Lots of stuff
Jul. 26th, 2005 10:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ricardienneFirst of all, unceremoniously yoinked from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
voglia_di_notte:
Once upon a time I would have been more amused than I am now. Because I did answer fairly accurately. Which I gues means that my friends should watch out.
So. As some of you know, summer vacation is a time to read and re-read St. Nicholas Magazine, and immerse myself in good, wholesome, Victorian era children's literature.
This is the summer of the Annoyingly Sappy Historical Ballad. My favorite specimen of which was "Crooked Dick." Stop that right now! I know what lewd thoughts you're having! Stop. No. Bad. This is the 1890's. People don't even kiss eachother on a general basis.
Anway, it is moderately cringe-worthy, but actually presents a fairly decent Richard, for a n essentially Shakespearian model. Here it is:
Crooked Dick
A.D. 1483
By Anna Robeson Brown
I.
Ere yet the might of England had triumphed o’er her woes,
Ere on the field of Bosworth had blown the Bloody Rose,
King Richard Third rode hunting, o’er valley and o’er fell,
With twenty gallant gentlemen; I trow they rode full well!
There was Catesby, and Northumberland, and Norfolk stout and bold,
With seven other English peers, from castle and from wold.
II.
They chased the deer from thicket thro’ bracken and thro’ glade,
With yelping hounds and trampling steeds the forest pathway made;
They drave the deer o’er stony crags, ‘neath mighty fern and tree,
Till the weakest strained them forward and drew breath pantingly, --
But, lo! The King’s horse staggers, and his rider, spent at last,
Sees the chase go sweeping by him, ever faster and more fast,
And the tott’ring steed, now struggling in the agonies of death,
Throws his master on the greensward, -- helpless, senseless, without breath.
III.
But little hands have raised him, and soft voices whisper low,
While on his misty eyesight now the leafy arches grow;
Two “children on the forest,” clinging, timid, sorely shy,
Bring the fallen hunter’s senses from the death he else might die,
“Wind the horn, child! – Norfolk! Catesby! – ‘T is no use the chase is hot!
But they must return to seek me, so I will not leave this spot.
Ah what mishap! Brave White Surrey, strong of limb, and keen of sight,
You would never leave your master her, in this confounded plight!”
The wide-eyed children, wond’ring at the trappings rich with gold,
Never heed the restless glances, and the cruel eye, and cold,
For the glance toward them was softened, and the harsh voice gentler grew,
As he said, with hand extended to the pair that nearer drew,
“Ah, little ones, I thank ye for a kindly deed, in truth!
Tell me your names I pray you?” “I am Edwyn; this is Ruth.
What is yours?” The guileless question makes the dark smile keen and quick.
“Mine you ask? You see it on me. People call me ‘Crooked Dick.’
For I bear my shoulders weighted with a weight of bitter woe;
Are n’t you frightened at a cripple?”
Quick the answer: “Frightened? No.”
“Why there are Joan and Margery” – they said in loving tone,
“There ‘s nobody in all the shire that has not heard of Joan.
She ‘s on her couch the livelong day, and all night racked with pain.
We children bring her marigolds to make her well again.
She tells us fairy-stories, and she knows each flower’s name
While she draws us pretty faces, and never two the same.
And she sites out by the cottage door, all in the yellow sun,
And sings us merry ballads – oh, Joan is full of fun!
And mother says,” the voice was awed, “the King ’s a cripple too!
And has a big hump on his back, and suffers just like you!
And you know, sir, -- oh, you must know, that his Majesty the King,
Is the greatest man in England, and the head of everything!”
IV.
The huntsman cleared his throat and laughed, a loud laugh and a long,
And a robin singing overhead stopped suddenly his song,
For the laugh was not a merry one. “The King ’s a cripple, eh?
And does he, too, bear his burden with patience day by day?”
“Oh, sir, you ’re laughing at me; I’m but a little thing.
Of course there ‘s no one in the land so good as is our King!
Why everybody honors him, -- in church his name is read;
I always say ‘God bless the King,’ before I go to bed!”
V.
A clatter in the bushes, a hurried, panting breath,
The trample of a speeded horse, a courtier white as death.
“My liege! You ‘re safe?”—he cried, and dropped in haste on bended knee;
“The others follow fast, my horse the swiftest carried me.
We thought you lost! –“
“Begone at once! and leave us here alone!
Come little one, take you this purse and give it to poor Joan,
From a cripple to a cripple, -- and remember ‘Crooked Dick’
The mischief take this dusty day, the very air is thick!”
He stooped and kissed the upturned mouth, left in the hand a ring
Bearing the arms of England, the signet of the King!”
