The Last Queen by C.W. Gortner is the fascinating story of Juana, daughter of Queen Isabel and King Consort Fernando of Spain (if you remember your American history, they were the rulers who sponsored Christopher Columbus’ search for the new world). Juana was the last queen of Spanish blood to inherit the throne.  

There's tons of royal drama here.  Young Juana worshiped her father, respected her mother, the icy Queen Isabel, and had a fierce loyalty to her beloved Spain.  An arranged marriage was made to strengthen her parents’ political alliances.  She left Spain at sixteen to meet Archduke Phillip “the Fair” of Flanders, her betrothed yet a stranger. 

Phillip and Juana are so immediately taken with each other that they demand to be wed on the spot rather than wait, to the shock and disdain of her women, advisors, and escorts.  Their first few years together were passionate, but then it all quickly went to hell when Juana’s brother, sister, and nephew all die, making her the heir apparent to the Spanish crown.  

Suddenly Juana finds herself in danger.  She is a pawn who can trust no one except the loyal women who attend her.  Queen Isabel is in crisis mode- she detests Phillip and does not want him to rule Spain.  In secret she gets Juana’s assurance that she will do whatever it takes to inherit the throne, paving the way for her as best she can before her death.    

Phillip and his advisors have other plans.  Full of political aspirations, they use Juana’s fiery personality against her and begin whispering about her mental health. Emotional with a jealous temper, the unconventional princesa didn’t always conform, which made the insanity talk more plausible. 

Her husband, constantly strategizing and manipulating Juana, cruelly imprisoned her, beat her, humiliated her, lied to her, cheated on her, impregnated her for a 6^th time through marital rape, and made every effort to destroy her.  If that’s not enough to make a girl MAD, I don’t know what is!  But was she insane?  Historians speculate that she was schizophrenic, driven to madness by grief over the loss of her husband (and there is in fact evidence of mental health problems in her family tree), but Gortner brilliantly casts doubt and challenges that theory.  

C.W, Gortner has written a stunning piece of historical fiction in The Last Queen.  Full of historical detail, danger, suspense, betrayal, and complex twists and turns, it is a captivating read.  Juana is colorful, courageous, and absolutely certain of her destiny.  Throughout her struggles I was rooting for her to prevail. 

Unfortunately, Queen Juana la Loca, aka Juana the Mad, ruled Spain from 1506-1509 after her mother’s death, but was then imprisoned for insanity for the rest of her life, in part because of her refusal to abdicate the thrown to her father.  This refusal, however, ensured that her children would later inherit the thrown, shaping history for generations to come.  

I didn’t know anything about the forgotten Queen Juana prior to reading this book- the extent of my knowledge about the 16^th century royals was limited to a couple episodes of The Tudors on Showtime and the Philippa Gregory novel, The Other Boleyn Girl (Juana’s sister Catalina was Henry VIII’s wife, Catherine of Aragon). I was entranced by Juana and this extraordinary book and would highly recommend it. 

about the author

C. W. Gortner, half-Spanish by birth, holds an M.F.A. in writing, with an emphasis on historical studies, from the New College of California and has taught university courses on women of power in the Renaissance. He was raised in Málaga, Spain, and now lives in California. 

For more information, please visit www.cwgortner.com.  A special thanks to Pump Up Your Book Promotion for sending this awesome book!

Directors: Professor Marcus Bull and Dr Tatiana C. String

Dr Tatiana C. String
Department of History of Art
University of Bristol
43 Woodland Road
Bristol BS8 1UU
U.K.
44-117-954-6050
Email: t.string@bris.ac.uk
Visit the website at http://www.bristol.ac.uk/colstonresearchsociety

The Awful End of Prince William the Silent

You don't need to know anything about the political situation on the continent at that time as the author gives one of the best synopses I have ever read. So you get an understanding of why the Low Countries were in revolt against Spain, why Philip II felt the need to put a price on William's head, and why someone might want to take up that challenge even though they knew it meant a certain and deeply unpleasant death for them. You also learn the impact this crime had on the rulers of Europe, Particularly Elizabeth II, and the growing fear of handguns. For as Lisa Jardine says, this crime wouldn't have been possible without the invention of a pistol that could be loaded and primed in advance, concealed about the person and produced at the right moment to deadly effect.

