#neagoe craiovescu

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

— in which Vlad Dracula is graced with the most delightful news.

word count: 3,372 words

warnings: implied/referenced miscarriage; pregnancy; pregnancy sickness; extra dosis of love and tenderness

a/n: Here, beloveds, have a sweet (and absolutely not self-indulgent, nooooo never) moment of pure bliss and happiness before I throw that man into more pain and misery and blood and— Also, expect a man madly in love — it is Cătălina’s world, and Vlad is just blessed to be living in it.

➨ also available on AO3

September 1459, Curtea Noua, București, Wallachia

The hall overflows with the warm glow of candlelight and lively music, mingling with the enticing aroma of roasted meat and the echoes of sincere and profound laughter. Among the voivode’s dear and cherished guests indulging in the joyous celebration of the construction of the New Voivodal Court in București, her laughter stands out the most, pure and unrestrained, like a celestial bell tolling in the very heart of the hall. Tonight, she will not be confined to the shadows. Cătălina has yet to reach the age of twenty-eight, and her spirit still brims with life like a flower in full bloom. In the ambience of the youthful night, the meticulously crafted façade upon her countenance slips away amidst the merriment, momentarily unveiling the face of a carefree nymph whom she has long come to deem a distant memory.

She has deliberately chosen to avoid the ever-present curious eyes at the court, recognising its virtue for both her and Vlad’s sake. The seclusion of her home where she often remains allows her to weave at least some poor semblance of a veil of privacy to shield both herself and their son. It is for the best, she always reasons with herself. Her presence provokes many and she has never been one to silence her voice. But within the chambers of her home, she sometimes feels as though she has become a rare jewel locked within the confines of the treasury — precious enough to return to look at but safely hidden from the insatiable hunger of prying eyes, always patiently awaiting someone to brush off the dust from her.

She is well aware that ingratitude should not consume her as a torrent of stern admonitions floods her mind whenever her thoughts stray into this despised realm of sentiments. This is the path she has consciously and willingly chosen for herself. This is the life of a royal mistress, laden with sacrifices she has long anticipated would be demanded of her. It bestows upon her liberty and power that only a few chosen women in existence will ever graze their fingertips upon. It eases her existence, as well as his. It makes their son’s life tranquil. Safer. More secure.

Nonetheless, in these scarce but all the more cherished moments, she revels in the company of those dear to her, once again becoming a woman of flesh and bones who savours the sweet taste of freedom that holds such profound importance in her heart. Tonight, she is engulfed in a place of boundless liberation where obligations and duties fade into oblivion. The tumultuous world outside becomes a distant murmur, drowned by the enchanting melody of kindred spirits. Embraced by the glow of innumerable flickering candles, she glides across the floor in perfect synchrony with the tunes that permeate the space all around her.

When she pauses and brings the cup of red wine to her lips, different sounds begin piercing through the air — the resonant and deep voices of the men standing by her side as they engage in conversation. The spell that held her captive is broken; the enchantment of the moment dissipates like a golden mist fading before her eyes. The matter-of-fact nature of their words shatters the carefree atmosphere. Her brother’s voice gains clarity, his words gradually becoming more distinct with each passing second.

“—although we ought to reconsider the decisions regarding the archers you have recently recruited.”

Amidst the whimsical musings and daydreams that capture the minds of others, her elder sibling has always stood rooted to the earth. There is no room for idle fantasies, for thoughts of what could possibly take place under different circumstances. Dumitru values the realm of reality and practicality above all else, and few matters possess the power to divert his focus from the tasks at hand. His sister might have initially helped secure his position, but Dumitru has become indispensable among the dregătorii, revered for qualities unique to no one but him.

“What is the issue with them? They are competent soldiers,” Neagoe’s dark eyebrows rise in incredulity, and a hint of agitation infuses his voice with a sharpness that slices through the air like a blade.

Dracea roughly hits the dark-haired spătar on the shoulder. “A blind man would shoot better than them.”

“No!” Cătălina cries out and places a hand over her heart in feigned distress, halting their conversation in an instant. “I do not wish to hear a thing about state affairs this evening. This is meant to be a night of enjoyment! Anything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Cătălina’s gaze momentarily strays away from the festivities and the smiling faces of the three men in front of her, settling upon Vlad across the room. Her eyes trace the contours of his muscular back accentuated by the richness of his green attire, long black curls cascading down between his broad shoulders. Engrossed in conversation with some of his dregătorii, he leans forward, intent on catching every uttered word amidst the noise of merriment enveloping them. In that fleeting instant, it appears as though he remains oblivious to the world unfolding around him. With his back turned to all others, she does not doubt that the subtle delights of the evening indeed elude him.

