#Jeanne d'Albret

[alfaangel]

[fabiolajyx]

They cancelled The Serpent Queen and I am so fucking mad!!

I'm french and guess where do I live? In the Loire Valley!! My hometown, Vendôme, is where The House of Bourbon (the one we see in the show) is from. Their full name is actually de Bourdon-Vendôme, because there are three different branches and if we only mention "Bourbon", it's kind of confusing because we don't know which branch we speak of and Bourbon-Vendôme is the one Henri IV is from. Which means, the character that we see in the show lived in the castle located next to my elementary school! I was young but I can still see and hear my teacher telling my class "This castle next to us was a big deal.". Henri IV didn't live here but he came a few times, especially when his mother, Jeanne d'Albret, died and was buried here (along with Antoine and their first born son (and Louis, Antoine's brother)). So when Jeanne died in the show, in the story, they technically should have been in my hometown (and Antoine and Louis should have been already dead lol). Same as when Antoine and Louis went back home to their dads. François I, François II, Marie Stuart, Charles IX and Catherine came here. Sadly, the castle is just ruins now... But it makes me sad that they never mentioned the name of the town once. Even Reign mentioned it. I mean, everyone knows that Reign was more fiction than facts but still, they mentioned Vendôme in one of the latest episodes of the show and it's still one of my proudest moment 🥹

Since I live in Vendôme, it means that I live 30 min away from le Château de Chambord, where they filmed most of the show. I love going there whenever I can but sadly, I never got the chance to go there when they were filming... 💔 It was weird and funny to see how they edited the outsides of the castle. Some editing didn't make any sense but I get it. Also, the big gardens are from a completely different castle located in Villandry. So it was weird to see Chambord edited in the background. And it didn't make any sense when we would see Chambord fully and the gardens weren't there, haha.

Also, le Château d'Amboise was used two times and they kinda disrespected it 😅 I'm not entirely serious when I say this but I kinda I am. The first time is in the season one finale, when Mary "arrives" in Scotland. The second that I saw the location I said "Oh, Amboise" and then I saw the ocean next to it and realised that it was supposed to be Scotland 😭 The second time was in season two when Catherine visits Diane (who is still pretty young and most importantly, miraculously still alive in 1572 😭). When Diane and Catherine talk we discover that they are in "Anet" (where she died in 1566). I was so happy when they mentioned where they were in the story but I was like "but, but, it's Amboise, guys 😭". It's funny and confusing for me because I know those castles but it's perfectly fine for an audience who has no clue. Also, le Château d'Anet is a private property, so I don't know if they would have allowed the show to come and filmed there, but also I've seen a documentary a few months ago and the owner seems very sweet, so I don't know. They also used Amboise, the town, to be Paris, where Catherine's brother was supposed to build le Palais des Tuileries.

And last but not least, I wanna talk about Blois (20 min away from me, next to Chambord) Oooh, Blois is probably my biggest heartbreak from that show. In season one, it made sense to be in Chambord because this castle was François I's baby but he lived there for only a month. Henri II didn't live there but kept the constructions going. When Henri II died, François II didn't live there. Charles IX didn't live there either but just like his father before him, he kept the constructions going and consolidated it. Henri III and Henri IV didn't live there and didn't do anything to it (it's such an Anjou and Henri behavior if you ask me haha). But if Henri II, François II, Charles IX and Henri III didn't live there, then where did they live, you ask?! Well, they lived in BLOIS. Which means that the whole show should have been happening in le Château de Blois, not Chambord. Y'all have no idea how excited I was when I heard that season 2 was filming in Blois. I thought, finally, they are going to aknowledge the most important castle of the Valois! I mean they actually all lived there and this is where Catherine died!! When I say that that castle is important to the Valois' story, it's because it is. Do I need to tell you how disappointed I was when I saw season 2 last week? A) I was expecting multiple scenes in the castle and well, that didn't happen. B) I had to wait the very last episode to see what they filmed there. C) THEY DIDN'T EVEN FILMED IN THE CASTLE!!! We see all the Protestants walking across the bridge, we see a few streets that I'm not even sure if it's actually Blois and then we see the castle, in the background, behind all the protestants who are looking at a cathedral that is not even located there. THEY EDITED THE CATHEDRAL OF TOURS IN BLOIS 😭 It's not fair. Honestly, all the editing stuff didn't really bother me. I understand that they did whatever they needed to for the aesthetic of the show. But not mentioning once the name of the town that was important to the true Valois Kings and Queens is something that I truly don't understand.

The show is about the French history, is filmed in France and guess what? We had NO WHERE TO WATCH IT IN FRANCE. The show arrived like a week ago on Max and it's been n°5 in the top 10 since then. French people want to see their country in a show and support it, we have the proof and THEY CANCEL IT?! I am so upset. They could have give it a third and last season to wrap it up. Season 2 was so much better than season 1. The Valois siblings did bring so much more depth, especially Anjou.

I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I'M LOSING KING ANJOU. The potential that he had was insane.

Okay, I'm gonna shut up now and cry about it 😭

[whencyclopedia]

Ten Women of the Protestant Reformation

Women played a vital role in the Protestant Reformation (1517-1648) not only by supporting the major reformers as wives but also through their own literary and political influence. Their contributions were largely marginalized in the past, but modern-day scholarship has highlighted women's roles and established their importance in spreading the reformed vision of Christianity.

Prior to the Reformation, the lives of women were ordered by the Catholic Church, the patriarchal nobility, and their husbands or sons. Women in the Middle Ages held jobs and some even assumed control of the family business after their husbands' death, but their opportunities were still limited, with rare exceptions, to becoming a wife and mother or a nun. After the Reformation began, women found new freedoms – as well as uncertain futures – as monasteries and nunneries were closed, eliminating the option of monastic life, while also allowing women who had been forced to become nuns to now choose their own path.

