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homomenhommes · 4 months

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saga: SOUMISSION / DOMINATION 92

Quand nous sortons de la voiture, le fils de bourge plein aux as descend de la sienne (c'est juste une 206CC, rien à voir avec mon propre cabriolet !!) avec un pote à lui.

Dans la voiture Jean m'avait dit qu'il avait décalé les passes de sa mère à l'après midi vu qu'il savait que le retour de gang bang serait difficile tôt le matin et que son paternel était en séminaire tout le WE (ça je le savais, j'avais pas eu de cours à donner le matin).

Nous nous saluons, Jean me présente comme un ami et je vois l'autre baver sur ma caisse (ça leur fait du bien à ces jeunes cons de voir qu'ils ne sont pas les plus privilégiés !).

Nous entrons tous les 4 dans la maison. Personne, la mère de Jean doit être en attente dans la maison de la piscine. J'accompagne Jean qui les emmène. Pour le pote du bourge c'est la première fois. Malgré ses airs de " j'ai tout vu, j'ai tout vécu ", il n'a pas l'air d'en mener large.

Passé la porte nous tombons sur Madame, à 4 pattes, la chatte dégoulinante et l'anus occupé par le gode, prête à être saillie.

Le bourge ne met pas de temps pour être à poil queue bandée. Son pote est plus lent, matant tout, la meuf le décor...

Je fais le tour et me présente à sa tête. Je m'accroupie et lui relève le menton. Quand elle me voit elle a un léger mouvement de recul. Son menton n'échappe pas à ma main et je lui dit de bien s'occuper des deux petits mecs et de ne rien refuser de ce qu'ils voudraient faire.

Avec Jean nous leur souhaitons une bonne baise et partons dans sa chambre mater sur son micro l'enregistrement des 4 caméras.

Quand nous arrivons devant le PC, le bourge est en train de faire " l'article ". il décrit la mère de Jean comme il le ferait d'un objet. De la bouche qu'il précise profonde, avec une langue agile et une gorge accueillante, à sa chatte brûlante et mouillée à son cul souple sans oublier les seins assez gros pour se branler entre eux.

Il appui sa description par l'utilisation de chaque élément. Il enfonce sa bite direct au fond de la gorge de la meuf, son pote n'en revient pas, il lui dit n'avoir vu cela que dans les pornos et pensait à moitié que c'était truqué. Après trois coup de queue, il sort pour, après avoir tourné autour et s'être kpoté, s'enfoncer dans la chatte de nouveau 3 coups de bite et il lui ôta le gode pour l'enculer. Ressorti il demanda à son pote si il avait compris le truc. Devant son acquiescement, il lui céda la place. Nous avons pu voir alors son pote en action. Grand et mince, sa bite nous paru correct (environ 17/18 par 4 ou 5). Il la présenta à la bouche de la mère de Jean qui lasse d'attendre, c'est avancée pour la lui gober.

Une des caméras les filmant de profil, nous avions une vue imprenable sur les événements ! Elle commença par lui téter le gland quelques minutes puis absorba la hampe cm par cm et fini par avaler le gland, le nez dans la touffe de poils. La jeune n'a pu se retenir et ses mains sur la tête de la meuf, il l'appuya de toute ses force sur son sexe. Il ne relâcha sa pression que quand le bourge lui a fait remarquer que si il continuait ils finiraient par baiser un cadavre !! Un moment nous avons cru (Jean et moi) qu'il avait déchargé, mais non , il est ressorti encore tout raide et sans traces blanchâtres sur le gland. Le bourge lui dit de tester les autres orifices. Kpoté, il pénétra le vagin avec une réflexion digne de la postérité ! : " putain c'est quand même meilleur qu'une main ! ". Et le bourge de surenchérir que son cul était encore meilleur vu qu'il serrait plus la bite. Aussitôt son pote a changé de trou et s'est enfonce dans l'anus de la meuf. Il a convenu lui aussi qu'un cul c'était encore meilleur.

Comme il commençait à accélérer les va et vient (annonciateurs de montée vers la jouissance), son pote le tira en arrière et lui dit que c'était pas pour une simple baise qu'il l'avait fait venir mais pour qu'ils la prennent ensemble.

Il dit à son pote de se coucher sur le dos et à la mère de Jean de le chevaucher. Après s'être bien assuré que la bite de son pote était dans la chatte, il s'est mis en position et s'est enfoncé dans son cul. Ce mec est un vicelard, il s'est accroché aux épaules de la meuf et à chaque fois qu'il la pénétrait, il tirait sec pour accentuer le coup et faire claquer le haut de ses cuisses sur ses fesses. Sans se préoccuper plus que cela de son pote, il s'est mis à insulter la mère de Jean, la traitant de " pute ", de " salope, garage à bites etc. ".

Le mec dessous avait empoigné les seins qui pendaient au dessus de lui et les tétaient l'un après l'autre. D'une voix rauque la mère de Jean leur a demandé de la prendre tous les deux, ensemble dans sa chatte. Nouvelle série d'épithètes par le bourge qui consent à sortir du cul et après avoir changé de kpote, s'est enfoncé dans le vagin au coté de son copain.

Je la connais cette meuf, je suis sûr qu'elle allait jouer de ses muscles vaginaux pour les serrer. C'est vrai qu'une bite normale se trouve au large dans son trou moite, mais deux bites accolées, ça commence à faire un diamètre respectable !

C'est ce qui se passe, le bourge gueule quand elle commence son massage interne. Il répète les insultes précédentes à défaut d'en trouver de nouvelles. Brutalement il se recule et gueule qu'il a failli juter.

Il se calme un peu pour faire baisser la pression et demande à son copain de l'enculer en levrette.

Ce dernier se retire du vagin où il était bien au chaud et prend position à genoux entre les cuisses de la mère de Jean (sur le dos) qui met son anus au niveau de la bite en calant ses reins par des coussins et en écartant bien les genoux. Le bourge lui est repassé devant se faire sucer. Il attend que son pote soit bien parti dans ses va et vient pour venir se placer à ses cotés. Je ne vois pas où il veut en venir, dans cette position ils ne pourront pas entrer à deux ! Je l'avais pressenti vicieux mais pas à ce point !! Il pousse son pote dans les bras de la mère de jean le collant à ses seins et en le faisant basculer vers l'avant recale les coussins pour que l'équilibre tienne. Nous le voyons se passer une kpote et la graisser copieusement. Puis, alors que son pote est bloqué par les bras et les jambes de la mère de Jean, il se pointe juste derrière lui et l'encule sans lui demander son avis ! Je vous l'avais dit, un vrai vicieux ce bourge !! L'autre pousse un hurlement qui a du arracher les tympans de la meuf. Mais coincé, il ne peut réagir.

Le bourge le prend par les hanches et entame aussitôt les va et vient. Les cris s'atténuent et quand la mère de Jean répond positivement à sa question sur le fait que la bite dans son cul bande encore malgré l'assaut, il conclu qu'il se doutait que son pote était pd et que maintenant il aurait à sa disposition une meuf pro et un mec et qu'il était sur qu'en plus il devait adorer sucer une pine. Le mec en sandwich n'avait pas l'air de réagir plus que cela, il subissait l'assaut avec ce qui semblait être du plaisir et bientôt nous l'avons entendu crier qu'il jutait. Nous l'avons alors vu se tordre et après chaque coup de rein qui devait ponctuer une éjaculation, il reculait se prenant la bite de son pote au plus profond de son cul.

