THE BUZZ ON PRETTY CURE

In this week's episode of Happiness Charge, we had the pleasure of seeing Himelda's parents, her kingdom, and her palace (now turned into enemy headquarters by the Illusory Empire):

The Blue Sky royals, trapped in mirrors on their thrones, are surprisingly good-looking and fit their period clothing perfectly!

A VIKING ROYAL COURT

From the same source of "A Germanic Encampment", here's another setting that I have recreated in my works (when I haven't done Baroque/Rococo courts, that is!):

For the next two days, we sailed among the islands of the Dan country, and then on the third day we crossed a passage of open water, and eventually arrived at the territory called Venden. These lands of Venden are mountainous and forbidding, and the men of Buliwyf in his boat approached with some trepidation and the killing of a hen, which was thrown into the ocean thus: the head was thrown from the bow of the ship, and the body of the hen was thrown from the stern, near the helmsman.

We did not beach directly on this new land of Venden, but sailed along the coast, coming at last to the kingdom of Rothgar. High upon a cliff, commanding a view of the raging gray sea, was a huge great hall of wood, strong and imposing. Iit was a magnificent sight, but Herger and all his company, led by Buliwyf, were groaning and shaking their heads. Why this was so? He said, “Rothgar is called Rothgar the Vain, and his great hall is the mark of a vain man.”

“Why do you speak thus? Because of its size and splendor?” For verily, as we came closer, we saw that the hall was richly ornamented with carvings and silver chasing, which sparkled from a distance.

“No,” said Herger. “I say that Rothgar is vain because of the way he has placed his settlement. He dares the gods to strike him down, and he pretends he is more than a man, and so he is punished.”

There could not exist a more impregnable great hall. “This hall cannot be attacked; how can Rothgar be struck down?”

"Rothgar deserves the misfortune that has come to him, and it is only we who shall save him, and perhaps not even so.”

Each warrior in the boat dressed in the garments of battle, which were thus: first, boots and leggings of rough wool, and over this a coat of heavy fur, which reached to the knees. Over this they placed coats of mail, which all had save me. Then each man took his sword and clasped it to his belt; each man took up his white shield of hide, and his spear; each man placed a helmet of metal or leather upon his head; this all the men were the same except for Buliwyf, who alone carried his sword in his hand, so large was it. The warriors looked up to the great hall of Rothgar, and marveled at its gleaming roof and skilled workmanship, and agreed that there was none like it in the world, with its lofty gables and rich carving. Yet there was no respect in their speech.

At length we decamped from the ship, and traveled a road paved in stone up to the great hall. The clanking of swords and the clatter of mail raised a goodly noise. After we had gone some short distance, we saw by the roadway the severed head of a steer, set upon a stick. This animal was freshly killed.

All the Northmen sighed and made sad faces at this portent.

Buliwyf looked away, across the fields of the lands of Rothgar, and saw there an isolated farming house, of the sort that is common in Rothgar lands. The walls of this house were of wood, and sealed with a paste of mud and straw, which must be replenished after the frequent rains. The roof is thatched material and wood also. Inside the houses there is only an earthen floor and a hearth, and the dung of animals, for the farm people sleep with their animals indoors for the warmth afforded by their bodies, and then they burn the dung for fires.

Buliwyf gave an order that we should go to this farmhouse, and so we set out across the fields, which were verdant but soggy with dampness underfoot. Once or twice the company halted to examine the ground before continuing on, but they never saw anything that mattered to them. I myself saw nothing.

Yet again Buliwyf halted his company, and pointed to the dark earth. 

Buliwyf and his warriors shook their heads at the sight, repeating one word over and over: “wendol” or “wendlon,” or some such. Herger should not be asked at this moment, for he was as apprehensive as all the rest. We pressed on to the farmhouse, now and again seeing more of these horned footprints in the earth. Buliwyf and his warriors walked slowly, but it was not caution; no man drew his weapon; rather it was some kind of dread.

At length we came to the farming dwelling and entered it.

Now they set off for the great hall of King Rothgar. No man spoke during our travel, which was the better part of an hour; every one of the Northmen seemed to be wrapped in bitter and consuming thought, and yet they showed no fear anymore.

At length, a herald upon a horse met us and barred our path. He noted the arms we carried and the bearing of the company and of Buliwyf, and shouted a warning.

Herger said to me, “He craves to know our names, and curtly, too.”

