Podcasts about Provence

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À la fin de l'été 2017, entre les ruines d'une clinique désaffectée de Creil, l'horreur se produit. Shaïna, 13 ans, est victime d'une violente agression sexuelle en réunion, menée par son petit ami à peine plus âgé. En 2019, l'adolescente rencontre Samir, avec qui elle pense enfin trouver du réconfort, une histoire d'amour secrète, qui vire pourtant au drame. Le 25 octobre, les habitants de son quartier sont réveillés par une explosion, et découvrent un cabanon en flammes. À l'intérieur, le corps de Shaïna, carbonisé. Son ventre poignardé. Quelques heures plus tôt, elle annonçait à Samir qu'elle était enceinte. Des années de souffrance, et une fin tragique que ni la justice, ni ses proches n'ont pu prévenir.L'été 2017 s'achève. Les jours s'allongent encore, l'été s'accroche. Creil transpire dans une chaleur lourde. Dans les barres d'immeubles du Plateau Rouher, ses cages d'escalier tachées d'humidité, les adolescents vivent au rythme des messages qui s'échangent en rafale sur Snapchat. Les réputations se font et se défont en quelques secondes. Ici, un simple cliché peut ruiner une vie.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Rediffusion. Une affaire au cœur d'un club sportif pour évoquer les violences sexuelles dans le sport… Ces clubs sont pour certaines personnes une véritable famille de substitution, pourtant les violences y sont parfois présentes. L'histoire que Caroline Nogueras va vous raconter, c'est celle d'Isabelle Demongeot, ancienne championne de tennis, violée à plusieurs reprises par son entraîneur. Isabelle est la première victime de Régis de Camaret à avoir parlé bien avant la vague #Metoo. Régis de Camaret face à ses victimes devant la justice Après 4 ans de bataille judiciaire, fin 2009, la Cour d'Appel d'Aix en Provence a finalement décidé de ne pas poursuivre l'entraîneur de tennis pour viols et agressions sexuelles sur deux de ses anciennes joueuses, mineures au moment des faits. Pour l'ancienne star du tennis français Isabelle Demongeot, à l'origine des dénonciations et les 25 autres femmes qui se disent victimes de Régis de Camaret, cette décision est d'une violence inouïe. Avec ce sentiment injuste que ce sont elles les coupables. Coupables d'avoir parlé, coupable d'avoir dénoncé une figure de Saint-Tropez, un entraîneur de renom. Un podcast Bababam Originals Ecriture et voix : Caroline Nogueras Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Aarushi Talwar est une jeune fille à qui tout pourrait réussir. Elle est douée à l'école, est entourée d'amis, ses parents sont dans une situation très confortable et elle a toute la vie devant elle. Hélas, dans la nuit du 16 mai 2008, elle est sauvagement assassinée dans son sommeil. Qui aurait pu s'en prendre à cette innocente qui n'a jamais cherché de problèmes ? Peut-être un ennemi de la famille, jaloux de sa richesse ? Le domestique qui aurait voulu punir ses employeurs, Rajesh et Nupur Talwar, les parents d'Aarushi ? L'enquête menée par le CBI, l'équivalent du FBI en Inde, révélera de nombreux éléments troublants.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Join Annie Sargent and Elyse Rivin as they dive deep into the tragic and brilliant life of Vincent van Gogh. This episode isn't just about his iconic paintings—it's about the man behind the masterpieces. Elyse, with her deep knowledge of art history and her gift for storytelling, guides us through Van Gogh's tumultuous journey. From his early struggles in the Netherlands to his transformative years in France, we explore how his experiences shaped his art—and how his art, in turn, shaped the world. Listen to this episode ad-free Van Gogh's life was marked by failure, rejection, and mental health struggles. Elyse explains how these challenges fueled his creativity. As a young man, he tried—and failed—at careers as an art dealer, a preacher, and even a Bible translator. His family didn't know what to do with him, and his father even considered sending him to a mental hospital. But it was his brother, Theo, who became his lifeline. Theo provided financial and emotional support, allowing Vincent to focus on painting. This support gave him the freedom to experiment, leading to the bold, vibrant style we associate with him today. Paris was a turning point for Van Gogh. Elyse paints a vivid picture of his time there, living in Montmartre, meeting artists like Toulouse-Lautrec and Pissarro, and discovering new techniques. He hated the city at first, but over time, he began to embrace its energy. His move to Arles was another pivotal moment. He dreamed of creating an artists' colony there, but his relationship with Gauguin ended in disaster. Despite the chaos, this period was incredibly productive. He painted masterpieces like Starry Night Over the Rhône and Sunflowers. After his breakdown in Arles, Van Gogh was committed to an asylum in Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. Elyse's account of this time is heartbreaking yet inspiring. He continued to paint, creating some of his most famous works, including Wheat Fields and more versions of Starry Night. His final days in Auvers-sur-Oise were marked by relentless painting and a tragic end. This episode isn't just about art—it's about humanity, perseverance, and the cost of genius. If you love stories that move you, this is a must-listen. Subscribe to Join Us in France on your favorite podcast app so you never miss an episode. And if you're planning a trip to France, don't forget to check out Elyse's Toulouse Guided Walks for an unforgettable experience.  Table of Contents for this Episode [00:00:15] Introduction [00:00:31] Today on the podcast [00:01:03] Podcast supporters [00:01:33] Bootcamp 2026 [00:01:47] Magazine segment [00:02:25] Vincent Van Gogh with Elyse [00:03:38] Van Gogh's Life in France [00:04:57] The Universal Appeal of Van Gogh's Art [00:05:53] Why do people love his work? [00:09:30] Early Life and Family Background [00:13:49] Struggles with Mental Health and Career Choices [00:14:20] Moving to The Hague [00:16:09] Moving to London [00:21:06] Moving to Paris [00:23:26] Back to England [00:28:04] Returning home [00:28:55] The Decision to Become an Artist [00:29:24] Early Artistic Endeavors and Family Support [00:37:18] Van Gogh's Time in Paris [00:38:38] Van Gogh's Literary Influences [00:39:23] Return to Holland and Artistic Evolution [00:40:28] Personal Struggles and Relationships [00:42:06] Paris and Artistic Friendships [00:45:02] The Move to Arles [00:47:24] The Yellow House and Artistic Breakthrough [00:52:53] Mental Health Struggles and Saint-Rémy [00:59:11] Final Days in Auvers-sur-Oise [01:04:27] Legacy and Impact [01:09:40] Copyright More episodes about art in France #VanGogh, #VincentVanGogh, #ArtHistory, #StarryNight, #Sunflowers, #PostImpressionism, #FrenchArt, #ArtLovers, #ArtistsLife, #TragicGenius, #JoinUsInFrance, #FrancePodcast, #TravelFrance, #FrenchCulture, #ExploreFrance, #DiscoverFrance, #FranceTravelTips, #RealFrance, #Francophile, #FranceAdventures

Chaque dimanche, Gavin's Clemente Ruiz explore la richesse des églises de France, en révélant leur histoire, leur singularité, ainsi que les activités culturelles et spirituelles qui les animent. Dans ce nouvel épisode de “L'Eglise au milieu du village”, Aix-en-Provence, en Provence, pour découvrir l'église Saint-Jean de Malte, qui abrite un tableau d'Eugène Delacroix.L'Eglise au milieu du village est un podcast issu de l'émission Le Club de l'été sur Europe 1.- Présentation : Gavin's Clemente Ruiz - Diffusion : Clara MénardHébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Bonjour à tous et bienvenue dans Callisto, le Podcast qui vous fait voyager à travers les récits mythiques et les légendes !Aujourd'hui, devenons chasseurs de monstres pour un jour ! Car la petite ville de Tarascon, en Provence, nous appelle à l'aide ! En effet, les Alpilles, les petites Alpes de Provence, paraissent bien charmantes quand elles se jettent dans les eaux de Rhône… Mais il fut un temps où tout ce pays n'était que marais malsains et sables mouvants. À cette époque, beaucoup de voyageurs se noyaient dans ces eaux malpropres. Certains reprenaient espoir en apercevant, sur l'autre rive du fleuve, un solide rocher, un lieu sûr pour prendre pied. Terrible erreur ! Car ce rocher était le refuge de la Tarasque, une abominable créature…Bonne écoute !

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Cette semaine, PopCorn vous emmène entre révolte, sororité et désillusion avec trois films qui font vibrer l'écran autrement. Au programme : La Vague, de Sebastián Lelio : chronique musicale d'un Chili qui connait des révoltes universitaires féministesLe Gang des Amazones, de Melissa Drigeard : ou comment cinq amies transforment la Provence des années 90 en terrain de braquage et de revanche sociale.Six jours ce printemps-là, de Joachim Lafosse : le retour mélancolique d'une mère sur la Côte d'Azur, entre secrets, soleil et ex-belle-famille.Sans oublier les quelques coups de coeur en fin d'émission.Bonne écoute !Présentatrice : DaphnéChroniqueur.euses : Daphné, Pauline, Juliette, Arthur, Aris

[SPONSORISÉ] Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

[SPONSORISÉ] Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Au matin du lundi 20 mai 1991, une éclaircie met fin à des jours de déluge, et pousse un retraité à sortir se balader dans les bois viennois. Durant sa promenade, perturbée par une odeur épouvantable, il s'écarte du sentier et distingue, sous les feuilles mortes et les branches sèches, le corps d'une femme. Elle gît face contre terre, rongée par la putréfaction et les charognards, les jambes écartées, seulement vêtue d'un haut relevé au niveau des épaules. Le reste de ses effets personnels a été disposé en cercle concentrique, à l'exception de ses collants, fermement noués autour de son cou.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

[SPONSORISÉ] Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Cette semaine dans Crimes · Histoires Vraies, vous avez découvert l'affaire de l'étrangleur de Vienne. En 1991, la capitale autrichienne est touchée par une série de meurtres. Des travailleuses du sexe sont retrouvées violées et étranglées par leurs collants ou leurs sous-vêtements. L'étau se resserre sur Jack Unterweger, qui, informé sur les agissements de la police, fuit vers les Etats-Unis. Il s'installe au Cecil hotel de Los Angeles, déjà célébrissime à l'époque pour avoir été le théâtre de dizaines de suicides et de crimes. L'installation du serial killer autrichien confirme sa réputation. Alors, le Cecil Hotel mérite-t-il vraiment son surnom : “Hotel Death”, l'hôtel de la mort ?

