View allAll Photos Tagged Humiliated
Joan of Arc (French: Jeanne d'Arc,[4] IPA: [ʒan daʁk]; ca. 1412 – 30 May 1431), nicknamed "The Maid of Orléans" (French: La Pucelle d'Orléans), is a folk heroine of France and a Roman Catholic saint. She was born to a peasant family in north-east France. Joan said she had received visions from God instructing her to support Charles VII and recover France from English domination late in the Hundred Years' War. The uncrowned King Charles VII sent her to the siege of Orléans as part of a relief mission. She gained prominence after the siege was lifted in only nine days. Several additional swift victories led to Charles VII's coronation at Reims. On 23 May 1430 she was captured at Compiegne by the English-allied Burgundian faction and transferred to the English, put on trial by the pro-English Bishop of Beauvais Pierre Cauchon on a variety of charges,and was burned at the stake for heresy when she was about 19 years old.
Twenty-five years after her execution, an inquisitorial court authorized by Pope Callixtus III examined the trial, pronounced her innocent, and declared her a martyr. Joan of Arc was beatified in 1909 and canonized in 1920. She is one of the patron saints of France, along with St. Denis, St. Martin of Tours, St. Louis IX, and St. Theresa of Lisieux.
Joan of Arc has been a popular figure in cultural history since the time of her death and many famous writers, filmmakers and composers have created works about her. Cultural depictions of Joan of Arc have continued in film, theatre, television, video games, music, and performances to this day.
Joan of Arc rejected the cautious strategy that characterized French leadership during previous campaigns. During the five months of siege before her arrival, the defenders of Orléans attempted only one aggressive move and that ended in disaster. On 4 May the French attacked and captured the outlying fortress of Saint Loup, which she followed on 5 May with a march to a second fortress called Saint Jean le Blanc, which was found deserted. The next day she opposed Jean d'Orleans at a war council where she demanded another assault on the enemy. D'Orleans ordered the city gates locked to prevent another battle, but she summoned the townsmen and common soldiers and forced the mayor to unlock a gate. With the aid of only one captain she rode out and captured the fortress of Saint Augustins. That evening she learned she had been excluded from a war council where the leaders had decided to wait for reinforcements before acting again. Disregarding this decision, she insisted on attacking the main English stronghold called "les Tourelles" on 7 May.[34] Contemporaries acknowledged her as the heroine of the engagement after she was wounded in the neck by an arrow but returned to lead the final charge.
The sudden victory at Orléans led to many proposals for further offensive action. The English expected an attempt to recapture Paris or an attack on Normandy. In the aftermath of the unexpected victory, Joan persuaded Charles VII to grant her co-command of the army with Duke John II of Alençon and gained royal permission for her plan to recapture nearby bridges along the Loire as a prelude to an advance on Reims and the coronation of Charles VII. This was a bold proposal because Reims was roughly twice as far away as Paris and deep within enemy territory.
The army recovered Jargeau on 12 June, Meung-sur-Loire on 15 June, and Beaugency on 17 June. The Duke of Alençon agreed to all of Joan's decisions. Other commanders including Jean d'Orléans had been impressed with her performance at Orléans and became her supporters. Alençon credited her with saving his life at Jargeau, where she warned him of an imminent artillery attack. During the same battle she withstood a blow from a stone cannonball to her helmet as she climbed a scaling ladder. An expected English relief force arrived in the area on 18 June under the command of Sir John Fastolf. The battle at Patay might be compared to Agincourt in reverse. The French vanguard attacked before the English archers could finish defensive preparations. A rout ensued that decimated the main body of the English army and killed or captured most of its commanders. Fastolf escaped with a small band of soldiers and became the scapegoat for the humiliating English defeat. The French suffered minimal losses.
The extent of her actual military leadership is a subject of historical debate. Traditional historians, such as Édouard Perroy, conclude that she was a standard bearer whose primary effect was on morale. This type of analysis usually relies on the condemnation trial testimony, where she stated that she preferred her standard to her sword. Recent scholarship that focuses on the nullification trial testimony asserts that the army's commanders esteemed her as a skilled tactician and a successful strategist. Stephen W. Richey's opinion is one example: "She proceeded to lead the army in an astounding series of victories that reversed the tide of the war."[28] In either case, historians agree that the army enjoyed remarkable success during her brief career.
"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places."
Ephesians 1:3
___________
"Pistil" refers to the ovule-bearing organ of a seed plant that consists of the ovary with its appendages.
"Stamen" refers to the organ of a flower that produces the male gamete, consists of an anther and a filament, and is morphologically a spore-bearing leaf.
___________
www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/s/simone_weil.html
Simone Weil, French Philosopher Quotes
Birth: Feb. 3, 1909 and Aug. 24, 1943 Died
I can, therefore I am.
I suffer more from the humiliations inflicted by my country than from those inflicted on her.
I would suggest that barbarism be considered as a permanent and universal human characteristic which becomes more or less pronounced according to the play of circumstances.
EXPLORE # 296, 302 and 430 on Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Rescuing some more old stuff from brickshelf.
This was my first ever MOC to enter the interwebz. Only 19 months ago, but already it feels like ages. Everything was new to me: brown Lego, Brickshelf, figuring out how to set the bloody focus of my camera right....
The whole thing looks slightly odd now, but I still like that it's both steam- and monkey-powered. Also the use of the monkey as a centerpiece to which everything else is connected. That never gets old.
2016/03/05(sat)
MALAYSIAS MILITARY DEATH METAL
HUMILIATION JAPAN INVASION 2016 OSAKA
at SOCORE FACTORY
HUMILIATION
DISTURD
SEX MESSIAH
SECOND TO NONE
Habibs Dhimmi Dienstmädchen Seetjezulma hat das Standardtraining deutscher Dienstmädchen für arabische Haushalte durchlaufen und kann
vollständig in allen Bereichen verwendet werden. Die Dhimmi Dienstmagd Seetjezulma ist in der erstklassigen Dhimmi Dienstädchenschule für arabische Haushalte in Duisburg ("DDarabH,Duisburg") Marzahn ausgebildet worden. Dienstmädchen der "DDarabH,Duisburg" genügen sogar den strengen Anforderungen Saudi Arabiens!
Read more about me and my life on my website with lots of pictures, videos and texts (en/en). You can find the link on the info/start page on the right side under the showcase pictures.
I love to wear women's underwear and girdles, I don't own men's underwear since a long time. But I don't want to simulate femininity and I don't have transsexual ambitions. I'm just a fat, effeminate loser, who always failed in relationships with women as a real man. I was brought up to be a sissified, feminized boy who wore girly panties, camisoles and tights, so I grew up to be a feminized sissy. For many, many years I expose my shame in public for my humiliation. I do this on the Internet and I wear blouses and skirts, bras and silicone breasts, girdle suspenders and stockings on the street and in parks, as can be seen in some photos. I am very well known in the neighborhood as a ridiculous, effeminate sissy.
[From the Sissy Manor Nottinghamshire 2018]
It's a honor for a sissy maid to chosen by Mistress for serving and discipline
[From the Sissy Manor 2018]
I think they can train and make any sissy maid submissive. I would be happy to serve any or all of them.
-->> ..
