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bethanydelleman · 6 months

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Now that I think about it you are the perfect person to explain Mariah to me from Mansfield Park and I'm not looking to like her per se but I never understood why she insisted on getting married ridiculously fast. Like I know women needed to get married but why such a horrible choice? Was she getting too old?

Hello! Thank you for calling me perfect. Here are the relevant quotes:

Being now in her twenty-first year, Maria Bertram was beginning to think matrimony a duty; and as a marriage with Mr. Rushworth would give her the enjoyment of a larger income than her father’s, as well as ensure her the house in town, which was now a prime object, it became, by the same rule of moral obligation, her evident duty to marry Mr. Rushworth if she could. (Ch 4)

Henry Crawford had destroyed her happiness, but he should not know that he had done it; he should not destroy her credit, her appearance, her prosperity, too. He should not have to think of her as pining in the retirement of Mansfield for him, rejecting Sotherton and London, independence and splendour, for his sake. Independence was more needful than ever; the want of it at Mansfield more sensibly felt. She was less and less able to endure the restraint which her father imposed. The liberty which his absence had given was now become absolutely necessary. She must escape from him and Mansfield as soon as possible, and find consolation in fortune and consequence, bustle and the world, for a wounded spirit. Her mind was quite determined, and varied not..... In all the important preparations of the mind she was complete: being prepared for matrimony by an hatred of home, restraint, and tranquillity; by the misery of disappointed affection, and contempt of the man she was to marry. (Ch 21)

Maria is not too old, she's only 21 and the average age of first marriage in her era was 23.4 for women (Women's History of Britian, 2005). She has several reasons to want to marry, none of them particularly good: wealth, freedom, and hatred of home (also sticking it to Henry Crawford). Her motivations can be understood is we look at the two major influences in her life, Sir Thomas and Mrs. Norris.

Sir Thomas is a strict father who has allowed the indolence of his wife to deprive his daughters of an opportunity to mix much in society. Maria and Julia both really want to spend time in London and have fun. Maria sees marriage as the only way out, especially after having tasted freedom while her father was away. When Henry is no longer a prospect, she clings to Rushworth as her escape route.

Mrs. Norris is obsessed with money and married below the income she wanted. Her principles have been taught to her favourite niece, so Maria accepts that marrying for money is a duty. Maria has been taught, just like Mary Crawford, to disregard feelings in favour of wealth (a good income is the best recipe for happiness). Unfortunately (for her), Maria was never Mrs. Norris and her passions overcome her mercenary education in the end. The "moral obligation" is sarcastic, it reveals how messed up Maria's sense of morality has become.

Lastly, disappointed in Henry Crawford, Maria marries to prove that he hasn't ruined her life. What Maria should have learned from the Henry flirtation is that she is a passionate woman who yearns for love, but she never took that lesson.

Also, I wrote an imaginary conversation between Maria and Mrs. Norris, expanding on these points. I posted it to AO3 for you:

#question response #maria bertram #sir thomas #mrs. norris #henry crawford #mansfield park #why maria wanted to marry so badly #maria is not a good person but it was tragic that she was led astray by people who claimed to love her

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melestasflight · 2 months

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The First Rising of the Sun and the Moon in Arda

@vitruvian23 I was going to answer your question in the comments, but it got too long, so here. Yes! Both the Sun and the Moon rise for the first time in the West as narrated in Chapter 11 of The Silmarillion.

The Moon (Isil carried by Tilion) rises first, and after seven days when the Moon is in the East, the Sun (Anar carried by Arien) follows:

[...] even as the Moon rose above the darkness in the west, Fingolfin let blow his silver trumpets and began his march into Middle-earth, and the shadows of his host went long and black before them. Tilion had traversed the heaven seven times, and thus was in the furthest east, when the vessel of Arien was made ready. Then Anar arose in glory, and the first dawn of the Sun was like a great fire upon the towers of the Pelóri

Their initial traversal of the sky was supposed to mirror the light of Laurelin and Telperion - when the Moon is in the East, the Sun is in the West and they meet in the middle - thus, an eclipse would be the equivalent of the Mingling of the light of the Trees:

Now Varda purposed that the two vessels should journey in Ilmen and ever be aloft, but not together; each should pass from Valinor into the east and return, the one issuing from the west as the other turned from the east. Thus the first of the new days were reckoned after the manner of the Trees, from the mingling of the lights when Arien and Tilion passed in their courses, above the middle of the Earth.

However Tilion, being in love with Arien, always wanted to get closer to her and couldn't maintain his regular path:

But Tilion was wayward and uncertain in speed, and held not to his appointed path; and he sought to come near to Arien, being drawn by her splendour, though the flame of Anar scorched him, and the island of the Moon was darkened.

In addition to this, Lórien and Estë complained that the new lights are always shining and impede rest, and that there is never a moment to see the stars. So they prayed for a period of semi-light where everyone could sleep and rest.

Varda hears their prayers and allows Arien to lay low and rest for some time in Valinor before rising again, commanding that Tilion does the same, following her from East to West:

But soon the Sun was drawn down by the servants of Ulmo, and went then in haste under the Earth, and so came unseen to the east and there mounted the heaven again, lest night be over-long and evil walk under the Moon. [...] Varda commanded the Moon to journey in like manner, and passing under Earth to arise in the east, but only after the Sun had descended from heaven.

Tl;dr yes, they reverse their initial path. Absolutely crazy, right?

As a bonus, I have to add one more quote because I absolutely love how Tolkien describes the first sunset, so much beauty and melancholy:

But by Anar the waters of the Outer Sea were made hot and glowed with coloured fire, and Valinor had light for a while after the passing of Arien. Yet as she journeyed under the Earth and drew towards the east the glow faded and Valinor was dim, and the Valar mourned then most for the death of Laurelin. At dawn the shadows of the Mountains of Defence lay heavy on the Blessed Realm.

#sun #moon #valar #ainur #valinor #varda #middle earth #thanks for giving me a reason to go back and reread this chapter #some absolutely glorious descriptions

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fateandloveentwined · 2 months

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poetry lines befitting MCS and XJY

These are mostly chinese tang shi and song ci poetry quotes, with a great biased amount from Su Shi because OP doesn't know better. Crude, 5-minute english translations below. There are lines I semi-made up or adapted from fandom/cpop songs (that is, most of Xiao Jingyan's lines), ngl OP is rather embarrassed of them because they aren't good at all looking back now but we'll just leave them here or else XJY would end up with zero quotes.