La saison des Olivades bat son plein, on part découvrir l'un des plus beaux domaines oléicoles au cœur des Alpilles… Le château d'Estoublon, reconnu pour ses vignobles, ses vins d'appellation Baux de Provence et ses olives : Picholine, Grossane (douce et beurrée), Salonenque, Beruguette (plus ardente et piquante) et Bouteillan. Cinq variétés d'olives récoltées à la main pendant 2 mois sur 120 hectares, ce n'est pas rien. Il faut en moyenne 7 kg pour 1 litre d'huile. Pourquoi choisir Estoublon ? C'est un conservatoire des olives, leur savoir-faire est reconnu par le Comité Colbert depuis 2021 pour l'excellence de ses huiles d'olive, et pour la création d'un grand cru d'huile d'olive créé depuis 20 ans comme… un parfum ! Même son écrin est un flacon couture. Son égérie, c'est Carla Bruni. Vous êtes chez elle. Mais attention, ça va au-delà du marketing, on est véritablement dans la création d'une œuvre d'art, un travail d'orfèvre. Et ça, vous le découvrez lors des visites privées et des dégustations. Une huile d'olive créée comme un parfum, ça veut dire quoi concrètement ? Avec un assemblage de notes, comme un grand vin. L'assemblage est orchestré par l'œnologue Victor Joyeux, qui réunit les meilleurs lots avec la même exigence que pour un Grand Cru, une sélection parcellaire. Et pour déguster cette huile d'olive, l'odorat a aussi une place primordiale. Goutez du sucre et de la cannelle. Bouchez-vous le nez, vous ne sentirez pas la cannelle. Cette dégustation, elle se fait par rétroolfaction. Indispensable pour embrasser toutes les saveurs et les odeurs. Je vous donne la partition aromatique de ce grand cru. En note de tête, roquette fraiche, la note de cœur est pour l'artichaut cru, et enfin la note de fond est décernée à l'amande fraiche. Pour prolonger ces saveurs provençales, déjeunez à la Table de l'Estoublon au milieu des oliviers centenaires et des platanes. Fiche Pratique Le château d'Estoublon : https://www.estoublon.com/ L'oléotourisme : visites et dégustations : https://www.estoublon.com/les-huiles-dolive/ La Table d'Estoublon : https://www.estoublon.com/la-table-d-estoublon/ Poires Mon fruit d'automne préféré, mais il est très difficile d'en trouver des bonnes : ni trop mûres, ni trop fermes, pas granuleuses. Au départ, il s'agit d'un fruit sauvage qui se présentait différemment d'aujourd'hui : peu sucrées, dures et granuleuses. Ce sont les Romains qui ont démarré la culture des poires et qui ont développé certaines variétés actuelles. C'est à la Renaissance que la poire devient un fruit très prisé et noble. Dans l'histoire, on a développé plus de 1.000 variétés en France. Les plus célèbres : Williams (la plus cultivée, utilisée aussi pour les eaux-de-vie comme la Poire Williams), Conférence, Comice, Guyot, Louise Bonne, Passe-Crassane, Beurré Hardy. Quelques célèbres recettes : la poire Belle-Hélène (1864 par Escoffier), la poire pochée (Bourgogne). La poire se marie à merveille avec les fromages bleus. Des poires farcies au Roquefort : couper les poires fermes en deux et creuser un petit puits / mélanger du Roquefort, un peu de crème, et du miel / farcir les poires et les cuire au four 20 min à 180° (gratiner) en parsemant d'éclats de noix. Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Lucien Léger était un criminel français condamné à la réclusion criminelle à perpétuité pour le meurtre d'un enfant en 1964. Il fut le plus ancien détenu de France avant d'être libéré le 3 octobre 2005 après 41 ans d'emprisonnement, ce qui constitue l'une des détentions les plus longues en Europe. Il fut surnommé l'étrangleur par la presse en raison de la signature, « L'étrangleur n°1 », apposée au bas des lettres anonymes qu'il envoyait à la police...Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Visiblement ravi d'échouer dans un secteur aussi pittoresque, Unterweger se met au travail, sillonne les ruelles, rencontre les travailleuses du sexe, les sans-abris, s'informe sur les trafics de drogue, les récents faits-divers. En contrepoint, il se rapproche du LAPD, part en patrouille, pose des questions, potasse son reportage. Les jours suivants, changement de décor, il grimpe sur Beverly Hills tente d'apercevoir des stars. Il obtient un rendez-vous avec un cinéaste autrichien, cherche à lui vendre un scénario, sans succès. Il ne rencontrera ni Bukowski, ni son père, quittera le sol californien à la mi-juillet, et l'anecdote aurait pu s'arrêter là...Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Dans cette édition :Boualem Sansal, écrivain franco-algérien, a été libéré après 12 mois de détention en Algérie, et exprime sa joie de revenir en Europe, tout en espérant une amélioration des relations entre la France et l'Algérie.Une vaste attaque de missiles russes a eu lieu ce matin à Kiev, faisant un mort et 15 blessés, tandis que la Russie affirme avoir intercepté plus de 200 drones ukrainiens cette nuit.Un hommage solennel a été rendu hier soir à Paris, dix ans après les attentats du 13 novembre 2015, avec notamment une Marseillaise émouvante et la mobilisation de la paroisse Saint-Ambroise.La question des salles de consommation de drogue à Paris est à nouveau soulevée, avec des avis partagés sur leur efficacité pour lutter contre les addictions.La comédie musicale 'La Dame de Pierre', inspirée de Notre-Dame de Paris, fait l'objet d'une tentative de censure de la part d'une intersyndicale à Aix-en-Provence, qui dénonce un 'numéro pseudo-historique au relan réactionnaire'.Notre équipe a utilisé un outil d'Intelligence artificielle via les technologies d'Audiomeans© pour accompagner la création de ce contenu écrit.Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Dans cette édition :Boualem Sansal, écrivain franco-algérien, a été libéré après 12 mois de détention en Algérie, et exprime sa joie de revenir en Europe, tout en espérant une amélioration des relations entre la France et l'Algérie.Une vaste attaque de missiles russes a eu lieu ce matin à Kiev, faisant un mort et 15 blessés, tandis que la Russie affirme avoir intercepté plus de 200 drones ukrainiens cette nuit.Un hommage solennel a été rendu hier soir à Paris, dix ans après les attentats du 13 novembre 2015, avec notamment une Marseillaise émouvante et la mobilisation de la paroisse Saint-Ambroise.La question des salles de consommation de drogue à Paris est à nouveau soulevée, avec des avis partagés sur leur efficacité pour lutter contre les addictions.La comédie musicale 'La Dame de Pierre', inspirée de Notre-Dame de Paris, fait l'objet d'une tentative de censure de la part d'une intersyndicale à Aix-en-Provence, qui dénonce un 'numéro pseudo-historique au relan réactionnaire'.Notre équipe a utilisé un outil d'Intelligence artificielle via les technologies d'Audiomeans© pour accompagner la création de ce contenu écrit.Hébergé par Audiomeans. Visitez audiomeans.fr/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Laurine Gros - Danseuse, chorégraphe, professeur de danseOriginaire du Sud-Est de la France, Laurine commence la danse à l'âge de 8 ans, dans une école pluridisciplinaire dans laquelle elle découvre des disciplines comme le jazz, le hip-hop et les claquettes.Elle se forme partout en France, mais aussi à l'international.En 2015, elle obtient son Diplôme d'État de danse jazz à Aix-en-Provence, avant de partir se perfectionner aux USA.Elle multiplie ensuite les collaborations dans des projets scéniques, des clips, des événements à l'international, tout en dansant aux côtés de chorégraphes de renom.Son travail aujourd'hui est un mélange subtil d'influences hip-hop et jazz, teinté d'une approche contemporaine.En parallèle de sa carrière d'interprète et de chorégraphe, elle enseigne en France et en Europe et a récemment fondé « Movement Dimensions » à Paris : un espace dédié à l'art du mouvement, à la transmission, et à la rencontre entre artistes.Dans cet épisode on explore :La manière dont Laurine crée de l'émotion sur scène, en connectant au mouvement et à la musique.Elle nous parle de son rapport au corps et de la gestion de l'énergie dans la danse.On aborde les réalités du métier aujourd'hui : visibilité et conditions de travail.Laurine nous partage sa vision du danseur-entrepreneur à travers son projet « Movement Dimensions ».

Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Encouragé par ses encadrants et ses codétenus, Jack Unterweger se lance dans l'écriture d'un premier roman, intitulé « Le purgatoire ». Séduit, un éditeur le publie en 1982 et le vend comme un récit autobiographique, dans lequel l'auteur raconte son quotidien carcéral.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

De la Provence de son père aux collines du Garlaban, Marcel Pagnol livre le récit de son enfance, entre vie familiale, nature méridionale et premiers émerveillements.Mention légales : Vos données de connexion, dont votre adresse IP, sont traités par Radio Classique, responsable de traitement, sur la base de son intérêt légitime, par l'intermédiaire de son sous-traitant Ausha, à des fins de réalisation de statistiques agréées et de lutte contre la fraude. Ces données sont supprimées en temps réel pour la finalité statistique et sous cinq mois à compter de la collecte à des fins de lutte contre la fraude. Pour plus d'informations sur les traitements réalisés par Radio Classique et exercer vos droits, consultez notre Politique de confidentialité.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

De la Provence de son père aux collines du Garlaban, Marcel Pagnol livre le récit de son enfance, entre vie familiale, nature méridionale et premiers émerveillements.Mention légales : Vos données de connexion, dont votre adresse IP, sont traités par Radio Classique, responsable de traitement, sur la base de son intérêt légitime, par l'intermédiaire de son sous-traitant Ausha, à des fins de réalisation de statistiques agréées et de lutte contre la fraude. Ces données sont supprimées en temps réel pour la finalité statistique et sous cinq mois à compter de la collecte à des fins de lutte contre la fraude. Pour plus d'informations sur les traitements réalisés par Radio Classique et exercer vos droits, consultez notre Politique de confidentialité.Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Join us in this series where we're diving into the journeys of women who have moved abroad to France. You'll hear what inspired their moves, the challenges they faced, the biggest rewards, and of course - the funny and sometimes embarrassing moments along the way. Whether you're just curious, planning a visit, or dreaming of a move yourself, you'll find stories, insights and advice to guide and inspire you.Our guest today, Bridget Teissier, is the founder of @provencalkitchen where she shares seasonal recipes inspired by French markets and the Mediterranean lifestyle. She's been living in Provence for 10 years with her French husband and two children. She shares how she discovered her passion for cooking and offers her "iceberg" framework for understanding life abroad.Don't forget to subscribe, rate & review and follow us on Instagram @coucou.pod.