The Foot Clan has been in a state of heavy 'restructuring' ..a term used by top Foot Analysts. Advertising,recruitment,munitions,payoffs & bribes,top secret labs,weapon development,underground facilities, and hi-security projects. The Foot ,while well established for centuries and by far one of the wealthiest organizations in the solar system..it's budget has been ever increasing especially with close encounters of the Turt- kind :four particular enemy mutant terrapins. In the late 1980s and early '90s.. strange and intergalactic allegiances had been made. Some as far as Dimension X. Technodromes,robots,odd and massive weapons,looney vehicles,alien terrorism,wasted resources on petty vendettas became the foil to the Foot's reputation. Within the humiliation..desperate moves called for desprate displeasures and mutants became all the rage. Name a battle and place.. and name a mutant (and money)the Foot hasn't thrown at the enemy Turtles. Bebop and Rocksteady had a monster army all their own and the boss couldn't help but use every single flesh and blood genetically engineered goon as his pawn. At the dawn of the new millennium
things were getting out of hand and at the ultimate disappearance
of the beloved buisiness leader : Oroku Saki, the schizms felt thru'out the entire organization were beyond tremendous. Mutants just weren't a priority and several major Foot genetic labs were broken up and eliminated entirly or spit into several small more manageable labs.
However ..freek incidents such as one involving the Turtle's friends: Quarry.Stonebiter, and Razorfist..much like the Shredder's great defeat are quickly covered-up and are considered 'accidents'. These labs also serve as baby-sitting vicinities
..if you will , for a few more well known but somewhat forgotten Foot lackies..such as tOkKa. tOkK tho' was more of a floater..and hot potato. Bouncing around different labs within the Clan until one two many red lights went off and Karai ordered tOkKa caged far far away.. west..some obscure,long lost and forgotten 'Foot' dive and storgae facility. For discipline and re-evaluation of tOkKa's potential. Reeducation ..and general guinea pig status. tOkKa was left in the subterranean prison to rot and be lab moused by wayward and demented Foot Techs. He'd be lucky if Baxter Stockman gave a suprise 2 minute spot check for fire violations on electro-pizza munster capacitors. O' to be human.. peoples never have to face such disaters.
And well cr4p..this was was'll pretty heavy for the toddler terror. Knockin' tOkKa down a few pegs seems what this monster-mash of snapper-lifestyle could afford him. But he was startin' to 'un'-sbap..that's not a good thing when yir an unwanted alligator snapper and only 'wanted' by posters in 9 of 50 states. All this former child star's exposure was limited to a couple of posters in a posta office in some mosquiter-ridden down far south of Omaha.Things get pretty lame when your best friend leaves. Rahzar had made a point of not stickin' around.. after a short burst of inspiration by watching a 48 hour marathon of what consisted no less than a bunch of old 'Barney' tapes & 1 rerun of 'Newsradio'. Next thing ya know..Rahz was inspired & joined the Peace Corps on humanitarian efforts to fill pot holes in Uganda. tOkK just had to realize these werne't the good ol' monster-mutant pizza stompin' n' Turtle smashin' times him n' his pal had back in the junkyard. Things were looser. Playing catch with rusty radiators and hide n' seek in the partn'parked junk cars was all so fun. Rahzar always won at hide n' seek. tOkK never tried hard enuff'.. and a 9 foot snapper is gonna have to hide a little bit better than under a pile of one tire. Yep..the 'Secret of the Ooze' was out. And strategy to defeat the enemy was in. Simply throwing a couple of monsters at the Turtles doesn't cut' it anymore. Evil schemes used to be much more simpler back in the day.
Late one night in his dusty,dirty, and cat-pee smellin' cage ..tOkKa was rather rotten feeling. After a distrubing night from sleepin' in his own vomit and a relaitve ill left in his tummy from too much of the daily gruel his cage masters left..(usually a bowl of stale-surplus Pizza Crunchabungas from the abandoned warehouse and rusty water)summin was going down. tOkK into into a deep disturbing sleep. Drooling a bit more excessively than normal. The taste of donust but a distant memory. ..ever so slightly the scent of evaporated rain began to fill his lowly dungeon..and eerie most warmth slowly re-woke the snapper to the vision of prehensile,near translucent fingers coming tword him. An increasingly bright white light and the temptation to "Bright White Light" three times fast filled tOkKie's sad-sorry bubbly baby brain. Three gaunt and noiseless figures of pale complexion and large black n' hallow eyes seemed to be floating into the old giant cage.
The light became brighter. And suddenly tOkKa was gone to a 'nowhere' land. Strangely the desire to sing about a'Nowhere Man' was in his beaky beetle vocabulary at the time. What tOkKa could see.. was nothing but bright light.. but as if fading into existence from a fine mist.. his three visitors returned. These were the Sons of Silence ,enigmatic creatures from well beyond Dimension X and the bane Utrom scientists everywhere. Such prejudices even lead to fractured and biased science. The same kind of bias that lead many to believe that the evil Krang WASN'T an utrom. O'please. Back from the ramble.. the 3 visitors presented tOkKa a magical orb. Small little voices inside tOkKa's head gently invited tOkKa to touch this 'Turn Stone' ..and these werne't his regular voices in his head neither. They was like real creepy ones too !! tOkK of coarse usually listens to his stomach first and the voices second. And what sure had set shockwaves thru'out this vast limbo.
tOkK wrapped his beaky baby lips around the magical ball..and in one full sshlloopp**~~of his snake like tounge..::the snapper devoured the Turn Stone whole !!
The limbo at once became pitch black..then ..
chaos..!!
tOkK .. laying ing in a near fetal position lifted himself up on very wobbly ground. Something didn't feel right. Lotsa things didn't. He peered straight
down. His tyrannosaur toes were now socked-soaked footsies. Not unlike that of the feets he saw on the naked humans in the movies ..but still somehow still his ol' familiar stompers. It got weirder. Aside from the backof his neck and teenie-weeny hairs his eyes were to beady to see and his noodle was too stoopit to care about..he saw through his new yet familiar eyes that teenie-tiny hairs were all over. Mostly on his new egg-shaped noggin'. Greesy blackish n' dirty blonde hairs were all over in his face. His beak seemed like it feel off..instead he had what the human peoples called a 'noid'. Er summin'. This new beak felt freeky.. and the front of it felt bumpy but smooth. The scales all over were smoother.
The two little slits on his face could smell things. And not his frsh icky,mud-moist he was so used to. This was a sticky peoples smell. He smelled like the Foot Clan's footlocker.. and icky human under arm shirt thingies.Things were danglin' in places he really hadn't thought about before..and he seemed to have adopted a helmet with the frontal lobe of one of the enemy..::Donatello. He stood erecter-er than he used to..and this new body's shell was light as it's frame. Spikies were there..and his claws were too..but these new claws reminded him of the gorrillas and he somehow grew a couple of what the humanies called 'thumbs' and 'fingerners'. These new claws were big and bulky but he could prolly hold a big crayon if he wanted. They grasped odd versions of the weapons of his enemies. The big stick was the easiest for him to play with. He fwacked and whacked and batted it about like a slugger at the Yankees. He tried to do a fancy maneuver like in the ninja movies and the fighting the Feets Soldiers did. But the warrior 'never-to-be' ..he fell flat on his new beak and flatter on the place where his plastron once was. He slowly lifted himself back up with his monkey paws and noticed his surroundings. The white of the limbo was gone scattered moving images surrounded like his faintest memories and things he'd never knew he's ever notice. As if the inside of his cranium had cracked open and spilt out into enire air. It was all to much for him to consume. At the bottom of his new ol' heart.. he felt summin' real bad.
Fear ..
But pea-brains think pea-sized thoughts. tOkKa wasn't sure what he was thinkin'..but if he could he would have asked questions.
