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nanshe-of-nina · 2 years

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If blood royal become movie is based of murder of Louis of Orleans and what your fancast of historical figures?

I think François Arnaud, Louis Garrel, and Raphaël Personnaz would all make good choices for Louis of Orléans. While no contemporary portraits of Louis exist (because portraiture of secular persons was not a thing in the 14th or early 15th centuries), he and his brother, Charles, were described as handsome, dark-haired, and charming.

For the rest of the historical figures, perhaps...

Guillaume de Tignonville: Guillaume Canet

Charles VI of France: Emmanuel Leconte (I loved Lambert Wilson’s portrayal of him in “The Hollow Crown”, but he’s a bit too old to portray Charles in 1407).

Isabeau of Bavaria: Laura Berlin or Charlize Theron (the latter was my original choice of fancast)

Valentina Visconti: Cristiana Capotondi or Vittoria Puccini

Jean the Fearless: Guillaume Gallienne (he's a little older than Jean was, historically, but has the right nose and can look brooding and menacing)

Margarete of Bavaria: Alexandra Maria Lara

Jean, duc de Berry: Ian McNeice or Richard Ridings

Louis II, duc de Bourbon: Lluís Homar or John Doman

Jeanne II, comtesse d'Auvergne: Christa Théret

#blood royal #fancasting #french history #medieval #history #dreamcast

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rafaeladigital · 4 months

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La emoción está en el aire, y los reflectores se encienden para destacar a los deportistas que han brillado a lo largo del año. La Fiesta del Deporte 2023 está a punto de comenzar, y con ella, se revelarán los nombres de los atletas que han dejado una marca imborrable en sus respectivas disciplinas. ¡Acompáñanos en esta celebración deportiva única! Un Reconocimiento Especial Como cada año, la Fiesta del Deporte rompe con la tradición al no elegir un ganador único por categoría. En cambio, cada deportista nominado recibirá una mención especial por su destacada actuación. Además, se otorgarán reconocimientos a la trayectoria, a la revelación del año y al Deportista del Año, un título codiciado que corona al máximo exponente del mundo deportivo. Detalles del Evento La cita es este miércoles, desde las 20:30, en el Anfiteatro “Alfredo Williner”, se realizará la Fiesta del Deporte y Elección del Deportista del Año 2023 de Rafaela. El evento es resultado del incansable trabajo de la Subsecretaría de Deportes y Recreación, en colaboración con diversas áreas, que se han esmerado en cada detalle para garantizar una velada inolvidable. Nominaciones Destacadas por Disciplina DEPORTISTAS DESTACADOS POR DISCIPLINA AEROMODELISMO MARIO PALMIERI RICARDO PALMIERI ENRIQUE LEVRINO - LEONARDO BARUCHELLI (EQUIPO F2C) AJEDREZ FELIPE DEL ZOPPO ROCCHETTI SALVADOR DELGADO PABLO FERREYRA ATLETISMO SANTIAGO DAPERNO JOAQUÍN CARBALLO LEONELA LÓPEZ SOFÍA FREGONA AUTOMODELISMO JOSÉ FERNANDO FOTI JUAN FRANCISCO KILGELMANN AUTOMOVILISMO NACIONAL CRISTIAN VAIRA RICARDO SARACO JOSÉ COSTAMAGNA AUTOMOVILISMO ZONAL AGUSTÍN GHIOTTI NICOLÁS GONZÁLEZ ALEJANDRO CIPOLAT BÁSQUET GINO JESÚS GRAMAGLIA AGUSTÍN RÍOS DANTE BENINCA ANGELINA TOANI BILLAR PABLO PAGANI BOCHAS MARTÍN OVIEDO LUCIANO CORREA ANÍBAL RODRÍGUEZ LUIS VALIENTE BOXEO YOANA RODRÍGUEZ FABRICIO SPÓSITO DAIANA DÍAZ CICLISMO FRANCO GABRIEL PONS LUCAS LUIS PERETTI JOSEFINA ECHANIZ FISICOCULTURISMO MARIANELA JESICA ASTRADA ERIC ARNOLDT DARÍO PINCIROLI DIEGO FONTANETTO FÚTBOL CAMILA JUÁREZ JUAN JOSÉ WEINSSEN MANUEL BUSTOS DANIEL FERNANDO ITURRIA OSCAR MALDONADO GIMNASIA ARTÍSTICA ARACELI BURGOS LUISINA LÓPEZ JULIETA MENSEGUEZ GOLF LUCÍA BOCCHETTO FEDERICO TORRESAGASTI GIOVANNI CABAÑA HANDBALL LUISINA RODRÍGUEZ LAUTARO ELÍAS SASSETTI JOAQUÍN ACOSTA HOCKEY GUILLERMINA ASTUDILLO FLORENCIA CORVALÁN ALDANA PINTOS MORENA HERNÁNDEZ INTERCOLEGIALES MAGALI ALLASSIA JULIETA BRODA NARELA PAZ JULIA LAMBERT VALENTINA MERLINO FEDERICO DALMASO JIU-JITSU ALAN STRADA GINO AGRANO JOSÉ PRAI KARATE OLIDEN QUIRÓZ AXEL NAVARRO NICOLÁS ECHEVARRÍA TIZIANO OESQUER MIDGET EUGENIO MAUTINO GONZALO ZBRUN TOMÁS PLATINI MMA FRANCO TEVEZ JUAN CRUZ RAMALLO SERGIO LUQUE IGNACIO CASTIGLIONI MOUNTAIN BIKE GABRIEL DURANDO RAÚL DURANDO NORBERTO WILLINER DIEGO DRUBICH MOTOCICLISMO EMANUEL ZAMORA AGUSTÍN DONATI VALENTINO CHIABOTTO NATACIÓN MARTINA GARCÍA LOURDES ALIPRANDI PABLO CÉSAR SCOZZINA ANDRÉS DONNET MIRANDA CÁCERES PADDLE FABRIZIO ALEJANDRO GARCÍA VALENTINO MINETTI NICOLÁS TELL PATÍN IRINA GUTIÉRREZ DELFINA PERALTA INDRA GADLER SOFÍA ZOJA PEDESTRISMO MATEO QUIROGA AGUSTÍN PECANTET RODRIGO VISCONTI GERMÁN FERNÁNDEZ PELOTA PALETA SANTIAGO BISANG MATEO MONTOYA LUIS MARÍA ZANONI CRISTIAN EMMERT RUGBY GONZALO CLEMENZ VALENTINO FERRERO MARIANO FERRERO RURAL BIKE GABRIEL SCHMIT LUISINA SIMONDI CAROLINA ANTELLO MARCELO GILLI SALTOS HÍPICOS EMILIA GAGLIANO VÍCTOR MANUEL RICO LILEN GIACOBONE TAEKWONDO BRENDA VALLEJOS TIAGO ICASURIAGA JEREMÍAS SOMMER ARIEL ROLDÁN TENIS MATÍAS ALESSANDRIA JOAQUÍN ESCOBAR JOSEFINA ZIMMERMANN TIRO CON ARCO LUCAS HÉCTOR VÁZQUEZ GERVASIO MOLINARO MATEO LLODRA TIRO DEPORTIVO CLAUDIO ROMITELLI PABLO ROBERTO FRANZETTI LAUTARO SAMBRINI TRIATLÓN VIRGINIA MILANESIO FLORENCIA GIRO VOLEY MILAGROS LOURDES MESA SOFÍA SCHILLING ANA GAIDO JOAQUÍN BURQUET VUELO A VELA MIGUEL ÁNGEL SERRANO MARCOS MEROÑO GERMÁN RUBIN WUSHU LARA CHÁVEZ VIOLETA MATTIO LARISSA AMHERD FRANCO AGUILAR

