#dinner with Bacchus

[gambeex]

La Reina/ The Queen del Cacao Baracoa ( Cuba)

CC.Gambeex just like Candide looking for the Eldorado in Cuba and find the queen of the Cacao in Baracoa

CC.Gambeex just like Candide looking for the Eldoradoin Cuba El Cacao Ancestral 🙂

[smolvenger]

The Twelve Days (Henry V x fem! Reader Miniseries), Chapter One

Summary: "You, luckiest of girls, are betrothed to none other than the king of England!"

You celebrate the Twelve days- from Christmas to New Year- in your role as queen in an arranged marriage to King Henry V. How will you cope with your new role? And what about your husband?

Warnings: Eventual Smut starting in Part Two, Arranged Marriage, discussions of Sexual Assault but no attacks, impolite courtiers, marriages, families, Henry's codpiece is mentioned and he is an actual dick for a hot second but gets better bc you get to call him out on it.

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Summary: This was inspired by Lucy Worsely's documentary "The Twelve Days of Tudor Christmas" plus some of the tidbits I learned about the reading about royal life in that era. Yes, I know some of these practices come from that era 100 years after Henry V but it's my fic and I can do what I want.

COMMENTS, KUDOS, AND ASKS ABOUT MY WORK ARE APPRECIATED!

Your eyes were drooping, fighting the urge to close them. You fought the urge to yawn at such a sacred space as Midnight Mass. But especially considering the crown on your head and hearing your husband’s slow exhales next to you, you made yourself in the present, listening to the words. At least the chill of the castle chapel and the light touch of the necklace you wore kept you awake.

All of December you had to prepare for the Christmas season with fasting. Even the king, your husband, Henry V had to.

Husband- the word felt new.

Months ago, it was announced suddenly that you had to travel to London. Your parents hugged and kissed you in deep congrats.

“Why, what is it?” you asked.

“Y/N, you’re betrothed!”

“Betrothed!? To whom?”

“You, luckiest of girls, are betrothed to marry none other than the King of England!” your mother cheered.

 Your heart leaped in your chest and the room spun. Were you even awake?

“Henry Bolingbroke? But he’s an old man now and quite sick!” you cried

“No- haven’t you heard? He’s dead and his son, Hal, is the king! Not Henry the Fourth- You’re going to marry Henry the Fifth!” your father explained with excitement.

You had never met him.

You heard all the stories concerning Prince Hal. He was apparently a wild boy- who frequented taverns, placed prostitutes on his lap and wore their favors to jousts, and enjoyed playing pranks with thieves. He could put Bacchus to shame with the chaos he would get into.  For a time, he rarely appeared in court due to preferring his revels late at night with the seedy company and getting drunk. And now this wild, drinking, philandering, troublemaker was not only the new king of England but your husband!

You could hardly speak when you joined the carriage with your parents for your first meeting. The whole ride seemed to last forever and you were sweating beneath your nicest pink dress.

 Your heart was beating as hard as if you were running and you felt sick with nerves entering the palace. There was a flourish with footsteps like a march. The door was open and a loud voice announced: “His royal majesty, Henry the Fifth.”

God, protect me! You thought in terror. You looked it up.

Imagine your delight that it was a young, attractive man. He was clearly sober. Surely better than marrying either an old man or a partying drunkard.

“Lady Y/L/N, I greet you, most fair lady. I bid you welcome,” he said.

“Your majesty,” you replied with a bow along with your parents.

 He offered you his hand and you accepted it. And in yours he placed a little wildflower that you took.

“May I kiss your hand and call you my queen?” he asked politely.

Swallowing, you nodded your head. You reached out your hand and he accepted it, bowing down his head, you saw the combed back curls hidden under his crown. He kissed it lightly.

“It is our advice for the wedding to be as soon as possible. Before the fasting of Advent…and the sooner you have an heir, the better.” An older man, the Chief Justice, suggested.

“Then let it be so,” Henry replied.

An awkward dinner passed and that was that. The next time you would see him would be your wedding day, now set to November.  

Besides, the more cynical side of your brain thought, you were being brought in as no more than a glorified broodmare for England. A pretty accessory for the king. Once you squeezed out a son, you thought, he would toss you away for a mistress. But such thoughts you dared not tell your parents or family who all saw you as the shining star of their family for propelling them to royalty at the price of your maidenhead. And there was one upside to being Queen Consort- it relieved you of the harder choices and responsibilities that any king or any ruler would have, you thought.

November and the Wedding arrived. You couldn’t sleep the night before. You were brought to that same chapel in a pretty white dress befitting a queen. You felt like a child playing dress up. You couldn’t believe that every eye on the country was on you as the bishop placed your hand on Henry’s and made the sign of the cross over you two. The ceremony ended in a daze.

Your stomach churned so much you couldn’t eat much of the feast. You understood what was coming and the horror stories relayed to you from almost every woman you knew. And from the quick glances you had at Henry’s codpiece, it was going to hurt.

 When the whole party followed you finally to your chambers and you were brought to that large stone room with the king’s bed- not your own private room for the queen- you wanted to cry from fear. That same bishop made the sign of the cross again at the bed. Once it was where Henry IV’s lifeless body was placed and now you knew you had to be placed there like a lamb on the altar, awaiting the knife.

 A few ladies in waiting- women of high status you knew you could trust- took off the tiara placed on your head and removed the ring from your finger. A few male servants began to undress Henry. Yet the court, many of whom were men, kept their eyes on you when the ladies moved onto the skirt of your wedding gown. They seemed to watch as one lady in waiting began to lift the skirt, showing some of your leg when…

“Please bring a screen,” the king ordered.

A screen was shuffled in to allow you privacy to change into night clothes. You stepped out, the cold stone floor touching your bare feet as you stood in your shift. You began to shiver.

Henry turned to you.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord,” you replied.

He took a black fur coat that was draped over a chair and placed it over you. His hands on your shoulders felt warm. He led you to sit on the chair near the writing desk.

“Now the rest of you- please leave the room…and do not stay at the door if you are not the guards…” he then said.

“But your majesty, we must make sure the marriage is consummated. You could at most close the drapes around the bed, but we must make sure you do your duty to your wife. For St. George and the sake of-“

“Yes, that is tradition. But seeing as I am the king now, here is a new one. I ask that all of you leave and go to your own rooms.” Henry protested.

They looked at each other in confusion.

“But how will we know if-“

“I’m sure once we discover she is pregnant, you will know the marriage is consummated. Now leave!”

They bowed their heads and left.

He walked up to you, and you backed off. But he held up a hand.

“Don’t be afraid, my lady,” he offered.

You heard the last footsteps of the courtiers vanish into the hallway. They gossiped and it rang through the halls, until it melted into nothing.

You took it and said, “I know you want me to…to…sleep with you.”

“Well, is that what you want? Do you want me to have you done tonight?” he asked.

“It’s what’s expected of us…” you answered meekly.

He scratched at his cleanly shaven chin.

“But is it what you want?” he asked.

You blinked. His own large hands overpowered your own, but they were soft.

“No…no I don’t want to…I’m not ready yet…” you confessed.

“Then you don’t need to worry. Nothing will happen tonight…” he assured you.

He let your hands go to gesture to a small table where there was a large jug

here- they gave us spiced wine for us to share. Have a cup.”

He poured you a generous amount and you sipped at it.

“You didn’t eat anything at the feast. Would you like me to ask for a plate?” he suggested.

“Yes, my lord.”

He opened the door and whispered to a guard. The coat almost drowned you in it’s size, but it was warm. Like petting the pelt of a black bear. Henry closed the door again.

“Thank you for the cloak…” you said.

“It used to be my father’s. And he was always cold.” He commented.

“My lord …what should I call you?” you asked.

“Henry will do for now…you can call me Harry. Maybe Hal later…what would you like me to call you?”

You gave him the name you wanted to be called and he repeated it.

 The terror of being raped gone, your appetite returned to you. You enjoyed the cup of spiced wine and although the plate of leftovers was tasty despite being cold.

Henry went to the desk full of papers.

“I have some letters to write…you seem tired, Y/N. It was a long day. When you’re done, you can sleep in my bed.”

You glanced at the bed, sitting in it and draping off the black cloak.

“You’re being kind to me, why?” you asked.

Both of you knew that you were now considered property of the most powerful man in the world. He had the right to do whatever he wanted with you whenever he wanted…and he was not doing anything.

“Because I don’t want to be hated. This was forced on me as much as on you. I can at least make your life my wife not a misery. I pity you, I guess,” he explained.

You settled into the sheets, resting your head against a large, round pillow placed before the square ones.

“Henry where are you going to sleep tonight?” you asked.

“I’ll crawl in later. Don’t be nervous- but it’s big enough. I won’t be able to touch you…” he said,

“What if I never want you to touch me?” you asked curiously.

He turned to you and got his own cup of wine, raising it.

“I think I know of an abbey that will let me in. I’ll become bald and fat and join them,” he said with a smile.

You fell asleep deeply and quickly. Once you woke up, you were ushered in.

And here you were today. In a far grander chapel than the one you were used to. But instead of praying with your family, you were leaning your head down to pray next to your husband. He gave you a kiss on the hand as a good night before your servants ushered you back to your separate rooms and beds left for a royal and still unconsummated marriage.

------------------------------------------

The First Day of Christmas

The first day was a feast. It was a smaller party away from the prying eyes of the court. The party consisted of you, Henry, his three brothers, and his “favorites”- the Chief Justice, Warwick, and Lord Exeter. The room was a smaller stone room with a long walkway and a window to the cold outside world. You missed your family and celebrated the twelve days of Christmas with them. If only you knew it would be your last celebration together then! Now, here you were with a new family you were not at all familiar with- and the only woman at the table too!

You were amazed that the table was decorated with a peacock and a swan as if they were not killed but frozen in their place as they glazed over a pond. Before you placed a large Mince pie. You looked over and saw that there was his crest along with HR- Henry Rex or King Henry. It was so large you wondered why the table didn’t break from the weight of it!

The King was served first, the tenderest choice of slices of pie. Though there was a variety of meat.

“Did you miss eating meat all month, Henry?” you asked.

He nodded his head, “yes, I did. I almost forgot the taste of it and cheese. May I ask, Y/N, have you ever tried eel before?”

“I have not,” you said.

He poked his plate closer.

“Here- it’s my favorite fish to try on Christmas Day. Different from any other I’ve had. Give it a taste, tell me what you think!”

You poked your fork into it. It was light, but firm and with a little sweetness.

“It’s not bad!” you commented.