“Or has he truly infected all of you with his inclination to work even in his sleep?” Her words carry a subtle touch of melancholy, intertwining with the flimsy threads of sadness woven into the slope of her brows.

And Dracea — for his heart shatters whenever he notices even a mere hint of sorrow on that angelic face of dreams — enfolds her in his embrace and whirls her with a speed that mirrors the cadence of the music. Her laughter, before so joyous and bright, now rings hollow as she clutches the cup in her fingers, afraid to spill the crimson liquid.

“What is that frown, my lady? Do we bore you with our discussions?” he asks.

“Impossible. There is never a dull moment with you, Dracea.”

“There is something heavy on your mind. I can tell,” he inquires as the amusement in his voice turns to gentle concern, the embrace of his tall figure shielding her from the eyes around and offering her a brief shelter for composure. Sweet Dracea, always being the selfless and devoted protector.

A heaviness indeed burdens her mind, causing her stomach to twist and churn with silent anguish. Cătălina is a woman who has been tested by a fair share of life’s trials, yet now feels weakened by dread. No longer free to live and breathe for herself, she must decide for two, making her the most vulnerable of all — a mother bound by a love forever intertwined with her own existence. For weeks, she has been awakening with worries, praying fervently for smooth, uncomplicated days ahead. She frets over the uncertainty of the future, but above all, she fears that the delights and expectations of life may slip away from him unnoticed. The more he thrives as a ruler, the more he suffers as a man, the words hover on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows them like bitter liquid, denying them their flight into the world.

Instead, she presents her companion with a fragile smile. “All is well.”

“You are aware that he cannot take his eyes off you, are you not? He keeps stealing glances any chance he gets.”

“That is the least of my worries—”

Before she has a chance to finish her sentence, he spins her once more, spins her with a force that sweeps away her worries and stirs up laughter flowing from her lips. But in moments of joyful recklessness, when fits of laughter make her chest constrict and ache, and her cheeks turn red with exertion, the new reality suddenly whispers its presence and brings her to a halt. An unexpected unease unfurls within her and disrupts the fragile serenity inside.

A weak tremor courses through her, a response to the unwelcome feeling clawing at her guts from within. Her stomach churns and twists into hardness that lodges deep inside her as though she carries a weighty stone at its core. Cold sweat coats her body, drenching her skin like an icy deluge poured upon her, and droplets trickle down the curve of her spine. Her hands, clammy and slick, tremble with the fear that the cup may slip from her grasp and clatter upon the stone beneath her feet. With every passing second, her grip on the small piece of metal tightens, becoming unyielding, her sole anchor amidst a world that spins and slowly dissolves into darkness.

The customary warmth of her complexion wanes, surrendering to waves of nausea in a sickly shade of green as she clings to Dracea’s sleeve, yearning to break free from his embrace. Her gaze frantically searches for solace in the weighty doors that lead outside. Her breath falters, grappling against the tide, while her rapid heartbeat echoes the rising panic filling her veins. The anticipation of fresh air consumes her thoughts as she pushes the tall nobleman aside and thrusts the wine cup into his hand.

“Are you feeling well?” his voice is laden with worry.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she barely manages to squeeze out as she hastens her steps towards the doors, the sickness weighing down her feet like lead.

As she stumbles out of the hall, her brother calls after her. “Cătălina—”

The growing distance between them drowns out his voice. She swiftly turns to the right and runs outside beneath the shadow of the stone arc, escaping the fiery inferno that the hall has become. She barely holds herself together as she descends the broad steps leading from the residence before her sight blurries and her knees give way, almost bringing her crashing to the ground. She fears her stomach turning upside down in a wave of sickness may unleash the torrent and make her vomit. The world around her sways as she succumbs to the pull of weariness, her body seeking respite from the overwhelming storm within.

Sit. Sit. Sit.

Finally, Cătălina sinks to the cold ground, pressing her back against the stone wall to steady her weakened body. She draws her knees to the chest and hugs her bent legs, damp and trembling fingers clinging to the richly embroidered skirt of her dress. She leans back the crown of her head and rests against the sturdiness of the wall behind her. That seems to bring some relief — her vision begins to clear, her guts no longer feel like being swayed back and forth. The frantic pounding in her ribcage subsides.

The freshness of the late September breeze soothes her senses and offers respite from the sickness raging inside her. With each inhalation, she gulps on the air as if it were her first breath in this world, savouring the way it seems to cool her from within. The drumming in her ears gives way to the muffled sounds of revelries emanating from inside the hall, the laughter of dozens of guests mingling with the ceaseless melodies of music. Life carries on without her, and she is grateful for it. She longs to be separated from it, if only for a brief moment, to exist in solitude, undisturbed, with only the starry skies above and the fresh air caressing her damp skin as her sole companions.