The Reformation affected women's lives throughout Europe and beyond and, as it was not a cohesive movement, different Protestant sects regarded women in different ways. The followers of Martin Luther (l. 1483-1546) believed that a woman's place was in the home, caring for the children, and those who supported the views of Huldrych Zwingli (l. 1484-1531) felt likewise, while the Anabaptists, who had emerged as their own sect from Zwingli's reforms, elevated women's status to positions of authority as ministers and prophets.

Even within more restrictive Protestant sects, however, women still found they had more of a voice and greater opportunities than before. Luther's wife, Katharina von Bora, was a former nun who married, raised children, brewed her own beer, and ran a farm, while Katharina Schutz, wife of reformer Michael Zell (d. 1548), became far more famous than her husband for her written works. The Protestant Reformation encouraged literacy because, no matter the sect, the new teaching emphasized the importance of reading the Bible for oneself, and so girls were now allowed an education whereas, previously, educating women was considered a waste of time.

Ten Women of the Reformation

The ten women on this list are only a very small sampling of the many who contributed to the Reformation and are mainly drawn from the Lutheran and Reformed sects as their lives are among the best documented:

Katharina von Bora (l. 1499-1552)

Argula von Grumbach (l. 1490 to c. 1564)

Anna Reinhart (l. c. 1484-1538)

Katharina Schutz (l. 1497-1562)

Marguerite de Navarre (l. 1492-1549)

Marie Dentiere (l. c. 1495-1561)

Katharina von Zimmern (l. 1478-1547)

Jeanne d'Albret (Joan III of Navarre, l. 1528-1572)

Anna Adischwyler (l. c. 1504-1564)

Olympia Fulvia Morata (l. 1526-1555)

These women did not suffer as greatly as many others who took a stand for their religious convictions but often endured hardships for their faith, refusing to compromise, even when doing so would have made their lives easier.

Continue reading...

[queenlucythevaliant]

Clad in Justice and Worth

Written for the Inklings Challenge 2023 (@inklings-challenge). Inspired by the lives of Jeanne d'Albret and Marguerite de Navarre, although numerous liberties have been taken with the history in the name of introducing fantastical elements and telling a good story. The anglicization of names (Jeanne to Joan and Marguerite to Margaret) is meant to reflect the fictionalization of these figures.

The heat was unbearable, and it would grow only hotter as they descended into the lowlands. It was fortunate, Joan decided, that Navarre was a mountain country. It was temperate, even cold there in September. It would be sweltering by the sea.

The greater issue ought to have been the presence of Monluc, who would cut Joan’s party off at the Garonne River most like. The soldiers with whom she traveled were fierce, but Monluc had an entire division at the Garrone. Joan would be a prisoner of war if Providence did not see her through. Henry, perhaps, might suffer worse. He might be married to a Catholic princess.

Yet Joan was accustomed to peril. She had cut her teeth on it. Her first act as queen, some twenty years ago, had been to orchestrate the defense of her kingdom, and she was accustomed to slipping through nets and past assassins. The same could not be said of the infernal heat, which assaulted her without respite. Joan wore sensible travel clothing, but the layers of her skirts were always heavy with sweat. A perpetual tightness sat in her chest, the remnant of an old bout with consumption, and however much she coughed it would not leave.

All the same, it would not do to seem less than strong, so she hid the coughing whenever she could. The hovering of her aides was an irritant and she often wished she could just dismiss them all.

“How fare you in the heat, Majesty?”

“I have war in my gut, Clemont,” Joan snapped. “Worry not for me. If you must pester someone, pester Henry.”

He nodded, chastened. “A messenger is here from Navarre. Sent, I suspect, to induce you to return hence.”

“I would not listen to his birdcalls.”

“Young Henry said much the same.”

Joan stuffed down her irritation that Clemont had gone to Henry before he’d come to her. She was still queen, even if her son was rapidly nearing his majority. “Tell him that if the Huguenot leaders are to be plucked, I think it better that we all go together. Tell him that I would rather my son and I stand with our brothers than await soldiers and assassins in our little kingdom.”

Her aide gave a stiff nod. “At once, your Majesty.”

She would breathe easier when they reached the host at La Rochelle. Yet then, there would be more and greater work to do. There would be war, and Joan would be at the head of it.

*

When she awoke in the night, Joan knew at once that something was awry. It was cool. Gone was the blistering heat that had plagued them all day. Perhaps one of the kidnapping plots had finally succeeded.

Certainly, it seemed that way. She was in a cell, cool and dank and no more than six paces square. And yet—how strange! —the door was open.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Joan crept towards the shaft of moonlight that fell through it. She glanced about for guards, but saw only a single prisoner in dirty clothes standing just beyond the threshold. He was blinking rapidly, as though the very existence of light bewildered him. Then, as Joan watched, he crept forward towards the gate of the jailhouse and out into the free air beyond. Joan listened for a long moment, trying to hear if there was any commotion at the prisoner’s emergence. When she could perceive none, she followed him out into the cool night air.

A lantern blazed. “Come quickly,” a voice hissed. “Our friend the Princess is waiting.”

The prisoner answered in a voice too quiet for Joan to hear. Then, quite suddenly, she heard his companion say, “Who is it that there behind you?”

The prisoner turned round, and Joan’s fingers itched towards her hidden knife. But much to her astonishment, he exclaimed, “Why, it is the lady herself! Margaret!”

But Joan had no opportunity to reply. Voices sounded outside her pavilion and she awoke to the oppressive heat of the day before. Coughing hard, Joan rolled ungracefully from her bed and tried to put away the grasping tendrils of her dream.