"I am i a pal to my enemies ?? Am i a heretic or hero ?? Fan or Fiend ?? Freind or foe ?? Was this the spurt of one or a collective of many ideas from many creators ?? Was this a different dimension..was this body a guise he'd adopted on some other plain ?? Or had someone simply adopted him ?? His best pal Rahzar ?? What of him..would he ever get to play telephone pole tag with him and get throw eggs at mayor's office again ?? What about his enemy and four-coarse meal ticket ?? Would he ever get to bite the bandana off the one called Mickerangerlo..the one that teased and tickled him when tOkKa had fallen in battle ?? And the other three: Donteteller,Leonerdo, and Nerfael ?? Would he ever get to rip them to shreds like a puppy with a cheap chew-toy ?? And the Rat ??
Will i ever see my mum again ??
..the questions were to big.. his mind was too small..the questions never came. They would have..but just didn't. The chaos over came him. The snapper was reduced to a quivering inferno of pain. The images increased and the noise became to loud. He smacked the stick in half with his now sharpless teeth !! He wanted to run !! His new set of spikes meant nuthin'..he wished himself tucked back into his shell never to come out again.
tOkKa started to miss NYC..and the junkyard. He became to weak to think anymore & curled back into a fetal position and started to cry. The chaos around him started to evolve into shadows. The fear had crippled tOkKa ..and his new body seemed more of a scam. The soft voices returned..the chaos beacme more grey..and the scent of evaporated rain returned. The Sons seemed to be stating that they sought out intresting minds in all worlds,all dimensions, and in all galaxies. This is to learn and gain for whatever purposes they deem would serve their goals. Their intention was not to harm but extract and seek information. The after effects with tOkKa's mergance with the 'Turn Stone' was unintended. They seemed to be sorry for the erratic disruption. The Turn Stone seemed to have digested itself or something. The ball floated out of the shadows tword tOkKa feet. It spoke !!
"Don't cry tOkKa.. you fear things you need not !! Your family and friends are still here." ..
The turtle's insides warmerd.
"Soon you will be back to where you once were. Somehow you will not ever forget the dualies and multi-alities of what you have just seen. You will always be part of a chaos you can not ever understand. And perhaps you don't need to. Somehow you shall remember that you are part of a chaos that is so much larger and more beautiful than you could possibly imagine !! I'm so sorry for your pain and how we may have fractured your heart even more. But now you must go from this everything-nothing. Goodbye, my friend. "
tOkKa became very sleepy in his fetus state. He didn' understand anything. The heavier he felt the more like the grey was dissipating . He could feel his hunch returning..even the bad after taste of steel and rancid lettuce in his mouth. He could feel his spikies and his claws were becoming more inverted as they were. His dinosaur foots and stubbly;clubby toes turned back into a raptors. For a split second he could feel the millions of years of evolution and the struggles of his reptilian snapper ancestors. He could feel the evolution. But it became to heavy..and the warm rain scent became colder and colder. The wetness became colder..almost like snow. The snapper had returned..and things became pitch black one more time. Too much for baby..too too much.
RADICALACTIVE !!
The quiet of the lab and the darkness was alit once again ..the old light fixture overhead flickered and buzzed. The low 'Foot Tech' came in ready to feed the beast with morsels and and watered slime. The Tech was armed and fearless incase the beast was ready to strike at the less than generous portions provided. The Tech was ready to prod the snapper with painful electricals if need be.
..but the big cage at the far end of the room was empty. The cheap lock system was broken..as if bitten off. A large string of near gigantic foot prints shown as if something retile like had merely stumbled out of the cage upon closer inspection. The Tech dropped the tray.Then the tracks merely disappeared at the foot of the entry way. Suddenly frantic and angry at such substandard security. Now fearful for the consequences..for loosing one of the Shredder's beasts. The Tech filed a report that the mutant had merely died due to poor nutrition. A fairly simple and common trait of the decades of continual abuse in the Foot Genetics divisions.
"The body of the creature has been properly disposed of."
..
epilogue .. :
Far away someplace deep & beyond the city..in a junk yard :2 beastly things ..one like a very large wolf-man and his companion ..a creepy and Gamera like beast are playing Radiator catch. Those who witnesses claim of the pure terror that surrounds just a glimpse of the bumbling characters. The evolution of the junkyard defeats and hides the evidence of proof in such sightings. Most huamnies and workers at the junk yard attribute these sightings to hallucinations. Some homeless persons claim to here the shreiks of a dragon-baby crying for his 'Mama'.The schiz0-snapper is still out there.. not understanding the chaos.. but somehow frenetic & uneasily content that something amazing is always around the corner. and donuts, and turtles, and Rahzar, and spikies !! To paraphrase an argument between a prickly-puppy and a dead pickle-puss that did not happen ..::
Shakespeare: What are these
So wither'd and so wild in their attire,That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on 't?
tOkKa: "GRAHH!!"
Shakespeare: Say, from whence You owe this strange intelligence? Or why
Upon this blasted heath you stop our way With such prophetic greeting?
tOkKa: "Master say .. 'Have Fun' ..
..me am tOkKa !! ..me think, ther'for ..my Yam !!"
..inks,magic marker,design markers,crayons,colour pencils and Ph.shop,Fireworks,alien technology- 18, May 2006
©2006 - 2007 Dave b.2 a.k.a. tOkKa,terrible2z.com ..all other elements © their much respected owners..please respect the copyrights..
a warmonger
destroying nations
an imperialist
bent on ethnic
cleansing
propagating
hate through
his religious
ideology
as much as
he can in a
garden called
earth
the fall of man
was this the message
of gods creation
was this his cosmic
plan..after god created
man from his peaceful
paradise he ran..
as man became god
a powerful superman
threatening the maker
with fire and brimstone
man the madman
2016/03/05(sat)
MALAYSIAS MILITARY DEATH METAL
HUMILIATION JAPAN INVASION 2016 OSAKA
at SOCORE FACTORY
HUMILIATION
DISTURD
SEX MESSIAH
SECOND TO NONE
On display at Mont Orgueil Castle in Gorey. Stocks and Pillory were used as instruments of public humiliation, torture, and, in some cases, death. These punishments were often carried out in public and attracted large crowds.
SHAME Definition: A painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.
For one that truly feels shame, humility, and emptiness inside from their own poor wronging actions, the feeling around you is a dark lonely sick feeling... a sense of internal cold chills flushing through you. Like you are exposed and standing alone in a cold damp misty darknesses of an erie forest. A place you really wished you were not surrounded by but one you know you fully deserve for whatever pain you inflicted on another / others. Children tend to more purely express all emotions - including shame. But you see these signs in many adults that truly feel shame.
Shame has the reputation of being a clearly negative emotion - one that most of us would immediately label as a "BAD" "Unhealthy" emotion. But when one takes a moment to ponder, Shame - if its a true emotion and not an act to fool others - is a very good and healthy emotion. For it is a person that can feel the deepest pains and feelings of shame that you should know has flaws but also has inside him/her a core value of morality somewhere inside. Be fearful and stay clear from any human that cannot truly understand nor feel the pains of SHAME - for these are people that can easily step across the clear lines/borders of cultural moralities and execute some of the sickest act of pain upon fellow humanity.
So how does one artistically express these feelings of shame? Well, for me I believe it can often be seen in many ways - be it a child or an adult. The head hung down in almost an unconcious attempt to hide ones face from public and to want to crawl into obscurity. The eyeslids partly closed - eyes looking even further down to ensure no direct eye contact is possible. Mouth neutral expression or sad - almost as if one is mixed between sad and puzzlement. As if you can see this person arguing and scolding him/herself by replaying the pain inflicted and asking oneself "why would I have done this??".
When I looked at a small cheap plastic garden statue that has stood in our garden for several year from just the right angle, I saw this exact set of SHAME symbols in her. I took photos of her from the angle that would provide this shame effect the strongest. Then cropped out the rest of her body that would destroy this "shame" emotion. Next I cropped her from the background and applied background layers of one of my Secondlife forest landscapes and real life clouds to create this damp cold dark scary forest scene she stood within.