Depuis déjà pas mal de temps, j'enculais moi même Jean sur son bureau afin que tous les deux nous puissions voir le spectacle sur l'écran. Faisant attention à bien le prendre sur la longueur totale de mon sexe pour maîtriser la montée de sperme et je contenais ma jouissance. Mais arrivé à ce stade, je n'ai pu me retenir et j'ai rempli ma kpote alors que Jean jutait sous le bureau. Quel beau salaud ce jeune bourge ! Mais il n'en avait pas fini vu qu'il n'avait pas jouit. Il a demandé à la mère de Jean de garder son pote coincé entre ses bras et après avoir déculé, il a fait le tour de l'ensemble à se pieds, a dékpoté et a présenté son gland à son pote. Ce dernier a voulu refuser. Pas de chance le bourge n'est pas patient ! et du coup il s'est pris une baffe. Surpris il a ouvert la bouche, probablement pour protester, mais sans en avoir le temps. Dès qu'il a légèrement entrouvert les lèvres, il s'est fait envahir la bouche par la bite qu'il refusait juste avant. Le bourge lui tenant la tête par les oreilles lui a bourré la gueule sans se préoccuper de ses haut le coeur ! et bientôt nous avons pus voir le jus s'écouler de sa bouche, de chaque coté de la bite encore en mouvement. Sous peine de s'étouffer, nous l'avons vu déglutir plusieurs fois !!

Pendant que le trio se remettait de ses émotions, je remballais mon " matériel " et Jean me donnais ma part (sur les passes de sa mère).

Je le quittais non sans avoir copié l'enregistrement sur ma clé USB et rentrais sagement à la maison.

JARDINIER

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anotherhumaninthisworld · 1 year

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I’ve seen on Tumblr that Camille wanted to marry Lucile’s mother, Annette Bosdeveix. Do you know what the source is for that and is there anything else we know about Camille and Annette’s relationship? Thank you!

We actually know quite a bit about the relationship between Camille and Annette. Not long ago, eight letters from the former to the latter written between the years 1784 - 1790 were published for everyone to read. I won’t translate them in their entirety here though, both because I think this would get way too long if I did, and because I sometimes honestly can’t fully make out what Camille is trying to say.

Camille and Annette’s first meeting dates back to the spring 1783, when the former is a 23 year old law student and the latter a 32 year old mother of two, married since 15 years back. Camille first spots Annette walking in the Luxembourg garden with her daughters, Lucile (13 years old) and Adèle (9 years old). He describes this meeting in the following verse, dedicated to ”Mme D, who always goes for a walk with her two demoiselles” and published in the l’Almanach littéraire in 1784 and the Affiches du Beauvaisis in 1785:

Everyone stops and says: ”how beautiful she is!” As for me, I’ve never seen her. But that doesn’t stop me from asking: ”is she a goddess or a mortal?” How can I hold myself back, seeing so many attractions, And two doves following her.

(Chacun s’arrête, et se dit, ”qu’elle est belle!” Pour moi, je ne la vis jamais . Sans demander: est-elle ou déesse ou mortelle? Pouvais-je m’y réprendre, en voyant tant d’attraits, Et deux colombes auprès d’elle.)

Camille eventually approaches Annette and the two start talking about poetry and Camille’s literary projets. Annette consults him to meet one M. Neveu, and even fixes and interview between the two. From a letter Camille writes her on July 10 1784 (the first of those recently published) we do however learn that he wants their relationship to go deeper than that:

It was doing you justice to believe that a musician presented to me by your hand could not fail to be preferred to all the ini [sic]. […]My job was to get acquainted with Madame Duplessis, and instead of taking me into her apartment, I was taken to the house of a musician. You will agree, Madame, that this is perfidy. Besides, it is up to you that tomorrow my work will be in the hands of Mr. Neveu, and since it costs you so little to procure it for him, if this little costs you still too much, I will see that you want me to renounce for ever sweeter hopes, and I will confine myself to admiring you from afar in the alleys of the Luxembourg.

The letter does however also make it clear that Camille only sees their relationship as platonic:

That among the authors, you choose the one whose poetry dates only from your walks in the Luxembourg and the day he saw you there, it is a very natural thing and I do not understand your excessive delicacy towards a young man who, for fifteen months, has given you such multiplied proofs that platonic love is not a chimera.

So no, the idea that Camille sought to marry Lucile’s mother would appear to be false. It can also be added that Annette wasn’t the only woman he wrote love verses to around this period, evidently a big interest of his. To a lady present for the divorce trial of one Maître Gerbier, Camille adressed the following verse:

De milles qualités nature te dota; Sexe charmante, sexe si tendre; Par un seul don le ciel nous consola. Il nous fit les plus forts; ce bien ce qu’il nous laissa, C’est le plaisir de te défendre.

In July 1783 he also assured one demoiselles de Compiègne that ”I owe the majority of verses I’ve written this year to you, it’s you who have inspired me.” The same year, the Journal de Paris published a poem he wrote for one Mme de Courve, and the year after that Camille published a similar verse adressed to Mme de La Lande in l’Almanach littéraire.

In 1786 Camille, sad over Annette having parted for her country house at Bourg-la-Reine for the summer, wrote her the following verse:

Me voilà donc après trois ans Toujours à la premiere page Du plus ennuyeux des romans; On m’eût fait languir moins longtemps Si j’avais été plus volage. Je le disais, et cependant, Pour vous voir encore un instant Je volais sur votre passage; Et quand vous fuyiez de ces lieux Les pleurs qui coulaient de mes yeux Soutanient bien mal ce langage Ce n’est point cette majesté Et cette taille de déesse Et cette grâce enchanteresse Et ces beaux yeux, quand la tendresse En adohcissait la fierté Que je vais regretter sans cesse. Mais que j’aime à vous voir sur le déclin du jour, Sous un ombrage solitaire À vos enfants souriant tour à tour Insensible au charme de plaire, Insensible aux plaisirs qu’offre l’amour, Ne goûter que ceux d’être mère Ah! Lorsque l’encens le plus duox Sur la terrasse vous appelle, Pourquoi vous éloigner de vingt cercles jaloux? D[uplessis], est-ce, dites-nous, Crainte d’alarmer un époux? Est-ce honte d’être la plus belle ? C’était ces regards si touchants, Ce son de voux si doux, cette mélancolie, Ces fleurs que vous jetait Julie; C’était ces deux boutons naissants Près d’une rose épanouie, Qui m’ont conduit à vos genoux Et m’auraient fait trouver si doux De passer près de vous ma vie. Il vous eût peu coûté de captiver mon cœur Vous voir est plus que posséder une autre, Et je pensais que faire mon bonheur Ce serait ajouter au vôtre.

One year later he asked Annette and her husband Claude if one day, when his financial situation had improved, he could marry their oldest daughter, a request that was rejected. Camille did however not give up so easily, in March the same year he wrote a letter to Claude refuting all of his charges as to why the idea was a bad one. When that didn’t bear any fruit he instead tried to influence Annette, which gives us the following letter from December 5 1787:

[…] Judge if the noise of this carriage pleases me, when it warns me that you are driving your daughter into the world where she is going to find so many admirers. Thus will all my dreams vanish. Do I dare, however, Madame, to remind you of what you told me, that you would put no ambition in the choice of son-in-law, and that my profession seemed to you quite honest and quite noble. This is what inspired me with some confidence. Must you take away from me today a hope so dear to the attachment that I have nurtured for so many years to come out of my heart with hope! […] I beg you, Madame, do not read this letter to your husband, with whom I would still pass for a madman, it is to you that I am writing it, to you who do not return my letters to me and that I I never left, without leaving your presence, if not full of contentment, at least full of patience. Shall I not have the pleasure of conversing with you at least sometimes? […] I found verses printed and maimed in provincial notices which I had addressed to you; I take the liberty of sending them to you and of renewing my homage to you. Will you do nothing for your poet?