What I found particularly interesting about this book are the parallels that are drawn with the present day. The 16th century assassin is compared to 21st century suicide bombers, who are almost impossible to stop because they have no concern for their own survival. The repressive measures taken by the English government in particular, trying to stop the wrong type of person from entering the country because of the fear that the Queen might be killed, and the lengths the intelligence services at the time went to to keep tabs on people also have a resonance in today's fight against terror. And of course the murder of a celebrity and what that can mean to their ongoing reputation is also touched upon.

I thought this was an excellent introduction to the subject, and had the bonus of some original documents in the appendices which really fleshed out the background. Highly recommended.

Updated - I was so intent on trying to articulate what I thought about this book that I forgot to mention it was my fifth and final read for the Non-Fiction Five Challenge.

The second son of a noble family, James has retreated from his family's fall from favor, finding peace at his beloved abbey. When the abbey burns to the ground, James knows his life is in ruins, and he is forced to return to the genteel world his relations still inhabit under the reign of Henry VIII.

The one good thing about James' life outside his sanctuary is his love for Richard, who holds a dreaded high place in society. Richard's life is also torn apart, and threatens to separate the lovers as nothing else could. When James has the chance to run away to his abbey once more, things get even more difficult. Will James be able to discover what is truly important in his life?

Note: The title on the e-book cover says "Reconstruction," and it should have been corrected by the publisher. I don't know if they can fix it at this point (most likely not), and that's really a shame.

Review by Hayden Thorne

"Restoration" has all the potential for a longer work of fiction, given all the character and situational complexities that G.S. Wiley manages to stuff into a novelette. Because of the length of the published story, however, these complexities fall a bit short by way of development. The promise is clearly there, and I really hope to see Wiley expand her scope and go all out next time.

As a work of M/M fiction, "Restoration" is a bit unusual. Firstly, there's no sex. A few very light touches of sensuality here and there, but there's nothing graphic, nothing by way of paragraph after paragraph of kissing, undressing, and fucking. There might be something coy about Wiley's approach, but it works perfectly for the story, whose focus is less about the romance, let alone the actual physical act itself. There's no overwrought angst-ing over one's beloved or one's forbidden feelings or over society's censure. The relationship's already established, and it's met with uncomfortable acceptance or a half-hearted blind eye from those who know about it. The characters belong to Henry VIII's court, hence the story's exploration of the scandalous nature of different relationships between men and women. There's resistance, of course, from people close to James, and that resistance is also defined by an ambivalence toward the dictates of church, society, and the individual's right to happiness.

The story is also less about James' relationship with either Hugh or Richard. He's torn over the choices he's being forced to face, but his decisions aren't completely dictated by his romance with these two men (one from his past, one from his present). "Restoration," on the whole, is about James. Period. The story follows his progress from his spiritual to his secular life, what he desires and what he's willing to sacrifice. To whom does he owe his allegiance? To whom does he turn for answers? For the latter question, especially, Wiley resolves James' dilemma in a short yet beautifully-written and poignant flashback that segues nicely into the present, which makes the final passage of the story all the more vindicating.

The strength of "Restoration" is two-fold: Wiley's graceful, lyrical writing style and the quiet, contemplative quality of the story. Every scene is given equal care so that the pacing slows down, but it's necessary, given the inward-driven focus of the conflict. Readers who're used to - or are big fans of - stories brimming with action, breathless passion, and drama might not take to "Restoration"'s languid quality. There's a lot of emphasis on family, both happy and unhappy, in addition to marriage (also happy and otherwise). As with James' intimate relationships, family scenes are given quite a bit of "screen time," which helps in creating a multi-layered world in which the conflict takes place.

That said, there are a few things that held me back. First, there's the lack of sense descriptions. Given Wiley's chosen period and location, it would've helped to have drawn the readers more deeply into James' Tudor world with detailed descriptions of scenes as varied and colorful as a jousting tournament, a banquet held in Henry VIII's court, a monastery, and a domestic scene. Most of the details are generalized and at times rushed, which is unfortunate. We need to be more firmly entrenched in James' world, which would've given us even more reason to sympathize with him or the monks (as they're persecuted under Henry VIII's reign) or Thomas or any other character.

Second, the flashbacks aren't set apart from present scenes, which can be pretty confusing to some readers, especially since the flashbacks tend to be pretty lengthy. It often took me about three paragraphs into the flashback to realize that I was reading one, which was a bit of a jolt.

