#constance de france

[reborn-from-your-ashes]

[keepscrollinghun]

[montalais]

(ALMOST ALL) THE LADIES OF SEASON 1 - THE MUSKETEERS

A continuation of this. You can find the folder with all the icons here.  Source: my own screencaps + HD images from Far Far Away Site

[ardenrosegarden]

top 10 photos taken right before disaster

translation:

“You know, Mother, that you can't trust my uncle Richard!”

“So I will not put you in his hands, my good duke.”

“But you, mother, you intend to go there?”

[histoireettralala]

"To all intents and purposes she may be counted among the kings of France"

The hour that struck the death of Louis VIII was arguably the most critical in the history of the Capetian family. The new king, one day to be St Louis, was still a child. The trend of events in the previous two reigns had brought the higher nobility to realise that its independence would soon be seriously threatened. But a unique opportunity was raised to the regency of the queen-mother, Blanche of Castile, on the pretext that she was a woman and a foreigner. Yet this was not the first occasion on which the king's widow had acted as regent, nor the first on which a queen had played a part in politics. Philip Augustus had been the first Capetian not to involve his wife in the government of his realm. Before his time the queens of France had often intervened in affairs of state. Constance of Arles, not content with making married life difficult for Robert the Pious, had wanted to change the order of succession to the throne. She had led the opposition to Henri I, provoking and upholding his brothers against him, and she was perhaps responsible for the separation of Burgundy from the royal domain, to which Robert the Pious had joined it. Anna of Kiev, after the death of her husband Henri I, had been one of the regents, and it was only her second marriage, to Raoul de Crépy, that took her out of politics. Bertrada de Montfort's influence over Philip I had been notorious, and so had her hostility to the heir to the throne, whom she had even been accused of trying to poison. Adelaide of Maurienne, despite a physical personality before which Count Baldwin III of Hainault is said to have recoiled, had held considerable sway over Louis VI, procuring the disgrace of the chancellor, Etienne de Garlande, and egging on Louis to the Flemish adventure from which her brother-in-law, William Clito, was to profit so much. Eleanor of Aquitaine- as St Bernard had complained- had more power than anyone else over Louis VII as long as their marriage lasted. Louis VII's third wife, Adela of Champagne, had appealed to the king of England for help against her son Philip Augustus when he had sought to free himself of the tutelage of her brothers of Champagne. Later, reconciled with Philip, Adela had been regent during his absence from France on crusade. From the beginnings of Capet rule, the queens of France had enjoyed substantial influence over their husbands and over royal policy.

But Blanche of Castile was to play a greater role than any of her predecessors. To all intents and purposes she may be counted among the kings of France. For from 1226 until her death in 1252 she governed the kingdom. Twice she was regent: from 1226 to 1234, while Louis IX was a minor, and from 1248 to 1252 during his first absence on crusade. Between 1234 and 1248 Blanche bore no official title, but her power was no less effective. Severe in personality, heroic in stature, this Spanish princess took control of the fortunes of the dynasty and the kingdom in outstandingly difficult circumstances. For in 1226 there arose the most redoubtable coalition of great barons which the House of Capet ever had to face. Loyalty to the crown, so constant a feature of the past, seemed to be in eclipse. This was at any rate true of the barons who revolted, for they appear to have tried to seize the person of the young king himself- an attempt without parallel in Capetian history.

Blanche of Castile threw herself energetically into the struggle over her son and his throne. Taking her father-in-law, Philip Augustus, as her model, she won over half her enemies by craft, vigorously gave battle to the rest, and enlisted the alliance of the Church, including the Pope himself, and of the burgess class, which in marked fashion took the side of the royal family. Blanche was able to fend off Henry III of England, who tried to take the opportunity of recovering his ancestral lands, lost by John to Philip Augustus. She broke up the baronial coalition and reduced to submission the most dangerous of the rebels, Peter Mauclerc, Count of Brittany, and Raymond VII, Count of Toulouse. She adroitly took advantage of her victory to re-establish- this time definitively- the royal power in the south of France: her son Alphonse was married to the daughter and heiress of Raymond of Toulouse. The way was now open for the union of all Raymond's rich patrimony with the royal domain.

The Capetian monarchy emerged all the stronger from a crisis which had threatened to overwhelm it. Blanche felt it her duty not to rest on her laurels. After her son came of age she continued to make herself responsible for good and stable government. By the force of her example she drove home the lessons which Philip Augustus seems to have wanted to press upon his grandson when they had talked together. To Blanche's initiative must be credited the measures taken to suppress the dangerous revolt of Trencavel in Languedoc, as also those taken to defeat the coalition broken up after the battle of Saintes. On these occasions Louis IX did no more than carry out his mother's policy. When he went off on crusade, Blanche one more officially shouldered the government of the kingdom. She maintained law and order, prevented the further outbreak of war with England, and successfully pressed on with the policy which was to lead to the annexation of Languedoc. Likewise it was she who refurnished her son's crusade with men and money, and she took all the steps necessary for the safety of the kingdom when Louis was captured in Egypt.

Robert Fawtier- The Capetian Kings of France- Monarchy and Nation (987-1328)

[nedgis]

Petite Friture, des luminaires design contemporains à l’esthétique frémissant !

Tout commence en 2009, avec Amélie du Passage, passionnée par le design et le beau. Elle se lance dans l’aventure et fonde Petite Friture, un éditeur de mobilier design français contemporain. Reconnu pour son ébullition créative, le label a déjà marqué le milieu du design et des luminaires, notamment avec l’emblématique suspension Vertigo. Depuis 15 ans, Petite Friture a réussi à susciter un…

[escapismsworld]

The Opera Garnier, is a renowned opera house in Paris, France. Designed by the architect Charles Garnier, it is a masterpiece of Second Empire architecture and was inaugurated in 1875. The Opera Garnier is celebrated for its opulent and ornate interiors, including the famous grand staircase, chandeliers, and Marc Chagall-painted ceiling. It continues to host ballet and opera performances and is an iconic symbol of Parisian cultural heritage.

📸: Andrea Perotta, Constance de Tourniel

[miffy-junot]

The birth of Junot and Laure's first child

-From the book "La Generale Junot, Duchesse d'Abrantès, d'après ses lettres, ses papiers et son 'journal intime' inédits" by Joseph Turquan, a biography of Laure Junot featuring previously unpublished information given to the author by Georges Aubert, Junot's grandson.

The book is from 1901, and therefore is a little dated in some regards, but overall creates a good portrait of Laure and Jean-Andoche Junot.