The moment of solitude is shattered like glass as the thunderous rhythm of boots reverberates on the stone steps. From the corner of her eye, Cătălina catches a glimpse of a green giubea glimmering in the soft glow of the torches. She remains hidden in the shadows, silently observing his frantic quest to find her. He searches in every direction, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings with the meticulous precision of a soldier scanning the fields of battle. When he calls her name, and she discerns the tinge of growing alarm lacing his voice, she leans forward instinctively and extends her arm towards him.

“I am here,” she says, astonishing herself with the fragility and weariness in her voice.

Vlad rushes towards her without a moment’s hesitation, dropping to his knees by her side. With urgency, he clasps her open palm in his, his other hand gently caressing the side of her face. Calloused fingers trace a path over her cheek, all while his emerald orbs explore her figure with deep concern, searching for any signs of harm or wounds.

“What is the matter, my love?”

“It seems that our new acquaintance shares your liking for making a grand appearance.”

“What acquaintance?” he asks, confused eyes searching hers for the hidden meaning behind her words.

Consumed by fear, his usually razor-sharp mind becomes muddled by the myriad of scattered thoughts and is unable to comprehend the hints that surround him. He remains unaware of the subtle movement of her palm that she lays over her stomach, a gesture filled with an unwavering sense of protection and love. Only in the gentle caress of her hand over his chin does he find his way back to Cătălina’s presence, captivated by the endearing curve of her lips. Memories flood his mind, for he well remembers that smile — he is reminiscent of the time she first revealed to him she was expecting their son, her smile radiating with a brilliance that defied any attempts at concealment. Her face is just as resplendent now, unadulterated joy dancing upon her lips.

“Vlad,” soft laughter escapes her lips, and her words confirm all of his assumptions with resolute finality. “I am with child.”

In a sudden whirlwind of motion, she loses track of how he pulls them both to their feet as seconds flash by in a blur of light. She only comes back to her senses when she finds herself suspended in the sky, with a canopy of stars above her head. Vlad’s strong arms hold her above the ground by her waist, and a yelp of surprise fills the air. Her fingertips sink into his shoulders, anchoring her in the heights and preventing them from toppling into the earth below.

“Is that true? Is that true?” he cries out with unbridled excitement, and her gaze drifts towards the doors, anticipating the intensity of his voice to awaken the curiosity of every soul within the court.

“Would I ever lie about such things?”

He playfully shakes her as a cascade of laughter spills from his lips, clasping her tightly in his arms.

“Put me down! I will be sick again,” she lets out a squeal, her feet instinctively kicking in the air.

Vlad, a man of impulsive nature yet never careless, would never dare inflict harm upon her. He carefully lowers her body to the ground, ensuring that every ounce of her is cradled securely in his arms. With utmost tenderness, he cups Cătălina’s beautiful face in his hands — he cannot tear his gaze away from the graceful arch of her brows, the delicate sprinkle of freckles adorning the bridge of her nose like the shimmering constellations painting the night sky above them. The subtle curve of her cupid’s bow guides him unerringly to a pathway to a world of infinite pleasure. Their lips meet in a slow kiss, and she can taste the red wine lingering on his tongue. In that moment, she wonders if this is what home can also taste like, a fusion of warmth and familiarity that caresses her senses and leaves her longing for more.

It is she who withdraws first, her hands resting upon his broad chest. A tangled web of thoughts and emotions engulfs her mind, making it difficult to unravel the words, arrange them in a coherent meaning. She wants to try, must find a way. In this sacred space they share, where masks are cast aside from their faces, they have promised honesty to one another — life is already full in deceit enough as it is. No need to weigh these treasured and scarce moments of privacy with lies. And so she labours, shaping the unspoken truths that dwell within her soul.

Cătălina seeks solace in the steady rise and fall of his chest, her gaze drifting beyond his shoulder and into the abyss of darkness to avoid looking into his eyes. “I have been meaning to wait a little longer before telling you.”

“Why?” he asks with sincerity in his voice, and she feels the bitter taste of bile rise in her throat like a venomous serpent slithering upward.

“What if it ends in disaster? Again?”

She senses the fleeting shadow that crosses Vlad’s face, a reflection of the memories from two years ago that have haunted her since discovering her pregnancy. A ghost from the past whispers in his thoughts, intertwining with her own — he remembers, too, remembers the crimson pools of blood staining the linen bedsheets, the chilling embrace of Death inching closer, its skeletal fingers poised to encircle her throat. Her face, pale as a spectral apparition; legs curled up to her chest in anguish when she sought solace in the tear-soaked pillows.