Language quibbles are very minor. There are a few modern terms like "dad," for instance, but I appreciate Wiley's attempts at finding a balance with regard to historical accuracy in the dialogue. The farther back in history we go, the more delicate the balancing act becomes, since we can't be too accurate in the language to the extent of sacrificing readability or flow. There's enough of a dated and formal quality to Wiley's prose to set the story in the 16th century without the awkward "markers" that some historical writers use in their characters' dialogue.

"Restoration" is the kind of story that deserves to be expanded into a novel. What we're given right now is the proverbial tip of the iceberg, and I really do hope that once the e-book contract expires, Wiley would work on developing this into a longer work of fiction.

Buy the book: Torquere Press

You can read the first of their two latest entries here:

http://www.uri.edu/artsci/his/mua/project_journals/wf/wf_6-13.shtml

Also…

Underwater photos and new information from Carleton Island and Barrett Bay were posted in a new update to The Lake Ontario Maritime Cultural Landscape Project Journal

http://www.uri.edu/artsci/his/mua/project_journals/bf/bf_6-24.shtml

]]> http://historyhunterlibrary.wordpress.com/?p=7 Mon, 23 Jun 2008 20:31:45 +0000 Heath Martin http://historyhunterlibrary.wordpress.com/?p=7

The Parliament Rolls of Medieval England e-version provides full text of the surviving "official records of the meetings of the English parliament" from 1272-1509. The database includes transcriptions of the original text as recorded (in Latin, Anglo-Norman, or Middle English), along with an English translation. You can view over 100 color digital images of key documents. Additional scholarly materials, including an introduction for every parliament entry, provide historical context. Browse by king, then date of parliament, or search the full text.

]]> http://eleventhstack.wordpress.com/?p=152 Mon, 16 Jun 2008 10:00:49 +0000 eleventh stack http://eleventhstack.wordpress.com/?p=152 Ready to do the time-warp again?  Part three of this ongoing series whisks you around the world, by way of the wayback machine.

The Book: The Religion, Tim Willocks.

The Setting:  Malta, 1565

Check this out if you like:  Rogues, ruffians, and adventurers; extensive descriptions of bloody battles, religious or political intrigue, occasional touches of earthy eroticism, or subplots fueled by secrets and scandal.

 The Book: The Sister, Paola Kauffman.

The Setting:  19th-century America.

Check this out if you like:  Domestic fiction, sisterly love, Emily Dickinson's poetry, tales of quiet sacrifice, family secrets, courtroom drama, a restrained tone, or a heavy reliance on historical documents for background information.

 

The Book:  Saturnalia, Lindsey Davis.

The Setting:  Rome, 76 A.D.

Check this out if you like:  Hard-boiled mysteries, women on the lam, dry wit, races against time, competition between arch-rivals, or descriptions of ancient festivals and customs.

The Book: China Star, Bartle Bull.

The Setting:  Europe, Asia and the Middle East, the 1920s.

Check this out if you like:  Transcontinental chases, scandalous love affairs, spies seeking revenge, reckless aristocrats with crisp manners, exotic locales, culture clashes, or detailed descriptions of lavish clothing and parties.

 Can't get enough of bygone eras?  See our extensive array of additional booklists.

And with that, this entry is history! As ever, happy reading.

--Leigh Anne

]]> http://lavictoria.wordpress.com/?p=16 Sun, 25 May 2008 16:30:27 +0000 lavictoria http://lavictoria.wordpress.com/?p=16 It may have been a Portuguese man called Fernando de Castro who, in 1497, planted the first wine on Tenerife. Just a few months after the conquest of Tenerife, the history of viticulture was already beginning on the island. Shortly afterwards, at the beginning of the 16th century Tenerife's wines began to conquer Europe. Their success was so great writers, such as Shakespeare and Walter Scott praised their quality in some of their work.

During the 16th and first half of the 17th century, viticulture was the driving force for the economy in Tenerife. Its wine production was exported in huge quantities from the Port of Garachico, in the north of the island, and this business created wealth and development. However, from 1663 onwards wines from Madeira and Porto began to replace Canarian wines as a result of political measures and better access to the British market and the winemaking activity on the island began to slow down. On the 5th of May 1706 a volcanic eruption destroyed the Port of Garachico and interrupted exports and wine stopped being such an important industry on Tenerife.