Portrait of Josephine Junot as a little girl

Mme Junot was nearing the end of her pregnancy. It was with noble intoxication that she saw herself soon as a mother. One day, her husband entered her room and found her leaning over the cradle waiting for the little being to come: she seemed to be in ecstasy. Junot, under a somewhat harsh exterior, under the frequent brusqueness of his manners and his thoughtlessness, hid, as is often seen in these kinds of natures, a tender heart, sensitive to the joys of the family. Understanding perfectly the holy ecstasy of his wife, he embraced her with an expansiveness which added the height of happiness to she who was going to be a mother.

She had a daughter. At first she feared that this little girl would not be welcomed with as much enthusiasm as a boy. Her father-in-law, who was not very gallant, had already told her: “There was no point in crying so much to have a daughter!”

But the general did not share his father's error: he was perfect for his little wife, perfect for his little daughter and tears of tenderness showed Mme Junot that he would be the best father.*

A pain in the middle of all this happiness; Mme Junot lost her mother. If anything could bringing consolation to her grief was the thought that the poor woman was delivered from the sufferings which, for some time, had been incredibly torturing her.

Junot and his wife had asked the First Consul to be their daughter's godfather** and he had granted this favour with much good grace. The day after the baptism, which took place in Saint-Cloud and not at Malmaison which Bonaparte was beginning to abandon, Mme Bonaparte sent the young mother a necklace of fine pearls in several rows; the pearls were the size of a large gooseberry and the padlock formed by a solitaire of admirable white and water. This gift was superb, but it did not come close to that which the First Consul gave to Junot: he gave him the title deed to his hôtel on the Rue des Champs-Elysées. This was a gift of two hundred thousand francs, which increased the income of the young couple by the entire price of the rent. Instead of continuing to live on the same footing as before, which would have been just reasonable, they increased the size of the house, they decided to renew the furniture and they received more brilliantly than ever before.

*Like all men of the era, Junot wanted to have a son to continue the family line. However he showed an equal amount of love for all of his children, and when he was on campaign would send very affectionate letters and gifts to his daughters Josephine and Constance, and to his niece Clotilde.

**In addition to this the godmother was Josephine Bonaparte, who Junot's little girl was named after.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

I decided to try this but for the girlies instead.

Are you sure want to click on ”keep reading”?

For Pauline Léon marrying Claire Lacombe’s host, see Liberty: the lives of six women in Revolutionary France (2006) by Lucy Moore, page 230

For Pauline Léon throwing a bust of Lafayette through Fréron’s window and being friends with Constance Evrard, see Pauline Léon, une républicaine révolutionnaire (2006) by Claude Guillon.

For Françoise Duplay’s sister visiting Catherine Théot, see Points de vue sur l’affaire Catherine Théot (1969) by Michel Eude, page 627.

For Anne Félicité Colombe publishing the papers of Marat and Fréron, see The women of Paris and their French Revolution (1998) by Dominique Godineau, page 382-383.

For the relationship between Simonne Evrard and Albertine Marat, see this post.

For Albertine Marat dissing Charlotte Robespierre, see F.V Raspail chez Albertine Marat (1911) by Albert Mathiez, page 663.

For Lucile Desmoulins predicting Marie-Antoinette would mount the scaffold, see the former’s diary from 1789.

For Lucile being friends with madame Boyer, Brune, Dubois-Crancé, Robert and Danton, calling madame Ricord’s husband ”brusque, coarse, truly mad, giddy, insane,” visiting ”an old madwoman” with madame Duplay’s son and being hit on by Danton as well as Louise Robert saying she would stab Danton, see Lucile’s diary 1792-1793.

For the relationship between Lucile Desmoulins and Marie Hébert, see this post.

For the relationship between Lucile Desmoulins and Thérèse Jeanne Fréron de la Poype, and the one between Annette Duplessis and Marguerite Philippeaux, see letters cited in Camille Desmoulins and his wife: passages from the history of the dantonists (1876) page 463-464 and 464-469.

For Adèle Duplessis having been engaged to Robespierre, see this letter from Annette Duplessis to Robespierre, seemingly written April 13 1794.

For Claire Panis helping look after Horace Desmoulins, see Panis précepteur d’Horace Desmoulins (1912) by Charles Valley.

For Élisabeth Lebas being slandered by Guffroy, molested by Danton, treated like a daughter by Claire Panis, accusing Ricord of seducing her sister-in-law and being helped out in prison by Éléonore, see Le conventionnel Le Bas : d'après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve, page 108, 125-126, 139 and 140-142.

For Élisabeth Lebas being given an obscene book by Desmoulins, see this post.

For Charlotte Robespierre dissing Joséphine, Éléonore Duplay, madame Genlis, Roland and Ricord, see Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834), page  76-77,  90-91, 96-97, 109-116 and 128-129.

For Charlotte Robespierre arriving two hours early to Rosalie Jullien’s dinner, see Journal d’une Bourgeoise pendant la Révolution 1791–1793, page 345.

For Charlotte Robespierre physically restraining Couthon, see this post.

For Charlotte Robespierre and Françoise Duplay’s relationship, see Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 85-92 and Le conventional Le Bas: d’après des documents inédits et les mémoires de sa veuve (1902) page 104-105

For the relationship between Charlotte Robespierre and Victoire and Élisabeth Lebas, see this post.

For Charlotte Robespierre visiting madame Guffroy, moving in with madame Laporte and Victoire Duplay being arrested by one of Charlotte’s friends, see Charlotte Robespierre et ses amis (1961)

For Louise de Kéralio calling Etta Palm a spy, see Appel aux Françoises sur la régénération des mœurs et nécessité de l’influence des femmes dans un gouvernement libre (1791) by the latter.

For the relationship between Manon Roland and Louise de Kéralio Robert, see Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 198-207 

For the relationship between Madame Pétion and Manon Roland, see Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 158 and 244-245 as well as Lettres de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 510.

For the relationship between Madame Roland and Madame Buzot, see Mémoires de Madame Roland (1793), volume 1, page 372, volume 2, page 167 as well as this letter from Manon to her husband dated September 9 1791. For the affair between Manon and Buzot, see this post.

For Manon Roland praising Condorcet, see Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 2, page 14-15.

For the relationship between Manon Roland and Félicité Brissot, see Mémoires de Madame Roland, volume 1, page 360.

For the relationship between Helen Maria Williams and Manon Roland, see Memoirs of the Reign of Robespierre (1795), written by the former.

For the relationship between Mary Wollstonecraft and Helena Maria Williams, see Collected letters of Mary Wollstonecraft (1979), page 226.

For Constance Charpentier painting a portrait of Louise Sébastienne Danton, see Constance Charpentier: Peintre (1767-1849), page 74.

For Olympe de Gouges writing a play with fictional versions of the Fernig sisters, see L’Entrée de Dumourier à Bruxelles ou les Vivandiers (1793) page 94-97 and 105-110.