On March 4 1788 he once again writes to Annette to inform her about his first real success as a lawyer, hoping that might persuade her to hand over her daugther:

[…] Once you have read my memoir, and compared it with the feeble consultation of Me Fournel who nevertheless enjoys such a great reputation, I dare to imagiene, Madame, that you will forgive me for having also hoped for some consideration; and that you will forgive me for having nourished another much more cherished hope, remembering that M. Duplessis, a year before yesterday, did not even demand that I should become a famous lawyer in order to obtain Mademoiselle Duplessis. Now this hope is weakening every day, I see that everyone has the same eyes for your daughter as I do, it seems to that in every moment someone comes to ask for her hand. I am waiting for my justificatory memorandum which will finally fix my fate and make access to you either open or closed forever. The encouragement that has sustained me most in this work to which I have sacrificed all my business has been the hope of presenting it to you. Is it possible, Madame, that when the image of happiness that I find with you detaches me from all societies and makes them bland and unbearable, you never tire of pushing me away from yours, which would take the place of the whole universe?

But twelve days later we find another letter from Camille, where we learn that Annette had once again responded with disapproval and even asked him to stop vistiting her house:

What harm have I done you for you to treat me so harshly? And how could a letter which I wrote only to persuade you offend you and draw such a bitter response from me? I don't want it to be your fault if I conceived a mad passion, but don't we owe anything to those who are made to suffer even without our fault? Could you not make me understand in a less mortifying way, that there was madness in my pursuit, that the disproportion of fortunes (which I only knew about yesterday) was an insurmountable obstacle; you would have seemed to pity me, and I could not have complained of you, on the contrary, I would have thanked you for the care you took to prevent a disastrous passion, I would have believed myself well treated; for you know better than anyone that it takes very little to make me believe it. Sometimes you have really put my self-esteem to severe trials! One does not die of spite, if so I would have already have died a thousand times. But all it would take is a glance, half a smile, to bring me back. Even today, at this moment, all my self-love is incurable! I am trying to reconcile the harshness of what you have just written to me, with the very different speech that you gave me, and I am trying to interpret it favorably. It seems to me that the remedy you employ is either too violent or too little. It's up to you to make yourself lovable anywhere other than at my place. Is it just a defence? Or is it not also a permission? Forbidden to make myself friendly in your eyes at your place, permission to make myself friendly, if possible, in the Luxembourg. This is what it means to be a lawyer. […] This leads me to believe that your answer does not carry a permanent banishment, that was what you repeated for me in the Luxembourg, not at the moment, and besides, it's still a letter that I received from you, which is something. You see Madame that I am laughing and crying at the same time. Thank you, one more word from you. Or, treat me so harshly that you force me to hate you and even your demoiselles; or, if your feelings have not changed since the conversation I had the honor of obtaining from you in the Luxembourg, refuse me permission to come to your house now, so as to give me the hope of one day obtaining it.

After this, it would appear the two cut contacts for a while. In a letter dated October 27 1788 to his best friend from school Pierre Jean André Grasset, Camille spoke disapprovingly of the whole family, even accusing Annette of wanting to seduce him:

I always continued to chase the same hare, the mother lured me into the house, the father promised me his daughter, gave me his word of honour; the girl made me think she wanted me; a few days later came a terrible storm which threw me far from the door, farther than ever. […] I could not imagine that by courting the girl I had pleased the mother, and that she wanted to take a chance on me; I could not trust the rascal of a servant who went home to me to invite me to take lodgings in the apartment next to theirs, that the girl was flirtatious, that it was was the mother who liked me, that I would succeed. Today the scales have fallen from my eyes; but then I thought they wanted to test me, a new promise to give her to me, a new rupture.

Camille and Annette picked up contacts again in 1790, with Camille sometimes even being invited into the apartment again. Camille was once again hoping to be able to marry Lucile, and this time he started using the contacts he’d gained as a journalist to impress her parents. On April 15 he writes ”It was M. Linguet I showed you this morning through my window,” and two weeks later he told her that Mirabeau and Emmery were coming to visit their country house at Bourg-la-Reine together with him. Annette was however still hesitant, causing Camille to grow desperate:

(April 14 1790) If you knew what trap has been laid for me, you would have compassion for me. I can clearly see that I am no happier in friendships than I am with love… It is not that I believed for a moment in calumnies; it is thus so, I said to myself, that they slandered me to Madame Duplessis, it is by these artifices that they closed their door to me. However, I was only asked to suspend my judgment, I was to have some clarification this morning for which I would be grateful. I went to look for it and saw only a gross conspiracy against my happiness. I don't know who to trust in the world anymore. Madame, you have sometimes shown interest in me, have pity on my situation; I no longer dare to come to your house, three times I have been refused entry, but deign to give me a moment's interview to unravel this riddle for you, and don't think that I could ever believe that Mademoiselle Lucile and M. Duplessis deceived me so cruelly. Virtue and sensibility have a physiognomy that art does not counterfeit. I distrust all men now, but something tells me that my trust would not be betrayed if I place it in you without reserve. […]This number which belonged to you, since you had it made for me in such a short time, you had the cruelty to send it back to me without wanting to read it.

(April 15 1790) Your note would be an answer to my letter, if it was to alarm you that I had asked you for an interview. I read there this answer: of such kind as the calumnies of which you speak, they are so devoid of verisimilitude that it is impossible for them to shake my security, and yet it is useless to grant you the interview that you ask for. But, Madame, it was for me that I requested this interview. It is for me alone that I beg you to have compassion. After seven years of the most constant and most unfortunate passion, at least leave me the sweetness of thinking that the beauty I loved was worthy of being so idolized, that I only have myself to blame, and not nature, which has not made me the one who was to touch her heart. I can no longer be happy, but to be less miserable I need someone to convince me that I was not used as a toy... […] Madame, you have given me marks of interest which I oppose in the bottom of my heart to all these thoughts which sometimes arise there, according to which you amuse yourself by tormenting my life. Add this new brand of benevolence. Grant me an interview, I beg you. Despite all the harm you have done me, I believe that Mademoiselle Lucile's heart is modeled after yours; I think they are both excellent. You don't want to remember that day when you promised me the hand of your dear daughter, or when you assured me that you could dispose of her heart. Why did you promise me what was not in your power? For what? […] What have I done that could have made me be refused three times at your door? If only you knew how much these refusals humiliate me, drive me to despair. I felt terrible last Saturday night. I implore you, Madame, to at least grant me an extraordinary interview today.

(May 10 1790) […] Did you notice how Mademoiselle Lucile sent me away cruelly yesterday? But you must always admire her more and more and she must be allowed to have a little pride. I really hope that now at least, I have no more new talents to discover in her, if she has any that I still don't know about, please hide them from me. I kiss your hands; for Mademoiselle Lucile there is no way to kiss hers even with gloves on. However, Madame, you are so much loved. What hurt you yesterday has hurt your celestial Lucile so much that if you wanted to take my interests to heart, I would hope for everything. Forget what she forbade you.

But on December 11 Annette and Claude finally agreed to let Camille marry Lucile (I’ve not been able to discover he exact reasons for their change of heart), and as can be seen through the following letterCamille sent his father the same day, Annette was happy with the decision:

This charming Lucile, whom I have talked to you so much about, whom I have loved for the past eight years, at last her parents give her to me and she does not refuse me. Her mother just came to tell me the news, crying of joy. […] When her mother told me a moment ago, she brought me to her room; I threw myself on Lucile’s lap; surprised at hearing her laugh I open my eyes, hers were in no better state than mine, she was all in tears, she was even crying profusely and yet she was still laughing. I have never seen such a delightful spectacle, and I would not have imagined that nature and sensibility could unite these two contrasts to such an extent.

Eightteen days later Annette and the rest of the family attended the couple’s wedding.

After Camille had gotten his Lucile, no more letters from him to Annette are conserved. We do however know through several other pieces that they remained close afterwards regardless. After their marriage, Camille and Lucile moved to 1 Rue de Théatre Francais (today 22 Rue de l’Odéon), just a two minute walk from Lucile’s childhood home on 22 Rue de Condé. From the diary Lucile kept 1792-1793 we see that Annette was a frequent visitor to the house. Annette also got to know some of Camille’s collegues, such as Danton, who Lucile asks her to give her news about in a letter dated February 16 1792, Fréron, who nicknamed her Melpomène and came to visit their country house, and Robespierre, who she might have planned to marry off her second daughter to. When Annette’s husband was arrested as suspect in January 1794, Camille protested against it both at the Convention and in the Vieux Cordelier.