It wasn't until the 20th century when winemaking regained its old energy and drive. In 1985 Tacoronte-Acentejo received the first designation of origin on the island, which boosted the sector and helped it enter a new stage of life. Quality and variety are the new dominant characteristics of the industry. There are now five designations of origin that control the production of over 100 wineries on the island.

More informations about your next holiday destination: www.la-victoria.eu

]]> http://mystrangetheories.wordpress.com/?p=15 Fri, 14 Mar 2008 03:01:03 +0000 whiteymcwheatbread http://mystrangetheories.wordpress.com/?p=15

Tonight I went to see the aboved mentioned movie The Other Boleyn Girl.

I went into the movie with no knowledge of any of the history surrounding it.... Ah to be American... I feel ashamed just typing it. Ok I take that back, my MIL told me the movie was based on real events and in real life one of the sisters got beheaded.

It was not until 3/4 of the way through the movie I looked over at my friend and said "OH WAIT...That is Henry the VIII!" my friend said "UH YEA?!?" As if to say, well who in the hell did you think he was? And when his child Elizabeth was born...I did not know (until the end of the movie) that she was THE Queen Elizabeth I have always heard of...

I have to stop here and thank Eddie Izzard for providing me with his Dressed to Kill stand up act because without him all of the wires might not have connected to turn my light bulb on! In the words of Mr. Izzard: “Mr. Pope! I’m going to marry my first wife, and then I’m going to divorce her. Now, I know what you’re going to say but stick with me – my story gets better. I’m going to marry my second wife and then I’m gong to kill her – cut her head off! Ahhhh, not expecting that, are ya?"

..........Ok back to the movie:

I liked the movie a lot. It is not a buyer for me but I would definitely watch it again. I would rate this movie  4  3 1/2 stars.

]]> http://halfpast.wordpress.com/?p=15 Tue, 11 Mar 2008 22:10:01 +0000 Robin http://halfpast.wordpress.com/?p=15 In the collection of German manuscripts at the Münchner Digitalisierungszentrum (a project of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek) I found Wolfgang Seydel's Kunstbuch oder von manigerlai Handwerchskünsten (loosely translated, Book of Arts, or Of Various Handcrafts) (1550-1560). I can’t read much of the handwriting, only a few words here and there (“glue,” “silver”), but for those who can read it I’m sure it would be a fascinating early source, so I thought it would be useful to post it here.

I also wanted to add that is possible to subscribe to the MDZ's RSS feed to be notified as new documents are digitalized and published online. This is a great service that makes it much easier to take advantage of this enormous collection.

]]> http://europadanica.wordpress.com/?p=166 Mon, 10 Mar 2008 22:33:40 +0000 europadanica http://europadanica.wordpress.com/?p=166 Just came across this BBC News story on the National Portrait Gallery purchase of the only known portrait of the Jacobean playwright, John Fletcher, whose fame even rivalled that of fellow playwright William Shakespeare.

Gallery buys playwright painting

]]> http://friendswithfirehydrants.wordpress.com/?p=4 Mon, 10 Mar 2008 15:44:23 +0000 sarah917 http://friendswithfirehydrants.wordpress.com/?p=4 minor research, major discovery. apparently, not all was done through woodcuts, which represented a durable way to make picture after picture after picture. instead, in the timeless showdown between quality and quantity, pictures like the Melancolia and other, more sculptural images were engraved on copper plates. The copper plate could only make a dozen or so prints (which explains why i was not handed a copper plate in the conservation room of the gallery 10 years ago), but the softness of the metal allowed the detail and texture Durer presents. compare:

This picture, from Hartmann Schedel's Chronicle of Nuremberg (1493) is not too much older than Durer's Melencolia I (1514), and the two are especially interesting to compare since Durer was from Nuremberg as well. But essentially, the 1493 picture is so much more medieval, lacking not only the sculptural depth of Durer's later copper plate engraving, but displaying a common medieval convention of representing human beings as parts and types (note all the heads crowded together--where are their bodies?). This isn't to say that Melencolia isn't a type as well; much scholarship before, after, and including Panofsky has made much of the symbolic language contained within this picture, a very medieval sort of custom which continued strong into the Renaissance, with books of emblems that had specific meanings from "geometry" to "abstract thought." And certainly the person in Durer's picture is not a real person, but at most specific the diety Melecolia, a daughter of Cronus who was called Sloth prior to the Renaissance (! Well, it's true that depressives don't have much get-up-and-go.) To the modern eye, though, the woodcut of the Jews of Nuremberg looks ancient, and removed from reality, and we're not surprised if it was not modeled from life. But Durer somehow looks modern, as lifelike as a carved copper plate can be, brimming with knowledge about mathematics and technology and modernity. One of the things I'm endlessly entertained by in art history is that every era's historians after 1200 or so claim that the art they study represents the birth of the modern. But I think Durer is right on the cusp. I wonder if he would have been as dexterous with pixels.