For Olympe de Gouges calling Charlotte Corday ”a monster who has shown an unusual courage,” see a letter from the former dated July 20 1793, cited on page 204 of Marie-Olympe de Gouges: une humaniste à la fin du XVIIIe siècle (2003) by Oliver Blanc.

For Olympe de Gouges adressing her declaration to Marie-Antoinette, see Les droits de la femme: à la reine (1791) written by the former.

For Germaine de Staël defending Marie-Antoinette, see Réflexions sur le procès de la Reine par une femme (1793) by the former.

For the friendship between Madame Royale and Pauline Tourzel, see Souvernirs de quarante ans: 1789-1830: récit d’une dame de Madame la Dauphine (1861) by the latter.

For Félicité Brissot possibly translating Mary Wollstonecraft, see Who translated into French and annotated Mary Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman? (2022) by Isabelle Bour.

For Félicité Brissot working as a maid for Louise Marie Adélaïde de Bourbon, see Mémoires inédites de Madame la comptesse de Genlis: sur le dix-huitième siècle et sur la révolution française, volume 4, page 106.

For Reine Audu, Claire Lacombe and Théroigne de Méricourt being given civic crowns together, see Gazette nationale ou le Moniteur universel, September 3, 1792.

For Reine Audu taking part in the women’s march on Versailles, see Reine Audu: les légendes des journées d’octobre (1917) by Marc de Villiers.

For Marie-Antoinette calling Lamballe ”my dear heart,” see Correspondance inédite de Marie Antoinette, page 197, 209 and 252.

For Marie-Antoinette disliking Madame du Barry, see https://plume-dhistoire.fr/marie-antoinette-contre-la-du-barry/

For Marie-Antoinette disliking Anne de Noailles, see Correspondance inédite de Marie Antoinette, page 30.

For Louise-Élisabeth Tourzel and Lamballe being friends, see Memoirs of the Duchess de Tourzel: Governess to the Children of France during the years 1789, 1790, 1791, 1792, 1793 and 1795 volume 2, page 257-258

For Félicité de Genlis being the mistress of Louise Marie Adélaïde de Bourbon’s husband, see La duchesse d’Orléans et Madame de Genlis (1913).

For Pétion escorting Madame Genlis out of France, see Mémoires inédites de Madame la comptesse de Genlis…, volume 4, page 99.

For the relationship between Félicité de Genlis and Louise de Kéralio Robert, see Mémoires de Madame de Genlis: en un volume, page 352-354

For the relationship between Félicité de Genlis and Germaine de Staël, see Mémoires inédits de Madame la comptesse de Genlis, volume 2, page 316-317

For the relationship between Félicité de Genlis and Théophile Fernig, see Mémoires inédits de Madame la comptesse de Genlis, volume 4, page 300-304

For the relationship between Félicité de Genlis and Félicité Brissot, see Mémoires inédites de Madame la comptesse de Genlis, volume 4, page 106-110, as well as this letter dated June 1783 from Félicité Brissot to Félicité Genlis.

For the relationship between Félicité de Genlis and Théresa Cabarrus, see Mémoires de Madame de Genlis: en un volume (1857) page 391.

For Félicité de Genlis inviting Lucile to dinner, see this letter from Sillery to Desmoulins dated March 3 1791.

For Marinette Bouquey hiding the husbands of madame Buzot, Pétion and Guadet, see Romances of the French Revolution (1909) by G. Lenotre, volume 2, page 304-323

Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you!

[aelfgyvaa]

Period Drama Costuming - a (ranty) review

I love period dramas. I watch them like my life depends on it, and as a result, I have Thoughts. Period dramas are arguably where costuming becomes most important - here, costume isn't solely a storytelling device, it's a reflection of the specific place and time in which the narrative is taking place. Sometimes it's done well. Sometimes it really - really - isn't.

It's reductive to try and make any sweeping, general rules about how costumes in period dramas should be done. Every show has its own tone and style, and this is important to consider. However, some productions can take this in... interesting directions. We can really only judge each attempt at historical costuming on an individual basis, which - spoiler alert - is exactly what I'm about to do. Below the cut, I've had a look at some bad costumes, some good costumes, and some that don't really seem to fit in either category.

DISCLAIMER!! - This is simply an opportunity for me to rant about something I have a lot of (subjective) Feelings™ about, and is in no way supposed to comment on the overall quality of any of the pieces discussed. I'm also NOT claiming to be an expert on this topic. There are lots of people on here who undoubtedly know more about this than me, and if you're one of them, I'd really love to hear your thoughts!!

The Bad

Reign (The CW, 2013-17)

I've just gotta get this one out of the way. I made it through an almost-entire season of Reign before the atrocity that is its costuming got the better of me. If you'd shown me photos from this show without telling me it's about Mary Queen of Scots, I couldn't have guessed what period this might be set in. Reign's costume designer has stated "I wanted gowns that kept some kind of Elizabethan element, whether it was a nipped waist and extreme silhouette, or if it had a bit of a medieval feel" and uh. Yeah. By and large, that didn't happen. From what I can tell, a somewhat historical silhouette does begin to appear in the show's final season, but at what cost?

Perhaps Reign wouldn't have been as bad if the dresses were at least nice to look at. Instead, they're generally reminiscent of prom dresses - the fabric looks cheap, and the details look so tacky that I can't even endorse the costuming for this show from an aesthetic standpoint. Sorry to any Reign fans out there, but this is almost certainly going to be my most scathing review of the lot.

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The Musketeers (BBC, 2014-16)

I love The Musketeers. I really do. But what the costume department was thinking - especially when it came to the women's costumes - I really have no idea. I mean, a Peter Pan collar?? On the Queen of France??? IN THE 1620S???? Truly something. Constance always looks like she only half-finished getting dressed that morning (why is her hair down. she's married.), and Anne sports some of the most outlandishly ridiculous collars I've ever seen. I don't even want to get into what Marie de' Medici is wearing. It's belts - as a necklace apparently! She also appears to be hiding some kind of gourd under her hair, but alas.

Yes, the men wear pleather. Yes, it does upset me.

The Musketeers' costumes perhaps wouldn't sting so badly if they didn't dress numerous background extras in significantly more accurate clothing. I've spent too much time watching this show and sighing in despair because Noblewoman Number 3 has a more accurate 1620s dress than the literal Queen.

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The Spanish Princess (Starz, 2019-20)

I haven't properly sat down to watch The Spanish Princess through to its conclusion yet, but I do intend to - when she's not fawning over Richard III, Philippa Gregory adaptations can still be good fun, despite having about as much historical authenticity as the Fiji mermaid.