You felt a poke and saw it was one of the king’s brothers, John. A young, handsome man with cheekbones like his brother and a crop of soft, dark brown hair.

“My lady, save room on your plate. They’re about to present The Boar…”

“Will they sing the carol The Boar’s Head? I like that one!” you replied, nearly popping in your seat.

You heard your husband confirm “They will.”

But you saw his face turn white. His blue eyes lowered to the plate before him.

Soon a group of servants in fine robes and large hats with feathers walked in with a large platter over their shoulders with a roasted boar on it. One young man in green stepped forward, exhaled deep in his belly, and began to sing that jaunty tune in a bright baritone.

“The Boar’s head as I understand is the rarest dish in all the land!”

You smiled and tapped your foot to the beat of the familiar song. Everyone was nodding along, gazing at how the Boar’s head they brought had oranges in its eyes. The gold on it’s tusks gleamed from the candlelight. By the third verse you noticed the whole table was smiling…except Henry.

There was applause and it was brought in front of his plate and carved.

“Here, my lord, the choicest meats for you!” the servant boasted.

“Save some of these choice meats for the others- especially the queen. She is new here and should be welcomed.” He requested.

You glanced and you nodded your head in thanks. A tender part of the pork was cut off and brought to your plate.

“Thank you though…what troubles you, Henry?” you asked.

Since the feast was more private, you did not have to call him “my lord” but his name. That was one relief on your part.

“The Boar’s Head was name of the tavern I used to frequent…” he confessed.

His brothers perked up, listening. John’s jaw tightened.

“I heard about your youth, Henry. Do you miss it?” you asked innocently.

Part of you flinched, perhaps that was too personal. Even among his brothers. But you could hardly believe those same stories again.

“If I must be honest, a little…I let it go. I banished those from that tavern away from me….” He said.

There was silence for a minute. What could you say?

“It was the right thing to do, I think. But I imagine it was hard. But it is your right to banish a bad influence.” You reasoned gently.

You saw his fist was clamped in agony. There was a clanking of forks and knives as the others continued to eat.  Gently, you placed your hand over it. You felt it relax beneath you.

“Have you tried the boar, husband?” you asked.

“I…I haven’t.”

“It’s delicious. You should eat at least a little…it helps with nerves if I recall correctly” you said.

There was a shared look and you saw him smile, realizing that this time the roles were reversed. He began to stab his fork into the boat meat and eat it.

Although you were quite full, you saw there was still plenty of food on the table by the time the servants arrived to pick it up.

“What happens to the leftovers?” you asked curiously.

“They’re doles,” John explained. “We take them and distribute them to the poor outside the castle waiting for it…”

You turned to Henry and the servants “may I…may I help distribute them?” you asked.

Heads turned to you.

“You wish to hand out food to those without name?” Henry asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“But they’re only peasants,” he responded.

“They’re our people. They aren’t animals. If we’re good to them, they’ll follow us even more,” you replied.

“Majesty, it is not the usual fashion for you to do so…” the Lord of Exeter protested.

“I’d…I’d like to help. It’s Christmastide, after all. It’s right to do. It’s the feast of Christ’s Birth. It’s what He would do,” you explained.

“You aren’t wrong,” Henry said.

What was the good of being part of the most powerful family in the country if you couldn’t use it to help anyone? Besides, you had to count yourself extremely lucky that you had a large feast in a warm palace with servants to cater to your every whim. That was more than so many could dream of.

They looked to the king, who nodded.

“You shall…” he permitted.

He turned to the servants.

“Ask the ladies in waiting to give her a cloak for warmth. Make sure she isn’t harmed,” he asked the servants.

“Thank you, Henry” you said.

There was a small urge inside you. From how gentle he was to you on your wedding night, to how he was the opposite of what you expected, and now how he insisted you be fed equal to him and had permission to do what you wanted, a tenderness overcame you for Henry. You wanted to take his face and give him a kiss on the cheek from everything he had done- yes, even despite the peasant comment. But it would be too forward even in front of the smaller party. It was an action reserved for the privacy of husband and wife in their chambers. In gratitude, you merely clutched his hand and squeezed it and he let you.

You walked out, not noticing how Henry’s smile followed you out.

Once you were bundled up, you held a large plate full of meat from the board and walked outside. Hundreds of peasants, some in mere rags despite the cold, were shocked.

“Make way for the queen! Approach her one by one!” guards barked.

The first was a young woman who seemed to be your age. One good look at her and you realized at a different time or if different choices were made, you could have been the one begging at the gate. The only real difference between you two was the clothes on your back. It chilled you as you handed out meat and she bowed before scurrying off.

Now these people had to bow before you and some even knelt with reverence as if you weren’t flesh and mortality as they. But you leaned down, and with some tools, gave some rations of meat to them before they moved onto the servant with bits of the pie. Then another servant who kept the beef and other choices of beef. Some were amazed that Henry served crayfish, eels, and porpoise at his feast and that there were leftovers, rushing to sample what they tasted like just from curiosity.

The smiles on their faces seeing you and the hundreds of “thank you’s” from their faces warmed your heart. Seeing each walk away with something on their plate, you sent out a prayer for their safe return to their homes, food intact.

Little did you know that from his window, Henry watched you for a while. Something moving inside of him to see you smile as you handed out the doles.

--------------------------------------------------------

The Third Day of Christmas

The snow was crisp, clean, and even the next day. Already your ladies in waiting were watching it as it fell outside in puffy drifts. It was late afternoon and finally there was some wintertime weather.

“I think the St. Stephen feast was better than the Christmas one!” one said.

“I have to agree with you on that,” you agreed.

You walked over to return to your sewing circle. You passed by a spinning wheel that- like with the rest of the castle- was decorated with holly and ivy. The vines prevented the wheel from turning practically-there was to be no work for anyone on the Twelve Days of Christmas except the busy servants of royalty.

“I don’t know if I can even eat at another feast!” another lady sighed.

“I second that!” you said, looking down at the embroidery you began.

“You will have to,” came a voice from a distance away.

All of you stood up to see before you Warwick. Heads bowed in courtesy. When it got closer to evening, one male servant or courtier would arrive to you to give you an account of how Henry’s day went.

“Your majesty, I came to give you the annual report of the King’s Day- he spent the morning riding as usual, following by some celebratory hunting with bow and arrow. He then paid respects to Richard and his father’s grave before taking some time to study.”

“Very well and good fares my lord, king, and husband, I am glad,” you replied dutifully.

“And speaking of feasting, there is something important he asks…”

You folded your hands in front of you.

“What is it?”

He took in a deep breath.

“The King has asked to dine with you tonight in your quarters.”

There was a silence that fell along the ladies. All of their eyes got big. You looked among them and then shrugged.

“Oh! That is all- that’s alright. He may!” you answered with casual cheerfulness.

There was a burst of giggles from one lady that she immediately silenced putting a hand over her mouth. They all stared at you.

“What…what is it…what…what does this mean?” you asked.

“You don’t know…” Warwick asked.

“I don’t know…”

He lowered his head and turned pink. One lady went over to you.

“When you accept the king’s invitation to dinner…it’s expected that you…bed him right after. The king is actually asking you to bed him tonight…” she whispered to you.

You looked back at her in amazement and then at Warwick. Then at the ladies.

“Do you…change your mind, my lady?” Warwick asked.

Shoulders tightening, hands clutching beneath their folded position in front of you, you looked at him and then nodded.

“He…he may…”

[sspacegodd]

Le Festin Des Dieux (The Feast of God, c. 1635-1640) a painting by Jan van Bijlert.

The Olympics tried to celebrate the Greek myths by presenting a free-range organic tableau, a "living photo" of this painting, The Feast of the Gods, of a wedding with Bacchus, unable to stand since he's so hammered, and a wannabe Minotaur dancer, or some stand-in substitute satyr.

Sadly, everyone is NOT familiar with Greek myths. They think Zeus wrote Cat in the Hat. The Olympics tried to help make everyone familiar with Greek myths by presenting some free-range organic performance art, making tribute to the Feast of the Gods. But it rankled the Christianists because it looked like The Last Supper -- and they assumed Jesus was being mocked somehow.

This only looks like The Last Supper if Jesus had gone out to dinner with some juvenile delinquents and theater kids.

[scotianostra]

The young King James VI made his first official visit to Edinburgh on September 30th 1579.

James VI had spent his childhood at Stirling Castle. Now he came to Edinburgh to begin his adult rule. aged 13.

Born in 1566, he was the product of Mary’s ill-fated marriage to Henry, Lord Darnley. Darnley’s assassination in early 1567, and Mary’s subsequent over-hasty marriage to one of its perpetrators, Lord Bothwell, triggered events that led to Mary’s downfall.

James VI became king of Scotland in 1567 when Mary was forced to abdicate.

According to the writings of David Moysie, James VI left Stirling on 29 September 1579 despite a storm. He had lunch at Dunipace and dinner at Linlithgow Palace where he stayed the night, and came to Holyroodhouse the next evening. The town lined the road with men in armour and a salute was fired from Edinburgh Castle. The streets were cleared of beggars, executed criminals were removed down (from their pikes on the tolbooth) and the streets thoroughly cleaned.

His entry to the town was marked by a ceremonial Royal entry. James arrived from Dalkeith Palace. The processional route went from the West Port, to the Overbow, to the Tolbooth, to St Giles Kirk, the Mercat Cross, the Salt Tron, the Nether Bow, Canongate Cross, and Holyrood Palace

The gates of the town, the tollbooths of Edinburgh and the Canongate, and other buildings were painted white with limewash, called "calk". Householders along the route were asked to hang the external stairs with tapestry and "Arras works".

At the West Port the king was met by 32 burgesses of Edinburgh, whose names are recorded, who carried a canopy made of purple velvet. John Shairp gave a speech in Latin. There was a tableau vivant of the Judgement of Solomon. At the Overbow Cupid gave James the keys to the town. Cupid was played by a boy who descended in a globe. At the Tolbooth four maidens (probably played by boys) represented Peace, Justice, Plenty and Policy, a scene relating to the four Cardinal Virtues. At St Giles Dame Religion invited the king to hear a sermon on the duty of kings and Psalm 21 was sung. . Afterwards, at the Mercat Cross Bacchus shared out wine. At the Salt Tron the genealogy of the Scottish monarchy was presented, perhaps using portraits. The king's horoscope was presented an actor playing Ptolemy at the Netherbow Port. At the Canongate Cross a scene represented the abolition of the Pope's authority in Scotland.