梅长苏 Mei Changsu

想那日束髪从军，想那日霜角辕门，想那日挟剑惊风，想那日横槊凌云。 ——夏完淳

Think to the day I tied back my hair and enlisted. Think to the day the horn rang at the frostbitten tents, think to the day I danced my sword making the sound that deafens the wind. Think to the day I took to the lance, and it pierced through the skies, rising higher than the clouds. — Xia Wanchun

将士百战身名裂。向河梁、回头万里，故人长绝。易水萧萧西风冷，满座衣冠似雪，正壮士、悲歌未彻。 ——辛弃疾

The warrior fights a hundred battles, yet what remains is his severed reputation. He looks to the bridge over the river, thousands of miles back, past acquaintances forever gone. In another life, over the howling of the west wind and the cold Yi rivers, the banquet sits, clothes adorned in snowlike white. The courageous man strides through the blizzard, the song of lament never ceasing. — Xin Qiji

零落成泥碾作尘，只有香如故。 ——陆游

The plum blossoms wither and drift to the ground, crushed into earthly soil and dust. The prevailing fragrance is what remains. — Lu You

亦余心之所善兮，虽九死其犹未悔。 ——屈原

So long as this is what my heart longs for and treasures, though I die nine deaths, my heart does not regret. — Qu Yuan

君臣一梦，今古空名。 ——苏轼

Lords and lieges ebb into nothing but a dream; in the river of time transcending present and past vain titles remain, cast into the void. — Su Shi

无波真古井，有节是秋筠。 ——苏轼

The heart is at peace like the ancient well that does not start ripples; the integrity is as the autumn bamboos, steadfast and unfaltering. — Su Shi

舳舻千里，旌旗蔽空，酾酒临江，横槊赋诗。 ——苏轼

The battleship moves a thousand miles, ensigns enshrouding the sky. He pours out wine by the riverside, holds out his lance, and writes verses as he speaks. — Su Shi

对一张琴，一杯酒，一溪云。 ——苏轼

Facing but a guqin, a glass of wine, a stream of cloud. — Su Shi

江山如画，是我心言。 ——风起时

The rivers and mountains of the kingdom outstretched before me as moving as in art: this is my heart’s will. — from the song “Feng Qi Shi”, when the wind blows

战骨碎尽志不休，冰心未改血犹殷。 ——改自《赤血长殷》、王昌龄

Bones completely crushed from the battle, yet aspirations unwavering. The heart has not changed, and the blood flows red still. — adapted from the song “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red, and poet Wang Changling

袖手妙计权倾变，敛眸笑谈意了然。 ——改自《赤血长殷》

With folded arms, he devises labyrinthine strategies, and the sceptre of power sways and shifts. He shrouds his gaze modestly and in conversations of small smiles, he perceives astutely the intention of men. — adapted from the song “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red

萧㬌琰 Xiao Jingyan

潜龙一朝御风翔，长歌挽弓射天狼。 ——《长喑》

The submerged dragon rises one day to ride the winds. Singing high and long; the bow is drawn pointed to the invading Sirius. — from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here

挑灯殿阙思悄然，闻钤行宫寝无眠。 ——改自白居易

Washed in the raised lamps of the imperial palace, thoughts whisper in grievance. The bell rings at the Jiu’an grounds, and he lies abed sleepless. — adapted from The Song of Everlasting Sorrow by Bai Juyi

驰骋沙场繁华梦，谈笑鸿儒君臣纲。 ——改自《致陛下书》、刘禹锡

Dreams fly to the flurry of gallops in the battlefield, flourishing dreams of splendour and joy. In pleasant dialogue with the scholars, civility forces polite smiles back into the etiquette between lords and lieges. — adapted from the song “Zhi Bi Xia Shu”, a letter to Your Majesty, and Liu Yuxi

铁马并辔封疆，几回魂梦游；更鼓落夜未央，笔下兴亡断。 ——取自《长喑》、《赤血长殷》

Armoured horses riding in parallel at the borderlands — how many times has the soul wandered to such dreams of the past. The hourly drums sound ceaseless through the long night; under the emperor's brush writes the fate of prosperity and declination. — adapted from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here, and “Chi Xue Chang Yan”, the noble blood flows red

��尽山河只手倾，昂冕袖手瞰苍生。 ——改自《长喑》

The future of his kingdom sweeps into a tilt of his hand. With crown upheld, he folds his arms in his sleeves awatching humanity. — adapted from the song “Chang Yin”, the Long Darkness found here

咫尺抚眉峰，万丈叠远峰；梦底枕笑纹，惊风掀水纹。 ——《致陛下书》

Up close the furrowed brows are smoothed. The ten thousands of feet stretch before the kingdom, converging as mountains at a distance. In the deepest dreams the markings of a smile lie; he disturbs the wind, which marks and rips tides in the tumultuous waters. — adapted from the song “Zhi Bi Xia Shu”, a letter to Your Majesty

Two (three) things to note:

My dying obsession with Su Shi, sorry I can’t help it that perhaps over half of the all the poetry I know is from him;

To be really fair, my favourite description of Mei Changsu is 运筹帷幄之中，决胜千里之外, used in describing Zhang Liang in Si Maqian's Records of the Grand Historian. He plots strategies in the tent of the army; he determines the victory of the battle thousands of miles from the front of the battlefield.

As for my favourite depiction of Lin Shu, it is definitely Su Shi’s description of Cao Cao: 舳舻千里，旌旗蔽空，酾酒临江，横槊赋诗。 The battleship moves a thousand miles, ensigns enshrouding the sky. He pours out wine by the riverside, holds out his lance, and writes verses as he speaks. Xin Qiji’s verse above just fits the entire story of Mei Changsu so much, it deserves a mention.

I was assembling/making these lines up for something back then and so just listed whatever came to mind (for reasons I know not I kept on listing stuff for MCS, but maybe XJY was the typical good emperor kind of person so wasn't as inspiring coming up with quotes for him).

If there are lines of poetry you find really befitting the two characters, we're more than interested starting a thread here just for that purpose.

#chinese language #chinese poetry #su shi #nif #nirvana in fire #classical chinese poetry #langya bang #lang ya bang #mei changsu #xiao jingyan #jingsu #fate creates #fate translates

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coffeewithcutcaffeine · 2 months

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hello my darling lin 💞 i'm afraid i can't keep it to myself any longer, i must know all about your character tags, they're simply too intriguing 👀.