> PREMIOS ESPECIALES DEPORTISTAS DE ALTO RENDIMIENTO TOMÁS MONDINO - ATLETISMO PEDRO EMMERT - ATLETISMO ABRIL OKON - ATLETISMO JUAN IGNACIO CANELA - AUTOMOVILISMO DELFINA GENTINETTA - BÁSQUET MELISA GRETTER - BÁSQUET ROBERTO ACUÑA BÁSQUET CANDELA GENTINETTA - BÁSQUET OMAR SERRANO - BOCHAS VÍCTOR EXNER - BOXEO NICOLÁS BLANCO - BOXEO OMAR DÍAZ - BOXEO NATALIA VERA - CICLISMO ÁNGELO MARTINO - FÚTBOL LUCAS BLONDEL - FÚTBOL FACUNDO COLIDIO FÚTBOL FACUNDO LENCIONI - FÚTBOL TOMÁS POCHETINO - FÚTBOL SEBASTIAN ACUÑA - FÚTBOL LUCÍA GONZÁLEZ - GIMNASIA ARTÍSTICA EMILIA ACOSTA - GIMNASIA ARTÍSTICA GUSTAVO ACOSTA - GOLF PEDRO RUBIOLO - RUGBY MAYCO VIVAS - RUGBY GERMÁN ROMITELLI - TIRO SUSANA HAUSWIRTH - TRIATLÓN CATALINA INGARAMO - TRIATLÓN SERGIO PERETTI - TRIATLÓN > PREMIOS ESPECIALES EX DEPORTISTA WALTER PALMIERI > PREMIOS ESPECIALES AUXILIAR DEPORTIVO GISELA TRUCCO Con esta propuesta, se busca destacar la emoción del evento, presentar a los nominados de manera llamativa y agradecer a la audiencia por su apoyo, manteniendo un tono activo y directo. https://rafaeladigital.com/noticias/la-fiesta-del-deporte-2023-celebrando-los-logros-de-nuestros-atletas/?feed_id=4332

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lamilanomagazine · 7 months

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Canale 5 presenta: “Anima Gemella” da mercoledì 11 ottobre in prima serata.