Nevertheless, no one in this show seems aware of what time period they're in, with dress styles spanning from early 14th-century surcoats to some fairly Elizabethan-looking silhouettes. The fabric choices are all over the place, and similarly - although not quite as egregiously - to Reign, often don't even manage to look good. Even from a modern standpoint, this show is colour- and pattern-clash galore. There is also practically no layering whatsoever, with the dresses going on as single pieces without a panel in sight. Admittedly probably easier from a production standpoint, but still.

Don't even get me started on the headdresses. Weird, pudding-cap-esque padded crowns and tiny scraps of fabric like the ones seen on Mary Tudor (an attempt at a French hood? I shudder) are fairly constant, although I have spotted a few passable attempts at a Gable hood.

They do get points for giving Arthur Tudor a fuck ass bob. Thanks.

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The Buccaneers (Apple TV+, 2023-)

When I first started The Buccaneers and saw what its costuming had to offer, I audibly sighed. If you're a fan of visible back-lacing, cheap quality fabrics, and poorly fitting bodices, this is the show for you. The 1870s look is not a difficult one to emulate, and yet The Buccaneers fails rather miserably with its main characters, half of whom appear to be walking around in their underwear, with untied hair and single-layer dresses. Poor Nan only seems to own about two outfits that aren't visibly too big for her.

But by far the greatest crime committed by The Buccaneers' costume department comes in the decision to have multiple instances in which characters appear to be wearing corsets as tops. Yeah. I had a rough time with that one too. Mabel seems a particular victim of this - in both of the images above she looks as if she's been rushed out of the house before she got the chance to even button up her dress. A State of Affairs indeed.

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The Good

Becoming Elizabeth (Starz, 2022)

Although I was slightly underwhelmed with the execution of Becoming Elizabeth's story, this was absolutely overshadowed by its costuming, which is probably one of the most historically accurate depictions of Tudor clothing I've ever seen. With the same costume designer as Shardlake (which is also very well done - a big day for fans of Anthony Boyle's codpiece), it's remarkably clear how much research went into the pieces worn on this show, with some directly recreated from portraits, and others visibly inspired by surviving clothing from the period.

I won't pretend that Becoming Elizabeth's costuming is without flaws - I'm not a fan of Elizabeth's hunting/riding clothes, and she wears her hair down far too often (Catherine Parr appeared at times to have access to a Dyson Airwrap). However, the positives definitely outweigh any gripes I have. We have dressing scenes in which we see the separate layers and panels that comprised Tudor dresses, and the French hoods actually have hoods, as opposed to simply being the semi-circular headbands we see far too often. The royal women wear ermine fur on their sleeves, and I was also a fan of the jewellery.

The care that went into the costumes for Becoming Elizabeth is so clear - I truly wish I'd enjoyed the plot more, if just so that I could spend more time staring at those dresses.

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Emma. (Autumn de Wilde, 2020)

I adore Emma, and its costuming is honestly perhaps the biggest part of that love. The waistlines! The hairstyles! The bonnets! Emma's costumes are proof that you don't have to sacrifice historical accuracy for the sake of stylization - it's by far the most zany and colourful of any direct Austen adaptation, and yet its visuals remain strikingly faithful to the Regency period.

Like Becoming Elizabeth, many of the pieces worn in Emma bear a striking resemblance to surviving pieces and fashion plates from the era. The only problem I've noticed in this was the alarmingly strange detachable ruff-thing Emma is shown wearing in one scene, but frankly, it still manages to fit the tone of the piece.

I'm usually not a huge fan of the Regency fashion depicted on television - I find it rather dull - but the costumes in this movie are gorgeously distracting in every scene. Turns out historical accuracy actually can make things better - who knew!

Is this enough to make me forgive Alexandra Byrne for the costumes in Mary Queen of Scots (2018)?

No.

(I do not forgive ANYONE who worked on Mary Queen of Scots for making Mary Queen of Scots.)

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Firebrand (Karim Aïnouz, 2023)

Firebrand hasn't even been released outside of Cannes yet, and already I am so, so down with everything it's giving. This movie could end up being the dullest two hours of my life, but I'll still sing its praises for one very simple reason - CHIN. STRAPS.

THAT'S RIGHT FOLKS!! The French hoods FINALLY have chin straps!!!! It's only been in virtually every well-known painting of them ever, no big deal.

Although we only have one trailer and a few promo photos to go off of, the costumes in Firebrand look fantastic, with enough layers, fur, embroidery, and hoop skirts to keep me happy for perhaps the rest of my life. We'll see how the movie itself turns out, but it already has a lot going for it in my eyes.

Also shoutout to Henry VIII's absolutely manky leg ulcers in the trailer. That's what I like to see.

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The Outliers

Right. Here is where the hypocrite accusations are about to come flying. But frankly, I said it myself at the start that every period piece deserves to be judged on an individual basis, and the tone and intention of each piece is important in how its costumes are perceived.

That being said, if you think any of the 'bad' costumes deserve to be in this section - maybe they should've tried not being ugly, idk.

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Bridgerton (Netflix, 2020-)

Bridgerton's excuse for its inaccuracy comes not from its lack of effort, but rather from its deliberate rejection of the historical narrative in any form whatsoever. We have two Real People™ in Queen Charlotte and King George III, but even their spin-off opens with a disclaimer that their story will be utterly fictional. Bridgerton does not present an issue like some of the other pieces on this list because it is actively opposed to being historically accurate to a degree that few other period pieces have arguably ever achieved.

Literally nothing about Bridgerton is consistent with history, so it does not disappoint when its costumes aren't either. The clothing does take visible inspiration from the Regency silhouette, but even then it is not consistent, with Queen Charlotte's costumes still firmly Georgian-esque (and honestly, marvellous wigs aside, they're not... bad?). Bridgerton is a historical fantasy before it's a historical drama, and as such it's easy to just sit back and enjoy the costumes for what they are - even when what they are is garish.

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The Great (Hulu, 2020-23)

The Great is first and foremost a dark comedy, not a historical piece. Yes, Catherine the Great and Peter III were real people, and yes, much like in the show, Catherine did overthrow her husband in real life, too. But the similarities end here, as none of the characters in The Great have any intention of resembling their real-life counterparts.

Set roughly in the 1740s, the costumes in The Great are clearly far from reality, but they still resemble the silhouettes we know and recognise as 18th Century. The show is a satirical means of poking fun at the opulent aristocracy, and as such every costume conveys a distinct appearance of luxury. Every single item of clothing worn by the nobility looks absurdly expensive, and the exaggerated ridiculousness of many of the looks we see onscreen are an intentional way of conveying how utterly disconnected the people at court are from reality. From Peter's leopard skin jacket to ladies wearing powdered wigs as hats, The Great's costuming is purposefully elevated from its historical source material, and that is precisely what makes it so good.