Au printemps 1991, un vent de panique souffle sur Vienne, en proie aux pulsions d'un tueur en série. Son mode opératoire se précise semaine après semaine, immuable, impitoyable. Il vise les jeunes femmes du quartier rouge, des travailleuses du sexe, embarquées en voiture au beau milieu de la nuit. Leur soi-disant client les emmène à l'abri des regards, en bordure de la capitale autrichienne... On l'appelle « l'étrangleur de Vienne », ou « Jack l'étrangleur », un clin d'oeil morbide à l'éventreur de Londres, du siècle dernier. Il rôde comme une ombre, un fantôme caché au sein même de la société, qui se prend pour Dieu, et s'octroie un droit de vie ou de mort sur ses semblables. Son nom est Jack Unterweger, il est écrivain... Et il a déjà tué.Au matin du lundi 20 mai 1991, une éclaircie met fin à des jours de déluge, et pousse un retraité à sortir se balader dans les bois viennois. Durant sa promenade, perturbée par une odeur épouvantable, il s'écarte du sentier et distingue, sous les feuilles mortes et les branches sèches, le corps d'une femme. Elle gît face contre terre, rongée par la putréfaction et les charognards, les jambes écartées, seulement vêtue d'un haut relevé au niveau des épaules. Le reste de ses effets personnels a été disposé en cercle concentrique, à l'exception de ses collants, fermement noués autour de son cou.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Elle se soulève aux quatre coins de la planète. Celle que l'on surnomme la Gen Z appelle à la grève générale ce vendredi (14 novembre 2025) au Pérou. Le même jour, un grand rassemblement est prévu à Antananarivo, la capitale de Madagascar qui a récemment vu le régime de son président chuter sous l'impulsion de ces jeunes nés entre 1997 et 2010. Que souhaite la génération Z ? Comment s'organise-t-elle ? Jusqu'où ira-t-elle ? Pour en débattre - Elisabeth Soulié, anthropologue et essayiste, autrice du livre La génération Z aux rayons X, éditions du Cerf - Olivier Vallée, économiste et politiste, spécialiste de Madagascar, auteur de Société militaire à Madagascar, éditions Karthala - Mohammed Tozy, professeur émérite de Sciences Po Aix-en-Provence et doyen du Collège des Sciences sociales de l'Université Internationale de Rabat. 

Elle se soulève aux quatre coins de la planète. Celle que l'on surnomme la Gen Z appelle à la grève générale ce vendredi (14 novembre 2025) au Pérou. Le même jour, un grand rassemblement est prévu à Antananarivo, la capitale de Madagascar qui a récemment vu le régime de son président chuter sous l'impulsion de ces jeunes nés entre 1997 et 2010. Que souhaite la génération Z ? Comment s'organise-t-elle ? Jusqu'où ira-t-elle ? Pour en débattre - Elisabeth Soulié, anthropologue et essayiste, autrice du livre La génération Z aux rayons X, éditions du Cerf - Olivier Vallée, économiste et politiste, spécialiste de Madagascar, auteur de Société militaire à Madagascar, éditions Karthala - Mohammed Tozy, professeur émérite de Sciences Po Aix-en-Provence et doyen du Collège des Sciences sociales de l'Université Internationale de Rabat. 

