#London Oratory

[mote-historie]

1933 Norman Hartnell, Wedding dress. Worn by Margaret Whigham later Margaret Campbell, Duchess of Argyll or Margaret, Duchess of Argyll. Embroidered with stars and with and extra wide train for the Brompton Oratory where she was married.

While 1000 guests had been invited to Margaret’s wedding, the day was gate crashed by 2000 more. A report in the Daily Mirror on 22 February 1933 described it as ‘hooliganism, probably unparalleled in any church’. Women stood on pews to gain a better view of the bride, and shamelessly snapped up some of the floral decorations to keep as souvenirs. Again, in the words of the Daily Mirror, these women then ‘pushed their way out triumphantly, clasping pink azaleas and tulips’.

Victoria and Albert Museum Collection, London

[liliesofeden]

Postcard I found showing the High Altar at Brompton Oratory, also known as the London Oratory, a late Victorian Roman Catholic Perish Church.

[allaboutmary]

The Lady altar of the London oratory decorated for the feast of the Assumption.

[werewolfetone]

"this is like the twentieth (?) century equivalent of that story abt henry grattan and the corpses"

what on earth is the story about Grattan and the corpses

Sadly I don't have the book that I read it in on hand rn so I can't quote it verbatim but basically in the eighteenth century all Irish people wanting to go into law had to go to London for a time to gain some understanding of English law as part of their training, and there's a (possibly apocryphal?) story about how when famous Irish orator Henry Grattan was in London for this training he started going to watch debates in the British House of Commons a lot (⬅️ this part is definitely true) out of boredom and became so obsessed with wanting to be a politician rather than a lawyer that he started wandering around talking under his breath to "Mr Speaker" + pretending to address the house on then-current issues, which escalated to the point where someone eventually caught him giving a passionate speech about the subject of debate for that day to a group of corpses hanging from a gallows somewhere in London while pretending they were MPs. Certain later nineteenth century writers (Stephen Gwynne, WT Latimer, etc) latched on to the story as early proof of Grattan's natural success at oratory, which is why I said it's kind of like the much weirder 1700s version of seeing young Pearse with a gun and going "omg he was always described to be a rebel"

[home-phoenix]

The Oratory on a freezing December day. Kensington. London.

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF SAINT JOHN HENRY NEWMAN The Patron of the Personal Ordinariate of Our Lady of Walsingham in England and Wales Feast Day: October 9

John Henry Newman, the 19th-century's most important English-speaking Catholic theologian, spent the first half of his life as an Anglican and the second half as a Roman Catholic. He was a priest, popular preacher, writer, and eminent theologian in both churches.

Born in London, England, he studied at Oxford's Trinity College, was a tutor at Oriel College, and for 17 years was vicar of the university church, St. Mary the Virgin. He eventually published eight volumes of Parochial and Plain Sermons as well as two novels. His poem, 'Dream of Gerontius,' was set to music by Sir Edward Elgar.

After 1833, Newman was a prominent member of the Oxford Movement, which emphasized the Church’s debt to the Church Fathers and challenged any tendency to consider truth as completely subjective.

Historical research made Newman suspect that the Roman Catholic Church was in closest continuity with the Church that Jesus established. In 1845, he was received into full communion as a Catholic. Two years later he was ordained a Catholic priest in Rome and joined the Congregation of the Oratory, founded three centuries earlier by Saint Philip Neri. Returning to England, Newman founded Oratory houses in Birmingham and London and for seven years served as rector of the Catholic University of Ireland.

Before Newman, Catholic theology tended to ignore history, preferring instead to draw deductions from first principles—much as plane geometry does. After Newman, the lived experience of believers was recognized as a key part of theological reflection.

Newman eventually wrote 40 books and 21,000 letters that survive. Most famous are his book-length Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine, On Consulting the Faithful in Matters of Doctrine, Apologia Pro Vita Sua—his spiritual autobiography up to 1864—and Essay on the Grammar of Assent. He accepted Vatican I's teaching on papal infallibility while noting its limits, which many people who favored that definition were reluctant to do.

When Newman was named a cardinal in 1879, he took as his motto 'Cor ad cor loquitur'—'Heart speaks to heart.'

He was buried in Rednal 11 years later. After his grave was exhumed in 2008, a new tomb was prepared at the Oratory church in Birmingham.

Three years after Newman died, a Newman Club for Catholic students began at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia. In time, his name was linked to ministry centers at many public and private colleges and universities in the United States.

In 2010, Pope Benedict XVI beatified Newman in London. Benedict noted Newman's emphasis on the vital place of revealed religion in civilized society, but also praised his pastoral zeal for the sick, the poor, the bereaved, and those in prison. Pope Francis canonized Newman in October 2019.

Source: Franciscan Media

[thoughtportal]

The True Origins of the Phrase ‘Bleeding-Heart Liberal’

Westbrook Pegler was extremely good at calling people names. Particularly politicians. In his syndicated newspaper column, he called Franklin D. Roosevelt “Moosejaw” and “momma’s boy.” Truman was “a thin-lipped hater.”

Pegler was a bit of hater himself. He didn’t like the labor movement, Communists, fascists, Jews, and perhaps most of all, liberals. In one 1938 column, he coined a term for liberals that would eventually come to define conservative scorn for the left. Pegler was the first writer to refer to liberals as “bleeding hearts.” The context for this then-novel insult? A bill before Congress that aimed to curb lynching.

https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/origin-bleeding-heart-liberal

Before the 20th century, the phrase “bleeding heart” was popular in the religious-tinged oratory of 19th century America. Throughout the 1860s, it comes up often in poetry, essays, and political speeches, as an expression of empathy and emotion. “I come to you with a bleeding heart, honest and sincere motives, desiring to give you some plain thoughts,” said one politician in an 1862 speech. The phrase comes from the religious image of Christ’s wounded heart, which symbolizes his compassion and love. It was a common enough phrase that London has a “Bleeding Heart Yard” (featured prominently in the Dickens novel Little Dorrit) which is named after a long-gone sign, once displayed at a local pub, that showed the Sacred Heart.

By the 1930s, though, the phrase had fallen out of common use and Pegler, who one politician called a “soul-sick, mud-wallowing gutter scum columnist,” recruited it into a new context, as a political insult. He was a master of this art. As a contemporary of his wrote in an academic article on political name-calling, “Pegler has coined, or given prominence to, a fair share of unfair words.” (Pegler also called the AFL a “swollen national racket,” economics “a side-show science,” and Harold Ickes, who ran the Public Works Administration, “Donald Duck.”)