Once Camille himself was arrested, Annette was reportedly in despair. In his third and final prison letterto Lucile, Camille reports the following:

Last evening my heart broke when I saw your mother in the garden. A mechanical movement threw me on my knees against the bars; I clasped my hands as if imploring her pity, she who moans, I am sure of it, in your bosom. Yesterday I saw her pain, in her handkerchief and her veil which she lowered, unable to bear this spectacle. When you come, let her sit a little closer with you, so that I can see you better.

Camille thought about Annette too, in the same letter he reports about this dream he’s just had:

Heaven took pity on me. Only a moment ago, I saw you in a dream, I embraced you in turn, you, Horace and Daronne (nickname for Annette) who was at our house. […] Farewell Lucile, my Lucile! My dear Lucile! Farewell Horace, Annette, Adèle, farewell my father!

After the death of Camille and Lucile, Annette worked together with Camille’s old friends and collegues Brune, Duplain, Panis and Fréron to get back Camille and Lucile’s confiscated effects and make sure their son Horace, who she adopted, got a good education. She evidently didn’t blame Camille for her daughter’s death, as she in 1800, when writing to Lucien Bonaparte to ask for the disbursement of the pension for Horace, voted through four years earlier by the Conseil de Cinq-Cents, said that his father was ”Camille-Desmoulins, this hero of republican humanity.”

That it was a glorified image of his father Annette provided her grandson with is also proven through a letter Horace wrote in 1822 to the editor Barrière, claiming that his father had never written anything called l’Histoire des Brissotins, in reality a pamphlet essential in the purge of the girondins…

Sources for everything that doesn’t have a link to it: Camille et Lucile Desmoulins: un rêve de république (2019)

#desmoulins #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #annette duplessis #ask #frev #frev friendships

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alain-keler · 9 months

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Journal d’un photographe/ Le bal des oubliées

Vendredi 25 Août 2023.

Comment choisir la Photo lorsqu’il en faut…dix sur des semaines de travail ! Pour le photographe que je suis, c’est un énorme dilemme que j’ai toujours du mal à assumer.

Je parle du projet de la BNF « Radioscopie de la France », projet pour lequel j’ai été choisi avec cent quatre-vingt-dix-neuf autres photographes. On parle déjà chiffres, mais dix photos quand même, ce n’est pas beaucoup. Ou peut-être beaucoup en fonction de la manière de travailler des photographes.

Alors dans ce journal estival, je suis allé à la recherche de ces photos non choisies, oubliées, par erreur ou-et mauvais choix de ma part, perturbé par le temps et le manque de recul sur le travail accompli. Il y a aussi les voisines, parfois aussi bien, sinon meilleures que la photo sortie gagnante. Les photos aiment jouer avec nous. Elles se cachent souvent pour réapparaître des années plus tard, lors de nouvelles recherches et une vision enrichie par l’expérience acquise.

Extrait de mon journal de bord.

Samedi 12 mars 2022.

Montaigut, fête la sainte Barbe des pompiers. Devant la mairie il y a quelques curieux qui attendent. Le Maire et la députée de Riom vont défiler en tête du cortège jusqu��à la salle des fêtes. La musique résonnera dans les petites rues étroites, comme pour réveiller ce petit bourg d’Auvergne.

Pourquoi cette petite ville ? Parce qu’elle était à côté de l’étang de Montmazot où j’allais enfant avec Madame Conchon, nounou sans être nounou. Elle faisait des ménages chez ma mère qui l’adorait. J’allais de temps en temps dans sa petite maison de Montmazot. Souvenirs d’une première enfance. Michel, son beau-fils m’emmenait à la chasse. Je me souviens aussi avoir assisté à des naissances de veaux chez des éleveurs du coin. Il y avait aussi des nids d’hirondelles dans un local à côté de la maison. Le samedi, nous faisions des copeaux de bois pour la piste de dance du restaurant voisin qui appartenait à des cousins. Les copeaux aidaient les danseurs à glisser sous les airs d’accordéon d’un orchestre de la région.

Avec Madame Conchon, nous allions de temps en temps à pied à Montaigut, à quatre kilomètres, faire quelques courses. Elle m’achetait « Tarzan », mon premier journal illustré.

"Cette photographie a été produite dans le cadre de la grande commande nationale "Radioscopie de la France : regards sur un pays traversé par la crise sanitaire" financée par le Ministère de la culture et pilotée par la BnF".

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onevolon · 10 months

Text

my love for you is infinite - part9

Santiago Garcia x afab!reader(Darcy)

note: pride and prejudice (2005) but with triple frontier boys because why not lol

word count: 1859

warnings: things are getting a lttle heated

you can also read it on ao3.

part8 - part10 - masterlist

Santiago's carriage arrives at a smallish but charming rectory in Kent. This is Hunsford, Charlotte's new home. She rushes out and greets Santiago, kissing his cheek nervously.

Mr. Collins bows and ushers him in.

“Welcome to our humble abode.” He starts and continues to talk but Charlotte cuts him.

“My dear, I think our guest is tired after his journey.”

“Ah, yes… My wife encourages me to spend as much time in the garden as possible, for the sake of my health.”

A beat. Santiago glances at Charlotte, who remains impassive.

“I plan many improvements, of course. I intend to throw out a bow and plant a lime walk. Oh yes, I flatter myself that any young lady would be happy to be the mistress of such a house.”

A tiny nod from Santiago. Charlotte takes his arm and starts to walk to another room.

They are at last alone. They sit down in a charming little parlor that faces the front of the house. Charlotte pours out tea.

“We shall not be disturbed here, this parlour is for my own particular use. Oh Santiago, it's such a pleasure, to run my own home!”

Santiago nods uncomfortably.

“Charlotte! Come here!” Mr. Collins yells.

Charlotte jumps up and rushes to the window.

“What's happened?” says Santiago, alarmed.

“Charlotte!”

“Has the pig escaped again?”

Outside in the lane, Mr. Collins stands, bowing: at a carriage.

“Oh! It's Lady Catherine. Come and see, Santiago!”

Santiago goes to the window, unnerved by his friend’s enthusiasm. Mr. Collins rushes back towards the house and talks to them through an open window.

“Great news! Great news! We have an invitation to visit Rosings this evening from Lady Catherine de Bourg.”

“How wonderful!”

Santiago tries to feign pleasure.

“Do not make yourself uneasy, my dear cousin, about your apparel.”

“Just put on whatever you've brought that's best.”

“Lady Catherine has never been averse to the truly humble.”

Santiago stares at them both in disbelief.

***

Santiago, Charlotte and Mr. Collins walk hurriedly across a bridge towards the great house. The grey building looms ominously above them. It is grand without being elegant.

“One of the most extraordinary sights in all Europe, is it not. The glazing alone cost upwards of twenty thousand pounds.” Mr. Collins bragged.

The salon at Rosings is spectacularly grand; hideously so. Heavy furniture, rows of servants. The three guests are shown in by the footman. Again, Mr. Collins scrapes the floor with his bow.

“Your Ladyship. Miss de Bourg.”

Lady Catherine ignores him.

“So, you are Santiago Garcia Bennet.

“I am, your ladyship.”

“Hmm. This is my daughter.”

“It' s very kind of you to ask us to dine, Lady Catherine.” Charlotte interferes.

Lady Catherine ignores her, too.

“The chimneypiece alone cost 400 pounds.” Mr. Collins whispers to Santiago.

But Santiago doesn't hear. Miss Darcy walks into the room. freezes. Another man is with him.

“Miss Darcy! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Miss Darcy. I had no idea we would have the honour...”

