga) on the periphery of the framework, thus depicting an interface with the Pākehā world.

This is an important feature of the model, as it does not propose that Māori be assimilated, integrated or subsumed by non-Māori into the dominant culture.

The placement of the cultural concepts in the modelreflects primary relationships between the concepts. For example: the first layer/tier from the centre outward is AROHA (love, concern for others, sympathy, charity) which emphasises the notion that whānau/hapū/iwi (extended family/clan/tribe) are committed to the survival of their kinship group/s to ensure their identity as tangata whenua (the Indigenous people of the land) for future generations.

  Curriculum Design Te Tumu offered a curriculum that reflected its cultural base (Kaupapa Māori Ideology) and world-view. The staff tried to deliver this curriculum in the Māori language as often as they could. But what does this mean? It means that the curriculum was centred on an Indigenous Māori world-view using the following cultural markers:

Te Hā Whakawairua, Whakatinana i Te Mātauranga Māori i Te Whare Wānanga: The Validation of Indigenous Knowledge within the University AcademyTe Kaharoa, vol. 1,2008,ISSN1178-6035 70Tribal Identity: the importance of a sense of place and belonging through genealogical ties. Land and Landscape: the recognition of the need forrespect, harmony, and balance by the people for the land and the resources it provides. Spirituality: based on a spiritual view of and response to the natural world. Elders: serve as a critical link to the past in the present context to ensure cultural practices and tribal knowledge remain intact for future generations. Language: the recognition that the language contains many cultural indicators that enrich one's identity. Indigenous Knowledge: the importance of culturally determined ways of thinking, behaving, communicating and living as Indigenous people. Diversity: the celebration of tribal identity and a rejection of non-indigenous labels and definitions that homogenise Māori people. Kinship Structure: based on a collaborative/shared power system within social hierarchies. Self-determination: the recognition of the rights of Indigenous peoples to live as Indigenous people. To be healthy, Māori, Pacific and Indigenous people need access to learning their language, to education and qualifications, to employment and to have their culture valued in accordance with the Te Tiriti o Waitangi. They need to be able to be active participants in determining their own future. Concept of time: the culture is structured to look to the past as a guide for the present and the future. Cultural knowledge: this is viewed in a holistic framework where all aspects are interrelated. Reciprocity: based on the view that mutual respect is the cornerstone of human relationships and between humans and the environment.46Furthermore

          Essay structure

Why language is important, this essay will look at the decline of maori language and theories on what would have been lost if it had disappeared and how it upholds mana and tells the whakapapa of people and culture.

The forms of language, art and design poetry song. How language is multi faceted.

Examine different mediums that tell the same story ie Origin story where everything whakapapas back to. Shown through waiata, carving and tattoo?

The art of Kapa Haka

Insert picture of kapa haka

Kapa haka has maintained the maori language when it was in its worst state.

Framed moari language piece from 19th century shows shift in language use and the influence of Christianity and can link to it showing that maori culture is alive quote previous essay.

All the art examples tell a story and so are upholding the mana of te reo maori.

  essay

 Culture and language.

The culture of any society is inextricably tied up in its language, it is the vessel that ideas and beliefs travel through and are able to spread. In “Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind,” Yuval Noah Harari suggests that the cognitive revolution is what allowed Homo Sapiens the ability to imagine, this led to the creation of culture. He talks about how the ability to share a common belief such as a god or origin story is a massive part of why humans dominated the world where other species like Homo-erectus who were stronger and faster than homo Sapiens did not. The ability for different tribes or groups to collaborate and communicate their beliefs allowed them to create something bigger than themselves and provided an instant trust and link between individuals who were strangers. ( cite )

This essay will focus on Te reo Maori and how it upholds the mana of the maori culture. It will touch on three different examples of how the mana of te reo has been upheld in the past and conclude with why it is important for new Zealand that te reo Maori is maintained and its mana upheld.

 To understand how

 In Huhana Smiths book E TU AKE Maori Standing Strong she talks about how important it is to the culture of a society that their language is upheld. “ The values and ethos of a culture is central to the identity and social well being of its members. So in a very basic sense the mana of Maori culture and its transmission is bound up with te reo Maori. This is the vehicle through which people uniquely express their world view, their religious beliefs, the accounts of their ancestry, the histories of their origins, their songs, their oratory, their wisdom and their humour.”pg 96 Mana Huhana Smith.

To understand how important the maori language is to

  Without language there would be no culture. Between 1900 and 1970 there was a massive decline in the number of fluent maori speakers. This decline was caused by schools only teaching in English, the rapid urbanisation of maori into more urban english speaking environments. By 1675 a report is released that shows only 18- 20% of Maori are fluent and only 5% of young Maori children are fluent. From this it is concluded that te reo maori is in danger of extinction.

    The three artworks I have chosen to discuss are, a carved tauihu (prow of a waka), the haka and a Christian proverb framed with Maori carvings. Each piece has a unique way of communicating its small part of Maori culture and history.

  The connection of mana and Reo relate directly to Huhana smith explaining how the mana of maori culture is tied directly to te reo maori. But perhaps of even more significance is its direct connection to mauri the life force that runs through everything whether it is animate or not.

 Apart from the internal change and development (of maori carving),another, more recent factor is the European influence, and parrticularly acceptance of christian ideals. All this means today is that thoes underlying ideas are remote and difficult to discover. But it is, I hope, not impossible, because they are inherent or embedded in the maori language and in ancient myth and poetry as well as in the traditions of maori carving.