Ahhh, my loveliest Lizzie! Thank you so much for sending this ask my way, it was such a lovely and generous surprise to find in my inbox today! 🥹❤️ I have a lot of different tags for five separate works so, please, bear with me as I briefly try to elaborate on all of them skdskfjsksfjsk. I apologise beforehand for my seemingly endless rambles, though I hope it will turn out to be interesting nonetheless! 🥰✨️

VOIEVOD:

The majority of my tags come from my medieval magnum opus sksksk because numerous distinct characters are already detailed and elaborate in my mind — let’s dig into them! I do have to confess that some of these tags have yet to make a proper appearance, but I have prepared them in advance, just in case.

( oc: if i cannot move heaven i will raise hell ) — Vlad Dracula. This phrase is a well-known quote from Virgil’s Aeneid: “Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo.” I have always felt that it perfectly encapsulates Vlad’s entire life — he is quite the prototype of a Machiavellian ruler willing to resort to more violent methods if needed (which we know very well from history, after all). Throughout the works, he repeatedly acknowledges his belief that he is destined for hell and expresses his willingness to sacrifice his soul for the greater good of his people. And he is also a very strong-willed and stubborn person who will always find a way to achieve his goals, whatever it costs him.

( oc: sanctuary ) — Cătălina. At first, I greatly hesitated to use this symbolism as I truly believe this remarkable woman is defined by much more than her role as the royal mistress and the mother of the voivode’s sons, and I try to depict that individuality of her character. However, this role does significantly influence her life and defines many of the decisions she makes. Throughout their relationship, Vlad sees Cătălina as his sanctuary because she accepts him as he is, loves him despite his perceived defects, and offers him a sense of belonging and peace. Sure, he loves that she keeps him on his toes, but this acceptance and the notion of having a kindred spirit give him the feeling of healing and safety. He can take off the many masks and let himself be exposed as he is, deep down. She also serves as a sanctuary for their sons, acting as the family’s anchor since they spend most of their time with her.

( oc: golden child; lion boy ) — Mehmed the Conqueror. His tag comes from the beautiful poem written by madzieloss on Tumblr, with the whole quote going, “Golden child, Lion boy; Tell me what it’s like to conquer.” I initially tried to use one of Mehmed’s poems from his diwan to make it a bit more personal, but this particular poem works perfectly because it encapsulates Mehmed’s whole essence — the Sultan of the Empire, the gifted child, the great conqueror. I also love using the recurring theme of gold and sun for his character. Gold represents the splendour of the Ottoman Empire, as well as his personal visuals (a lot of rich clothes and jewellery, the gilded Ottoman armour, his ginger hair and beard). Sun is the lovely little dichotomy seen in his character as it is both radiant and invigorating (his manners, generosity, education, intellect, aspects of rule), and merciless and blazing (his cruelty and the destructive sides of his politics towards other countries). Like the sun, he can either help grow or burn everything down.

( oc: the dragon ) — Vlad Dracul. I hate admitting that I could not come up with anything even remotely unique for Vlad’s dad as his moniker Dracul literally means “the Dragon” skdhskfskdks. However, the nickname was used for a reason, and we do not fix what isn’t broken in this house. The dragon’s role in medieval symbolism reflects a complex interplay between themes of heroism, morality, and the battle between light and darkness — on the one hand, the creature is seen as a protector and symbol of power, strength, and courage, but on the other hand, a dragon also represents a cunning and dangerous figure. He is called “the Dragon” both by people who admire him and despise him, so it shows the double meaning and the complexity of a ruler’s nature. At the same time, the meaning also spills over to his private life as he is both a figure of protection and (unwilling and unintentional) destruction to his family.

( oc: of burning martyrdom ) — Mircea Dracula. The eldest sibling is without a doubt the most tragic figure in the entire story, and I wanted his tag to reflect the tragedy and inevitability of his fate. He was killed at nineteen at the hands of his father’s enemies and in the cruellest way imaginable, and the “burning” part hints at some of the circumstances of his death. In his own way, he dies as a martyr because he dies refusing to give up his beliefs — and he is a martyr figure because the majority of his short life is marked with great struggles.

( oc: keeper of secrets ) — Alexandra. This tag is supposed to represent all the inner turmoil and complexities fighting one another inside Vlad’s younger sister. Because the two siblings share most of their personality and physical traits and are also close in age (there is a three-year gap between them), Vlad has always had a fond spot for his little sister and always considered her his little confidante — hence the meaning of keeping secrets. In return, Vlad has always been the brother who has granted Alexandra the most freedom and experience. She also keeps many secrets because there is a lot of her she has to repeatedly suppress inside of her — as I have mentioned, Vlad and Alexandra are quite alike, but Vlad’s personality tends to be accepted more while the same traits in Alexandra are often frowned upon.

( oc: cel frumos ) — Radu Dracula. My laziness shows here once again as that is Radu’s moniker, meaning “the handsome” or “the beautiful”. Radu has been given a fair share of horrible portrayals in media over the years, so I aim to further develop his character and show the varied aspects of his personality that are frequently overlooked. I initially tried to find something that would suit his complicated character but eventually settled on the nickname itself as it nicely shows the irony of his life and the most defining issue of his life — always being disregarded and reduced to only a sliver of his being.

( oc: cel mare ) — Ștefan the Great. (Or, as I like to call him, Fane.) There is no possible tag that would fit the famous Voivode of Moldavia and Vlad’s cousin (Vlad’s mother was a Moldavian princess) more than his own nickname, “the Great”. He is considered a national hero in both Romania and Moldova and undoubtedly earned his monicker through his actions.

OPEN HEART:

( c: i rise with my red hair and i eat men like air ) — Laura Levchenko. Her tag comes from Sylvia Plath’s poem called Lady Lazarus and, although I wanted to find a fitting quote from Lesya Ukrainka to represent Laura’s roots (that form a great part of her being), this one has the right amount of sharpness and edge fitting for my darling spitfire. Her fiery hair is undoubtedly one of her trademarks, and the quote also represents an independent spirit that will not be pushed down by being seemingly “inferior”. It also shows her own stance towards men, beginning with the painful experience with her dad and marking her whole life, as well as people who look down upon her.

( c: veni vidi vici ) — E.R. This is incredibly embarrassing because I was desperate to find something better for Ethan, something more fitting for his character… but there it is skdksfksldls. I do not think this quote even needs any introduction, so I will mention instead that “I came, I saw, I conquered” expresses the way Ethan achieves everything he sets his mind to, as well as the ferocity with which he pursues all his goals. When we compare his character to Laura’s, it might also imply the briskness with which he achieves certain things in life as a straight white American man — as opposed to Laura who is not only looked down upon for being a woman but also has to face a lot of xenophobia in her life. (You also want to re-enact the Ides of March on him sometimes but… I digress sksksk.)