A stiff bow from Darcy, who looks at Mr Collins as if he's something brought in by the dog. She turns to Santiago, trying to collect herself.

“Mr. Santiago... I'm a guest here.”

“You know my niece?” Lady Catherine says, not pleased.

“Yes, madam, I had the pleasure of meeting your niece in Hertfordshire.”

Fitzwilliam, a much more easy-going chap, introduces himself.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam. How do you do?”

He bows. Santiago returns his smile gratefully. They move towards the dining room. Mr. Collins leans towards Santiago.

“You know Miss Darcy is as good as engaged to Miss de Bourg?”

“Really? Caroline will be disappointed to hear that.” He looks at the girl, and whispers to Charlotte “What a miserable little thing! They should suit each other perfectly.”

But Charlotte's uneasy smile confirms to Santiago that she has lost his friend in more ways than one.

***

The dining room is laid for a very grand dinner - footmen waiting, thousands of candles. Lady Catherine seats herself at the he and of the table.

“Mr. Collins! You can't sit next to your wife, get up. Move over there.”

After an awkward shuffle, Santiago finds himself sitting next to Darcy. Only his own discomfort prevents him from noticing Darcy is by no means master of her responses.

“I trust your family is in good health, Mr. Santiago?”

“They are, thank you. My eldest brother is currently in London, perhaps you happened to see him there?”

“I haven't been fortunate enough, no.”

Santiago looks at her. She colors slightly. Lady Catherine addresses Santiago in a loud voice, from the head of the table.

“Do you play the pianoforte, Mr. Bennet?”

“A little, ma'am, and very poorly.”

“Oh. Do you draw?”

“No, not at all.”

“Your siblings, do they draw?”

“Not one.”

“Has your governess left you?”

“We never had a governess.”

Mr. Collins squirms in embarrassment. Darcy watches Santiago, keenly.

“No governess? Five siblings brought up at home without a governess, I never heard such a thing! Your mother must have been quite a slave to your education.”

“Not at all, Lady Catherine.”

“Mmmm. Are any of your younger brothers out in society?”

“Yes, ma'am. All.”

“All! What, five out at once? Very odd! And you only the second the younger ones out before the elders are married! Your youngest must be very young.”

“Yes, my youngest is not sixteen. But I think it would be very hard on younger brothers, not to have their share of amusement because the elder is still unmarried. And to be kept back on such a motive! It would hardly encourage brotherly affection.”

“Upon my word, you give your opinion very decidedly for so young a person. Pray, what is your age?”

“With three younger brothers grown up, your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own to it.”

Lady Catherine looks astonished. Mr. Collins shifts in his seat, Santiago's enjoying himself and Darcy's having great difficulty concealing her admiration.

***

Dinner is over and they are drinking coffee. Darcy moves towards Santiago but Lady Catherine interrupts, by shouting from her seat.

“Come, Miss Bennet, and play for us!”

“No, I beg you-”

“Music is my delight. In fact, there are few people in England who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a prodigy. So would Anne, if her health would have allowed her.”

“Lady Catherine, I am not afflicted with false modesty and when I say I play poorly ...”

“Come come, Santiago, her ladyship demands it!” Mr. Collins insists.

Santiago reluctantly sits down at the piano and starts to play. Lady Catherine takes no notice and talks loudly over the music.

“How does Georgiana get along, Darcy?”

“She plays very well.”

“I hope she practices. No excellence can be acquired without constant practice. I have told Mrs. Collins this. (Turns to Charlotte) Though you have no instrument of your own you are very welcome to come to Rosings and play on the piano in the housekeeper's room.”

“Thank you, your ladyship.”

“You would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house.”

Darcy flinches at her bad manners. He moves away to the piano where Santiago is playing - not that terribly well, it must be said. He's nervous, plays a wrong chord and then gets angry with himself and focusses.

“You mean to frighten me, Miss Darcy, by coming in all your state to hear me, but I won't be alarmed even though your sister does play so well.”

“I am well enough acquainted with you, Mr. Santiago, to know I cannot alarm you even should I wish it.”

A beat. They eye each other warily. Colonel Fitzwilliam joins them.

“What was my friend like, in Hertfordshire?”

“You really care to know?”

The colonel nods.

“Prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time I saw her, at the Assembly, she danced with nobody at all “

“I knew nobody beyond my own party.”

“True, and nobody can be introduced in a ballroom.”

“Fitzwilliam! I need you!” Lady Catherine calls.

He moves away. Darcy and Santiago are alone. Darcy's struggling with her pride which suddenly gives way.

“I do not have the talent of conversing easily with people I have never met before.”

“Perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice.”

Darcy flinches. Santiago turns away from her and carries on playing. Darcy gazes at the curve of his neck.

***

Santiago is writing a letter in the drawing room. He starts "Dear Francisco..." The doorbell rings in the background, he thinks nothing of it and continues. The maid opens the door to the drawing room and Miss Darcy enters.

“Miss Darcy!”

An awkward pause.

“Please, do be seated. I'm afraid Mr. and Mrs. Collins are gone on business to the village.”

A pause. What on earth does Miss Darcy want? She paces up and down.

“This is a charming house. I believe my aunt did a great deal to it when Mr. Collins first arrived.”

“I believe so - and she could not have bestowed her kindness on a more grateful subject.”

Another pause.

“Mr. Collins seems very fortunate in his choice of wife.”

“He is indeed lucky to have found one of the few sensible women who would have accepted him.”

Darcy sits down.

“Shall I call for some tea?”

“No. Thank you.”

The sound of the front door, and voices. Darcy jumps up.

“Good day, Mr. Santiago. It's been a pleasure.”

He bows to her and leaves. Santiago sits there, bemused and intrigued.

Charlotte, in the hallway, taking off her bonnet. Darcy hurries past her, with a swift bow, and leaves abruptly. Charlotte gazes after her in surprise. She heads to the drawing room where she finds Santiago still sitting thinking.

“What on earth have you done to poor Miss Darcy?”

“I have no idea.”

Truly, she doesn't.

***

Mr. Collins, in his vestments, stands in the pulpit delivering his sermon. Lady Catherine sits in the front row with her daughter.

Santiago sits a little way behind with Colonel Fitzwilliam. They talk in whispers.

“How long do you plan to stay in Kent, Colonel?”

“As long as Darcy chooses. I am at her disposal.”

“Everyone appears to be at her disposal. I wonder she does not marry and secure a lasting convenience of that kind.”

Fitzwilliam looks at Santiago, curious about his brittle tone.

“They would be lucky.”

“Really?”

“Darcy is a most loyal companion. From what I heard, on our journey here, she recently came to the rescue of one of her friends just in time.”

Darcy glances across from the adjacent pew.

“What happened?”

“She saved the man from an imprudent marriage.”

“Who was the man?”

“Her closest friend. Charles Bingley.”

A silence.

“Did Miss Darcy give you her reasons for this interference?”

“There were apparently strong objections to the lady.”

“What kind of objections? His lack of fortune?”

“I think it was his family that was considered unsuitable.

“So she separated them?”

“I believe so. I know nothing else.”

Santiago grows pale. He turns to look at Darcy.

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #frankie morales #ben miller #tom davis #will miller #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #oscar isaac characters #oscar isaac fic #onevolon fic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #oscar isaac fanfiction

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glassprism · 1 year

Note

I know a lot of actors have played Christine phantom and Raoul in different productions around Europe, but which ones have been in the us and uk/ other Europe productions?

I think you're asking for which actors (that have played Phantom, Christine, and Raoul, because if we include supporting cast and ensemble members I'll be here forever) have been in the US productions AND a production in the UK or elsewhere in Europe (and maybe I'll extend it to any other non-US production)? Well...

