Compering On Haryanvi Dance

Hugo and Romanticism.


Hugo was the initiator of the romantic battle in France, with historical dramas Hernani (1827) and Cromwell (1830). The preface of Cromwell became something of a literary manifesto for the French and contemporary statement by the author, an absolute faith in romance. In this preface, Hugo part of the concept of freedom of thought to get to define how the work of art should be: free of plans, from the constraints, the constraints of styles. The only laws that the artist can follow are those of nature, truth and inspiration, the artist as the bee extracts honey from the flower, inspired by what surrounds him and transforms him without that reality is raped by his work. The true artistic talent must guard against imitation of other artists, however great they are, because the genes are different even if they eat the same stuff. Everyone, therefore, must draw on their sources to express their personality. The rejection of the rules and models are not, however, ways to destroy art, but to rebuild it on new bases.
The fundamental value of the writer is correct language, expressed in a very poetic simile: "Languages \u200b\u200bare like the sea, constantly fluctuate," and must adapt to the thoughts that want to express. The classical tradition posed a strict hierarchy, so the highest nobility of genres such as tragedy, required to exclude from the themes and forms each item daily and trivial; style 'low' was reserved comedy. Hugo, this concept (which is no coincidence that speaks of 'drama and not of' tragedy ') opposes the idea of \u200b\u200ba mix of genres and levels, giving art the infinite variety of life in line with this concept, the artist can and must speak beyond the styles, according to the expressive needs: it can be vulgar, lyrical, dramatic, probing the higher lines as the most vulgar.

quote here a passage that I particularly enjoyed:
"Christianity leads poetry to the truth. Like that, the muse will see things from a modern point of view, higher and wider. Feel that not everything in creation is beautiful in the human sense, that there exists the ugly side of beauty, the uneven next to the beautiful, the grotesque as the other side of the sublime, evil with good, shadow with light. It asks whether the reason for limited and on artist can prevail over reason infinite, absolute creator, if it is for man to correct God, and if a mutilated nature will be best for this, if art has the right to duplicate, so to speak, man, life, creation, and if something will be better when the muscles are removed and energy, and if, finally, be incomplete is the way to be harmonious. And 'then, by fixing the eye on events with laughable and formidable, and under the influence of the Christian spirit of melancholy and philosophical criticism which we saw earlier, the poem would be an important step, a decisive step, a step that, like an earthquake, will change completely face of the intellectual world. It will do as nature, mixing his creations, without confusing, shadow and light, the grotesque and the sublime, in other words, the body and soul, and spirit of the beast, because the point of departure of religion is always the same poetry. Everything is held. "

Bethroom Shaving Vajin

sentenced to death. Hugo and Dostoevsky.

report here two songs by "The Last Day of a Condemned Man" by Victor Hugo and "The Idiot" by Dostoyevsky. Two very different men with opposite fates, just before the execution, dead before they stop breathing. I think any comment is superfluous introduction.