The Time Riders: Part 4 A daring attempt to rescue Becky from Cardinal Richelieu. Based on a post by BiscuitHammer, in 16 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels. “Your Becky sounds like a very strong woman." Lady Alexandra reflected when Mark told of their conflicts in the time journey to old France. "Actually," Mark said, blushing again. "She reminds me of you, or you remind me of her. You actually look quite a bit alike." She smiled sweetly and reached forward to touch his knee. "High praise for me indeed, then. Am I right in assuming that she speaks French since you do not?" Mark nodded. "Then she should be safe inside the Louvre, which is where my mistress the queen is currently staying," Alexandra concluded. "So his Eminence is playing another little game, to make my mistress feel bad by bringing beautiful women into her service? We shall see to this, Mark, I promise you." "Thanks," he said. "I really, really appreciate this. You have no idea." "She must be very special to you." Alexandra said slyly. "Well, we're not in love, or anything," he said hastily, wishing he didn't have to keep explaining this. "But yeah, I guess you could say we're fond of one another, and she's the only person I time travel with." "Were I you," Alexandra said, sitting back now and taking another sip of one while crossing one leg over the other. "I would try to keep it that way. It has been explained to me, and it seems perfectly logical, that things just get more complicated when you involve other people or try to do too many things?" "You don't look at all like you're from this time," Mark admitted. "Are you actually from the Sun King's France?" She nodded. "That I am, to a noble family of ancient lineage, going even back to the reign of Charlemagne. But in service to my queen, I take very good care of myself and am in the peak of health." "No kidding," Mark breathed, earning a smirk from Alexandra. "Chester said you're good with a sword?" She shrugged in a non-committal manner. "Suffice to say that I am not afraid to take on Les Troi Inseparables." Mark assumed that she meant Athos, Porthos and Aramis. "D'Artagnan too?" She laughed, a beautiful, crystalline sound. "Aye, even the irascible Gascon. Nor do I cringe before the Duke of Buckingham, who is said to be the greatest swordsman in Christendom, barring possibly my brother." "No recognition for you?" She shook her head. "I dare not, my service to the queen would be compromised. I am not driven by fame, Mark, but devotion and duty. Secrecy is all that allows me to continue in my task." "You're like Wonder Woman." Mark laughed. She looked at him and tilted her head. "Comment?" "A fictional heroine from my own time," he said, waving it off. "She's powerful, she's brilliant, she can fight, she can fly, she's compassionate. They've been writing and drawing stories about her for about seventy years now." "It sounds fun," she sighed. "But I do not wish to be ensnared in these time troubles, and I do everything I can to avoid them. The less I know, the better. Protecting my queen is enough." He nodded. "I promise to try and not add to your troubles in this, and I'm sorry." "You needn't be," she said easily, draining her glass. "The debt I owe Chester for this is many years old, I am surprised that he has not called it in before now, to be honest. How long has Becky been at the Louvre?" Mark thought about that. "Uh; a week to get to the palace from where we were; then three weeks; and then it took me a week to get here, so best guess is four weeks." Alexandra nodded and considered. "The initial intense scrutiny she would have been under will be relaxing after a month. They are no doubt still training her, but she sounds very bright, so they will be eager to move her into the court." Mark nodded. "Alright, what do we do? Run in with pistols blazing and swords unsheathed?" She paused in her ruminations and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head slowly, saying nothing. She poured herself another glass of wine and nocked it back before sighing and returning to her thoughts. "Uh, may I ask a question?" Mark said somewhat meekly. Alexandra looked at him and waited. "If; you're one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting," Mark said somewhat awkwardly. "Shouldn't you have at least seen or have heard of Becky by now? I gotta admit, she's like you, she's really hard to miss." The French woman smiled prettily. "I have been away some two months now on a delicate errand for my queen, one that took me south to Spain." "Pretending I was from Spain got me shot." Mark grumbled. Alexandra raised her eyebrows. "Ah, tu hablas español?" "Nope," Mark said, holding up his hands. "Not goin' through this again. So, what do we do, Miss; uh, Miss;” "Just call me Alexandra, cher," she said easily. "And if we become friends, you may call me Alexa." He nodded. "Okay, Alexandra. What is our plan?" "I shall think on that," she replied. "We will not be doing anything until at least tomorrow, I assure you. I only returned this morning and even the queen does not know I am back yet. That being said, you will be my guest here in my private apartments." "Uh, okay," he said. "That doesn't sound too bad, I guess." "It is convenient, for one thing, but another is perhaps a bit more personal and selfish on my part," Alexandra added. "Be honest with me, Mark." "Okay." "Would your Becky be hurt or jealous if you and I were to fuck?" she asked plainly. Mark thought about that for a moment and then shook his head. "She'd probably think there was something wrong with me if I didn't; to be honest. Besides, if she thinks I'm dead, what's the harm?" "Bien," the woman stated, nodding and standing. "Tonight, you and I shall, oh, what is that English saying; ride below the crupper." "Never heard that, but I'm in," he said, chuckling. "And do not worry, unlike most people of this day and age, I bathe daily, so you should not find my closeness offensive." Alexandra added. "I'm pretty sure you could smell like a federal stimulus pork bill and I wouldn't notice," he laughed. "Don't you have quarters at the Louvre?" She nodded. "Oui, but my mistress allows me to stay here when possible, since I am closer to the people of Paris this way. I can look out my window, see them and remind myself of my duty to them." "You're pretty complicated for a noblewoman." Mark admitted. "History doesn't think much of your class of people." "A deserved indictment, no doubt," she sighed. "Alors, I did not keep you here to bore you with such ephemera, I intend to pleasure you before making you risk your life again in the days ahead." The French Art of Feminine Disrobing. He watched from his chair as she slowly turned around and began the French art of feminine disrobing. She began by removing the rather poufy blouse she was wearing, revealing her shapely back. She was beautiful, but now he could see the lines of athleticism in her shoulders and torso, and still somehow with the affectation of being delicate and womanly. Alexandra then lifted one leg and removed her short boot deftly, then reversed her pose as she removed the other boot. Her feet were surprisingly dainty, but they seemed to be planted firmly on the floor. Undoing the tie of her breeches, she wiggled them down over her lovely hips, exposing her incredible behind. She bent over to push the article of clothing down the rest of her statuesque legs and in spite of the dim light, he could almost see her cunt just below those temping cheeks. She stood up straight and stepped elegantly out of the pool of her breeches, putting her hands over her bust as she turned her head to smile at him coyly. As he watched, she slowly came around so she was facing him now. If Mark's jaw could have literally fallen off, it would have. In the flickering candlelight, she was bewitching to behold. Her skin was creamy and flawless, fair and yearning to be kissed. Her womanly hips carried strength, melting into her glorious legs. Her snatch was hairless, something he didn't associate at all with the period; especially the French. "So, do you like what you see?" she purred, enjoying his reaction. He nodded dumbly and she allowed her hands to fall away from her tits, revealing them. Large and perfectly shaped, sitting high no doubt because of her strong back and shoulders, and crowned with small, pink nipples that made his mouth water. "Now perhaps it is time for you to show me the man I will enjoy?" Alexandra said softly, smiling. "Stand up and let me see you, Mark." He couldn't do a thing about his hard-on, so he didn't even bother trying to conceal it. Still sitting, he removed his boots and socks before standing. Without any of the grace displayed by his anticipated new lover, Mark fumbled off his shirt, revealing his chest. He wasn't overly muscular, of course, but he had more than enough tone and definition because of the sports he'd played. She smiled and just watched quietly. He undid the tie of his breeches and bent over to pull them off. When he stood back up, his cock sprang to full attention, wobbling in front of him slightly. Alexandra nodded, apparently in approval. "Men of days to come seem to be gifted." Alexandra stated in a sultry voice as she stepped forward, moving toward him. “Or, perhaps today, for you; my dear Alexandra?” Mark flirted in a manner even he found uncharacteristically competent. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest as the blonde goddess stepped closer and closer to him. She was then standing directly in front of him, her glorious pelvic mound almost touching the tip of his pulsing erection. He thought he might cum right on the spot. Her elegant hand slowly reached out to take hold of his turgid shaft, the fingers wrapping around gently and giving him the lightest of squeezes. "And now," she said in a whisper. "We shall' The lock on the door clunked before it flew open and in stepped a young woman with wavy dark hair and eyes, apparently not noticing the activity within. "I am back, mistress," the girl chirped as she shut the door and locked it again. She seemed cheerful and energetic, her green dress twirling about her prettily. "I bought some wine and also the soap packets that you; oh! My apologies, mistress, I did not know you were busy!" "Do not worry, Lisette," Alexandra said easily, clearly not at all surprised to see the girl while Mark just gaped. Her hand was still on his cock and stroking gently as she acknowledged the newcomer. "You're just in time to share dessert with me;” Cirrhosis Of The Louvre Mark blinked as he stared at the young woman who had just sauntered in. About his age, she was rather short, but cute in a quirky kind of way, with wavy dark hair that reached her jawline and cheerful brown eyes, over which she wore small round spectacles. Her green dress looked like elegant and well-maintained peasant wear. She seemed rather surprised to see him as well. "A new playmate, mistress?" she asked in French, clearly not surprised to see Lady Alexandra naked on her knees and stroking Mark's cock. "For now," Alexandra said easily, smiling at her servant. "He actually is an associate of Monsieur Edgeworth and needs our help." "Oh, not that pain-in-the-ass again," muttered the girl named Lisette as she walked into the dimly-lit room, clearly put off by the mention of Chester Edgeworth. Her accent was distinctly different from Lady Alexandra's, more coarse and unsophisticated, even to Mark's untrained ears. His translator device was having trouble keeping up. "Like our lives are not difficult enough." "Perhaps, but we have time for some fun, I am happy to say." Alexandra pointed out, not at all bothered by her servant's mutterings. "You will be delighted to know that in helping this young man, we will be putting the spurs to the Red Duke." "Well, there's that at least," Lisette admitted, dropping the linen bags she had been carrying and coming toward them, beginning to shed her dress and underthings without batting an eye. "This one is tall, Mistress. And he has a blank expression about him. English? A colonial?" "Close enough, my love," Alexandra giggled, watching as her beloved servant removed the last vestiges of her modesty, standing naked before them now, except for her spectacles. Her tits were small, her figure trim, but rounded in a youthful way; and devoid of fat excess fat, but not skinny. Living and fighting alongside her Mistress meant Lisette had no time for being indolent. She was probably also the best marksman outside of the Sun King's army with a caliver. "He is indeed from the colonies." "And probably from some other time, if he's involved with Edgeworth, but I have learned not to care," the brunette sighed as she joined Alexandra in kneeling in front of Mark. "Very well, let's fuck this one, before he gets killed, or unavailable like the others." "Wait, what?" Mark asked, his eyes widening and his erection threatening to retreat into his abdomen and his translator bud did its job. "Ignore her," Alexandra said easily, smirking at her companion. "She is just being salty about a boy she liked to fuck down at the market, no longer being available." "He die of dysentery or something?" Mark asked. Alexandra shrugged. "No, he got married." "I'm still going to fuck him the next time I see him;” Lisette said sullenly. "Oh, sorry," Mark said, somewhat embarrassed. "I guess I'm in the habit of assuming that you're the only person in this time I'm ever gonna meet who isn't riddled with a pox or sexual disease." "A fair assumption, my friend;” the blonde woman cooed as she began kissing along the length of his veiny, rippled shaft and making him shiver. The fireplace kept the room warm and also gave it an amber glow that was so comforting and conducive to their current activities. Lisette nestled in closer, smiling and fondling his sac gently while watching her mistress pleasure their new plaything. "He is large, Mistress," she mused, smiling slyly. "Nearly the size of Buckingham, I think." "Umm, the men of days to come do indeed seem to be gifted," Alexandra murmured as she tilted his hard cock up and traced the tip of her tongue along the vein on the underside. "Mark here is no exception, it would seem." Lisette's surprisingly well-kept fingernails grazed along his thighs while she edged inward, wanting to be closer to her mistress. Alexandra now swirled her tongue around his throbbing head before putting it inside her warm, wet mouth. She opened her eyes and looked up at him before slowly sliding in his length in one slow, steady motion. Mark shuddered in pleasure, feeling her tongue swirling around his length, even as she kept her mouth on him. His fingers found their way into her lush, golden hair, kneading at her scalp, and steadying himself while she began to bob back and forth expertly. In the back of his mind, he realized that she was as good as any girl from his own time at sucking cock. He shouldn't have been surprised, but sex seemed to be the one human endeavor that didn't really progress as time moved forward. People were either good at it, or weren't, and the best techniques had probably been around for thousands of years, needing no refinement. Alexandra was living proof of that theory. Lisette moved in and began kissing her mistress' neck and collarbone, her hands now wondering and caressing the noblewoman's body with a practiced ease. Alexandra continued to suck on Mark's cock readily, not at all distracted by her servant's touch, but rather excited by it. She squirmed as her cunt grew moist, yearning to feel this man's tool inside her. Alexandra's strong lips held his glans and her tongue rolled around his purple tip. Lisette's mouth now joined Alexandra's in sliding up and down the sided of his length before they kissed around his cock tip, tongues flickering and sliding wetly as they moaned. His hands were on the back of their heads and he shivered again, lost in the unreal sensations. He felt the brunette girl take over sucking on him, while her blonde mistress nipped at the skin of his waist. "Umm, he has a big tool, mistress," purred Lisette before bobbing along his shaft again. "A pity he will not be available to us regularly." "I think my friend is pleased with you, Mark," Alexandra said, smiling up at him slyly. "Do you wish to fuck us both?" "That; sounds great;” he grunted, closing his eyes and concentrating on not cumming so damn quickly. These two were a wicked tag team. "But what if one of you;” "Fear not, cher, we will not," Alexandra assured him. "I am classically trained, including in Roman medicines and can prevent unexpected complications from arising. Or our bellies." Mark didn't know exactly what 'Roman medicines' had to do with contraception, but she was the expert in this time, so he'd take her word for it. From what he'd read, the alternative in this era was a condom made of linen, which wasn't even meant to prevent pregnancy so much as inhibit pleasure. Hell with that. "Are you any good with that tongue, man of the New World?" she asked now, smiling at him wickedly. "Becky seemed to think so." Mark replied, trembling as he fought to hold on. He would welcome a chance to lick cunt if it would keep him from embarrassing himself before he had properly fucked either of them. "Then Lisette will continue to see you your needs down below, while I become acquainted with your face." Alexandra breathed. Mark sighed as Lisette stopped sucking on his cock long enough to retrieve several large, plush pillows and lay them on the floor near the fireplace. He was almost in a daze as the blonde noblewoman led him to the scarlet and gold oreillers, plump with down and feathers, and then rested him on top of them. Without more ado, she nestled over his face, looking down his body, allowing him to examine her while Lisette knelt between his legs and resumed wrapping her lips around his cock loudly. He marveled at her shining, slippery cunt, so tempting in the flickering orange light of the hearth. He had now fucked a few French girls in this time period, along with Becky, and they were all completely natural, often unusually hairy between their legs. This glorious woman, however, kept her twat completely smooth, a total aberration from the norm. Lisette was almost shaven clean, which he could only assume was at her mistress' behest. He could see Alexandra's tiny, pink clit just peeking out from under its hood, begging for attention. The wet, exquisite heat of Lisette's mouth made his belly groan. He pulled the blonde down onto his waiting mouth, needing to distract himself. His tongue snaked between her wet nether lips and inside her. Alexandra sighed shamelessly and squirmed on his mouth while fondling her opulent tits. His fingers gripped her thighs tightly, flexing into her delicate flesh. She was not kidding about taking care of herself compared to her contemporaries. Her scent and her taste reminded him of Becky more than anything. He pushed his tongue deeper inside her, massaging her walls and core and making her gasp and shudder in delight. She pulled at her nipples as she rocked back on forth on Mark's mouth, enthralled by how skilled he was proving to be at pleasuring her orally. He was quite possibly as good as Lisette, which was no small feat in her opinion. Her calves pressed in around his ears, her pert derriere bumping against his face. Mark's tongue flickered inside her and he buzzed his lips on her, sending jolts through her whole body. "Mistress, he is ready for you," Lisette said, pulling her mouth off his cock and looking up at her lady while pumping her tiny hand along his shaft. "Would you like to fuck him now?" "Non, ma couer," breathed Alexandra, her body now showing a sheen of sweat. "You may fuck him first. I assure you he will bring you bliss. I am fine where I am for now." Lisette nodded and moved to straddle Mark's hips, facing her mistress. She took hold of his cock, biting her lip as she toyed it against her cuntlips and clit. Finally, she pushed down, taking the head inside herself. She sighed while Mark shuddered as he penetrated hervery tight cunt. She then groaned loudly as she sank down, taking him all the way inside herself. She was very tight and Mark made an incoherent sound into Alexandra's twat, making her gasp and shudder violently, cumming suddenly. She leaned forward and grappled onto Lisette, kissing her greedily as she came. Mark could feel her wetness soaking his face, the heady aroma enthralling him. Enveloped in a type of pleasure he had probably never experienced before, even with Becky, he simply fought to control himself, lashing Alexandra's inside with his tongue while Lisette squirmed up and down on his cock, fucking him. Her cunt flexed and clenched expertly around him. He made a guess about the blonde noblewoman above him and took hold of her ass cheeks, pulling them apart before sliding a thumb through her puckered knot. Alexandra wailed in unexpected delight at the intrusion inside her back passage, pressing down and back against his hands and face. She rocked wantonly, genuinely thankful for the meddlesome Chester Edgeworth on this occasion. Mark showed no signs of relenting in his carnal assault. Whatever courtesies men of days to come were taught about a woman's pleasure, she envied the recipients. "Uh, mistress," whimpered Lisette as she squirmed, leaning backward while pumping her cunt on his cock. Alexandra could see the burgeoning shaft splitting her servant-girl's puffy cuntlips wide, glistening now with her wet desire as she squeezed around him. "Mistress, he's going to make me cum!" "Then cum, my dearest," Alexandra cooed, eager to see her beloved Lisette in the throes of unbridled passion. "And then I shall fuck him and we can cum; all of us, non?" The mere mention of cumming with her mistress made Lisette moan loudly, gyrating on Mark's cock with wild abandon. She was fairly bouncing as the liquid heat washed through her, followed by the unreal tingles of la petit mort. She leaned forward and kissed her mistress passionately, her cunt clamping around Mark like a silken vise as she came. "And now you, mistress!" she panted as she regained control of her body, sliding off Mark's throbbing tool to make room for the blonde woman. Somewhat reluctantly, Alexandra pulled her gooey cunt away from Mark's mouth, shivering as his finger popped out of her ass. She leaned down his body sensually, leaning over to take his cock in her mouth, moaning in pleasure as she tasted Lisette's cum on his rigid staff. Her head rose back up and her mouth left his coc,k and she smiled back at him while she stroked his length. "Perhaps you could take me from behind, my friend? It has been some time since I have felt it done properly." Mark nodded and clambered up to his feet, moving around while Alexandra arranged Lisette, lying the brown-haired girl on her back. She then sank down onto her, their arms wrapping around one another and they kissed deeply and passionately, the mere sight of it driving Mark wild. They were so total in their devotion that he wondered if they were in love. Lisette then moved around deftly, so that her mouth was beneath her mistress' dripping cunt, while the blonde woman hovered over her servant, on her hands and knees. Mark stood behind Alexandra and settled onto his knees. Lisette confidently reached up and took hold of Mark's pulsing cock, guiding him closer, until he was holding Alexandra by the hips. She placed the knob of his cock against her mistress' cunt lips, teasing it up and down for a few moments. Alexandra's response was to sigh and kiss her servant's cunt lovingly, making her shiver. Mark pursed his lips as Lisette finally guided him inside the aristocrat's snatch, with a slow, steady push. Already wet and ready, Alexandra's cunt yielded before him easily, but he soon groaned as he realized that further in she was as tight, if not tighter, than her servant, who was considerably smaller in frame. Alexandra moaned into Lisette's cunt while Mark trembled at the exquisite, wet heat. Once he had sunk in right up to the hilt, he paused for several moments, adjusting to the wicked sensation. He already understood he was no match for this woman's sexual prowess, and he was thankful for her indulgence. Once he was inside her, Lisette released him and wrapped her hands around her mistress' thighs, holding them firmly while she began kissing devotedly at her cuntlips, clit. Mark's visible shaft and balls bounced upon her forhead. Clearly she intended to facilitate their mutual climax and make sure they both experienced as much pleasure as they could handle. Knowing not to wait any longer and to simply take cues from Lisette, Mark made sure he had a firm grip and began pushing back and forth inside Alexandra, using long, slow, and deliberate thrusts to begin. The blonde moaned in appreciation of his efforts. "Hmm, you are very skilled with your phallus, my friend," she sighed, smiling back at him before returning to kissing Lisette's cunt and sliding a slender finger inside her. "You do not just fuck, like so many men of this day, but you know how to make love. Your Becky is a lucky girl." "Thanks;” he managed to say, praying for endurance as he felt her rhythmically squeeze herself around him with every thrust, even while she pleasured her servant girl. This woman was a succubus. Hadn't she said she was an agent of Anne of Austria? She'd be formidable indeed. And if she was one tenth as good with a sword or pistol as she was at fucking. Alexandra giggled at his inability to speak in full sentences, resolving to go easy on him and simply enjoy herself. A small allowance, perhaps, since she was obligated to help him. She pushed back slightly until her ass cheeks met his hips and her wet cuntlips pressed against his skin, enveloping his cock entirely. Beneath her, Lisette kissed and slid her tongue all over them, lost in a dutiful reverie. She realized Mark could take guidance and instruction without words, if she made her intentions known. She made him fuck her a little faster now by not only moving back and forth, but by squeezing him inside her more quickly, a technique she had taken years to perfect, but always to advantage. Soon, he was sliding in and out of her rhythmically, almost pulling his cockhead out of her before pushing all the way back in. Given his ample length, this was a wicked delight for her; fucking his cock was even better than sitting on his long eager tongue! Lisette was not only pleasuring them, but helping to regulate their coupling, something she could now do instinctively. Her devotion to her mistress was total. If Alexandra was fucking a man, Lisette was not jealous (usually), but simply played her part in making sure everyone enjoyed the experience as much as possible. They were practiced lovers who knew one another's needs and desires completely, and Lisette now fulfilled her role in the tryst with sublime skill. Mark shuddered as he felt Lisette's fingers massaging beneath him, along his balls and even his taint. To his surprise, it served to help distract him from the unreal pleasure if being deep inside Alexandra, allowing him to last longer than he had any business hoping to. He began pushing in and out a little harder, asserting himself and making the