Michael Crawford - originated the role of the Phantom on the West End and Broadway

Grant Norman - played the Phantom in the US tour and then on the West End

Marcus Lovett - played the Phantom on Broadway and then, almost 20 years later, on the West End

Brad Little - played Raoul on Broadway, the Phantom in the US tour, and the Phantom in two World Tours

Ian Jon Bourg - understudied as the Phantom in the US tour and later in Las Vegas and was principal Phantom in Hamburg, Stuttgart, and Essen, and then understudied the Phantom again in two World Tours

Cris Groenendaal - played the Phantom on Broadway and Toronto

Laird Mackintosh - played Raoul and understudied the Phantom in Toronto, and then understudied the Phantom on Broadway

David Gaschen - played the Phantom in Basel and Hamburg and then understudied the same role on Broadway and the US tour

Peter Joback - played the Phantom on the West End, Broadway, and the Stockholm revival

Michael Gillis - really reaching but he was Raoul in Phantom's US tour, then understudied the Phantom in the Love Never Dies US tour, and then understudied as both Raoul and the Phantom in the most recent Phantom World Tour

Sarah Brightman - originated the role of Christine on the West End and Broadway

Patti Cohenour - played Christine on Broadway and Toronto

Luann Aronson - played Christine on Broadway and the Canadian tour (Far East Tour)

Kimilee Bryant - played Christine in Toronto, Basel, and the US tour and then understudied as Christine on Broadway (as well as Carlotta and Madame Giry)

Elizabeth Southard - played Christine in Toronto, on Broadway, and in the US tour

Rebecca Pitcher - played Christine in the US tour, Broadway, and the World Tour

Marni Raab - played Christine in the US tour, Broadway, and the World Tour

Sierra Boggess - played Christine in Las Vegas, then Christine in London's Love Never Dies, then Christine in the RAH concert performed in London, then on Broadway (twice), and would have been in the Paris production

Elizabeth Welch - understudied as Christine in the US tour and Broadway and was principal Christine in Oberhausen

Sarah Bakker - understudied Christine in the World Tour and Broadway

Kaley Ann Voorhees - played Christine on Broadway and the World Tour

Rachel Anne Moore - reaching again, but played Carlotta in Hamburg, Christine in Love Never Dies in Hamburg and the US tour, and understudied Carlotta on Broadway

Meghan Picerno - played Christine in the World Tour and Broadway as well as in the Love Never Dies US tour

Steve Barton - originated the role of Raoul on the West End and Broadway, and played the Phantom as the understudy on the West End and as principal on Broadway

Michael Shawn Lewis - played Raoul in Antwerp, on Broadway, in Stuttgart, and in the US tour

There's probably more and some big names that I'm missing, but you can likely get a sense of the trends here. It's actually quite uncommon for a principal actor to have been in both London and Broadway (probably due to Equity), and even being in a European production is not too common. (I think this is somewhat less the case for ensemble members.) The amount of actors who crossed over from the UK to another European production, or who were in multiple European productions, is much higher I believe. What we do see a lot of are actors who were in the US and who also performed in Toronto, a Canadian tour, or the World tour. But there are definitely exceptions too, and then the really fun ones like Ian Jon Bourg, who has just been all over.

#GP gets asks #anonymous #ow my eyes

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years

Text

Wednesday 2 July 1834

no kiss see last night - very fine morning - F70° at 6 10 - A- and I out at 6 40 sauntered along the rue de Rhone § [to the Toporama to see Godots’ fine model of Switzerland – not the one I saw in 1827 – only ½ the size but containing more extract of country i.e. the Tyrol, Italian lakes, part of the Piemont and the whole Switzerland – on sale – for not less than 24000fr. French – would see the other (the large and old one) for 900fr. - a model in hand like the 24000fr. one, reduced from about 15 by 9ft. French to about 3ft. by 2 ½ ft. French at 500fr. to be sent to Sweden to Baron Müller – had made several on this scale and sent them to England - to Lord Grey – Lord Monson et aliis - made one of the Mont Blanc mountains only, on a very large scale for the Ecole des mines à Paris – said I should like a scale between the big and the little and he agreed to make me (in 6 months and send via Paris and Calais to London there to be paid on its arrival) a model taking in all the country – all the étendre of the large at 24000fr. for 15000fr. – said I should be back again from Chamouni [Chamonix-Mont-Blanc] soon and would let him know about it - Miss W- shockingly tired of standing so long – about an hour there – put in the post en passant my letter to my aunt ‘Shibden Hall Halifax Yorkshire Angleterre’ and A-‘s letter to her aunt Cliff hill and sister and Washington – vid. yesterday - home at 8 ¾ - breakfast at 9 to 10 ¾ - having George up 2 or 3 times to give him instructions in French

§ went into the rue de la cité and paid for plan of Geneva that came at 6 ½ this morning etc and staid there sometime – the man very civil gave me 4 addresses for pensions (thought of leaving Eugenie at one) and gave me the relative value of Geneva money compared with French

sols de Geneva Francs cents

pieces of

½ = 0.2

1 = 0.4

3 = 0.12

1 5= 0.58

21 = 0.80

1 florin de Geneva = 12 sols de Geneva

26 sols de Geneva = 1 Franc de France

1 Ecu de 5fr. (French) vaut florin 10.10s

2fr. ---------------------------------------- 4.4.

1fr. -----------------------------------------2.2

1/2fr.----------------------------------------1.1

then chez Joan Soupat, place du bourg du four, for little silk shawl for A- had not one, but good shop for Swiss Muslins and linen etc - they sent us to Louis Pernin fils au bas de la cité no. 51 and got a ficher - home at 8 ¾ - breakfast etc (the 12 lines with in brackets belong to after breakfast) - from 11 ¾ to 1 ¾ when A- and I out again – had had a porter after breakfast – said there were 240 rooms in the house of which 160 de maitre - 34 chambres de maitre sur chaque des 5 étages - price of a country house for the season (6 months 3,000 to 4,000fr. - Coligny) that Lord Byron had 4,000 fr. -Had inquired at the police – Miss Pickford had not been here of 3 years - A- had lain down – had ordered a carriage at 2 – she and I out in it at 2 ¾ and took Eugenie with us – went to the bank (H. Hentsch and co.) on the quai almost opposite to our hotel des Bergues - from £25 circular no. 4096, received 11 double napoleons + 9 singular ditto = 620fr. for which paid (agio on the gold) 7/50? and for gold now cost 15 fr. per thousand and this not considered dear - a month hence would be 20/ agio per thousand - forgot to ask for an account of what I received - supposed I paid 7/55 agio this would make 620+7/55+(5sols de Genève taken at sols French) ./20 = 627fr. 75 cents = exchange at 25fr. 11 cents- from the bank to the Grand Chemin des Philosophes, chez Madame Bacle for pension for Eugenie - would take her (giving her 2 ground floors rooms) for 175fr. per month so that we could sleep a night or 2 there if we liked - but for our own living to pay 10fr. a day - happening to inquire about Miss Pickford found she and Miss Maitland were chez Madame Palis – a house or two distant – went there – waited 20 minutes till 4 5 then sat with them till 4 ½ - Miss P- said nothing but seemed surprised – was she not nervous? looked well - told her of her letter record in Paris last July - they are going to England on Tuesday - Paris via Dijon by voiturin, the one from here they have had at Naples, and everywhere - Miss Maitland a very tall, large woman – asked me to stay and dine with them at their public table! – Miss P- said nothing – she probably knew me better – declined very civilly on account of much to do and going to Chamouni [Chamonix-Mont-Blanc] tomorrow - Miss P- hardly seemed at ease - true she lost much (‘pretty well’) by Miss Threlfall who died 2 years ago - might have recovered it, but it would cost more than it was worth - the musé [musée] under repair could not be seen perhaps may be a fortnight hence - 20 minutes in the botanic garden goes up to Mr. Eynards’ nice house and gardens - the garden arranged on the natural system - very ill kept - the Serres full of workmen - then to the cathedral - full of workmen preparing for the Grand Helvetic concert on the 28th inst. - neat, clean, handsome gothic pile - du temps de Charlemagne the woman said - 3 fine painted glass windows in the apsis - Charlemagne, in that on the right - home at 5 ½ - dinner at 5 40 - had just the loueur of the carriage - called the distance to Sallenche [Sallanches] 15 lieues (instead of 12 or in truth 11) and asked 48/. - tho’ he had agreed with the porter for 36/. - said people gave the cocher 3/. a day - 30/. + 4/. for cocher would have been enough the porter owned had it been last year - now forage dear and 36/. fair - offered to get me another carriage - no! said I would go en poste - poste arranged as in France 36 sols per cheval and 1 extra cheval not put on for us at 20 sols - so I shall leave the carriage at Sallenche [Sallanches] and Eugenie too - sat long over dinner and dessert – dawdling talking – from 10 ¼ to 11 20 wrote the above of today – fine day till lowering at 5 ½ and between 6 and 7 (and long afterwards flashes of lighting at intervals much thunder) heavy rain and a thunder storm – lightning very vivid and much thunder 1 peal so near the house seemed coming down - F72 ½° now at 11 20 pm - Miss W- owns she has had whites again (had them years ago and since) these last two or three days burn her in making water said she had rather affected me on Monday night