Buliwyf made some answer to the herald, and from his tone I knew that Buliwyf was in no mood for courtly pleasantries. Herger said to me: “Buliwyf tells him we are subjects of King Higlac, of the kingdom of Yatlam, and we are on an errand to the King Rothgar, and would speak to him.” And Herger added, “Buliwyf says that Rothgar is a most worthy king,” but the tone of Herger conveyed the opposite sense of the matter.

This herald bade us continue to the great hall and wait outside while he told the King of our arrival. This we did, although Buliwyf and his party were not pleased at such treatment; there was grumbling and muttering, for it is the Northman’s way to be hospitable and this did not seem gracious, to be kept outside. Yet they waited, and also removed their weapons, their swords and spears, but not their armor, and they left the weapons outside the doors to the hall.

Now the hall was surrounded on all sides by several dwellings in the fashion of the North people. These were long with curved sides, as at Trelburg (a nearby encampment); but they differed in the arrangement, for there were no squares here. Nor were there fortifications or earthworks to be seen. Rather, from the great hall and the long houses about it, the ground sloped to a long flat green plain, here and there a farmhouse, and then, beyond, the hills and the edge of a forest.

I inquired of Herger whose long houses were these, and he said to me, “Some belong to the King, and others are for his royal family, and others for his nobles, and also for the servants and lower members of his court.” He said also that it was a difficult place, though I did not comprehend his meaning in this.

Then we were allowed entry into the great hall of King Rothgar, which verily I say is to be counted one of the marvels of all the world, and all the more for its presence in the crude North country. This hall is called, among the Rothgar peoples, by the name of Hurot, for the Northmen give the names of people to the things of their life, to the buildings and boats and especially to the weapons. Now I say: this Hurot, the great hall of Rothgar, was as large as the palace of Versailles, and richly inlaid with silver and even some gold, which is most rare in the North. On all sides were designs and ornaments of the greatest splendor and richness of artistry. It was truly a monument to the power and majesty of King Rothgar.

This King Rothgar sat at the distant end of Hurot Hall, a space so vast that he was so far we could hardly discern him. Standing behind his right shoulder was the same herald who had halted us. The herald made a speech, which Herger told me was thus: “Here, O King, is a band of warriors from the kingdom of Yatlam. They are newly arrived from the sea, and their leader is a man of the name Buliwyf. They beg leave to tell you of their errand, O King. Do not forbid them entry; they have the manner of earls, and from his bearing their chieftain is a mighty warrior. Greet them as earls, O King Rothgar.”

Thus we were bid approach the King Rothgar.

King Rothgar appeared a man near death. He was not young, his hair was white, his skin was very pale, and his face was grooved with, sorrow and fear. He regarded us with suspicion, wrinkling his eyes, or perhaps he was near blind, I do not know. Finally he broke into speech, which Herger says was thus: “I know of this man, for I have sent for him on a hero’s mission. He is Buliwyf, and I knew him as a child, when I traveled across the waters to the kingdom of Yatlam. He is the son of Higlac, who was my gracious host, and now this son comes to me in my time of need and sorrow.”

Rothgar then called for the warriors to be summoned to the great hall, and gifts brought, and celebrations made.

Buliwyf then spoke, a long speech.  To speak when Buliwyf spoke would be a disrespect. However, the meaning was this: that Buliwyf had heard of the troubles of Rothgar, that he was sorry for these troubles, and that his own father’s kingdom had been destroyed by these same troubles, and that he had come to save the kingdom of Rothgar from the evils that had beset them.

Still, I did not know what the Northmen called these evils, or how they thought of them, though I had viewed the handiwork of the beasts that tore men to pieces.

King Rothgar spoke again, in some haste. He wished to say some words before all his warriors and earls arrived. He said thus (from Herger): “O Buliwyf, I knew your father when I was myself a young man, new to my throne. Now I am old and heartsick. My head bows. My eyes weep with shame to acknowledge my weakness. As you see, my throne is almost a barren spot. My lands are becoming a wild place. What the fiends have wrought to my kingdom I cannot say. Often at night, my warriors, brave with drink, swear to topple the fiends. And then when the bleak light of dawn creeps over the misty fields, we see bloody bodies everywhere. Thus is the sorrow of my life, and I shall speak no more of it.”

Now a bench was brought out and a meal set before us.

That evening there was a great celebration, and King Rothgar and his Queen Weilew, in a garment dripping gemstones and gold, presided over the nobles and warriors and earls of the kingdom of Rothgar. These nobles were a paltry lot; they were old men and drank overmuch and many were crippled or wounded. In the eyes of all of them was the hollow stare of fear, and there was hollowness in their merriment, too.