]]> http://friendswithfirehydrants.wordpress.com/?p=3 Mon, 10 Mar 2008 14:31:33 +0000 sarah917 http://friendswithfirehydrants.wordpress.com/?p=3

so one of the challenges of woodcuts--posting about them, looking at them, trying to wrap one's head around how they are even made--is that they are so unbelievably detailed, in a sculptural way that is unexpected even after studying them for years. once, maybe 10 years ago, an art professor took us on a field trip to the conservation room of a gallery in baltimore, and the conservationist casually handed me the block of wood that Durer had used to make one of his prints. i stopped breathing for a moment and was overwhelmed by such a tangible connection to history, but i'm sad to say that i don't remember looking too closely at the wood block, or even which print it became. it was red, i remember that, and i wondered if it were red paint, or wax, or some preservative. i didn't ask, probably because i couldn't breathe. i guess i'm more reverent about art than about the religious iconography it depicts.

what else, what else? i haven't though critically about art in a few years. sharp knives, i guess, you'd have to have to make wood cuts. i'm curious to know the connection between "high art" woodcuts and " folk art" whittling. Durer was German, and I know it's a heck of a leap to connect him with little whittled animals and nativities at the Christkindlmarkt. i'm going to research that.

anyway, this picture was in my 10th grad algebra book, maybe with something about the matrix above the guy's head. at the time, i wished i could study more about the picture and not learn about matrices. so now is the time to start.

]]> http://unwrittenthesalonforwriters.wordpress.com/?p=9 Sat, 14 Jun 2008 17:58:25 +0000 MindfulWriter http://unwrittenthesalonforwriters.wordpress.com/?p=9

Globe Theatre, London, England

(Photo by Mindful Writer, 2008)

14 June 2008

LONDON CALLING

THE MAD KING

“When we are born, we cry that we are come to this great stage of fools.”
-- King Lear

At lunch, the Texan tells us that she walked her little white dog through the streets of London and because of the smog, now he’s a little gray dog. The Texan is not really a Texan but a New Yorker. That’s where she lives now. Her dog is a Maltese terrier, not a bichon frise, like my little white dog, who’s often a little brown dog because she lives in New Mexico, which is where I live now but not where I’m from.

Only some of this day is making sense, because it’s my second day in London, and I’m still jet-lagged, trying to tell my stomach that it’s lunchtime, not sleepy time. Those of us who have arrived in London for the Spalding University MFA in creative writing program are having a gala luncheon on the first floor, which is really the second floor. That’s how they do it in London. What Americans call the first floor is the ground floor. After that is when the Brits start counting floors. We are at The Peasant, a gastro pub in Finbury, which seemed like it was just around the block from our hotel, but it wasn’t. To tell you the truth, I don’t know where we are. I am armed with a Tube map and an Oyster card, but the buses are another story entirely.

The Texan who’s a New Yorker now announces that many of the streets will close tomorrow because President George W. Bush is coming to visit The Queen, who really is a queen meeting the man who is not really a president. He seems to have taken the lame duck jokes as a serious charge and have abdicated any leadership responsibilities during the subprime meltdown and energy crisis. Or maybe he’s just been afraid to come out in public and we’ll find him naked and wandering the heath, which is to say that several of us are going to see “King Lear” tonight at the Globe Theatre and I can’t help see a few parallels.

Our program coordinator confirms that the arrival of our fearless leader will affect us, announcing the names of Tube stations that will be closed tomorrow, right at rush hour. Names like Russell Square, Green Park and Leicester Square mean nothing at this point, but they surely will over the next few days as we navigate our way to Picadilly Circus, which isn’t a circus, and Westminster Abbey, which isn’t a church but a national peculiar. A clipboard gets passed around for us to sign up for a taxicab.