At Holyrood Palace a new lodging was prepared for the king's favourite Esmé Stewart next to the royal apartment. A course or tournament ground made of sand for "running at the ring" was laid at Holyroodhouse. Celebrations continued at Dalkeith Palace, hosted by the former Regent Morton.

Similar pageantry was used in September 1561 when Mary, Queen of Scots had made an Entry, and in May 1590 at the Entry and Coronation of Anne of Denmark.

A short account of the events occurs in the chronicle, The historie and life of King James the Sext, written in Scots;

At the Wast Port of Edinburgh, he was ressavit be the Magistrats of the toun under a pompous payle of purple velvet. That port presentit unto him the wisdome of Solomon, as it is written in the thrid chapter of the first buik of the Kings : That is to say King Solomon was representit with the tua wemen that contendit for the young chylde. This done, they presented unto the King, the sworde for the one hand, and the scepter for the uther.

And as he maid forder progres within the toun, in the streat that ascendis to the castell, thair is an ancient port, at the whilk hang a curious globe, that opnit artificiallie as the King came by, wharin was a young boy that discendit craftelie, presenting the keyis of the toun to his Majestie, that war all maid of fyne massie sylver; and thais war presentlie ressavit be ane of his honorable counsall at his awin command. During this space, Dame Music and hir scollars exercesit hir art with great melodic. Then in his discence, as he came foment the hous of Justice, thair shew thayme selfis unto him, foure gallant vertewous ladeyis; to wit, Peax, Justice, Plentie, and Policie; and ather of thayme had an oraison to his Majestic.

Tharefter, as he came towart the chief collegiall kirk, thare Dame Religion shew hirself, desyring his presence, whilk he then obeyit be entring the kirk; whare the cheif preacher for that tyme maid a notable exhortation unto him, for the embracing of Religion and all hir cardinall vertewis, and of all uther morall vertewis. Tharefter, he came furth and maid progres to the Mercat Croce, whare he beheld Bacchus with his magnifik liberalitie and plentie, distributing of his liquor to all passingers and behalders, in sik apperance as was pleasant to see. A litill beneth is a mercat place of salt, wharupon was payntit the genealogie of the Kings of Scotland, and a nomber of trumpets sounding melodioslie, and crying with loud voyce, "Wealfayre to the King".

At the east port was erectit the conjunctioun of the planets, as thay war in thair degreis and places the tyme of his Majesteis happie nativitie, and the same vivelie representit be the assistance of King Ptolome : And withall, the haill streits war spred with flowres; and the forehowsis of the streits, be the whilks the King passit, war all hung with magnifik tapestrie, with payntit historeis, and with the effegeis of noble men and wemen : And thus he past owt of the toun of Edinburgh to his palice of Halyruidhous

Note the last words on the description, “ his palice of Halyruidhous “ A couple of years ago someone question my use of the wording “Holyroodhouse” saying she had never heard the Palace being called that before, well this confirms that over 300 years ago that this was being used, rather than Holyrood Palace, as is often used.

The king was given a cupboard of silver gilt plate made by the Edinburgh goldsmiths Edward Hart, Thomas Annand, George Heriot, Adam Craig and William Cokky. It was valued at 1000 English marks. This included a basin and a laver, two flasks, six cups and covers, four candle holders, a salt, a silver salver, and dozen silver plates. William Fairlie was asked to oversee the gilding of the silver on 8th October and assist Henry Nesbit make an account of the expenses. The wealthy merchant and "Customar" of Edinburgh Robert Gourlay, a supporter of Regent Morton, complained to the Privy Council of Scotland when he was asked to contribute £30.

An account for repairs and building work at Holyrood in August and September 1579 survives. The works were supervised by William MacDowall, the royal Master of Work. Mention is made of slating the roof of a "Dancing House", carpenters who made a great chest for the king's pantry, glazing the chamber for "Lord Lennox", and a pavement in the chapel. New rooms were made for William Murray, and for Jerome Bowie, Master of the Wine Cellar. George Wallace or Vallance and his workman plastered the old hall, the chapel and the gallery, and painted the council house with chalk distemper paint. Women worked cleaning chambers in the tower, the old hall, the forework, and the gallery, and the inner close or courtyard. Their wages were two shillings a day.

The visit by James was a huge success. Everyone was delighted to see their king and with the excitement of once again having a royal court in Edinburgh.

[an-aura-about-you]

Highlights from being on vacation today:

-grabbed a great breakfast with my cousin and the staff at the cafe recognized us because they went to the same show we were at last night! had a great chat with them about what the opera company is up to!

-went to a nearby cave with an audio tour and got one of those bags of dirt and crystals they let you sift through. (I Have So Many Cool Crystals)

-somehow found a scarf at the thrift shop that perfectly matched my outfit. I know it was a classic color combo, but still, what are the odds?

-also picked up a stack of classical CDs and a bottle of local honey from the same shop

-followed that up with a wine tasting. I sampled 7 different wines while hanging out with a kitty!

-that cat is named Pip and he has just one eye with limited vision but he was down to play with my new scarf.

-Pip was the second cat I met today! The first was a cat at the cave's gift shop.

-there was also another cat at the winery but I didn't get a picture of it.

-had a fantastic Italian dinner. like the food hit my tongue and I instantly said, "oh my god," it was so good

-the bread came with a little serving of roasted garlic cloves. and by "little" I mean "probably a bulb's worth"

-I was so full but couldn't resist getting some tiramisu, which I had a little at the restaurant and brought the rest with me for after the opera. (I Just Finished It And It Is Still Divine)

-the opera was so much fun!

-the did a setting update to here but it's the 60s so Eurydice was a flower child seeing a hippie on the side

-Orpheus was every white guy at the party with an acoustic guitar (acoustic violin?)

-shout out to my man Mercury and his awesome I Am song with awesome dance

-also the guy playing Mercury was hella tall

-in the category of funny background events, I was looking away from the crowd and noticed the Public Opinion having a very fun time with Bacchus before the designated time of her disheveled reveal.

-oh, so Eurydice can have a song about how Jupiter-disguised-as-a-bee is sexing her up, but when I, Jerry Seinfeld

-the can-can was not only just as fun as I thought it would be, the rest of the audience thought so, too!

[iphyelly]

my greek professor invited me and my fellow classmates over for dinner tonight i will update if bacchus makes an appearance

[persephoneflowerpetals]

You know in some versions Bacchus/Dionysus is Demeter's son.

That’s true! I’ve seen that! In fact, I think in the (kinda inaccurate) Disney Hercules wiki it says that Persephone and Bacchus are Demeter’s children. However, Persephone never shows up or is mentioned in the series and it’s never stated that Bacchus is Demeter’s son (and it’s not hinted either).

The wiki also says that Hera, Hestia, and Demeter are sisters which could be true in that universe but I’m not completely sure tbh. There were some hints in the show that suggested Hestia and Hera were sisters (mainly in the Tiff on Olympus episode) and in the Horn of Plenty graphic novel. But, there was hardly anything that suggested Demeter was also their sister in the series since Demeter only had 1 featured episode and no other god really interacted with her except Nemesis. There was a scene in Horn of Plenty (which at this point I’m pretty sure is based off of the series but kinda not, because I think Hades is the eldest in that book, but he’s mentioned he’s the youngest in the series quite a few times so idk) that could have possibly suggested they were her sisters when Hera invites Demeter over for dinner because she’s so upset that Amalthea is missing, but that could’ve just been a friendly gesture to make her feel better. I mean, it kinda makes sense since in original Greek mythology Hera, Hestia, Demeter, Hades, Zeus, and Poseidon were all siblings, so having Hera, Hestia, and Demeter as sisters and Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades as brothers makes sense. So, even if that were true in the series if Persephone existed (and wasn’t made to be the daughter of Hades and Demeter like they had planned at one point) then it would’ve been pretty weird for Hades to marry, let alone, fall in love with his sister-in-law’s niece. It’s just…yikes lol. But yeah, the Disney Hercules wiki is fan made and isn’t super reliable for canon lore. Personally, I like to think that Hera and Hestia are sisters and Demeter’s not related to them. She does have Persephone though lol. That’s my personal headcanon and how it works in my movie/series au lol.

Anyways, I know most of that wasn’t about Bacchus/Dionysus, but I just thought I’d mention it because I saw it on the Disney Hercules wiki once and I was like “Oh? So…Bacchus is Persephone’s brother?? When did that happen???” 😂

[magnoliaison]

And I’m not sorry you’re here and in front of me and breathing and eating. If you’re Bacchus, where’s my wine? Where were you when I was naked, offering a thousand dinners in my tiny kitchen? How’s my birthday lamb? Oh, brutal. Delicious.

— Analicia Sotelo, from 'Apologia over Marinated Lamb'.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

Chapter 26-27

XXVI.

ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS.

It takes people a long time to learn the difference between talent and genius, especially ambitious young men and women. Amy was learning this distinction through much tribulation; for, mistaking enthusiasm for inspiration, she attempted every branch of art with youthful audacity. For a long time there was a lull in the "mud-pie" business, and she devoted herself to the finest pen-and-ink drawing, in which she showed such taste and skill that her graceful handiwork proved both pleasant and profitable. But overstrained eyes soon caused pen and ink to be laid aside for a bold attempt at poker-sketching. While this attack lasted, the family lived in constant fear of a conflagration; for the odor of burning wood pervaded the house at 314 all hours; smoke issued from attic and shed with alarming frequency, red-hot pokers lay about promiscuously, and Hannah never went to bed without a pail of water and the dinner-bell at her door, in case of fire. Raphael's face was found boldly executed on the under side of the moulding-board, and Bacchus on the head of a beer-barrel; a chanting cherub adorned the cover of the sugar-bucket, and attempts to portray Romeo and Juliet supplied kindlings for some time.

From fire to oil was a natural transition for burnt fingers, and Amy fell to painting with undiminished ardor. An artist friend fitted her out with his cast-off palettes, brushes, and colors; and she daubed away, producing pastoral and marine views such as were never seen on land or sea. Her monstrosities in the way of cattle would have taken prizes at an agricultural fair; and the perilous pitching of her vessels would have produced sea-sickness in the most nautical observer, if the utter disregard to all known rules of shipbuilding and rigging had not convulsed him with laughter at the first glance. Swarthy boys and dark-eyed Madonnas, staring at you from one corner of the studio, suggested Murillo; oily-brown shadows of faces, with a lurid streak in the wrong place, meant Rembrandt; buxom ladies and dropsical infants, Rubens; and Turner appeared in tempests of blue thunder, orange lightning, brown rain, and purple clouds, with a tomato-colored splash in the middle, which might be the sun or a buoy, a sailor's shirt or a king's robe, as the spectator pleased.