CRIMES OF PASSION:

( c: this ghost sitting year after year upon my heart ) — Milena Rosa. This quote comes from Federico García Lorca’s play Yerma, in Spanish being, “este fantasma sentado año tras año encima de mi corazón”. I have to admit that I have yet to get myself familiar with Milena and craft her character in detail the way she deserves, but we know from canon that Jimmy’s tragic death greatly defines not only her own inner life (because she battles with all the demons his loss has inflicted upon her) but also the trajectory of her future career and the purpose she finds in her mission.

( c: bleeding sun ) — T.T. Trystan’s tag is from Lucie Thésée’s Poem, and the full quote goes, “Handsome as life and poison. Sun-blood handsome. Bleeding sun.” This was an instant fit because Trystan is undoubtedly the product of the environment he grew up in — Drakovia is both a place of beauty and vibrance, but we know its regime is bloody and deadly. Trystan will also never suppress the essence of who he is, and his character is both full of life and somewhat fierce (sometimes even violent) in nature. A lot of my worldbuilding for the story comes from my own experience as an Eastern European, and this little corner of the world is brimming with endless contradictions, so I tried to come up with something that would evoke that as closely as possible.

THE WAYHAVEN CHRONICLES:

( c: i am the sea and nobody owns me ) — Kimberley Cunningham. Kimble is my TWC newborn that I have only recently crafted into a character she should have been from the very beginning. Her tag is actually the legendary quote uttered by Pippi Longstocking which, apart from its fierceness, also fits Kimberley’s playfulness and carefree approach to life. She is a rebel through and through in every aspect of her life, which stems from the disastrous nature of her relationship with Rebecca. Her main objective in life is to do the exact opposite of what she is told, and she enjoys shocking people around her. But, just like the sea, she can be tempestuous and unpredictable, and some of her decisions can be quite destructive. Kimble ends up in the love triangle which kind of mirrors the rest of her life — initially harmless fun turns complicated and messy.

( c: a ribbon of loneliness ) — Sydney Brannagan. My poor baby Syd has been characterised through his melancholy since the very first moment, so I needed to find this little nugget that would instantly evoke his inner world. Then I found this quote by Jenny Slate that goes, “I think I’ve come to terms with the fact that there will always be a ribbon of loneliness running through who I am.” Loneliness runs through Sydney not only in the sense that he is such a sorrowful soul, but also because a part of him always feels so detached from others. All his life, he has felt like he has to prove his worth to his mother to feel accepted, and he also unconsciously builds a wall around him as the time goes by. In the professional setting, his personality does not stand out in any particular way — he is diligent and polite, some might even consider him a bit bland.

BLEEDING HEART:

I do feel like I need to give a bit more context for this interactive fiction beforehand, especially because there is only Chapter 1 out so far. The story is a retelling of Bram Stoker’s Dracula through the point of view of Mina Murray, and the first chapter already explores several wonderful themes I cannot wait to get my grubby little hands on! I have a very clear idea of who I want Mina to be, how she struggles in the setting and society she lives in, and how her personality drives her emotions and decisions. I do not know if my personal HCs will align with the story as it progresses, but there is nothing this user cannot tweak to her liking skdhskfjfksks.

( c: growing fruit around cyanide ) — Wilhelmina Murray-Harker. Mina’s tag is a part of a poem from a collection called Swallowtail by Brenna Twohy and goes, “Peach pits are poisonous. This is not a mistake. Girlhood is growing fruit around cyanide. It will never be your for swallowing.” Essentially, it encapsulates the conflict between who Mina seems to be on the outside and who she truly is on the inside. I have always felt like the Victorian times were one of the most suffocating periods for a woman to live in, and Mina always has to suppress a huge part of herself to somehow “fit the mould”, hence how she grows fruit around cyanide. Just like the society, her relationship with Jonathan also suffocates her — her engagement is a choice made out of reason, but she does not feel fulfilled with him in practically any way, which ultimately drives her into the arms of Dracula.

( c: the master of the night ) — Count Dracula. His tag is just the tweak of the quote from Bram Stoker’s Dracula: “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” Since he commands all the creatures and phenomena of the night, I have changed the bit to the “master”. I wish I had anything interesting to add to his character but, so far, I am waiting to see what he turns out to be like in Bleeding Heart — I know we are able to make him be the big villain or give him redeeming qualities, so I will wait and see which route will seem more fitting to me though I do play around with the idea of making Dracula more redeemable and a different character more villainous). Also, Count Dracula the Vampire has absolutely nothing to do with Vlad Dracula the Voivode in my fictional world — I know merging the two into one character is very popular, there is even one novel that did this that I absolutely love, but… not happening here lmao.

#ask reply #lin rambles #character tags #( oc: if i cannot move heaven i will raise hell )#( oc: sanctuary )#( oc: golden child; lion boy )#( oc: the dragon )#( oc: of burning martyrdom )#( oc: keeper of secrets )#( oc: cel frumos )#( oc: cel mare )#( c: i rise with my red hair and i eat men like air )#( c: veni vidi vici )#( c: this ghost sitting year after year upon my heart )#( c: bleeding sun )#( c: i am the sea and nobody owns me )#( c: a ribbon of loneliness )#( c: growing fruit around cyanide )#( c: the master of the night )

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otmaaromanovas · 10 months

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i know this is a bit outside your purview but i was hoping you could help me - would you be able to recommend some memoirs of russian aristocrats from the imperial family's immediate circle who survived the revolution and settled in the west? something in the vein of felix yusupov or alexander mikhailovitch's memoirs, maybe? i'm interested in how they adjusted to the change in political and cultural circumstances. thanks in advance :)

Hello there!

Yes, I know of a few! I will also link you to Felix Yusupov and Alexander Mikhailovich’s memoirs, just in case you didn’t know they could be read online for free :) Where possible, I will include links to access them online for free.

Lost Splendour by Felix Yusupov

Once a Grand Duke by Alexander Mikhailovich

25 Chapters of my Life by Olga Alexandrovna - the later chapters detail how she, her husband, and two young children fled Russia

The Last Grand Duchess by Ian Vorres - a memoir written and based off interviews with Olga Alexandrovna, with quotes from her.

Vera by Paul Gilbert includes some memoirs by Vera Konstantinovna. The memoirs focus mostly on her childhood, but touch a little on the Revolution and her life in America after.

Memories of Russia, 1916-1919 by Princess Paley and John van der Kiste - more focus on the Revolution rather than settling elsewhere, but I hope it will be helpful!

Dancing in St. Petersburg by Mathilde Kschessinska - details her life as the first love of Nicholas II, her work as a Prima ballerina, her relationship with Grand Duke Andrei Vladimirovich. She and Andrei eventually fled Russia to France.