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skip-chiantos · 2 years

Text

Jour 19 : l’eau

Elle se tenait proche du bord du fleuve. Elle l’observait. L’eau paraissait calme en surface, mais des tourbillons de bouillons blancs se formait par endroit, remontant des profondeurs de l’eau. Elle détestait l’eau. Elle avait appris à la craindre, et à la vénérer à la fois. Comme une femme. Elle attrappa son sac de cuir, et le passa en bandouillière par-dessus son épais plastron de cuir Bourgogne. En dessous de ce dernier, elle portait une chemise de lin noire, qui descendait ju’au haut de ses cuisses. Elle portait un pantalon moulant lui aussi en cuir épais, avec des renforts sur les antérieurs. À ces pieds, une grosses paires de rangers. Elle attacha grossièrement ses cheveux en chignon à l’aide d’une cordelette et repris sa route. Elle continua à longer la rivière. À quelques kilomètres devant elle, elle pouvait voir un petit bourg sur le fleuve. Eux aurait peut-être une solution à son problème.

Le jour commençait à baisser quand elle atteint enfin les premiers bâtiments. Tout semblait désert. Elle ressera la hanse de sa besace plus proche d’elle, la passa dans son dos, et sortit une courte dague de sa poche. Elle n’aimait pas l’eau. Ni les gens qui vivaient de son exploitation. L’eau était changeante et imprévisibles, comme eux, comme une femme. Elle arriva devant un ponton, où un pécheur l’appela :

-”Eh ma jolie, tu veux quelque chose ?”

Elle lui jetta un regard noir et répondit.

-”Un moyen d’aller à Safos, sans passer par le fleuve.” Le marin rigola un grand coup et lui dit :

-”Ah moins de continuer sur une bonne centaine de kilomètres au Sud, et de payer pour le pont des Céanides, ça va etre difficile.”

-”OU est-ce que je peux acheter une monture ?”

-”Oarf, on en utilise pas beaucoup par chez nous, essaye d’aller voir le vieux Germain, la dernière fumerie de poisson.”. Lui répondit-elle en indiquant du doigts un bâtiment bas et longs en lazur bleus. Elle le remercia, lui jeta une pièce et prit cette direction. Le pécheur resta éberlué devant l’obole donné. Elle atteint rapidement l'entreprise du Germain, et frappa à la porte. Un homme à la peau tannée vint lui ouvrir.

-" C'est pour quoi ?" lui demanda-t-il d'un ton bourru.

-"On m'a dit que je pourrais vous acheter une monture."

-"Pourquoi faire ?"

-" Rejoindre Safos." Il la détailla, et s'arrêta devant le bracelet qui ornait son poignet : un serpent mordait une bague, planté en lui. Il écarquilla les yeux.

-"J'ai ce qu'il vous faut Madame, suivez-moi." il attrapa sa canne, ferma la porte à clé et comme ça a contourné le bâtiment. Elle lui emboita le pas jusqu'à arriver à l'écurie. On entendait un cheval piaffer et cogner d'énervement à l'intérieur. Ils entrèrent. Deux gros chevaux de traits broutaient nonchalamment dans un paddock. Dans le second, un cheval à la robe fumé s'énervait.

-"On m'a échangé cette carne et tout son équipement contre un bateau. J'pensais en tirer quelque chose, mais le bestiaux est têtu. Celui-là est à vendre."

Elle retira 5 grosses pièces de sa poche et lui donna.

-"Vous êtes trop généreuse Madame, je vais vous chercher cela, et un repas pour la route." dit-il d'un ton mielleux en repartant avec autant de courbettes que son état lui permettait. La jument se calma quand il quitta l'écurie. Elle l'observer. La Voyageuse tira de son sac une bourse, remplis d'une poudre de la même couleur que le cheval. Elle en souffla une pincée à son museau. La jument souffla, éternua. La Voyageuse s'approcha d'elle et la caressa. La jument ferma les yeux jusqu'au retour du pêcheur. Il portait sur lui la selle et le harnais, et dans ses bras un panier d'où dépasser une miche de pain et des queues de poisson séchés. Elle attrapa l'équipement sans écouter son discours sur le légendaire poisson séché de la région. Elle equipa la jument, et attacha son sac et le panier à la selle, et monta sur cette dernière. La jument piaffait d'impatience. Elle remercia le pêcheur, le coupant dans sa tirade, lui envoya une pièce et partit au trot.

-"Une vraie Sauvage cette voyageuse." marmonna le Germain. Elle lui adressa un doigt d'honneur.

Une fois sortie du bourg, elle lança sa monture au galop. La nuit était tombée. Elles chevauchèrent toute la nuit durant. Sauvage flattait régulièrement sa monture. S'ils avaient su quel cheval était en leur possession, ils ne s'en serait jamais séparé. Au petit matin, elles avaient atteint les premières lueurs du pont des Cénaides. Sauvage ralentit l'allure de sa monture et entra au pas dans la file qui sortait du poste de contrôle. Devant, elles, de nombreuses charrettes attendait déjà. Sauvage descendit de sa monture et lui murmura à l'encolure :

-"Je te nomme Nix, et je jure sur le sang de mes ancêtres, de ne jamais t'abandonner ou te vendre.”. La jument fermait doucement les yeux, apaisée. Sauvage sortit sa dague de sa botte, s’entailla la main, et l’en marqua le museau. Une tache noire se forma dans le pelage de la jument.

Le soleil avait déjà bien avancé sa course dans le ciel quand Sauvage et Nix passèrent le poste de contrôle ; en tant que simple voyageuse, elle n’avait à payer qu’une taxe. Deux files avaient été dégagées sur le pont en direction de l’autre rive ; une file piétons et une fille monture. Sauvage remonta sur Nyx, et s’engagea habillement dans le trafic. Elle dépassé rapidement les charrettes les plus chargées pour se retrouver au trop en compagnie d’autres cavalier. À cet endroit du fleuve, l’eau était profonde, et la traversée longue. De nombreuses légendes macabres expliquaient la solidité du pont, fait de cadavres et de sacrifices. En une bonne heure, elles étaient arrivées de l’autre côté. Sauvage fit bifurquer sa jument vers la droite, sur une route pavé déserte, et là lança au galop. Elles continuèrent à longer le fleuve jusqu’à la nuit. Elles n’avaient croisé personne, et aucune lumière n’était visible aux environs. Sauvage descendit de sa monture, la dessella et la laissa libre. De son sac, elle tira un bagage plus grand que le sac, qui une fois déplié s’avéra être une tente. Elle la monta rapidement. Puis, elle fouilla plus profondément et sortie une longue chainette bardé de clochette. Elle les accrocha tout autour de sa tente, et entreprit ensuite d’allumer un feu. Elle avisa le poisson dans le panier et se contenta de manger du pain. Elle regardait les étoiles en mangeant, cherchant les constellations. À la fin de son frugal repas, elle regarda le fleuve en contrebas. Les flots étaient noirs, sombres, inquiétants. Elle esperait que rien ne se passerait cette nuit. Nix était revenue. Sauvage lui souhaita une bonne nuit et rejoint sa tente.