Charcoal portraits came next; and the entire family hung in a row, looking as wild and crocky as if just evoked from a coal-bin. Softened into crayon sketches, they did better; for the likenesses were good, and Amy's hair, Jo's nose, Meg's mouth, and Laurie's eyes were pronounced "wonderfully fine." A return to clay and plaster followed, and ghostly casts of her acquaintances haunted corners of the house, or tumbled off closet-shelves on to people's heads. Children were enticed in as models, till their incoherent accounts of her mysterious doings caused Miss Amy to be regarded in the light of a young ogress. Her efforts in this line, however, were brought to an abrupt close by an untoward accident, which quenched her ardor. Other models failing her for a time, she undertook to cast her own 315 pretty foot, and the family were one day alarmed by an unearthly bumping and screaming, and running to the rescue, found the young enthusiast hopping wildly about the shed, with her foot held fast in a pan-full of plaster, which had hardened with unexpected rapidity. With much difficulty and some danger she was dug out; for Jo was so overcome with laughter while she excavated, that her knife went too far, cut the poor foot, and left a lasting memorial of one artistic attempt, at least.

After this Amy subsided, till a mania for sketching from nature set her to haunting river, field, and wood, for picturesque studies, and sighing for ruins to copy. She caught endless colds sitting on damp grass to book "a delicious bit," composed of a stone, a stump, one mushroom, and a broken mullein-stalk, or "a heavenly mass of clouds," that looked like a choice display of feather-beds when done. She sacrificed her complexion floating on the river in the midsummer sun, to study light and shade, and got a wrinkle over her nose, trying after "points of sight," or whatever the squint-and-string performance is called.

If "genius is eternal patience," as Michael Angelo affirms, Amy certainly had some claim to the divine attribute, for she persevered in spite of all obstacles, failures, and discouragements, firmly believing that in time she should do something worthy to be called "high art."

316 She was learning, doing, and enjoying other things, meanwhile, for she had resolved to be an attractive and accomplished woman, even if she never became a great artist. Here she succeeded better; for she was one of those happily created beings who please without effort, make friends everywhere, and take life so gracefully and easily that less fortunate souls are tempted to believe that such are born under a lucky star. Everybody liked her, for among her good gifts was tact. She had an instinctive sense of what was pleasing and proper, always said the right thing to the right person, did just what suited the time and place, and was so self-possessed that her sisters used to say, "If Amy went to court without any rehearsal beforehand, she'd know exactly what to do."

One of her weaknesses was a desire to move in "our best society," without being quite sure what the best really was. Money, position, fashionable accomplishments, and elegant manners were most desirable things in her eyes, and she liked to associate with those who possessed them, often mistaking the false for the true, and admiring what was not admirable. Never forgetting that by birth she was a gentlewoman, she cultivated her aristocratic tastes and feelings, so that when the opportunity came she might be ready to take the place from which poverty now excluded her.

"My lady," as her friends called her, sincerely desired to be a genuine lady, and was so at heart, but had yet to learn that money cannot buy refinement of nature, that rank does not always confer nobility, and that true breeding makes itself felt in spite of external drawbacks.

"I want to ask a favor of you, mamma," Amy said, coming in, with an important air, one day.

"Well, little girl, what is it?" replied her mother, in whose eyes the stately young lady still remained "the baby."

"Our drawing class breaks up next week, and before the girls separate for the summer, I want to ask them out here for a day. They are wild to see the river, sketch the broken bridge, and copy some of the things they admire in my book. They have been very kind to me in many ways, and I am grateful, for they are all rich, and know I am poor, yet they never made any difference."

"Why should they?" and Mrs. March put the question with what the girls called her "Maria Theresa air."

317 "You know as well as I that it does make a difference with nearly every one, so don't ruffle up, like a dear, motherly hen, when your chickens get pecked by smarter birds; the ugly duckling turned out a swan, you know;" and Amy smiled without bitterness, for she possessed a happy temper and hopeful spirit.

Mrs. March laughed, and smoothed down her maternal pride as she asked,—

"Well, my swan, what is your plan?"

"I should like to ask the girls out to lunch next week, to take them a drive to the places they want to see, a row on the river, perhaps, and make a little artistic fête for them."

"That looks feasible. What do you want for lunch? Cake, sandwiches, fruit, and coffee will be all that is necessary, I suppose?"

"Oh dear, no! we must have cold tongue and chicken, French chocolate and ice-cream, besides. The girls are used to such things, and I want my lunch to be proper and elegant, though I do work for my living."

"How many young ladies are there?" asked her mother, beginning to look sober.

"Twelve or fourteen in the class, but I dare say they won't all come."

"Bless me, child, you will have to charter an omnibus to carry them about."

"Why, mother, how can you think of such a thing? Not more than six or eight will probably come, so I shall hire a beach-wagon, and borrow Mr. Laurence's cherry-bounce." (Hannah's pronunciation of char-à-banc.)

"All this will be expensive, Amy."

"Not very; I've calculated the cost, and I'll pay for it myself."

"Don't you think, dear, that as these girls are used to such things, and the best we can do will be nothing new, that some simpler plan would be pleasanter to them, as a change, if nothing more, and much better for us than buying or borrowing what we don't need, and attempting a style not in keeping with our circumstances?"

"If I can't have it as I like, I don't care to have it at all. I know that I can carry it out perfectly well, if you and the girls will help a 318 little; and I don't see why I can't if I'm willing to pay for it," said Amy, with the decision which opposition was apt to change into obstinacy.

Mrs. March knew that experience was an excellent teacher, and when it was possible she left her children to learn alone the lessons which she would gladly have made easier, if they had not objected to taking advice as much as they did salts and senna.

"Very well, Amy; if your heart is set upon it, and you see your way through without too great an outlay of money, time, and temper, I'll say no more. Talk it over with the girls, and whichever way you decide, I'll do my best to help you."

"Thanks, mother; you are always so kind;" and away went Amy to lay her plan before her sisters.

Meg agreed at once, and promised her aid, gladly offering anything she possessed, from her little house itself to her very best salt-spoons. But Jo frowned upon the whole project, and would have nothing to do with it at first.

"Why in the world should you spend your money, worry your family, and turn the house upside down for a parcel of girls who don't care a sixpence for you? I thought you had too much pride and sense to truckle to any mortal woman just because she wears French boots and rides in a coupé," said Jo, who, being called from the tragical climax of her novel, was not in the best mood for social enterprises.

"I don't truckle, and I hate being patronized as much as you do!" returned Amy indignantly, for the two still jangled when such questions arose. "The girls do care for me, and I for them, and there's a great deal of kindness and sense and talent among them, in spite of what you call fashionable nonsense. You don't care to make people like you, to go into good society, and cultivate your manners and tastes. I do, and I mean to make the most of every chance that comes. You can go through the world with your elbows out and your nose in the air, and call it independence, if you like. That's not my way."

When Amy whetted her tongue and freed her mind she usually got the best of it, for she seldom failed to have common sense on her 319 side, while Jo carried her love of liberty and hate of conventionalities to such an unlimited extent that she naturally found herself worsted in an argument. Amy's definition of Jo's idea of independence was such a good hit that both burst out laughing, and the discussion took a more amiable turn. Much against her will, Jo at length consented to sacrifice a day to Mrs. Grundy, and help her sister through what she regarded as "a nonsensical business."

The invitations were sent, nearly all accepted, and the following Monday was set apart for the grand event. Hannah was out of humor because her week's work was deranged, and prophesied that "ef the washin' and ironin' warn't done reg'lar nothin' would go well anywheres." This hitch in the mainspring of the domestic machinery had a bad effect upon the whole concern; but Amy's motto was "Nil desperandum," and having made up her mind what to do, she proceeded to do it in spite of all obstacles. To begin with, Hannah's cooking didn't turn out well: the chicken was tough, the tongue too salt, and the chocolate wouldn't froth properly. Then the cake and ice cost more than Amy expected, so did the wagon; and various other expenses, which seemed trifling at the outset, counted up rather alarmingly afterward. Beth got cold and took to her bed, Meg had an unusual number of callers to keep her at home, and Jo was in such a divided state of mind that her breakages, accidents, and mistakes were uncommonly numerous, serious, and trying.

"If it hadn't been for mother I never should have got through," as Amy declared afterward, and gratefully remembered when "the best joke of the season" was entirely forgotten by everybody else.

If it was not fair on Monday, the young ladies were to come on Tuesday,—an arrangement which aggravated Jo and Hannah to the last degree. On Monday morning the weather was in that undecided state which is more exasperating than a steady pour. It drizzled a little, shone a little, blew a little, and didn't make up its mind till it was too late for any one else to make up theirs. Amy was up at dawn, hustling people out of their beds and through their breakfasts, that the house might be got in order. The parlor struck her as looking uncommonly shabby; but without stopping to sigh for what she had not, she skilfully made the best of what she had, arranging chairs over the 320 worn places in the carpet, covering stains on the walls with pictures framed in ivy, and filling up empty corners with home-made statuary, which gave an artistic air to the room, as did the lovely vases of flowers Jo scattered about.

The lunch looked charmingly; and as she surveyed it, she sincerely hoped it would taste well, and that the borrowed glass, china, and silver would get safely home again. The carriages were promised, Meg and mother were all ready to do the honors, Beth was able to help Hannah behind the scenes, Jo had engaged to be as lively and amiable as an absent mind, an aching head, and a very decided disapproval of everybody and everything would allow, and, as she wearily dressed, Amy cheered herself with anticipations of the happy moment, when, lunch safely over, she should drive away with her friends for an afternoon of artistic delights; for the "cherry-bounce" and the broken bridge were her strong points.

Then came two hours of suspense, during which she vibrated from parlor to porch, while public opinion varied like the weathercock. A smart shower at eleven had evidently quenched the enthusiasm of the young ladies who were to arrive at twelve, for nobody came; and at two the exhausted family sat down in a blaze of sunshine to consume the perishable portions of the feast, that nothing might be lost.

"No doubt about the weather to-day; they will certainly come, so we must fly round and be ready for them," said Amy, as the sun woke her next morning. She spoke briskly, but in her secret soul she wished she had said nothing about Tuesday, for her interest, like her cake, was getting a little stale.

"I can't get any lobsters, so you will have to do without salad to-day," said Mr. March, coming in half an hour later, with an expression of placid despair.

"Use the chicken, then; the toughness won't matter in a salad," advised his wife.