But those were also days of great turmoil and pressure, and despite reasoning with himself that a stillbirth was often an inexplicable occurrence of nature, he could not shake off the weight of his own culpability. He recalls being pulled in countless directions those days, needing to be present in a thousand places all at once — at court, in council, on the battlefield — not finding himself nearly enough on the threshold of her house, a place he swiftly grew to call home. Days would pass before he held her in his arms again, their son nestled between them like a tender bud.

He entangled her in the ceaseless stress with him, hoping she would bear its weight upon her shoulders alone. He will not let that happen again.

“It will not,” Vlad utters with unwavering conviction, his voice a gentle caress as he places a kiss upon her forehead.

“You cannot know that.”

“But we have more experience now than we did back then. Even more than we did four years ago.”

He catches the flicker of hesitation in her brown eyes and offers another reassurance. “I will keep your condition a secret until you feel prepared and at ease. No one is required to know.”

That seems to help, for Cătălina’s anxious frown is replaced by a feeble smile. She nods swiftly while his hands envelop hers, remaining unmoving on his chest, their fingers intertwining like vines.

She tilts her head towards the heavy doors and the bustle of the evening behind them. “You should return. Your guests are waiting for you.”

“They would not notice my absence. Half of them are already drunk.”

But his protests are in vain as she turns him around, her hand pressing into the small of his back. “It is your night, my love. Enjoy it.”

“And you?”

“I am going to lie down.”

“Then I shall see you later,” Vlad murmurs against her cheek, his lips grazing her skin in a tender kiss before reluctantly pulling away. But he lingers, his footsteps dragging as if he is tethered to her by an invisible thread.

She urges him to depart with a gentle, yet insistent push, a soundless command dancing upon the curve of her lips. Only then does he finally yield, hesitantly walking away. He finally runs up the steps with a spring in his step, bursting into the illuminated space. His arms outstretch in a gesture of apology as he is engulfed by the figures of guests encircling him, concealing him from her sight.

Cătălina watches him disappear from her spot in the darkness of the night, and an odd sense of serenity envelops her, like a tide that cleanses her soul of the fears and worries that besieged her mind mere moments ago. The joys of life would never elude him, not if he could help it. The weight of the land could crumble upon his weary back and crush him, yet he would persistently claw his way back to their embrace.

In the depths of her heart, that devotion is all the assurance she needs.

This piece is a genuine labour of love, and it was exciting to portray Vlad not only as the legendary warrior and ruler but place him into a tender moment of sheer humanity, showing him in the role of a lover and father. There is also something very endearing in taking the focus away from what other people mean in his life and instead putting it on how others perceive him in theirs. This is also my very first time introducing four very crucial characters in Vlad’s story, but especially Cătălina, Vlad’s mistress and the mother of his children — I hope you will love her as much as I (and Vlad!) do.

Of course, explanations and references are below:

The newly constructed royal residence mentioned in this piece is now known as Curtea Veche (the Old Court) in the heart of Bucharest, but because it is mentioned as just finished palace, I have decided to call it Curtea Noua (the New Court) instead. The official residence of the voivode remained at the capital, Târgoviște, at that time, so this just serves to differentiate between the two palaces. Vlad ordered its construction at the beginning of his second reign, and it was finished in 1459. On September 20, 1459, he issued a document in Slavonic, specifically referring to the “fortress” in Bucharest as his “princely residence”. Other documents were issued here in 1460 and 1461. It was quite a modern building in the Renaissance style — I recommend looking at the digital reconstruction pictures online.

Cătălina is based on a real-life person, though I have taken the opportunity of using artistic liberty to truly craft her character from scratch and flesh her out to be as multi-dimensional and complex as Vlad is (and trust me, she is quite a character) — this is because we know virtually nothing about her. What we know about the real-life mistress is that she was from a Wallachian noble family and is the only mistress we know of (which means Vlad was either a very faithful lover or very protective of his privacy). She was also a mother of Vlad’s son Mihnea and later married quite an influential man when Vlad was taken prisoner. (For those who do not know, I am not mentioning the man’s name as I do not want to drop the big spoilers! 🤫)

Yes, a pregnant woman is drinking wine in this piece. In moderation, she only takes a sip! People living in the 15th century were not aware of the damaging effects of consuming alcohol during pregnancy (but the baby will turn out healthy and strong, don’t worry). This is one of the things that seems incomprehensible to us today but was considered normal back in history.