I then used 3 layers of the girl ontop of herself to give me the darkness and shadows in her face I wanted. Finally I applied a mix of my own personal stock textures and a couple of the amazing textures I so love from Pareeerica (credits below) to further enhance the "sick" greens and "acidic" yellows (like the bile one thinks of when they feel queezy inside from doing wrong).
I hope my artistic expressions of SHAME has come across to all of you.
CREDITS & PERMISSION:
Real Photo of "garden girl" ornament is my own photo: toysoldierthor.deviantart.com/art/Garden-Girl-Raw-210859301
Real Photo Clouds & crackled glass are my own private stock photos
PAREEERICA texture - Touch of LAce 2: www.flickr.com/photos/8078381@N03/2799028367/
PAREEERICA texture - FireWalker: www.flickr.com/photos/8078381@N03/3861893046/
Toysoldier Thor
2016/03/05(sat)
MALAYSIAS MILITARY DEATH METAL
HUMILIATION JAPAN INVASION 2016 OSAKA
at SOCORE FACTORY
HUMILIATION
DISTURD
SEX MESSIAH
SECOND TO NONE
A companion story to Cadence Prowl's Pursuing the Posh
Part One: History
My name is Shawn, and if you've followed the adventures of Cadence Prowl, then my name may ring a bell. I am the same person she has both given guidance to and playfully humiliated in one of her stories. That said, I possess a deep admiration for her and her talents, and matching her tenacity at accomplishing the perfect theft is something I've come to strive for.
After this past escapade, my mentor has appeared to gain a bit more respect of my development, to the point of inviting me to tell my side of events in her take Pursuing the Posh. I am more than happy to do so, but be warned reader: my fingers talk even more than my mouth does! So do set aside some time of you're ready to indulge in my narrative.
First, let me shed some light upon my background:
I was born into an upper-middle class family. My father is a successful accountant, while my mother has become a high-ranking staff member at the local hospital after many years of service. I am the second of three children, with an elder brother and younger sister. Have you heard of the so-called "Middle Child Syndrome"? I am the living embodiment of that, constantly competing with siblings who overachieve in both academics and formal events equally. And they've certainly gained favour with my parents in doing so.
Not to say that I'm an idiot in comparison; I've certainly applied myself in my studies, and have received respectable grades as a result. I also consider myself to be quite literate....I much enjoy writing, and rarely is there a day goes by where I don't have a fiction book in either my pocket or backpack, as any proper introvert would have.
Where my siblings and I vary, at least in our upbringings, are our social skills. Whenever our collective family would attend an event involving high society, I found that I'd fight a losing battle against two natural, outgoing characters for attention; a wallflower versus a duo of social butterflies, if you will. And while my parents did make a concerted effort to balance their pride and affection among their trio of children, it would be painfully obvious (to me) whom would receive the most glory by the end of each gathering.
I don't mention this out of self-pity. Instead, it is to state that there is always knowledge to be gained from even the most humbling of experiences. For it is at one of the suaréz that I first dipped my toe into the waters of pickpocketing!
My first lift occurred at the age of 15, and I was in the midst of reading "Oliver Twist". While immersing in the chapter where Fagin is teaching Oliver the technique of stealing handkerchiefs, the inquisitive portion of my mind pondered how well I could pick a pocket. The mere concept of it tickled my burgeoning devious nature. So with another formal event on the horizon, I vowed to myself to try and successfully lift an item from someone's pocket - any item, for I was a simple novice after all!
As the evening of the party arrived, the circumstances started as normal: introductions, small talk involving personal activities, and so forth. After this stage usually came the moment where I'd be left to my own device. Unlike past scenarios, where I would be dreading this inevitable reality, this time I was awaiting it with a quiet eagerness. In fact, even at this tender age, I had the forethought of devising a strategy of achieving my task, while not separating my presence in the crowd with suspicious behaviour. I brought with me a notebook and pen, and would jot down short notes as I watched people acclimate in the festivities. Anyone who'd ask about my reasons would be told that it was ideas I was considering for an upcoming school report.
In truth, I was documenting potential targets while using a special code. For example, I spied Mister Saunders tuck a gold-painted lighter into the right-side pocket of his suit jacket. So I wrote "M - Sau - RSJ - lgtr - 6/10" to indicate who, which pocket, the item, and the probability of success of theft. (His was on the slightly higher side, due to him leaving the flap of the pocket tucked in, allowing for a foreign hand to reach inside.) For any female marks, I simply switched the "M" to an "L". I compiled a list of ten people in about twenty minutes, and swiftly chose Mister Sims (M - Sim - RSB - flk - 9/10) for the flask poking quite precariously from the right back pocket of his trousers. I noted that he was already intoxicated, as his speech was slurred and he struggled to maintain his balance.
When the time seemed just right, I arose from my chair and positioned myself close to the drunken elder. I didn't have to wait long for a distraction; a passer- by bumped into his shoulder, making him stumble into me. I held his back with my left hand while I punched the spout of the flask with the middle and index fingers of my right. As he straightened his footing, I slid the item out and casually secreted it into the pocket of my blazer. It felt surprisingly heavy, I'd say it was at least three quarters full! For a brief moment I anticipated him noticing it's absence from his pocket. But he didn't...when he turned to face me, he gave me a clumsy shake of my hand and a barely coherent "thank you" before trudging away.
Upon attaining this, I excused myself for the outdoors and some air. My entire body shook, the rush of the lift captivated my entire being. As I increased my steps, I found there to be a cement walkway circling the house. There was a soft glow from the home's windows that provided adequate illumination, and just off of one corner a garden was adorned with stone benches to sit. I took a seat and pulled out my new acquisition, admiring it as well as the way I had taken it.
My silent victory was short-lived, for a moment later I caught the sound of footsteps approaching me. I stood back up sharply as I pocketed the flask once more. I sensed the steps belonging to a woman, as it seemed to sound like heels against the hard surface, and I also heard the light swish of fabric that suggested a long dress. Confirming my theory as I tried to keep my composure, a feminine voice broke through the night: "Hello there. Aren't you a wee bit young to be drinking that?"
I leaned in to get a better view of the approaching figure, expecting to be scolded by an adult. However, it was a young woman about my age, standing in a rose-pink satin dress that hugged the curves of her body. She wasn't thin, but certainly not overweight either; her height and outline of her form suggested that she was athletic on some level.
"What do you mean?" I finally stammered, a hint of nervousness in my words.
" Oh..so that wasn't you whom I saw filch the flask from my uncle's pocket then? " She took a few steps closer, hands behind her back, in the form of a school teacher admonishing her students. "And if I were to frisk you, I certainly wouldn't find that same flask in the pocket of your blazer, would I?"
Her sarcasm and confidence alone were enough to deflate me. I cocked the left-side of my jacket towards her, slipped a couple of fingers inside that pocket, and tapped the metal to confirm that it was there. She let out a gentle laugh, and came up close enough for me to see her face; her skin was slightly darker than the average Brit, and I surmised she might be of Mediterranean descent. This attractively brazen girl then plucked the flask from my pocket with a movement more fluid than water in a stream.
"Don't fret, I'll keep mum about all of this. Truth be told, I had my eye on this meself." She unscrewed the cap, placed it upon her lips and thrust her head backwards, swallowing a healthy amount. Leveling her face after injecting whatever was in there, she grimaced and declared, "Oh Christ, what is this swill?" I chuckled as she took a second, more modest full while seating herself on the bench. She tapped the spot next to her, inviting me to sit as she said, "My name is Josselyn, Josselyn Coconis. And you are -"
" Shawn. " I sat beside her as a brief, awkward pause followed.