If the Maori language was lost it would cause loss to every facet of Maori culture. History is told oral Maori are an oral culture and so their history lies in their language so to loose language would be to loose history. Quote proverb about walking backwards. To lose their language would be to lose who they are in every aspect

 Thornton, Agathe. “SOME REFLECTIONS ON TRADITIONAL MAORI CARVING.” The Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 98, no. 2, 1989, pp. 147–166. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/20706270. Accessed 17 Oct. 2020.

Spolsky (2005) states,“...these schools created „modern‟ English-speaking space and so played a major part in the eventual process of language loss”(p.71).In 1913, ninety percent of Māori school children could speak te reo Māori(Parliamentary Library, 2010). Although these percentages are impressive by today‟s standards, it displays a clear indication of language lossconsideringthatnearly one hundred years ago 10 out of100 Māori school children didnot speak te reo Māori. By 1953, some 40 years later,the assimilationist policies of governmenthadcertainly exceeded expectations. Only twenty six percent of Māori school children couldspeak te reo Māori.From these gloomy statistics it appeared te reo Maoriwould never recover (Parliamentary Library, 2010).

Assimilation took on the modern guise of „integration‟, and was pursued with new fervor following the publication in 1961 of J. K. Hunn‟s Reporton the Department of Māori Affairs, popularly referred to as the Hunn Report. The report attempted to address the new challenges facing a Māori population that had rapidly transformed from small, isolated, tribal and rural to large, pan-tribal and urban (p.21).

n the 1970s, „Ngā Tamatoa‟,a group of young Māori who fought for Māori rights,and „Te Reo Māori Society‟expressed concerns for the Māori language(Metge, 1972). In 1972,a Māori language petition with more than 40,000 signatures was presented to Parliament(Metge, 1976). Hana Te Hemara,a member of Ngā Tamatoafrom Taranaki presented the petition to the Crownon the footsteps of Parliament(Metge, 1976)

The petition,according to Metge (1976) stated;That courses in Māori language and aspects of Māori culture be offered in ALL those schools with large Māori rolls and that these same courses be offered, as a gift to the Pākehā from the Māori, in ALL other New Zealand schools as a positive effort to promote a more meaningful concept of Integration (p. 99).

The Waitangi Tribunal (2011)report states that the revitalisation efforts of te reo Māorisince the 1970s are predominately due to Māori community efforts and makes no apology for their far reaching proposals

And that 37The Health of the Māori Language Reportwas conducted in2006 and released for public viewing in 2008. Te Puni Kōkiri mentions that while they had good reason to be positive about the 2006 report, the Māori language is still very much at risk. It is a minority language spoken almost exclusively by Māori, in that only four percentof New Zealanders can speak the language. Clearly, the Māori language is used in a minority of communications and although there is evidence that intergenerational transmission is occurring,it is still in the initial stages and remainsextremely fragile. Te Puni Kokiri(2008) states that conscious effort at all levels remains a necessary requirement if te reo Māoriis to flourish. The Waitangi Tribunal describesthe health of the Māori language asapproaching a crisis point and requiresurgent and far reaching change to save it (Waitangi Tribunal, 2011). The Tribunal findings on the health of te reo Māoriare discussed in the WAI262,2011 report.This claim concerns indigenousflora and fauna andCultural Intellectual Property,described bythe lateDr Darrell Posey, an expert on indigenouspeople‟s rights,as one of the most significant claims of its kind anywhere in the world (Briefing PapertoUnited Nations, 2005). The Tribunal‟s assessment of the Crown‟s contribution to te reo Māoriover the last 25 years are identified in Table 3below.Table 3: Waitangi TribunalAssessment of Te Reo Māori 2011We have not seen evidence of true partnership between Māori and the Crown. The 2003 Māori Language Strategy, we believe, is a well-meaning but essentially standard and pre-consulted Crown policy that does nothing to motivate Māori at the grassroots.Not enough has been done to implement the 1986 Tribunal recommendation that speakers be enabled to use te reoin any dealings with the courts, Governmentdepartments and other public bodies. Even in the courts, the use of the language remains heavily circumscribed.There have been repeated failures of policy. The most profound was the failure to train enough teachers to meet the predictable demand for Māori-medium education demonstrated by the surge in Kōhanga Reo enrolments in the 1980s. So strong was this demand that, in the early 1990s, it had no apparent ceiling. But it soon became choked by the lack of teacher supply, and the language suffers the consequences to this day.The Māori Language Strategy is another failure of policy. It is too abstract and was constructed within the parameters of a bureaucratic comfort zone. There have also been genuine problems with its implementation due to alack of leadership and

It has been through synthetic, man-madeenvironmental change that te ao Māori(the Māori world) has experienced radical changesince the arrival of Pākehā. The cost of this change has fallen squarely on the back of te reo Māoriand Māori ideology. This synthetic environmental change is fuelled by colonialism and is not only affecting the physical well being of Māori, but their psychological, spiritual and cultural well-beingas well.

 Te Kapa Haka o Te Whanau-ā-Apanui Photo: Te Matatini

   Carved prow of a waka. Ref: 1/2-003479-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. /records/22645938

  Smith, Huhana (Ngāti Tukorehe, Ngāti Raukawa ki Tonga). “Mana: Empowerment and Leadership”. E tū ake: Māori standing strong”. Te Papa Press, Wellington, 2011, 97.

Furthermore, under the Education Ordinance Act miss

ion

schools were to be subsidised with public funds, pe

rhaps as

an incentive to carry out the Government’s aims.

12

The Act

resulted in the establishment of new church boardin

g schools

between 1848 and 1852. These schools separated Māor

i

children from their whānau, therefore separating th

em from

their language and cultural base and increasing the

chance of

language loss and assimilation.

[grimesherbert]

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