Canale 5 presenta: “Anima Gemella” da mercoledì 11 ottobre in prima serata. Da mercoledì 11 ottobre, in prima serata su Canale 5, al via Anima Gemella, la nuova serie, in quattro prime serate (da 100’), realizzata da Endemol Shine Italy in coproduzione con RTI. Protagonisti Daniele Liotti e Chiara Mastalli, per la regia di Francesco Miccichè. Nel cast, presenti, tra gli altri: Alice Torriani, Alice Mangione, Matteo Sintucci, Davide Iacopini, Valentina Corti, Stefano Santospago, Stefano Fregni, Lucia Ceracchi, Roberto Accornero, Anita Kravos, con la partecipazione di Urbano Barberini, Stefania Rocca e di Barbara Bouchet. Protagonista della serie, ambientata a Torino, è Carlo (Daniele Liotti), un medico affascinante e di grande talento che non ha ancora superato la morte della moglie Adele (Valentina Corti). Da medico, Carlo si è tormentato a lungo per non essere stato in grado di salvarla, ma, grazie alla vicinanza di Margherita (Alice Torriani), sua collega all’ospedale e migliore amica di Adele, è riuscito a superare il suo lutto e ha deciso di voltare pagina, chiedendo a Margherita di sposarlo. Ma non appena prende questa decisione, l’arrivo di una nuova donna fa vacillare tutte le sue certezze: si tratta di Nina (Chiara Mastalli), una truffatrice incasinata e generosa che si spaccia per medium grazie al suo grande talento nell’imitare le voci. I due si incontrano a casa della nonna di Margherita e Tommy (Davide Iacopini), grande amico di Carlo, la contessa Ortensia (Barbara Bouchet), che vuole rievocare lo spirito del marito tramite Nina. Nel corso della finta seduta spiritica organizzata per raggirare la contessa, però, succede qualcosa di strano: Nina va in trance e pronuncia una frase che solo Adele avrebbe potuto dire a Carlo. È veramente lo spirito di Adele che vuole mettersi in contatto con il marito? E per dirgli cosa? O è solo un piano architettato da Nina, insieme alla sua amica Annabella (Alice Mangione), esperta hacker, per truffare anche lui? È così che Carlo comincia una vera indagine che coinvolgerà anche Nina, ponendosi interrogativi per lui del tutto nuovi: c'è davvero un aldilà? E, soprattutto, c’è un mistero attorno alla morte di Adele? L’indagine interesserà tutte le persone vicine a Carlo e alla sua defunta moglie e porterà alla luce tanti segreti del passato. Per Carlo e Nina, però, sarà anche un’occasione per guardare dentro sé stessi, per liberarsi del passato e fare spazio a un nuovo presente. Puntata dopo puntata, ci si avvicina alla verità su cos’è davvero successo a Adele, mentre Carlo e Nina fanno i conti con sensazioni impreviste e intense: Carlo sarà conquistato dalla genuinità di Nina; Nina finirà per essere rapita dalla profondità dei sentimenti che Carlo è in grado di provare per lei. Tra gli altri personaggi della serie ci sono: Madame Margot (Stefania Rocca), che aiuterà Carlo e Nina a orientarsi nel mondo occulto dello spiritismo, Ruben (Matteo Sintucci), un aspirante cantautore che condivide l’appartamento con Nina e Annabella, e il dottor Melodia (Roberto Accornero), collega di Carlo e Margherita. Anima Gemella è una storia universale, una favola d'amore che racconta di legami così forti da superare ogni confine, che continuano a guidare il nostro cuore anche quando, all’apparenza, sono stati recisi. Ma la serie è anche un percorso di rinascita per Carlo e Nina. Perché puoi trovare (o ritrovare) l’anima gemella quando meno te lo aspetti… Anima Gemella è realizzata con il sostegno della Film Commission Torino Piemonte e con il patrocinio della città di Torino e della città di Lesa. La serie è anche su Mediaset Infinity con le stagioni complete, gli extra, i backstage e molto altro. CAST ARTISTICO CARLO BONTEMPI - DANIELE LIOTTI NINA CARUSO - CHIARA MASTALLI MARGHERITA BOSIO - ALICE TORRIANI ANNABELLA COPPARONI - ALICE MANGIONE RUBEN degli SPECIALISTI - MATTEO SINTUCCI TOMMY VISCONTI - DAVIDE IACOPINI ADELE BONTEMPI - VALENTINA CORTI GIORGIO SALLIER - STEFANO SANTOSPAGO COMMISSARIO BARBERA - STEFANO FREGNI AGENTE FULVIA - LUCIA CERACCHI GIANMASSIMO MELODIA - ROBERTO ACCORNERO IRMA LOVRIC - ANITA KRAVOS con la partecipazione di ACHILLE BOSIO - URBANO BARBERINI con la partecipazione di MADAME MARGOT - STEFANIA ROCCA con la partecipazione di CONTESSA ORTENSIA - BARBARA BOUCHET CAST TECNICO Regia - FRANCESCO MICCICHÈ Soggetto di serie - PETER EXACOUSTOS, MAGDA MANGANO e LAURA NUTI Sceneggiatura - PETER EXACOUSTOS, MAGDA MANGANO e LAURA NUTI Head Writer - PETER EXACOUSTOS Produttore Creativo - MICHELE ABATANTUONO Story Editor - FRANCESCO DI GIOVANNI e MICHELE ABANTUONO Casting - ELISABETTA CURCIO Casting RTI - MANUELA COTUGNO Fonico di presa diretta - GIANFRANCO TORTORA Aiuto regista - ALESSANDRO COCCIA Direttore di produzione - PAOLO CELLINI Costumi - MAGDA ACCOLTI GIL Scenografia - MARIA RITA CASSARINO Montaggio - MICHELE SBLENDORIO (a.m.c.) Musiche di FRANCESCO CERASI Coordinamento Musicale RTI - ANTONIO SECCIA Produttore Musicale RTI - PAOLA VANONI Consulenza Musicale Soundtrack - MARCO TESTONI Fotografia - NICOLA SARAVAL Organizzatore generale - FABRIZIO MANZOLLINO Delegata di produzione RTI - TINA PELLEGRINO Story Editor RTI - VALENTINA BONESCHI Produttori FLIM FLAM - CARLO LEVANTESI e COSTANTINO MARGIOTTA Ufficio stampa RTI - ISABELLA CANENSI e VERONICA ORIALI Ufficio stampa Endemol Shine Italy - SUSANNA FANCELLI, FRANCESCA CHIRULLI, LUCILLA CHIODI UNA COPRODUZIONE RTI - ENDEMOL SHINE ITALY Realizzata da GIANNANDREA PECORELLI per ENDEMOL SHINE ITALY ... #notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda Read the full article

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tradedmiami · 2 years

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SALE IMAGE: Andrea Arcuri, Pier Paolo Visconti & Claudia Llanes DATE: 03/29/2022 ADDRESS: 851 NE 1st Ave, Unit 1200 MARKET: Miami ASSET TYPE: Condo BUYER: Gianluca Martellucci & Valentina Caramati SELLER: Yingchun Xu BUYER'S REP: Pier Paolo Visconti (@PierPaoloVisconti) & Claudia Llanes (@ClaudiaLlanes.Realtor) - Douglas Elliman SELLER'S REP: Andrea Arcuri (@Andrea_Arcuri) - Compass SALE PRICE: $638,000 SF: 1,046 ~ PPSF: $610 #Miami #RealEstate #tradedmia #MIA #Condo #GianlucaMartellucci #ValentinaCaramati #YingchunXu #PierPaoloVisconti #ClaudiaLlanes #DouglasElliman #AndreaArcuri #Compass

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turimexico · 5 years

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Valentina Visconti en Mexicali

Valentina Visconti es el único local especializado en macarons y té de la ciudad.

Cuenta con una decoración minimalista y paredes pintadas de blanco, y cinco pequeñas mesas.

Aquí encontrarás macarons de sabores muy originales como mazapán, fruity pebbles, blueberry lemon y brownie.

También ofrecen chocolate de mesa, inspirados en el tradicional Chocolate Abuelita.

Prueba sus mimosas de jengibre,…

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#baja california #mexicali #restaurantes baja california #restaurantes mexicali #valentina visconti

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heartofstanding · 3 years

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Often, we talk about women in history as if they’re divided into two camps: well-behaved women and the “bad girls”.

The “well-behaved women” lived within the roles accorded to them by their society and whose lives are poorly evidenced. Thus they have become forgotten, overlooked or dismissed as a mass of unexceptional women who were too much like well, women (too frivolous, stupid, family-orientated, unambitious) to save themselves. They’re the conventional queens, the women who died young or lived in a way that made little distinguishing mark on history, the women who represent the ordinary woman.

The “bad girls (who did it better)” are celebrated as the great heroines of history. You know their names, you love and admire them even if you don’t much about them. Think Hatshepsut, Cleopatra, Boudica, Joan of Arc, Elizabeth I, Eleanor of Aquitaine... they’re exceptional, they stepped outside the boundaries laid down for women and are today celebrated for it.

But this sort of dichotomy does sort of miss out on talking about other women in history. The women who risked it all for love but didn’t seek power. Older women who wielded power or rebelled but are footnotes in history. Communities of women like the beguines. Women who were exceptional in ways that don’t tend to be recognised.