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The Favourite (Yorgos Lanthimos, 2018)

Sandy Powell's work on The Favourite is perhaps one of my all-time favourite pieces of costuming. Similarly to The Great, The Favourite utilises clearly recognisable aspects of 18th-century fashion - with ermine fur trim, half-length sleeves, and periwigs - but stylised so that everything conforms to a solidly black and white colour palate.

The Favourite's costumes are gorgeous and evocative of their time period - with well-portrayed mantuas, riding habits, fontanges etc. - all while conforming to Lanthimos' characteristically off-beat style. The shared colour palate really puts the three leads on equal footing in a visual sense, which is key in exploring the relationships that Abigail and Sarah are able to manipulate Queen Anne into developing. Had the colours and fabrics been historically accurate, I believe the movie would have risked making Anne too visibly above the rest of her court, but the striking congruence among the cast successfully solidifies their ability to exploit one another, regardless of status.

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I don't know if there are any conclusions to be drawn from this, I just love talking. If you've made it this far - thank you for reading! I hope you found at least some of this interesting.

I'm always open and eager to discuss this topic, so please do let me know your thoughts - What are your favourite period drama costumes? What piece of costuming made you go OH JESUS WHAT IS THAT???

Anyway, thank you for going down this little rabbit hole with me - my asks are always open! <3

[danielarlngton]

A Huguenot, on St. Bartholomew's Day, Refusing to Shield Himself from Danger by Wearing the Roman Catholic Badge (1851–52) is the full, exhibited title of a painting by John Everett Millais, and was produced at the height of his Pre-Raphaelite period. It was accompanied, at the Royal Academy of Arts in London in 1852, with a long quote reading: "When the clock of the Palais de Justice shall sound upon the great bell, at daybreak, then each good Catholic must bind a strip of white linen round his arm, and place a fair white cross in his cap. —The order of the Duke of Guise."

It depicts a pair of young lovers and is given a dramatic twist because the woman, who is Catholic, is attempting to get her beloved, who is Protestant, to wear the white armband declaring allegiance to Catholicism. The young man firmly pulls off the armband at the same time that he gently embraces his lover, and stares into her pleading eyes. The incident refers to the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre on August 24, 1572, when around 3,000 French Protestants (Huguenots) were murdered in Paris, with around 20,000 massacred across the rest of France. A small number of Protestants escaped from the city through subterfuge by wearing white armbands. Millais had initially planned simply to depict lovers in a less dire predicament, but supposedly had been persuaded by his Pre-Raphaelite colleague William Holman Hunt that the subject was too trite. After seeing Giacomo Meyerbeer's opera Les Huguenots of 1836 at Covent Garden, which tells the story of the massacre, Millais adapted the painting to refer to the event. In the opera, Valentine attempts unsuccessfully to get her lover Raoul to wear the armband. The choice of a pro-Protestant subject was also significant because the Pre-Raphaelites had previously been attacked for their alleged sympathies to the Oxford Movement and to Catholicism. Millais painted the majority of the background near Ewell in Surrey in the late summer and autumn of 1851, while he and Hunt were living at Worcester Park Farm. It was from a brick wall adjoining an orchard. Some of the flowers depicted in the scene may have been chosen because of the contemporary interest in the so-called language of flowers. The blue Canterbury Bells at the left, for example, can stand for faith and constancy. Returning to London after the weather turned too cold to work out-of-doors in November, he painted in the figures: the face of the man was from that of Millais's family friend Arthur Lemprière, and the woman was posed for by Anne Ryan. The painting was exhibited with Ophelia and his portrait of Mrs. Coventry Patmore (Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge) at the Royal Academy of Arts in 1852, and helped to change attitudes towards the Pre-Raphaelites. Tom Taylor wrote an extremely positive review in Punch. It was produced as a reproductive print by the dealer D. White and engraved in mezzotint by Thomas Oldham Barlow in 1856. This became Millais's first major popular success in this medium, and the artist went on to produce a number of other paintings on similar subjects to serve a growing middle class market for engravings. These include The Order of Release, 1746 (Tate, London), The Proscribed Royalist, 1651 (Lord Lloyd-Webber Collection), and The Black Brunswicker (Lady Lever Art Gallery, Port Sunlight). All were successfully engraved. There are smaller watercolor versions of the picture in The Higgins Art Gallery, Bedford, the Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, and a reduced oil replica in the Lord Lloyd-Webber Collection, all by Millais.

[austerity-audacity-asceticism]

i'm a huge crybaby, so when my mom told me about the carmelite martyrs of compiegne, i thought to myself: i cannot be the only one who'll cry about it. which is why i'm sharing it now to you guys

so here's a little excerpt from an article that the Vatican published about it, along with some links about the entire thing:

Not too long after, Mother Teresa of St Augustine shared with the four oldest choir sisters with whom she lived a proposal to invite the entire community to offer their lives for the salvation of France, in imitation of St Teresa of Avila who reformed Carmel for that express intention. She understandably met with immediate resistance. After all, who in their right mind would voluntarily submit themselves to instant decapitation by the newly inaugurated guillotine? Remarkably, however, within the space of a few hours, the two senior nuns begged their Prioress’ forgiveness for their lack of courage. This opened the way for Mother Teresa to propose an act of self-offering to the other members of the community. As of November 27, each nun daily recited an act of self-offering for the salvation of France written by the prioress. Eventually, an intention was added for the release of those who had been arrested and that fewer people would be guillotined.

...

...the nuns’ voices singing the Divine Office floated through the streets of Paris as they were paraded toward the executioner’s block. The executioner also allowed the nuns to complete the prayers for the dying, which included the singing of the Te Deum. After the subsequent singing of the Veni Creator Spiritus, and the renewal of their vows, the nuns went one by one to the scaffold, received a final blessing from their Prioress, kissed a statuette of Our Lady, and followed the sacrificial Lamb.

Here's another quote, from a website named Devotion to Our Lady

Cloaked in their white mantles and with hands bound at their backs, the sixteen recollectedly boarded the tumbrils that would bring them to Place du Trône Renversé where the guillotine awaited them. Along the way, priests disguised as sans-culottes gave them absolution. The journey was long… but the air was permeated by their solemn chants of the sixteen, singing as they did in choir: “Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness. In your compassion, blot out my offense…. Hail, holy Queen, mother of mercy….” Before their execution they knelt and chanted the "Veni Creator", as at a profession, after which they all renewed aloud their baptismal and religious vows. ​ The guillotine had been standing for more than a month already at the Barrière du Trône (Place du Trône Renversé; today it is called Place de la Nation). Upon arriving there, Sr. Constance suddenly accused herself before Mother Thérèse of not having finished her divine office. Her superioress told her: “Be strong, daughter! You will finish it in Paradise!”

you can read about it more here:

[ardenrosegarden]

Immediately after Falaise, the king had tried to limit Breton patriotism by remarrying his rebel son’s future mother-in-law, Duchess Margaret, to Humphrey IV de Bohun, Lord of Carentan in the Cotentin and constable of England. Margaret had likely been active in rallying support against Henry in the war, so the king could not trust leaving her in charge of his son and the heiress of Brittany, Constance.  After the Bohun marriage, Margaret either chose or was not allowed to visit her daughter until sometime between 1187 and 1199, at least six years after the death of her second husband and possibly during the divorce of her daughter from her second husband Earl Ranulf III of Chester.  Mother and daughter did not appear to meet again for at least thirteen years and when they did encounter each other it was on Breton soil at Jugon-les-Lacs, southeast of Saint-Brieuc.