blonde goddess moan in pleasure. Soon, Mark was slapping his hips against her ass cheeks loudly, increasing the tempo to the place where Lisette couldn't readily use her dainty fingers on him. She instead continued lapping at her mistress' clit and massaging the split lips as he fucked her. Lisette trembled as Alexandra pushed two fingers deep inside her now, finding her pleasure points with unfailing skill while she sucked on her servant's clit, moaning around it. Alexandra squirmed back against Mark lustily and onto Lisette's mouth, panting in delight. "Oui!" she gasped, gyrating her pelvis expertly, the rings of her cunt muscles rippling along Mark's throbbing cock. "Right there! So good!" Mark was finding his body trembling, the familiar tingle starting to well up within him. His thrusts were faster but less controlled now, his hips performing an almost shoving and scooping motion as he dug inside the French noblewoman. Lisette was massaging her Mistress' cunt eagerly, delighting in the mingling taste of desire on her two lovers. She watched as Mark's glistening shaft slid back and forth, pulling wetly at Alexandra's nether lips. "Gonna cum!" he grunted, stiffening, trying to hold on while making sure that was what she wanted. "Yes!" Alexandra purred, her body flushing with warmth at his words. She heard him groan and press as hard as he could against her. She obliged by pushed back against him and squeezing for all she was worth. She sighed loudly, sliding her fingers as deeply into Lisette as she could, shivering in pleasure as her orgasm blossomed through her. Her wanton cunt fluttered around Mark's cock as she felt it pulsing and spurting his pearly cum deep inside her. They heaved and ground against one another for nearly a minute until Mark sagged back on his haunches, while Alexandra slowly laid forward, his cock sliding out of her with a wet pop. She rested her tits now on top of Lisette, who busied herself by tilting her head up between her mistress' legs, kissing her cunt and then lapping at it hungrily, her tongue finding the creamy globules of Mark's cum inside her, thrilling to the tangy taste. Alexandra sighed in contentment, her eyes closed, squirming gently. Not long had passed before the dutiful girl had cleaned her mistress thoroughly, ending her task with loving kisses of devotion. Alexandra rolled gently off to the side while Lisette got on her hands and knees, moving over to between Mark's legs, He was serenely staring at the rafters and trying to catch his breath. Without waiting for any particular permission (not that any was forthcoming or needed), she took hold of his still-swollen but softening cock and laved it with her mouth, once again thrilling to the taste of his cum mixed with her mistress'. She cleaned him off readily, loving how responsive he was to her touch. Finally, Alexandra rose to her feet and came to stand beside them. She pulled Lisette to her feet and wrapped her arms around the shorter girl, kissing her deeply and lovingly. Lisette melted into her embrace, submitting completely and with reverence. The kiss finally ended, and the patrician smiled down at Mark before offering her hand to help him up. "I found Lisette in Provence maybe three years ago, trapped in a tiny chapel and being disgraced by a priest. I ran him through with my blade and took her under my wing." "Mistress has had my undying devotion and unconditional love since then." Lisette added in very thick English, the first sounds of it she had offered. The phrase sounded almost practiced or rehearsed to Mark's ears, then he realized it probably was. Alexandra had taught Lisette what to say about herself once she had initiated a beginning statement she'd recognize. It was how they protected her in English, because it demonstrated the depth to which they were devoted to one another; Alexandra would kill a man of God for Lisette, and there was nothing in creation she would not do for her mistress. "I believe it," Mark replied, nodding. "I'm glad she saved you, Lisette, and Alexandra's lucky to have you." Lisette was taken off-guard by what Mark had said once her blonde mistress had translated for her, and she blushed and looked at the floor. It occurred to Mark that she probably wasn't used to anyone aside from Alexandra expressing any concern about her life or safety. She was just another peasant, after all. "Let us clean ourselves lightly and then prepare for a light meal and then bed, shall we?" Lady D'assaut suggested. "Mark, I do not know if you are a man of faith or not, but Lisette and I usually have about an hour of devotional time just before we turn in. You may join us or do as you please, as long as you're respectfully quiet." Mark nodded and joined the pair in going to another room that was clearly dedicated to bathing, something he doubted was all that common in this time and place. Lady Alexandra really was out of the ordinary. He watched with interest as Lisette helped her mistress into the large, round wooden tub, under which a contained fire was glowing. Easily big enough for the three of them (no doubt by design, he thought), he allowed himself to be helped in before the two women began washing him, giggling as they used tiny packets of powdered soap and their bodies to make sure he was clean all over. "Normally, to come across water like this is rare and expensive," Alexandra explained as she knelt patiently and looked at him while Lisette squeezed her tits into her mistress magnificent orbs, lathering her. "But this particular building has an underground stream running below it, so retrieving water from a well in the courtyard is comparatively simple. And I do love to be clean." "I can get behind that." Mark agreed. "Maybe in the morning." Alexandra quipped readily, winking at him. They finished bathing and then Lisette dutifully dried them both off. Linen shifts were provided and then Mark sat with his host in the study while Lisette prepared a light meal for them all. He'd never eaten a pigeon before, but it was surprisingly good. Small nibs of sweetened chocolate comprised dessert, and of course there was the wine. Once they had finished, Alexandra and her companion excused themselves and went into another small room to say their devotionals for maybe an hour. Then they invited Mark to come and sleep with them in Alexandra's massive, plush bed, covered in crimson sheets threaded with gold. Everyone removed their linen shifts and clambered into bed. Alexandra and Lisette kissed one another and then Mark goodnight. In spite of having two naked women nestled into his sides, he slept surprisingly well. A Louvre Incarceration. The moon was a bright white orb overhead as Rebecca looked out the window from her stately bedroom. A tear glistened on her cheek, as it had every night since her abduction and arrival in Paris. Not only was she stuck here, in the Sun King's France, with no method of returning home, but she was the unwilling 'guest' of Cardinal Richelieu, who was seeing her trained to serve Queen Anne. Worse still, and what truly broke her heart, Mark was dead. Killed by the Cardinal's men and no doubt still lying in that fateful field, his body ravaged by scavengers. She bit her lip as tears started to roll down her face, willing herself not to break into sobs that everyone on this floor of the palace would hear. She buried her face in her hands and surrendered to the grief, shuddering as she wept, not caring about the moon framing her in rays of silvery light. She was so alone. Mark had to exercise patience that morning, since they were eating a leisurely breakfast and casually discussing matters. But the matters were nothing of import, at least not from his point of view; they were not improvising plans to save Becky, which was foremost on his mind. Alexandra was well aware of the agitation just under his calm surface and she finally sought to allay it. She smiled and put a hand on top of his as she sat next to him at the table. "My friend," she said gently in her impeccable English. "Worry not for your Rebecca." "How can you say that?" he asked, trying to keep any exasperation out of his voice. "It's all that really matters to me, not that I'm not grateful, of course. But I feel; I feel like we are dawdling." "I understand," she allowed, smiling her beautiful smile that would drive the clouds away. "But I assure you, she is in no immediate danger, now that she is in the Louvre. And as you have already noted, she has been there for a month. We cannot simply rush in and storm the palace, because we would be risking her life, along with many others, not the least of which is my queen, Anne." He sighed and nodded. "But you are helping me rescue her, right? As in, we free her from the palace and she and I can get away, find my time machine and go home?" She smirked and nodded. Maybe she didn't blame him for his suspicions. "Yes, Mark. That is the only end here. I cannot remain indebted to our mutual associate Chester Edgeworth, especially not since this is one of his temporal matters. I want nothing to do with them, so leaving; oh, what is the term; 'loose ends', if you will, does not suit me. It pains me to say so, since I like you, but with any luck, I will never see you again once we have rescued your Rebecca." She smiled and squeezed his hand again. "Please trust me. And exercise patience. I already have a plan in mind, I just need more information from the palace." "Oh, okay," he said finally, hoping he wasn't being unreasonable. "Just out of sorts, I guess. Not a lot of experience with the Baroque Period." She tilted her head slightly and smirked. "Baroque Period? Is that what people in your time refer to this era as?" Mark shrugged. "Yeah, I dunno why." "In my language, baroque refers to an oddly-shaped pearl," she mused. "You might have a better understanding of my time and history than I do, in retrospect." "I doubt it," he chuckled, put at ease once again by her gracious manner. "I never really had much of a head for history. Might actually be pretty skewed, since everything I know comes from movies and novels written by people from your future." "I don't know what a 'movie' is, but I think it's best I not either," she mentioned, stroking his wrist. "Once Lisette has finished serving dejeuner, she will proceed to the palace to see what she can find out. While it is known that I am back in Paris, I do not want to appear just yet for my royal duties. Maybe later today or tomorrow. While the Cardinal cannot absolutely confirm that I am more than a lady-in-waiting for the Queen, I wish to not give him any reason to start looking." "Fair enough," Mark allowed. "So, what'll we do until then?" "While I could indeed provide endless hours of pleasant discourse for you, I think that would not be the best idea, since you are a man of tomorrow." Alexandra pointed out. "And, to be honest, I am rather smitten with your lovely cock at the moment. So, I was thinking that we might continue to fuck one another until it is time for us to undertake your mission." Mark laughed. "Yeah, I'm good with that. "Becky would think I had gone totally stupid if I didn't agree to kill time that way." "I do not know her yet and I think I love her," Alexandra mused, smirking. Her sapphire eyes glittered with delight. "We shall make the most of our time together." They went back to eating their breakfast, prepared by Lisette, and if Mark found the fare unusual, he certainly couldn't complain about the taste. Sausages, hearty bread, along with some vegetables and a broth. A new delicacy to the Sun King's France, Chantilly cream, rounded out the meal, and she promised him that later they would share of bottle of a very special new type of wine, from the region of Champagne. Lisette had dressed and excused herself, heading off to the Louvre to find out information for her Mistress. This left Mark alone with Alexandra, and if he was feeling any awkwardness, she certainly wasn't. She smiled and shed her clothes, exposing her glorious body. She took him by the hand and led him back to her bedroom, smiling at him. "Not to seem indelicate, Mark, but; have you ever fucked a girl in her behind before?" she asked. He nodded. "Done it with Becky more than a few times recently. And yeah, I'd really like to fuck yours." She smiled, pleased with his response. "Excellent, it has been a while for me, at least since a man has done it to me." "Lisette certainly has her uses." Mark chuckled. "More than you can ever know, my friend," she agreed as she stood in front of him and helped remove his clothing. She was close enough that her tits pressed to his chest, her hips touched his and her cunt was nestled against his cock, which was beginning to swell. She looked up into his eyes, her own glinting with desire. "I look forward to feeling you in my ass, Mark." She put her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, kissing him deeply. He was thrilled by her assertiveness, even if she wasn't being dominant. His own hands rested on her hips before starting to wander around her divine form, finally finding her ass cheeks, squeezing and massaging them, making Alexandra moan. "What I am starting to appreciate about you men of the future is that you enjoy lovemaking and carnal activity for its own sake," she purred, one of her hands now sliding down to find his cock and stroking it. "You seem free of the confines of the church's strictures, proscribing pleasure through sexual activity." "Not much point in doing it if you don't enjoy it," he agreed, shivering as her nipples poked against his chest while she squirmed her tits around. She bit his lower lip and tugged back on it, wiggling her ass cheeks against his hands. "And you seem to enjoy it a lot for someone from this time." She broke their kiss to look up at him again, her eyes flashing with her growing to fuck. Her hand was fondling his cock, which was now rigid and pulsing. "In my service to the queen, sex is often a weapon I employ. I am required to be proficient in its use to defend her and the realm." "Lucky me," he breathed as she knelt in front of him, dragging her opulent tits down his torso before arriving at his phallus. He shuddered as she began kissing his cockhead before slowly sliding him into her mouth and down her throat. "Uh, God. Beck; I mean, Alexandra." She giggled and pulled her mouth off his cock to look up at him in amusement, her hands still stroking. "Our techniques are that similar? It took much training for me to be this good, if the women of your time are this competent with ease, then I am jealous." She buried his cock in her mouth again, bobbing back and forth lustily and making him shiver and grasp at her golden locks. Her own hand snaked down between her legs and began playing with her increasingly wet cunt, teasing it. She knew they had at least a few hours before Lisette's return and she intended to make the most of them. Mark groaned and fought to control himself, little or no match for her exquisite technique. He knew he'd have to fuck her soon, or he'd be cumming in her mouth. And he was really looking forward to fucking her ass, as she intended. "Hmm," she purred, popping her mouth off of his cock and smiling slyly while sliding her tongue up the underside as she held it up. "Would you care for a chance to reciprocate, lover?" He nodded, and she stood before pulling him onto the bed. She laid him on his back and then crawled over him, facing down his body. She didn't suck on him again, so much as she toyed with his cock to keep him hard, while allowing him to kiss and lick her slick, pliant snatch. Mark buried his tongue inside her and Alexandra moaned loudly, pumping his cock. Mark slid his tongue in and out of her, marveling at her taste. He also began teasing her little knot, slipping the tip of his finger into her ass, making her groan shamelessly. She wriggled back against him, her glorious behind swaying above his face while her cunt pressed to his mouth. His finger pushed further inside her ass, wiggling about, exploring her. He gently added another and she keen as his fingers stretched her knot, preparing her for his cock. She was gasping now, her body incredibly warm and her skin flush with desire. She lunged his cock back into her mouth again, bobbing up and down hungrily. She pulled herself off his tongue and fingers, squirming down his body until she was straddling his cock. She eagerly slid his throbbing cock inside her cunt, causing him to stiffen and arch his back. She rode up and down lustily on him, while reaching back and pulling her ass cheeks apart. Mark took the hint and began fingering her puckered hole again, making sure it stayed limber and ready to receive him when she was ready. He shuddered as she squeezed herself around him, rippling her cunt wickedly until they were both sweating and shaking. Then she looked back at him and he nodded. She pulled off his cock and spun herself around, now facing him. She put on hand on his chest to steady herself, while the other reached back and took hold of his tool, helping to guide it to her quivering notch. Her felt it press against her ring, slippery with her cunt juices and then popping through readily. Alexandra sighed as she slowly but steadily settled down, taking him inside her back passage. Within seconds, he was buried to the hilt inside her. They both sat still for several seconds, just reveling in the feel of their union. Alexandra began slowly moving up and down, Mark's cock sliding inside her ass. She pulled up until only the head was inside her, then sank back down, taking him all the way back in. Mark's hands moved up to her opulent tits and began caressing and squeezing them. She murmured in pleasure at his touch and clenched her cheeks, squeezing him tightly inside herself. "Yes, I will certainly miss this," she breathed, her eyes closed. "You are so deep inside me." He pushed his hips up and down in rhythm with her movements, his fingers now rolling around her nipples, pinching and tugging on them, the sting sending taboo thrills lancing through her. Her fingernails pressed against the skin of his chest before she leaned down and kissed him heatedly, their tongues tangling. The change in the angle of penetration meant she rocked back and forth along his length now. His hands moved down to cup her ass cheeks again, massaging them in circles and pulling them apart, making her whimper in delight. Their bodies churned and writhed against one another heatedly, mingling in pleasure. Their kissing became more fevered as tingling warmth enveloped them both. Then panted through the kiss, with Mark bracing his legs to thrust himself up deeper inside her while she braced her hands outside his shoulders and pushed back against him, burying his cock deeper in her ass than ever. Sweat shone on their skin as she pulled back from the kiss and started down into his eyes. Mark shook uncontrollably and groaned loudly, pushing up with all his might. Alexandra sighed and sat up tall, sinking onto him as he began pumping his cum into her ass. Her knot clenched greedily, throbbing around him as he filled her tight confines with his essence. She massaged her cunt frantically, her fingers flying over her clit. She bathed his groin with her cum. Colors swirled behind her eyes as the climax permeated her being. She couldn't remember the last time a man had made her cum so hard. Not since; She shuddered and collapsed on top of Mark, trembling. He lay beneath her, his hands tiredly coming to rest on her lower back. They lay in exhausted bliss together, unwilling to move. His cock throbbed in her ass, which gripped him possessively, unwilling to relinquish his prize. He showed no sign of softening, which she was thankful for, since she was deliciously pinned to him. A full hour-hour passed before they stirred. She smiled down at him before kissing him again. She rocked on his stiff cock before slowly pulling off and then laying on her side, pressed to him. She kissed his jaw, whispering words of gratefulness to him. She felt the need to do so, since there was a distinct possibility that these might be his last days alive, given the danger they would face in rescuing Rebecca. Alexandra had sworn to try and help him, and she would do everything she could, so long as it did not compromise her service to the queen. She couldn't tell him exactly how much planning and detail this required as a result, since letting the silly boy know the extreme danger he was about to face might make him balk at a crucial moment and then death was inevitable. She could only hope that his excellent physical health and desperation would see him through. It was all they had. Lisette would be back soon, and it would time to plan their mission. God help us all. Rebecca sat in her chair at the small desk of her bedroom, scowling as she drained her glass of red wine, the fourth she'd had in the past hour. She knew she was drunk, but she was too sullen and angry to feel it. She'd done little except drink since she'd been brought to the Louvre. Except for when she was heading to bed, she was rarely alone, surrounded by women who dressed her as a lady of the court and attempted to train her in her duties. She proved predictably reticent, although she had stopped punching her handlers over the last week or so. It wasn't their fault, after all. A few of them seemed worried about her well-being if she continued to prove so difficult, but Becky was mostly beyond caring. What did she have to look forward to, now? Life amongst these backward, stymphian midgets? She had a distinct feeling she was better off dead. She sighed and opened another bottle, pouring her fifth glass of the evening. Oblivion in wine was all she looked forward to. "Oh, there you are. I was hoping to meet you;” lilted an attractive voice from her door. Facing away from the entrance to her room, Becky looked up into the mirror on the wall, and saw a striking silhouette standing in the entranceway. A tall woman in a burgeoning gown stood there, apparently waiting for permission to enter. Slowly she turned around, hoping her eyes weren't too bleary with wine and grief. She rose from her chair and stood quietly, holding her hands primly in front of herself. She dipped her knees slightly in a curtsey, just in case this was Anne of Austria. The figure came into the room slowly, approaching her. The lamps and candle finally illumined her, and Becky's breath was taken away; the woman was stunning! Golden blonde hair spilled down her back, while her sapphire eyes gleamed with a sensual intelligence. Her face was classically beautiful and her impressive bust sat high inside her dress, the cleavage prominently displayed, as was typical of the court. Becky felt a tingle inside herself as she approached. "You are Rebecca, oui?" the woman asked, her voice glorious in Becky's ears. She stopped in front her and smiled dazzlingly before returning the curtsey. "I am Alexandra D'assaut, one of her majesty's ladies. I am pleased to finally meet you." "I; it is a pleasure to meet you, too, my lady." Becky said falteringly. This woman was more beautiful than she thought possible for someone of this era. "I know you are new to the palace, and it is rumored that the circumstances of your arrival were less than ideal," continued Alexandra. "You are even more beautiful than I have been told, Rebecca, and I sense a great sadness in you." She stepped even closer to Becky, who bit her lip and swallowed slightly. Their tits were almost touching, and she could feel her heart thumping in her chest. "But I say to you now, my friend, despair not and take heart," Alexandra said in a voice barely above a whisper, as if what she was saying was a secret meant only for Rebecca. "The days to come will give you hope." Becky didn't know what this woman meant, but she wanted to believe her. The ache in her heart lessened slightly. They stared into one another's blue eyes quietly, lost in what they saw. And then Alexandra leaned in and pressed her lips to Becky's, kissing her gently. Becky did not retreat from the kiss, although it was a second or two before she could react. She then moaned slightly and returned the kiss. The two women moved closer, tits pressing as they held one another by the arms and continued to kiss. Becky trembled, thrilling to the intimacy they shared. Alexandra pulled back from the kiss, a tempting strand of desire hanging between their lips. They both breathed as they stared, but she finally smiled and delicately used her finger to wipe the strand from their lips. "You will see me again soon, my friend," she cooed, her fingers gently caressing Becky's cheek. "I look forward to our reacquaintance." She backed up two steps and curtseyed gracefully, compelling Becky to hastily do the same, before she turned and glided out of the room, like a vision. Becky unsteadily sat back in her chair and let out a heavy sigh. Her heart was still pounding, and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than heartache. Becky turned back to her bottle, trying to distract herself from the unexpected throb in her loins. "Your majesty." Alexandra said reverently, her curtsey deep and formal. "I have come to speak with you about a matter of some concern." Sitting in an ornate chair in the lavish boudoir, Anne of Austria, probably the most famous woman in Christendom, smiled at her trusted servant. "You have only just returned from Spain, my dearest Alexandra, and you have yet another matter to bring before me?" Alexandra nodded humbly, her hands in her lap. "Yes, my queen. Though it pains me to do so, I must beg a boon and ask you to trust me." "My trust in you is implicit, Alexandra D'Assaut, and needs no confirmation. Has it ever?" the queen intoned, gesturing for Alexandra to approach her, while waving for her attendants to live them alone. The two women curtseyed and exited quickly. Alexandra knelt in front of Anne and put her hand on the queen's knee in supplication, not looking up. "Your majesty, a beautiful young woman has recently been added to your retinue, and is set to enter your service within the next few weeks." Anne smiled and nodded. "I have not met her, but I am told she is quite possibly the only woman in France who rivals you in beauty. Her name is Rebecca, oui?" "Just so, my queen." Alexandra confirmed. "Do you wish for her to serve directly under you as a lady of the court?" Anne asked, knowing full well that Alexandra also enjoyed the company of woman, not merely men. "She is indeed breathtaking to behold, my queen, but no, that is not my request of you. The girl, Rebecca, do you know how she was brought to Paris?" Anne considered. "The rumor is that she was found by the Cardinal, who was convinced she would make a magnificent addition to my household. She did not come willingly, initially, and has proven somewhat intractable since." Alexandra nodded. "It is as you say, your majesty. But I know something about this woman that not even the Cardinal knows or can begin to guess at." The queen frowned slightly. "She is not a danger to us, is she?" "Not as such, no," Alexandra admitted. "But please accept my word on faith that we have no right to her and must not keep her." Anne tilted her head. "Is she secretly a member of a royal family?"