Pegler first used “bleeding heart” in a column castigating liberals in Washington for their focus on “a bill to provide penalties for lynchings.” Pegler wasn’t for lynchings, per se, but he argued that they were no longer a problem the federal government should solve: there had only been eight lynchings in 1937, he wrote, and “it is obvious that the evil is being cured by local processes.” The bill, he thought, was being “used as a political bait in crowded northern Negro centers.” And here was his conclusion, emphasis ours:

“I question the humanitarianism of any professional or semi-pro bleeding heart who clamors that not a single person must be allowed to hunger but would stall the entire legislative program in a fight to ham through a law intended, at the most optimistic figure, to save fourteen lives a year.”

Pegler was apparently pleased enough with this use of “bleeding heart” that he kept it up. He later wrote of “professional bleeding hearts” who advocated for “collective medicine” after a woman couldn’t find a doctor to help her through labor, and lobbed the insult of “bleeding heart Bourn” at a rival, left-leaning columnist. By 1940, he had condensed the phrase down to “bleeding-heart humanitarians” and “bleeding-heart liberals.”

Pegler’s usage did not immediately catch on, though. (Perhaps that’s because he went on to become so right-wing that he was asked to leave the John Birch Society.) If the New York Times’ archives is any indication, through the ‘40s and ‘50s, “bleeding heart” was most often used to refer to the flower Lamprocapnos spectabilis, which grows rows of pretty pink blossoms, and occasionally sports.

Westbrook Pegler was extremely good at calling people names. Particularly politicians. In his syndicated newspaper column, he called Franklin D. Roosevelt “Moosejaw” and “momma’s boy.” Truman was “a thin-lipped hater.”

Pegler was a bit of hater himself. He didn’t like the labor movement, Communists, fascists, Jews, and perhaps most of all, liberals. In one 1938 column, he coined a term for liberals that would eventually come to define conservative scorn for the left. Pegler was the first writer to refer to liberals as “bleeding hearts.” The context for this then-novel insult? A bill before Congress that aimed to curb lynching.

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Before the 20th century, the phrase “bleeding heart” was popular in the religious-tinged oratory of 19th century America. Throughout the 1860s, it comes up often in poetry, essays, and political speeches, as an expression of empathy and emotion. “I come to you with a bleeding heart, honest and sincere motives, desiring to give you some plain thoughts,” said one politician in an 1862 speech. The phrase comes from the religious image of Christ’s wounded heart, which symbolizes his compassion and love. It was a common enough phrase that London has a “Bleeding Heart Yard” (featured prominently in the Dickens novel Little Dorrit) which is named after a long-gone sign, once displayed at a local pub, that showed the Sacred Heart.

By the 1930s, though, the phrase had fallen out of common use and Pegler, who one politician called a “soul-sick, mud-wallowing gutter scum columnist,” recruited it into a new context, as a political insult. He was a master of this art. As a contemporary of his wrote in an academic article on political name-calling, “Pegler has coined, or given prominence to, a fair share of unfair words.” (Pegler also called the AFL a “swollen national racket,” economics “a side-show science,” and Harold Ickes, who ran the Public Works Administration, “Donald Duck.”)

Pegler first used “bleeding heart” in a column castigating liberals in Washington for their focus on “a bill to provide penalties for lynchings.” Pegler wasn’t for lynchings, per se, but he argued that they were no longer a problem the federal government should solve: there had only been eight lynchings in 1937, he wrote, and “it is obvious that the evil is being cured by local processes.” The bill, he thought, was being “used as a political bait in crowded northern Negro centers.” And here was his conclusion, emphasis ours:

“I question the humanitarianism of any professional or semi-pro bleeding heart who clamors that not a single person must be allowed to hunger but would stall the entire legislative program in a fight to ham through a law intended, at the most optimistic figure, to save fourteen lives a year.”

Pegler was apparently pleased enough with this use of “bleeding heart” that he kept it up. He later wrote of “professional bleeding hearts” who advocated for “collective medicine” after a woman couldn’t find a doctor to help her through labor, and lobbed the insult of “bleeding heart Bourn” at a rival, left-leaning columnist. By 1940, he had condensed the phrase down to “bleeding-heart humanitarians” and “bleeding-heart liberals.”

Pegler’s usage did not immediately catch on, though. (Perhaps that’s because he went on to become so right-wing that he was asked to leave the John Birch Society.) If the New York Times’ archives is any indication, through the ‘40s and ‘50s, “bleeding heart” was most often used to refer to the flower Lamprocapnos spectabilis, which grows rows of pretty pink blossoms, and occasionally sports.

“Bleeding heart” was revived in a political context in 1954, by another infamous right-winger, Joe McCarthy, who called Edward R. Murrow one of the “extreme Left Wing bleeding-heart elements of television and radio.” It wasn’t until the 1960s that it really started to come into common use, though. In 1963, the satirical columnist Russell Baker put it on a list of political insults: “If one is called a ‘phoney,’ about the only thing he can do is come back with some epithet like, ‘anti-intellectual’ or ‘bleeding-heart liberal’…or ‘you must be one of those peace nuts.’” By the end of the decade, Ronald Reagan, then newly elected governor of California, had picked it up as a way to describe his political trajectory. “I was quite the bleeding-heart liberal once,” he told Newsweek. By 1970, he was known as a “former ‘bleeding heart’ Democrat.”

After that, the phrase was fully ensconced in political short-hand and quickly claimed by liberals as a positive trait.  “You are called a bleeding heart liberal because you have a heart for the poor,” one told the Times. “Count me with the bleeding heart liberals,” an NAACP lawyer wrote in a letter to the editor.

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 138 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence.

MARTIN: "You know I don’t care if Jon hears this." ELIAS: "Come on, Martin. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you. Let’s not start with lies." [MARTIN TAKES A STEADYING BREATH.] MARTIN: (sigh) "Fine." Martin doesn't deny it?