As for the little Dracs with Miss Cătălina, you have noticed several mentions of a mysterious, already living son throughout the work. I am taking a bit more liberties with Vlad’s children, mostly because I was desperate to see him dipping his toes into the role of a parent a bit sooner than he (probably) did in real life — I hope I will be forgiven there! But fear not because yours truly is certainly not forgetting to mention the most famous of Dracula’s sons, the future Voivode Mihnea, who is the source of the happy news in this piece. Historical sources mention his year of birth to be somewhere between 1460-1462, with the majority leaning towards the latter year. I have chosen the year 1460 in my works simply to allow my fictionalised version of Vlad to enjoy some time with Mihnea before he is snatched away from his family for thirteen years. As for the mysterious elder son whom I have decided to name Mircea, he is mostly a fictional character (Mihnea was officially the eldest in real life), though I am using some bits from the little information and speculation we have about other sons. More about him soon!

Dregătorii were the boyars forming the voivode’s council. It was the group of most powerful men in the country, right after the ruler, and each held an important office at the court. You can see three dregătorii mentioned by name in this piece, two of whom really existed (Neagoe Craiovescu and Dracea de Măneşti) and one of whom is fictional (Dumitru Costescu, Cătălina’s elder brother). Neagoe is also mentioned in the story by the office title of spătar, the commander second in rank in the army after the voivode.

Giubea was a long and wide coat, often lined with fur, worn in the past by nobility.

[vladdocs]

did not Vlad's son Mihnea had some kind of feud with the Craioveşti?? So probably the family of Vlad's friend Neagoe?

Mihnea was practically at war with Craioveşti. They made him look bad in order to take power against the Basarab dynasty, which they succeeded in doing through Neagoe Basarab (he was called "Basarab" only for propaganda purposes). Mihnea destroyed the Bistrita Monastery in the north of Wallachia. This was practically a camouflaged fortress (because the Ottomans forbade the construction of fortresses in the country), so it had military importance. Neagoe Craiovescu could have been (again, this is speculation) the grandfather of Neagoe Basarab. Vlad killed as we know, Vladislav II who had raised Neagoe Craiovescu to the rank of "vlastel" (= a kind of high rank of nobleman). So Neagoe fought for the man who opened the way for his family to rule… political pragmatism! Maybe CD will make a video about the rise of Craioveşti

[stiri-noi]

”Marc Aureliu al Ţării Româneşti”, unul dintre cei mai culţi domni ai noştri

Autodeclarat fiu natural al lui Basarab Ţepeluş şi al Neagăi din Hotărani, soţia marelui vornic Pârvu Craiovescu, în a cărui familie a crescut, a primit o educaţie aleasă de la călugărul Macarie de la Bistriţa, patriarhul Nifon, refugiat la curtea Craioveştilor, şi Maxim Brancovič, reuşind să cunoască bine mai multe limbi de circulaţie europeană, dar şi greaca, slavona sau latina.

Citeşte şi Abdicarea lui Carol al II-lea. Protejat de Mareşalul Antonescu, fostul rege a plecat din ţară cu 12 vagoane pline cu bogăţii şi cu Elena Lupescu

  Citeşte şi 103 ani de la intrarea României în Primul Război Mondial şi un clip emoţionant: ”Ajutaţi România!”

  A participat, se pare, alături de Macarie, la tipărirea Liturghierului slavon (1508), a Octoihului (1510) şi a Tetraevangheliarului (1512), primele de acest gen din Ţara Românească. După o serie de călătorii în Ungaria, Austria sau Imperiul Otoman, a revenit în ţară unde a primit mai multe dregătorii, ajungând până la cele de mare postelnic (decembrie 1501 – 19 iunie 1509) şi mare comis (24 aprilie 1510 – 28 noiembrie 1511). S-a căsătorit cu fiica despotului sârb Iovan Brancovič, Elena [Despina Miliţa], în 1504, cu care a avut şase copii: Ion, Petre şi Anghelina, morţi înainte de vreme, Teodosie, Ruxandra şi Stana.

A obţinut tronul cu ajutorul bey-ului de Nicopole, după înfrângerea şi uciderea lui Vlad cel Tânăr (23 ianuarie 1512). Pentru a căpăta legitimitate în faţa supuşilor şi-a însuşit supranumele de „Basarab”, intrând astfel, după opinia lui, în familia domnitoare cu drept de a pretinde tronul. După încoronarea de la Bucureşti, din 8 februarie 1512, Neagoe Basarab „luo coroana şi scaunul a toată Ţara Rumânească” (Gavril Protul), primul său act oficial păstrat a fost emis la 20 februarie 1512, aici regăsindu-se deja titulatura domnească „Io Basarab voievod şi domn”.

Domnia sa a fost una destul de fructuoasă, „au domnit cu bună pace, până au murit în domnie” (Istoria Ţării Româneşti), preocupările sale diverse au vizat, în special, dezvoltarea economică prin măsuri luate în domeniul comerţului, reorganizarea armatei şi, mai ales, sprijinirea culturii. Acestea au dus la o substanţială creştere demografică, a veniturilor şi la o sensibilă ridicare a nivelului de trai.