"Shawn...just Shawn? Are you one of those weirdo celebrities like Cher or Madonna or Bono who has no surname?"
" Why, yes! " I responded with a sly grin.
Josselyn shook her head with a smile and continued: "Fair enough. Well, Just Shawn, what is it that made you nick this flask? You haven't touched a drop of its contents."
it is then that I divulged what I've just told you, reader. Despite my long monologue, Josselyn proved to be an apt listener, reacting to different details in appropriate fashion. As I wound up my history with events of that particular evening, my new acquaintance abruptly grabbed my hand and gasped, "Is that what you were doing with that notebook?! I saw you from a distance and wondered what in bloody Hell you were up to!"
I pulled out the folded notebook from one of my inside pockets of my jacket to show her my codes. After a moment's glance, Josselyn stifled a giggle. Then any semblance of composure turned into flat-out hysterics. She leaned into my right-side shoulder, resting her head upon it while laughing with the notebook in her hand. I repeatedly asked her why she was carrying on, and she eventually calmed herself enough to sit up, refold my notebook and return it to my inside pocket. She smoothed my blazer with rapid fingers as she put me in my place:
"Not to be rude, but I can tell this was your virgin lift! If you want to have some fun with this, then you can't be afraid to be spontaneous. Do you think your marks are gonna stand around and wait while you take notes on them? "
"No, of course not, but-" Josselyn covered my mouth with her hand before I could explain myself further.
"Listen, Just Shawn, you don't have to sell me on your enthusiasm or instinct to pick pockets. I know it's there." She removed her hand, knowing that I'd let her proceed. " I've been looking for a partner since I moved here with my family. And you're the first person I've met who's shown any inclination for using some light fingers to get what they want. Honestly, that lift was a cinch; my arthritic nana could have swiped this flask! But if you let me train you, you'll be astounded at what you can accomplish. So are you willing to be my protégé? "
There was a part of me that thought she was daft for asking such an arrogant question; but the other, stronger part found her bravado quite enthralling, and it tapped into the growing curiosity I'd been fostering for this skill. "Agreed. Shall we start tonight?"
" No. Me folks are here and privé to my delinquent behaviour. I must appear to be in top form for them. We'll start at school; the uniforms we wear are excellent for executing lifts! "
With that, Josselyn stood up and I followed suit. She started to adjust the chest portion of her outfit; I turned my back as to not embarrass her. She chuckled at my chivalrous gesture and remarked, "Showing respect for me already? We'll certainly get along just fine."
I laughed at her statement. Once she completed fixing her dress, I turned back around and extended an arm for her to take. She wrapped her arm around mine and we started our walk back towards the party. I soon felt the heft of the flask present in the pocket of my blazer. I looked down at it, then her. "Weren't you going to return this to your uncle?"
Josselyn shook her head. "I figure any pickpocket worth their weight keeps the first item they steal. Even if the lift was as sinfully easy as yours, it still counts! " She pulled the flap over the pocket, gave it a pat, then suddenly pressed her mouth near my ear. "And by the by, that WASN'T my uncle!"
This admission made me cover my face sheepishly, and Josselyn giggled with delight at my reaction. "You see? I was being spontaneous with you, and it worked like a charm!"
We soon approached the doors. "Speaking of charm," I started, taking Josselyn's hand and kissing it . This caused her to let out a mock gasp of pleasure. "I look forward to our next meeting, Miss Coconis."
She nodded and responded, "And I look forward to taking you under my wing, Mister Coghlan. 'Til we meet again." I opened the door for her, and she shot me a smile and a quick flip of her curly hair as she stepped inside.
It took a few seconds, but it suddenly dawned on me that she had figured out my surname! As I re-entered the house, it was on the tip of my tongue to ask her. But I discovered that she had already engaged in conversation with an entire group of people. Still befuddled, I took the same seat where I'd been before, soaking in the excitement of meeting someone so different and vibrant. Eventually my instincts told me to take inventory of what I was carrying. One item I'd had at the start of the evening was conspicuously absent: my wallet!
Of course, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out who the culprit was! Sitting there, I replayed every moment of my time with Josselyn in my mind. I concluded that she must have done the lift after she had returned my notebook and fussed with my blazer. It was the only moment her hand was anywhere near that particular pocket.
Indeed, I received a non-verbal confirmation of this as people were leaving the gathering. I spotted Joss with her parents, and upon catching her eye gave an inquisitive grin; with raised eyebrows, I pointed towards the inside pocket of my jacket. She flashed a smile and caressed her leg, close to where her pocket opened. Her motion gave me a sense of x-ray vision, I could almost see my wallet nestled against her thigh.
That night started what would be a defining relationship in my life. For the next eight months, Joss and I spent a considerable amount of time together. It wasn't always easy, between classes, family and friends, having one-on-one sessions took some creativity to attain. But she was an excellent tutor, and she gradually taught me many of the ins-and-outs of pickpocketing while keeping our actions discreet. Her lessons always had a flow, where she would demonstrate technique on several types of pockets, what to look for in a mark's behaviour, the best and worst situations for committing a lift, and so on. After showing me how to perform a certain dip, she would have me try it on her. And she would be brutally honest, but her critiques would be constructive and show me any errors I was making.
When the time came where we both felt I was ready for some action, Joss started me on some of our classmates. Like any good teacher, she gave me easy items to pluck: pens, small notebooks, even notes with juicy information written on them from time to time. The blazers on our school uniforms had side pockets with no flaps, so just about any item would cause the pocket to bulge away from the owner's body. I soon found that simply brushing past anyone sporting this weakness in between classes was effective most times.
Upon graduating that level, Joss then had me target the teachers. She instructed me to watch their tendencies, spot where they kept personal belongings on a day-to-day basis. Doing this, I found that certain male professors kept their wallet or keys in attainable pockets to pick. And with Joss creating a distraction, pretending to inquire about "problems" she was having with the course material, I'd pretend to be listening in with the same issues, all the while relieving them of personal items under their very noses. Female teachers were easier; they kept their wallets in purses, and the two of us found a simple distraction was often enough to get them.
The crowning achievement was lifting the wallet of our headmaster. It occurred when the school hosted a fair as a fundraiser. Joss had showed me a trick to pick pocket using napkins, but because the headmaster was aware of her past indiscretions, she felt that any move she made would be sniffed out by him. So I took it upon myself to do the lift. We watched where he kept his wallet - inside blazer pocket - and I also noted a stain from tea spilled upon his lapel. I got an idea...I came up to him and made mention of the stain, and held up the napkins to offer assist to dry it up. He agreed, and as I mopped up the spill with one hand my other slipped inside his blazer. With all that movement of my two hands, he failed to notice me slip his wallet out and into the cover of the napkins I wasn't using. Completing my favour, I dropped the enveloped wallet into my pocket and wished him a good day.
Joss' reaction was priceless: after I had safely separated myself from the crowd, she came from behind and nearly tackled me while laughing wildly. "That was utterly brilliant! I was watching and thought for sure he'd catch you! Gimme his wallet! " She snatched it before I could properly defend myself and started rifling through the contents curiously. "We're returning this anonymously. I actually like him, he's given me some respect unlike my last headmaster. But this shows me that you're ready to do some real lifts...the ones that earn some profit! " I expressed disappointment at this, but was eventually convinced this was the right call.