And there’s the “bad women”. Women who are too famous to be ignored but who don’t easily fit into the model of “historical heroine”. They didn’t win and when they lost, their defeat was celebrated. They have too much baggage, their reputations are too tarnished. They’re not wifely or maternal or romantic - they’re just too unwomanly to fit within the narratives we’re comfortable with. Or at least, that’s the dominant image of their lives, it may or may not be true. Attempts to remove the weight of centuries of misogyny, propaganda and more from their backs have failed to penetrate. They’re women like Margaret of Anjou, Isabeau of Bavaria, Eleanor Cobham. Their lives were marked by narratives designed to denigrate them or make them the face of feminine vice or the author of all the ills in their world. And the world still clings to those narratives, the world still believes them to be true.

#text posts #and the 'bad women' often end up made to clash with the 'bad girls'#catherine de valois vs eleanor cobham #margaret of anjou vs york women #isabeau of bavaria vs her daughters/joan of arc/yolande of aragon/valentina visconti #idk mates #obviously when i say they're too 'womanly' or 'unwomanly'#i don't mean it literally but how women in history are viewed in a gender essentialist way

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gramilano · 2 years

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Italian theatre director Filippo Crivelli dies at 93

Italian theatre director Filippo Crivelli, who guided many artists on stage – from Maria Callas to Carla Fracci – died on 5 February 2022. He was 93.

Ballo Excelsior, recreated by Filippo Crivelli, 2015, photo by Brescia e Amisano Filippo Crivelli: born Milan, 27 March 1928 – died Milan, 6 February 2022 The theatre director Filippo Crivelli, who guided many artists on stage – from Maria Callas to Carla Fracci – died during the night on 5 February 2022. He was 93. He worked in opera and ballet and directed concerts and plays. He is…

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#Carla Fracci #Franco Zeffirelli #Luchino Visconti #Maria Callas #Mariella Devia #Massimo Murru #Roberto Bolle #Valentina Cortese

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medievalart · 2 years

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Matteo II Visconti (1319-1355)

* Eldest son of Stefano Visconti

* Was exiled between 1346 and 1350 by his uncle Luchino

* signore of Parma, Bologna, Piacenza, Bobbio and Lodi (1354-1355)

* co-signore of Milan (1354-1355) together with brothers Bernabò and Galeazzo

* Died after a family dinner in Saranno. It is widely suspected that Matteo was poisoned by his brothers. This theory was voiced especially by their mother Valentina Doria

source: C. Pompeo Litta, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

#Matteo II Visconti #signore #Milan #14th century #Parma #Bologna #Lombardy #House of Visconti #murder #medieval

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perfettamentechic · 3 years

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17 aprile … ricordiamo …

17 #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic #felicementechic #lynda

2020: Sergio Fantoni, attore, doppiatore e regista italiano. Figlio d’arte (anche il padre Cesare e la madre Afra Arrigoni sono stati interpreti teatrali), è stato attivo nel mondo del teatro, del cinema, della televisione e della radio dai primi anni cinquanta. Nel 1961 sposò la collega Valentina Fortunato nel 1954: testimoni di nozze furono Luchino Visconti per lui ed Ennio De Concini per lei.…

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#17 aprile #Barbara Bush #Barbara Pierce Bush #Doris May Green #Doris Roberts #Edna Mae Durbin #Lady McCartney #Linda Louise Eastman #Linda Louise McCartney #Linda McCartney #Michael Sarrazin #Oleg Cassini #Oleg Cassini Loiewski #Ricordiamo #Sergio Fantoni #Toni Frissell

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inmyownlittlecorner5 · 3 years

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libera nos a malo chapter 9: At St Patrick’s Purgatory

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina Rated for Mature Audiences Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content Chapter 9/21

<< chapter 8+

chapter 10+ >>

libera nos a malo masterpost+

This was quickly becoming an adventure that Miranda had no intention of recounting to her pious mother. As she coaxed her boat, the patient Molly Brown, through the moonlit waters of Lough Derg, intent on excavation and theft, she was almost ashamed of herself. If her mother ever found out that she’d come to the holy site on Station Island as little better than a cat burglar, she wasn’t sure she would ever live down the shame of having disappointed Monica Rose so severely.

The bitter night wind whipped through her cloak, and she pulled the traveling blanket more closely around her shivering body, pushing all questions of morality aside for another day. She’d been hired to do a job. She’d see it through to the end—and let the priest sort it out in confession for her later.

“No perfume tonight, Topolina?” Dante Sanguini asked. The pale moonlight made his face shine with an unearthly glow, and his constant shifting in his seat bespoke his discomfort on the water.

“Not while I’m working.” Miranda’s attention was divided between her companion and keeping the little boat upright with all his squirming. “I don’t guess you could hold still until we get to the island, could you?”

“Over this lake? No. And if I liked you less I would not have agreed to pass over this cursed water in the first place. Let alone twice in one evening.”

“Sorry about that. But I think you’ll find that I kept that difficulty in mind when I set your fee for tonight.”

“Si, you were more than generous. But I will be happy to leave this place behind.”

“Agreed.”

The water was choppy, and by the time she landed the boat ashore, even her usually stalwart stomach was queasy. Dante stumbled as his feet hit dry land, and he shuddered visibly, apparently as uncomfortable on the island as he’d been on the water. Miranda flattened and folded the boat as quickly as her numb fingers would allow, and by the time she had it stowed in a tunic pocket, the vampire had recovered himself.

She braced her feet on the frozen ground to cast her disillusionment charm. An unpleasant, fuzzy feeling began in her toes and crept up her spine, where it settled at the base of her skull. It was disorienting to be unable to see her arms or legs as the charm caused her body to effectively disappear, but invisibility cloaks were as expensive as they were unreliable.

“May we proceed?” Dante asked impatiently, his voice emitting from a shapeless fog that hovered around her.

“Let’s get this over with,” Miranda replied.

In spite of the wind, there was a silence covering the island that felt accusatory to Miranda’s guilty conscience. As she trod over the dead grass, the soles of her feet pricked inside her boots. Over the tops of the barren trees, the cloister and the church gleamed in the moonlight; their modern renovations a sharp contrast to the feel of the ancient earth on which they stood. The arched sign emblazoned with St Patrick’s Purgatory reminded Miranda more of the entrance to a theme park than a hell-mouth. As they went under the sign, the stinging in her feet became impossible to ignore. Acting on some impulse she did not understand, she paused beneath the arch and pulled off her boots and socks. The earth froze to her skin, but at least the damned pricking stopped as she spread out her bare toes in the frosty dirt.

“What are you doing?” the vampiric fog demanded softly.

“I don’t know,” she whispered back.

She could sense Dante’s disapproval, but they did not waste time arguing. As they moved over the well-kept path, she stuffed her boots into her knapsack. The lake lashed at the shore behind them, and even though she knew they were invisible to any mortal inhabitants, she could not shake the feeling that they were being watched. Soon her feet were numb, but she could not bring herself to put her boots back on, as though her pain might make up for some of her sacrilegious intentions.