Also there was the son named Wiglif, of whom I have earlier spoken, the son of Rothgar who murdered three of his brothers. This man was young and slender with a blond beard and with eyes that never settled on anything, but moved about here and there constantly; also he never met the gaze of another. Herger saw him and said, “He is a fox.” By this he meant that he was a slippery and changeable person of false demeanor, for the North people believe the fox is an animal that can assume any form it pleases.

Now, in the middle portion of the festivities, Rothgar sent his herald to the doors of Hurot Hall, and this herald reported that the mist would not descend that night. There was much happiness and celebration over this announcement that the night was clear; all were pleased save Wiglif.

At a particular time, the son Wiglif rose to his feet and said, “I drink honor to our guests, and especially Buliwyf, a brave and true warrior who has come to aid us in our plight-although it may prove too great an obstacle for him to overcome.”

All eyes turned to Buliwyf for his response. Buliwyf stood, and looked to Wiglif, and then said, “I have no fear of anything, even the callow fiend that creeps at night to murder men in their sleep. This I took to refer to the “wendol,” but Wiglif turned pale and gripped the chair in which he sat.

“Do you speak of me?” Wiglif said, in a trembling tongue.

Buliwyf made this response: “No, but I do not fear you any more than the monsters of the mist.”

The young man Wiglif persisted, although Rothgar the King called for him to be seated. Wiglif said to all the assembled nobles: “This Buliwyf, arrived from foreign shores, has by appearance great pride and great strength. Yet have I arranged to test his mettle, for pride may cover any man’s eyes.”

Now I saw this thing happen: a strong warrior, seated at a table near the door, behind Buliwyf, rose with speed, plucked up a spear, and charged at the back of Buliwyf. All this happened in less time than it takes a man to suck in his breath.  Yet also Buliwyf turned, plucked up a spear, and with this he caught the warrior full into the chest, and lifted him by the shaft of the spear high over his head and flung him against a wall. Thus was this warrior skewered on the spear, his feet dangling above the floor, kicking; the shaft of the spear was buried into the wall of the hall of Hurot. The warrior died with a sound.

“You shall sing a song for the court of King Rothgar. All desire it.”

“You will sing something that entertains the heart. Do not speak of your one God. No one cares for such nonsense.”

 “Sing a song of kings and valour in battle.”

The name of “wendol,” or “windon,” is a very ancient name, as old as any of the peoples of the North country, and it means “the black mist.” To the Northmen, this means a mist that brings, under cover of night, black fiends who murder and kill and eat the flesh of human beings.  The fiends are hairy and loathsome to touch and smell; they are fierce and cunning; they speak no language of any man and yet converse among themselves; they come with the night fog, and disappear by day-to where, no man durst follow.

 “You can know the regions where dwell the fiends of the black mist by many ways. From time to time, warriors on horse may hunt a stag, chasing the stag over hill and dale for many miles of forest and open land. And then the stag comes to some marshy tarn or brackish swamp, and here it will halt, preferring to be torn to bits by the hounds rather than enter that loathsome region. Thus we know of the areas where the wendol live, and we know that even the animals will not enter thence.

“In olden days, the black mist was feared by all the Northmen of every region. Since my father and his father and his father before, no Northman has seen the black mist, and some of the young warriors counted us old fools to remember the ancient tales of their horror and depredations. Yet the chiefs of the Northmen in all the kingdoms, even in Norway, have always been prepared for the return of the black mist. All of our towns and our fortresses are protected and defended from the land. Since the time of the father of my father’s father, our peoples have thus acted, and never have we seen the black mist. Now it has returned.”

“The black mist has come from the vanity and weakness of Rothgar, who has offended the gods with his foolish splendor and tempted the fiends with the siting of his great hall, which has no protection from the land. Rothgar is old and he knows he will not be remembered for battles fought and won, and so he built this splendid hall, which is the talk of all the world, and pleases his vanity. Rothgar acts as a god, yet he is a man, and the gods have sent the black mist to strike him down and show him humility.”

Perhaps Rothgar was resented in the kingdom. He replied thus: “No man is so good as to be free from all evil, nor so bad as to be worth nothing. Rothgar is a just king and his people prospered all of his life. The wisdom and richness of his rule are here, in Hurot Hall, and they are splendid. His only fault is this, that he forgot defense, for we have a saying among us: ‘A man should never move a step from his weapons.’ Rothgar has no weapons; he is toothless and weak; and the black mist seeps freely over the land.”

The old man was tired, and turned away from me, and soon was asleep. Verily, the food and drink of Rothgar’s hospitality were much, and many of the number of earls and nobles were drowsy.