Having gained her trust as a competent thief, Joss and I spared the occupants of our school and turned our sights on the public. There was a bustling city nearby with plenty of shoppes and even a mall. We would take turns on who would distract and who would dip. Sometimes there would be some improvisation, where the person dipping would slip the stolen items to the partner. These days would end with us gathering at Joss' house....we'd tally our loot and come to a fair disbursement of cash and goods. Generally I'd let her keep a little more, since pickpocketing was my way of thrill-seeking, with monetary benefits being secondary.
With this shared secret of pilfering between the two of us, something else was emerging: a growing attraction to one another. It started with my training, sometimes her hand would slide in a personal spot upon my body during a practice pick, or standing close to one another while positioning ourselves would cause momentary awkward laughter. As we got involved in group lifts, the intimacy between ourselves increased; we'd be cuddling with one another while simultaneously emptying each other's pockets, even stealing a kiss here and there as our frisky hands made sure all pockets had been cleaned out between us!
The pinnacle of our unorthodox courtship came one afternoon after a typical few hours of pickpocketing. We had both done well, nabbing several wallets and purses and securing them in large shopping bags. Upon entering Joss' bedroom, we divided our spoils as usual and started to fill our respective pockets with notes. My trouser pockets must of had significant bulges, for Joss made a cheeky comment of it: " Seems like somebody's got delusions of grandeur! "
I laughed out loud and responded, "Whatever puts a smile upon my face!" while giving my pockets a solid tap.
It's then that Josselyn looked me up and down, and took a seat at the edge of the bed as I continued to stand in front of her. "I'll wager that I can make that smile even brighter." She placed her hands upon my waist and pulled me slightly forward; her deep-brown eyes were penetrating , showcasing a "come hither" quality that was more seductive than I'd ever seen.
She gently slid first her fingers, then her whole hands, inside my front pockets. The act caused a wave of pleasure that shot my head upward, and I began to breathe heavily as her hands fluttered inside them teasingly. "If you're planning on pickpocketing, you've turned me into an easy target."
"No," she whispered softly. Her fingers glided past the money and along my inner thigh, caressing them nicely with the assistance of the lining. "There's something else in there that I desire to hold. " Her inference was clear, but before I could respond Joss' hands plunged between my legs and firmly grabbed hold of the arousal she had created.
I let out the first orgasm of my life, and placed my hands upon her shoulders as I started kissing first her forehead, and worked my way down her face and upon her lips. Her grip methodically tightened as I did this, and my stimulated organ was beyond throbbing when I leaned my body forward and tackled her on the bed.
We frantically started undressing one another. Having pulled her hands from my pockets - spilling money on the mattress and floor - Joss removed my shirt and unbuckled my belt, while my own hands expertly unbuttoned her smooth, cream-colored blouse and unzipped her skirt. One could count the passing seconds on two hands before we were both practically in the buff.
Joss then rolled us both over, where she was on top and had me pinned down beneath her beautifully fit body. The smile on her face was indescribable; she planted a long, wet kiss on my mouth before lustfully asking, "Is this your first time?"
" Yes. I'm thrilled it's with you, Joss. I've dreamt of this for some time. "
She winked at me. "Same here. Come now, let's celebrate me bringing you out of your shell." We locked our lips together as she guided me inside of her.
I should look upon this memory with fondness, even with a sense of a crowning achievement. Which I do....but added to that is a taste of bittersweet. For just forty-eight hours after losing my virginity, my parents uprooted me from this school and into an all-boys academy. You see, my grades had trended downward as I spent more time with Joss. I also incurred more truancies than allowed, and the headmaster soon put these two details together and sent a message to my parents. They weren't about to tolerate an underachiever in their family!
I was, naturally, livid with this decision; what teenager with raging hormones in the throws of a first love wouldn't? But in the end I decided to just make the best of it. Joss and I kept in touch via letters. She preferred this to e-mail, it was more private, and she liked the feel of them in her pocket; she stated that it was if a piece of me was there with her. We did this weekly for two months. In what would be her last letter, she mentioned a plan to set off the school's fire alarm as a ploy to sneak into the faculty room and raid all the pockets and purses she could find. I sent Joss three letters after that, one more pleading and desperate for news than the next, but all to no avail. At one point, I assumed she'd been caught and herself sent to some strict boarding school. It would be years before I found out about her outcome.
As for school, over time I established a balance between my studies and lifting. I had fine-tuned a specific skill, I wasn't about to give it up so easily! I raised my grades to a point where it pleased my parents, all the while proficiently picking the pockets of fellow students and, less often, teachers. Joss had inadvertently taught me confidence, and with this bonus I cultivated relationships where I was well liked without the burden of being overtly popular. Even more fortuitous, I discovered that my roommate, an unassuming lad named Thomas, had a penchant for picking locks. This tidbit of information assured me that I could conduct my covert activity without fear of reprisal. We did get along well, even dubbing ourselves "The Pick Brothers" in private conversations about potential heists.
While there were sporting events to keep us young men occupied on a casual level, most coveted were the dances held in conjunction with the all-girl school a short distance away. I, for one, never pursued any of the girls to date. Flirt with (to eventually lift something), yes, but the hangover of losing Joss was a strong and constant one. As fetching as many of them were, all seemed to pale in comparison to her charm, wit, and devilish will to commit unscrupulous activity!
It's at one of these dances that I first met Cadence Prowl. Of course, she accurately described our initial encounter in her story. I was immediately taken with her talents at thievery, not to mention her audacity to crash a private function. She showed me techniques Josselyn had never touched upon. Even referring to me as her protégé brought a smile to my face as we worked on form together.
I can even forgive what Cade did afterwards, at the pond. I've rationalized it as a lesson in never keeping your guard down! The lass I was with at that moment wasn't as forgiving, though! Aye, what a long walk back to school that was!
Upon completing school, I gained employment of an entry-level job as a manager's assistant for a company specializing in financial retirement planning. It's as mundane as it sounds, and I quickly realized that it's not the lucrative career as it was posed to me. After listening to one soon-to-be pensioner after another, squabbling over every last euro in their possession, I would be left feeling I'd been drained of a life with every day's end.
I had "retired" from thieving when I first entered the workforce, and for two years kept my nose clean. That's not to say that the temptation wasn't there! I recall one client whom I was assisting, left his suit jacket tossed on the back of a chair when he and my boss excused themselves to use the loo. Sitting visibly in his inside pocket was a very plump wallet. I had to resist every thought racing in my head telling me to snatch it. When the two returned, the client made light of it when he saw how exposed his wallet was: "Oh, look at that. I was inviting anyone who sees this to rob me! Were you thinking of taking it?"
" No, not me job. We leave that to the government, " I retorted, trying to sound humorous.
As time passed, I gained more solid footing within the firm, steadily gaining small yet significant amenities as a token of appreciation. One was a longer break for lunchtime. I took full advantage and frequented the nearest pub as often as I could afford, grabbing a bite while usually partaking in a pint of stout.
It's at this same establishment that my passion for thieving was reignited. And it came in the form of a sassy waitress, whom deftly plucked the wallet from the back pocket of one of the older regulars frequenting the place. Seeing me witness her prank (for she returned the wallet shortly after), she grinned, winked her eye and put a finger upon her lips. Like a siren's song to a wayward sailor, I was once more eager to participate in the game!
These midday escapes also lead to a rather pleasing moment. For shortly after my rebirth, I was treated to an act of serendipity: I was once more in the vicinity of Cadence Prowl herself!
End Part One
Eduard van der Nüll: The Vienna State Opera commemorates the 200th birthday of its architect. Once he was driven to death.
