Monday, August 31, 2020

Ajax's the Achilles last stand: The well of St. Genevieve

Ajax's the Achilles last stand: The well of St. Genevieve: Much of the information available about Genèvieve—its validity and worth—has been the subject of controversy. Her biography,
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plain lady: plain lady: The Queen

plain lady: plain lady: The Queen: plain lady: The Queen ...... cient eagle over its treasures; the shiplike silhourette of Notre Dame anchored in the heart of Paris.. Then ...

plain lady: plain lady: plain lady: The Queen

plain lady: plain lady: plain lady: The Queen: plain lady: plain lady: The Queen : plain lady: The Queen ...... cient eagle over its treasures; the shiplike silhourette of Notre Dame anc.....................

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Friday, August 7, 2020

plain lady: The Queen

plain lady: The Queen......cient eagle over its treasures;
the shiplike silhourette of Notre Dame anchored in the heart of Paris.. Then
they crossed the
Seine and meandered through
the left bank., their faces jostling and squeaking over the cobbles of dark.,
narrow street. They passed by drowsy little shops, peaceful bristos, ancient
churches wedged between grimy houses. They came across unexpected little
squares,
  each with it bubbling fountain,
a bronze gesture of some general, a wooden bench on which sat like a goat to
whom also rentier- meaning an aged retiree in a derby hat and overcoat reading
the newspaper. Sometimes a small merry-go round chanked for a cluster of wide
eyed small boys as those urchins.




            “Would
you like to go in?” Henri suggested as their fiacre was crossing the parvis of
Notre Dame.
            They
entered  the immense shadowy nave
redolent with incence and the mustiness of very old structures. Here and there
cowled figures of women knelt, their hands clapped before their mouths. Behold
a pillar a young woman sobbed noiselessly.
            Henri
glanced at Vincent, who was starting at the tiny flame burning in front of the
tabernacle, moving his lips imperceptibly as if conversing with the God behind
the golden door.. Poor Vincent, he had won, but he was tired…..The furious
torrent of vitality was ebbing , ebbing fast….
            “I
was supposed to have dinner with the “Tanguys,” Henri said, as they were coming
out of the church.
            “Won’t
you come? They would be delightd to see you,”
Rue CorZel Avenon…..was already
filled with evening mist when the fiacre- carriage
pulled up in front of the door
bell brought the old color grinder to the door. At the sight of Vincent he
flung up his short arms.
            ‘Monsieur
Van Gogh! What a pleasure, what a surprise.”
            Still
talking he led them to the kitchen, where his wife, bare armed and perspiring,
hovered over a simmering marmite like a solicious witch. After renew
acclaimations of delight at Vincent’s unexpected appearance, the three men
filled into the courtyard at the back of the shop. There the table was already
set for the dinner. A moment later madame Tanguy appeard, carrying a streaming
marmite which she set on the table. The dinner begin,…….the…..was declare a
master piece.


In the spring of 1887, he had the opportunity to paint a young
Parisian woman called 
Léonie Rose
Charbuy
-Davy. She was
the niece of art dealer Pierre Firmin ...







Portrait of Léonie Rose Charbuy-Davy…..Night
had come,the air was soft. The court yard lay still and dark, except for a
small patch of light from the lamp….
            “Henri?”
“Yes?”
“While
you were dressing. I looked at your paintings. That girl the blonde one. Be
careful don’t let her ruin your life! Don’t let her stop uoy from working.” He
smiled ruefully. “you are ten years younger than I am, and you havn’t said all
you want to say. Put it all on canvas, for perhaps nobody will never say it if
you don’t. “And don’t let a woman stop you from saying it.”
            Henri had a sudden premonition he
would never see Vincent again. Already the Vincent he had known was dead. His
ugly-beautiful face had assumed a new screnity. His blue eyes seemed turned on
some nearing shore. They talked a long time after the Tanguys had gone to bed.
He held Vincent’s hand for a moment, looked once more at the gaunt, red bearded
face.
            “Adieu, man ami.”…..
            “Adieu, man ami.”
            “Monsieur
le Comte, allow me to present Captain Culot, of the Homicide Squad. He sent
twenty men to the guillotine…..This is captain Cuilguet. A specialist in jewel
robberies…..That’s Wanden Ponjel of the Roquette prison….
            The
reception was coming to an endwhen he return accompanied by a stoky,
jovial-faced man.
            “Monsieur
le Comte, this is my old friend inspector Rampart, the vice squad chief of the Sebastopol district. You know, the one I told you about…”
With a significant wink he was off.
            Inspector
Rempart sat down by Henri’s side and began by speaking feelingly about Pston,
pressing his honesty and his efficiency.
            “he
mentioned in your interest in one of the Charlet girls.” He said lowering his
voice, “Belive me, you’re well rid of her. She is no good, that girl. She is
back in my district, but I got my eyes on her. She’s taken up again with that
pimp of her, and loaf all they long in that little bistro on rue de la Planchette….Rue de la Planchette…She is
there..Go, and you’ll see her…Perhaps you can bring her back…”
            For
our he foughtagainst the haunting memories of her thrilling mouth, her fluid
body. He recalled her slutishness, her greed, her stupidity.
            After
midnight he surrendered….
            Rue
delaPlanchette was a dingy alley, a mere trench of darkness between two rows of
verminous houses.


Mosquée de Sidi Boumediene (hichemo, 

“Adieu, man ami.”
She gave him an amused glance…  and
lean aside to tap the ashes of her cigarette on the floor.
“What’s up there?” she asked, noticing
the stairway in the balcony.
            “My
room and bath.”
            “A
Bath
In a flash she was out of bed,
running up the stairs. He heard her exclaimation of delight at the sight of the
bathtub. 
She rushed to the railing, The Queen..into the Champs Elyses….although Place de la Concorde is actually an octagon that connects Champs-Elysées to the Jardin des Tuileries and Eglise de la Madeleine to the Palais Bourbon across the river. The place covers twenty-one acres in the center of the city bordering on the Seine. ….
“I had forgotten how beautiful Paris was,” said Vincent after a long silence.
“Yes it is beautiful—a stage where the scenery overwhelms the actors. Sometimes I wonder whether architecture is not the moving of all arts. Even more than music.”

leaned over it.
            “Please,
please, let me take a bath.” Her voice had the whispering eagerness of a
child’s pleasing for a toy.
            “I
clean it nice, I promise.”
            A small inner voice warned him to
refuse, but, instead, he said,  “If you 

The Queen