Not sure if this counts as he wasn’t Russian, but Tutor to the Tsarevich by Sydney Gibbes and J. C. Trewin details Gibbes’ life, including his fleeing to Asia and then to Oxford.

If you can speak French, this interview with Felix and Irina might be of interest to you. They talk mostly about Rasputin, but it does show their situation living outside of Russia.

Education of a Princess by Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna details her marriage to Duke of Södermanland, which saw her relocate to Sweden

These aren’t memoirs but instead secondary sources, but I thought I would include them in case they were valuable to you. Once a Grand Duchess: Xenia by John van der Kiste and Coryne Hall details Xenia’s escape from Russia and her adjustment to life in England living in Frogmore Cottage, using sources in the form of letters written by Xenia herself.

I hope that this was somehow helpful! Enjoy your reading :)

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miracles-and-butterflies · 1 year

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Here is the promised sequel to The False Madrigal, based on a prompt by @phoenixlionme.

Please note that this is not written in Mirabel’s POV, it flicks between several characters. No hate to any of the characters, they are all dealing with their own things.

Some of my headcanons for the childhood of the Madrigals and Mirabel’s full name. I’ll talk about them more separately later.

Also, this has an ambiguous ending - I know who did it and why. But let’s see if anyone can guess first.

~~~~~~

The True Madrigals

“Isn’t it perfect, mi princesa?” Abuela asked.

The mural looked even better under the golden light of the sunset. The tones were warmer and the colours shift in splendour. Everyone looks better, in her opinion. Isabela doesn’t.

“So perfect,” Isabela answers, taking Abuela’s hand. “Abuela, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.”

“I’ve been curious. Why isn’t my sister in the mural?”

Abuela glances to the right side. Her eyes narrowed, inspecting the piece carefully.

“Señor Cortez must have asked her and clearly she refused,” Abuela answered. She sounded disappointed, rarely a tone Isabela had to hear, yet she still shifted in discomfort. “You know how silly she is with photographs. She is a child with strange ideas.”

“She was surprised yesterday,” Isabela said.

“Was she? Well, children can lie and act out, Isabela. It is an insult to us and Señor Cortez for her to act so poorly.”

Taking a breath, Abuela turns back to Isabela.

“I expect that your portrait will be just as fine as the mural.” Abuela smiles, changing the subject.

She had liked it when she saw it the first time. That was two months ago. And don’t get her wrong, she still did. It’s just… something about Camilo’s annoying questions yesterday made her hate her image though, and now they wouldn’t leave her head.

Would the whole thing have to be redone? The space between her and Dolores looked too small and awkward, assuming Dolores would also be married off after her. Isabela thought they all would be. Abuela wants more blessings, more generations - surely she can’t be expected to deliver on that front alone?

Fuck.

She knows Abuela wants grandchildren from her, and a lot at that, but… she’s never thought about exactly how many before. Is she wanting Isabela to create the next generation herself? Her and Mariano’s babies…

No.

That’s not going to happen.

Tío Bruno’s vision said as much.

She was going to get the life of her dreams, to quote the prophet himself. His visions are always true.

Besides, there isn’t that much room. The whole mural will be off balance if Señor Cortez tried to squeeze Mariano in there. And it’s pretty close to the ground, right? That’s not much room for one baby, never mind six.

Maybe something is going to happen in the next few months.

She has been quiet about the relationship recently. It isn’t what it use to be. A sign of them drifting apart. She could marry someone else, someone she got along with better. If she hears another song, if he shows her another poem, she’s going to go insane.

In her head, she dared to ask. “But what about Mariano?”

“Oh, how wonderful, Isabelita!”

Shit. Flowers burst against her skull. She said that out loud?

Abuela is beaming, glowing. “What a splendid idea! It is inspiring to see your devotion to Mariano. I would never have thought of adding the husbands myself… What would I do without you?”

Isabela isn’t listening.

As if sensing Isabela’s emotions, Abuela tightens her grip comfortingly and whispers, “You need not worry, I’m sure Señor Cortez be more than happy to adjust his work when the time comes.”

Isabela smiles.

She needs a stronger word than fuck.

~~~~~~

Isabela has barely been back for five minutes when Luisa bursts into the room.

“Isabela! Stop growing foxgloves near the donkey pen! You know they’re poisonous!” Luisa yelled. “Señor Ruiz’ donkey has died.”

“It’s not my fault if the stupid things keep eating them! And they weren’t near the pen. They are growing off Casita.”

Isabela was a grown woman. Why did she have to deal with Luisa’s petty complaints? Her sister could just simply move the donkeys elsewhere. Or just tell the animals to stop.

The younger sister growled. “It is your fault because you’re the selfish witch who keeps growing them!”

Isabela recoils, physically flinching in the vanity mirror at Luisa’s words. Her eyes narrow, nostrils flare, her lip curls. “Selfish? I have been—”

“Ugh, not this again. Isabela Madrigal and her tragic tale of having to be the eldest grandchild,” Luisa groaned sarcastically. “Just stop growing poisonous flowers!”

There’s a squeak from the door that stops them before the fight can become physical.

“Dolores?” Isabela questions, flowery vines dragging an unsuspecting Luisa out of the way. The older smirks as she struggles. “Have you come to tell Luisa how it isn’t my fault she built the donkey pen beside my flowers?”

“My fault?!” Luisa squawks from the ground. “You’re the only one with roses coming out of your ass!”

“I’m telling Abuela—”

“¡Primas!” They stop. More from the shock of Dolores’ volume and her tone that almost sounds concerned, compared to the usual quiet monotone.

“What?” They both asked, simultaneously.

Dolores didn’t respond. She tilted her head, something she only did when listening for a certain sound.

Isabela groaned with impatience. “Dolores?”

“Hm! Sorry,” their cousin whispered, shaking her head a little. “I was making sure Abuela wasn’t coming this way. I need to talk to you about something.” The pair nodded. Begrudgingly, Isabela let Luisa leave the greenery chains. “I just noticed your sister isn’t in the mural.”

“Course she is, why wouldn’t she be?” Luisa said.

“I already know about this,” Isabela piped up. “Abuela told me that Señor Cortez asked her if she wanted to be in it because she so weird with photos, and she said no.”

“I never heard him asking her.”

“Well, there’s no way you can remember everything little thing you hear, Dolores.”

“I don’t think Abuela would’ve wanted her missing, regardless of her saying no, it makes the family look incomplete.” Luisa argued. “The mural was two months ago. Her picture has probably just faded.”