As they drew closer to the interior of the island, the lurking church and the surrounding trees blocked some of the wind. Miranda trotted silently over the path towards the curved labyrinth that was their destination. The vampiric fog kept pace with her easily, pricking her skin where it brushed her, even under the cover of the disillusionment charm. When they reached the edge of the maze, the fog solidified, Dante’s polished shoes crunching the brittle gravel into dust. Miranda released her charm, shaking off the magical invisibility and numbness as they darted through the twisting path towards its heart.

“Do you feel any better?” Miranda asked.

“No. Worse,” Dante replied.

They reached the center of the maze, and Miranda took the compass that Octavius Pepper had given her from her pocket. It was made of heavy brass, and etched with markings she’d been unable to decipher in the short amount of time it had been in her possession. Its arrow started to swing back and forth, moving languidly but showing no indication of settling anywhere. While they waited, Dante scuffed his shoe in the gravel, and his lip curled to reveal a single, pointed canine.

“Well?” he prompted.

Miranda opened her mouth to tell him to relax when the ground split open. Cursing, she reached blindly for Dante as she clung to the compass, even as the metal began to burn her hand. One of the vampire’s sinewy arms wrapped around her waist, hauling her roughly against his wiry frame. She put her arms around his neck, and though the rubble crashed over them, they glided slowly down into the darkness. The memory of the cave under the One Wood Church and its vengeful Spirit was at the fore of her mind, taunting her with its horrors. She buried her face in Dante’s shoulder and forced herself to breathe.

They landed lightly on a rocky floor. The moonlight filtered down through the gravel and dust that had been kicked up by the cave in, sickly and obscured by the depths. A tremor went through Miranda’s body as she realized how deep they must be, but she was determined to keep control of her mind tonight. Dante pressed his cool lips to her temple, and gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze before releasing her. She dusted herself off quickly, and pulled her wand from her sleeve.

“Lumos,” she cast.

Dante hissed and flinched back from the light. “Must you?”

“We can’t all see in the dark like you.”

“Figlio di puttana,” he muttered.

“What was that?” she asked archly as she watched the wildly spinning needle of the compass.

“I said, which way do we go now?”

“I’m working on it.” The needle stopped all at once, pointing into the darkness. Miranda lifted her wand to see a narrow cleft in the rock, barely wide enough for them to pass through. “Fuck. Why do I keep taking these underground gigs?”

He laughed and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm as though they were going for a stroll in the park. “For the money. And the company.”

His good humor was contagious in spite of her discomfort with the enclosed space and the gravely dirt that cut into the soles of her feet. “Excellent points. Tell me one of your yarns so that I won’t think about being trapped in this pit for all eternity.”

“Nothing would please me more. Have I told you about the first time I was in France?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Excellent.” Dante let go of her arm to enter the passage before her, but his calm, melodious voice betrayed no concern about the danger inherent in their current situation. “It was in 1389. I remember, because it was the year I turned fourteen, and we were escorting La Contessa Valentina Visconti to finally be wed to Louis de Valois. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and whatever part of my heart that was not full of my path to knighthood was full of her.”

“You rogue. Did you steal her from Louis?”

“No. Everyone loved Louis, especially Valentina. It was enough to love them both from a distance, and to serve them. Life in Melun was good for a long time. I learned to ride, to fight, to write poetry, and to make love to the ladies of the court. I was quick at my studies and unimportant enough that I could slip away to explore on my own.”

“That sounds ideal.” The blue light from her wand cast dancing shadows on the wall, and there was a dread curling in the corner of her mind that one of those shadows would turn into a cat like the Spirit of the Mine. She pushed it down the best she could and listened to Dante’s voice. “Then what happened?”

“I saw battle and earned my knighthood five years later, in the year that Charles was born. I also met two men who were to change the course of my life, each in his own way.”

“Who were they?”

“One was a minstrel, a servant of Louis. His name was Herbelin, and I could have listened to him sing forever. We met in secret of course, but I was good at keeping secrets, even then. And it was amusing to watch the ladies swooning over his dark curls and merry laugh, knowing who it was he moaned for when there was none but the moon to see.”

“How delicious. And the other?”

“Was Nicolas Flamel, and of course his good wife Perenelle.”

“The man who made the Philosopher’s Stone?”

“The very one. A knight off the battlefield is little more than an errand boy, and there were many messages and manuscripts that flew back and forth between Nicolas and the royalty of France.”

“Did you ever get to see the stone?”

“I did. In fact…Cazzo!”

Dante disappeared, and Miranda had not taken a full step before she fell into the dank pit after him. She flailed once, but when she could not find the vampire in the darkness, she changed tactics, gathering her magic to cushion her fall and relaxing her body to be ready to roll when she hit bottom. The impact with the dirt floor knocked the wind out of her, and she coughed as she rolled into a crouch. Nothing leapt out of the darkness to pounce on her, except for a courtly vampire who graciously helped her to her feet.

“Are you in one piece, Topolina?” he asked with a dashing smile.

“I’m fine.” She wiped the dirt out of her eyes, and her hand came away bloody. “Mostly fine. Do you want to take care of that?”

His eyes turned completely black, glowing with an unearthly fire. “Ho un debole per te.”

He ran his tongue over the wound on her forehead, a feral growl rumbling from his throat as he lapped at her blood. The gash tingled, healing under his Undead magic. A familiar thrill went down her spine as he nuzzled the side of her neck, grazing her flesh with the cold pressure of his lips, followed by a single, teasing canine. Guilt and desire tangled together inside her, and she stepped back a few paces to give herself space to breathe. She and Dante had been skirting the line of what even her flexible morality would call decent since they’d arrived in Ireland the night before, and angry as she was with Severus, she still wasn’t certain she wanted to cross it.

“We should keep going. There’s no telling what all is down here,” she said.

He extended his canines to their full length, and lisped like an actor in a melodrama, “I think you know exactly what is down here. Children of the night. My friends.”

As if in answer, a swarm of bats swooped down from the ceiling, chittering as they buzzed their new companions. Miranda ducked as they passed close to her head, hoping they would not tangle themselves in her hair, while Dante lifted his arms, welcoming his familiars. The bats danced around the vampire until Miranda started to laugh, and then flew off into the darkness beyond.

“Va bene, there is the smile I like to see,” Dante said.