The last day of a condemned man: "At that moment the outer door Has Opened with two leaves. A furious clamor, cold air, a white light broke up with me in the dark. From the bottom of the dark lodge, all of a sudden I saw through the rain a thousand screaming faces of people massed on the ramp of the grand staircase of the building, right at the threshold level, a row of horse-guards because of the low door, only sees the front legs and chest of the horse-and in front of a detachment of soldiers in battle and on the left, the back of a cart, which was leaning against a steep staircase. A horrible picture, well framed by a door in prison.
I kept my courage for that dreaded moment. I made three steps, and have appeared in the doorway of the gatehouse.
"There he is! Here it is, "shouted the crowd. "Quit! Finally, "And the closer
clapped their hands. A king, loved as no would have been so much celebration.
was any cart with a horse and a coachman in skinny blue patterned shirt red, like those who wear gardeners around Bicêtre. The big man with tricorn
rose first.
"Good day, Samson," shouted the boys hung on the erased.
An aide went behind him.
"Bravo, Tuesday," shouted back the kids.
were both sitting in the front seat.
was up to me. I got a pretty firm hand.
'E' on the ball, "said one woman who stood beside the guards. The atrocious
praise I was heartened. The priest came to get close to me. M'avevano made to sit on the back seat with her back to the horse. Far connection that made me shiver.
They put humanity in what they do.
I wanted to look around. Guards in front, look behind and then the crowd, the crowd, yet the crowd.
A sea of \u200b\u200bheads in the square.
A picket guards on horseback at the door waiting for me the gate of the palace.
The officer gave the order. The cart with his cortege was put into motion, and it was as if he had thrust before the roar of the crowd.
we have passed through the gate. As soon as he turned the cart toward the Pont au Change, from the pavement to the roof blew up the roar of the square, and bridges and wharves have responded like an earthquake.
E 'was there that the stake in waiting has joined the escort.
'Down the hats! Hats off, "shouted a thousand tongues insieme.-As before the king.
So, in my turn I've laughed horribly, and I said to the priest
"They hats, and I head."
went to the pass. The Quai aux Fleurs
smelled of flowers, and today is market day. The sellers have abandoned me for their bouquets.
the face, just before the square tower that is on the corner of the building, there are pubs with balconies full of spectators, happy with their great places. Especially women. It will be a good day for the hosts.
were renting tables, chairs, scaffolding, wheelbarrows. Regurgitated all viewers. Sellers of human blood cried out loud: "Who wants people?" The anger against the crowd
m'è climb inside. I wanted to cry
"Who wants me?"
But the cart was advancing. At each step, after the crowd broke up and I saw her frightened eyes reform later, at the points where I would pass.
Nell'imboccare the Pont au Change, by chance I looked back on my right. My eyes stopped on the quay, above the houses, on a black tower, lonely and fraught with sculptures, on top of which I saw two stone monsters sitting in profile. I do not know why the priest asked the name of that tower.
"Saint-Jacques-la-Boucherie," replied the Executioner.
I do not know how this happened, but in the fog, rain, despite the fine, white streaked through the air like a spider web of the grid, none of what m'accadeva around escaped me. Every detail sent me his torture. No words for such feelings.
About half of the Pont au Change, and such a broad footprint that we proceeded with difficulty, violent horror has overwhelmed me. I feared - the ultimate vanity! - Faint. So I am stunned by itself, to make me blind and deaf to everything except the priest to whom the words just heard, interspersed noise.
I grabbed the crucifix, I kissed him.
"Have mercy on me, my God!" I said .- And I tried to cancel in that thought.
But every jolt of the cart shook me hard. Then suddenly I felt him very cold. The rain had passed through me wet my clothes and skin from the head through his hair short.
"shivering, son?" He asked the priest.
"Yes," I replied.
Alas, not only in the cold.
At the turn of the bridge, have pity for them detain women for my youth. We have taken the fatal
quai. I began to not see anything, not to hear anything. What voices those faces at the windows, doors, grates to the shops, on the arms of lampposts, greedy and cruel those spectators, the crowd where everyone knows me and when I did not know anyone, and this paved road, side of human faces ... I was shocked, dazed, out of me. And 'the unbearable weight of so many eyes fixed on you.
reeled in his seat, without even paying attention to the priest and the crucifix. In the turmoil that
m'avvolgeva no longer distinguish the cries for mercy by the cries of joy, laughter by moans, voices from the noise, everything was noise, a noise in my head that I sounded like an echo of brass.
My eyes read mechanically shop signs.
I suddenly took a strange curiosity to turn his head to see where I was going. It was last stunt intelligence. But the body did not want to know, my head hath been paralyzed and nearly died prematurely.
I saw on the left, across the river, one of the towers of Notre-Dame, seen from that point, the other hides. It was the tower with the flag. Full of people, which was good to see.
and the cart went, went, and the shops they passed, and the signs follow one another, written, painted, gilded, while the rabble was laughing and pawing in the dirt, and I let a lead like that trusts asleep to dreams.
But at the turn of a square, the number of stores I marched in front has run off, the cry of the crowd has become more extensive, more strident, and even more joyous shot of the cart has stopped, and I nearly fell with his face down on the boards of Pianca. The priest he held me. "Courage!" He murmured. - Then they brought a ladder on the back of the cart, the priest gave me his arm, went down, I made a step, then I turned to make another one, and I did not succeed. Between the two lamps from the quay I saw it as something left.
Yes, it was true!
I stopped, as if already wavering under the blow.
"I make a final statement," I cried weakly.
They made me go here.
I have asked that would let me write the last will. I have untied his hands, but the rope is ready nearby, and the rest is down.
A judge, a commissioner, a magistrate-owned,-I do not know which race has just gone up from me.
I asked him the grace with clasped hands, dragging on his knees. He replied with a smile tragic if that was all I had to say.
"Mercy! The grace, "I repeated," or pity, five more minutes! "
Who knows, maybe come! It 'so terrible to die at my age! Thanks for coming last moment, if they are seen often. And who else not me, sir, you have to give grace? Damn
Executioner! Hath been approached by the judge to tell him that the execution should be done at a certain hour, the hour is coming, that he is responsible, among other things, and that it rains there is the risk of rust.
"Yes, please! Wait a minute for the grace! otherwise defend myself! bite! "
The Judge and the Executioner came out. I am alone. - Only two guards.
Oh! The unclean people, with its cries of hyenas! - And if you can not escape? if not you save me? if my pardon? ... I can not give grace!
Ah, wretches! It seems to me to come up the stairs ... LE FOUR. "