ELIAS: "For all his… many faults, Peter is legitimately trying to stop the end of the world as we know it." MARTIN: "So why haven’t you helped him?" ELIAS: "My relationship to the apocalypse is more… complicated." Okay, Elias saying this?! In the episode of Smirke's statement, where the sky blinks at him? I just realized how many of those conversations fit the tone of the respective episode (without the obvious, like MAG 125, 128, 131, 133, 134 etc). Of course MAG 122, Jon waking up from the dead with the Zombie statement. MAG 124 Left hanging and Martin left Jon hanging. MAG 127 A letter to Jonah with Jon's door motif talk and Basira visiting Elias. MAG 129 opening with Jon and Martin before THE anchor statement. I don't know, MAG 130 maybe? It was about a ritual and the Web suggested this tape to Jon for further preparation of the Eye's mass ritual. MAG 135 talking Basira into a potential Dark ritual after the statement about the creation of that ritual. And then that mean red herring in MAG 136, Web statement with Melanie's therapy (Jon later worries, that Melanie's therapist could be Web). Also like the way Elias talks about Peter, they really sound like a divorced couple xD

MARTIN: "Yeah, well. I’m still not sure I really believe it. (long exhale) A,And I don’t… I – I’m –" ELIAS: "Worried he might charge off into another coffin." [HE MAKES A SMUG LITTLE SOUND.] ELIAS: "Quite." I love how Elias ships Jon and Martin.

ELIAS: "As for why I’ve done so little about such a looming existential threat, (sigh) to be blunt, I have been rather busy." Martin laughs at him, but it's true. He's still pulling strings from the inside of his prison cell and he's going to be very successful with it.

MARTIN: "What? (small dry laugh) That’s it? No, no monologue, no mind games? You love manipulating people!" ELIAS: "That makes two of us." Iconic lines. Web!Martin! Btw no wonder the Web supports Jonah in his scheme, he's quite talented at manipulation himself.

ELIAS: "I simply have to trust that when the time comes, you’ll – (rattle) – make the right choice." Like not to kill him.

"My dear Jonah," Pffft...

"What we built at Millbank should be left well enough alone, resigned to the nightmares of the reprobates and brigands contained within its walls." This statement is such a tease about what's going to come!

"It is telling, that of those I have brought into my confidence, it is only you and I who have continued this far without falling to one power or another, despite all my instruction and work. This is, of course, assuming you have not taken the path of the Eye that I know has called you, called us both for so long." Was this after the Watcher's Crown? -> “ What we built at Millbank should be left well enough alone, resigned to the nightmares of the reprobates and brigands contained within its walls.” That sentence sounds like it. So that ship has sailed? This probably why they didn't stay in contact? -> “ but I feel I must break the silence that has characterized our acquaintance for these past few decades.”

"I’m sure you recall what happened with the Reform Club" MAG 35!

"but you may be unaware of some of my other experiments below the very streets of London." The tunnels for example?

"Places I have tried to cover with churches, of all things" Was there a church built by Smirke in a statement? I immediately thought about the Oratory from MAG 20, but it's in Oxford, Smirke speaks of London here. Thought about Hither Green (MAG 25) or St Paul’s Church (MAG 63), but nope. He wasn't involved in any of the buildings I just listed. Am I missing something or do we actually never hear about anything connected to a church of his?

"perhaps the site of our Saviour will be enough to contain them." Funny how some people still won't lose their faith even in full knowledge of the Dread Powers. Smirke here. I thiiink, Dekker was also religious, was he?

"I stop, and look up at the sky, that empty black nothing, and I see the edges of the horizon becoming a dull white. I cannot understand what I am looking at. And then the sky blinks." Love that foreshadowing!

"I am not a fool. I know well enough what this dream is likely to mean, and I warn you again, that if you have any remaining ambitions to use our work, to try and wear the Watcher’s Crown, you must abandon them!" I know there's this discussion about what the Watcher's Crown actually was, Jonah's prison soap opera or using the Archivist. And, I think, there was something about Jonny saying the Watcher's Crown was Jonah's prison thing and what we see in MAG 160 could be called, like, the Magnus Archives, ha! But the title "Watcher's Crown" does fit the Eyepocalypse pretty well. Jonah calls himself "king of a ruined world" - king and crown and such. And the Eye ruling over all the other Fears like a... United Kingdom (badum tss!). (Also, Gerry says in MAG 111 "Uh, the Rite of the Watcher’s Crown. It’s what she called the ritual for the Eye. She didn’t tell me much about that one, just that she knew how to take care of it." This sounds like Gertrude called the ritual to come the Watcher's Crown. And she knows how to take care of it, sounds a bit like she already knew that the Archivist is the linchpin to the Eye's ritual. I say "a bit" because in the end there is no confirmation that this was exactly what she knew at this point. Gertrude still believed single Fear rituals could work, or she was at least still trying to stop them just for good measure according to MAG 137, which was in October 2014. And I think we don't know an actual death date of Gerry? Just late 2014...)

"But what is not to be dismissed is when your driver, on the long road from London, takes his eyes from the horses and begins to turn his head, slowly at first, but with a clear determination, inch by inch without ceasing, neck cracking and skin stretching, until his whole head seems as though it were placed atop his shoulders in reverse by some careless sculptor. The others in my carriage seemed not to mark this awful sight, but I could scarce look away" This describes the dream logic the Fears bring with them. How they can bend reality just a bit to their needs. Like Martin being trapped by Prentiss, who spent two weeks in front of his flat knocking at the door without any of his neighbors noticing anything!

MARTIN: "Good luck, Jon; I –" love you. (There, finished it for you, you're welcome <3)

@a-mag-a-day

[hoodoo12]

#9, 17 and 21 for the movie asks, if you please :)

9. A film set in a place you always wanted to visit: Super easy. The Thing (1982). I'd love to go to Antarctica even if there are aliens that want to assimilate me!

17. A film whose main genre is a Western: High Noon (1952). A good flick with Gary Cooper. Takes place in real time, if that excites you too.

21. A film with a great needle drop/soundtrack/score: the Lord of the Rings Trilogy (2001-2003). There is a reason that music can make or break a movie. These films are fantastic, but Howard Shore's compositions and the London Philharmonic Orchestra, the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra, the London Voices, London Oratory School Schola choir elevate them even higher.

I have to give another answer for this question: the soundtrack from Hereditary (2018). Composer and musician Colin Stetson created something that just gets under your skin. This video 4 Happy Notes Create a Terrifying Theme explains the reasons why very well. I didn't list it as the 'real' answer because I think it works better if you watch the movie, not just listen to the soundtrack without visual context.

Thanks for good questions!

