Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Talisman by Walter Scott (which ebook reader txt) 📖
- Author: Walter Scott
Book online «The Talisman by Walter Scott (which ebook reader txt) 📖». Author Walter Scott
Both the Queen and her royal husband were aware of this distinction, and Richard, seeing his consort somewhat piqued at the preference assigned to his cousin, by which perhaps he himself did not feel much gratified, said in the hearing of both, “We minstrels, Berengaria, as thou mayest see by the bearing of our master Blondel, pay more reverence to a severe judge like our kinswoman than to a kindly, partial friend like thyself, who is willing to take our worth upon trust.”
Edith was moved by this sarcasm of her royal kinsman, and hesitated not to reply that, “To be a harsh and severe judge was not an attribute proper to her alone of all the Plantagenets.”
She had perhaps said more, having some touch of the temper of that house, which, deriving their name and cognizance from the lowly broom (PLANTA GENISTA), assumed as an emblem of humility, were perhaps one of the proudest families that ever ruled in England; but her eye, when kindling in her reply, suddenly caught those of the Nubian, although he endeavoured to conceal himself behind the nobles who were present, and she sunk upon a seat, turning so pale that Queen Berengaria deemed herself obliged to call for water and essences, and to go through the other ceremonies appropriate to a lady's swoon. Richard, who better estimated Edith's strength of mind, called to Blondel to assume his seat and commence his lay, declaring that minstrelsy was worth every other recipe to recall a Plantagenet to life. “Sing us,” he said, “that song of the Bloody Vest, of which thou didst formerly give me the argument ere I left Cyprus. Thou must be perfect in it by this time, or, as our yeomen say, thy bow is broken.”
Original
The anxious eye of the minstrel, however, dwelt on Edith, and it was not till he observed her returning colour that he obeyed the repeated commands of the King. Then, accompanying his voice with the harp, so as to grace, but yet not drown, the sense of what he sung, he chanted in a sort of recitative one of those ancient adventures of love and knighthood which were wont of yore to win the public attention. So soon as he began to prelude, the insignificance of his personal appearance seemed to disappear, and his countenance glowed with energy and inspiration. His full, manly, mellow voice, so absolutely under command of the purest taste, thrilled on every ear and to every heart. Richard, rejoiced as after victory, called out the appropriate summons for silence, “Listen, lords, in bower and hall”; while, with the zeal of a patron at once and a pupil, he arranged the circle around, and hushed them into silence; and he himself sat down with an air of expectation and interest, not altogether unmixed with the gravity of the professed critic. The courtiers turned their eyes on the King, that they might be ready to trace and imitate the emotions his features should express, and Thomas de Vaux yawned tremendously, as one who submitted unwillingly to a wearisome penance. The song of Blondel was of course in the Norman language, but the verses which follow express its meaning and its manner.
THE BLOODY VEST. 'Twas near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, And knights were preparing in bower and tent, On the eve of the Baptist's tournament; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, Well seeming a page by a princess sent, Wander'd the camp, and, still as he went, Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. Far hath he far'd, and farther must fare, Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,— Little save iron and steel was there; And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care, With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, The good knight with hammer and file did repair The mail that to-morrow must see him wear, For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair. “Thus speaks my lady,” the page said he, And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, “She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree, And thou art as lowly as knight may well be— He that would climb so lofty a tree, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see His ambition is back'd by his hie chivalrie. “Therefore thus speaks my lady,” the fair page he said, And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, “Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad, And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead, For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread; And charge, thus attir'd, in the tournament dread, And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, And bring honour away, or remain with the dead.”Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reverently hath kiss'd. “Now blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest! Much honour'd do I hold me in my lady's high behest; And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress'd, To the best armed champion I will not veil my crest; But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test.” Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest.
“Thou hast changed the measure upon us unawares in that last couplet, my Blondel,” said the King.
“Most true, my lord,” said Blondel. “I rendered the verses from the Italian of an old harper whom I met in Cyprus, and not having had time either to translate it accurately or commit it to memory, I am fain to supply gaps in the music and the verse as I can upon the spur of the moment, as you see boors mend a quickset fence with a fagot.”
“Nay, on my faith,” said the King, “I like these rattling, rolling Alexandrines. Methinks they come more twangingly off to the music than that briefer measure.”
“Both are licensed, as is well known to your Grace,” answered Blondel.
“They are so, Blondel,” said Richard, “yet methinks the scene where there is like to be fighting will go best on in these same thundering Alexandrines, which sound like the charge of cavalry, while the other measure is but like the sidelong amble of a lady's palfrey.”
“It shall be as your Grace pleases,” replied Blondel, and began again to prelude.
“Nay, first cherish thy fancy with a cup of fiery Chios wine,” said the King. “And hark thee, I would have thee fling away that new-fangled restriction of thine, of terminating in accurate and similar rhymes. They are a constraint on thy flow of fancy, and make thee resemble a man dancing in fetters.”
“The fetters are easily flung off, at least,” said Blondel, again sweeping his fingers over the strings, as one who would rather have played than listened to criticism.
“But why put them on, man?” continued the King. “Wherefore thrust thy genius into iron bracelets? I marvel how you got forward at all. I am sure I should not have been able to compose a stanza in yonder hampered measure.”
Blondel looked down, and busied himself with the strings of his harp, to hide an involuntary smile which crept over his features; but it escaped not Richard's observation.
“By my faith, thou laughest at me, Blondel,” he said; “and,
Comments (0)