Then turning not to right or left, strode silently away,
Half blinded by a something which was not the dusty day.
VI.
The two ran home in wonder. “Oh, Father, Father, see!
We met a huntsman in the woods and this he gave to me!
His dress was of green velvet, his housings all of gold,
And he kissed me very kindly, although his eyes were cold –
But Father!” here the brown eyes filled, the voice with sobs grew thick,
“He says that people laugh at him and call him ‘Crooked Dick’!”
(Copyright Anna Robeson Brown and St. Nicholas Magazine, February 1892)
Well. Amusing, n’est-ce pas?
The idea, of course, is that even evil cannot stand up against the innocent trust of a child. Hmm. So, l could not, of course, resist trying one of my own.
And as I had already made the Severus-Richard comparison in a previous entry (not a comparison of character but a comparison of my reaction to the character), I had a logical subject... yeah, spoilers for HBP, I think.
This is an Unabashed Parody
I.
Just aft the terr’ble battle, where great “Phoenix” was killed,
And aft that eve of horror, where the blood of Hogwarts spilled,
Professor Snape was wand’ring, tho’ teacher he no more,
But Death Eater in open liege, to dread Lord Voldemort.
A goodly dozen fellows, as thrilled with hunt as he, ---
Yet all so silent in their work as they could ever be, ---
Walked with him, hooded, cloaked, and masked, t’ was frightening to see,
Were Yaxley, Malfoy, Bellatrix (most fell of all was she.)
II.
They wended way through hamlets bare, and fog becovered towns,
Their curses rang off rooftops, felled men in dressing gowns.
A house in flames, and infants ‘ screams – t’ th’ woods a man does flee,
The man who’d dare defy their Lord – their quarry -- it is he.
But ah, he’s not so foolish, and sièged though he is,
He ‘s not forgot his lessons in countering hexès.
A lucky aim: “Impediment’!” and Severus is down!
Prey runs, Snape’s fellows follow, leaving him upon the ground.
An unkind branch has hit him, his inj’ry ’s more severe,
But none will stop to aid him while yet their victim ’s here.
So flat he lies, unconscious, to all appearance dead,
His wand askew, half-covered by his badly-bleeding head.
III.
Now see: a child, not more than ten, her brother hanging back,
Has found the man, and washèd clean the wound with blood so black.
He groans, he knows not what the hour, thinks he’s still ‘mid the fight,
Tho’ a very church of greenery obscures his further sight.
“Now Draco, drop your fear,” he cries, “and act the man you are,
Unless thou are in truth the brat the which you mke your part?
But no, ‘t is done and o’er.” He sighs. “Those word’s he ‘ll never hear.
Ah, Severus, your own distraction must have left you here!
What’s one old man, or two, or three? Their deaths are all the same.
But in you duty did you fail, to everlasting shame!”
His glitt’ring, glinting, hard black eyes the children do not see,
Nor mark they well the steely words and om’nous tone from he.
They ’re fixed upon the robes his cloak all ripped-open shows,
And the shining “H” and creatures wild that every wizard knows.
And when he notes them, speaks to them, his voice is less unkind,
The rude accents departing though roughness left behind.
‘T was good of you to aid me, thanks.” His wand is in his hand,
But lo! Not muggles but wizard children do before him stand!
“And who are you, my little ones, who for a stranger stay?
E’en now in time of danger?” “This is Orla. I am Rey.
But that is short for ‘Rigel’,” pipes the little boy with pride.
“Our family name is Brecker,” says his sister by his side,
“But we know there’s nought to fear from you.” “Indeed?” His eyebrows rise.
“You think me not a vampire or Death Eater in disguise?”
“Oh no, sir, for we’ve seen your badge. You teach at Hogwarts School,
And no one there is wicked, nor could be the least bit cruel.”
“Atreus, our brother, ’s there.” “Which House is his, I pray?”
“He is a Griffyndor, so brave, as I shall be one day.
Oh, sir, you are not angry?” “No.” He ’s mastered his grimace.
“I ’m glad of that, for Atreus speaks well of every class.
He should be terr’bly angry had you been vexed by us.
But what’s your name?” “My name, you ask? Some called me Snivellus.”
Th’ admission ’s out before it ’s reigned, and then’s too late to right.
He shrugs. “They were mine enemies, who spoke it in my sight.”
“Why that ’s a cruelty sure,” she says, “I know that ’s very low,
To mock for being ugly. It makes one bad, you know.
And Mummy’s always said to us, to Rigel and to me,
‘Who ’re evil told will evil do,‘ --- I think you’re quite lucky,
T’ endure all that and still be good and kind --- it’s very rare.