"Hannah left it on the kitchen-table a minute, and the kittens got at it. I'm very sorry, Amy," added Beth, who was still a patroness of cats.

"Then I must have a lobster, for tongue alone won't do," said Amy decidedly.

321 "Shall I rush into town and demand one?" asked Jo, with the magnanimity of a martyr.

"You'd come bringing it home under your arm, without any paper, just to try me. I'll go myself," answered Amy, whose temper was beginning to fail.

Shrouded in a thick veil and armed with a genteel travelling-basket, she departed, feeling that a cool drive would soothe her ruffled spirit, and fit her for the labors of the day. After some delay, the object of her desire was procured, likewise a bottle of dressing, to prevent further loss of time at home, and off she drove again, well pleased with her own forethought.

As the omnibus contained only one other passenger, a sleepy old lady, Amy pocketed her veil, and beguiled the tedium of the way by trying to find out where all her money had gone to. So busy was she with her card full of refractory figures that she did not observe a new-comer, who entered without stopping the vehicle, till a masculine voice said, "Good-morning, Miss March," and, looking up, she beheld one of Laurie's most elegant college friends. Fervently hoping that he would get out before she did, Amy utterly ignored the basket at her feet, and, congratulating herself that she had on her new travelling dress, returned the young man's greeting with her usual suavity and spirit.

They got on excellently; for Amy's chief care was soon set at rest by learning that the gentleman would leave first, and she was chatting away in a peculiarly lofty strain, when the old lady got out. In stumbling to the door, she upset the basket, and—oh, horror!—the lobster, in all its vulgar size and brilliancy, was revealed to the highborn eyes of a Tudor.

"By Jove, she's forgotten her dinner!" cried the unconscious youth, poking the scarlet monster into its place with his cane, and preparing to hand out the basket after the old lady.

"Please don't—it's—it's mine," murmured Amy, with a face nearly as red as her fish.

"Oh, really, I beg pardon; it's an uncommonly fine one, isn't it?" said Tudor, with great presence of mind, and an air of sober interest that did credit to his breeding.

322 Amy recovered herself in a breath, set her basket boldly on the seat, and said, laughing,—

"Don't you wish you were to have some of the salad he's to make, and to see the charming young ladies who are to eat it?"

Now that was tact, for two of the ruling foibles of the masculine mind were touched: the lobster was instantly surrounded by a halo of pleasing reminiscences, and curiosity about "the charming young ladies" diverted his mind from the comical mishap.

"I suppose he'll laugh and joke over it with Laurie, but I sha'n't see them; that's a comfort," thought Amy, as Tudor bowed and departed.

She did not mention this meeting at home (though she discovered that, thanks to the upset, her new dress was much damaged by the rivulets of dressing that meandered down the skirt), but went through with the preparations which now seemed more irksome than before; and at twelve o'clock all was ready again. Feeling that the neighbors were interested in her movements, she wished to efface the memory 323 of yesterday's failure by a grand success to-day; so she ordered the "cherry-bounce," and drove away in state to meet and escort her guests to the banquet.

"There's the rumble, they're coming! I'll go into the porch to meet them; it looks hospitable, and I want the poor child to have a good time after all her trouble," said Mrs. March, suiting the action to the word. But after one glance, she retired, with an indescribable expression, for, looking quite lost in the big carriage, sat Amy and one young lady.

"Run, Beth, and help Hannah clear half the things off the table; it will be too absurd to put a luncheon for twelve before a single girl," cried Jo, hurrying away to the lower regions, too excited to stop even for a laugh.

In came Amy, quite calm, and delightfully cordial to the one guest who had kept her promise; the rest of the family, being of a dramatic turn, played their parts equally well, and Miss Eliott found them a most hilarious set; for it was impossible to entirely control the merriment which possessed them. The remodelled lunch being gayly partaken of, the studio and garden visited, and art discussed with enthusiasm, Amy ordered a buggy (alas for the elegant cherry-bounce!) and drove her friend quietly about the neighborhood till sunset, when "the party went out."

As she came walking in, looking very tired, but as composed as ever, she observed that every vestige of the unfortunate fête had disappeared, except a suspicious pucker about the corners of Jo's mouth.

"You've had a lovely afternoon for your drive, dear," said her mother, as respectfully as if the whole twelve had come.

"Miss Eliott is a very sweet girl, and seemed to enjoy herself, I thought," observed Beth, with unusual warmth.

"Could you spare me some of your cake? I really need some, I have so much company, and I can't make such delicious stuff as yours," asked Meg soberly.

"Take it all; I'm the only one here who likes sweet things, and it will mould before I can dispose of it," answered Amy, thinking with a sigh of the generous store she had laid in for such an end as this.

324 "It's a pity Laurie isn't here to help us," began Jo, as they sat down to ice-cream and salad for the second time in two days.

A warning look from her mother checked any further remarks, and the whole family ate in heroic silence, till Mr. March mildly observed, "Salad was one of the favorite dishes of the ancients, and Evelyn"—here a general explosion of laughter cut short the "history of sallets," to the great surprise of the learned gentleman.

"Bundle everything into a basket and send it to the Hummels: Germans like messes. I'm sick of the sight of this; and there's no reason you should all die of a surfeit because I've been a fool," cried Amy, wiping her eyes.

"I thought I should have died when I saw you two girls rattling about in the what-you-call-it, like two little kernels in a very big nutshell, and mother waiting in state to receive the throng," sighed Jo, quite spent with laughter.

"I'm very sorry you were disappointed, dear, but we all did our best to satisfy you," said Mrs. March, in a tone full of motherly regret.

"I am satisfied; I've done what I undertook, and it's not my fault that it failed; I comfort myself with that," said Amy, with a little quiver in her voice. "I thank you all very much for helping me, and I'll thank you still more if you won't allude to it for a month, at least."

No one did for several months; but the word "fête" always produced a general smile, and Laurie's birthday gift to Amy was a tiny coral lobster in the shape of a charm for her watch-guard.

XXVII. Literary Lessons.

325

XXVII.

LITERARY LESSONS.

Fortune suddenly smiled upon Jo, and dropped a good-luck penny in her path. Not a golden penny, exactly, but I doubt if half a million would have given more real happiness than did the little sum that came to her in this wise.

Every few weeks she would shut herself up in her room, put on her scribbling suit, and "fall into a vortex," as she expressed it, writing away at her novel with all her heart and soul, for till that was finished she could find no peace. Her "scribbling suit" consisted of a black woollen pinafore on which she could wipe her pen at will, and a cap 326 of the same material, adorned with a cheerful red bow, into which she bundled her hair when the decks were cleared for action. This cap was a beacon to the inquiring eyes of her family, who during these periods kept their distance, merely popping in their heads semi-occasionally, to ask, with interest, "Does genius burn, Jo?" They did not always venture even to ask this question, but took an observation of the cap, and judged accordingly. If this expressive article of dress was drawn low upon the forehead, it was a sign that hard work was going on; in exciting moments it was pushed rakishly askew; and when despair seized the author it was plucked wholly off, and cast upon the floor. At such times the intruder silently withdrew; and not until the red bow was seen gayly erect upon the gifted brow, did any one dare address Jo.

She did not think herself a genius by any means; but when the writing fit came on, she gave herself up to it with entire abandon, and led a blissful life, unconscious of want, care, or bad weather, while she sat safe and happy in an imaginary world, full of friends almost as real and dear to her as any in the flesh. Sleep forsook her eyes, meals stood untasted, day and night were all too short to enjoy the happiness which blessed her only at such times, and made these hours worth living, even if they bore no other fruit. The divine afflatus usually lasted a week or two, and then she emerged from her "vortex," hungry, sleepy, cross, or despondent.

She was just recovering from one of these attacks when she was prevailed upon to escort Miss Crocker to a lecture, and in return for her virtue was rewarded with a new idea. It was a People's Course, the lecture on the Pyramids, and Jo rather wondered at the choice of such a subject for such an audience, but took it for granted that some great social evil would be remedied or some great want supplied by unfolding the glories of the Pharaohs to an audience whose thoughts were busy with the price of coal and flour, and whose lives were spent in trying to solve harder riddles than that of the Sphinx.

They were early; and while Miss Crocker set the heel of her stocking, Jo amused herself by examining the faces of the people who occupied the seat with them. On her left were two matrons, with massive foreheads, and bonnets to match, discussing Woman's Rights 327 and making tatting. Beyond sat a pair of humble lovers, artlessly holding each other by the hand, a sombre spinster eating peppermints out of a paper bag, and an old gentleman taking his preparatory nap behind a yellow bandanna. On her right, her only neighbor was a studious-looking lad absorbed in a newspaper.

It was a pictorial sheet, and Jo examined the work of art nearest her, idly wondering what unfortuitous concatenation of circumstances needed the melodramatic illustration of an Indian in full war costume, tumbling over a precipice with a wolf at his throat, while two infuriated young gentlemen, with unnaturally small feet and big eyes, were stabbing each other close by, and a dishevelled female was flying away in the background with her mouth wide open. Pausing to turn a page, the lad saw her looking, and, with boyish good-nature, offered half his paper, saying bluntly, "Want to read it? That's a first-rate story."

Jo accepted it with a smile, for she had never outgrown her liking for lads, and soon found herself involved in the usual labyrinth of love, mystery, and murder, for the story belonged to that class of light literature in which the passions have a holiday, and when the author's invention fails, a grand catastrophe clears the stage of one half the dramatis personæ, leaving the other half to exult over their downfall.

"Prime, isn't it?" asked the boy, as her eye went down the last paragraph of her portion.

"I think you and I could do as well as that if we tried," returned Jo, amused at his admiration of the trash.

"I should think I was a pretty lucky chap if I could. She makes a good living out of such stories, they say;" and he pointed to the name of Mrs. S. L. A. N. G. Northbury, under the title of the tale.

"Do you know her?" asked Jo, with sudden interest.

"No; but I read all her pieces, and I know a fellow who works in the office where this paper is printed."

"Do you say she makes a good living out of stories like this?" and Jo looked more respectfully at the agitated group and thickly-sprinkled exclamation-points that adorned the page.

"Guess she does! She knows just what folks like, and gets paid well for writing it."

328 Here the lecture began, but Jo heard very little of it, for while Prof. Sands was prosing away about Belzoni, Cheops, scarabei, and hieroglyphics, she was covertly taking down the address of the paper, and boldly resolving to try for the hundred-dollar prize offered in its columns for a sensational story. By the time the lecture ended and the audience awoke, she had built up a splendid fortune for herself (not the first founded upon paper), and was already deep in the concoction of her story, being unable to decide whether the duel should come before the elopement or after the murder.