“The river is dry, Majesty” her attendant informed her as soon as she emerged from her pavilion, arrayed once again in sensible riding clothes. “The heat has devoured it. We can bypass Monluc without trouble, I deem.”

“Well then,” Joan replied, stifling another cough. “Glory to God for the heat.”

*

They did indeed pass Monluc the next day, within three fingers of his nose. Joan celebrated with Henry and the rest, yet all the while her mind was half taken up with her dream from the night before. Never, in all her life, had her mind conjured so vivid a sensory illusion. It had really felt cool in that jail cell, and the moonlight beyond it had been silver and true. Stranger still, the prisoner and his accomplice had called Joan by her mother’s name.

Joan had known her mother only a little. At the age of five, she had been detained at the French court while her mother returned to Navarre. This was largely on account of her mother’s religious convictions. Margaret of Angoulême had meddled too closely with Protestantism, so her brother the king had seen fit to deprive her of her daughter and raise her a Catholic princess.

His successor had likewise stolen Henry from Joan, for despite the king’s best efforts she was as Protestant as her mother. Yet unlike Margaret, Joan had gone back for her child. Two years ago, she had secretly swept Henry away from Paris on horseback. She’d galloped the horses nearly to death, but she’d gotten him to the armed force waiting at the border, and then at last home to Navarre. Sometimes, Joan wondered why her own mother had not gone to such lengths to rescue her. But Margaret’s best weapons had been tears, it was said, and tears could not do the work of sharp swords.

The Navarre party arrived at La Rochelle just before dusk on the twenty-eighth of September. The heat had faltered a little, to everyone’s great relief, but the air by the sea was still heavy with moisture. The tightness in Joan’s chest persisted.

“There will be much celebration now that you have come, Your Majesty,” said the boy seeing to her accommodations. “There’s talk of giving you the key to the city, and more besides.”

Sure enough, Joan was greeted with applause when she entered the Huguenot council. “I and my son are here to promote the success of our great cause or to share in its disaster,” she said when the council quieted. “I have been reproached for leaving my lands open to invasion by Spain, but I put my confidence in God who will not suffer a hair of our heads to perish. How could I stay while my fellow believers were being massacred? To let a man drown is to commit murder.”

*

Sometimes it seemed that the men only played at war. The Duke of Conde, who led the Huguenot forces, treated it as a game of chivalry between gentlemen. Others, like Monluc, regarded it as a business; the mercenaries he hired robbed and raped and brutalized, and though be bemoaned the cruelty he did nothing to curtail it.

There were sixty-thousand refugees pouring into the city. Joan was not playing at war. When she rose in the mornings, she put poultices on her chest, then went to her office after breaking her fast. There was much to do. She administered the city, attended councils of war, and advised the synod. In addition, she was still queen of Navarre, and was required to govern her own kingdom from afar.

In the afternoons, she often met with Beza to discuss matters of the church, or else with Conde, to discuss military matters. Joan worked on the city’s fortifications, and in the evenings she would ride out to observe them. Henry often joined her on these rides; he was learning the art of war, and he seemed to have a knack for it.

“A knack is not sufficient,” Joan told him. “Anyone can learn to fortify a port. I have learned, and I am a woman.”

“I know it is not sufficient,” the boy replied. “I must commit myself entirely to the cause of our people, and of Our Lord. Is that not what you were going to tell me?”   

“Ah, Henry, you know me too well. I am glad of it. I am glad to see you bear with strength the great and terrible charge which sits upon your shoulders.”

“How can I help being strong? I have you for a mother.”

At night, Joan fell into bed too exhausted for dreams.

*

Yet one night, she woke once again to find her chest loose and her breathing comfortable. She stood in a hallway which she recognized at once. She was at the Château de Fontainebleau, the place of her birth, just beyond the door to the king’s private chambers.

“Oh please, Francis, please. You cannot really mean to send him to the stake!” The voice on the other side of the door was female, and it did not belong to the queen.

A heavy sigh answered it. “I mean to do just that, ma mignonne. He is a damned heretic, and a rabble-rouser besides. Now, sister, don’t cry. If there’s one thing I cannot bear, it is your weeping.”

At those words, a surge of giddiness, like lightning, came over Joan’s whole body. It was her own mother speaking to the king. She was but a few steps away and they were separated only by a single wooden door.

“He is my friend, Francis. Do you say I should not weep for my friends?”

A loud harumph. “A strange thing, Margaret. Your own companions told me that you have never met the man.”

“Does such a triviality preclude friendship? He is my brother in Our Lord.”  

“And I am your true brother, and your king besides.”

“And as you are my brother—” here, Margaret’s voice cracked with overburdening emotion. She was crying again, Joan was certain. “As you are my brother, you must grant me this boon. Do not harm those I love, Francis.”

The king did not respond, so Joan drew nearer to the door. A minute later, she leapt backwards when it opened. There stood her mother, not old and sick as Joan had last seen her twenty years before, but younger even than Joan herself.

“If you’ve time to stand about listening at doors, then you are not otherwise employed,” Margaret said, wiping her tears from her face with the back of her hand. “I am going to visit a friend. You shall accompany me.”

Looking down at herself, Joan realized that her mother must have mistaken her for one of Fountainbleu’s many ladies-in-waiting. She was in her night clothes, which was really a simple day dress such as a woman might wear to a provincial market. Joan did not sleep in anything which would hinder her from acting immediately, should the city be attacked in the middle of the night. 

“As you wish, Majesty,” Joan replied with a curtsey. Margaret raised an eyebrow, and instantly Joan corrected herself: “Your Highness.”

Margaret stopped at her own rooms to wrap herself in a plain, hooded cloak. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Joan, your Highness.”

“Well, Joan. As penance for eavesdropping, you shall keep your own counsel with regards to our errand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, your Highness,” Joan replied stiffly. Any fool could see what friend Margaret intended to visit, and Joan wished she could think of a way to cut through the pretense.