[fideidefenswhore]

☕️ thomas cranmer (love your blog btw!!)

cheers!

cranmer was one of nine siblings, he had a sister that lobbied both mary i and reginald pole for his release, despite that her own religious beliefs were quite different to her brother's (it's been assumed that this was alice, his sister that was a nun, whom he later installed as prioress, but DM stated in his biography we cannot be certain of that)

a chaplain to bishop clerk of bath and wells said "he trusted to see the day his lord of canterbury would be burned" (1533)

catherine of aragon referred to him as "a shadow” 1534

the curate to one of catherine's chaplains referred to him as a "hostler" (a hostler was a man that took care of horses at an inn, the rumor of this origin seems to have come from his brief marriage that took place somewhere between 1515-1519, at which point he had to forfeit his fellowship and became the 'common reader at buckingham college', lost his housing at jesus college and lodged his wife joan at the dolphin inn)

hostile londoners hung up bundles of hay at his gates once he was ordained as an archbishop, in relation to the "hostler" rumor

he once said "of all sorts of men, i am daily informed that priests report the worst of me" (1534)

brought “revolutionary liturgical change” by “[asserting] in the text of his 1549 marriage service [....] that marriage could be ‘fun’”

after his first, half-hour interview with henry viii, referred to him in a letter to a friend as “the kindest of princes” (1527)

wolsey was fond enough, or admiring enough, of cranmer as a scholar and theologian to attempt to “tempt him from cambridge to cardinal college, oxford”

he was lodged at thomas boleyn’s residence at durham place by 1530 at the latest

anne boleyn was crowned and anointed by cranmer with the crown of st edward the confessor on whit sunday (1 june, 1533)

issued the marriage license for henry’s final marriage on 10 july, 1543 (”in any church, chapel, or oratory without the issue of banns”)

was godfather to both the future elizabeth i and edward vi

had a “fashionably elegant wardrobe”, including a “chammer (a rich gown that opened at the front) of scarlet faced with crimson satin”, “a gown of russet furred with lamb and faced with martens”, and “a short riding jacket of worsted linen with cotton”

mary i would not pay in full the bailiff’s reimbursment in the case of cranmer in her lifetime, the “faggots, stakes, and labour” that had gone into the burning of cranmer was an outstanding debt of the crown until the protestant bishops of elizabeth’s reign finally paid it in full ("the case is miserable, the debt is just”, wrote the regius professor of divinity to archbishop parker)

[dormernts]

the ton is buzzing ! have you heard ? AUGUSTA DORMER , LADY DORMER has arrived in mayfair ! i’ve been told that she is + ASTUTE & HIGH - SPIRITED but are also - MEDDLESOME & UNSCRUPULOUS but we shall more know about them throughout the season. they aim to HELP HER BROTHER REHABILITATE THE WHITE RABBIT AND SEE BUSINESS BOOM AGAIN before the season ends. we cannot be too sure but it is said that their loyalties THEIR FAMILY & WITH THEMSELVES. how true ? we are yet to find out.

[    basics    ]     ⸻

full name  :  augusta josephine dormer.

meaning  : augusta means magnificent; josephine means god will increase. she was named after a princess of the dynasty, and her father, joseph.

also known as  :  gus, goose ( by her brothers ).

titles (  if applicable )  :  lady dormer of wyng.

gender + pronouns  :  cis woman  +  she/her.

orientation  :  bisexual.

age  :  twenty eight; going twenty nine in two months.

[    background    +    familial    ]     ⸻

date of birth  : may 12th, 1784.

place of birth  :  london, england.

residence : ascott house, near wing, buckinghamshire.

rank  :  gentry.

father  :  joseph dormer ✝ tba.

mother  : amelia dormer, née ? ✝ 1784.

siblings  :  brother one, brother two ( both older ).

partner  :  publically, none. privately, see wanted connection below.

other familial relations  :  elise dormer, née tba ( former sister in law ) ✝ tba.

languages : english, french. has repeatedly attempted to pick on greek and latin.

[    appearance    ]     ⸻

portrayed by  :  olivia cooke.

height  :  5′5″ / 165cm.

hair color + style  :  dark brown, nearly black; though originally wavy, or faintly curled, she primly curls them tighter with the assistance of hot tongs and overnight rag curls, pinning them to the latest of fashions. she is a big adept of hairdresses such as bonnets and big hats.

eye color  :  chestnut brown.

voice : per olivia's own voice, her tone is husky, yet honey - coated and she has an inclination to speak rapidly. as of the norm for the period and her station, her accent is posh, most likely some form of the RP english accent.

distinguishable marks + scars  :  dimples in her cheeks when she smiles, big doe eyes.

piercings + tattoos  :  pierced ears.

[    personality    ]     ⸻

zodiac sign  : taurus sun, aquarius rising.

mbti  :  tba .

enneagram  :  tba.

temperament  :  the executive ( choleric - sanguine ).

moral alignment  :  lawful evil.

element  :  earth.

inspirations  : becky sharp ( vanity fair ), jackie bukhart ( that 70s show ), capitu ( dom casmurro ), petra solano ( jane the virgin ), nurbanu ( magnificent century ), lucrezia borgia ( history ).

[   history ]     ⸻

trigger warnings for: parental death, death by childbirth, gambling addiction.

the former baron and baroness dormer were once forces to be reckoned in, in the public eye. the first of his line to attend the house of the lords, and the minor cousin of a gentry family who became the diamond of her season, joseph and amelia were both gregarious and expansive, and their match was an envious one, both for their matching of wits and of the matters of the heart — they were desperately in love, and one accommodated and partnered the other: amelia aided him in relations outside of the parliament while commanding their household, and he rejoiced in oratory, as well as giving her every opportunity to shine on society. 

her last labor came as a surprise — it was by the end of the season, and despite being heavily pregnant, amelia would not waste precious time, but the babe came too early. the birth was a mess, and though the child would come out hearty and loud, lady amelia would remain quiet and pale for the rest of the week. joseph fell in denial, believing his wife could somehow recover, but by the end of the week, amelia had made her peace with dreaded death, ordering her husband to care for their children and their life together, and naming their only daughter augusta, after a princess the lady had once much admired.

