Letter to my provincial cousin
With this letter, which I began last month, I wanted to tell you about the comic adventures caused by the campaign to the throne. Could McCarron not become McCarron’s successor?
Your outlying province is often ignorant, or very late, of minor events that allow one or another of our politicians to break the monotony of the day and give them the illusion that they still have some influence. These people imagine that if we look at their index finger with such interest, then we are following the right direction, while we wait for them to point to it in order to turn away from it.
Melanchthon, our father Duchen
That is how I would call Jean-Lucilian Melanchthon to appear before you (see fig. Tribune in court), the leader, or rather the surly Grand Master of the Erupting Mountain. He whom I once described to you as “an apoplectic curser and tribune,” who sees a rebel in anyone who is not favorable to him, loves nothing more than to test the effect of his proclamations on a crowd of his zealots. Journalists tremble before him; now, it seems to me, under the clothes of his matador, he is afraid of adversity to such an extent that he chooses his opponents in disputes. He copes with excesses and indignation and forces the line to deduce from the personality of his opponent the enemy of the human race. Then he inflicts torment on himself, the cause of which he blames on another, and often on everyone else, while he finds its source only in his own bile. In his formulas, and even in his tribune vehemence, we see fragments of the ritual of damnation.
He never leaves his lair without his chosen courtiers, who give him both protection and praise. Of all the candidates for the throne, he is the only one who requires such a presence in all the stands where he is invited (I am not talking here about the places where there are great meetings that come to hear his word as a prophet). ). They are her, as a playwright, a servile and arrogant slap in the face, who applauds her popular impulses and approves of her formidable denunciations, and it is easy to believe that she swore allegiance to him.
In vindictiveness, tormented by malice or perhaps fear, inspired by the expectation of his troops, he utters insults and threats in the manner of Jacques René Hébert, animator during the revolution of the famous publication. Father Duchen. But he is also a very brilliant speaker, able to beautifully develop demanding language, tireless in persuasion, and for this purpose sparing neither his effort nor his pen.
Redegonde Garamecro went backstage
Closer to him is a very active close guardian, an irritable Areopagus, hastening to utter cries of indignation and shoot poisonous arrows at the prey that his protector points out. In the displays of subservience, which Jean-Lucilien Melanchthon greets with undisguised pleasure, the least assiduous are the not-ubiquitous Redegonde Garamecro and her companion Alixteed-Andrea Murgeon. Note, my dear, that this happy and noisy couple went backstage for a moment. We don’t see them anymore, we don’t hear them anymore, and we’re very happy about that.
Marquise de Bravity under the Penguins’ Lazzi
The mail crew won’t be waiting for my mail, so I must hurry to complete it. Find out once again the latest amazing news: Eloise de Bravity has joined Melanchthon! You read that right, my Delicious: the Marquise is now standing next to the Grand Éructant. After the fall without any impulse of Gouda I, who, in order to spare himself the ridicule caused by the call from the Elysee Palace, declared the throne vacant, Eloise’s statement of support for the shareholder candidate, the insignificant Aristide Ganon, a camera acrobat patronized by the formidable Henriette du Man, now mayor Lille, remained only on the periphery of her lovely lips, because no one heard him. It was because she saw young McCarron’s face as a supernatural revelation emerging from a glowing rift in the sky. Transformed, enthusiastic, she opened herself to the world and the city.
We know what audacity she can show in seeking office or favor; she asked for voters from the late Francis I without hesitation during a farewell ceremony at the palace. When it was her turn to bow before the Supreme Council and the Court, she directly addressed the old prince in such terms: “Can you do something for me?”
As soon as Maccaron ascended the throne, she accompanied her victory with a stream of tribute and at the same time presented to him the benefit that he would receive by hiring her: she would never stop singing his praises and serving his glory: “I can only put my experience at the service a prince like you!” Maccaron is said to have communicated this scene to the members of his clan whom he received or whom he met in the corridor of the palace. They hurried to tell the story, complete with some imitation of Eloise’s voice.
Because she supported MacCarron in his conquest of the kingdom, she expected him to take the position; she was appointed ambassador of the Poles, a post without pay. She accepted it with delight. However, as soon as she put the padded boot on the ice, she felt self-satisfied. Watching through binoculars a population of so-called Napoleonic penguins, she saw there a mocking, even slanderous Parisian public. She felt glances in her direction, but surreptitiously, who turned away when she wanted to support them. She distinctly heard the mutterings, the lazzies that were meant for her. To add to her grief, the unfortunate Courage, who suffered from such a distance from political life, from her poisonous charms, from her plots in the waiting room, from her rumors in the office, felt the shame of being the object of gossip. about what it thought it was, but it was really just a colony of penguins!
So here is the former candidate for the throne of France, who came to fill up her former physiognomy with the physiognomy of a supporter of the Robespierre!
This news did not even surprise the French. They are now accustomed to successive and contradictory outbursts of courage; The Marquise of the Arctic has not used a compass for a long time to find out the direction to the north …
Here, my dear, I wanted to share with you my entertainment, but the world was seized with dizziness. The horizon suddenly darkened; in its boundless darkness, pierced by lightning, a rumble is born, swells and approaches. War is coming: will the survivors have fingers left to count themselves? And the Great Showman of the Universe, does he even know where the brutal acceleration that he just gave to the carousel that we accidentally got into will lead us? We ignored his name: roller coaster…
Note: I found a copy‘Erotic alphabet Joseph Apu. Every night before bed, I watch some charming, spicy sketches drawn by this inventive pornographer. I decided to give it to you along with a beautiful chamomile ring that I purchased from the Boucheron boutique in the Palais Royal. Each letter is a model of an erotic figure, and I have no doubt that you, in reading this, seek to imitate all of them in my society. Some have up to four participants: then we will call this handsome groom, whom you call “my page”, and this delightful servant with full and delicate features, with lush and wavy hair: they form a couple that seems to have been chosen by John Ruskin to embody his pre-Raphaelite ideal.
Talker lives only at the expense of its readers, this is the only guarantee of its independence.
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