The Idiot:" This man was once brought on the scaffold, together with others, and was read the sentence to death by firing squad for a political offense. About twenty minutes later he was read the sentence was commuted and the grace of the punishment: but the interval between the two judgments, if not twenty at least fifteen minutes, he lived with the absolute certainty that all of a sudden, within a few minutes, he would die. I was interested to listen to it immensely, when sometimes recalled his feelings at the time, and sometimes I repeat the story, asking many questions. He remembered everything with amazing clarity, and said he would never forgotten nothing of those minutes. About twenty paces from the scaffold, where they were at the crowd and the soldiers, three poles were planted, as were several offenders. Led to the first three poles, bound them, clothed them with clothes Mortuary (long white robes), of their white hoods and slipped down over his eyes, because they saw the guns, after which each pole in front of a firing squad lined up of some soldiers. My friend was the eighth, so he would have to go to the pole with the third round. The priest blessed with all the cross. It meant that remained to live no longer than five minutes. He said that those five minutes, had seemed an infinite time, an immense wealth; he seemed to be able to live many lives in those five minutes, which for the moment was still thinking about the last moment, and also took decisions: he calculated the time to say goodbye to his friends, and arranged for this two minutes; two more minutes to think to himself one last time, and the rest to look around for the last time. I remember very well that I have precisely these three decisions and to have divided the time's right. Died at twenty-seven, healthy and strong, pointed out that in the healthy fellow, one of them asked a question that had nothing to do, and it was also very interested in the answer. After he had said farewell to his companions were the two minutes he had used to think to himself, before he knew what he thought, had always wanted to imagine as quickly and clearly as possible what would happen: he now existed and lived, but in the end of three minutes would have been a something that someone or something, but who? Where? Thought to resolve this in those two minutes! Not far away there was a church and its golden roof gleaming in the sunshine. He remembered having fixed very strongly that dome, and the rays that were reflected: could not detach itself from the rays, seemed to him that those rays were his new nature, and that three minutes later it would be somehow merged in them ... The uncertainty and repulsion towards that unknown that would become and that was just to arrive were terrible, but he said that at that time nothing was more painful for him dell'incessante thought: "Oh, can not die! Being able to turn back the life that forever! And all this would be mine! So make every minute in a century, do not lose anything, would keep in mind every minute, not to waste even more vain for a moment. " He said he thought the end had degenerated into a rage as to make him wish for the shooting as soon as possible. "

Why Does My Sonicare Toothbrush Smell

Victor Hugo. Biography.