it was the least to say joseph did not entirely abide to his wife's plans. though there were some self - insistence, at least at first, not to forgo his family — particularly, augusta never believed her father wished her harm or believed her some evil that took away his beloved wife, nor did he ever remarry, when he as well could have had — his social excellence seemed to have been tightly connected to amelia, and, without her to guide him, the baron soon turned to vices. it was a method of relief: long nights with drinks over games of cards, locked in rooms with his friends from the parliament, but once friendly games became a constant monthly debit — for joseph's luck had run out, it seemed — it was felt. tongues began to wag, a rumor here and there about how often joseph was politely escorted away or denied from gambling tables, or how much he lingered at the tracks, and at boxing rings; when the london house was "closed off", "lended" to a "friend of the family" for the season, all that was said was that the family needed the fresh airs of buckinghamshire, away from the memories of lady amelia and her immense joy.

for augusta, however, those memories were important. without the guidance of her mother, she relied on her ghost, on the many portraits, on words of her brothers and father and every one who had once felt the glimmer of lady amelia. though in distance, augusta wished to emulate her mother: her beauty, her elegance, her charisma. like a silly girl, she would play with her clothes in front of the mirror, reigning over a society of dolls. her innocence was often interrupted, however, for her father's sake. there were costs to be cut, no matter how much she begged for a gown of the finest silk or for a new hat. at some point, her brother, impatience with the burden of the keeping of the house and of the family name due to their father's negligence, went on to show her the disorganization of the books, and the lack thereof of funds to spend in more frivolities than necessary for appearance's sake.

already better at card games than her father at the cusp of teenagehood, she tried to learn accounting. her odds were improved when she realized she took to numbers better than her peers; she was too young to handle the household finances, but alongside the governess, augusta sought to familiarize herself with the matters of keeping the household, taking a load off her brother's back. by the time she was of age, she controlled the ascott house herself, gladly so, and was more than eager to debut and return to society. london was a dream come true, but not only its societal aspect. augusta realized, along with her siblings, that there were gains to be had, less explored by those of higher society — and how foolish they were, not to see the opportunity spark!

tragedy struck merciless when the new baroness dormer, too, found her demise in the birthing bed. repeating his father's tale, baron dormer returned to ascott house to find relief in the fresh air, and though augusta more or less willingly accompanied him, instead of wallowing in purposeless misery, the family found gold on the purchase of a less than savory establishment, the white rabbit. theirs in all but in name, the dormer siblings are partners, and, of course, that includes augusta, who takes care of the books of the place meticulously, always seeking for an opportunity to improve their gains, as hands on as she can possibly be under the cloak of distance. naturally, the recent misfortune situation at the white rabbit much displeases her, but she is nothing if not positive this will be but a forgotten misdemeanor in no time, and the white rabbit — and their fortunes — shall continue to rise.

[    personality ]     ⸻ 

grasping, opportunistic, materialistic, quick witted and dissimulated on the inside, on the outside, augusta is the typically accomplished gentlewoman, with practiced tunes in the pianoforte, polished steps of the cotillion and memorized pleasantries spoken with a honeyed tongue, paired with big eyes gleaming with mirth and faux innocence. she relies on keeping a clean image, and has no qualms to lie, fake, buy and manipulate her way into forcing the belief that her family’s reputation is unfounded ( #girlboss #gaslight #gatekeep, so true of her ). though she is contented with their entrepreneuring agenda — finding that running successful businesses built by them and not simply inherited all ready as many aristocrats do is very fulfilling, especially as a woman that would not have a place otherwise — she is eager for a spot in society as well, wishing she could shine as much as her mother once had.

 [    tidbids ]     ⸻

is mildly (quite) scared of horses due to an incident on the track as a child, and never learned how to horse ride.

 [    wanted connections ]     ⸻

the dormer family! they are deliciously cunning, but also very tight - or, at the very least, augusta believes herself able to manage both men and bring them together to uphold the family legacy as a whole, not just individuals. for the elder, i generally imagine that he has taken their father's failures and followed a path of improvement, and the younger, he may have been in the army or something? both of them have had a hand on bringing her up as a person, despite the not so big age difference between them all.

the white rabbit employees as a whole, but particularly, the madame, whom would be aware of the family's involvement with the estabilishment and augusta's, and fighter one, employed under the dormer state and whom i imagine to have a secret relationship of the romantic and/or sexual nature with augusta; it's not entirely pleasant, because she isn't, but there is a bit too much affection in there to loose the attachment ( slutty rec would be jack o'connell :cattongue: ).

friends, new or old! this also includes people who could have tried to pull away or have succeeded at that, believing the dormers to be too shady / improper, or people who don't believe the rumors ( augusta is certainly lying her ass off about it, so )

people who have hostile feelings towards the dormers for their alleged shady behaviors, and may try to keep them out of society somehow, which frustrates augusta as she longs to be a functioning part of it all. they could either believe being able to see past the airy nature she keeps and believe her a wolf just as her brothers, or not notice her dissimulation

regulars at the white rabbit, whom augusta would know either by official bookkeeping, or by gossip. she may use the knowledge of their enjoyment of the estabilishment to blackmail or simply to amuse herself. alternatively, people who owe debts to the dormers, or to the white rabbit, would also fall on this category

crushes, exes, etc! augusta may have a constant interest in the fighter, but she has a hidden romantic nature that has her fixating on pretty people as well as pretty things, and she just may be genuinely sweeter to those who hold either such exterior beauty or objects of luxury ( obviously open to women, men, etc, with a bit of a preference towards women )

suitor (s). augusta is not in a rush to marry, but if she is to do so, she would like it to be of high position and of good finantial situation; either way, feelings are not at all involved, nor does she want them to be.

[a-weird-cryptid]

Not all is holy

A Magnus Archives based story/fanfic

Statement of Father Thomas Bright, regarding a confession made at the London Oratory. Original statement given January 14th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, head achivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins:

I worked at the London Oratory for over 30 years by now, taking over the position as a priest a few years ago, and I never had any issues with the confessions people made in the confessional. Sure, some might have been harder to handle than others, but nothing was particularly odd about them. The strangest thing I've heard until that point was a woman confessing me about her unhealthy obsession with buying expensive items and how it tore her marriage apart. She asked for advise and well, I gave some to her. Just like I always did. I was never one to judge the things I've been told. Simply accepting the story I was given, commenting on it, comforting whoever sat next to me, giving advice and so on...

That is until a few months ago. I believe it was on the 17th of November, 2012. A particular cold and busy Sunday. I still remember how exhausted I was from the day, even after the stressful part was over and all that was left to do is some preparation and organisation for the next few days.