-Melissa Pollock, The Lion, the Lily and the Leopard: The Crown and Nobility of Scotland, France, and England and the Struggle for Power (1100-1204)

[histoireettralala]

Apple of his father's eye

Whatever Louis's failings in the eyes of his first wife, he later proved a good husband and father. There are no unfavourable comments on his second and third marriages, which both produced offspring. The second marriage, to Constance of Castile, added two daughters to the two by Eleanor. But there is no doubt that when his third wife, Adela of Champagne gave birth in 1165, the God-given son became the apple of his father's eye. Louis resisted the Capetian practice of associating his son in government with him. Perhaps the security of his position made it unnecessary. Perhaps, in 1172, when Henry archbishop of Reims suggested a coronation, and with papal support, Louis thought his seven-year old son too young. Louis had no doubts that Philip should be his heir. In 1179, when ill, Louis called an assembly in Paris. There he announced his intention of having Philip crowned on the feast of Assumption, on 15 August. These plans, however, were dramatically interrupted. Philip went hunting near Compiègne. Chasing a boar, he became lost alone in the woods. Found by a charcoal-burner, Philip was led to safety, but a night in the open, two days without food, and the shock of the whole episode, darnaged his health. The prince became ill to the point where death seemed imminent. The coronation was postponed.

Now Louis conducted himself as the caring father, weeping profusely, sighing night and day, inconsolable. One night the murdered Thomas Becket appeared before him, proc1aiming: 'Our Lord Jesus Christ sends me as your servant, Thomas the martyr of Canterbury, in order that you should go to Canterbury, if your son is to recover.' Louis's counsellors tried to dissuade the ageing king from a journey into the lion's den, but he overrode all opposition and went, accompanied by the counts of Flanders, Guisnes and Louvain, arriving at Dover on 22 August. He was met by Henry II who, whatever his suspicions, escorted Louis to Canterbury and treated him as an honoured guest. Louis spent two days praying, 'a humble and devout suppliant', and then returned home. Philip recovered rapidly and was crowned at Reims on 1 November. The episode added to Louis's pious reputation, though the journey had probably been undertaken less for prestige than from love of his son.

The Norman chronicler, Robert of Torigny, says that in 1179 there were great winds and forecasts of impending calamities. The effort of the journey had been too much for the sixty-year-old monarch. He went into decline, suffering a stroke which left him paralysed and unable to speak. Philip was installed as king and immediately took an active role. Louis VII became no more than 'a spectator in the last year of the reign'. His incapacity was such that his personal seal was taken away. He died in September 1180, with his fifteen-year-old son still recuperating. The father was buried at his own foundation, the Cistercian house of Barbeau. The inscription on his tomb, which Philip may weIl have taken to heart, read:

You who survive him are the successor of his dignity; You diminish his line if you diminish his renown.

Jim Bradbury - Philip Augustus, King of France, 1180-1223

[petraevesplace]

Happy 25th Anniversary Thracia 776

Credit to cainlawiet for this masterpiece

When I was trying to pick a flower for Leif to make Nanna’s flower crown with in Twofold Light, I was just looking for a flower that would convey he was thanking her for inspirating him. The flower crown was just meant to be a thank you present as Asbel’s had been. But when choosing a flower for Asbel, I didn’t just find one that meant gratitude but had more meanings that felt fitting for Asbel; constancy, everlasting love, connection and friendship. And this happened again with one of the flower I found in my search.

Irises have multiple meanings depending on the culture and their color. There’s also been meaning ascribed to the flower’s petals, the three being said to represent faith, valor, and wisdom. Faith is generally associated with healers but is also something Nanna is shown to have for Leif, enough for it to be the focus of her death quotes in both FE4 and Thracia. Nanna not only holds strong faith but doing so helps her inspire it in others, Leif admitting he wouldn’t have fought half as well without her keeping him from losing heart when their situation became bleak. He’s also shown to value her wisdom in their introduction in FE4, trusting and following her advice without hesitation. Valor is one of the first traits Nanna is shown to possess, chronologically, Thracia’s opening including a scene of her fighting one of the men attacking Fiana while the Freeblades are away and the first time she speaks in Thracia, she urges Leif to leave her to get to safety despite her life being actively threatened. It took her a while to become as bold and assertive as she is in FE4 but she has never lacked for courage or struggled to show it.

These aren’t the only meaning of irises that fit Nanna. Another commonly mentioned is positive change which Nanna helps spread and create even after the war. The flower shares its name with the Greek messenger goddess, making it a symbol of clear communication to them, and is also associated with messages specifically good ones in China and Japan, reminding me of Nanna carrying the letter than convinces Ares of the truth about his father’s death. Irises are also seen as having positive energy in Japan and China like Nanna does with her Charm skill. This positive energy is also seen as protective, irises being associated with protection since ancient Egypt and Nanna’s introduction being her protecting Fiana and Eyvel telling her to keep looking out for Leif in their reunion conversation, implying she has been since before their rebellion. The Egyptians also saw irises as symbols of power, the French agreeing so much the royalty adopted the fleur de lis, a ‘lily’ more likely inspired by irises, as their symbol, increasing the iris’s association with royalty and making it very fitting for a princess of a country based on France.

The more I looked into the iris, the more I realized I wasn’t just doing so to find the perfect flower for Leif to express what he appreciated about Nanna to her. I wanted to as well and not just with her. On the first day of spring following this, I posted my first flower thread on Twitter giving flowers to all the playable Thracia characters. I love Thracia’s cast, it’s my favorite of any Fire Emblem game, and choosing flowers for them was my way of trying to express that, to highlight what I appreciated and what made me so attached to each member of this cast. Thracia’s gotten a fair bit of criticism over the years for its cast, many characters not speaking after the chapter they’re introduced and three not speaking outside of their death and escape quotes. But I still love them and think Thracia did a fantastic job using the time they had to make as many of its characters as memorable as it could. It worked for and maybe just for me but that’s still enough reason for me to feel they deserve their flowers.