Carmen is stabbed, Tosca jumps to her death and the Bajazzo murders his wife and rival. Much worse - because really true - is the fate of the two men who have built Vienna's State Opera, in which these masterpieces are performed: Eduard van der Nüll hanged himself after the building on the Ring Road had been fiercly criticized, and his partner, August Sicard of Sicardsburg a few weeks later died of a heart attack. The two architects literally perished in the construction of the Vienna Opera House.
The opera was still under construction, as the Viennese already mocked in rhyming form the various architectural epochs summarized here: Sicardsburg and van der Nüll, both have no style, Greek, Gothic, Renaissance, that's all the same to them!
In newspaper reports, the opera was referred to as "Königgrätz of the architecture", which was then, a few years after the most momentous military defeat of the monarchy, a special humiliation. The architects were even more annoyed by the commentary of Emperor Franz Joseph, who called the Hofoper a "sunken box".
Bad planning
In fact, the level of the track of the Opera Ring was one meter higher than the archways of the still unfinished structure. However, Sicardsburg and van der Nüll were not able to do anything. Instead, a misplaced planning by the Hofbauamt (Vienna Court Building Department) meant that the carriageway was laid higher than planned. However, it was clear to the public that the architects of the opera were responsible for the structural catastrophe. The 56-year-old van der Nüll was able to withstand the hostility towards him from all parts of society. He hanged himself on 4 April 1868 in his apartment in Windmühl alley (6th district of Vienna). Two months later, after a heart failure, Sicardsburg collapsed dead over his drawing table. He could not get over the suicide of his friend.
The two architects have been inseparable since their studies at the Vienna Academy of Arts, they had a joint studio and were also closely associated privately. In Internet forums they are referred to as a gay couple, there are guides through the "Gay Vienna", which point to the buildings of Sicardsburg and van der Nülls.
Pregnant
However, van der Nüll had married a year before his death, which gives the suicide another dramatic touch: his wife Maria was in the eighth month pregnant when she found the body of her husband in her apartment. In the Vienna City and State Archives is the estate of van der Nülls, whose letters bear witness to deep love to his wife. "For your loving affection, may God reward you, I can find no words for the recognition that is preserved in my heart," he wrote shortly before his death to her.
Whether the hostility against him and his partner was the sole cause of the tragedy is unclear. It is clear that both were ill: If van der Nüll's suicide in the forensic expert's report with "mental confusion" is explained, this is probably due to the fact that him should be made possible a church funeral. However, the death certificate also shows pulmonary edema. All in all, the illness, the strain of opera building and the public attacks could have led to suicide. And Sicardsburg had been suffering from a long-term illness.
Eduard van der Nüll was - despite the Dutch-sounding name - a genuine Vienna man. Born the illegitimate son of an officer, he grew up modest after the early death of his parents after his guardian had misappropriated most of his family fortune.
Founder time
Just as he and Sicardsburg had completed their study of architecture, Vienna's urban expansion was decided upon, which resulted in an unprecedented building activity. The soon-to-be-prominent architectural duo received numerous contracts in the early days, before he was entrusted with the planning of the six million gulden (= around € 70 million today) expensive Court opera. It was to be the highlight of their work. And became a deadly burden.
On May 25, 1869, about a year after van der Nüll and Sicardsburg's death, the opera was opened in the presence of Emperor Franz Joseph with a festive performance of Mozart's "Don Giovanni". Meanwhile, the level of the roadway had been adapted to the building and the Viennese were enthusiastic about the new magnificent building on the ring road. No one could understand why polemic against the late architects was once so violent.
Least of all Emperor Franz Joseph, who was so shaken by the tragic events surrounding the construction of the opera that he avoided ever again publicly announcing his personal opinion. The now used by him, made famous as meaningless as uncritical phrase "It was very beautiful, I was very happy," is the direct result of the drama to the two architects.
Symbol
Today, the Staatsoper is the landmark and most important symbol of the music metropolis Vienna. Opera director Dominique Meyer appreciates the contribution made by the two creators of the house: on January 9, Eduard van der Nüll's 200th birthday, he lays down a wreath at the architect's honorary grave at Vienna's Central Cemetery
The architects: They built Vienna's opera
Eduard van der Nüll. Born on January 9, 1812 in Vienna as the illegitimate son of Field Marshal von Welden. While studying architecture at the Vienna Art Academy, he met his future partner, August Sicard von Sicardsburg, with whom he founded an architectural office after a three-year joint study tour through Europe. Eduard van der Nüll took his life on April 4, 1868.
August von Sicardsburg. Born on December 6, 1813 in Budapest. Coined the architecture of Viennese Historicism of the Wilhelminian era with van der Nüll. Common buildings: Sophienbad (bath), Carltheater, Arsenal, Haas house on Saint Stephen's square, several noble palais and the Vienna Opera. Sicardsburg died on June 11, 1868 in Weidling near Vienna, only two months after the suicide of his partner.
Eduard van der Nüll: Die Wiener Staatsoper gedenkt des 200. Geburtstags ihres Architekten. Einst wurde er in den Tod getrieben.
Carmen wird erstochen, Tosca springt in den Tod und der Bajazzo ermordet seine Frau samt Nebenbuhler. Viel schlimmer noch – weil wirklich wahr – ist das Schicksal der beiden Männer, die Wiens Staatsoper, in der diese Meisterwerke aufgeführt werden, gebaut haben: Eduard van der Nüll erhängte sich, nachdem man den Prunkbau an der Ringstraße heftig kritisiert hatte, und sein Partner August Sicard von Sicardsburg erlag wenige Wochen danach einem Herzschlag. Die beiden Architekten sind an der Errichtung des Wiener Opernhauses buchstäblich zugrunde gegangen.
Die Oper stand noch im Rohbau, da spotteten die Wiener bereits in Reimform über die verschiedenen hier zusammengefassten Architektur-Epochen: Sicardsburg und van der Nüll, die haben beide keinen Styl, griechisch, gotisch, Renaissance, das is denen alles ans!
In Zeitungsberichten wurde die Oper als „Königgrätz der Baukunst“ bezeichnet, was damals, wenige Jahre nach der folgenschwersten militärischen Niederlage der Monarchie, eine besondere Demütigung war. Als noch ärger empfanden die Architekten den Kommentar Kaiser Franz Josephs, der die Hofoper eine „versunkene Kiste“ nannte.
Fehlplanung
Tatsächlich war das Niveau der Fahrbahn des Opernrings um einen Meter höher als die Torbögen des noch unfertigen Bauwerks. Doch dafür konnten Sicardsburg und van der Nüll nichts, vielmehr hatte eine Fehlplanung des Hofbauamtes dazu geführt, dass die Fahrbahn höher als vorgesehen angelegt wurde. Für die Öffentlichkeit stand aber fest, dass die Architekten der Oper die bauliche Katastrophe zu verantworten hätten. Der 56-jährige van der Nüll war den gegen ihn aus allen Kreisen der Gesellschaft gerichteten Anfeindungen nicht gewachsen. Er erhängte sich am 4. April 1868 in seiner Wohnung in der Windmühlgasse. Zwei Monate später brach Sicardsburg nach einem Herzschlag über seinem Zeichentisch tot zusammen. Er konnte den Selbstmord des Freundes nicht verwinden.
Die beiden Architekten waren seit ihrer Studienzeit an der Wiener Kunstakademie unzertrennlich, sie hatten ein gemeinsames Atelier und waren auch privat eng verbunden. In Internetforen werden sie als homosexuelles Paar bezeichnet, es gibt Reiseführer durch das „Schwule Wien“, die auf die Bauten Sicardsburgs und van der Nülls hinweisen.