Neagoe Basarab a întreţinut relaţii bune cu vecinii şi cu Papalitatea, a dus o politică filo-otomană, plătind tributul regulat şi având grijă să nu deranjeze prin ceva, conştient că numai aşa va evita mazilirea sau sfârşitul predecesorilor săi. Relaţiile cu Moldova n-au fost, însă, dintre cele mai bune, el sprijinind mai mulţi pretendenţi la tronului acestei ţări.

Susţine apariţia Evangheliarului conceput de Macarie şi Viaţa patriarhului Nifon a lui Gavril Protul – care relatează şi despre activitatea a patru domni munteni: Radu cel Mare, Mihnea cel Rău, Vlad cel Tânăr şi Neagoe Basarab – şi scrie sau dispune întocmirea operei Învăţăturile lui Neagoe Basarab către fiul său Teodosie (1517 – 1521), „monument de literatură, politică, filozofie şi elocvenţă” (B. P. Hasdeu). Ctitoreşte biserica mănăstirii Curtea de Argeş, biserica Sf. Gheorghe şi cea a Mitropoliei din Târgovişte.

Cel care a fost supranumit „Marc Aureliu al Ţării Româneşti, principe, artist şi filosof” (B. P. Hasdeu), „domn cu apucături împărăteşti” (Nicolae Iorga) sau „unul dintre cei mai culţi domni ai noştri din vechime” (Ioan Bogdan), s-a prăpădit după o lungă şi grea suferinţă, fiind înmormântat la Argeş.

Sursa: Enciclopedia României

Descoperă îţi prezintă principalele semnificaţii ale zilei de 15 septembrie:

1701 – A încetat din viaţă poetul francez Edme Boursault („Lettres nouvelles”, culegere de anecdote, fabule şi epigrame cu care a avut un imens succes) (n. 1638)

1789 – S-a născut scriitorul american James Fenimore Cooper („Ultimul mohican”, „Vânătorul de cerbi”) (m. 14 septembrie 1851)

1860 – A apărut la Iaşi revista săptămânală ştiinţifică şi literară „Ateneul român”.

1890 – S-a născut romanciera Agatha Christie (Agatha Clarissa Miller); a scris peste 80 de romane, 14 piese de teatru, la care se adaugă scrierile publicate cu pseudonimul Mary Westmacott (“Moarte pe Nil”, “Misterul vasului albastru”) (m. 12 ianuarie 1976).

1894 – S-a născut regizorul francez de film Jean Renoir, reprezentant al realismului în cinematografie („Iluzia cea mare”, „Fluviul”, „Omul din sud”) (m. 12 februarie 1979).

1901 – S-a născut inginerul Elie Carafoli, creatorul şcolii româneşti de aerodinamică, membru al Academiei Române (m. 24 octombrie 1983).

1914 – S-a născut scriitorul Adolfo Bioy Casares, unul dintre reprezentanţii de seamă ai literaturii fantastice argentiniene (m. 8 martie 1999).

1938 – A încetat din viaţă Thomas Clayton Wolfe, scriitor şi critic literar american („Legenda foamei unui tânăr”, „Plasa şi stânca”) (n. 3 octombrie 1900)

1945 – A încetat din viaţă compozitorul austriac Anton von Webern; lucrările sale instrumental-orchestrale au influenţat muzica de avangardă a celei de-a doua jumătăţi a secolului al XX-lea (n. 3 decembrie 1883).

1953 – A încetat din viaţă, la San Francisco, Erich Mendelsohn, arhitect american de origine germană, promotor al arhitecturii moderne, de orientare expresionistă (n. 21 martie 1887 – Allenstein, Germania).

1982 – A încetat din viaţă Prinţesa Grace de Monaco, fost star la Hollywood, purtând numele Grace Kelly (n. 12 noiembrie 1928).

1992 – A încetat din viaţă Anda Călugăreanu, actriţa şi interpretă de muzică uşoară (n. 24 octombrie 1946).

1997 – A încetat din viaţă pictorul, graficianul, designerul, scenograful şi sculptorul monumentalist Ion Biţan. Este creatorul Trofeului emblematic al Premiilor UNITER. (n. 23 august 1924)

2008 – Richard Wright, clăparul trupei Pink Floyd şi membru fondator al acesteia, a murit. Wright a fost unul dintre compozitorii a cinci piese de pe albumul „Dark Side of the Moon”, lansat în 1973 şi care a stat 14 ani în topul Billboard a celor mai vândute 200 de albume, fiind astfel unul dintre cele mai de succes materiale discografice ale tuturor timpurilor. (n. 1943)

2009 – A încetat din viaţă actorul Nicu Constantin, cunoscut pentru rolurile din „Alo, aterizează străbunica” (1981), „Secretul lui Bachus” (1983), „Grăbeşte-te încet” (1981), „Ora zero” (1979) (n. 31 iulie 1939).