It was already way past closing and confession time, I'd say around 08:00 pm, when I heard the heavy front door opening. I just assumed it had been the wind, since it started to pick up a lot during the last few hours. Even though I was sure I locked the door. But then I heard footsteps coming closer. I was concerned by that point, but I didn't though much of it. Still busy by my work I kindly told, whoever entered, that the church was closed and it would reopen the next morning at 7:30 am. But the footsteps were getting closer nonetheless. By this point more frustrated than concerned, I decided to make my way to the entrance, but to my surprise, I couldn't find anyone in there.

When I work overtime and alone in my church, I usually keep most lights on. Without them, it always makes the inside of the building look creepier than it already is. With all it's almost lifelike statues, that seems to stare right into my soul... Even after working there for so long, I still didn't get used to them.

I looked around, checked if somebody was hiding anywhere. I wasn't afraid, just... confused... I still couldn't find anyone, but there was this strange feeling of a presence. The same you get when you're watched behind your back. It felt strong and intimidating, sending shivers down my spine. I should have known that something was extremely off about the situation back then and there. But I just shrugged it off, blaming it on pure paranoia and the still open door with the wind whistling though it.

I made my way to it, my first few steps being unsure, but getting more confident the closer I got. As I shut down the door, locking it to make sure it couldn't open again, I started to second guess if that was a good idea... Still feeling this odd presence... Like an unspoken threat... Something that clearly means no good...

Being the believer I am, I quickly made a prayer, asking God for my protection, before moving on to go back to my paperwork. But I still couldn't shake off this sudden feeling. Of hopelessness... Perhaps even regret... Though I had no clue where it was coming from.

The presence continued to move, though this time without making a sound. And as it did, it seemed to pull me closer. As if I was attached to it with invisible strings. Slowly but surely, it made it's way towards the confessional, stopping as soon as it got inside. By this point, I decided to follow it, with a few feet of distance away from it at all times. Looking back, I don't even know why. It almost felt like my feet were going on their own... Or rather controlled by the presence...

The door of the confessional slowly closed. With a loud creaking, that echoed from the walls. Almost sounding like a choir. And I could have sworn at that very moment, I could hear the organ play ever so slightly...

It reminded me of Isaiah 6:1-4. In which Isiah described the throne of God, surrounded by an angelic choir, made out of seraphim, singing the same lines over and over again. They were the closest to the Lord, but I could tell for sure that the presence couldn't have been an angel. Or at least not anymore...

But then again, angels don't say "be not afraid" every time they appear to humans for no reason, so I thought. Leading to me making the foolish decision to sit down at the other side of the confessional. I had already convinced myself by that point that this must be a sign of God, a test, to see if my faith was still worthy. It needed my entire willpower to convince myself that I was in no harm, considering I was on holy ground and believing that an angelic being was sent to me. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Only after I closed the small door, I realized that the presence, whatever it was, must have tempted me to get in there, it already being too late to change my mind at that point. When I tried to open the door again, I was shocked to realize that it wouldn't open. Not locked by a key, or something standing in front of it... But held close by the pure willpower of what was next to me. I don't know how to explain how I knew it. I just did...

Of course I started to panic by that point, banging against the door, begging it to be opened again. To no avail.

That is when the presence first spoke to me. "Be not afraid.", it said, though I was certain it wasn't an angelic being by that time. I could hear it's voice echoing though my mind, giving me a headache, but it came equally loud from everywhere around me. Feeling like it filled up the entirety of the building. The church shook as it spoke, like during an earthquake, taking out all of the lights, leaving me in total darkness. I could hear how parts of the ceiling crashed on the floor, leaving dents in the wood and shattering the stone in the progress. I hold onto the wooden cabin for dear life, my heart pounding in my chest almost as loudly as the voice from the presence.

It was surprisingly calm though, I dare to say charming, even... In a way that made you feel lured in and tempted to follow whatever command it gives. Welcoming and warm, like a mother with open arms... Only making me even more cautious about whatever it was sitting next to me...

I tried to collect myself, holding tightly onto my cross I wore as a necklace, hoping that the Lord has heard my prayer, protecting me. My entire body was shivering, but not because of any cold. In fact, it was starting to get warmer. At first, I didn't notice it and if I did, I surely didn't payed attention to it. My entire body started to sweat. Just a little bit at the beginning, but then it got worse, as if I had a particular bad fever.

It was in that moment, that I decided to proceed like I normally would, asking the presence what's bothering it. My voice was mumbled and quiet. Unsure and hesitan. But the one next to me seemed to have understood it nonetheless.

It answered me, bringing the church to crumble down further in the progress and worsening my headache.

It told me about the war against God, the betrayel of his friend it lead to... And about the regret it feels for it. The shame... The sorrow... The pain that came with all of it... I almost felt sorry for it, if it wasn't for the unbearable becoming heat in the cabin and the feeling of the walls around me getting closer while the ceiling was crashing down on me.

I could feel that my hands burned badly. Just like any other skin exposed or otherwise. Peeling of my flesh, as if I had the worst sun burn of my life. I felt like I was burned alive, stuck in an ever getting smaller space.

I never had any problems with the size of the confessional, but during that moment, it felt like I had no place to move in, no place to get rid of the burning hot walls, them only tightening around me, taking away my space to breath.

Then the presence told me about the fall of Lucifer. And the, quite literally, hell of a place all of those fallen angels, lost souls, ended up in.

"But you already know all about hell and suffering, isn't that right, Father Thomas?.", it's voice echoed. I still remember the laughter that came after it, sadistic and cruel, like it was enjoying the pain it was inflicting on me. I don't know what I believe was scarier. It, or the fact that it knew who I was without me ever mentioning it. But I can't say I'm surprised.

As I cried in pain, begging for it to stop the torture, watching as black skin paled off my body, smoke started to come from my surroundings. If I didn't knew it any better, I'd even say myself. Like acid it burned in my eyes, filling up every inch of my lungs and eventually body. Caughing didn't helped either, only worsening the effect.

Then, the presence said something about advice, but I couldn't hear it anymore. Desperately trying to keep myself alive and stop my robe from catching on fire.

But the deal it offered me next I could hear loud and clear. My place in heaven, it return for me getting out of there alive. Without hesitation I agreed to the deal, just wanting for it all to end. For the overwhelming pain and heat to stop.

And it did.

Just like that I found myself back in the normal confessional. With the only evidence of it ever burning being a few marks and a faint smell of smoke. The lights were back on, as I could tell from the small gaps of the cabin's wood. I examined my skin, discovering that the burns were mostly gone, only leaving a few nasty ones here and there. Nothing of the blackened, peeled skin remaining.

