a fine line between silliness and supreme beauty

What would you feel if you had to watch the person you love most slip away while you were powerless to save them? My mother’s condition is getting worse, and she cannot afford to wait any longer for the treatment she desperately needs. Please help me save her, Even the smallest donation could be the reason she survives.

(song: “雪人” by 駝兒)

In fact, the two of them hadn't even started dating yet.

On the occasion of Élisabeth Duplay Le Bas' birthday, I would like to share this small clip from an Italian TV series set during the Napoleonic Era (I grandi Camaleonti), in which Fouché summons Maurice Duplay and his two daughters.

The women proudly refuses Fouché's clemency stating that they need no pension for, like their father, they have a job and can sustain themselves.

Now, I don't know if this scene truly happened in real history, but I particularly appreciated their resolution in not accepting the help of the man responsible for their loved ones' death.

16 August 1789

You, Monsieur, are still a very new writer, and this is plain to see. Even if the title of your latest issue did not confirm that you are only on your fourth issue, one would easily recognise the young writer by the style of your writing. If, in future, you were to avoid a few inappropriate expressions—or rather, those placed out of context in your writings—it might well be possible for people to read your work. You must absolutely correct these faults. So do take a few lessons from my long experience.

For example, what on earth were you thinking when you wrote recently: “François! Freedom of the press has made us citizens. It was this that created the National Assembly, which,” &c.

Take it easy, monsieur, take it easy. You should know that such grand words are beginning to go out of fashion. We are returning to the old errors. All these sweeping innovations were worth a try; but it seems it has already been recognised that the previous forms—that is to say, those of arbitrary power—were far better than all the trappings of this much-vaunted freedom, which people sought to substitute for them. A public writer, monsieur, if he wishes to make his way in the world, must adapt to the times and circumstances. Take your cue from one of your wise colleagues (*), who, whilst you continue to gush with enthusiasm as you were still doing four days ago, is prudently conforming to the tone of the aristocratic regime which we are led to hope will be reborn. Consult him:

“The Director-General of Finance presented, on behalf of the King, an informative memorandum to the Committee on Provisions of the Estates-General,” &c.

There you have it, Monsieur, how people are beginning to speak again. It is always wise, as you can see, to warn young people and to protect them from the dangers to which their inattention exposes them. You, in my colleague’s place, might perhaps have added: ‘the National Assembly’—a term that is meaningless and jarringly discordant to many readers.

If you appreciate the full value of the service my letter may render you, I do not believe you will find that I am demanding excessive gratitude by asking you to include it in L’Observateur, No. 5. This would serve to prove to me that you wish to make use of my warnings, and to share them with the citizens who read your paper.

I am, Monsieur, one of those citizens. Babeuf, 40 Rue Quincampoix.

(*) M. ***; Journal de 1. V., 16 August 1789.

The Police Committee at the Hôtel-de-Ville permits the free circulation of the publication entitled L’Observateur, in accordance with the Regulation requiring that the name of the printer OR the bookseller be printed on each copy. 14 August 1789. DUMANGIN, President. PITRA. FAUCHET.

7 months have passed, and Saeed still doesn’t know what “home” means.

He was born displaced, growing up between fear and exhaustion instead of safety. We tried to return… we only managed to stay for one month, holding on to the hope of a simple life, but that hope didn’t last. The area became dangerous again, and our home was marked… then destroyed.

Saeed never played in his home, never laughed in it, never had a chance to feel that he belongs somewhere.

Today, at just 7 months old, he sits on the rubble of his home… as if his childhood has been buried there too.

My heart breaks every day seeing him grow up like this—without safety, without beautiful memories.

This is not what I wished for my child… and not what any child deserves.

If you can help, even a little, or simply share our story… please don’t leave us alone 🤍

Every support means life to us 🙏