Of the table of Rothgar I shall say this: that every man had a tablecloth and plate, and spoon and knife; that the meal was boiled pork and goat, and some fish, too, for the Northmen much prefer boiled meat to roasted. Then there were cabbages and onions in abundance, and apples and hazelnuts. A sweetish fleshy meat was given me that I had not tasted before; this, I was told, was moose, or reindeer.

The dreadful foul drink called mead is made from honey, then fermented. It is the sourest, blackest, vilest stuff ever invented by any man, and yet it is potent beyond all knowing; a few drinks, and the world spins. 

 Buliwyf and all his company did not drink that night, or only sparingly, and Rothgar took this as no insult, but rather acknowledged it as the natural course of things. There was no wind that night; the candles and flames of Hurot Hall did not flicker, and yet it was damp, and chill. Out of doors the mist was rolling in from the hills, blocking the silvered light of the moon, cloaking all in blackness.

As the night continued, King Rothgar and his Queen departed for sleep, and the massive doors of Hurot Hall were locked and barred, and the nobles and earls remaining there fell into a drunken stupor and snored loudly.

Then Buliwyf and his men, still wearing their armor, went about the room, dousing the candles and seeing to the fires, that they should burn low and weak. 

The Northmen have a saying of praise that they carve upon the tombstones of noble warriors, which is this: “He did not flee battle.” None of the company of Buliwyf fled that night, though the sounds and the stink were all around them, now louder, now fainter, now from one direction, now another. And yet they waited.

Then came the most fearsome moment. All sounds ceased. There was utter silence, except for the snoring of the men and the low crackle of the fire. Still none of the warriors of Buliwyf stirred.

And then there was a mighty crash upon the solid doors of the hall of Hurot, and these doors burst open, and a rush of reeking air gutted all the lights, and the black mist entered the room. Verily it seemed thousands of black grunting shapes, and yet it might have been no more than five or six, huge black shapes hardly in the manner of men, and yet also manlike. The air stank of blood and death; I was cold beyond reason, and shivered. Yet still no warrior moved.

Then, with a curdling scream to wake the dead, Buliwyf leapt up, and in his arms he swung the giant sword Runding, which sang like a sizzling flame as it cut the air. And his warriors leapt up with him, and all joined the battle. The shouts of the men mingled with the pig-grunts and the odors of the black mist, and there was terror and confusion and great wracking and rending of the Hurot Hall.

The battle raged for how long I cannot know, but it concluded most suddenly of a moment. And then the black mist was gone, slunk away, grunting and panting and stinking, leaving behind destruction and death that we could not know until we had lighted fresh tapers.

Here is how the battle waged. Of the company of Buliwyf, three were dead, Roneth and Halga, both earls, and Edgtho, a warrior. The first had his chest torn open. The second had his spine broken. The third had his head torn off in the manner I had already witnessed. All these warriors were dead.

Wounded were two others, Haltaf and Rethel. Haltaf had lost an ear, and Rethel two fingers of his right hand. Both men were not mortally injured, and made no complaint, for it is the Northman way to bear the wounds of battle cheerfully, and to praise above all the retaining of life.

As for Buliwyf and Herger and all the others, they were soaked in blood as if they had bathed in it. Now I shall say what many will not believe, and yet it was so: our company had killed not one of the mist monsters. Each had slunk away, some perhaps mortally wounded, and yet they had escaped.

Herger said thus: “I saw two of their number carrying a third, who was dead.” Perhaps this was so, for all generally agreed upon it. I learned that the mist monsters never leave one of their kind to the society of men, but rather will risk great dangers to retrieve him from human purview. So also will they go to extreme lengths to keep a victim’s head, and we could not find the head of Edgtho in any place; the monsters had carried it off with them.

Then Buliwyf spoke, and Herger told me his words thus: “Look, I have retained a trophy of the night’s bloody deeds. See, here is an arm of one of the fiends.”

And, true to his word, Buliwyf held the arm of one of the mist monsters, cut off at the shoulder by the great sword Runding. All the warriors crowded around to examine it. It appeared to be small, with a hand of abnormally large size. But the forearm and upper arm were not large to match it, although the muscles were powerful. There was long black matted hair on all parts of the arm except the palm of the hand. Finally it is to say that the arm stank as the whole beast stank, with the fetid smell of the black mist.

Now all the warriors cheered Buliwyf, and his sword Runding. The fiend’s arm was hung from the rafters of the great hall of Hurot, and marveled at by all the people of the kingdom of Rothgar. Thus ended the first battle with the wendol.

