#romantic spain

[bishopsbox]

source: bishopsbox

Gustave Doré, Courtyard of the Lions, La Alhambra, Granada, Spain (from the book L'Espagne by Jean Charles Davillier, 1874).

Gustave Doré, Patio de los Leones, La Alhambra, Granada, España (del libro L'Espagne por Jean Charles Davillier, 1874).

[petitworld]

Granada, Spain by Warren Bodnaruk

[illustratus]

The Mock Serenade (Cervantes' Don Quixote) by Gustave Doré

[lionofchaeronea]

The Water Carrier, Francisco Goya, between 1808 and 1812

[haveyouheardthisband]

[saintfrancesworld]

Currently filled with a strange and envious longing of those who are fluent in more than one language, who can read and write poetry in more than one language.

(Spanish is calling to me. I will answer.)

[stitcherofchaos]

Spain being older than France is my favorite personal headcanon (Iberia being colonized by Rome before Gaul supports this headcanon).

Along with that, NO ONE CAN KNOW. Not even Prussia knows because France has the reputation of ‘world’s best big brother’ to uphold and he knows Prussia can’t keep a secret.

[tygerland]

Vicky Cristina Barcelona (2008)

[eirgachuair]

what i believe different romance languages taste like

Spanish: Mango Ice Cream. idk, the vowels and the way you pronounce stuff is very upbeat and smiley and stuff, plus most spanish speakers talk super duper fast and im holding on for dear life trying to listen and silmontaniuosly translate in my head. plus spain is warm.

French: Strepsils specifically lemon ones, i only did french for a year in school and hated it. dont get me wrong the language is pretty but you have to like pronounce stuff out of your nose and all(?), so the weird feeling and aftertaste in your mouth after a throat sweet is just fitting

Portuguese: Watermelon its fitting. sometimes watermelon's sweet and juicy other times its anemic and really watery. just like how portuguese sounds super cool put people water it down as just another version of spanish. Plus it's such a summery language if that makes sense, like it just sounds bright but it feels earthy, so maybe a watermelon with dirt on it or smthn, idk it sounds a lil crunchy but still bright yk

Italian: Winegums Italian's got this sophisticated edge to it, especially with the music + art history in Italy. It feels like the head of the (i think its called 'the romance language) family. Wine gums are good, they're still kinda sweet and fun to suck on when you've got fuck all else to do or your ears have popped cus you're in an aeroplane, but they still taste mature if that makes sense. it's not a go to, but it's a staple, and your granny probably has it in her handbag or in her car as a travel sweet.

Romanian: Werthers Original Butter Candies they're sweet and smooth and kinda melt on your tongue, which is what Romanian sounds like to me yk. but they also feel mature and it's got this kinda feel to it that Spanish or Catalan doesnt have where it's slightly sharper in the way you pronounce words and stuff, but still soft enough. Romanians a unique language, (all languages are unique but oh well), its not sought out by learners like Spanish or French but its still a staple, which is why werthers fits.

Catalan: Passion Fruit Margarita i'm not explaining myself on this one.

i might continue this with other indo-european languages, though idk if i want to do baltic, slavic, germanic or celtic next🧍

[lafcadiosadventures]

So, there's this scene in Cousin Bette, which has a pretty striking line:

– On a marché, dit le vieillard en se retirant, et les morts vont vite à Paris !

(Honoré de Balzac, La cousine Bette, 1846)

“The world moves on,” said the old man, as he withdrew, “and the dead move quickly in Paris!”