“It’s good to have something to smile about,” Miranda admitted, turning her attention back to the compass. The arrow was pointing firmly in the direction the bats had taken. “It looks like your friends know the way.”

“As they should. Andiamo.”

The path was rough with brittle rock that crunched and snapped under them as they followed its twisting progress. Miranda knew without looking that her feet would be bruised and bloodied when they made it back to the surface, but some instinctive part of her brain insisted that she continue as she was. The longer they walked, the rougher the terrain became, snaking upwards at a sharp incline. Pacing her breathing became more difficult, and her fears were ever at the edge of her consciousness, tempting her to panic.

“I think you were telling me about the Philosopher’s Stone?” she panted when the imaginings became too much to bear.

“Allora, the stone. I only saw it once, when I was assisting Nicolas and Perenelle with their travel preparations. There were many who would have liked to claim the stone for themselves, and it required both an Obscuro and to be tucked into Perenelle’s petticoats in order for them to slip away with it.”

“Where were they going in such a rush?”

“It was not the where that was the trouble, it was the who. Madama Bonne had a taste for the stone, and she was less than pleased when she was unable to put her hands on it.”

Miranda had met Bonne de Valois once. It had not been a pleasant experience. “I can imagine. How is madama these days?”

He laughed. “I would steer clear of Italy for another decade or so, were I in your shoes.”

“Thanks for the warning. What happened to Herbelin? Did he become a vampire too?”

“No. He did not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as I was. But I should go back to Louis. He was the beginning of the end.”

All at once they found themselves in a tiny room of packed dirt, the ceiling of which was so low that both of them had to stoop. A flickering green flame coming from an unknown source lit the space, revealing a mattress of rotting straw, a decaying bowl and spoon on a sagging shelf, and little else. The walls were painted with faded pictures in the ancient Celtic style, and between the crosses and saints were letters spelling out texts too worn to read.

“This is the place,” Miranda said, sliding the compass into a pocket.

Dante’s canines were showing. “I was afraid of that.”

“We’d better work fast.”

She chanted the incantation that Mr Pepper had drilled into her a few days earlier, singing through its chromatic tones in a clear, silvery voice. A white light burst out of the tip of her wand, wrapped itself around the straw mattress, and lifted it off the floor. Another light joined the first, piercing the floor under the mattress until a thin crack appeared. Dante flexed his fingers as they stretched into evil looking claws, and crouched over the crack in the floor to dig into the dry dirt. Miranda’s body flashed hot and cold as she struggled to keep the bed aloft, sweat rolling down her face and neck. The green light began to spin, causing her stomach to lurch. A buzzing chatter droned in the room, and she felt fingers curling around her ankles. She looked down in horror, but saw nothing. Then she blinked, and saw the gnarled hands pulling on her legs; but when she blinked again—there was nothing.

She fought down the urge to scream as Dante jerked a heavy length of rusted chain from the hole he’d dug. He stumbled backwards, grunting as he landed on his backside. Miranda waved a shaking hand, sending a spell to push the dirt back into the hole, then she lowered the bed with a thunk. Still trembling, she opened her bag for Dante to shove the chain into. His teeth were bared with the effort, a red-tinted sweat covered his brow, and his hands look like they’d been burned.

“Are you alright?” Miranda asked as she closed the bag tightly around the chain.

“Never better,” he snarled.

“Are you going to need a drink before we go back over the water?”

He his eyes flashed with a black, hungry fire. “I appreciate the offer, but if I were to start drinking from you now I doubt I would be able to stop. The sooner we get off this island, the better.”

“No shit.”

Miranda took out the compass, stamping her feet in an attempt to shake off the feeling of ghostly fingers. The needle started spinning again, and showed no signs of stopping.

“You don’t think we have to go all the way back down, do we?” she asked.

“We are close to the surface now,” Dante replied. “I can dig us out if need be.”

She paced towards the far wall, unable to remain still any longer. A spiral drawn in a dull red caught her attention, undulating in the flickering light. She traced a careless finger over it, and the spectral flames engulfed her. A scream welled up in her throat, but when she opened her mouth she could only choke on the sulfurous smoke. Hands grabbed at her ankles and wrists; and there was a wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And then there was darkness.

*****

Miranda’s body was terribly sore when she opened her eyes again. She was lying on a narrow bed with clean, coarse sheets and a warm, quilted blanket; and she could feel that someone had taken the trouble to wrap her feet in bandages. The small room was plain, with a crucifix on the facing wall and a little window letting in bright, welcome sunlight. A desk with a lamp and chair completed the space, and her arsenal of pistol, knife, and wand was laid out neatly on top of the desk. Her knapsack sat safely beside the bed, apparently untouched. Wincing, she pushed herself up, meaning to check the bag for their night’s work, when the door to the room opened.

A man in a rough brown robe and worn sandals entered. His curly brown hair was tinged with gray, and his lined face wore a friendly smile. She guessed he was about her father’s age, and his green eyes were bright and kind. He carried a tray set with a teapot and cup, brown bread, and a steaming bowl of soup. Her mouth started to water and her stomach to growl at the homey aroma.

“Good morning, lass,” he said, placing the tray on her lap. “Welcome to Station Island. I think you’ve had quite a time of it.”

She gave him a bland smile. “Good morning, Father. It was about what I expected it to be.”

“I’m no priest, only a simple friar. Brother Ronan, at your service.”

“Thank you.”

Brother Ronan turned to pull the chair out from the desk and bring it to her bedside. While he was busy with his task, she quickly cast a silent revelio venenum, musing that she’d been spending so much time with Severus his habits were rubbing off on her. Her instincts told her that Brother Ronan was trustworthy enough, but his casual acceptance of her magical artifacts—along with her missing vampire—were enough to give her pause.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said between grateful bites of the hearty soup. “I’m Miranda Rose.”

“Rose you say? You aren’t from County Cork by chance, are you?” he asked as he sat down in the chair to keep her company while she ate.

“Originally, yes. But my line of the family has been in America for four generations now.”

“America? I was there once. It’s a fine country. I wouldn’t want to live there, but I’d not be sorry to visit again someday.”

His easy manner prompted her to be more direct.

“May I ask you how I came to be…wherever it is we are?” she asked.

“This is the pilgrim’s dormitory. I found you and your friend on my way in from Matins. There aren’t many of us here in the off months, but we like to say the hours together in the main church even so.”

“What happened to my friend?”

“I thought it best to give him a room in the basement.”

She raised her eyebrows, but kept her tone even, wondering if she was going to have to Obliviate the friendly friar. “Are you a wizard, Brother Ronan?”