“Your red does look very washed out.”

Dolores is now the one frustrated. At least, Isabela and Luisa seem to be agreeing on something for once.

“Alright, if it’s just merely fading, I’ll ask him to repaint the mural. And then we’ll see who’s wrong and who’s right.”

~~~~~~

Days pass, the middle of May blooms with the promise of a perfectly joyous summer, with a new gift to come and a marriage on the way.

Señor Cortez is packing away his painting supplies.

The gossip of town reveal it’s just a touch up on the faded colours. After all, April had brought some tough weather and Pepa had tried (and failed) to counter it.

Dolores, Isabela and Luisa stand before it.

“Huh,” Luisa mumbles. “She really isn’t there.”

“I told you, she didn’t want to be. I asked Señor Cortez and he said he assumed she didn’t want to be in it. Problem solved. So why do you still look bothered, Dolores?” Isabela asked.

“Because none of us fucking noticed, that’s why. It’s been here for two months. And nobody said or did anything!”

Luisa shrugged. “Surely she would have said something, you know, if it bothered her?”

“She asked when she first saw it,” Isabela said. “But she didn’t complain to ask to be added.”

“Maybe she thought that Señor Cortez would just add her in anyways and was just surprised to see she was actually allowed to sit out? We always make her stand for photographs.”

“Sounds possible,” Dolores commented.

The three leave, returning to their chores with a clear mind, happy to leave this argument behind.

~~~~~~

With Antonio’s fifth birthday fast approaching, Julieta, Pepa, Agustín and Félix stare for days on end.

“I swear, Cortez has made your hair greyer.” Pepa says, tauntingly beside her sister.

“My hair isn’t that grey.”

“I forgot how bright the colours were,” Agustín comments. “It’s almost blinding.”

“Maybe we should add our handprints at the bottom. Just to give it a more personal touch.” Félix ponders out loud.

“That’s a great idea!”

“No,” Julieta intervenes. “Remember how much you infected your cut last time you used paint? I won’t let you near it. We can’t have another shortage on ingredients from me trying to heal that.”

Agustín chuckles, pulling her closer. “I promise, I learnt my lesson I won’t do it again. Watching Luisa try to cram all my chores in with her own was a nightmare.”

“Remember when Luisa didn’t work?”

“Remember when all the kids didn’t work?” Félix suggests.

“Isabela and Luisa just ran circles in the garden, competing over nothing and everything, biting each other.” Julieta grumbled, rubbing her temples at the thought of how often she had to scold them not to.

“I forgot how violent they were,” Pepa said.

“Their first words, the first steps…”

“Dolores was ‘Papí’ and Camilo was ‘hola’. Oh! It only feels like yesterday when Toñito started saying ‘Mamí’.” Pepa cried.

Félix opened the umbrella above them, they huddled closer. “Luisa use to scream ‘Papa’ and ‘Bela’ at every opportunity.”

“My ears are still ringing.” Agustín laughed. “Isabela loved ‘no’, didn’t she? And what else, mi amor? Mirabel was ‘purple’.”

“Her first eleven words were all colours.

Pepa gasped. “Agustín and I threw books off the shelf to get Mirabel to walk. She’d retrieve the book, put it back and go back to playing. She use to cry when things got messy, like every time Camilo made a mess with his food.”

“You couldn’t have just held her hand like the other children?”

“She was never as restless as them. She was like a kitten, just playing with yarn in the corner. And now look at her! Fifteen years later, all grown up and…”

The wind picks up and the umbrella is long gone, smacking straight into a passing cart, as rain pours harder. Julieta sighs, fondly.

“Pepa, she isn’t even your daughter.”

“Are you alright, mi vida?”

The red-haired woman merely points.

The other three follow, their eyes falling back on the bright mural. That looks even brighter when clashing with the dark, storm-filled skies above. Each flash of lightning only illuminates the hauntingly empty space beside Luisa.

“Mirabel…”

Julieta’s whisper barely cuts through the sounds of harsh weather and the confusedly concerned crowd of townspeople and the hurried beating of their hearts and the coursing emotions through their veins.

“Mirabel…” Julieta repeats. “She… mi bebé… she isn’t… where is she?” The healer’s faced is flushed and her hair is disbelieved and her voice cracked.

Félix tries to push down his shock, wanting to calm Pepa. Agustín just gapes. Julieta is storming off back to Casita before anyone can stop her.

She all but kicks the doors open. She doesn’t care about Casita right now.

Dolores jumps at the sound and scurries off, the young woman knows too much. Isabela just looks beguiled from the balcony. Luisa, Camilo and Antonio are nowhere to be seen, probably out of the building. Good, Julieta doesn’t want them here right now.

On her search to find who she’s looking for, she runs into Mirabel.

“Mirabel, go upstairs.” She says, and the words come out harsher than she intends.

“Is everything okay?” She asks gently, leaving her sewing at the dining table as she approaches her mother. Eyes looking hurt, but she’s mostly concerned as she goes for Julieta’s hand. “Are you okay? Can I help—”

“Mirabel Teresa Rojas Madrigal, I will not tell you again!”

Mirabel retracts her hand, as if burnt.

Out of all the children, Mirabel has always been the best behaved and has never had to deal with any punishment from either of her parents. As much as this sudden anger is throwing her off balance, Julieta is struggling too.

She doesn’t mean it. She’s angry with herself. But she doesn’t want Mirabel to be the one comforting her over this, so she needs to go. This anger and hate is so foreign, she doesn’t know what to do with it.

Tears pierce Mirabel’s eyes, but she obediently gathers her things and leaves to the nursery.

Julieta finally found who she was looking for in the living room, looking sentimental and happy as she flicked through one of the family photo albums (Julieta and Agustín’s wedding to find inspiration for Isabela’s).

“Julieta,” the older woman closed the book over, placing it on the chair as she stood to greet her daughter. “What do you need, mija?”

“Why didn’t you say anything about the mural?”

Alma raises an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. Dolores asked if Señor Cortez could repaint it and I gave her my permission. Is that not what’s happened?”

Julieta took a deep breath. “Why isn’t Mirabel in it?”

The atmosphere shifted instantly. Not only because Agustín and Félix had entered the room, but Alma’s lip curled, nostrils flared and her eyes turned cold. She seemingly ignored the pure anger coming from her daughter, the confusion and shock of the in-laws.

“I have no idea—”

“Don’t lie to me!”

The woman sighed. “I do not know what took place, Julieta. But Señor Cortez is a good and honest man. I have good reason to believe that he asked her whether or not she wanted to be painted, and she said no.” She gestured to the photographs on the surrounding walls. “She has always been fussy with photographs, you should not be surprised that paintings are the same.”