(tr. James Waring) (given the implications, I would translate the first half of Vautrin's reply as “We have made our move”)

and I was like, critique of capitalism, etc etc. My friend @madmerchant said she was pretty sure she'd read something very similar in Dracula. Was Stoker referencing Vautrin? Was it a coincidence? There's a persistent shroud of the Fantastic surrounding Vautrin, it would not be surprising if someone would have thought of him as a vampire, or an immortal creature of some kind... however:

“You are early to-night, my friend.” The man stammered in reply:—“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger replied:—“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.” As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Lenore”:— “Denn die Todten reiten schnell”— (“For the dead travel fast.”)

oooh. this lead to discovering that Lenore, is one of the cornerstones of Romanticism. So it wasn't that Stoker was referencing Vautrin's last incarnation, but rather, the same originary poem Balzac hismelf was referencing. The influence of the poem was huge, and epsecially the french went crazy over it. The first translation was published in the Journal des Débats in 1811, translated from English. The newspaper published it, not without adding the poem put in display "the most odious vices of the German School".

It was not until Mme de Saël (she of the North vs South temperaments fame) wrote an article trully valuing the work as the poetic masterpiece it was, that the fever for Lenore started to root on the young minds of a Certain Group of Artists-and their readers- in 1820. Madame de Saël had thrown the gauntlet:

"No french translation, be it prose or verse, could express all the nuances and detaild of the German original."

and one Gérard de Nerval picked it up, offering FIVE translations of his own throuout the years...

The poem collects a German folk story, and as soon as you read the summery you *know* why the more edgy Romantics were crazy about it. Like other German folk tales (as Der Erlkönig) it features a frenzied ride through the forests, and a lover that is not what he seems to be (he is DEATH. The RIde is A TRAP) Embroildled in the poem are some anti nobility aspects:

"(in Lenore, we hear) The powrful and pained voice of a Titan, tormented until death by the aristocracy. (...) In German language, 'Bürger' (the poet's name) is synonimous to citoyen"

(Heinrich Heine)

and a desire to revindicate the autochthonous, popular poetry from the lower classes -the Lenore poem is recolected from a popular song Bürger heard a young peasant singing- as the true voice of a nation:

It will remain eternally true that if we have no Volk, we shall have no public, no nationality, no literature of our own which shall live and work in us. Unless our literature is founded on our Volk, we shall write eternally for closet sages and disgusting critics out of whose mouths and stomachs we shall get back what we have given.

(Johann Gottfried Herder)

So, what I'm saying is, I must read Lenore, and also, it is very likely that that Vautrin line is a direct reference to that icon of the dawn of French Romanticism, something the then elders (cousin bette was published in 1846) would have remembered and understood...

[graveyardfullofstars]

[poetrybyonur]

Video of Playa de Franca, Asturias, Spain, by me, where I had the privilege of spending a few days on this magnificent coast.

Beautiful words by my friend @wordsbyjenpoetry . 🎂🎉🎈

Music by Jacob Gurevitsch .

[helianskies]

How about #23 for UKSpaFr? It could be a love triangle 🤭

okay so,, not really gone for love triangle but it is definitely frukspa what a lovely decision hehe

Reunited

“He should be out of there by now. What’s taking so long?”

“Yeah, but don’t forget he’s also probably waiting for luggage, and there’ll be a queue at border control. His flight only landed half an hour ago.”

Francis gives a tut and begins to hold himself. While he looks cold, it is probably because he wants a hug that is likely still waiting to have its passport checked. Arthur would have… offered him some kind of comfort, if he had even the slightest belief Francis would accept it. But he wouldn’t. So he doesn’t.

“I wish he’d picked an earlier flight,” Francis rattles on, starting to slowly pace, two steps one way, two steps back. “You are sure you’re happy to drive back?”

“Of course,” Arthur replies. His eyes do not leave the exit from customs. “It’s not too far.”

“Only an hour and a half,” the other scoffs, and then sighs. “I hope he’s eaten something for dinner. La cuisine est fermée. It’s too late to cook him anything decent.”

“Good job I shoved some snacks into the car, then,” Arthur supposes, mustering up a smile. He looks at Francis, who has returned his gaze to the doors as another small flock of people start to emerge. Another wave of disembarked passengers. “He’ll be here soon,” he assures him. “I mean, he could be on the loo for all we kn—”

“Antoine!”

“Francis!”

“Arthur!” the same blond cheers quietly, as Antonio comes hurtling down the ‘departures only’ zone, and launches himself at Francis.

