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illustratus · 1 month

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The First Voyage, Christopher Columbus bidding farewell to Queen Isabella I on his departure for the New World, 3 August, 1492.

by Victor A. Searles

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little-candy-store-of-horrors · 3 days

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"Bella gerunt alii, tu felix Austria nube!"

Day 6 of @spaus-week 's challenge

"Let others wage war, you, happy Austria, marry!" Was the political strategy of the Habsburgs, and marry did the House of Austria! Infamously, scandalously, sensationally. A mangled wreath of a family tree. We all know this horror story. And we all know the bitter end.

After Emperor Charles V&I divided his Spanish and Austrian inheritance ((also gained through his parents' and grandparents' marriages)) to his descendants and those of his younger brother Ferdinand I respectively, the Habsburg dynasty split into two branches. The Spanish and Austrian Habsburgs notoriously intermarried for generations, right up till Charles II of Spain whose heirless death in 1700 sparked the War of the Spanish Succession. The inbreeding and this informal Latin motto behind it has been blamed to hell and back for their implosion, for the physical ugliness that ran in this royal bloodline. But it is not to say the Habsburgs never went to war, nor that dynastic marriage was a political strategy unique to them! But they were, if anything, bloody successful at it seeing how they did rule half of Europe for 200 years, and then a lot of it in the Austrian line for another 200. Before anyone figured out inbreeding was bad it was considered a privilege to marry into the Habsburgs, with Louis XV claiming that Louis XVI's betrothal to Marie Antoinette was marrying the "Daughter of the Caesars", and Napoleon Bonaparte infamously ditching Josephine for Marie Louise. Charles II was a poor sod who took the fall and the mugs were wretched from the same ugly gene being passed around countless times*, but they did wear power and privilege well.

💅✨ Symbolism bc I'm a NERD and this my Category 10 autism event ✨💅 :

Charles V & Ferdinand I's joint portrait based on that propaganda woodcut, behind them the colours of the Habsburg flag.

The Spanish branch, comprising Charles V & I's descendants, is represented with a black background, and the Austrian branch, comprising Ferdinand I's descendants, gold, both colours pulled from their flag, a dynasty intertwined but split in two.

Round frames denote that the individual had no heirs.

Only the most influential ruler on both sides, the King of Spain and the Holy Roman Emperor, are represented as framed portraits, explaining Archduke Charles II's unframed depiction.

The unconventional placement of Charles II of Spain and Emperor Rudolf II's nameplates are a nod to their queerness: their intersexuality and bisexuality respectively.

Ferdinand III's portrait is lopsided because of the losses of the 30 Years War.

Cracks in Charles II's portrait: 🙃🙃🙃

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tiny-librarian · 2 months

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Royal Birthdays for today, March 10th:

Qian Liu, King of Wuyue, 852

Vasily II, Grand Prince of Moscow, 1415

Ferdinand II, King of Aragon, 1452

Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, 1503

Maria Elizabeth of Sweden, Duchess of Östergötland , 1596

Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen of Prussia, 1776

Alexander III, Tsar of Russia, 1845

Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh, 1964

#prince edward #duke of edinburgh #alexander iii #Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz #maria elizabeth of sweden #ferdinand i #ferdinand ii #vasily ii #qian liu #royal birthdays #long live the queue

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magnificentlyreused · 21 days

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This red and gold outfit was first worn by Archduke Ferdinand (later Emperor Ferdinand II) in the seventh episode of the second season of Magnificent Century. It was worn again by Emperor Charles V in the thirtieth episode of the third season.

The outfit appeared again on István Bethlen in the second episode of the second season of Magnificent Century: Kösem.

#Muhteşem Yüzyıl #Muhteşem Yüzyıl: Kösem #Magnificent Century #Magnificent Century Kösem #Magnificent Century Kosem #period drama #costume drama #historical drama #Archduke Ferdinand #Ferdinand II #Charles V #István Bethlen #Stephen Bethlen #reused costumes #recycled costumes

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best-habsburg-monarch · 6 months

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Ferdinand II, Holy Roman Emperor, reigned 1619-1637

Not Bohemia's favorite emperor

Pedro II, Emperor of Brazil, reigned 1831-1889

More Leopoldina than Pedro I

From anon: "1: The Glorious Beard. Now that is the beard of an emperor. Small children could get lost in it while sharing their Christmas wishlists. 2: Under his monarchy Slavery was abolished without a civil war (whistles innocously in how long it took) 3: Pedro de Alcântara João Carlos Leopoldo Salvador Bibiano Francisco Xavier de Paula Leocádio Miguel Gabriel Rafael Gonzaga is an amazingly long full name"

#best habsburg bracket #habsburg #house of habsburg #pedro ii #ferdinand ii #also these portraits made me realize that those habsburg genes are strong #they look remarkably alike for being separated by centuries

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pazzesco · 5 months

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All’antica morion of Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol, 1560. Blued, embossed iron, gilded and silvered, with gold damascene work. Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna.