Schwanger
Allerdings hatte van der Nüll ein Jahr vor seinem Tod geheiratet, was dem Selbstmord eine weitere dramatische Note verleiht: Seine Frau Maria war, als sie die Leiche ihres Mannes in ihrer Wohnung fand, im achten Monat schwanger. Im Wiener Stadt- und Landesarchiv liegt der Nachlass van der Nülls, dessen Briefe an seine Frau von tiefer Liebe zeugen. „Für Deine liebende Zuneigung möge Gott Dich belohnen, ich finde keine Worte für die Anerkennung, die in meinem Herzen dafür bewahrt ist“, schrieb er ihr noch kurz vor seinem Tod.
Ob die Anfeindungen gegen ihn und seinen Kompagnon der alleinige Grund für die Tragödie waren, ist unklar. Fest steht, dass beide krank waren: Wenn van der Nülls Selbstmord im gerichtsmedizinischen Gutachten mit „geistiger Verwirrung“ erklärt wird, ist das wohl darauf zurückzuführen, dass ihm ein kirchliches Begräbnis ermöglicht werden sollte. Allerdings zeigt das Totenbeschauprotokoll auch ein Lungenödem auf. Alles in allem könnten die Krankheit, die Belastung durch den Opernbau und die Angriffe in der Öffentlichkeit zum Freitod geführt haben. Und Sicardsburg war seit längerem herzleidend.
Eduard van der Nüll war – trotz des holländisch klingenden Namens – ein waschechter Wiener. Als unehelicher Sohn eines Offiziers zur Welt gekommen, wuchs er nach dem frühen Tod der Eltern in bescheidenen Verhältnissen auf, nachdem sein Vormund den Großteil des Familienvermögens veruntreut hatte.
Gründerzeit
Gerade als er und Sicardsburg ihr Architekturstudium beendet hatten, wurde Wiens Stadterweiterung beschlossen, die eine nie dagewesene Bautätigkeit zur Folge hatte. Das bald prominente Architektenduo erhielt in der Gründerzeit zahlreiche Aufträge, ehe ihm die Planung der sechs Millionen Gulden (= heute rund 70 Millionen €) teuren Hofoper anvertraut wurde. Sie sollte zum Höhepunkt ihres Schaffens werden. Und wurde zur tödlichen Belastung.
Am 25. Mai 1869, rund ein Jahr nach van der Nülls und Sicardsburgs Tod, wurde die Oper in Anwesenheit Kaiser Franz Josephs mit einer Festvorstellung von Mozarts „Don Giovanni“ eröffnet. Mittlerweile war das Niveau der Fahrbahn dem Gebäude angeglichen worden und die Wiener waren von dem neuen Prunkbau an der Ringstraße hellauf begeistert. Niemand konnte verstehen, warum gegen die verstorbenen Architekten einst so heftig polemisiert wurde.
Am allerwenigsten Kaiser Franz Joseph, den die tragischen Ereignisse um den Bau der Oper dermaßen erschütterten, dass er es vermied, je wieder öffentlich seine persönliche Meinung kundzutun. Die von ihm ab jetzt verwendete, berühmt gewordene, ebenso nichtssagende wie kritiklose Floskel „Es war sehr schön, es hat mich sehr gefreut“, ist die direkte Folge des Dramas um die beiden Architekten.
Symbol
Heute ist die Staatsoper Wahrzeichen und wichtigstes Symbol der Musikmetropole Wien. Operndirektor Dominique Meyer weiß den Anteil der beiden Schöpfer des Hauses zu schätzen: Er lässt am 9. Jänner, Eduard van der Nülls 200. Geburtstag, am Ehrengrab des Architekten am Wiener Zentralfriedhof einen Kranz niederlege
Die Architekten: Sie bauten Wiens Oper
Eduard van der Nüll Geboren am 9. Jänner 1812 in Wien als unehelicher Sohn des Feldmarschalls von Welden. Lernte während des Architekturstudiums an der Wiener Kunstakademie seinen späteren Partner August Sicard von Sicardsburg kennen, mit dem er nach einer dreijährigen gemeinsamen Studienreise durch Europa ein Architekturbüro gründete. Eduard van der Nüll nahm sich am 4. April 1868 das Leben.
August von Sicardsburg Geboren am 6. Dezember 1813 in Budapest. Prägte mit van der Nüll die Baukunst des Wiener Historismus der Gründerzeit. Gemeinsame Bauten: Sophienbad, Carltheater, Arsenal, Haashaus am Stephansplatz, mehrere Adelspalais und die Wiener Oper. Sicardsburg starb am 11. Juni 1868 in Weidling bei Wien, nur zwei Monate nach dem Selbstmord seines Partners.
2016/03/05(sat)
MALAYSIAS MILITARY DEATH METAL
HUMILIATION JAPAN INVASION 2016 OSAKA
at SOCORE FACTORY
HUMILIATION
DISTURD
SEX MESSIAH
SECOND TO NONE
As Gazans continue to be crucified for the sins of Hamas, the international community seems helpless or unwilling to either lift a finger in their defense or reign in the rogue state that Israel has now become. Even what is supposedly the world's most powerful nation is willing to endure the humiliation of its diplomatic representative by Israeli Prime Minister, Ehud Olmert, who last week said concerning the US vote to abstain from a UN resolution calling for an immediate ceasefire:
"In the night between Thursday and Friday, when the secretary of state wanted to lead the vote on a ceasefire at the Security Council, we did not want her to vote in favor. I said 'get me President Bush on the phone'. They said he was in the middle of giving a speech in Philadelphia. I said I didn't care. 'I need to talk to him now. He got off the podium and spoke to me.
"I told him the United States could not vote in favor. It cannot vote in favor of such a resolution. He immediately called the secretary of state and told her not to vote in favor....[Condoleeza Rice] was left shamed. A resolution that she prepared and arranged, and in the end she did not vote in favor."
While the US is disputing this particular version of events ("just 100% totally completely not true," the State Department declared Tuesday), the low-key response to an allegation by the leader of a foreign (albeit friendly) country that he makes US policy is a clear indication of the power and influence the Israelis actually wield in Washington.
Another sad aspect of the international response is the dithering by Arab countries on whether or not to hold an emergency Arab Summit to condemn the Israeli attack. The two largest Arab countries, Egypt and Saudi Arabia, have been at the forefront of moves to block the convening of such a summit with the former reduced to acting as a mediator between Hamas and the Jewish state. The tepid Arab response has been thrown into sharp relief by the actions of Bolivia and Venezuela, which have both cut their diplomatic ties to Israel over the war, leading one Kuwaiti MP, Waleed al-Tabtabai, to suggest that the headquarters of the Arab League be moved from Cairo to Caracas. He said Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez "has proved that he was more Arab than some Arabs." Gamal Abdel Nasser must be turning in his grave.
On the other hand, Turkey, perhaps Israel's best friend in the Muslim World, has not held back in its evisceration of Israeli action. Turkey has been brokering indirect peace talks between Syria and Israel. But the war has stopped this process. Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, sees the Israeli attack on Gaza as an act of betrayal and has refused any further contact with the Israelis, even reportedly denying Foreign Minister Tzipi Livni's request to visit. According to Suat Kiniklioglu, spokesman of the country's Foreign Affairs Committee:
"We felt that our efforts and good offices in advancing the talks between Israelis and Syrians were damaged. It was extremely disrespectful because Prime Minister Olmert was here so recently, and this operation took place right after that!"
Apparently giving voice to tens of thousands demonstrating on the streets of Ankara calling for a severing of ties with Israel, Erdogan, who last week warned that a "curse" would befall Israel over "the children who died in those bombs", recently told Parliament that his criticism "is not as harsh as phosphorus bombs or fire from tanks ... I am reacting as a human and a Muslim."