CHRISTINA'S CHOICE

The Clever Princess and Christina Vasa. Christina Vasa as the Clever Princess (not Barbara Gordon, Anna Milton, Mary Winchester, Sue Storm-Richards...) So I thought. Take forth your handkerchiefs and prepare for a good story I wrote a couple of years ago (historical fiction based on real events, fairytale retelling focused on secondary characters, my own Swedish background and family history included). This story was originally in Spanish, so I have translated it into English.

1)
Once upon a time, there was a long and great war. And there were two people whose lives were branded by the conflict.
"Christina..."
The young girl wiped her brow clean with her right hand, for she had been riding all morning long. Casting off her cavalier hat, she untied her strawberry blond ponytail in her bedchamber. She had come of age indeed, but not all maidens in the world had inherited a kingdom and a war (though the front was leagues away, south of the royal court). A kingdom to rule and a war to stop.
Sitting before a modest firwood table, Christina started to read the electors' letters, as she sucked her feather quill. Some of the handwritings were hard to understand, yet she could figure out, grosso modo, the most relevant facts. For it was a matter of life or death: the sooner they came to terms with each other down in Westphalia, the better.
But there were no letters from Charles. Had he fallen? Perchance not. If that were the case, she would already had received the condolences. Like the day of her sixth birthday.
It was a cozy winter evening. Christina was in the same place, the great hall at Stegeborg, opening her gifts with the Wittelsbachs, the ones who raised her (for both her birth parents had left for the war front shortly after she had come to the world). One book in particular was dedicated to her: The Daring Feats of the Great Gustavus Adolphus, whose daughter he was. She couldn't have been happier or more innocent. And right then, suddenly, Aunt Catherine had her turn over to the last pages: the battle of Lützen, the dearly bought victory, the military funeral.
Christina's steel-blue eyes let go of a few tears. So early in her life did she cease to be a child. Then, a stern and aged stranger in black made an entrance. Chancellor Oxenstierna began to discuss the most relevant matters with John and Catherine: the education of the new girl queen, his own duties as regent, and the way the child should be prepared for her reign. Then came foreign tutors, ponies, fencing lessons, physical exercises, deer hunts, foreign languages, literary classics (the Aeneid, the Metamorphoses, the Gallic Wars...). She would be reared both as a warrior and a scholar, as if she had been a boy, together with Charles of Wittelsbach. The bonds between them hadn't tightened that early: being an only child, Christina always saw Charles and his sisters as good friends. But she usually told him, to tease him, that they were betrothed to each other.
Betrothed? And he still believed so! And no letters written by Charles had arrived from the German Empire... Could he have committed suicide?
Thrice were they parted by others. The first time, he went forth to study a certain degree at Uppsala University, when he was thirteen or fourteen summers old. The second time, Herr Oxenstierna had encouraged him to take the Grand Tour across Flanders and France: Charles spent three years away from home, and, upon going forth, he hadn't grown that dark stubble on his upper lip yet. The third time, he had already returned to Stegeborg from the Grand Tour with those little strands of raven hair for a moustache. The war kept raging on.
Christina herself, like Charles, had been born in the heat of the armed conflict that changed their lives forever.

Like he always had done at that time of year, Herr Oxenstierna had dropped by his homelands before returning to the war front, and he discussed the neverending war with the young girl. The silver streaks that once stood out had spread throughout his goatee, his eyebrows, and the rest of his hair. After all, a decade had passed since that evening's condolences.
The chancellor wanted to discuss matters of vital importance: the Austrian headquarters had received Swedish military and state secrets, and his suspicions were set on John of Wittelsbach, a foreigner and a Calvinist. The Count of Pfalz, married to Gustavus Adolphus's sister, had fled with her to Sweden after losing his lands and privileges at the start of the war. Charles had been born at Stegeborg, four years before Christina, but he had never felt like a foreigner or like an outsider. His father charged with treason? That was a name to be cleared, and he was ready to wash the Wittelsbach family name clean with blood if necessary.
And thus, he left for the third time, perchance never to return. The dark youth had received, from Christina, a fair lock from her ponytail and the command of the whole Swedish Army (it shouldn't be less, for perhaps, as a strategist, he could be the successor of the Great Gustavus Adolphus).
And years went by. The young princess who soon would be queen became aware of the fact that peace had to be signed as early as possible. If not, perhaps the young general wouldn't return alive. Actually, she didn't feel attracted to him, or to any other person, after her sexual awakening: after all, she was an intellectual, and a tomboy as well, and little did she care for her appearance or for fashion. Yet she liked him after all: only in conversation, riding together, drawing steel against each other. No sexual attraction or interest in wealth, just an intellectual relationship. Hence the importance of all that peace making.
"You should marry", they had told her at the table for the umpteenth time. She had been adressed by more than one of the noblemen seated beside her. Christina replied with a glare of her blue eyes, cold as ice and hard as steel, that said many things without a single word. She blushed and stood up, violently hitting the table with both her hands.