Greek/Cretan Bronze Helmet. Date: Archaic period, late 7th century B.C.

#armor #helmet #Ferdinand II #greek

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uwmspeccoll · 11 months

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Typography Tuesday

We return to our facsimile of a 16th-cnetury calligraphic manuscript, Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta, or Model Book of Calligraphy, written in 1561/62 by Georg Bocskay, the Croatian-born court secretary to the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand I, and illuminated 30 years later by Flemish painter Joris Hoefnagel for the grandson of Ferdinand I, Emperor Rudolph II. The manuscript was produced by Bocskay in Vienna to demonstrate his technical mastery of the immense range of writing styles known to him. To complement and augment Bocskay's calligraphy, Hoefnagel added fruit, flowers, and insects to nearly every page, composing them so as to enhance the unity and balance of the page’s design. Although the two never met, the manuscript has an uncanny quality of collaboration about it.

Our facsimile was the first facsimile produced from the collection at the J. Paul Getty Museum in Los Angeles. It was printed in Lausanne, Switzerland by Imprimeries Reunies and published by Christopher Hudson in 1992.

View another post from Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta,

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

#Typography Tuesday #typetuesday #Mira Calligraphiae Monumenta #or Model Book of Calligraphy #Georg Bocskay #Joris Hoefnagel #illuminated manuscripts #manuscripts #manuscript facsimiles #facsimiles #calligraphy #letter forms #letters #J. Paul Getty Museum #Imprimeries Reunies #Christopher Hudson #Ferdinand I #Rudolph II

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virgo-dream · 1 year

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Matching Tom and Ferdie roles: hollow crown season 02 episode 01 / hollow crown season 01 episode 01

#love that they were both in the same production like 3 years apart #dreamling #ferdinand kingsley #tom sturridge #hollow crown #Henry vi #Richard II #hob gadling #dream of the endless #morpheus #my edits

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acrosscenturiesandgenerations · 4 months

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▪︎ Harness of Milanese Armor.

Date: 1559-1560

Owner: Archduke Ferdinand II; Son of Ferdinand I of Habsburg Austria, sovereign of Tyrol (1529-1595)

Artists/Makers: Giovan Battista Panzeri called Serabaglio , (merchant and barter) (ca. 1520-1591(?)); Marco Antonio Fava, barter (active 2nd half of the 16th century)

Medium: Chased and chased iron: partly blued, partly burnished, partly inlaid with gold and silver. Leather. Light blue and black satin silk, red wool fabric, modern linen or cotton fabric. Armored mesh made of iron and brass.

#history #16th century #art #history of art #16th century art #16th century armor #armor #harness of Milanese armor #Archduke Ferdinand II #milan #austria #1559 #1560

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tiny-librarian · 1 year

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Royal Birthdays for today, March 10th:

Qian Liu, King of Wuyue, 852

Vasily II, Grand Prince of Moscow, 1415

Ferdinand II, King of Aragon, 1452

Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, 1503

Maria Elizabeth of Sweden, , 1596

Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen of Prussia, 1776

Alexander III, Tsar of Russia, 1845

Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh, 1964

#prince edward #alexander iii #Louise of Mecklenburg-Strelitz #ferdinand i #ferdinand ii #vasily ii #qian liu #Maria Elizabeth of Sweden #royal birthdays #long live the queue

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secondjulia · 1 year

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Hob Gadling's First Execution

WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE

“He was begging,” Dream said. Mud squelched all around them, but he and Death made no sound as they walked over the already bloodied field. “I heard it.”

“He was begging to live, you idiot!” Death said.

“How do you know?” Dream looked at Hob Gadling, kneeling before a hoard of soldiers. His hair and beard were coated in blood.

“He’s writhing away from the man with the axe, not towards him!”