When I tried to open the small door, I noticed it being unlocked again. Slowly I made my way out of the confessional, with my legs still shaking. I still felt the presence, though this time it seemed to come from the ceiling. I could hear the flapping of wings coming from the same direction. Then I heard a window glass shatter and caught a glimpse of what could only be described as a rotting angel. Before the presence was gone for good, leaving me standing alone in the church.

I didn't quite know what to do at this point, so I decided cleaning up the mess was as good as anything else. I also treated my left over burns with some wine, usually stored in the church for festival events. It wasn't the best desinfectant, for sure, but it was better than leaving the open wounds untreated. I believe my mind was too overwhelmed to comprehend what happened at that moment. All of the damage this... angel looking like devil... had done to the church was gone, as if nothing had happened.

After getting rid of the glass shards, I made my way to the confessional again. Trying my best to get rid of the burn marks. Which was surprisingly easy.

There was something else I should probably mention. When I checked the cabin the presence sat in, I found a large, white feather. Assumingly from it's wings... Which I decided to bring for... Well... This statement as well for further investigation...

Statement ends.

Well... this surely was unsettling. After questioning Father Thomas further, he stated that this incident was one of a kind and no further strange things happened during his work ever since. Though he seemed strangely exhausted when giving the statement, as if he didn't sleep properly for days, according to the staff.

Personally, I believe that the incident was most likely caused by just that. Exhaustion, a lot of stress and a lack of sleep over a long period of time. As well as the abuse of alcohol, more specifically wine. Said combination leading to those extreme hallucinations.

One of the staff members also reported to see some scarring on Father Thomas' arms. The type of which can only be created by a fourth-degree-burn left untreated by a doctor. The priest is also reported to be extremely interested in our further research. More so than most others giving statements. A few files about demonology, demonic possessions and exorcisms were stolen from the Archive, the day the statement was given, though the police found no evidence for Father Thomas to be responsible for it.

I can't say if this strengthens the evidence and truth of the statement given by him, though I think it's an oddly coincidence for sure.

I let Sasha do some research about the local news reports of earthquakes during that time, as well as any other reports of the London Oratory being destroyed.

Besides a few renovations that were made to replace and strengthen part of the churchs, damage that has mostly been made by time, she returned empty handed. No records or any kind point to the incident Father Thomas described.

Though one document of a renovation, made on December 1st, 2012, states that one of the windows of the dome had to be replaced, due to it being shattered. Most likely due to it being frozen and therefore easier to break. Assumedly done so by some kind of bird, since a few blood strains and feathers were found stuck on the remaining glass. All of which were white and of various sizes. The zoologist department of King's Collage confirmed that the ones found at the window match the one sealed in a plastic bag, which was given to us by Father Thomas after ending his statement. They didn't match any currently known species.

Personally, I don't believe this case needs any further investigation, but Tim seemed to be thrilled when the topic "architecture of the church" was brought up, although it was quick to fade when I explained to him that it was not one from Robert Smirk's design.

Nether the less, he insisted on getting some reevaluation on the case, so I just sent Martin. Though I most definitely believe it is just a waste of time.

End recording.

Author's Note:

Thank you so much if you've read so far!

I wanna give a HUGE shout-out to my friend, @sarah-kings, who helped me a lot with the final version of this story and it's titel, giving a lot of constructive criticism to my first draft. And even writing a bit for me, at the end of the story, regarding the part with Tim wanting to further investigate. Since I'm not too familiar with all of the different characters of TMA yet, only being at episode 18 of the first season (no spoilers please!). But I still wanted to include them.

I also want to thank them for continuing to drag me into this fandom. I listen to 2 or 3 episodes months, or even years ago. But never got really into it, since I didn't though it to be too interesting at first. But they told me it gets better, so I really hope it's worth to keep going.

Furthermore, I want to add that I wrote this fanfic in a way that makes it plausible for it to be canon in my own stories as well. If you're somewhat familiar with the Ocs I've introduced so far, you might even be able to put all of the puzzle pieces together. I will most likely add Father Thomas Bright to my official Oc list for the very same reasons.

For more original series, as well as reviews, discussions and similar, check out my master list of series.

[indelibleautumn]

Margaret Whigham, acclaimed society beauty and gossip columnists' favourite, and later, the Duchess of Argyll, wore a stunning Norman Hartnell gown for her 1933 wedding to Charles Sweeny at Brompton Oratory, London. The dress took a team of 30 seamstresses six weeks to make, and the bride thought it shockingly expensive at £52.

A frenzy of public interest in the wedding was spurred on by daily mentions of Margaret in the newspapers. On the day, the couple's exit from the Brompton Oratory was filmed by Pathé, and shown as a newsreel entitled Brilliant Society Wedding. So large was the crowd of spectators, Hyde Park traffic was brought to a halt. For an event that was so much in the public eye, a spectacular dress was needed. Luckily, leading British fashion designer Norman Hartnell – who would later design both the wedding dress and Coronation gown of Queen Elizabeth II – did not disappoint.

Designed specifically for making an entrance, Margaret's dress has an 18-foot train framed in ruched silk tulle. It is scattered with pearl-embroidered stars, some of which are transparent, placed both on the skirt and at reasonably risqué points on the dress's bodice. Opulent and lavish, this dress, and the extreme public interest it inspired, secured its wearer's position as a signifier of sumptuous sexuality and style.

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊  To The Most Sexiest & Alluring Talented Black British 🤎🖤 Actress Of The UK 🇬🇧 that has been such a Delight seeing her Acting on The Big Screen and on TV.

She was born on 22 October 1973 in Kensington, London, England. She is the daughter of a Scottish mother, Elizabeth (née Douglas), and a Nigerian father, Charles Ejogo. Ejogo remembers her mother as having been "a bit of a hippie" during her childhood. She attended the Oratory Roman Catholic Primary School and Glendower Preparatory School, and was then educated at Godolphin and Latymer School.

 She is a British actress and singer. She is best known for her roles in such films as Metro (1997), Love's Labour's Lost (2000), What's the Worst That Could Happen? (2001), Boycott (2001), Away We Go (2009), Sparkle (2012), Alex Cross (2012), The Purge: Anarchy (2014), Selma (2014), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (2016), It Comes at Night (2017), Alien: Covenant (2017), and Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018).