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Great wine starts with a great story, and Melissa Hemingway is here to show how history, place, and people turn a glass into an experience. We dig into the essentials that actually matter at the table: what “varietal” really means, how color comes from grape skins, and why a thin-skinned Pinot Noir looks and drinks differently than a dark, structured Cabernet. From there, we connect style to setting, pairing to place, and give you the shortcuts that help you buy smarter and enjoy more.Our members' travel is reshaping the club's palate. Napa Cab still shines, but curiosity now points to Burgundy, Sicily, Portugal, and especially the Loire Valley, where Sancerre's crisp Sauvignon Blanc fits our fresh seafood and warm climate. Melissa lays out clear, practical ways to read labels without getting lost, including the key that red Burgundy means Pinot Noir, plus the importer names that function like quality stamps: Kermit Lynch, Eric Solomon, and Becky Wasserman.We also zoom out to a world tour of regions worth your time: France as the motherland (Bordeaux, Burgundy, Loire, Alsace, Provence), Italy and Spain as tireless powerhouses, and rising quality from Germany's reds to New World stalwarts in California, Oregon, Washington, South Africa, Argentina, Chile, and Australia. You will learn the difference between viticulture and vinification, how to protect your bottles from heat and light, and why storage sabotages more wines than flawed winemaking ever does.Curious about non-alcoholic wine? We talk about how producers are dialing in techniques to keep flavor while removing alcohol, and why zero-proof sparkling rosé, Chardonnay, and Cabernet are gaining fans at the club. Whether you are new to wine or leveling up, you will leave with confidence, context, and a list of next steps for your own tasting journey.If this conversation sparked ideas for your next bottle, follow the show, share it with a friend, and leave a quick review telling us your current favorite region. Your feedback helps us bring more stories — and better pours — to the table.