2)
They had summoned her to Tre Kronor. Though she preferred Stegeborg, she had to present herself at court to carry on some procedures. And also to visit the Chancellor, whose post she had decided to fill after the last farewell to Oxenstierna with a dashing gallant of Wallonian descent, Magnus de la Gardie.
She still felt restless at the deathbed of a gentleman in his seventies, who already saw before him the end of a lifetime and that of a regency. He had always been by Christina's side, from the very day he had arranged her parents' marriage. The Chancellor was strangely pale, and he could hardly breathe.
"Marry, Christina. Choose your husband..."
Then, he closed his eyes and became forever silent.
Once more, she burst into tears, which she quite rarely did.

3)
In a kingdom in the North there once lived a young princess so clever that she read all the newspapers and every book in the known world: partly due to her fondness of strange nations, partly because she had to stop a war that had already claimed enough lives. Her late regent and her other loved ones had sung to her always the same old song: "Why shouldn't you marry?"
Thus, shortly after she had ascended the throne, she received letters from southern lands, messages that peace was soon to be signed. If she wished for a bridegroom, he should not only be dashing (for that would be so tiresome!), but able to understand her as well. And thus, she assembled all of her court ladies together, and they were astonished upon that decision.
When the treaty was signed, she had proclamations printed and exported, and sent to the ends of the Habsburg Empire, stating that every well-favoured youth was free to visit Her Majesty (either at the royal court, at Tre Kronor, or at Stegeborg, her childhood estate) and speak with her, and those who displayed their wit were to make themselves feel quite at home, but the one who spoke best would be chosen as confident for Her Majesty ("perhaps as husband for her", countless suitors thought).
Thus, gallants came in crowds, from as far south as Prague and Constance, but none of was able to meet the requirement on the first or on the second day of the peace celebrations. They all could speak very well in a lecture hall, or on the street, or even by a campfire... but when they entered the royal residences, surrounded by gilded plasterwork, and rose-­red tapestries, and great, silver mirrors that glowed with the light of a thousand candles, and saw the counts and barons in all their finery, and the guards in blue and silver uniforms, they grew nervous, and they were stunned.
And, once before the throne, they could do nothing but repeat, like Echo, the last thing the young queen had said. And thus she grew bored with each man, and sent them all away, one by one.
On the third day, a dashing person came to Stegeborg on foot, without horse or carriage, with long raven hair and a lieutenant's or ensign's uniform (a rather worn and torn one, but nevertheless colourful and beautiful). When he passed through the palace gates, he saw the guards in their silver and blue uniforms, and the nobles in all their splendour, but was not the least embarrassed, though his own clothes were faded and worn. The halls were dazzling with light. State councillors and ambassadors walked around barefooted, wearing satin slippers. It was enough to distract the most brilliant orator. But the officer, though his worn boots creaked, didn't even flinch.
He went boldly up to the princess herself, who was seated on her throne, and all the ladies of the court were present with their maids, and all the counts and barons and knights with their servants; and every one of them was dressed so finely that they shone as brightly as the mirrors. They were placed around the throne according to their station: the nearer they were to the door, the lower was their rank and the prouder their look. Even the servants wore cloth of gold, and they were all so proud that they would not even look at him, because he had come to the palace with ink on his fingers. He was quite solemn and not at all afraid, free, lively and agreeable... and said he had not come to woo the princess, but to hear her wisdom; and he was as pleased with her as she was with him.
They looked at each other for a while, his eyes of black fixed on her eyes of blue. They recognized each other. And they embraced.
"Charles! You're alive!"
"Christina! How come you're wearing a gown?"
"You see...", she stroked her yellow satin skirt. "Today is not a usual day."
Both told each other everything they couldn't have told each other. He had been to Prague and seen there halls more elegant than those of his childhood, and thus, he had got used to the decadent elegance of the Baroque. She had stayed in Sweden due to affairs of state. The war that branded their lives had lasted for thirty years.