“The specifics were unclear. His lips seem to be leaking, his words were obstructed. And there is only one logical thing to hope for in this scenario.”

Death shook her head. It had barely been a decade since they’d visited the White Horse, and Dream had repeatedly pointed out — as if she could have failed to notice — that the world had only become a less appealing and more brutal place to live.

“But look at him!” Dream said. “Such misery, my sister! Surely he wishes for his torment to be over.”

“This is his torment.” Death said. “And he wishes, I am quite certain, to avoid it entirely.”

She sighed, her eyes running over the line of men on their knees in the mud, hands bound. A few met her eyes with a glimmer of hope. One beamed broadly, even as he shook and panted, blood running down his face. Hob Gadling did not look over. Though he had squirmed when they were first dragged out to the field where the masked man waited to end their short, brutal lives, he was now still. His gaze didn’t scan the assembled crowd for support or mercy but looked defiantly ahead.

“But how could any sensible creature wish to continue to live in a world such as this?” Dream asked.

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” Death said. “None of them do. Not in a world such as this. It doesn’t mean they don’t want to live.”

“Hm.” Dream nodded toward the man who had beamed at Death. “That one likes this world. He still dreams of the glory he may yet achieve through his sacrifice. He would continue on, dying a thousand deaths for his lord if he were allowed.”

“See?” Death smile kindly at the doomed man. “Some sensible creatures have found a way to embrace their reality.”

“I would not call that sensible.”

Death gave Dream a sad smile that said she knew very well his callousness was mostly an act.

Dream knew each and every one of these kneeling men. He had witnessed their final nightmares and bestowed, where he could, more comforting dreams. It was a balance that took a careful hand — something Dream had had to cultivate more and more as civilizations grew. Waking from a lovely dream only to face the executioner could be a torture, while waking from the horrors of night to face the end of torments could be a relief. Forbidden as he was from interfering in the lives of mortals beyond his own dominion, Dream did his best with the powers he had.

And to others — those who would walk away from this field — he gave harsher visions so that they might not forget the blood they shed. He hoped that one day the horror of such practices would impel their end.

Though he was still certain that the next few minutes would prove him right, Dream felt no pleasure. Parts of him would die today. Each of the men kneeling in the mud had lived rich lives within his realm. One who had dreamed of glory now only hoped for a swift end. Another only wished for heat as the chill rain soaked through his tunic and dripped from his hair. Several held friendly faces and warm hands in their daydreams. Others’ minds had gone blank with fear, all thought and creation already stolen from them. Their dreams would die today, and those parts of Dream, too.

Hob Gadling had slept little these last few days. Dream had busied himself with others, honorably not wanting to act in any way that would push his wager with Death one way or another. But now, Hob’s mind was unignorably full and active, daydreams spinning out, vivid and loud. He dreamed of—

Dream turned from the sight immediately.

His own face looked out of the daydreams of Hob Gadling.

“You are ready, my sister?” Dream asked, trying to cover his surprise.

She nodded. “This century’s looking to be nearly as busy as the last.”

As a soldier walked toward Hob, Dream forced himself to watch. He never enjoyed seeing his sister’s work, especially not when it began like this. Humanity had always been prone to fits of violence, but in its growing civilizations, their capacity to enact horror had exploded. Still, Dream had not expected to feel so sick at the sight.

Relief and fear gripped Hob in equal measure as the man strode forward to seize him first. He’d’ve preferred to die in battle, sword in hand, but at least this would be over soon.

Let us meet here again, Robert Gadling…

A slight smile brushed his lips. At least the voice he’d heard a thousand times out of memory, held closely in his heart, would accompany him to his end.

…in this tavern of the White Horse, in one hundred years.

“Forgive me, lord,” Hob murmured. “I shall not make our meeting.”

The pretty face shone in his mind as clearly as if he’d last seen it yesterday. His slender, black-clad stranger, the scarlet jewel hung over his chest no match in glamor for those petal pink lips dressed with a mocking smile. Oh, how Hob had wished to meet him again when they were both ancient and put a different expression on that lovely face!

Hob had been lucky. He was not yet old, but he’d made it longer than most. All his mates who’d laughed so heartily at his boasts all those years ago had gone to their graves, wounded or worn down, their laughter long gone. But Hob still felt like his brash, young self, defiant in the face of death. He even looked young. His body had held up remarkably well through years of battle and banditry and plague creeping back through England, and, honestly, he felt that he could have held up many more decades — if not forever.