[branwendaughterofllyr]

A Cersei and Catherine de Medici Primer

So, if you’ve been following me at all recently, you’ll know I’ve been working on a fairy tale Cersei meta that I can guarantee will be disappointing after all the build up because I am a hack who just writes very slowly. Part of the Cersei meta involved a lengthy comparison with Catherine de Medici, that was about to consume the entire meta like some terrible eldritch horror, so I have been gently advised to make it a separate post. Which is what this is!

Comparing characters with historical figures is the basic bread and butter of the ASOIAF fandom, so I’m jumping on that wagon and riding it as far as it will take me, so without further ado, let's talk about Catherine. 

Catherine lived from 1519-1589, but her most famous years are when she served as queen regent of France for her sons, which has often been called “the age of Catherine de Medici,” which is generally considered to be from 1559-1589, ending with her death.

Born in Italy, to the extremely wealthy, if technically common, merchant family of the Medici, Catherine was married off very young, at only fourteen, to Henry II of France (who was at the time the Duke of Orleans and the second son) by her uncle, Pope Clement VII. Her early years of marriage were extremely tumultuous, due to her being Italian in a time and place where that made her highly unpopular, her uncle dying before he could finish paying her dowry, and her inability to conceive for the first decade of her marriage. She was also famously not very attractive, and her in-laws often remarked that they could excuse her being Italian and poor if only she was beautiful. (The most common comments on her appearance were that she had the bulging eyes of the Medicis, and was very stout, but at least she had nice skin.) Of course, this is stands in stark contrast to Cersei’s famed beauty, but in many ways Catherine was just as defined by her appearance, only in the opposite direction. 

One of the most famous on-screen depictions of Catherine is by Virna Lisi in the 1994 film La Reine Margot, based on the novel of the same name, in which Catherine is played with a near constance menace and severity (especially in contrast to the ethereal Isabelle Adjani as the titular Margot, Catherine’s daughter).

As the film goes on, Lisi’s features only become more exaggerated in their gauntness as the styling leans directly into every idea of the aging, wicked queen, as the true ruthlessness of Catherine’s actions are unraveled. 

Just as Cersei is famed for her beauty, to the point of exaggeration that ultimately MUST fall short of the reality, Catherine skews the other direction, her ugliness the symbol of her internal wickedness, forever contrasted with her husband’s ageless beauty of a mistress.

I might even connect it to the raw exposure that Cersei feels during her walk of shame, her beauty, which she had always considered her greatest defense, stripped from her. 

She did not feel beautiful, though. She felt old, used, filthy, ugly. There were stretch marks on her belly from the children she had borne, and her breasts were not as firm as they had been when she was younger. Without a gown to hold them up, they sagged against her chest. I should not have done this. I was their queen, but now they've seen, they've seen, they've seen. I should never have let them see. Gowned and crowned, she was a queen. Naked, bloody, limping, she was only a woman, not so very different from their wives, more like their mothers than their pretty little maiden daughters. What have I done?

-Cersei II, ADWD

"My wife has sweeter teats than those," a man shouted. A teamster cursed as the Poor Fellows ordered his wagon out of the way. "Shame, shame, shame on the sinner," chanted the septas. "Look at this one," a whore called from a brothel window, lifting her skirts to the men below, "it's not had half as many cocks up it as hers." Bells were ringing, ringing, ringing. "That can't be the queen," a boy said, "she's saggy as my mum." This is my penance, Cersei told herself. I have sinned most grievously, this is my atonement. It will be over soon, it will be behind me, then I can forget.

-Cersei II, ADWD

If a queen cannot be beautiful, what then is she worth? If she is beautiful, any myriad of sins can be forgiven, such as being poor or Italian, or heartless. (I will delve deeper into this theme in the meta proper.)

Catherine was also extremely in love with her husband, and was absolutely devoted to him. Her love was very unrequited, something that gave her a great deal of grief throughout the entirety of her marriage. 

Through a series of mishaps  and illnesses, Catherine’s husband came to the throne in 1547, and while Catherine was technically queen of France, all of her husband’s affections and many honours meant for his wife went to his long time mistress, the beautiful Diane de Poitiers. Although many years older than Henry, Diane held his heart until his death, and kept her looks as well, through a stringent routine of cold baths and exercise. The only thing that Catherine was able to give her husband that Diane couldn’t would end up being children. I might make a light connection from this aspect of Catherine’s life to Cersei’s, whose husband famously preferred a dead girl to her.

"I remember Robert as he was the day he took the throne, every inch a king," he said quietly. "A thousand other women might have loved him with all their hearts. What did he do to make you hate him so?"

Her eyes burned, green fire in the dusk, like the lioness that was her sigil. "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister's name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered Lyanna."

-Eddard XII, AGOT

Eventually, after years of trying various remedies and methods, Catherine was able to conceive, and had ten children in as many years, with seven surviving to adulthood. All of them would be sickly and frail (with the exception of her daughter Margot, also known as Marguerite of Valois), and she would outlive all but one of her sons (the last being stabbed to death eight months after she died), something that she spent her whole life trying to prevent. When her husband Henry died, Catherine went into permanent mourning, eschewing the traditional white mourning clothes of French queens for black widow’s weeds, earning her the moniker of the “black queen” in more ways than one.

(While Cersei does not particularly mourn Robert, she does take great joy in dressing for his funeral, a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom, and it is certainly an iconic look.)

One of the key parallels with Cersei is Catherine’s deep obsession with magic and the occult, that she would maintain for her entire life, patronizing astrologers and alchemists, including the famous seer Nostradamus. Her daughter Margot even claimed that Catherine had prophetic dreams about the deaths of family members, and would wake up screaming from them, sobbing out the name of the person who was soon to die. There were also extremely pervasive rumors that Catherine was an expert in poisons, which was a common stereotype for Italians at the time, and even today, you can visit a room in Chateau de Blois, with 327 little wooden drawers, rumored to have been used to hold all of Catherines’s various poisons (historians think it was likely to have housed her various art pieces and religious items rather than poisons).  Catherine was rumored to have poisoned many of her enemies, using items like poisoned gloves. Even after her death, Catherine’s enemies claimed that she practiced witchcraft, and even created the first Black Mass (which is quite ironic, considering that all actual evidence points to Catherine being a devout Catholic who had grown up in a convent.) Interestingly, the events of AGOT are put in motion by a poisoning that Cersei did not commit, though it is assumed by pretty much everyone who is aware of how Jon Arryn died that Cersei did have a hand in it, since it is unclear whether or not Catherine actually did poison anyone or if it was mere rumor. 

There’s even an extremely curious story about an enchanted mirror and Catherine, that is sometimes pointed to as the origin of the magic mirror in Snow White.