Articolul ”Marc Aureliu al Ţării Româneşti”, unul dintre cei mai culţi domni ai noştri apare prima dată în Descopera.ro.

[vladdocs]

I was a kid when I first took an interest in Vlad III. Some of my classmates had a vampire craze but I was a hatchling history buff and found the real Vlad more compelling. Of course my research skills were a work in progress and I didn't have so much general historical knowledge then. Now that I'm a full-fledged history buff I have a renewed interest, thanks to your blog and others in the Vlandom. I have a question, of sorts. It seems to me that Vlad's story is ultimately a sad one, that he had a very hard life. I wonder if he had any close friends (even servants or attendants) whom he could go to for support. I suspect it isn't possible to know from the evidence available but I wondered if you had any thoughts on this.

You could say he had a pretty sad life, Father and Brother killed, 2 Wives dead, His lil brother fought him(Tho I think he didn't mind this that much) Was hunted down for the majority of his teenage years, Got betrayed and demonized by those who he protected in the past and now in the afterlife he is demonized again. He definitely had friends, that's what kept him alive after all. Most of them boyars of course (The voivode children are educated by an older boyar so Vlad most likely had time to make friends while studying) but I think he had been friends with others as well like: Vuk Grgurević, They had a campaign together in 1475-1476 also When Vlad and Radu were sent to the ottomans Vuk's father and uncle were sent along with them, They will be blinded with hot iron by the ottomans tho. Mihail Szilágyi, This man was definitely one of Vlad's closest friends and a big supporter of him, Anytime someone would have gave Vlad trouble Mihail would intervene. Voico Dobrița, his special advisor and truly cherished. Neagoe Craiovescu, Vlad's right hand and main commander, he's the one sent to stop Stefan in 1462 from taking Chilia Stefan The Great, Outside of politics they were very good friends. Pope Pius II, was Defiently a friend and supporter of Vlad (That's when he stops writing erotic books) There are many more but I think those are the main ones, Maybe he was friends with people like Pál Kinizsi and Skanderbeg as well. Tho Skanderbeg was in the order of the Dragon After they killed his father and Brother, I don't think Vlad liked that order very much. It's quite weird tho, Alexandru Aldea (Vlad's uncle) was in the order of the dragon (he was confused with Vlad Dracul) and tried to kill Vlad Dracul, Then John Hunyadi (another member of the order) came and actually killed Vlad Dracul. Yet at the end we remember Vlad Dracul as a member of the order and the others as not?

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

THE DRĂCULEȘTI

— Vlad Drăculea.

— Vlad Dracul.

— Mircea Drăculea.

— Alexandra of Wallachia.

— Radu Drăculea.

— Mircea.

— Mihnea.

THE DĂNEȘTI

— Vladislav II.

THE WALLACHIANS

— Cătălina Costescu.

— Dracea de Măneşti.

— Dumitu Costescu.

— Neagoe Craiovescu.

— Manea Udriște.

— Albu cel Mare.

THE MOLDAVIANS

— Ștefan cel Mare.

— Bogdan II.

— Vasilisa of Moldavia.

— Oltenia.

THE OTTOMANS

— Mehmed the Conqueror.

— Murad II.

— Hamza Pasha.

— Thomas Katavolinos.

THE HUNGARIANS

— János Hunyadi.

— Erzsébet Szilágyi.

— Mihály Szilágyi.

— László Hunyadi.

— Matthias Corvinus.

— Ladislaus the Posthumous.

[vladdocs]

Do we know any details about who Neagoe Craiovescu was, other than Vlad's right hand?

Just that and that he was the highest rank of boyars. He might also had a connection with the legendary House of Craiovești but that's just a speculation and we don't like those around here

[vladdocs]