Victor-Marie Hugo (Besaçon, February 26, 1802 - Paris, May 22, 1885) was a writer, poet and playwright French, considered the father of Romanticism in France. He was able to stay out of melancholy and solitary patterns that characterized the poets of the time, being able to accept the vicissitudes of his life is not always happy to experience it and learn from the existential values \u200b\u200band nuances of the soul umano.I his writings came to cover all literary genres, from lyric poetry to drama, from the historical novel setira political and social, inspiring support throughout Europe.
born February 26, 1802 at Besaçon in Franche-Comte, where his father, Leopold-Sigismond Hugo (1773-1828), Earl and Napoleonic military army of Joseph Bonaparte, is garrison, and then follows him, with her mother Sophie Trebuchet (1772-1821) and Abel brothers Hugo (1798-1855) and EugéneHugo (1800-1837), first in Paris, then in Naples and in Spain in Naples the father plays a decisive role in the capture of the bandit Fra Diavolo and for this he was appointed governor of Avellino, Joseph Bonaparte in Spain obtained from the rank of general. The young Victor will always keep the memory of these places bambino.Dal 1813, however, seen by his parents separated and her mother, along with the general Fanneau Victor de la Horie, he settled in Paris. Here Hugo attended the University from 1815 to 1818 at the behest of his father, but he soon abandoned his studies to dedicate himself to the technical literature.
Writes the Odes, which were his first literary composition. With his brothers founded the paper Le conservateur littéraire (1819), and in the same year he won a competition of the Académie des Jeux floraux. Then begins to attend the Lycée Louis-le-Grand, and participates in meetings of the Last Supper by Charles Nodier, the cradle of nascent Romanticism. Odi et then wrote several poems (1822) and many other writings, until Odes and Ballads, which earned him a pension of one thousand francs from the king LuigiXVIII.
On 12 October, 1822 bride, the church of Saint-Sulpice in Paris, Adele Foucher, a childhood friend, born five children: Leopold (16 July to 10 October 1823); Léopoldine (August 28, 1824 - September 4, 1843), Charles (November 4, 1826 - March 13, 1871), François-Victor (October 28, 1828 - December 26, 1873), Adèle (August 24, 1830 - April 21, 1915), the only one to survive to the father but spend many years in a nursing home because of his altered mental status.
The discovery, after a few years, the betrayal of his wife with a family friend Sainte-Beuve would lead him to lead a life of debauchery, his mistress, Juliette Drouet to be about fifty years, an actress known theater during the tests Lucrezia Borgia in 1833. Juliette Drouet's always remained close (and also saved from prison at the time of the coup of Napoleon III), despite the many infidelities lover: for her to write many poems, including a book compiled by the two year anniversary, the anniversary day, in fact, their first meeting. A turning point in the history of literature takes place in 1827, with the release of historical drama Cromwell, regarded as the manifesto of the new romantic theories. In the long preface, Hugo is opposed to the conventions of and presents his theories on theater and literature in general, which will then in practice in the play Hernani, 1830, date marking, conventionally, the beginning of Romanticism in France .
began a very productive period for the writer published a novel, Notre-Dame de Pris, 1831, greeted by a very wide and immediate success, poetry collections, The autumn leaves of the same year The songs of the twilight of 1835, other dramas, such as Ruy Blas in 1838. Meet Hector Berlioz, Chateaubriand, Franz Liszt, Giacomo Meyerbeer, was admitted to the Académie française in 1841, where he held the seat number 14.