When Margaret arrived at the jail with Joan in tow, the warden greeted her almost like a friend. “You are here to see the heretic, Princess? Shall I fetch you a chair?”

“Yes, Phillip. And a lantern, if you would.”

The cell was nearly identical to the one which Joan had dreamed on the road to La Rochelle. Inside sat a man with sparse gray hair covering his chin. Margaret’s chair was placed just outside the cell, but she brushed past it. She handed the lantern to Joan and knelt down in the cell beside the prisoner.

“I was told that I had a secret friend in the court,” he said. “I see now that she is an angel.”

��No angel, monsieur Faber. I am Margaret, and this is my lady, Joan. I have come to see to your welfare, as best I am able.”

Now, Margaret’s hood fell back, and all at once she looked every inch the Princess of France. Yet her voice was small and choked when she said, “Will you do me the honor of praying with me?”

Margaret was already on her knees, but she lowered herself further. She rested one hand lightly on Faber’s knee, and after a moment, he took it. Her eyes fluttered closed. In the dim light, Joan thought she saw tears starting down her mother’s cheek.

When she woke in the morning, Joan could still remember her mother’s face. There were tears in her hazelnut eyes, and a weeping quiver in her voice.

*

Winter came, and Joan’s coughing grew worse. There was blood in it now, and occasionally bits of feathery flesh that got caught in her throat and made her gag. She hid it in her handkerchief.

“Winter battles are ugly,” Conde remarked one morning as Christmas was drawing near. “If the enemy is anything like gentlemen, they will not attack until spring. And yet, I think, we must stand at readiness.”

“By all means,” Joan replied. “Anything less than readiness would be negligence.”

Conde chuckled, not unkindly. “For all your strength and skill, madame, it is obvious that you were not bred for command. No force can be always at readiness. It would kill the men as surely as the sword. ‘Tis not negligence to celebrate the birth of Our Lord, for instance.”

Joan nodded curtly, but did not reply.

As the new year began, the city was increasingly on edge. There was frequent unrest among the refugees, and the soldiers Joan met when she rode the fortifications nearly always remarked that an attack would come soon.

Then, as February melted into March, word came from Admiral Coligny that his position along the Guirlande Stream had been compromised. The Catholic vanguard was swift approaching, and more Huguenot forces were needed. By the time word reached Joan in the form of a breathless young page outside her office, Conde was already assembling the cavalry. Joan made for the Navarre quarter at once, as fast as her lungs and her skirts would let her.

The battle was an unmitigated disaster. The Huguenots arrived late, and in insufficient numbers. Their horses were scattered and their infantry routed, and the bulk of their force was forced back to Cognac to regroup. As wounded came pouring in, Joan went to the surgical tents to make herself useful.

The commander La Noue’s left arm had been shattered and required amputation. Steeling herself, Joan thought of Margaret’s tearstained cheeks as she knelt beside Faber. “Commander La Noue,” she murmured, “Would it comfort you if I held your other hand?”

“That it would, Your Majesty,” the commander replied. So, as the surgeon brandished his saw, Joan gripped the commander’s hand tight and began to pray. She let go only once, to cover her mouth as she hacked blood into her palm. It blended in easily with the carnage of the field hospital.

Yet it was not till after the battle was over that Joan learned the worst of it. “His Grace, General Conde is dead,” her captain told her in her tent that evening. “He was unseated in the battle. They took him captive, and then they shot him. Unarmed and under guard! Why, as I speak these words, they are parading his corpse through the streets of Jarnac.”

“So much for chivalry,” murmured Joan, trying to ignore the memories of Conde’s pleasant face chuckling, calling her skilled and strong.

“We will need to find another Prince of the Blood to champion our cause,” her captain continued. “Else the army will crumble. If there’s to be any hope for Protestantism in France, we had better produce one with haste. Admiral Coligny will not serve. He’s tried to rally the men, to no avail. In fact, he has bid me request that you make an attempt on the morn.”

“Henry will lead.”

“Henry? Why, he’s only a boy!”

Joan shook her head. “He is nearly a man, Captain, and he’s a keen knack for military matters. He trained with Conde himself, and he saw to the fortification of La Rochelle at my side. He is strong, which matters most of all. If it’s a Prince of the Blood the army requires, Henry will serve.”

“As you say, Majesty,” said her captain with a bow. “But it’s not me you will have to convince.”

*

Joan settled in for a sleepless night. Her captain was correct that she would need to persuade the Huguenot forces well, if they were to swear themselves to Henry. So, she would speak. Joan would rally their courage, and then she would present them with her son and see if they would follow him.

Page after page she wrote, none of it any good. Eloquence alone would not suffice; Joan’s words had to burn in men’s chests. She needed such words as she had never spoken before, and she needed them by morning.  

By three o’clock, Joan’s pages were painted with blood. Her lungs were tearing themselves to shreds in her chest, and the proof was there on the paper beside all her insufficient words. She almost hated herself then. Now, when circumstance required of her greater strength than ever before, all Joan’s frame was weakness and frailty.

An hour later, she fell asleep.

When Joan’s eyes fluttered open, she knew at once where she was. Why, these were her own rooms at home in Navarre! Sunlight flooded through her own open windows and drew ladders of light across Joan’s very own floor. Her bed sat in the corner, curtains open. Her dressing room and closet were just there, and her own writing desk—

There was a figure at Joan’s writing desk. Margaret. She looked up.

“My Joan,” she said. It started as a sigh, but it turned into a sob by the end. “My very own Joan, all grown up. How tired you look.” 

The words seemed larger than themselves somehow. They were Truth and Beauty in capital letters, illuminated red and gold. Something in Joan’s chest seized; something other than her lungs. 