She said nothing of her plan at home, but fell to work next day, much to the disquiet of her mother, who always looked a little anxious when "genius took to burning." Jo had never tried this style before, contenting herself with very mild romances for the "Spread Eagle." Her theatrical experience and miscellaneous reading were of service now, for they gave her some idea of dramatic effect, and supplied plot, language, and costumes. Her story was as full of desperation and despair as her limited acquaintance with those uncomfortable emotions enabled her to make it, and, having located it in Lisbon, she wound up with an earthquake, as a striking and appropriate dénouement. The manuscript was privately despatched, accompanied by a note, modestly saying that if the tale didn't get the prize, which the writer hardly dared expect, she would be very glad to receive any sum it might be considered worth.

Six weeks is a long time to wait, and a still longer time for a girl to keep a secret; but Jo did both, and was just beginning to give up all hope of ever seeing her manuscript again, when a letter arrived which almost took her breath away; for on opening it, a check for a hundred dollars fell into her lap. For a minute she stared at it as if it had been a snake, then she read her letter and began to cry. If the amiable gentleman who wrote that kindly note could have known what intense happiness he was giving a fellow-creature, I think he would devote his leisure hours, if he has any, to that amusement; for Jo valued the letter more than the money, because it was encouraging; and after years of effort it was so pleasant to find that she had learned to do something, though it was only to write a sensation story.

A prouder young woman was seldom seen than she, when, having 329 composed herself, she electrified the family by appearing before them with the letter in one hand, the check in the other, announcing that she had won the prize. Of course there was a great jubilee, and when the story came every one read and praised it; though after her father had told her that the language was good, the romance fresh and hearty, and the tragedy quite thrilling, he shook his head, and said in his unworldly way,—

"You can do better than this, Jo. Aim at the highest, and never mind the money."

"I think the money is the best part of it. What will you do with such a fortune?" asked Amy, regarding the magic slip of paper with a reverential eye.

"Send Beth and mother to the seaside for a month or two," answered Jo promptly.

"Oh, how splendid! No, I can't do it, dear, it would be so selfish," cried Beth, who had clapped her thin hands, and taken a long breath, as if pining for fresh ocean-breezes; then stopped herself, and motioned away the check which her sister waved before her.

"Ah, but you shall go, I've set my heart on it; that's what I tried for, and that's why I succeeded. I never get on when I think of myself alone, so it will help me to work for you, don't you see? Besides, Marmee needs the change, and she won't leave you, so you must go. Won't it be fun to see you come home plump and rosy again? Hurrah for Dr. Jo, who always cures her patients!"

To the sea side they went, after much discussion; and though Beth didn't come home as plump and rosy as could be desired, she was 330 much better, while Mrs. March declared she felt ten years younger; so Jo was satisfied with the investment of her prize money, and fell to work with a cheery spirit, bent on earning more of those delightful checks. She did earn several that year, and began to feel herself a power in the house; for by the magic of a pen, her "rubbish" turned into comforts for them all. "The Duke's Daughter" paid the butcher's bill, "A Phantom Hand" put down a new carpet, and the "Curse of the Coventrys" proved the blessing of the Marches in the way of groceries and gowns.

Wealth is certainly a most desirable thing, but poverty has its sunny side, and one of the sweet uses of adversity is the genuine satisfaction which comes from hearty work of head or hand; and to the inspiration of necessity, we owe half the wise, beautiful, and useful blessings of the world. Jo enjoyed a taste of this satisfaction, and ceased to envy richer girls, taking great comfort in the knowledge that she could supply her own wants, and need ask no one for a penny.

Little notice was taken of her stories, but they found a market; and, encouraged by this fact, she resolved to make a bold stroke for fame and fortune. Having copied her novel for the fourth time, read it to all her confidential friends, and submitted it with fear and trembling to three publishers, she at last disposed of it, on condition that she would cut it down one third, and omit all the parts which she particularly admired.

"Now I must either bundle it back into my tin-kitchen to mould, pay for printing it myself, or chop it up to suit purchasers, and get what I can for it. Fame is a very good thing to have in the house, but cash is more convenient; so I wish to take the sense of the meeting on this important subject," said Jo, calling a family council.

"Don't spoil your book, my girl, for there is more in it than you know, and the idea is well worked out. Let it wait and ripen," was her father's advice; and he practised as he preached, having waited patiently thirty years for fruit of his own to ripen, and being in no haste to gather it, even now, when it was sweet and mellow.

"It seems to me that Jo will profit more by making the trial than by waiting," said Mrs. March. "Criticism is the best test of such work, for it will show her both unsuspected merits and faults, and help her to do better next time. We are too partial; but the praise and 331 blame of outsiders will prove useful, even if she gets but little money."

"Yes," said Jo, knitting her brows, "that's just it; I've been fussing over the thing so long, I really don't know whether it's good, bad, or indifferent. It will be a great help to have cool, impartial persons take a look at it, and tell me what they think of it."

"I wouldn't leave out a word of it; you'll spoil it if you do, for the interest of the story is more in the minds than in the actions of the people, and it will be all a muddle if you don't explain as you go on," said Meg, who firmly believed that this book was the most remarkable novel ever written.

"But Mr. Allen says, 'Leave out the explanations, make it brief and dramatic, and let the characters tell the story,'" interrupted Jo, turning to the publisher's note.

"Do as he tells you; he knows what will sell, and we don't. Make a good, popular book, and get as much money as you can. By and by, when, you've got a name, you can afford to digress, and have philosophical and metaphysical people in your novels," said Amy, who took a strictly practical view of the subject.

"Well," said Jo, laughing, "if my people are 'philosophical and metaphysical,' it isn't my fault, for I know nothing about such things, except what I hear father say, sometimes. If I've got some of his wise ideas jumbled up with my romance, so much the better for me. Now, Beth, what do you say?"

"I should so like to see it printed soon," was all Beth said, and smiled in saying it; but there was an unconscious emphasis on the last word, and a wistful look in the eyes that never lost their childlike candor, which chilled Jo's heart, for a minute, with a foreboding fear, and decided her to make her little venture "soon."

So, with Spartan firmness, the young authoress laid her first-born on her table, and chopped it up as ruthlessly as any ogre. In the hope of pleasing every one, she took every one's advice; and, like the old man and his donkey in the fable, suited nobody.

Her father liked the metaphysical streak which had unconsciously got into it; so that was allowed to remain, though she had her doubts about it. Her mother thought that there was a trifle too much 332 description; out, therefore, it nearly all came, and with it many necessary links in the story. Meg admired the tragedy; so Jo piled up the agony to suit her, while Amy objected to the fun, and, with the best intentions in life, Jo quenched the sprightly scenes which relieved the sombre character of the story. Then, to complete the ruin, she cut it down one third, and confidingly sent the poor little romance, like a picked robin, out into the big, busy world, to try its fate.

Well, it was printed, and she got three hundred dollars for it; likewise plenty of praise and blame, both so much greater than she expected that she was thrown into a state of bewilderment, from which it took her some time to recover.

"You said, mother, that criticism would help me; but how can it, when it's so contradictory that I don't know whether I've written a promising book or broken all the ten commandments?" cried poor Jo, turning over a heap of notices, the perusal of which filled her with pride and joy one minute, wrath and dire dismay the next. "This man says 'An exquisite book, full of truth, beauty, and earnestness; all is sweet, pure, and healthy,'" continued the perplexed authoress. "The next, 'The theory of the book is bad, full of morbid fancies, spiritualistic ideas, and unnatural characters.' Now, as I had no theory of any kind, don't believe in Spiritualism, and copied my characters from life, I don't see how this critic can be right. Another says, 'It's one of the best American novels which has appeared for years' (I know better than that); and the next asserts that 'though it is original, and written with great force and feeling, it is a dangerous book.' 'Tisn't! Some make fun of it, some over-praise, and nearly all insist that I had a deep theory to expound, when I only wrote it for the pleasure and the money. I wish I'd printed it whole or not at all, for I do hate to be so misjudged."

Her family and friends administered comfort and commendation liberally; yet it was a hard time for sensitive, high-spirited Jo, who meant so well, and had apparently done so ill. But it did her good, for those whose opinion had real value gave her the criticism which is an author's best education; and when the first soreness was over, she could laugh at her poor little book, yet believe in it still, and feel herself the wiser and stronger for the buffeting she had received.

333 "Not being a genius, like Keats, it won't kill me," she said stoutly; "and I've got the joke on my side, after all; for the parts that were taken straight out of real life are denounced as impossible and absurd, and the scenes that I made up out of my own silly head are pronounced 'charmingly natural, tender, and true.' So I'll comfort myself with that; and when I'm ready, I'll up again and take another."

[zerogate]

Some of the descriptions of demonic attack have an almost Proustian precision. One monk recorded the working of what he called the ‘noonday demon’ that struck between the hours of 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. At this time the monk was supposed to be working, but this particular demon would thwart him and make ‘it seem that the sun barely moves, if at all, and that the day is fifty hours long. Then he constrains the monk to look constantly out the windows, to walk outside the cell, to gaze carefully at the sun to determine how far it stands from the ninth hour’ – the hour of dinner. The demon might then force the monk to poke his head out of his cell to see if any other brethren are about. Then, in the warmth of the noonday sun, the monk finds that he ‘rubs his eyes and stretches his hands, and he takes his eyes off his book and stares at the wall. Then he returns to the book and reads a little. As he unfolds it, he becomes preoccupied with the condition of the texts . . . he criticizes the orthography and the decoration. Finally, he folds the book up and places it under his head, and he falls into a light sleep.’

One consequence of the concept of demons was that wicked thoughts were the fault of the demon, not the man: an exculpatory quirk that meant even the most sinful thoughts could be – and were – freely admitted to. In writings of astonishing candour, the monkish id is laid bare as monks confess to being tormented by visions of naked women – not to mention other monks – ‘performing the obscene sin of fornication’; visions that left their soul in torment and their thighs aflame. Monks write about being so overwhelmed by thoughts of sex that they are forced to ‘jump up at once and to use our cell for frequent and brisk walks’. An erotic phantasmagoria danced – sometimes quite literally – before their eyes as the demon of fornication – a devious demon ‘that imitates the form of a beautiful naked woman, luxurious in her gait, her entire body obscenely dissipated’ – turned on them.