I ’m glad that I could meet you now, when evil’s everywhere.”
IV.
A sudden pop, a woman, wearing black from head to toe,
A clothen mask a-dangle, her breath surprising slow.
“At last we find you, Severus,” impatiently she hissed.
“Brecker’s done; the Dark Lord waits, and you are sorely missed.”
Gone was the kindly teacher, in place a face of scorn.
“Had I not slowed him you’d him lost, and that He’d never borne!”
“Begone! I’ll follow.” “Take these, for luck – I’ve not more coin than this --
“Six sickles each: when spending them, remember ‘Snivellus.’
Abruptly ended, faster gone, a pop and he’s away,
But on him is a diff’rent look, some tears have gone a stray.
V.
“O Mummy, Mum – we’ve such to tell! What’s this?” They pulled up short.
Their mother dear ‘s seen all amidst the ruins all cracked and burnt
Quite shocked them. “What’s the matter,” asked they her with fearful cry.
“Your Papa ‘s dead, my children,” said the woman ‘tween her wails,
“Murdered as he fled from Them to ‘scape us like travails.”
And sure, a greeny death-head, a serpent from its jaw,
Did e’en now float above the spot as both the children saw.
s
VI.
When tears were spent and grief had ebbeed, then did wild anger reign.
“There’s nought good in the world!” Said Mistress Brecker in her pain.
“Oh, no, Mama, don’t despair so! Why, just ere were came home,
We’d found a goodly man, in sooth, a-wounded on the loam.
He was a Hogwarts master, and surely, it seems to me,
He must have come to help Papa, was felled ere act could he.”
“He gave us this,” said Rigel, “and I pray you take them, Mum.
‘T was all he had and yet he gave it us – ‘t is no great sum,
But now you’ll need it sorer than I can want toys and sweets.”
“And, Mama, he was truly kind, an example to us all,
For he was mocked and cruelly teased and yet did good withall!”
There, now. Don't you feel like a better person?
voglia_di_notte: | You scored as Severus Snape. Well you're a tricky one aren't you? Nobody quite has you figured out and you'd probably prefer it stayed that way. That said you are a formidable force by anyone's reckoning, but there is certainly more to you than a frosty exterior and a bitter temper.
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...? created with QuizFarm.com |
Once upon a time I would have been more amused than I am now. Because I did answer fairly accurately. Which I gues means that my friends should watch out.
So. As some of you know, summer vacation is a time to read and re-read St. Nicholas Magazine, and immerse myself in good, wholesome, Victorian era children's literature.
This is the summer of the Annoyingly Sappy Historical Ballad. My favorite specimen of which was "Crooked Dick." Stop that right now! I know what lewd thoughts you're having! Stop. No. Bad. This is the 1890's. People don't even kiss eachother on a general basis.
Anway, it is moderately cringe-worthy, but actually presents a fairly decent Richard, for a n essentially Shakespearian model. Here it is:
Crooked Dick
A.D. 1483
By Anna Robeson Brown
I.
Ere yet the might of England had triumphed o’er her woes,
Ere on the field of Bosworth had blown the Bloody Rose,
King Richard Third rode hunting, o’er valley and o’er fell,
With twenty gallant gentlemen; I trow they rode full well!
There was Catesby, and Northumberland, and Norfolk stout and bold,
With seven other English peers, from castle and from wold.
II.
They chased the deer from thicket thro’ bracken and thro’ glade,
With yelping hounds and trampling steeds the forest pathway made;
They drave the deer o’er stony crags, ‘neath mighty fern and tree,
Till the weakest strained them forward and drew breath pantingly, --
But, lo! The King’s horse staggers, and his rider, spent at last,
Sees the chase go sweeping by him, ever faster and more fast,
And the tott’ring steed, now struggling in the agonies of death,
Throws his master on the greensward, -- helpless, senseless, without breath.
III.
But little hands have raised him, and soft voices whisper low,
While on his misty eyesight now the leafy arches grow;
Two “children on the forest,” clinging, timid, sorely shy,
Bring the fallen hunter’s senses from the death he else might die,
“Wind the horn, child! – Norfolk! Catesby! – ‘T is no use the chase is hot!
But they must return to seek me, so I will not leave this spot.
Ah what mishap! Brave White Surrey, strong of limb, and keen of sight,
You would never leave your master her, in this confounded plight!”
The wide-eyed children, wond’ring at the trappings rich with gold,
Never heed the restless glances, and the cruel eye, and cold,
For the glance toward them was softened, and the harsh voice gentler grew,
As he said, with hand extended to the pair that nearer drew,
“Ah, little ones, I thank ye for a kindly deed, in truth!
