At the end of the harvest Lithuanians invited their dead to the bathhouse.
They called their relatives out of the graves. For every one invited there was a chair, a towel and a shirt, and a table loaded with food and drink.
Then the living went home and drank for three days. When goodbye to the souls of their dead.
This was Ilgės. Jan Łasicki wrote it down around 1580, Samogitians were still keeping the custom in the nineteenth century. Later Christianity turned it into Vėlinės, which falls on Monday 2 November this year
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I’ve noticed that American muscle cars and Harleys feel like vestiges of a high-trust society that once existed.
On Harley you just turn the ignition knob instead of inserting a key. The locks feel more like they’re there to stop children in the street from switching on the battery than to deter an actual thief. Same with Dodge Challenger: you just open the fuel flap and there it is no lock, nothing.
They are lik little remnants of a bygone era, when you could trust people to leave your things alone
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A 17th century account of a Baltic star diviner at work:

Near Vainutas in Samogitia, the pastor N. Zinthius came across an old man standing between two oaks, staring at the stars. He stood almost motionless for over an hour. Now and then he reached into the air with both hands ed every attempt the pastor made to speak to him. Zinthius considered shaking him, but his companion warned him that people were waiting nearby. He withdrew behind a bush and watched.

After a while the old man began to sway toward the four directions. He dropped to his knees, kissed the earth three times, rose and cried out: “Vai! Vai! Vai!”

The people came up from the valley, knelt by the oak, raised their hands to the sky and murmured prayers.

They had come to learn the fate of a friend who had gone to war as a cavalryman’s servant and not come back. The diviner told them Cossacks had captured his master. The servant had taken three wounds and recovered.

By the account, the man returned six months later, and it was as the diviner had said.

The account names this kind of practitioner: žvaigždžiūronis, a star diviner.
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In 1945, Tolkien wrote: “As the servants of the Machines are becoming a privileged class, the Machines are going to be enormously more powerful.”
Interesting that he calls them servants. Even those rewarded by the machine age remain servants. Quite an accurate prediction, as our ystems deepens and opting out becomes increasingly difficult. Doesn’t matter how rich or powerful you are
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The most recent example of immigrants enriching Europe: a Turkish man was running an industrial-scale drug lab in Lithuania. Half a tonne of meth was seized, with another four tonnes still in production
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It's hilarious how comically evil they are. In every conceivable aspect they're orcs chanting the praises of their Dark Lord and yearning for eternal darkness
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Since the protest near the mosque in Lithuania a month ago, this message has been repeated nonstop in the media. They're trying to push the idea that we have to accept immigrants because of some so-called historical multicultural utopia known as medieval Lithuania. Although I do ok to history for examples to follow, I'd prefer a more recent one: nationalist and authoritarian interwar Lithuania
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"Your universe has no meaning to them. They will not try to understand..." Wait, is that their own shop? Never mind. Apparently they understand everything perfectly well
“Don’t smash it up, she’s a sister!”

This shop manager protecting her business is spared by the thugs out of Muslim solidarity.

Still absolutely no connection to immigration.
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This 9th-century Curonian shield seems to have been made entirely without metal. Found in a bog in present-day Latvia, it’s about 86 cm across, made of thin wooden planks covered with hide, with plant material packed underneath. Even the central boss was carved from a birch burl. ound, and the holes suggest parts were sewn together.
There are also weapon marks and repairs, so it had seen use before being left in the bog, possibly as an offering after a successful battle.
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Your universe has no meaning to them. They will not try to understand. They will be tired, they will be cold, they will make a fire with your beautiful oak door...
La mairie de Limoges s’effondre… 🥹
Classé monument historique, le bâtiment existait depuis 150 ans (1876)
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Prigozhin was the embodiment of a sensitive young man. Still living with his mum in his 30s, selling hot dogs and paying protection money to local hoodlums. He dropped out of university and wrote poetry about God.
Never blackpill, your private military company is just around the corner...
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In 1919, around 4,000 German volunteers, most from Saxony, helped save Lithuania from the Bolsheviks.
Germany wanted to keep the Red Army away from East Prussia. Lithuania’s fledgling army needed their experience, machine guns and artillery.

In February, the Saxons helped stop aunas. At Kėdainiai, the first defenders killed in the fighting were Germans. By May, Lithuanian and Saxon troops were advancing together, retaking Ukmergė and pushing towards Utena.

Most returned home that summer, having bought Lithuania time to strengthen its own army. Four Saxon officers received the Cross of Vytis.
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Bruno Sutkus’s son wanted to become a military pilot. His grandson would eventually command Lithuanian soldiers in Kosovo.
His son, Vytautas, was barred from military pilot training under Soviet rule because Bruno had fought for Germany, according to the family’s account. In was wounded defending Lithuanian independence in Vilnius.

His son Gerardas grew up to serve in independent Lithuania’s army. In 2006, he commanded a Lithuanian platoon in Kosovo. By 2010, he was commanding an infantry company in Lithuania’s volunteer forces. Many of his colleagues didn’t even know who his grandfather was.

As a child, Gerardas remembered the adults discussing the war in German so the children wouldn’t understand. Later, visiting Bruno in Germany, he could finally talk to his grandfather about it himself.

He kept a copy of Bruno’s wartime diary at home. Asked about the man he remembered, Gerardas spoke of his affection for the family: “We all felt his love.”
Bruno Sutkus also helped supply the Lithuanian partisans fighting Soviet occupation after the war.

In his memoir, he describes secretly setting aside three sacks of grain from the farm he managed near Lekėčiai and passing them to the resistance through his cousin. His future ienė, obtained penicillin and dressings from a doctor in Kaunas, which Sutkus helped get to the partisans.