Text and document courtesy of the authors Corpus Draculianum In January 1462 Vlad divided his army of some 5-6,000 men into six corps, letting them cross the Danube through his six most important fords: Isaccea, Hârșova, Silistra, Turtucaia, Ruse and Nicopole. In the last two cases, the corps were led by the Wallachian prince and his most important supporter, Neagoe de la Strehaia (or Neagoe Craiovescu), ancestor of the famous Craiovesști, the great later helpers of Michael the Brave. The six Vlach corps had attacked the Sultan's rapid reaction capabilities on the Danube, consisting mainly of the redoubtable Akıncı-i and the personal troops of the Bey of Nicopole and Silistra, in a very deliberate and well thought-out manner. The genius of the action lay not only in the rapidity of the execution of the attack, but above all in the nature of the targets destroyed. The Vlach armies did not attack the akıncı-i troops head-on, but only systematically destroyed their subsistence. The Akıncı-i were basically a kind of soldier peasants, who, when not looting, practised agriculture and other occupations typical of any local peasant. In addition, of the local communities that supplied akıncı-i, only a small proportion of the inhabitants were active soldiers. Most stayed at home and only had to logistically support the active soldiers, who went out on looting actions called akın. It was these who suffered most. That this tactic was entirely successful is shown by what followed two months later, as a new document discovered by the Romanian-German team of the Corpus Draculianum project, which aims to collect and edit all documents of any kind from and about Vlad Țepeș Drăculea (ca. 1435-ca. 1650). This document is a report drawn up by a Florentine merchant in charge of supplying sea delicacies to the house of the Duke of Mantua. After apologising for more than half of the letter for his failure to supply a long list of sturgeon, squid and many other such mouth-watering products, Caesar, the Florentine in question, brings up the reason for his failure: the over-abundant storms and the Vlach, who had wreaked mayhem on the Danube. And this is where the story begins, which could be reconstructed as follows. After the sacking in January 1462 of key Ottoman military logistics points on the Danube, the Vlach troops did not return home, at least not all of them, but continued to do what they did best. Unfortunately the troubled times have not preserved any further reports in our archives. We can, however, suspect that the targets attacked were more than likely in the same category as those already destroyed. Sometime in March 1462 Vlad surprised on the Danube, probably in the area of Dobrogea, a fleet of no less than 50 Ottoman transport ships arriving to load wood for the construction of galleys, the most feared warships of the time. For some time the Sultan had been preparing intensely for an armed conflict with his most important competitor in the Mediterranean, Venice, which was to last from 1463 to 1479. Vlad's men surprise the crews on sight, massacre them all, not forgetting the master builders, the most important in the equation, and set fire to the ships and their cargo. Of course the nearby Ottoman commanders don't sit idly by and summon their men. Only... no one comes. Caesar tells us why: "perche sono tutti fugit". Who would come, if the nearby villages, the hamlets from which the akıncıs were rising, had been completely ravaged by Vlad's men and Vlad himself in the last 2 months? The Akıncıs and those who economically supported them to go to war had also scattered like swallows all over the place... apart from the nearly 24,000 counted as dead before the voivode in early February and those whom he told the Hungarian king about being burned in their own homes, their bodies and especially their heads, noses or ears beyond recovery. The letter of Cesare of Florence: ____ Our most noble and excellent signor and further, I send to your eminent nobility a cargo of two barrels of gelatin of sea bass, mullet and river

flounder. To this I send you a keg of crabs fried and marinated in orange juice. There are four or five squid in said cargo. But I cannot supply more. I also send you another round basket full of sardines, and sardinellas, and eels. Also in said basket, next to said fish, one mackerel tuna, one small golden spar, and two moustache. They are all fried. I also send to your highest nobility five pieces of raw flounder and ten pieces of sea tongues, so that you may cook them all at your discretion. I draw your nobility's attention to the fact that due to bad weather and storm the sailors could not deliver the goods. Thus from Friday to Monday no fish could be bought. But this morning, as soon as the storm abated, some fish arrived, the one I sent to your nobility. It cost me much effort and expense* to buy it, but the fish is good. Of course, it would have been much better if I had been able to buy more garfish. The squid I could not find any more, as no more were brought in further. Moreover, I ask your greatest nobility to apologize for me to his majesty the margrave for the fact that I could not deliver to your excellency large octopuses and clams, because I could not get any in the whole world, and I never received the two large octopuses I was promised because of the raging storm. And all the fish and everything else listed cost me four and five ducats. As for the previously mentioned goods, if your nobility would like to give them to my messenger, I would be very happy, as I gave that servant the task. I have nothing more to add to the matter. In addition to what I have said, there is other news that the Walachians have burned about 50 Turkish transport ships*, the ones which came to deliver wood for building galleys. The Turks had everything ready. And the aforementioned Walachians were rejoicing at their victory. They came to the place where the same mentioned vessels were standing to load the wood. They burned them, not all of them, as was said. And they cut all the Ottoman seamen into pieces, and about 50 carpenters, and then they left, where they rejoiced over their victory and waited for them to join forces with the army of the king of Hungary from day to day. The latter, it was said, had already set out to find them. And it is also reported that the Turk was not even able to establish a military camp, because all ran away, and he began to fix various atrocities, so that people did not run away, but could not do anything about it and then. As soon as I hear any more of this, I will inform your nobility, before whom I always bow. Sent from Venice, April 12, 1462. Humble servant of your noble Excellency, Cesare of Florence, knight* et seq.