Tell me your names I pray you?” “I am Edwyn; this is Ruth.
What is yours?” The guileless question makes the dark smile keen and quick.
“Mine you ask? You see it on me. People call me ‘Crooked Dick.’
For I bear my shoulders weighted with a weight of bitter woe;
Are n’t you frightened at a cripple?”
Quick the answer: “Frightened? No.”
“Why there are Joan and Margery” – they said in loving tone,
“There ‘s nobody in all the shire that has not heard of Joan.
She ‘s on her couch the livelong day, and all night racked with pain.
We children bring her marigolds to make her well again.
She tells us fairy-stories, and she knows each flower’s name
While she draws us pretty faces, and never two the same.
And she sites out by the cottage door, all in the yellow sun,
And sings us merry ballads – oh, Joan is full of fun!
And mother says,” the voice was awed, “the King ’s a cripple too!
And has a big hump on his back, and suffers just like you!
And you know, sir, -- oh, you must know, that his Majesty the King,
Is the greatest man in England, and the head of everything!”
IV.
The huntsman cleared his throat and laughed, a loud laugh and a long,
And a robin singing overhead stopped suddenly his song,
For the laugh was not a merry one. “The King ’s a cripple, eh?
And does he, too, bear his burden with patience day by day?”
“Oh, sir, you ’re laughing at me; I’m but a little thing.
Of course there ‘s no one in the land so good as is our King!
Why everybody honors him, -- in church his name is read;
I always say ‘God bless the King,’ before I go to bed!”
V.
A clatter in the bushes, a hurried, panting breath,
The trample of a speeded horse, a courtier white as death.
“My liege! You ‘re safe?”—he cried, and dropped in haste on bended knee;
“The others follow fast, my horse the swiftest carried me.
We thought you lost! –“
“Begone at once! and leave us here alone!
Come little one, take you this purse and give it to poor Joan,
From a cripple to a cripple, -- and remember ‘Crooked Dick’
The mischief take this dusty day, the very air is thick!”
He stooped and kissed the upturned mouth, left in the hand a ring
Bearing the arms of England, the signet of the King!”
Then turning not to right or left, strode silently away,
Half blinded by a something which was not the dusty day.
VI.
The two ran home in wonder. “Oh, Father, Father, see!
We met a huntsman in the woods and this he gave to me!
His dress was of green velvet, his housings all of gold,
And he kissed me very kindly, although his eyes were cold –
But Father!” here the brown eyes filled, the voice with sobs grew thick,
“He says that people laugh at him and call him ‘Crooked Dick’!”
(Copyright Anna Robeson Brown and St. Nicholas Magazine, February 1892)
Well. Amusing, n’est-ce pas?
The idea, of course, is that even evil cannot stand up against the innocent trust of a child. Hmm. So, l could not, of course, resist trying one of my own.
And as I had already made the Severus-Richard comparison in a previous entry (not a comparison of character but a comparison of my reaction to the character), I had a logical subject... yeah, spoilers for HBP, I think.
This is an Unabashed Parody
I.
Just aft the terr’ble battle, where great “Phoenix” was killed,
And aft that eve of horror, where the blood of Hogwarts spilled,
Professor Snape was wand’ring, tho’ teacher he no more,
But Death Eater in open liege, to dread Lord Voldemort.
A goodly dozen fellows, as thrilled with hunt as he, ---
Yet all so silent in their work as they could ever be, ---
Walked with him, hooded, cloaked, and masked, t’ was frightening to see,
Were Yaxley, Malfoy, Bellatrix (most fell of all was she.)
II.
They wended way through hamlets bare, and fog becovered towns,
Their curses rang off rooftops, felled men in dressing gowns.
A house in flames, and infants ‘ screams – t’ th’ woods a man does flee,
The man who’d dare defy their Lord – their quarry -- it is he.
But ah, he’s not so foolish, and sièged though he is,
He ‘s not forgot his lessons in countering hexès.
A lucky aim: “Impediment’!” and Severus is down!
Prey runs, Snape’s fellows follow, leaving him upon the ground.
An unkind branch has hit him, his inj’ry ’s more severe,
But none will stop to aid him while yet their victim ’s here.
So flat he lies, unconscious, to all appearance dead,
His wand askew, half-covered by his badly-bleeding head.
III.
Now see: a child, not more than ten, her brother hanging back,
Has found the man, and washèd clean the wound with blood so black.
He groans, he knows not what the hour, thinks he’s still ‘mid the fight,
Tho’ a very church of greenery obscures his further sight.
“Now Draco, drop your fear,” he cries, “and act the man you are,
Unless thou are in truth the brat the which you mke your part?