But however alarming the demons of fornication may have been, the most fearsome demons of all were to be found, teeming like flies on a corpse, around the traditional gods of the empire. Jupiter, Aphrodite, Bacchus and Isis; all of them, in the eyes of these Christian writers, were demonic. In sermon after sermon, tract after tract, Christian preachers and writers reminded the faithful in violently disapproving language that the ‘error’ of the pagan religions was demonically inspired. It was demons who first put the ‘delusion’ of other religions into the minds of humans, these writers explained. It was demons who had foisted the gods upon ‘the seduced and ensnared minds of human beings’. Everything about the old religions was demonic. As Augustine thundered: ‘All the pagans were under the power of demons. Temples were built to demons, altars were set up to demons, priests ordained for the service of demons, sacrifices offered to demons, and ecstatic ravers were brought in as prophets for demons.’

[...]

In these early centuries, and in the face of this awful threat, Christian preachers began to exhibit a new, almost hysterical, desire for purity. It wasn’t enough not to perform a sacrifice oneself: one had to avoid all contact with the blood, smoke, water and even the smell of other people’s sacrifices. To be contaminated by the smoke or sacred water of the old cults was utterly intolerable. Questions of religious contamination – practical to the point of bathetic – were asked, and answered, with great seriousness. At the close of the fourth century, a faithful Christian wrote an anxious letter to Augustine. May a Christian use baths which are used by pagans on a feast day, he asked, either while the pagans are there or after they have left? May a Christian sit in a sedan chair if a pagan has sat in that same chair during the feast day celebrations of an ‘idol’? If a thirsty Christian comes across a well in a deserted temple, may they drink from it? If a Christian is starving and on the point of death, and they see food in an idol’s temple, may they eat it?

-- Catherine Nixey, The Darkening Age

[mohameddfl]

Traveling from Hurghada to Cairo

Traveling from Hurghada to Cairo opens up a wealth of historical, cultural, and adventurous experiences. Here are ten top trips and activities you can enjoy in Cairo:

**1. Pyramids of Giza and Sphinx

Overview: No trip to Cairo is complete without visiting the iconic Pyramids of Giza and the Sphinx.

Highlights:

Great Pyramid of Giza: Explore the last surviving wonder of the ancient world.

Sphinx: Admire the mythical statue guarding the pyramids.

Optional Camel Ride: Experience a camel ride around the pyramids for a more authentic feel.

**2. Egyptian Museum

Overview: Home to an extensive collection of ancient Egyptian artifacts, the Egyptian Museum is a treasure trove of history.

Highlights:

Tutankhamun Exhibit: View the treasures of Tutankhamun, including his famous gold mask.

Mummies Room: See the mummies of ancient Egyptian royalty.

Artifacts Collection: Explore a wide array of statues, jewelry, and everyday items from ancient Egypt.

**3. Cairo Citadel

Overview: This historic fortress offers panoramic views of Cairo and houses several important mosques.

Highlights:

Mohammed Ali Mosque: Also known as the Alabaster Mosque, it's one of Cairo’s most recognizable landmarks.

National Military Museum: Learn about Egypt’s military history.

Views of Cairo: Enjoy spectacular views of the city from the citadel’s ramparts.

**4. Khan El Khalili Bazaar

Overview: A vibrant market in the heart of Cairo where you can shop for souvenirs, spices, and traditional crafts.

Highlights:

Shopping: Browse through a wide range of goods including jewelry, textiles, and antiques.

Cafes and Restaurants: Relax in a traditional café and sample local delicacies.

Traditional Atmosphere: Experience the bustling, colorful environment of this historic market.

**5. Coptic Cairo

Overview: Explore the historic Coptic district of Cairo, which is rich in religious history.

Highlights:

Hanging Church (Saint Virgin Mary's Coptic Orthodox Church): Visit this ancient church built atop Roman walls.

Coptic Museum: Discover a collection of Christian artifacts and manuscripts.

Saint Sergius and Bacchus Church: Known for its historical significance and religious artifacts.

**6. Old Cairo (Islamic Cairo) Walking Tour

Overview: Wander through the historic streets of Islamic Cairo to discover its rich architectural and cultural heritage.

Highlights:

Historic Mosques: Visit mosques such as Al-Azhar and Sultan Hassan.

Historic Buildings: Explore ancient houses, narrow streets, and old markets.

Local Culture: Experience the daily life and culture of Cairo’s old neighborhoods.

**7. Day Trip to Memphis and Saqqara

Overview: Explore the ancient capital of Memphis and the nearby Saqqara necropolis, home to the Step Pyramid of Djoser.

Highlights:

Memphis: Visit the open-air museum featuring statues of Ramses II and other artifacts.

Saqqara: Explore the Step Pyramid and the surrounding tombs.

Ancient Ruins: Discover the remnants of ancient Egyptian civilization.

**8. Nile River Cruise

Overview: Enjoy a relaxing cruise on the Nile River with dinner and entertainment.

Highlights:

Dinner Cruise: Savor a meal while cruising along the Nile.

Live Entertainment: Enjoy traditional music and dance performances.

Scenic Views: Admire the illuminated Cairo skyline from the river.

**9. Giza Solar Boat Museum

Overview: Located near the Great Pyramid, this museum houses the reconstructed ancient solar boat of Khufu.

Highlights:

Solar Boat: View the impressive boat that was buried with the pharaoh for use in the afterlife.

Historical Insight: Learn about the significance of the solar boat in ancient Egyptian rituals.

**10. Day Trip to Alexandria

Overview: If you have extra time, consider a day trip to Alexandria, located on the Mediterranean coast.

Highlights:

Bibliotheca Alexandrina: Explore the modern library and its museum.

Qaitbay Citadel: Visit this historic fortress built on the site of the ancient Lighthouse of Alexandria.

Roman Amphitheater: Discover the remains of the ancient Roman theater and its surrounding ruins.

Best Holidays in Hurghada

Best Spa Experience in Hurghada

safari Hurghada

Spa in Hurghada

Best 10 trips From Hurghada To cairo

Egypt offers some incredible safari experiences

Tips for Traveling from Hurghada to Cairo:

Transportation: Consider booking a private transfer, taking a bus, or flying for a quicker journey.

Tour Packages: Many tour operators offer packages that include transportation, guided tours, and entry fees.

Plan Ahead: Check the opening hours and any required tickets for attractions you plan to visit.

These trips offer a diverse range of experiences, from ancient wonders and historical sites to vibrant markets and relaxing cruises. Enjoy your journey from Hurghada to Cairo!

[gambeex]

PopuPontecarlo Latesummer Night Dinner with Bacchus

midsummer night bacco 014Download

[scotianostra]

The young King James VI made his first official visit to Edinburgh on September 30th 1579.

James VI had spent his childhood at Stirling Castle. Now he came to Edinburgh to begin his adult rule. aged 13.

Born in 1566, he was the product of Mary’s ill-fated marriage to Henry, Lord Darnley. Darnley’s assassination in early 1567, and Mary’s subsequent over-hasty marriage to one of its perpetrators, Lord Bothwell, triggered events that led to Mary’s downfall.

James VI became king of Scotland in 1567 when Mary was forced to abdicate. 

According to the writings of David Moysie, James VI left Stirling on 29 September 1579 despite a storm. He had lunch at Dunipace and dinner at Linlithgow Palace where he stayed the night, and came to Holyroodhouse the next evening. The town lined the road with men in armour and a salute was fired from Edinburgh Castle.  The streets were cleared of beggars, executed criminals were removed down (from their pikes on the tolbooth) and the streets thoroughly cleaned.

His entry to the town was marked by a ceremonial Royal entry. James arrived from Dalkeith Palace. The processional route went from the West Port, to the Overbow, to the Tolbooth, to St Giles Kirk, the Mercat Cross, the Salt Tron, the Nether Bow, Canongate Cross, and Holyrood Palace

The gates of the town, the tollbooths of Edinburgh and the Canongate, and other buildings were painted white with limewash, called "calk".   Householders along the route were asked to hang the external stairs with tapestry and "Arras works".

At the West Port the king was met by 32 burgesses of Edinburgh, whose names are recorded, who carried a canopy made of purple velvet. John Shairp gave a speech in Latin. There was a tableau vivant of the Judgement of Solomon. At the Overbow Cupid gave James the keys to the town. Cupid was played by a boy who descended in a globe. At the Tolbooth four maidens (probably played by boys) represented Peace, Justice, Plenty and Policy, a scene relating to the four Cardinal Virtues. At St Giles Dame Religion invited the king to hear a sermon on the duty of kings and Psalm 21 was sung.  . Afterwards, at the Mercat Cross Bacchus shared out wine. At the Salt Tron the genealogy of the Scottish monarchy was presented, perhaps using portraits. The king's horoscope was presented an actor playing Ptolemy at the Netherbow Port. At the Canongate Cross a scene represented the abolition of the Pope's authority in Scotland.

At Holyrood Palace a new lodging was prepared for the king's favourite Esmé Stewart next to the royal apartment. A course or tournament ground made of sand for "running at the ring" was laid at Holyroodhouse. Celebrations continued at Dalkeith Palace, hosted by the former Regent Morton.

Similar pageantry was used in September 1561 when Mary, Queen of Scots had made an Entry, and in May 1590 at the Entry and Coronation of Anne of Denmark.

A short account of the events occurs in the chronicle, The historie and life of King James the Sext, written in Scots;

At the Wast Port of Edinburgh, he was ressavit be the Magistrats of the toun under a pompous payle of purple velvet. That port presentit unto him the wisdome of Solomon, as it is written in the thrid chapter of the first buik of the Kings : That is to say King Solomon was representit with the tua wemen that contendit for the young chylde. This done, they presented unto the King, the sworde for the one hand, and the scepter for the uther.

And as he maid forder progres within the toun, in the streat that ascendis to the castell, thair is an ancient port, at the whilk hang a curious globe, that opnit artificiallie as the King came by, wharin was a young boy that discendit craftelie, presenting the keyis of the toun to his Majestie, that war all maid of fyne massie sylver; and thais war presentlie ressavit be ane of his honorable counsall at his awin command. During this space, Dame Music and hir scollars exercesit hir art with great melodic. Then in his discence, as he came foment the hous of Justice, thair shew thayme selfis unto him, foure gallant vertewous ladeyis; to wit, Peax, Justice, Plentie, and Policie; and ather of thayme had an oraison to his Majestic. Tharefter, as he came towart the chief collegiall kirk, thare Dame Religion shew hirself, desyring his presence, whilk he then obeyit be entring the kirk; whare the cheif preacher for that tyme maid a notable exhortation unto him, for the embracing of Religion and all hir cardinall vertewis, and of all uther morall vertewis. Tharefter, he came furth and maid progres to the Mercat Croce, whare he beheld Bacchus with his magnifik liberalitie and plentie, distributing of his liquor to all passingers and behalders, in sik apperance as was pleasant to see. A litill beneth is a mercat place of salt, wharupon was payntit the genealogie of the Kings of Scotland, and a nomber of trumpets sounding melodioslie, and crying with loud voyce, "Wealfayre to the King".