4)
The first ray of sunlight in one of those long summer days filtered itself through the curtains that covered her white lily-bed. A blond young girl with rather tangled hair, dressed still in her nightgown, stood up to take up a book from a nearby table and start reading it by daybreak light. Le discours de la méthode. The author would soon arrive in response to her invitation. They dressed her in breeches once more: wearing corsets and petticoats was meant only for special occasions.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she thought of Charles and of marriage. For a while, she felt light-headed and nearly fainted upon remembering that night's dream: one of her childhood memories. She was in a far darker room, that could be even considered eerie. In her dream, she was a child of seven, reading a history book beside a beautiful lady in mourning black, with platinum blond hair and bleak countenance, who never ceased to weep. Before both of them, within a crystal glass case, lay the lifeless form of a rather dashing gentleman, doubtlessly a warrior, a military man from what his attire could tell, with the same sharp goatee and the same impressive physique as the Great Gustavus Adolphus in the illustrations. He was strawberry blond with a high forehead, just like little Christina. As she read the account of the battle of Lützen, she couldn't avoid hearing all that weeping and those sighs of despair: "Why you, and not rather me? I can't even live without you!"

5)
They returned to the stables, that afternoon, from a ride that reminded more of a race. Charles was lagging behind Christina, like he had always done. Once more, they cast off their cavalier hats and their spurs.
"Christina... Shouldn't we..."
She blushed once more: her cheeks looked like strawberries. Locking eyes with Charles, she held a few tears in check.
"You shall be my successor, not my better half. Since we were raised together, I'm sure you'll even be a better ruler than I".
They exchanged glances once more, and they understood each other once again. The succession issue was no more a problem. And freedom lay just a few weeks ahead.

ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE - IV

Adapted from the retelling by Elsie Finnimore Buckley

Fourth Story
In which Orpheus visits a royal court, cheers a queen up, and stirs a heart of steel

And Orpheus went on his way, with hope beating high in his heart, till he came to the portals of the palace of Death. On the threshold lay Cerberus, the three-headed hound of hell, who night and day kept watch beside the gate to see that no one passed in save those who had died upon earth, and that those who had passed him once should pass him never again. When he heard Orpheus coming, he sprang to his feet and snarled and growled and bared his sharp white fangs; but as the strains of music grew clearer he sank silent to the ground, and stretched his three great heads between his paws. Orpheus, as he passed by, bent down and stroked him, and the fierce beast licked his hands. So did he enter into the gates of Death, and passed through the shadowy halls, till he stood before the throne of Hades, the king. A dim and awful form did he sit, wrapped about in darkness and mist, and on his right hand sat Persephone, his wife, whom he stole from the meadows of Sicily. When he saw Orpheus his eyes gleamed like the gleam of cold steel, and he stretched forth his gaunt right arm towards him.

"What dost thou here, Orpheus?" he asked.

"I am come to ask thee a boon, O King," he answered.

"There be many that ask me a boon," said Hades, "but none that receive it."

"Yet none have stood before thee in the flesh, as I do, O King, to ask their boon."

"Because thou hast trespassed unlawfully on my domain, dost thou think I will grant thee thy boon?"

"Nay; but because my grief is so great that I have dared what none have dared before me, I pray thee to hear me."

Without waiting for an answer, he struck his lyre and sang to them the story of his life, and of how he had loved and lost Eurydice. The eyes of the pale queen brightened when she heard him, and the colour came back to her cheeks, as the song brought back to her mind the days of her girlhood and the sunlit meadows of Sicily. Then a great pity filled her heart for Eurydice, who had left the green earth for ever, and might not return, as she herself did, in the springtime, living only the dark winter months below. As Orpheus ceased his song she laid her hand upon her husband's.

"My lord," she said, "grant his boon, I pray thee. He is brave and true-hearted, and he sings as no man has ever sung before."

But the stern king sat with his head upon his hand and eyes cast down, deep in thought. At length he spoke, and his voice was soft and kind.

"Orpheus," he said, "thou hast touched my heart with thy singing. Yet it lies not with me to grant thee thy boon."

"But if the Queen, thy wife, may return to the earth in the springtime, may not Eurydice, too, come back at thy command?" asked Orpheus.

"The ways of the gods are not the ways of mortals, Orpheus; they walk by paths you may not tread. Yet, though I have no power to give thee back Eurydice, thou mayest win her thyself if thou hast the strength."

"How may that be?" cried Orpheus. "For the sake of Eurydice I have strength for any venture."

"No strength of the flesh can win her, Orpheus, but the strength of a faith unfaltering. I will send for her, and when thou seest her stand within the hall, holding out her hands towards thee, thou must harden thy heart, and turn and flee before her by the way thou camest. For the love of thee she will follow, and she will entreat thee to look at her and give her thy hand over the stony way. But thou must neither look at her nor speak to her. One look, one word, will be thine undoing, and she must vanish from thine eyes for ever. The spell of thy song still rests upon the guardians of my kingdom, and they will let thee and thy wife pass by. But think not by word nor deed to help her. Alone she passed from life to death, and alone she must pass back from death to life. Her love and thy faith can be the only bond between you. Hast thou the strength for this?"