Le lundi 18 juin 1984, à Denver, l'atmosphère est lourde. Au volant de sa Coccinelle noire, Alan Berg rentre d'un diner avec son ex-femme. À peine a-t-il le temps de se garer devant sa résidence de la banlieue de Congress Park, que douze coups retentissent dans la rue silencieuse. Qui a pris pour cible cet animateur radio populaire mais sulfureux, que l'on pleure à la synagogue Temple Emanuel ? Aucun doute, ce provocateur, orateur de talent, s'était fait bon nombre d'ennemis… au point que l'un d'eux vient de le condamner au silence éternel.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

In this episode of the 10Adventures podcast, we are joined by Cassandra Overby, writer, traveler, and author of Home Base Hiking Europe. Cassandra challenges the traditional “see everything” approach to travel and introduces a more meaningful, grounded model: choosing a single village or valley as your base and exploring through daily hikes. Cassandra shares how her philosophy of slow travel grew out of a “travel breakup” in her twenties and evolved into a new way of moving through Europe — one that prioritizes connection, culture, and authentic local life. She explains why small villages offer richer experiences than tourist hotspots and how travelers can blend hiking, culture, food, and community simply by slowing down. From the Dolomites to the Somme, the Piedmont to Provence, Cassandra walks through some of her favorite home-base regions across Europe — and the unique stories, landscapes, and local interactions that make them come alive. This episode is full of practical insights and deep reflections on how to travel better, notice more, and build real connections along the way.    

Cette semaine dans Crimes · Histoires Vraies, vous avez découvert l'affaire Alan Berg. Alors qu'il rentrait chez lui, il est tué de plusieurs balles dans la tête, sur le pas de sa porte. C'est une exécution. Il était une figure publique, un animateur de radio qui exprimait haut et fort ses opinions progressistes et libérales. Il invitait des membres de groupes suprémacistes ou néonazis à l'antenne et les ridiculisaient. Et puis, Alan Berg était juif. Ses assassins faisaient partie du groupuscule d'extrême-droite The Order, ou The Silent Brotherhood. Alan Berg était la cible parfaite. Et son assassinat n'est pas un simple crime, c'est un crime de haine. Mais qu'est-ce que cela veut dire exactement ?Chaque semaine, pour compléter votre histoire inédite, Crimes · Le Focus analyse en cinq minutes un élément clé de l'affaire. Procédure juridique complexe, interrogatoire décisif, phénomène de société... Allons plus loin pour rendre ces récits encore plus passionnants !

Le lundi 18 juin 1984, à Denver, l'atmosphère est lourde. Au volant de sa Coccinelle noire, Alan Berg rentre d'un diner avec son ex-femme. À peine a-t-il le temps de se garer devant sa résidence de la banlieue de Congress Park, que douze coups retentissent dans la rue silencieuse. Qui a pris pour cible cet animateur radio populaire mais sulfureux, que l'on pleure à la synagogue Temple Emanuel ? Aucun doute, ce provocateur, orateur de talent, s'était fait bon nombre d'ennemis… au point que l'un d'eux vient de le condamner au silence éternel.Le 31 octobre 1987 s'ouvre à Denver un procès fédéral hors norme. Les accusés ne sont pas poursuivis pour « meurtre » au sens classique du droit pénal de l'État du Colorado. Ils sont poursuivis pour complot, association de malfaiteurs et atteinte aux droits civiques d'Alan Berg.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

L'attaque au couteau à Southport a lieu le 29 juillet 2024 dans la ville de Southport, au Royaume-Uni. Ayant pour cible une école de danse et de yoga qui organisait une activité sur le thème de Taylor Swift, cette attaque fait 3 morts et 10 blessés. Le tueur, Axel Rudakubana, âgé de 17 ans, est arrêté sur les lieux. Il n'avait pas de motivation politique, religieuse, idéologique ou raciale. L'évènement suscite une forte émotion dans le pays et déclenche d'importantes manifestations qui dégénèrent en violentes émeutes impliquant des mouvances d'extrême droite.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

This week Sam discusses Trump tariffs and the US Supreme Court, the US government shutdown's effect on the wine industry, vine-pull data in California and France, new IWSR data on alcohol consumption, Côtes de Provence bottle weight reductions, research on the importance of old vines and an auction you should tune in to! You can read the transcript of this newscast (with linked news sources) at https://www.jancisrobinson.com/articles/supreme-court-hears-tariff-case-new-alcohol-sales-data-vine-pulls-old-vine-superpowers.