“How do you know me, mother?”

“How could I not? I have been parted from you of late, yet your face is more precious to me than all the kingdoms of the earth.”

“Oh.” And then, because she could not think of anything else to say, Joan asked, “What were you writing, before I came in?”’

“Poetry.” Joan made a noise in her throat. “You disapprove?” asked her mother.

“No, not at all. Would that I had time for such sweet pursuits. I have worn myself out this night writing a war speech. It cannot be poetry, mother. It must be wine. It must–” then, without preamble, Joan collapsed into a fit of coughing. At once, her mother was on her feet, handkerchief in hand. She pressed it to Joan’s mouth, all the while rubbing circles on her back as she coughed and gagged. When the handkerchief came away at last, it was stained red.

“What a courageous woman you are,” Margaret whispered into her hair. “Words like wine for the soldiers, and yourself spitting blood. Will you wear pearls or armor when you address them?”

“I will address them on horseback in the field,” answered Joan with a rasp. “I would have them see my strength.”

Her mother’s dark eyes flickered then. Margaret looked at her daughter, come miraculously home to her against the will of the king and the very flow of time itself. She was not a large woman, but she held herself well. She stood brave and tall, though no one had asked it of her. 

Her own dear daughter did not have time for poetry. Margaret regretted that small fact so much that it came welling up in her eyes.  “And what of your weakness, child? Will you let anyone see that?”

Joan reached out and caught her mother’s tears. Her fingertips were harder than Margaret’s were. They scratched across the sensitive skin below her eyes.

“Did I not meet you like this once before? You are the same Joan who came with me to the jail in Paris once. I did not know you then. I had not yet borne you.”

“Yes, the very same. We visited a Monsieur Faber, I believe. What became of that poor man?”

Margaret sighed. She crossed back over to the desk to fall back into her seat, and in a smaller voice she said, “My brother released him, for a time. And then, when I was next absent from Paris, he was arrested again and sent to the stake before I could return.”

“I saw you save another man, once. I do not know his name. How many prisoners did you save, mother?”

“Many. Not near enough. Not as many as those with whom I wept by lantern light.”

“Did the weeping do any good, I wonder.”

“Those who lived were saved by weeping. Those who died may have been comforted by it. It was the only thing I could give them, and so I must believe that Our Lord made good use of it.”

Joan shook her head. She almost wanted to cry too, then. The feeling surprised her. Joan detested crying.

“All those men freed from prison, yet you never came for me. Why?”

“Francis was determined. A choice between following Christ and keeping you near was no choice at all, though it broke my heart to make it.” 

If Joan shut her eyes, she could still remember the terror of the night she had rescued Henry. “You could have come with soldiers. You could have stolen me away in the night.” 

Margaret did not answer. The tears came faster now and her fair, queenly skin blossomed red. So many years would pass between the dear little girl she’d left in Paris and the stalwart woman now before her. She did not have time for poetry, but if Margaret had been allowed to keep her that would have been different. Joan should have had every poem under the sun. 

“Will you read it?” she asked, taking the parchment from her desk and pressing it into her daughter’s hands. “Will you grant me that boon?”

Slowly, almost numbly, Joan nodded. To Margaret’s surprise, she read aloud. 

“God has predestined His own

That they should be sons and heirs.

Drawn by gentle constraint

A zeal consuming is theirs.

They shall inherit the earth

Clad in justice and worth.”

“Clad in justice and worth,” she repeated, handing back the parchment. “It’s a good poem.”

“It isn’t finished,” replied her mother.

Joan laughed. “Neither is my speech. It must be almost morning now.”

As loving arms closed around her again, Joan wished to God that she could remain in Navarre with her mother. She knew that she and Margaret did not share a heart: her mother was tender like Joan could never be. Yet all the same, she wanted to believe that they had been forged by the same Christian hope and conviction. She wanted to believe that she, Joan, could free the prisoners too. 

She shut her eyes against her mother’s shoulder. When she opened them, she was back in her tent, with morning sun streaming in. 

*

She came before the army mounted on a horse with Henry beside her. Her words were like wine when she spoke. 

“When I, the queen, hope still, is it for you to fear? Because Conde is dead, is all therefore lost? Does our cause cease to be just and holy? No; God, who has already rescued you from perils innumerable, has raised up brothers-in-arms to succeed Conde.

Soldiers, I offer you everything in my power to bestow–my dominions, my treasures, my life, and that which is dearer to me than all, my son. I make here a solemn oath before you all, and you know me too well to doubt my word: I swear to defend to my last sigh the holy cause which now unites us, which is that of honor and truth.”

When she finished speaking, Joan coughed red into her hands. There was quiet for a long moment, and then a loud hurrah! went up along the lines. Joan looked out at the soldiers, and from the front she saw her mother standing there, with tears in her eyes. 

[fideidefenswhore]

Subsequent medical science has demonstrated that ‘a secondary melonotic sarcoma’ was the actual cause of Catherine’s death, but the rumors persisted that she had been poisoned by her closest enemy– Anne Boleyn. Just as the charge that Catherine de Medici poisoned Jeanne d'Albret was an outlandish fabrication in the face of other evidence, the claims that Henry’s new queen, Anne Boleyn, orchestrated the poisoning of his previous queen were equally sensationalized. The possibility that a queen could be involved in nefarious poison plots to harm anyone was cause for alarm, but the fear that one queen would poison another queen was an even greater threat to the social and political hierarchy. The extremity of such a crime is what made it so appealing for gossip and rumormongering.