The answer stands to reason.

So why isn’t she satisfied?

“Isabela was there when she was the mural for the first time,” Alma continues, slightly relaxed. “She told me that she was surprised.”

Julieta’s hands are shaking. Agustín takes one, and rubs her knuckles with his fingers.

“Why would she be if she knew she wasn’t going to be in it?” Félix asks, significantly calmer than everyone else in the room. But he looks like he’s going to be sick.

The older woman hardens, infuriated by the question. “To make us appear cruel for attention. Fortunately, she stopped the deceitful act before it could carry on, and I shall have words with her to make sure she won’t dare to humiliate us in public again.”

“My daughter is not deceitful.” Agustín glares.

“That may be, but she is still a jinx.”

Agustín shuts up at that.

“All I had wanted was a perfect grandson from you two; just as I had, two girls and a boy. And look at what has happened since,” Abuela laments, quietly. “I tell you, I regret the day she was born. She has brought nothing but misfortune to our family.”

With a heavy sigh, Alma leaves the room in silence.

She needs to protect the family, their home, the community and the miracle. Her youngest granddaughter, whether intentional or not, has made that role far from easy. She can’t let something happen to them. Not again.

With the soft drops of rain and snow, she heads up the stairs to quietly consult the miracle and Pedro. For what is she to do?

~~~~~~

The next morning, everyone awakes to find the mural has changed.

It happened during the night, nobody saw or heard anything. Señor Cortez always works in the day and very slowly with that large curtain hiding his work. This was something done and someone gone in the space of hours after midnight.

The family themselves haven’t been by yet. Otherwise Isabela would have remade her flowers, which usually cut off half of Luisa’s arm from view. And the paint glints as if still wet, yet to be dried by Pepa’s sunlight. Abuela would have made a morning announcement about it, if she knew.

The town can’t pinpoint the difference. They think it was just another touch up. Has Antonio grown a bit? Is Isabela wearing a ring? Maybe the words of Los Madrigal weren’t always pink?

The girl beside Luisa looked more detailed than any other of the Madrigals. Each tiny little piece of embroidery had been added, looking neater and finer than it did in reality. It’s a copy of the others, sure, but not exactly the same. The curls were messy, forming a triangle around the head. The additional height was funny. The arms looked stout and awkward. The colours looked off. The placement on the wall was off too - it had been centre before, now it wasn’t.

The townspeople discuss.

“Who the hell is that?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Why does some random girl get to be in it?”

“Do you think they’ll add all of us townspeople in the mural?”

“She’s not even from Encanto.”

It’s only the minority that say and think like that. Most people don’t notice the mural has changed at all.

Mirabel pretends it doesn’t hurt.

#encanto #my writing #mirabel madrigal #luisa madrigal #isabela madrigal #dolores madrigal #julieta madrigal #agustín madrigal #pepa madrigal #félix madrigal #alma madrigal #camilo madrigal #antonio madrigal #bruno madrigal #madrigal family #pedro madrigal #mariano guzmán

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coulsons-fullmetal-cellist · 7 months

Text

Dieter's Favourite Fruit

(Dieter x horror loving female)

Words: 731

Summary: a cheeky gift ends up in cheeky results

Warnings: very saucy suggestions

Check out masterlist here

He bought it as a silly little gift. But when Dieter is silly, it’s on a whole different level.

You came home one day when your boyfriend gave you a spontaneous gift, that was common of him. This time he bought you an orange sweater with a pumpkin face on it. He accidentally bought it in his size. So when you tried it on, it was too big for you, but you loved it anyways. The sweater was part of a set; his sweater had the words ‘Peter, Peter’ on them.

“You’re the pumpkin and I’m the pumpkin eater,” he explained cheekily. “And I’m going to enjoy eating this pumpkin out!”

“Dieter!” you squealed as he clambered over you.

“I mean, only if you want to.”

“Do you want to?” you asked.

“I always want to. But I’ll only do it with your consent because you know consent is my kink.”

You looked down at the orange sweater, “I wouldn’t say no.”

“Oh good,” he started kissing down your body. “Because I want to eat my favourite vegetable.”

“It’s a fruit,” you mumbled. Dieter lifted his head up in question. “Pumpkin is a fruit.”

“No it’s…pumpkin is a fruit?”

“Fruit comes from a seed-bearing structure while vegetables are just edible parts of a plant.”

“So a pumpkin is like an apple or a banana?”

“Actually a banana is…”

“No! Stop confusing my lust-riddled brain!” he laid his head on your lap and you ran your fingers through his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’ll just distract myself for a few hours,” he went back to his intended activity.

“A few hours? What?”

*****

One day, you had just come home from work feeling stressed, sweaty, and tired. All you wanted was to watch the latest episode of your favourite show. No time for a bath, you stripped off your sweaty clothes and put on your oversized pumpkin sweater, it was all you felt like wearing and it was comfortable enough to be lazy on the couch for a while until your show was available.

You walked past Dieter who caught sight of your bare legs and followed you. As soon as you flopped onto the couch, he flopped alongside you. Immediately he was kissing you, starting with your lips and then moving to your neck. His hands wandered to your thighs, slowly going further up. His body moved down, indicating what his intentions were.

“You seem tense, let me help you relax.”

“Right now?”

“Only if you want to,” he stopped his amorous actions to look at you. “Are you saying no? Because I’ll stop if you want to.”

“No, I’m not saying no. It’s just that someone is a little bit obsessed. Some might also say you get a little drunk off me.”

His voice went husky, “I love getting drunk off you.”

“Dieter, you are ridiculous,” he grinned adorably. “You’re ridiculously handsome but you’re also ridiculous.”

“I just want a little taste because you’re so delectable.”

“You say that now but five hours and a million orgasms later, you still want more.”

He hummed in thought, “I only need five minutes.”

“Five minutes? For an orgasm? That’s not possible.”

Five minutes later…

“How is that possible?”

“It’s all about pushing the right buttons.”

You managed to catch your breath and your brain returned back to normal, “Why haven’t you done that before?”

“Because it’s no fun when it’s over and done with so quickly. I like to go slowly, gently,” he kissed your knee. “Letting the night unfurls in splendour and then savour each sensation.”

“Now is not the time to quote Phantom of the Opera.”

You both laughed as he kissed your other knee, “When is your show on?”

“It starts streaming in about half an hour but can go a few minutes over.”

“Half an hour?” he slowly kissed up your thigh. “I could easily pull three orgasms out of you.”

“Three?” you exclaimed.

“Depends if you want one after the other or all at once.”

“Whichever one doesn’t make me pass out afterwards.”

He managed to control himself enough to provide a thoroughly pleasant experience for you without passing out afterwards. Dieter also enjoyed himself, but he was the one who passed out from pleasure. So you watched your favourite show while his head was in your lap. Both of you with big smiles on your faces.