She has appeared as civil rights activist Coretta Scott King in two films: Boycott (2001) and Selma (2014). While preparing for the role in Boycott, she met with King and was given King's blessing for her portrayal.

Please Wish This Beautiful Black British Actress A Very Happy 50th Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊

You May Know Her

& If You Dont, You Will & You Sure Going To Love Her Elegant Style Of Acting 🤎🖤

The 1 & The Only

MS. CARMEN  ELIZABETH EJOGO 🤎🖤🇬🇧 🥰

HAPPY 50TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU MS. EJOGO & HERE'S TO MANY MORE LOVELY YEARS TO COME ❤

#CarmenEjogo

[lboogie1906]

Carmen Elizabeth Ejogo (October 22, 1973) is an English television and film actress and singer.

She is known for her roles in such films as The Avengers (1998), Love’s Labour’s Lost (2000), and What’s the Worst That Could Happen? (2001), Boycott (2001), Away We Go (2009), Sparkle (2012), Alex Cross (2012), The Purge: Anarchy (2014), Selma (2014), Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (2016), It Comes at Night (2017), Alien: Covenant (2017), and Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald (2018).

She starred in Kidnapped (2006–07), Zero Hour (2013), The Girlfriend Experience (2017), True Detective (2019), Self Made (2020), and Your Honor (2021).

She is set to appear in I’m a Virgo.

She was born in Kensington, London. She is the daughter of a Scottish mother, Elizabeth, and a Nigerian father, Charles Ejogo. She attended the Oratory Roman Catholic Primary School and Glendower Preparatory School and was then educated at Godolphin and Latymer School.

She was married to trip-hop artist Tricky. She married actor Jeffrey Wright (2000-14). They have a son and a daughter. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[anniekoh]

elsewhere on the internet: Ex Urbe | Ada Palmer

https://www.exurbe.com/black-death-covid-and-why-we-keep-telling-the-myth-of-a-renaissance-golden-age-and-bad-middle-ages/ The Black Death contributed too—in school they talk as if the plague swept through in 1348 then went away, but the bubonic plague did not go away, it remained endemic, like influenza or chickenpox today, a fact of life.  I have never read a full set of Renaissance letters which didn’t mention plague outbreaks and plague deaths, and Renaissance letters from mothers to their traveling sons regularly include, along with advice on etiquette and eating enough fennel, a list of which towns to avoid this season because there’s plague there.  Carlo Cipolla (in the fascinating yet tediously titled Before the Industrial Revolution) collected great data for the two centuries after 1348, in which Venice had major plague bursts 7% of years, Florence 14% of years, Paris 9% of years, Barcelona 13% of years, and England (usually London) 22% in the earlier period spiking to 50% in the later 1500s, when England saw plague in 26 out of 50 years between 1543 and 1593.  Excluding tiny villages with little traffic, losing a friend or sibling to plague was a universal experience from 1348 clear to the 1720s, when plague finally diminished in Europe, not because of any advance in medicine, but because fourteen generations of exposure gave natural selection time to work, those who survived to reproduce passing on a heightened immune response, a defensive adaptation bought over centuries by millions of deaths.

while the Medieval Inquisition started in 1184, it didn’t ramp up its book burnings, censorship, and executions to a massive scale until the Spanish Inquisition in the 1470s and then the printing press and Martin Luther in the 1500s (Renaissance); similarly witchcraft persecution surges to scales unseen in the Middle Ages after the publication of the Malleus Maleficarum in 1486 (Renaissance); and the variety of ingenious tortures being used in prisons increased, rather than decreasing, over time.  Rule of thumb: most of the scary practices we think of as “Medieval” were either equally true of the Renaissance, worse in the Renaissance, or only started in the Renaissance.

Intimidating palaces, grand oratory, epics about the great deeds of a conqueror, expensive tutors so the prince and princess have rare skills like Greek and music, even a chemical treatise whose dedication praises the Duke of Such-and-such, these were all investments in legitimacy, not fruits of peace but symptoms of a desperate time.  In an era when a book cost as much as a house (it really did!), and Florence’s Laurenziana library cost more per GDP than the Moon Landing, you don’t get that level of investment unless elites think they’re going to get something out of it.  Just as today giant corporations fund charities or space tech because they get something out of it, publicity raising their stock prices, so a mighty merchant family might repair a church or build a grand public square and put their coat of arms on it, drawing investment and intimidating rivals.

Pretty-much every culture, when it tells its history, divides it into parts somehow (reigns, eras, dynasties).  These labels may not seem like a big deal, but they have a huge effect on how we imagine things.  Think of how the discourse about boomers vs. Gen-X vs. millennials affects people’s self-identities, who associates with whom, and the kinds of discourse we can have with those terms that we couldn’t have with different ones.  The lines and labels in our history are powerful.  In my Terra Ignota science fiction novels I mention that the people in my 25th century society debate whether World War I ended in 1945 or 1989, and it always blows readers’ minds for a few seconds, and then follows the reflection: yeah, I could see WWI and WWII being considered one thing, like the Wars of the Roses.  My first exposure to the way this makes your brain go *whfoooo* was as a kid and hearing Eugen Weber provocatively call WWI and WWII “The Second Thirty Years War”.  Feels weird, right?  Weird-powerful

And if we zoom into this long, vague period, when was the “high Renaissance” i.e. the best part, the most characteristic part?  If you ask a political scientist it’s usually the very early 1400s, when Bruni and other innovative political thinkers were writing; if you ask an art historian it’s the decades right after 1500 when ¾ of the Ninja Turtles overlapped; if you ask a theater scholar it’s Shakespeare who was born fully 200 years later than Bruni and his peers discussing politics.  It all depends on what you think defines the Renaissance, so if you have a different focus then different dates feel like periphery or core.

The idea that the Black Death caused a prosperity boom comes from old studies which showed that wages went way up after the Black Death, creating new possibilities for laborers to gain in wealth and rise in status (like the golden 1950s).  But those were small studies from a few places (mainly bits of England), and we have newer studies now that show that wages only rose in a few places, that in other places wages didn’t rise, or actually went down, or that they started to rise but elites cracked down with new laws to control labor, creating (among other things) the first workhouses, laws limiting freedom of movement, and other new forms of unfreedom and control.  What the Black Death really caused was change.  It caused regime changes, instability letting some monarchies or oligarchies rise, or fall.  It caused policy and legal changes, some oppressive, some liberating.  And it caused economic changes, some regions or markets collapsing, and others growin