Poisoning Queens in Early Modern Fact and Fiction, Jo Eldridge Carney  

[venicepearl]

The Château de Nérac is a castle in the Lot-et-Garonne département in southwest France. An edifice of the French Renaissance style, it was finished during the reign of Jeanne d'Albret, Queen of Navarre, daughter of Marguerite d'Angoulème who was also Marguerite de Navarre by her marriage to Henry II of Navarre.

The castle has been listed as a Monument historique since 1862 by the French Ministry of Culture.

[famousinuniverse]

Anne of Austria (1601-1666) and her two children, the future Louis XIV, and Philippe, Cardinal Mazarin: Former Chief minister of France & François de Bourbon-Vendôme, son of César de Bourbon-Vendôme and Françoise de Lorraine, is a grandson of Henri IV. He is the first cousin of King Louis XIV. He remains single and dies without issue.

Louis XIV

King of France

Louis XIV, also known as Louis the Great or the Sun King, was King of France from 1643 until his death in 1715. His verified reign of 72 years and 110 days is the longest of any sovereign. 

Born: September 5, 1638, Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Germain-en-Laye

Died: September 1, 1715, Palace of Versailles, Versailles

Spouse: Françoise d'Aubigné, Marquise de Maintenon (m. 1683–1715), Maria Theresa of Spain (m. 1660–1683)

Children: Louis, Grand Dauphin, Louis Auguste, Duke of Maine, MORE

Grandchildren: Philip V of Spain, Louis, Duke of Burgundy, MORE

Parents: Louis XIII, Anne of Austria

Nicknames: Louis the Great, Sun King

Anne of Austria

Queen of Navarre

Anne of Austria was an infanta of Spain who became Queen of France as the wife of King Louis XIII from their marriage in 1615 until Louis XIII died in 1643. She was also Queen of Navarre until that kingdom was annexed into the French crown in 1620. 

Born: September 22, 1601, Valladolid, Spain

Died: January 20, 1666, Val-de-Grâce Hospital, Paris

Grandchildren: Louis, Grand Dauphin, MORE

Children: Louis XIV, Philippe I, Duke of Orléans

Spouse: Louis XIII (m. 1615–1643)

Siblings: Philip IV of Spain, Maria Anna of Spain

Parents: Philip III of Spain, Margaret of Austria, Queen of Spain

Philippe I, Duke of Orléans

Brother of Louis XIV.

Monsieur Philippe I, Duke of Orléans, was the younger son of King Louis XIII of France and his wife, Anne of Austria. His elder brother was the "Sun King", Louis XIV. Styled Duke of Anjou from birth, Philippe became Duke of Orléans upon the death of his uncle Gaston in 1660. 

Born: September 21, 1640, Château de Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Germain-en-Laye

Died: June 9, 1701, Parc St cloud, Saint-Cloud

Children: Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, Marie Louise d'Orléans, MORE

Great grandchildren: Louis XV, Marie Antoinette, MORE

Spouse: Elizabeth Charlotte, Madame Palatine (m. 1671–1701), Henrietta of England (m. 1661)

Siblings: Louis XIV

Grandchildren: Marie Adélaïde of Savoy, Louis, Duke of Orléans, MORE

Cardinal Mazarin

Former Chief minister of France

Jules Cardinal Mazarin, born Giulio Raimondo Mazzarino or Mazarini, was an Italian cardinal, diplomat and politician who served as the chief minister to the Kings of France Louis XIII and Louis XIV from 1642 to his death. In 1654, he acquired the title Duke of Mayenne and in 1659 that of 1st Duke of Rethel and Nevers. 

Born: July 14, 1602, Pescina, Italy

Died: March 9, 1661, Vincennes

Nationality: French, Italian

Place of burial: Collège des Quatre-Nations, Paris

Full name: Giulio Raimondo Mazzarino

Siblings: Girolama Mazzarini, Michele Mazzarino

Organization founded: Académie royale de peinture et de sculpture

François de Vendôme, duc de Beaufort

Cousin of King Louis XIV

François de Vendôme, duc de Beaufort was the son of César, Duke of Vendôme, and Françoise de Lorraine. He was a prominent figure in the Fronde, and later went on to fight in the Mediterranean. 

Born: January 16, 1616, Coucy Castle, Coucy-le-Château-Auffrique

Died: June 25, 1669, Heraklion, Greece

Great-grandparents: Antoine of Navarre, Jeanne d'Albret, MORE

Grandparents: Henry IV of France, Gabrielle d'Estrées, MORE

Parents: César, Duke of Vendôme, Françoise of Lorraine, Duchess of Vendôme

Uncle: Louis XIII

Louis, Anne, Philippe, Mazarin, Beaufort, and most importantly, Pistache

[herstories]

#HERSTORIES. Welcome to an private and history-based multimuse written by Krystal. She/Her 30+. Sideblog to @unbeleveable. Rules and muses under the cut while blog set-up is in progress.

Rules

No godmodding/no drama.

I will not interact with muses under the age of 18. Do not lie about your age, because if you do and I find out, you're getting blocked.

This is a private blog, meaning I will only interact with mutuals. Keep in mind that this is a sideblog and I'll be following back from my main blog linked to above.

All muses are based on the historical record as I interpret it with a few of my own embellishments and minor influences from some dramatic representations. With the latter two things in mind, I do my VERY BEST to stay true as to the characters and histories of these women.

I will not tolerate any hate or vitriol being thrown at any of my muses over unsubstantiated rumors. Many of these women have had unfair allegations levied against them both during their own lifetimes and after their deaths. This blog's goal is to rehabilitate them to the best of my abilities.