In 1843, the daughter die tragically Léopoldine Vacquerie and his son Charles, drowned during a boat trip, Hugo learns the news of his return from a vacation, the newspaper Le Siècle. The tragedy, combined with the failure of his play The Burgraves of 1845, due to the severe depression that keeps him away from the literary world for ten years. Meanwhile
was named Peer of France by King Louis Philippe of Orleans. In 1848 he joined as a member of the Constituent Assembly, but the coup that brought to power in 1851 Napoleon III marks the beginning of his political decline: first Hugo supports the election of the young Louis-Napoleon Bonaparte in the presidential, but then - when the new president, the future emperor, began to take anti-liberal measures such as repeal of the electoral law of 1850, reducing by one third with the right to vote - it dissociates, will be useless to attempt Committee Republican strength, to which it belongs along with Schoelcher to raise the population of Paris: Hugo, a staunch defender of a liberal regime, we have to attack him with writings and speeches against the misery and repression, which has since become increasingly intolerant.
After December 2, 1851, Hugo has to leave for exile. Party initially to Brussels, then moved to the island of Jersey and Guernsey Finally, rejecting the amnesty proclaimed by the emperor.
begins to take shape here the poetic figure and his mythical ideal of "Father of his country in exile, the years spent in Guernsey make him so famous that the letters come addressed to" Victor Hugo - Oceano. " Resumed his literary activities in the name of political satire The punishments in the collection of poems (1853), which targets the Second Empire, the memory of the past and in particular the daughter Léopoldine emerges in the collection The contemplations 1856), and these are also the years of commitment to a higher political level , idealized, giving rise to the legend of the centuries (published in three parts between 1859 and 1877 and 1883), which traces the history of mankind from Genesis to the nineteenth century, as well as Les Miserables, a novel of 1862, the work of Sea 1866 and The Man Who Laughs in 1869.
Life is not spared the pain: in 1855 his brother Abel died in 1863 his daughter Adèle crazy fleeing to Canada in 1868 killed his wife and several grandchildren, all These misfortunes, however, has always near the true Juliette.
Since the sixties and traveling throughout the Luxembourg crossing of the Rhine, but was expelled from Belgium in 1870 for giving asylum to the Communard sought in the French capital, and finds refuge again in Luxembourg for three months, and thereafter Vianden, Diekirch and Mondorf-les-Bains (where he attended a health cure) .
On his return is September 5, 1870, after the fall of Napoleon III and the establishment of the Third French Republic, Hugo was greeted by a cheering and enthusiastic crowd, and his house once again becomes a meeting place for writers and up his death will remain a tutelary deity of the republic restored.
Resumed in recent years the literature with the novel Ninety (1874), also writes poetry, some about his family life, as my children (1874), and other satirical and political, as Pope (1878) and Torquemada (1882 ), a work on the fanaticism of the Inquisition. In 1876 he returned to join the Senate. In 1878
suffers a stroke, while the celebrations for his eightieth birthday - celebrated publicly - are overshadowed by the death of Juliette Drouet. He died May 22, 1885, and his body was exposed for a night under the Arc de Triomphe and watched over by twelve poets, though, in compliance with his wishes, the funeral taking place in corbillard des pauvres. On June 1, after hesitating for the cemetery of Père Lachaise, is brought to the Pantheon just opened. It is estimated that three million people came to pay homage to him on that occasion, while journalists report that the prostitutes worked the city that night for free.