"My Lord," cried Orpheus, "'tis but a small thing to ask of a love like mine."

RARITY'S BEST LOOKS

Nice hat:

This hat is quite a rarity as well...

Princess:

Rarity is just meant to play royalty on stage!

Lieutenant:

This blue period uniform fits Rarity like a glove.

MORE EAH : PATRIOTIC SPEECH ON QUEEN ANNE'S DAY

PATRIOTIC SPEECH ON QUEEN ANNE'S DAY

By Percival Hatter

Into Spanish by Eric Hatter

Canta, oh musa de los recargados ditirambos que con motivo de tan gloriciosa fiesta suelen recitarse en nuestras plazas y ventas, y aún en la corte misma. Canta a la poderosa Ana de rizos de medianoche. Ana la Poderosa, Ana la Grande, heroína de la patria y artífice de su exaltación...
Modestia aparte: no existe en todas las dimensiones punto del horizonte, lado del mundo, tierra, reino, lugar, región, provincia, o dilatada extensión de otra índole posible comparable al País de las Maravillas. Allí naciste plebeya, hija de militar y cantinera, pero recatada cual hija de reverendo (eso sí, parlera y ligeramente arisca, como nacida en cuartel que eras). Y, de pronto, dragones cubriendo el sol con sus alas, ejércitos enviados a la batalla, te quedaste huérfana y sola, prisionera de los imponentes reptiles. Les enseñaste a leer y escribir. Y les convenciste para que se sometieran a tu voluntad.
Te descubrió el regente. Y te llevó a la corte consigo, estando su hijo adoptivo aún soltero. Y entonces, Ana la provinciana, Ana la dragonera, fuiste bien pronto la reina de nuestras felices gentes. Prefiriendo la fuerza a la ciencia, te llevabas mal con tu consorte, el regente aún coronado. Ana la Dragonera y Robert el Zodíacos. Y el rubio mozo Florián... le encontraron hecho un eunuco en los bosques reales una tarde de otoño. Dicen nuestros enemigos que tú le emasculaste. Florián el Eunuco. Fuiste una madre severa para él, pero nunca una usurpadora. Y, cuando expiró por la infección de la enervante herida, nombró a sus tutores los sucesores suyos. Llevaste la guerra a Nunca Jamás y a los reinos del norte, y te dejaste el corazón en una partesana. Tres hijos varones y una hija tuviste: Dorián, René y Mikel, y Elsa, tu sucesora vilipendiada por los himnos que gracian tu fiesta cada año. Que la partesana que despachó la sangre de tu corazón nos inspire y proteja por los siglos de los siglos. ¡Viva!

PASSIONS EXPLAINED

I recently read a fairytale by yet another obscure Victorian writer, about a princess whose parents had given her no tutors or education to control her and make her completely subservient.
Then, one of her suitors dethroned her father and liege (had him locked away, after the coup, in a lunatic asylum) to subsequently summon the intelligentsia of the land to court, to instruct her:

History acted its deeds before her on their lips. Strange nations lived and spoke

 to her; and as she spoke to them she learned their language.

My interest in the past is far newer than my philological vein. 

I was once told that learning about the past would help 

me comprehend the present and even the future, as demonstrated in the many

 historical allusions scattered throughout this very blog.

As a child, I was interested in languages being a third-culture child from a multicultural background. I was told stories and sung to in English, in Swedish, Spanish, Catalan, even in German and French. The prospect of strange nations and fantasy worlds was tempting for a hinterland outsider like me... but the first thought I had was of changing this world (present-day Earth) for better, stopping all crimes, wars, and religious conflicts. I was also curious about learning where words come from, why there are cognates and false friends across languages (that discipline is called onomasiology)... With the pass of years, those wishes gave way to sheer passion: philology for the sake of philology. So it is to the present day and the come-of-age university student.
And yes, royal children, like cadets and wannabe diplomats, had to be multilingual in the olden days.
Still into our days, that is a skill that shapes history, raising bridges across nations/cultures and revealing hidden secrets. I think of Luther, having learned Latin and Greek at Erfurt, being able to understand the original Bible and kickstart the Protestant Reformation... and of the diplomats behind Westphalia and many other relevant peace treaties.
Needless to say that Gustavus Adolphus and his daughter Christina were both multilingual, and so were Charles V, Luther, and many others.