But now his luck had run out.

Hob looked up defiantly at the enemy who had condemned him. He couldn’t even remember now why they’d been trying to kill each other. The political machinations behind the throne were too distant, and Hob didn’t care. A moment later, he was forced to his belly, pushed down onto hard stone, his face hanging over the river’s edge. He was not important enough for his head to be set on a pike, frightening others away from his treacherous deeds. He was a simple soldier, a common mercenary, just unlucky enough to take a coin for services rendered on the wrong side of the battlefield, — to be swept out of the way with the fall of the axe more for convenience than political statement. Hob’s mortal remains would fall into the river like waste.

He had not even been given the curtesy of a blindfold.

Hob shut his eyes. In the darkness at the end of his life, he looked into a moon-pale face with storm grey eyes. He ignored the final flashes of the life he’d led up until then, regretting only that he would never meet his pretty lord again.

Then agony shattered all thought.

Hob was falling.

Seconds swelled to years.

Warm drops that must have been his own heart’s blood splashed onto his face before the river tumbled him into itself and he was drowning, still feeling the gaping wound at the base of his skull.

Then cold, wet, darkness.

Hob woke, thrashing in pain.

He gasped and cried out as the air scraped over raw flesh. He flailed out with both hands and the soft mud was like hot stones against his skin. He flopped like a fish on the river bank, naked, every inch of him scorched with a pain beyond even the most brutal interrogator’s imaginings.

For a long time, Hob just writhed and cried.

Death had too much work to linger, but Dream had followed the severed head as it floated down the river. The body of Hob Gadling had been tossed unceremoniously into a pit with a dozen others. Dream knew that the life force that kept the foolish man alive would spring from the brain, though he still severely doubted whether there could possibly be any desire for such a life. Dream had seen uncountable last-second horrors of decapitated victims and knew the pain must be unimaginable, if (usually) brief. Now, he sat hidden in a grove of willows a little ways away from where Hob had washed up and waited for the begging to begin.

Death would not be too busy to return with her mercy.

Hob lay curled on the muddy river bank for a long time before he could really look down at the body that had, through some magic, appeared under his neck. It was tender as a fresh cut all over, but it looked like him. Slightly soft with hair over the chest and legs. Bound with the soldier’s muscles he’d had since he was a young man. The only difference Hob could see was that fresh skin had grown where old scars had once been. He hadn’t gotten any scars since his early thirties — not since around the time he’d seen his stranger in the White Horse.

His stranger!

“Oh you beautiful devil!” Hob’s voice was hoarse and it pained him severely to speak. But still, he laughed. “My wonderful, blessed stranger!”

In one hundred years!

He hadn’t just been challenging Hob to live. This wizard or saint or devil must have made it so!

“Oh my stranger, my beautiful lord!” Hob called out. His head tilted back to the heavens. But then he looked around, uncertain if that’s where his mysterious benefactor’s power had come from. He pressed his forehead into the mud, bowing to whatever unseen force had saved him. “If your hand were Satan’s own I’d kiss it!”

As soon as the words left him, he bit his lip — a sharp, torturous pain that made tears spring to his eyes. Hob sat up and looked around swiftly. Even in his glee, a thrill of fear ran through him. He didn’t wish to find out what it was like to be burned alive for consorting with the devil.

“From this day forward,” Hob murmured, his head bowed, “when I pray my Lord, it is to you I pray. Ever after, when I speak of thanks and mercy and forgiveness and glory, it is to you I speak. In your name, lord, though I do not have it. Thank you!”

Dream watched, dumbfounded, as Hob Gadling pushed himself up and limped naked down the river bank, grinning like an idiot.

Regretting the time away from his duties, Dream shook his head and turned away. He would be right eventually. This day had only served to vividly remind him him of the acute horror of this world. And Hob still had ninety years left to endure before their next meeting.

Dream was patient.

#I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ONE WORD ABOUT ORPHEUS #This is the AU called Things Work How I Want Them To #Ferdie Friday #Ferdinand Kingsley #Sandman #Dream of the Endless #Death of the Endless #The Hollow Crown #Richard II #Spoiler Alert I guess #I mean this story came out like four hundred years ago so I feel like the Statute of Limitations on Spoilers has expired #I really didn't realize how much the first one looks like he's calling Henry Bolingbroke YOU BITCH and I think it's totally appropriate

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