Lovingly tagging @boliv-jenta @simpingcowboy @ellenmunn @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @brilliantopposite187 @chaithetics @myloveistoolittle @cevans-is-classic @glshmbl @cupcakehp

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #dieter x honey cakes #love of horror fanfic #love of horror #dieter x reader #dieter bravo #the bubble netflix #the bubble

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yr-obedt-cicero · 1 year

Note

You once mentioned Laurens' sexism, so was he like especially sexist or smt, or just like every second man back then?

From my judgement, he was just as sexist as the next man of his day, but I will argue he was a bit more strict on the subject. It is obvious he thought women were not equeal to men, and that men were superior. And he displays a lot of toxic masculinity.

Laurens wrote a letter to his father, sometime either during the Battle of Newport, or the Battle of Rhode Island. It was after the French came to the American coast to become an ally to the beleaguered Continental Army and help fight against the British. Although there was a lot of tension between the Americans and the French, and Laurens uses a rather misogynistic analogy to explain this — claiming women only debated dance, while men discussed the greater revolution;

“—this measure gave much umbrage to the french officers, they conceived their troops injured by our landing first, and talked like women disputing precedence in a country dance, instead of men engaged in pursuing the common interest of two great Nations.”

(source — John Laurens to Henry Laurens, [August 22, 1778])

There is also a case of Laurens hating a spie that was a woman they came across. There was many British deserters that Laurens and his men found, and they would usually give intell on the British army. But when Eliza Clitherall came along, and proved useful — Laurens looked down on her, and thought she was not of much use. While there is the possibility that Laurens disliked her because she was not a good informant, it is more likely that he thought she would not be useful because she was a woman, because there wasn't complaints of her value from any others;

“Loyalist informants from Charleston, a valuable source, frequently refused to give something for nothing. Laurens furnished them supplies in return for their testimony. More representative of his spies was Eliza Clitherall […] Clitherall gave Laurens frequent reports of British activity in Charleston. Laurens regarded Clitherall as an irritant and even suggested to Greene that her services be discontinued. Still, she continued to provide intelligence, and her efforts proved at least partially successful.”

(source — John Laurens and the American Revolution, by Gregory D. Massey)

This is also heavily present in his relationship with his sisters. As Laurens played an active role in assisting his siblings with their education, so he took it upon himself to also help his sisters become pious and appealing women (How very thoughtful of him,,,). Which didn't even stop there, as Henry Laurens was also quite misogynistic and there are even quotes of him telling Patsy she needs to limit herself, or focus more on training for her domestic wife life when she marries. So, the Laurens girls faced a lot of sexism from their male family members.

In a letter form Laurens to Henry, Laurens talks of how he believes Martha (Or Patsy) should work on her womanly traits, he implies that Martha must work on herself to fit into society's mold of an “ideal” woman, or else she will end up having no value;

“My Sister Patty from her retired Disposition does not appear to have either great opportunity or Ambition to improve in the matters which you allude to; tho’ she possesses in an eminent degree those Qualities which will render her valuable in Society, and lead her to her Duty in all the relative Situations of Life, she is deficient in that Grace of Deportment with gives Splendour to every Action, and increases Respect for the Virtue which it accompanies, but this she will acquire by proper Attention, her walk her Tone of Voice needed Reformation, at my earnest Request she has taken pains and not unprofitably, with the latter, she has good Sentiments and couches them in well chosen words, but they frequently lose their Effect, by being conveyed in an undecided Tone.”

(source — John Laurens to Henry Laurens, [April 26, 1776])

Continuing on with Patsy, Laurens also thought women were just naturally fearful and pathetic in comparison to men. As he challenged his sister to ride faster on a horse carriage ride of theirs to prove if she was so “woman-ish” or not, to which she gladly proved him wrong;

“John Laurens, from whom she had been for some years separated. Being older, he had taken great delight in forwarding her education, and particularly, in forming her mind to be superior to the common accidents of life, and the groundless fears of some of her sex. To ascertain whether his labors had been successful or not, he bribed the postillion to drive very rapidly, and at the same time, without discovering his views, narrowly watch- ed her countenance, to observe whether there were any changes in it expressive of womanish fears, at the novel scene, so totally different from all her former travelling in the low, flat, stoneless country of Carolina. On the termination of the experiment, to his satisfaction, he announced to his unsuspecting sister his congratulations, that ‘he had found her the same Spartan girl he had left her.’”

(source — Memoirs of Eminently Pious Women of Britain and America, Volume 1, edited by David Francis Bacon)

But also, since growing up in such a environment, Polly - Laurens's youngest sister - was quite aware of gender equality from a very young age. There is a letter where Laurens mentions that Polly wanted the same freedom as her older brother, Harry, and to be able to wear breeches. Since she and Harry were coming of age, and would have started to be treated much differently and beginning to be prepped for their different lives. Polly; likely a house wife — and Harry; a successful man. But the attitude that Laurens treats this entire matter with is dismissive, and even laced in a tone of arrogant fond laughter. Laurens says Polly talked with “as much Gravity as Innocence,” meaning he viewed the ideology of equality between men and women as childhood innocence, like this whole endeavor was just some blissful nonsense from a child without any true understanding of how the world works. Truly, he was took this all as if it was not to be taken seriously;

“Sweet little Polly is the admiration of every body_ we both agree that my Aunt does not exercise Authority enough over her, but it can scarcely be wonder’d at, a Person with my Aunts Circumstances with respect to Polly, would rather wish the world to say she is too indulgent, than to severe; and a Desire to avoid one extreme, often leads to another which ought equally to be shun’d, but with all my Aunts Mildness, Polly thinks the Restraint incident to her Sex, very mortifying, and asked one day with as much Gravity as Innocence, if the would not let her wear Breeches & become a Boy, She envied Harry his freedom very much and would wish to be upon the same footing with him, when she was told that this Change would not be effectual, she proposed what she thought would infallibly answer the purpose, to be re-christen’d, and have a male Name.”

(source — John Laurens to Henry Laurens, [April, 1776])

#amrev #american history #historical john laurens #john laurens #martha laurens #patsy laurens #polly laurens #mary eleanor laurens #Eliza Clitherall #history #laukids #laurens siblings #laurens family #queries #sincerely anonymous #Cicero's history lessons

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