Muses

Elizabeth Woodville, Queen Consort of England

Margaret of Anjou, Queen Consort of England

Anne Boleyn, Queen Consort of England

Kathryn Parr, Queen Consort of England

Elizabeth I, Queen of England and Ireland

Catherine de Medici, Queen Consort/Queen Mother of France

Marie de Medici, Queen Consort/Queen Mother of France

Jeanne d'Albret, Queen of Navarre

Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia

Mary Villiers, Countess of Buckingham

Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Malborough

Marie de Guise, Queen Consort/Queen Regent of Scotland

Vanessa Bell

[random-racehorses]

Random Real Thoroughbred: JEANNE DE PELISSIER

JEANNE DE PELISSIER is a bay mare born in France in 1896. By BAY ARCHER out of JEANNE D'ALBRET. Link to their pedigreequery page: https://www.pedigreequery.com/jeanne+de+pelissier

[lya-dustin]

reading up that Jeanne d'Albret/Jeanne iii of Navarre signed two documents to declare that she didn't want to marry her first husband and was being forced to do so, and that is something aemma wouldve done to get out of marrying aegon in all is bliss

[xian-moriarty]

Jour 01.

Jeanne d'Albret.

Jeanne d'Albret, future reine de Navarre (maman du futur Henri Kekette IV de France et de Navarre) refuse d'épouser le duc de Cleves, s'opposant ainsi à François 1er. Elle est soutenue par sa mère Marguerite d'Angoulême, reine de Navarre et soeur de François 1er.

Le mariage est celebré, mais sera annulé pour non-consommation. Jeanne ne laissera jamais son époux passer la porte de ses appartements.

Jeanne épousera plus tard Antoine de Bourbon (donc le papa de Henri Kekette).

Je rappelle que la loi phallique....heu salique n'est pas appliquée en Navarre !

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Xian "La Blairelle" Moriarty (@xianmoriarty)

[sasa-chans-random-history]

January 07

[1528] Jeanne d'Albret, Queen of Navarre (1555-72), mother of French King Henry IV.

[1768] Joseph Bonaparte, French King of Naples and Spain, brother of Napoleon, born in Corte, Corsica.

[1796] Charlotte Augusta of Wales, British Princess and only legitimate grandchild of King George III, born in London.

[1845] Ludwig III, last King of Bavaria (1913-18), born in Munich, Bavaria.

[1926] Joe Marston, Australian football defender, born in Leichhardt, New South Wales, Australia.

[1929] Mario Bergamaschi, Italian football midfielder, born in Crema, Italy.

[1939] Prince Michael of Greece and Denmark, born in Rome, Kingdom of Italy.

[1964] Nicolas Cage, American actor, born in Long Beach, California.

[1970] João Ricardo, Angolan football goalkeeper, born in Luanda, Angola.

[1971] Jeremy Renner, American actor, born in Modesto, California.

[1977] Dustin Diamond, American actor and stand-up comedian, born in San Jose, California.

[1982] Lauren Cohan, British-American actress, born in Cherry Hill, New Jersey.

[1983] Brett Dalton, American actor, born in San Jose, California.

[1986] Grant Leadbitter, English football midfielder, born in Chester-le-Street, United Kingdom.

[1987] Davide Astori, Italian football central defender, born in San Giovanni Bianco, Italy.

[1989] Emiliano Insúa, Argentine football left-back, born in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

[1991] Eden Hazard, Belgian football winger or attacking midfielder, born in La Louvière, Belgium.

[2012] Blue Ivy Carter, American daughter of Beyoncé and Jay-Z, born in New York City, New York.

[312] Lucian of Antioch, theologist and martyr, dies from torture and starvation at 72.

[1285] Charles I of Anjou, King of Naples and Sicily (1266-85), brother of King Louis IX of France, dies at 58.

[1325] Denis of Portugal, King of Portugal (1279-1325), dies at 63.

[1355] Inês de Castro, Galician noblewoman, lover and posthumously-recognized wife of King Peter I of Portugal, is murdered in the orders of King Afonso IV at 29 or 30.

[1536] Catherine of Aragon, 1st wife of King Henry VIII, mother of Queen Mary 1, dies at 50.

[1695] Mary II, Queen of England, Scotland and Ireland, wife of King William III, dies of smallpox at 32 (OS=Dec. 28, 1694).

[1743] Anne Sophie von Reventlow, Queen of Denmark and Norway (1721-30), dies at 49.

[1830] Infanta Carlota Joaquina, daughter of King Charles IV of Spain and wife of King John VI of Portugal, dies at 53.

[1890] Augusta of Saxe-Weimar-Eisenach, wife of German Emperor William I, dies at 78.

[1922] Jonah Kūhiō Kalaniana'ole, Prince of the Kingdom of Hawaii, dies at 50.

[1943] Nikola Tesla, Serbian-American physicist,electrical engineer and inventor who developed alternating current and the Tesla Coil, dies at 86.

[1989] Emperor Shōwa (Hirohito), 124th Emperor of Japan (1926-89), dies at 87 after a 62-year reign.

[2020] Khamis Al-Owairan, Saudi Arabian football midfielder, dies from cancer at 46.

[whencyclopedia]

Louis I de Bourbon, Prince of Condé

Louis I de Bourbon (l. 1530-1569) was a descendant of Louis IX of France (r. 1226-1270) and founder of the House of Condé. The Prince of Condé proved his valor as a Huguenot military leader during the first three French Wars of Religion and died at the Battle of Jarnac in 1569.

Historical Context

The Protestant Reformation disrupted the religious status quo of the early 1500s in Europe when multitudes embraced the teachings of Martin Luther (l. 1483-1546) and John Calvin (l. 1509-1564). Protestantism made gains in France among the nobility and commoners alike in the first decades of the 16th century and encountered opposition from the Catholic Church. By the mid-16th century, Protestants who followed the teachings of Calvin were known as Huguenots or Calvinists. Marguerite de Navarre (l. 1492-1549) protected Protestant leaders and supported reform efforts in the Catholic Church. She was the sister of King Francis I of France (r. 1515-1547), the mother of Huguenot leader Queen Jeanne d'Albret (l. 1528-1572), and the grandmother of Henry of Navarre (l. 1553-1610), who converted to Catholicism in 1593 to become Henry IV of France, the first Bourbon king. The Protestant challenge to the status quo of the Catholic Church in France eventually led to a bloody struggle between Protestants and Catholics during the French Wars of Religion (1562-1598).