He laughed as though she’d told a fine joke. “Me? No, not at all. But your friend is not the first vampire I’ve seen in my life, nor are you the first witch. He helped me bring you here, and I gave him a bottle of the sort of drink he needs, and a room in the cellar for the day. It was too close to dawn to risk taking you both off the island.”

“Why are you helping us?”

“It’s my duty to help those who need it. I suggest you eat and rest as much as you can for now.”

“Will we be allowed to leave tonight?”

“You’re not a prisoner, Miss Rose. You and your friend may leave at any time.”

His kindness prompted a new wave of guilt, but she carefully concealed her shame.

“Thank you Brother Ronan. We appreciate your help.”

“I’m glad I was here to give it. Is this your first time to Station Island?”

“It is. My first time to Ireland at all, actually.”

His voice took on a note of pride like a fond parent. “You should come back in the summer. Everything is green and you could do the actual pilgrimage then. I suspect you’re hearty enough.”

“The pilgrimage?”

“Three days of fasting and prayer, and the pilgrims visit all the old hermitages of the saints.”

“That sounds grueling.”

“It is. But people come by the thousands to do it. Have since the old days.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

She finished her tray, and Brother Ronan took it, wishing her a good day on his way out. She forced herself to wait to a count of fifty before opening her bag, where she found the rusted chains lying, unharmed. After she’d resealed the sack and warded the door for good measure, she slept again. Her dreams were strange and troublesome, but she could not remember them when she awoke later that afternoon.

Gathering her wand, she went down the hall in search of the loo, taking advantage of the communal showers when she found it. She managed to heal the scrapes on her feet with a few quick spells, and the hot water did wonders for the aches in her muscles. A quick Scourgify made her clothes once again fit for company, and she padded back to her room, refreshed.

Her fingers itched for a cigarette, but she decided she would rather find Dante before indulging in a smoke. After pulling on her boots, she gathered her things from the desk, made her bed, and left a generous tithe in Irish pounds on top of the pillow. The empty dormitory was as simple as her room had been, decorated with candles, crucifixes, and saints painted in the Celtic style. When she reached the cellar, she cast another revelio, which illuminated a door at the end of the hall in a faint blue light. She knew better than to startle Dante when he was sleeping, and she let her feet fall heavily on the floor as she approached. When she reached the door she rapped on it sharply.

“Come in,” came Dante’s voice from within.

The windowless cell was in total darkness, though she could feel Dante’s eyes on her. He flicked on the desk lamp in deference to her mortal vision as she closed the door. An empty bottle and a bloodstained cup sat on the desk near the lamp. Dante was lounging on the bed like a lazy cat, apparently none the worse for wear after their mishap. His clothes and person were clean, and the burn marks on his hands were gone. He rose as she came into the room, putting his hands on her shoulders when they met.

“You are well?” he asked earnestly. “When the hell-mouth overwhelmed you I feared you would be more permanently injured.

“I feel alright,” she replied, shivering at his touch. “A little sore, but alright. What happened?”

He was running the fingers of one hand up the side of her neck, and his eyes were turning black with vampiric lust. “You didn’t expect the chains to go without a struggle did you? Generally hell-mouths dislike being robbed.”

“That’s why they pay me the big money.”

“I’ve always admired your durability.”

His hand tightened on the back of her head, and he crashed his cold lips into hers. She returned his kiss with guilty fury, her body thrilling with the way that his lips turned from ice to fire as they absorbed her warmth. The tingling chill from his touch crept over her skin, causing her to tremble, and she clung to his shirt as he seared a trail of savage kisses down to her neck, where her pulse was beating wildly.

“Does your offer of a drink still stand, Bellissima?” he purred.

“Yes,” she gasped before she could think better of it.

There was a pair of sharp pricks, and then a heady rush of ecstasy as he drank from her. It was as intoxicating as she remembered it—but even as her body sang with pleasure, it was Severus’s name on the tip of her tongue, Severus’s arms she wanted to be holding her, Severus’s lips she craved on her skin.

Dante, ever the gentleman, brought her down carefully, ending the vampiric kiss and healing the wounds on her throat with his agile tongue. Her mental protections were useless against Legilimency of the blood, and she had no doubt that the vampire was well aware of the man whose name was lodged in her heart. He guided her to sit on the bed, and rummaged in her knapsack until he procured a bottle of Blood Replenisher, the contents of which he tipped into her mouth. She nearly choked at the taste of the elderflower and lemon—Severus had created this variant of the potion to suit her personally, and his care for her was yet another lash of guilt.

When she’d gotten it down, she sagged against the wall, wishing she could cry that she might gain some relief from the feelings balled up in her chest. Dante pulled out a pair of cigarettes for the two of them, lighting them with the touch of an elegant finger.

“Perhaps it is time for you to tell me about Severus,” he said wryly after they’d both taken a bracing drag.

She let out a dry laugh. “What can I say? He’s an ass. He’s good at chess, potions, and dark magic. He likes to read and has a voice like sin.”

“No wonder you like him. What’s the problem then?”

“The problem is he’s sunk so deep in the war that’s coming that it’d take a miracle for him to come through it alive. I don’t think I can stand to lose someone like that. Not after David and Isaac.”

“The war is already here. Why don’t you convince him to run?”

She shook her head. “No. I think leaving would kill him, or at least his spirit. He has to see this thing through to the end.”

“That’s a shame. You might have wished for a more sensible partner.”

“I might have wished for a lot of things. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “No, Topolina. No apologies are necessary between us. Allora, I was telling you about Louis.”

She was grateful for the change of subject. “Yes. Please finish the story.”

“Louis came to a bitter end,” he said, a sad smile spreading over his shapely lips. “His enemies in the Burgundian court sent assassins after him, attacking him in the middle of the street one November night. Valentina never recovered. She died of a broken heart not a year afterwards. Herbelin and I stayed with young Charles, intent on helping the boy regain some order and beauty in his court. And we were successful, for a time, until a fever took my Herbelin from me.”

She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Life was bitter to me then, but I feared death too much to seek it from my own hands. And as Charles started to play at war, I believed that my time would come soon enough. I thought that it had after the battle at Agincourt. But there are scavengers on a battlefield, and one of them found me.”

“Was he the one who made you a vampire?”

“Yes, but not, I think, on purpose. As he drained me, I latched onto his wrist, biting him in my frenzy. He left me for dead, but enough of his blood had entered my veins for me to rise again.”

“Fuck. What did you do?”

He laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Just what you’d expect. I wandered the countryside in a rage until I found my way to Nicolas’s door. I might have killed him, and Perenelle too. But he tucked a bunch of mistletoe behind my ear, and it brought me back to my senses long enough for him to take me to Madama Bonne.”

“I wish he’d led you to a better Mistress.”

He shrugged. “There are worse, believe me.”

There was a light knocking at the door, and Miranda and Dante vanished their cigarettes before opening it to admit Brother Ronan. If the friar was at all surprised to find them together, he did not show it, for which Miranda was grateful.

“The sun’s down,” Brother Ronan said briskly as he handed each of them a dark bottle. “Best if we get the both of you on your way before anyone starts asking questions.”

“Thank you for your help,” Miranda replied. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, lass. But if you’ll remember me in your prayers now and then I’d be grateful to you.”

“That I can promise you.”

He led them through a winding hallway that opened at last near the shore. The wind was quiet tonight, and the lake was like a mirror of black glass. Miranda pulled the Molly Brown from her pocket and murmured the spell to make her seaworthy. Brother Ronan whistled appreciatively.

“That’s a nice bit of magic,” the friar said.

“I’m fond of it myself,” Miranda replied.

“And if I never saw a boat again, it would be too soon,” Dante laughed.

Brother Ronan held the boat steady while the witch and the vampire climbed into it. When they were ready, he gave it a firm push, and his sandaled feet splashed into the lake as the boat began to cut through dark waters.

“God bless you both!” he called, giving them a final wave before turning and hurrying back towards the church and his brothers.

“As if I didn’t feel guilty enough,” Miranda sighed.

“You must learn to overcome such frailty,” Dante chided, opening his bottle and drinking deeply of its contents.

“You’re probably right.”

Miranda tugged the cork from her bottle and gulped down the cold water inside, parched from the effects of the Blood Replenisher. They were quiet for a time as the Molly Brown made quick progress over the calm lake. Every inch away from Station Island was bringing her home to the problems she’d left behind, and she felt no closer to solving them.

“Did you ever love anyone after Herbelin?” she asked suddenly.

The vampire gazed up at the clear, star-filled sky. “Oh. Many times, Topolina. Some I have left. Some have left me. Some I have laid in the grave.”

“But how can you stand it? Or does it stop hurting after the tenth or the twentieth or the hundredth time?”

He took her hands and his, and the expression on his face made her wonder if he knew her heart better than she did herself.

“It always hurts,” he said. “Every time.”

“But is it worth it?” she persisted.

His dark eyes were wise in his youthful face, and they sparked with a mirth that all his centuries of loss could not dim

“Yes,” he replied. “Every time.”

*****

Station Island is the location of St Patrick’s Purgatory, which has been a pilgrimage site from the middle ages. It is also supposedly and entrance to Purgatory or Hell, depending on the legend. The pilgrimage is as grueling as Brother Ronan describes, and continues to this day. It is performed barefoot, which is why I have the magic of the place prompting Miranda to take of her boots and socks in this chapter.

The adventure of the One Wood Church and the Spirit of the Mine is told in chapter 24 of Moonlight: The Tale of the Three Miners.

Dante is telling Miranda the brief history of Louis, duc d’Orléans (1372-1407) , and his wife Valentine of Milan (1371-1408). Their son Charles, duc d’Orléans (1394-1465) is the author of the Valentine’s Day poem that Severus was musing over back in chapter seven.

Matins is one of the hours of prayer, traditionally said in the middle of the night. It’s the longest of the hours.

Figlio di puttana: Son of a bitch (Dante is cursing at the light, not Miranda) Cazzo: Fuck Ho un debole per te: I’m weak for you Va bene: Good, okay, alright Andiamo: Let’s go Bellissima: Gorgeous Allora: So, then, well

*****

<< chapter 8+

chapter 10+ >>

libera nos a malo masterpost+

#pro snape #ocappreciation #snape x oc #severus snape fanfiction #inmyownlittlecorner5

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histoireettralala · 2 years

Text

Isabeau vs Yolande- Education and preparation.

Not much is known of the first 14 years of Isabeau's life and, had she not made such a spectacular match, she might have remained a minor genealogical footnote in the annals of the Wittelsbach clan. It was only with her marriage to Charles VI that Bavarian chroniclers started to take an interest in her: the Benedictine monks of either St. Ulrich and St. Afra's Abbey, Augsburg, or St. Emmeran's, the Imperial Abbey of Ratisbon (Regensburg), henceforth describe her as being endowed with "perfect virtue, remarkable beauty, graceful manners and most elegant morals." Isabeau had sufficient Latin to read her Hours, the Lives of the Saints, and the chronicled deeds of her ancestors, but her favored reading was of epic poems written in Bavarian, strong on the honor of the ducal court and exalting the virtues of womanhood. Isabeau benefited from none of the formative advantages enjoyed by Yolande of Aragon, rendering her ill-prepared for the turns of fortune's wheel that lay ahead of her. There seems to be little or no evidence that she had received any solid education in the responsibilities of the management of a princely household, let alone the government of an important duchy, much less a kingdom. Her mother, Taddea Visconti, died when she was 11, and there is no evidence as to any exemplary factual foremother or actual kinswoman from whom the young Isabeau might have drawn example or comfort.

[..]

Violant of Bar and her daughter, Yolande of Aragon, were fluent in several languages, the crown of Aragon being a multilingual conglomerate of territories; however, the ill-equipped and poorly tutored Isabeau appears not to have grasped even the rudiments of French and the three-year interval from her marriage to her coronation. Françoise Autrand relates that, in the aftermath of the gift-giving and ceremonials of Isabeau's coronation and her combined official entry with Valentina Visconti, while both Charles VI and Valentina, who had been meticulously brought up by her grandmother, Bianca of Savoy, spoke graciously to thank the assembled bourgeoisie and people of Paris for their gifts and good wishes, Isabeau reportedly remained silent. The wedding and coronation of Yolande, infanta of Aragon, was a distinct departure from the apparent afterthought of Isabeau of Bavaria's coronation. Although Yolande had married a cadet prince of the House of Valois, Louis II, Duke of Anjou, her husband, held titular rights over the the kingdoms of Naples and Jerusalem, an appellation, which, by virtue of his very specifically devised coronation, placed him spiritually above other European monarchs.

Zita Eva Rohr- Yolande of Aragon (1381-1442) Family and Power. The Reverse of the Tapestry

#xiv #xv #yolande of aragon: family and power #zita eva rohr #isabeau de bavière #queens of france #charles vi #yolande d'aragon #taddea visconti #valentine visconti #blanche de savoie #louis ii d'anjou #yolande de bar

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