Le lendemain au aurores, Sauvage commença à pier bagage. Elle appella Nix, qui arriva au galop en hennissant ; son pelage avait changé ; de fumée, elle était devenue nébuleuse, avec des petites taches blanches par endroits. Elle était plus haute, plus musclée que la veille. Sauvage lui sourit. Elle examina le harnais, et en détacha de nombreuses parties avant de la remettre sur la jument. Elle la sella, harnacha son bagage et se mit en selle.

Safos fut visible dans la nuit. Le galop rapide et infatigable de Nix lui avait permis de couvrir cette distance. Mais elle ne voulait pas emmener la jument dans une ville si dangereuse. A quelques minutes d’une des portes d’entrée de la ville, elle avisa une grotte. Elle y déposa la selle et le harnachement et rendit sa liberté à Nix. La jument ne voulait pas partir.

-”J’ai un contrat à honorer dans cette ville, et je ne veux pas qu’on puisse te faire du mal. J’en ai pour une journée tout au plus et je reviendrai. Ne t’inquiète pas. Je te le promets.” La jument tapa du pied et partit en direction opposée à la grotte au pas, boudeuse. Sauvage attrapa son bagage, sortit sa capuche et se dirigea vers la ville. Elle craignait les ports, lieux de débauche, lieux de trafics. Elle entra dans la ville en se mêlant à la foule, et traversa rapidement pour se rendre sur les ports. De là, elle avisa ; des trois mats colossaux se dressaient devant elle. Les mêmes bateaux, qui des siècles auparavant, venait prendre ceux de son peuple pour les vendre au plus offrants. Elle dépassa les monstres ; des deux mats s’alignait à présent. Elle continua de marcher. Elle dépassa le quartier des poissonniers, puant et vulgaire. Les femmes d’ici avaient l’odeur des poissons de là-bas, à moins que ça ne fut l’inverse. Des lampadaires rouges marquaient l’entrée du quartier des prostitués. Elle le traversa aussi rapidement, esquivant les mains qui cherchaient à la caresser, se retenant de sortir son arme. Les bateaux à quai étaient plus modestes, voir de simples rafiots pour certains. Elle trouva enfin sa destination. La moitié d’un bateau servait de pignon sur rue à une sorcière. Elle entra précipitamment dans l’étrange échoppe. Un homme à la barbe longue lui demanda précipitamment, sortant de derrière son comptoir, sa poitrine ballotant dans son corset :

-”Sauvage ?! Mais je ne t’attendais pas avant le mois prochain ! Tu as ma commande ?”

-”Bonjour Hermas, j’ai tous les produits que tu as demandés ; je suis partie en avance à cause des tempêtes qui se déchainent chez nous.”

-”Le front marin ?”

-”Oui, cette saloperie d’eau”. Elle retira son sac de dessous sa capuche et le posa sur le comptoir. Elle l’ouvrit et commença à en sortir de nombreux bocaux, remplis d’herbes, de fleurs, d’animaux séchés et de liquides étranges. Hermas dansait d’une jambe sur l’autre, ces talons claquant sur le sol.

-”OOOh voilà qui va me permettre de faire fortune !”

-”Tu dis ça à chaque fois… ”

-”Oui, et voilà 150 ans que tous les mortels qui désirent quelques chose de spécifique atterrissent dans ma boutique, pourquoi crois-tu que je reste dans ce rade miteux “ elle rigola. Le comptoir était plein de denrées à présent, qu’Hermas s’empressait de ranger hors de porter. Sauvage profita de ce répit pour examiner les objets de la boutiques; mains de singes à 6 doigts, yeux de tout sortes, en verre et pour voir, des drogues en tout genres. Quand Hermas eut terminé son rangement, il s’accouda au comptoir, reposant son imposante poitrine sur ce dernier et lui tendit une liasse de billet.

-”Et comme preuve de ma réussite déjà florissante grâce à cette ville de débauche, voici le paiement de cette commande et une avance sur le suivant. Sauvage rangea dans son sac et le remis sur son épaule. Elle s’apprétai à quitter l’échoppe quand elle se retourna :

-”Tu n’aura pas quelque chose pour ma monture ?” Hermas lui adressa un sourire énigmatique, et sortit un bouquet d’herbes sèches de son corsage.

-”Tiens, donne lui ça, elle te pardonnera ton absence ! Et c’est la maison qui offre, pour la meilleure coursière que j’ai jamais eue.”. Sauvage lui sourit, rangea le bouquet dans son sac.

-”Oh fait, méfie-toi de l’eau qui dort, elle cache les pires monstres”. Sauvage le regarda une dernière fois, surprise du conseil et quitta la boutique.

À peine sortie, elle réalisa qu’elle n’avait pas eu de repas correct depuis des jours, et estima qu’elle méritait au moins ça. Elle regarda autour d’elle et commença à avancer dans des petites ruelles, moins fréquentés que les quais. Au bout de quelques minutes, un parfum de viande grillée fit gargouiller son estomac. Elle chercha autour d’elle quelle gargote pouvait enfin servir une nourriture correcte dans cette ville de dépravations maritimes, et fut attirée par une minuscule devanture, coincé entre un bars bruyant et un hôtel. Les file de joies allaient de l’un à l’autre. Elle entra dans le restaurant. Trois tables, un comptoir qui donnait sur la cuisine, et trois broches de viandes différentes qui grillaient sur un grand feu. Elle s’assit au fond de la salle, pourtant déserte, et ôta sa capuche. Elle garda son sac sur elle et commença à examiner la décoration ; des paysages marins, à l’eau calme et aux nuages agités, étaient peints. Alors qu’elle se perdait dans la contemplation de ces paysages qu’elle haïssaient pourtant, une voix mélodieuse l’interrompit ;

-’Bonjour, voici la carte, vous savez ce que vous voulez boire ?”. Sauvage resta bouche bée ; la serveuse qui se tenait face à elle était d’une beauté hallucinante. Ces longs cheveux noires encadrés un visage fin à la peau diaphane. Ses yeux, bleus, était soulignés par un épais trait de khôl. Elle portait, elle aussi, un chemisier noir, largement ouvert sur une poitrine généreuse qui faisait disparaitre son tablier blancs. Sauvage n’eut plus qu’une idée en tête. L’avoir. Il lui fallait gouter cette femme au moins une fois. Le désir qui la submergée était impétueux. Elle répondit finalement.

-”Je vous fais confiance. Surprends-moi, et je prendrai de l’eau.” La jeune femme repartit avec un sourire et un dernier regard. Sauvage n’avait pas cessé de la fixer, elle avait des fesses divines et une démarche un peu étrange. On aurait dit qu’elle flottait, glissait sur le sol. Quelques minutes plus tard, la serveuse revint avec un pichet d’eau et une première assiette garni de morceaux de viandes grillés, de légumes crues et d’une purée de pois chiche. Elle déposa tout cela sur la table et déclara :

-”J’allais fermer, vous avez était ma seule cliente du jour, et je n’aime pas les hommes qui viennent ici après une certaine heure. Ça te dérange.” Sauvage sourit en se léchant rapidement les lêvres.

-”Non non, va y.” Elle se servit un verre d’eau et commença à boire. C’était étrange, d’habitude, elle détestait l’eau, mais cette dernière avait un gout différent, pétillant. La serveuse ferma la porte à clé. Dehors, sans que personne s'en aperçu, l’échoppe disparu.

(à suivre)

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