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Personal message to Bullock Paul: Yesterday go spend an evening with Indian Gianni! ... X
me is the finger that some stories about you ga ...

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The last day of a condemned man. Victor Hugo.

and 1829, the year that published for the first time this written by Victor Hugo, but the author remains anonymous. Europe is going through a time when man's reason seems to lead the world toward a better fate, free of unnecessary wars and barbarism, and yet, on the Place de Greve, men are executed, under the blows the guillotine, before an audience of right-thinking people paying the seats on the terraces around the square to get a better roll the head of the offender, as a sort of cinema of the nineteenth century.
"All those people will laugh, clap hands and cheer. Among men, free and unknown to the guards, they run towards euphoric performance, among the crowd of heads that will cover the square, more than one head will be doomed to follow sooner or later the mine, in the red basket. More than one that comes to me, we will go for him.
In a fixed point in the Place de Greve, there is a place for those beings fatal fatale, a center of attraction, a trap. We run around until you are inside. " [1]

Victor Hugo considers Dernier jour a sort of public harangue disguised as narrative, in favor of the death penalty, openly embracing the thought Beccaria (On Crimes and Punishments, 1764).
The novel is about the last days of a condemned man of whom we know nothing: they are given few clues about the crime committed, age, social extraction, as if to represent the totality of its sentenced to death. That goes for a king or for the last bandit of the people, life can not be removed by anyone except by God
The alleged immediacy the equally alleged quality of this painless death that someone would call today 'surgical', had for decades supported the hypothesis that the guillotine was operating on the rei, as it were, beneficially: killing the body, but not hell. One consequence of this death was certainly softened the worsening of the public nature of performance: the reduction of pain in condemned by itself justify the presence of an audience of all ages - even of an audience, so to speak sensitive.

"They say there is nothing which does not suffer, they say it's a sweet end, that death in this way is much simplified.
What does it mean, then in six weeks of this agony? What is the meaning of this day irreparable anguish that goes by so slowly and so quickly? And this scale of torture that results in the gallows?
But apparently, suffer not that. What
blood s'esaurisca drop by drop, or that intelligence is a turn off thought after another, maybe two are not identical spasms? "(Ibid., p.70)

What remains vivid reading , is the continuing torture of the time. This time in the race, and eventually steals another life, if not a face is not missing an imposing presence, is contained in each sentence, directing the rhythmic cadence of the language follows the movement of the pendulum.

"The one and a quarter.
Here's what I feel at this moment:
A violent pain in the head. Cold loins, his forehead burning. Every time I bend or m'alzo, it is as if a liquid is stirred in the head that sends the brain to slam against the walls of the skull.
I have some jerky shots, and as a prey to an electric shock pen from time to time I drop by the hand.
My eyes burn as if I were in the smoke.
I hurt my elbow.
again two hours and forty minutes, and I will be healed. "(Ibid., p.. 70)

The pace of the word can not conjugate admirably with the antithesis. The life and death, imprisonment and freedom, and the open ended, darkness and light, dream and reality, the low and high, before and after death, the condemned man to the king, adversative couples are the main means of which the monologue of Dernier jour shatters into a myriad of phrases, often short and proceed to one another sometimes for resonance or dissonance.

"At that moment the outer door Has Opened with two leaves. A furious clamor, cold air, a white light broke up with me in the dark. From the bottom of the dark lodge, all of a sudden I saw through the rain a thousand faces screaming people crammed onto the ramp of the great staircase of the palace ... "(ibid., pag.82).
[1] Hugo V. (1828) On the last day of a condemned man, Mondadori, Milan, 1998, p. 79.

The Meaning Of The Arabic Word Hayete In English

Dostoevsky. Style and language.

In his works, Dostoyevsky is very attentive to descriptions of environments, but what stands out more strongly are the debates of ideas, full of moral and religious tension.
The Russian writer has an original style, the descriptions are never too long and tedious, but are included in the observations of various characters, the reader becomes involved in the narrative, feeling part of the story, as if he himself were able to tell first-person events, and in time the reader is familiar with the inner life of the protagonists, as if outside and inside, the externality and interiority The public and private sectors were one.
The language is characterized by obsessive rhythm that Dostoevsky achieved by the brevity of the sentences, thanks to the continuous repetition of the name indicates the person of the verb in this case the first person pronoun 'Ja', I.
"The language is broken, and its fragmentation reflects the fluctuations in his mental life and variety in his obsessive inclinations, fractures in his emotional in its division between thought and will. "(Bucelli, Fiorentino, 1988, page 52).
style of discourse, fragmented and obsessive, is very similar to the structure and style of an interview analysis, where the patient talks about himself, his thoughts freely associating. In addition, this obsessive iterate of 'I' refers us to a typical expression of guilt: the confession of sins, and this allows us to assume a great sense of guilt that accompanied all his life Dostoevsky.