In February 1947, an informer denounced him. Soviet interrogators wanted to know about the grain, where he had obtained the penicillin and what had happened to his weapons.

He describes being beaten, having his fingernails torn out and being subjected to a mock execution. When he refused a blindfold and told them to get it over with, an interrogator placed a matchbox on his head and shot at it.

His mother and Antanina eventually arranged a bribe: crystal glasses, vodka, smoked ham and clothing.

The following morning, he was released for lack of evidence
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Bruno Sutkus also helped supply the Lithuanian partisans fighting Soviet occupation after the war.

In his memoir, he describes secretly setting aside three sacks of grain from the farm he managed near Lekėčiai and passing them to the resistance through his cousin. His future ienė, obtained penicillin and dressings from a doctor in Kaunas, which Sutkus helped get to the partisans.

In February 1947, an informer denounced him. Soviet interrogators wanted to know about the grain, where he had obtained the penicillin and what had happened to his weapons.

He describes being beaten, having his fingernails torn out and being subjected to a mock execution. When he refused a blindfold and told them to get it over with, an interrogator placed a matchbox on his head and shot at it.

His mother and Antanina eventually arranged a bribe: crystal glasses, vodka, smoked ham and clothing.

The following morning, he was released for lack of evidence
One of the most lethal Wehrmacht snipers was a Lithuanian named Bruno Sutkus.
Born in East Prussia in 1924, he joined the Hitlerjugend at fourteen. As a teenager, he smuggled cigarette lighters into Lithuania and brought back bacon, butter and sausages. He later credited those to avoid detection and keep his nerve.
Conscripted in 1943, he trained as a sniper in Vilnius before joining the 68th Infantry Division on the Eastern Front. He fought Soviet snipers and supported German infantry against Soviet attacks, eventually accumulating 209 credited kills. Each entry in his sniper log required confirmation.
By twenty, he had received both classes of the Iron Cross and the highest grade of the German sniper badge. In January 1945, he was wounded and appointed an instructor at a sniper school.
After the war, the Soviets conscripted him twice, and he escaped both times.

In 1949, he voluntarily accompanied a Lithuanian widow, Antanina Povilaitienė, when she was deported to Siberia. They eventually married. He spent 22 years there, working on collective farms, cutting timber and mining coal, before returning to Lithuania in 1971.

His wartime logbook survived too. A German Red Cross nurse had kept it for decades after he entrusted it to her in 1945. It later became part of his published memoir.

In the 1990s, the former Wehrmacht sniper was helping train Lithuanian soldiers in sniping. He had lived long enough to see Lithuania regain its independence and the Soviet Union disappear
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One of the most lethal Wehrmacht snipers was a Lithuanian named Bruno Sutkus.
Born in East Prussia in 1924, he joined the Hitlerjugend at fourteen. As a teenager, he smuggled cigarette lighters into Lithuania and brought back bacon, butter and sausages. He later credited those to avoid detection and keep his nerve.
Conscripted in 1943, he trained as a sniper in Vilnius before joining the 68th Infantry Division on the Eastern Front. He fought Soviet snipers and supported German infantry against Soviet attacks, eventually accumulating 209 credited kills. Each entry in his sniper log required confirmation.
By twenty, he had received both classes of the Iron Cross and the highest grade of the German sniper badge. In January 1945, he was wounded and appointed an instructor at a sniper school.
After the war, the Soviets conscripted him twice, and he escaped both times.

In 1949, he voluntarily accompanied a Lithuanian widow, Antanina Povilaitienė, when she was deported to Siberia. They eventually married. He spent 22 years there, working on collective farms, cutting timber and mining coal, before returning to Lithuania in 1971.

His wartime logbook survived too. A German Red Cross nurse had kept it for decades after he entrusted it to her in 1945. It later became part of his published memoir.

In the 1990s, the former Wehrmacht sniper was helping train Lithuanian soldiers in sniping. He had lived long enough to see Lithuania regain its independence and the Soviet Union disappear
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Ernst Jünger wore a British officer’s coat in WWI just because he liked the look of it. It ended up getting him shot in the chest, probably by his own men mistaking him for the enemy but he still kept wearing it regardless
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My favourite bit of pagan-papal diplomacy is the story of Gediminas calling the pope his “father”, which helped convince the pope that Lithuania’s pagan ruler was ready to become a Christian. The papal envoys got a surprise when they met him in 1324. Gediminas explained that he her because he was older than him and deserved respect for his age. As a matter of courtesy, he called men his own age his brothers, and younger men his sons.
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In 1324, Gediminas, the pagan ruler of Lithuania, told papal envoys that if he had ever intended to become a Christian, the devil could baptise him.

His earlier letters had led Pope John XXII to expect his conversion. But when the envoys arrived in Vilnius, Gediminas denied and blamed his Franciscan scribe, Bertoldas.

Bertoldas insisted he had simply written what Gediminas dictated about accepting the Christian faith.

Gediminas’s response: “If I ever had such an intention, may the devil baptise me.”
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In a Lithuanian witch trial in 1680, the Devil was named Povilas (Paul). His two servants were Jokūbas (Jacob) and Petras (Peter). Plain names, the sort anyone in the village might have had.

The accused, Zuzana Šlekinienė, said he rose from a marsh to wash the witches before a stream beside her master's garden. Once washed, she left her body there and flew away as a magpie to a hill by a river, where the others gathered. She said they had made the trip five times the previous summer.
She was tortured and burned. Her account survives in the court records
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