But no, ‘t is done and o’er.” He sighs. “Those word’s he ‘ll never hear.
Ah, Severus, your own distraction must have left you here!
What’s one old man, or two, or three? Their deaths are all the same.
But in you duty did you fail, to everlasting shame!”
His glitt’ring, glinting, hard black eyes the children do not see,
Nor mark they well the steely words and om’nous tone from he.
They ’re fixed upon the robes his cloak all ripped-open shows,
And the shining “H” and creatures wild that every wizard knows.
And when he notes them, speaks to them, his voice is less unkind,
The rude accents departing though roughness left behind.
‘T was good of you to aid me, thanks.” His wand is in his hand,
But lo! Not muggles but wizard children do before him stand!
“And who are you, my little ones, who for a stranger stay?
E’en now in time of danger?” “This is Orla. I am Rey.
But that is short for ‘Rigel’,” pipes the little boy with pride.
“Our family name is Brecker,” says his sister by his side,
“But we know there’s nought to fear from you.” “Indeed?” His eyebrows rise.
“You think me not a vampire or Death Eater in disguise?”
“Oh no, sir, for we’ve seen your badge. You teach at Hogwarts School,
And no one there is wicked, nor could be the least bit cruel.”
“Atreus, our brother, ’s there.” “Which House is his, I pray?”
“He is a Griffyndor, so brave, as I shall be one day.
Oh, sir, you are not angry?” “No.” He ’s mastered his grimace.
“I ’m glad of that, for Atreus speaks well of every class.
He should be terr’bly angry had you been vexed by us.
But what’s your name?” “My name, you ask? Some called me Snivellus.”
Th’ admission ’s out before it ’s reigned, and then’s too late to right.
He shrugs. “They were mine enemies, who spoke it in my sight.”
“Why that ’s a cruelty sure,” she says, “I know that ’s very low,
To mock for being ugly. It makes one bad, you know.
And Mummy’s always said to us, to Rigel and to me,
‘Who ’re evil told will evil do,‘ --- I think you’re quite lucky,
T’ endure all that and still be good and kind --- it’s very rare.
I ’m glad that I could meet you now, when evil’s everywhere.”
IV.
A sudden pop, a woman, wearing black from head to toe,
A clothen mask a-dangle, her breath surprising slow.
“At last we find you, Severus,” impatiently she hissed.
“Brecker’s done; the Dark Lord waits, and you are sorely missed.”
Gone was the kindly teacher, in place a face of scorn.
“Had I not slowed him you’d him lost, and that He’d never borne!”
“Begone! I’ll follow.” “Take these, for luck – I’ve not more coin than this --
“Six sickles each: when spending them, remember ‘Snivellus.’
Abruptly ended, faster gone, a pop and he’s away,
But on him is a diff’rent look, some tears have gone a stray.
V.
“O Mummy, Mum – we’ve such to tell! What’s this?” They pulled up short.
Their mother dear ‘s seen all amidst the ruins all cracked and burnt
Quite shocked them. “What’s the matter,” asked they her with fearful cry.
“Your Papa ‘s dead, my children,” said the woman ‘tween her wails,
“Murdered as he fled from Them to ‘scape us like travails.”
And sure, a greeny death-head, a serpent from its jaw,
Did e’en now float above the spot as both the children saw.
s
VI.
When tears were spent and grief had ebbeed, then did wild anger reign.
“There’s nought good in the world!” Said Mistress Brecker in her pain.
“Oh, no, Mama, don’t despair so! Why, just ere were came home,
We’d found a goodly man, in sooth, a-wounded on the loam.
He was a Hogwarts master, and surely, it seems to me,
He must have come to help Papa, was felled ere act could he.”
“He gave us this,” said Rigel, “and I pray you take them, Mum.
‘T was all he had and yet he gave it us – ‘t is no great sum,
But now you’ll need it sorer than I can want toys and sweets.”
“And, Mama, he was truly kind, an example to us all,
For he was mocked and cruelly teased and yet did good withall!”
There, now. Don't you feel like a better person?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-07-27 02:33 am (UTC)And it's much sadder and more depressing-- darker, I guess I should say-- than the Richard one. Poor Snape! Poor kids. Poor Brecker...
I liked it very, very much.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-28 09:12 pm (UTC)Much less subtle.
But it didn't occur to me that I should be more subtle until I already had a chunk done. And then I was too lazy to redo it.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-29 12:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-02 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-04 10:38 pm (UTC)*snickers sophmorically*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-04 10:45 pm (UTC)Crooked Dick..... *snikkt*
no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-11 12:27 am (UTC)Have I ever been able to resist such temptation?