The royal houses of France were often in competition and made alliances according to political expediency. Political intrigues, assassinations, and executions were never far from religious questions. The House of Guise, a minor offshoot of the Dukes of Lorraine, was the most ardent archenemy of Protestants. The Bourbons were princes of royal blood, but distant from the throne and with modest wealth. They were also viewed with suspicion since Charles III de Bourbon had plotted with Henry VIII of England (r. 1509-1547) and Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor (r. 1519-1556) to take up arms against King Francis I. Positions among the high nobility became clearly established with the all-powerful Guises on one side and the Bourbons on the other.

Continue reading...

[philoursmars]

Je reviens à mon projet de présenter la plupart de mes 54110 photos (nouveau compte )

2014. Comme chaque année, je passe quelques jours chez Christine à Pau.

Une virée dans le Gers. Eauze, capitale de l’Armagnac. Ici, entre autres, la maison de Jeanne d’Albret.

[queenlucythevaliant]

Some fun facts and historical notes about Marguerite de Navarre and Jeanne d'Albret that I wasn't able to incorporate into my Inklings Challenge Story:

Marguerite of Navarre is considered by many to be the first Reformed princess.

She was sister to Francis I of France, and they actually had a very close relationship despite contentions over religion. They wore each other letters in verse and she filled in as queen in a ceremonial capacity when his wife Claude was sick. It was largely due to this closeness that Marguerite was able to intervene on behalf of so many Protestants.

After marrying Henri d'Albret and relocating from Paris to Navarre, Marguerite would hold secret Protestant communions in a cellar.

Marguerite was the first female poet in the Reformed tradition to publish. She also wrote prose, satire, and theatre.

Francis's persecution of Huguenots in Paris escalated after Marguerite left, but he halted executions whenever she visited the city out of respect for his sister.

Contrary to the implication I let hang in my story, Marguerite did see Jeanne again after Francis took custody of her. Jeanne was raised in the (Catholic) French court, and her mom was free to visit whenever, she just couldn't take Jeanne back to Navarre with her.

The poem that I quoted was actually written much earlier in Marguerite's life than portrayed. Unfortunately, her poetry is pretty hard to track down online, and I wasn't willing to spend thirty bucks to get a collection on Amazon (yet).

Jeanne d'Albret was the only European ruler of the sixteenth century to never execute anyone over religion.

She publicly proclaimed herself a Protestant and left the Catholic church shortly after becoming queen of Navarre. Subsequently, she was subject to Papal censure, followed by a Papal bull.

Both she and Marguerite corresponded at length with John Calvin. Theodore Beza did indeed spend long stretches of time with Jeanne in Navarre, and it's thought that she may have been involved in putting him forward as moderator of the synod at La Rochelle.

Jeanne did suffer from tuberculosis most of her life. It, combined with stress and anxiety over her son's impending marriage and persecution against Protestants, eventually killed her.

Henry was taken away from Jeanne as depicted in my story. When they were separated, she made him promise not to take the Catholic mass. When he was twelve or so (?) she did do a rescue mission and get him back to Navarre.

Jeanne did administrate wartime La Rochelle, work on the city's fortifications, consult on matters related to the government of the church, hold a commander's hand as it was amputated, and give a big dramatic rallying speech on horseback after the Duke of Condè's death. She also did a lot of diplomatic letter writing during that period, including to Elizabeth I of England. She was a badass.

Under both Marguerite and Jeanne, Navarre was a haven for those fleeing religious persecution. Protestants in particular, but it was safe for Catholics too.

Both of them were both very interested in education. Marguerite intervened on behalf of the university where both Calvin and Beza studied when it fell under scrutiny as a hotbed of heretics, and Jeanne founded a seminary in Navarre.

Jeanne d'Albret was not a time traveler, as far as we know. She also wasn't quite as hard a person as I wrote her in my Inklings story, although she did think her mother had been a bit too soft in her theology, and she did go on the record calling tears as a sign of weakness. However, she also did a lot of charitable work and wrote with a lot of pathos. Likewise, Marguerite did sometimes intervene to save people with tears, but she wasn't a cryer to the extent that I made her in my story. I emphasized these traits in both women in order to draw a contrast, but there was a lot more nuance that I left out in the process.

[historicwomendaily]

“The time from the accession of Isabella of Castile to the throne in 1474 to France’s Massacre of St Bartholomew almost a century later (a horror which ruptured loyalties across the continent) was an Age of Queens. The period saw an explosion of female rule scarcely equalled in even the twentieth century. These years saw the birth of the new reformed religion, as well as the dawn of the world we know today and for much of them, large swathes of Europe were under the firm hand of a reigning queen or a female regent. This was a sisterhood which recognised both their bonds as women and their ability to exercise power in a specifically feminine way.

[...] As the century wore on, the daughters of the first powerful women found themselves at the forefront of the great religious divides that racked the sixteenth century. Most, though not all, attempted to exercise a measure of religious tolerance before those hopes foundered in the face of other, more extreme, opinions.

Religion helped bring many of them into prominence; religion, in the end, would drive them apart and bring the Age of Queens to an end. But the sheer scale on which the women of the sixteenth century exercised power (as well as the challenges they faced) remains both a spectacle and a warning to our own day.” — Sarah Gristwood, Game of Queens: The Women Who Made Sixteenth–Century Europe

sixteenth–century queens regnant of the european sphere