* * *

To get to the Globe Theatre, the best way is to take the Tube to Blackfriars Pub. When my companion and I emerge onto the street, we see there’s a pub wedged onto a street corner, and just above the sign, written in Old English, is a statue of a squat black friar. I think he’s smiling. He’s sort of a hood ornament for the building. He doesn’t seem to mind. He seems sort of merry.

This black friar has a link with the history of our destination. The Blackfriars priory nearby had a hall that in 1596 was used as an indoor theater. When the lease expired, it was decided that a theater would be built. Members of the acting company were offered the opportunity to buy shares in the new building, which became the Globe Theatre in 1599. One of those actors who owned the place was William Shakespeare.

The Globe Theatre where we’re going isn’t the real Globe Theatre where Shakespeare’s plays were staged in the late 16th century but a replicated theater that was built authentically to the time. Authentically means there are two thick columns that block some views, the seats are wooden and some people stand at stage’s edge. In that time, a flag would go up in the street announcing that a play was starting. For one pence, you got to stand. For two pence, you got a seat on a wooden bench. For three pence, you got a cushion. The flyer that circulated through the streets to announce the play had M. William Shak-fpeare at the top. It says, “HIS True Chronicle Hiftorie of the life and death of King L E A R and his three Daughters/ With the vnforunate life of Edgar, fonne and heire to the Earle of GlosFter, and his fullen and afflumed humor of Tom of Bedlam:”

It is with afflumed humor that we find our way across the Blackfriars bridge to the Southwark area of London. On the river walk that leads to the Tate Museum of Modern Art and the Globe Theatre, my companion and I strike up a conversation with two Brits who are enjoying cups of beer in the street. We do this mostly because we don’t quite know where we are going. I ask if the bridge above us is the Millennium Bridge, but it’s the train bridge, painted cherry red and apple green, like something out of Thomas the Tank Engine that might lead us to the Isle of Sodor, if only that was where we were going.

Farther on is the Millennium Bridge, which was supposed to be a bridge of wonder, a cutting edge suspension bridge design that featured a four-meter aluminum deck and stainless steel balustrades. It was supposed to have a shallow profile, supported by eight highly tensioned cables on each side of the deck, with two river supports. It was supposed to open in 2000, but I read later that it had such a sway to it that elderly people were clinging to the handrails and people were getting seasick while crossing it. After two long, embarrassing days for the architects, it was closed and re-engineered, re-opening in 2002.

I tell our new Brit friends I’m from New Mexico, and the eyebrows go up because they only hear “Mexico.” But this is all cleared up rather nicely, and the gent says he’s been the United States, and oh yes, he certainly knows where New Mexico is. I ask him if he knows where Santa Fe is, and he says, “Oh, that’s near the water, right?” with a smirk. “It’s in the Appalachians, right?” A wink. The lights switch on the Millennium Bridge. It looks like a silver bullet train captured mid-streak.

Farther on the river walk, we see the Globe. The replicated theater is a 20-sided polygon 100 feet in diameter, authentic to the dimensions of the original. The facade is plastered with a white lime wash, authentic to the time, with Tudor-style squares and triangles marked off with green oak timbers. The roof is made of water reed thatch and is open to the sky. When we walk in, a small band of dancers and musicians is clustered at front-center, playing a Celtic tune. It is twilight.

During the play, in another authentic 16th century moment, a woman faints, thudding to the ground. The actors don’t miss a beat. The play proceeds on until one of Lear’s daughter gouges out the eyes of the Earl of Gloucester at center stage, sitting atop him like she’s doing a lap dance. She tosses the bloody globe to the ground. With that, the first act is done.

One of my companions asks, feeling a sense of finality with that scene and not remembering her Shakespeare clearly, “It’s not over yet, is it?” I don’t remember it clearly, either, but I remember this much: “Cordelia comes back. And it’s not over until everyone’s dead.”

“Howl, howl, howl, howl,” rants the incapacitated King Lear as he’s lost in the heath with a fool and a beggar in the final act. “Had I your tongues and eyes/I’d used them so that heaven’s vault should crack/She’s gone forever.” The program points out the plays rich linguistic range, full of mad babblings, gaudy rhetoric and courtly viciousness – an ocean of language. “Pray you, undo this button,” King Lear pleads as he wishes for death. And then everyone is dead, the stage of fools littered before us. After the final bows, the company returns to the stage, performing a haunting Celtic dance. They are like ghosts emerging from the mists of madness. We leave the 16th century not by the way we came, but on foot, riding the gleam of the Millennium Bridge.