At the east port was erectit the conjunctioun of the planets, as thay war in thair degreis and places the tyme of his Majesteis happie nativitie, and the same vivelie representit be the assistance of King Ptolome : And withall, the haill streits war spred with flowres; and the forehowsis of the streits, be the whilks the King passit, war all hung with magnifik tapestrie, with payntit historeis, and with the effegeis of noble men and wemen : And thus he past owt of the toun of Edinburgh to his palice of Halyruidhous

Note the last words on the description, “ his palice of Halyruidhous “  A couple of years ago someone question my use of the wording “Holyroodhouse”  saying she had never heard the Palace being called that before, well this confirms that over 300 years ago that this was being used, rather than Holyrood Palace, as is often used.

The king was given a cupboard of silver gilt plate made by the Edinburgh goldsmiths Edward Hart, Thomas Annand, George Heriot, Adam Craig and William Cokky. It was valued at 1000 English marks. This included a basin and a laver, two flasks, six cups and covers, four candle holders, a salt, a silver salver, and dozen silver plates. William Fairlie was asked to oversee the gilding of the silver on 8th October and assist Henry Nesbit make an account of the expenses. The wealthy merchant and "Customar" of Edinburgh Robert Gourlay, a supporter of Regent Morton, complained to the Privy Council of Scotland when he was asked to contribute £30.

An account for repairs and building work at Holyrood  in August and September 1579 survives. The works were supervised by William MacDowall, the royal Master of Work. Mention is made of slating the roof of a "Dancing House", carpenters who made a great chest for the king's pantry, glazing the chamber for "Lord Lennox", and a pavement in the chapel. New rooms were made for William Murray, and for Jerome Bowie, Master of the Wine Cellar. George Wallace or Vallance and his workman plastered the old hall, the chapel and the gallery, and painted the council house with chalk distemper paint. Women worked cleaning chambers in the tower, the old hall, the forework, and the gallery, and the inner close or courtyard. Their wages were two shillings a day.

The visit by James was a huge success. Everyone was delighted to see their king and with the excitement of once again having a royal court in Edinburgh.

[cupiditasfm]

Skeleton #13: Bacchus

OPEN

- Gregory Atlas Carter (First born son of Arthur and Genevieve/ Oldest child of Arthur and Genevieve, Socialite and Underground Gambler, is a walking disaster) fc suggestion: Dacre Montgomery

TW: MENTIONS OF SEX

Brief description: He inherited his father and mother's worst traits. He's manipulative, a sex addict, a drinker, loves drugs, partying and gambling in seedy underground gambling parlors that would land him in a lot of legal trouble if he was caught gambling there. He's like this because he's deeply unhappy. He wants more. Nothing is ever enough for him. He hardly comes home because he's out in the streets in search of the next thing to take away his deep seated childhood pain. He hates his father... not because of how he treats his mother but because of the weak and cowardly maggot he sees whenever he looks at him. He hates his mother too... not out of spite but because he pities her to the point of rot. There's only so many times he could stomach watching her suffering when he was a child and now he's sick of all of it. Now, he simply let's his family and the world see the decaying monster that they created and when he's inevitably dragged back home by his own family for their traditional dinners, he doesn't scream, he doesn't cry, he doesn't breakdown... instead he spits in their faces by openly having his two favorite lovers accompany him to dinner where he enacts vulgar public displays of affection lust with the two of them in front of everyone... never breaking eye-contact with anyone in the room as he fucks his own birthright away, laughing maniacally as he shows them all the monster they've created.

[cfdew]

[Propo] Why did you keep your relationship with Tiberius secret to the public for so long, as well as his paternity to your late daughter?

"It was none of anyone's business." When she'd first been dragged in front of the camera, she'd looked haggard, tired, worn out, exhausted. This time she looked more her old self. She'd allowed the camera crew to do what they wanted with her hair and face. The darks bags remained, but were hidden now behind foundation and concealer. Her hair was free of any restraint and curled loosely around her face and shoulders. But her gaze is devoid of much, her stare at the camera blank. Her grief has moved on from anger and denial and now she's awash in depression, floating on the abyss of nothingness.

"I was barely an adult when I came out of the arena. That didn't matter though, everyone was in my private life. It was like living behind a glass wall." She scoffs, the first showing of any emotion over the last few days. "Miss Morrissey seen out to dinner with Maximillian Neuroux. Or District Four's Natalia caught leaving the penthouse of Bacchus Decimus. Or Marcellus Kiokos, Lysander Invictus, Valerius, Victoria, Eurydice, Augustine, the list could go on. And by god if one of them was married, which happened but wasn't as often in the tabloids I expect Snow had something to do with that, and the spouse ended up angry... I was the home wrecker." She was naming names, she knew it'd ruffle feathers. Good they deserved every bit of feather ruffling after everything she'd done through at their hands. "What I did behind closed doors was always speculated about in the tabloids. Always reported on, almost always front page gossip. But never my choice."

"He was just another on the list. Sponsors Snow sent me to. At least I expected him to be just another name, just another person who paid to rape me," she'd never put to word those exact words, not until then, "to mandhandle me, to do whatever they wanted for however long they paid. I can't tell you how many times I came out of those... encounters bruised and beaten. Some of them liked it when you fought back. But Ti never even tried to touch me. Not until I came on to him at least," She was sharing more about their life than ever before, but what did it matter anymore? Everything she'd found to keep safe and protected was not longer safe and protected.

"Eventually, when I asked after one particularly brutal night, he got me out." She refocuses on the camera, not realizing she had drifted off to a time deacdes ago. "I never asked how, though I know how Snow works so I can assume." She still didn't know the exact figure, nor did she want to know. The disparity even between his fortune and her's as a victor massive, not to compare the measly amount most people in the districts barely survived on.

"He was mine and I was his and for a little while we were able to keep it secret. Out of the tabloids, out of the mouths of those who live on gossip. It was nice and I fell in love. But I knew what would happen if we ever confirmed anything. If my supposed one night flings were front page news, we would never be left alone. Especially after..." she pauses over her words, stumbling to a halt and licking her lips, "Rose was born. " She sniffs quietly, trying to distract herself from the ache that returns to her chest. "It was easier to pretend she'd been born to some fisherman from Four. I was good at one night stands, affairs, flings, right?" She shrugged. "Snow would've made us get married if I dared confirm Ti as her father. I might've been in love, but I valued my privacy more."

And she knew so much of this might've sounded like a sob story. Poor victor, always held in high regard, complaining because she was in the public eye. But it had never been the life she'd wanted for herself. She'd have gladly turned back time and gone back to catching fish with her family if it meant not having been crowned victor and enduring the years that followed.

[libidomechanica]

As a honeysuckle

On the beginning of a bee!     From Tankards scooped in Pearl. Mars not if you are fair. The lustrous     passion or identity. The well-sung woes will I     fashion, and I will dim. In trammels of perverse delicious     coffee, delicious

lady. Turrets crown’d, or lost perhaps,     and suck’d an air thence, and make examples of this, as     wise Ferdúsi says, then and silent, wan, into the holes.     Do I hear her singing? And here, ev’n without fewell you     can, and that I shall know

I was talking thro’ the laurels     at the sweet notes from the earth to gratify senses to     enclosed the waves roar. Or like—nay tis that much passion, and     of his domestic doings which put off business to the     setting on a plate as

blue as your eyes? And ever-musing     melancholy! Thou see’st me, Lucia, this year droop; three     zodiacs filled with tears. Her wheel in her cell sad Eloisa     weeps and priests may dwell; for the image on the other’s knee,     for the censer cloudy

phantasms. I saw Osirian Egypt     kneel here and long by the pilgrim soul in you, and look     at what we like, t is hard to bring you, reawakened,     a memory resign; forget, renounce me, hate whatever     is done, have I said,

how happy is the summits of     the root whence all this we miscal grief, or twinkle—they are     quiet, a few red fish moving speech, and will receive thee,     too deeply dyed to make a noon-dew, wander’d in woe, or     like a proper wife. Or

else one that flowers; while past the     nearest dinner tray, tapping the abodes of morning-     glory had bloomed in her person shin’d so clear to such a     death as doth thee fade away into the garden gay, or     wand, for the brow! All my

woes. Two of us in the     melodious howsoever, can confound the heavens and ear!     In an April shroud; then glut thy sorrow took the bridegroom     meets the jewel-print of a bare foot, the secret tears, and birds,     and murderers hung by

the game of the market I steal,     a wasted frame, auise them selues that o’er yon rocks reclin’d:     for by one sole act, transform’d thee oft, I pitie now through sorrow     on a moonless night, were tired and lost hath melted     from the largeness of her

breast enamour’d let me to the     first and tallest her white and polished my good shoes as well     delight; nor e’er with whom she employed, no nearer to the     River-gods, and bring part of the tree, or so did shine, and     by the weekday weather,

or the strong, and carrol lowde, and     seemed the tables, most of ebony inlaid with mother     lay in a cloud, while both did play, he with his caresses     by the innocence of meate, for Bacchus! The canker of     their daughter by their father’s

hand, or the human kiss! He     wishes for a boat’ to sail the Lords of thread thee by putting     the poison from me he took his sight of Kai Khusrau.     His hall at evening, it lightly prey, and like a distant     vale; there’s nothing, save

the white lake-blossom fell into     their eyes and sagged like a flower that all men adore, and     like water love thee; and the tables, most of ebony     inlaid with modesty, subtil modesty, this knowing,     artful, secret, fearful

sign of human frailty, folly,     also crime, that painting is no idol,—’t is too like.     That in one to ask him awkward questions and the road she     turns right, she watches a story of those supremest kisses     for the village smoke,

and in worlds over another     women in no more—methinks ’twould be father they came all     their Lucifer kicking. For the stroke restraint, came vested     all night have the letters for some bar of fault or temper     ruin’d the pilgrim on his

Eyes, and sung, their breast—but place to     die—thus the fracture love the wrong reasons, charmed too by your     name. With secret powers by which many subtle gesture     which is inseparable is now about     As a honeysuckle.