He’s used to such scenes. They have always been very hands-on in that way. Arthur prefers to do so in private. Though, even he has to admit, it does make him happy to see Antonio be swept off his feet for a rather dramatic spin, which makes him give a little surprised scream before demanding he be put down. The way he gives Francis’ arm a light smack for the move is rather entertaining.

“No picking me up, I’ve told you before,” Antonio finishes chiding Francis, although he is smiling, as is Francis (as is Arthur). And then he turns to the other. His smile grows. Arthur’s heart leaps and bounds. “Are we doing hugs, too?” he asks. “Or would you rather wait?”

Arthur is unsure at first. There are a lot of people around, a lot of eyes, a lot of noise. A hug sounds good. Frankly, given that he has just had to go two weeks without one from Antonio, a hug sounds great. Antonio has been away seeing family, and, even though he has had Francis and Francis is just as loving and doting, Antonio is—

“Hug it is!”

“O-Oh— Uh—” 

It seems, in the end, he has had no choice in the matter.

(But, secretly, that’s okay.)

“I’ve waited ages for this,” Antonio tells him as he practically swings from Arthur’s neck. He presses a hasty kiss—a big fat smooch—to the blond’s face, before he pops back off, pinches Arthur’s cheeks in greeting, and then says to them, “I’ve missed you. Both of you,” as he makes grabby hands towards both of them—a sign for them to each take a hand.

Dutiful as ever, both Francis and Arthur obey.

“So,” Francis says, as he takes Antonio’s luggage in his free hand and gestures for the three of them to head for the exit, “you survived your little family gathering?”

“Only just!” Antonio remarks with a soft snort of laughter. “I tell you what, I’m glad to be back. Which I didn’t expect to say, considering it’s absolutely heaving it down outside, but… well, you know what family’s like.”

Arthur hums. “Tolerable for five minutes, before they’re doing your head in?”

“Yeah. But,” Antonio then presses, tugging the pair of them closer to him as they pass through the building’s exit and out to the fresh (and wet) air, “I really am happy to be back home.” 

He looks between them both, and then gives Arthur the same kind of kiss on the cheek as before, before then giving Francis the same treatment. He breathes in England, embraces the cooler climate and shakes off that of his native Iberia, and, as though a switch has flicked in his brain, he suddenly asks:

“I don’t suppose you brought any food with you, did you? The coffee on the plane was awful, and I didn’t have time to grab anything at the airport before my flight…”

Arthur shares a look with Francis—one of amusement, one that says ‘I told you so,’ (which earns him rolling eyes, a lop-sided smile)—and he assures Antonio that, yes, there’s food in the car. 

“Oh, I love you!” Antonio proclaims in turn, squeezing both of their hands. “You have no idea how much that means to me!”

“Yes we do,” Arthur and Francis remark in unison, however; Antonio gives a laugh, suggests they head for the car before he takes his hunger out on them and gobbles them both up (affectionately, with kisses, because he loves them so, so much, he clarifies).

The car drive back is easy and pleasant, even in the rain. Arthur is kept happy by Antonio’s contagious enthusiasm, telling them both about his holiday in between snack breaks. Francis checks in on him every now and then, too (at one point, his hand comes to rest on Arthur’s as it sits on the gearstick, and a quick glance shows that Francis, too, is happy). 

And by the time the three of them get back, it’s dark, it’s cold, it’s miserable outside. But when they step back through the front door, all they feel is a restored warmth and comfort, knowing they are all finally home again.

[ ficlet collection is here on ao3! ]

[illustratus]

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza by Ludwig Burger

[purrsia]

Wish there was a liiiittle less spamano where romano is constantly screaming "no please don't", "I hate you" and "leave me alone" to spain and a bit more spamano where romano can keep his easily-embarassed, closed, hard-headed and at times romantic personality without the need to make it seem as if spain is abusing him

[peggy-elise]

Stunning Vivien Leigh and Laurence Olivier in Fire Over England 1937 🌙