“Catherine de Medici in front of the magic mirror of her astrologer Cosimo Ruggieri” from Das Buch Fur Alle (1890), illustrated by unknown.

Supposedly, not long after the death of her husband, Catherine wished to know the future of the Valois dynasty and her sons, and summoned her astrologer Cosimo Ruggieri (in some later versions it is Nostradamus), to do so. Ruggieri produced a mirror, in some darkened chamber, and told her that the faces of the future kings of France would appear in the mirror, and the number of times each face circled the mirror would be the number of years that king would rule. Her eldest son, King Francis, faintly appeared in the mirror once before fading away. Then appeared her son, the future Charles IX, who circled the mirror fourteen times, followed by her next son, Henry III, who appeared fifteen times. After her son Henry’s face faded away, the Duke of Guise briefly flashed by, followed by the face of Henri de Navarre, heir to the Bourbon line, who would inherit the throne if the Valois line died out. Henri’s face circled the mirror twenty-two times, and Catherine knew her line would fail and Henri would be king.

Whether or not this particular story is true, Catherine did believe in the prophecies of astrologers and seers, who had correctly predicted that her husband would die in his fortieth year, and Catherine even dreamed of her husband dying violently the night before his fatal jousting accident. Further evidence added to her occult legend, is that Diane de Poitiers supposedly found pentagrams and other  items used in magical rituals when she took custody of Catherine’s former palace, the Chateau de Chaumont. Needless to say, Diane never returned to that particular castle.

Like Cersei, part of Catherine’s myth is defined by a prophecy dooming her children that she tries and fails to avert. 

Jo Eldridge Carney in “Fairy Tale Queens: Queenship and Power” makes an explicit connection between Catherine and the wicked fairy tale queen, drawing on a letter to Catherine from Jeanne de Navarre, mother of the same Henri who was prophesied by the mirror to supplant her sons.

“Fairy tales are replete with kind and gentle queens who are obedient and deferential to their husbands, devoted to their children, and beloved by their subjects. More memorable are the wicked queens who connive to seize power, manipulate their husbands and sons, threaten their daughters-in-law, compete with other women, and concoct all manner of horrific acts. When Catherine de Médicis invited Jeanne d’Albret to Paris in 1572 to discuss the proposed marriage of their respective children, Marguerite de Valois and Henri de Navarre, the Queen mother reassured her Protestant guest that she would be safe among the Catholics of the French court. Jeanne replied, “Madame, you say that you desire to see us, and not in order to harm us. Forgive me if I feel like smiling when I read your letters. You allay fears I have never felt. I do not suppose, as the saying is, that you eat little children.” Jeanne may well have been think- ing of the queen in Basile’s “Sun, Moon, and Talia,” who orders the cook to slaughter her husband’s illegitimate children and prepare them for his dinner. Similarly, the wicked queen mother of Perrault’s “Sleeping Beauty,” jealous of her son’s marriage, asks her steward to cook her grandchildren for her own dinner, even requesting a special French sauce to accompany the dish.”

Considering that later rumors would attribute the origin of the Black Mass to Catherine, which often included the ritual murder and consumption of an infant in a mockery of the holy communion, the link between cannibalism and evil queens being referenced in political conflicts dates back to the 16th century. (Part of my meta will explore Cersei’s own connection to cannibalism.) 

Her eventual relationship with her future son-in-law Henri de Navarre would prove to be... complicated to say the least. It was rumored by many Huguenots (French Protestants) that Catherine had poisoned his mother, Jeanne de Navarre, using a pair of poisoned gloves, when Jeanne had come to Paris for their children’s wedding.

Any discussion of Catherine de Medici has to include the most infamous event of her entire life, which is where much of her black legend can be traced back to. On the 18th of August, 1572, after much political maneuvering, the Protestant Henri de Navarre married the Catholic Marguerite de Valois, in a wedding that many (but not all) hoped would put an end to the religious conflicts of France. Five days later, the Catholics would slaughter all the assembled Protestant wedding guests in the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre. Ordered by Charles IX after the failed assassination of the Protestant leader Admiral de Coligny, and lead by the fiercely Catholic and extremely powerful Guises, the massacre would spread across France, leaving 3,000 to 5,000 dead. Henri de Navarre would manage to survive by pledging to convert to Catholicism. The role of Catherine in orchestrating the massacre is unclear, but much of the blame is traditionally laid at her feat. There is evidence to suggest that Catherine had wanted a few of the most powerful Huguenot leaders killed but had never actually suggested a mass killing, and was shocked by the extent of what ended up happening, due to the religious powder keg that was Paris.  But whether or not Catherine had actually approved of the massacre, it would remain a permanent stain on her reputation, and many of the most pervasive rumors about her poisoning and dark arts date to after the massacre, perpetuated by angry Huguenots.

“Catherine de Médicis with the Head of Coligny” by Joseph Hornung (1792–1870)

I might tentatively suggest that this event will parallel Cersei’s future destruction of the High Sparrow and the Tyrells. In the show, she straight up blew up the Great Sept of Baelor with all her enemies within, but in the books it may be a more traditional massacre, a bloodbath in the night as all gather for the trials of the queens, after the style of Catherine de Medici. 

The rest of Catherine’s life would be a largely tragic one. She would see two more of her sons die, including her favorite, and would be estranged from her daughter Margot for the rest of her life, after imprisoning her when Margot’s husband, Henri de Navarre, escaped, even cutting Margot out of her will and refusing to speak to her. She did her best to keep France unified, but did not have the same influence and energy of her early regency. Her final son would only survive her by eight months. She died at the age of sixty-nine, of an unknown illness, having lost the love of her life who never returned her affections, and many of her oldest friends. Only days before her death, she had visited her old friend, the Cardinal de Bourbon, who told her, “Your words, Madam, have led us all to this butchery.”

And despite all her terrible deeds, both real and imagined, the most poignant epithet for Catherine is from her one-time son-in-law and prisoner, Henry de Navarre, who had become Henry IV, the new Bourbon king of France.

I ask you, what could a woman do, left by the death of her husband with five little children on her arms, and two families of France who were thinking of grasping the crown—our own and the Guises? Was she not compelled to play strange parts to deceive first one and then the other, in order to guard, as she did, her sons, who successively reigned through the wise conduct of that shrewd woman? I am surprised that she never did worse.

The actual extent of Catherine de Medici’s ruthlessness is debated, but her myth as true “Evil Queen” who worked with poisons and magic, orchestrating a religious massacre, certainly still survives and has influenced the trope deeply. Cersei as a character owes a deep debt to the legend of the Black Queen, Catherine Medici as much to the fairy tale stepmother. 

Stay tuned for the first part of my Cersei meta, where I delve into her relationship to the tropes of the Evil Queen.