#isabel i

[dragonesdelaemperatriz]

[ms-queen-c]

Isabel I

¿Una mujer reina de Castilla?

A woman queen of Castile?

[ochoislas]

LA AGONIA DE GLORIANA

Nadie me contradiga. Yaceré en el suelo. Hasta aquí desde el trono, montura, o balcón, miré debajo a cuantos en alto miraban. Esa arena corrió. Ya la ampolleta invierto, y ordeno en adelante una abatida honra, dócil e inadvertida como hojas de otoño, que acolche el desvelado estudio al que me obligo, cual es considerar mi reino desde abajo. ¡Qué altos son mis siervos! Como casta de árboles sobre mí cabecean, suspiran, rumoran; remotos astros lucen sus celosos ojos. Aún a los hermosos de buen cuerpo aprecio: no hay reina con mejores mástiles medrando en sus bosques, ni cuyos súbditos envainen en su lealtad más fieras y tercas almas. Ni hubo virgen mejor servida que fui yo. ¡Déjame estar, mujer! Que no he de consentir verme rendida a un lecho. ¿Suponéis quizá que quien bajo intemperies cabalgó, danzó cargada con caudal de alhajas, toleró sentada en dura piedra discursos y prédicas, por dormir en el suelo sufrirá algún mal? No que duerma. Si en eso tuviera mi mente, bien bastara una cama. Pero estoy aquí para un profundo examen y contemplación, y así cómo Perséfone, y la roja zorra, buscan bajo la tierra agudeza de ingenio, descendí de mi estrado para ver si aprendo nueva traza entre vuestros pies, y, como el indio yace con todo el cuerpo atento sobre tierra, así yazgo esperando la repercusión de cuanto es por venir o inminente peligro. ¿Rezando está el obispo? Dejadlo que siga. Sus cansadas rodillas la fe las alivie. ¡El ruin aflige al Cielo con noticias mías! Sí… deposuit superbos. ¿Mas que mano fue la que me ha derribado aquí si no la mía…? Ni flaqueza del ánimo ni de los miembros, ni dislate o temor, vejez ni perlesía, me han quebrado. Si aquí yazgo, es por mi arbitrio, por la curiosidad de una reina sólo. Puedo afirmar que en toda Inglaterra no se halla quien más íntimo yazga que yo de la tierra. No de cierto el traidor cautivo en su prisión, donde la escasa paja esquiva el fatal peso de sus cadenas; ni el zagalejo encogido de frío que debajo del majuelo duerme; ni el campesino mozo que yace estirado, socarrando su libro ante las muertas brasas.

*

GLORIANA DYING

None shall gainsay me. I will lie on the floor. Hitherto from horseback, throne, balcony, I have looked down upon your looking up. Those sands are run. Now I reverse the glass And bid henceforth your homage downward, falling Obedient and unheeded as leaves in autumn To quilt the wakeful study I must make Examining my kingdom from below. How tall my people are! Like a race of trees They sway, sigh, nod heads, rustle above me, And their attentive eyes are distant as starshine. I have still cherished the handsome and well-made: No queen has better masts within her forests Growing, nor prouder and more restive minds Scabbarded in the loyalty of subjects; No virgin has had better worship than I. No, no! Leave me alone, woman! I will not Be put into a bed. Do you suppose That I who’ve ridden through all weathers, danced Under a treasury’s weight of jewels, sat Myself to stone through sermons and addresses, Shall come to harm by sleeping on a floor? Not that I sleep. A bed were good enough If that were in my mind. But I am here For a deep study and contemplation, And as Persephone, and the red vixen, Go underground to sharpen their wits, I have left my dais to learn a new policy Through watching of your feet, and as the Indian Lays all his listening body along the earth I lie in wait for the reverberation Of things to come and dangers threatening. Is that the Bishop praying? Let him pray on. If his knees tire his faith can cushion them. How the poor man grieves Heaven with news of me! Deposuit superbos. But no hand Other than my own has put me down — Not feebleness enforced on brain or limb, Not fear, misgiving, fantasy, age, palsy, Has felled me. I lie here by my own will, And by the curiosity of a queen I dare say there is not in all England One who lies closer to the ground than I. Not the traitor in the condemned hold Whose few straws edge away from under his weight Of ironed fatality; not the shepherd Huddled for cold under the hawthorn bush, Nor the long, dreaming country lad who lies Scorching his book before the dying brand.

Sylvia Townsend Warner

di-versión©ochoislas

[fruitface]

"You know you didn't have to start like a whole fight club just to date me."

[bailadeluna]

rhaenyra kisses mysaria

alicent:

[jollymalt]

more animal crossing drawings!

[isabelleadjani]

ISABELLE ADJANI as Anna POSSESSION dir. Andrzej Żuławski, 1981

[eva-birdman]

I don't know why I bite

[diioonysus]

rings + art

[sicknessinmotion]

YOU BIT INTO ME AND I WASN'T AS SOFT AS YOU EXPECTED; ON PERVERTED LOVE.

i. b. vyache // unknown // isabel allende // dante émile (@orpheuslament) // rainer maria rilke // florence + the machine // unknown // clarice lispector // @ruhlare

[deankarolina]

[booasaur]

Bottoms (2023) - Josie and Isabel

[miscgifsgifs]

"Josie..."

[wrongspacetime]

PJ & Hazel BOTTOMS (2023) | dir. Emma Seligman

[andrew3garfield]

AMERICAN MARY (2012) dir. Jen Soska and Sylvia Soska

[sleepy-spaceman]

Something about Jacobi’s clone in “time to kill” really messes me up. Because, like, after you listen to the episode where you find out that Lovelace isn’t the original Lovelace, we also find out that the clones don’t actually know that they aren’t the original person. The Jacobi clone was completely convinced that he was the original, so when the others left him outside, his last thought was probably that his friends had just made the worst possible mistake they could have made in that situation, that they had left him, the real Jacobi, to die and now they’re all in danger because there is something else that isn’t him on the ship with them. He died thinking that theres this thing that’s taking his place. This is the worse case scenario and there was nothing he could do about it. On the other hand, the real Jacobi, (assuming that the real Jacobi was the one inside the ship the whole time), had to listen to himself die. And i bet that after he finds out about how Lovelace is an alien, he thinks to himself, what if he isn’t the real Jacobi, that the real Jacobi died when they left him outside, and that he is the alien and just doesn’t know it. Because how could he know that? Lovelace didn’t, and he would never have any solid proof that he doesn’t know either. I bet it drives him a bit crazy, if he constantly has that thought going through his head.

I dont know. I think about this quite often.