En 2025, le rapport entre achat et location bascule à nouveau en faveur des propriétaires. Après plusieurs années où la hausse des taux d'intérêt avait freiné le marché immobilier, la tendance s'inverse. Selon les dernières analyses du courtier Meilleurtaux, un acheteur met désormais un peu plus de 12 ans à rentabiliser son investissement, contre près de 15 ans l'année précédente. Ce raccourcissement de plus de deux ans marque un véritable tournant pour les ménages, porté par la détente des taux, la stabilisation des prix et la progression continue des loyers.Pendant la période 2022-2023, le coût du crédit avait explosé, rendant l'achat beaucoup moins attractif que la location. Aujourd'hui, la combinaison d'un crédit plus abordable et d'un marché locatif sous tension redonne de l'air aux candidats à la propriété. En d'autres termes, payer des mensualités d'emprunt redevient, dans de nombreuses villes, plus intéressant que verser un loyer à fonds perdu. Cette amélioration traduit un retour à l'équilibre après les excès des dernières années : la rentabilité moyenne d'un achat, tombée à trois ans seulement en 2020, avait ensuite grimpé à plus de quinze ans à cause du durcissement des conditions de financement.Cependant, la situation n'est pas uniforme sur tout le territoire. Les écarts entre les grandes métropoles se creusent. Dans 24 villes sur 32 étudiées, acheter devient plus rapidement rentable : à Lille et Grenoble, la durée nécessaire pour amortir un achat a chuté d'environ neuf ans ; à Tours, Rouen, Caen et même à Paris, l'avantage s'est amélioré de plus de cinq ans. Cette embellie s'explique par la légère détente du crédit, qui facilite à nouveau l'accès à la propriété.Mais dans les marchés les plus chers – Paris, Aix-en-Provence, Nice ou Bordeaux – les prix élevés prolongent encore la période d'amortissement, au-delà de 18 ans. Dans ces villes où la mobilité est forte, la location reste une option cohérente, au moins à moyen terme. À l'inverse, dans des zones plus abordables, acheter demeure une stratégie patrimoniale solide, surtout dans une perspective de long terme.Certaines communes font néanmoins figure d'exception. Au Mans ou à Orléans, la rentabilité de l'achat s'est dégradée, la faute à des loyers encadrés ou à une demande moins dynamique.Globalement, les Français reviennent vers la propriété. Dans un contexte où les loyers ne cessent d'augmenter, devenir propriétaire apparaît à nouveau comme un moyen de se stabiliser, de se protéger contre l'inflation et de se projeter sereinement dans l'avenir. Hébergé par Acast. Visitez acast.com/privacy pour plus d'informations.

Nouveaux pilotes, un brin déjantés, à bord de la Libre Antenne sur RMC ! Jean-Christophe Drouet et Julien Cazarre prennent le relais. Après les grands matchs, quand la lumière reste allumée pour les vrais passionnés, place à la Libre Antenne : un espace à part, entre passion, humour et dérision, débats enflammés, franc-parler et second degré. Un rendez-vous nocturne à la Cazarre, où l'on parle foot bien sûr, mais aussi mauvaise foi, vannes, imitations et grands moments de radio imprévisibles !

Aujourd'hui dans Cité Radieuse, on va parler d'un artiste qui fait partie du paysage marseillais au même titre que la Bonne Mère : l'OVNI, la machine : JUL.Un artiste massif, populaire, un vrai révélateur de ce que la ville raconte d'elle-même.Pour comprendre ce phénomène, le plus gros vendeur de disques de l'histoire du rap français pour rappel, j'ai invité Tarik Chakor, maître de conférences à Aix-Marseille Université, co-fondateur de la Firme et auteur du Petit dictionnaire sur JUL entre autres. Avec Tarik, on va parler de recherche, de culture populaire, de classes sociales, de travail, et de JUL en tant que phénomène de société, l'emblème d'une ville et l'icône d'une génération mais aussi de Marseille évidemment, qui façonne de nombreux talents ! On va regarder de près ce que JUL propose, incarne, ce qu'il capte de l'époque et ce qu'il dit d'elle ! Bienvenue dans Cité Radieuse ! Hébergé par Ausha. Visitez ausha.co/politique-de-confidentialite pour plus d'informations.

Le lundi 18 juin 1984, à Denver, l'atmosphère est lourde. Au volant de sa Coccinelle noire, Alan Berg rentre d'un diner avec son ex-femme. À peine a-t-il le temps de se garer devant sa résidence de la banlieue de Congress Park, que douze coups retentissent dans la rue silencieuse. Qui a pris pour cible cet animateur radio populaire mais sulfureux, que l'on pleure à la synagogue Temple Emanuel ? Aucun doute, ce provocateur, orateur de talent, s'était fait bon nombre d'ennemis… au point que l'un d'eux vient de le condamner au silence éternel.À l'époque, The Order est tenu d'une main de fer par Robert Jay Mathews. Charismatique, obsédé, il rêve d'une insurrection armée. Ses discours galvanisent ses hommes, qu'il entraîne dans des camps forestiers. Il leur répète qu'ils doivent agir comme une armée clandestine, prêts à mourir pour leur idéologie.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Nouveaux pilotes, un brin déjantés, à bord de la Libre Antenne sur RMC ! Jean-Christophe Drouet et Julien Cazarre prennent le relais. Après les grands matchs, quand la lumière reste allumée pour les vrais passionnés, place à la Libre Antenne : un espace à part, entre passion, humour et dérision, débats enflammés, franc-parler et second degré. Un rendez-vous nocturne à la Cazarre, où l'on parle foot bien sûr, mais aussi mauvaise foi, vannes, imitations et grands moments de radio imprévisibles !

Nouveaux pilotes, un brin déjantés, à bord de la Libre Antenne sur RMC ! Jean-Christophe Drouet et Julien Cazarre prennent le relais. Après les grands matchs, quand la lumière reste allumée pour les vrais passionnés, place à la Libre Antenne : un espace à part, entre passion, humour et dérision, débats enflammés, franc-parler et second degré. Un rendez-vous nocturne à la Cazarre, où l'on parle foot bien sûr, mais aussi mauvaise foi, vannes, imitations et grands moments de radio imprévisibles !

Nouveaux pilotes, un brin déjantés, à bord de la Libre Antenne sur RMC ! Jean-Christophe Drouet et Julien Cazarre prennent le relais. Après les grands matchs, quand la lumière reste allumée pour les vrais passionnés, place à la Libre Antenne : un espace à part, entre passion, humour et dérision, débats enflammés, franc-parler et second degré. Un rendez-vous nocturne à la Cazarre, où l'on parle foot bien sûr, mais aussi mauvaise foi, vannes, imitations et grands moments de radio imprévisibles !

Le lundi 18 juin 1984, à Denver, l'atmosphère est lourde. Au volant de sa Coccinelle noire, Alan Berg rentre d'un diner avec son ex-femme. À peine a-t-il le temps de se garer devant sa résidence de la banlieue de Congress Park, que douze coups retentissent dans la rue silencieuse. Qui a pris pour cible cet animateur radio populaire mais sulfureux, que l'on pleure à la synagogue Temple Emanuel ? Aucun doute, ce provocateur, orateur de talent, s'était fait bon nombre d'ennemis… au point que l'un d'eux vient de le condamner au silence éternel.À Denver, son nom devient synonyme de controverse. Alan Berg est provocateur, brutal dans ses échanges, mais il incarne une liberté de ton que peu osent s'autoriser. Ce mélange de fragilité intime et d'agressivité publique fait de lui un personnage unique : marqué dans sa chair par la maladie, mais porté à l'antenne par une rage de vivre qui électrise.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

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Le lundi 18 juin 1984, à Denver, l'atmosphère est lourde. Au volant de sa Coccinelle noire, Alan Berg rentre d'un diner avec son ex-femme. À peine a-t-il le temps de se garer devant sa résidence de la banlieue de Congress Park, que douze coups retentissent dans la rue silencieuse. Qui a pris pour cible cet animateur radio populaire mais sulfureux, que l'on pleure à la synagogue Temple Emanuel ? Aucun doute, ce provocateur, orateur de talent, s'était fait bon nombre d'ennemis… au point que l'un d'eux vient de le condamner au silence éternel.Il est 21 h 39 quand les secours constatent la mort, alertés par des voisins terrifiés. Alan Berg n'avait aucune chance : les balles ont traversé ses poumons, brisé ses mâchoires, pulvérisé une partie de son visage. L'exécution a été pensée pour être fulgurante, irréversible. La scène est d'une violence inouïe, mais aussi d'une précision glaciale. Pas de cri, pas de sommation. Une embuscade pure et simple, devant sa propre maison. En quelques secondes, Denver vient de basculer dans l'horreur.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Le 5 juin 2013, à l'occasion d'une vente privée de vêtements dans le centre de Paris, des militants antifascistes ont déclenché une rixe avec un groupe de skinheads d'extrême droite, entraînant le décès du militant « antifa » Clément Méric. Sa mort a soulevé une vague d'indignation et a posé la question de l'interdiction des groupes ultranationalistes.Crimes • Histoires Vraies est une production Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.

Cette semaine, découvrez Crimes Paranormaux, une collaboration Minuit exclusive !En 1897, les vallées tranquilles du comté de Greenbrier, en Virginie-Occidentale, vont être le théâtre d'un fait-divers troublant. Une jeune femme est retrouvée morte dans sa ferme. La tragédie plonge famille comme voisinage dans la mélancolie, et le doute va s'immiscer dans l'affaire de manière inattendue… Une nuit, la mère de la défunte se réveille brusquement. Au pied de son lit, le fantôme de sa fille la regarde, et lui confie l'impossible vérité : son nouvel époux l'a assassiné...Crimes • Histoires Vraies et Paranormal • Histoires Vraies sont des productions Minuit. Notre collection s'agrandit avec Crimes en Bretagne, Montagne et Provence.