]]> http://modernmiscellany.wordpress.com/?p=16 Wed, 05 Sep 2001 01:41:15 +0000 Mike http://modernmiscellany.wordpress.com/?p=16 Speeches of Motecuhzoma and Cortés

When Motecuhzoma [Montezuma] had given necklaces to each one, Cortés asked him: "Are you Motecuhzoma? Are you the king? Is it true that you are the king Motecuhzoma?"

And the king said: "Yes, I am Motecuhzoma." Then he stood up to welcome Cortés; he came forward, bowed his head low and addressed him in these words: "Our lord, you are weary. The journey has tired you, but now you have arrived on the earth. You have come to your city, Mexico. You have come here to sit on your throne, to sit under its canopy.

"The kings who have gone before, your representatives, guarded it and preserved it for your coming. The kings Itzcoatl, Motecuhzoma the Elder, Axayacatl, Tizoc and Ahuitzol ruled for you in the City of Mexico. The people were protected by their swords and sheltered by their shields.

"Do the kings know the destiny of those they left behind, their posterity? If only they are watching! If only they can see what I see!

"No, it is not a dream. I am not walking in my sleep. I am not seeing you in my dreams.... I have seen you at last! I have met you face to face! I was in agony for five days, for ten days, with my eyes fixed on the Region of the Mystery. And now you have come out of the clouds and mists to sit on your throne again.

"This was foretold by the kings who governed your city, and now it has taken place. You have come back to us; you have come down from the sky. Rest now, and take possession of your royal houses. Welcome to your land, my lords! "

When Motecuhzoma had finished, La Malinche translated his address into Spanish so that the Captain could understand it. Cortés replied in his strange and savage tongue, speaking first to La Malinche: "Tell Motecuhzoma that we are his friends. There is nothing to fear. We have wanted to see him for a long time, and now we have seen his face and heard his words. Tell him that we love him well and that our hearts are contented."

Then he said to Motecuhzoma: "We have come to your house in Mexico as friends. There is nothing to fear."

La Malinche translated this speech and the Spaniards grasped Motecuhzoma's hands and patted his back to show their affection for him....

Massacre in the Main Temple

During this time, the people asked Motecuhzoma how they should celebrate their god's fiesta. He said: "Dress him in all his finery, in all his sacred ornaments."

During this same time, The Sun commanded that Motecuhzoma and Itzcohuatzin, the military chief of Tlatelolco, be made prisoners. The Spaniards hanged a chief from Acolhuacan named Nezahualquentzin. They also murdered the king of Nauhtla, Cohualpopocatzin, by wounding him with arrows and then burning him alive.

For this reason, our warriors were on guard at the Eagle Gate. The sentries from Tenochtitlan stood at one side of the gate, and the sentries from Tlatelolco at the other. But messengers came to tell them to dress the figure of Huitzilopochtli. They left their posts and went to dress him in his sacred finery: his ornaments and his paper clothing.

When this had been done, the celebrants began to sing their songs. That is how they celebrated the first day of the fiesta. On the second day they began to sing again, but without warning they were all put to death. The dancers and singers were completely unarmed. They brought only their embroidered cloaks, their turquoises, their lip plugs, their necklaces, their clusters of heron feathers, their trinkets made of deer hooves. Those who played the drums, the old men, had brought their gourds of snuff and their timbrels.

The Spaniards attacked the musicians first, slashing at their hands and faces until they had killed all of them. The singers-and even the spectators- were also killed. This slaughter in the Sacred Patio went on for three hours. Then the Spaniards burst into the rooms of the temple to kill the others: those who were carrying water, or bringing fodder for the horses, or grinding meal, or sweeping, or standing watch over this work.

The king Motecuhzoma, who was accompanied by Itzcohuatzin and by those who had brought food for the Spaniards, protested: "Our lords, that is enough! What are you doing? These people are not carrying shields or macanas. Our lords, they are completely unarmed!"

The Sun had treacherously murdered our people on the twentieth day after the captain left for the coast. We allowed the Captain to return to the city in peace. But on the following day we attacked him with all our might, and that was the beginning of the war

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